#i needed to post it already for the shake of my sanity

[deancaspinefest]

Books, Pies, and Roommates

Author: seidenapfel | Artist: Kit Shay

Posting on Sunday March 17

Everything seemed so easy when Castiel landed a job in Lawrence as a literature professor at Kansas University. He even found a place to stay with his cousin in Topeka, less than thirty miles away. But the daily commute quickly gets on his nerves and he begins looking for a little room in town. When he finally lucks out on a house, it comes with a catch. His mysterious landlord/housemate works and lives in Topeka during the week, and will only be in Lawrence for the weekend while Castiel is back at his cousin’s to honor a promise he made. When Dean walks into his favorite pie shop, the new sales assistant takes his breath away. Steve is gorgeous, and part of the owner’s family. Dean doesn’t even mind that Steve picks up Gabriel’s stupid moniker for him. After all, Deano has one syllable more, and Dean will do anything to hear Steve’s voice just a little bit longer. Though, as breathtaking Steve might be, he isn't Angel. If only Dean's book-loving best friend for over a decade weren't a mystery in himself — a guy who Dean has only met online, but who has slowly taken his heart away. And it seems that Dean isn't alone in his feelings. When the lines blur and fantasies merge three guys into one, disappointment and heartbreak seem to be inevitable.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“Dude! You did what?”

“I found you a new roommate,” Sam explained and Dean knew his brother was rolling his eyes. “As you asked me to.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Dean muttered. “And well, I did, but duh? Did you take the first one that came along?

The silence at the other end of the line was enough of an answer.

“Seriously? The first one? You pick the first Tom, Dick, and Harry that walks into my home?” Dean couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t even—”

“His name is Castiel. And he’s nice,” Sam cut in, defending himself.

Nice?

Before Dean could interrupt him, Sam continued, “So, get this, Castiel is actually in the same predicament as you are. He lives in Topeka, but teaches at KU and he’s already fed up with his daily commute to campus.”

“Castiel? What a mouthful of a name is that?” Dean grumbled.

“As far as I know it’s the name of an angel,” his brother answered calmly, taking none of Dean’s shit.

“Angel?” Dean huffed while another Angel came to his mind. Shaking his head to clear the thought away, he went on, “You telling me the guy is some religious weirdo?”

Sam laughed and Dean could literally hear another eye roll. “Don’t worry. I don’t think that should be a problem. Quite the contrary. He seemed very interested in our library. Or, more precisely, /your/ part of the library.”

Dean huffed. “That’s most of it anyway, dude.”

Groaning, Sam ignored him and went on. “I don’t think he realized how obvious he was when he skimmed through the titles of your collection of gay pulp.”

“Hey, it ain’t gay pulp, not all of it,” Dean protested.

“Pulp, romance, literature — whatever. You can’t deny it’s kinda gay.”

Dean laughed before teasing, “Just kinda?” Even though his brother couldn’t see him, he wiggled his brows.

“How would I know? I haven’t even touched half of it,” Sam backpedaled and Dean laughed even louder. “Somehow I need to keep my sanity,” his brother shot back. Then it hit Dean. “Wait, you showed this guy, this—”

“Castiel,” Sam offered helpfully.

“Whatever,” Dean snapped. “You showed him the library?”

“Dean, he lives there now. Of course, I showed him around. Besides, how do you think I should have hidden the shelves in the living room? You’re not very subtle with your interests.”

Subtle? Dammit, it was his home, for fuck’s sake. “Still, the library? And you let him stay? Alone at home?”

“Yes, because that’s what happens when you rent your house, dude.” Dean could see his brother’s bitchface in his mind. “Do I need to remind you that you were the one who asked me to take care of the viewings?”

“Goddammit, Sammy,” Dean grouched. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before giving in, “Yeah. Sorry. I did. But that didn’t mean that you decide who lives with me.”

“I don’t know. He just seemed… perfect.”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Sunday March 17)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: seidenapfel #artist: Kit Shay #Two Person Love Triangle #Roommates #Idiots in Love

[subtly-a-selkie]

I think I and lots of other people would really appreciate a part two of the Tadashi story? Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Here you go!! Sorry for the delay there was a slight dilemma on what perspective to put it in but i did my best! You can always request a specific perspective when you request if you prefer a different one. Everyone who showed any interest in a part two was tagged so please let me know if you would prefer not to be.

Word Count: 1800 ish (whoops)

Warnings: grammatical errors and weird formatting (even though it was written on my phone the formatting shouldn’t be that bad) slight angst (?) posted/written late at night so possible weird phrases

You fumble with the remote, switching through the channels in search of something--anything interesting. Anything that wasn't what was previously on to be honest, lately all the news could talk about was the fire and the loss of Professor Callaghan and student Tadashi Hamada. You did not want to think about that thank you very much. Finally settling on a news report about six new superheroes of all things, you go back to what you were doing which was giving the kitchen a much needed scrubbing.

After the news of Tadashi's death you shut down, not even managing to go to his funeral. Looking back on it now you figured that was for the best considering you hadn't yet been introduced to his aunt and little brother. Shaking yourself out of those thoughts before it became too much you aggressively scrub at the counter attempting to remove the crust that adorned it. Luckily for your sanity the kitchen was the last room to clean.

"Ew." you say to no one in particular, except maybe the cat that was making it increasingly difficult to clean the kitchen. The news story finished and switched to something else, and although it wasn't what the news had been obsessing over it did hit a little too close to home. You switch off the television and resume cleaning in a almost stifling silence, left alone with your thoughts and a very unhelpful cat.

Your house was so clean you could practically see little sparkles like the ones in cartoons and all you had to do is hang back up the pictures. You had an assortment of photos, a few of your cat as a kitten, some of your family and friends, and some of Tadashi. Some of the photos of Tadashi included you  and some were just him. You even had one of him, his aunt and his brother. You debated putting that one back up as it was slightly weird to have a photo of people you had never met. Tadashi was the one who had put it up in the first place. Your riveting debate with yourself is cut short by the doorbell and you place the photo with the rest.

You open the door and your eyes go wide with shock, although you had never met Hiro in person you certainly recognized him from the pictures and videos Tadashi would show you.

“Are you Y/N?”

“Oh! Uh yes… please come in Hiro.” You stumble over your words, mind rushing with questions on why he was here. Your eyes widen even further on seeing the giant marshmallow of a robot behind him.

“Baymax?” You realize that you are blocking the both of them from entering and quickly move aside, fingers worrying at the small necklace Tadashi had gifted you. “Oh! Sorry. Uhm. I didn’t expect you.”

“Baymax showed me the videos you and Tadashi had made.” Hiro replies gently picking up one of the photos of you and Tadashi that you had already put back. You both smiled at the camera, eyes lit up by the sun. Your nose was scrunched and your arms thrown around him and his hair was ruffled from the breeze.

“You were his girlfriend?” Hiro asks quietly.

“I was.” You pause and glance at him still holding the photo “That picture was taken at the beach, he loved to take me there.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” He asks more to himself than you. You could tell he was struggling with thoughts about his brother lying to him.

“He was going to tell you after you got into SFIT.” You say, your voice cracking. “I thought that you were having a hard enough time without having to deal with making room in your family for me.”

“Tadashi was reluctant to agree with your choice.” Baymax says causing you to startle, you had almost forgotten that he was there.

His torso began to light up and you and Tadashi come into view.

“Hiro was at another bot fight last night.” Tadashi said working on what seemed to be one of Baymax’s arms.

“I could tell.” You laughed gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You fix Baymax a lot more aggressively when he does.” The two of you stayed like that for a bit before you spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it Dashi?” You moved your hands forward, clasping them together and leaning against his back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He put the tools down and turned towards you so you were standing between his legs, kissing your cheek in return.

“I’m worried for him you know? i can’t protect him forever and once he gets older there will be real consequences for his actions.”

“He graduated high school at thirteen. He wants to keep learning and be challenged and bot fighting is what’s scratching that itch.” You smiled fondly “I remember you being the same way in high school although luckily I was horrible enough at math that tutoring me kept you from bot fighting.”

“I don’t think I would have ever turned to bot fighting. Even without you to ground me.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have, you had Hiro to take care of. You had to step into a father figure role and you weren’t able to do anything reckless when you had had him depending on you.”

“So I have two options, get someone for him to tutor or have a kid and die forcing him to grow up.” You laughed lightly at that.

“Or you could find something else to challenge him in a not illegal way.” You paused, prompting him to figure it out himself. “Something that is similar to the things he enjoys about bot fighting?”

“You’re a genius Y/N, thank you!” Tadashi exclaimed, pulling you down to his lap for a proper kiss. You smiled into it before pulling away.

“Being a genius is your job. I just know teenagers.”

“Even more of a reason for me to introduce you to him.”

“After.” You smiled brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“After he gets in to SFIT?”

“It be a bit too much for this big transition to happen and him needing to accept me into the family.” You paused. “After he settles.”

“You could help him settle! He’ll see you anyways because you’re here most of the time.”

“Okay.” You agree. “After he gets into SFIT.”

He kissed you again before you maneuvered yourself out out of your grasp.

“Go talk to him!” You said pulling him up by his hands.

“My lab is a mess.” He said in reply gesturing to the pieces of Baymax strewn about.

“I’ll clean it.” you shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do, my big test was yesterday.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed you again before leaving.

You began to clean when something on Baymax caught your eye.

“Oh! How long have you been recording?” You said to the robot. You smiled into the camera and spoke again. “Now don’t tell Dashi this but i went to go see Hiro bot fight a couple times. He’s got all this talent he just needs to focus it. I’m sure he’ll love it here, there’s all these resources for him to draw from and teachers that will be happy to teach him.”

Feeling around the camera you frowned, “Now where is that off button?” You evidently found it as the picture froze.

Hiro breaks the silence that had settled after the recording. “You came to watch me bot fight? How did you even find me?”

“There’s only so many illegal bot fights. It wasn’t too hard to find the one you fought at.” The silence grew and you speak again. “Would you like anything? I have tea and little cookies? Dashi’s favorite.” You quietly add “We can talk if you would like.”

“The little cookies sound good are they the chocolate ones?”

“Yes.” You smile faintly and invite him and Baymax to the living room.

“Tea can be very hot and dangerous. I shall accompany you.” Baymax states shuffling past you to the kitchen. Your faint smile grows at the memory that caused Tadashi to program that phrase and you follow after.

Returning to the living room with the tea and cookies you see Hiro looking at the pictures you had spread out. Setting the tray down on the table you sit next to him, smiling at the photo he holds. It’s Tadashi and a little girl about a year old, he was lying on the couch and holding her gently, one hand resting carefully on her back and the early morning light softly illuminating their faces. She was still asleep and clutching to his shirt, her pacifier that had been gently clipped to her light yellow onesie resting on his shoulder. He was pressing a kiss to the top of her head and his free hand was entwined with yours.

“Who’s the baby?” Hiro asks quietly and you smile at him.

“She’s my cousin. I babysit her when my aunts have date nights.” He places the picture back on the table and picks up another, the one of him, Tadashi, and his aunt. “That was Dashi’s.” You explain.

“Oh.” Hiro replies and lowers it back to the table, choosing a different one to hold. “And this one?”

You explain the story behind that photo too, and than another and another until you run out of pictures. Both you and Hiro are smiling at the end of your stories and he helps you find places to put them all.

“You should come see Aunt Cass!” Hiro says excitedly. “She would love you.”

“Are you sure she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t know I was dating Tadashi?” You question adjusting the picture frame of a photo of your cat when you first found her.

“I think that she would be upset that Tadashi never told her but not upset at you.”

“I’m the one who insisted on it.”

“Trust me that wont really register.”

“Okay.” You smile at him already feeling like he was your own little brother.

“Great let’s go!”

“Oh! Uh now?”

“When else?”

“I suppose we can go now I just need to put away the tea and-”

“Okay okay.” Hiro cuts you off “Just hurry up!”

People tagged <3

@sillyfreakfanparty

@katerinaval

@discount-izukumidoriya

@heyyo-peeps

@soleil-lei

@weigheddownbyfandoms

#tadashi x reader #tadashi imagine #tadashi hamada #bh6 tadashi #hiro hamada #baymax #big hero 6 x reader #big hero six #big hero 6 #bh6 fandom #san fransokyo #sibling bonding #i love you <3 #tadashi hamada x reader

[goodluckdetective]

Fic: Safe Ship, Harbored (Tumblr Edition) Chapter 1/3

Ship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: PG-13

AO3

Summary: 

Six months after Aziraphale breaks his metaphorical heart, he crash lands right on the hood of Crowley’s car.

In all of Crowley’s pathetic dreams about seeing Aziraphale again, he never thought this was how it was going to go.

Notes:

There comes a time when one must dust off their keyboard and write a fix-it, not because the scene needs fixing but because sometimes you need to provide some conflict resolution to tide you over. I'm posting this in fragments just for my sanity. I'm hoping to update once a week. I have 6k total, so there's plenty still there. The title comes from The Crane Wives song of the same name. Thank you to my Beta readers Rose and @the-moon-loves-the-sea on Tumblr.

Fic is below:

Six months after Aziraphale left Crowley for a bloody promotion, Crowley woke up in the Bentley to find a beam of light shining through the front windshield. 

Crowley didn’t need to sleep in the Bentley anymore: Shax had left him his apartment and Crowley was once again in the possession of a rather plush king sized bed. It was a nice bed, Crowley had actually gone to the trouble of trying out mattresses across London before manifesting the one he wanted in his own space. However, iit was also a bed Aziraphale once (platonically) shared with him the night after what was supposed to be the end of the world, and thus it carried some baggage. So every few weeks or so, when Crowley would wake from a nightmare and reach across for a sleeping angel, he would end up walking down to his car and instead sleep in the backseat. There was no room for two beings to rest in the backseat, and it smelled like his plants, which made it superior to stuffy angels.

The Bentley however, lacked curtains, which meant that when the sun beam shone down from the heavens at three in the morning, it also shone right into Crowley’s face. Crowley hissed, tongue forking, and wiped his hand across his eyes. By the time he had found his sunglasses, the beam was already gone, no sign that it was there in the first place except a cream coloured envelope on his dashboard. From the backseat, Crowley could see his name written on the back in fresh black ink. He knew that handwriting; how could he not? He had a box full of letters written by that same hand over the centuries hidden in his flat.

Crowley regarded the letter much like one would regard a skunk in their immediate vicinity. Part of him was tempted to go back to sleep and leave the letter for the morning, where he could visit a tavern after reading its contents to get drunk. Another part of him thought of setting it on fire, if only to make a point for Heaven’s newest top archangel that he wasn’t going to correspond in the form of heavenly post. And another part of Crowley, the part that was made of jagged torn edges that mourned over the hollow pit Aziraphale left with his departure, was desperate to read every last word. As if a simple piece of paper with familiar handwriting could even sooth even a fraction of that ache.

The last part won out, though Crowley took his time crawling from the backseat into the front. It was always a pain to change spots in the car without getting out of it or teleporting, but Crowley was still snake enough to take pride in fitting through small spaces. Once he managed to sit down, he reached out for the envelope with a hand that did not shake and regarded his name on the back.

Anthony J Crowley. Not Crawley, not “adversary”, not just Crowley but the full name he’d picked for himself. This letter had to be from Aziraphale alright; even if heaven could fake Aziraphale’s handwriting, they couldn’t fake enough effort to learn and use the actual name Crowley preferred. Crowley flipped over the letter and regarded the wax seal. The wax was a ruby red, and it reminded Crowley of the colour of those apples in the Garden. He rubbed his thumb over the front and hesitated.

After a few months of getting outrageously drunk, Crowley had made an effort to try to make a life outside of Aziraphale. That was what Nina and Maggie had advised him the last time he’d been in Soho, popping into their respective shops to check in on the bookshop without actually going inside. Maggie had handed him newspaper and tabloid clippings about recovering from bad breakups, which Crowley pretended to throw away but actually read. Nina, on the other hand, had taken one look at him sitting in his car and listening to “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac and told him he “needed to build some resilience.” 

It was pathetic, being fretted about by two mortals with only a limited understanding of his own problems, but Crowley hadn’t had the energy to resist their pushing. So he’d read the clippings, moved his things back into his flat and sought out to build something for himself for once, rather than for himself and Aziraphale. 

Crowley now owned a calendar that he sometimes used. He’d joined a community gardening group where people found his methods off-putting but not so much to be considered alarming. He reached out to Muriel (never in the bookshop, he refused to step foot into the bookshop) and sought to teach them the basics of passing as human less they blow occult beings cover for the next century. He’d even stopped by to visit Anathema for advice on blocking himself from heaven and hell, and spent twenty minutes complaining about inaccuracies of demons in some of her books.

It wasn’t a satisfying existence. He knew his many new connections were mortal, and like those mortal connections before them, would one day be taken away by Death themselves. But he wasn’t outright miserable most days, which was an improvement. He’d managed to turn the loss of Aziraphale from an open wound into a constant ache; always present but not always debilitating. Were Crowley to open this letter, he thought, he’d be ripping open the wound anew, letting in waves of fresh hurt with it. And for what? For Aziraphale to beg him to become Heaven’s choir boy? To receive instructions about how he needed to stay out of holy business? To read that he still had Aziraphale’s books about early astronomy and Azirapahle wanted them back? It really wasn’t worth it. He’d be far better off leaving the letter unread.

