Dear Reader

Just a girl who lives through fiction - 25yo

[wildestwhispers]

My blog is ... 

basically an archive of very good fiction about Fred Weasley, Eddie Munson and Peter Parker I'm reblogging!!! I just like the posts so that I don't lose the fiction and can find it more easily when I'm on public transport (the good thing about being French is that you can read smut in English without anyone judging you over your head on the metro).

[miraclemuncher]

When will Fred Weasley ask you out?

tags/warnings. hogwarts setting, sixth year/gof, not beta read

wordcount. ~1100

notes. i need to get better at one shots cause how did i let this drag on to four parts?? i’m js built for the longfic life in an era of oneshots. also this is kinda rushed sorray sorray. also requests are open atm!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

You are beyond bloody confused.

To hell with Fred Weasley and his impractical way of expressing himself.

This is all you’ve dreamed of since he purposely knocked over his cauldron to center Snape’s ridicule on himself instead of you. Now that it was actually happening you don’t even know if it’s real.

You choose to skive off the rest of your lessons at least until lunch. You know yourself enough to figure out that you’ll only end up thinking about Fred if you do attend your morning lessons.

Washed off from the lake water, you finally leave your dormitory to get lunch.

Your friends instantly begin pestering you on why you and Fred were missing from the same lesson. He had arrived tardy, soaking wet and now you had damp shower hair.

You fill your mouth with food to avoid answering them.

Thank Merlin they finally shut up for your own good once you force twelve grapes into your mouth.

One of your friends excuses herself and says, “Um, gotta go. There’s a… I’ve got to study!”

After that, one by one your friends all start leaving with a halfassed excuse and stupid grin.

You grow more confused as you watch them file out the Great Hall.

Your questions are answered when that bloody voice speaks up from behind you.

“This seat taken?” Fred says. He takes note of your inability to respond and helps himself to the empty seat.

You spit out the twelve grapes into a bowl as politely and modestly as possible.

Fred reaches over the table and pops a different grape in his mouth. “I didn’t see you in potions,” he says after swallowing.

“I had to shower off the lake muck,” you run a hand through your wet hair. “Speaking of it, you stink.”

Fred smells himself. “You have a point.” He swings his legs over the bench style seats. “If you need me, I’ll be in the showers. Oh! And don’t forget about the chocolates!” He jogged over to a table with his friends.

You see George and Lee punch and shake him out of pride. Alicia and Angelina excitedly look at him with curiosity.

What could they be saying?

You’re still staring when Fred starts leaving the Great Hall. He looks back at you and you’re caught. You don’t know if you have any self respect left to stop staring.

Fred winks at you, then leaves through the grand doors.

Was that invitation to the showers genuine? What did Fred even mean by it?

Like, is Fred saying he’ll meet you by the showers or like, what if he said it just to say? The same way people say, catch you later, ‘cause they’re obviously not gonna be literally catching you

Wait, why are you even still thinking about this?! It’s way past his supposed shower!

Not even that! You should be paying attention to your charms lecture. You knew you should’ve skived off the rest of that day if it was just going to be like this.

Besides that, you feel George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia stare holes in the back of your head. How did you wind up assigned to a class with all of them except Fred?

An airplane lands on your desk. You push it off and stomp on it.

Then a paper frog leaps onto your desk. It’s too cute to trample, but you also don’t have it in you to unfold it and read whatever they wrote inside.

They win when a paper butterfly flaps over to your desk and settles on your pinky. It promptly unfolded itself right then and there.

The handwriting reads, What’d you tell Fred?

You look over your shoulder to the four Gryffindors. They promptly duck their heads into their charms book to feign disinterest.

Once you turn around you instantly feel their eyes trained on your back. You make a big show of ripping the note to shreds.

They finally take the hint and don’t bother you for the rest of class.

You try to sprint out of class the moment class is dismissed.

“Hey!” George calls after you. You had hoped the crowding corridor would create enough distance. Looking over your shoulder, you see he’s ruthlessly pushing past everyone.

You reluctantly pause and let him catch up to see what he wants. It’s best to end this now rather than later.

“Have you got an answer for Fred yet?” George shouted over the bustle of the corridor.

In confusion you just squint at him.

“Come on, you’ve gotta give him an answer by the end of the day at the very least,” George impatiently whines.

Was he talking about those damn chocolates? “I’ll open them later!” You snap at the same time as the warning bell rings.

“Huh?!”

You roll your eyes and repeat, “I’ll open them later!” Having enough of George’s pestering you irritatingly say, “I’ve got to go now, George. McGonnagall has no tolerance for tardiness.”

He’s finally satisfied with your answer and triumphantly leaves. George gleefully skips over to Lee, Alicia, and Angelina. You watch him relay your answer to them and they jump in unexplainable joy.

That lot is so weird sometimes.

Who cares? You’re about to be late for class!

Fred catches you on your way leaving McGonnagall’s classroom. It’s quite pathetic how you know Fred shouldn’t be anywhere near McGonnagall’s classroom. According to his time tables you’ve memorized during the start of term, his last class is all the way at the Herbology greenhouses.

He smoothly walks beside you and says, “Open to it later, huh? Time’s ticking, y’know.” There’s a hint of desperation hiding in his tease.

You laugh in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m just saying you need to be careful,” he shrugs. “People are gonna start thinking you’re stringing me along.”

Okay, now you’re laughing in pure disbelief. “Sorry, I’m stringing you along?” You repeat. “Very funny, Fred.”

“The Yule Ball is mere days away and you’re leaving me hanging.”

… What is Fred implying right now?

You don’t want to assume anything just yet. You’re gonna have to play it safe. Just play it cool, you got this.

And apparently playing it cool must mean stupidly staring at him in confusion. Your mind is completely blank. There’s no actually fucking way Fred is hinting that he wants to take you to the Yule ball.

Fred also passed. You just stare at him with crinkled eyebrows.

Finally, he speaks up. “Oh Merlin, George can’t even be nosy right,” Fred says mostly to himself, running his hands over his face. He starts retreating backwards, “Seriously, open the chocolates already!” He spins around and starts a light jog down the hall.

Once alone, you tear open the wrapped chocolates. Knowing better than to bite into one after they’ve taken a dip into the Great Lake, you instead break the chocolate in uneven halves.

It crackles into a small firework show.

Fireworks sparkling of your favorite colors spell out Will You Go To the Yule Ball With Me?

So that’s what the twins have been causing a ruckus over all day.

When will Fred Weasley ask you out?

Apparently he did it this morning.

[maria021015]

Truth or Dare

Fred Weasley x FemRavenclawReader

You only agreed to the Gryffindor party because Angelina swore it would be a good chance to get to know Fred Weasley, the boy you’ve been secretly crushing on since third year. But one spiked drink, one cursed game of Truth or Dare, and far too many brutally honest confessions later, you’re running for the hills with your dignity in shambles. The worst part? Fred heard everything. The best part? He might not have minded as much as you think…

———————————————————————

It started with Angelina cornering you in the library, as it often did. She slid into the seat across from you with a smirk that said ‘I’m about to ruin your night in the best way possible’, and you knew before she even opened her mouth that you were in for trouble.

“Put the books away,” she said, nudging the heavy potions text you’d been buried in for the last hour. “I’ve got plans for you.”

“Plans?” you repeated warily, marking your page and raising an eyebrow. “Last time you said that I ended up hexed to hiccup bubbles for two hours.”

Angelina only grinned wider. “This time’s different. I’m inviting you to a Gryffindor party tonight.”

You laughed outright, certain she was joking. “Me? Invited to the lion’s den?”

“Yes, you,” she said firmly. “It’s not a massive thing, just a little after-hours get-together in the common room. Me, Alicia, Lee, George…” She let the last name hang in the air, then added it with a sly smile. “And Fred.”

At that, your stomach did something ridiculous. A swoop, a flutter, something that felt far too dramatic for a single name. You looked back down at your notes, trying to school your expression. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t give me that,” Angelina said, leaning forward on her elbows. “You’ve been buried in books all term. And besides,” she paused, her grin positively wicked now, “It’d be a great way to, you know, get to know Fred a little better.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “I don’t need to get to know Fred.”

“Liar,” she sing-songed. “You’ve had the biggest crush on him since, what, third year?”

You hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “Keep your voice down!”

Angelina just laughed. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows. You think he doesn’t notice the way you look at him?”

“He doesn’t,” you muttered. “Trust me. Fred Weasley doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Then tonight’s the night we fix that.” She sat back with an air of finality. “You’ve grown up, my dear. You’re all vintage cool and irresistible now. You walk into that party and he’s going to notice. I promise.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go. You did, desperately. But parties weren’t your scene, and Gryffindor ones even less so. Still…there was a pull in your chest, a quiet hope that maybe she was right. Maybe tonight could be different.

“Fine,” you said finally, trying not to smile. “But if this goes horribly, I’m blaming you.”

Angelina clapped her hands together. “Deal. Now, let’s find you something to wear that’ll make Fred Weasley forget how to speak.”

———————————————————————

By the time you reached the Gryffindor common room that night, your heart was hammering. The portrait swung open to the sight of warm, flickering light and laughter. The fire was already lit, casting a golden glow across the room. A few bottles clinked on a table near the fireplace, music hummed softly from a radio, and a small group had already gathered around the largest sofa.

Fred Weasley was lounging at one end of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, laughing at something George had said. He looked annoyingly good in that effortless way only he could. His tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, a mischievous gleam in his hazel eyes. When he glanced up and saw you in the doorway, something in his expression shifted.

His grin faltered for just a second, eyes sweeping over you in a quick once-over that made heat bloom beneath your skin. Then he was back to smiling, but it was softer now and more curious.

“Ravenclaw’s finest!” Lee Jordan announced, raising his drink as you stepped inside. “Didn’t think we’d ever get you at one of our parties.”

“Me neither,” you said with a laugh, shrugging off your nerves as Angelina guided you in by the elbow. “Guess I was overdue for a bad decision.”

“Hey!” Fred called, pushing himself to his feet as you approached. “I’ll have you know Gryffindor parties are top-tier decisions. You’re in for a treat.”

“Good to know,” you managed, hoping you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.

Angelina pulled you onto the sofa beside her (which was conveniently close to Fred) and someone thrust a drink into your hand. You took a sip, tasting something sweet and fizzy with a faintly spicy burn.

“Right then,” George said, clapping his hands. “Since we’re all here and accounted for…who’s up for a game of Truth or Dare?”

There was a chorus of agreement. You laughed nervously, twisting the glass in your hands. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Fred coaxed, leaning forward with that grin that always made your stomach twist. You figured you could just lie your way through it, so what was the harm?

“No pressure,” Angelina added, bumping your shoulder.

You sighed, pretending to be reluctant even though the idea of playing and maybe getting a glimpse into Fred’s head was strangely thrilling. “Fine. I’m in.”

Cheers broke out around the circle as everyone shuffled closer to the fire, forming a loose ring on the rug and cushions. You tucked your legs beneath you, heart thrumming with anticipation. Fred ended up directly across from you, his gaze finding yours far too often for it to be accidental.

You told yourself it was harmless. It was just a game. And if anyone asked anything too dangerous, you’d make something up. Easy. You had no idea, of course, that lying was about to become impossible.

It started off harmless enough. Lee dared George to stand on the table and sing Celestina Warbeck at the top of his lungs. Which he did, complete with dramatic spins and jazz hands. Alicia admitted she’d once hexed a Slytherin boy’s shoelaces together during Charms. Fred, with his signature smirk, confessed that he and George had once replaced Snape’s tea leaves with dried doxy wings.

The room was warm with laughter and mischief, the kind of easy, giddy chaos that made you feel like you’d known them all your life. And for the first time, you weren’t the quiet Ravenclaw in the corner, you were part of it. And then it was your turn.

“Alright, new girl,” George said, pointing a dramatic finger in your direction. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said easily. It was the safe choice (or so you thought).

George grinned like a Kneazle that had cornered a mouse. “Who’s your current crush at Hogwarts?”

You laughed, already preparing to lie and say someone older and unattainable. “Oh, that’s easy!”

But the second you opened your mouth, something strange happened. The truth slipped out like it had been waiting there all along. “Fred Weasley.”

Silence, absolutely devastating silence, greeted you. Your stomach dropped. What? You slapped a hand over your mouth, wide-eyed. “I—I didn’t mean…I mean, that’s not—”

You seemed incapable of finishing either of those sentences, and you began to spiral into panic.

Fred blinked. “Me?”

“YES,” you said too quickly, cheeks blazing, even though you meant to scream ‘NO’. “I mean, yes, but I didn’t mean to say that!”

Angelina’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god.”

Alicia choked on her drink. “Holy Merlin, I thought you were going to say some Ravenclaw prefect or something.”

“Wait!” you stammered. “Wait, why did I say that? I was going to lie. I was lying.”

George was trying (and failing miserably) to hold back laughter. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

A cold feeling sank into your chest. There was no way you’d have said that out loud voluntarily. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air for everyone to dissect.

“Next question!” Lee said gleefully. “What’s the hottest thing about Fred?”

You opened your mouth to refuse or to make a joke but once again, the words poured out unfiltered. “His hands,” you blurted. “I don’t know why but they’re so hot, with those broad palms and long, slender fingers, and I think about them way too much. Like, way too much. Like—” You clapped your hand over your mouth mid-sentence, mortified. “WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!”

Alicia’s jaw dropped. Angelina buried her face in her hands. Lee was wheezing with laughter.

Fred’s face, however, had gone crimson. “Merlin’s beard…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and very pointedly not looking at you.

“Right, next!” George said quickly, looking like Christmas had come early. “If you got to do one thing with Fred right now, what would it be?”

“Nope. Nope, not answering that.” That was what you wanted to say. And yet…that wasn’t what came out of your mouth.

“Snog him,” you said, utterly helpless. “Against the wall. Hard. Probably with my hands in his hair. Maybe even…STOP!” you practically yelled, throwing your hands over your mouth again as if that could somehow rewind time. “I can’t stop myself!”

Angelina’s eyes snapped to George and Lee. “What the hell did you two do?”

George raised his hands innocently. “Just a teeny, tiny drop of Veritaserum in the drinks. For a laugh.”

“You spiked her?!” Angelina shouted.

“Don’t say it like that. It sounds dodgy when you say it like that—”

“Because it is dodgy!” she hissed. “She can’t lie, you absolute idiots!”

You were shaking, your face hotter than you’d ever felt in your life. “I need to leave. I need to leave right now.”

“Wait—” Fred started, rising to his feet.

But you were already scrambling up, knocking over your drink in your haste. “I can’t do this,” you choked out, humiliated beyond belief. “I have to go.”

And before anyone could stop you, you bolted for the portrait hole, leaving behind laughter, a very pissed off Angelina, and a boy whose heart was suddenly pounding far too fast.

The humiliation lasted all night. You replayed every word you’d said over and over again until they were branded into your skull. His hands. Against the wall. Hard. You groaned into your pillow, burying your face so deep in the blankets you considered never emerging again.

There was no coming back from this. You’d turned yourself into a walking, talking disaster. And Fred Weasley - Fred bloody Weasley - knew exactly how pathetically, hopelessly into him you were.

Tomorrow, you decided, you’d avoid him forever. Maybe fake an illness. Maybe switch schools. Hell, maybe transfer to Ilvermorny. Anything but face him after that.

———————————————————————

The plan was simple. Avoid Fred Weasley like your life depended on it. The execution, however, was…less so.

You’d barely made it five steps into the Great Hall for breakfast before you spotted him at the Gryffindor table. His hair was a little messy, tie half undone, laughing at something George had said. And then, as if fate truly hated you, his eyes flicked up and met yours.

You froze. He froze. There was a lot of freezing, and then you did what any self-respecting, catastrophically humiliated girl would do. You spun on your heel and bolted.

“Subtle,” Angelina deadpanned, catching up to you in the corridor five minutes later.

“I’m not going in there,” you muttered, clutching your books like a shield. “I’m never going in there again. I’m transferring to Beauxbatons. Or moving to the Forbidden Forest. I hear the Acromantulas are friendly this time of year.”

Angelina sighed. “They feel terrible, you know. Well, George and Lee do. Fred…” she trailed off, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips, “Fred’s been weird. Quiet. Thoughtful.”

“I don’t want to know,” you said quickly. “I don’t want to ever see him again.”

“You’re going to have to eventually.”

“Nope. Not if I hide in the library until graduation.”

Angelina opened her mouth to argue, but you were already slipping into the nearest corridor, heart racing. For the rest of the day, you perfected the art of avoidance. Ducking into classrooms when you heard familiar laughter, taking back hallways to class, eating lunch behind a pile of Arithmancy textbooks in the library.

But Fred Weasley was persistent. By the time the sun was sinking over the castle, you were walking briskly toward the Ravenclaw Tower, convinced you’d made it through the day unscathed. That was when a familiar voice called from behind you.

“Hey! Hold up a second!”

Your blood ran cold and you picked up your pace.

“Hey, wait!”

Nope. Not happening.

Then, before you could escape, a warm hand wrapped gently around your wrist, halting you mid-stride. You were spun around by the force, and there he was. Fred Weasley, in all his maddening, heart-fluttering glory, with George and Lee trailing behind him looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Please don’t run,” Fred said softly, still holding your wrist. “We need to talk.”

You stared at his hand on your skin, then up into those stupidly kind eyes, and felt your throat tighten. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Good,” George muttered. “Because we’re doing the talking.”

Fred shot him a look so sharp George actually flinched. “You’re apologising,” he hissed, before turning back to you. “They’re apologising.”

Lee sighed. “Alright, alright. We’re sorry.”

“For?” Fred prompted.

“For putting Veritaserum in your drink,” George muttered. “It was a really stupid idea.”

“Really stupid,” Lee echoed. “We were just trying to make the game fun, we didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

You crossed your arms, still stinging from the memory. “You made me confess things that weren’t anyone’s business.”

“I know,” George said, his usual confidence gone. “And you’re completely right to hate us for it. We’re twats.”

“Utter twats,” Lee added quickly.

Something in your chest loosened, just a little. “Good. As long as you know.”

Fred exhaled, finally releasing your wrist. “Alright, you two. Off you go.”

“What?”

“I said go.”

George and Lee exchanged a look, then wisely decided not to argue. “We’ll…be in the common room,” George mumbled before they both slunk off down the corridor.

Then it was just you and Fred. The silence that followed was unbearable. You stared at the floor, wishing the stone would open up and swallow you whole.

“So,” you said finally, voice small. “I suppose you think I’m a total freak now.”

“Why would I think that?” he asked gently.

“Because I basically declared my undying lust for you in front of half your friends?” you said, your face burning. “Because I talked about your hands, Fred. In detail.”

His mouth twitched and to your horror, he laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not,” he said quickly, still grinning. “I just…I think that’s possibly the most direct anyone’s ever been with me. And…” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking nervous, which was a first. “It was kind of…cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah. And flattering. And, if I’m being completely honest…” He took a small step closer, his voice dropping lower. “Really bloody hot.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Do you think I didn’t notice you after you said all that?” he asked, tilting his head. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you.”

You were fairly certain your heart stopped. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Fred said, eyes locked on yours. “I liked it. Every word. And not just because of what you said, but because it was you saying it. You, who’s brilliant and gorgeous and too good for me, still somehow thinking about me.”

You stared up at him, completely speechless. “I thought you’d never want to talk to me again.”

“Are you kidding?” he said, grinning now. “After a confession like that? I’d be an idiot not to.” He hesitated, then extended a hand, palm open between you. “So…how about we start fresh? A proper date. Just you and me. No Veritaserum, no stupid dares, no embarrassing questions.”

Your heart did a ridiculous somersault. “A date?”

“A date,” he confirmed, a hopeful glint in his eye. “What do you say?”

In that moment, standing in a quiet corridor with Fred Weasley smiling at you like you were the only girl in the castle…all the humiliation, all the panic, all the sleepless hours spent wishing you could disappear suddenly felt worth it. Because maybe something good had come of it after all.

You swallowed hard, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d like that.”

His grin widened, warm and a little breathless. “Good. Then it’s a date.”

And as you stood there, cheeks flushed and heart racing, you couldn’t help but think maybe telling the truth wasn’t so terrifying after all.

———————————————————————

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[maria021015]

Food Fight

Fred Weasley x FemReader

A petty week-long argument explodes into a chaotic Great Hall food fight, but between the flying mashed potatoes and shouted accusations, you and Fred finally uncover the misunderstanding and remember exactly why you love each other.

———————————————————————

It had been a miserable week. A long, petty, exhausting, stupid week. And it was all because of a single, ridiculous fight that neither of you was willing to end. It had started last Friday in Hogsmeade, about something so trivial you almost hated yourself for still caring. Fred had promised to meet you outside Honeydukes, but when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. He swore he had shown up, and that you’d been the one who had ditched. You insisted you’d been there fifteen minutes early. Then he’d pointed out that maybe you hadn’t specified which side of the shop to meet at. You told him that was obvious, he told you it wasn’t. And somehow, in the span of a few irritated words, it had turned into a week-long cold war.

Now, seven days later, the tension had boiled over to the point that even your friends were sitting on opposite ends of the table, pretending not to watch.

“I told you,” Fred hissed from across the roast chicken, jabbing a finger toward you, “I was standing by the door the entire time—”

“Which door?” you snapped, stabbing at your potatoes like they’d personally wronged you. “The one by the street or the one by the alley? Because I was at Honeydukes, like we agreed.”

Fred let out a groan loud enough that a few Ravenclaws turned their heads. “Why would I wait by the alley? No one waits on the alley side!”

“Exactly!” you fired back, throwing your fork down. “Which is why I thought you’d use the main entrance like a normal person!”

George, sitting three seats down, was doing a terrible job of hiding his grin behind a pumpkin pasty. Lee Jordan mouthed just apologise at Fred. Angelina mouthed you too at you. Neither of you paid them the slightest attention.

The argument escalated quickly, words sharpening and tones rising. Plates clattered as your hands moved more animatedly. Fred pushed his hair out of his eyes, glaring at you with mock outrage that was quickly starting to become real.

“It’s one misunderstanding!” he said. “Merlin’s beard, you’re acting like I stood you up on purpose.”

“You practically did!” you shot back. “I waited there for half an hour!”

“I waited too!” he argued. “I even bought those bloody chocolate frogs you like so much!”

“Well, I didn’t see them,” you muttered. “Or you.”

Fred huffed, throwing his hands up. “You know what? Maybe I should’ve eaten them myself.”

Something in you snapped. Without thinking, you picked up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and lobbed it straight across the table. It hit him squarely in the chest with a wet splat.

The table went silent. Fred stared down at the creamy stain spreading across his jumper. Then, very slowly, his eyes lifted back to yours. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Big mistake,” he said.

A split second later, a dinner roll whizzed past your ear. You ducked and grabbed a ladle of gravy in retaliation. The next minute was utter pandemonium.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” Fred laughed, launching a scoop of treacle tart in your direction. It hit your shoulder and slid down your robes. You shrieked, grabbed a handful of peas, and flung them like green confetti. He retaliated with a slice of roast beef. You ducked, and it hit Seamus Finnigan in the face.

“Oi!” Seamus shouted, grabbing a spoonful of carrots and launching them blindly, which struck Lavender Brown, who shrieked and tossed a goblet of pumpkin juice back.

Within moments, the Great Hall erupted into a full-blown food war. Pies flew through the air like comets. Mashed potatoes splattered on the walls. Laughter and shrieks echoed under the enchanted ceiling. And through it all, you and Fred remained locked in your ridiculous argument, hurling food at each other between accusations.

“You always assume you’re right!” you yelled, dodging a scone.

“Only because I am!” Fred shouted back, lobbing a slice of pudding.

“Then why didn’t you look around for me?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did!”

“Clearly not!”

It wasn’t until you were both breathless, your hair matted with pumpkin juice and cheeks streaked with gravy, that Fred suddenly froze mid-throw. His hand, holding a chunk of bread pudding, hovered in the air as his brow furrowed.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “Which side did you say you were on?”

“The front,” you replied, confused, as you’d already told him that information. “By the main display window.”

“No, what side of the door?” Fred blinked. “I was there. But…I was inside.”

The world seemed to still around you. “Inside?” you repeated.

He nodded sheepishly, brushing pie crust from his sleeve. “I thought you meant inside the shop. I was there for thirty minutes. I even asked the cashier if they’d seen you.”

Your jaw fell open. “I was outside the entire time.”

And just like that, a week of cold shoulders and snide comments (and now thrown food) clicked into absurd clarity. You both burst into laughter at the same time, helpless and breathless and covered in dessert.

“Merlin,” you wheezed, clutching your stomach. “We’re idiots.”

“The worst kind,” Fred agreed, wiping treacle from his hair. Then his expression softened, his grin turning a little shy beneath the streaks of gravy. “I never meant to upset you, you know. I was so worried when you were mad that I’d forgotten or something.”

You stepped closer, brushing a bit of custard from his cheek. “I wasn’t mad you forgot,” you admitted quietly. “I was mad because I thought maybe you didn’t care.”

Fred’s face melted into something warm and earnest. “Of course I care. I’d wait all day for you, even if I’m apparently rubbish at knowing where to do it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, and before you could think twice, you grabbed his stained jumper and kissed him. It was messy and sweet and tasted faintly of treacle tart, and the entire Great Hall erupted into cheers and wolf-whistles around you.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, Fred grinned. “Truce?”

“Truce,” you said, smiling back.

And though you were both absolutely drenched in food and surrounded by chaos, you hadn’t felt that happy all week.

That was, of course, until a flying treacle pudding (seemingly launched from nowhere) soared across the hall in a slow, glorious arc and landed splat right on Professor Snape’s head. The hall went dead silent. Chocolate sauce dripped from the tip of his hooked nose as his black eyes narrowed with murderous fury.

“Detention,” he hissed, sweeping his gaze over the sea of guilty students. “For all of you.”

And yet, at the staff table, Dumbledore merely twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, a suspiciously innocent look on his face. Beside him, Professor McGonagall’s lips twitched upward with the tiniest hint of a smile, as if she might have been the one to cast the pudding’s trajectory in the first place.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser @lupinsweater @allielovesstars @starryeddie @adhxmoony @jaredcadillaci @lilians17 @velvetthunder93 @somestufftoday @kekecc @allielovesstars @chaosomnipotent13 @samyayaya

[maria021015]

His Dream Girl

Fred Weasley x FemReader

No one believes Fred when he insists the girl he sees in his dreams is real. Then again who would?

Warnings: character death, canon-divergent

———————————————————————-

Fred was ten years old the first time he saw her.

It was summer at the Burrow. The air smelled like honeysuckle and smoke from the old chimney, and the grass itched his ankles in the best sort of way. The kind of day where the sky was too blue to be real, and even the gnarled apple tree leaned lazily into the breeze like it was dreaming too.

He’d been playing with George by the pond earlier that day, chucking rocks and daring each other to jump in with their clothes still on. Molly had shouted something like “If I find so much as one muddy sock on the stairs—!”

And now, he was back in the yard. Only it was quieter. Emptier. No George. No Ron. Not even Ginny, and she was impossible to miss most days.

He stood in the middle of the field, barefoot and slightly dazed, the back door creaking behind him as it shut. He turned toward the garden, and then he saw her.

A girl.

About his age, maybe a little younger. She was crouched among the cabbages, her fingers brushing through the leaves like she was searching for something. Her hair shimmered when she moved, catching the sunlight, and even from a distance, Fred could tell she didn’t belong to the Weasleys. Or the neighborhood. Or the world, really.

He blinked hard, thinking that she might vanish, just some figment of his overactive imagination, or the light playing tricks on him. But she didn’t vanish.

Something in his chest pulled forward before his feet did.

“Oi!” he called. “Hey, wait!”

She turned sharply, startled, and then bolted. Fred chased after her without thinking.

She darted through the bean rows and under the crooked fence, laughing, light on her feet like she knew the place better than he did. Fred stumbled over a garden gnome and nearly face-planted, but scrambled up with dirt on his knees and a wild grin on his face.

“Come back!” he shouted. “I just wanna talk!”

The girl looked over her shoulder and grinned, mischief in her eyes.

She led him past the orchard, up toward the old treehouse Bill and Charlie had built. No one really used it anymore. It was half falling apart and tilted sideways in the branches. But she climbed it like she did it every day.

By the time Fred reached the ladder, panting, she was sitting cross-legged in the doorway, looking smug.

“Took you long enough,” she teased.

Fred laughed breathlessly, pulling himself up the rungs. “You run like you’re being chased by a Chinese Fireball.”

“Maybe I saw your hair and thought I was,” she said with a wink.

They sat across from each other in the dusty wooden hideout, legs crisscrossed, hair messy, cheeks flushed. She picked at a loose nail in the floorboard, and Fred noticed the way the sunlight danced across her face through the tree branches.

“So,” he said, eyeing her curiously. “What’re you doing here?”

She tilted her head, considering. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Fred frowned. “This is my backyard.”

“Well…not right now,” she said softly.

He squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back on her hands and looked out the window.

“It’s nice here,” she said. “I like this place. Feels safe.”

Fred looked around the treehouse. “It’s barely standing.”

“Exactly.”

He grinned. He didn’t know why her being here felt right, like they’d met before. Or would meet again.

They talked for hours. Or what felt like hours. About gnomes and pranks and which Bertie Bott’s Beans were the worst (she swore soap was underrated). She made him laugh so hard his ribs ached, and every time he caught his breath, she’d say something else that made him lose it all over again.

She was clever. Funny. She looked at him like she knew all his secrets and wasn’t going to tell a soul.

Eventually, her expression softened. “You have to go,” she said gently.

Fred blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s time.”

He frowned. “Time for what?”

But she just smiled. A little sad this time. “Don’t worry. I’ll try find you again.”

The treehouse shimmered. The wind shifted. And the light in the window started to flicker like someone had blown out the sun.

“Wait,” he said, leaning forward. “What’s your name?”

But she was already fading.

Fred jolted awake to the sound of someone shaking his shoulder.

“Oi, sleeping beauty,” George said, looming over him with wild bed hair and jam on his shirt. “You comin’ to breakfast or are you hibernating until autumn?”

Fred blinked up at him, heart still thudding.

“There was a girl,” he mumbled. “In the garden.”

George raised a brow. “What, in your sleep? Was it one of the Hollyhead Harpies again?”

“No!” Fred sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. “She was real. This girl. She was in the garden and she ran from me, but I chased her to the treehouse, and she said…she said I’d find her again.”

George gave him a look like he’d just grown wings. “You mean, you had a dream?”

Fred opened his mouth. Closed it again. The dream had felt too real. Like her laughter was still ringing in his ears.

“No, shut up,” Fred snapped, scrambling out of bed. “She was here. I saw her.”

George watched, unimpressed, as Fred yanked on his socks with the urgency of someone preparing for battle.

“She ran into the garden,” Fred said quickly. “Then she climbed the old treehouse. I talked to her, George.”

“So you had a dream about a girl, so what?” George said, standing and stretching.

“She’s real,” Fred insisted, already at the door. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

George groaned. “Fred, for the love of Merlin’s socks—”

But Fred was already halfway down the stairs.

They thundered past Ginny sitting cross-legged in the hallway and nearly knocked over Percy, who scolded them on instinct. Fred ignored everyone. He grabbed George by the wrist and yanked him through the kitchen, where Molly stood at the stove, wand levitating a pan of sausages.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” she called. “You haven’t eaten a bite, and I’m not having you boys fainting in the yard!”

“Can’t talk! Girl in the garden! It’s an emergency!” Fred shouted as they raced past.

Molly blinked. “A what in the where?”

The screen door slammed behind them.

Fred’s feet hit the grass hard, heart hammering as they ran past the swing, over the gnome pit, and through the vegetable rows where he’d first seen her crouched in the cabbage patch. The summer light was already climbing the treetops.

“She was right here,” Fred said, pointing. “Then she ran, over the fence, through the orchard, there!”

George squinted ahead. “You’re dragging me across the yard because of some dream-girl who ran into the woods like a lunatic?”

“Just shut up and look.”

They reached the base of the treehouse.

The boards were as crooked as ever, the ladder missing its second rung. Fred climbed it two at a time, ignoring the creak of the old wood, and hoisted himself into the doorway.

He was breathless. The air felt thick. But inside, it was just the treehouse.

Dust and old leaves. Scratched initials in the walls. A broken bottle cap in the corner. The sun streamed through the slats like it always did.

No girl.

No sign of anyone at all.

Fred sat there, frozen. He stared at the spot where she’d been - legs crossed, head tilted, teasing him about Bertie Bott’s Beans. It had happened. He’d felt it. Heard her voice. Saw the glint in her eyes.

He gripped the edge of the floorboards and leaned out.

“She was here,” he said again, more quietly this time.

George raised a brow from below. “You drag me all the way out here, shirtless, before breakfast, and your mystery girl turns out to be a gust of wind and a rotten plank of wood. I’d say you owe me your secret chocolate frog stash.”

Fred didn’t answer. He was still looking around. Still waiting. Still expecting her to pop up behind him and say, “I was just hiding.”

But she didn’t.

George smirked. “Should we alert Mum that you’ve officially lost it? Or would it be more fun to wait until the voices in your head start convincing you of other weirdos running about our house?”

Fred climbed down slowly, not answering.

“She was real,” he said, more to himself than George. “She was real.”

He glanced over his shoulder one last time, toward the treehouse, where the sunlight shimmered on the wood in a way that almost felt like a memory.

George shook his head and turned back toward the house. “You’ve officially gone barmy.”

But Fred didn’t follow right away.

He stood barefoot in the grass, eyes scanning the garden, every leaf and shadow. And deep down in his chest - just below the thump of his heart - was a tug he couldn’t explain.

———————————————————————-

A few weeks later, Fred was ankle-deep in dirt and halfway through hurling his sixth garden gnome over the fence when he saw her again.

It was late afternoon. The sun was low and golden, the kind of warm light that made the Burrow’s crooked walls glow like something out of a painting. Fred had been sent out alone - “If you and George keep catapulting them into the neighbor’s chimney, you’ll be grounded until Christmas,” Mum had warned - and he was now knee-deep in mud and muttering to himself about traitorous gnome bites.

Then he saw a flicker of movement between the hedges.

He straightened, heart stuttering. “Oi…”

There. Near the old laundry line, just past the apple tree. A blur of color. A familiar tilt of the head. The girl.

She stood half-hidden in the tall grass, watching him with a smile like she knew something he didn’t.

Fred dropped the gnome he was holding. “You!” he gasped, breaking into a sprint.

She laughed, soft and bright, and turned to run. Same as before.

Fred chased her without hesitation. He didn’t stumble this time. Didn’t lose his footing or get caught in a root. He jumped the garden fence like he’d done it a hundred times, ducked beneath the branch of the old plum tree, and sprinted after her up the sloping hill toward the treehouse.

She was waiting for him in the doorway when he climbed the ladder, chest heaving. “You’re faster this time,” she said, teasing.

Fred’s whole face lit up. “I knew it. I knew you were real!”

He stepped into the treehouse, his hands out like proof of his existence. “Wait here, I’ll get George. You have to meet George. He thought I was mad! He said you were just a dream!”

“No,” she said gently, reaching out and touching his arm. “You can’t get him.”

Fred blinked at her. “Why not?”

She looked out the window, where the sun glowed red through the trees. “Because it’s just us here.”

“But,” He frowned. “Does this mean I’m dreaming?”

“I think so,” she said after a pause. “It feels like it.”

“So you’re not real.”

She looked at him then. Steady and serious. “That doesn’t mean I’m not real. I think I’m dreaming too. I just…can’t explain it.”

Fred stared at her. “That’s not fair. You show up in my backyard, vanish without warning, and now you’re telling me you’re maybe real?”

She tilted her head. “Do you want me to be?”

Fred flushed. “I…yeah. I guess I do.”

She smiled. “What were you doing? With those creatures?”

He sat down beside her, wiping his muddy hands on his shirt. “I was getting rid of gnomes.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re horrid little things.”

“I know! They bite.”

“I saw one take a nibble on your thumb.”

Fred held up the injured finger like a badge of honor. “Did you see how far I threw it, though?”

She laughed, and he wished he could bottle the sound and take it with him when he woke.

“So…do you not have gnomes where you’re from?” he asked, curious. “Or are yours better behaved?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t go outside much.”

He quieted. “Oh.”

There was something sad in the way she said it, like it wasn’t by choice. They sat together for a while in the old treehouse, trading silly stories and ideas for pranks Fred hadn’t even told George yet. She asked what it was like to have so many siblings. He asked what she did for fun, and she hesitated before saying she liked to read. Books. Stories. To learn about the world outside of her bubble.

It was strange, but she always had this way of making the air around her feel softer. Lighter. Like the treehouse was floating just above the ground, and if they stayed quiet long enough, they’d drift into the stars.

Eventually, the sky turned dusky purple. The sun dipped low enough that the windows glowed gold.

She looked at him, then. The same way she had the first time. “It’s time,” she said softly.

Fred sat up straighter. “No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But…can’t you stay longer?”

She stood slowly, brushing off her knees. “No, I’m out of time too. Goodbye, Fred.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he said, suddenly desperate. “It’s just, see you next time.”

She paused at the ladder, turning back. Her eyes met his. That strange, starry look again.“Okay, I like that. See you next time,” she said.

And then the world around him began to fade, the floor of the treehouse blurring into light, the shadows melting away.

Fred blinked awake to sun pouring in through his blinds. He sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed.

“George!” he shouted, grabbing a pillow and launching it across the room.

George groaned from under his blanket. “What?”

Fred scrambled out of bed. “She was there again. She’s real, George. She’s just…in my mind.”

George rolled over, groggy and unimpressed. “You woke me up to tell me your imaginary girlfriend has returned from the misty depths of your brain?”

Fred crossed his arms. “She’s not imaginary.”

George buried his face in the pillow. “Merlin’s armpits, Fred, it’s six in the morning. Go back to bed before I throw something at you.”

Fred didn’t go back to bed. He stared out the window instead, watching the sun rise over the hills behind the Burrow. Somewhere in the distance, he knew she was out there. Waiting for next time.

———————————————————————

Fred wasn’t sure how many times he’d seen her by now. Twenty. Thirty. More? He didn’t count anymore. Didn’t need to.

He just knew that every so often, when the world slipped quiet and his body stilled beneath his covers, he’d open his eyes and find himself back in the treehouse, with her. Like she’d never left.

And there she was again tonight, legs swinging off the edge of the floor, arms stretched behind her as she leaned back and looked up at the stars. The wooden planks creaked beneath them, and the wind brushed gently through the leaves like it, too, wanted to listen in.

Fred sat beside her, knees pulled up, picking absently at a splinter in the floorboard.

“You ever wonder,” he asked, “why we’re always here? Like…Why is it always my backyard?”

She shrugged, smiling at the night sky. “I like it here.”

Fred glanced at her, surprised etched into his features. “You do?”

“Of course,” she said, as though it were obvious. “It feels like someone actually lives here. It’s full of things. Overgrown and messy and noisy, just like it should be. I wish I had one just like it.”

Fred looked down at his shoes. “Most people don’t think that. Everyone at Hogwarts says we live in a ‘burrow’ because there’s so many of us. They say it like it’s a joke.”

She tilted her head toward him. “A burrow?”

He nodded, a little sheepish. “Y’know. Like we’re a nest of rabbits or something.”

She sat up straighter. “I like the sound of a burrow.”

Fred gave her a look, like he didn’t at all believe her.

“No, really!” she said. “Rabbits are clever. And brave. They live underground, all tucked in together, warm and safe. They take care of each other.”

A small, crooked smile tugged at Fred’s lips. “That’s daft.”

“Yeah,” she said brightly. “But you smiled.”

He rolled his eyes, but it lingered on his face anyway. The treehouse fell quiet again, the kind of silence that felt comfortable now.

Fred glanced sideways. “What’s your house like?”

She didn’t answer right away. Eventually, she said, “It’s cold.”

Fred looked at her, tilting his head in questioning.

“It’s too quiet. Too clean. Like no one actually lives there. Like it’s just a place people pass through,” she murmured. “My parents are always away. Work or travel or…something. I don’t know. I don’t really ask anymore.”

Fred’s chest ached a little. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“I wish I had a big family,” she added softly. “Even if it meant gnomes and chaos and secondhand shoes. I’d trade everything for noise sometimes.”

Fred swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’d probably regret that once Ron starts singing in the bath,” he said, trying for lightness.

She laughed. A quiet, honest sound. But then she looked down at her hands. “It gets lonely.”

Fred’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think you’re lonely anymore.”

She looked up.

He shrugged, a bit awkward. “I mean. Not when you’re here. With me.”

She smiled, soft and thankful. “You’re right. Not here.”

They sat side by side for a while longer, shoulders brushing occasionally, neither of them rushing the moment. The treehouse was a little world of its own. Just theirs.

But soon, the wind started to change. The stars shimmered. The corners of the world began to stretch thin.

She turned toward him. “It’s happening again,” she whispered.

Fred clenched his fists. “No. Not yet.”

“I don’t want to go either.”

He looked at her, eyes stubborn. “It’s okay. I’ll just see you next time.”

She smiled. “Next time.”

———————————————————————

Fred leaned back against the stone wall of the courtyard, balancing on two legs of his chair like he always did. Reckless, casual, bored on the surface and buzzing underneath.

