champagnepoets

[champagnepoets]

Our Deal | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x hufflepuff!reader (works for any house really, except gryffindor for story purpose)

Summary: stuck in detention with Fred for a prank you never did, grants you the deal of a lifetime. Fred would help you get with your crush, Oliver Wood, and you get him with his, Gabriella Moon, in time for the Yule Ball. Though, as you spend more time teaching each other how to "flirt", complicated feelings start to arise.

Warnings/content: hufflepuff!reader, subtle enemies to lovers, mutual pining, jealous!fred, protective!fred, jealous!reader, mentions of alcohol, parties, quidditch injury, injured!reader, tension, flirting, kissing, teasing, Yule Ball

Wordcount: 6.8k (got carried away and kinda wrote a mini fic 😭🙏🏼)

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“This is entirely your fault,” you snapped, bending down to scrub at the sticky residue on the stone floor. “I had nothing to do with that prank.” The potions storage room air reeked with the scent of something foul, probably from whatever concoction had spilled from the shelves earlier today. All thanks to that stupid explosion caused by none other than the twin's prank just outside the room.

You gestured around at the remnants of the prank—green goo still dripping from the shelves, a set of abandoned dungbombs rolling near the base of Snape’s desk. Crossing your arms, you huffed as you glared at Fred, who was leaning against the wall with that insufferable smirk, clearly enjoying your misery.

Fred chuckled, tossing a sponge into the air and catching it lazily. “Yeah, yeah, tell that to Snape. You just happened to be there, hands covered in fluorescent goo, looking guilty as hell, which might I add, doesn't help with your case.”

“I was cleaning up the mess, Fred, not causing it” you gritted out, shoving the bucket closer to him. “Unlike you, who just stood there laughing while George ran for his life.”

Fred grinned, bending down to soak his sponge in water. “Ah, Georgie. Quick on his feet, that one. Maybe you should take notes for next time.”

Lucky for George, he managed to escape Snape's fury, leaving the stupendous detention task of reorganising and cleaning the entire potions storage room to the two of you.

“There won’t be a next time because I don’t do pranks,” you retorted. “Unlike some people.”

Fred gasped, pausing from squeezing the water out of his sponge, “No pranks? No mischief? Merlin, what a dull existence.”

You scowled, but your lips twitched. “Not all of us live for chaos.”

“You sure? Because you seem to enjoy my company a lot for someone who claims to be innocent,” he teased, turning his attention to scrubbing the fluorescent goop from the floor.

“Oh, shush If I weren’t such a good person, I’d leave this room right now and tell Snape about the other pranks you and George are planning.”

Fred turned to face you, holding back a doubtful laugh as he momentarily stopped scrubbing, “You wouldn't dare, Y/L/N.” his tone sprinkled with a hint of mockery.

You rolled your eyes, dipping your sponge back into the murky water. “Unfortunately you're right.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Because you secretly like me?”

“Because I’m not a snitch,” you corrected smugly. ____ An hour later, you were balancing on a stool, reaching for a jar of pickled salamander eyes while Fred stacked vials below. You glanced down at him, waiting for him to pass you more vials for the higher shelves.

A small played on his lips, Fred exhaled softly before handing you another vial, “Alright, since I do feel a tiny bit bad about dragging you into this, I’ll make it up to you.”

You raised your brow suspiciously. “How?”

Fred’s smirk returned. “The Yule Ball's coming up, right? I’ll help you get with whoever you want."

"In return, you promise not to rat me out about, oh, I don’t know, the prank in the Great Hall last week. Or the one from two days ago in McGonagall’s class. Or the—" He continued but you interjected swiftly.

Your eyes widened slightly, finally registering what he just offered. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, placing another vial on one of the lower shelves. “You name the bloke, and I’ll be your personal matchmaking genius.”

"You're kidding." You pressed your lips together, skeptical.

"Am not." He affirmed, "Go on, the look on your face says you have someone in mind Y/N."

A slow grin spread across your face, but you hesitated. "No one in mind." You shrugged.

Fred folded his arms, eyeing you up and down before tilting his head to the side, "I'm sensing...someone....taller than you?" Yeah, no kidding.

Without thinking you retorted, "Yeah obviously he's taller than me." Your hands flew at the speed of light to cover your mouth while turning to face away from Fred.

You hoped to hide your flushness, but you ended up losing your balance on the stool in the process. "Merlin, don't tell me you're quite literally falling for him." Fred quickly held your waist, steadying you before you could meet the ground. You grabbed his shoulder for support before adjusting yourself and returning to your respective task of arranging the vials on the upper shelf. You hadn't planned on telling anyone about your secret crush on Oliver Wood, but here you were, letting these words slip aimlessly out of your mouth.

Fred took your silence as an answer, curiosity lingering in the air.

"Ah, so there is someone on your mind." He pressed, "And who’s the unfortunate sod you fancy?"

You paused, feeling the heat of his gaze from below, "Oliver Wood..." You mumbled all too softly; even the house elves, with their sharp hearing abilities, wouldn't be able to decipher what you said.

Exhaling, you got down from the stool, standing in front of Fred and avoiding eye contact at all costs. He took slow tentative steps toward you, bending down to your level so he could hear, "Come again?" You could feel his breath on your skin.

Your eyes found his, not registering how close he was, "Oliver Wood." Your face tainted a light shade of red.

Fred choked on air, a loud chortle escaped him, "Wood? The Gryffindor Captain, Mr. ‘Quidditch is My One True Love’?"

"Shut up," you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks. You placed a hand on his chest and shoved him away playfully, "Don't tell anyone! I'll vanish off the face of this earth if you do."

Fred laughed, shaking his head. “Blimey, you’ve got high standards.”

“I barely know him, but he’s just—” You sighed wistfully. “He’s so kind and driven and—”

“Obsessed with Quidditch?” Fred interjected.

“Yes, but in a dedicated way,” you said dreamily.

Fred snorted. "Merlin, alright, fine. I’ll help you. But just know that if I have to listen to you swoon over Wood for the next month, you owe me more than just detention duty."

You beamed. “Deal.”

“Good. Because I might need your help, too.”

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “With what?”

Fred leaned forward conspiratorially. “Gabriella Moon.”

"Gabriella? As in, my Gabriella?"

"I didn’t realise you had ownership over her," Fred mused. "But yes, your Hufflepuff friend."

You nodded, grinning. "Oh for sure, I can definitely help with that. Piece of cake."

Gabriella was in your house, a sweet and kind Hufflepuff, and you got along with her well. Setting her up with Fred should be a simple, easy, task.

"Alright, Weasley. You’ve got yourself a deal."

Fred held out his hand, and you shook it—sealing a pact neither of you realised would completely change everything.

"Our deal." He affirmed.

____ The deal meant spending more time together. At first, it was simple things—giving each other tips, practicing flirting, and being seen together enough to spark curiosity.

One evening in the Great Hall, Fred joined you at the Hufflepuff table. Your friends sat with you, but you were so engrossed with Fred, that everyone seemed to disappear into the background, feeling as though it was only the two of you in the hall.

Fred leaned in with a smirk after placing a dinner roll on your plate, which he knew you enjoyed pairing with butter. "Alright, say I’m Oliver—how would you charm me?"

You exhaled dramatically. "Fine." You turned to him, putting on your best smile. "Hey, Oliver, fancy seeing you here. Do you always look this good after practice?"

Fred chortled, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "Merlin’s beard, that was atrocious."

You gasped, smacking his arm. "It was not!"

"It was!" Fred wheezed, clutching his chest. "Try again, but maybe without sounding like a lovesick poet."

You scowled but tried again. "Alright, then. How about this—‘I hear you’re the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever had. Think you could keep me?’"

Fred blinked, then groaned throwing his head back. "Oh, that was painful."

You shoved his shoulder, laughing. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," he teased, winking. "Now, do I get a turn?"

"Go on, then," you challenged, crossing your arms.

Fred turned, propped his elbow on the table, and smirked. "Hey, Gabriella," he began, "are you a Snitch? Because you’ve got me chasing after you."

You stared at him, face scrunching up in disgust. It was as though you had just witnessed a crime.

He wiggled his eyebrows before taking a mouthful of peas, chewing as he awaited your response.

You burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s horrible. No wonder you need my help."

Fred's mouth dropped, "Excuse you, that was a good chat up. Thank you very much."

You both laughed, completely unaware of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watching the way you two bantered—how Fred’s eyes softened when you laughed, how you bit your lip when he grinned. You weren't super close to Fred, just casual friends, but you had to admit, these few recent days had you seeing him in a different light, he was more carefree around you, cheery, and you felt yourself coming out of your shell, all thanks to him.

You were confident in approaching Oliver now, and all the more excited for it.

____

"No, no! Merlin, Fred, you're going to scare the girl away if you look at her like that." The next few days were all about perfecting your tactics, anything to impress your targets, of course.

"Like what?" He sat beside you on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It was a Saturday, and naturally, most students were either at Hogsmeade, outside, or sleeping in, leaving most of the space to the two of you.

"Again! Again..." You waved your hands, ushering him off the couch. "Pretend I'm Gabriella, and I'm sitting on a bench somewhere nice. You've just walked into the place, and you see her."

Fred straightened his shirt, retreating from the couch, before strolling over to you again, a devious smirk painted on his face, his hair slightly tousled and messy. He held his chin up high, and his arms swayed beside his lanky figure as he approached you.

"Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!" He beamed, pretending to act out the scenario.

"Wrong." You corrected, "Not Y/N, Gabriella." You flashed your brows, and he exhaled, walking away to take his place once again.

He strolled to you, once more, "Gabriella! Haven't seen you in a bit! What brings you here?"

You nodded, indicating he was doing a decent job so far, encouraging him to continue.

Fred plopped himself beside you, your knees were touching and he extended an arm around you.

"I"m good! This is my favourite place to unwind actually." You fake-mocked Gabriella, pretending to be her in this situation.

"Well, then I guess you'll be seeing me here more often, darling." Fred leaned in, you could feel his body heat against you, and you blinked before shaking your head.

"Darling? You barely know the girl!" You chuckled, and Fred's eyes glinted with awe as you threw your head back, he had not realised it, but your laughter ignited a warm honey like feeling in his chest.

"Fine, what about love? Baby? Babe?"

"No no, save those for when you're actually with her, but I suppose 'love' is a good place to start."

"Alright, love." He teased, and you playfully smacked him but an idea popped into your head, and immediately, you got into character.

"If you say so, Oliver." You pretended to act as if you would in this scenario with Wood.

Fred, still seated next to you, glanced down from your eyes to your lips.

You leaned in, tilting your head and gazing from his left eye, to his lips, then to his right eye. You smiled sweetly, blinking slowly as you gave Fred your full attention, staring at him with doe-like eyes, "So, Oliver, how was quidditch practice today?"

Fred gulped, eyes blinking rapidly as he coughed, "G-Good."

You smirked, lowering your voice, "I'm sure it would've been better if I was there with you." You bit your lip as you glanced at his lips.

"You should come to the next one." Fred responded softly, smiling as he leaned in, ever so slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, and you were fully within his proximity.

You could feel your breaths against each other; his scent crept its way to your nose, and you scrunched it. He smelt like fresh grass on a hot summer's day and clean laundry in the fresh breeze, something you'd never noticed before.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, but the portrait door clicked open, and some students returned from their trip to Hogsmeade.

"That was, uh, something I'd say if I was with Oliver." You quickly dismissed this, leaning back to a comfortable distance. Fred cleared his throat, and removed his arm, "Yeah, that was good. See, told you I was a good teacher."

You scoffed, "You? Please that one was all me."

"S'pose you are getting pretty good at this, annoyingly so, in fact." He hummed and you mouth dropped slightly,

"Is that a compliment?" You beamed, wiggling a happy dance in your seat.

"Don't get too cocky Y/L/N, I have yet to see you interact with him." Fred laughed, attempting to hide his awe for your little dance.

____

Days passed, and you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time at the Gryffindor table, supposedly to get closer to Oliver. But somehow, you always ended up next to Fred, bickering, laughing, sharing food.

People noticed—Hermione tried, and failed miserably to hide her excitement for you two, George outright smirked, Ginny started whispering to Harry, smiling at the thought of the two of you, Ron was amused at how Fred could pull someone as gorgeous as you.

Only you and Fred knew about your deal, to them, they saw this as a newfound friendship, alliance, even...romance? Hermione seems to think the latter describes your relationship perfectly.

You brushed it off, for you knew that you were only helping each other, and once the deal was over, you would go back to normal.

The topic of quidditch was no foreign topic at this table, Harry making remarks about how he'll confront Malfoy, Angelina and George talking about the Nimbus 2000, Oliver and Fred discussing a new game plan.

"Hey Y/N, why don't you come watch us at practice today after lunch, it'll be fun." Oliver invited you, and you blinked in surprise.

"I'd love to!" You chimed, "How could I pass on a chance to support the best quidditch team at Hogwarts?"

Oliver beamed, laughing softly at your enthusiasm, "Ooh careful now, don't want Hufflepuff's quidditch team to hear that now do ya?"

"Consider me an ally of both teams." You chuckled, and he grinned, smiling warmly at you.

"Surely you become an honourary Gryffindor for the day?" Oliver raised his brow, before taking a bite of his toast.

"Won't miss me too much when I switch back to Hufflepuff would you?" You teased.

"Then I'll just ask you to join Gryffindor again."

You were about to pour yourself some orange juice, but Oliver moved at the speed of light, "Here, let me." He poured a glass for you, then one for himself. "Fred? Some for you too?"

"Nah mate, I'm pretty full."

Fred silently watched the two of you interact; a part of him was happy and proud, seeing the way you effortlessly interacted with Oliver, but there was this foreign feeling inside him. Like a splinter poking him from the inside, if that were even possible.

His eyes darted from you, to Oliver, then back to you.

Each time you paid attention to Oliver, laughed at his quips, his charm, a small part of Fred wanted that attention from you, again.

He wanted you for himself.

Fred shook his head, dismissing all these thoughts, where were they even coming from? He knew one thing thought, he was being silly thinking about you like this.

However, Gabriella was starting to become a long-forgotten thought.

The only person consuming his mind lately, seemed to be…you.

Fred exhaled, taking a sip of his water, hoping to refresh his mind from whatever nonsense he thought about.

It didn’t matter anyway because after this deal was done, and you were happy with Oliver, that was it. You’d go your separate ways, well, mostly. That was, after all, the whole point of you becoming close with Fred.

"By the way, is it alright if I bring a friend?" You asked Oliver.

"The more the merrier!"

"I'll bring Gabriella." You whispered trying to contain your excitement, nudging Fred who was seated beside you.

He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts, "Oh, yeah, that'll be great."

____

Later that afternoon, you sat in the stands with Hermione, Gabriella, and Ginny, watching Gryffindor’s practice. Oliver was in his element—focused, determined, calling out plays.

Your eyes were glued to him, who looked impossibly handsome as he soared through the air, his hair ruffled by the wind. He turned, caught your gaze, and waved with that signature kind smile of his.

Your heart stuttered and a faint blush crept on your cheeks, moments like this only pulled you in deeper. Part of the reason you fell for him, was that one day you were lost and he helped you find your way to class. Being younger than him, he felt the duty to lookout for his juniors, he was patient, kind and made you feel right at home when you felt lost. His kindness was just so endearing.

"Go Oli!!" You cheered, and Oliver waved at you again.

"Nicknames already?" Hermione, seated next to you, smiled knowingly and you chuckled as a response.

"Fred looks really determined today, isn't that a good look on him?" You nudged Gabriella, hoping to steer her focus onto Fred.

"Yeah, he does look kinda cute." She agreed, grinning up at him. "Also, thanks for inviting me Y/N, this is really nice." Gabriella turned to you, smiling sweetly. She was a kind soul, much like you, always helping others and making sure everyone felt comfortable. Of course guys would fancy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Fred. His red hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem almost golden, his strong frame relaxed but still commanding attention as he sat on his broomstick, laughing with George.

There was something about him today—maybe the way his sleeves were rolled up, or the effortless confidence he carried. And for some reason, your found your heartpace steadily increasing as you continued observing him.

No. No, this was about Oliver. You shook the thought away and focused on the Gryffindor Captain instead.

Moments later, Angelina, Oliver, and Katie flew over, beaming. “Oi, you lot! Come play a friendly match with us!” Angelina called, gesturing eagerly.

You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know... I’m not really—”

“Come on, it’s just for fun,” Oliver encouraged, flying closer. His eyes met yours, playful and inviting. You wanted to impress him. So, against better judgment, you stood and dusted off your robes. The four of you made your way down to the grassy field, and used some spare brooms.

Ginny, Hermione, and Gabriella exchanged amused glances but joined in as well.

You borrowed a broomstick—the nearest one, which happened to be Fred’s. "Can I?" You smirked, turning to Fred who took a quick break, reaching into his bag for his bottle.

"Yeah yeah, if you break it I'll crack your head." Fred teased, before chugging his water. With that, you kicked off the ground, feeling the rush of wind as you soared into the air.

The game was lighthearted, filled with teasing and playful competition. You and Oliver found yourselves in the same airspace often, exchanging witty remarks and laughter.

It felt effortless, easy. Below, Fred stood watching, arms crossed, watching in amusement as you 'bonded' with Oliver. Though you weren't sure if amusement, was the right word to use here, seeing how he kept tapping his foot.

“You’re getting the hang of this!” Oliver grinned, flying beside you.

“I’m just trying to keep up,” you joked, glancing at him.

So caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the Bludger hurtling toward you until it slammed into your shoulder with brutal force.

Pain exploded through your arm, and your broom wobbled violently beneath you. You gasped as your grip faltered, and before you knew it, you were falling.

The ground rushed toward you, and you thudded harshly on the grassy patch. Ouch.

Oliver flew down hastily, but before he could reach you, Fred was already there, kneeling beside you, face pale.

“Are you daft?” he scolded, voice tight. “Didn’t you see that Bludger?”

You winced, trying to sit up. “It wasn’t that bad—”

“Not that bad? You fell from twenty feet up,” he snapped, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch in case he hurt you further. “You’re going to the hospital wing.”

Oliver finally reached you, eyes filled with concern. “You alright?” He looked from you to Fred, who was still kneeling beside you, jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but Fred wasn’t having it. Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, ignoring your weak protests.

“You’re being overdramatic,” you huffed, but your heart betrayed you, beating erratically against your ribs as Fred carried you toward the castle.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back, striding forward without a second glance at Oliver, who remained standing on the pitch, watching with an expression that hinted he had figured something out.

He observed as Fred held you close, furrowing his eyebrows slightly, "Hm." He was so sure that you and Fred were just friends, but the way Fred acted today made Oliver doubtful.

The others stayed back to practice, you assured them that you were fine, and that there was no need to come. ___

Madam Pomfrey fussed over you, muttering about reckless students and dangerous sports as she poured a bitter healing potion down your throat. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a full-speed hit,” she chided, waving her wand to mend the bruising on your shoulder.

Fred stayed beside you the whole time, leaning against the infirmary bed with that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “So, you were trying to impress Wood, huh?” he mused, arching a brow.