The problem was, well, Crowley had been the serpent of Eden for a reason. He’d always had a taste for knowledge. It was both his best trait and his most damming attribute. The tempter was weak to what it should not touch; questions, knowledge, Principalities. If he was going to break his heart even further, at least it would be on brand. 

With that thought, he opened the letter. The stationary was not the type Aziraphale favoured, too crisp with no texture. Crowley could practically smell the heaven on it; the office smell of starched suits and overpriced coffee. He unfolded it, smoothed it out and then began to read. 

It was less than six sentences. That was reason enough for alarm; Aziraphale would never write something in three words that he could accomplish in three paragraphs. He was only this brief under two circumstances; when he was furious and when he could not spare more time to write. As Crowley read, it became obvious this situation was the latter. 

If you have received this letter, I’ve failed yet again. I have no right, but I must ask one more thing of you and I implore you to listen.

Go to Alpha-Cebtarui. Or any star. Heaven is coming: please be safe. 

I’m sorry. 

Before Crowley was even done finishing the last line, he was starting the car and plotting the fastest way to get the entrance to heaven. He still had that outfit and sticker: it would work again to sneak in. If he needed to sneak in anyway; as much as Aziraphale had hurt him, he doubted he’d try to keep him out. Crowley would just go up, get this all sorted for the sake of his enjoyment of fine wine and whiskey, and then leave with as much of his dignity intact as he could muster. He pressed down on the gas and-

The Bentley for the first time in his century of owning it, did not move. Instead, the headlights shone into night and Queen’s Don’t Lose Your Head began to play. 

“Oh come on. Now is not the time to be throwing a fit.” 

The Bentley’s headlights turned off along with the engine entirely. The Queen, however, kept playing.

“Is this your way of trying to protect me? I’m a demon, I don’t have any dignity to save. Where was this level of protectiveness when I decided to drink three bottles of Jeppson’s Malort?”

The Jeppson’s Malort was a low point in his post Aziraphale sulk. After spending so much time stationed in London, Crowley had decided to leave the city where every location reminded him of soft blonde curls and a lovely smile, and do some travelling. Said travelling mostly consisted of hitting up bars across the world and drinking as much of their liquor as he could stand. The Malort, he’d encountered in a tiny hole in the wall on the Southwest Side of Chicago. After drinking three full bottles, he’d woken up in the Adler Planetarium, his drunken corrections of the stars' ages scrawled across the planetarium sky.  After that, he’d sworn off his tour and returned to London, where the grey clouds greeted his mood like an old friend. 

The Bentley still did not move. Crowley scowled, slapping his hand on the dashboard.  With his other hand, he waved the letter around.

“Look, this is important. I appreciate your concerns but I have self respect-“

The engine started with a low whine then stopped again. Crowley’s lips curled into a frown.

“Okay, I don’t, but I’m not going to let him walk all over me. He might be in real trouble and that means the world might be in real trouble. Do you want to try driving off road in space because if the world is done for, so is pavement!”

The Bentley’s lights flared on and Crowley was thrust into the steering wheel as it moved exactly one foot forward and parked there. The letter fell out of his hand with the shock and he fumbled grabbing it with his other free hand. He pressed down on the gas again and scowled.

“What in Satan’s name are you waiting for-“

After centuries of experiencing the invention known as weather, Crowley had gotten somewhat used to things falling from the sky. He’d been one of them. Rain, snow, sleet; it was all part of being on the Earth’s surface. He’d also seen some unusual things come from above, God had enjoyed some oddball signs in the early days, and thus Crowley considered himself well prepared for most things the upper atmosphere could throw at him.

When something large crashed into the front of the Bentley, grazing the front and shaking the pavement, Crowley was entirely thrown off guard.

“What the-“ Crowley sprang out of the car, the letter he’d been holding falling from his grasp. It was dark out, but with the Bentley’s headlights and his own vision, he could see the figure that had fallen in front of him. Their clothing, once clean white, was torn in places. The jacket they wore, at least 50 years out of fashion, was missing a few buttons. Face down on the pavement, they groaned like one waking up from a hangover. 

Crowley took a step forward and reached out, grabbing the figure’s shoulder to turn them on their back.  Before he move them over, he knew exactly who was in front of him; how could he not? He’d recognize those blonde-white curls anywhere. And those bright blue eyes, slightly teary but trying desperately to hold them back to save face. The same his eyes had looked the last time Crowley saw him.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale had a massive cut on his cheek and he looked up at Crowley and smiled. The same smile he given Crowley for thousands of years and then tried to hide. Maybe it was due to his current state, but he didn’t hide it now. Instead, his gaze drifted to the Bently and chagrined look graced his face. Like he’d been caught enjoying Crowley’s music instead of free falling right onto his car.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, one hand coming up to pat Crowley on the arm. “I tried to not hit the car.”

With that, Aziraphale’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he passed out.

#iz writes #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable divorce #ineffable husbands #crowley #good omens season 2

[eluxcastar]

Urd as a yandere (remake)

── ୨୧：urd geales x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: many people have left urd over the years, all with the single common thread that he was unable to stop them whether through his weakness or simply circumstance, time, motive. why allow them the opportunity at all?

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, yandere, implied kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, themes of abuse, suicide ideation, stockholm syndrome, descriptions of violence, implied dubcon, urd is in no universe all there, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.9k

aaa the trap of remastering my old posts. I rather liked the idea behind this one so I thought it would be the perfect candidate for a rewrite.

this entire thing is basically that one edited sound of mary on a cross like "you scare me" but you have been fed urd nation (*￣︶￣)

original

you think by now you would have memorised the sound of his footsteps, and for the most part you can tell when he's near. You always know. He has a very strict rule on this room, you've overheard it several times from the whispered just outside. He has forbidden all entry under any circumstances, and nobody dares stand against him.

you used to claw at the door, at the gap where the light of the hall cracks though, look around the room for any sign of something you could use to try to pry the door open by chipping away at the deadbolt. When that didn't appear to have any affect you turned to the keyhole, which didn't want to budge either. You're caught in what he views as an escape attempt, as the door handle clicks with the sound of the lock, and you scurry back just too little too late.

he yanks you harshly up from the floor by your arm, which feels like it's under so much pressure he'll break it—he's furious and you can tell. It's like taking a bullet to see someone you used to love so helplessly grow so utterly bitter, so hateful towards you. To throw you at the bed he keeps you confined in and has already stained red with your blood. You used to be built up by him, and now he begins the process of breaking you down. Every piece of your sanity is tested over and over and over again until you shy away in fear like a little child, only to be touched by the hand of the monster that keeps you.

while your sanity is being tested, you suspect that his is far gone. No sane person can pull you so gently back to thinking you are safe, whispering and shushing you until your heartbeat evens out as much as your adrenaline rush will allow, only to have the sound of your heartbeat replaced by a sickening crack as he breaks the metacarpal bone of one your fingers cleanly in half at the body.

you can't help how violently you flinch as he takes the hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing it gently, though not gently enough as you make a noise half like a cry but reminiscent of a scream. "You're only on your first strike, so the pain is all over now." the whisper of those words is far from reassuring.

the shaking of your whole body is uncontrollable, so racked with a feeling you can't even describe anymore that keeping your hand steady while he tends to your little broken bone so pathetic it will take several weeks to heal. You sit in his lap, he makes you. You have to let him hold your hand, and wrap your finger up securely where it will heal in due time. You can't help shifting uncomfortably, even when he makes a remark about how he's so glad you're letting him help.

it makes you feel so sick to your stomach you deny his attempts to feed you later that evening, turning your head away in an act of stark defiance. You won't allow him anymore gratitude out of his own disturbed actions.

you realise quickly why specifically he broke the finger he did—the ring finger on your dominant hand—all tracks would need to be performed in some way involving that finger even minimally. It hurts when you move it, it hurts when you eat because of the pressure applied to it even by a spoon, it hurts when you try to pick up your little instrument again and place it back where you found it, utterly defeated.

it hurts you to curl back into your ball, lost and falling apart, and you begin to wonder if escape is possible. How could you and your frail and ailing little body ever make it last a confrontation with a monster, able to hear your every move and know your very whereabouts with only his senses. You don't even know how you got to this point, rocking yourself to the tune of an old nursery rhyme you used to hear a lot wishing for your innocent back, the ignorance and bliss that you lost, the freedom—you are a little bird in a cage, a wolf sleeping just outside.

in order for you to be what he envisions you have to lose your vision of you, stripped of everything in your life that brought you joy in order to be the source of someone else's sick perversion of happiness.

you incur a second wrath is after a stint of good behaviour, a direct result of having no chance of getting away when one of your fingers is broken. Still, he rewards you with things he much consider privileges, allowing you to leave your room under his careful supervision for what started as a mere hour, but you have since managed to extend that time to something more like 'whenever he remembers to take you back'. He doesn't watch the clock.

you made the mistake of opening a window while he had stepped out of the room, feeling it was getting stuffy and you would like a small moment of nothing clean fresh air filling your lungs and refreshing your body after you had spent so long inside. He didn't snap so quickly, but the jolt of being yanked away from the barely open window you were making no attempt to get out of startled you to your core, another rush of adrenaline so strong it made your spine tingle.

you try, oh you try so desperately but you are still a little bird in the arms of your greatest predators. Thrashing doesn't help, and yet you thrash until he holds you so tightly against him you physically can't move anymore. "No, no! I didn't-- I wasn't trying to get out! I swear I just wanted fresh air! I was--" he only covers your mouth in response.

he sighs, something you can't quite read, but then he eases the grip he has on you. "Are you so unhappy with me you would kill yourself to escape?"

you realise in that very moment you would have to say things you can't even stand to think, things you never want to think. "No, no. No I'm very…" you hold back the grimace you want to show, "…happy." You touch a hand up to his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb in your singular act of a sick affection. For the first time, you manage to keep him from punishing you.

you think if you have to stare at one more wall or ceiling blank with nothing but wood panels or old wallpaper you'll start to lose your mind, and so you begin to make yourself comfortable by the window inch by inch until he allows it with a growing trust in you thanks to the routine you've come to figure out over the past days, a way to keep yourself safe.

wait patiently in the morning when he comes to see you before work. Then, beg to come with him while you hold onto whatever part of him is closest with your good hand, even if that would be his coat. He lets you go with him if he's not going out, and these days he's starting to ask you, and only brushes you off if you can't. When you show interest in spending time with him he doesn't punish you for the circumstances outside of your control.

if you can't get out, go back to sleep and wait until he returns. He'll usually be angry due to the pent up frustration he has a bad habit of building from keeping all his emotions in, even as the people around him become insufferable. He may come to your door, but it's not uncommon that he goes straight back to work. If he's at your door, talk to him gently like you always used to.

on good days, you can get out, so you follow behind him like an obedient dog until you get there. If you need to you've discovered he's quite easily distracted by a quick kiss on the cheek. All of these things of course awaken every ounce of disgust you have in you, something that still etches away at your sanity, still dwindling and dwindling. You haven't by any means come to term with the fact you're stuck here, and that there's no way to escape him even if you really were to squirm your way through the window and jump. A part of you wonders what he'd do though; is he so obsessed with you that he'd nurse you back to health? Or maybe he'd just turn you into a Vampire so you'd be tied to him for eternity. Suffice it to say you don't have much in the way of intentions of jumping out of the window, so you resign yourself to sit quietly and watch.

he doesn't bother you there, not unless he wants to see how your broken fingers are healing, counting one then two and then a third on your other hand, finally you see a fourth. Was that how many times you'd been held down? When you try to think back to it, only the memories of the first time come back to you, and yet you can see right in front of your face the four dark bruises across both of your hands to prove it did happen. It doesn't hurt as much to feel him place a kiss on one of your fingers, just as he had after the first time he broke one, as if trying in vain to nurse you back to health with perhaps what he viewed as a true love's kiss, a little fairytale fantasy plot that wouldn't be coming true to please him.

you let him believe it, that you don't care anymore how much he puts his hands all over you, that you're grateful for him taking small amounts of time from his day as he lets his affections grow bolder. You try not to let your discomfort show every time he oversteps. You just…kill every emotion that isn't shallow happiness, and it comes from a place of relief that even as you lay in his bed the most violated you've ever felt by his fangs, he's not hurting you physically.

you think you might break down any day now, cry and scream for human contact, for affection that doesn't make you taste bile in the back of your throat, for freedom and a chance to do something without having to ask your own captor for it like you're his doting lover. You shouldn't have thought about that while he was home, not where he would hear you on the one day you had decided you were going to deny his advances and say you were too tired from a restless night. To your surprise, his first instinct was to tuck you back into bed and kiss your forehead, not to lash out at you.

it couldn't have been more than an hour before you lost any semblance of composure you had carefully gathered and we're moulding yourself to embody, to become everything he wanted of you just to protect yourself. You're beginning to realise careful planning and emotional control can't shake your emotions completely, and you've bottled them so tightly inside they all come gushing out at once as you sob into your pillow in a singular moment of utter defeat, the beginning of your bitter end.

that was the first time you allowed him your body without too much of a fight, and the first time he wouldn't give in to your initial defiance as he coaxed you back to comfort and lulled you into a sense of overwhelming safety and protection.

a piece of you may have died in that room that day, never to return again.

you body is…bruised, but not broken. You begin to see the remnants of care in him, how gentle he was, the fact he's given you so much leniency for a kidnapper— you quickly shake it away to remind yourself to hate this man for everything he's done to you, the mental torment you have to go through in order to justify the things he does to you. You can barely bring yourself to get out of bed, even if you stopped fighting him and gave in you can't shake the feeling of guilt, like you were enjoying the fact that you just got to feel like you weren't being held captive for a little while. Somehow you got yourself into thinking about it like a fun and innocent tryst, something that embodied the way you used to be when you snuck around together and just laughed at all the things you did.

you used to be young and innocent, filled to the brim with all your ignorance and bliss to the way he thought of you, that he could've been fantasising the way you would be as his lover, and eventually all of the things he would do to you once he had you one way or the other. It's all gone, everything is gone. The people in your life and the rest of the world moved one without you, you have been stripped away of everything you ever held dear, then stripped of the very things that made your self. He has finally taken everything from you, and it was all replaced with nothing but him.

his lies, his habits, his schedule, his routine, his preferences, his wants and his needs and his fantasies are all burned into your brain like a scar you'll never be able to get rid of, only cover up and hide from the world, always knowing it's there. Everything you ever loved is disappearing day by day, and you can't remember or even imagine your life before, what it would be like to finally curl up in your own bed, relish in the smell of your own home and in the things that used to be yours, keepsakes and memories that belong to that house all covered in dust by now.

you will never feel loved by another human again, and even if you manage to escape him, you are far too broken to be loved. You can't picture a peaceful life in your mind where you're not constantly afraid, where you are finally experiencing love in its purest form, but the more you try to fantasise such a life the one you're living currently nestled itself in the back of your mind, and it makes you wonder the more you think about it—about love. What he's doing…could that be love in its purest form like you think you want? You think about the purest form of love, his attention is all on you, his claims of never being able to love another, a man you thought you respected reduced to a quivering pile of anxieties about you leaving him, so his unadulterated love makes him capture you. Being the object of affections you so desperately crave is exactly what you receive, gentle and loving, and only when you have acted to squander his love have you felt the wrath of it.

if you want a love so pure, you have someone devoting their everything to you right outside that door, because for as much as he has entangled you in his world, he is completely captured in yours…yes, this is the pure love you want in this world. The love of a man who fights even you just for one more chance to prove he can love you, the love of someone who chases and never stops. People always say you have to make some sacrifices in love, and compromise on things.

you take the pillow you had come to find comfort in, and after days you finally come out of hiding. The hallway you step into dark with only the faint light from under one of the doors to guide you to where you want to go, to the room you had become acquainted with a few times before. This room where he waits for you in the times he would've spent with you, sensing you needed space.

it's like a dream to hear the door open, and to look up to see you close the door behind you, pillow under your arm as you make your way over and place it down on the other side of the bed before you crawl in, snug under the comfort of his sheets. His whole house smells like him, but his bed unimaginably so, or perhaps that's just him on the other side of it as he rolls over to take you in his arms and let you find a comfortable spot. It feels surreal to be here like this, feeling the warmth of love just like you wanted, from the person you had denied it from due to your own stubborn conscience.

you feel a little silly, but hearing him whisper that he always knew you'd come back when you were ready before he kisses your forehead and wishes you pleasant dreams eases that feeling into comfort, and in the wake of your breakdown you feel safe again.

#✦ — scenarios. #mm tasty remake #served hot and fresh #sorry 💀 #owari no seraph manga #owari no seraph #seraph of the end #ons #sote #urd #urd geales #urd x reader #urd geales x reader #owari no seraph x reader #seraph of the end x reader

[laurenairay]

What You Gonna Do When She Turns Around - T. Jost

Summary: Tyson finally persuades Chloe to go on a date with him.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: some bad language, a little angst, a little flirting

A/N: Despite having pretty bad writer’s block, I desperately wanted to write the next part in their story, because I have so many ideas still for them. After this they might be posted out of timeline order (but I will organise the series masterlist in timeline order, for my sanity’s sake) so I hope you enjoyed this next step in their relationship!