Lee Jordan was tossing Bertie Bott’s Beans into his mouth like a game of Russian roulette, making faces at every wrong one. George sat cross-legged on the bench, sharpening the tip of his quill with a pocketknife, because apparently that was more fun than homework.

“I’m just saying,” Fred said, voice light but eager, “she knows loads more about Muggle stuff than anyone I’ve met. She says her parents hire tutors - proper ones - to teach her both magical and Muggle subjects. She’s homeschooled.”

Lee looked up, a bit interested now. “Homeschooled? That’s rare, innit? Does she live nearby?”

Fred grinned. “I think so. She must, right? She doesn’t say much about it, really. But she’s brilliant. She knows the weirdest facts. Like did you know rabbits can die of fright?”

“…Why would anyone need to know that?” George asked flatly, not looking up.

“I’m just saying,” Fred went on, “she’s smart. And she’s funny. And—”

“—and imaginary,” George cut in before Fred could finish.

Fred’s stomach dropped.

Lee blinked. “Wait, what?”

George gave Fred a look. Not cruel, just tired. “She’s not real, Lee. He’s talking about this girl he dreams about. He’s been on about it for four years now. I thought he’d give it a rest but apparently not.”

Fred’s ears turned pink. “She’s not imaginary.”

George shrugged. “You’ve been dreaming about her since you were ten, Fred. That’s not a friend. That’s a very dedicated sleep schedule.”

Fred stood up abruptly, knocking the back legs of the chair down with a thud. “Forget it.”

“Fred!” George called, sounding vaguely apologetic.

But Fred didn’t turn around. He stalked off across the courtyard and up the castle steps, fury curling beneath his ribs. He didn’t even care where he was going. He just needed away. They didn’t understand. They never understood.

That night, Fred shut the curtains around his bed harder than usual and shoved his face into the pillow, muttering curses under his breath.

He wasn’t even sure he’d fall asleep. He felt too wired, too angry, too full of something he couldn’t name.

But he did. And when sleep came so did she.

He opened his eyes to the quiet creak of wood, the warmth of filtered sunlight, and the scent of honeysuckle and dirt.

He was in the treehouse, and there she was. Sitting with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out across the floor, smiling at him like she’d been waiting all night.

Fred slumped down beside her with a dramatic groan. “I hate everyone.”

She laughed softly. “That bad?”

He nodded into his knees. “George told Lee you weren’t real.”

She tilted her head. “And Lee believed him?”

Fred scoffed. “Course he did. He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”

“I mean…I’d believe it if you had grown a second head,” she said with mock seriousness. “You’ve got the personality for it.”

Fred huffed a small laugh.

She leaned over and nudged his shoulder. “They wouldn’t understand, Fred. Even I don’t completely understand it yet. You can’t blame them.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowed. “How can you not know how this works yet? I mean, are you dreaming too? Are you asleep somewhere, or…? Is this magic?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I just know I’m here. With you. And it feels real.”

“It is real,” he said stubbornly. “You’re real. I know you are.”

She smiled gently. “Then that’s enough for now, isn’t it?”

Fred looked around the treehouse - the same old boards and sunlit slats, the echo of childhood and the safety of something unchanged. “It’s always here.”

“I told you,” she said, “I like it here.”

Fred smiled, genuinely this time. “You’re mad, you know that?”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “Maybe. But I think your house sounds like the warmest place in the world.”

The treehouse swayed gently in the wind. She looked out the window, watching the light fade from gold to soft blue. “I wish I could see what school is like. Hogwarts. I imagine it all the time.”

Fred turned to her, eyes lighting up. “…maybe I can show you.”

She looked at him, a little surprised.

He nodded with conviction. “Next time you come back, I’ll bring Hogwarts with me.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I’d like that.”

———————————————————————

Fred had been thinking about the next time he’d get to see her for weeks. He was beginning to get impatient, but sometimes it had been longer than that between seeing her, so he knew not to get too antsy. It had been years since the first time, and he thought he’d be better at waiting by now. Perhaps patience simply wasn’t his strong suit.

Ever since he’d promised to show her Hogwarts, he’d been going over it in his head: the routes, the rooms, the best places to sneak sweets from the kitchens or spy on Filch without getting caught. He’d tried to fall asleep early every night just in case she came. She didn’t. Not until tonight.

The world around him came to life, and this time it wasn’t the treehouse. This time…it was Hogwarts.

The entrance hall towered above him, golden light streaming from the torches in the walls. The floor gleamed like polished stone, and everything shimmered with a softness that could only exist in dreams.

Fred turned slowly, taking it in, and then her voice echoed across the stone. “We’re actually here!”

She was beside him, mouth wide open in awe, her eyes glowing brighter than the torches. “I can’t believe this is real,” she breathed.

Fred grinned. “Technically it’s not. But close enough.”

She laughed, bright and full, and then suddenly she grabbed his hand. “Come on! You’ve got to show me everything!”

Fred jolted. Her fingers were warm against his. Real. Solid. She laced them through his like it was nothing, like they’d always done that, and tugged him toward the stairs with enough excitement to pull him clean off the floor if she wanted.

Fred followed, blinking fast. He didn’t know why his ears felt hot. Or why his chest buzzed a little like it was fizzing from the inside. She’d never touched him before. Not like that. But here she was with her hand in his, dragging him through dream-Hogwarts, practically vibrating with joy.

“This place is massive,” she whispered, eyes darting around the staircase as the steps shifted beneath them. “And there are so many portraits you can barely see the walls. Wait! It just blinked!”

Fred laughed, trying not to trip over his own feet as she led him through the corridor. “Yeah, they move. Some of them talk too. Don’t bother trying to use the second-floor shortcut though - Sir Cadogan’s portrait will not let you through unless you give him a haiku about swords.”

“I’d give him a whole poem if it meant I got to see all this.”

She was glowing. Truly. Wide-eyed and speechless as they passed through the library, then into the Great Hall where the enchanted ceiling rippled with clouds. Her mouth fell open.

“I’ve read about the enchanted ceiling but never thought it would look this real!” she whispered.

Fred watched her, chest bright with something warm and bubbling. He wasn’t looking at the Great Hall anymore.

She finally let go of his hand when she ran toward the middle of the room, twirling once beneath the floating candles. And just like that, his hand felt cold. He flexed his fingers without thinking. Missed the weight of hers. The warmth.

She spun back toward him, her whole face lit up. “Where do you sit? Show me where!”

Fred swallowed, pointing out the spot. “Er, over there. Gryffindor table.”

She was already running along the aisle, inspecting every floating dish and enchanted plate, every stone pillar and detail. She reached out toward a floating candle and gasped when it dipped slightly toward her palm.

“It likes me,” she whispered in wonder.

Fred didn’t say anything. He was still standing in place, staring at her.

Her eyes were brighter than the candles. Her hair caught the light just right. She was flushed with laughter and excitement and looked more alive than anyone he’d ever known, even though this wasn’t real.

Something flipped in his chest. Strange and soft and unsettling in the best way. How had he never realised that she was pretty? Really, properly pretty.

And then he registered that he was just standing there. Staring. For a moment too long.

She turned, grinning, her cheeks glowing with energy. “Are you gonna show me more or are we just gonna stare at floating candles all night?”

Fred blinked fast, ears going red. “Right, yeah. Course. Wait til you see the common room.”

He jogged forward to catch up, still buzzing from her touch, her smile, the way she made Hogwarts look new.

And for the first time in all the dreams they’d shared, Fred didn’t just feel comfort or friendship. He felt something bigger. Something he didn’t quite know the name for yet.

———————————————————————

Fred knew it the second the dream began. He’d started to pick up on the subtle feeling of magic in the air after all these years.

He recognised the soft light. The warm air. The Quidditch Pitch waiting beneath a wide, endless sky. His broom clutched familiarly in his hand.

Fred stood in the center of it now, taller than he used to be, broader through the shoulders. His school robes were gone, replaced by something simpler. A maroon jumper and worn trousers, like how he looked at home. He ran a hand through his hair, already messy from the dream-breeze, and glanced up at the stands.

She was there again. Like she had been countless times before over the past five years. But it still startled him every time, the way she looked at him. Like she’d been waiting.

She looked older too. Not in a strange, all-of-a-sudden sort of way, but in the softest details. The curve of her jaw more defined, the lines of her silhouette longer, surer. Her hair fell differently. Her voice had dropped ever so slightly since the year’s start. He tried not to stare. He failed.

She waved, standing. She wore his Gryffindor jumper this time - oversized on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. He wasn’t sure when that started happening, her wearing things of his in the dreams. It made his heart kick funny in his chest every time.

She met him at the edge of the pitch. “You’re late,” she teased.

“Oi, I pretty much built this place for us,” Fred smirked. “You want me to be punctual and magical?”

“Something tells me you’ve never been punctual a day in your life, Fred Weasley.” She shook her head, looking down at the broom in his grip. “I’ve never actually been on a broom,” she said shyly. “Not in a dream. Not in real life.”

Fred blinked. “Never?”

“Nope.” She bit her lip. “Kind of nervous, honestly.”

Fred grinned, holding out his hand. “Then you’re in luck. Because I am the best Quidditch instructor in this dream realm.”

She took his hand. And he held onto it a little longer than he should have. The tension lately had been…unbearable. Every time he saw her in his dreams, it felt like something inside him clicked into place. Like the moment he opened his eyes and saw her, he was home.

And when she looked at him the way she did now, all soft-eyed and tender - he was wrecked.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound casual as he brought the broom forward, “normally you’d start solo, but given the whole ‘I’m in charge here’ thing, we’ll cheat.”

“Cheat?” She echoed in confusion. “How can you cheat in flying?”

“You’re getting on with me.” he explained.

Her eyes widened slightly, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “And where exactly am I meant to sit?”

Fred patted the broom handle. “Right behind me.”

“Okay,” she agreed, stepping closer.

Fred got on first, and then she swung her leg over carefully, sliding close, arms hesitating for a moment before wrapping around his waist. Her chest pressed to his back. This was not like when they were kids. Not at all.

He froze for a second. Then swallowed.

“You alright?” she asked, her voice barely above his ear.

Her cheek brushed his shoulder. Her arms were snug around him. And her fingers clutched at his jumper like she didn’t want to let go. He could feel every single inch of her against him - warm and soft - and it short-circuited his brain entirely.

Fred cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just…wasn’t expecting you to be that close.”

“Would you rather I fell off mid-air?”

He smiled despite himself. “I mean, it would be a little funny.”

She pinched his side gently, and he laughed, then kicked off the ground. The broom launched into the sky, rising in a smooth arc above the pitch. The wind blew her hair into his face, and she laughed. It was an excited, breathless sound that made his chest hurt in the best way.

Higher and higher they soared, Hogwarts and the treetops and the distant hills shrinking beneath them until it was just sky. Sky and clouds and the two of them, tucked against each other in the golden light.

“This is amazing!” she cheered against his shoulder.

Fred wanted to say something clever, something smooth. But all he could think about was how aware he was of her. Every place they touched, every shift of her body against his.

“It’s even better with you,” he said before he could stop himself.

She held him tighter. He didn’t know if she was scared or thrilled. But when her chin pressed lightly between his shoulder blades, he could feel the shape of her smile.

Fred swallowed. Everything in him wanted to turn around. Just to look at her. Just to kiss her, maybe. If she wanted that too.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she murmured. Her voice was barely audible over the wind, but he felt the words more than heard them.

Fred nodded, too afraid his voice would crack if he spoke. Inwardly he thought, ‘me neither’.

She leaned closer, cheek to his back. “Do you get to feel like this every time?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

They soared in silence for a while. No need for words. Up here, it was just the two of them. Above everything. Just Fred and the girl who might not exist, but who felt more real than anything in the waking world.

Fred didn’t want to land. Didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to let go of the girl who held him like this was the only place in the universe that made sense.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor boys’ dormitory buzzed with energy. George lay sprawled across his bed flipping a Fanged Frisbee between his fingers, while Lee sat cross-legged on the floor with a stack of parchment and names scrawled across the top.

“Alright,” Lee grinned, tapping his quill to the list. “Alicia’s going with some Ravenclaw bloke. Bit of a shame. I was hoping you’d get in first, George.”

George waved him off. “Katie asked me last week, actually. But I’m holding out. Gotta keep my mystique.”

Lee snorted, then turned to Fred, who was perched on the edge of his bed, uncharacteristically quiet, staring at a knot in the wood floor.

“And what about you, Fred?” Lee prompted. “You going to ask someone before all the good ones are gone?”

Fred didn’t respond.

George sat up. “Don’t tell me you’re not going.”

Still nothing.

Lee raised a brow. “You? Skipping a chance to dress up and act charming and wildly inappropriate on a dance floor? You sick or something?”

George narrowed his eyes. “Wait,” His tone shifted. “Is this about her?”

Fred didn’t move, but that flinch in his jaw said enough.

Lee blinked. “Her? What, who?”

George let out a breath and threw his Frisbee down. “The girl. From his dreams. Don’t you remember? He used to talk about her all the time, back when we were younger. Said she was homeschooled, weird house, never went outside, only saw her in dreams, some treehouse nonsense.”

“She’s not—” Fred cut in suddenly, then trailed off. His voice was hoarse. “It’s not nonsense.”

George’s expression softened but he didn’t let up. “Fred, you haven’t mentioned her in ages. I thought maybe you’d…I dunno. Grown out of it.”

Fred looked up finally. “I didn’t grow out of it. I just stopped talking to you about it.”

Lee looked between them, brow raised in confused concern. “Wait…Are you saying you still see her?”

George sat up straighter on the bed, arms bracing his knees. “Mate, I’m saying this because I love you, alright? But…you can’t keep living in your dreams. You’re sixteen now. You can’t go to the Yule Ball with a girl who might not even exist.”

“She does exist,” Fred said, low but fierce.

“Then where is she?” George challenged gently. “Has she written? Owled you? Sent you a single real-world sign? Come on, Fred, what if she is just a dream? What if she’s only ever been one?”

Fred’s lips parted like he had an answer, but no sound came. The silence that followed felt like the longest they’d ever had.

George stood and crossed the room to his trunk, pulling out a small, dark vial with a handwritten label. He handed it to Fred.

“Dreamless sleep,” George said, voice careful. “Nicked it from Snape last week. Just one month. That’s all I’m asking. Give yourself one full month to clear your head.”

Fred stared at the vial in his hand. It felt heavier than it should have.

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” George added. “I just don’t want you to waste something real - someone real - because you’re chasing something you can never reach.”

———————————————————————

Fred sat on the edge of his bed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clutching the small, unassuming vial George had left behind a week ago. The liquid inside shimmered faintly in the candlelight - silver, soft, promising oblivion. Dreamless sleep.

He’d been considering George’s words all week. On little potion and no more treehouse. No more late-night broom rides. No more of her.

He stared at it like it might vanish if he looked too long. Or maybe he wished it would.

The dormitory was quiet. Lee was already snoring. George’s bed creaked every so often when he turned in his sleep. The world had gone still, but inside Fred, everything was loud.

He tilted the vial between his fingers, watching the way the light played off the glass.

She wasn’t real. Or she was. He didn’t know anymore. But that hadn’t stopped him from falling for her.

She’d grown with him, this girl of dreams. She wasn’t a whisper anymore, not some shadow at the edges of sleep. She was a person. A person with soft hands and bright eyes and a laugh that made the world feel like summer even when snow rimmed the windows of the Burrow. She listened. She asked questions. She cared. No one else saw that version of him. Not even George. With her, he felt known in a way that terrified him.

He pressed the vial to his palm, knuckles white. How had this happened?

What started as childish curiosity - the thrill of finding a secret no one else could see - had turned into something else entirely. Now, when he woke up, his chest ached from missing her. When he laughed at a joke Lee made, it was tinged with the thought of how she would’ve laughed too. When he passed a girl in the corridor, pretty and smiling, he didn’t feel a spark, because the only one he wanted was somewhere he couldn’t reach.

He hadn’t spoken about her to George in a week. Not since that last fight. Not since George called her an illusion and Fred didn’t have the words to fight back.

And that had been worse, somehow. The look on George’s face when he realised that Fred was in love with a ghost, or a figment, or a half-imagined girl from his own mind. It was pity. George pitied him. And maybe he should. Because what kind of person was so hopelessly tangled in someone who might not even exist?

He clutched the vial tighter, pressing it to his chest now, heart thudding beneath the glass.

Would it be kinder to let her go? If he kept dreaming of her - seeing her, talking to her - he’d never be able to fall for someone else. Never be able to love someone here, in this world, when part of him lived in another. A half life.

His eyes burned, and he didn’t know why. He blinked hard and looked at the potion again.

Maybe this was mercy. He could take it. Go to bed. Sleep through the night. Wake up empty but clean. Like washing off a wound and sealing it shut. But something about that terrified him.

Because what if she was real? What if this connection - whatever it was - meant something? What if cutting it off was like cutting off a part of himself?

He hated that he didn’t know. Hated the idea of walking away without answers. Of never seeing her again. Of never finding out who she was.

And god, he wanted at least one more night. One more time to see her. To hold her hand. To hear her voice.

Fred slowly placed the potion down on the bedside table. It clinked lightly against the wood. Then he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. His last thought before sleep claimed him was not of doubt or logic or sense.

It was her name and the way she looked the last time he saw her, smiling up at him like he was the only thing in the world worth waiting for.

Fred let himself fall. Into sleep. Into dreams. Into her.

The wind curled softly around the Astronomy Tower, tugging at her hair as she leaned over the stone railing, eyes lifted to the sky.

Fred stood just behind her, hands in his pockets, heart heavier than it had ever felt in a dream.

The stars were bright tonight. Too bright, almost. They looked like someone had scrubbed the sky clean and poked holes through it with a pin. She pointed to one now, her face alight with fascination.

“That’s Altair,” she said, smiling as she turned back to him slightly. “You can see the whole Summer Triangle from here, even though it’s not summer anymore. That one’s Deneb. And that—” she lifted her hand higher, “—is Vega. You can always find your way north if you follow—”

He didn’t hear the rest. Fred wasn’t looking at the stars. He was looking at her.

Her dress fluttered in the wind like something out of a story. Her lips were still moving, but he barely registered the words. The moonlight lit her from the side, gilding her hair, brushing against her cheekbones, making her look unreal. Ethereal.

But wasn’t that exactly the problem?

She noticed his silence. Of course she did. She always did. “Fred?”

He blinked, forced himself to meet her gaze.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, tilting her head at him with a soft frown. “Quieter than usual.”

“I’m just thinking,” he said, his voice low and distant. He stepped forward, leaned beside her on the railing. The cold stone pressed into his forearms, but he barely felt it.

She smiled gently. “That’s dangerous for you, isn’t it?”

He laughed, but there wasn’t much life in it. A beat passed between them. The wind picked up again, carrying the smell of frost and pine from the forest below.

Then, slowly, he said, “There’s a dance coming up at Hogwarts. The Yule Ball.”

“Oh?” she turned toward him slightly. “Are you going with someone?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Not yet.”

She watched him, curious. Waiting.

“I was thinking,” he continued, choosing each word carefully like it might break if he stepped too hard on it. “What if…we went together?”

Her expression flickered. Just slightly. But he saw it. The shift. She didn’t say anything.

“I mean—” he rushed on, trying to cover the weight of what he was really asking. “—we could make it work, right? You could send me a letter, or give me an address, and I’ll write to you. We don’t have to wait for dreams to see each other. Not if you’re really…out there.”

Silence stretched between them. She looked away, her eyes darting to the stars again as if they might give her the answer he wanted.

Fred watched her, heart thudding like it was trying to warn him.

Finally, she said, quietly, “I can’t.”

His chest stopped moving entirely. She wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, Fred,” she said, voice gentler than it had any right to be. “I just…can’t.”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t ask what she meant, or what was stopping her, or whether she even wanted to come into his world. Because deep down, he already knew. She wasn’t coming.

Whether she couldn’t or wouldn’t, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be part of his life beyond the fragile walls of this dream. And that was all the answer he needed.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting rising behind his ribs. He smiled - barely.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Forget I asked.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No, really,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She turned to look at him again. There was something sad in her eyes, like maybe she wished she could say something different. But she didn’t. And Fred didn’t push it.

He just stood beside her and looked up at the stars, memorising the way her silhouette looked against the sky, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way her hands rested on the stone beside his.

He didn’t say anything more about the letter. Or the ball. Or the real world. He didn’t tell her that this was ‘goodbye’, and not ‘next time’.

He just stayed there with her for a little while longer, because as much as it hurt, he wasn’t ready to let go. Not quite yet. Not until morning.

———————————————————————

The fire had burned down to embers, but Fred didn’t move.

He sat against the crumbling wall of the safe house, legs pulled up, arms looped around his knees like he was bracing for impact. Outside, the wind moaned against the hills and the boarded-up windows creaked under its weight. It was cold, but he barely noticed.

In his fist was a tiny glass bottle, drained clean. He turned it over in his hand, watched the last faint trace of liquid cling to the inside of the rim.

Gone. His last vial of Dreamless Sleep potion was empty.

Fred exhaled slowly, head tipping back against the stone behind him.

He’d rationed it longer than he should have. Skipped nights. Lied to George about needing less. Told himself the war was keeping him up, that nightmares weren’t the only thing to fear when your name was on a Death Eater’s list and you’d just blown up another outpost.

But that wasn’t the truth, and he knew it.It wasn’t fear of nightmares that kept him drinking the potion every night. It was fear of her.

He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since that night on the Astronomy Tower. That last night. That last dream.

Fred shut his eyes and saw her the way he’d remembered her for all these years: starlight tangled in her hair, moonlight soft on her cheeks, her fingers brushing the stone rail like she belonged there more than anywhere else in the world.

She’d looked like magic that night. And maybe that was the point. Because she wasn’t real. Was she?

He sighed and let the bottle drop to the floor beside him. It hit the flagstones with a muted clink.

After that night, everything had changed. One night became two. Two became a week. And then it became routine.

Part of it was George. Always watching, always hovering, trying not to say I told you so but screaming it anyway.

Part of it was Fred himself. Because George was right. He had been drifting. He was sixteen and already dreaming of impossible futures with a girl who couldn’t - or wouldn’t - follow him into the waking world. A girl he wasn’t even sure existed outside his head.

So he’d buried the starlit version of himself and gone to the Yule Ball with Angelina instead. She laughed at his jokes, called him out when he was being a prat, and kissed him when the music slowed. They’d dated for a while. It wasn’t bad. It just…wasn’t right. Wasn’t her.

He told himself that meant he was finally grounded. But even then, he’d catch himself glancing up at the sky on clear nights. Thinking of her. Wondering if she was still waiting up there, behind the veil of sleep.

And then he got busier. The joke shop had opened. Life had picked up speed. Diagon Alley filled with color again and Fred had something to build, something real to protect.

And not going back started to become…easier. Safer.

The longer he stayed away, the more impossible it felt to return. The guilt clung to him like a second skin. Because if she was real, if she had waited for him, how could he ever explain abandoning her without a word?

So he never did.

Until now. Until he was here, on the run, with an empty bottle and no choice but to dream again.

His throat tightened. His palms itched. What if she was gone? What if she never existed? What if he closed his eyes tonight and found nothing but shadows?

He curled tighter into himself, breath shallow, as dread and longing warred in his chest.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it would be better to stay awake forever than to risk seeing her again. But it was too late. The fire was dying, the cold creeping in, and exhaustion pressed heavy against his bones.

So Fred closed his eyes. And for the first time in years, he let himself fall into his dreams.

The first thing Fred noticed was the smell. Ash. Smoke. Burning wood.

His eyes shot open inside the dream, lungs tightening. He was back at the Burrow, but it was wrong. The air crackled with something malicious. It was nighttime, but the dark was torn apart by intermittent flickers of fire. Tongues of flame licking the roof of the garden shed, smoke pluming thick from the remnants of the wedding tent. Torn silk ribbons fluttered weakly in the breeze, charred and dangling from snapped poles. Chairs were upturned in the grass, broken. Tables half-collapsed.

His heart thudded. For a fleeting, impossible moment, he wondered if it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe he’d been caught. Maybe they’d dragged him back here to watch it all burn.

But no. No, this was familiar in a different way. The weightless feel of his feet, the fog at the edge of his vision. This was a dream. A dream that echoed with remnants of old magic. He hadn’t felt this in years. Not once since that night in the Astronomy Tower. Since the first time he’d taken the dreamless sleep potion George had given him.

His hand twitched at the thought of that empty bottle.

“Hello?” he called into the dark. His voice bounced around the ruins and came back wrong. Muffled and slow. Too quiet.

Then he saw it. A blur. A shadow darting behind the shell of the tent.

He spun. “Oi! Wait!”

But the shadow was already gone.

He ran after it, breath coming fast even though his chest didn’t rise and fall here. He chased the figure past the scorched gnome hutch, through the blackened remnants of the garden. He saw flashes. Long hair, a flash of a pale dress, bare feet darting over the scorched earth. Just like the first time.

Just like when they were kids and she’d run from him across the yard, teasing and laughing, before vanishing into the treehouse. Only this time there was no laughter. This time he felt like he was chasing a ghost.

He ran harder, nearly tripping over a fallen plank, and then finally,he saw the outline of the treehouse through the rising smoke. The structure was still standing somehow, crooked and swaying, covered in ivy and scorched marks. The ladder hung loose. The rope swing beside it was frayed and dangling, burning slowly at the ends.

He climbed. Each rung creaked beneath his weight. The wood splintered, and heat radiated from the air like a fever. But still he climbed, and when he reached the top, he shoved open the hatch.

And there she was. She screamed when she saw him. Full-throated and loud, the sound of someone who’d truly been afraid.

Fred froze. “It’s just me!”

Her hand flew to her chest. Her eyes were wide. Her hair was tangled and windswept, her cheeks flushed from the run, but it was her. The same girl. The same eyes that had haunted his sleep. The same expression. Except this one was laced with something he didn’t recognise on her face.

Fear. Then it twisted. Not fear any longer, but rage.

“You!” she shouted, grabbing the nearest thing - an old stuffed dragon - and hurling it at his chest. “You absolute arse! Where the hell have you been?!”

Fred caught it in surprise but stumbled backward. “I—”

“You disappeared! For years! I didn’t know if you were dead, if something happened, or…or if you just decided you didn’t want to see me anymore!”

She threw something else. A little wooden snitch he and George had carved together when they were twelve. Then a game board. A pillow. The whole place still bore traces of them. Of the children they used to be. But none of it was soft now. None of it was nostalgic. It all felt jagged and painful and lost.

She threw item after item at his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

Fred caught things clumsily, wincing as he dived the heavier trinkets. She hurled another toy, then a book, and then a tin box that clattered against the wall beside him.

“I—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be left alone for years? To not know if it’s something you did wrong, or if the other person just…vanished?”

Fred looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “I was taking something.”

“What?”

“A potion. Dreamless sleep.”

Her mouth fell slightly open. Her rage paused, blinking in disbelief. “For how long? All of this time?”

His nodded silently, and she sank onto the floor, like her legs could no longer hold the weight of that answer. Her voice was quieter now. “Why?”

Fred crouched in front of her, feeling smaller than he had since he was a child. “Because I was getting consumed by you,” he said softly. “By all of this. I was sixteen, and I couldn’t live like that. I was dreaming more than I was living.”

She looked at him, unreadable. “So you just left.”

“I didn’t know how to come back after I’d left the first time,” he admitted. “Didn’t know how to face you. And then the longer I stayed away, the harder it became.”

She stood still for a long time. “Why now?” she asked eventually, her voice quieter. “Why come back now?”

“I ran out.” He admitted. “There’s no way for me to get more where I am now.”

She huffed a dry, humourless laugh, but it caught in her throat.

Fred sat and shuffled closer, his voice low. “I missed you.”

“Not enough to choose to come back,” she whispered.

He looked at her then - long and proper. She’d grown up, just like he had. But her face still held the shape of the girl he used to meet under the stars. Her eyes still held a softness that made his chest ache.

She nodded slowly, shoulders sinking a little more. “I can’t really blame you,” she added after a beat. “You had everything you needed. An amazing school. Friends. Family. An exciting life. Nothing like mine.”

Fred sat wordlessly beside her on the creaking wooden floor as guilds gnawed at his insides. What could he possibly say to make it better? The air smelled of smoke, but the breeze that came through the treehouse window was cool and soft against their skin. The flames from below danced across her features in warm gold and orange.

She leaned forward instead, gazing down through the open window at the scorched garden. “What happened to this place?”

Fred followed her gaze, heart sinking. “A lot’s happened since the last time I saw you.”

“I know. The world turned upside down.” She glanced in his direction. Not quite looking at him but no longer actively trying to look anywhere but. “Where are you now? In the real world?”

“Where I am,” Fred said, “is on the run. Bill’s wedding was attacked by Death Eaters. Percy’s betrayed us in favour of his cushy ministry job. Charlie’s stuck abroad, Ron’s missing, and Ginny…Ginny’s going back to Hogwarts like everything’s normal while the rest of us are separated, fighting just to stay alive.”

She turned her head and met his eyes. “Fred…”

He flinched when she reached for his hand. The contact sparked through him like a jolt of lightning, and all the old feelings rose up again - raw and untamed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve any of that. None of you do.”

He didn’t pull away. His fingers closed around hers and held on. “I really have missed you,” he whispered.

Her lip trembled. “I missed you too.”

“Merlin, so much has changed. You’ve changed.” He assessed, tilting his head at her, as though looking at her from a slightly different angle might help him to see right through the guard that had never been up before.

“Tell me everything?” she asked.

And so he did.

———————————————————————

The Burrow shimmered in warm afternoon gold, just as it had all those years ago. Before war, before heartbreak, before they’d stopped speaking. The crooked house stood tall against a pale blue sky, the clothesline swaying in a soft summer breeze, the Weasleys’ old gnome-bitten garden full of buzzing bees and forgotten toys.

Fred blinked in disbelief, standing in the exact same patch of grass where he used to toss gnome after gnome with George. It was just like it used to be. He knew it couldn’t be real, and he was right.

He turned and saw her. She was sitting on the front step, her chin resting on her knees, hair caught in the sunlight like a memory he wasn’t sure he deserved to have back. She looked older now in the brighter light. Beautiful in a different way than he remembered. Less wonder, more fire. Stronger. She looked up at him and smiled softly, almost nervously.

He approached her slowly, hesitating. “This…this wasn’t what it looked like last time.”

“I changed it,” she said, glancing over the garden fondly. “I thought you might need something comforting. I know I did.”

Fred’s heart ached. “You can do that? Influence where we go?”

She nodded. “Not always. But sometimes. If I really try. And you did it for me once, back when we were young and all I wanted was to see Hogwarts.”

That stilled him. The unspoken truth of it - of what they’d been, of what they might still be - hung between them like fog.

He sat beside her on the step, careful to keep his hands to himself though every part of him wanted to reach out.

“Where are you now?” he asked after a pause. “I mean, really. In the real world.”

She grimaced. “You wouldn’t come back here if you knew.”

“I’m not going to shut you out again,” he said firmly. “I swear. No matter what it is.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’m still where I was when you left me. Stuck in a lifeless house. My parents are home more now. I thought I wanted that. I used to wish for it constantly. But now that they are…it’s worse.”

His brows drew together, mind instantly going to the darkest place. “Worse how?”

She exhaled sharply. “My parents aren’t death eaters, if that’s what you’re thinking. But they aren’t fighters either. They think if we keep our heads down, stay out of it, we’ll be spared. They’re cowards, Fred.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, wishing he could hold her hand, brush her hair back, anything.

“My mum’s a Muggle. My dad’s a pureblood. Technically we’re blood traitors, even if we never picked a side. And You-Know-Who’s not exactly known for sparing anyone. They just keep pretending we’re invisible.”

She glanced at him, her voice bitter. “But we’re not. They think if we stay complicit - silent and pliable - we’ll be spared. But that’s complete and utter rubbish. You-know-who doesn’t have mercy. And the longer this goes on, the more I think…we should be doing something. Helping. Fighting back.”

Fred nodded. “You’re right. Thinking any of us are going to be safe is a mistake. Even if it were true, what kind of a world would we be living in then? How can they stand it?”

“It’s delusion. People are scared so they justify their cowardice with whatever lies they can convince themselves of.” She spat bitterly.

They fell into silence, the kind that felt like a breath held too long. The kind that said more than words ever could. His eyes landed on her and he felt that familiar, terrible ache in his chest.

She had grown up into someone so remarkable it made his throat tighten. So brave. So blisteringly real. And not for the first time in all these years, he hated himself for ever cutting her off.

He broke the silence first, giving a voice to the questions that had been plaguing his mind since the last time they’d met. “Do you remember what we talked about the time before last? Back in the tower?”

She tilted her head. “I remember you being quiet. We looked at the stars.”

Fred nodded. “Do you remember what I asked you?”

Her expression shifted. A shadow of guilt crossed her face. “About the Yule Ball.”

“Yeah.” He paused, then asked gently, “Why did you say no?”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Because I was scared.”

He blinked. “Of what?”

She inhaled slowly. “I was worried…that the most interesting thing about me was that I existed in your dreams. That if we took it into the real world, the novelty would wear off. That you’d get bored of me.”

Fred stared at her. “That’s why?”

“I know it sounds stupid now,” she said, cheeks pink. “But it felt very real then. And I knew it was what pushed you away. I just didn’t know how to stop it.”

“I didn’t stop caring,” Fred said firmly. “Not once. I never would’ve lost interest.”

She met his eyes finally, tears threatening behind hers. “I know. I just…couldn’t see it back then. I was too young and too afraid.”

They sat in silence again, the chirping of birds in the fake-summer air filling the space between them.

“I thought about you all the time,” he said eventually. “Even after I started taking the potion. Even…when I was with someone else. It never stopped.”

“You…you were seeing someone?” Her throat cleared, and it was entirely too much like she was trying to sound casual. “What was she like?”

“She was a good friend. Just took me too long to realise that was all she really was,” Fred admitted with a shrug.

“Fred, why didn’t you ever choose to come back?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I left because I didn’t think I wanted to, if I couldn’t have you properly. And then enough time passed that it felt like I’d lost the right to explain. Felt like I couldn’t come back. Couldn’t face the decision I’d made.”

She reached out, finally, and took his hand. “Only thing you really lost was time.”

Fred laced their fingers together, surprised at how easily it came. “Everything could have been so different.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “But there’s no point thinking about what you can’t change. What’s done is done.”

A silence passed between them. It was heavy, but not cold. The distant hum of bees and the soft creak of the Burrow’s ancient walls grounded the dream in memory. Fred let his eyes trail over the curve of her profile. Still familiar yet sharper now. Her beauty had deepened, and something in her expression - wiser, sadder - made his stomach churn.

“We can still change what happens next,” he murmured, voice quiet, reverent almost.

She turned toward him fully. “So what now?” She glanced down at their hands where their fingers interlocked. “Are you…are you going to take it again? The potion?”

He turned to meet her eyes. “What about you?” he asked instead. “If I don’t take it again - if I leave the door open - would you be willing to meet me?”

She blinked. Her breath caught. “Outside of all this?”

Fred nodded, voice low and raw. “Yeah. After the war, maybe. If we both make it out…would you want that?”

Her lips parted like she might say something immediately, but instead she closed them again and looked down at their feet. When she finally looked up, there was a shine to her eyes. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “What it would be like to see you, really see you. Touch you, hear your voice in the real world. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance again, after I turned you down last time.”

“Well, I’m asking again now,” Fred said.

She gave a watery smile, nodding. “Then yes. If we survive this, if the world gives us even half a chance…I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Fred let out a breath and smiled back at her. “Alright, then it’s sorted.”

“And in the meantime?” she asked, hopeful, hesitant.

“In the meantime,” Fred said, his fingers curling gently around hers, “I think being with you right here is nice.”

She exhaled, relief softening her shoulders. “I’m glad.”

They sat like that, hand in hand, as the Burrow soaked in the golden haze of memory. A place built from childhood summers and stolen glances. And for the first time since these dreams had started, Fred Weasley didn’t feel torn between two worlds. He just felt…whole.

———————————————————————

The lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun, the surface catching golden light and scattering it like dropped coins. Hogwarts loomed in the distance behind them, softened by haze and memory. It was warm, but not stifling. The perfect spring day.

She stood calf-deep in the Black Lake, sunlight catching the water that clung to her skin. Her dress was hitched up in her hands, damp at the hem, hair tangled from the breeze. She looked over her shoulder, squinting into the sun to watch him.

Fred sat a few meters back on the slope, sleeves rolled to the elbows, skipping stones across the water with casual precision. Every so often, he’d glance up at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

They’d fallen into a routine again. Seeing each other during the night. Taking refuge in their fonder memories. He’d taken to hiding these little rendezvous of theirs from George. He knew what his brother would say.

“You already know my day was boring,” she’d shrugged when he’d asked. “So how was yours?”

“Spent morning to night running, so not the greatest,” Fred answered honestly. “Never thought anything could be worse than Oliver’s quidditch drills but I was wrong.”

“Snatchers again?” she called, shielding her eyes.

“Yup,” he called back, sending another stone skittering. “Two groups, actually. We’re getting popular.”

She waded closer, grinning. “I take it they’re not the fan club you always wanted.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Fred said. “Although one of them looked vaguely familiar. Could’ve been a Slytherin, honestly. That would explain the ugly.”

She laughed, and he smiled to himself.

“We got lucky this time,” he continued, tossing another stone. “Ran into someone we knew. Lupin. Old teacher of ours. Taught Defence in third year.”

She perked up. “Remus Lupin? You told me about him when we were kids. You liked him.”

“Still do,” Fred said. “Good bloke. Looks tired though. Older. Sad, in that quiet way people are when they’ve already decided they don’t deserve happiness.”

She moved out of the water, padding barefoot across the grass. “Is he fighting with the Order?”

“Yeah. Not always directly. Sometimes it’s just messages or tracking or undercover work, but he’s involved. He’s married now, too.”

“Oh?”

“Her name’s Tonks,” Fred said, raising his brows. “She’s a metamorphmagus. Related to the Blacks, actually.”

“Really?” she said, smile rising. “That’s unexpected.”

“Right?” Fred tossed a final stone and turned toward her. “And they’ve got a baby on the way.”

She paused in her step, blinking. “That’s wonderful. So why’s he not with them right now?”

Fred’s expression sobered. “Thinks he’s dangerous. Because of…you know.”

She frowned. “Because he’s a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Says they’d be safer without him. Thinks he’s cursed them just by being in their lives.”

“That’s…” she trailed off. “That’s tragic.”

Fred watched the ripple of light across the lake. “I don’t know. It’s a bit romantic too, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head. “How’s that?”

“He loves them enough to stay away,” Fred said, voice quieter now. “Even though it’s killing him. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe it’s wrong. But there’s something noble in it too. Choosing to be lonely so the people you love don’t have to suffer.”

She looked at him, brow softening. “You really think that’s romantic?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, glancing toward her. “These days, any love that survives feels rare enough to be romantic.”

There was a long pause. Then she sat down under a willow tree near the edge of the water, her back against the bark, legs stretched out in the grass. “You coming, or are you going to brood dramatically from over there?”

Fred didn’t answer. He just walked over and sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers as he leaned back on his hands. She didn’t move away. Neither of them did.

These moments had been happening more and more. Fingers grazing when they passed something to each other. Lingering stares that neither dared to hold too long, but both noticed. Silence that thrummed like a wire pulled taut between them. And still, no one said anything. Naming it might break it. Might make it real. Might end it.

She plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. “I need to tell you something.”

He glanced over. Her voice was soft. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

“I’ve made plans,” she said. “For myself.”

He sat up a little straighter. “What kind of plans?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said quickly. “Not yet. But, I’m not sure if it’s going to even work. And if it does, I won’t be able to see you again. Not for a while.”

Fred stared at her, the warmth of the sun suddenly not quite reaching him. He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “Has this got something to do with the war?”

“Partly,” she said. “But also…it’s just something I have to do. I didn’t want to disappear without warning. I know what that feels like.”

Fred gave a bitter laugh, low and humorless. “Yeah. Guess you do. Is this thing that you have to do dangerous?”

She turned toward him and her chin dipped in a slight nod. “That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t know if it’ll work, and I don’t want to promise I’ll come back. But I wanted to say goodbye, just in case.”

Fred ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just…bloody hell, you finally come back into my life and now you’re, what? Disappearing again? I thought we said we wouldn’t do that.”

“I know, but I can’t just sit in this big old house doing nothing. And I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “But it still feels like you are.”

She nodded, eyes glossy. “I’m sorry.”

Fred looked away from her, to the lake, to the mountains beyond it. His chest felt tight. “I’ll still see you,” he said quietly. “In my dreams. Even if you’re not really here.”

She blinked at him, and something in her expression shifted - grief, affection, longing all in one. She leaned in slowly, painfully, like she was giving him time to stop her. He didn’t. Their faces were inches apart. His breath caught.

And then she kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t urgent. It was quiet. Careful. Lips barely brushing, her hand finding his cheek, his fingers ghosting her wrist. A question more than an answer. A moment they had denied themselves for years.

She pulled away first, just slightly. “I had to do that,” she whispered. “Just once.”

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed her finger to it gently, silencing him.

“Tell me next time,” she said.

And then the air changed. The world dimmed at the edges. She was already starting to fade, the dream breaking apart at the seams.

“Wait!” he reached for her hand, but she was gone.