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks warming.

“Not my fault you nearly died doing it,” he teased, nudging you playfully. “Maybe I should give you some lessons on how to survive Quidditch.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I should give you lessons on how to stop being so intolerable.”

Fred smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You laughed, the earlier pain fading into the background as the two of you fell into easy conversation.

He stayed with you the rest of the day until you felt better enough to head back to your dorm.

____

The next day, the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match had the entire school buzzing with chatter. The game was brutal, with Slytherin coming in close, though Gryffindor still came out victorious.

The moment the Snitch was caught, the stands erupted into cheers, the players celebrating mid-air before descending to the field. You watched Fred among them, his face lit up with triumph. When his eyes met yours, something unspoken passed between you.

And you weren’t so sure anymore if Oliver Wood was the one making your heart race.

You, Hermione and Gabriella made your way down to the team, "You guys smashed it out there." You chimed, clapping for the them.

"Couldn't have done it without your support." Oliver walked over to you, hi-fiving your hand which you extended for him.

"You played amazingly, especially in the second half! Fred—the way you hit the bludger right before it touched the ground, just, wow!" Gabriella beamed, waving her hands around expressively.

"Hey, all in a day's work." Fred expressed, cockily brushing his hands together which earned a giggle from Gabriella.

"You know, you should come to the party tonight, hosted by yours truly." Fred shuffled closer to Gabriella, extended his arms as he gave himself credit for hosting the party.

"More of a team effort actually, he just talks too much." Lee quipped, "But yeah, you guys should come. Gryffindor common room, at 7."

"We'll be there." Gabriella replied for the two of you, twirling her hair as she smiled sweetly at Fred.

You were happy for her truly, especially Fred, who was grinning back at her, engaging in a new conversation about what'll transpire at the party tonight.

You were happy. Yes, you were.

But, does someone who is supposedly happy for their friend, feel a pit in their stomach every time they watch them with their respective crush?

____

"How do I look?" Gabriella asked, gesturing to her outfit, fitted flared blue jeans and a yellow peplum top, with a yellow bow to accessorise.

"You look stunning, Fred's going to love it!" You chimed, "Oh wait, here-" You helped straightened her bow from the behind, "Perfect."

"Look who's talking, Oliver's going to swoon over you when he sees you in that black dress!" Gabriella stood beside you, looking in the full body mirror, shaking with excitement for the party.

The two of you made your way over to the Gryffindor common room, met with a few ravenclaws and fellow hufflepuffs by the portrait entrance.

It was no surprise that the common room was alive with celebration and merriment. You and Gabriella stepped inside, immediately greeted by George and Lee, who enthusiastically showed you around.

"Welcome welcome! You guys look great!" Lee hyped you two up, always the enhusiast.

Laughter, chatter, and the warmth of victory filled the space. As your eyes scanned the room, they landed on Fred and Oliver by the fireplace, who spotted you and beckoned you both over with bright grins.

After a while of lively conversation in the group, you and Gabriella naturally parted ways—her heading away to the couch with Fred while Oliver guided you to where his friends stood.

You chatted and laughed, but something felt off. Your attention was divided, and no matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver and his friends, your eyes kept finding Fred’s.

Across the room, you noticed his eyes constantly meeting yours, just as much as yours longed to find his.

You were snapped out of your gaze when one of Oliver’s friends playfully nudged you, shoving a drink into your hands. “Come on, have some firewhiskey on me! You’ve got to celebrate properly!”

"Oh wow, where'd you manage to get that?" You asked, curious as to how he managed to sneak in alcohol. Granted, he was older than you so it was fair to assume he was more daring when it came to liquor.

"I have my sources." The guy wiggled his brows, "Come on, drink up Y/N, join us!"

You hesitated. “I’m good, really.”

“Oh, don’t be a buzzkill. Just one!” He pushed again, grinning as if it were a challenge.

“I said I don’t want to.” Your voice was firmer now, but he rolled his eyes.

Oliver sensed your discomfort and interjected swiftly, “Knock it off Felix. She doesn’t have to drink if she doesn’t want to.”

"Alright alright, you're just a wee girl after all innit." Felix chuckled, "More for me then."

Wee girl? Merlin, who does he think he is? You scoffed to yourself, shifting closer to Oliver.

Still, the group laughed it off, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but here. You excused yourself quickly, heading upstairs to a quieter gryffindor study room.

The party noise faded, and you sank into one of the couches, taking a deep breath.

A knock came at the door, before it slowly opened.

Truthfully, a wave of relief washed over you when you saw Fred entering, his usual smugness replaced with something softer. “Saw Felix being a git, it's safe to say he won't ever bother you again.”

Fred's implication that he had a word with Felix made you all the more relieved, you exhaled softly, nodding.

You smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

He stood at the doorframe for a second, inspecting your state before slowly walking over. The couch dipped upon the weight of him as he sat beside you.

“You okay?” He nudged you with his body gently.

You nodded, looking forward though you felt his gaze on you. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

He listened intently, offering you the silence you much needed after the earlier commotion.

There was a pause before you turned to face him, “How’s it going with Gabriella?”

Fred shrugged. “Good,” he lied, then exhaled. “Alright, fine. She’s nice, but I think I bored her to death. She’s talking to Neville about some plants now.”

You chuckled. “Plants are fascinating.”

“To you, maybe. Not exactly my best topic,” Fred admitted. "Might buy a bouquet or two, but other than that I'm clueless."

"If you do, red roses are the way to go. She loves them, practically every girl does."

"Including you?"

"I adore them. Sounds a bit basic but they're a classic for a reason, they're just so...romantic." Your eyes glistened as you spoke about roses, dreaming of the day someone would buy you flowers.

"Noted, I'll pass a good word to Oliver." Fred chuckled, smiling at the way your eyes lit up, but his smiled disappeared when you frowned, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I think I’m losing it with Oliver. I feel like a total idiot for not drinking in front of him and his friends."

Fred shook his head. “Nah, you’re not an idiot....maybe a little, but not a full blown one." You slapped his arm playfully, but he continued, raising his hands in defence, "If anything, that makes you better than them. You don’t need to do anything to impress him, so what if you don't feel like drinking?”

"I don't think I'll face him again, if his friends hate me, he'll probably grow to dislike me." You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

"Nothing a little flirting can't solve," Fred was optimistic, attempting to cheer you up in this moment of despair, "Next time you see him, get more touchy. When you laugh, place a hand on his arm, lean on him, lean in to him...y'know, the usual."

"Ugh, in front of his friends?" You grumbled.

"All the better, shows you've got game." He continued to give you tips on how to approach Oliver again later, helping you plan your next move.

It was only fair of you to return the favour, leaning in slightly. “Right, so, lean in when you talk to her, like this,” you said, demonstrating the closeness.

Fred swallowed, blinking at you. “Like this?” He mimicked you, your shoulders were touching all the more, your face near his neck, his mouth a few inches away from your forehead.

You nodded, voice softer now. “And maybe say something like… ‘Your eyes are a remarkable shade of hazel, I never noticed how stunning they were until up close now. They sparkle beautifully in the moonlight, yet they manage to shine even brighter when you're caring.’”

It was meant for Gabriella. But as you spoke, something in your chest tightened. You were speaking to Fred. Really speaking to him. His hazel eyes met yours, and he leaned in once more.

His mouth parted slightly, as his eyes darted to your lips then back to your eyes. You found yourself leaning in too, your breathing became heavy.

Your heart felt like it was going to pounce out of your chest with the rate it was beating.

The air between you stilled as you both realised the weight of your words.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open. You and Fred jumped apart just as Oliver and Gabriella entered, looking at you both in confusion.

“There you are, we were wondering where you two had vanished off too.” Gabriella remarked, her eyes darting from Fred to you.

Your heart raced and Fred's face flushed a shade of red. Though completely innocent, if felt as though you were caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing.

Flustered, you quickly went to Oliver, while Gabriella made her way to Fred.

The rest of the party carried on, fun and lively, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that lingered. No matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver, your gaze kept drifting back to Fred.

____

The anticipation leading up to the Yule Ball had everyone on edge. With the Yule Ball near approaching, the talk of the castle revolved around the ball; students asking each other to the dance, flowers being exchanged, and whispers filling the corridors.

You woke up that morning with only one name in your mind—Fred Weasley. It was irritating, really. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. You liked Oliver. You were going with Oliver. And yet, Fred’s stupid, mischievous grin had invaded your thoughts like an unrelenting charm.

At breakfast, you sat with Gabriella at your usual hufflepuff table, chatting about the Yule Ball. She was gushing about how beautiful everything was going to look, the magical snowflakes, the ice sculptures, the romantic lighting. You smiled along, but your mind was elsewhere. Across the hall, Fred was laughing with George, but every so often, you swore you caught him glancing at you.

After your 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' class, you walked out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when Oliver approached. He was holding a bouquet of red roses, his confident smile making you a blushing mess.

"Y/N," he said warmly, holding out the flowers. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"

You paused, then beamed. "Of course, Oliver. I'd love to!" He pulled you in for a warm hug while students around you cheered, and whistled loudly.

You were happy—you really were. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? But as you took the roses, a strange heaviness settled in your chest.

Later that day, you found yourself with Fred, helping him prepare to ask Gabriella. You were ranting about Oliver, swooning over how charming he was. Fred, though smiling, was already fuming inside. He wanted to be happy for you. He wanted to believe this was all fine. But every word you spoke about Oliver grated on his nerves.

"Do you think Gabriella will like this?" Fred asked, holding up a box of assorted chocolates, changing the topic quickly after countless nods and 'that's great' as a response to you gushing over Oliver.

You turned to him, considering. "Yeah, she will, can't go wrong with chocolate. You got this, Freddie!"

"Right," he said, running a hand through his hair, looking more uncertain than usual. He was prolonging it, he knew it. He didn't want to ask her. He had someone else on his mind now. But what choice did he have? You were already going with Oliver.

When he finally did ask Gabriella in the courtyard, you cheered for him, clapping as she said yes. It was the right outcome—technically, you both won. And yet, watching Fred grin as he hugged Gabriella filled you with an unexpected wave of envy.

_____

The Yule Ball arrived in a flurry of excitement. You walked down the stairs with Oliver, arm in arm, dressed in your most elegant red gown. Across the entrance, you saw Fred with Gabriella. You both gave each other thumbs-up and smiled, though your smile never quite reached your eyes, nor did Fred's.

As you approached the entrance, Oliver and Gabriella walked in first, conversing with each other, leaving you and Fred standing alone for a moment.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets before breaking the silence, "So…we both got what we wanted."

You exhaled, forcing a smile. "Yeah…we both got with our dates. All too smoothly, I might add."

You both chuckled, but there was an undeniable weight in the air.

"You look nice, cleaned up well for Oliver eh? Lucky bloke." Fred joked, though his voice was laced with subtle serious undertone.

"Hm, you don't look like a grindylow for once, I see you clean up pretty nicely too."

He chuckled softly, removing his hands from his pockets. Neither of you moved, it was as though a silent message of 'please stay here with me' was shared.

You hesitated before extending your hand. "Thank you, Fred. For everything."

He took your hand, shaking it lightly, but neither of you let go. There was a static, a spark, if you would, something both of you didn’t want to ignore. You both looked down at your touching hands, then back to each other.

Oblivious as to what the other party was thinking, the two of you decided to ignore it, let go, and move on, for the better, right?

"So, that's our deal done then?" you said slowly, though regretting it.

Fred swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. I'll, uh…see you around school then."

Your heart clenched, but for the sake of the ball, you put on your best grin. "I'll see you around, Fred."

You then turned to Oliver who was a few steps ahead, extending his arm to you. As you walked with him into the ballroom, you turned back one last time.

Fred was still standing there. You waved. He waved back, smiling—but his eyes told you that there was something masked beneath that smile. Gabriella came up to him, and they walked inside together, you turned forward to let them have their moment.

The ball was everything you imagined—beautiful, magical, enchanting. Oliver was the perfect gentleman, twirling you around the dance floor, kissing your hand, your cheek, your forehead, even. He got you punch, held the door open, pulled out your chair, he was the ideal guy, truly ticking off all your boxes.

You smiled at him, but your heart was never quite satisfied, there was a space yet to be filled.

And you hated that you knew why.

Your eyes kept drifting to him. He was dancing with Gabriella, but his mind was far away. Uncomfortable. Lost.

You chuckled to yourself, shaking off this silly feeling, turning your attention back to Oliver, who was explaining about his latest tactics for the upcoming Quidditch match with ravenclaw.

____

Later that night, Oliver walked you back to your common room. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of your hand. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You lips curled up into a grateful smile, thanking him for the wonderful evening, but as he turned to leave, something inside you snapped.

If something was wrong, you needed to fix it. Merlin, what's the point in waiting? If something didn't feel right, your gut knew that you had to fix it right away. And this, was one of those moments.

You turned on your heel and ran in your red gown. Through the castle, past students, up and down staircases—you had no plan, no direction, just a need to find him.

Until you did.

At the main staircase, you froze. Fred was at the bottom, looking up at you. He was holding a bouquet of red roses.

Your throat tightened, immediately regretting your decision. "For Gabriella?"

Fred shook his head. "No." He stepped forward, "They're for you."

Your paused, holding your breath as he started walking up the stairs, to you.

"Y/N, I—" Fred hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I don’t want Gabriella. I don't think I ever did, truthfully. I just…I wanted to be with you. And I was too much of a git to see it until it was too late."

Tears burned at your eyes. "Fred—"

"I don't care about the deal. I don't care about anything except you. I don't want to ever lose you Y/N. And if I have to watch you with Oliver one more time, I think I might actually go mental."

He was close now, the roses in one hand, the other reaching for you.

You let out a shaky laugh. "You're such a git, you know that?"

Fred grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. "Yeah. But I’m your silly git, if you'll have me."

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. You surged forward, crashing your lips to his, your hands gripping his suit. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

It was passionate, desperate, hungry, everything you had ever wanted but had been too blind to admit. The kiss of two people who were starving and desperately in need of each other. Fred savoured every bit of your mouth, as though tomorrow would never come, ending with a sweet peck.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, a grin sprawled across that deviously handsome face of his, his hair messy but Merlin, it was such a look on him. "So, I take it that’s a yes, love?"

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his. "Yes, you fool."

Fred cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek once again. "Best deal I’ve ever made."

[champagnepoets]

Mark of Dean masterlist

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Entire series is 18+ for explicit sexual content and some graphic violence.

Part 1 - Own

The Mark of Cain brings out sides of Dean he didn’t know he had. Luckily, when it comes to wanting you, he’s found a way to deal with it.

AO3 | Tumblr

Part 2 - Corruption

There’s someone you like and want to impress, so you decide to ask the most sexually experienced person in your life for advice – Dean. But he has other plans for you.

AO3 | Tumblr

Part 3 - Marked

After the first night you and Dean spent together, you can't stop thinking about him - and he's not faring much better. You know you shouldn't, know that he's not himself, know that he is much too old for you. But maybe you are already in too deep. And maybe the Mark has already taken a liking to you.

Chapter 1 - Ten days - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 2 - Bubbles - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 3 - Man walks into a bar - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 4 - The Mark - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 5 - To slaughter - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 6 - Reverse - AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 7 - In another life - AO3 | Tumblr

[champagnepoets]

The Man In Your Apartment

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: First dates are stressful enough without Mark Meachum showing up to make you second guess your entire life.

Tropes: Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Implied Slow Burn.

Word Count: 10.8K (Don't look at me like that)

Warnings: I'm gonna just label this 18+ to make sure. References to Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Implied Sex, Reader's hair is long and is described as "curvy", Cursing, Angst, Talks of Cancer, ANGST, Self-deprecating thoughts from the reader and Mark, Unhinged joke about starfish, Flirting, Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Mark Meachum Masterlist

A/N: Yes, yes I did finally watch Countdown, and the unthinkable happened… I wrote another Jackles character fic.

"Ow, ow, ow. Hot! Hot!" You yelp, releasing the chunk of your (now) perfectly curled hair to stick your singed index finger into your mouth while staring at your reflection in your bathroom mirror.

This looks nothing like the video.

You think with a groan, eyes shifting to your phone that shows the supposedly effortless updo being displayed by the girl on screen.

I should've known better than to try something new one hour before I'm supposed to go out on a date! There's no way I can salvage this.

The reflection of you in the mirror looks at you raises an eyebrow as if asking you 'did you expect anything less?'

"Shut up." You mutter with a huff.

You’d thought that by now you'd be used to the first date jitters. The swarm of butterflies that erupted in your stomach in nervous anticipation, the small tingle of excitement at the thought that anything could happen, and the anxiety of trying to find the perfect first date outfit.

There were enough "first date outfits" strewn over the floor of your bedroom for you to go on a hundred dates, the same hundred outfits you'd modeled for your best friends Evie and Sam over video chat for two hours before you chose the current ensemble. It was the one that they'd said would 'give your date a heart attack' all the while whooping so loud it made their next door neighbors start banging on the wall.

The black ankle length dress clung to your body like a second skin, hugged your every curve, and swept low over your breasts to give a hint of cleavage. It was the emergency dress, the one thing in your closet that you'd never worn, but bought months ago hoping to wear it for someone else. The same someone else that you hadn't seen or heard from in nine months.

Not thinking about him right now.

There weren't exactly many places that you could wear something like this, especially not to the firm of York, Goldman, and Preston. Your power suit and heel staple was more sensible anyway, though did little to stop one of the senior partner's wandering eyes whenever you bent over to pick something up while twisting the golden wedding ring on his left hand.

Pig.

Products in bottles and containers of varying colors and shapes are scattered over the small single sink in your bathroom, foundation is smeared on the marble countertop, a thin dusting of eyeshadow flecked in the mirror, a broken eyeliner pencil sits forgotten on the floor an inch from the toe of your stilettoed boot, a single earing lies aimless, and the makeup brushes you'd used are shoved into the small makeup bag you put them in all the while lying to yourself and saying that you'd clean them the second you got home. The same thing you told yourself each time you took one out and ran your thumb over the stiff makeup caked bristles before applying your makeup each morning.

But despite the support from your two college roommates turned best friends after four years in the trenches, you were still nervous.

It was the first date you'd had with anyone in over nine months. The never ending pile of depositions and case evidence on your desk had kept you plenty occupied, and this was first time you'd allowed yourself to make time for something like this.

Devin was another junior partner at the firm, a nice guy that had asked you out several times in the past, but you'd politely declined. Now, after a nine month dry spell and no other prospects you were willing to give him a chance.

He's not terrible, just a little too much like vanilla yogurt, plain and often not enough.

But you were willing to give Devin a shot, maybe he wouldn't be as straight laced outside of the office as he was in it. Maybe he had a secret bad boy side that would surprise you and sweep you off your feet. 

The playlist that Evie made aptly titled "Get Back Out There and Get It" switches to an upbeat song that makes you swing your hips and hum under your breath, while you change the part in your hair, frowning again at your appearance before you flip the piece back over to the side.

I'm done. I can't look at myself anymore.