Title from Take a Chance by The Magic Numbers.

Series Masterlist 

*

“So this is what you do to impress a girl, huh?”

“Considering how long it took you to agree to go out with me, I figured I’d pull out all the stops,” Tyson shrugged, grinning.

Chloe just snorted, tilting her head to acknowledge his words. He wasn’t wrong, after all. Despite his bold statement in the coffee shop when they first met, about taking her out and proving her wrong, something inside her made her make him work for it. Just a little harder anyway. She needed to know that she wasn’t making a mistake in giving him a chance – she wasn’t just going to roll over because of a cute blush and pretty curls – and considering that he’d stepped up to the unspoken challenge without hesitation, she knew she’d made the right decision.

She’d been even more convinced of her conviction when he followed her on Instagram and she’d discovered who he actually was. What was a professional hockey player doing chasing after a girl like her?

Still, Chloe tried not to hold his career against him. Never judge a book by its cover, right? At least, she was trying to get better at that – and she damn well hated it whenever someone did the same to her. Yes, sure, her personality was as intimidating and blunt on the outside as she looked on the outside…but that wasn’t the sum of her. So she’d resolved to give Tyson the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn’t just be a meathead athlete, at least until he proved otherwise. Considering that a good 50% of his text messages and insta messages were about adorable dogs…well, Chloe had a feeling that he wasn’t going to be the stereotype she usually tried to avoid.

She had waited well over a week though, partly to see if he’d slip into being a dick, but mostly to make him sweat a little. It was good for him. And besides, she already knew that he liked it when she teased him. Win-win all round. But she had eventually given in, given up the detached element of their conversations, and agreed to go to dinner with him as he’d asked.

And here they were. Meritage. Filled with matching couples and twinkling lights and Tyson’s nervous smile. What a charming combination.

“Your server will be over shortly. Have a wonderful evening.”

Tyson smiled warmly as the hostess walked away, Chloe just nodding, and she bit her lip slightly as Tyson turn the full warmth of that smile on her.

“I should’ve said earlier, but you look amazing,” Tyson said softly.

“Oh this old thing?” she teased, plucking at her shirt.

He blushed slightly, making her smile a little sharper, but he just laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to stop complimenting you, you know,” he shrugged, warning her in a tease of his own.

Somehow Chloe didn’t think she’d mind that. Not that she’d admit it out loud.

As Tyson looked down at the menu, Chloe took the chance to have a look around the room. Just by his nervous-excited energy as they walked into this restaurant, she could tell there was no way he chose this place by himself – hell, she would put money on him asking a friend teammate for a recommendation. The whole style of the place felt like Date Night (capital letters implied), from the chic décor to the layout of the tables to even the folding of the napkins.

Even with a floaty black blouse and her favourite high-waisted black silk pants, Chloe felt underdressed and overwhelmed. What was she doing here? She didn’t belong in a classy restaurant, surrounded by all this elegance, with a guy that was clearly out of her league. What was the point? Why was she even botheri…

“How am I doing so far?”

Chloe broke out of her harsh thoughts, biting back her instinctive retort to his question, noticing at the last second a glint in his eyes that unsettled something in her, so much so that it overrode the doubts in her mind. He was genuinely nervous. Not like, regular first date nervous – it was way more than that. He really was trying to impress her, wasn’t he? Was he really so invested in the potential between them already? What was running through his mind?

This wasn’t something to be sharp or mean about. No. She could cut him that much slack. And maybe she could cut herself a little slack too. Sure, maybe she didn’t belong here. But Tyson wanted her here, with him. That had to count for something right? So she hummed, tapping at her cheek as she pretended to think, earning soft laughter than got a little more genuine as she laughed too. Good. That was better. She wanted to see what he was really like on a date, not nervous-polite-Tyson. She wanted the real raw honest Tyson – and she knew he was there somewhere.

“So far, so good. I’ve never been here before. It looks nice,” she shrugged.

Sure, her words would come across as fairly cool to most people, but the brilliant smile that crossed Tyson’s face told her he’d read her exactly how she wanted him to.

“I haven’t been here either,” he shrugged back, making her laugh in return because duh, obviously, he was new to town, “But I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Oh that little flirt. Two could play at that game.

“I’m glad I’m here with you too, Tyson. Let’s see if you can prove me wrong,” Chloe said innocently.

Despite her words imitating those she said when they first met, the reaction from Tyson couldn’t have been more different. Rather than a shy blush from before, the flash of heat across Tyson’s face made her breath hitch quietly in her throat, damn it, but she got what she wanted as his tongue darted out subconsciously to wet his bottom lip, nodding like he couldn’t help himself.

Bingo.

“I’m going to try,” he murmured.

Chloe just smiled. She liked a guy who put in effort. And Tyson looked like the kind of guy who would always give 100%. She could appreciate that. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to push him to be his best though.

“Drinks?”

“I’ll have a sparkling water thanks. Chloe?”

She looked up from the menu with a soft smile. As Tyson had picked her up in his car – a nice touch – she was glad he wouldn’t be drinking. She had hoped he wouldn’t, but well, you never know…and that’s what uber is for. Tonight, she wasn’t feeling alcohol either, wanting to stay sharp and alert around the guy that was already inching past her usual barriers. Better not to let her guard down until she felt fully comfortable – she’d made that mistake before.

“I’ll have the same. Thanks,” Chloe nodded.

She bit her bottom lip as the waiter walked away, glancing over the menu again, before she felt Tyson’s eyes burning into her. So she looked back up at him, only to see him looking anxious again.

“What’s wrong?” she sighed.

“You didn’t have to have a non-alcoholic drink because I chose to,” he blurted.

Oh wow. Is that what he really thought? What the hell?

“Yeah that’s not the reason why. Thanks for validating me though,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

His face paled slightly at her blunt words and she winced (internally) slightly. Okay, maybe a little too harsh.

“I didn’t mean…I…”

Shit.

“Tyson, I didn’t mean to snap,” she interrupted, wincing outwardly now, “I just didn’t feel like drinking alcohol tonight, that’s all.”

She tried to smile softly, to reassure him, and it mostly worked as the stiffness left his body. But by his eyes, she could tell he still wasn’t all the way there. Shit.

“I’m sorry, really. I guess I get a little defensive sometimes,” she said softly.

“A little?”

The teasing smile on his face made her relax, tension leaving her body that she didn’t even know was there, and she found herself smiling back at him, relaxing even more as she noticed the hesitance had left him completely.

“Whoever has made you feel like you need to be defensive, whether it’s other people you’ve dated or whatever, I’m not them. I don’t want you to be anyone other than yourself,” Tyson said firmly.

Oh fuck. What a statement. Chloe let out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the concerned look on his face, trying to calm the nasty wasps buzzing in her chest. Her dating history hadn’t exactly been great, he wasn’t wrong there, but it wasn’t like her life had been a picnic before she’d started dating. Dating and her few relationships had only added to her harshness, Chloe could acknowledge that much. She’d learned to be defensive far too early on in her life.

But that wasn’t an avenue to explore right now.

“You’re too nice,” she said, smiling weakly.

“Maybe you deserve nice,” he shrugged, smiling widely.

Hah. What a thought.

But Tyson took one look at her face and let out a soft huff, making something crack in her chest. Why did he care so much? Who was this guy?

“I mean it, you deserve someone who’s nice to you. I may not have known you for very long, but I know that much,” Tyson said firmly, eyes serious as they locked with hers, “I’m just hoping you’ll let me be that guy.”

It was rare that Chloe was speechless. She always had a little cutting line or a teasing remark, but this? Tyson? Well, she couldn’t find the words at all.

��Chloe?”

His hesitant voice broke her out of her freeze, and she forced a quick smile on her face, trying not to let it look as shaky as she felt.

“I don’t know where you’ve come from, Tyson Jost, but I must’ve done something good in a past life,” she said softly.

He just smiled sweetly at her and for once, for once, she didn’t hate the vulnerability filling her body.

“I don’t know about that…but I’m glad you’re in my life right now,” he said simply.

And now they were back. That was enough sappiness to bring back her equilibrium, and she latched onto it desperately.

“I think that’s enough cheesy lines for now,” Chloe snorted.

Tyson just shrugged, grinning, and she tried to ignore the part of her that knew he meant every word.

“For now. I can’t promise I won’t say more later,” he mused.

“You know what? I think I can handle that,” Chloe teased.

Tyson blushed slightly (and oh how she still loved that blush), and his little pleased smile made her traitorous heart flutter.

Before arriving, Chloe had no idea how tonight was going to go. And she didn’t have a clue what was going to happen after this. Did her future hold a place where Tyson was by her side? She wasn’t sure. But one this she did know was that she was going have a hell of a lot of fun finding out.

*

Tagging: @antoineroussel @jostystyles @starshine-hockey-girl @ilyasorokinn @whatishockey @fallinallincurls @tysonjost-taylorsversion @senditcolton@sorryjustafangirl @youngbeezer @tippedbykreider @broadstbroskis @jostyriggslover96 @thebookofmags​ @matthewtkachuk​

#my writing #tyson jost fic #take a chance series #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fanfic #tyson jost x oc #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hwn cloud #hwncloud

[hurricane-heatt]

FIRSTLY i do not know how i hadn't seen your ao3 before now and i'm losing my MIND i'm about to read it all bc i just read casualty of you and now i'm SCREECHING secondly... the fic writer questions: 11, 4, 30, 49! x

FIRSTLY AWAHHHH THABK YOU SO SO MUCH!!!! i hope u enjoy <3333

secondly gonna stick these answers below the cut!!! just because i started rambling ehe

11- Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

oh absolutely pairing-wise it will always be sebmark for me… i think i am just entirely struck by the different phases of their relationship? 2009 is an entirely different vibe to 2013 who is an entirely different vibe to 2017 and that makes fic writing them sooo fun for me its never a chore to write sebmark. beyond this teammate rivalries are just absolutely compelling to me i think the dynamics and intricacies are so so interesting, especially gaining more insight on that from marks book was just eeeee i loved it (fuck u helmut marko for everything you ever do). personality wise too they both suit each other well in terms of rpf and they dynamics that i’ve always written and like writing.

character wise i love writing seb. i rlly hope i do him justice because i just love his voice and his humour and his mannerisms. he’s my love ever and i love him so any pairings with him in i am always heart eyes over.

4 - What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

i’m gonna take this as any fic i’ve written so! i think anything in good men die too verse i am hugely proud of. i did a bit of research for crush about street racing (a lack of in thoroughfare which i often get annoyed about but oh well) and so i think i got the car types right. either way it sounds professional so shrug!

an unreleased fic i have a bit of detail on is my siren!seb fic, its entirely unfinished but i did some research about mythology surrounding mermaids and sirens and think it’s pretty good in that!!!

30 - Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

oh boy most of my ot3 fest fics (i have three fulfilled hopefully! haha 3) were quite a new experience. i won’t spoil a ton but writing threesomes is hard man. lots of limbs

49 - What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

ehehehe. its a another fucking sebmark au! heir to father’s business seb nearly gets assassinated and his driver mark (annoying, gets in the way, keeps making fun of him) saves his life and thus is made his bodyguard in order to protect him. he hates mark already but this really pisses seb off, a constant shadow. also it’s called bad for business yes like the sabrina carpenter song

it’s going to be my first multi chapter and i’m anxious as balls about it and i really kind of hate the tone at the minute so it needs reworking. first chap is basically done but want three written before i post anything just for my own sanity. but here’s a little snippet of them winding each other up

+

Why has Britta put the medicine on the top shelf, for fuck’s sake, she knows he’s not that tall. He gets on his tiptoes, but the box is pushed further back by the tips of his fingers, rather than grabbing it.

“Let me, Mr Vettel.”

And then, the lean body of Sebastian’s driver against the back of him, reaching up to the shelf with zero effort. His fingers dash against Sebastian’s, and it’s a much more successful retrieval, bringing down the box of pills to his height.

Sebastian turns, putting his back to the countertop, the bare skin under his hoodie just brushing the cool marble. He’s close enough that he can smell Webber’s cologne - sharp. Masculine. Like the rest of him, ever predictable.

Webber takes a short step back, probably assessing how abnormally close they were. He puts the box into Sebastian’s open palm. The pills shake inside upon impact. He’s pleased, but through gritted teeth, like a dog finally being allowed a treat.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

+

so yeah!!!! i rlly hope i do finish it and get it out because the idea has been brewing for months.

thank u so much for all the questions and ofc the love for casualty of you <33

#answered asks

[coffeexmythos]

"Coffee, did you write something gay in that Lovecraft Mythos cartoon au again" you ask, already knowing the answer

"Coffee, did you write something gay using that summoning chant you posted earlier?" you ask, already knowing the answer

"Coffee, are you shipping your twink-ass oc with Nyarlathotep again?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

I just smile, because you can't stop me (and maybe, you don't want to)

Sorry for the cliffhanger btw

----

He couldn't forget the look in his mentor's eyes as Carter turned towards him.

"What I'm going to teach you now," the man said, "should only be used as a last resort."

Wes swallowed, nodded, his eyes focused and alert.

Carter did not need to breathe, it'd been years since he'd lost his body, but his chest still rose and fell before he spoke again.

"This," he said, "is how you summon the Crawling Chaos."

A chill like cold water rushed up Wes's spine. His mouth went dry. He listened to every word. And he couldn't have forgotten what he heard even if he tried.

"Why do you know this?" He whispered. "Isn't he your enemy?"

"Not always," Carter said, and pain reflected in his eyes, his voice. "And even if he were… sometimes, there is no other choice."

Carter looked into the younger man's eyes.

"When it's you or them, the only thing you can know for sure is he will always win."

You or them. Them or you. Yeah, Wes understood that. It tasted bitter in his mouth now, the conversation flashing through his mind, as he ran for his life.

"He's this way!"

It didn't matter how it started. How he got here. Why the men pursued him. They had weapons, and fury in their hearts and minds. Wes had nothing but memories. Even Carter himself was gone.

"Follow me, boys!"

Him. Them. Him or them.

In his mind's eye the map unfolded. The dead end up ahead wasn't as dead after all. But did he have time to unlock the door?

The men were right behind him, laughing and howling as one. The words rose up in Wes's mouth.

Me or them, me or them, me or them-

Wes slid to a stop. In the dirt on the floor, he drew a line in front of him, and stepped behind it. He pulled the pen from his pocket, clicked the end. On his fair skin, he drew the symbol, and raised his hand towards the night sky he could not see.

The words came, and he did not hesitate.

"Ia! Ia! From out of the darkness I call to you! From the depths of despair I call on you! You, wise wanderer, you, the shapeshifting shade! You who are enemy to all! Ancient Pharaoh, mysterious stranger, monster and myth - I call you to appear before us!"

Wes clenched his eyes shut. Something shifted in the back of his mind.

"Trickster, chaos-bringer, breaker of the shackles of sanity! I call on thee! You who lived before the birth of the stars and who will live on after they have all gone out! Come to my side! Out from the fog of the past, reveal yourself, oh feared shadow of the demon sultan!"

"What the hell is he doing?"

The men had caught up to him. Did they dare approach? Would they interrupt his last chance of survival? He did not think about it. He cried out into the flickering darkness.

"From out of the silence of the dark skies, you came to us! So from the darkness of this hell, I demand you come to us once more! Messenger of the Gods, Son of Azathoth, Giver of Knowledge Undesired - Mighty Nyarlathotep! Ia! Ia! Ia!"

Wes opened his eyes. He inhaled.

The world watched in silence.

He lowered his shaking arm, and didn't look at the men, separated from him by only a line in the dirty old floor.

But it wasn't the same. The quiet now was not the same as before.

Footsteps echoed through the silence. Something clenched within his chest. Wes stepped back, and back. He looked away, towards the corner, the hallway that led to the door, and back.

And it had only been a moment. Only just a moment.

But now a man stood before him, between him and the shivering mob. Tall as the ceiling, dark and sculpted like a statue carved from obsidian. His robes glinted like holy water and sacred crystals in the struggling light, the body beneath the light clothes muscled and firm. On his head, the Pharaoh's crown. On his dark, youthful, beautiful face, a smile.

In his eyes, malice shone.

One of the men called for the Christian god. Nyarlathotep, the Black Pharaoh of legend, looked towards them.

Wes ran for his life. Behind him, the mob screamed.

He'd stolen a dozen keys from the office but none of them had labels. His fingers shook. Wes tried them. One, after another, after another. The screams echoed. He pulled the door, pounded on the metal, tried every single key.

The screaming stopped.

He looked behind him. Not even a shadow lingered behind him.

Don't relax, he told himself even as the tension left his body. You're not safe yet. You have to get out of here. You have to get out of here.

He tried the door again. Tried the keys again. Locked, not stuck. One of the keys should have worked. Would he need to go back to search for another?

Exhaling, Wes stepped back from the door, and his back pressed against warm skin. His eyes snapped wide open, the blood draining from his face.