Fred’s eyes snapped open to cold air and damp leaves. He was lying in the forest again. His cloak was bunched under his head and the embers of their campfire had long since gone dark. George lay sleeping across from him, curled under his coat. Lupin behind him keeping watch against a tree.

Fred sat up slowly, heart aching. The kiss still lingered like phantom warmth on his lips.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stared into the trees, clutching that silence to his chest like a secret only the stars could hear.

———————————————————————

The castle groaned as if it too were dying.

Stone shuddered under Fred’s feet with each nearby explosion. Dust cascaded from cracks above as spells lit the corridors in strobes of colour - green, red, blue - lethal and unforgiving. Somewhere a child screamed, then an older one cried out in anguish, and Fred kept running.

Blood matted his shirt to his ribs. His wand hand trembled, fingers numb from spell after spell. But he didn’t stop.

George was just ahead, shouting over his shoulder, “We’re cutting through this way! Tonks and Lupin are in the north corridor!”

Fred leapt over the rubble beside him. They skidded behind a half-shattered pillar, lungs burning from smoke and the acrid sting of dark magic. Somewhere behind them, a wall collapsed with a guttural crash, and a massive section of staircase turned to rubble.

And then Fred saw them. Tonks had been struck. Her body lay curled against the stones like a broken doll, hair still half-pink, half-faded brown, blending into the blood staining the floor. She was still alive, though barely.

“Dora!” Remus shouted. The man was ten feet away, turning toward his wife, wand raised - just in time to see the curse coming.

A flash of green light hit him square in the chest. He stumbled - not backward, not even resisting - just collapsed with a quietness that made Fred sick to his stomach.

“Remus!” Tonks screamed, dragging herself toward him with shaking arms. “Remus! Rem—!”

Their fingers reached for one another, arms outstretched. Tonks was millimetres away when her body stoped moving.

Fred froze. Everything inside him turned to ice.

“No. NO!” His voice broke apart like shattering glass. He stumbled forward a step, but the world exploded again. Someone shouted a curse behind him

“Bombarda Maxima!”

The wall above him cracked like thunder. Fred barely managed to look up before the ceiling began to cave in, great chunks of stone shearing loose, plummeting toward him like punishment.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. A scream tore up his throat but never made it out.

A flash of light blinded him.

A voice yelling “Reducto!”

The rubble dissolved into a mist of dust mid-air, falling in harmless waves around him. A second spell - bright and gold - shot over his head, and the Death Eater who had attacked collapsed. Stunned or worse.

Fred coughed and stumbled forward, disoriented. Smoke wrapped around him. His ears rang.

And then he saw her.

At first, she was just a figure moving through the haze. A silhouette burned into the brightness of the moment, her wand still raised, her chest heaving. Her clothes were torn, cheeks smudged with blood and ash, hair falling from its pins. Her eyes locked with his, and she froze.

Fred’s heart stopped beating.

She was real. There was no dream now, no magic-induced illusion, no distance. She was here. Flesh and bone and breath and fire.

He took a step forward, then another.

She stepped toward him too, wand slowly lowering. “I heard this was the time and place,” she said breathlessly, her voice raw and low, “to make a stand. To fight back.”

Fred didn’t even hear the end of the sentence. He crossed the space between them and crushed his lips to hers.

She gasped against him, and then she kissed him back like she’d been waiting for years. Like there was no next hour, no after. The air around them vibrated with tension and ash. Her hands slid into his tangled, blood-matted hair. He held her face like she was the only thing keeping him from breaking.

His voice cracked against her mouth. “I’ve wanted you for so long…”

She gave a watery laugh, their foreheads pressed together. “And you think now’s the time?”

“You told me,” he choked out, swallowing down tears, “You told me to say it the next time I saw you.”

Her smile was soft and trembling. “I’ve wanted you forever.”

Fred’s knees nearly gave out.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—” George’s voice rang out, hoarse and stunned. He fired a curse without looking, then turned back toward them. “Who the hell is that?!”

Fred barely pulled back to shout, “The girl you never believed was real!”

George blinked, wand still raised. “You’re joking! SHE’S THE GIRL?!”

And then it began. “You have fought valiantly…but in vain.”

The voice didn’t come from outside. It wasn’t shouted. It curled into their minds, cold and patient and cruel.

“But I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste…I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity.”

Fred went cold. He felt her hand slip into his and clutch tight as she winced against the sound.

“…Harry Potter, I speak now directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonour. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate. You have one hour.”

A beat of silence. Like the castle itself held its breath. The Death Eaters were gone, retreating. Vanishing into smoke and shadow. What was left of their little corner of the castle was suddenly…still. Too still.

She looked up at Fred. “Do you think he’ll do it?”

Fred didn’t answer. He turned to George whose jaw was clenched, eyes glassy. He didn’t speak either. She knew the answer in their silence.

Fred looked back at the bodies. Tonks and Lupin. Lying together, hands now barely shy of touching.

His chest tightened. He dropped her hand gently and knelt beside them.

George dropped beside him, swallowing hard. “Help me carry them.”

Fred nodded, brushing the hair gently from Tonks’s eyes. Then, together, the twins lifted their fallen friends. One under each arm, dead weight heavy with meaning.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall was unrecognisable.

Gone were the floating candles and enchanted ceiling, the hum of student chatter, the scrape of chairs, the clinking of cutlery. Now, there was only silence, the air heavy with smoke and grief. The once gleaming stone floor was lined with bodies. Too many bodies to count. Some were students, others professors, some unfamiliar faces, and among them, side by side in cruel peace, Fred and George laid Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.

Fred’s jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. George’s eyes were red, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but there were no words left.

They’d laid them down gently among the others. Fred lowered Lupin’s body, and George followed with Tonks, setting her beside her husband. Their hands - pale and bloodstained still reaching toward one another, even in death.

Fred stood frozen, staring down at them. There was something so cruel about how close they had been in their final moments. Inches. Mere inches. He wanted to scream, to smash something, to reverse time. Anything to give them the one final second they’d been denied.

The girl - y/n - moved quietly beside him, her boots echoing faintly in the silence. Without a word, she knelt between the two fallen warriors. Gently, she reached out and took their limp hands, arranging them so their fingers laced together. Like they were simply asleep. Like they’d never been apart.

A sharp breath escaped George. Fred turned away, tears finally spilling hot down his cheeks.

She stood, silent, and slipped her hand into Fred’s. His fingers closed around hers like a lifeline.

A sudden cry rang out, and they turned to see Molly, Arthur, Bill, Percy, Ron, and Ginny rushing toward them from the far end of the hall. Relief cracked through the grief like sunlight through storm clouds. The family collided into a group hug, all of them clutching each other with the desperate energy of survivors.

Molly sobbed into Fred’s shoulder, whispering, “You’re alive, you’re alive,” over and over. Ginny gripped George’s sleeve like she might never let go. Relief mingled with grief, as the family reunited in the thick of the aftermath.

And then…eyes turned to the girl holding Fred’s hand. But now wasn’t the time.

Fred glanced between his family and the girl who had walked with him through dreams and darkness.

He cleared his throat. “This is y/n,” he said simply. “She came to help us out.”

George stepped forward, voice low and raw. “She did more than that,” he said. “She’s the reason Fred’s still standing here instead of being on the floor with the rest.”

The girl looked down for a moment, then lifted her gaze and stepped toward Molly. She extended her hand, a soft, tentative gesture. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” she said, voice gentle.

But Molly didn’t hesitate. She didn’t shake her hand. She pulled her into a tight, trembling hug.

“Thank you,” Molly whispered. “Thank you for saving my boy.”

———————————————————————

It wasn’t until much later - until the battle was over and Voldemort was gone - that George moved away from Percy and Bill and sat beside Fred on one of the dusty benches that lined the Great Hall.

He looked cautiously between his brother and the girl beside him. “Fred…” he said, slowly, cautiously. “Who…who is she really?”

Fred looked at her, the girl - his girl - and for the first time in his life, he didn’t flinch from the truth.

“It’s her,” he said. “The girl I told you about. The one I see in my dreams.”

It wasn’t a joke. Not a cheesy pick up line. Not an escape. It was the simplest and truest thing he’d ever said.

She laughed softly, and it was a tired, sad little sound. She let go of Fred’s hand so she could address the complete and utter confusion at Fred’s statement.

“I’m a dreamwalker,” she said quietly. “Didn’t know it at first. I found Fred by accident, years ago. And…I guess I kind of got stuck. I didn’t even know how to control it. Not for a long time.”

George blinked. “You were real? All that time?”

She nodded. “I didn’t even know if he was real. Or if I was losing my mind. But I kept going back. I couldn’t help it. Then…I learned how to control it.“

She trailed off and looked around the ruined hall, as if trying to make sense of it all.

“But how did you get here?” George questioned and added nodded.

“Actually that’s something I’d also like to know,” he agreed.

“I slipped my parents a sleeping draught and disabled the house’s enchantments and left. Made my way across the country. Didn’t quite know where I was headed, just that I wanted to help. Then I heard whispers,” she continued. “People talking about a secret organisation at Hogwarts that were fighting back. So I met a man named Aberforth. He put me up in a close by pub. He was the one who called me tonight. Told me if I wanted to fight, this was the time.”

Fred reached for her hand again. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m just glad you’re real,” George shook his head, still in a modicum of shock. “I thought this one had gone loony for years.”

———————————————————————

The long wooden table at the Burrow was packed elbow to elbow, alive with laughter and the clatter of dishes passed from hand to hand. George was arguing with Ron about something ridiculous - again. Ginny was teasing Percy for his new glasses. Charlie was deep in conversation with Harry while Bill and Hermione were discussing ministry work. Fleur was fussing over the newest Weasley, a beautiful baby girl. And Molly was trying to get everyone to eat more even though they were already stuffed.

Y/n sat nestled between Fred and Arthur, her plate stacked with homemade pie and roasted potatoes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the warmth of the room. The Burrow smelled like bread and summer air and safety. It sounded like family.

“Merlin’s trousers, Mum, you’re trying to kill us with food,” George groaned, slumping back with one hand over his stomach.

“Oh hush,” Molly said, already scooping another helping of pudding onto his plate.

Y/n laughed softly and caught Fred watching her. He bumped her knee under the table and leaned over to murmur in her ear. “Fancy sneaking off?”

She glanced sideways at him, playful. “What, and miss pudding round two?”

“I’ve got something better,” he said, eyes sparkling.

He stood and gently took her hand. “Back in a bit,” he told his family casually, already tugging her toward the back door.

The garden had gone quiet under the fading sun. Fireflies blinked over the tall grass. They slipped past the coop, around the bend in the old fence, and into the overgrown trail that led to the crooked, half-falling-down tree house.

Except, it wasn’t falling down anymore.

She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened. The tree house was glowing. Lanterns floated lazily around the branches, casting golden light across the wooden walls. The old rotten panels had been replaced with new ones. The disintegrating rope ladder gone with stairs in its place.

“You rebuilt it?” She exclaimed, running towards it excitedly and climbing the stairs two at a time.

Inside, a blanket was laid out. A small picnic of desserts spread across it - chocolate frogs, cream-filled pastries, strawberries, and two butterbeers clinking together in a bucket of cool water. There were flowers tucked into jars, and soft pillows in every corner.

Fred looked proud. A little sheepish. Nervous, maybe. He scratched the back of his neck. “Thought it was only fitting,” he said. “Because of, well, you know. All those nights in dreams. Figured it was time to make one real.”

She stepped inside slowly, awed. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “Freddie…” she said, stunned. “It’s amazing. Being here, at the Burrow, with your family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s like—” her voice caught, thick with emotion. “It’s like all my dreams have come true.”

He grinned, trying to keep it light. “Oi. You forgetting someone?”

She turned to him, amused. “Someone?”

He crossed his arms, mock offended. “Tall, handsome, hilarious redhead? Best beater in Britain? Your long-suffering dream companion?”

She nudged him playfully. “Oh, right. You. Of course you.”

He stepped closer. His voice dropped a little.“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “You are my dream girl.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she shook her head. “Fred…”

“What? It’s a line, yeah, but it’s a good one.”

She sat down on the blanket, pulling him with her. “You’re ridiculous,” she said.

He leaned closer, their knees touching, his voice softer now. “Maybe,” he said. “But it got you here, didn’t it?”

She looked up at him with stars shining brightly in her eyes. At the boy she met while asleep. The boy who built her a life in dreams until she had the courage to find one in the waking world.

“I was always coming to you,” she whispered. “Dream or not.”

He reached out, brushing her hair behind her ear. And under the lanterns, in the tree house that had once only existed in dreams, he kissed her.

Not because it was the end of something. But because it was just the beginning.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser

[maria021015]

A Twin Thing

Fred Weasley x FemHufflepuffReader

When Fred Weasley meets an extraordinary girl he thinks it was love at first sight. Until their second meeting throws him off kilter. It’s almost like she’s a different person entirely.

———————————————————————

Fred leaned against the warm stone wall outside Greenhouse Four, a daisy in his teeth and zero interest in attending his actual Herbology lesson. He was supposed to be supervising George’s attempt to charm Professor Sprout’s watering can into belting out Celestina Warbeck. Instead, he was watching a girl fight a plant like it owed her money. He’d seen her around, but had never spoken to her. A Hufflepuff student.

She was crouched over a tray of fluttering fanged geraniums, swearing under her breath. A smear of dirt streaked her cheek. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was pinned back in a messy twist that clearly hadn’t survived the first half hour of battle.

“You’ve got dirt on your cheek,” Fred called lazily.

She didn’t look up. “And you’ve got hay for brains, but you didn’t hear me volunteering to point it out.”

Fred’s grin widened. She had a sharp tongue, and it wasn’t what he’d expected from a Hufflepuff. But he liked that. He’d always enjoyed a good challenge. “I was just trying to help. You know, serving my community and what not.”

Now she glanced up, arching a brow. “Unless that service comes with a bloody good immobilisation spell and pair of pruners, I’m not interested.”

He clutched at his chest. “Brutal. Are you always this welcoming?”

“Only to people who are standing around like oversized garden gnomes.”

Fred barked a laugh. “That’s twice you’ve insulted me in under a minute. Is that a record or just foreplay?”

Her lips twitched, but she turned back to her plant. “You’re not that lucky, Weasley.”

“You know my name?” Fred asked, stepping a little closer. “I’m flattered.”

“Everyone knows your name. You and your brother blew up the Charms corridor last week.”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Technically, it was an accidental demonstration.”

She looked up again, squinting through the sunlight. “Accidental, my arse. You’re chaos in a red and gold tie.”

Fred beamed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She didn’t smile back, but her eyes danced with mischief. “Depends on how bored I am.”

Fred leaned on the edge of the stone planter. “And how bored are you right now?”

She narrowed her eyes like she was thoroughly considering it. “Moderately. I might allow you to stick around.”

He gave a mock bow. “Your generosity humbles me.”

She went back to her plant, but her smirk lingered. “Just don’t talk.”

“Ever?”

“Unless you’ve got something clever to say.”

Fred opened his mouth, then paused. “…I’m going to fail that challenge.”

“Obviously.”

And just like that, he stayed. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. She worked while he talked. More insults came, and more teasing followed. It was like conversational dueling. She never let anything slide without a comeback, and he found himself loving every second of it.

She’s brilliant, he thought. She’s bloody terrifying, but brilliant.

When George finally emerged from the greenhouse, covered in wet soil and sporting an expression of irritation, Fred was still leaning on the planter, cheeks aching from grinning too much.

“You coming, loverboy?” George asked.

Fred waved him off. “I’ll catch up.”

She glanced at him. “Don’t you have things to blow up? Poltergeist to rile? First years to prank?”

“I’d much rather stay and be insulted by you,”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t tell him to leave.

———————————————————————

Two days later, Fred spotted the same girl sitting alone by the lake, hair loose and soft in the wind, book balanced on her lap. It was quiet, peaceful. She looked almost serene, which was a significant contrast to the first time he’d met her.

His heart did a stupid little flutter.

He walked over and dropped onto the grass beside her. “Alright, destroyer of Greenhouse three? Come to threaten more flora?”

The girl looked up, blinking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You were going to town on a fanged geranium, told me I had hay for brains,” Fred chuckled at her blank expression. “Pretending to have forgotten me already? Oh how swiftly you dismiss our love.”

She gave him a confused but pleasant smile. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

Fred winked. “I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t forget that powerful - yet pretty - scowl of yours.”

You raised your brows delicately. “Well, I’m not usually in the business of trying to be rude.”

Fred stared at her, now very much struggling to see how this was the same girl at all. The voice was the same. The face was identical. But the attitude he’d found so intriguing?

Gone.

“Right,” he said slowly and sarcastically. “Maybe it was your evil twin.”

The girl giggled but didn’t respond to that comment, turning her attention back to her book.

“You know I never did catch your name?” Fred added, trying to start some of that same sweet banter from the other day.

“It’s Melanie.” She answered. “Would you like to sit with me?”

Fred squinted. “Are you sure?”

She nodded enthusiastically, and Fred couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to say yes. So he just sat there beside her, vaguely shellshocked, while she read a him paragraph from her book.

“Are you okay?” She asked after a moment, nodding how his energy had gone substantially flat.

“I…yeah,” Fred said. “Just having an existential crisis. You know. Normal Thursday.”

———————————————————————

Fred was not prepared to see the Hufflepuff girl again so soon, and definitely not like this.

She was arguing with a Slytherin prefect by the great hall, hands on her hips and face flushed with fury.

“No, I didn’t copy your stupid Divination chart. As if anyone - let alone me - would copy off a big-eared oaf who has the creativity of a gnargle.”

The prefect spluttered. “That’s not even a real creature!”

“It is in Luna Lovegood’s world, and that’s good enough for me.”

Fred approached slowly, grinning. “Having fun?”

The girl turned her head, lips curling. “Weasley.”

The Slytherin rolled his eyes and stalked off, muttering to himself. Though he appeared grateful for the opportunity to leave the conversation.

“Ah, back to your biting self, I see.” Fred practically glowed. “I knew you were faking that angelic lakeside act.”

She arched a pointed brow. “What act?”

“Oh, now did you forget about our romantic date where you read to me under the clear blue sky? Should I be concerned you’ve been hit with a Memory Charm.”

She snorted. “Reading with you? Sounds like I took a Bludger to the head.”

Fred was grinning like a maniac, putting on an exasperated huff. “Now that’s more like the girl I remember from the Greenhouse. Thought you’d dropped that act?”

“You wish,” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Fred modded his head in the direction of the Slytherin boy who had made his swift exit. “Friend of yours?”

“He breathes too loud and he’s got the spine of a pudding.”

Fred gave a low whistle. “You do have a way with words.”

The girl stared for a second too long. “Careful. I might take that as flirting.”

He stepped closer. “It was flirting.”

Her mouth quirked. “Needs work.”

Fred opened his arms. “Help me practice?” He shrugged. “I’m adaptable.”

She laughed, and it was genuine this time. “I’ll give you points for nerve.”

“Add some for charm?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Her lips pulled into a smirk. “What are you doing here anyway, Weasley?”

Fred leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossing casually in a roguish way. “Looking for something interesting.”

“So why don’t you go find it?” She challenged.

“Already did,” he flashed her a toothy grin.

You glanced at him, then looked away just as quickly. “You flirt like a Niffler in a jewelry store. Desperate and sparkly.”

“And you’re terrible at hiding when you like someone.”

“I don’t like you,” she said immediately.

Fred didn’t believe her for a second.

———————————————————————

Fred saw her again outside the library the next day, and this time he was ready. Or so he thought.

“Oi,” he called, jogging to catch up. “Remember me today, love?”

The girl turned around with a soft smile. “Hi, Fred.”

Fred blinked. She wasn’t scowling. She wasn’t holding her quill like a weapon. She was…radiant. Polite. Open.

“I was just heading to the courtyard to sketch,” she said. “Want to come?”

Fred blinked again. “Sketch? Like…drawing?”

“Yes,” she said with a little laugh. “I like sketching magical plants. Did you know I’m hoping to go into Magical Herbology?”

Fred stared, recalling how frustrated she’d been with the fanged geranium. “Uh no, that wasn’t exactly the impression I got.”

She laughed again, light and lovely. “Well, now you know.”

Fred trailed beside her to the courtyard, not quite able to keep the bewilderment off his face.

He couldn’t quite believe it when she sat and began to draw. She showed him her sketchbook. She talked softly about shading, linework, potion ingredients, leaf veins.

And Fred…Well, Fred couldn’t stop asking himself where the fire was? Where was the girl who told off a prefect without blinking? Who threatened a carnivorous plant into submission?

She looked up and smiled at him. “You’re quiet today.”

Fred blinked again, not quite sure what to say when the truth was he was bored out of his mind. “Just…tired.”

———————————————————————

Fred Weasley prided himself on being clever. Quick with a wand, quicker with a comeback. Except lately? He felt like a Confundus Charm with legs. Because she was driving him absolutely mad.

Not in the “I fancy her so much I’m dizzy” way. Well. Also that. But more in the “I’m pretty sure she’s experiencing seventeen mood swings a week and I might need to stage an intervention” way.

One day she was fire and fangs, practically purring with sarcasm. The next?

Sweet smiles. Polite giggles. A voice soft enough to make him check his ears.

And yet…she never seemed to remember things they’d already talked about. And she had moods so inconsistent it made him question his sanity. Still, he was hooked.

Fred leaned back on the bench in the courtyard, legs kicked out, watching as she - today’s sweet version - blew gently on her tea.

She was talking about mooncalves. Something about their feeding habits and synchronized rituals, and how ‘romantic’ it was that they came out only under moonlight.

Fred nodded politely. “Right. Moonlight cows.”

“Mooncalves,” she corrected gently, brushing her hair behind her ear. “They’re not like cows at all really. They’re delicate.”

“You know what else is delicate?” Fred said, reaching for flirtation like a safety net. “My heart.”

She giggled. “You’re so silly.”

Fred smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She sipped her tea again and smiled warmly at him. “You’re so much sweeter than I expected.”

Fred blinked. “I am?”

She nodded. “I thought you’d be loud. Like…always trying to be the center of attention.”

“I mean…I am, sometimes.”

She tilted her head again, studying him. “Well, not with me. You’re calm. I like that about you.”

Fred stared at her for a moment, searching her face. “I seem calm to you?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

He sipped his pumpkin juice, confused and vaguely disappointed. Perhaps she was confusing calmness with boredom, and he didn’t have the heart to correct her.

———————————————————————

Fred hadn’t meant to end up in detention, but when he and George accidentally flooded the third floor corridor with a botched soap bomb experiment, Professor McGonagall handed out cleaning duty.

Which was how he ended up alone in the Trophy Room with her.

She had her feet on the chair and a scowl carved into her features as she polished a plaque with unnecessary aggression.

“Why am I doing this,” she muttered, “when Filch literally exists.”

Fred grinned, dipping his cloth into polish. “Because your charming attitude made McGonagall fall in love with you.”

“She assigned me extra time. She hates me.”

“Now, how can that be so when you’re so irresistible.” He winked at her.

She shot him a glare. “Keep talking like that and I’ll throw up all over everything just so you have to clean it again.”

Fred leaned back, grinning. “Ahh, and you’re back. I was starting to worry.”

She raised an eyebrow, unable to keep a small smile off her lips. “You? Worry? That requires brain cells, and last I checked, you had insufficient funds.”

“And you’re smiling but last I checked, that requires facial muscles you hadn’t developed yet.” He threw right back.

She rolled her eyes and tossed her cleaning rag at his face. He caught it midair and grinned again. This one reached his eyes.

———————————————————————

Fred sat beside her in the library, trying not to bang his head against the desk.

She was talking about the latest Magical Herbology chapter. Again. In great detail.

“And if you crossbreed whisper moss with larkshade, you get this really fragrant powder that actually helps with focus—” she explained, pointing at a diagram in her notes.

Fred nodded. “Wow. What a thrill ride.”

She giggled. “You’re being silly again.”

He felt his heart sink in disappointment at her lack of a sarcastic and biting response. Instead she smiled and reached for his hand. “I like that you make me feel comfortable.”

Fred blinked. “I do?”

“Mm-hmm. You never push. You’re so easy to talk to.”

He glanced down at his ink-smudged notes. “You know, some people think I’m a menace.”

She gasped lightly. “That’s awful. You’re nothing like that.”

Fred felt a pinch of guilt for how utterly disappointed he was to hear it. He leaned back, rubbed a hand through his hair, and muttered under his breath, “What is happening.”

She looked up. “Hmm?”

He forced a smile. “Nothing.”

———————————————————————

Fred sat down across from George in the common room that night, looking like someone had stupefied his brain and left it steaming.

“I need to talk to someone sane.”

George didn’t look up. “Try someone else, then.”

“I’m seeing a girl.”

George arched an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since…two weeks ago. I think.”

“You think?”

Fred dragged his hands through his hair. “She’s gorgeous. Smart. But mostly also, kind. Quiet. Polite.”

George blinked. “Sounds ideal.”

“No. It’s not ideal. You don’t understand. Sometimes she’s this whirlwind of sarcasm and confidence. And that version of her? I’m obsessed. Can’t stop thinking about her. She makes me laugh. Makes me think. I’d sell half my wardrobe just to hear her insult me again.”

George made a face. “You might need therapy.”

“But then,” Fred went on, “Other times I see her and she’s just…soft. Sweet. She talks about tea and magical moss and compliments my handwriting and tells me I have a ‘gentle soul.’”

George tried to stifle a laugh. “Do you?”

“No! And that’s part of the point!” Fred groaned. “Sometimes she can read me to filth and other times it’s like she’s not got the first clue about me! I don’t get her. It’s like dating a damn mood ring.”

George tilted his head. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.”

———————————————————————

The sun was starting to dip behind the trees, casting long golden streaks across the courtyard. It was the kind of late afternoon light that made everything feel dreamlike. Soaked in warmth and a small chill hanging in the air.

Fred leaned against one of the stone columns, watching her as she paced just ahead of him, hands flying with her words, voice sharp and low and utterly intoxicating.

She was ranting. Again. And he adored it.

“Honestly,” she snapped, tossing a curl over her shoulder, “I asked to switch one study block and they looked at me like I’d kicked their family crest.”

Fred chuckled, unable to help himself. “Well, you do have an intimidating quality about you.”

She turned on him, one brow raised. “You think that’s a bad thing?”

“I think it’s the best part about you,” he said without thinking.

And there it was again, that flicker in her eyes. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with his sincerity.

She looked away, back toward the fountain at the center of the courtyard, its soft trickle barely audible beneath the distant chatter of students passing by. The courtyard was busy enough that they weren’t alone, but quiet enough that their voices felt like their own private space.

Fred watched her, drinking in the curve of her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw. He’d never been this fascinated by someone before. Never this drawn. And yet, he still didn’t understand her.

Half the time, she acted like he was some charming nuisance. The other half, she was soft-spoken, sweet. Smiling at him like he’d hung the moon. He thought maybe she had a wild streak and a shy streak, like two currents under the surface, but every time he tried to connect the dots, they rewrote themselves.

Still. Right now, this version? This was the one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She made him feel like he was working for every second of her attention. And he liked that. He liked her fire. Her sarcasm. The way her eyes sparked when she insulted him.

“You’re doing that look again,” she said suddenly, turning to him.

“What look?”

“The one where you look like you’re solving a riddle and losing.”

Fred tilted his head, half-grinning. “That obvious, huh?”

She crossed her arms. “Spit it out, Weasley. What’s rattling around that skull of yours?”

Fred stepped forward, just slightly. She didn’t move away. “I was just thinking,” he said slowly, “that I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

She scoffed. “Wow. Original.”

“I’m serious.”

She blinked. He rarely said things like that without a joke tucked in after it. But not now.

“I mean it,” he said. “You challenge me. You don’t let anything slide. I like that. A lot more than I should.”

A pause. She didn’t smile. Instead she stared at him, her eyes unreadable. Her fingers curled slightly around her sleeves. Just the faintest flicker of vulnerability, quickly smothered.

Fred took another step. He didn’t even know what he was doing, really. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t dared to hope for it. But the moment was hanging there between them. Bright. Taut. Like something about to snap.

He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her arm. She looked up at him, suddenly still. When he leaned in it was slowly, carefully, giving her time to pull away. And just as his lips were about to meet hers—

CRACK!

The slap echoed through the courtyard like a spell gone wrong. Fred jerked back, stunned. His cheek burned.

“What the hell?!” he gasped, staggered more by the shock than the pain.

Students nearby turned, some pausing mid-conversation. The buzz of chatter dipped for a second.

She was staring at him, eyes blazing. “As if you don’t know,” she hissed, voice sharp enough to slice clean through him.

Fred blinked rapidly, reeling. “I—What are you talking about?! Know what?!”

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” she snapped.

Fred froze. His entire brain stuttered. “Wait, what?”

Just then, from the other end of the courtyard, came a soft, confused voice. “Um…what’s going on?”

He turned, dazed, and there she was. Again. He quickly did a double-take, his neck whipping back and forth at the two girls with identical faces. One, red-faced and furious. The other, wide-eyed and quiet, holding a book to her chest like a shield.

Fred stared, blinking between them. The same face. The same hair. But now that he saw them side-by-side, it was so obvious.

He pressed a hand to his cheek and let out a stunned breath. “You slapped me so hard I’m seeing two of you.”

The angrier of the two let out a scoff of disgust and stormed off in the opposite direction, her footsteps sharp against the stone.

Fred stayed frozen.

The quieter girl walked up to him slowly, cautiously, the chaos fading into the background around them. “You really didn’t know?” she asked.

Fred turned to her, still blinking. “That you’re twins? Does it look like I had a bloody clue?”

She shook her head.

“I thought…I mean, Merlin, I thought you were just…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Complex. Occasionally moody. Maybe cursed.”

She bit back a smile. “No curse. Just genetics.”

Fred sat down heavily on the stone bench behind him, face buried in his hands. “This makes so much sense. So much sense.”

He looked up at her with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “I’ve been…oh god, I’ve been courting two people.”

She smiled gently. “Technically, yes. But not…intentionally.”

“I kept wondering why you’d fight with me one day and then look at me completely differently the next.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Yeah. I can see how that would have been confounding.”

Fred looked at her more closely now, really seeing her. The sweet one. The soft one. The one who liked to talk about mooncalves and sketch magical plants. He liked her, too. But not in the way he liked her sister.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said finally. “Lead you on, that is. I just thought you were the same person. I never thought to ask why you were so different, or didn’t seem to remember things. And that’s on me.”

She sat beside him. “It’s okay. You were confused. We were confused too.”

“You were?”

She nodded. “I mean…I knew something felt off. You’d come up to me and act like we’d had these big conversations the day before. I didn’t understand half of what you were referencing.”

Fred laughed, tired, embarrassed, but grateful for her kindness and understanding. “I’m an idiot.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe. But not a mean one.”

He looked at her. “You’re not mad?”

She hesitated. “Maybe a little disappointed. But not mad. You’ve been kind. Even when it didn’t make sense, you always treated me with respect.”

Fred exhaled. “I really did want to like you.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“But it was always…off. Like I was chasing something that wasn’t there.”

She nodded and a beat of quiet passed between them. “I’m going to go talk to her,” Fred said finally, rising to his feet.

“She might slap you again.”

Fred smiled, rubbing his cheek. “She definitely will.”

“But she likes you,” the sweet twin said, glancing up.

He paused. “She does?”

She nodded. “She was furious because she thought you knew. Probably thought you were playing both of us.”

Fred grimaced. “Yeah. Not exactly my style.” Fred hesitated, then gave her a sheepish look. “So…are we good?”

She reached out and tugged the collar of his robe gently into place. “We’re good.”

Fred nodded. “Thanks.”

He turned, scanning the courtyard, searching for a flash of that familiar stride, that unmissable glare. And with a slightly bruised face and a very bruised ego, he took off after the girl who had, somehow, become the only version of her he wanted to chase.

———————————————————————

Fred Weasley stormed back into the Gryffindor common room like he was late to his own funeral.

The portrait hole swung shut behind him with a solid thunk, and he didn’t even bother acknowledging the handful of first-years who looked up as he passed. He made a beeline for the couch in front of the fire, dropped himself into it like gravity had finally won, and groaned dramatically into the crook of his elbow.

George and Lee Jordan were seated on the carpet, halfway through a game of Exploding Snap that had already singed the edge of one of George’s sleeves.

“You’re back,” George said mildly, not even looking up.

“No sign of her then?” Lee asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Fred lifted his head, hair a windblown mess and eyes still slightly wide with disbelief. “She’s vanished. I checked the Astronomy Tower, the courtyard again, even pretended to be interested in Divination to check the North Stairwell.”

George let out a low whistle. “That desperate, huh?”

Fred slumped back into the couch, rubbing the heel of his palm into his temple. “You have no idea.”

“Well,” Lee said, tossing a card onto the pile, “the solution seems simple to me.”

Fred turned his head.

Lee leaned forward. “Ask out the nice one. She clearly likes you enough, and she hasn’t assaulted you in public.”

George nodded thoughtfully. “Hard to argue with that logic.”

Fred blinked at them, almost offended. “I don’t want to ask out the nice one.”

“Wait.” Lee paused mid-card-flip. “You don’t?”

Fred sat up straighter. “No.”

Lee squinted. “You mean, you really want the other one? The one who slapped you in the face in front of, like, fifteen witnesses?”

Fred crossed his arms. “Yes.”

George stared at him. “Mate…are you a masochist?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Lee asked. “Because it kinda feels like that.”

“No, alright? It’s just…her. It’s always been her. The banter, the energy, the way she cuts through every stupid thing I say like she’s already five steps ahead of me. I’ve never had to work this hard to keep up in a conversation before. It’s like verbal Quidditch. She insults me and I enjoy it.”

“That’s…possibly not healthy,” George said.

“I enjoy it,” Fred repeated.

He ran a hand through his hair again, eyes flickering toward the fireplace. The flames threw orange shadows against the stone walls, but his gaze was distant. Somewhere else entirely.

“It’s like, when I’m with her,” he said quietly, “I feel like I get to be…unfiltered. Funnier. Sharper. And she notices the smallest things. She remembers them too. Like last week, she made fun of the way I say ‘counterclockwise’ because apparently I do it with a weird uptick at the end. I didn’t even realise. But now it’s all I can hear.”

Lee grinned. “She’s in your head.”

Fred nodded. “Exactly. But not in a bad way. In a way that makes me feel—”

He hesitated and George and Lee both leaned in. “In a way that makes you feel what?” George prompted.

Fred exhaled, staring into the fire. “Like I’ve finally met my match.”

Even the fireplace popped as if to punctuate the moment.

“…That was weirdly romantic, Fred,” George said slowly.

“Yeah,” Lee agreed, a little stunned. “I think even I fell in love with you a bit.”

Fred groaned, flopping backward again. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” George said, “you’re the one waxing lyrical about her insults.”

“Point is,” Fred mumbled, “I want her. Not the one who compliments my ‘gentle soul’ and wants to talk about mooncalves. I mean, she’s great, don’t get me wrong, but we had nothing. I tried. Every time I saw her, I thought, ‘Alright, maybe she’s just having an off day,’ but it was like talking to a sugar quill.”

“Sweet but boring?” Lee guessed.

Fred nodded. “And it made me boring. I kept waiting for her to throw a punchline, and instead she asked about my feelings.”

George snorted. “The audacity.”

Fred grinned weakly. “Exactly.”

Then Lee nudged him. “You should tell her what you told us. All of it.”

Fred’s smile slipped. “I would…if I could find her.”

“You really haven’t seen her at all since the slap?”

Fred shook his head. “She stormed off and hasn’t resurfaced. I’ve been looking everywhere. I think she’s avoiding me.”

George squinted. “Why would she avoid you? She’s the one who slapped you.”

“Because she thinks I was playing her,” Fred said. “That I knew about the two of them and was messing around with both. I mean, from her perspective, it probably looked awful. Like I couldn’t tell them apart.”

“…Which you couldn’t,” Lee pointed out.

Fred groaned again. “Not helping.”

“Okay, okay,” George said, leaning forward. “What are you going to do, then?”

Fred stared into the flames for a moment. His fingers curled against the fabric of his robes. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but certain.

“I’m going to find her. I’m going to explain everything. And I’m going to tell her that I didn’t fall for her sister because she was easy to be around or because she said all the right things. I fell for her because she challenged me. Because she made me feel like I was actually being seen.”

Lee whistled. “There he goes again with the poetry.”

George grinned. “You know, if she slaps you again, I’ll personally frame the moment.”

“I deserve it,” Fred muttered.

“Well, you deserve something,” Lee said. “Hopefully not more public humiliation, though.”

Fred pushed himself to his feet, determination settling across his shoulders like armor. “I’ve got to find her.”

“Where are you going to look?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere. Everywhere.” He turned, heading toward the portrait hole.

“Fred?” George called after him. “You’re a sap,”

Fred looked back and grinned. “Yeah. But at least I’m a sincere one.”

And with that, he ducked out into the castle.

———————————————————————

Fred climbed the spiraling stairs of the Owlery two at a time, boots thudding against worn stone. The air grew colder with each step, wind curling down through open archways above. He could already smell the hay, the feathers, the acrid tang of owl droppings, but none of it deterred him.

He didn’t even like the Owlery.

But rumor had it she’d been spotted here an hour ago. Sending a letter. Or maybe escaping. Fred wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she stormed off. His cheek still remembered the sting of her slap.

He reached the top and stepped inside. The Owlery was half-shadowed in late afternoon light. The stone floor was littered with straw and discarded feathers, and hundreds of owls blinked down at him from their perches. Some curious, some judging.

And there she was. Standing near the far window, back turned, hair moving slightly with the wind. His heart did a sharp, ridiculous little flip.

She must have heard him approaching because she stiffened slightly but didn’t turn around.

“Wrong twin,” she said flatly, still facing the open air.

Fred smiled, heart pounding. “Nope. Definitely the right twin.”

She slowly turned, arms crossed. Her expression was wary, but she didn’t immediately flee. That was progress.

“I thought you liked my sister,” she said, brows raised. “You seemed to be enjoying all those little dates of yours.”

“I was trying really hard to enjoy them,” Fred said. “Truly. I forced myself to smile so much my cheeks started to twitch.”

She blinked. Fred stepped forward slowly, not too close. He could see how tense she was. Shoulders drawn tight, jaw locked like she was expecting a fight.

“I’m not into her,” he said. “I never was. I didn’t even know there were two of you. I thought you were just…confusing. And kind of bipolar.”

She huffed a short, sharp laugh. “Charming.”

“I know how it sounds,” Fred said quickly. “But it was like you’d flirt with me one day, roast me alive the next, and then act like we’d never spoken the day after. I thought I was losing my mind. Or that you were testing me.”

She didn’t reply, just watched him, arms still folded.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, nerves buzzing beneath his skin. “Look, I…I’m sorry for everything. For the confusion. For flirting with both of you. I didn’t mean to. I genuinely didn’t realise.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You’re saying you didn’t know? At all?”

He held up his hands. “I swear on George’s entire Fillibuster Firework collection.”

She sighed, lips twisting. “Well, that changes things.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you were trying to—” She hesitated, then rolled her eyes. “You know what? Never mind.”

Fred blinked. “No, come on. What did you think I was doing?”

She looked away, toward the window. “I thought you were trying to start some weird…twin thing.”

Fred recoiled so fast he nearly knocked into a perch. “What?! Gross! No! What? no! Why would I—?! Oh my Merlin.”

She turned back, one brow arched. “You’d be surprised how much that happens.”

Fred looked absolutely horrified. “I would rather let a Blast-Ended Skrewt eat my kneecaps.”

She laughed at that and some of the tension in her posture uncoiled. “Good to know,” she said, still smirking.

Fred shook his head like he was trying to physically remove the mental image. “I had no idea you were twins. Not even a little. I was just caught between two versions of someone I thought I knew and couldn’t figure out why we kept resetting.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then finish your pitch.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You came up here for a reason. So finish your pitch.”

Fred hesitated, then looked away. “What’s the point? So you can get even madder at me?”

She didn’t answer. Fred glanced back and found her watching him. Quiet, cautious, but not angry.

“Maybe,” she said after a long pause, “I was mad because I actually liked you. And then I found out you were seeing my sister too.”

Fred’s heart thumped once. Then again, louder.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Yeah. I can see how that…probably didn’t go down well.”

“No. It didn’t,” she said simply.

Another long silence stretched between them. The wind stirred through the Owlery, ruffling feathers and whistling through the high arches. Somewhere, an owl hooted softly and flapped to a new perch.

Fred licked his lips, heart beating too fast. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “Not like this. I’m used to jokes and charm and pretending things aren’t as serious as they are. But with you…With you,” he continued, “it never felt like a performance. I couldn’t outwit you. I couldn’t coast on charm. I had to keep up. I had to try. And every time you threw something at me, I wanted to rise to the challenge. Because you saw straight through the act. And it turns out, I liked being seen.”

She looked away sharply and Fred stepped closer. “You don’t make things easy,” he said. “And I don’t want easy. I want you. The version who called me an overgrown garden gnome and corrected my broom grip and told me I had stupid opinions about Bertie Bott’s flavours. That girl. The one who slapped me in front of half the courtyard because she thought I deserved it.” He paused, then added softly, “And maybe I did.”

Her jaw clenched slightly. “You’re still annoying.”

Fred smiled. “Still into you anyway.”

“That was a pretty good pitch,” she said quietly.

“I practiced it on a barn owl on the way up.”