Pickle, your French Bulldog, trots into the bathroom happily, sniffling around the bottom of your dress and licks tentatively at your ankle.

"Hey buddy." You lean on the counter and scratch behind one of his pointed ears. "What are you up to huh?"

His leg thuds against the floor rhythmically, nudging his flattened face against your leg once before he turns to sniff along the rumpled pile of clothing in your closet and leaving you to the deranged spiral of your thoughts. They were hanging from the chandelier by now in a ritzy mansion with the Unsinkable Molly Brown.

Devin was taking you to a little Italian restaurant a few blocks from the high rise you worked at in downtown LA, and he was due to be here any minute, which meant that you probably had no time to fix your hair.

Maybe I can pretend that I got a stomach bug and reschedule. He seems like he would be plenty understanding and-

Your phone buzzes on the counter,  the group-chat titled "Feral Friends" flashing once on the screen to distract you from your reflection for a few moments.

Evie: You better not be staring at yourself in the mirror thinking about faking an illness

Sam: Or contemplating toaster bath to get out of this.

Evie: You look so hot in that dress. Devin is gonna want to have all your babies!!

Sam: He's a dude Evie.

Evie: THAT DOESN'T MATTER, SEAHORSE RULES BITCH!

Sam: As a marine biologist I can't condone your behavior… but as your friend I say that it can totally happen.

Evie: Thanks babe. Does that mean you're gonna finally let me come back to the lab?

Sam: Nope. I'm not going to let you molest another starfish.

Evie: I just wanted to see how mermaids get them to stick!

Sam: I know this is difficult for you, but mermaids aren't real.

Evie: I don't believe you! The government probably paid you to say that and now you're keeping them from me.

Sam: Why do you want them to be real?

Evie: And I bet you know the location of the necklace that old lady threw into the sea!

Sam: The lady in Titanic?

Evie: YES!

You stifle a snort.

Evie and Sam had been such a big part of your life for years now. Through thick and thin, the family that you never had, but always wanted. The three of you, three parts of a whole that fit together seamlessly even though you lived in LA and they both shared an apartment back in Florida on the other side of the US. You were planning a trip for the end of the month to see them, desperately needed it like the air you were breathing, couldn't wait to camp on their lumpy couch and catch up on Love Island while eating greasy pizza and waking up between Evie and Sam like nothing had changed. Like the three of you weren't still complaining about how small your shared apartment was and eating cup a noodle at every meal while dreaming about marrying rich to avoid getting a soul-sucking nine to five.

You: As scintillating as this conversation is, it's not helping.

Evie: That's why they pay you the big bucks smarty pants, because you use words like that.

Sam: Girl, come on, the guy's gonna fucking plotz right in his pants as soon as he sees you. I don’t know why we're even having this conversation.

Evie: Or why you're going out with him… The guy is about as interesting as a sack of flour. Never seen someone so white in my entire life, thought I was going to go blind when I stalked his insta and saw a picture of him in shorts.

Sam: EV!

Evie: What? We're all thinking it! This guy would be lucky to get a foot pic from you babe, let alone the whole package.

Sam: She's right, but at the same time please don't sell pictures of your feet. You got that one wonky toe…

You: I've told you multiple times that it's not wonky and we're getting off topic again.

Pickle walks back into the bathroom toting his prize, a red lace thong that you'd ruled out as 'impractical' for tonight, choosing rather a black one that matched the bra you were wearing. You still weren't sure where the date would end up, but you were being optimistic, dwelling in the possibility that Devin would surprise you.

"Drop it." You order.

Pickle freezes, eyes wide, his little gray body tensing.

"Pickle." You say sternly.

He bolts into your bedroom full speed, his little legs scrambling against the hardwood floors, nails scrapping against the wood as he goes.

Damn it.

"Get back here!" You shout as you run through your home and down the darkened hallway behind him in swift pursuit, but Pickle continues to run as fast as he can through your two bedroom apartment his little mouth chewing furiously because he knows his days are numbered.

Just as you cross from the hallway into your living room, a pair of hands come out of nowhere and catch Pickle, yanking him up into the air.

You screech to a halt, eyes widening as you focus on the stranger standing in your apartment.

The man comes into focus, broad shoulders encased in a black leather jacket, brown hair kissing the collar in a soft wave, his hardened muscular body molded like a statue in Greece, perfectly chiseled as if from stone. Pickle writhes fruitlessly in the man's arms, trying to escape from air-jail, but the man only laughs at him. The sound of his chuckle trailing goosebumps over your skin.

But even though the stranger's back is to you, but you don't need to see his face to know who it is.

Mark Meachum.

You'd met in the courtroom or rather outside the courtroom when you were running exactly five and a half minutes late and slammed into him after he'd given testimony. The trusty briefcase you'd had for years decided at that moment to give up the ghost, splitting open and scattering the notes and papers you'd worked so hard on all over the floor. And while others continued to walk by, Mark had stopped to help you, flirting all the while, and by the time he'd handed you the last paper you had a date for drinks and a reason to grin and bear it while a senior partner yelled at you for your tardiness. 

The relationship, if you could call it that, started then and there.

Late night phone calls, late night drinks, followed up by late night rendezvous, memories of beer, sweat, and the spicy scent of Mark's cologne that clung to your sheets long after they went cold. The haunting memory of his rough hands dragging over your soft skin, finding places that no one else seemed to, every inch of your body and his fitting together so well if the world was burning outside your bedroom neither of you would be none the wiser.

It was all going so well… until it wasn't.

Mark was content to keep things the way they were, but you weren't. You wanted more. A total cliché, you knew that, but when the two of you started you didn't have time for more than just a few hours, but you liked Mark and you wanted to try, thought that there was something worth exploring between the two of you.

He didn't.

He'd said that he didn't want things to change, that he wasn't looking for anything serious, and that led to the inevitable parting of the ways…

Except Mark didn't stay away for long, never did. He'd showed back up at your apartment in the weeks that followed and each time you let him in all the while trying your best not to take it personally that he didn't want more.

Sometimes you thought he did though.

When all was quiet and you couldn’t sleep because something was bothering you and he actually listened to you talk instead of the usual grunt you got from the handful of men you’d tried to date in the past. When you’d find him in the kitchen in the morning nursing a cup of hot coffee and pinching the bridge of his nose to drive away the headaches he had so often, and he allowed you to gently rub at his temples to soothe the ache, while he watched you with curious green eyes as if he couldn't believe you were real.

Those moments made you think that maybe Mark wanted more. More than just the heat of your body beside him, more than the sweat soaked sheets and gasps of his name into the night air, and more than just the pleasure you brought him when the two of you were alone and nothing else seemed to make sense but the rock of your body against his and the moans of your name into your mouth from his lips. But just like clockwork the next day would dawn and Mark would get up, get dressed, kiss you goodbye and saunter out of your life so easily it made your head spin.

Until 9 months ago, when you told him you couldn't do this again, that it was the last time and you needed him to stay away for good. You remember how you'd said it, wrapped in your sheets when he got out of bed and got dressed. Mark had winked, dark hair falling forward into his face, before he kissed on in the forehead the same patronizing way he always did. You’d hoped that he had actually gotten the message, that he was finally, finally listening to you when you told him that.

Apparently not.

"These for me?" Mark smirks, the bright red thong dangles between his long fingers. There's a familiar glint of mischief in his green eyes, the same glint that always seemed to get you in trouble whenever he was around, the one that ended with you breathless in bed with Mark's body nestled snuggly between your thighs like he belonged there. "You shouldn't have."

You snatch away the offending garment from his outstretched hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood." His eyes trace over your body, bringing a pleasurable tingle down the length of your spine.

Your body didn't seem to get the memo about being anti-Mark, but you weren't surprised. It had a tendency to disconnect from your mind whenever he was in your general vicinity and usually wanted things that were bad for you.

The Bluetooth must not be working because there's a flood of warmth to the apex of your thighs the longer that Mark stares at you with the same mischievous smirk he gave you the last time you saw him.

Your eyes flick to the open window in your living room where the floral curtains billow and flap in the night breeze.

Did he come in through the window? I'm three floors up!

"Did you break in?"

"No." Mark answers scratching Pickle behind the ears, who has now turned traitor just as your body had and is licking Mark's jaw where the prickle of his beard has begun to shadow.

Something that you too wished you could do.

Stop it! Stay strong. I will not relapse. If only there was a green-eyed, dark haired man anonymous group on the internet for addicts like me.

You clear your throat, eyes shifting to the open window and then back to him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Mark chuckles low under his breath, the gradual rumble going up through his chest that makes your throat tight.

Distant thunder before a storm hints.

And what a storm it would be if your let him back into your bed. A category five hurricane, a damn tornado so destructive that Tyler Owens was out there chasing after it.

"I've been telling you to fix that window forever. Do you have any idea how many home invasions there are in LA every year?"

"I'm on the third floor Mark!"

"See-" He holds up a finger. "That's exactly the kind of thinking that lets these freaky bastards free and clear to go through underwear drawers."

"Strong words from a man who was holding my thong ten seconds ago." You cross your arms over your chest.

"Blame Pickle. He obviously wanted me to have it."

The dog in question has his tongue lolling out of his mouth, smiling happily up at the man who ruined your life.

He didn't, not really.

It was your fault that you kept going back to him, your fault that each time he showed up on your doorstep, dark hair scrunched up around his face, glimmering eyes that raked over your body, and charming smile that you couldn't say no.

"What are you doing here?" The question is measured, each word slowly rolling out of your mouth with precision.

Truthfully, you knew what he was doing here, it was the same what that you had told yourself you were never going to go back to. It had taken you all nine months since you'd seen him to get over it, overworking yourself, going too hard at the gym on the treadmill because it was easier to fall asleep when you were so exhausted rather than sitting up all night and thinking about the man with the glowing green eyes. The endless marathon of rom-coms that made you feel like Elle Woods throwing a box of chocolates at the tv also didn't help either.

A part of you was angry that he was here now, that he had stayed away because he knew it really was the last time and now he had some warped alarm inside of his head that told him you were finally moving on and he had to come back.

Mark puts Pickle on the couch giving him another affectionate scratch before he focuses back on you.

"I thought I'd stop in and say hello. You look nice. Hot date?" Mark's eyes trace over your figure again taking in the black dress, the one you’d bought for him in mind because you thought that it would change something, but never had a chance to wear it.

“Yes, actually.”

Is it hot in here?

The fact of the matter was that despite your brain wanting nothing to do with him, there was another part of your body that was ready to rip all his clothes off and act like the last nine months hadn’t happened.

“Huh.” Mark scratches his chin as he takes one step towards you so close that you catch a whiff of the same cologne that was long gone from your sheets. Hints of sandalwood and sunshine that you’d let yourself breathe with his pillow crushed to your chest when he left for the last time, tears burning in your eyes. “Is that so?”

He towers over you, smirk quirking on the end of his mouth, humor flashing through his eyes the longer he stands there looking at you. Some of his dark hair has fallen forward over his forehead that your fingers itch to push away, remembering the way that the smooth skin of his temples felt beneath your fingertips whenever you soothed away the headaches he seemed to have so frequently.

It’s a few inches shorter than the last time you saw him, but he looks just as good if not better. The thick dusting of his beard over his strong jaw makes him look rugged in the best way and again makes the irrational part of your brain start rattling the bars of her cage.

“Y-yes.” You stammer.

Top of my class in litigation and yet every time he looks at me like that I can’t form a single sentence.

"I like what you did with your hair." Mark's smile widens, eyes softening as he raises his hand and pushes back the chunk of hair that singed your fingertips moments ago. "It's pretty."

Please for the love of mashed potatoes keep it together. Heart of a warrior!

You chide yourself, feeling your legs turn to jelly under his gaze that makes your right foot wobble in the stilettoed boot.

9 months ago when he'd left, Evie and Sam had shown up out of the blue and the three of you performed a "Markxorcism." You'd burned sage, lit candles, chanted ridiculous things, and then eaten so much junk food that Evie puked into Sam's purse.

Now you were realizing that it didn't work, because your subconscious obviously didn't get the memo.

There's a blush creeping up through your cheeks with the brush of Mark's fingertips against your skin. All it did was remind you of the moments the two of you had spent together in the past, with those same fingertips exploring parts of your body that no other man ever seemed to be able to reach.

Please don't think about that right now.

The song on the playlist shifts to something softer, a melody that you've forgotten the name of, but does little to push the memories of Mark and you in this very apartment. The soft light in your living room accentuates Mark's strong jaw, making the shadow of his beard a little bit darker while catching in his glimmering green eyes. The memory of the day he left washes over you in a fluid wave. When his hair was rumpled from where your hands had tangled through the strands the night before, when the glow of his freckled skin caught in the early morning sunlight that shone through your curtains, and when the familiar scrape of stubble rubbed against your forehead as he kissed you goodbye.

"You should go." You clear your throat again, voice sounding a little higher than it usually does.

"Why?" Mark's breath wafts over your face in a minty wave.

"Because it's gonna be hard to explain-"

"Explain what baby?"

"Why you're here."

Mark chuckles low under his breath, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "And why do you think I'm here? Hmm?"

Something dark flashes in his eyes as his gaze drops down over your body once more, catching on your curves like flypaper. Goosebumps flicker across your skin, following the trail of his eyes on you and making warmth pool in the pit of your stomach.

Oh dear Lord why does he always have to look so good?

Your mouth is dry, the last shred of willpower you have pulled so tight that you know it'll snap at any second. You hated that he did this to you, that one look from those glowing green eyes turned off whatever rational part of your mind usually drove and sent you scuttling back into the stone age, like taking one look at the rugged man in front of you suddenly stimulated the primal animal instinct that lived in the dark recesses of modern man.

You can take the cavewoman out of the cave… but you can't take the cave out of the woman.

And damn you wanted to drag Mark back into yours.

A soft knock sounds at your front door breaking the spell between the two of you, but also sends a bolt of anxiety through your body.

You groan audibly.

How the hell am I going to explain Mark being in my apartment?!

“See if you feel that way when the guy shows up, you might as well just not go at all. Don’t worry, I’ll let him down easy for you.” Mark turns to go towards your door.

“No!” You shout grabbing the back of his jacket, tugging him back, but Mark doesn't move an inch in your direction.

Damn him for being so solid and broad.

Instead, he opens the door.

Devin stands there in the brilliant light of the hallway, holding a small bouquet of magenta and white carnations, wearing the same sharp black suit, blue tie, white shirt combo that he wore every single day to work without fail. His auburn hair is combed back in simple waves that curl behind his ears, the dark dusting of freckles over his cheeks giving him a boyish quality, the exact opposite of the infuriating man blocking you from view.

"Hey-" Devin's greeting stops mid-way as he makes eye contact with Mark, who only smirks down at the man inhabiting the space just beyond your front door.

Mark is taller than him, broader too. Seeing the two of them standing there reminded you of those pictures on the internet of Kevin Hart and Dwayne Johnson.

"Hey there champ." Mark says while flashing a broad smile. He's obviously pleased with the turn of events and it makes you want to curl up into a ball in die. "How's it going?"

Because how in the hell were you going to explain Mark to Devin?

"Oh hey Devin! This is Mark, he stopped by for a quickie before our date" did not sound like something that you said to the father of your future children.

"Um… good." Devin clears his throat, still not able to see where you're standing behind Mark in your living room. "I'm sorry I must have the wrong apartment."

"I think you do bud-" Mark begins to shut the door, but you push past him- well, you try to. Mark is built like Paul Bunyan and moving him was like Moses trying to get water from a rock.

"No, he doesn't-" You whisper sharply under your breath to Mark, only earning the same glorious rumble-like chuckle that makes your knees feel like they're clacking together. "Hi Devin!" You say to him with far too much anxious enthusiasm. There was enough of it crackling through your synapses that you could power all of NYC in a blackout.

"Hi." Devin repeats, his eyes flicking from Mark to you as he tried to figure out what he was missing.

"Sorry. Mark was just stopping by for-" Your hands wave anxiously in front of you, the excuses and lies you were about to spew from your mouth would have made milk curdle.

Devin's gaze falls to the red thong that you still have clasped in your right hand, the tips of his ears pinkening when he realizes what it is.

Oh sweet baby corn.

"The laundry, right baby?" The humor in Mark's voice makes you want to feed him to Pickle, who would probably just lick him to death given how much Pickle loved Mark.

"NO!" You shout, eyes widening in panic. "Um. He was-um… fixing the window. Can never be too careful in LA right?" The awkward laughter that follows catches in the back of your throat as you toss the thong around the corner and into a potted plant out of sight. "All those break ins and whatnot."

"Yeah." Devin coughs out a half-laugh, but he doesn't look too convinced, probably because you live on the third floor. "Um. You look really nice."

"Thank you." You smile, but it was hard to. Not when Mark was still looking at you like a cat that got the canary and you felt your heart was flip-flopping around in your chest.

At this point you wished that your elderly neighbor Mr. Wyatt came out and flashed the three of you the way he always did whenever Evie and Sam visited, at least then there would be something else to awkwardly laugh at other than you.

I'll never understand why he moved out of that nudist colony, he sounds so happy whenever he talks about it.

"I got you these." Devin holds out the carnations. His hand trembles, gaze still shifting from Mark to you.

You didn't blame him.

You'd run into Mark at a bar one time when he had a date with him. A woman that looked like she walked right out of a playboy magazine, beautiful, sexy, poised… The rest of the night you couldn't help but compare yourself to her, focusing far too hard on all the little flaws that never let you rest whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror. And you were sure that Devin was having the same spiral of self-deprecation inside of his head at the moment given that Mark was well… Mark.

"Aww that's sweet." Mark coos. "Look he brought you flowers."

Anger surges up in a wave of heat to your cheeks.

Is he being serious right now? He shows up in the middle of the night after zero contact for nine months and he has the audacity to make fun of a man who is actually interested in dating me?

It was enough to remind you of why Devin was here. Devin was here because he genuinely wanted to take you out, because he genuinely wanted to have something more than whatever the hell Mark and you had. Something real.

Because you were worth more than this. Worth more than an errant text in the middle of the night that ended with Mark and you rolling around in your overpriced 1000 Egyptian cotton sheets.

And the thought is enough to sober you up.

You grind the stilettoed part of your heel down into Mark’s big toe, hoping that it hurts. "It is. Thank you Devin!" You take them gratefully with a genuine smile. "I love it when someone brings me flowers. Haven't had that in such a long time."

Mark stiffens slightly beside you, but you don't notice.

"I'm gonna go put these in water and grab my purse. Mark you can go." You don’t bother looking at him again when you turn to the kitchen to find the only vase you have, a crystal vase that is a relic of another time, when men actually brought flowers and held open doors for women they liked.

Not show up in the middle of the night like a bat out of hell looking for a quickie.

"So soon?" Mark says to your back, but you can hear the grin in his voice. "I was hoping to get to know your friend Devin a little better. See what his intentions are."

"Oh-oh well- um I mean-" Devin coughs awkwardly, before adjusting his round glasses with a trembling hand. "I mean she's-"

"That's none of your business Mark." You glare at him from behind the kitchen island before unwrapping the plastic from around the stems and placing the flowers in the vase.