A man, a voice he didn't recognize, laughed. Two obsidian dark arms wrapped around him, and the many golden cuffs on each arm pressed sun-warm through his clothes.

"You must be very desperate indeed to summon me," a deep voice purred, "young apprentice of Randolph Carter."

Wes shivered.

"I didn't think you'd call on me so soon." One of the hands stroked over his stomach, up and down through Wes's thin dark shirt. "I didn't think Carter would teach you how at all. I thought he'd know better."

He couldn't speak. The words died on his tongue.

"Such a shame for him," the Black Pharaoh said. "I wonder what he'll do to get you back?"

He jerked. Nyarlathotep laughed. Wes squirmed but the arms held him tight to the large, lean body.

"Let go!" Wes shouted.

"No," Nyarlathotep said.

"You're supposed to go away anyway!"

"You'll be coming with me when I do," he said. "You're mine now, little Wes."

Wes's shirt hitched up, claw-like hands gripping the fabric. The other hand placed itself on the pale, soft skin of Wes's stomach. The young man sucked in a breath, his face flushing as he arched his back. Nyarlathotep laughed.

"If my old friend wants you back," the voice husked into his ear. Hot breath rushed over Wes's neck. "He'll have to find us first."

#cthulhu mythos #lovecraft mythos #lovecraft mythos oc #nyarlathotep #randolph carter #rantep #putting the love in Lovecraftian

[sortofanobsession]

Terror and Time (911 6x10 In a Flash Coda) spoilers!!!

A/N: The one I previewed and put on Ao3 yesterday. But I always post here and there. So here it is.

Summary: "In a Flash" coda fic. I'll say it once more. Spoilers. Based on the image of Christopher sitting beside Buck's hospital bed. Eddie's POV and emotions. Spoilers for the newest episode: season 6 episode 10 "In a Flash".

Dread gripped his heart as they walked into Buck's hospital room. It's quiet as Christopher sits beside his Buck.

"Hi, Buck," Christopher says. Eddie's heart shatters at the silence that follows the words he has heard his son say so many times. Eddie has to blink a few times to fight back the tears threatening to fall as he stands behind his son. He balls his fists to try and stem the shaking that has started. He needs to keep it together. He has to for Christopher. He has to for Buck.

"Dad's here too," Christopher says, glancing back at his dad. "Right, dad?"

Eddie nods, and has to clear his throat when his son looks at him.

"Yeah," Eddie says, "I'm here too, Buck."

"Dad?" Eddie's gaze snaps to meet his son's gaze as Christopher asks, "Do you think it helps?"

"Does what help?"

"This," Christopher looks back at Buck. "Talking to him."

Eddie thought about it. He didn't know. No one really could know how much damage was done until Buck wakes up. If he wakes up. But could talking to him help? Knowing Buck, he wouldn't care if it helped him or not. If it might help Christopher feel better, then Buck would encourage it. If it helped Christopher process and deal with Buck being in a coma, Buck would say do it. So Eddie nodded but added a shrug as he answered.

"I don't know for sure, bud. But I do know that it can't hurt," Eddie admits. "He loves hearing about your day. He loves when you talk with him. He loves when you complain about my cooking. So I think you being here will help him feel better in some way. It might help keep him calm or help him maybe wake up. I can't tell you if it will work or not, but it can't hurt to at least try right?"

Christopher is quiet for a moment, seemingly considering his dad's words.

Christopher shifts in his seat and slowly reaches over. "It'll be okay, Buck." Christopher says as he puts his hand on Buck's. "You bounced back before, you can do it again. Dad says we'll get through this like last time. We'll do it together. All of us. You, me, dad." Eddie has to grip the back of Christopher's chair and remind himself to breathe. "Dad's worried, but I think he thinks he's hiding it." Christopher glances at his dad. "Anyway…" Christopher goes on to tell Buck about any little thing that crosses his mind. His hand wrapped around Buck's like it often was.

Eddie thinks about how much has changed recently. How they don't get as much time for just the three of them anymore. Eddie has to sit down. Remind himself that he's lucky. He might still have a chance to fix that. Buck is still here. He shifts the seat closer and without really thinking he reaches over and grips Buck's leg. There is a blanket and sheet between his hand and Buck's leg, but it is enough. Enough that he can feel the form of his partner's leg as proof he is there. That they got him down. It helped fight the icy grip of terror that threatens to swallow him whole. The same terror he had felt after picking himself up off the ground and looked up and saw Buck hanging motionless from the ladder. It was worse than anything he'd seen in a long time. Real terror he had only felt a couple times since moving to LA. One thought keeps coming back to him. He could not lose anyone else. He lost Shannon. He lost everyone he'd dragged off that damn helicopter all those years ago. And those losses nearly destroyed him. But this. This was threatening his already slipping grip on his sanity. Losing Buck would be something Eddie wouldn't bounce back from. He was his best friend, his partner, and the only other person on this planet he trusted his son with beyond a shadow of a doubt. The only person he ever wanted to hang out with anymore. The only person he truly needed other than Christopher. They were his world. Anyone else, it would hurt to lose, but losing Christopher or Buck was unfathomable. It would be like part of his soul, his heart, would be irrevocably broken. Never to heal. He would choose to face down his own death a thousand times over losing either of them.

He startles slightly when he feels a hand on his arm as he leans on the edge of the bed. He looks up to see his son looking at him, concern clear in his young features. Eddie realizes he other hand has a white knuckle grip on the blanket.

"Dad?" Christopher says. His grip heavy against the slight tremor in Eddie's frame.

"Yeah," Eddie manages around the lump in his throat. He clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, bud?"

"Are you okay?" Christopher asks.

And Eddie is nodding. He has to be okay. Christopher needs him. Buck needs him. His family needs him to be. "Yeah," Eddie manages to say.

"You don't have to be brave just for me," Christopher tells him. And Eddie doesn't know if he should be ashamed that his son is having to say this to him. Or beyond proud of how smart and caring Christopher has grown to be. He thinks part of it has been learned from Buck. His Buck. He can't help but smile as Christopher continues. "Buck said he'd never leave without a fight, and he's still here. So he must be winning, right?"

"Yeah…yeah he is," Eddie feels hope push back against the dread and darkness that has been a constant since he picked himself up off the ground in that storm. "He's too stubborn to give up now," Eddie nods and lets out a breathy laugh. "Far too stubborn. He'll keep fighting, he always does."

#911 fic #spoilers #911 spoilers #911 fox spoilers #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #tw: hospital #tw: lightning #tw: injury #tw: coma #tw: unconscious #tw: angst #tw: fear

[brightgnosis]

Today's been such a complete mess.

My stomach decided to flare right back up over two Bacon Bits and a damned Olive, of all things (literally. I'm so annoyed!). So I'm stuck eating mashed potatoes again for another week. Huzzah!

Then my Savella didn't get delivered Monday like it was supposed to be. So I waited yesterday to just see if they needed to order it, and if they'd deliver it tomorrow. That wasn't the case, though, so we had to go all the way down there today- only to find that it's on "indefinite backorder and they have no idea when they'll get it in". Which, like, it really would've been nice for them to call and tell me that when I initially made the fill order Monday so I didn't have to scramble to find a solution on the very last day I had any doses for a medication that puts me in severe shaking pain and withdrawal! But I fucking digress, I guess ?????

At the very least, we think we may have found a pharmacy that can get it- but it means I have to skip tonight's dose so that I have one for in the morning, so I'm not putting my body through too much of an immediate shock ... And pray they manage to actually get it ordered and in; I'll find out after about 10 am tomorrow.

If not, I have no idea what I'm going to do. I still have the bottles of both Cymbalta and Gabapentin from when we were initially trying to find meds that worked for me. So if it comes down to it, I guess I'll just try and take those despite the fact my body very clearly doesn't work with them and I have very adverse side effects to both. But I mean, what else can I do if no pharmacy in my area has any in stock (we called all of them today) and would have to order it anyways, and it's on backorder everywhere?

My GP (thankfully I had an appointment already scheduled with her today for our routine; thanks Lyrica- the drug that doesn't give me any form of withdrawal but is still unnecessarily scheduled as a Class III for no actual reason!) suggested calling insurance and getting the info for whatever mail-order service they're contracted through, and seeing if I can't get a dose through them instead, if none of the pharmacies can get it. But that still doesn't really help the whole withdrawal situation while I'm waiting on shipping.

If it comes down to it, I'm probably just going to have to deal with full body wide pain so bad it causes an inability to move to so much as use the restroom, medication withdrawal, and searing migraines for who knows how long (can you tell I've been through part of this before?) ... It's not like I have any other choice right now.

Garden updates in a different post for the sake of y'all's sanity.

#I hate my body and this doesn't help me love it any more #It's Not An ED It's Just ✨Gastroparesis✨ + ✨IBS✨ #Fibromyalgia: The Fuck You For No Reason Disease! #Personal #Alphabet Soup #Body TMI #Trigger Warning #2023 #NonTrad Housewife #NonTrad Homemaker #Healthblr #Pagan Homemaker #Pagan Housewife #Homemaker #Homemaking #Housewife #NonTrad Homemaking #Pagan Homemaking

[burgerpunk]

Johnny Rockets - Minneapolis, MN - Mall of America

I am sitting here with a warm buzz caused by equal parts of an alcoholic beverage whose recipe I shamelessly ripped from a gaming bar & grill in Wichita, KS, copious amounts of snuggling with friends I met up with here at a wedding here in MN, and a shower. The aforementioned wedding preceded the newly wed bride dragging us all over Minneapolis including to the Mall of America where we of course hit the food court to gas up before m̶̩͈͊ơ̷̈́ͅr̷̳̒̒e̵̟̼͐ ̷̢̤͂͝s̵̡̙̈ḩ̴̱̅̇õ̸̟͔p̸̗̣̈p̵̩̠̿̈î̶͚̌n̴̰͓̽g̶̼̒ͅ.

I'm not a big fan of big preambles in recipes or food reviews, but alas, this is not necessarily a review in the traditional sense, it is the semi-coherent articulation of a 20-something autistic man who just wants a good burger every now and again, and should be read as such. That aside, to put it succinctly, I am known for having complex Opinions(tm) on burgers.

That said, again, I don't like big preambles so with that hopefully minimalistic contextualizing preamble out of the way: Johnny Rockets has, hands down, the best bacon and cheddar sandwich I've ever had, which allegedly had beef in it.

Originally I went on an increasingly inane and unhinged tirade about my distaste for mayonnaise, my desire to refer whichever fast food executive decided it should replace ketchup as a default condiment for burgers to several therapists, and ultimately comparing the burger-consumption-ruining experience of finding mayo on a burger and having to get rid of the vegetables to be rid of the mayo to the dreadful realization of how fucked up my family dynamic is that I found myself glad that the only person in my nuclear family to show up to my grandmother's funeral days before the wedding was my father (her son-in-law).

To dilute that frustration into a more digestible nugget of information: I hate mayo for reasons far beyond its taste because if I ever forget my learned survival instinct of saying "no mayo" even when there is no indication there will be mayo, I end up having to get rid of vegetables that lend flavor, aroma, and much-needed texture to the burger, I end up with a burger that reduces to a meaty slurry after a few chews. The menu at Johnny Rockets had several other burgers list mayo as an ingredient, but not for the Bacon Cheddar. The BC, despite this, came with mayo. I could ramble on about how much of this was my fault or the restaurant's, or how much this fucks up the experience of eating the burger, but I already partly rewrote this post after doing just that so instead I'll leave it at that and continue evaluating what I ended up eating for what it was.

So, with my sanity somewhat grounded by that much needed abridging of mayo-related grievances, was there anything to be salvaged from this experience? Yes, actually. The bacon and cheddar were of excellent quality. The bacon was chewy and salty and the cheddar mild, melty, and complimenting the texture and taste of the bacon quite well. Unfortunately, this palette of pork and cheese was so delectable and overwhelming that it was the palette of the burger. The beef, at best, lent a texture in the initial bite that was effectively lost after chewing for a second thanks to the absence of vegetables that were removed in the process of scraping out the mayo.

It was at this point that I really relied on the fries and shake to salvage this experience, which they did. The fries were nice and crispy, not over-salted, and the milkshake... Well, milkshakes are pretty hard to mess up, aren't they? Congratulating this restaurant on creating a milkshake that kept this escapade from being a violently disappointing upset to my day is sort of like congratulating someone on driving to work without causing a traffic accident. It's expected, it's hard to mess up, and yet it happens often enough to be a common concern.

That said, in the last few bites of the burger I finally found one that allowed the taste of the beef into the palette. Finally, I was able to gauge the quality of the beef itself.

It was alright. The distinct tang of frozen beef was absent so I presume the patty was made from fresh beef, albeit maybe not one of particularly high quality.

All in all the Bacon Cheddar burger at Johnny Rockets is the best cheddar and bacon sandwich I've had, but as a burger it is so consummately mid because there is just nothing else really of note to it.

That said, I do plan on hitting up a burger joint on my way out of MN/on my way back into my current base of operations that has recently struck a significant chord with me, so I will probably make a similar post to this around that time.

Just remember, I'm not a food critic, I'm just a guy who considers mayonnaise a violation of the Geneva Conventions and really fucking loves a good burger, which in my next post you will come to understand as a low-key curse to my existence. Either way, I hope you enjoyed tagging along with this journey equal parts asinine and spiritual as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Next time I'll be sure to grab pictures since this was VERY impromptu by comparison to future plans. Just think of the lack of pictures to break up the monotony of text as an avant-garde analogy for the absence of vegetables to break up the monotony of the meat and cheese texture. I'm also contemplating making a tier list of 48 different root beers I got after blacking out at Minnesota's allegedly largest candy store which, much to the greek tragedy of my disappointment, did not have big Toblerones, so maybe look forward to that too.

Catch you next time, --BurgerPunk

#burger #food #mall of america #minnesota #fuck mayo #mayo fucking sucks #please seek help #if you like mayo #johnny rockets #bacon sandwich

[toinfinitywinning]

Yes a Dog Post.

Currently he’s snoring—loudly. God Love him. A few words. Your kids don’t have to be homosapians. He’s a mammal.

Happy 12th born Day, Andy! 3/1/212. For the 2nd time. ✔ my math or I’ll just have AI do all my hw assignments. Finally found his adoption papers frm Lex Humane Shelter or Society—can’t remember exactly but either place it was full of dogs…if we’re talking positives we’ve gotten just crazy close. In fact sometimes he gets closer than I’d like. Like a Heeler trait, RIP Jessie. He old man grunts when I nudge him to pls give me some space on my full not Q sized bed w/ a 60lb Dog thinking he’s a kitten when I need to stretch my bad knee. I politely remind him it’s actually my bed & he has 12. But truly he’s had 2b so patient & extra empathetic. Like innate endorphins. I’d never fully seen this intense loyalty Velcro-y type behavior. B/c of this, I half taught 50% him how to open and shut cracked doors w/ His nose. This was well beyond his Lane 2 years ago but there have been times when he’s already eaten & watered & been out when he starts buckin’ around & I’m like ur gon have 2 figure it out I can’t get up.

learned 2 shake w/ with his L hand. learned new words & phrases like “stay” & “let me see your dirty toes”, “Gentry has some meds let me see ur eyeball (Allergies)”, “Andy—did u scratch all my pillows onto the ground?” (only does this when I’ve Left the bldg, pipes up an attitude & surrounds himself w/ my pillows pushing them away)?”, “u need 2 wait I came to the kitchen for me”, “Gramma & Pop are here get in the car”, “gentry’s sick right now”, “I do not feel comfortable you following me so closely so you Go”, “ok that’s enough Stop sniffing, Stop”, “ok now you don’t get a biscuit every time you Go to the bathroom.” I must have really confused him. also an attitude if I smell like mi casita & don’t present him w/ a tortilla.

I’d never given him the credit but he is not as semi-impaired I once thought he might b-just crippled w/Anxiety like his Mom time 2 time. I read when dogs make eye contact w/ u & hold it that shows the deepest level of Love. He sees Right through me & he knows something hasn’t been Right. He’s been an Angel. the reason I’m somewhat not 100% lifeless b/c he still needs 2 Exercise 2. @ this point idk whose level of codependency is more tragic.

Someday maybe the excess pandemic 4 me will End only if he promises me he won’t. Every1 always says they have the best Mom, Dad or Dog. Well I actually do so let me win this 1. ღ this sweet Boy. He trusts me so much more. Go hug a loved 1 something. Never kno when ur Life & sanity might depend on their presence and affection. Dogs are so much better than humans most days.

a’ight 10% battery warning & UK plays @ 1:30 lay back down. Gosh I ღ this kid.

#dogs #happy Birthday #Dog #best friend #Andy #Lab mix #12 #HBD #adogisagirlsbestfriend

[crypticarchivist]

Hey so this is the only time I’m going to post my opinion about this:

The Democrats haven’t done sh*t. I don’t think they’re going to do sh*t. I know that the elections are going to be rigged as all hell.

But if you don’t vote out of protest or nihilism or some sh*t than f*ck you.