She laughed again. This time gentler, less guarded. Fred took another step. He was close enough now to see the flecks of gold in her irises. To feel the heat of her presence.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me all at once,” he said. “But I’d really like to start over. Just me. Just you. No confusion. No swapping twins.”

She rolled her eyes. Then, finally, she stepped forward. “You’re lucky I like idiots,” she muttered.

And this time, when Fred leaned in, she didn’t slap him. She kissed him. Softly at first, like testing a theory.

And when he kissed her back - slow, sure, completely present - she smiled against his mouth and pulled away just enough to whisper, “Don’t get used to winning.”

Fred grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray

[lumosflairr]

JUST FRIENDS - FRED WEASLEY

Summary: You and Fred are just friends. However, you can't help but feel a tug at your heart whenever he does little things - making you question if your 'just friends.'

warnings: a pinch of angst, cussing, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 4,504

You and Fred were just friends. Nothing less, nothing more. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. Over and over, like a charm you hoped would eventually work—because if it didn’t, you weren’t sure how much longer your heart could take it.

He did things, little things that didn’t feel exclusively friendly.

Like how he always found you in a crowded room—his eyes scanning until they landed on yours, lighting up like you were the only one worth seeing. Or how he saved you the best part of every dessert at dinner. Or when he’d throw an arm around your shoulders after a long day, fingers curling into the fabric of your robes like he didn’t even notice. Or when he’d lean in close during study sessions, reading your notes upside down, his cheek brushing yours while he made some cheeky comment that had your stomach somersaulting.

And the worst part? He never seemed to notice what it did to you.

It was the casual intimacy of it all—his easy affection, the warmth in his voice when he said your name. The way he’d ruffle your hair when you were annoyed, or hold your pinky instead of your hand when he tugged you through the busy corridors between classes. Things that shouldn’t have meant anything… but always did.

The saddest part was that you knew Fred Weasley. Almost as well as George. You knew he flirted with half the castle. You knew the not-so secret hookups he’s had with other Gryffindors and some Ravenclaws here and there. You knew he wasn’t serious about relationships with them, or maybe even anyone.

However, none of them got the quiet parts of him. The stillness behind his laughter. The worry in his eyes when you were too quiet. The way he’d wait up for you after late Prefect rounds, claiming he “just happened to be up,” even when his hair was mussed from sleep. Or maybe you just noticed far too much and overanalyzed him.

So no, you weren’t in love with Fred Weasley.

But sometimes—when he looked at you like you hung the moon—you really, really wished you were just a little better at lying.

Because whenever he does things like that, you find it even more difficult to keep pretending. Like tonight.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with post-Quidditch victory energy—scarlet and gold banners fluttering, laughter echoing off the walls, and butterbeer flowing in celebratory bursts. Someone had dragged a wireless from the dorms and turned the volume up, and a few people had pushed the couches aside to make room for dancing.

You sat curled into the arm of a chair, trying to keep your focus on the cup in your hands and not the way Fred Weasley moved through the room like he belonged to it—easy, magnetic, glowing with that same wild charm that made people gravitate to him without even realizing it.

Your stomach flipped when his eyes landed on you. He was still in his Quidditch gear, hair windblown and cheeks flushed from the game, but somehow he looked better like that—unpolished and completely alive.

“Hey,” he called, making a beeline for you through the crowd. “There’s a rule that says you have to dance with the winning team.”

“I think you made that up,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, unbothered. “I make up a lot of rules. Doesn’t mean they’re not good ones.”

Before you could protest, he was holding out his hand. And you—idiot that you were—took it.

The crowd parted just enough to let the two of you fall into step with the slow rhythm of the music. It wasn’t really dancing, not proper anyway. Just swaying in place, your hand in his, his other resting gently at your waist. But the closeness made your thoughts stumble.

He smelled like firewood and grass and a hint of cinnamon—like autumn wrapped in trouble—and he was looking at you like you were something rare.

“I told George you’d say no,” Fred murmured, tone soft enough that only you could hear it.

You tilted your head. “To what?”

“Dancing with me.”

“Why would I say no?”

His smile flickered at the edges, a little too careful. “Dunno. Just figured you might’ve had enough of me.”

You rolled your eyes to hide the way your heart skipped. “Don’t be dramatic. Why would I ever say no to you?”

He chuckled, spinning you lazily in a slow circle. “I can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.” And it was. All of it was. The humor, the warmth, the way he pulled you close without a second thought like you belonged there.

But you had to remind yourself again- just friends. Thats exactly what you were.

His eyes lingered for a second longer than usual, and his smile shifted—less mischievous, more… genuine.

“You look really nice tonight,” he said, voice quieter than before. “That color suits you. Its my favorite to be exact.”

You glanced down at the red fabric tucked neatly into your black leather skirt—nothing fancy, nothing flashy, just something that made you feel a little braver than usual. “It’s your house color,” you said with a small smirk. “Of course it’s your favorite.”

Fred tilted his head slightly, his eyes still on you. “Yeah, well… you make it look like a whole thing.”

You laughed, mostly because it was easier than letting yourself sink into the way he was looking at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning,” he said simply, without any of the usual flair. Just that. And then he looked away like it hadn’t completely disarmed you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

His brows lifted. “What, this?” he gestured to himself—the grass-stained Quidditch uniform, his jersey untucked, pads hanging a little lopsided. “I’m literally sweating. This is me at my least impressive.”

You grinned. “That’s the sad part. You still look good.”

Fred let out a loud, theatrical gasp. “Are you—flirting with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax, Weasley. It’s a compliment, not a marriage proposal.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “And here I was already planning the color scheme.”

He twirled you unexpectedly, making you laugh again as you stumbled back into his arms.

It was easy with Fred. Always had been. You danced like that for a while—slow, steady movements in the middle of a party that was growing louder by the minute. But in your little bubble, the noise faded. He asked you about your classes, groaned when you reminded him about your shared Transfiguration essay, and gave you a dramatic reenactment of how he almost died catching the last Quaffle, complete with flailing arms and fainting poses.

You rolled your eyes, but secretly you lived for these moments—when he let the silliness melt into something softer.

You talked about how much longer you had at Hogwarts, about the DA meetings, about how he and George were already plotting something “big” before they left for good.

He looked down at you as he spoke, his expression open, like he wanted you to remember this version of him—the one who wanted to be more than just a bloke who never took anything serious. The one who wasn’t laughing at the world, but sharing the laugh with you.

And you let yourself pretend, just for a moment, that you were something more.

“Oy, Weasley! Get over here, mate! We need a you!”

It was Lee Jordan, standing near a cleared table that had clearly been repurposed for an aggressively chaotic game of wizard’s Exploding Snap. George stood beside him, smirking like he’d been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt.

Fred groaned dramatically but smiled at you as he loosened his hold.

“Sorry, love,” he said, voice low and far too casual for the way your heart reacted to the nickname. “Best if i head off to Lee before i get a bludger to the head next practice.”

You forced a laugh, letting your hands fall away from him slowly, too slowly. “Wouldn’t want to deprive the common room of your talents.”

He grinned, already backing away, fingers still brushing yours until the last second. “Exactly. Sacrifices must be made.”

And then he was gone—folded back into the crowd, into the noise and the warmth and the chaos that always seemed to orbit him. Like he had never looked at you like that. Like he hadn’t just taken your breath away without even trying.

You stood there for a second, unsure what to do with yourself, before your eyes scanned the room and landed on Hermione, seated near the fireplace, a cup of punch in her hands and a knowing look already blooming on her face.

She glanced up as you walked up to her, lifting her cup slightly in greeting. “Well, you two looked cozy.”

You scoffed, too harsh, too fast. “We’re just friends.”

There was a pause—brief, but enough.

Then Hermione set her cup down and leaned forward slightly, her voice calm, like she wasn’t trying to pick a fight—just deliver the truth.

“You say that like it’s a fact,” she said softly. “But you look at him like you’ve already written a thousand love letters you’ll never send.”

“That’s quite dramatic,” you muttered, though your voice lacked bite.

Hermione didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you—really looked at you—with that frustratingly perceptive expression she wore when she was holding back something she already knew. You hated how well she could read you, even when you were trying not to be readable at all.

“I notice things,” she said quietly, as if reading your mind. “Like how you laugh before he even finishes a joke. Or how you scan a room the second you walk into it—only to relax the moment you see him.”

You stayed silent, because… well, what could you say to that?

“He touches you differently than he touches anyone else,” Hermione continued. “It’s not just friendly. He’s gentle with you. Like he’s afraid if he holds on too tightly, you’ll disappear.”

Your throat closed up. She wasn’t wrong. And that was what made it so much worse.

“I can’t…” You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t want to feel like this, Hermione.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s Fred,” you whispered, like saying his name too loud would unravel you. “He’s not—he’s not someone who does real feelings. He flirts with everything that moves. He jokes when he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s… impossible to pin down. He’s not the kind of boy you fall for expecting something back.”

Hermione’s voice was gentle but firm. “Maybe he’s not the kind of boy who used to do real feelings. But maybe you’re the exception.”

Your heart ached at that. It would be so much easier if you could believe it.

But you’d seen Fred with other girls. Heard the way he flirted, laughed, turned everything into a joke. And even if he was different with you, what if it was just that—different—but not more?

“You don’t get it,” you said, barely above a whisper. “If I tell him how I feel and I’m wrong, I lose him. I lose this. I lose my best friend.”

Hermione reached over and gently placed a hand on your arm. “I do get it,” she whispered, “More than you think. But you deserve to be loved out loud. And I think Fred might be a lot closer to that than you realize.”

You looked over at her, eyes stinging.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“I know.” Her smile was small, kind. “But just because you’re scared doesn’t mean he’s not worth the risk.”

It had been three days since the party, and you still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way Fred had looked at you or the way he spoke to you. You couldn’t stop replaying Hermiones words of affirmation she informed you of.

“You deserve to be loved out loud.”

You didn’t argue with the concept of it- no, you knew your worth. You argued with the fact it was Fred. You knew it wouldn’t be him no matter how many times you’d pray and hope just maybe- maybe he’d be the one who would shout your name from rooftops. The one who would love you out loud. You knew it was a fantasy - a fantasy that you’d have to be mad to believe would become true, because its Fred.

That led to reminding you on Hermiones other expression.

“But maybe you’re the exception.”

You didn’t believe that at all. You refused to. He must look at other girls like that right? You two were just friends. It’s what you both told everyone, so why act like theres something there?

Still, you’d kept it to yourself. Like always.

It was now time for dinner, and the Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter. You sat across from Ron and beside Hermione, absentmindedly poking at your bangers and mash while Harry launched into yet another rant about Snape deducting points for “existing too loudly.”

“Honestly, I breathed, Hermione,” Harry said, gesturing with his fork. “And he docked me five points for being ‘aggressively present.’ What does that even mean?”

Hermione sighed, though she was clearly holding back a smile. “It means you were being annoying again.”

“He said it with fanfare,” Harry added. “Like it was the highlight of his week.”

You smiled weakly at their bickering, but your focus was slipping. It had been since the moment you caught sight of Fred down the table.

He was leaning in toward Angelina Johnson, all relaxed shoulders and easy grins, his arm casually draped behind her on her shoulder. Her hand was on his forearm—light, familiar—and he didn’t move. Didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned closer when she said something in his ear, and he laughed—open and loud and effortless. You noticed how she looked at him.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. He and Angelina had been friends for years. Teammates. Comfortable.

But you’d always noticed the way she touched him—like she could. Like she had every right to. And she did, Fred wasn’t yours to claim.

And in the quietest, most insecure part of yourself, she had always been the reason you never said anything. Because if Fred Weasley were going to fall for someone—really fall—it would be someone like her.

Beautiful. Confident. Untouchable.

Not someone who spent the night rereading every word he said and pretending her heart didn’t race at his touch.

You looked down at your plate and tried to focus on the way your mashed potatoes were pooling into your sausage. Anything but the twisting in your chest.

“So I told him,” Harry continued, oblivious, “if he wants me to stay quiet, he can try giving me detention, but I refuse to stop breathing.”

“Very brave of you,” you muttered, your voice a little flatter than intended.

“Thank you,” Harry perked, then returning to his conversation about how ‘insufferable’ Snape was

Hermione looked over at you for a moment, quiet. You could feel her eyes on you like a weight. “You okay?” she asked softly, voice low enough that Ron and Harry wouldn’t hear.

“Perfect..” You mumbled, eyes flickering between Fred and your plate.

Hermione’s eyes followed yours, hers landing on Fred and Angelina - which she immediately caught on. “He doesn’t look at her how he looks at you though.“

“It doesn’t matter, Hermione.” You bit out, voice sounding more bitter than you intended. “I can’t keep telling myself something is there when there isn’t. I refuse to pretend that he’ll randomly wake up one morning and pick me. Because we’re friends. Just friends. And its stupid for me to pretend that theres something more lingering between us when it’s just me.”

You didn’t want to hear any of Hermione’s comforting words now- because you knew you wouldn’t believe it for a moment. Not when Fred was laughing like that, not when his hand stayed where it was, not when you felt like you were five inches shorter than usual and your chest was trying to cave in quietly while everyone else just enjoyed their dinner.

You pushed your food around and nodded along as Ron started going on about Quidditch lineups, and you told yourself—again—that it was fine. Because even though it wasn’t far from fine, you had no say in it whatsoever. You and Fred were friends. Nothing less, Nothing more.

And you had to accept that.

You told yourself you had to start pulling away.

Whatever this thing was—this not-quite friendship, not-quite something more—it was starting to hurt. It sat in your chest like weight, blooming every time he looked at you like you meant something and fading just as fast the second someone else made him laugh harder.

You started with small things. Sitting at the far end of the table. Taking longer routes to class. Turning the other way in corridors when you saw that familiar flash of ginger hair coming around the corner. You told yourself it was for the best. That you were being smart. That it was self-preservation.

But then you saw him in the halls. Again. And again. And always… she was there.

Angelina.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, not really. She wasn’t draped over him or clinging to him in a way that demanded attention—but she was there. Lingering at his side like it was natural. Like she belonged.

And the worst part? He didn’t look like he minded. If anything, he seemed at ease—laughing at something she said, leaning in close to hear her, nudging her shoulder as they walked.

It chipped away at you slowly. Like frostbite. You didn’t even notice how cold it made you until it started to numb everything else.

So when Fred tried to talk to you—because of course he did—you gave him almost nothing in return.

“Hey, you heading to Charms?”

“Yep.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

A shrug. “I suppose.”

He tried to joke, keep it light, keep it Fred, but you didn’t meet him halfway. Didn’t give him the usual grin or sarcasm or playfulness he was used to.

Just short answers. Polite, distant. A version of yourself you didn’t even recognize.

He looked at you a little funny when you said goodbye—like he was trying to figure out where he lost you, and whether or not he was supposed to chase after it.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to gently catch your elbow just before you turned down the corridor. “Hold on.”

You stopped, but didn’t turn.

“You’ve been short with me,” he said, not accusing, just… confused. “Barely said more than a sentence all week.”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the stone floor. “Busy.”

There was a pause, and then a quiet scoff. “Love, you don’t expect me to buy into that, do you?”

You finally looked at him. He looked tired in a way you weren’t used to seeing—like the mask of constant jokes and easy charm had slipped for just a moment.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter.

“Then don’t,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked away, your footsteps echoing far too loudly in the quiet corridor.

Snow had settled thick across the rooftops of Hogsmeade, like icing on a gingerbread village. Icicles hung sharp and glinting from every overhang, and the crunch of boots on the snow-covered paths echoed softly with every step.

You were wrapped in your warmest coat, scarf snug around your neck, but the cold still bit at your fingertips through your gloves.

It was supposed to be a good day. One of the rare weekends where you could all go into the village, drink hot butterbeer, browse shops, feel normal. And for a while, it worked.

You and Harry had argued over whether the sweets at Honeydukes were superior to Zonko’s joke shop, while Ron had made it his mission to find the thickest socks in the village. Hermione kept insisting you all stop walking directly in the path of slush puddles, tugging you out of the way with narrowed eyes and half-smiles.

Eventually, the four of you ducked into the Three Broomsticks for warmth and steaming mugs of hot butterbeer. The fire crackled nearby, warming your cheeks and thawing the chill from your coat. For a moment, you let yourself settle. Let yourself pretend you weren’t avoiding anyone. That you weren’t trying to keep your heart from splitting open every time you saw Fred.

After finishing your drinks, you and Hermione wandered into a little winter shop tucked between two larger storefronts—full of knitted scarves, earmuffs, enchanted mittens that refused to get wet, and cloaks lined with soft furs and golden clasps. Hermione was flipping through a rack of deep green cloaks, going on about practicality and wool content when something over her shoulder stopped you cold.

Fred.

He was across the store, walking with George, Lee, and—of course—Angelina.

He looked good. Too good, honestly. That effortless charm about him, jacket open just enough to show his Gryffindor scarf, cheeks pink from the cold, and his hands animated as he joked with the group.

Angelina was laughing, nudging him with her shoulder. She lingered close. She always did. And as if it couldn’t get worse, Fred turned his head mid-laugh—and his eyes met yours.

Your stomach dropped.

You looked away instantly, hands fumbling with the scarf you were holding. Hermione didn’t notice at first, still explaining how she’d been needing a new cloak for weeks.

“I’m just going to pay,” you said quickly, already stepping toward the counter.

Hermione blinked. “Alright, I’ll just look at these earmuffs—”

“No,” you said too quickly, too firmly. “Actually, why don’t you go ahead to that bookshop you mentioned earlier? I think I’m just going to take a walk.”

She gave you a look. “You sure?”

You nodded, offering a smile that was tight and definitely not convincing. “Yeah. Just… need a bit of air.”

And then you were gone. You didn’t even remember what you bought. You just needed to not be there. Not see him. Not feel that crushing ache rise every time you remembered all the things you could never say. It had been weeks since you spoke with him, but it felt just like yesterday. Too soon. Too early.

After you turned the corner, you let out a shaky sigh. Due to the cold and your heart’s pounding within your chest.

Before you could even think, a hand grabbed your arm—firm, urgent—and before you could react, you were pulled into the narrow alleyway between two shops, boots scraping against packed snow, your heart thrashing in your chest.

“What the—let go of me!” You slapped wildly at the arm until the grip loosened.

“Oi, alright—bloody hell—stop hitting me!”

You froze, your hand dropping mid-swing.

“Fred?”

He stepped back, holding his hands up, breathing hard. “Hi.”

“Are you bloody mad?!” you snapped, your voice sharp, angry, and very much covering the panic and heartbreak roiling underneath. “You don’t just drag people into dark alleyways!”

“I had to talk to you!”

“There’s this thing called speaking like a normal person, Fred!”

He ran a hand through his hair, flushed, snow catching in his lashes. “You haven’t been speaking to me at all. It’s been fuckin’ weeks.”

You folded your arms. “I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked a little—just enough to silence you. “Don’t give me that. You’ve barely looked at me in weeks. You won’t sit near me, won’t talk to me, you disappear when I walk in the room. It’s like I’ve done something awful and you won’t even tell me what it is.”

Your throat tightened.

Fred took a shaky breath and kept going.

“I miss you,” he said, voice raw and exposed. “I miss everything. I miss your laugh in the common room, how you always threaten to hex me whenever i steal your homework, I miss your smile. I miss knowing you’ll be there when I look up. I miss… you.”

You looked away, but he stepped closer.

“And I don’t get it,” he said, eyes searching yours. “What did I do? Did I screw something up? Did I say something? Just—just tell me, and I’ll fix it. Just—don’t leave me like this.”

You swallowed thickly, heart racing. And then—

“I’m in love with you.”

Fred froze.

Your words had sliced through the cold air like a blade, sudden and shaking.

“I’m in love with you,” you said again, more quietly this time. “And I’ve been trying to pretend I’m not, but it’s exhausting, Fred. And it hurts. It hurts to see you with her, even if there’s nothing going on. Even if she’s just your friend. Because I’m not just your friend. Not anymore. Not in my head.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“You always made me feel like maybe… maybe there was something there. And I held onto that. Every time you looked at me like I mattered. Every time you made me laugh when I wanted to cry. I thought maybe… just maybe you saw me the way I saw you.”

You shook your head, voice cracking.

“But then she’s always there, and you never push her away, and I know it’s stupid, but I thought—I thought if I got some distance, I’d stop hurting. But it didn’t work. It just made everything worse.”

Silence. Thick. Cold. Endless.

And then Fred moved.

He stepped forward, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy or desperate. It was gentle. Like something he’d been carrying for far too long, and could finally let go.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath trembling.

“It was always you,” he whispered. “It’s always been you. I don’t know how you didn’t see it. I flirted with half the castle just to hide how badly I wanted you. Because I was terrified of scaring you off. Terrified of making you uncomfortable. Terrified that if I wanted you too loudly, I’d lose you completely.”

You blinked up at him, tears brimming, your chest aching in that awful, beautiful way when hope finally claws its way through.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “You’re not some backup plan. You’re not some secret I was waiting to get over. You are—you’ve always been—the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice shook now.

“And if you give me even half a chance, I swear I’ll never let you wonder again.”

Your hands gripped the front of his coat. “Fred Weasley—if you walk away after saying all that, I’m hexing you.”

He grinned—really grinned—and kissed you again. The snow kept falling, yet the cold didn’t touch you.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to lie to yourself anymore.

[htchnr]

ミ★ aching knees ꜜ FRED WEASLEY.

𖦹 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𖦹 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢!

「 ꜜsummary,, in which you fall asleep against Fred's thigh in the common room and it absolutely fries his tired brain. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, first Fred fic ⋆ not proofread whoops i wrote this at 4am ⋆ Fred being an infatuated idiot ⋆ George (lovingly) bullying him ⋆ the golden trio is there for 2 seconds as well. ꜜwc,, 0,5k. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

the low sounds of students chattering and moving about the common room acts as a lulling sound as you sit on the floor against the couch with Fred, George and the trio while they all talk about your plans for the holidays.

Fred and George talk lively about their plans of mischief while Ron groans in dramatic misery. Harry and Hermione laugh along with the twins' wild ideas.

you yawn, leaning to the side as you rest your head against Fred's thigh who was sitting behind you on the couch. your eyes droop, the melodic sound of everyone's laughter and chatter mixing with the low sounds of the common room noise slowly lulling you to sleep.

Fred barely thinks about it as he moves a hand down to stroke through your hair as your head rests against his thigh. he's still engaged in the conversation, absentmindedly combing his fingers through your messy strands.

George smiles to himself as he catches glimpse of the sight, a know-it-all grin on his lips.

the conversation dwindles after a while, everyone growing tired after the long day. Fred in the meantime has moved from the couch to the floor beside you, your head in his lap and his fingers never leaving your hair. Hermione bids everyone a goodnight, leaving for the girl's dorm as she could barely keep her eyes open.

the twins keep up quiet conversation with Ron and Harry, reminiscing about old pranks or soddy teachers.

George makes a teasing jab about how 'Fred's knees will surely kill him in the morning after sitting too long like this', but Fred shakes his head tiredly. he doesn't mind the dull ache he'll indeed feel, as long as you're at peace and catch some sleep.

besides, he would take any pain if it meant to have you this close to him.

George laughs quietly, standing up with low cracks of his own knees. he makes one last remark along the lines of 'i swear you two are so blind', before he heads up the boy's dorms to sleep.

Harry laughs along at Fred's slightly red cheeks, getting up as well. he bids Fred a goodnight, heading off to his dorm.

Fred sighs tiredly as he looks down at your sleeping form. damn his already aching knees, you look too cute to care about the dull pain. he strokes a stray strand of hair from your face, mentally kicking himself for still not having made a move.

though, he muses, if only you'd stop making him stutter and trip over his words with those damn eyes every time he'd try.

tomorrow, he nods to himself. knowing that your full attention will make him a stumbling mess once he tries once more. but this time, he huffs as he closes his eyes, this time he'll push through and finally get the words out.

Oct 1st edit;; thank you lovelies for the insane amount of likes and reblogs,, and even follows!

but i'm here to gently remind people either just finding this fic, or rereading it-- i don't write for Fred Weasley anymore! this is my one and only Fred fic :,) so if you wanted to give me a follow cause you like my writing,, just know that Fred isn't part of the characters i post about!

[neurthewanderer]

Where is My Wife? - One Shot

Tag: Fred Weasley x F!Reader. Post-War. Post-Hogwarts. Married Life. Hospital Chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Weasley Family Comfort. One shot. Summary: In which Fred Weasley doesn’t die. He just passes out dramatically, wakes up confused and high on anesthetic, and asks for his wife like it’s the most urgent mystery in the world. Note: Inspired by this clip I once again scroll past. Never getting old.  Masterlist and ao3

The world was still a blur when Fred opened his eyes.

Well, one eye.

The other was bound tightly beneath gauze, the wrap tugging at his temple with every blink. The light above him was aggressively white, far too bright, as though it was trying to burn straight through his skull.

Everything was distant. Muffled. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint copper tang of blood. Voices, somewhere nearby, a mediwitch speaking sharply, someone sobbing. Footsteps creaked across tile. The room tilted.

His arms felt like stone. His chest ached like he’d taken a Bludger to the ribs. Everything hurt.

But none of that mattered when his gaze caught movement beside him. Someone hunched over the bed, shaking.

And then he smiled.

A loopy, lopsided grin.

“Angel...” he croaked, voice rasping like gravel in his throat.

Your head jerked up.

You’d been curled there for hours, unwilling to leave his side even when they told you he wouldn’t wake for a while. Tear tracks were still fresh on your face, your eyes wide and glassy and raw.

“Fred?”

He blinked again, vision swimming. His eye fixed on your face like it was the only thing in the world that made any sense.

“Blimey…” he murmured, grinning broader now. “You’re beautiful. Am I in heaven?”

You let out a soft, strangled laugh, half a sob, half disbelief.

“No,” you breathed. “You’re in St. Mungo’s, you idiot. There was an explosion in the-”

Fred squinted. His brow furrowed.

“Oh yeah…” he mumbled, wincing as he shifted slightly. “Was it the Prototype 6.9? I told George not to combine it with Boom Berry powder, bloody volatile, that stuff…”

Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out for a beat.

Because that wasn’t what had happened.

That wasn’t this explosion.

He was talking about another one, months ago. A mishap in the backroom of the shop. A ceiling scorched, walls cracked, shelves overturned. It had taken two weeks and three repair charms to set it all right.

He was remembering that instead of this.

Instead of the war.

Instead of the final battle.

Instead of the castle collapsing around him, bricks and fire and curses tearing through the air.

You exhaled through your nose, fingers brushing through his fringe as you tried to anchor him. “That was you, Fred. You did that. You and George, you tested the prototype without labeling the powder. George swore he’d never let you near the cauldron again.”

Fred blinked again, confusion flickering behind his eyes. “Oh,” he muttered. “Right. Did I pass out?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because how could you tell him that he hadn’t just fainted in the shop?

How could you tell him that the last time you saw him, he’d been smiling in the Great Hall and then the world had cracked open, and part of the ceiling had come down in a thunderous roar, and someone screamed his name, and you’d run toward the rubble thinking, hoping, that you’d only find him bruised?

Molly burst into the room in that moment like her heart had just restarted. Arthur was at her shoulder, his face pale, drawn tight with emotion he rarely showed.

“Fred…” Molly whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh, Fredrick Gideon Weasley, don’t you ever, ever, do that to me again!”

She collapsed into the chair beside him, gripping his arm like she still couldn’t believe it was real. Her whole body shook with the sobs she’d been holding in for hours.

Fred looked over at her, baffled, his features still slack with groggy confusion.

“Mum? Did someone die?” he rasped, blinking like he was still waking from a dream. “You all look like someone died.”

You flinched.

So did George, standing just outside the door now, his knuckles white against the frame.

Fred’s words hung in the air like a cruel joke the universe didn’t have the guts to finish.

“George!”

Fred’s voice cracked through the stillness like a firework misfired in a library. The startled gasp around the room was immediate, even the Healer in the corner who nearly dropped a clipboard.

George was already at his side in seconds, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his bruised face breaking into a wild, trembling smile. “Yeah, it’s me, you prat,” he breathed.

Fred blinked blearily, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. Then, through the haze of potion and pain, he squinted.

“…Where’s your ear?”

George huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with the kind of sheepishness only a twin could pull off. “Long story.”

Fred stared a second longer, eyes scanning what parts of the room he could see, faces leaning over him, some red-eyed, some smiling through tears. He caught each one, naming them in a tired, raspy roll call.

“Mum.”

“Yes, baby, I’m here,” Molly choked, stumbling forward to clasp his arm with both hands. Her voice broke on the word baby, like it had been waiting years to be said again.

“Dad.”

Arthur leaned down to gently smooth Fred’s damp hair, his voice as soft as smoke. “I’m right here, son. You gave us quite the scare.”

Fred’s lips twitched, like his brain had caught up just enough to register everyone’s hovering, their hesitant smiles and the thick blanket of emotion hanging in the air.

He blinked. Then whispered, “Why are we whispering?”

The entire room erupted.

Laughter burst through the tension like a dam cracking, relieved, breathless, too-exhausted-to-care laughter. Molly broke into tears again, this time in the form of a wet giggle against Fred’s arm. Bill actually doubled over. Ron coughed into his fist to cover a snort. And George, still crouched beside the bed, pressed a hand over his mouth and wheezed so hard it looked like he might fall over.

You exhaled a watery breath, your head ducked slightly as your shoulders shook. Relief tasted like salt and felt like trembling joy.

Your hand was still resting on Fred’s chest, palm barely moving with each slow rise and fall. The other brushed gently through his curls, smoothing them back from his forehead, damp with sweat, sticky with potion mist and a faint burn salve. His skin was pale, but warm. His pulse, slow but steady beneath your fingertips.

And he was here.

Still half-drugged, still confused, but alive. Talking. Cracking jokes.

And you were just barely holding yourself together.

You didn’t dare speak. The lump in your throat had taken up permanent residence. Every time you tried to find words, all that came out was a whisper too soft to be heard, just comfort laced into touch, into quiet presence, into the way you curled protectively over him even now, as though shielding what was left of his strength with your own.

Molly stood close by, her hands wringing the hem of her cardigan, eyes locked on her son like she feared blinking might make him disappear. Arthur’s hand never left her back. And George…

George sat on the windowsill now, bruised and bandaged, a thin scratch curving just beneath his jaw, half of his hair still sticky with dried blood.

Fred shifted under your touch, his body twitching slightly as his lashes fluttered open again, eyes hazy, unfocused, and clearly still high as a broomstick in a windstorm.

“Mum,” he croaked, voice hoarse and bleary but unmistakably Fred, “why is this woman petting me? Where’s my wife?”

A beat of stunned silence, then the room erupted again

Stifled snorts, choked giggles, and not-so-quiet laughter spilled through every corner of the hospital room. Even Arthur had to cough into his fist. Bill turned away, shaking with laughter. And George nearly lost his balance against the window from how hard he was wheezing.

You choked on your own breath, caught between crying and cracking up. Your hands, still gently spread over Fred’s chest, trembled with the absurdity of it all. Of the fact that this disaster of a man was alive and still this ridiculous.

Molly, bless her ever-patient soul, leaned in with a smirk tugging at her mouth and whispered like it was a family joke passed down through generations.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Fred’s brows scrunched, that classic confusion squirming across his face. His head lolled toward your voice, though his gaze still struggled to land.

“My wife…” he repeated dreamily, his voice slurred like it was melting. “She’ll be furious if she sees you touching me like this… on the chest…”

George howled. Actually wheezed and slid down the wall, clutching his side, gasping for air.

You didn’t answer right away. Just kept stroking slow, calming circles over Fred’s heart as you leaned in a little closer, your voice soft, affectionate, laced with love and barely-stifled amusement.

“I am your wife, Freddie.”

His eyelids fluttered again. His eyes, still murky with potions, snapped open with sudden, laser-cut clarity. They flicked down to your hand, the familiar glint of his wedding ring catching the sterile light, then up to your face.

That infamous Fred Weasley spark.

That impish, unkillable glint of mischief that not even war, rubble, or death itself could smother.

“Oh.”

A beat passed.

Then the confusion melted. That signature grin slid into place like it had never left, slow and crooked and smug as sin.

“What’s up,” he said, like he hadn’t just woken from near-death. “Damn, I really did marry a goddess.”

The room roared with laughter.

George groaned dramatically, slumping against the wall like he’d taken a fatal blow. “He’s back,” he announced to no one in particular. “Merlin help us all.”

Fred tried to sit up, only to wince as his side pulled tight.

“Oi, easy now,” you scolded gently, pressing a hand to his chest to ease him back down. But the warning didn’t quite land, not with the way your grin stretched all the way across your face.

Fred beamed like he hadn’t just survived an explosion. He was glowing with mischief, alight with that unshakable, incorrigible spark that had always made him half menace, half miracle.

Later that evening, after the room had cleared and he was tucked into a hospital gown, color slowly returning to his face, legs propped up beneath a transfigured cushion, Fred sipped his pumpkin juice like it was vintage champagne.

Within hours, every floor of St. Mungo’s knew.

He’d woken up from near-death, accused his own wife of adultery, and called himself a war hero, all before breakfast.

And Fred?

Oh, Fred thrived in it.

“Must’ve thought my wife was an angel,” he told every healer, every visitor, every passing intern who dared make eye contact. “She was glowing, I tell you. Petting me like a dying hero.” he placed a dramatic hand to his heart. 

-The End- 

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part III)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.3K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: here's the final chapter for these two. Hope you enjoy it as much i did bringing it to live.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

The news had unsettled him. It would be a lie to say otherwise.  When he had thought that all the pressure from intense scenes were gone, production had decided that it'd be great to explore the intensity of the relationship of your characters by changing some scenes about the breakup between them. 

You two were informed together, first thing in the morning after some days since your last scene together. Joe had searched in your eyes for a response, a hint about what you were thinking… but he couldn’t get anything. Your eyes were distant, unapproachable. 

Mark gave each one of you a copy of the rescripted scene so you could follow the reading and oh God, it was even worse than he had imagined. 

None of you said a thing, but the similarity to the breaking point you were going through was irrefutable. For a second, the idea that it was done on purpose crossed Joe’s mind… but he knew it wasn’t like that. It was just a coincidence, a terrible and hurtful coincidence. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Joe read, trying to sound dull and barely looking at you. 

But Mark wouldn’t take it and demanded more veracity. 

He sighed and obliged himself to lock his eyes with yours. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.” he said with a broken voice, almost trembling. 

“Then why did you?” you said back, not needing to read it from the script. You sounded terribly genuine and Joe could’t keep looking at you. 

Joe shifted beside you, the tension rising like a storm cloud in the room. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the script, the weight of the scene pressed down on him. He knew it was just acting, just lines to deliver. But those words... they feel too real, too personal. You two had crossed a line between performance and truth, and the reality of it stung. 

Mark asked you two to memorize it fast so you could practise a bit before taking it to the set the next day. You both had less than 24 hours to learn the lines, practice and execute it. But Joe felt like that was the easy part, the tough one was to pretend again that anything of it felt real. 

-

Joe stood there, gripping the script in his hands, the weight of the words in front of him feeling heavier than ever. His chest was tight, and his mind raced as he tried to prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Mark had insisted on rehearsing the scene before they shot it. Of course, it made sense—this was the heart of the story, the climax of everything that had been building up. But Joe wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.

He could feel your presence beside him, even though you hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. Every inch of him wanted to avoid looking at you, but the words were pushing him to face you—to feel the weight of what you were about to do.

The silence stretched on for a moment, and Joe felt the tension between you tighten. The crew was setting up, the distant hum of activity in the background, but here, in this room, it felt like there was nothing but the two of you. He could barely keep his hands from trembling.

Mark gave a quick nod, signaling for them to begin. "Let’s just take it from the top," he said, his voice steady, but Joe could see the tension in his eyes too. He knew this scene would be everything.

Joe opened the script and read the first lines but he was looking at you when his voice came out hoarse, almost like he wasn’t sure if he even believed the words he was about to speak.

“You don’t get it, do you? I never wanted things to end like this”

His voice cracked slightly, and he could feel his face flush with discomfort. He glanced at you then, but only for a split second—just enough to see your stiff posture, the way you were holding herself together, as if everything in you wanted to run but were forcing yourself to stay.

You didn’t speak at first, but your eyes narrowed, and Joe could tell you were already calculating your response. That same cold distance had settled back in between you. It had been there for weeks. But this time, something felt different. He wasn’t pretending anymore. He couldn’t. The weight of the scene was too much.

When you finally responded, your voice was steady, too steady. Too controlled. But Joe could hear the hurt buried beneath it.

“But they did… and it doesn’t look like there’s nothing left to fix”

The words landed in the space between you, heavier than any line you’d ever said on set. His stomach dropped, and for a moment, he almost forgot the rest of the scene. It was too real. It felt like something that should’ve been left behind—something too painful to confront.

He could feel himself shutting down, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to push through it.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth. He looked at you, his heart pounding.

It was true—he never had. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he had. And now here you were, saying the things you never had the courage to say in real life, making it all too raw, too painful to pretend it was just acting.

You didn’t flinch, but there was something in your eyes, something that made his breath catch. He could see the same confusion, the same anger, that had been there when everything fell apart. It felt like you were reliving it, just as much as he was.

The silence stretched again. Joe could feel his skin growing too tight, like he was suffocating under the weight of it all. His fingers tightened around the script, but it didn’t help. Nothing would.

His voice broke the silence again, but this time it was more of a nervous laugh, a way to cover the unease bubbling up inside him. "Jesus Christ, this is brutal," he muttered under his breath, trying to lighten the mood.

But it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything. It just made the discomfort more obvious.

He glanced at you, hoping to see some sign that you were as uncomfortable as he was, but instead, you just looked… like you were losing control. Your eyes were wide, and your breath was shallow. Joe could see the strain in your face, the tension in your jaw. It was all too real for you, too much.

Then, after a beat that felt like an eternity, you broke. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when you opened them again, they were brimming with unshed tears. You inhaled sharply, as if trying to hold everything back.

“I can’t do this right now,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t even look at him or anyone in the room as you dropped the script and walked out of the room, your steps echoing in the silence that followed your.

Joe stood there, staring after you, his own breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fix it. The weight of the scene, of everything you were both feeling, crushed him in that moment.

He stood frozen in the rehearsal room, staring at the door where you had just walked out. The weight of the halted scene hung in the air, thick and suffocating. His mind replayed the intensity of those lines, of your reaction, and the way the raw emotions they were supposed to act out had bled into the reality of the situation.

He wanted to follow you, but something held him back. He needed a moment to collect himself, to process everything that had just happened. The script in his hand felt heavier than ever, and he found himself reading the same line over and over without really understanding the words.

The director's voice broke through the silence, pulling him back to the present. He stood next to Joe, his expression serious, more so than usual.

"Joe," Mark said, his voice low but firm. "I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it’s clear this isn’t working. The tension is there, yeah, but it’s not helping the scene. If you don’t figure it out, it won’t work. I’ve let it slide for a while, but you need to resolve this. It’s urgent."

Joe’s chest tightened as Mark’s words sunk in. He knew he was right. The tension between him and you wasn’t just affecting the scene—it was affecting everything. And now, it was spilling over into the real world, making it impossible to get through even a single rehearsal.

Mark continued, his voice softer but no less determined. "Take some time if you need it. But you have to talk. This scene is important, and we need to get it right today."

Joe nodded absently, the weight of the words settling deep in his gut. The scene, the tension, everything—it wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was about the unresolved emotions between you. And that was far more complicated than he had ever imagined.

As Mark walked away, Joe felt a heavy urgency settle over him. He couldn’t keep avoiding this. If there was any hope of getting through this, of fixing things with you, he needed to face it.

Without a second thought, his feet carried him toward the rest area, his thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of uncertainty. What would he say? What if you shut him out again? What if you didn’t want to talk?

But he couldn’t turn back now. Not after everything. He knocked on the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited, hoping that you would be ready to face this too.

-

You opened the door without a second thought, barely registering the weight of his presence before he stepped into the room. The last person you expected, or maybe the last person you needed. But there he was. And though you didn’t want to face him, you knew you couldn’t do this in front of the whole set. Not now. Not after everything.

He stood there for a beat, watching you, waiting for you to say something. But I wasn’t sure what to say, not when everything between you felt so... fragile. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle.

“Are you okay?” His gaze was intense, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just concern—it was something deeper, something that was harder to ignore.

You snapped without thinking, the frustration bubbling over before I could stop it. “Do I look okay to you?” Your words came out harsher than you meant, but it wasn’t like you could just pretend you were fine. “You should go. Please”

But instead of retreating, he took a step closer, his face tightening, his jaw clenched. He was silent for a moment, but then it broke. Everything he’d been holding back, all the anger, the confusion, the pain—it all came crashing out at once.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice was low, but it cut through the silence like a knife. “That all I wanted was to get through this fucking movie and move on like nothing ever happened?” His words were sharp, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he spoke.

You didn’t flinch, but his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You could see the way his muscles tensed, how his fists curled at his sides as if fighting to keep himself together.

“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice growing louder, more intense. “You think I’ve been just fine with this? With us? Hell no. Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting it’s been to pretend?” He stepped closer, and you could see the frustration in every line of his face. “To watch you act like I don’t exist?”