My life is none of his business. I told him countless times that I didn’t want to keep doing this. I’m not going to give in because he shows up out of the blue and gives me attention.

"I beg to differ."

"I don't."

"Tomato, Tomah-to." Mark shrugs. "So Devin where are the two of you going tonight?"

Devin opens his mouth to answer.

"Don't answer that." You interrupt, giving Mark one good shove to push him out into the hallway beside Devin before you lock the door. "He doesn't need to know."

"Actually I do. There's a lot of unsafe places in LA-"

"No, you don't." You fluff your hair over your shoulder giving him a glare. "Now go."

The movement makes Mark's eyes go back down to the soft and supple skin just above your breasts, lingering for a moment too long to be just friendly. "You sure you don't need a coat?" His voice has dropped a few octaves, a coarse grit that lives in the back of his throat.

"Why would I need a coat?"

"Because it's cold tonight." Mark clears his throat, but you watch his gaze flicker to Devin, who also has his gaze focused on your chest.

Wait a minute is he… jealous?

"You can have mine!" Devin offers, his eyes flicking away from the top of your chest.

"Aww." A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you gently touch the end of his tie. "What a gentleman. It's nice to see that chivalry isn't dead.” The glare that you throw in Mark's direction makes the end of his lips twitch.

Mark mutters something under his breath, but you don’t care. You were past all of this. Mark didn’t have a right to suddenly show up in your life again, so you weren’t going to give him the time to. And he certainly had nothing to be jealous about, not when you gave him every opportunity to date you.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to dinner.” You loop your arm in Devin’s. “I’ll see you around Mark.”

You don’t give him a chance to answer you, instead you lead Devin down the hallway and into the elevator that by some miracle is on your floor and you don't have to wait awkwardly for it to arrive feeling the heat of Mark's gaze on your back.

But as the doors begin to close, you catch one last glimpse of Mark where he stands outside your door, and even though he's wearing the signature smirk, something flashes in his eyes that you can't place, an emotion that briefly flickers through the familiar green for a moment so fast you think you missed it.

"And I told him not to take his brother's toy, but Snowball is such a little stinker that he never listens to me-" Devin babbles, auburn hair waving around his head with the enthusiastic bob of his head. His phone is clutched in his right hand, stretched half-way across the table to show you a video of his not one, not two, but six cats all tumbling together on the floor of his apartment in a multicolored heap of fur and teeth. "And just look at Kida! She can't wait to start biting Milo's ears."

"Oh wow. That's crazy." You tip the rest of your wine glass back to catch the last few drops of red before trying to make frantic eye contact with your waiter who is nowhere to be found to beg him with your eyes for another glass.

By now the amount of times that you'd fake smiled in the past twenty two minutes was making your right eye twitch and your cheeks burn.

The car ride to the restaurant had been fraught with awkward silences, each one filled with the image of Mark back in your apartment, when he'd stood so close to you that all you could smell was the heady scent of his shampoo and you could feel the rough trace of his fingertips against your cheeks while his smirk did so many things to your body it felt like it had betrayed you.

Is this how Obi-Wan felt? No. Because Obi-Wan wasn't on the worst date of his life with someone who described in detail every single pair of socks he had in his sock drawer.

At first you'd thought that maybe you were imagining how boring Devin was, because you were still focused on Mark's sudden appearance, but by now you knew that you should have just left whatever this was back at the office rather than bring it out in the open.

Which really sucked because the restaurant was perfect.

Each table was covered in white tablecloths with soft yellowed light coming from a flickering candle, there a small raised platform in the corner had a band singing just low enough to bring the tickle of music through the air, the attentive waiters wove through the crowded restaurant wearing perfectly pressed suits, and the rich smell of cheese, bread, and wine flooded out into the room on a wave that made your mouth water. It was the kind of place that had just the right amount of romance and magic that would make a first date unforgettable…

Unfortunately the only thing making this date unforgettable was the three videos that Devin had showed you about the pack of cats he had living in his apartment, the conversation he'd started about the different kinds of paper he used at the office and how to avoid ink smudges, and the shadow of Mark's reappearance on your doorstep.

The bread basket laid empty on the table between the two of you, a side-effect of the stress eating that wouldn't stop from the second you sat down because you were trying not to say something that would hurt his feelings. Shoving bread in your mouth seemed to be a better option.

Truthfully, the only thing you were really trying to do was not compare him to Mark, but that was hard.

Mark was everything Devin wasn't. The two of you never had a problem finding something to talk about and Mark never failed to make you laugh. His sense of humor and wit brought something light to conversations and you never laughed as much as you did whenever he was around. Which was about as infuriating as it was annoying, that Mark not only was gorgeous, but he had the charm to back it up.

But the longer you sat on this date with Devin all it did was discourage you. The men that you liked never wanted to be more than just "friends" and the ones that you tried to like never seemed to live up to the hype of the ones you did. All you wanted was for someone you actually liked to be interested or at least be willing to try.

It was enough to make you want to go back to your apartment, curl up under a blanket, and watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding or some other rom-com where the love interest didn't disappoint you.

"I'm going to go to the little boys room." Devin says, pushing back his chair with a grating scrape against the hardwood floor that makes the people in the tables around you turn and look at him.

Maybe it’s not too late to fake an illness.

You were already planning to send the code word to Evie and Sam so they gave you a call, but you were hesitant. As disappointed as you were with this date, there was still some little part of you that wanted it to work, to justify wearing this dress and this amount of makeup out on a Friday night. You had carved out the time to do it, you had spent hours trying to figure out what to wear, and it felt like a waste to just cut your losses and go back to your empty apartment.

That was the most unfortunate part of this, that you would end up at your apartment all over again, where the memories of the time Mark and you spent there were haunting the halls like a Victorian ghost in a creaky mansion on the coast. All it would do was remind you of how single you were and how much you wanted something to change.

You’re contemplating this exact thought when a familiar voice shatters through the wave of disappointment.

"Ugh, I thought he'd never leave." Mark breezes as he slides into Devin's recently emptied seat. "How many stories can one man tell about his six cats? Just embarrassing. He's like a walking life model replica of the 40-year-old virgin. Talk about a mood killer."

He sends a knowing smile in your direction as if you're sharing a private joke. “And what’s up with ‘little boys room?’ He’s a man trying to get a woman into bed with him and he calls himself a ‘little boy?’ Come on! Does he want you to read him a bedtime story or something too?”

"What the hell are you doing here?!" You whisper yell as loud as you dare.

And older couple at the table beside yours gives you a dirty look.

I’m sorry that my soap opera of a life is shattering your romantic anniversary! Really I am!

You say with your eyes, but they only turn back to each other, the same annoying lovey-dovey looks in their eyes pulling at your heartstrings.

Sometimes it was hard to see how happy everyone else was.

It’s enough to make a girl want to be a divorce lawyer.

A busty blonde at another table wearing a dark red dress gives Mark a once over and bites the inside of her cheek, it does little to soothe the feelings of anger and frustration that grind your teeth together whenever he shows up in your life.

"Did you follow me? Are you stalking me?"

"Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you sweetheart." Mark leans towards you over the table with a smile that could warm a penguin standing on an ice floe in the middle of a frozen sea.

"Oh please." You narrow your eyes. "I'm not buying that for one second. Why are you here?"

"Alright, I have the chicken parmesan for the lovely lady." Your waiter says as he appears beside your table, toting an overlarge tray. "And the lasagna for-" The waiter tilts his head to the side when he spies Mark. You can see the gears turning in his head while he tries to figure out if he remembered wrong and Mark has been there the whole time. "Um- you I guess."

"Thanks buddy."

"Can I please get another glass of wine, please?" You ask.

I'm gonna need the whole bottle to get through the rest of tonight.

Your waiter nods, casting one more odd look at Mark before walking away.

Mark takes a bite of Devin’s lasagna and audibly moans. “Fuck that’s good. I'll say this about Dev, he knows how to order!”

“Don’t eat his food!” You smack the fork out of his hand so hard it clatters to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you." Mark leans back in Devin's chair, running a hand through his dark hair.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

He was worried about me? Really?

A little voice inside your head whispers. It was the same little voice that often appeared when he would be laying beside you and offered advice when you would complain about your job or your parents. The one that sometimes made you think that Mark wanted more, the small sliver of hope that clung on with bloody fingernails.

“Why are you worried about me? Devin's a lawyer, not a murderer."

"You never know. But I had this gut feeling that you'd need someone to help you bail out of this date. I mean come on, you're going to waste a dress like that on him?" Mark's eyes drag down the length of your body, the candlelight kissing the soft curves of your body.  "Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?"

A thrill pulses through your body with his words, but again you hate him for doing this. For showing up all over again right when you had cut him out of his life and were trying to move on, for him thinking that the two of you could just go back to doing whatever it was and him leaving every single morning like it didn't break your heart each time.

I can't only blame him. It's my fault too.

You ignore the compliment. “Can you please get out of here before he comes back?”

“Good idea! I’ll call you in five minutes, fake an emergency and see you back at your place.”

“I am perfectly capable of faking my own emergency thank you very much!” You hiss.

“So you admit that you need to?

You hated how smug he looked, hated that he seemed to be having the time of his life acting like a complete jerk while you were trying to salvage what was left of your trainwreck of a dating life.

“Mark!”

“Okay, okay.” Mark chuckles, standing up from the chair. "I'll see you around." He turns to go, but looks back over his shoulder. "You really do look beautiful-" Mark says your name in that lovely rumble that curls deep into the pit of your stomach.

Water falling over rocks.

A soft patter of rain against the roof of a car.

The crash of the waves on an empty beach.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

"Oh wow this looks so good." Devin says as he slides back into the chair across from you without the same lithe grace of the man who vacated it moments ago. "Huh, where'd my fork go."

"Your glass miss." The waiter places another glass of wine in front of you.

Yeah. Definitely gonna need the bottle.

The sharp click of your door closing is the only thing that gives you hope when you enter your apartment. You press your face against the strong wood of the inside of the door as if it could give you strength. The rest of the date had been a downward spiral. Devin kept trying to make conversation, but each time it fizzled out into nothing.

So you like cats?

Yep.

*awkward silence*

What do you think about the economy?

It's economic.

*silence*

Do you think that the government has been hiding the technology for lightsabers?

Maybe?

The entire night could go into the same category as the Hindenburg and the Titanic. Evie and Sam were waiting with bated breath for you to call them and give them the low down on everything that happened, but you didn't want to call because then you'd have to bring up Mark. They'd heard enough of him in the past, told you that you were too good to go back to start that all over again, and you partly believed them.

You did think that you were worth more, the problem was finding someone that made you feel the same way you felt about Mark, and if tonight was any indication about the dating pool in LA, it seemed like there was nothing to look forward to.

You exhale heavily.

"Oh good you're home. I fixed your window." Mark's voice floats through the air.

You turn around and spy him reclining back on your couch, beer bottle in hand, face illuminated by the blue glow of the Lakers game that's playing on your TV. Pickle sits next to him, laying his head on Mark's thigh, snoring as if the man in question isn't trespassing.

Some watchdog.

"Oh for the love of- why are you still here?! Don’t you have someone else to bother?!” You snap.

Mark tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “Nope.”

"Mark please-" Emotion lodges itself in the back of your throat, frustration and anger forming a hardened ball that makes your eyes burn.

"What?" He stands, worry pulling his eyebrows together, mouth turning down in a frown. "What's wrong? Did that asshole try something?"

"No! But this asshole did!" You throw your clutch at him.

It glances off his broad chest and tumbles to the ground. Pickle leaps off the couch to pick it up before dragging it back to his lair in the corner. It was really an old throw pillow that you'd had forever that was shaped like his namesake, but…

"Me? What did I do?" Mark looks confused.

"Everything!" You seethe.

Surely he can't be this stupid.

"You're blaming your bad date on me? Come on sweetheart. That was gonna tank. Who brings someone carnations? That's what you bring your sick grandmother in the hospital. He should have brought you roses-"

"Don't you dare mock him for that! You have no experience bringing me flowers!"

Mark only rolls his eyes. "If you wanted me to I would have."

"I can't do this with you. Please get out of my apartment." You sigh, attempting to push past him to go to your bedroom, but Mark shifts his imposing figure to block your way, staring down at you with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong-"

"Why do you care?" You spit. "You've made it perfectly clear that you only care about me for one thing."

He blinks, once, twice, holding up his hands in front of him defensively. "Whoa I mean I-"

"No! No talking!" You shove your finger into his chest, the angry tears spilling from your eyes, smearing the makeup down your cheeks. "I will not do this to myself again. I will not fall back into this sick pattern I have with you where you use me and I-"

"I do not use you! It's not like that-"

"Yes it is! Each time we go through this I hate myself. I hate myself for thinking that I deserve this. Hate myself for not being able to cut you loose. Shit, I think I must be a fucking masochist because very single damn time you come slithering back into my life with that charming smile, piercing green eyes, and sexy-"

"You think I'm sexy?" Mark interrupts as he raises a teasing eyebrow, making the all-American rage burn even hotter through your body, beating it's wings against your rib cage so hard it hurts.

"Get out."

"Come on-"

"No. Each time I fall for it. I think 'this time will be different, that maybe he'll change his mind' or 'wow he's really changed,' but you haven't. You're still the same selfish asshole that I keep falling back on and keep letting into my head and into my heart-." You shake your head with a heavy sigh. "But it's my fault too.  I'm the one who knew you didn't want me and yet I still kept letting you in like I think it will change, but it never does! And every single damn time I pick up the pieces of myself when you leave and try not to think 'what did I do?'"

"I didn't know that."

Something crosses through Mark's eyes that looks surprisingly like remorse, but you ignore it, because you're not sure if he even cares, if he's just trying to do it to make you feel bad for showing him the cards that you've kept so close to your chest the entire time that you'd known him.

"Oh you did! You know that I wanted to be more and instead of staying gone, you just keep coming back! But I'm not going to do this to myself anymore. I am worth more than just whatever the fuck this is!"

You try again to push past him, not wanting to look at him anymore, wanting to curl up beneath your blankets and try to shut the rest of the world out, but Mark doesn't let you pass.

"No." He frowns.

"What?" You blink in surprise, rubbing your face with the back of one hand.

What the hell is he talking about? Why won't he just get out?

"No. I'm not going to leave. Not when you're like this."

“If you don’t leave I’m going to call the police!” You threaten.

“Okay." He shrugs. "Call them. I'll just tell the chief that my girl is just acting crazy and don't bother sending a patrol car.”

“I’m not acting crazy! And I’m not your girl!”

“It’s what you want though right?”

You open and close your mouth, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Mark's head is tilted to the side something hovering in his eyes that pries open your ribcage. “Not anymore.”

It's a lie and you know it. It was harder to believe it when his musk was everywhere all over the room, the one that made your head feel fuzzy and the butterflies in your stomach take flight.

More like a murder of crows.

“You hesitated.”

The smirk is back, haunting, sexy, annoying as fuck. The familiar glimmer of humor in his eyes like a slap in the face. You hated that he was turning this into a big joke.

“No, I didn’t.” The back of your hand that you swipe over your cheeks comes back smeared with foundation and mascara.

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t-“

“I don’t understand why you want to stand there wasting all this time giving me shit when we could be getting to the fun part.” Mark shrugs.

“I told you that I wasn’t going to sleep with you!" You scream at the top of your lungs, so done with all of this, done talking to him, done trying to explain what he should already know instead of laughing at you.

It’s the closest that you'd ever been to hitting someone, which was odd for you because you’d rather use your words than physical violence. It was, after all, why you became a lawyer.

“So you’re admitting that sleeping with me is the fun part?” He chuckles.

Your teeth grind together so tight you can hear the scrape in your ears. 

How can one man be so infuriating and so hot at the same time?

"I'm not going to do this with you right now. I'm exhausted and I want to go to bed-"

"Good me too."

"We are not going to have sex! How many times do I have to say that?"

"One more time, I love the sound of your voice."

"Mark." His name comes out in a growl. "Why won't you leave? What is so important that you think you need to stay?"

Mark hesitates. His body shifts the weight from foot to foot, contemplating his next words as his eyes slowly drag over your body. "I don't know I've been-" He sighs. "I've been really thinking about you over the past nine months."

"And you didn't come by once?" You feign shock, pressing one hand to your chest. "Wow, must have taken some restraint."

And because Mark obviously isn't going to let you go to your bedroom, you turn to the kitchen to find something a little stronger than the wine you had at dinner. The buzz was wearing off and you weren't ready for any of this.

There were two parts of yourself at war, the part that wanted him to go because you were so tired of him and the other part that lived in the hope that Mark really did care.

I'm so pathetic. Why can't I just let this guy go? What is so damn special about Mark Fucking Meachum that I feel the need to torture myself over and over again?

You grit your teeth together to stop the flood of frustrated tears from coming again.

"I couldn't exactly stop by. I was undercover." He shakes his head to flick away the thought. "But that's not important. The most important thing is that I missed you."

"Wow." The heavy slam of the glass in your hand from the cabinet against the counter punctuates the word. "I can't believe you."

"What did I do now?"

"That you would stoop that low to say that you missed me to get me to sleep with you. What is wrong with you-"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You show up here at night," You slam closed the cabinet. "Messing with my life all over again," Another cabinet slams. "and even though I've said several times that I want you to leave you keep hanging around making me think that you actually give a fuck."

It would help if you could remember where you hid the emergency bottle of scotch that one of the senior partners gifted you at Christmas, at least then you'd be a little more drunk and the possibility of remembering this conversation would be less.

"I do give a fuck!" Anger flashes in his eyes as he takes a step closer to where you're hovering in the kitchen. "You are being so unreasonable right now-"

"No, you don't-" You turn away from him reaching for another cabinet, hoping that this one will have the bottle you so desperately need. "You're here because you're bored. You've made it perfectly clear that you only want one thing from me and I'm not going to give it to you. Not anymore.”

Mark's hand comes down hard on your shoulder turning you fast into him that you drop the glass in your hand to the floor, sending the shards in every direction. Mark's gaze catches yours, green eyes burning through the light of your cramped kitchen, the feeling of his rough hands against the bare skin of your shoulders making the familiar shiver travel down your spine.

"I don't want one thing from you." Mark growls. "I want all of you. But I can't."

"Oh fuck you. How stupid do you think I am? That sounds like a ridiculous fuckboy line. I want to be with you, but I can't? Same as it’s not you it’s me. Come on-" You struggle to turn away, but Mark jerks you back to look at him.

"It's not a damn line and I don’t think you’re stupid. I can't." He says through gritted teeth, face contorted in frustration.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm-" Mark squeezes his eyes shut, jaw locked tight together. "Because there's no future with me!"

"What the hell you talking about? Is this about your job? How dangerous you think it is? Because I don't care what you do-"

"It's not about that."

"Then what is it?” You scream back at him. This entire situation was reaching ridiculous levels and all you wanted was for it to reach a head so he could leave and you could cry, really cry over the phone with Evie and Sam. "What is this big secret that you just can't-"

"I have cancer!" Mark shouts.