Conservatives are going after trans people now. People like me, transmen, and transwomen are now going to be their next hot button issue. And if you don’t vote and let a republican take ANY seat that makes it *easier* for them to attack trans people than I can only say f*ck you. Because the second they think they’ve successfully abolished Roe v. Wade they’re gonna go after all the court cases supporting LGBTQ+ rights that were similar to it. They already are talking about doing it.

I’m not saying that voting is the only way to fix this sh*t. That is actually far from the case. But voting is something that should still be kept up because it’s one of many corners we have to keep our eyes on or else the Fascists will use that lapse in attention to sneak something harmful by. Not voting just gives them an opening.

An opening that *will* be used to hurt more women, trans people, and then the LGBTQ+ community as a whole.

———————————————————————

Ps (to those who abstain from voting out of protest): I get it, I really do, and while sometimes not playing along with the establishment can be really effective, this time it isn’t.

A protest needs to be three things:

1: Loud or hard to ignore:

Nobody hears a vote that is never cast. If you are in a group of 10 people and you all decide to vote on where to eat, and you think the vote is rigged towards an establishment you don’t like, then making your stance clear, even if you don’t think people will listen, will do more than staying silent or not voicing an opinion, every time. Voting third party at the moment is the functional equivalent of being that person who says “I don’t care where we eat, just pick a place” and then shooting down every viable option people put forward. It doesn’t get anything done. Not voting at all is the functional equivalent of not saying anything and blending into the background. In which case people are more likely to forget you’re even present, which is the functional opposite of what you’re going for with a protest.

2: Inconvenient to those in power:

I’m sorry to tell you this, but the Christo-fascists of the political right are not inconvenienced in the slightest by you withholding your vote. In fact if you didn’t vote at all (or vote for a third party candidate who has no chance of winning) they would probably shake your hand and thank you for it. Just look at how much effort they went to rig elections as much as they possibly could. They are scared of people voting against them. You are inconveniencing the fascists more by voting for a Democrat, than if you voted third party or didn’t vote at all.

3: Capable of actually convincing those in power to any degree whatsoever.

Yes, I know that the Democrats are old, corrupt and controlled by rich lobbyists.

Thing is the Republicans are also old, corrupt and controlled by rich lobbyists.

The sole difference between the two is the THE REPUBLICANS ARE FUCKING INSANE. They have proven long ago that they have completely abandoned reality and I would rather protest against a Democrat who just wants to ignore me but can be broken eventually, vs a Republican who, rather than just ignoring me, needs to have it explained to them why they cannot just send the national guard to shoot protestors in the legs.

Because while the chances of a Democrat being broken down by protests are slim, the chances of a Republican being broken down by protest are practically zero because they will double, triple, and quadruple down because they have given up all pretenses of civility and sanity and there is no line they will not cross to bring us all kicking and screaming back to the 1700’s.

it is smarter to protest against someone who wants to keep the status quo because they will eventually break to try and restore some measure of peace and quiet. The status quo can be changed. If you protest against a stark raving lunatic who wants to move things drastically for the worse, they will not break and instead escalate things to a horrifying and dangerous degree. The lunatic will create chaos for its own sake because if they can’t get what they want they’ll burn everything down around our ears instead.

#lgbtq+ #vote #protest #politics

[otp-holic]

Will this be the night? (ALSO IN A03)

A random piece of online advertising unleashes some movie memories of a Summer afternoon in 1932

1.5 Ks Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3) Silly drabble born from my love of classic movies... that ended up not having anything to do with classic movies.

BROOKLYN'S KING'S THEATRE

Poster for Cary Grant's Retrospective. Printed paper 2025.

A poster for the upcoming month long celebration of the movies of Cary Grant to be held in Brooklyn.

Bucky is not expecting a vivid memory of the past to jump at him from a piece of online location-targeted promotion popping on his phone as he and Steve are wandering around the neighborhood on a random Friday.

But the 21st century works in mysterious ways and Google is kindly inviting him to check “Cary Grant: A Celebration”, a month-long chronological retrospective of all his movies taking place at a nearby hipster cinema starting… in half an hour.

He beams as a long string of memories of the both of them in different afternoons and movies plays in his head; how they counted the cents for the admission price, and how Bucky learned to sneak into the movie every time that did not add up to two full tickets.

“Buck, you’ve been smiling at your phone in silence for a whole minute,” Steve interrupts his daydreaming. “Should I be jealous? Worried?”

“Sorry,” he answers, still smiling about the memories. “I think I’m leaving you for Google, they see inside my one hundred years old soul; But I might give you another chance if you don’t mind a change of plans for the afternoon.”

“Lead the way, but can you give me some heads up?” Steve chuckles, more than used to Bucky’s ways.

He takes Steve’s hand to direct them towards the movie theatre and thinks about how much information he wants to share.

Although he is the one who still relies on the comfort of 30s and 40s movies whereas Steve keeps getting bolder with his options, Steve has always loved Cary Grant and Bucky thinks he’s going to appreciate his choice since this particular movie has a history (sad history, maybe) for them, so he debates on whether to tell him or not.

“We are going to the movies. But the real ones, not that shit on Netflix you keep choosing,” he settles for half-disclosure.

“Damn, mister life in black and white strikes again. Embrace the 21st century, Barnes, I think you’ll like it!”, Steve laughs.

“Hey, I embrace it more than you do! At least I look the part of a mid-thirties man from it instead of a fifty-year-old hiding in fucking khakis. Albeit a very hot one, I’ll give you that.”

They both laugh. It’s not the first time these remarks fly between them and having a routine, running jokes, and running pet peeves is very soothing after everything they have gone through.

They’re getting closer to the cinema now, and Bucky can already see the Billboard announcing the retrospective and a small queue forming upfront. He takes a side look at Steve to see if he has noticed and he can certainly tell that his curiosity has peaked.

“Surprise! Call it a win-win, it might be up my alley, but you used to love Cary Grant movies,” Bucky smiles as they reach their place in the queue and glance at the program for the afternoon.

‘This is the Night (1932)’, the poster says, ‘Cary Grant's feature film debut on the big screen’

Bucky is deep in nostalgia, remembering a summer day of 32 when they were waiting in line for the same film and how the evening turned out, but when he looks in search of his partner’s reaction, it’s not what he expected at all.

“Steve, you ok?” he asks, worried at seeing Steve frozen in place.

Steve nods. His whole face is deep red, but at least he is responsive. He looks ashamed and Bucky is shifting from worried to curious.

“Jesus, this movie,…” he chuckles now.

“You seem to remember, then. I thought you might.”

It was not a happy memory: Steve had felt really ill halfway through, looking white as a sheet of paper and about to die on Bucky. They had to leave the unfinished movie and run home, as per Steve’s request. But as far as Bucky remembers, nothing to be ashamed of.

“Why are you acting weird? Oh my god, Steven, are you allergic to this movie?”

The silence before Steve answers is a little too long and the queue moves forward.

“Shit, this is not easy to say and I’m sorry in advance.”

“Duly noted, but could you try to explain? I’m lost and I didn’t expect a full-on confession of something to be sorry about when I decided to follow Google’s intelligent advice to an unfinished movie. I just thought it was a good excuse for a change of plans. And kind of closure.”

Steve takes a breath and starts talking.

“I wasn’t honest with you, Buck. Back then…” he stops, searching for words, nervously musing on his beard. “Ah, I cannot believe this hasn’t come up at some point, but there it goes. I absolutely lied to you that day: I wasn’t sick or half dying and I am very very guilty of using my poor health to run away from that place and that movie, but I did the only thingI could think of.”

Bucky is at a loss for words, he’s still deciding if he is angry, curious, or somewhere in between.

“But… but you were feverish and white as a ghost and you said you had palpitations!”

Steve seems to think for a moment again and the bastard laughs so loud they get a curious look from the people behind. And taking advantage of the queue moving up again, he gets really really close to Bucky who honestly thinks he’s going to try to kiss himself out of the situation since it’s a bulletproof strategy.

But he doesn’t: He goes for Bucky’s ear instead, and whispers.

“I had a boner like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky gasps loudly totally taken aback while Steve takes a step back and looks at him in the eye more amused and hungry than ashamed, but still blushing.

“But hey, not all lies! I was somehow sick. And pale since my blood was… otherwise occupied. And I was barely 14!”

Bucky laughs at the dork. His dork. But the information is still making its way into his brain.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims as it starts to settle, “You piece of shit, you pulled the poor sick child card when you were just plain horny. I was worried to my bones as we run to your home. Shame on you Rogers!”

“Me? It was your fucking fault! Yours and Cary Grant’s and your stupid grins and stupid chins, those clefts!” he’s screaming in whispers so Steve Rogers’ teenage boner doesn’t make it to the news, but he’s talking as if he was pronouncing an important speech to the UN, “What was a 14-year-old in the fucking 30s popping one upon seeing an actor who kind of looked like a very tall version of his very male best friend to do?”

He is about to say something, but Steve literally covers his mouth with one hand giving Bucky no other option but to stick his tongue and lick the palm.

“Gross, Buck. I’m not done!”, he dries his hand on Buckys’ shirt before he goes on. “I’m not done because as I was still processing all that, you kept brushing your goddamned hand with mine when you went for popcorn! Over and over and over. It was torture. I have palpitations now just thinking about it.”

Bucky full-on laughs. One of those real ones that come more and more lately and that he honestly thought he would never get to experience again.

They have reached the box office, so he doesn’t push it further. For now.

“Two tickets for `This is the Night´, please.” Bucky smiles at the box-office guy. “He is paying, tho. I paid last time we tried to see this one and he didn’t have the decency to stay until the end.”

He actually feels like a teen as Steve takes his hand into the theatre, as he very intentionally buys popcorn to share, and as they start full-on making out on their seats during the commercials once the lights are out.

“Wanna know another secret, Buck?” Steve whispers a few minutes later, eyes on the starting movie as he brushes Bucky’s hand with intention over the popcorn bucket. His flustered face and recently kissed lips bathed by dancing lights and shadows coming from the screen. “It’s a good thing we were already together in ‘38 when “Bringing up baby” came out because I was able to plan ahead and lure you into that memorable window fuck at our old apartment before the show, or we would have totally missed one of our favorite movies, too.”

Bucky hates Steve with the force of the universe. Or maybe not, but he’s not playing clean.

“Raincheck on the movie?” he manages to whisper back as he drives Steve’s hand to his already noticeable hard-on. Two can play this game.

“Oh, poor Buck. Do you have palpitations” Steve chuckles, lips wet on Bucky’s ear and gripping harder on his bulge instead of letting go. “Was that the memory of the window fuck? Or all the making out? Tell me so I don’t do it again.”

“You are a punk, Steve Rogers,” Bucky answers before standing up to leave, closely followed by a smiling Steve.

Argh, sorry for deleting and uploading again, but i had technical issues with this.... so here it goes again. I need to free myself from this one!

#stucky #my fic #my edits #never let us lose what we have gained #fluff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #classic movies #domestic fluff #i needed to remove all the endgame angst #fanfiction forever #this one was supposed to be a piece of cake but it wasnt #i needed to post it already for the shake of my sanity #long post #hopefully this will work now #stupids in love #steve and bucky #i fought with this silly thing like you wouldnt believe #painfully created by me #fic by yours truly #pics by yours truly #edit by yours truly #manip by yours truly

[sunsents]

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

IT'S. OVER. Holy shit, this took way longer than I expected it to be. Yes, it’s 20k mf words and what abt it. Don’t look at me like that. I warned ya’ll 🙄. Now, I definitely made up some words while writing this. Like a shelved corridor, the heck is a shelved corridor?!?! Please tell me it makes sense…please for the sake of my sanity. The smut is kinda tame so I’ll whip out the chains on the next one.

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

Summary —> Years later you find yourself face to face with the person that caused your ruin - yet this time, somethings different.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 20k... honestly I completely get it if ya'll wanna sit this one out

Warnings: *deep breath* a poor attempt at humor / gingers / pining idiots / normal idiots / excessive cursing / fred weasley in slacks / alcohol consuming / very little angst (its mostly just overthinking) to fluff / minor character death / smut / oral, (fem) / fingering / cum play / sexual mf intercourse mfs / protected sex (dont be silly protect your willy) / dirty talk / sappy stuff

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

tagged: @opalsheart @ronsbadidea @uselessmoonlight @boxofbadaddiction @lovenonymously @sergeantkilowog @rudypankowisdaddy, @nobutfredweasleytho some names didn’t come up when I tried, so what do we get from this? I can't properly use Tumblr <3

Five Years Later, 2003

"____, will you just calm down." Aleyna lets go of the book box full of bathroom supplies and they clink together, to which you wince because these are your stuff and you’re in a far too dangerous position to lose more money.

"How can I calm down?!" you exclaim dramatically, tossing your wand on the nylon wrapped couch. "It's all Stacey's fault."

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

"That one chick from Magical Catastrophes who always has lipstick on her teeth."

"I don't think her name is Stacey though."

You send Aleyna a look that screams, stop being reasonable at a time like this. No, this was when you overpaid your TV cable to air The Twilight Zone and drank cheap wine while cursing out your boss who cared about your well being. Hermione had become The Minister of Magic, and of course you were proud of her. Though, this didn't mean she could let you have time off work whenever something insignificant happened.

"Probably not," you mutter, opening your fridge and coming face to face with the painful truth that it’s empty, and you’re hungry. Your hand unintentionally flies to graze over your scar as you survey your options, a small pack of ketchup and left over chips. "Suits her though, feels good to say 'Goddamnit Stacey' when something goes wrong in my life."

Stacey deserves it because Stacey doesn’t refill the staplers on purpose.

Aleyna snorts, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "What did Stacey ever do to you?" Then she wheels across your new apartment to retrieve more boxes from outside.

You’re grateful for the support of all your friends, but the pitying looks they give you whenever someone mentions the words house and fire is enough to fuel into your secret want of setting their houses on fire. It was an accident, you were just trying to make the delicious recipe Molly had sent you, ignoring the small fact that you didn't know how to properly use an oven. The savings you lost from your bleeding bank account were not worth pasta with tomato sauce on it.

Though, your new apartment is big, bigger than your first because after making a name for yourself as an Auror money came easily. Wide walls for a projector TV, long tail shaped couch standing firm on varnished wood floorings, and two bedrooms that have their own - kind of unnecessary - bathrooms. Not to mention the giant kitchen with an island, only rich people had islands, where you could make plenty of Italian recipes and not worry about burning the house down because Aleyna fool-proofed it for you.

The flat was at the top floor of the new bar she just built, and she was kind enough to let you start renting the place. The residents of Diagon Alley had been fighting for this apartment for months, and you were proud to have snagged it before anyone could even offer.

Gripping the last two boxes, Aleyna pushes the front door with her foot and navigates herself backwards through the other dozen boxes you had just tossed on the floor. "These are the last two, are you sure you don't need anymore help?" she offers.

You shake your head, "I can just use magic, not in the mood for pursuing the muggle lifestyle right now."

Aleyna frowns, this reaches her eyes though. "That bad huh."

Simply nodding, you don’t bother getting into an in depth rant about how a simple fire didn't mean you had trauma, and that you didn't need to stop working for a few weeks. Not that being an Auror was hard, your work days have been quite uneventful if you didn't count a few "Revalutioners" sticking a muggle's head in a toilet.

"I know what will cheer you up," Aleyna chimes, already clad in her pea coat and sneakers. "Dinner, and it's on me."

You couldn't possibly say no to free dinner, also making food for yourself was probably not a good idea right now. Stay clear of ovens, you reminded yourself.

After getting snug in your coat and fluffing your hair, you fall on step next to Aleyna as the two of you chat.

The London cold is brutal, shivering whomever until their noses turn red and making their hands feel itchy when sudden warmth overtook. You’re used to it, as is anyone in Diagon Alley. People are crowding the stores, chatting loudly and waving their wands around at stores to reserve whatever crappy gifts they were going to buy for their family's.

You hate the holidays, refusing to go back to America and visit your own family. Your mother couldn't cook, nor could your father. Though, that didn't stop her from insisting every year and giving you, your father and the Burke's food poisoning.

After three years of sitting through awkward family dinners where everyone ignored the fact that you were almost Head of Aurors, and focused on Eva's collapsing career of Healer only to praise her, you had about enough and stopped attending. It had been two years since then, they didn't bother to write. Your dad occasionally sent you money in a horrible christmas card with an even more horrible pun written in red glittery letters that also sang Run Run Rudolph.

"Ugh, everyone's crowding the joke shop aga- oh." Aleyna pauses. "I'm sorry."

She knows about your past with Fred Weasley, considering whenever you rant about work it ends up with you cursing him and Eva out. He had such a blame-able face, just like Stacey from Magical Catastrophes.

You give Aleyna a look. "You act like I'm not a grown woman who can't get over something that happened eight years ago." you say, shaking off the small snow particles that begin to lightly fall. "You should be like this with, I don't know...my relationship with Theo! We broke up last year, why aren't you fragile with him, hmmm?"

Aleyna claps your back in a friendly manner all the same. "I know I know, but come on. This is childhood trauma we're talking about."

"Now that I think about it, seeing Eva's coochie was traumatic." you grin, and Aleyna's jaw gape even if she heard the story hundreds of times before. Not that Eva's...modesty was bad per say, just not a pleasant sight seeing as you guys grew up together.