His eyes burned into your, relentlessly. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t see the walls he’d put up. You didn’t see the guarded, distant Joe. You saw the person who had been carrying all of this, keeping it locked inside. He was raw, exposed, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel it, too.

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t retaliate with the same anger he was throwing at you. Instead, you held back. Cautiously. You needed him to get all of it out. To speak his truth, no matter how much it stung.

His voice broke slightly as he continued, the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt me, too?” he said, his breath coming faster now. “Do you think I don’t wish I could change everything? That I don’t regret every fucking thing that’s happened? You’ve made it clear what you want. But I’m here, still here, and you keep pushing me away like I’m just... nothing.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to calm him down or argue. You were letting him speak, even if it felt like you were about to fall apart. This was the honesty you had been begging for, even if it came with a fury you weren't ready for.

His chest heaved, the strain in his voice betraying him. “I didn’t want to hurt you, you know?” He was quieter now, but the emotion was there, thick and heavy. “I never fucking wanted to hurt you. But I did. And it’s killing me to see you like this, to see you push me away like it was nothing. I’m not okay with this, but you... you’ve been acting like I don’t even matter.”

His words stung, but they were nothing compared to the way his eyes looked at you—like you were everything and nothing at once. It was too much to process, but at the same time, it was exactly what you needed to hear.

You stayed silent, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you knew that if you opened my mouth right now, you might not be able to stop yourself from falling apart. Instead, you watched him, his frustration and pain spilling out in the rawest way possible.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “God, this is so fucking hard,” he muttered, almost to himself. He sounded like he didn’t even know who he was anymore. “I can’t fix this if you won’t even let me try. And it’s driving me insane.”

There was a long silence between you, the tension unbearable, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You wanted to say something. Anything. But you held back.

This wasn’t the time for you to fight back, to argue, to match his anger. Not when he was this exposed, this broken.

So, you did nothing. You just stood there, letting him get it all out, knowing that this was what had to happen before anything could change. You had been waiting for him to finally be real, to drop the walls—and now that he had, you weren't about to stop him.

Finally, his words slowed, and he seemed to deflate, like all the energy he had left had been poured into that outburst. He was breathing harder now, looking at you, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t angry anymore—he was... lost. And for the first time in weeks, you saw him the way you had seen him before.

But you still didn’t speak. And the silence between you stretched on, heavy with everything that had been said, everything that still needed to be said.

It was too much for either of you to process in that moment, but you weren't going to walk away. Not now. Not when this was finally happening.

You watched as his posture changed, the rigidness in his shoulders giving way to something more fragile. There was a noticeable shift in his expression, a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His breathing became uneven, and he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed of himself. His words came out softer now, but they were laced with an emotion you couldn’t ignore.

"I was scared, okay?" His voice cracked, and for a brief moment, it was as if the room held its breath, waiting for him to say more. "I didn’t know how to handle this. I didn’t know how to handle you."

The words hit you like a physical blow. It wasn’t what you were expecting—certainly not after everything that had happened—but somehow, it made sense. Everything he had said up until then, all the anger and the frustration, it had been just a mask. A defense. He had been fighting something deeper, something he hadn’t let out until that moment.

For a second, you didn’t know how to respond. You felt the weight of it in the pit of your stomach, that familiar ache of disappointment, of things left unsaid. But the sincerity in his voice made it hard to stay angry, harder to hold onto the walls you had built up.

You took a step forward, unsure of what exactly you were about to say, but knowing it was time to speak your truth too.

"You think I don’t get it?" Your words came out a little more fragile than you intended, but they held the truth you had been avoiding for so long. "I’ve been scared too, Joe. I’ve been terrified. But I didn’t know how to handle it either. I didn’t know how to handle... you."

There was a rawness in your voice now that matched his, a vulnerability you hadn’t let yourself show before. His words cut through the layers of frustration and hurt you had been holding onto for weeks, and now, without the anger to mask it, you felt the cracks starting to appear in your own defenses.

"I never wanted to get to this point," you continued, your voice quieter, more deliberate. "I never wanted to be... like this, with you. I didn’t want to be angry all the time, to feel like we were just two people passing by each other, pretending nothing mattered."

Joe’s eyes finally met yours, and there was something in them now—something different. The intensity was still there, but it was tempered by a kind of sadness, a recognition of the pain you both had carried. He didn’t say anything, but the way he was looking at you told you everything. This was the first real conversation you had had in what felt like forever.

For a moment, the silence stretched between you both, heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. You could feel your heart beating louder now, the sound echoing in your chest. It was terrifying to be this honest, to say everything that had been buried for so long, but it was also... necessary. You knew that then.

Finally, you spoke again, your voice a little steadier.

"I thought I could just ignore it, you know?" you admitted. "I thought if I kept pretending it didn’t matter, that it would go away. But it doesn’t. It never does. And here we are. And I don’t want to keep doing this anymore. I don’t want to keep pretending like this is okay when it’s not."

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on yours, his expression softening. It was clear that he was hearing you, that he was understanding you in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe it was the first time you had really listened to each other—not just in the heated moments of anger and frustration, but here, in the quiet aftermath.

"I know," he murmured, his voice still shaky, but softer now. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen."

The air in the room suddenly changed.

You felt it the moment his voice dropped, the sharp edges of his anger giving way to something else—something darker, something heavier.

"I tried to push it away," Joe murmured, his voice raw. "To push you away. But I couldn’t. I never could."

His eyes burned into you, and it was impossible to look away.

"And seeing you every fucking day, pretending like it didn’t mean anything, like we didn’t mean anything—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his jaw clenching. Not because he was out of things to say, but because the words seemed to betray him, choking on the weight of them.

And then, he took a step forward.

It wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t hesitant either. It was pure instinct, pure need. A force pulling him closer before he could think better of it.

His hand twitched at his side—barely, but you caught it. Like he wanted to touch you. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed.

Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it.

His breathing was ragged, his jaw still tight, like he was fighting himself. Holding back, even now.

But his eyes—God, his eyes.

Dark and desperate, so full of something you didn’t want to name.

You should have stepped back. You should have said something, done something, stopped it before it went any further. But you didn’t.

You stayed exactly where you were.

And that was all it took. A mistake—an instant where your gaze flickered down, just for a second, landing on his lips before you could stop yourself.

It was small, barely noticeable. But he noticed.

Joe sucked in a sharp breath, and something in him snapped.

One second, he was frozen. The next, his hands were on you.

Gripping your waist, pulling you against him like he couldn’t take it anymore.

His lips crashed into yours, rough, desperate, stealing the breath from your lungs. There was nothing soft about it—no hesitation, no caution. It was weeks of silence, of resentment, of longing finally breaking free.

A low, almost pained sound escaped him, vibrating against your mouth, and it wrecked you.

You didn’t just let him kiss you—you kissed him back. Hard. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails dragging slightly against his scalp as if to prove he was real, that this was real.

His grip tightened on you, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer—like he was trying to erase the space that had existed between you for so long.

The kiss was messy, frantic, full of everything that had been left unsaid. No patience. No restraint. 

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

You both pulled away at the same time, breaths colliding, foreheads almost touching.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Joe’s hands lingered on you for a second longer, as if his body hadn’t caught up with his mind yet. Then, slowly, he let go.

Your lips tingled, your breath unsteady. And when you finally forced yourself to meet his gaze again, you saw it. The same thing you were feeling.

Shock. Relief. Inevitability.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. Because this—whatever this was—was far from over. And you both knew exactly when it would happen again.

Walking back onto set felt surreal.

The weight that had been sitting on your chest for weeks was suddenly gone, replaced by something else entirely. Something heavier, but in the best possible way.

Your lips still tingled from Joe’s kiss. Your body still hummed with the memory of his hands on you, his breath mixing with yours, the way he had needed you like he was making up for lost time.

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was feeling the exact same thing.

But when you did glance over—just for a second—there it was.

His gaze was darker now, more focused. A quiet kind of intensity that wasn’t just acting. His jaw was tight, his breathing just a little uneven.

He was still thinking about it. Thinking about you.

And fuck, that knowledge sent a thrill down your spine.

The set was already buzzing with activity, but somehow, the air felt different.

Maybe it was just you. Maybe it was just him. Or maybe… maybe everyone else could sense it too. The energy between you two had shifted, palpable in a way it hadn’t been before.

There were looks. A few whispered comments exchanged between the crew. The director eyed you both for a moment, lips pressing together as if debating whether to say something.

But he didn’t.

And honestly? You didn’t care.

The only thing that mattered was getting through this scene.

Because the sooner it was over, the sooner this day would end. And the sooner this day ended, the sooner you’d be back with Joe, pressed against him, tasting him, feeling his hands—

You took a slow breath, rolling your shoulders back as you settled into your mark. Joe did the same, standing across from you, tension coiled in every inch of his body.

Mark exhaled, glancing between you two. “Let’s run it once before we shoot. I want this to feel real.”

Silence fell over the set. And then—

You started.

For the first time in a while, the scene flowed effortlessly. There was no hesitation, no forced emotion. It was raw, real, charged with something far beyond the script.

Every word, every look, every beat of silence between you two felt like a confession. Joe’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, it wasn’t just the character speaking.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His voice was hoarse, thick with something that wasn’t entirely pretend.

Your throat tightened. The line shouldn’t have hit so hard. But it did.

“Then why did you?”

The words left your lips softer than intended, but they still cut through the air like a knife. Joe exhaled, his jaw clenching.

His fingers twitched at his side, and you swore—you swore—you saw it. That flicker of truth behind his eyes. The set faded away. The world faded away.

And it was just you and him.

Until the director finally spoke. “That was… yeah. That was it. Let’s set up for the take.”

You barely registered the movement around you. The crew adjusting lights, checking marks, preparing cameras. Because Joe was still looking at you. And you both knew exactly how this night was going to end.

-

The moment filming wrapped, you felt it.

Relief. Anticipation.

That thrumming energy beneath your skin that had been building all damn day, reaching a fever pitch the second the director called the final cut.

It was done.

You had both done what you needed to do. Played your roles. Delivered the scene with a rawness that had left even the crew silent for a beat before applause broke out.

And now—now, finally, you could go.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because just as you were about to gather your things and head out, someone in the cast spoke up.

"Dinner?"

It wasn’t unusual. Long shoot days often ended with the team grabbing food together, unwinding before heading home. Normally, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But tonight…

Tonight, all you wanted was to get out of there. To be alone with him.

Still, before you could come up with an excuse, you heard Joe’s voice behind you.

"Yeah, sounds good."

You stiffened for half a second, barely suppressing the look you wanted to shoot him. Was he serious? After everything, after the way he had been looking at you all day, he wanted to—

Then you caught it.

The way his fingers twitched at his side. The way his voice was just a touch too even, too controlled.

He was playing the long game.

Keeping things under wraps just a little longer, keeping himself in check just a little longer. Or at least, trying to.

So you nodded, giving nothing away, even as your pulse pounded relentlessly beneath your skin.

"Yeah. Let’s go."

-

The restaurant was dimly lit, lively with conversation and laughter. Plates were passed, glasses clinked, and yet—none of it reached you.

Because he was sitting right there. Across the table. Too far to touch, but close enough that every time your eyes met, the air shifted.

It started subtle.

A glance over his wine glass. A fleeting brush of his knee beneath the table. A slow drag of his fingers along the rim of his glass—a movement you felt way too acutely.

And then, it escalated.

His hand settling against the table, fingers tapping absently. Close to yours. Too close. You could have moved away.

You didn’t.

Neither did he.

It wasn’t obvious to anyone else. To them, you were just part of the group, engaged in conversation, playing your part. But underneath it all, there was something else entirely.

A silent, electric dare.

It stretched between you with every passing second, every stolen glance, every slow, deliberate breath.

Until finally—finally—you couldn’t take it anymore.

"I think I’ll head back," you murmured, pushing your chair back.

Joe’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark, unreadable.

"I’ll walk you."

It wasn’t a question.

And you didn’t argue.

-

The walk back to the hotel stretched longer than it needed to.

Neither of you rushed. Neither of you wanted to.

The cool night air was a relief against the heat still thrumming beneath your skin, but it did nothing to quiet the tension—the kind that had been building for far too long, simmering beneath every glance, every near touch, every moment of silence.

And now, without the noise of the restaurant, without the weight of prying eyes, there was nothing left between you except this.

You talked. Not much, but enough. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it was easy.

It shouldn’t have been, not with everything between you, everything still unresolved. But somehow, in this quiet moment, it was.

Maybe because you both knew exactly where it was leading. Maybe because there was no need to say it out loud.

By the time you stepped inside the hotel, the air between you was charged.

The low hum of conversation from the lobby, the soft chime of the elevator—none of it registered. Not when Joe was walking beside you, his hands in his pockets, his jaw set like he was still trying to keep himself in check.

Not when your pulse quickened with every step down the hallway. Not when you stopped in front of your door and turned to face him.

This was it. The moment of no return.

You reached for your key card, sliding it through the lock with a steady hand, but before you pushed the door open, you hesitated.

And so did he.

For the first time since you left the restaurant, he faltered.

You saw it in the way his fingers played with his rings, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was thinking.

Maybe too much.

Maybe about what this meant, about what came next, about whether either of you would come back from it.

But then—then your eyes met his. And whatever thoughts had been holding him back crumbled.

Because you weren’t hesitating. You weren’t backing away.

You just stood there, your fingers still curled around the door handle, your breath shallow, your body waiting.

And that was all the invitation he needed.

In one slow, deliberate step, Joe closed the space between you.

You barely had time to inhale before his hand came up, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face toward his—a silent question.

One you answered without hesitation.

You stepped back, into the room. And he followed. No more doubts. No more distance.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn (part II)

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.1K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: sooo here its part II for drunk in my mind, it's kind of angsty soooorry, i just cant help writing messy Joe, its absolutely captivating for me idk. Hope you enjoy this one (plus, there's obviously gonna be a next and least part)

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

Joe barely slept. Again.

He had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in circles, replaying every word, every second of last night’s disaster. He had hurt you. That was the only thing that mattered. He hadn’t meant to, not in a million years, but that didn’t change the fact that he had. And now, there was no way to fix it. Not when today was another workday. Not when the only thing he could do was push through, pretend nothing had happened, and get this over with.

The worst part was knowing that you would be there. That he wouldn’t be able to avoid you. That he wouldn’t even be able to talk to you properly—because how could he? What could he say? Sorry I shut you out? Sorry I ruined everything? Sorry I want you so much it’s ruining me?

No. It didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was getting through the next few hours without making things worse. The only way to do that was to switch off, keep his head down, and be professional. That’s what he told himself as he got up, showered, and got dressed. That’s what he repeated in his head all the way to the set. That’s what he told himself when he saw you.

You were already there, talking to the intimacy coordinator, going through notes, nodding at whatever Edith was saying. Your body language was careful, measured. Professional. You didn’t even glance in his direction.

Joe forced himself to look away, to keep walking. No lingering glances. No hesitations. No what ifs.

Just work.

The scene was unavoidable. Production had no choice but to pick up where they left off.

A love scene. One of the love scenes. The one that was supposed to be raw, desperate, consuming. The one that should have felt like two people unable to stay away from each other any longer.

Instead, it felt impossible.

Joe was hyper-aware of you. Every movement, every breath. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let it show, that he would be professional, but as soon as the cameras rolled, he felt the hesitation. The way his hands hovered for a second longer before touching you. The way he stiffened when he should have softened.

“Cut.” Mark’s voice rang out almost immediately.

Joe exhaled sharply, stepping back. He didn’t dare look at you.

“Alright,” Mark sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We need more… connection. More need between you two.”

Joe nodded, forcing a tight-lipped smile. More connection. If only they fucking knew.

They went again. And again. And again.

Each take was just as difficult as the last. Every time Joe’s hands traced your skin, every time your breath mixed with his, it felt like walking a tightrope. It wasn’t just awkwardness—it was something else, something dangerous. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step would send them both crashing down.

By the fourth take, something shifted.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the sheer force of muscle memory, maybe it was the fact that neither of them could afford to keep messing this up. But suddenly, the scene started to flow.

Joe stopped overthinking. He stopped hesitating. He let himself sink into it, into you.

And for a moment—just a moment—it didn’t feel like acting.

It felt real. The heat. The pull. The way his hands gripped your waist, the way your fingers tangled in his hair.

And that was the problem.

Because for a split second, Joe forgot. Forgot the cameras, the script, the fact that this was a scene and not something he could actually claim as his own. It was the way your body pressed into his, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it was everything. Too much.

Panic hit him like a train.

His body betrayed him first, his muscles tensing, his pulse hammering against his throat. His fingers curled involuntarily, his grip on you momentarily faltering before he forced himself to let go. He stepped back too fast, severing the connection in a way that felt brutal.

"Fuck, sorry," he muttered, already distancing himself, already forcing his mind into lockdown.

But it was too late.

The moment was gone. The scene was ruined.

The set was dead silent, and the weight of everything—everything that had just happened—pressed heavily on both of you. Joe’s eyes flitted to the floor, unable to meet yours, his breath shallow as though he’d just been caught in the act of something unspeakable. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. Your body felt stiff, frozen in place as you stared at him, but inside, it was all unraveling.

It wasn’t just about the scene. It was about everything that had been building up, the tension that had been hanging between you two for so long. And then, in that moment, everything felt more complicated than it ever had before. You’d crossed a line. He had crossed it. Neither of you had intended it, but there it was, unspoken yet undeniable.

“Fuck,” Joe said again, quieter this time, almost as if to himself. His hands fidgeted, as if they didn’t know where to go. He was torn between apologizing again or pretending it hadn’t just happened. His whole posture was tense, defensive, like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

You weren’t sure what to feel, how to react. Everything in you wanted to lash out, to scream at him for doing this to you, for making you feel something you shouldn’t feel in the middle of all this. But nothing came out. No words. No anger. Just confusion.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

Joe didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of apology and frustration, like he wanted to say so much more but couldn’t. Finally, he took a deep breath, looking like he was preparing to speak but unsure what words would make it better.

Mark’s voice broke through the tension. "Cut!" he called, clearly frustrated by the pause. “We need a break. Everyone, take five.”

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t look at Joe without feeling your chest tighten, your breath coming in short bursts. He had pulled away so quickly, as if the moment had disgusted him. And maybe it had. But why had it happened in the first place?

The space between you had never felt so vast. And it wasn’t just the physical distance. It was something far more complicated. The emotional distance. The boundaries you’d been trying to ignore for so long had suddenly slammed into reality.

Joe didn’t move, didn’t say anything more. He stood there, staring at the floor, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. He focused on breathing, on grounding himself, on pretending that the past two minutes hadn’t just thrown him into complete fucking turmoil. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t let this happen.

Not again.

He heard your footsteps behind him, hesitant. Maybe you were about to say something, maybe you were about to ask if he was okay—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t meet your eyes and risk unraveling completely. So he took a step further away, putting more space between you, a boundary neither of you had needed before.

The silence stretched on until it became unbearable. The set felt colder, more sterile, and the walls between you felt thicker than ever. 

“Five more minutes,” he said, his tone flat, detached. “We need five minutes, and then we’re finishing this.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. But you couldn’t let the scene stay ruined. You couldn’t let it fall apart because of this. You had a job to do.

With a stiff nod, you turned away from him, walking towards the side of the set where they were setting up for the next shot. Joe didn’t follow, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

The five minutes passed in silence. You barely moved, barely thought. You just breathed, trying to collect your thoughts, trying to block out the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

Joe squared his shoulders, forcing every ounce of emotion out of his system. When he turned back, he wasn’t Joe anymore—he was his character, detached, composed, ready to finish what he had started. 

The second take began.

And this time, he made sure it was nothing more than a performance.

Joe came back to his position, his face set, his eyes distant. He was a professional, and he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it cost him. He stayed rigid, focused entirely on the task at hand, keeping his distance. The touch, the heat, the closeness, all of it—he forced it all out of his mind.

You did the same.

And somehow, the scene went on. He acted, and you did too. Every movement was calculated, each touch forced, but the cameras were rolling, and the show had to go on. There was no room for mistakes now.

As the scene finished, the tension in the air was palpable. Mark called cut, and everyone immediately scattered, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to acknowledge the unspoken tension that still hung between you and Joe.

He didn’t speak to you. Neither did you. There was nothing left to say.

-

You had never felt the weight of silence quite like this.

The distance wasn’t just physical—it was everywhere. In the moments between takes, in the breaks that used to be filled with effortless conversation, in the absence of his presence when you turned your head expecting to find him watching.

Because that’s what Joe used to do.

He used to sit behind the camera when it was your turn to film, watching, always watching. You’d grown used to it, to that silent but constant support, the way his presence felt like an anchor amidst the chaos of filming. But today, his chair was empty. He had scenes of his own to shoot, yes—but that had never stopped him before.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe this was for the best. But the ache in your chest told a different story.

It was pathetic, really, the way you kept looking for him. How you still expected to turn a corner and see him waiting, how you half-expected him to fall into step beside you between scenes, making some dry comment about the ridiculousness of whatever you had just filmed.

But he wasn’t there. And you hated how much you noticed.

It was infuriating, this version of Joe you were seeing now. The cold professionalism. The single-minded focus. Like nothing that had happened between you mattered at all. Like you weren’t worth even a fraction of the consideration he had so easily given before.

Maybe that was the worst part—not just the absence, but the realization that you had been wrong about him.

You had believed he was different. That he was kind, thoughtful, the kind of person who cared about more than just the job. But maybe that was just another illusion. Maybe he was no different from every other actor who smiled for the cameras and left the wreckage behind when the scene was over.

And maybe that was on you.

Because you should have known better. You should have kept your distance, maintained the boundaries that would have made this easier. But you hadn’t. You had let yourself trust him, let yourself believe that whatever had been growing between you was real. And now, you were paying the price.

The worst part?

He wasn’t.

Joe was moving on like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing more than another scene, another line to be delivered and discarded.

And that? That hurt more than anything.

- 

Joe had told himself—convinced himself—that this was for the best. That if he kept his distance, if he forced himself to be professional, to be cold, then maybe things would settle. Maybe the weight in his chest would lessen. Maybe he’d stop wanting you so fucking much.

But it hadn’t worked.

If anything, it made it worse.

The absence of you was unbearable. The silence, the lack of your voice filling the gaps between takes, the missing glances you used to share—it all felt like a punishment. And he knew he deserved it. But fuck, it was getting harder to breathe.

You weren’t just keeping your distance—you were freezing him out. Completely. And he couldn’t blame you. He had drawn the first line. He had built the first wall. But he never expected you to build one even higher, even thicker, impenetrable in a way that made his chest ache.

Days passed, and the realization settled like lead in his stomach.

He had been selfish.

At first, his fear had been simple: that you didn’t feel the same. That this pull between you was something he had imagined, exaggerated in his mind. That maybe you were just friends, that maybe he was just another coworker to you.

But then, he saw the way he had hurt you. Saw the anger in your eyes, the disappointment, the pain. And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

Of course, you had felt it too.

And instead of talking about it, instead of giving you the chance to decide what to do with those feelings, he had made the decision for both of you.

That was the worst part. The unbearable truth.

He had convinced himself this was for your sake, for the sake of the film, for the sake of professionalism. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He had done it for himself. To protect his own heart. His own fears.

And now? Now he had no idea how to fix it.

You wouldn’t even look at him anymore. Wouldn’t speak to him unless it was strictly necessary. And even then, your voice was devoid of warmth, clipped and controlled, like you were barely tolerating his presence.

He wanted to fix it.

He just didn’t know if he had the right to.

Because if he had been the one to break everything apart… how the hell was he supposed to ask you to put it back together?

-

Joe had told himself that he could fix this. Maybe not entirely—maybe not in the way he wanted—but at least enough to make things bearable again. He had spent days carrying the weight of his own selfishness, his own fear, and now, faced with the wall you had built between you, he realized something even worse.

He wasn’t the only one who had made a choice. You had, too.

You weren’t playing along anymore. The kindness, the warmth, the easy understanding—you had shut it all off. And why wouldn’t you? He had been the first to pull away, to decide what was best for the both of you, and now you had done the same. Except this time, he was on the receiving end of it, and it fucking hurt.

Still, he had to try.

So he made an effort. Small things at first. Little acknowledgments, nods when you passed by each other, polite comments about the scenes. He didn’t push, didn’t expect anything in return. He was just trying to remind you that he was still here. That he wasn’t avoiding you anymore.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because you weren’t meeting him halfway.

You weren’t cruel, not exactly, but you weren’t letting him in either. When he spoke to you, you answered, but only in clipped, neutral sentences. When you had breaks between scenes, you no longer spent them anywhere near him. And when it came to the actual filming, you were professional—so professional it was almost unbearable.

Joe could handle the distance. What he couldn’t handle was the fact that you wanted it.

And it was fucking up everything.

The more he thought about it, the more distracted he became. He fumbled lines, missed cues, stepped in the wrong place. Tiny, stupid mistakes—mistakes he never made. He could feel the irritation creeping in from the crew, from Mark, from you.

Especially from you.

Your frustration was palpable.

At first, it was just little things—tightened shoulders, tense jaw, the way you let out sharp breaths whenever the scene had to be reset. But then, after the fourth take was ruined because he hesitated before delivering his line, you snapped.

"For fuck’s sake, Joe," you muttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear. “Can you please focus for once?"

He flinched. Not because of your words, but because of the way they sounded—tired, exasperated, like you were done. Done with him, done with the whole damn thing.

He wanted to apologize, to explain, to say anything to make it better.

But what the fuck was he supposed to say?

That he was exhausted, but not from the long days of shooting? That he had spent every second of the last week thinking about you, about how badly he had handled everything? That standing next to you, knowing he had ruined whatever was between you, made it impossible to focus?

None of that would fix anything.

So instead, he swallowed it down. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to focus.

And when the cameras rolled again, he delivered the line.

Perfectly.

Because if there was one thing he could still do, one thing he had left, it was pretending.

- 

You didn’t have to look at him to know when he entered the set. You felt it. The weight of his presence, heavier than before. It was as if he’d been trying—no, he had been trying, and that was what pissed you off even more. You hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but you knew he had been doing his damned best to be cordial, to rebuild whatever mess of a relationship you had left.

The tension between you two had been thick, but you kept your eyes fixed on your script. You forced your body to stay rigid, not even glancing in his direction. His attempts to be professional, to give you a nod or some small, respectful gesture, didn’t go unnoticed. And it annoyed you to no end.

He had been the one who messed this up. He had been the one to pull away. And now, after all that, he expected you to just... let it slide? No. Not this time. Not after everything. You had built walls higher than you ever thought you could, and there was no way in hell you were letting them crumble so easily. Not for him.

As the scenes had unfolded, the weight of the unfinished tension from the past days had pressed down on you, turning every moment into a battle to maintain composure. He’d been trying, you could tell—he’d been trying so hard to fix things, to show that he cared—but all you felt was a cold bitterness creeping in. He didn’t get it, did he? He’d thought he could just pick up the pieces and act like nothing had ever happened. Like everything had been fine now just because he suddenly cared.

You had watched him stumble through his lines. His movements had been all off, as if he hadn’t been quite present, as if his mind had been somewhere else. It had been infuriating. Why did he have to make everything so difficult now? Didn’t he see that you were the one trying to push through this, that you were the one who just wanted to get through it without falling apart?

Every time he misplaced his mark or hesitated on his lines, you felt your frustration boil. You couldn’t help but sigh loudly, a sharp exhale through your nose that was loud enough for him to hear. You didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted. If he had cared about this as much as he said, he wouldn’t have been falling apart like this. It was like you were filming with a stranger—someone who didn’t even have the decency to put in the effort.

His eyes had darted to yours, and there had been that brief flash of guilt, of self-awareness, but it had only made you angrier. He had been doing this on purpose, hadn’t he? Trying to make you feel something again, trying to bridge the gap you had both built, but you hadn’t been interested in falling for that. Not now. Not after everything.

As the day had dragged on, you had begun to realize just how tired you were. Tired of the tension. Tired of him. Tired of pretending that you weren’t dying inside, that you weren’t resentful of every moment you had to spend in this space with him. He’d been messing up more than ever, and it had been hard to watch and even harder to ignore.

But even worse had been that little voice in the back of your head, the one that still cared, that still wanted to reach out. You hated it. You despised it. But no matter how hard you had tried to shut it up, it had lingered there, mocking you, making you wish for a simpler time when things hadn’t felt so complicated.

But then, after the fourth take had been ruined because he had hesitated before delivering his line, you had been done.

You had thrown your hands up in frustration, your voice snapping as you muttered, "For fuck’s sake, Joe, can you please focus for once?"

He had flinched. But it hadn’t been the words that had hit him—it had been the tone. The weariness in it. The frustration. You hadn’t even realized how much of it had seeped into your voice. You had felt a little bad, but not enough to stop the words from coming out. He had made this hard for you. So why shouldn’t you make it hard for him, too?

He hadn’t said anything, though you could feel the tension in the air. You had known he had been wrestling with something, but what could he possibly say? It wouldn’t have mattered, would it? You hadn’t wanted to hear any explanations, hadn’t wanted any half-hearted apologies. You were past that. You had just wanted to finish the scene, finish the day.

You saw him there, standing still, like he was trying to pull himself together, but you couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He seemed lost, but what could he possibly be struggling with? Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you were just overthinking it.

But then, as the cameras started rolling again, he took a breath. You watched him steady himself, as if he was trying to shut everything else out. And when he spoke—when he nailed that line, just like nothing had happened—you felt your chest tighten.

As the final scene wrapped, you gathered your things, moving quickly, not wanting to linger. You could feel his presence behind you before you even heard him step closer.

“Hey,” Joe’s voice was tentative, careful, like he was testing the waters. "Sorry I kept messing the scene up. It 's been hard to focus lately"

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. The tightness in your chest felt unbearable, but you weren’t about to let him see it. What was he exactly doing? What did he pretend?

“Yeah… it’s okay, Joe,” you said flatly, your voice colder than you wanted. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel the tug of something still there when all you could think about was escaping. "See you." 

You could hear him hesitate, then take a step back. And even though you felt a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe pain—you didn't care. Not enough to turn around. You didn’t want to give him a chance, you weren’t feeling like talking.

Despite everything, despite your anger and the wall you had built, a part of you still ached when you saw him looking at you like he was genuinely trying. Like he wanted to fix things. But no. You wouldn’t let him. Not then. Not after what he had done. So you turned away, and the emotional distance felt as real as the physical one that had been between you two for days.

You wanted it to be over. You wanted it to end. You wanted the tension to disappear, but you were afraid that if you gave him an inch, he’d tear down everything you’d worked to build. So you kept your distance. You kept your anger. And maybe, just maybe, you’d get through it without losing yourself.

- 

You had known this scene was coming. You had read it a hundred times, rehearsed it in your head, told yourself it was just another day at work.

It was a fight. A breaking point. The moment where your characters—two people caught in an inevitable downward spiral—finally let the dam burst. It was raw, emotional, the kind of scene designed to leave a mark.

But nothing could have prepared you for how it would actually feel.

It started fine. You exchanged the first lines with the usual sharpness, slipping into your role with ease. Joe did too, his delivery solid, precise. But then something shifted.

His voice. His expression.

The anger in his eyes wasn’t just acting—it was him.

And suddenly, you weren’t just saying the lines. You were there, locked in an argument that felt too real, too close to everything you had been trying to ignore.

He stepped toward you, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his voice rose. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

You felt it—an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

It made your pulse stutter.

You forced yourself to hold your ground, to push back like the script demanded. But his energy was suffocating. His eyes burned into you with a desperation that made it impossible to look away.

And then it happened.

His breath hitched. His voice broke.

And a tear slipped down his cheek.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t in the script.

You felt something twist violently in your chest.

Because in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t just about the scene. This wasn’t just about acting.

He was breaking in front of you.

"Cut!"

The room exhaled all at once. There was a beat of stunned silence, then Mark’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Wow. That is what I wanted to see. That was incredible.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the set—crew members nodding, sharing glances of admiration. Someone clapped Joe on the shoulder.

He barely reacted.

He just stood there, breathing heavily, blinking rapidly like he was trying to pull himself back together.

And all you could do was watch.

Watch as he wiped a hand over his face, as he swallowed hard, as he tried—and failed—to shake it off.

Something inside you cracked.

For days, you had let anger guide you. You had let pride build a wall so high that you convinced yourself it was the right thing to do. You had blamed him. Resented him. Refused to let yourself care.

But looking at him now, hurting in a way that was so real, you realized the truth.

You had been wrong.

Not for being upset. Not for feeling hurt. But for pretending like it didn’t matter.

For acting as if walking away from him was easy, when the truth was—it wasn’t.

Because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you wanted to be done, there was one undeniable fact staring you right in the face.

He still mattered to you. More than you had ever been willing to admit.

- 

Joe lay alone in his room, sprawled on the bed after another long day of filming. The scene still echoed in his mind, like a painful reverberation. He felt exposed, vulnerable, embarrassed for having shown so much emotion in front of the entire crew, especially in front of you. Everything he had been avoiding, everything he had repressed, had surfaced. And now, with the knot in his stomach that wouldn’t go away, he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring what he felt.

He felt powerless. He had been unable to make things better between the two of you, and the fear of losing whatever was left of any kind of relationship consumed him. Yet still, he didn’t know how to take the first step. The distance between you two was palpable, his pride wounded, and the fear of being completely rejected paralyzed him.

He closed his eyes, feeling a pressure in his chest. How did it come to this? he asked himself once again. What else can I do if every time I try to get closer, she pushes me away with a coldness that leaves me speechless?

Meanwhile, you walked down the hallway of the set, alone, after another exhausting day of filming. The sound of your footsteps echoed in your mind, but it was the silence around you that made you think the most. At that moment, something shifted. You realized what was happening inside you. For days, you had been looking at Joe as someone who had simply let you down, as a person who had played with your emotions. But now, after that last scene, after seeing him so broken and vulnerable, you realized he had also been suffering—not only because of what had happened between you two but because all of this had affected him deeply.

A strange sense of guilt washed over you. For a moment, the pain and resentment you had kept inside mixed with a new perspective. Why have I been so blind, so determined to protect my pride at all costs? you asked yourself. It hurt more than you expected to see Joe like that, so vulnerable, so real.

You stopped for a moment. You knew you had allowed your own pain to cloud your judgment. All this time, you had been thinking it was only him who had let you down, but the truth was, you had played a part in this too. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to shut yourself off so much, to hide your feelings behind walls that kept growing taller. Maybe neither of you had been brave enough to face what you were really feeling.

But the truth was that neither of you knew how to take the next step, how to break the silence that had settled between you without everything spiraling out of control again. Joe continued to be tormented by his own fears and lack of courage, while you kept resisting, knowing that opening up wasn’t easy, especially after everything you had been through.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

Drunk in my mind | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe and you (actress!reader) met during the filming of a romantic thriller, you two struggle to keep your undeniable chemistry professional. But when intimate scenes push your limits, the line between acting and reality begins to blur.

wc: 5.9K

warning: fluff, slow burn, co-stars to friends, friends to lovers, mentions of sex, swearing, overthinking, angst

a/n: heeeeeey, i know it's been ages, so sorry, but you know how life could be! anyway, i recently got lot of free time so i decided to pick up writing this precious man. This one just got on my mind while listening a podcast, originally it was going to be a one shot... looks like it's gonna be more parts to this! Hope you enjoy it 😌

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

part I | part II | part III

He was feeling really excited about the whole thing. The whole project was kind of a dream if he was honest, the story was captivating, the arc of his character was interesting and challenging and the chance to work with Mark as a director was more than anything he could have dreamt of. He felt like the whole universe was playing on his favour, as if it was saying “hey, here you have, you deserve it”, and that could only make him feel grateful and lucky. 

He had known since the very first moment he accepted the role who his co-star was going to be. He remembered how worked up he felt—the incredible chance to work with such a talented and young actress, someone with that kind of range. It was exciting, a little intimidating even. The thought of it made his heart race a bit. So when the two of you finally met, he couldn’t help but like you instantly.

And he had noticed that you liked him too. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, something neither of you had tried to hide. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction, though there was plenty of that. No, it was something deeper, a connection that he couldn’t quite put into words. There was an admiration there, something rooted in the way you thought, how you carried yourself, your mind… it fascinated him. And he felt that same spark from you, even if neither of you dared to acknowledge it fully. In an environment like that—so close, yet so professional—it was delicate. Neither of you wanted to be the first to cross a line that could jeopardize everything.

The first few days of filming were a blur of getting to know each other on screen, but it didn’t take long before it was clear you two clicked on a deeper level. Not even two weeks into the filming, and you had found yourselves spending almost all your breaks together. The quiet moments during meals, those late-night chats after a long day of work, felt like they meant something more than just passing time. You'd wander around the city on free days, both of you enjoying the shared silence between laughter and conversations that didn’t always make sense, but that somehow felt significant.

Joe would sometimes catch himself watching you when you weren’t looking, studying the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about. He’d love to listen to you for hours, about everything and nothing, and that feeling of connection lingered in the air between you. The way you made him feel heard, understood… it was rare. And judging by the way your gaze would linger on him, he could tell you felt the same.

But there was always that unspoken tension—the fragile balance between admiration and attraction, and the fear that crossing that line would change everything. Especially there, in that professional environment, where neither of you could afford to lose focus.

The more time he spent with you, the more he liked you. He found himself continually impressed by the way you worked—the passion you poured into every scene, the incredible talent you demonstrated even in the smallest moments. It wasn’t just your skill; it was your intensity, your energy, the way you approached everything with such genuine depth that it left him captivated. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about anyone else. Sure, he had admired colleagues before—he could still remember how stunned he had felt working with Denzel back in Gladiator, or the first time he shared a scene with Lupita. But none of that compared to what he felt now. This was something different, something unexplainable. And it was delightful. Getting to do a romance thriller for the first time while working with someone like you made everything feel effortless.

He found himself looking forward to every scene with you, not just because of the professional challenge but because of how naturally the two of you clicked. You seemed to challenge him in the best way, pushing him to reach new emotional depths, yet there was always this lightness between you both that made working together seem easy.

He had even forgotten about the sex scenes —the very thing that had made him hesitate when he first agreed to the movie. He had done intimate scenes before, of course, but this was different. When he had read the script, he had known it would be a whole new level of vulnerability. But as the filming drew closer, it felt almost like an inevitable tension was building between you two. It wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional, a strange but undeniable connection he couldn’t quite put into words.

Edith, the intimacy coordinator, had talked to both of you, together and separately, several times already. At first, it had made him feel calm, safe, almost like everything was under control. But the more time he spent with you, the more that sense of control started to slip away.

The idea of the two of you being semi-naked on a bed, pretending to have sex, sent a shiver down his spine. Not a bad one, not a good one either. No, it was something far more complicated. It felt… unprofessional, and yet it was so much more than that. The goosebumps that had run through him when you kissed him during the first take a few days ago… they had lingered. The memory of that kiss wasn’t just physical; it had settled deep in his stomach, making him question everything. And the worst part? He was afraid to be the only one who felt it.

He couldn’t let this happen. He liked you, of course… as an actress, as a co-worker, as a friend even. But that was all, right? He couldn't allow his body to suddenly want you in a way that went beyond professional respect. Oh God, he was feeling ridiculous. He was supposed to be a professional, and that’s how it had to stay. But how the hell was he supposed to act casual about you being above him, with nothing but a thin piece of cloth separating your bodies? Your breasts close to his face as your eyes locked with his, looking at him as if he was the only man in the world. How was he supposed to resist that?

He could certainly tell the difference between reality and acting. But how was he supposed to teach his body that distinction? The worst part was the guilt. Guilt because of how unprofessional he felt. Guilt because he had let this go so far without acknowledging what was happening inside of him. It had been so easy to let his guard down around you. He had felt so comfortable with you from the start, so at ease in your presence, that he hadn’t even stopped to question his own feelings. Now it felt like he’d jumped into this situation without looking at the consequences.

But now it was too late to undo those feelings. The scenes were scheduled to start early next week, and he had no idea how to handle this newfound tension between you. How was he supposed to manage those feelings—this raw attraction—within the next two days? He didn’t know if he could control it. Production had given the entire crew the weekend off, and he was left with two options: spend the weekend with you, in town, facing the intensity of his growing feelings, or retreat to London and try to pretend none of it existed.

He could already feel how difficult it would be to run away from this. Because it somehow felt like he was running, but taking a little space felt like the best, he could still book a flight, go back home and try to clear his head. Joe wasn’t sure that it would work, but at least he had to give it a try. 

It wasn’t something weird of you to appear out of nowhere in his hotel room with a pretty nice plan that would immediately convince him to get out of the hotel. But that night he was going to force himself to do things right. 

“What do you mean you can't?” you asked in a laugh. 

Joe tried to stop you at the door, but it was worthless. He couldn’t even articulate a word at the look you gave him as you made your way in his room. 

“You leaving?” you asked then. “Where you off to?” 

You looked at the carry-on luggage on the bed. All what he needed for a weekend out was already packed. 

“Home” Joe simply answered and the inquiring look in your eyes made him go on. “I thought it’d be nice to see my mum and friends”. 

“Oh, I see”.

You seemed disappointed, and Joe felt like there was something else you wanted to say so he remained silent. 

You didn't. 

“I’ll be here on Sunday night”.

Why had he said that? It felt like he was explaining himself, he needn’t, you hadn’t asked for it either. 

“Have a good weekend Joe” you said, with fake sympathy and left the room afterwards.