The statement sucks out all the air in the room. For a moment you're not sure you heard him right, but judging from the way he releases your shoulders and bows his head like he's been caught running with scissors you know you did. You blink at him, mouth opening and shutting in surprise. "What did you say-"

"I have cancer." He repeats. "Fucking brain cancer actually. Can you believe that after all the reckless shit I've done, I get taken out by something like cancer. Really?" Mark flashes a signature grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes and comes across more rueful, cruel. "Fuck-" He sighs.

You're not sure what's more surprising… the fact that he has cancer or the fact that Mark admitted that he did want more, the very thing that you’d been hoping for since the moment he sauntered into your life.

Mark goes back to the couch in your living room to find his beer, taking a swig before he sits down. The leather forms around his body with a high pitched squeaking sound, the silence growing the longer he sits there.

"You don't know that." You say tentatively to his back.

"I do. Talked to a specialist, basically signed a death warrant." Mark mutters, running his hand over his face. His head is bowed, forearms braced against his muscular thighs as he stares down at your hardwood floor.

"What about chemo?" You ask him as you take a step closer, still a little unsure.

"No point."

"Surgery?"

"Inoperable."

"How do you know that?"

"That's what the doc said."

He hasn't looked at you since he said the 'c' word, almost as if he's ashamed to admit it, as if there's some part of him that thinks you'll think less of him for being vulnerable, for being human.

You sit beside him on the couch, measuring your next words. "And you just listened to him? Took his word for it?"

"Yes? What else was I supposed to do? Why would he lie about something like that?"

You nod for a second, quietly contemplating the entire situation. Well, you were, until you decided to get angry again. The pomegranate beaded pillow comes down hard against Mark's unprotected shoulder with the force of your swing.

He looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise. "What the hell was that for?"

You bring it down hard again, and he shifts up off the couch to get away from you, but you follow, chasing behind him and brandishing the pillow.

"Stop! What are you doing?!" Mark holds up his hands moving around the back of the couch with you in close pursuit.

"I can't believe you! You're just sitting back and letting this take you? You who are the most stubborn man I've ever met in my entire life is giving up?!” You shriek, going in for another swing that Mark dodges. 

"I am not giving up! I'm still working!"

"Oh good. Glad to hear that you're recklessly throwing yourself into your job. What a typical Meachum move." You hit him again.

"Stop it! I am not-" Mark huffs out a breath, holding one of his arms up to protect his face. "What else are you suggesting? It's fucking cancer!"

"Then we find you a new doctor!" You shout.

"What?"

"We get a second opinion!"

"But what if-"

You swing the lumpy purple pillow in an ungraceful arch to hit him in the shoulder, hoping to knock some sense into him because someone had to.

"No! ifs! We keep trying to find a solution. Until we find a doctor that understands that Mark Meachum isn't just going to sit on his ass and let something like this beat him! Mark Meachum is not going to go quietly into the night damn it!"

He's looking at you like you're crazy and maybe you are. Maybe you care way too much for the man who has annoyed you to death all night long, but you don't care. All you cared about was him, even if he didn't want to be more than friends or whatever the fuck the two of you were, you weren't going to let him sit and wallow like a jilted bride.

There's irony in there somewhere.

"I cannot believe that you would just sit back and-" You begin to say, but you don't get far.

Mark's body crashes into you, tackling you back against the leather couch so fast that you don't have time to take a breath. The pillow tumbles from your hand onto your hardwood floor.

His mouth molds against yours, lips soft and urgent, his beard burning pleasantly against your cheeks.

"Mark what are you doing-"

"I've never understood how you do that."

"Do what?" You breathe.

"How you seem to know exactly what to say to make me lose my damn mind." His thumb rubs over your swollen bottom lip. "Fuck, each time I come here you always kick my ass into gear. I don't know what it is, you're like a damn unicorn."

Emotion builds in your chest as he stares down at you. "Mark I'm being serious, I can't do this to myself again. I-"

"You won't have to." Mark murmurs, brushing his lops back against yours so earnest, so differently than all the other times he'd kissed you that it pulls the air from your lungs.

It's like muscle memory the way he feels on top of you, the rough grate of his stubble rubbing against your cheeks, your heels locking behind his waist as he makes a home for himself between your thighs, and your hands coming up to hold both sides of his cheeks as if you never wish to let him go.

The rational part of your mind has gone silent, the animal released from it's cage as you lose yourself in everything Mark is. His body is hard and unyielding where it rests on top of yours, his hands trailing fire across your chest and down to your hips, finding the familiar curve of your thighs where you've trapped him in. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that you echo, the only thought in your mind fueled by the fear of losing him.

Because it was there, anchored just under your heart where you'd hidden it for the past nine months while you tried to ignore how much you thought about him.

He pulls back, large hands tight on your waist, thumbs moving in soothing circles around the curve of your pelvis. Mark's green eyes have gone dark, pupils so wide that you're not sure what's the stormy green and what has faded to black.

"You really don't care?" Mark breathes.

"Care about what?" Your hands cup his cheeks, gaze urgently searching his and trying to find some clarity. "You? Of course I care about you. I wish I didn't."

"No." He shakes his head with a painful smile. "That we'd have an expiration date?"

"Like a dairy product? A best if used by? Those aren't exactly the most reliable."

The joke makes him chuckle, the vibration of it working up through his chest, dragging along your own nerve endings where he's pressed against you. "You don't think it's a waste of time?" Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes, something that you'd never seen before.

"No." You shake your head, thumb stroking across his cheekbones as you pull his face down to yours once more. "Not if it means that I got to be with you. Having all the time in the world is overrated, plus I'm sure that you’d annoy me to death way before you kicked the bucket."

"Somebody has to."

His lips meet yours again, hands dragging down your curves in a way that makes you gasp and arch upwards into his chest while working your fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck to pull him impossibly tighter against you, wanting to drown in everything he was, afraid to let him go for even a second.

"Will you go out with me?" Mark whispers against your lips.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going!

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90

@kmc1989

[champagnepoets]

Declassified Masterlist

Summary: Politics is a game that requires secrets, just like love.

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Tropes: CampaignStaff!Reader, politics, boss x employee, opposites attract, romance, fluff, idiots in love, pining, age gap (he's over 100 years old), separate warnings in each chapter

Chapter 1 : Working overtime has its surprising moments.

Chapter 2 : Actions have consequences.

Chapter 3 :  It’s a skill to remain calm in stressful situations.

Chapter 4 : Everyone has their bad days at work.

Chapter 5 : Crushes can happen out of nowhere.

Chapter 6 : A hug can mean many things.

Chapter 7 : Alcohol leads to honest promises.

Chapter 8 : The first day of work can be stressful.

Chapter 9 : Some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Chapter 10 : Self-doubt can appear out of nowhere.

Chapter 11 : Some dances look more than just friendly.

Chapter 12 : Having a high pressure job has its consequences.

Chapter 13 : Anything can happen at a barbecue.

Chapter 14 - Coming in August 1 or 2

Headcanons

[champagnepoets]

fuck babe you’re so hot when you’re just ink on paper

[champagnepoets]

✨ Masterlist - HOE ✨

His only exception

His only exception Pt. 2 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 3

His only exception Pt. 4

His only exception Pt. 5

His only exception Pt. 6

His only exception Pt. 7 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 8 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 9

His only exeption Pt. 10 18+ only!

His only exeption Pt. 11 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 12 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 13

His only exception Pt. 14 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 15

His only exception Pt. 16

His only exception Pt. 17 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 18 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 19

His only exception Pt. 20

His only exception Pt. 21

His only exception Pt. 22 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 23 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 24 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 25

His only exception Pt. 26

His only exception Pt. 27 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 28 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 29 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 30 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 31

His only exception Pt. 32 18+ only!

His only exception Pt. 33 18+ only!

[champagnepoets]

Soldier Boy Fic Recs List 2

@lilacliquors - how solider Boy falls in love with a reader and confesses his love to her

A Christmas Carol by @thesilmarillionblog - Along with other team members and their infants, Soldier Boy and you decide to spend Christmas at Butcher’s house with your three children. He has to act nice.

After The Ticker Tape Parades by @wayward-dreamer - Soldier Boy returns home for war to several celebrations.

Aftermath by @deanbrainrotwritings - she’s human and ben wants to push her limits, fuck anyone else who got in the way of his mission.

All I Wanna Do by @deanbrainrotwritings - aka. part 2 of jump on into the fire. in which she finally makes a decision about ben’s previous offer to start a family together.

Attention by @lila-lou - Ben is always distant in public—you’ve come to expect it. But at Annie’s birthday party, his detachment stings more than ever. With a little push from Frenchie, though, Ben makes it clear that there’s no one he wants more than you.

Bad Dream by @eclecticqueennerd

Bad Mouth by @syrma-sensei - ben wants to netflix and chill with you but on his way.

Break Me Down by @zepskies - You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

breeding kink by @lilacliquors

Checkerboard by @zepskies - You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.

Different World, Different Words by @syrma-sensei - ben’s trying to fit in this fucked-up, new world.

Distractions by @that-sarcastic-writer - You’re Soldier Boy’s assistant and you’re trying to prepare things for an upcoming premiere, but he has other plans. And he really wants your attention.

Earn It by @angelbabyyy99 - You hated Ben. His crappy personality, the whole nine yards, but you couldn’t help being attracted to it. (x Curvy!Reader)

Enrapture by @wayward-dreamer - Y/N is a P.A on the Solid Gold music program, and is excited for Soldier Boy’s appearance. She hopes to catch his attention for a few seconds, but doesn’t expect him to take such an interest in her.

Far From Innocent by @wayward-dreamer - Y/N’s life is quite simple. She’s engaged to be married in a few months, she has the easiest job at Vought American, and she stays out of the drama or away from rumors she’s heard around the office. An encounter with Soldier Boy, Vought’s most respected hero, quickly changes all of that and she soon realizes that there’s more to life than what she’s settled for. (Set in the 50s)

Father Material by @wayward-dreamer - Curiosity from the public and media has Ben expressing his dream to be a father. Y/N wants to make his dream a reality.

Feral Cry by @holylulusworld - He wants only you…

Feral Love by @holylulusworld - He wants only you…

French Mistakes and the Like // I Notice All Too Well by @mishapocalypse - The relationship that you have with Frenchie isn’t perfect-everyone can tell. When Soldier Boy takes an interest in you-the others can definitely notice all too well.

Frequency by @previousloversandmuses

G.B.A. by @impala-dreamer - Spend the 4th with America’s first and greatest superhero

Green by @zepskies - Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

Happy Little Family by @fandom-chic - When Vought asks the unthinkable, you are forced to play house with certified psychopath Soldier Boy. Your life (and dignity) may be at stake, but something about him draws you in.

Happy New Year, Soldier Boy by @kamisobsessed - Annie and Hughie invite you and the other members of ‘The Boys’ over for a New Years Eve party. You and Soldier Boy don’t always get along. When the New Year is about to ring in, you don’t have anyone share a New Year’s kiss with, but Soldier Boy changes that. (x Female!Reader)

Headcanon: Valentine's Day by @waynes-multiverse - Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine’s Day?

Home by @syrma-sensei - ben’s discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

Hot Under The Helmet by @syrma-sensei - fucking his wife is the best way to ease his mind.

Hush Hush Behind the Shield by @syrma-sensei - being america’s greatest hero’s wife has its perks, but they don’t come for free…

I’ll Be Home For You After Christmas by @mishapocalypse - A phone call you never expected to receive leaves you broken. However, some things can be done better a second time.

In the Dark by @zepskies - You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

Jump On Into the Fire by @deanbrainrotwritings - ben liked her more than he thought he did, more than he’d ever admit to her or himself.

Lesson Learned by @zepskies - There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

Losing You by @thesilmarillionblog - Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy’s secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Lost In Translation by @zepskies - Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? (x Female POC!Reader)

Lost On You by @zepskies - 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

Love Actually by @zepskies - Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

Loving Soldier Boy... by @pamwritessometimes - Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

More Than You Could Ever Know by @godmadeaterribleerror - A No Love Lost Christmas Special! Takes place about five months after the end of No Love Lost, sort of an epilogue to the main story. (x Supe Female!Reader)

New Blood by @wayward-dreamer - The executives at Vought American are enamoured by the new supe at the annual shareholders party, hoping to make her a new addition to Payback. Soldier Boy isn’t pleased with the idea, as he’s the only one who gets to decide who joins his team. He tells her this fact, and braces himself for a fight, but gets something much better out of their encounter.

New Years Eve by @fandom-chic - Corporate parties are usually the worst. However, when you meet Solider Boy, the night takes an exciting turn.

No One by @justwhisperingfantasies (x Female!Reader)

Not Exactly Babysitting by @magicalqueennightmare

Oh Baby by @junobarnes - You let it slip that you want a baby and Soldier Boy just can’t resist.

Open Wounds by @negans-lucille-tblr - Soldier Boy sets his eyes on a new project – one that takes an interesting turn.

Pillow Talk by @wayward-dreamer - After a stressful meeting lead by Stan Edgar, Y/N looks forward to her other weekly meeting that is far more enjoyable.

Presents & Gingerbread by @lila-lou - Ben has little interest in the season’s traditions but keeps up with the wrapping and decorations just to see you happy. Still, it didn’t take long for him to draw your attention away from the preparations, making it clear that you’re the only thing he cares about.

Rugrats, Pool, and Grilling Techniques by @syrma-sensei - soldier boy is surprisingly an amazing family man.

Sleigh Ride by @zepskies - Yet again, you convince Ben to indulge you in a new Christmas tradition.

Smokey Snuggles, Zero Struggles by @syrma-sensei - Request: laying in his arms while he smokes

Sorry… Not Sorry by @deangirlsstuff67 - You work with the boys to fulfill Butchers mission. Your family, like MM’s, were killed by Soldier Boy. The only difference, you aren’t mad about it. Your family was terrible and you constantly suffered at their hands. When you all find Soldier Boy, you offer to be his babysitter, only your attraction for the older supe might be too strong to fight.

Strong As Blood Part 1 by @zepskies - After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out?

Strong As Blood Part 2 by @zepskies - After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out?

The Time We Lost by @fandom-chic - 40 years have passed since you saw Soldier Boy. Yet here he was at your door. With so many things having changed, will you two be able to withstand the modern world?

This One’s For You by @zepskies - Late one night, finding no other recourse, Ben sings to his infant daughter to help her sleep.

Too Sweet For Me by @luci-in-trenchcoats - Seventeen year old Y/N isn’t thrilled when she finds out her father is somehow Soldier Boy and she’s now meant to live with him… (Daughter!Reader)

Two Ways To Love Him by @wayward-dreamer - There were certain things about the supe she didn’t want to accept, they were surprisingly two things love about him.

Unholy by @the-lone-writer94 - Reimagined story based on the motel scene in the Herogasm episode. Whilst Soldier Boy is adjusting to being back, he is currently holed up in a motel as he awaits for Butcher and Hugie. However, something comes up and Butcher needs someone to watch Soldier Boy. Which comes in Jessica, she’s a private investigator, she’s hot-tempered and tough, will she and Soldier Boy be able to be in the same room as each other? Because even she can’t deny that Soldier Boy is hot. (x Female!OC)

Unpunishable by @eepwtf - soldier boy boarding school au! x catholic boy (Soldier Boy x Male!Reader) [*personal note: just excellent, excellent writing imho]

Until Morning by @zepskies - A quiet moment between you, Ben, and your newborn daughter.

Wake Me Up by @zepskies - A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

Wanderlust by @zepskies - Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

When Reality is Worse than the Lies they told Me by @kickingitwithkirk - The Boys have come to hide out with you.

Wishing You a Merry Christmas by @ask-paralaxis - Soldier Boy surprises Reader at work when her boss doesn’t let her off for the holiday.

Your Name in Lights by @venus-haze - All eyes are on Soldier Boy’s new movie, especially after his leading lady drops out just as filming starts. An aspiring starlet with a few supporting roles to your name, you’re offered your big break when Vought unexpectedly chooses you to replace her. Stardom finds you almost overnight, but your rocky relationship with Soldier Boy eventually eclipses your career, and you have to decide how you want your legacy to be defined.

[champagnepoets]

you don’t know me

pairing ⋆ spidey!luke castellan x gn!reader au. fluff with a bit of angst. friends to lovers.

synopsis ⋆ spider-man appears at your window for help, and accidentally reveals his identity.

warnings ⋆ blood descriptions, stitching, swearing, stranger danger tbh, bit dramatic(?), kinda rushed i apologize | wc: 2.5k

a/n ⋆ i hate the ending of this so feel free to not read it😭😭

♫ - jackie and wilson by hozier

1:33am

it was hard trying to stay awake at this time, sound of the rain against your window and the soft snores of your roommates made it was easy to focus on closing your tired eyes instead of looking over all the notes scattered on your desk, it seemed nothing could stop you from drifting off to the peaceful place despite the thought of your sore neck in the morning from being slouched over your desk, but three taps against your window made your eyes shoot open.

he regretted it immediately, as he watched your head rise from the desk, but what else could he do? he gripped his side as he watched you mumble to yourself at the sight of spider-man on your fire escape, but you quickly opened the window.

“what the fuck?” you whisper at the sight, the heavy rain began to cover your window sill and floor but you didn’t even notice.

“hi, um i know this must seem very odd..” the superhero in front of you trailed off as you let him in, “shit, i’m bleeding on your carpet.”

“what- oh shit!” you gasp, noticing the giant gash he gripped on his torso, without a second thought you grabbed his hand and dragged him into your private bathroom, pushing him to sit on the toilet as you rummaged in your cupboards, as you pulled out a first-aid kit, you rummaged for supplies, “can i ask why the hell spider-man is bleeding in my bathroom right now?”

“i- i lost a lot of blood, i wouldn’t have been able to make it to my place in time.” he lied, “not to sound creepy but i saw your light on and.. and i needed help.”

“can you take the top half of your suit off?” you ask, washing your hands, as if you hadn’t even acknowledged what he had said. he nods, unzipping the back and removing his arms from the sleeves, letting the suit rest at his waist, his mask still hiding his identity, “this will hurt.” you warn, even though he had definitely experienced worse than a wound being wiped down.

but still he winced, clenching his jaw, as you realized it wasn’t just a cut, he had been stabbed.

“thank god you stumbled across a med-students dorm.” you mumble to yourself, trying to lighten the mood as you get ready to stitch his side together, as he went to laugh at your comment he was interrupted by a groan of pain emitting from his throat.

“i know it hurts, but try to be quiet. if you wake clarisse, my roommate up, she will not make this situation any better.” you say, luke holds back a laugh knowing it was definitely true, he bites down on his lower lip as you stitch him up. luckily it was a shallow cut,.

you worked in silence, occasionally broken up by strewn out swears and winces from the superhero, biting your lip in concentration. as you tied together the final stitch you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“okay, the hard part is done.” you informed him, wiping down any excess blood that stained his skin.

“thanks.” he mutters weakly, moving to adjust his posture but immediately freezing as pain shoots up his body.