Other than that fact, you hadn't talked, even seen Fred after the war ended. Sure, you occasionally stole glances at their very successful joke shop, but there was no point in dwelling and trying to fix an already withered away friendship.

You had fixed your relationship with Ron and Harry, having had no choice since the three of you worked together. "You were right ____, we were assholes. You don't need to apologize." they had told you, and that was that. The two families and well, you did weekly dinners and enduring the two men for Ginny and Hermione got easier as days passed, finally ending up in a good friendship like old times. It was casual between you, easy when no one mentioned how abruptly your friendship ended. No one dared to either.

Also, Harry was your boss and him remembering that you called him a drama queen wouldn’t do you any good in your career.

People bump at your sides as the two of you squeeze your way towards Sacree Fleur. The end of Voldemort brought a new, reformative era in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley expanded, new buildings were built and culture grew. You were happy to see that Ollivendar's Wand shop renewed, along with other crumbling buildings that needed desperate attention.

Bandits lessened, and the utter arrogance some parents had by not sending their children to get magical education faded, partly because there was nothing to fear, and partly because more job opportunities arose, like said, money came easily.

Fleur Weasley, your good friend and someone who had done the impossible and won over a Weasley brother - though she was gorgeous and possibly the sweetest person you've ever met, so really they were perfect for each other - had decided on a whim to open a french restaurant. Bill couldn't say no to his wife, the rough man you had met years prior was softened with age and the struggle of raising children.

Good wine, deliciously soft steak that melts in your mouth and warm atmosphere that makes five o-clock feel like midnight. It’s by far your favorite restaurant and you'd much rather spend your Christmas Eve curled up next to a warm candlelit dinner on a terrace.

"Bonjour!" an obscenely attractive woman, Fleur greets the two of you when the revolving glass doors are pushed, and you break out in a wide smile seeing your friend at the door. "____, Aleyna! Come here, give me a big hug!"

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

With dopey smiles, the three of you embrace.The door closes on it's own, and you shiver unintentionally, just now realizing how cold it is. Usually the big marble fireplace keeps Sacree Fleur warm, but even that seemed not enough and the restaurant is adorned with small muggle heaters, floating up above the ceiling and adding to the red light of the candles.

"You'll see. Came at a most amazing time too, silly girl always knowing when to show. Saw all the juicy drama when you were younger..." Fleur continues to joke lightheartedly, pulling away and leading the two of you through occupied tables as she faux scolds. People are content, it feels warm and almost soft. Conversation seems to flow easily and the unease you feel for the Holiday melts. Almost.

You blech whenever someone brings up the line ‘love is in the air’. It never made sense to you, because love was simply a fairy tale that would wither away with time. Also, how could love simply float? Of course, unless you count Amortentia fumes - which yours always smelled like sweat and crushed hopes. So frankly, you prefer expensive Dior perfume in the air rather than love.

Though now you find yourself doubting whatever you engraved in that well protected head of yours, love is truly in the air at Sacree Fleur. All kinds of love, mothers lovingly wiping food off their children's mouths, happy newlyweds clinking their wine glasses together with nothing but adoration in their eyes, friends enjoying sharing a simple dinner far more than should be done.

"My family, they're upstairs having dinner. The kids like the ice cream here, Mr Fortescue provides it well."

"Family? Ginny and Hermione are here?" you ask, lazily climbing the steps to the second floor to reveal the more, private part of the restaurant. Now, instead of wooden chairs with red cushions attached at the middle, there stand long booths with comfortable blankets and pillows with empty, eerily clean tables - except one.

The long table near the terrace is much livelier today, people sitting there whom you consider your own family. The three post luster that hangs low from the ceiling is turned on - it’s the first time you’ve seen the glamorous glass orbs in action. Its light ricochets off of several bright orange heads, simply calling it a lamp does no justice. The hue is yellow, low and it reminds you of the Christmas Eve fantasy you planned.

Said orange heads turn at the noise of delight you let out. "Oh Fleur! This is gorge- oof-"

"Auntie ____!"

A pool of orange locks squish into your stomach, snug in the soft fabric of your coat and you let out a chuckle. You can’t help it, even if you would never admit, he’s your favorite by a small number that-

"Well well, if it isn't Teddy Lupin."

The small boy chuckles, hair matching your black coat like a chameleon sticking itself on a flower and absorbing the color of the petals. You ruffle Ted's hair as the orange fades, he’s delighted to see you, and so are you yet your attention is quickly cut off by several disembodied voices thrown your way.

Bill Weasley is standing up, wine glass on one hand while grinning wide. “Look who my dear wife brought in!” his tidy yet visible scar stretches when his face brightens, you remembered again that day, just how much love you have around you.

“Hey everyone, hope we’re not interrupting.” you apologize, wincing but Bill quickly shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

You waddle your way towards the marble table, Teddy following suit with his face still smushed in your coat. He grips you tighter and you have to peel his small little limbs off your legs.

Aleyna scoffs, arms crossing together as she surveys Ted. “The blatant favoritism!”

Teddy rushes on his little legs to jump in Aleyna’s arms, and only then are you able to acknowledge the other - a little less important - people in the room.

“Happy holidays!” echoes around your head as several people embrace you all at once, and you have to simply stand and awkwardly loop your arm around whoever you can get a hold of.

Once the formalities are over, Ginny throws her arm around your shoulder. The red tresses of her dress hike up her leg from her slightly bigger stomach, and you can see the small broom tattoo on her thigh that she loves to display like a trophy. “You should’ve told us you were coming! We would have saved you a seat.”

A round of yes’s resonate around the room, and you take a quick moment to scan who’s afternoon dinner you’ve just interrupted. Hermione, hand resting on her very pregnant belly, is smiling warmly at you, and Ron quickly shoots up from his seat and wipes his mouth to catch up to his wife. Harry follows in his friend's wake, his hair has a white streak at the front and you furrow your brows.

“Age catching up with you Potter?” you grin, rubbing Ginny’s back fondly before she separates from you and greets Aleyna. “Or is it the pregnancy?”

Harry scoffs, pulling you in his embrace for a quick friendly second. “Always the charmer ____. I’ll have you know I’m handling it wonderfully, right Gin’?”

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

Harry’s face feigns faux disbelief, and it quickly melts as you bombard the man with questions about how Ginny’s first trimester is going. You mentally take note of asking Ron about Hermione’s as well, your two best friends are fucking pregnant. It’s almost too happy, and slowly the anxiety creeping up from your spine wraps around your throat, ready to suffocate you whenever.

It was always like this, the past ready to make it’s deathly move, because nothing is perfect. Happiness doesn’t come this easily.

And you’re right, because not only a minute after the warm embraces of your friends comes the voice of the person you’ve been dreading to see.

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

He’s a man. Of that you’re sure, because now his muscles stretch well over his broad shoulders, maroon satin shirt loose on his frame, tight around his biceps - properly sculpted of course - portraying defined collarbones.

His eyes are somewhat duller, though the same glimmer of loveable mischief he always had is evident. It will never go away, even after all these years, yet it’s tamer. That mischief caused him quite the trouble back in school, and now it seems he knows when to act, when to speak and when to stay silent.

His silhouette catches you off guard, his features are sharper, much sharper than how much Harry has matured. His biceps bulge obscenely when he rests his - also generously sized you might add - hand on the table, and the table suddenly doesn’t seem that long.

His forearms, on display with his sleeves rolled up, glistens under the soft lighting of the balcony. Your eyes fall on his bracelet adorned right wrist, one of which in particular catching your attention.

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

His face, always glowing, wears a large expression displaying his set of perfect teeth. He’s awestruck, you think.

You watch him push his large body out of the small chair, and wow chest, is your only thought. Then further down and...god damn thighs. Burly thighs - probably very comfortable too - squeezed in black tight fit jeans, however he managed that you don’t know but it was nice to imagine.

He’s leaned back, casual as he strolls towards you in two large steps, his long sculpted legs never disappointing.

Fred Weasley is genetically designed to ruin you and your insides with just one look, and you’re ashamed to have realized it all too late because when he speaks again you swear you saw stars.

“Wow - you,” he breaths, walking towards you with slow, unsure steps. “Grew!”

You raise a brow, Aleyna snorts. Grew? His steps should be unsure, because you want him to take them back, sit his fine fit ass back on that chair and pretend he never saw you.

Because this wasn’t your plan for tonight, seeing him wasn’t in your checklist. You woke up today, thinking nothing but coffee and a stressful moving day ahead. Not of the boy - the man you’ve been in love with since childhood, the man you blamed for your problems as an excuse to hide the heart squeezing pain of loneliness, the man you hadn’t seen in so many years you forgot what his voice sounded like.

You could have never guessed, and now you want to go back. Somehow rewind the clock to this morning when you were safe of your tucked away feelings trying to bulge, safe in your own little circle. All your efforts of leaving your house just a little early so you wouldn’t run into Fred seems stupid now. Your strategy ran smoothly for five years, it could’ve ran for more.

You would have continued avoiding him like your life depended on it, and his stupid joke shop, and the way he stupidly looked at you everytime he saw you. You’re reminded again, because no matter how older he looks he’s still Fred, and he still looks at you the same.

“I mean - beautifully! Shit I - fuck.” he groans, and George claps his brother on the back with a chuckle. Wherever he came from, because you were so entranced by Fred that you didn’t see George standing tall next to his family.

“____.” George stops before you, hands in his pockets. it happens too quickly that you’re forced out of your panicked state.

You raise a brow, and only then - Fred’s out of view with George’s figure towering over you - are you able to find your voice. “George.”

He pulls you in his tight embrace, “How come you never visited!” he scolds, chest stretching back to bring you with. “You’d think she’d bloody say hello once in a while! Maybe drop by our shop after 5 years, you quack!”

“George - can’t,” you heave and your legs wobble when he sets you on the ground again. You clear your throat, grinning widely at your...friend?

It would be fair to call him an acquaintance, right? You don’t know where you stand with the twins but you have love for them. This is clear from the way you can’t stop smiling like a sappy idiot - or perhaps it’s because of how contagious George’s smile is. You thought they hated you, but the youngest looks anything but displeased. He gives you a squeeze again before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“I thought - I dunno. I thought you guys didn’t wanna see me.”

George scoffs, “Because you told us off that one time in seventh year?” he laughs, arms folding and displaying a set of bulging biceps much like Fred’s. “Yeah mate, you’re not that intimi-“

“George Weasley, finish that sentence I dare you!”

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

It’s Frederick Weasley, probably here to beat you to death.

“Hey Fred.” you greet, mouth dry. Get a grip, you scold yourself.

Fred opens his arms, “Well well,” he laughs, pulling you into a hug with a polite smile. His cheeks tint red when you shuffle closer, you would have missed this but you’re a creep, and you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man before you. He displays his beautifully indented smile lines, as if he was saying look at me! I’m perfect and sexy, I also broke your heart that one time, too bad I had no idea!

And it’s true, Fred never knew about your feelings. You kept them well hidden and they ate away at your organs from the inside, there was no reason to blame him. The realization is probably what compels you to accept him with open arms and wrap them around his neck.

You feel him shiver, dismissing it quickly because of the cold.

He smells good. Way too good that you melt in his arms and let him engulf you in his dangerous warmth. Manly, musky cologne, mixing with hints of cigar smoke that lingers on only certain areas of his shirt. You recognize the scotch in his breath when he whispers how much he had missed you, and his nape still has that cinnamon deliciousness he would parade whenever he came out of the shower, you fought the urge to shiver yourself, and it’s not because of the cold either.

It’s dizzying, and before you can start a detailed essay about how good his muscles feel, firm and digging into all the right places, he pulls away.

The past hits you like a ton of fucking bricks and crumbles down the firm foundations of the walls you have been building for eight years. You feel guilty, have you learned nothing? The loud pounding of your heart is a warning, yelling at you to stop getting swept away. Yet you can’t control it, just like how you can never control your feelings.

“I missed you guys too.” you breath shakily, you have to make sure to keep your distance. For your own good, you tell yourself.

Teddy pulls away your attention, and you silently add buy Teddy an expensively dumb toy to your checklist.

He sticks to your leg and is adamant on staying there. “I grew taller.” he says, looking at you between his eyelashes. “He says I didn’t, but I know I did!”

You chuckle, ignoring how Fred looks at the boy with such a warm expression, ignoring the way your heart nearly catapults out your chest.

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

Ted immediately lets go of your leg and straightens, hand going to his forehead to salute you. A giggle escapes him when you bend on your knees and act like you have a measuring stick on your hand. “Oh yes yes, seven feet tall and growing.” voice mock deep, you nod sternly.

“By this rate - I’ll pass you! Hah!” Teddy stomps his little foot on the stone floor, little sneakers barely making a sound.

You stand up again and fold your arms, “Well, I grow too you know! You can never pass me.” smirking slyly, you egg him on to see how much he’ll endure before he demands a ride on your shoulders - because that’s how giants saw the earth he told you. You doubt giants compare to a twenty four year old woman with attachment issues

Ted stands on his toes, struggling to tug on your shirt and bring you down. “No, I don’t like this game anymore…”

“Alright alright.” and with that you pick him up and prop the little boy on your shoulders.

Ted happily kicks his feet on your chest and you groan. He’s supposed to be five, not a midget wrestler. “Easy buddy boy.”

“You’re amazing with him, little twerp barely lets me tie his shoes.”

Fred’s voice startles you, only now do you realize that he had been watching you and Teddy. Speaking of, Ted’s busying himself with your hair, small hands pulling and twisting locks and mumbling incoherently.

Ear tips slowly catching fire, you chuckle. “Buy him a broom at four and see how he handles it.”

Fred shakes his head, tongue poking at the side of his cheek and you remind yourself to breathe. “You spoil him then? They say the way to a five year old's heart is money.”

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

Nuff words said, everyone soon sits on their designated chairs, and you pull one from another table, being the uninvited one.

Aleyna isn’t slick, you knew she had something up her sleeve the moment she had offered to pay for dinner. Though, this is your fault. You let her without calculating whatever end result was waiting to catch you off guard and ruin your entire life plan to avoid Fred Weasley.

Being the snake she is, snake Aleyna enticed you with nice food, dragged you to Sacree Fleur and did her little snake magic.

Awkwardly angled next to your best friend, you chat with Harry and Hermione while they tell you what you missed from work. (Not that you missed much, actually nothing different seems to have happened other than boring paperwork and Mrs Newersman’s new hairdo.)

Swirling your wine in one hand, the reflection of Fred from the rim of the glass keeps distracting you.

He’s changed, not personality wise though there were tweaks. Nor looks, he’s an adult now and his boyish charm is gone, but it isn’t quite that.

You can’t put a finger on it either, and you watch him laugh, carefree with his sister.

He looks relaxed, or maybe it’s merely the wine. Is it - no, couldn’t be. He looks happy. Genuine happiness and adoration for whomever. Love in his eyes as he looks at - Ah. He’s looking at you.

You jerk your head away and tip your wine glass back to gulp down liquid courage - because you need it tonight.  This is bad, you tell yourself, kick you on the shin and punch to your gut bad. This can’t keep up or else you’re going to end up right back in that hollow pit of empty hope and gooey saturday lasagna.

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

Ron’s timbre voice thankfully grips your arms and pulls you away from said hollow pit.

“Uhh what?” you cough awkwardly, setting your now empty wine glass down.

“Christmas Eve, what are you doing? Going back home?” Ron asks, raising a brow.

You can lie but something compels you not to, maybe it’s how warmly they always welcome you, how they’re welcoming you now with open arms and nice food.

You shake your head, answering honestly; “No actually, I’ll just celebrate with Jambo and Christmas movies.”

And that’s exactly how you’ve been spending your Christmas Eve these past few lonesome years. It wasn’t that lonely, you had Aleyna and people loved her bar, you’d drop by and count down with people you didn’t know, at least you got to kiss a random stranger.

“Jambo? He’s still alive?” Hermione chuckles.

“No no, this is Jambo Fitzwilliam the Second, who is also a cat but don’t you dare tell him that!” smiling, you joke lightheartedly to conceal the harsh news.

Your hand reaches to trace around your scar as you speak.You know their eyes follow, and you know they stare at it when you’re not looking. Teddy asked you one day, even after Ginny’s scolding but you happily told him your heroic story and how Bellatrix smelled like piss and rum.

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

Jambo had unfortunately passed away because apparently dogs couldn’t live two hundred years, which you were disappointed because clearly Dumbledore could. You had already grieved and mourned, it left you with the happiest memories of your precious dog and you were grateful.

“Poor kitty doesn’t know he’s adopted?” George frowns, banging his fist on the table.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure he’s caught on by now, he’s three.”

“So, you’re spending Christmas Eve alone?” Fred asks, too suddenly and you flinch. He probably sees this, his effect on you.

You nod, and your friends gasp. Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal, or maybe it’s because of how normal it felt for you to be alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ginny says, hand shooting out to rub your arm.

“I’ve been trying to get her out for ages-“

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

“No Aleyna, do!” Ginny protests. “You’re spending it with us and that’s that.”

“Wha-“

George throws up his finger to shush you, “No objections!” he declares fiercely. “We’re having a party at our flat and you both are coming!”