He couldn’t explain how awful he felt the moment he heard the door closing, or even why he was feeling that way. But he was not going to stay and figure it out, he would let that to Monday Joe. 

-

You couldn’t understand a single thing. It was nonsense. One day he would treat you like you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature in the entire planet, the next, he would run back to London without a single explanation. Not that he owed you one, because you two were nothing but co-workers. Explanations were for people who were romantically involved, weren’t they? And Joe and you were nothing like that. 

Because spending every single moment of your free time with him didn’t mean you felt anything for each other. It just meant, you liked each other, as co-workers. You just enjoyed each other's company in a job environment full of unknown people. 

It was nice to have him around. Somehow, it made you feel like you were just hanging out with someone you hadn’t seen in a while, as if your paths had crossed before, in another time, another place. Talking to him about anything felt effortless, like catching up with an old friend, which was a rare gift. He had that gift.

You had heard the rumors, of course you had. Almost everyone who had come across Joseph Quinn always used the same words: “nicest of the guys,” “damn funny,” “witty sense of humor,” and “incredibly sensitive.” And all of them were spot on. But it was more than that. You couldn’t help but admire how much he made you feel seen, how, despite the attention and praise that followed him, he managed to make you feel like you were the only one in the room when you spoke.

At first, you were simply delighted by how everything had aligned so perfectly. The chance to film a movie with Mark, one of the most promising directors in the current industry, was already a dream come true. And then there was Joseph Quinn, the charming, talented British actor whose reputation had already preceded him. From the very beginning, everything was going better than expected. Mark’s direction was an experience in itself—eccentric and demanding, but exciting and fulfilling all the same. But Joe… Joe was everything you could’ve dreamed of and more.

From the moment Heather, the casting director, introduced you to him, you felt a spark. That dreamy look in his eyes, the sunglasses perched atop his head, holding back the honey curls that were starting to grow long again, and that stupid, adorable accent that made your heart skip a beat. He was effortlessly charming, but it wasn’t just his looks or the humor he carried so naturally; it was the way he made you feel at ease, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, listening to you as if your thoughts were as valuable as his own.

You could clearly remember the way your stomach flipped the first time he asked you how you were feeling after the first day of shooting. You had felt terrible, after a night of no sleep. Leaving home for a long time was always kind of torturous, especially when it meant sleeping in a bed that wasn’t yours. Such a small, silly thing, yet it had made everything feel off.

But you were sure your lack of sleep and the consequent irritability had gone unnoticed. Or at least you had thought so, until Joe insisted that something was wrong. You hadn’t expected him to notice —especially not so early, not after just one day of filming. But he had, and the way he looked at you, like he really cared, made you feel like you owed him a little real kindness in return. After all, he was the only one who’d truly seen through your facade, despite all your efforts to hide how miserable you were feeling that day.

You two had ended up in his room, ordering the fanciest food you could find on the service menu, and watching the first Netflix blockbuster you both could find on the smart TV. There was something calming about it.

You had fallen asleep quickly, almost immediately after a few spoonfuls of the seafood rice Joe had ordered. The need for rest was bigger than your hunger. And strangely, falling asleep in Joe’s bed had been incredibly easy, a stark contrast to the nightmare it had been to even try to fall asleep in your own room the night before. Maybe it was just exhaustion, maybe your body was begging for rest—maybe it was the warmth and scent of him next to you that made it feel like you were safe, like you weren’t alone in this strange place.

You remembered waking up to the sound of Joe’s alarm blaring, and the embarrassment quickly rushed through your body as you realized you had fallen asleep in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be your co-star. It felt like the worst possible thing in the world at that moment, but Joe didn’t seem to care at all. He emerged from the other side of the room, where there was a sofa-bed, and you realized he must have let you sleep alone while he stayed there, keeping his distance. His smile when he looked at you was warm and soft, the kind of smile that made you feel... something you couldn’t quite name. He asked if you had a good night, and you could only nod, still blushing a little, but now, with a hint of warmth spreading in your chest.

However, the night he disappeared you weren’t feeling delighted at all. You had almost felt abandoned. Absurd, you knew, but couldn’t help it. And that really pissed you off. Because you didn’t even have the right to feel like that. Joe was just your co-star, your almost friend maybe. So all the rage and the frustration were useless. 

You didn’t want to waste more time feeling like that, and you knew that if you stayed at the hotel the whole weekend, it would turn into endless hours of overthinking. So you fixed yourself internally, as if you had just gotten up from a fall and texted Sam. 

She was one of the supporting actors in the films, and she was really nice and fun. She loved being out so it meant you’d probably get no rest for the next 48 hours, but that was better than to go over and over the same thoughts in the loneliness of your hotel room. Alcohol and loud music seemed like a better choice.  

-

It hadn’t worked. He knew it the moment he was back to the filming location, he probably had known a long before he entered his hotel room, but opening the door of the suite made it land hard on his chest. There was that feeling all again, as it had never left, just had gone undercovered for a few hours. The terrible urge to go running to your room and kiss you, hold you, run his fingers through your hair as you rested your head on his chest. 

He was done. He was finished. All the repressed feelings and unsaid words were pressing on his chest like a ton of rocks, making it hard to think, to breathe. It was like the world had shrunk, and all that mattered was this impossible attraction, this desperate need to be near you. He couldn’t even remember feeling this helpless about anyone before. It was almost unbearable. 

He hadn’t said a word about it back home, maybe he should have talked about it with a friend, could have helped… but he had been so determined to be distracted about the whole thing, that going over the matter hadn’t really been an option. It had probably been a childish choice, but regretting it then, in the loneliness of his hotel room, within a few hours to go and face reality, was pointless. 

Someone was knocking the door just a couple hours after he had finally been able to fall asleep. Getting to sleep decently had turned into an impossible mission with hundreds of intrusive thoughts constantly hunting his mind. And now, he would not only feel miserable, he would look like it too. Edith instantly pointed it out the moment he opened the door. Not helping at all. 

She was there to talk to him before getting to the set, Joe knew she was going to be there, he also knew he was going to talk to you after. Another talk for you two was awaiting the moment before entering the set. So he kind of knew he could still do something… maybe he could talk about how not exactly comfortable he was feeling about the sex scenes, but how was he supposed to do that. First, those scenes weren’t exactly the problem. Second, then what? What was he expecting to happen? 

Joe ran again through every single fake scenario that had haunted him for the last weeks while he was showering and getting ready. Edith was waiting in the living area of the suite, and as soon as he heard Joe out of the bathroom she started with the questions. 

“How was your weekend off?” she politely asked.

“Mm, great” he simply replied. He knew the small talk was her way of not jumping straight into asking about being ready to get naked in front of a camera. “How about you? You get some rest?”. He asked, trying to not be a dick with her. 

Edith explained how she hadn’t fully taken the days off, though she’d rested a bit. She spent most of the time working on the shooting protocol and handling some logistics. She told Joe they were aiming to wrap up everything in one day, two at most. She mentioned details about the environment—how she’d been adamant about lighting, the silence during the shoot, and limiting the crew in the room.

Despite knowing she was saying all those things to make it look like a friendlier scenario, it just had the opposite effect on Joe. When he entered the room Edith was in, she didn’t even try to hide the concern in her face at Joe’s appearance. 

“Are you feeling alright, Joe? If you feel sick or something we could talk to Mark and postpone everything”. Her tone was soft, and for a second Joe really thought about it. 

He could play sick. He could try to slip out of the situation for at least two or three more days… maybe he could fix his mind. Try to put in order some thoughts and see things in a different way. But that wouldn’t work unless he talked to you about it. That was what he had to do. Confront his feelings about you and explain how fucking nervous, no. How fucking sick it made him the idea of getting an erection in the middle of filming, and how violent it would be for you and for him, and for everyone in the damn room. Maybe you would be comprehensive. Maybe you would even laugh about it. Or maybe you would think that Joe was a complete idiot, an unprofessional guy who couldn’t take control of his own body for a few hours. 

“No”. He hissed, almost unconsciously. “No, I… just need to eat something” he lied. “I’m fine”. 

Edith raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It was like she could hear every word of his internal struggle. She pressed on, asking if something was worrying him. Joe shook his head, offering no further explanation. She didn’t want to push, but he could feel her concern. She then mentioned she’d be there for the whole shoot, that he could ask her for anything he needed to feel more comfortable. She even casually suggested a jockstrap if that was something he was worried about.

Before leaving Joe’s room he specifically mentioned how she knew that these scenes could be stressful, and sometimes even awkward, but that he could totally trust her about anything he didn’t really feel like doing. He also told Joe that lots of actors have a hard time about getting unwanted erections, but that was something really natural, because despite him being an actor, his body didn’t necessarily acknowledge that. She concluded by assuring him that everything was going to work just fine and left Joe to go to your room. 

Joe didn’t really know how to feel about that information, it somehow made him feel better and at the same time made him more anxious to become one of those actors she was talking about. 

-

Saying Joe looked terrible was an understatement. He looked sick, pale, distant. You’d tried asking him, but he responded with nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt, eyes averted. The coldness, the avoidance— it rattled you. What had changed? Why was he acting like this now?

First, the sudden withdrawal, and now, the silent treatment. It made no sense. Especially now, when you were on the verge of exposing yourself in front of him. It made the whole situation even more uncomfortable. You needed this to be over, more than ever.

Edith offered a few more directions, calming words, and encouragement before the two of you stepped onto the set. The space was intimate: Edith, Mark, a few techs, Laura and Henry —just the essentials. The air buzzed with anticipation, but it didn’t throw you off. You’d done this before. You’d been through much more explicit scenes. And Mark and Edith had been nothing but professional and supportive, so the only thing that made you nervous was Joe.

Neither of you exchanged a word while Mark ran through the sequence, explaining the shots and movements. You nodded in unison, your eyes never meeting his.

Minutes later, you were pinned against the wall, Joe above you, his body hovering just an inch from yours, his hands firm but cold—one gripping your arm, the other on your hip. His touch felt distant, almost mechanical, and when your eyes met his, you caught a flash of something you couldn’t quite place—nervousness? Anxiety? But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

You both stood silent as Mark called “ACTION.” Joe delivered his lines. You laughed on cue, and then he leaned in for the kiss. This time, his lips found yours with such intensity, it startled you —a hungry, almost desperate kiss that stirred something deep within your stomach. You didn’t have to fake it. The chemistry was still there, you could feel it, even if you both had to keep up appearances for the crew.

But the more you kissed, the more strained his body became. His hands were tense. The roughness in his touch grew harder, sharper. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like how he used to kiss you, with that mix of admiration and passion. It was stiff, forced. Something was off.

The rest of the scene went downhill. Joe seemed to withdraw further as the shots progressed. His body, rigid as a board, betrayed every word he spoke. The tension was palpable. When it came time for the bed scene, the air felt suffocating.

You straddled him, your torso barely covered by the robe. His gaze never left your body, but his eyes held no warmth, no connection. Instead, they were guarded, cold. As you lowered yourself onto him, he swallowed hard, his whole body stiffening beneath yours.

You couldn't ignore it anymore. His discomfort was suffocating.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, despite the growing unease.

He nodded, a faint, bitter look crossing his face before he turned his gaze away from you.

Before you could speak again, Mark gave the signal to get into character. The cameras rolled, and you tried to keep your focus. But God, it was so painfully obvious.

You shed your robe, and when Joe let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, the silence in the room felt deafening. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The whole scene felt like it was falling apart.

You repeated your lines, but Joe’s response was hollow, distant. He ran a hand over his face, visibly frustrated, but still unwilling to acknowledge what was happening.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his voice low but lacking conviction. "Let’s start over, I—I wasn’t ready. My bad.”

You did it again, hoping that maybe, this time, things would fall into place. But when you leaned in for the kiss, he was stiff—his lips barely responding, his movements robotic. The chemistry was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable stiffness that everyone in the room could sense.

Mark stopped the scene, his face a mixture of confusion and frustration. "What the hell is going on? This is not the energy we’ve had for weeks. Where’s the chemistry?" His voice cut through the tension like a knife.

You both stood there, silent, trying to navigate the gap that had appeared between you, both of you utterly confused by the growing chasm between your previous connection and the awkwardness that now stood between you.

You tried again, but after a couple of failed attempts, the scene became more and more artificial. Joe’s responses were mechanical, his body unyielding, the chemistry as absent as it had ever been. Mark, now visibly frustrated, demanded answers, but neither of you had any to give.

By the sixth attempt, Joe couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved you aside, freed himself from your hold, and pulled his robe around his body. His face was twisted in anger, his frustration spilling over as he muttered under his breath.

"This is ridiculous," he spat, walking away, leaving you and the crew behind, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

Mark instantly followed Joe out of the set, maybe to try to talk to him or to calm him down, but it was clear that something had broken. Everyone in the room fell silent, watching as Joe stormed out. It was like the tension in the air was a living thing, pressing down on everyone. You felt paralyzed for a moment, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t like this at all. You had never seen Joe like this—nervous, frustrated, and overwhelmed. It was as though he had completely closed off from you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You stood there, holding your robe, feeling utterly exposed in every way. It wasn’t just the physical vulnerability of the scene—it was emotional too. Joe’s behavior had sent a confusing signal, and suddenly the chemistry that had felt so natural seemed impossible to grasp.

Edith was quick to approach you. “Take five,” she said softly, gesturing towards the corner of the set. “We’ll give him some space. Let’s reset.”

You nodded silently, walking away from the set as the crew murmured among themselves. They were all so professional, but you could tell they were uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of the scene anymore—it was Joe, and the way he was falling apart in front of everyone.

You found yourself in the small lounge area, sitting down, trying to breathe through the confusion. What had happened? What was wrong with Joe?

It wasn’t long before Edith came over to sit beside you. “You okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

You wanted to tell her that you were fine. You weren’t. But you didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

“Do you think he’s okay?” You finally asked, your voice tight. “I mean… is he...?”

Edith hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said gently. “He’s been off the whole morning. He seemed like he was pushing something down, but I didn’t want to pry.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling up again. This whole situation felt so... off. Everything was supposed to be smooth. The chemistry, the camaraderie, the work—it had all been seamless until now. And now, it was like a wall had gone up between you and Joe, and you had no idea how to break it down.

“We’ll talk to him,” Edith said, after a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Just try to take a break. Don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, but your mind raced. It didn’t make sense. What was going on with Joe? Why couldn’t he just talk to you?

After a few minutes, Mark came in, looking more serious than ever. “We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Take a break, everyone. I’ll talk to Joe, and we’ll figure out where we go from here. I don’t want to push this.”

With that, the set slowly emptied, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lounge. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something was wrong, and you had no idea how to fix it.

On the way back to the hotel Edtih tried to talk to you again but you weren’t feeling like it, so you politely refused and went to your room alone. You needed to rest for real. You needed a shower and to hide under your bed until it was 2026. You were feeling ridiculous, exposed, frustrated… you were not even sure why you were feeling like that, no one, not even Joe said that any of it had been your fault, but yet you were feeling responsible. 

And that overwhelming feeling made you more upset if it was possible, because it was truly unfair. You were not irrational though, you knew you couldn’t blame Joe for the way you felt, but at the same time he had been a dick for the last 72 hours or so… how could you not feel as if you had done something wrong. Maybe you had, you could deal with that, but why wouldn’t he come clean about whatever the hell was upsetting him? 

You couldn’t stand being in your room all alone chewing over the same thoughts, you needed answers, so if Joe wouldn’t be brave enough to talk this out, you were. You put on some jeans and a hoodie and with your hair still wet you left your suite and walked to Joe’s. 

Maybe he wasn’t even there, he should have since he had claimed to not be able to keep up with the shooting. But it didn’t matter, you were determined to talk to him even if you had to wait there for hours. 

He gasped your name when he opened the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise. He didn’t look as bad as he had this morning —but he still wasn’t quite himself.

"We need to talk," you said, but Joe didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

"Joe, seriously."

"I… I wouldn’t even know what to say," he confessed. At least this time, he looked at you.

"Well, I do. So at least you're going to listen."

He didn’t argue. He just stood there, silent, watching as you walked past him into the living area. When he finally followed, he sat on the armchair across from you. Something about that —his distance, his passiveness— made your anger flare.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joseph Quinn." Your voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.

Joe opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"How dare you? What kind of psychopath makes me believe he cares, that he's comfortable with me, that we're friends—only to turn around and act like none of it meant anything? What was it, Joe? Just a game? A fucking joke?"

"I care about you," he whispered, but you weren’t done.

"Oh, you care? Funny, because all I see is someone who’s been acting like a complete asshole for days. And for what? I don’t even fucking know. But you know what I do know? That this —whatever the hell this is— is cruel."

Joe stared at you, his expression unreadable. Not a single word. No excuses. No explanations. It was infuriating.

"And now, you just sit there like you have nothing to say? Nothing about the filming, about this morning, about how I fucking feel?" Your voice was rising, the frustration pushing you past your breaking point. "How could you do that?"

Joe finally stood up, his movements restless, his frustration mirroring yours.

"You want me to talk?"

"Of course I fucking do!"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room, looking as torn apart as you felt.

"Then you should know—I was never pretending. Never," he shot back, his voice raw. "I do fucking care about you. You're important to me, okay?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Then act like it."

Joe exhaled sharply. "I don’t know how, alright? I already told you—I don’t know what to say. What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Joe. That’s all I fucking want." Your voice cracked, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t anger driving you. It was exhaustion. Defeat. "I just want you to be honest about what’s wrong with you. With us."

Joe looked away. His silence was worse than any argument.

That was it.

Your chest ached as you turned to leave, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. Joe said your name in a whisper, but you didn’t stop. He called it again, louder, but you kept walking.

You were almost at the door when you felt his hand wrap around your arm. Firm, but not rough. Desperate.

"Let me go, please," you whispered, voice shaking.

Joe didn’t move.

"Joe, please."

He heard it then—the way your voice broke completely. The way you were crying, whether you wanted to or not.

"Look at me," he begged. "Please."

You couldn’t. Instead, a quiet sob escaped, and your body gave up fighting. That was all Joe needed to pull you in, his arms locking around you. You didn’t resist.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, again and again, his voice breaking as he held you tighter.

You turned in his hold, but instead of meeting his gaze, you buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his shirt. He cradled the back of your head, his touch tender in a way that made it worse.

Because he still wouldn’t say what you needed to hear.

[hellfire--cult]

So I just finish reading second chance at Cupid and I gotta say I love it and I would love to hear more about those two .

I would like to think Eddie took her to see the place where he grew up and told the reader everything about his past including his band .

And the reader bought Eddie his guitar so he could play for her..

And I just got to say it was perfectly written and a really unique story ..

OMG my first request!

Thank you so much for your words I really appreciate it! I am so happy you liked it! I got a little carried away with the Returning to Hawkins request, so here we go! Prepare you tissues!

SCAC ❤️ - Back to Hawkins

Read Second Chance at Cupid

WC: 4.4K

Warnings: +18 angst, mentions of suicide, depression, nostalgia, mentions of death and anguish, fluff, overall, crying for Eddie.

Summary: Eddie introduces you into his past, but you don't think you would encounter certain people along the trip, and Eddie finally brings closure to his long life.

A/N: I cried while writing this, I am so sorry...

“Seriously, this takes away the fun of driving darling.” Eddie exclaimed for the tenth time this afternoon. You were on your way to Hawkins, his home town before becoming cupid himself. He had never returned to that place, saying that only bad memories reside in it. 

“Don’t bash on my automatic car Eddie!” You say with a giggle as you look into your gps, signaling that you were close. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“In my days, you drove with a stick, manually, like a man.” He says and you can’t help but laugh at his words. You sometimes forget that he is actually like 60 years old, but looks 23. You were afraid that time would get to him, as if it was lost in some space and dimension and he would look 60 instantly. 

But it didn’t. It was as if his life cycle had a pause and now it started once again. 

“Sure thing grandpa.” 

“What did you just call me?” He jabbed a finger to the side of your rib, causing you to giggle and he smiled at you, to then get his eyes on the road again. The GPS signaled to turn right, and as Eddie did, he could see the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign coming up ahead. He clenched tightly onto the steering wheel as regret started filling his insides. He didn’t want to face his past, but you lit up so much when he told you about his birthplace, excited to see it one day.

And now here you both are.

But Eddie was anything but excited. He was the whole other spectrum of it. He was anxious, nervous, sad, and nostalgic. Everything all at once. You noticed the whiteness of his knuckles and you looked at him with a frown to your eyebrows. You reached out and put a hand on top of his over the wheel and he shot you a small smile as a thanks.

The first thing you noticed was the amount of woods that were in the area, looking all around. Thank god you didn't bring Dorito with you, because he was such an indoor cat that you were afraid of him getting lost easily. Gladly, Steve offered to take care of him while you were gone, but that's another story for another time.

“In 1983, a little boy called Will Byers disappeared into the woods.” Oh, you heard that story, your dad told it to you so you wouldn’t go running alone through the trees. “It was a fucking mess, people searching everywhere, knocking at every door, and stuff. Turns out, the boy had a broken ankle and couldn’t walk, near the shore of one of the lakes. He was actually very bright, hiding in between bushes in case a predator would come up.” 

“You sound like you met him.”

“I did! Back in 1986, when he entered freshman year with his friends. I had a club, Hellfire Club, and it was only for DnD campaigns!” Eddie had already told you about his dungeon master days, telling you he has an itch to play that can’t possibly compare to anything else. You were sad that you couldn’t play with him, since you have no knowledge of it, but you did indulge him into Facebook groups that organize meetings. He could make friends and make his own guild if that goes well.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to play, but he said , in a very sad tone, that it’s not the same without his friends.

“Yeah I remember that… I wonder if your club still stands!” You said excitedly and he laughed, shaking his head.

“We were treated like freaks sweetheart, they called us satan worshippers, just because we played a fantasy roleplaying game. It was all over the newspapers too! How Dungeons & Dragons induced homicidal thoughts.” He snickered at that, making you shake your head at how close minded people were back then. Your eyes lit up as you passed the trees, seeing a parking lot.

“Oh my god, stop, it’s your school!” He grimaced at that, but slowed down, pulling into the parking lot of the high school he once attended. He parked on a spot, and you checked your watch, realizing that it’s still school hours and everyone was in class. 

“You know darling, I don’t have the best of memories of this place.” He says to you and you sigh, looking at him. 

“I’ll go in! I want to check something first!” You got out of the passenger’s seat, and he was calling you out to stop you, but you didn’t. You ran into the school’s doors, looking at all the green decorations of the place, looking in awe at all the lockers as you walked through the halls. You looked at the pictures on the walls, looking for something in particular.

You turned the hall and that’s when you found all the pictures of active clubs that were in the school. You scanned all around, basketball team, tennis club, art club, history club, newspaper club, computing club… A smile broke on your face as you stared at one picture in particular. 

“At least this place is much cleaner than the last time I was here.” You heard Eddie turn the corner to finally meet up with you and you beamed at him with a smile on your face.

“Eddie, look!” You pointed at a picture and he frowned, following your finger and then his face softened, his mouth falling agape slightly. He couldn’t believe it.

There, in a nice frame, stood a picture of 10 boys and girls, wearing the Hellfire shirt, his logo, his signature mark. Under it, it read, ‘Hellfire Club, Founded in 1980.’. They even got the date right. He didn’t fund it of course, but he cannot believe that after all these years his club actually got acknowledgement. 

“Excuse me, why are you pointing at our picture?” Someone calls to your side and you look to see a boy, your size almost, probably a senior, wearing a hellfire shirt. Eddie looked at the boy, and stared at him for a long while. A cap on his head, curls all around and he couldn’t stop himself before he talked.

“Henderson?” The boy’s eyes widened and he tilted his head with a sheepish smile on his face.

“You know me?” You knew that this couldn’t really be happening, but you didn’t really know what to say. You were looking back and forth at the both of them and that’s when Eddie snapped out as he felt his stomach turn slightly.

“Um, not you precisely?” Eddie continued, trying to save the situation and then the teenager made an ‘ah’ sound as if understanding.

“You must mean my dad, Dustin Henderson. We really look alike, don’t we?” Eddie’s eyes widened, and that’s when he realized that Dustin must be 51 years old now. He had a family, a future, and part of Eddie was saddened he didn’t even try to see him, how he was doing or anything at all. “I’m Chris!” 

“Nice to meet you Chris!” You beamed and cleared your throat to dissolve the situation. “We were just looking at your picture because Eddie here was part of Hellfire just the year he came as a freshman here. He wanted to know if the club was still up and running, you know.” At that Chris smiled excitedly and nodded.

“Oh! You’re an old Hellfire Club member?! Well, welcome back you brave warrior. What was your role?” He asked excitedly and Eddie almost choked up in tears as he tried to talk, but he gulped the lump down, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, I was a Dungeon Master.” At that Chris beamed, pointing at himself.

“I am one too! Like my dad was, although I have to say my aunt, Erica? She’s a fucking badass.” Eddie smiled at that widely, now knowing that the Sinclairs are still friends with the Hendersons, and that means that Mike and Will are in the picture too. 

“Can I ask you a question?” At that Chris nodded and Eddie stuttered a bit before continuing. “Don’t you get bullied? For playing this? I remember getting bullied here and there by a few at the time.” Chris chuckled and shook his head at Eddie, making him stand straighter, paying attention to the young boy.

“Nah man, that shit is long gone thankfully. We know about the bullying years of Hellfire, and you know, we put our foot down to the jocks. It was in 2009. My cousin, Elena Byers, was like super done with all the jocks mocking us, so she trained herself in Karate, and chopped their dicks, almost.” He said with a laugh and your eyes widened at that, looking at Eddie’s reaction.

But what you found was pure adoration with a wide smile to his face. They weren’t the small little group like before. They stood up for themselves, marking their territory, their right to be a club, to be considered people and not freaks for liking something different. But now, he felt like crying, he was glad to know his old friends were doing okay, and his children were doing fine too so it seems.

“Well, I’m glad man… We gotta go now–” Eddie started but Chris stopped him, jumping up as if he remembered something.

“One second!!!” He rushed away in a comical fashion, you and Eddie looking at eachother once as you waited for him to return. It literally took two seconds as you saw him getting out of a classroom, heavy breathing from the sudden run. “Ah, shit, this is why I am bad at PE… Here.” He handed something to Eddie, and the older man looked at it with a confused frown in his eyebrows, opening it up to reveal a brand new Hellfire Shirt, all black, with his logo in the middle.

“Oh, wow…” You say, eyes widened at the gesture but Chris just smiled widely, nodding in Eddie’s direction.

“There’s for some reason this uh… tradition in Hellfire Club, made by my own father actually, back in 1986. He said that there should always be a spare T-Shirt in the club. Not for one of the members, not even if they lose theirs. He never knew the reasoning for the tradition, he just felt that it belonged to someone, and they might pick it up someday.” At that mention, Chris’s smile fell slightly and did a shrug with his shoulders. “For some reason, I felt like giving it to you.”

Eddie was speechless, looking at the shirt in his hands. In the stretch of time and space, there is one part, one small minuscule part, where everyone holds his memory. They always held it there, and embraced it, and this was proof of it. His eyes watered as his throat closed up, biting onto his bottom lip to try to suppress his tears.

“Thank you… This means a lot…” He muttered under his breath, holding back tears and Chris smiled at him while you stared at Eddie with your own tears filling your eyes. He was remembered, in some strange way, people remembered him. “You happen to know the Wheelers?”

“Oh, Aunt Mike and Aunt Nancy? Yeah! Well, Mike doesn’t go by Wheeler, he goes by Byers, but it’s the same thing.” Chris said with a chuckle and Eddie smiled still looking at the shirt, now knowing Mike and Will were married, and they even adopted a kid.

“That’s great… Really great… Thank you for this, really. And send my greetings to your dad.”

“Oh, sure! Your name?”

“Eddie.”

As you got in the car, Eddie didn’t shed one single tear. You knew he was holding back from it all, but you still got a long weekend ahead of you, and you knew this part was just the very start of going back into his past.

You can pick him up later on. You’ll just let him have his own pace. 

“That over there, I used that spot to do most of my dealings, now for some reason it has turned into an amazing botanical garden.” He said with a chuckle, pointing at his right side to show you it. You looked on, and there it was, a nice kept greenhouse, with various plants and flowers, carefully treated for different seasons of the year. He continued driving, finally reaching the town of Hawkins and he was glancing at everything in awe.

“For being a small town it sure does have nice shit.” You say out loud looking at all the stores and food chains as well as restaurants. He was stunned to see the amount of lights and how modern everything was. Even his old record store was changed into a more modern one and he was slightly saddened at that thought. 

There’s one place he wanted to see unchanged. One place he really wished nothing had turned modern. He kept driving as the afternoon son started hiding itself, leaving a pink hue in the sky for the both of you. You didn’t question where he was going, you fully trusted him, even after two months of being with him, you felt like you’ve known him your whole life, and even in past lives. 

This trip was all about Eddie.

After 10 minutes of driving, he finally parked in front of a bar. It looked rather vintage to you, rustic even, and the bouncer at front didn’t even give a second glance to you as you both walked in. 

Eddie’s eyes widened when all that’s changed of his old bar, was the fact a few led TV’s hang from the corners, some AC was put up, and the leather has been reupholstered. The rest was all the same. 

“Holy shit…” He walked on into the bar, sitting on one of the stools of the bar, and you sat right next to him as he looked around. You took out your phone and snapped a picture of him without him noticing at all, and smiled as the expression he wore in the photo was that of a five year old seeing Santa. 

“Looks the same?” You asked him, putting your phone on the counter. 

“Yeah… This is where my band and I played on Tuesday nights.” He explains to you as he looks onto the stage, you following his gaze. You could just imagine Eddie playing his guitar on that small stage with his best friends, having the time of his life, and you cannot even have a picture of it.

Eddie explained that when one becomes cupid, all memory of them is gone. That meant, the pictures were also gone or any image format where his face may have appeared. The bartender came up to you both and you took the order since Eddie was still looking around.

“Two beers please.” You say with a smile and the man simply nodded at you, popping two bottles from under the counter and taking the caps off in one swift movement. You thanked him and gave him the money for your drinks. You slid one bottle in front of Eddie and he finally snapped out of his trance, looking at the drink, and then back at you. You were wearing a smile, lifting your bottle up to him.

“To Corroded Coffin.” You said with a smile and he gulped the lump that formed in his throat, smiling back at you, and grabbing his bottle to clink it to you. You both took a sip of your drinks as the bar started filling with people. 

Eddie told you stories about all the shows they played there, how their fanbase was just three to five drunks and if they were lucky they would turn to seven. He also told you about the fights that broke in this bar, and how he partook in a few of them just for the hell of it. You shook your head in disapproval at that and he just laughed and kissed your cheek, telling you that now he would only fight if it’s in your honor.

“I can defend myself, thank you very much.” You say as you take a swig out of your beer and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really? What if a big mean man comes right now and chokeholds you? Whatcha gonna do?” He asks with a snicker and you were about to reply to him, but Eddie was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, making him turn around, facing a man with brown hair, a few gray hairs here and there, and with a beard on his face. Eddie squinted as he looked at him, and the man also looked confused himself.

“Excuse me young man… Do I know you?” The man asks and you were baffled at the interaction. Eddie too was surprised by this, but there was a part of him that knew who this person was, but he didn’t look like him, so it cannot possibly be him.

“Um, no sir… I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Eddie replied and the man scoffed, scratching his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just… really thought you looked familiar but for some reason I don’t even know who you look familiar to.” He replied with a soft chuckle and that’s when Eddie’s throat closed, swallowing thickly as he continued talking.

“Maybe… What’s your name Sir?” 

“I’m Gareth.” He replied with a smile and Eddie felt like crying right then and there, feeling his chest just crumple into itself as seeing how old his friend is, and imagining how old he was supposed to be now. 

“H-Hi Gareth… I’m Eddie, and this is my girlfriend.” He introduced you too and you were trying to hold your own lump, knowing very well who Gareth was in Eddie’s life. Eddie had described him as a brunette, wild hair, rosy plump cheeks, but the person before you was an aged man, around 55 years old. 

“Nice to meet you both. Are you both new in town or just visiting?” He asked, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s as he talked. Eddie cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Just visiting… My uncle came here a lot. Listened to a band in particular but I believe they’re long gone now.” Eddie say with a sad smile and Gareth's interest peaks.

“Really? Which band?”

“Corroded Coffin.” At that, Gareth’s eyes widen and he almost jumps in excitement as if he were a thirteen year old and patted Eddie on the shoulder.

“Well, I’ve got news for you! You’re looking at the drummer of the former band Corroded Coffin.” He says with a wide smile and Eddie’s eyes twinkle at his joy, a smile forming on his lips as well as tears already burning their way out.

“Really?” He says as if surprised, but Gareth kept smiling, nodding wildly. 

“Yep! Jeff is still on the bass, and Freak on the second guitar!” He says with excitement spilling out of his lips. You were watching the interaction fondly, taking short sips of beer as the two men interacted, but you decided to intervene at that.

“Second? Who’s first?” You asked and Eddie looked at you and then back at Gareth, who’s smile fell and turned into a confused one, with the hint of sadness behind it.

“I… I don’t know really, I knew there was someone… I knew that there was a point where we sounded amazing, excellent even, and then… It just wasn’t the same… We still play at my garage, my kids hate it, but we always try to reach that sound again.” He finished with a shrug and Eddie straightened up in his seat, his voice cracking as he talked back to Gareth.

“I– I uh, live an hour away. I play guitar… If you guys have the open spot I can do a tryout?” He asks, hopeful at the question and your eyes widened looking at him. Gareth’s smile returned and his eyes became full of life as he looked at his old best friend.

“Really? A young lad like you wants to play with old men like us?” Eddie chuckled at that, swallowing the lump in his throat and nodded. 

“It would be an honor to my uncle.” He says and Gareth nodded at that, satisfied as he took his cellphone out of his pocket.

“Who’s your uncle by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Wayne… Wayne Munson.”

And finally, you came to your last stop. Eddie showed you what once was Forest Hills, his old trailer park, now filled with suburban houses and he scoffed at how everything was done for the rich now. 

And now here you stood. Flowers you thought of buying before hand in your left hand as you held onto Eddie’s right hand, tightly, fingers intertwined. The moonlight illuminates both of you perfectly as well as the engraved stone before you.

Wayne Munson

1942 - 1989

A friend, an Uncle, a Father.

“1989. Three months later after Wayne’s death, I really didn’t have a purpose in life any longer. I didn’t think anything was worth living for, and I felt utterly and completely alone. I thought that there was no harm in me leaving as well, because no one would miss me, no one would care if I left… The chance of becoming cupid, and to keep living while being forgotten, felt exactly the same, without the dying part.” Your tears were flowing down your cheeks at his words, feeling the despair in the deep center of your gut as he talked.

You cannot even begin to think how he felt, all alone in that trailer park, succumbing himself to drugs and starvation, waiting for the darkness to simply consume him at a point. 

“He would be disappointed in me.” Eddie said through a wet chuckle and then sniffled as he wiped his face with his free hand. “He would go ‘I taught you better than that, I never taught you to quit!’” He tried to say in a lower voice to then end up in a choke as a sob tried to come through.

In all honesty, Eddie had never once cried for his uncle. For his father figure. He just became hollow, void of emotions, feelings completely gone from his heart and his mind, but now, he felt like crying, like a little kid that just got hurt. 

So he did. His sobs could be heard through the cemetery as he dropped to his knees, his hands over Wayne’s name. You bit your lip as you tried to keep your sobbing down, be there for him, bending down to press your hand on his back as he cried out, yelled it all out, years and years of keeping his emotions inside, intact, never once letting a tear out of his eyes.

His shoulders shook as minutes passed, and he finally felt air being thrown into his lungs. A long hidden weight being lifted off his shoulders as his heart felt calm, steady, even with the pumping thanks to his crying. He looked at Wayne’s name and gave him a nod, sighing.

“I don’t know if you remember me in the afterlife. But, it’s me, Eddie… I’m sorry I was never here to visit you. I’m sorry for not keeping you updated… I’m actually here with my girlfriend.” Your heart warmed when he presented you to his uncle and you kneeled down next to him, with a wet smile on your lips, stained rosy cheeks as you looked at him. “I promise I’ll visit soon. I’m aging now, so I better use the most of my time.” He said to the grave stone with a smile to his face as you felt a warm breeze caress the side of your ear.

You placed the flowers on his grave as Eddie told him about his life until now, and you simply sat there, listening intently, letting Eddie talk to his uncle once again. 

Once you both bid your goodbyes, you were walking back to the car, hand in hand. You turned around towards the cemetery and then forward again.

“You know… I can ask for a remote position at work.” You say out loud, catching Eddie’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I can work from home… Maybe get a nice house in Forest Hills, saw a few ‘In Sale’ signs up.” You said with a smile. It would take a loan for you to buy a house, but your happiness depended on his. And you knew this was the right choice. Eddie stopped on his tracks and looked at you, turning around to face him worriedly.

“You don’t… You already did so much for me, I can’t possibly–” 

“I want to. I want to, Eddie… I want to be near your family too.” Eddie’s eyes glistened again as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in a tight hug, embracing you in warmth, in his love, in his adoration for you, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, gripping onto his back with the same devotion.

“I am glad… I am glad I decided to become cupid… If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have ever met you…” He said into your ear, the hint of a sob hidden behind his lips as he nuzzled into your neck. A tear rolled down your cheek as you giggled softly.

“Don’t know… I am kind of into the whole sugar daddy thing.” A wet laugh could be heard onto your neck, Eddie pulling away from you with stained cheeks, looking down at you.

“I don’t know if I would have had a lot of money Sweetheart…” He says and you just smiled at him, tip toeing to catch his lips in a soft, wet, yet deep kiss, that said so many words in just one simple touch, a simple grace of skin. I love you, I adore you, I can’t live without you, but one thing you had to tell him.

“I would have chosen you either way, just the way you are, the way you’ve always been.”

A/N: I am so sorry... At least he gets to play with his friends again, right?

Would love to get more requests for SCAC! ❤️ I enjoyed writing this, even if it was too painful to do so

Remember that if you get inspired or anything, you can always message me with blurbs, or imagines, or you can also tag me in it!

[hellfire--cult]

Inspired by this TikTok

Cupid!Eddie x Fem!Reader - Oneshot

Request - Eddie's past - Back to Hawkins

Words: 10.7K

Warnings: Pure absolute fluff and romantical tension. No Smut. You will fall in love with Dorito.

Summary: After bad dates and a heartbreak, you believe god is playing jokes on you. You believe love is not for you anymore, but your own personal cupid comes to the rescue to change just that... You just never thought he would look like that.

A/N: IDK I just loved the idea of that TikTok showing Cupid falling for the girl he is supposed to help, and I found myself writing a whole fucking oneshot of Eddie being the protagonist. Personally, I love this couple! So if you want to send some asks, or blurbs for me to write, I would love to write more oneshots of these two, or even imagines! (and smut ofc) SO ASK AWAY.

If you do get inspired by this story or Cupid!Eddie, please, credit properly! I would love to read or watch whatever you guys make! ❤️ Anyways, ENJOY, and remember that if you liked the story, a reblog is very much appreciated! ❤️

And follow me for more oneshots and series!

You were sure this was a joke.

Like, this had to be a cruel joke sent by someone or anything at all. You were minding your own business, at your company’s annual party, and you could invite guests this year. 

Now, you didn’t expect your own fucking boss, who is ten years older than you, to walk in with your Ex-Boyfriend, hand in hand. The man who told you he loved you, asked for your hand in marriage, and the very next day he told you it was all an impulse. 

You left him on the spot.

That was a year ago, but to see him again, hand in hand with your own boss, who met him before, was just a cruel joke. You almost dropped your glass of champagne as they smiled while walking, introducing themselves to people. The worst part of it all? They looked genuinely happy. You could see it when he would lean over to whisper something in her ear, and she would giggle, or the soft touches of hers fixing his tie, or a strand of hair out of place. 

You were a mess, for a whole year, trying to move on, going date after date, with people that weren’t even in your own interest, but you never rejected a date. But you were now tired, wanting a connection, and it seems like God wanted to laugh at you right now, because he was showing you how your Ex had no problem in doing so, and it seems he found an even better match.

So you went home. You didn’t even stay for the party, and you didn’t even introduce yourself to them. You have seen enough for the night, and all you wanted to do was to get home, pet your fat cat called Dorito, and head to bed. Maybe cry a little.

Makeup gone, hair up in a messy bun, long oversized shirt on, and a pair of large sweatpants, you hopped in your bed with Dorito on your lap, and turned on the TV to find something suitable to watch while you drift to sleep.

But it seems now Cupid wants to laugh at you too.

You change channel through channel. Titanic, The Notebook, Harry meets Sally, Dear John, and fucking Breakfast at Tiffany’s. 

“Are you fucking kidding me you son of a cunt!” Dorito perked up, alarmed, looking at you and you were huffing angrily through your nose, staring at the screen across your bed, turning it off completely and throwing your remote to the floor. You held onto Dorito, under its armpits and made him stand on your lap, in front of you.

“Mreow~” He greeted you and you just felt your eyes fill with hot tears as you looked at him.

“Is cupid playing some fucking joke to me? Why does he get a happy ending and I had no luck whatsoever? Why?! I was the one who got hurt!” Your cat tilted its head to the side as you kept your rant going on, anger and sadness coming out of your mouth. “Fuck love, fuck destiny, fuck the cunt cupid is.” 