“stay still.” you say, “i still have to bandage it.” pulling out medical tape and gauze out of your medical bag, he felt as your hands occasionally slipped off the white bandage and touched his stomach. the pain almost subsided as the feeling of your fingertips burned into him. wrapping the bandage around his torso and taping it down you lean back on your knees, letting out a sigh.

he focuses on you as you stand, washing blood off your hands in the sink before cleaning up your supplies, you glance at him catching him staring, as he pretends to admire your bathroom as if he hadn’t been in here before.

“um-“ he clears his throat, “sorry for bleeding on your floor.” he mentioned, guilt evident in his voice.

“s’okay, i didn't like that carpet much anyways.” you say, which was a lie. luke remembered vividly how happy you were to get what you called, ‘the best rug ever’ for your room, his brows furrow.

you lean back against the bathtub, letting out a sigh, he goes to move but you nudge him with your foot, “don’t go just yet, won’t be good to swing on new stitches.” you explained to him, as he leaned back against the back of the toilet.

his breathing was sharp and inconsistent as his stomach stung in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, “the only thing i have for pain is like advil and tylenol. i don’t know if that helps with stab wounds though.” you spoke up, he shakes his head in response.

“i’ll be fine, just- just need to catch my breath.” to which you nodded in response.

“can i get you water?” you suggest, quickly standing as a ‘please’ is heard from under the mask, him suddenly noticing the scratchy and dry feeling of his throat. you rush out the room, tiptoeing into the kitchen to grab water for the superhero, as you return and hand it to him, you spin around so he can remove his mask.

his face was red as he watched you carefully, slipping his mask above his nose to gulp down the glass. scared you’d spin around to discover it was your friend bleeding out in the bathroom.

but you didn’t, as he pulled the mask back down and placed the cup on the counter, is when you turned and returned to your spot on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest.

he begins to shuffle uncomfortably on the toilet, breathing harder as his back slouched and his body tensed. the bandages felt tight on him, as he resisted the urge to rip them off, he was quickly distracted as you kneeled in front of him, placing your hand on his exposed wrist.

tingles shot up his body at the feeling of your skin against his again, it felt so odd, knowing he had hugged and brushed past you so many times but this was different, every touch had him blushing as butterflies flew around his stomach, he didn’t know you felt the same way, but with luke, not spider-man.

“control your breathing, your pulse is out of control.” you breathe, your pointer and middle finger pressed against his wrist feeling his pulse.

he began to focus on your breathing, watching as your chest rose and fell while you seemingly seemed focused on the wall of the bathroom. he quickly matched his breathing with yours, sitting up straight as your hand pulled away from him.

“thank you, for helping me.” he stammered, suddenly self conscious of his voice, how hadn’t you recognized it?

“i mean, what else was i supposed to do? there was a superhero at my window sill.” you scoff in disbelief, “it’s fine, i mean, it’s the least i can do for you keeping me- uh new york, safe.” you clear your throat, staring at your hands that rest atop your knees. “can i ask you something?”

his throat dries, “yeah?”

“i mean- obviously don’t answer if it’s too personal or gives away your identity, but.” you tilt my head, “do you like… live a normal life during the day? or are you always spider-man?” you ask cautiously.

he pauses to think about his answer, narrowing his eyes at you, “oh yeah, i-i do have a normal life during the day.” he confesses, the hand that grasped his stomach moves to scratch the back of his neck.

“cool.” you reply, stopping yourself from question him farther.

“you aren’t asking any questions,” he stated quietly, almost in disbelief. as he spoke, he shifted his attention to your face. “i was expecting some like freaked out reactions. but you’re... you’re really chill about this.”

“you have a secret identity for a reason, i wouldn’t want to ruin that for you. you keep the city safe, and that’s all i need to know.” you shrug in response, staring at the white eyes of his mask.

“i mean it’s so crazy.” you say randomly, causing his head to tilt in confusion, “i’ve thought about it before you know, imagine one of my friends was a masked superhero.” he tenses, knowing that in fact it was true, “like my friend luke, he’s always disappearing at random moments.” his eyes widen but you don’t notice because of the mask, chuckling to yourself at the thought.

“yeah, imagine that.” he murmurs in response, suddenly very sweaty in stress.

“how’re you feeling?” you turn your attention back to him.

“still hurts a lot, but i should go now.” he explains, his hand on the counter to steady himself as he stands, “again, thank you so much.”

you walk to the window, opening it and helping him climb out onto the fire escape, “again” you repeat him, “it’s the least i could do.”

4:56pm

you yawn as you open the door revealing luke castellan, bag swung over his shoulder and hair messy from the wind, he gave you a lopsided smile, “ready to study?”

you shake your head as he enters your apartment, “i was studying all night, barely got sleep.” you respond, leading him to your room.

he just nods his head at you in response, cheeks growing hot, sure you were studying, before his alter ego stumbled through your window.

as he walked into your room, he immediately took notice of the spot of your carpet that had been rolled over, to cover the evidence of the blood stain. his stare lingered there, before quickly collecting himself to sit on your bed.

“i made these flashcards for you last night.” you break the silence, holding up pastel green cards, “ready to be tested, castellan?” you tease, plopping onto the bed and leaning against the headboard as he takes his jacket off.

“oh bless you for those.” he praised, comfortably laying down at the end of your feet.

“just admit i’m your favourite person.” you giggle, he rolls his eyes before encouraging you to begin.

thirty minutes past as you tested him, reaching the end before you would swap over, “alright” you clear your throat, “next- luke?” your gaze drifts up from the card.

“yeah?” he asked, waiting for you to continue.

“you’re bleeding.” you point at his shirt, he looks down to find his blue t-shirt slowly bleed red, dripping down his side. immediately, he reacted by pressing down as hard as he could against the wound, a small whimper escaping his lips in the process.

“what-“ you cut yourself off, to look up into his eyes, eyes widening in the process “no fucking way.”

he tore his attention away from his wound, blood seeping into your bed sheets, “i-“ in a flash you’re up from the bed, cards spilling onto the floor as you yank him up causing him to yelp. he sits down on the toilet as you rummage for the first aid kit, again.

“take off your shirt.” you demanded, and despite the surprise this brought him, he didn’t resist. he removed his shirt almost immediately, revealing the bloody coated bandages.

you stared at his chest, the fact that it was the exact same as spider-mans made you wanna scream, but you held back, removing the bandages and staying quiet to patch him up, too scared to speak.

luke stayed silent, staring at you with sad eyes, praying you would forgive him. he winced every so often at the sting of you restitching some stitches that came loose, and rewrapping his stomach with fresh gauze.

your lips pursed together as you washed your hands, refilling the same cup from last night with water and placing it beside him before walking off into your room. luke quickly tugs hair shirt back on, ignoring the blood stain and the pain that shot up his body at the sudden movement, before going to stand in front of you in your room, “i’m sorry.” he whispers.

“you could have died, and it would have been my fault.” you remarked, “can you imagine? spider-man dies in my bathroom and i take his mask off to reveal my best fucking friend.” you scoffed, tears covering your waterline.

his expression softened, as he nudged your foot with his, “but i didn’t.”

“but you could have!” you yell, shooting up to stand in front of him, “jesus luke, this is what you’ve been doing all year? this is why you disappear all the time?” he stares at his shoes as you rub your forehead.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, a sad expression covering his face, as he blinked rapidly, “i’m sorry for putting you through that. i didn’t mean to worry you.”

“you-you’re spider-man.” you gasp out, in disbelief. your hand clutches your chest as tears roll out onto your cheeks. his hand brushes your bicep as you flinch.

“yeah… yeah i am.” he sighs, guiding you to sit back down on your bed, “i wish i hadn’t come here last night but- i wouldn’t have been able to stitch that up myself.” he sighed as you sobbed into your hands.

“you could have died.” you choke out, repeating yourself before falling into his side, almost on instinct he wraps his arm around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. he knew you wouldn’t respond well if he had ever told you, but he hadn’t thought about how you would feel to him almost dying in your bathroom.

“i’m okay. i promise.” he breathed into your hair, but you just shook your head in response, unable to respond as you tried to catch your breath.

“i don’t care if i am fast asleep, if this ever happens again, you come to me luke, i stitch you up.” you begged, looking up to him teary eyed.

his gaze softens looking at you but nodded in response, “okay, i promise.” his hand hovers over you neck, “i didn’t want to put you in danger or worry you. i would have told you. i was also scared you wouldn’t… wouldn’t look at me the same” he whispered.

“you’re still luke castellan, i still will like you no matter what, you just… you scared the shit out of me.” you sputtered out, not thinking about what you were saying to the boy in front of you, his body tensed.

“like me?” he asks, brows furrowed to see if you meant as friends or.. as more. he got his answer as he watched your eyes widen slightly and you began to stutter, “you… you like me?”

“what- no i meant-“ you shake your head so hard he thought it might spin off, and so he took his chance. the hand that hovered over your neck held your face still as he connected his lips with yours.

you found yourself unable to kiss back in shock, he heats up in embarrassment as he began to pull away, which brought you to your senses as you pulled him back down to press a soft kiss against his lips.

he pulled away for air, leaning your foreheads against each other.

“i can’t believe i accused you of being a secret superhero, while infront of you last night.” you mumbled, as he just laughed in response and shook his head.

“i promise to be more safe, just for you.” he said, leaning in to peck your lips.

[champagnepoets]

Hiii!!! If your requests are open could you do an injury fic with Luke and a Persephone reader? Where she gets hurt during capture the flag or smth like that and this man starts stressing even if he’s on the opposite team and didn’t know what was going on when she got hurt?

luke castellan x daughter of persephone!reader summary: you get hurt during capture the flag and luke gets worried wc: 885

Luke Castellan is very particular about his capture the flag team, and everyone at camp knew that, which is why it came as a surprise when you and him were on separate teams.

When asked, he would just say that the two of you had decided to have a competition on who could create the better capture the flag strategy, but it was deeper than that. The two of you had a small fight because you felt that he never let you help with the strategy enough, and you felt like he never really let you in on the combat. It was almost like he thought of you as a delicate flower, and when you brought it up, he got irritated, telling you that he wasn't trying to control you, he just didn't want you to get hurt.

You'd gotten mad and stormed out, and now neither of you knew where you stood, and preparing for capture the flag against him wasn't helping at all. The few days leading up to capture the flag were some of the most hostile days each month, and this time was no exception. It may just be a camp war game to some campers, but to others, especially your teammate Clarisse, this was a big deal. Clarisse was always rude and quite hostile towards your boyfriend, but it was worse than ever now.

You and Clarisse were an unexpected duo, but you two had a special connection, considering each other your best friend, so when you told her what happened between you and Luke, she was pissed off, to say the least.

"Thanks for telling me that, I'm gonna hand his ass to him on Friday," she said, running her hand along your arm, trying to comfort you to her best ability.

"Thanks, Clarisse, I can always count on you if I want someone to get beat up," you joked, making her laugh.

The next few days went by quickly, you and Clarisse rigorously training with each other and going over your plan as co-captains. You'd always loved being on the same team as Clarisse before you started dating Luke, and now you finally got to be again.

On the day of capture the flag, you and all the campers headed into the forest, getting into your positions. The game began, and you and Clarisse charged into the other team's territory.

As a daughter of Persephone, you had the ability to manipulate certain plants, which was helpful, especially at camp, because you could control almost all of the plants that were there. Unfortunately, with great power comes a great ego boost, which you fell victim to.

You and Clarisse were basically wiping the floor with your opponents, when you got caught up in your head, confidence overflowing, and tried to create a longer vine, accidentally tripped over it, and fell right into the sword of the camper you were fighting. Luckily, you had managed to move your body so that you didn't get stabbed anywhere fatal, but you did get an incredibly deep cut right under your ribcage, which caught the attention of Clarisse. Seeing you injured fueled Clarisse's rage, and she quickly finished the fight.

Immediately, she picked you up bridal style, rushing you through the woods to the infirmary. She passed by Luke, and at first he ignored it, but then he did a double take after realizing it was Clarisse, and saw you in her arms, blood soaking through your orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. Even though he was in the middle of a fight, he booked it in the direction the two of you were heading, now full of worry.

He finally caught up to the two of you, surprised at how quick Clarisse was. When Clarisse caught sight of him, she cracked her knuckles and gave him the dirtiest look you had even seen in your life. You bit back a laugh.

Luke rushed up to where you were sitting on the bed.

"Baby, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay," he said, voice filled with desperation.

You gave him a pained look, gesturing to the large blood-soaked bandage covering the left side of your abdomen. "Well, I have a near fatal hole going through my side, but other than that, I'm great," you say dryly.

"C'mon, don't be that way. I'm sorry for what happened last week, okay? But see, this is why I'm so protective. I can't let anything happen to you, I don't want to lose anyone else," he whispers, eyes glazed over.

At this point, Clarisse is long gone. Knowing her, she probably left because she couldn't stand to see you and Luke being all 'lovey dovey,' as she calls it.

"Well... yeah. I guess I see your point. But I still think that you should let me help more, please."

"Okay, you're right. I know you're perfectly capable, I'm just scared. I've lost too many people and losing you would be too much to handle, so please be more careful, okay?" He eyes your bandage, giving you a grimace.

You respond by pulling him down to your face by his shirt, and give him a sweet kiss, which he reciprocates almost immediately. It almost made you laugh how quickly he kisses you back, even though it happens every time.

[champagnepoets]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader)

PAIRING: CHARLIE WEASLEY//YOU

PLATONIC: Fred Weasley/You, George Weasley/You, Bill Weasley/You (if you squint) Interested in Bill Weasley instead?

And I could see you being my addiction/You can see me as a secret mission

Summary:

After witnessing your cousin's beautiful and picturesque wedding on the shores of Nice, France, you return home with some sort of nuptial fever. And you aren't even afflicted by the worst of it. Your mother, Narcissa Malfoy, is consumed by the thought of you walking down the aisle. Your father, Lucius Malfoy, is no different (albeit less gentle).

Getting your parents off your back proves no easy task, and in typical (Y/N) Malfoy fashion, you get yourself in a predicament with your smart mouth. Now, you have to find a boyfriend in two weeks. With slim pickings, and a first-choice in Bill Weasley out of commission, his younger brother, Charlie Weasley falls into your lap. Almost. Literally.

Will this task of fooling your parents be as easy as it written on Romanian parchment, or will Charlie's hot and heavy demeanour ruin everything - you included?

A/N: Someone asked for more Charlie Weasley love and I had to answer to it. As you can see, I am easily persuaded. If you haven't read long hair & tattoos (Bill's version of this trope), please do. I imagine Charlie to be more flirty, forward, physical and way more devious early on, so here's hoping it'll manifest in this series. I hope you'll enjoy the callbacks to long hair & tattoos, and the subtle references!

Tags: romance, faking dating, no-Voldemort-AU (the Malfoys are still awful though).

Warnings: slight age gap, sexual innuendos, tropes galore, nudity, pureblood politics, smut, sex or descriptors of sex (indicated by *) minors DNI!

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

23, still crazy (updated September 8, 2023)

faster we're falling (updated September 19, 2023)

in too deep (updated October 5, 2023)

boys in the blue (updated October 25, 2023)

electric politics (updated November 1, 2023)

partners in crime (updated November 29, 2023)

partners in contract (updated December 31, 2023)

tea time (you’re so vain) (updated February 9, 2024)

the passenger seat* (updated March 22, 2024)

you don't own me (updated April 03, 2024)

winter wonderland (updated May 31, 2024)

mister & missus (weasley) (updated December 02, 2024)

lasting impressions (updated March 06, 2025)

the loneliest hour

the best of me

[champagnepoets]

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

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 - 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝚈

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

word count: 7.2k

warnings: none.

taglist: @its-jennarose

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

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

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

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

After that, it was war.

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

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

You had nothing in common, except for one thing:

You both hated to lose.

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

You drove each other mad.

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

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

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

And that’s exactly what you did.

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

But dragons? Dragons had always fascinated you.

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

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

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

Charlie bloody Weasley.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

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

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

Your blood pressure spiked.

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

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

You stared at the parchment. Then at him.

“I must be cursed,” you muttered.

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

You wanted to throw him into the nearest dragon pit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hadn’t stopped smiling since.

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

You froze, eyes shooting up toward the sky.

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

A dragon was loose.

You dropped the clipboard.

“MOVE!” a voice bellowed.

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

“What the hell—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d miss me,” you snapped.

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

Without hesitating, he turned to you.

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

“I know how to bring down a dragon—”

“Then prove it, Princess.”

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

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

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

It dropped lower—unbalanced, but not down.

“Again!” Charlie yelled.

“I know!” you snapped.

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

The world went quiet.

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t say you did.”

“But you tackled me.”

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

You narrowed your eyes. “You liked that.”

A pause.

Then that damn grin. “Maybe a little.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

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

You hated him.

You really, really hated him.

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

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

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

You called it luck.

Charlie called it “a job well done.”

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

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

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

God, you hated him.

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

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

You rubbed your temples and cursed under your breath.

Of course, it was tonight.

And of course, it was with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t watching the skies.”

“I always watch the skies.”

Another pause.

The fire popped between you.

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

You blinked. That threw you off.

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

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

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

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

You sat in silence, heart pounding.

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

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

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

Charlie looked at you then—really looked.

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

“You never looked scared,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

But of course, things never go as planned.

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

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

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

The hatchling survived.

But just barely.

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

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

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

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

You knew better.

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

Charlie wasn’t watching the baby.

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

But Charlie wasn’t looking at the baby.

He was watching you.

And Merlin help him, you looked beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

His jaw tightened. “Wasn’t dopey.”

“Definitely was.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then paused.

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

Charlie swallowed, voice quieter this time.

“You’re really good with them.”

You glanced up, surprised. “The dragons?”

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

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

He gave a half-smile.

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

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

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

He didn’t miss any of it.

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

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

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

You froze, lips parting slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

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

He smiled. “What if it’s both?”

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

Neither of you moved.

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

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

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

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

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

You pulled back first, eyes fluttering open.

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

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

You stared at him.

Then smiled.

And kissed him again.

No one ever said a kiss could rewrite history.

But that one did.

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

Because after that moment in the hatchery… everything changed.

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

But the shift was obvious.

He started showing up at your feeding shifts even when he wasn’t scheduled. You started saving the last of your coffee rations for him without thinking. When you bickered now, it was gentler — more teasing than sharp. He touched your back when you passed, and you leaned into it. You shared gloves when you couldn’t find your own pair. You ate together, worked together, moved like two pieces that had been fighting the connection for too long.

People noticed.

Some of the handlers joked that you two were “finally acting like adults.” Others watched warily, waiting for the next explosion. But it never came.

What came instead were quiet mornings in the hatchery, long walks between pens at dusk, and soft glances across the firepit when you thought no one was looking.

Charlie kissed you again the next night — slower, surer — behind the training post when he thought you were mad at him for burning your lunch. You weren’t. You just wanted him to admit he missed you.

He did. Easily.

He always did now.

The invitation came on a Thursday morning, tucked in with the feed reports.

You recognized Fleur’s elegant script before Charlie even flipped the envelope open.