“Oh! Unless you and Blaise have any other plans.” Hermione’s quick to ask, she isn’t being slick though.

Aleyna chuckles, “We had dinner reservations but we can make it.”

Hermione grins, and you watch Aleyna pretend that she didn’t notice her friend ready to snoop in her relationship with an amused smile. Not that it matters - she and Blaise have that kind of love you hoped for as a young girl. There was truly no two other people so perfect for each other.

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

Aleyna takes a sip from her almost empty glass and tuts on the bitter after taste. “Amazing, actually. He just got promoted…”

Almost empty glasses are soon emptied bottles, and two steaks turn into a large brownie for the middle. You know that it’s a good meal, because as you stand outside in the midnight cold, arm around Aleyna, your legs wobble and your stomach aches from all the deliciousness you’ve consumed. More like inhaled, you only realized how hungry you were until the second steak arrived.

“Thank you so much you guys!” you wave your arm, overly theatrical, forgetting about what a day you’ve had.

Though, the thoughts catch up as you lay awake in bed.

It had gone by too quickly, and your heart is still beating louder than any chirping of the bugs outside. Your bedroom lacks furnishing, it only adds to your wild imagination. Your mind paints pictures on the blank walls as your eyes dart around, Fred didn’t look in your direction once that night.

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

It’s strange, whenever you turned your gaze his way, he seemed to be busying himself with whatever, whether it be his fork or napkin. How interesting can a damn napkin be? Hopefully not any lesser than you.

And are you just going to ignore that goddamned bracelet? The one you carefully sculpted with beads in such a way that you were sure Fred would suspect at least a drop of your raging crush. He’s still wearing it, that piece of string and glass - the symbol of your love and effort - survived through a war.

Are you reading into things? Surely not, he greeted you as anyone else would. Or maybe he remembered - you don’t dare think of that night.

How can they act so normally, so brazen after everything? It’s been almost six years since you saw them, have they got nothing to say to you? Maybe an apology?

Frustrated, you turn to your side and force your eyes shut.

————————

When night bleeds into morning, every cat has a tendency to quip over to their owners on their cushioned paws - which makes no noise but simple claw scratchings on the floor.

Jambo’s no different.

So, you’d imagine the poor creature's shock when he finds your bedroom empty. If he’d bothered to check, you’re seated on your island stool, pen and parchment in hand and mug of hot coffee (instant given the circumstance) in the other.

You hung your new curtains this morning, and were making use of them by shutting them halfway on the hooks while your window stood half open. You watch the snow flurry outside and gulp. If this week was to go horribly wrong... at least you have nice curtains waiting for you at your ritzy new apartment.

Jambo wraps his tail around your dangling ankle like he always does and you barely hum in acknowledgement. He’s purring, and it brings you comfort even if it’s for a small moment. But your question still remains unanswered, What would a five year old boy want for christmas?

It had been exactly two days since Ginny invited you to spend Christmas Eve together, and you busied yourself with buying them gifts - a tradition you hated because 1. coming up with gift ideas is infuriatingly hard. It’s way too time consuming, nit picking every single personality and deciding what they’ll like and what they’ll pretend to like. Pretend like they’re going to use it, and then never touch it until that one very specific occasion.

Maybe it’s excessive, but you actually like these people. They somehow give you - a sad, lonely sewer rat that’d been a neglected child - joy.

And 2. you feel like those people you make fun of every Christmas. Though, somewhere deep in your heart, you know you enjoy being those people. You would never admit it though.

What? You actually relish in the idea that you belong to a group, and that said group causes you to carry out cliche holiday traditions?

Absolute blasphemy.

Finally deciding, you leave your apartment in warm but cher clothing. It isn’t as crowded this morning - or maybe it’s because it’s seven forty in the crack of fucking dawn. Though, with the amount of caffeine you’ve consumed, it feels like ten.

Would they even be open, you ask yourself, jogging quickly about the streets on your heels to avoid the cold. It’s Christmas, they have to be.

Of course your logic sucks.

Shivering, you round the corner tea shop and fasten your pace. Ass freezing, lip tucked in between your teeth, you realize you have underestimated the morning London cold.

Soon, thankfully, the giant head of George(?) you assume, comes into view. The animatronic is motionless, big porcelain eyes closed and displaying sinister gaping holes. You shiver, and not because of the cold either.

Keeping your eyes low on your feet, you push the glass doors of the shop open. You don’t bother to check the inside from the generous glass displays, it’s way too cold and you don’t want to spend any more time outside with the giant George doll.

A bell rings, a little jingle up above that puts a smile on your face. Jambo’s collar jingled like that whenever he got excited, whether it be a pesky squirrel ready to bum off your house food, or maybe a friendly one showing its face to piss off the house dog.

You sigh, and only then notice the delicious scent of fresh coffee roast. Invading through your nostrils and turning you into a drunkard, and you can’t help but gravitate towards-

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

“Who's here so early, couldn’t a man enjoy breakfa-”

You smile apologetically, it’s only natural that Fred just woke up. He isn’t a morning person, after years of knowing him you found out one way or another. In your case, he was mean to you and that’s when it clicked. Fred doesn’t like the early hours of morning, where his hair isn’t as tame and his lips feel like they’re about to pop. You find it charming.

“____?”, the man of the hour comes into view, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The first step is a rung, rolling on the hinges of the wall's edges. The staircase rattles when Fred steps down, and you quickly jump forward in panic.

Mug in one hand, his fingers rake through his mussed morning hair then settles on the checkout counter. “Morning,” He smiles, and those dang smile lines greets you, as if they’re mocking you again.

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

“It’s okay, have you had breakfast yet?”

Taken aback, you nod. Disappointment flashes through his face, and before you can analyze he straightens. Taking a sip of his coffee and humming, he fixes his pyjama bottoms. Red and checkered, loosely hanging from his hip and giving you a teasing view of his lower abdomen. “Can I get you anything?” he asks again, adamant on offering you something.

You shake your head no and you watch his face fall. Merlin, you would have come starving if it meant having breakfast with him. The view before you is enough to fulfill your darkest fantasies, and this is enough. Because you know that this is all you could get. His friendship.

But is it though? Is it truly enough? Will it ever be enough?

The questions that linger around your head have an answer that you wouldn’t dare set free. Everything you’re doing right now is wrong, how you’re standing in front of him, letting his delicious scent compel you further into him.

He smells almost alluring - he always does - less piquant than yesterday. Probably the after taste of neglecting a shower, yet his natural fragrance is just as charming. You remember those mornings at the Burrow when Fred stumbled down the stairs, sun early and bright, woken up just like himself. He smelled ama-

Woah, down girl.

Fred clears his throat, and only then do you realize how long it has been since you spoke.

“I need to buy something.” you blurt. Fuck, this couldn't get more embarrassing. “For Ted, his gift.” You finish lamely.

“Ah,” Fred chuckles, giving you a quick lookover. You flush. “You have come to the right place.”

It’s true, the shop is truly...something. A gateway to heaven for anyone twelve or younger. Fascinated, you take your time to linger your eyes on every little nook and cranny that catches your eye.

The shop feels much tamer without the telltale rowdy crowd, it’s almost comforting. You can really see a piece of each twin on each display, Fred’s being the Deflagration Deluxe. ‘A deluxe selection of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs’ read on the big cardboard. You chuckle, he always had a bag full of them that he carried around religiously.

“Those!” he exclaims, scurrying over to the display, “New and improved by yours truly.”

You chuckle, and Fred breaks out into a smile. “Here, I’ll show you around.” he mutters, before you can utter a protest, he takes your hand in his and drags you to a shelved corridor. “This is his favorite section, explosives and quidditch.”

You smile as you scan the heaps of colorful products lining the walls, all engraved with the shop's signature logo. Fingers coming out to touch a few, you subconsciencly swing your encased hands together. “These are real neat.”

Fred smirks, though his palms feel hotter than usual, “Not so much when he’s blowing up the bloody flat.”

You chuckle softly, eyes fluttering to imagine little Ted shaking up a pair of fireworks, unknowingly setting them off and resulting in a giant black mark on the ceiling. Because only that explains the small black stains on the walls of the shop.

“See anything you like?” Fred offers, almost in a whisper.

“No I,” you turn back to him, and something flashes between the two of you. “I’m still…looking.”

The air feels tense, warm, affecting your body. Your breath catches in your throat, Fred’s eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t know what to do. Even your breathing feels on edge.

He moves closer to you and your heart flutters. His exhales hit your ear, only a breadth away from your neck and you flinch. Chills lift up the hair on your arms, “No...erm.” you mutter.

“Alright.” he says softly.

His eyes are hooded, displaying a perfectly long set of eyelashes.

How, is the question. They’re long and thick, and you’re jealous. Yes, you might have ruined yours with your curler but still, if you were born with eyelashes like that you wouldn’t even need a blasted curler.

“What are you thinking ‘bout.” he whispers, long digit lifting to stroke your cheek. So soft that you barely feel it, before he trails it up your cheekbones, to the panes of your face.

The same alarms blast in your ears, and you can’t ignore them this time. It isn’t that you don’t like this, on the contrary you’re ready to jump him.

“Eva!”

Fred takes a step back, face falling. “What?”

You shake off whatever just happened seconds ago and focus on reality. “Gosh, I forgot to ask.” you exclaim, over excited but at what cost. “How is she doing? Is she up there in the flat?”

Fred winces. “Actually-”

“I’m guessing you guys moved in together, after all those years you know. Don’t tell me you guys got marr-”

“____!” he takes a deep breath, “We broke up a few years ago.”

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

Fred shushes you with a finger. Embarrassed, warmth spreads through you like a tidal wave. “I fell out of love, but it felt nice to have someone around, you know?”

You don’t say anything, yes you know but his loneliness and yours is much too different.

Growing up, Fred had the support of his family, he always had someone there. You knew it was bad to dismiss him like this, but the aching in your heart wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that. He always had someone affirming that it would be okay, someone to pat his back whenever he scored a goal through a hoop, whenever he got a good grade or did a cool trick with his broom. He still had them, even if he was at his worst. He had endless support. You didn’t.

It wasn’t easy after the war, living alone with nothing but the collar of Jambo gripped tightly in your hands. He had died shortly after Voldemort fell, and you had to hang onto the last piece he left until your agony died down. That was your only support.

Ginny, Hermione and Aleyna were there of course, but everyone's way of coping is different, and they didn’t understand yours nor each other’s. It’s worse to try and forget, run away from that fear because it would always catch up with you, and you found that the best way is to sit and feel.

But that doesn't mean your friends weren’t any less supportive. The after effects of the war were way more harsh on you than you let on, you were stuck on autopilot - a painful loop that made your life feel worthless. Work, money, survival - the three main aspects occupying your mind at all times. You didn’t have the love and attention to give to friends or a relationship (maybe that’s why it never worked out) but soon, Ginny and Hermione had reached out to you.

It was a simple letter delivered by their family owl Nebula - a descendant of poor old Errol. You remember tears pooling in your eyes when they told you how much they missed you, they gave meaning to your life. It was no longer the painful loop, they invited you over for dinner, visited every other day after hooking up your house Floo Network, you were always a welcomed guest in their homes.

They made you realize that friendship didn’t need much energy nor hard effort, just being there for each other was enough. Love for someone came naturally, and you didn’t need to extract some of your own self-love to give to others. They were two different things.

Skimming past that, you watch Fred show you three different options of Make Your Own Fireworks kits. You smile solemnly, accept a random one and quietly follow him to the checkup counter.

“So.” he starts, wrapping the product with the paper design you picked. “How about you, anyone special?”

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you shrug. “I dated Theo Nott for a year, I knew nothing would come out of it but like you said, nice to have someone.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Nott? Really?” he frowns. “Can’t believe that tosser managed to-”

You snort, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging, Fred hands you the package. “Nothing, it’s just that -” he pauses and his eyes look at you like you should know what he’s talking about. As if the two of you have some sort of telepathic connection, Fred was always like this.

He would look at you like you understood a word you said, even though he’s been silent for the past minute or so. He always struggled to express himself, and you’re sad to see that this habit followed him into adulthood.

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “That’ll be twenty five galleons.”

“Twenty what?” Your eyes widen. “You heartless man!”

Fred gapes at you, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Twenty five, to your oldest pal? Twenty and a stick of gum.”

Fred pretends to think. “How about you keep the gum and give me twenty four.”

“Twenty two.” you narrow your eyes, leaning forward on the counter. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

Fred scoffs,“I am giving you the holiday discount!”

Grumbling, you reluctantly stick your hand in your purse and take out your wallet. “I won’t forget this. You’re in my book.”

Fred gasped dramatically, “Not the book!” he exclaims, “Twenty two then, please for the love of merlin not the book.”

You lift your chin, head tilting to the side to survey him mockingly. “Twenty two it is, you won’t get away so easily next time.”

The two of you giggling, you pay him the money and leave a few sickles. “For the great service.” you say, him pretend-blushing at your words and tucking a strand of his shoulder length hair behind his ear.

He speaks after some time, the laughter has died down and left it’s comforting after taste. “I missed you ____, why didn’t you visit?”

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

How can he ask that when the answer is so obvious. Fred’s still cruel it seems, he doesn’t bat an eyelash as he speaks. He knows the reason.

“Oh you know,” you start after some time, “Work and stuff.” you lie, and fight the urge to cringe at your words.

Though Fred doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t push it either. He simply nods, looking down at the checkout counter. You’re glad he’s avoiding your gaze, because it makes your departure much easier. “See you at the party Fred, thanks for the...uh. Yeah.” you awkwardly lift your bag up and give him a wave before pushing yourself outside. You can finally breathe.

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

Blaise was arriving in exactly seven minutes and you barely just put on your dress. You’re sure of this because Blaise is always on time, he even has an unnecessarily expensive watch on his right hand that he obsessively likes to check. At least Aleyna’s into it, frantically trying to strap her heels, she’s wriggling herself towards the front door to somehow track her lover. You don’t know how love works, maybe they can smell each other from a mile away or something.

Shaking your head, you fluff your hair and wipe a hand across your under eye after wetting it with your tongue. You think Aleyna calls for you, you’re not sure because you’re too occupied trying to decide if you’re going to wear lipstick.

“Hey,” you walk out of your bathroom door and scurry towards her, “should I?”

Aleyna raises a brow. You scoff, “Stop doing that, you know I can’t raise mine individually.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem too if you don’t help me.”

As reflex, you roll your eyes. You only do this because you know it reminds Aleyna of that one chick from Blaise’s workplace - she knows no boundaries, apparently. It’s a shitty move, but it’s a shitty world.

Aleyna carefully inspects the two products you hold tightly between your hands. A simple shimmery gloss and a nude, almost dark red lipstick you stole - borrowed - from her. “Depends, who are you smooching?”

Throwing her an incredulous look, you hold out the two products on your palms. “I’m not smooching anyone.”

Unless of course Fred Weasley asks, if he does you would pull out makeup wipes from thin air and jump into his arms with naked lips ready to be kissed. Though, that’s only a fantasy and Fred is emotionally unavailable...scratch that, you are.

You’re not sure how tonight is going to end, and you can’t help but be aware of that looming clump of anxiety, clutching on your chest and refusing to let go until you're assured that it’s going to be fine.

“The gloss, just in case.” Aleyna stops your train of thought before it trashes off its tracks and crashes somewhere in Fred McDreamy land.

You nod, making no further inquiries and getting yourself ready as best as you can. Fixing your bodice and giving your scar a quick look, you finally hear the doorbell ring after a few long minutes, followed by Blaise’s deep voice greeting his girlfriend. You give the couple a few seconds to smooch - if you will, before walking back to the living room.

Blaise grins when he sees you, he’s wearing a sleek black suit with its first two collar buttons undone - you expect no less class from him.

“Happy Christmas!” you chime, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight just enough so you can whisper in his ear. “I hope you picked out the second ring, Zabini.”

Blaise swallows thickly before laughing, you know this because you physically feel him start to sweat. “I swear I did, don’t worry I have a plan.” he winks after letting go.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he loops an arm around Aleyna’s waist and pulls her by his side. “Only the best for my girl.”

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

You quickly clear your throat, “Anyways, let’s go before the serenading and the rose petals start.”

The three of you finally leave, the walk down your apartment building feels way too short, and the moment you exit you’re hit with the wonderfully chilly Christmas air.

For a moment, you forget where you’re going.

Lights are hung up everywhere, across shops, tangled through trees and some floating in the air. You can’t see the night sky, Diagon Alley has one of its own, adorned with radiant moons and luminous stars just bright enough for people to navigate themselves through crowds with zero accidents. It feels breathtakingly overwhelming.

Glass ornaments are charmed to fly across, a special show prepared by Madame Mulkin, and Mr. Eyelop tuned in by letting out a few snow owls rest around random trees to add to the warm atmosphere. There’s flavour wafting around the air, you inhale again to identify it better.

Speeding your way through - it hits you, gingerbread and chocolate.

You clutch your bag towards your chest, suddenly you feel disgustingly sappy. Though, you are in public so you decide to shake off that small warmth threatening your heart and continue walking towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The walk towards the shop feels too short again, you almost check your watch to see if Hermione’s playing with the time turner again.