The doorbell rang, startling you and Dorito out of your stare contest.

“What the fuck…” You looked at your phone and tapped on it to look at the time. 10:25 PM. Maybe a neighbor in your building had a problem, or needs help with something? You stood up, putting Dorito on your bed, and walked towards the door, looking through the peephole. A man you don’t recognize stood there, long hair down, wearing a black leather jacket and he wasn’t facing the door.

You slowly opened it, a sweet smell invading your nostrils , and you realized he was just a tad taller than you. You cleared your throat and he turned around to flash a dimpled smile towards your way and you felt like your throat had caught on fire by how beautiful this man looked to you.

“Hi! I’m Eddie.” He introduced himself to you and you slowly blinked, coming back to your senses and realizing just how horrible you look right now. You had no makeup on, a messy bun in your head, your sleepwear was on, and you had Stitch slippers on your feet. You blushed a deep red and introduced yourself to him, wanting the earth to swallow you whole.

“Are you new in the building?” He looked around and then back down at you and shook his head.

“No, I’m here for work.”

“Work?”

“Yeah, I’m your Cupid.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

What did he just say?

“I’m sorry, what?” You were stunned on the ground, staring at the crazy man before you. 

“Like I said, I’m your cupid. I’m here to help you find your one destined partner, and for you to also apologize for the way you–”

You closed the door on his face. No. No way. This is some sick dream of yours, it has to be! Maybe the glass of champagne you took was enough for you to lose your senses and your right mind. Or maybe you’ve gone crazy with loneliness. That is also a really big possibility that you weren’t going to deny. You locked your door, stepped away from it and took a deep breath in.

“Okay, that was weird.” You walked towards your room again, only to scream at the top of your lungs when you saw that man laying against the headboard of your bed, petting your cat that was purring on his chest.

“It is very rude to slam doors on people’s faces.” He glared at you as Dorito started doing biscuits on his chest. You were breathing heavily with your hand on your chest and you pointed at your living room and back at him, and repeated the motion again.

“But you– There– And now here– how?” You couldn’t even formulate a good question. You were completely shocked, because a strange man, who claims to be a being that doesn’t exist, was on your bed, petting your cat with no care in the world. 

“Like I said, I’m cupid. Your cupid to be exact.” He explains as Dorito nuzzles his face against his neck, purring wildly. He is an affectionate cat, but only with you really, so you were surprised he was even doing this to a random man that was on your bed. Who MAGICALLY appeared in your bed.

“What the actual fuck, am I drugged or some shit?”

“Nope.”

“High?”

“Nope.”

“Did I get drunk and didn’t notice?”

“Not really, no.”

“Did I go crazy?”

“Not for now, no.” He was looking at you while you rambled on and on, being patient. You were trying to correct your breathing, gulping loudly as you nodded once in thought.

“Okay… Okay, this is fine… This happens in real life, completely normal…” You said more to yourself than anyone else in the room as you sat at the edge of the bed, looking at nothing in particular. You heard Eddie sigh, as he put Dorito on his belly for him to lay there.

“I know it’s a lot to take, but I sensed you were a little bit distraught, and you even insulted me.” He says with a stern look on his face and you slowly turn to look at him with wide eyes.

“How is any of this real?”

“Alright. I’m going to explain it to you so you can finally digest what’s going on.” He readjusted himself, putting Dorito on his lap as he sat right next to you on the edge of the bed. “Everyone’s got a special cupid. We normally don’t get to work unless the person actually feels discouraged and hopeless in terms of love.” 

“I’m not discouraged–”

“Yes, yes you are, and I don’t blame you. Seeing an ex move on happily when you remain stuck is not something easy to see, much less if all the guys you’ve been seeing till now were a complete waste of time.” He says with a chuckle and you were still trying to comprehend what’s going on right now. Maybe you need to sleep, but if this is a dream, then might as well get some advice.

“Alright… So why are you sending me these guys that are horrible for me? Don’t you know who’s the one for me? Like my destined person?” You ask and he started petting your cat on his lap as it purred loudly while he looked forward.

“No. I don’t know who your match is, nor the one for you. And before today, I never sent anyone your way, nor made you fall for anyone, not even with your ex.” He explains to you and you were frowning in confusion at his words.

“I thought cupids, like… Throw an arrow through two people’s hearts and they fall in love.” At that Eddie lets out a wild laugh, shaking his head. 

“No, no… That’s all Cartoon stuff. We only help consummate a relationship. We help our person be hopeful about love again.” He explains to you and you were still wondering how he would help in this situation.

“So, how does this work?” 

“Well, I can make you meet people that might be of your taste, just out of pure coincidence. I can help you with your looks, with your confidence, and also advise you.” He finishes saying as Dorito lets out a big yawn and you couldn’t help but yawn as well, copying his movement. 

“So, you will basically hook me up with someone and hope for the best. Is that it?” He chuckles at you, shrugging and standing from the bed.

“Something like that, but we’ll see. For now, go to bed.” You were feeling your eyes growing heavy, and your body completely relaxed as the sweet scent invaded your nostrils. This was a good dream, knowing your mind made up a little cupid to feel hopeful of finding someone for you. The one.

Yeah, you really wanted to find the one.

Your eyes slowly opened, feeling so refreshed, like you had slept correctly for once in your life. 

You sighed happily when you felt Dorito purring loudly on your chest, waiting for you to wake up. You wrapped your arms around him, caressing him softly. 

“What a dream huh? You were in it too. This cupid dude showed up and you were all over him.” You giggled, sitting up on your bed and you sniffed the air. You slowly stood up, your stomach grumbling with the need of food in your system, and you walked out to the living room. 

You screamed.

“JESUS H. CHRIST!” Eddie thrashed around, the plate on his hand falling onto the sink as he finished washing it. He turned around to look at you with a frown to his brows and widened eyes. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“You– Am I still dreaming?” He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Dorito was meowing on your arms, trying to get away and you put him down. He waddled towards Eddie, throwing himself on the floor to show him his big fat belly. Eddie bent down and scratched the cat, making him stretch out.

“I told you, I’m real.” He says, getting up again and putting some eggs and bacon on a plate. He put it on the island counter and motioned for you to sit on the stool. You slowly walked towards it, sitting on it, not leaving your sight off Eddie.

“This is crazy… Am I the only one who can see you?” You ask as you see the plate pushed over to you and an empty glass. You frowned at it and looked at him. “Where’s the juice?” He smiled at you and looked down at the glass again and you followed it, seeing the glass now with the orange liquid inside.

Your heart was beating against your chest, the nerves flying all around your belly. This was real, he is real, what he is doing, as magical as it appears, it’s real. 

“Yes, and no. People can see me, but my powers don’t really work on them. My only job here is to get you better, and hopeful for love.” He explains to you once again and you blink, grabbing onto the glass of juice, taking a sip of it. You put it down and scanned him, squinting a little bit.

“I thought Cupids were like cherubs… You clearly don’t look angelic to me.” He laughed at that, giving you a nod. 

“That is true. I don’t look like a regular cupid. We all have our own personalities, and our own styles. We were human once, so it is something natural for us to be ourselves.” You were confused now, interest picking up as the shock of the situation was wearing off.

“You were human? You look human to me, present tense.” 

“A normal human cannot teleport and make things appear out of thin air darling. I look like one, but I am not one.” He explains to you and you tilted your head completely confused.

“And how did you become one?” He was about to answer you, but his head lifted up, almost alarmingly and he clapped at you to quicken your pace with your food. 

“I’ll tell you later. Eat fast!” You were looking all around as he paced around the room and you basically inhaled your eggs and bacon, chugging down your juice, almost choking as you saw Eddie pouring milk on Dorito’s plate.

“Okay, I almost died, but I am done, what happened?” You asked him and he stood up, looking at your attire and he sighed, shaking his head. 

“That won’t do, okay… So, he uses polo shirts, so maybe…” He tilted his head once and you felt a swoosh of air hit your body once, and you were completely confused as to what happened until you looked down at yourself, your eyes widening when you saw yourself wearing some leather pants and a white shirt on.

“What the–”

“Nope.” He tilted his head again, and you felt the air hit you again. You looked down to see a floral pink dress on you and you scrunched up your nose at it. “I know, it’s pink.” He gave a nod to it, and the dress turned navy blue.

“You can… change my clothes?” You asked him, completely bewildered and he nodded, letting a sigh out.

“Like I said, I am here to help you.” He walked towards you and you felt your breathing hitch as he pulled you hair down from the bun and he shook it a little bit. You pushed his hands away but then saw he was putting your hair over your shoulders in perfect waves. He then put his hands on your face and you stared up at him, feeling your breath quicken at his stare.

He was absolutely gorgeous. 

“Alright, makeup naturally done, hair done, clothes excellent. Good. He should arrive any second now, so I will hide in your room.” He pulled away from you and you blinked wildly, shaking your head in confusion.

“What? Who is coming–” Your doorbell rang and he whispered to you.

“Just be yourself, no tricks, no jokes, nothing. Be yourself!” He bolted out of the room, getting hold of Dorito, giving you a soldier salute before closing the door behind him. You were stunned into the ground and the doorbell rang once more, and you snapped out, rushing towards the door, slowly opening it to see the man before you.

Oh lord…

He didn’t turn around yet to look at you, but you could already see from his profile that he was so beautiful. Beauty marks on his features, brown hair neatly done on his head, brown eyes looking at the horizon while he waited for you to open the door, and… He was indeed wearing a polo shirt.

“Hi! I’m Steve, I moved–” He looked at you only to stop talking completely as he stared at you, gawk would be the exact word. You were looking up at him, waiting for him to continue but he started stuttering out of nowhere. “I– Shit, um– Like I said, I’m Steve.” He introduced himself again and you smiled at his playfulness, feeling a warm feeling in your chest.

“Hi Steve.” You presented yourself and you looked down to see he was holding a small bag of something. He took a deep breath in and gave the bag to you, which you grabbed with a confused frown in your face, but your smile never fell.

“I uh, those are cookies, I didn’t make them of course. I don’t know how to bake, or cook for that matter. I mean, I tried, you know, it’s not that I expect it to be done for me, but I just simply suck at culinary interests.” He was rambling, completely nervous in your presence. He didn’t think a beautiful girl would live in his building, and now he was thankful for Robin who helped him pick this place.

“I mean, if you know how to cook sausages and some eggs, then you’re good to go.” You reply to him, trying to lighten the situation and you succeed, as he chuckles, showing you off his charming smile and you could almost feel yourself melt at the sight.

“I’m more of a pasta guy. I’m a pro at that.” He replies to you and you giggle at his response with a nod.

“Well, if I ever smell burning, I know who to save first.” He put a hand over his chest as if he got wounded by your words and he winced as if in pain.

“We just met and you are already killing me off? That’s brutal.” 

“I said I’d save you.” You giggled again and he bit his bottom lip, nodding.

“At least there’s one good person in this building. I said hello to the lady in the first floor, department B, and she almost sent her cat to chase me off.” He said to you with a frown and you nodded at that with a roll of the eyes.

“Mrs. O’Donnell. Crazy bitch, don’t ever cross paths with her. When you are doing your laundry, or even taking out the trash. You see her, turn around and come back later.” You advise him, remembering how you tried to start a conversation with her in the laundry room and she kept eyeing your clothes to tell you that you were a sinner.

“Okay, keep that noted.” He licked his lips and you felt yourself blushing slightly at the change of air around you two as he took a step closer to you. “Should I keep my distance with you too?”

You gave out a little snort and you felt like a high school student again as he flirted with you, looking down at the floor, swaying a little. 

“I’m a good neighbor.” You reply, looking up at him and you notice the slight glint in his eyes as you let him go on with his flirting, not pushing him away and not making any excuses. He pulled out his cellphone, almost dropping it because of his nervousness but he tried to play it cool for you as he opened his contact list.

“Since you are the only friendly neighbor I met, is it too crazy to ask for your number?” He licked his bottom lip and you raised an eyebrow up, smirking at his sly way of asking for your number.

“You don’t have to do the whole neighbor charade to ask for my number, you know?” You tell him, seeing him blush slightly. God, he is cute. But to your surprise, he continued with his playfulness, grinning at you.

“Oh, you want to give it to me for some other purpose?” Your eyes widened, catching you off guard, and he laughed at your reaction instantly, making your cheeks get a tint of pink in them as butterflies swam in your belly.

“Now for that teasing, I will not give you my number.” You threatened him and his eyes widened, shaking his head but his smile was still on his lips.

“Sorry, sorry. I would love to have your number.” He sincerely replies now, handing you his phone and you bite the inside of your cheek to forbid yourself from smiling even further as you type in your contact number in his phone. You handed it back to him and he smiled down at it and then looked up at you. “If you smell smoke, it’s probably me making toast.” 

You shook your head with a giggle and said goodbye to him, looking at his retreating back as he glanced back at you one more time, making you jump in embarrassment as he caught you red handed spying on him. You immediately closed the door of your apartment, the smile not disappearing on your face.

A cute boy. A very handsome boy, and a gentleman at that. 

You sighed happily and turned around, only to scream at the sight of Eddie with an excited look on his face, holding Dorito by his armpits, jumping up and down slightly, making the cat meow in annoyance.

“You gotta stop screaming every time you see me sweets.” He said while putting Dorito down on the floor, and looking at you. “So? Did you like him? I can sense you do, but I want to be completely sure.” You shook your head but a smile crept on your lips and you hid your face in your hands bashfully, making Eddie jump in excitement. “Hell yeah baby! That’s what I am talking about!”

“Now I get it when you said to me you will make me meet people just by coincidence.” He nodded at your words and sat down on the couch, Dorito following his step and laying down next to him. 

“Exactly! I knew he was coming over today, and I can also see a little bit of the other person before meeting you, letting me know that he is indeed worth meeting.” He explains to you as starts petting your cat, making him yawn loudly. You walked towards the couch and sat on it, leaving Dorito in between you and Eddie.

“So, can you tell me about him?”

“Nuh uh. I know about him, but won’t tell you. You have to meet him yourself. What I can tell you though, is that he is not a psychopath, nor is he into freaky shit or something. I wouldn’t risk your life like that.” Your heart skipped a bit at his words, feeling a sense of protection from him. You cleared your throat and looked out the window.

“So, you’re like my guardian angel now?” He chuckled at that, and shrugged.

“Different job, but for now, it kinda seems like it.”

Steve messaged you the day after.

And the day after that.

And the next day he invited you for some coffee at the cafe next to your building.

The days blended together, and you found Eddie’s company in your apartment quite warming. It was nice to come home and see him watching a movie or hear him sing in the shower. You put out your couch as his bed, which he told you was not necessary since he could come and go wherever he pleased, but you insisted nonetheless. 

You both sometimes cooked together, and sometimes he would make food appear when he didn’t feel like moving an inch. You wondered if his powers made him tired in some way. He was very reserved with who he was, and what he could do, but other times, like today, sharing a glass of wine, he would let go a little bit.

“So, you told me you were human before.” You say as you both sat on the couch, facing one another with Dorito in the middle with his belly up for scratches which Eddie was dutifully doing.

“That’s right.” 

“Does that mean you are dead?” You ask him and he chuckles, taking a sip of his glass of wine, shaking his head.

“No. I am not, but I am immortal, and for some reason I don’t bleed.” You nodded in understanding, but still slightly confused,  and took a sip of your own drink before talking again.

“Alright, but did you die to be able to turn into cupid?” He frowned at that, looking down at your cat, letting out a big sigh. You felt the air in the room shift into something more melancholic, as if sadness sipped through the walls.

“No, not exactly. The only way to become a cupid is if you chose to be. You can die from a broken heart, or continue on as a helper.” He explains to you and you feel your heart sink in your chest as well as anxious nerves writhe in your stomach. 

“Does that… mean you were heartbroken?” He wasn’t looking at you, just swirling his glass with the liquid inside. He looked distant, as if the memory was causing him pain.

“I was. But a broken heart can come from various places. From a lover, from a friend, from family… I just received too many blows in my life, and I couldn’t take it anymore.” He says while taking a sip out of his glass, a very long one. You wondered how many ended up like him, disheartened, broken, to the point of not wanting to keep going any longer. 

“Did a lover do that to you?” You ask him, curiosity very present in your eyes as you looked at him and he gazed up to lock eyes with yours. He shook his head and your features grew sad for him. “I know you said you couldn’t know who is ‘The One’, but does it even exist?” You ask him now and he straightens up in his seat and gives you a nod. 

“Yes. The One exists. Your destined person. They do, but there is… something about that.” He says with a pained frown while looking at you. “They can be alive at any point. They could be alive right now, same timeline as you, or, they could have already died, or never been born yet.” 

Your eyes widened at that. So, the game of life and destiny was just some cruel joke. It was as if someone was just playing dice over your heads and deciding if you would suffer or meet your other half. If you were going to live happily ever after, or drown yourself in misery and loneliness. 

“Did you have one?” 

“No. When I became cupid, I only got one piece of information, and it was that they weren’t born yet.” You nodded at that, taking a sip of your wine and scooted even closer to him.

“So, right now you don’t know who they are at all?” 

“I don’t know if they were even born. Once you become cupid your own love life is unknown to you.” He chuckles sadly, grabbing the bottle of wine off the table and pouring himself some more. You lean your glass towards him and he pours you some as well, muttering a soft ‘thank you’ to him.

“When did you…?” You stutter a little at your question, not really knowing how to keep going with it, but a knock on your door makes you jump up slightly, and you look at Eddie alarmingly. He simply chuckles and looks at you, his hand reaching up to your cheek, lingering there for a few seconds.

Your breathing hitched slightly as you looked into his eyes and he looked back into yours. The alcohol was mixing with the butterflies in your stomach as you felt his warmth invade your skin, your air, and you just wanted to keep looking at him. You wanted to hold him, tell him everything is going to be okay, that he was an amazing man, even after what he went through.

And you just felt a little helpless around him.

He gulped and pulled away from your face, giving you a dimpled smirk.

“Put a little blush on those cheeks. Go open the door for him.” He got up from the couch and held onto his glass of wine, walking into your room. You didn’t know if he was in there or actually leaves whenever Steve knocks or comes to say something to you. You got up from the couch, putting the glass on your coffee table and walked towards the door, pulling the door open to reveal Steve in a suit. 

“Hi there.” He says with a smile and you feel yourself becoming warm at his greeting. He is such a cute man. 

“Hi Steve, or should I say Mr. Harrington?” You say with an eyebrow raised up in question, combined with your smile as you eyed up his suit. He laughed and gave you a nod.

“Yeah, I know, you’re mesmerized.” You roll your eyes at his words and you giggle, feeling this interaction lifting the heavy mood from earlier on that you had with Eddie. “I actually got off work early, and it got me thinking… uhm.” 

You bite your bottom lip, giggles completely halting as you wait for his words. Was it going to happen? Was he going to ask you out? Finally? 

‘He is.’

Your eyes slightly widened at the voice, making you look behind your back to see if Eddie was next to you, or behind you, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

‘I can talk to you in your mind sweetheart. Part of my job is to make sure you don’t mess up while talking.’

You wanted to roll your eyes at his cockiness, but you couldn’t when Steve was being a mumbling mess in front of you. He might think you’re making fun of him or something and you certainly weren’t doing that.

‘Urge him.’

“Steve…” You called him out, giving him a small smile of encouragement and he took a deep breath in, stopping with his rambling and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I just haven't asked a girl out in a while so…” He said with a slight blush on his cheeks and you raised an eyebrow up at him.

“You were going to ask me out?” You say, almost a whisper as you looked up at him and it seems he got all the courage he needed as you stared at him, waiting for him to keep going.

“Yeah. I got off early today and honestly… The first thing I thought of was that I wanted to see you.” Oh, that certainly made you blush, and he wasn’t far behind that, but despite his nervousness and his cheesiness, he kept going. “So maybe, I can pick you up at 6 PM on friday? We can head down to the bar a few blocks from here.” 

‘You don’t even need me to tell you what to say right now.’

You cursed at Eddie inside your head because he was distracting you. ‘Shut up!’ You yelled at him, not really knowing if it works the other way around, until you hear a soft chuckle vibrate in the depths of your mind, and you knew he had gotten your message.

“Friday at 6… It’s a date, Stevie.” You comment with a smile, and the guy before you was almost bursting with happiness as his eyes sparkled at your approval. He bit his bottom lip, and you felt your heart beat loudly into your ears as he nodded at you.

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” You watched as he walked down the hallway, stealing a few glances over his shoulder and towards you. You waved at him one last time until he was out of sight and you entered the house, slamming the door shut with a big smile on your face. Eddie was already out of your room, smiling with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Eddie, oh my god!” You squealed excitedly as you rushed towards your phone to raise the music up from the speakers. ‘I Wanna dance with somebody’ by Whitney Houston was blasting and you couldn’t help but want to dance out of happiness right now. You were going on a date with a cute guy on friday! A guy who doesn’t look like he just wants to get in your pants! A guy that is genuinely interested in you and is willing to make conversation and get to know you!

“The 80’s? Really?” Eddie asks with a cock of his head, his eyebrow raised up. You just rushed over to him and grabbed his hands, twirling both of you around, catching him completely by surprise as he stumbled while you moved him. “You know this kind of music is not my scene? Thought my clothes were pretty obvious, sweetheart.”

You felt your stomach twirl at the nickname, but you kept the smile on your face and then started pulling his arms back and forth, making him sway in his place. A smile was creeping in his face as he looked down at you and he instantly twirled you in place, making you giggle and then he pulled you to his body, his hand on the small of your back and his right hand holding your left.

He started singing along as he started moving around in an exaggerated manner, making you laugh and helping him sing along. You were happy, content in this moment right here. You felt his sweet scent invading you, as you saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he sang along in high pitch and then low in order to make you laugh.

“Now that’s a singer right there.” You say with a smile and he chuckled, looking down at you.

“I was in a band actually. Played guitar too.” He says to you and you caught the sad smile that painted in his features. You raised your hand up, pulling a curl of his behind his ear, slowly and gently, and you felt a wave of lightning course through you, as if you had touched a naked copper cable. 

He was staring down at you, his eyes locked in yours as you inspected him, touched him. He was about to pull away out of nervousness, and because he was starting to feel tense at the situation. A situation that never happened to him before. He never had this much interaction with his human, he just helped them and–

“Is the 80’s your time?” You asked him, taking him aback completely. You both fell into a small sway, going side to side as his hands rested on your hips, barely touching you, while your hands rested on his chest, staring up at his features.

“How did you know?”

“You know a lot about the music of that time. I caught you singing some songs before while cooking, or showering and they’re all from the 80’s.” He gave you a small smile and then a nod.

“1989 was the year I decided to become a Cupid. I was 23 years old.” So he is, technically, younger than you. But if you had to count the years he kept his youth, he is much older.

“What happened to you?” You brushed your hand over his chest, just where his heart is, and you could feel the beating of it, and you could almost hear it from how hard it was strumming against his chest.

“I got cheated on by the only girlfriend I ever had… Slipped up and lost my band too and then, I– I lost the only person who ever cared for me. My uncle. Died from a heart attack.” You looked up at him, feeling your eyes burn with incoming tears and he gave you a sad confused smile. “I’m telling you my story, and you’re the one crying?”

“Yes, I mean, it’s you, and you were in pain, so much that you–” You stopped talking. When he mentioned to you that you could die from a heartbreak, you wondered if he meant it literally, or if he meant that the pain was too strong that he considered ending it all for himself. He put his index finger under your chin to raise your head up in order to look at him.

“Hey, I’m okay.” You couldn’t help the sadness that ran over you, like a wave that just drowned all of the happiness you were feeling seconds ago.

“But, what about your friends? You didn’t have any?” You asked him and he winced slightly, giving you a small nod.

“I did tell you I was in a band.” His grip tightened around you, and you realized you both had stopped moving with one another. “Once one becomes a Cupid, it’s as if you never existed. Everyone forgets about you and the memories they shared with you.”

You couldn’t help but stare up at him. He was in constant loneliness, despite being a helper of love. He was all alone, moving around the world by himself, doing all of this for the benefit of others. You shook your head at him, giving him a small smile to take away the tension that was on your shoulders.

“Well, I am your friend now! We can go have fun together, and we can even get you a new guitar!” You say, jumping slightly with excitement but he was not copying you, his eyes staring at you, but not really. He was distant, as if his mind had gone somewhere else. He bit his bottom lip, and let out a sigh.

“Darling… You will forget about me.” You frowned and shook your head at him.

“There’s no way! You’ve helped me so much, and Dorito can hardly live without you now–”

“Once you fall in love, my job is done, and you won’t ever be able to see me again.” 

You stood still. Frozen. Your heart stops completely at his words.

You’ll forget about him? Eddie will be gone once all of this is over? He will disappear once you fall for someone else? Does Eddie think you are being a bother and that’s why he is insistent on Steve? Did he not want to spend time with you anymore?

“That’s– That’s not fair, it should be my decision if I want to remember you or not!” You pulled away from him, a tear threatening to run down your cheek. He was standing still, inspecting you with a sad look on his face. He was dreading the moment he would have to tell you this, because he was afraid you would not continue pursuing Steve just to be able to keep being friends with him.

He appreciated it. He’d grown fond of you, and even took notes of all your quirks and little movements. How you bit your nails when you were concentrating on a movie. How you hummed a tune every time you watered your plants. How you wanted the magnets on your fridge to be color distributed. And he adores the fact that you love strawberries to the point of getting sick with them.

“It’s not our decision. It’s destiny. I am just a helper in your life, and not a human.” Your eyes widened at that, and a smile creeped on your lips, walking towards him again, grabbing his hand.

“Then turn human! I can help you get a job! You can move in with me, and we can go to a bigger apartment, and–” You didn’t want him to leave you. Not when he has helped you so much. For the past two weeks, he had helped you build up your confidence in ways you didn’t know you could feel. He had helped you through your nights, crying after going to work to a place where your boss was mentioning how happy she was with her fiance. He had held you, rocked you, sang to you in order for you to calm down.

Eddie was more than happy to help you. That’s his job. He liked, as horrible as it sounds, holding you while you poured your heart out onto his chest, crying as if there was no tomorrow, because then he would make you laugh and it was all thanks to him. He would make you smile, and it would be directed to him. 

But the reality of things are way worse than a smile.

“I can’t turn human.” Your smile fell instantly at his words, and you gulped tightly. There was no way… You can’t digest the fact that, if everything went right with Steve, you would forget about Eddie. Then he would end up alone again, and you wouldn’t even know. You would be oblivious to that. He looked at your face and then sighed. “The only way for me to become human again, is to mend my broken heart.”

“Mend…?” He nodded at you and he grabbed your hand, pressing it into his chest.

“I have to love, and be loved in return. Seal the bond with a kiss, and I… I would become mortal again.” 

The tear finally slipped from your eye. You felt hopeless for him, a sadness you’ve never felt in your life. Your sister’s passing was something you could see a mile away when she was diagnosed with Leukemia. Your father, you knew he was cheating on your mother since the first day you hit puberty, so you weren’t surprised when they got divorced and he remarried.

This sadness was unexpected, and was washing over you as if it were the only emotion you could feel at the moment. 

Eddie’s arms engulfed you, pushing you close to his chest. How is that heart that was beating loudly against his chest broken?  How could they hurt someone like him? Why can’t anyone fix it? Why does he have to leave?

“Hey… The good part of this is that Steve looks like an amazing guy… And–” He pulled away, wiggling his eyebrows at you, wiping your tears away. “I did a little bit of research on past encounters, and all girls have really nice things to say.” You sobbed a little as you tried to talk.

“About what?” He wiggled his eyebrows again and that’s when you caught on, gasping and slapping his bicep with a noise of disgust coming out of your throat. He laughed at your reaction, causing you to giggle through your tears. 

Cupid is a dork.

“Well, I had a great time.” You finally say as you reach your door, Steve right behind you. You had an amazing evening with him. He picked you up at exactly 6 PM, and you both headed down to the bar he mentioned before. The conversation was fluid, as if you two had known each other for a long while, but also, the flirting was there, but not too explicit because well… Someone was a little distracting through the evening, even now.

‘This is the part where you invite him in, and you blow him on the couch.’

‘Eddie, jesus, shut the fuck up.’

“Me too. And how convenient it is that we live so close to each other.” Steve says with a smile as he leaned on the doorframe of your front door when you finally opened it and stepped inside, looking back up at him. 

“That is definitely a plus.” You say while biting your bottom lip, staring up at him. You were anticipating a move of course. You wanted it to happen. 

‘He is not going to do it.’

‘Shit, should I?’

A moment of silence was in your mind and then you heard Eddie’s voice again.

‘Maybe it is too soon.’

Huh? That was definitely not the answer you expected him to say. You thought he was going to make you kiss Steve, which you really wanted to. Steve was blushing as he spoke to you about wanting to go on another date again and you really wondered if Eddie was right on it.

‘Are you sure Eds? I mean, he really looks like he wants to, but is too shy to do so.’

‘I said it is too soon.’

You frowned slightly at the change of tone in his voice. It sounded too demanding, as if he were angry with you. Your jaw clenched, and you muted your head, just everything. You tiptoed towards Steve, and planted a soft kiss on his lips in response to his rambling about a second date.

His lips were plump, expectant. He was stunned for a whole second and then you felt him kiss back, his hands and arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close to him. Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, feeling your chest warm at the feeling of someone’s lips on yours as well as an anxious feeling that wasn’t sitting quite right at the pit of your stomach.

What it was, you didn’t know.

He pulled away after a few seconds with a blissed look on his face, his eyes completely blown from the kiss, and he smiled downwards at you.

“Well, that answers my question on the second date then.” You giggled at that, your arms still wrapped around his neck. 

“Maybe we can have some dinner at your place next time?” You flirted with him, voice low and he whistled, calling out your name with a smirk to his face, knowing what you were meaning.

“It’s a date then. Next wednesday?” You bit your lip and nodded at him. He bent down and kissed you softly on the lips again, pulling away only seconds after and then pulling completely off you. “Can’t wait…” He kissed your cheek and he skipped down the hallway, making a fool out of himself just for you to laugh at. You shook your head and closed the door to your apartment, turning around for your smile to only drop.

Eddie was with arms crossed over his chest, almost glaring at you. You’ve never seen him mad before, so this was a new sight for you.

“Did I speak in chinese?” He asks you and you just roll your eyes at him, going to your kitchen to get a glass of water. “Why did you go against what I said?”

“Because it was bad advice! I kissed him, because he clearly wanted to, and I got myself a second date!” You exclaimed at him, your own anger filling your body as you poured some water into your glass. He was pacing behind you, glaring daggers in your back.

“How can my advice be bad?! I am your Cupid! If I say something it’s because there’s a valid reason for it!”

“And what was the reason to not kiss him tonight?” You turned around to face him and he wasn’t looking at you. He was just looking to the side, at nothing in particular but with the purpose of not clashing with your gaze. “Or what was the reason for distracting me all night?!”

“You were too interested. Guys get bored when girls are easy, just throwing themselves at them.” Your anger was exploding now. What did he just call you?

“Did you just call me easy? Is that what you think I am?!” You couldn’t help how tight your chest was feeling at the moment. You wanted to throw something at him, yell at him, make Dorito scratch his perfect face. His eyes widened and then he slapped his hands over his face, as if he had just realized something.

“Shit, no, that’s not what I meant–”

“Then what did you fucking mean Edward?” You stuck your hip out, looking at him with an angered look in your face and he shook his head at you. 

“Don’t twist this on me! You kissed him when I told you not to! You have to follow what I say to you, or this thing with Steve won't happen!” Your nerves were making your body shake, feeling your eyes burning from the incoming tears that were for sure about to spill. Your body was ablaze, and the knot in the stomach you felt before worsened. Your heart was beating in your chest, almost as if you were having a heart attack. 

And your mind was going places, words and thoughts swimming in your brain, just so fast, that you didn’t have the chance of thinking before talking.

“Are you that desperate to leave me!?” You yelled out as tears started running down your cheeks, not able to contain your emotions any longer. “Are you that bothered about helping me?! Do I annoy you?! Am I that detestable to you that you want me to forget about you?!” 

The self deprecating words kept coming out of your mouth like bullets to him. One by one, hitting him in the chest. He made you cry. The tears that were falling down your cheeks were because of him. He felt his throat closing up as he stared at you, taking a step towards you. 

He stared at your sobbing face, as you tried to wipe away your tears and your nose. Even now, even with the stained face, he found you beautiful… And that thought scared him. 

He raised his hand up, caressing your cheek, gently, and slowly. You sniffled, looking up at him, and your knees almost got weak at the sight. He was staring at you with eyes you’ve never felt before. An adoration that you only saw in movies, and described in many books you’ve read before. 

You instinctively took another step, your body an inch away from his. Your heart started picking up the pace, rapidly, listening to the blood rush through your ears, and your mouth went dry as you looked at him. The world stopped, time itself, even sounds around you became silent. 

You wanted to. You needed to. You had to.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he was still in a state of trance, not pulling away from your embrace, but his arms moved by their own accord, wrapping themselves around your waist. 

You want him.

You raised yourself up, tippy toeing, slowly in order not to scare him away. You knew these feelings might be inside you, but you needed to make sure. You wanted to make sure. You wanted it to be true.

You need him.

Your chest went flush against his as you started to reach your goal, your breath picking up as the thoughts in your brain ceased to exist. The only thing that was there, the only one was Eddie.

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

Tight hands grabbed onto your shoulders, and ripped you apart from the body you were stealing warmth from. Your back hit the fridge behind you, making you wince slightly. Your breath was heavy and when you looked up your eyes widened when you saw Eddie’s face. He was panting, as if he were in pain. His pupils were dilated as he looked at you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

And you heard the crack. You could even hear it. A small crack in your heart as he says those words, as if repulsed by the idea of being kissed by you, a mere human. You licked your lips and shook your head, gulping loudly as he pulled away from you, stepping away.

“I’m– I’m sorry– I just wanted–”

“You’re confused.” He says to you and you feel like he was clawing at your chest with those words, making you shake your head at him.

“What? No! I–”

“We need space. I have to give you space so you can focus on Steve.” 

You felt your throat close at those words, your eyes widening as you saw him retreat to your room. Space? Confused? Your brain was running a mile per minute and your legs finally moved, rushing towards your room right after him.

Only to find Dorito meowing with sadness as it looked all over your room. 

You looked all around, feeling your heart start to pound in your chest as you rushed towards your closet to look inside. You then walked back out to the living room and kitchen area, finding it empty too. You slammed open your bathroom, feeling your tears coming down even more and more. 

You kicked your door in anger and finally sobbed out as you rested against the doorframe of your doorway. You slid down on it, falling onto the floor as you cried into your hands. 

He left. He left you.

There were no more movie nights. No more music sharing. No more brainstorming for outfit or date ideas. No more cooking for two. Who is going to fill Dorito’s plate in the morning when you are asleep? Who is going to wait for you at home, apart from your cat, after a long day of work? Who is going to tell you so many stupid stories about his teenage years now?

Steve?

No, you didn’t want it to be Steve. You didn’t want that part of your life to be done by Steve. It felt wrong, and you were just now feeling it. You were just now realizing how wrong it feels to put Steve where Eddie was. 

You fell for Cupid. You stupidly fell for your own cupid. And it was obvious that the feeling was not mutual. It was obvious that he did not want anything to do with you. It was obvious that you would have to keep moving on in order to fill the empty space he left. Would he appear again? Or will you be able to fall in love with Steve?

How can you possibly forget about Eddie?

Two months later.

You were tired. Exhausted really as you walked up the stairs of your apartment. 

Your eyes were bloodshot red, but it was something that was going to happen, because you knew it wasn’t going anywhere really. Your day at work had also been quite stressful, but the ache you expected to get when you got your boss’s wedding invitation, never arrived. You were actually excited for it, knowing there will be food and free drinks.

You opened the door of your apartment, turning the lights on as you took your coat off, closing the door and throwing the garment onto the couch. You walked towards the pantry, getting hold of your bottle of wine, and getting your corkscrew device out to open it. With a loud ‘pop’ you smiled slightly at the relief this will bring you, pouring a glass for yourself. You took a long sip, turning around to face your living room.

“Dorito?” You called your fat orange cat, but heard no meows. You walked towards the front of the couch and didn’t see him there. He must be in your room. You sat down on your couch, turning the tv on, and you groaned loudly when you saw Titanic on screen. You clenched your jaw and decided to keep it on, taking a sip of your glass again. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine but paid no mind to it, cracking your neck slightly at the chill. 

“Why did you do that?” 

You sat still, your blood freezing over at the voice you haven’t heard for over two months. The voice you wished to hear again and didn’t think you’d ever would. 

“Why did you break up with him?”

You were shaking, putting the glass on the coffee table before slowly getting up. Your stomach was in shambles, and your heart was with an energy you haven’t felt in a long while. Ever since he left, you felt hollow, as if you didn’t have the energy to keep pretending, to keep trying.

Steve had been nothing but sweet to you the past two months. Intimately and publicly, he was the most caring person you’ve ever been with… But he wasn’t Eddie. You tried, you really tried, but you knew the love you could possibly feel would be empty, almost numb. So before you could hurt Steve, you decided to call everything off, with nothing but being honest with him.

He sadly understood, and was grateful for you to be honest with him and not wait till he was completely devoted to you to break his heart.

You turned around to face him, and he was just standing there, with a pained frown in his eyebrows and your breath caught in your throat. He was wide eyed, staring at you, his hands shaking as his whole body ached, for what, he did know, yet he wasn’t going to act on it.

“I– Uh… I’m Eddie, you probably–”

“I never forgot about you Eddie.”

And he was stunned. He gave you the time, he gave you the space, he left you. He went onto helping someone else to keep himself distracted, not wanting to see something he would regret with you. He gave you privacy, to you and Steve. So how? How is it possible that someone as perfect as him, didn’t get your love?

“What?”

“I said… I never forgot about you.” 

The only thing separating you at this moment, was the couch between you two. You could hear his heart and he could hear yours. You gulped loudly, walking around the couch to finally stand in front of him. You wanted to reach out, grab him, hug him tightly against you, tell him so many things, but first, one question remains, so you pushed through the knot in your throat, and spoke through the tears that were already slipping out of your eyes.

“Why did you leave me?”

His breath hitched, feeling a sting of guilt at the pit of his stomach, as well as feeling his heart clenching and unclenching inside of his chest, wanting to explode. His bottom lip quivered slightly and he sniffled, looking away from you.

“I– I had to. I had to leave because I…” He didn’t want to say it. All his life, he ran away from this feeling, scared of it. He was terrified of ending up as a cupid again, or deciding to finally put an end to it all. But he knew that this time, there was no running from it. Not anymore. 

“Eddie–”

“Remember what I told you about ‘The One’?” You gulped and slowly nodded your head at him. He licked his lips in order to continue. “I explained to you that The One for each person really does exist. I also explained to you, that this person might be in your present timeline, might have already passed away, or they haven’t been born yet.”

Your throat was dry, feeling your whole body shaking with electricity and anticipation as he slowly looked up at you, his brown doe eyes locking with yours and you felt a sigh escape your lips.

“And here you are… Born in 1998.” 

You processed his words, and they felt like cold water being dumped on you, but at the same time they felt like a great relief, like a warm blanket covering you. Eddie was telling you that you were The One for him. Your cupid was confessing that he believes you are The One.

“Y-You…” He stopped you again, stepping away from you. You didn’t realize that you were taking steps towards him, as if you were a magnet, not really being able to control your movements.

“I am not… It would be from the beginning with me… I don’t have a job, no family, no friends, nothing… I don’t want to be a leech, but… Sweetheart, I don’t know if I can stay away from you much longer.” He lets out a shaky breath as he feels the weight on his shoulders finally leave him. He was waiting for your rejection, for you to push him away, tell him he is insane for this. But when he looked up, he saw those eyes he looked at you with months ago. His own widened as he realized you had looked at him like this that night, and the night before when talking about The Lord of the Rings. And many mornings before that as well.

“Then don’t…” At your words, Eddie took a step towards you as you took one towards him. Standing face to face, bodies only a few inches from one another’s, only your heavy breaths filling the room, you licked your lips to be able to talk to him again. “So… You say I am The One for you… Does it mean you are The One for me?”

And Eddie looked down at you, his mind finally stopping and setting its goal on one thought only. You. You. You. Your scent, your eyes, your tics, your anger, your smiles, your voice, your sleepy face, your laughter, your cries. 

Just you.

“Let’s find out darling… Kiss me.”

Your heart leaped at those words, wrapping your arms around his neck, almost instantly, as his hands took the position they did last time he was at your home, around your waist. Your breath was fast, as the universe stopped and not just for you. Eddie was feeling the exact same thing in your arms. You both were the only ones in the whole world right now, the only ones wasting the oxygen away. 

His hands tightened around your waist, as your breaths mixed together as he leaned down to help you meet him halfway. You closed your eyes, and he did as well, as your lips finally touched, melting together as if it had always been meant to be. 

He groaned into the kiss, feeling like a firework just exploded inside of him, an intense heat engulfing his whole body, making him grip you even closer to his body and you sighed in contentment as fresh tears filled your eyes behind your eyelids. Happiness was consuming you and you will happily succumb to it. Your lips moved together as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, trying to push your body into him, more, and more. You just wanted to feel him, all of him, because he was here.