“Bill & Fleur’s Wedding

The Burrow — August 1st

Formal Attire

Bring someone worth dancing with.”

Charlie raised a brow. “Think I qualify?”

You shrugged. “Depends on how good your dancing is.”

“Good enough to keep you from stepping on my feet.”

You smirked. “You’re assuming I’m saying yes.”

He leaned closer, that grin you hated (but now secretly loved) spreading across his face. “I always assume you’re saying yes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Fine. But if you drop me mid-spin, I’m setting your robes on fire.”

“You’re actually coming?” Charlie asked, peeking his head into your bunkroom.

You were tossing clothes into a trunk. You’d just folded your black dress robes and were digging for your heeled boots when he appeared.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said. “You invited me.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He scratched his neck, suddenly shy. “This is my whole family. My mum. All my brothers. It’s going to be loud. And ridiculous. And full of questions.”

“Charlie,” you said flatly, “I worked in a Slytherin common room for seven years. Your family’s not going to scare me.”

That got a laugh. A soft one.

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you for a moment before asking, “What do I call you now?”

You turned. “What?”

He shrugged. “I mean… you’re not just ‘my co-handler’ anymore. Are you?”

You stepped toward him slowly, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “You’re asking what label to use when you introduce me at the wedding?”

Charlie gave a half-smile. “I’m trying to avoid getting hexed by Fred for calling you my ‘work friend.’”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Hmm… how about ‘the girl who used to hate me and now falls asleep on my shoulder every other night’?”

He grinned. “Not quite romantic enough.”

You leaned in. “Then you’ll just have to kiss me in front of everyone and let them figure it out.”

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth brushed yours with that warm, careful certainty you were still getting used to. The kind of kiss that made your knees feel traitorous and your chest feel safe.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re going to regret bringing me to this wedding.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because every single one of your brothers is going to want to know how the hell you pulled me.”

Charlie grinned, all fire and freckles. “Let them wonder.”

The Burrow was buzzing by the time you arrived.

Chickens scattered as you stepped out of the Floo with your trunk, nearly tripping over an enchanted bouquet that zoomed past in a trail of glitter and flower petals. Music played faintly from the garden. The air smelled like sugar, summer grass, and some kind of magically-reinforced stress.

The Weasley wedding prep was in full force.

And you were right in the middle of it.

Charlie brushed soot off your shoulder and gave you a crooked grin. “Welcome to the madness.”

You blinked up at the chaos. “This looks like it’s already been hit by three howlers and a small tornado.”

“Probably accurate.”

Molly Weasley was already halfway through scolding George for charming the centerpieces into snitch-shaped firecrackers when Charlie led you into the kitchen.

“Mum,” he started, “this is—”

“Oh, you must be the dragon girl!” Molly cried, wiping her hands on a towel and rushing toward you. “He’s said so little, but I’ve heard plenty! You’re absolutely lovely—look at those cheekbones! And you work with dragons, honestly, you poor thing. Aren’t they terrifying? You need feeding? We’ve got fresh rolls and treacle tart—”

“Mum, breathe,” Charlie interrupted, hand gently landing on your back.

You were… stunned.

In all your years of Hogwarts gossip and pureblood politics, you had never been met with this kind of warmth. Not without strings. Not without judgment.

You smiled slowly. “I’d love some treacle tart.”

Charlie’s lips twitched into a smile while Molly beamed at you.

Later, after dinner, you stepped out onto the porch with a butterbeer in hand. Charlie had gone to help Arthur wrestle a rebellious fairy light string out of the attic, and you were enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

Until you heard them.

“…That’s her?” Ron whispered.

“She looks nothing like I pictured,” Harry replied, equally quiet.

“Charlie said he hated her in school,” Ron said. “Like, full-on hated. Said she once cursed his broom mid-match.”

“She did,” you called out without turning. “He was being an arse and I had excellent aim.”

Silence rang through. You turned slowly, eyebrows raised.

Ron and Harry were frozen like schoolboys caught stealing gillywater.

You took a slow sip of your butterbeer.

“I’ve got better aim now, if you’re wondering.”

Harry held up both hands in surrender. “We meant it in a good way! Just… you’re kind of legendary. At Hogwarts, people called you the Slytherin Princess. No one ever thought you’d end up with a Weasley.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

Ron made a face. “Well, you were always sort of… terrifying.”

You smirked. “Still am.”

“But in, like… a fit-Charlie-perfectly kind of way,” Harry added quickly.

You eyed them both for a second longer, then turned back toward the orchard path. “You lot were more tolerable when you were scared of me.”

Behind you, Ron muttered, “Still kind of am.”

After the rehearsal dinner, you wandered into the garden alone. The fairy lights Charlie helped hang sparkled in the trees, casting a warm glow over the benches and the freshly-swept dance floor.

You heard his boots before you saw him.

He joined you without a word, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he slid his arm around your waist.

“How bad was it?” he asked.

You leaned against him. “Your mum loves me. Your brothers think I’m scary. Harry and Ron are convinced I once plotted your murder.”

Charlie snorted. “Did you tell them you did?”

“Obviously.”

Then, he spoke again - voice softer: “You okay?”

You turned to look at him, your fingers resting gently against his chest. “Yeah. Just not used to people looking at us and knowing.”

His hand cupped your cheek, warm and steady.“Let them look,” he said. “They don’t get it. They don’t know what it took.”

You smiled faintly. “They don’t know that I used to dream about strangling you with your own tie.”

“And now?”

“Now I just think about kissing you to shut you up.”

Charlie grinned, pulled you close, and did exactly that.

The day of the wedding bloomed warm and golden, as if even the sky had been invited.

The Burrow was unrecognizable — transformed by swaying white tents, floating floral arrangements, and soft spells that kept the breeze just cool enough to feel like a blessing. Music hummed from nowhere and everywhere. Tables sparkled with charmed champagne glasses. And above it all, a heavy feeling pulsed in the air — the kind that came when something good was finally happening in a world that hadn’t seen enough good lately.

And at the center of it all was you.

Hair swept up, robe deep green and fitted like armor softened with silk, dragon claw necklace just peeking from beneath the neckline — you weren’t exactly trying to draw attention.

But you did.

You stepped out from the house just as the first guests arrived, and the whispers started immediately.

“She’s with Charlie?”

“Wait — is that the Slytherin girl who hexed Roger Chapley's broom in fourth year?”

“I thought she hated him?”

“Didn’t she duel him once?”

“Pretty sure she threatened to set his eyebrows on fire.”

“Honestly? Goals.”

And then Charlie appeared, straightening the cuffs of his dark brown dress robes, hair pulled back, freckles glowing under the sun — and walked directly to you without hesitation.

You smirked at the corner of his mouth. “You’re late.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

Your heart flipped — partly because of the words, and partly because he meant them without even blinking. It was so easy now. The pretending was over.

He slipped his hand into yours and brought it to his lips.

“Ready?” he asked.

You squeezed his hand. “More than.”

You sat beside Charlie at the front, arms pressed close, fingers linked beneath the tablecloth like teenagers hiding something thrilling.

Fleur looked breathtaking. Bill looked like he’d already won the world. The vows were soft and glowing, the kiss was met with cheers and fireworks, and the moment the music kicked in, the real chaos began.

Fred and George opened the bar. Ginny charmed butterflies into the punch. Ron stepped on Hermione’s foot during their first awkward dance, and Harry nearly choked on a canapé shaped like a Snitch.

And through it all — Charlie barely left your side.

You danced with him. Talked with his brothers. Avoided Percy. Teased Ron. Sipped firewhisky. Laughed until your sides hurt.

And you let yourself feel it.

The joy. The belonging. The way Charlie looked at you like you were it.

You and Charlie found yourself on the dance floor later that night. It wasn’t your first dance together that night — but it was the one that mattered.

The music had softened. The lanterns glowed low. The sky was streaked with stars.

Charlie reached for your hand without a word, led you gently onto the grass under the fairy lights, and pulled you close.

Your arms wrapped around his neck. His settled at your waist.

You swayed in silence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you murmured against his shoulder.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the first thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice soft.

“Because you are.”

Your breath hitched. You’d always thought love would come fast, fierce — like how dragons fell. Sharp wings, roaring fire. A battle.

But this… this felt steady.

Like a storm that knew your name.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, and everything else — the chatter, the music, the world — faded.

Just you. Just him.

And finally, peace.

[champagnepoets]

U write for Charlie!!!!! I wanted to request one where him and reader are getting married at the burrow (honestly that man wanted to elope but molly guit tripped him) and they're doing the whole "not seeing the bride before the wedding" but he just can't help but sneak up to readers room

Before the Vows - Charlie Weasley

word count: 1.5k

i am absolutely SMITTEN OVER THIS OMG thank you for the request!!

If it were up to Charlie Weasley, you’d already be married.

In fact, if it weren’t for Molly Weasley clutching her pearls and swearing she’d disown him if he dared to elope, he’d have married you barefoot in the Romanian mountains with nothing but a dragon and a bottle of firewhisky as witnesses.

But here you were. At the Burrow.

On your wedding day.

“Charlie, no, you can’t go up there—”

“She’s just one floor away—”

“That’s the point!” Ginny hissed, stepping in front of the stairs like a human barricade. “It’s bad luck!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “You believe in that sort of thing now?”

“Today I do,” she said, arms crossed. “Because if Mum sees you sneaking into the bride’s room, she’ll combust.”

He snorted. “She combusted when I said we didn’t need monogrammed napkins. What’s one more fireball?”

“Charlie—!”

He leaned down slightly, softening his tone. “I just want to see her. One minute. That’s it.”

Ginny groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You Weasley men and your dramatic romantic streaks…”

But she stepped aside.

“Five minutes,” she said. “And if Mum asks, I’m blaming you entirely.”

Charlie grinned and kissed her cheek. “You’re a saint.”

“I’m an enabler,” she muttered.

Your room smelled like lavender and parchment. A breeze filtered through the cracked window, carrying the scent of wildflowers and Molly’s garden. Somewhere below, someone was setting up chairs and tripping over a gnome, judging by the string of curses that floated up.

You sat by the mirror, hair pinned up, half-dressed in your wedding robes. There was still time before the ceremony. Enough time to pace. To re-check your vows. To worry about whether or not Charlie had put his dragon-hide boots in storage like you’d asked.

You hadn’t expected the soft knock.

And you definitely hadn’t expected him to slip in and shut the door behind him with that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye.

“Charlie!” you gasped, spinning around.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“You’re not supposed to be in here!”

“I know.” He smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But I missed you.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s been seven hours.”

“Too long.”

Your heart melted a little.

“Ginny let you in, didn’t she?”

“Eventually. She threatened to hex me with something pink and glittery, though.”

You turned back to the mirror, trying to ignore how good he looked — his shirt collar slightly askew, his tie half-done, freckles standing out like constellations against his tanned skin.

“You’re ruining the tradition, you know.”

“I know,” he said again, stepping closer. “But you’re ruining me, so I figure we’re even.”

You blinked, thrown off by the softness in his voice.

Charlie was rarely poetic. He was blunt and warm and loyal, but he didn’t speak in flourishes. Which is why, when he said things like that — low, quiet, real — they hit you like a firework to the chest.

You turned to him slowly.

He was staring at you, eyes scanning your face like he was afraid he’d forget it.

“You’re not even in your robes yet,” you said gently.

“I’ll put them on,” he murmured. “But I had to see you first. Before all the noise. Before Mum cries and George says something inappropriate and Percy starts giving out seating instructions like it’s a Ministry meeting.”

You walked to him then, resting your hands on his chest. “Are you nervous?”

“Not about marrying you.” His hands found your waist, rough palms warm even through the thin fabric of your robes. “Just about getting through the ceremony without Mum launching into some story about my nappy years.”

You laughed softly, and he leaned in to press his forehead to yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The house creaked softly around you, and somewhere downstairs, Molly shouted something about someone forgetting the ring cushion. The usual Burrow chaos. But up here, it was still. Soft.

“I was going to wait until we were standing in front of everyone,” he said, “but I need to say it now.”

You looked up at him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than dragons. More than flying. More than quiet mornings in the mountains. Being with you feels like…” He trailed off, brows drawing together as he searched for the right words. “Like I’m home. And I’ve never really felt that before.”

Your chest tightened. “Charlie—”

“And I know you said you wanted the full thing — the cake and the music and the toast Fred’s probably going to ruin—”

“You said you wanted to elope,” you teased.

“I do want to elope,” he grinned. “But I also want to make you happy. Even if that means wearing stupid shoes and eating salmon rolls and letting Mum pick the table linens.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “You’re making me very happy right now.”

A pause.

“Even though you’re technically breaking the rules?”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“We are having a honeymoon after this, aren’t we?”

You kissed him, smiling against his mouth. “Deal.”

Another knock jolted you both.

“Charlie, I swear to Merlin if you’re still up there—” Ginny’s voice called through the door.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I’m going.”

“One minute!” you called, laughing.

Charlie kissed your cheek, then your forehead, then hovered just an inch from your lips.

“See you at the altar, love.”

You nodded, fingers brushing his.

And then he was gone — slipping out the door with one last look that said everything his words didn’t have time for.

You stood there for a moment after he left, heart racing, face warm, everything suddenly feeling real.

You were marrying Charlie Weasley.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[champagnepoets]

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Female!Reader.

• Requested by anon: Reader is a nurse and while she’s on duty someone man from the or goes crazy because he wants to be threaded immediately and she tries to calm him down, but he loses his mind and with a pocket knife he has he accidentally hurts her cutting her on her face after which he’s escorted out by the security. Connor and reader are together and as soon as he hears about the incident, he run to her all worried. He cleans her wound.

• Warnings: brief mention of blood, wounds, use of knife, curse words, let me know if I missed something.

• Word count: 3453.

• A/N: it’s been a while since I post and I hate how this turned out bye, please have mercy on me, university is kicking my ass and I have to study for my last exams so I’m trying to write something between lunch break and during the evening. I know it’s not so good 😭 but beside that I missed you all so much, I hope you’re all aright ❤️

A sudden noise caught your attention, making you turn your head towards the entrance of the ER.

The morning seemed relatively quiet, there were patients in the waiting room, doctors and nurses doing their normal work.

You looked around before heading towards the waiting room where you had heard the commotion and noticed a man standing in the middle of the room, a pocket knife in his hand that he was waving vehemently. He was completely out of his mind.

“I want a doctor! Now!” He shouted while all the other terrified patients started running away..

“Sir, put that knife down! Right now!” exclaimed the security guard.

“I’m fucking sick! I want a doctor right now or I’ll kill you all!”

“Sir please,” you spoke in a calm and gentle tone, taking small steps towards him, your hands clearly visible to show him you weren’t a threat, that you wouldn’t do anything to him.

“Y/Ln please stay back, I’ll take care of this,” the guard spoke but you didn’t listen. You couldn’t just turn around and walk away as if nothing was happening.

“I’m a nurse,” you continued while keeping your gaze on the enraged man, “How about you put the knife down and I call a doctor right now? You could come with me to one of the rooms while a doctor comes to examine you.”

“Stay back you bitch! I want a doctor now!” he shouted even louder than before and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Despite your outward calm, your heart was pounding with fear, especially when the man continued to wave that knife around like it was a toy. You mentally breathed a sigh of relief as you saw the last patient had run away.

“Sir, can you tell me your name please?” You continued. “Do you have your medical records with you so we can take a look at it?”

He approached you in a threatening manner and you spontaneously took a few steps back before the guard stood in front of you to protect you.

“I just called the police, you have five minutes to leave or I will have you arrested immediately.”

At those words the man seemed to get even angrier, something you hadn’t even thought was possible. You let out a scream as the man threw himself on Dave – the guard – who was taken by surprise and got hit.

You only realized what had happened afterwards. Only when you saw Dave’s white uniform shirt turn red you realized he had been stabbed.

You didn’t know what was going through your mind at that moment. You only knew you wanted to get that man off of Dave.

You lunged at him, trying to grab the knife from his hand, which allowed the attacker to take his attention off Dave for a moment, though to your detriment, since it ended up on you.

You screamed as he fell on top of you. Your hands tried to keep his arm away from you but you couldn’t stop him from cutting your cheek.

It burned like a motherfucker but it wasn’t the time to think about the pain, not when that bastard was about to kill you.

“Hey! Get off her!” You heard voices shouting and mentally sighed in relief when you no longer felt his weight on your body. You immediately moved away from him, sliding further back on the floor as you sat up, only to see Will and other doctors and nurses holding the man down and injecting what you assumed was a sedative into his arm.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Y/n! Oh god are you okay?” Will asks immediately after walking over to you and helping you up.

You nodded. “Dave… He was stabbed…”

“They already brought him in. He’s on his way to the OR.”

You looked over to where the guard had been lying and only then you realized he was indeed gone. When had they taken him away?

“Are you okay? You hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

Will’s eyes widened as he focused on your cheek. “Shit, you’re not fine. He cut your face.”

You touched your cheek and when you looked at your blood-stained fingertips, you remembered that he had actually hit you.

“It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.”

“Rhodes is going to lose his shit,” Will muttered in a low voice as he looked at your wound. “Come on, I’ll disinfect it. It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches.”

But Will was right.

Connor really lost his shit.

After years it was no secret you two were together. Everyone knew how protective he was of you and this had often sparked jokes, pranks and teasing from your friends who did nothing but mock him for his overprotectiveness.

He was in the OR closing up a patient after a routine surgery when he heard the interns murmuring something.

“What are you whispering about?” He asked, not being able to make out what they were saying.

“Uhm…” One of them cleared their throat, “We heard there was an attack in the ER, a man with a knife went nuts.”

Connor’s eyes immediately snapped to them, the forceps and suture in his hand frozen, almost about to fall, and even though most of his face was obscured by his mask, his eyes quickly showed his emotions.

His first thought was you.

He knew you were on duty that morning and he couldn’t help but let his nerves heat up.

“Was anyone hurt?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and his hands steady as he finished stitching up the patient. There was no need to freak out. You were fine, if anything happened someone would’ve called him.

“I don’t know how many people, I just heard that a security guard was injured but they’re already treating him, he should be in surgery right now.”

Connor nodded, his throat tight as he concentrated on finishing the surgery. He tried to keep his focus solely on the patient because even though the surgery was almost over, the patient deserved nothing less than one hundred percent of his attention. He couldn’t afford to be distracted since complications were always around the corner.

“Someone page Nurse Y/Ln,” he ordered, his eyes on the patient as he stitched even though his mind was racing. He needed to hear your voice, to know you were really fine.

No one answered and there was a moment of silence. It was only a moment but to him it felt like an eternity.

“Now!” He raised his voice, letting the anger, worry, and crippling anxiety he was feeling shine through.

“Dr. Rhodes, we already tried to page her but she’s not answering,” a nurse said fearfully, terrified of his reaction.

“Fuck,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “Someone go find her then instead of standing there like idiots!”

Everyone exchanged a look and the intern who had spoken earlier immediately left the OR, running towards the emergency room. The entire hospital knew how much he doted on you, how he lived for you only, how much he loved you, how crazy he was for you, so they were all holding their breath while waiting for some kind of update.

Silence reigned in the OR, Connor didn’t bother to show the residents what he was doing, he just kept stitching the patient.

His voice was flat, almost like a robot, his hands was steady, his back straight, but only he knew how anxiety was twisting his stomach almost making him threw up. “Keep page her, I want to know where the hell my fiancée is!” was all he exclaimed.

“Nothing yet, doctor.”

“Dr. Blake went to check and he’ll be here shortly, but just take a breath, everything will be fine,” a nurse allowed herself to say and he looked up to glare at her.

“That’s my fiancée we’re talking about, my future wife, it’ll be fine only when I hear from her,” he spat venomously and she nodded – not wanting to contradict him when he wasn’t thinking clearly – before he turned his attention back to the patient.

He hated this situation.

He wasn’t giving his full attention to the surgery and he hated that.

Please god let her be okay.

Only five minutes had passed since the intern had left but to him it seemed like years went by and only when he saw him return he momentarily breathed a sigh of relief.

Everyone’s faces were covered by masks but Connor only had to look into the intern’s eyes, even if only for a couple of seconds, to understand the news weren’t as good as he had hoped. He knew that look, he had used it hundreds of thousands of times to communicate unpleasant news to the patient’ families.

“Where is she?” he asked abruptly, alternating his gaze between the intern and the patient.

“She’s fine sir, doctor... She...” he paused briefly and sighed, “She was slightly hurt, but she’s fine, I swear she’s fine... She’s alert and only has a small wound. She asked me to tell you to stay calm and just focus on the surgery…”

But Connor didn’t hear anything that resident said except those three words.

She was hurt.

You had been hurt.

“Fucking hell.”

“The attacker has been sedated and handcuffed to the bed and they’re waiting for the cops,” he continued, trying somehow to reassure Connor. “Dr. Rhodes, seriously, it’s just a small graze I saw it and she’s fine you understand? She’s fine.”

He didn’t answer.

He was silent for the rest of the surgery, not saying a single word.

But as soon as he was out of the OR, Connor literally flew to the emergency room, his cap still in his hand.

He needed to see you, he needed to know you were actually fine.

“April, where’s Y/n?” he asked as soon as he got to the nurses' station.

“She’s okay, Dr. Rhodes...”

“Where the hell is my fiancée?!” He cut her off abruptly, raising his voice and not even letting her finish her sentence. He didn’t mean to be rude but he was out of his mind in that moment and didn’t care about anything or anyone that weren’t you.

She pointed to trauma room one and he ran there before she could say or do anything else. He jerked the closed curtain open and his heart stopped when he saw you sitting on the bed.

“Baby…” he breathed out as if he had taken a breath of oxygen for the first time after hours when he realized – even if it took him too many endless seconds in his opinion – that you were actually fine, you were awake, alert and looking at him with a scared expression.

“Connor, baby, I’m…” you started but it was as if he was in a state of shock. Connor seemed to have realized that Will was there only after endless moments and that he was taking care of the wound on your face.

“Will, I’ll take care of it now, thanks,” he spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. Will nodded, realizing it was time to leave the two of you alone, and tossed away the gauze he was using to clean your wound before leaving the room, closing the curtain again.

“Baby I swear I’m fine, it’s just a little scratch…”

He came closer and before he could say something his arms were already around your body and he was holding you close to his chest. He hugged you so tightly as if it was the first time in years that he saw you again.

He felt your arms return his hug, rest on his back and caress him gently and it was only then that he had finally regained some sense.

You were fine, you were really fine.

You were hugging him.

But he was about to collapse on the ground, his legs feeling like jelly.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered while his lips print kisses at the top of your head, deeply inhaling the scent of your shampoo as if it was oxygen and he had been deprived of it.

“I don’t know who that man was. He just… He really was out of his mind, he wanted immediate care and he wouldn’t listen to anyone. Everyone run away. We tried to calm him down but he had a knife… Dave was hurt…” you finished the last sentence with a sob, bursting into tears there in Connor’s arms, your lifeline and right that second, as he held you, you knew everything would be alright.

“Where is he? I’ll kill that son of a bitch with my own hands,” he furiously retorted and started to move away from you but you held him back by his uniform. “No, no, no please baby… Please don’t leave me, stay here with me.”

You looked at him with those big eyes of yours, filled with tears, a destroyed expression on your face and Connor held you again, squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to stay calm and not go crazy.

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere, I’m not leaving you okay? I’m here with you. It’s okay my love, you’re okay, Dave also will be okay too,” he kept whispering as you cried in his arms.

“I was so… I was so scared…”

His heart tightened with pain as he heard your voice broken by tears. Very few other times in his life he had been so angry and all of those the times were about his father or something that had happened to you.

“I know baby but it’s over, you’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you again you hear me? You’re safe,” he kept whispering, trying to keep a sweet and calm tone even though he was shaking so much he was about to have a seizure.

He couldn’t even imagine what you felt in those moments, how scared you felt but despite this tried to stop the attacker. He hated knowing all this was happening a few steps away from him, he hated he hadn’t been there to protect you.

God only knew how he would’ve killed anyone on this planet just to prevent a single scratch from scarring you.

He pulled away from the hug and literally felt his stomach twist on itself when he saw the cut on your cheek. He stroked your hair gently, trying to calm you down.

“You were so good and so brave, I’m so proud of you baby you know that right?” He kissed your forehead, a small smile gracing his lips as he looked into your tear-filled eyes.

You nodded.

“But I’d rather you let someone else with experience do this job okay? I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt, please promise me.”

“I promise.”

He kissed your forehead again, his eyes closed for a moment and stayed in that position for a while as if trying to convince himself it wasn’t just a dream.

“Now, let me take care of your wound is it okay?” He continued and you nodded. He disinfected his hands and put on some gloves.

He tried to stop his fingers from shaking but he couldn’t, he tried to convince himself it was over but he just couldn’t. It was as if his mind couldn’t really thinking about anything that wasn’t the fact he really risked to lose you, that you might’ve been in Dave’s place, that son of a bitch might’ve taken away from him.

He took a deep breath, turning his back to you so as not to make you worry even more than you already were.

Connor approached you again and gently took your face in one hand, turning your head slightly so he could observe the wound. Luckily it wasn’t deep, it didn’t even need stitches, but that didn’t make him feel any better. It was just a reminder he wasn’t there to protect you.

“It’s going to sting a little.”

“I know baby, don’t worry.”

He could feel your eyes on him as he tried to stay focused and disinfect your cheek, but he didn’t look back, he knew he’d break down and you didn’t need that after what you went through.

His free hand rested on your healthy cheek as he drew imaginary circles on your skin, completely involuntarily.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

He let out a small sigh before sightly stepping away and turning his back to you. His fingers were shaking and he felt terribly guilty for being the one to have that reaction, because you were the one in that horrible situation, you were the one who had faced that crazy guy and you were the one who got hurt.

But he was the one who was at risk of losing you and the thought of it took the air from his lungs, it made him unable to breathe.

Was it dramatic? Probably yes. But he didn’t care. Knowing something had happened to you was destroying him.

“Baby, hey, talk to me.”

Your sweet and gentle tone made his eyes fill with tears, but he didn’t want to cry, not right there in front of you. He felt your fingers curl around his, as if to encourage him to turn towards you again.

“C’mon, look at me,” you spoke again when he continued to pretend to look and analyze your wound.

He then met your eyes, full of concern, and he couldn’t hold back any longer, letting a tear escape down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be the one crying,” he tried to ease the tension. His heart exploded when you smiled at him and placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that had escaped with your thumb.

“Look at me carefully, okay?” You urged. “I’m fine, love, nothing happened…”

“I know, I know,” he smiled through silent tears, “But it literally hurts my heart to know you are in danger, even if it’s just for a second. God baby, you really don’t understand how much my existence depends on you, how much I would give my life just for you to be safe. I would die if anything happened to you and…” He sniffed. “T-the fact I wasn’t there to help you and protect you… It makes me feel so sick I can’t breathe.” He put a hand on his chest, right there where it hurt so bad. You put your hand on his as the other one continued to wipe away his tears. “I was so fucking scared.”

In response you tugged at the collar of his uniform and kissed him, both of you tasting the saltiness of your tears. “I love you so much Connor, god, I love you so fucking much. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered against his lips and he kissed you again till both of you couldn’t breathe, before pulling away and hugging you again.

“I love you so much more.” Connor rested his cheek at the top of your head as he held you, constantly leaving kisses on your hair and being especially careful not to touch your bruised cheek. “I swear, I will lock you in a cellar and throw away the key for all the heart attacks you give me. How the hell do you always end up in these situations?”

You let out a small laugh, relieved that he had calmed down. “Faults of being an ER nurse, you always meet crazy people.”

“Well I’ll ask to change your department. How about gynecology? Oh wait, dermatology is even better.”

You pulled away from him, tilting your head slightly so you could look him in the face. “I know you would never do that.”

He sighed, stroking your hair and drying the tears on your face. “No, but locking yourself in a cellar? Absolutely, I can’t die of a heart attack before I’m forty.”

“Look at you Dr. Rhodes, so worried about your fiancée.”

He gave you a fake glare. “I don’t play about you baby, I think I scared the crap out of the surgical team, they probably think I’m batshit crazy now. Worrying about you is an understatement.”

You giggle, imagining the way he was barking orders and shouting in the OR. “You’re really the best thing that has ever happened to me you know that right? I’m so glad I can always count on you.”

“Always baby, I’m always with you.” He smiled softly before kissing the tip of you nose. “How about we put a band-aid on this so we can get out of here?” He then kissed your forehead and you smiled again.

“Get out of here? But our shift isn’t over yet.”

“I’m sure Goodwin will understand the circumstances, I have no other scheduled surgeries and if they need a surgeon, Dr. Latham is available. I just want to go home and hold you until you’re out of breath. Plus you’re still shaking and I want you to rest.”

You slightly smiled again and nodded, without even thinking about it twice. “I’m in, Dr. Rhodes.”

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[champagnepoets]

Bucky Barnes in Thunderbolts* New Avengers’ end credit scene (2025)

[champagnepoets]

Smoke Eater || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read:

The Smoke Eater Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

Chapters:

Part 1 - Class and Style - Podcast Version!

Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester

Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me

Part 4 - Rocky Road

Part 5 - Twitterpated

Part 6 - Just Casual

Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle

Part 8 - Likewise, Baby

Part 9 - Do Not Disturb

Part 10 - Toil and Trouble

Part 11 - Heart of the Home

Part 12 - All in the Family

Part 13 - Boiling Point

Part 14 - Message in a Bottle

Part 15 - The Good Part

Part 16 - Break Down the Gates

Part 17 - The Real Deal

Part 18 - V for Vendetta

Part 19 - Sacrifice

Epilogue - Easy as Pie

Series Complete!

Bonus One-Shots:

Something Real** Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

(Want to listen to the podcast version? Keep scrolling below!)

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

Listen to Part 1 in podfic form!

(A "podfic" is where you can listen to the story narrated.)

(Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories)

Or listen to the official Idling in the Impala episode of Smoke Eater Part 1 on YouTube:

Or listen on Spotify.

Listen to the Idling in the Impala podfic episode of the sequel story, Something Real below:

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[champagnepoets]

Sparring.

Jasper Hale x vampire!reader

Summary: As Jasper teaches how to fight the newborns, the reader and Bella talk about her past.

Words: 1,551

Warning: vampire stuff, talk of death, cursing

Author's note: I can't tell if I love it or hate it but here you go anyway!

Masterlist <3

............................................................................

The famous silver jeep of the Cullen’s pulled up as she watched Emmett be thrown into the dirt. 

The entire family turned as Edward and Bella stepped out of the car.

As they walk to the family, so do the wolves. 

Each vampire held to their mate as they watched said wolves come out from the tree line. Soft growls came from their snouts from the obvious smell of vampires.

Jasper held on to her as they did so, his arms around her waist, his chest providing support against her back. 

Edward stepped to Carlisle, “They don’t trust us enough to be in their human forms.”

Carlisle nodded, “At least they came. That’s enough. Will you translate?”

Carlisle stepped towards the wolves, thanking them for coming before explaining that Jasper would be the teacher in this scenario.

Jasper’s loving mate smiled. She loved sparring as a family.

…

Some time passes and the girl now sits on the hood of the jeep next to Bella. She leans over, “I’ve always found this entertaining. Watching them,  I mean…”

Bella smiled as Emmett flew threw the air once again. “I did have a question, if you don’t mind me asking…?”

The girl nods, anticipating what the human could possibly think of to ask.

“Jasper knows a lot about this kind of thing… I mean… Why is that exactly..?”

His mate shifts slightly, not expecting that question. “Well, Bella. I don’t feel that I’m the one that should tell you. Perhaps you should ask him. It’s… a horrid story, honestly. I’m not sure he’d want it out there, you know?”

Bella nods, “yeah, right. I get it… sorry.”

The girl’s head perks up at the sound of her name being called by Carlisle. “Oh, shit. My turn to go. Watch me, Bells?”

Bella grins, “Of course.”

…

Jasper stood confidently on the dirt ground, his eyes trained on the person in front of him.

His pretty mate. 

She held the same look in her eyes. 

They had sparred many times before. And they were both quite good. He taught her practically everything he knows. 

The entire family gathered around to see how it would play out. Would they go easy on each other? Who would win?

It seemed the two held that look in their eyes as well as they tried to scope the other one’s thoughts.

Then he rushed her. 

They were both incredible to watch as if they were dancing. Their bodies seemed to always know what the other would do, even when changing their fighting style. It seemed the two lovers truly knew each other in and out. 

Eventually she slipped, and Jasper seized his opportunity, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him. 

Pulled against his body, her face was mere inches from him. The tension between the two rose as his gaze fell to her lips. God, he couldn’t resist her even when he was pretending to be her enemy.

And she was no better.

She focused on the feeling of his strong grip, his sturdy fingers wrapped around her seemingly delicate wrist. 

If they were alone, this sparring match would have escalated, like it usually does when they are so. But today, they simply stared at each other. Those who didn’t know them would assume they were calculating what the other might do next, but no. This family knew them quite well. And thank god no one else had Jasper’s gift, or the tension would bring a blush to their cheeks.

She gently leaned forward, their lips brushing. Jasper tilted his head down to receive her soft lips. But they never came.

She swept his leg out from under him, pinning him to the ground as she placed a knee on his chest. 

She leaned down to his face, whispering softly in his ear, “What was that you said? Don’t get distracted?”

He smiled, letting his head fall back against the dirt. 

She would be the death of him. 

And he would love it.

…

The sparring continued the next day as she found herself sitting next to Bella on the hood of the car again.

She watched Jasper as he sparred with an admiring look in her eye. She loved the Major with all her heart. 

Or, what was left of it anyway.

If it still pumped blood, she would be able to feel it beat for him.

“Do you mind if I ask you another question? A different one, this time?”

The girl nods, “Yeah, don’t see why not.” 

Bella looks down at the dirt. “Can I ask what happened to you? How you… how you got here?”

She felt a breath come out of her unused lungs, “Oh. Yeah. ‘Course. It’s… not a pleasant story but any means… are you sure?”

The human nods, “Please. I’m trying to understand you guys better.”

The girl leans back slightly, regaining her bearings. “Alright. Well… I was born in 1941. I uh, grew up in the 50s. Not the best timing, obviously. Do you know much about the ’50’s, Bella?”

The human’s head tilts back and forth in thought, “A little. Civil rights and stuff..?”

“Yeah. Well, the Korean War was in the 50’s. There was this military guy that fell in love with me. And I to him. But… we, uh… how do I say this? He was… we were…?”

Bella leans forward, “…what? Just say it.”

“Well, we were different skin tones. And.. well, I don’t need to say much more. Anyway, there was this other man that decided he liked me. He was pigheaded and awful. I hated him. He tormented me everyday. I finally told him about the man that-“

“-what was his name?”

The girl’s head perked up, “Whose?”

Bella met her eyes, “…the one you loved.”

A deep sigh left the vampire’s lips, “…Johnathan.”

Bella nodded, leaning back again to let the girl continue her story.

“I told the man about… Johnathan and… the man began to tell everyone in town. It became the only thing anyone talked about until eventually…. Eventually...,” the girl’s voice faded out in thought. “…I’m sorry. I haven’t told this story in so long…”

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

“Thank you… uh… the man formed a mob and approached us in the park one day. Johnathan tried to protect me. And he did. Until they… killed him…” the girl stared at the ground, a somber look in her eyes. “…and the man ended up being a vampire… he changed me and… well… yeah.”

Bella nodded, “How did you find Carlisle?”

“Oh. Right. Uh, I was on the run… after I changed. I actually ran into him. Well, he ran into me. He…. He stood to where I would crash into him, so he could talk to me. He knew everything. He took me in. And I met Jasper…”

Her eyes wandered back to Jasper. His sleeves were pulled up, exposing the skin of his forearms, and the scars that resided there. He was so strong. So perfect. Her knight in shining armor. 

Bella noticed the girl’s longing gaze and smiled to herself. “…how did you know he was the one?”

The girl turned back to Bella, “Oh. You just know, Bella. It’s… ugh, it’s this feeling you get in your heart. Like you’ve finally taken a breath after being underwater for years. Like your souls have intertwined and have become one. It’s… strange to put into words…”

Bella nods, “It sounds wonderful.”

She nods too, “Oh, it is. Edward feels that way about you.”

Bella looks up in surprise, “Really?”

She smiles, “Yeah. He told me that the day he met you. Like he couldn’t think around you. You… occupy all of his thoughts. You fascinate him.”

The human grins, “And that’s how Jasper feels?”

“-How I feel about what?”

Jasper had walked up to the two, a grin on his face. He leaned against the car on his side, his arm resting over his girl’s leg. 

His mate smiled, “Perhaps it’s none of your business… girl things…”

Jasper scoffed, “Sure, darlin’. Anything you say.”

Her hand reached up to run it through his hair. 

The three sat in silence for a while before the girl broke it. “I need to go back to the house. Help me down, Jas?”

He stood, reaching his arms out, gripping her waist to help her down. She was vampire. She didn’t need help. And they both knew that. 

Bella scooted forward, “Wait, before you go…?”

The girl turned around in Jasper’s arms. “…Yeah?”

“What happened to him? …To the guy that…”

The girl’s lips pulled up into a smirk. Her head turned slightly to look at Jasper’s face that held the same knowing smirk of his own. “Well, Bella. He… got what he deserved…” 

And with that, she walked away. 

Bella gawked slightly, now focusing on Jasper, hoping he could illuminate on the situation. 

But he continued to grin, watching his girl walk away. 

Eventually, Jasper felt Bella’s confused emotion and turned to her. “I made a vow not to kill after I met her…”

Bella’s eyebrows knitted together, and Jasper’s smirk grew into a grin. 

“…But I fucking killed him.”

And with that, silence overtook the forest as he continued to watch his girl walk away.

.............................................................................

[champagnepoets]

Bucky, unbuttoning shirt: God, it's hot in here

Y/N: Yes but why are you unbuttoning my shirt?