He heard you moan in happiness against his lips and he almost fainted right then and there at the sound, but another feeling was taking over his mind. The voices in his head stopped. The insistent noise that told him to help, and help, and do something for someone else stopped. He pulled away from you, and you immediately looked for him, but he kept the distance with his head.

He was breathing heavily as he took a step back from you, unwrapping his arms from your body. You were still shaking at the event, wanting to go after him but he rushed towards the kitchen and opened one of your drawers. You were staring at his back as you saw him jump and something dropping on the counter. He turned around to face you and stomped towards you with a look on his face that was puzzling you and making you feel uneasy.

“What do you feel about me?” He asked you and your breath got stuck in your throat again, feeling embarrassed and fearful for what the words that want to come out of your mouth will inquire, but there was no stopping this, no more running away from it.

“I’m in love with you Eddie…” He stared down at you for a few seconds, a smile breaking on his lips as he lifted his hand for you to look at it. Your eyes widened when there, in the tip of his left index finger, you could see the small speck of blood, slowly dripping down the digit. 

‘I don’t bleed.’ You remembered his words and then your eyes teared up as you also realized the condition it took for him to become human again.

“To love… and be loved in return.” You say those words making him smile widely, his right hand reaching for your cheek to wipe your tears away with his thumb as a gentle sob escaped your lips. He called your name for you to look at him and even in the blurriness of it all, you could still see those brown doe eyes, shining with fresh tears as he spoke to you.

“I’m in love with you darling.” He called out and you almost choked on a sob as you held onto his face, squishing his cheeks to pull him into another kiss. A shock of electricity ran through your body and you knew this was right. You somehow felt this is what it was always meant to be. This is what your heartbreaks led you to, your suffering, your tears. Everything led to this perfect moment and to all the moments to come with him.

“Mreow.”

You both pulled away from the kiss to look down at the fat orange cat that had an unamused look on his face. Eddie chuckled and tilted his head, but nothing happened. He groaned loudly and rushed to fill Dorito’s plate by hand, making you giggle in amusement. 

“That’s going to take some time getting used to.” He comments as he straightens up again, putting the bag of food back inside a cabinet. Once Dorito rushed to his food, Eddie immediately swept you off your feet in bridal style, making you squeal in surprise, holding onto his neck. He chuckled loudly as he walked towards your bedroom, making you blush in anticipation.

“Now where are you taking me Cupid?”

“Heaven.” He said with a smile and you giggled while he slammed the door to your room shut.

Cupid isn’t so bad after all.

End of One Shot

I really loved writing this. If you liked the story, all likes and Reblogs as well as comments warm my little heart!

Hope I can return to this couple some time in the future!

[sanguineterrain]

about strawberry jam - e.m.

Summary: Eddie knows what kind of jam you like.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: discussion of food and a sort of unhealthy relationship with food, but no mentions of eating disorders! reader just isn't fond of eating with people. reader is anxious about relationships and has commitment issues but they are trying their very best, like i know all of you are <3

Notes: first of all, i want to say how blown away i am by the response that about a boy got! thank you so so much! i have some ideas for future snapshots so please enjoy this one here, which takes place about a month after about a boy (though you do not need to read that to understand this one). that being said, this fic is loosely connected to the series.

divider by firefly-graphics

"Pasta sound okay?" 

You doze on Eddie's bed. It's weird, being in his space, but you're practicing. You have to remember that he wants you here, and if he doesn’t, he'd tell you. You're not an intrusion or a wrong piece of furniture. You belong here. Eddie had told you so. 

"Pasta is good. Mac and cheese?" you ask. 

Eddie's head pops up from his pillow. Affection overwhelms you. You need to be close to him, suddenly. You scoot closer so your knuckles brush his. Eddie links your pinkies and kisses your hand. 

"Sounds great. I can go—"

"I'll start it," you say. 

Your brain itches with the thought that you take too much when you're with Eddie. If you want to earn your keep, you need to do more than laze about in his room. 

Eddie's expression suddenly turns serious. With his other hand, he gently pushes his thumb into the center of your brows. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You're thinking too hard again," he says. "Had to smooth it out."

Eddie molds your worry into something pretty, like you are dry clay and his hands are damp with love. You wonder if this is what creation feels like. 

"I'll start it," you say, trying again. "And… and you can help in a bit?"

Your forehead stays smooth. Eddie's eyes crinkle at the corners from his smile.

"Sounds like a plan, sweet thing. You know where everything is?"

"Yes. But, um… your uncle isn't home, is he?" 

You feel terrible asking. You do. It's not that you have an issue with Wayne Munson. You're sure he's a great guy, with how Eddie gushes about him. You know that, at the very least, his love for his nephew is cavernous and infinite. 

"He's not," Eddie confirms. "But y'know he wouldn't chase you out with a broom if he was, right?"

"I know. It's just… we're new and I don't want to rush things."

You're a new fixture in Eddie's life and a part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. A part of you thinks this is too good to be true; your clay will dry out beyond fixing and Eddie won't want anything more from you. 

"Hey." Eddie doesn't kiss you, just brushes his lips onto your cheek to get your attention. You look at him. 

Eddie licks his lips and chews on chapped skin, studying you for a minute. 

"Do you like this?" he asks finally. "Do you like how things are going?" 

"Yes," you say.

It's only been a month but it's been one of the greatest months of your life. And if this is the time you have with Eddie Munson before you overstay your welcome, it will have been worth it. If only to have found a home in a person. 

"I do too," Eddie says. "I really, really like you. And I want us to stay like this."

"Now."

Eddie tilts his head. "What?"

"You want to stay like this now. But in a month, you might get tired. Or you might want to leave and I'll hold you back."

Eddie's eyes turn soft and sad. Sometimes you do that, with your stupid, clumsy words. Eddie never turns sad around anybody else. It's only you that pulls it out of him. 

"I wish you wouldn't think of me that way," he says. 

"I'm sorry."

You're afraid, and it makes you selfish. You should think of others, but you don't, because that's when you get hurt. And you don't think you can take it if Eddie hurts you because you think of him. 

Eddie brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it. Your lips draw down. 

"I'm sorry," you say again. "I'm scared."

"Of me?"

"Of what you've become to me."

"I would never do that to you," Eddie murmurs. "Leave you. Hurt you. Never."

You release a slow breath. "Okay."

"It's okay if you don't believe me right now," he says. "But I wanted to tell you. So it's somewhere in there." 

He kisses your forehead. You want to try once more. 

"We can start the pasta together," you offer. 

Eddie's smile doesn't scrunch his face up this time. But it's fond. It's good. 

You get up with him. 

You're not fond of people watching you eat. 

Eating with people feels like a sin. You enter their space and you're caught. They can watch you hork down whatever glutton you feed yourself that day, and you can't do anything about it. 

Or it's a bribe. Come to lunch with me, and food suddenly becomes a leash. A chain with expectation collared to your throat. You reach for your fork and you are an animal with your claws in a raw steak, blood dripping down your chin. You howl and your companion sneers at how you can't even control your hunger under their gaze. 

Eddie asks you to come over a lot more now, and, being that you have a real heart and a real stomach, the time does come when you eat together.

"I think we have Velveeta in the bottom cabinet," Eddie says, digging through a top shelf for a box of macaroni. 

He turns on the stove. You hear him open the fridge and dig through there. 

The unopened package of Velveeta is exactly where Eddie said. You take it out and pause. 

A jar of strawberry jam sits at the front. You take it out and stare at the label. 

"Find it?" Eddie asks. 

"Yeah… Eds, can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away, pretty."

"What does your uncle eat for breakfast?"

"Hmm. Eggs, bacon, y'know. He grew up down south, though, so he really loves grits." 

"Oh. So not a jam on toast type?" 

"Nah, he's not much for sweets. Why?" 

"Grape jelly," you say.

Eddie comes over and closes the cabinet doors. You give him the Velveeta but you cling to the jam like it's your firstborn. 

"Grape jelly?" he asks. 

"You only like grape jelly. It's one of the first things I learned about you. Steve made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and you said you wanted grape jelly or no jelly."

Eddie nods. "Sounds like something I'd say."

"Well, I—" You swallow and hold up the jar. "I think you made a mistake, Eddie. You bought strawberry jam."

"That wasn't a mistake, sweet thing. I bought it for you."

Macaroni bubbles in a pot and you want to run because you know this is a trick. It must be. 

"For me?"

"Mmhm." 

You watch Eddie's hand twitch, like he's about to tug you into his side, but he stops, because he doesn't want to overwhelm you. Your tongue tastes sour. 

"Strawberry's your favorite, right?" he says. 

You look at the jar again. When you come over for breakfast, you will turn the lid, and the seal will pop. Eddie will smile at you from across the table and tell you about the campaign he's writing. And you'll eat the reminder that you are a part of someone else's life now. 

"You thought of me," you say. 

"I think about you a lot," he replies. 

"You do?"

"I do."

"Oh. I never thought I'd have somebody to think about me.” 

"Well, you do now,” he says, ducking his head so your eyes meet. “That okay?" 

"It's good."

This jar of jam is good. That pot of macaroni is good. Being cared for is good. 

Eddie strains the pasta, and you’re reminded of the fact that you're going to eat together. 

But it doesn't frighten you as much. It doesn't feel like a bribe or blood on your chin. 

You slice the Velveeta. The two of you make food and take care of each other side by side. 

It feels good. It feels like Eddie says he'll stay and he means it. 

It feels like a place on the shelf for your strawberry jam. 

[flowersforbucky]

mutualism

eddie munson x reader

your first kiss with eddie happens when you’re painting his nails for him and he has to try to resist touching you because the polish is still wet.

wc: 1.6k+ | warnings: kissing, sensuality, sexual tension, friends to lovers, mention of marijuana use, no use of y/n, not explicit but mdni, reader is out of high school/an adult, eddie is repeating senior year again.

author’s note: would it really be so crazy if i said this little drabble is one of my favorite things i have ever written? also this is dedicated to @dearwalker for no reason other than she gets me.

☾𖤓⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ☾𖤓⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

You’re supposed to be helping him study for a biology test.

It’s the whole reason you came over.

But then he suggested ordering a pizza. And then he rolled a joint for the two of you to share. Then the pizza was delivered, and he turned on a horror film that you’re sure he’s already seen at least a dozen times.

Now an hour has passed and his biology textbook is still open to the same page that it was when you first arrived.

The movie still plays as background noise as he focuses all of his concentration on painting his fingernails to match his raven curls.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re a little buzzed, but you can’t stop staring at him.

Maybe you just think he’s pretty.

“It’s getting late,” you hum, transfixed by the way he bites his bottom lip in the endearing way that he always does when he’s hyper focused on a task. “If you wanna pass your test tomorrow, you need to study.”

He snorts. You know him well enough to know that he’s saying we could study for the next six fucking hours and I’m still not gonna pass that test without actually saying it.

“Quiz me,” he says without taking his eyes off the tips of his fingers. “This is going to take a while. I can paint my right hand pretty quickly, but the left…”

You stare at him for another moment when you get an idea. If he were to ask, you’d say it’s to speed up the process, but it’s not quite so easy to lie to yourself.

You just want to be closer to him.

You scoot to where he sits near the foot of his bed and hold out your hand for the tiny brush. He freezes and looks up at you with wide doe eyes.

“Let me help you,” you murmur. “And I’ll quiz you, too. Kill two birds with one stone.”

He smirks, passing you the brush. “You always have the best ideas.”

You take his left hand in yours and pull it closer to you, your eyes drawn to the details of his rings as if you haven’t stared at them a thousand times before. With your other hand, you dip the brush back into the nail polish bottle that he still holds in his right hand.

“I know. That’s why you keep me around.”

When you look up, he’s already watching you with a half-dazed expression. “Among other reasons.”

The air suddenly feels heavier. You force yourself to drop your gaze back down to his hand in yours, bringing the brush to the tip of his index finger and mentally willing your hand to stay steady.

You clear your throat. “First question. Define commensalism and give me an example.”

“Too easy,” he laughs lowly. You feel the faint vibration of it from where his hand rests in yours. “It’s a type of symbiotic relationship where one organism benefits but the other isn’t helped or harmed. Like…barnacles on a whale.”

You smile and nod, not taking your eyes off of his fingernail for fear that you’ll smear the black ink across his pale skin. “Good job,” you praise, moving onto his middle finger. “What about mutualism?”

“Also too easy. Mutualism is when both organisms benefit from the relationship. Like bees and flowers. Like coral and algae. And like me and you.”

You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. “Me and you?” You muse, glancing up at him briefly through your lashes. Maybe it’s the chemicals in the nail polish affecting your ability to think clearly, but you swear his gaze lingers on your lips for a loaded second. “How so?”

He grins, highlighting the crinkles around his eyes. “You know,” he shrugs. “You help me study for a test, I buy you pizza. I let you smoke my weed, I get to stare at you while you paint my fingernails. Win-win situation if you ask me.”

Perhaps it’s not the chemicals making your imagination run wild, then. You’d think you were dreaming if it weren’t for how uncomfortably dry your mouth suddenly feels.

You do what you’re so naturally inclined to do - deflect.

Dropping your gaze again, you move onto the next finger. “Sounds to me like you’re getting the short end of the stick.”

You mentally curse the slight quiver in your voice.

“Pshhh,” he scoffs. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

You shrug, moving onto his pinky nail. It takes every ounce of determination you possess to will your hands not to shake under the intensity of his stare.

“Hey,” he says softly when he realizes that you’re not going to give him a direct answer. Just as you’re finishing up the first coat of paint on his pinky, he takes the brush away from you. You feel you have no choice but to look him in the eye.

He’s looking at you with the same effortless softness as always. That’s what you find the most infuriating about it - he always looks at you just as fondly as he is right now. So why is it suddenly ripping the air from your lungs?

“I do not have the short end of the stick,” he says, almost defensively. “Not when I’ve got you in my room, sitting on my bed, holding my hand in yours. Anyone who isn’t me…that’s who has the short end of the stick.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, your brain short-circuiting. Suddenly, English is a foreign language. It may as well be your first day trying to string two words together.

You don’t have to worry about being speechless for long.

His eyes flicker to your lips again. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Then he shifts closer, his knees brushing against yours as he places the bottle of nail polish and the brush on his bedside table without ever looking away from you.

The Evil Dead playing on his television fades to static white noise as he starts to raise a hand to your face.

“Wait.”

He freezes when his lips are mere inches from yours. You grab his wrist in your hand right before it makes contact with your cheek.

The dejected look on his face is enough to make you wish you could go back in time by about five seconds and bite your stupid tongue.

“Shit,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I thought - I’m not sure what I thought.” He shakes his head, now looking anywhere but at you. “Can we please forget about—”

“No, no, no,” you say quickly, grabbing his wrist again. He tenses beneath your touch, an equal mix of confusion and disappointment on his face. “It’s not that. I want to kiss you. Of course I want to kiss you.”

He gulps. “You do? Then what—?”

“Your nails,” you explain, feeling silly. You just interrupted the kiss that you’ve envisioned more times than you can begin to recount over something as trivial as nail polish. “They’re still wet,” you huff a shaky laugh.

He stares at you with wide eyes. Blinks. Then, his shoulders drop in palpable relief and his lips quirk in amusement. “You really think I care more about my nails than I do kissing you?”

Your cheeks are burning. He’s too sweet. Always been too sweet. You shake your head, more at yourself than anything else. “Don’t want all my hard work to go to waste,” you murmur. “Just..let me. Okay?”

He nods, slow and dazed. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”

With his hands out of the question, he waits. Completely at your mercy.

You lift your other hand, just barely grazing the skin of his jaw before brushing a stray curl away from his face. His eyes flutter closed and he sucks in a sharp breath.

God, he’s pretty. Thick dark lashes against porcelain skin and plush lips that twitch in anticipation of you.

And you don’t intend on making him wait another moment.

The second your lips touch his, he all but sighs into you. His whole body shivers, shoulders trembling as he leans into you as much as he dares without moving his hands from where they hover at your sides.

His lips part under yours with a quiet gasp, and his head tilts just enough to deepen the kiss. You feel the tremor that runs through him when your fingers slide to the back of his neck, the way he tenses like he’s fighting the urge to sink his fingers into your waist, to pull you onto his lap, to touch you anywhere you’ll let him.

A soft whimper escapes him when your teeth scrap along the swell of his bottom lip.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs against your lips, voice trembling with restraint. “Do you know how hard it is to not touch you right now?”

You huff a laugh, flustered and lightheaded. “Just a few more minutes,” you breathe. Then, because you want to touch him every bit as badly as he wants to touch you, you ease yourself onto his lap, steadying yourself with your palms against his chest. Through the fabric of his t-shirt, you feel his heart pounding. “Then you can touch me however you want.”

Another sharp inhale as you bracket your thighs around his waist. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. He swallows hard, his eyes even darker than usual with lust blown pupils as he gazes up at you. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the way he’s looking at you. Awestruck. “You’re dramatic,” you tease. “You know that?”

“Am not,” he huffs, though there’s nothing but fondness in his expression. “I’m being tortured. This is torture.”

Your thumb grazes his cheekbone and he nuzzles the side of his face against your palm.

“….Worth it, though.”

☾𖤓⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ☾𖤓⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

thank you so much for reading <3 i love you forever if you comment/reblog

[flowersforbucky]

your self lingers

eddie munson x reader

trapped in a coma after nearly dying in the upside down, eddie’s brain replays his best memories. as his body fights to stay alive, he watches past versions of himself fall in love with you, not knowing if he’ll ever have the chance to tell you how he feels now.

word count: 5.4k+

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, angst with a happy ending i swear, best friends to lovers, near death experience, season 4 fix it fic, brief marijuana use, hospital setting, kissing, hurt/comfort, hardcore mutual pining, eddie is a level 848389292 yearner, no use of y/n, reader has she/her pronouns, all flashbacks/memories are in italics!

author’s note: this was inspired by this request from @highlandhour! i’m so sorry this got away from me. huge thanks to @fru1t4fr0gs for reading over this and assuring me it isn’t hot garbage ily <3

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°⋆࿓ ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°⋆࿓

At first, Eddie thinks that he’s dead. He’s still not entirely convinced otherwise.

But that wouldn’t make sense. Because what he’s looking at right now looks too much like heaven, and Eddie never saw himself getting into a place like heaven. He thought the closest he’d ever get was you accidentally falling asleep with your head on his shoulder while watching Return of the Jedi in his living room.

There’s got to be some other explanation for the way he’s hovering outside of his own body, watching a past version of himself blush beet fucking red because you complimented his guitar playing.

God, had he really looked that giddy? Had he truly been that obviously down bad for you since the very first interaction? Had you really not ever noticed?

Standing before himself right now, even in this dreamlike haze that makes the whole room a little bit blurry, he can see his feelings for you plain as day on his face.

More importantly, he can see you. Every bit as beautiful as you’ve always been. In hindsight, he should have told you right then and there.

What if he never has the chance now?

He can’t stop himself. He says your name - loudly enough that you should’ve been able to hear him over The Hideout’s rowdy late night crowd.

But his voice sounds muffled. Like he’s trying to speak underwater. You don’t hear him - not him him, anyway. Your attention stays focused on the younger version of him with slightly shorter hair and a few less tattoos.

That’s when he remembers something you’d told him what feels like ages ago. He didn’t put too much stock in it at the time, but now he wonders if it’s true - that after death, a person’s brain can cycle through their best memories.

So maybe this isn’t heaven. But if he is in fact dead, he may as well enjoy this for however long it lasts before you fade away.

Before he fades away.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eddie blinks and he’s no longer in The Hideout watching his past self blush and stutter his way through his first conversation with you.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in your kitchen. He recognizes the memory instantly.

The first time he ever came to your house - and also his first haircut in years.

“I’ve got a shit load of split ends right now,” Eddie observes, a lock of his dark curls pinched between two fingers. He sighs. “My own fault, I guess. It’s been over a year since I’ve had it trimmed.”

You’re focused on combining various cheeses in a mixing bowl. Yesterday, he’d let it slip that his mom used to make the best lasagna, and that he hasn’t eaten even a single bite of the dish since she passed away over a decade ago. He misses it, but he’s not much of a cook himself and his uncle is rarely home for dinner since he works night shifts.

Your response had been to go buy all of the ingredients for homemade lasagna from the grocery store and invite him over for dinner the very next day. Now he sits on a barstool at your kitchen island, watching you assemble the dish. He’d offered to help, of course, but you had insisted that he “sit there and look pretty”.

“I’ve heard good things about the barber in town,” you muse, cracking an egg into the bowl. “I can’t remember his name. Sam or something.”

“Sal?” He scoffs. “Not a chance. Wayne took me to Sal once - right before school started back. He told him to trim my hair and he gave me a buzz cut. I looked like a damn egg for the first half of third grade. Safe to say that Sal will never get my business again.”

You snort a laugh, your nose crinkling in the way that Eddie has come to adore in such a short amount of time. Adores it so much that he takes every opportunity he gets to make you laugh.

“I’m sure you were a cute little egghead,” you coo. “I’ll have to ask Wayne if he has any pictures.” You’re too focused on layering all of the ingredients in a casserole dish to notice the way it makes him blush.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he feigns indignation. You glance up with a look that very clearly says try me.

“Your uncle loves me. I’m sure if I asked sweetly, he wouldn’t hesitate to dig out any and all childhood photos he has of you.”

Eddie hums. He doesn’t even try to deny it, because you’re right. Wayne does love you. He thinks you’re good for Eddie, and reminds him of it often. If you go even a few days without coming by, Wayne asks where you’ve been.

Eddie tries to assure him that the two of you are just friends, but it doesn’t seem to do much good. Wayne never seems fully convinced.

After sliding the lasagna in the oven and setting a timer, you turn to face him. Your bravado from just moments ago seems to falter, a more hesitant expression taking its place.

“Well, we’ve got a whole hour to kill before the lasagna is ready…” You trail off with a shrug. “If you want, I could trim your hair for you.”

He says yes. Of course he says yes. Even though you’ve never cut another person’s hair before, even though there’s a chance you could completely botch it, he says yes.

If there’s an opportunity for you to touch him in any capacity, he’s going to take it.

It’s not like it could possibly turn out any worse than when Sal practically shaved him bald.

So that’s how he ends up sitting on a stool in front of your bathroom mirror, you behind him with a pair of scissors that definitely aren’t intended for cutting hair and look of concentration that Eddie wishes he could snap a picture of.

You take your time, working in small sections. It takes a while - he has a lot of hair, after all - but he doesn’t mind. He stares at you in the reflection of the vanity mirror the entire time, not really caring if his hair ends up a dozen different lengths, because he gets to sit here and look at you while you dote on him.

“There,” you say with a final snip. You back up a few inches, taking a look at your work. “I think I got all of the dead ends. What do you think? Does it look okay?”

But he’s still too busy looking at you. You look so concerned, like every individual strand of hair has to be perfect or he’ll be disappointed in you.

Fuck, how did he get lucky enough to end up here? How did he play his cards so right? With your fingers gently fluffing his hair and the smell of the lasagna that you’re making specially for him wafting from down the hallway—

The timer goes off in the next room, startling all three of you. You, his past self, and the ghost of him that observes the interaction from the bathroom doorway.

He watches as you brush your hands off against your pants before turning around and walking right through him, back to the kitchen where the timer buzzes incessantly. You, of course, remain completely unaware of his presence - calling back to past Eddie to tidy up and come eat.

He tries to follow you. He can’t stop himself - he catches a whiff of your perfume and his feet act of their own accord, following you down the short hallway towards your kitchen. He hasn’t even taken three steps when the room starts to waver.

He freezes. He knows he’s powerless to stop it. So he chooses to stand still and look at you for as long as he can, until the scene around him glitches like someone’s unplugging the memory one cord at a time.

Then there’s nothing but darkness and the faint hum of machinery from somewhere far out of his reach.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Do you think you’ll stay here after graduation?”

The question takes him by surprise. He hasn’t really given it much thought. The last few years of his life have been spent trying to get to graduation, only to disappoint himself yet again each time. He had yet to let himself dwell on what comes after.

“Here?” He repeats, accepting the half-smoked joint that you pass back to him from where you sit in the passenger seat of his van. “Like in Hawkins?” He brings the tail to his lips and inhales.

“Yeah,” you laugh lightly. “Like in Hawkins.”

He holds the smoke in for longer than necessary as he thinks of his answer. When his lungs start to burn, he exhales. “For a while, probably. Not really sure where else I’d go.”

Not really sure I’d want to go anywhere without you, he thinks to himself. He passes the joint back to you. “What makes you ask?”

You shrug. “When I was watching you play tonight, I couldn’t help but picture you…somewhere else. Some big city, where more people have the chance to hear you. People with connections and opportunities. Connections and opportunities that The Hideout probably won’t ever give you.”

He can’t help but freeze and glance over at you. It’s a typical Tuesday night - Corroded Coffin had just wrapped up their weekly gig at The Hideout and, as always, you’d been watching from the corner booth that you always do. The same corner booth that you’d sat in the night he first met you months ago.

“Don’t underestimate The Hideout,” he teases. “I did meet you there, after all.”

“I’m serious,” you hum.

He knows you are. You wouldn’t say something that you don’t mean. Not something like this. Not to him.

You take another slow drag before speaking. “I just…think you deserve to be heard. By more than just the same small crowd of regular drunks every Tuesday night.”

He swallows. Hawkins is all he knows. He tries to picture anything else - some apartment of his own in a city that never sleeps, crowded sidewalks, bright lights. But he can’t. Can’t see himself anywhere that isn’t his trailer, his van, The Hideout, Hawkins. Can’t see himself anywhere you aren’t right next to him.

He’s always been a creature of habit. Since he was fourteen years old, he’s started every morning with a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. He falls asleep each night to one of the same five movies - he’s replayed them so many times that he can’t believe they still work. Every Tuesday night, he plays at The Hideout, and every Friday night is Hellfire Club.

And for the last few months, you’ve been at the very center of it all. Now when he wakes up and drinks his coffee on the front porch step of his trailer every morning, he thinks of you and wonders if you’re awake yet. When he drifts to sleep with Raiders of the Lost Ark playing for the fourth night in a row, he sees you when he closes his eyes. And when he looks out into the crowd of regulars that frequent The Hideout every week, your face is always the one he searches for.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow when he doesn’t respond. He glances up and you’re giving him a soft grin that would bring him to his knees if he weren’t already sitting down. “I’m not saying you have to leave,” you murmur. “I’m just saying don’t sell yourself short, okay? You’re allowed to want more than this place has to offer.”

The words hit him square in the chest. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever believed him that much, let alone so vocally. Definitely not his teachers or his dad. The most supportive person in his life - until you came along - had always been his uncle. But Wayne is a man of few words, and his support comes in the form of not complaining too much about loud music coming from Eddie’s room.

But you think he deserves more. You think he could actually make it as a musician. You believe in him.

He clears his throat, forcing a laugh to break the tension that had settled throughout the confined space of his van. “Well, if I did leave, you’d have to come with me. Who else is going to remind me to eat more than one meal a day?”

You laugh. He can’t help but think he hears a hint of relief. “That goes without saying. You’d slowly wither away without me.”

He doesn’t dare argue with that.

“Fuck!” Eddie curses from the back of his van. He’d watched the entire interaction in silence, drinking in the way that you sounded nervous to broach the subject of leaving Hawkins to him. He hadn’t picked up on the honesty, the emotion, the sheer adoration in your voice at the time, but he hears it now.

“Fuck, you idiot,” Eddie curses to no one but himself. His past self is blissfully unaware of how he watches from the backseat, focused only on you beside him. “Leave Hawkins now! Take her and get the fuck out of this town right now!”

It’s useless. He knows it’s a waste of what very little, very precious time he has left to bask in your presence, but he yells anyway. At the past version of himself sitting in front of him, at the version of himself that didn’t run away from those godforsaken bats, at you, at this entire surreal situation he’s in.

“I’m going to find my way out of here,” he swears to you. “I’m gonna find my way out of this place. I’m gonna find my way back to you, and we’ll get out of Hawkins. We’ll go wherever the hell you want to go. You hear me?”

But he knows that you can’t. You’re already gone again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eddie’s about to do the most cliche thing he’s ever done.

He’s giving you a mixtape for your birthday.

Not just any mixtape. A mixtape that he spent hours making last night, just for you. A mixtape with songs that reminds him of you, songs that he doesn’t necessarily like but knows that you do, songs that he loves and wants you to love, too. You name it, it’s on there.

Tucked inside the cassette tape is a piece of paper that lists all of the song titles along with the reasons why he selected each one, written in his borderline illegible chicken scratch that you like to tease him about.

It’s not much. He knows you deserve far more than a homemade mixtape for your birthday, and he wishes he could give you the world. You deserve it for just being his friend and making his days as happy as you do. But he also doubts that anyone else giving you a gift this year put as much thought into your presents as he did, so that gives him a small amount of comfort.

His hands are so sweaty that he nearly drops the tape from his clutches as he walks up your front porch steps. You open the door for him before he has a chance to knock.

How are you somehow even prettier on your birthday than you are the other 364 days of the year?

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he greets you. The smile that appears on your face is enough to make him nearly melt on the spot.

“You remembered,” you laugh, a lilt of surprise in your voice. You motion for him to come inside.

“Well, duh,” he snorts. “Of course I remembered your birthday. It’s kind of a huge deal.”

You close the door behind him, rolling your eyes. “It’s really not.”

“Disagree,” he says instantly, heart pounding at the prospect of handing you the mixtape still in his hand. “Strongly disagree, actually. The day you were born is very important. And that’s why I come bearing gifts…well, gift. Singular.”

You turn towards him with raised brows, your eyes trailing down and then back up in search of the gift he could be referring to.

He swallows and holds it out to you in offering. “I, uh - here.”

Smooth. Really fucking smooth.

You blink, then gingerly take it from his hand like it’s something fragile. The handwritten label catches your attention first. Your face softens. “You made this?”

He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes suddenly glued to a random speck on your floor. “I mean, yeah. Nothing fancy or anything - just some songs that I know you like. And some that I like that I hope you’ll like, too.” He exhales. “I dunno. It’s not much—”

“Eddie.”

You run your thumb along the edge of the cassette tape. “This is the sweetest gift that anyone’s given me in a very long time. Possibly ever.”

You pull the folded paper out, skimming the first few lines of his messy handwriting. You say his name again, softer this time. “You wrote why you picked each song?”

He clears his throat nervously. “I just…didn’t want you to be confused or anything. It’s a lot of songs.”

You smile at him and he swears it’s like looking at the sun. Before he can register what’s happening, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, just a few inches from the corner of his mouth. His entire body goes still.

It’s quick. Warm. And so, so soft. The imprint of your lips linger even after you pull away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your gaze settling on the tape again like you can’t believe your eyes. “Really. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

He knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. His hand twitches awkwardly at his side, forming a fist to resist the urge to bring the tips of his fingers to where your lips had touched his cheek.

Before the tension has a chance to suffocate him entirely, he forces an exhale and claps his hands together. “Alright, birthday girl. What’s the plan for today?” He aims to sound casual, but it comes out breathless. “We can do anything you want. The sky’s the limit.”

“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin in contemplation but it’s just for show - he can tell by the smirk on your face and the twinkle in your eyes that you already know exactly what you want to do today.

“I want to go to the bookstore. And then the arcade. Then tonight, I want to go to the drive-in.”

He grins, not the least bit surprised by your answer. “Like I said - anything you want. I’m all yours today.”

And god, he means it. In more ways than you probably realize. Today and every day.

When the scene around him fades to black, Eddie’s cheek burns with the memory of your kiss.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When he opens his eyes again, it feels like déjà vu.

This memory is more recent than any of the others.

All of the other memories have had one major thing in common - they’ve all been some of the happiest memories of his life. Because of you.

But if someone asked Eddie to list off all of his happiest memories, this memory wouldn’t make the cut. It probably wouldn’t even make the top thousand happiest memories.

No, it isn’t exactly happy. But it is one of his most recent memories with you. One of the most uncertain and hopeless days of his life, brightened only by you being by his side.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” he tells you for the third time in the last hour. “This place sucks. The expired Spaghettios suck. The godawful draft sucks. This scratchy couch sucks. I’m pretty sure there’s a dead animal somewhere in the walls because it smells rancid in here. You should be home. Where you’d be warm, and safe—”

“And where I wouldn’t be able to rest,” you interrupt his rambling. You’re lounging on Reefer Rick’s aforementioned sucky, scratchy couch with your feet resting in Eddie’s lap. You peer at him from over the edge of a random book that you’d found in Rick’s bedroom. Eddie doesn’t think it looks like something you’d normally read, but he supposes you can’t be too picky right now. It’s not like either of you are here for entertainment.

You sigh, closing the book. You sit up, removing your feet from his lap. At first, he hates the sudden loss of physical contact, but then you scoot closer to him, resting your arm on the back of the couch behind his head. “We’ve been over this, Eddie. I’m not going anywhere. If you’re here, I’m here. I’ll go home when you can go home, too.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” He feels your fingers thread through the thick curls at the base of his skull and he shuts his mouth. “If I went home right now, I wouldn’t be able to function. I’d stew in my own anxiety until I’m sick. I wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep without knowing you’re okay. I’d spend every second worrying about you.”

Your fingers move gently through his curls again and his eyes flutter shut.

He hates how much he needs it - your touch. Your comfort. Your presence.

He knows you simply being here puts you in danger. Yet when you run your fingers through his hair like that, he can’t bring himself to continue attempting to convince you to leave.

“Breathe,” you murmur.

For you, he tries. Even though his thoughts are racing with all of the unknowns, all of the ways this could end with you getting hurt because of him. With his eyes still closed, he breathes in, then out, focusing on the way your nails gently graze the skin of his neck.

“Thank you,” he breathes in a shaky voice. “For just…being there for me. Through all of this bullshit.”

You shake your head, shushing him softly. “You would do the same for me.”

And he would. Without a doubt, in a heartbeat, he would. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He’d face every nightmare that the Upside Down could possibly conjure. He’d run, hide, bleed. He’d sacrifice himself to hundreds of bloodthirsty demo-bats so that you have a chance of getting away.

But most importantly, he’ll fight tooth and nail to hold on. He’ll drift through his memories for what feels like an eternity if it means he’ll eventually wake up for you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Brought you another coffee.”

You glance up from resting your head in your hands at the gruff, familiar voice.

“Oh. Thank you, Wayne.”

He grunts in response, taking a seat in one of the old, worn seats in the corner of the room. You take a sip of the gas station coffee he’d brought you from across the street. Over the last five days, Wayne has learned that you take your coffee with two cream, two sugars. It tastes burnt and a little too bitter, but at least it’s hot.

He looks as tired as you feel. The man has been surviving off of nothing but caffeine, nicotine, and unwavering hope for nearly a week.

At least one of you has been by Eddie’s bedside at any given moment. Oftentimes both, but only Wayne is allowed to stay overnight. Family only - hospital policy.

And there has not been a night that he hasn’t stayed. Every morning, when you arrive as soon as visiting hours allow, you find Wayne in the exact same chair that he’d been in when you’d left twelve hours prior.

For the most part, the two of you sit in silence during the day. It isn’t uncomfortable. Your shared love for Eddie makes it all a little more bearable. When you have to leave, you take comfort in knowing that Wayne is still with him. And Wayne only ever agrees to leave for short periods of time during the day if you’re there to be with Eddie in his temporary absence.

He normally only leaves for long enough to grab another coffee, a vending machine snack, and smoke a cigarette or two. His trailer had been destroyed in what news reports are referring to as an earthquake - so he’s in a motel for the time being, but he only goes to the room for long enough to take a quick shower every other day.

You’ve yet to hear him complain a single time. But as soon as you arrived this morning, you could tell that it’s all starting to get to him - the lack of sleep. The worry and uncertainty. The stress. The depressing and sterile environment of the same four hospital walls, day after day. Today, the dark circles under his eyes and the way he winces when he sits down in his chair are hard for you to ignore.

“You need to sleep, Wayne,” you say delicately. “Not here. In an actual bed. For more than a couple hours. And you need to eat an actual meal that consists of more than just Doritos and beef jerky.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he’s too tired. Instead, he turns his gaze to his nephew in the bed a few feet away from him. “I have a good feeling about today. I gotta be here when he wakes up.”

He’d said the exact same thing yesterday, but you don’t remind him of that.

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh. “But you still need to sleep. I know that chair is killing your back.” You pause. To your surprise, he doesn’t deny it.

“I’ll be here,” you murmur. “I’ll be right here with him. If he wakes up, I’ll make sure he knows that I forced you to go take a nap.”

He continues to stare at Eddie’s sleeping form for a few more moments before he reluctantly nods, and pushes himself out of the creaky chair. He hesitates next to Eddie’s bed, giving his nephew’s hand a tight squeeze before forcing one foot in front of the other.

He pauses beside you before he reaches the door. “Boy’s lucky,” he grunts, not looking you in the eye. “He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them.”

The words knock the air from your lungs. A golf ball sized lump forms in your throat. You force yourself to swallow it down. At least until you’re alone.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

He leaves without saying another word. When the door behind him clicks shut, you let tears fall freely for the first time in five days.

“You hear that?” You half laugh, half sob. You drag your chair across the linoleum floor, closer to the side of his bed. Then, you take the same hand that Wayne had just held moments prior in your own and bring it to your lips. “I love you, Eddie. I never imagined that this would be the time or place that I’d be telling you that for the first time, but it’s true. I’m in love with you.”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, simultaneously relieved that Eddie can’t see you in this state and also wishing more than anything that he’d open his eyes and tease you about being such a snotty, blubbering mess.

“There were so many times that I almost told you. I always bit my tongue out of fear that it would ruin our friendship. And ever since me met, our friendship has always been the most precious thing to me. But I should’ve said it, Eddie. I should’ve told you that I love you. And if you wake up, I promise that I will.”

To no surprise, the only response is the steady, continuous beeping of a monitor that lets you know his heart is beating.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them.

Yeah. I do.

You hear that? I love you, Eddie. It’s true.

I’m in love with you.

He chases the words. He sprints after the sound of your voice without knowing where the fuck he’s going.

He just knows you’re close. He can hear you, feel you. His left hand feels like pins and needles and something deep in his gut tells him it’s you. It has to be you. He’d recognize the feeling of your hand holding his anywhere.

I always bit my tongue.

Our friendship has always been the most precious thing to me.

I should’ve said it.

If you wake up, I promise I will.

When his eyes shoot open, the fluorescence nearly blinds him.

“Eddie?”

Your voice. His vision hasn’t come into focus, but he knows you’re here before he sees you. His fingers twitch, the tingling sensation gone because you’re here. Not a memory, not a dream, not a hallucination. You’re really here, holding his hand.

The room around him slowly settles, his eyes briefly darting around until they find the only thing he cares to see right now.

You. Eyes wide and wet with tear-stained cheeks, he would think that he’s seeing an angel if he didn’t know any better.

“Hey,” he rasps, throat so dry that he doesn’t recognize his own voice.

You gasp, a sharp inhale of disbelief. “Eddie,” you whisper again, but this time it’s a sob. You shoot up out of your chair, all but throwing yourself onto the edge of his bed. “You’re awake. Oh my god, you’re awake. I didn’t - I didn’t know if you’d wake up. You scared me so bad, Eddie.”

He wants to wipe your tears but his arms feel heavy and foreign. Tubes trail from the back of his hands and his whole body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together. The only thing that he knows is working is his heart, because he can feel it swell inside his chest at the way you’re looking at him.

“Sorry for scaring you, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice still scratchy. “I’m here now.”

You sob in relief, leaning over to rest your head against his chest, careful not to brush against the stitches across his abdomen that he’s becoming more aware of by the second.

He nuzzles his face against your hair, inhaling your scent. Neither of you speak for a moment. He somehow gathers up the strength to lift a weak hand to the small of your back.

You’re real. Tangible. And he never wants to let you go again.

“There’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” he whispers.

You pull back enough to look him in the eye. “Me too. There’s something I need to tell you, too—”

“I know,” he stops you. “I know. I heard. I’m in love with you, too.”

You jerk back as if he electrocuted you. “You… heard me?”

He exhales a shaky laugh. “I don’t know how. But I did. I think it… I think it saved me. You saved me.” Tears well in your eyes again and your lips visibly tremble. “And I love you, too. More than anything, baby. I should have told you a long time ago.”

A dozen different emotions flicker across your face. Disbelief, bewilderment, joy. Beneath the tears, a smile forms. The smile that Eddie has fallen in love with.

“C’mere,” he whispers, voice still strained but certain. “Please, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Doesn’t need to tell you what he wants. You lean down, bringing your lips to his without a hint of hesitation.

Your hand cups his jaw, your thumb grazing along the scruff of his cheek. He’s sure that his breath is stagnant, but you don’t seem to care. You kiss him - the kind of kiss that he swears could have woken him up days ago, if you’d only pressed your lips to his.

And he lets himself melt into it. A quiet sound escapes him - half sigh, half moan. His fingers tighten at your hip and he has to resist pulling you on top of him entirely, the only thing stopping him being the sharp pains that radiate from his abdomen.

He tastes salt from your tears and the slight tang of coffee, but beneath that, there’s a flavor that’s uniquely you that he knows he’ll never have enough of.

You pull away with a shaky laugh when the beeping of his heart monitor spikes. You rest his forehead against his, both of you breathless. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again. Promise me.”

“I promise.” He lifts a shaky hand to your face, brushing a stray tear away from your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere ever again. Not without you.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you so much for reading. ily forever if you comment/reblog.