You almost turn on your heel, dump the bundle of presents you’ve bought on their front door and leave. You can, in theory, you’ve separated from Aleyna and Blaise midway through and you can just run and never look back.

Tough luck, when you walk through the generously decorated shop and up the stairs, you’re disappointed to see their flat door wide open.

You stare at it, it feels too inviting. Frank Sinatra blares through the walls, you can smell hints of incense, trailing through your nose and tickling you, causing you to sneeze. You were always sensitive towards smells, and it never bothered you until now.

“Bless you!” George Weasley appears, rounding a corridor and greeting you with open arms into his neat dress shirt. He hugs you like you’re family, and if you weren’t holding a sack like Santa Clause with his your jolly ass hanging on by the mere piece of fabric of your dress you would have hugged back.

“Thanks, Happy Christmas George.” you smile when he takes the sack from your hands and weighs it with raised brows.

“You didn’t have to buy anything ____!” he pats your shoulder, hand trailing to your lower back to navigate you inside. “We are the gift givers, you’re our guest.”

You chuckle, walking through the long entrance corridor, “Of course I’m getting gifts you quack.”

George scoffs, “Using my words against me now are we?”

When you gaze up at the famous joke shop as a little civilian in the streets of Diagon Alley, you don’t expect to catch the sight of a flat this large. You knew it was sizable since two grown men somehow fit and live there, but you underestimated just how successful Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was.

The floors are wood, clean with even several shoes stepping around, chattering with wine glasses in their wobbly hands. A bulletin board hangs next to a quidditch rack filled with different kinds of equipment - old and new.

Too entranced by the cozy interior, you don’t bother stealing glances at the bulletin board. The kitchen and living room are connected, yet they still somehow feel like completely different rooms. The den is lit up by a brick fireplace, lightly crackling and making the atmosphere all the more comfortable. The soft fur (faux you hoped, though Mr Weasley did have a muggle hunting rifle phase which you thoroughly discouraged) carpet tickles your ankles and you have to hold onto George’s arm for support

“Bevvy?” he offers you, holding out a pint beer glass and you shake your head, admiring the apartment further.

Most couches are leather yet they still look comfortable, the kitchen is big but not obnoxiously so, you can hear the clinking of a foosball table - commotion makes sense in their apartment - the wide living space narrows through a corridor, leading to what you assume must be bedrooms.

You’re glad Fred and Eva broke up, because you decide then and there that you’re going to visit the twins everyday despite your history, just to step into this apartment again.

“____!”

Angelina’s sweet voice causes your unease to vanish in an instant and you crush her in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you smile, looping an arm around her shoulder and letting her guide you through the flat. “You changed your hair!”

Angelina nudges you with her hip, “Thank merlin you noticed, George is clueless.”

“Oh? George? You never told me - Hey Cho!”

You’re cut off by several familiar faces greeting you and telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you do, right next to Hermione and Ginny, two pregnant and fierce women that keep bickering with their husbands because of their weird cravings.

“I’m with you on this one Gin’!” you snort, eyeing Harry. You have a wine glass in one hand and the power you hold makes you feel too confident. “If the woman wants sausages marinated with toothpaste, she’s getting sausages marinated with toothpaste!”

Harry grumbles, “Will you please stop fueling this!” he protests, downing his drink and banging this on the table. “Look sweetheart, you wanted onions and mustard just a second ago so I got you ‘em, what made you change your mind?”

Ginny bangs her fist on the coffee table, in addition to Harry’s outburst. It seemed everyone was banging stuff on tables, so you do too.

“You think I know? Sod off or get me my toothpaste!” Ginny yells, banging another fist after you.

Harry kneels down next to the foot of the couch and holds his wife’s hand, gently massaging her knuckles. “We can’t get you toothpaste,” he says calmly.

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

“Stop damaging my property.” says George, materializing out of thin air.

You feel bad for Harry, you truly do but it only lasts for a second because this is even more entertaining than watching Aunt Muriel try to play foosball while shouting ‘Come at me you haired back marys!’

You’re enjoying yourself, the buzz, the warmth, the scent of fire. It’s comfortable and not at all like a party. It’s as if you’re visiting your friends for thanksgiving, homely and welcoming.

Though, the first crack forms when you see Fred, eyeing you from the small bar of their kitchen.

Dressed in navy slacks and a red, turtleneck sweater, he leans against the counter with a glass of Firewhiskey clutched on his big hand. He swirls it as his lips twitch, keeping his gaze set on you. His hair falls on his eyes, mostly pushed back but how strong hair gel can really be?

He looks good, way too good for a party. But it’s not the outfit, it's his entire presence. The way he holds himself, acts, speaks - shit, it’s attractive. He can do anything and he’ll always have that charismatic charm, it makes you feel envious, not to mention incredibly horny.

It’s Christmas, it’s a sacred holiday. You can’t let Fred sexy Weasley get to you, no matter how unapproachable and out of your league he looks.

You’re the bigger person - apparently - and you decide to greet him first.

You don’t know what compels you to do this, but it must be quite a strong force because you feel yourself start to quiver when you abandon your place on the couch. It’s so strong that your wobbly legs carry you while you push through tipsy friends and hold you up all the way to the kitchen area.

“Merry Christmas.” you croak, pulling him in a quick hug which he returns happily.

“Merry Christmas yourself.”  he smiles, gaze drifting lower to your dress only for a second before he swallows.

His signature cologne that you’ve engraved deep in your head this past week bursts out again. You smile softly, relishing in him.

“You look,” he seems to be giving much more thought on whatever he’s about to say, he settles on; “Beautiful, you’re, uh - the dress.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” your face falls. The dress is beautiful, not you. Of course. “Thank you, I would say you don’t look too bad yourself but that would be a lie.”

Fred raises a brow, putting his wine glass on the bar with a clink before slowly turning on his heel. “Aw, cheers love.” he says casually, “Wore it for you,”

You raise both your brows, “Is that so?” you fight a grin.

“This little number is my lucky charm.” he smirks, pulling on his shirt. “Made women fall at my feet back in the day, maybe you will too.” he finishes, more bashfully than before. His cheeks are tinted pink and, now, for the first time, you feel clueless.

Your heart stutters when you speak, “Trying to butter me up Frederick?” you say shly, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours.

Fred winks. “And what if I am?” he suddenly straightens, arms folding together. His head bows as he continues with a smile, “I’m joking, got this a week ago for the party.”

You fight the urge to smile, “Ah, so not the chick magnet.”

“Well,” Fred laughs, “It’s still very wolfish.”

“Whatever you say, big ole pussy cat.” you pat him on the shoulder.

Fred scoffs good naturally, “Ah, you hurt my pride ____.”

When you don’t say anything, his gaze falls on you. He takes the time to look at you, really take you in and it makes your efforts feel appreciated for once. He takes a deep breath, head careening left for a moment.

“It’s not just the dress.” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes falling on your scar. “You really are beautiful.”

Your hand immediately flies to your brow, tracing a finger down the gash. It’s not as noticeable anymore and your hair grew back - thankfully - but the knowledge that it’s still there, parading itself to everyone makes you feel much more self conscious than you should.

Fred’s hand closes over yours and you freeze. “You might not think so, but not only is your scar a wicked bedtime story, it’s very attractive.”

Your ears feel hot, “You think I’m attractive?”

It’s a nice compliment - especially when it comes from a man like Fred.

“Do I think you’re,” he gasps, giving you an incredulous look. “Of course you’re - ! I mean you can’t be asking me that - are you, gah!”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. It’s quite amusing watching Fred Weasley struggling to speak, clearly embarrassed. The knowledge that you made him this way, you were sleeping like a baby tonight that’s for sure.

“Look, ____. I actually wanted to tell you something really important.” he fidgets with his cuffs.

You furrow your brows, “Of course, what is it?”

“I used to, well I think I still do because it never truly went away but - okay, this is harder than I thought.”

You chuckle nervously. “Fred, you’re freaking me out here.”

You hear him mutter something along the likes of what’s wrong with me, until he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

When you left your apartment a few days ago, your mind didn’t calculate the outcomes of meeting Fred Weasley.

The impact is so strong that it causes your past to - not flash, because this is painful - slowly start playing before your eyes, like a play you have to sit through because the seats were expensive, and the star of the show, the star of your own life is standing right in front of you.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, gold cocktail dress. The costume design is delicate, it’s the type of dress you flutter your fingers in (the fabric is ticklish and soft, you just had to touch it) before moving onto the next. The rack is full of other suitable options, because you know you can never wear a dress like that.

But Eva can. She was always gorgeous, you couldn’t compare.

Fred’s eyes are wide, the way he’s tugging on your dress makes worry wash over you. “Eva? Erm - who invited you?” His words sound more bitter than he intends them to, or at least you think so.

“Oh, is that how you treat guests around here?” she fucking giggles, playfully slapping his shoulder.

You can’t tell if she’s purposely ignoring you - you’re standing right there - or just forgot your existence after seeing Fred in those pants because sweet merciful heavens.

Fred shifts uncomfortably, “Right sorry well, Merry Christmas!” he’s back to normal, addressing her as he addresses anyone else you can’t help but smirk.

Of course, you immediately jump on this opportunity. Eva may have ruined most of your childhood, she may currently look gorgeous - mockingly so, but you’re not kids anymore. No matter how insignificant you feel, you still have your pride to protect.

“Merry Christmas,” you add, jumping forward. “How long has it been?”

Eva’s expression turns sour, though she conceals it quickly. “____! Oh I love your dress.”

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

“Happy holidays Freddie! Where can a girl get a drink around here?” she squeaks? You’re not sure, her voice is too sweet and you don’t know how to act.

Fred grins, “Right there,” he points to a corner far away from the kitchen. “Lee’s in charge of drinks, I’m sure he can hook you up with something.”

Eva ponders, pausing for a beat. She’s expectantly staring at Fred, though when he shows no intention of accompanying her she gives you a menacing look and leaves.

You didn’t expect a big reunion because you saw Eva a few months ago at the hospital, you had sprained an ankle while training with Ron, and she tried to heal you before the Head Healer cut in and told her to take a walk.

Fred’s weight relaxes as soon as Eva’s out of view, it doesn’t take much to know something happened between the two - it wasn’t a harmless breakup like Fred had told you. You don’t push it though, if he wants to tell you he will.

“Well that was,” you say, and he hums in response, swirling his drink in one hand. You watch the gold hue with him for a moment. “Interesting.”

He snorts, “She drops by every Friday to give me green apples. I hate green apples.”

“How long did you guys date?” you can’t help the words that tumble out of your lips.

He stares at you for a moment, you swear his lip almost twitch in a smile before he clears his throat. “Three years, I thought I loved her for a year.”

“Well what changed your mind?”

Fred looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question a joke shop owner could hear. “You, daft idiot, you did.”

“Wha-” you stammer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fred groans. “I need a drink.” and with that, he leaves towards where Eva previously walked on her precious Chanel heels. Leaves you alone.

It wasn’t like you called the man's family a disgrace and cursed his entire bloodline. Confused, you decide that maybe you need a drink as well to survive this night.

Everyone you had talked to so far ended with a disagreement, except George because he probably felt bad for you and your huge red gift sack. Embarrassment fills your cheeks as you walk towards the beverage table, you shouldn’t have come tonight.

The cherry on top gets dropped on the shit sundae when Eva Burke bumps into your shoulder and causes you to spill your drink.

“Oops! Babe I’m so sorry,” She pulls a red cloth from the glass table filled with different types of intoxications and rubs it on the fabric of your dress, further ruining it.

Embarrassment turns into frustration, this turns into pure anger. You see red.

You snatch the cloth from her hands and lightly push her forward, Eva dramatically - and very theatrically - falls on the ground with a yelp.

“Oh get up!” you hiss, throwing the cloth on the ground.

Eva scrambles to her feet, holding her right ankle with dainty, perfectly manicured hands. “Oh, now we’re turning to violence are we? Some things never change.”

You let out a frustrated grumble, stumping your heel on the ground. “I really don’t have time for this Eva.”

“We’re just talking babe, I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

Suddenly with her magically healed ankle she trudges forward. “Is it the dress?” she pouts, bending down to eye the splotch on your chest. “I can pay for it, say...two sickles?”

Your eyes narrow, “How about this, you show me how your career is going and I’ll decide if you can afford a wash.”

Eva barks out a laugh, “How about this, I’ll show you a family picture album.”

Gasping, you hold back the urge to slap her. You never expected Eva to stoop this low, and you know you shouldn’t be upset over it but it hurts. It hurts how easily she can use your family against you with no remorse.

Beyond pissed, insulted and done with tonight, you pull out your wand and get ready to apparate. This time it’s not to run away, nor do you feel like a coward. You feel tired, using your palms to press into your temple and relieve your throbbing headache.

Eva grips your wand and tries to pull you forward with failed force. “Let’s get this straight, Fred’s not interested in you.”

“And you think he’s interested in you?” you laugh, “You broke up remember?

Eva flings her long hair back, “And I’m gonna get him back. No one breaks up with me.”

“So, you're still a narcissistic bitch.” you smile.

“And you’re still pathetically clinging onto whatever I touch.” She takes a step forward, and it hits you then and there that you aren’t going home sooner or later. “Wanna know why we broke up?”

You hold your breath, her perfume is too sweet and you can’t process her words.

“He caught me cheating.” she smirks. “And he still begged me to stay, after all that.”

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about ready to punch her. You’ve never seen someone so prideful, so proud to have done something so obaminable. But it doesn’t surprise you, you pity her.

“Some loser from the bank.” she mockingly wipes a nonexistent tear with her jeweled wrist. “See, that’s the difference between me and you ____. “

You almost scream bloody murder. “Oh do enlighten me.” Your voice is weirdly high pitched but you don’t seem to care.

“He begged me, not you. He’ll never want you. You’ll always end up with the leftovers ____, accept that.” she hisses, taking another step forward.

You don’t know what you’ve done to the woman standing before you with nothing but red fire in her eyes, she looks ready to pull out your hair follicle by follicle, yet it makes you smirk. With a shit eating grin on your face, it hits you. “I knew it.” you laugh.

Eva stutters, “What?”

“Why you’re actually delusional to think he’s taking you back.”

“Oh but he will.” she protests, stomping her heel.

“No, he won’t.”

When you see Eva stay quiet, you continue. ”You grew up spoiled rotten, your parents love you, hell my parents love you, you always had the most friends and always got your way.”

She smirks, you’re tempted not to continue but years of pent up anger is ready to burst through your chest. “Yeah, jealous are we?” Eve mocks, and you quiver as you speak. Stating the obvious doesn’t hurt you anymore.

“No, because you grew up thinking everyone will love you, no matter how wrong you are, or what horrible things you do, you’ll always think that people won’t stop being by your side.” you shake your head, tutting. “But you’re wrong. I guess that’s what too much love does to you - you think a simple sorry will fix what you did? Because no, it won’t.”

“Oh stop it, Fred wants me back, it’s painfully obvious.” Eva speaks, but she doesn’t sound sure at all.

“I’ll make it clear for you.” you smile. “Fred won’t take you back for cheating, you won’t get a second chance in your career, and you sure as hell won’t be getting an apology from me.”

By now, you don’t care who's listening, because they are. Oh, they’re eating this kitty fight up like free dessert Monday at Fleur’s. Your childhood friends are watching you with intense, widened eyes. And somehow, in a cruel, wicked way, you feel satisfaction. The harsh words slipping out of your lips like nectar, in comparison to the way they slap Eva across the face fills you with nothing but disgusting satisfaction.

Sure, it’s immature and yes, you could’ve worded everything much better to be even more impactful, but the way her eyes are bloodshot and vengenceful, it’s enough for you.

Eva grits her teeth, and you know she doesn’t have much to say. “I don’t need an apology from you, ____.” she speaks, and her next words cause you to freeze, because no matter what wrong doing, she’s still right. ”You’re right, I might not be forgiven, but in the end I will always be better than you. People will always favour me more and you can never change that.”

You try to lunge forward, teeth gritter. With harsh impact, you topple backwards. Strong arms are wrapped around your chest, holding you back from gouging Eva’s eyes out with the toothpick from the martini glasses.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fred says, a deep rumble coming from his chest and against your back. You fight the urge to shiver, though you’re way too angry to be thinking of how good he smells. “Why don’t we sober up sweetheart.” he asks you, whispering.

“No!” you shriek, struggling to move forward. “This isn’t over until I break her nose!”

Eva laughs, “Oh come at me, babe! Let’s see what a traumatized neglected child can do, yeah?” her eyes flash.

A deep, growling of distress leaves you. “Oh let me go! Let’s see what a filthy adulter can do!”

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

You groan, “Heaven’s above let me go Fred.”

Eva takes two steps forward before Lee grasps her arms. “But these things happen for a reason!” her shrill voice causes you to wince.

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

Eva shrieks, lunging forward in an attempt to reach you again, and at that moment Fred seems to have about enough.

“Alright, that’s it.” His stern voice causes you to flinch, muscular arms still holding you close to his chest, he yanks you backwards and starts walking towards the corridor. “That’s enough with the both of you, Lee take Eva outside, get her some fresh air.”

——————

Fred has the decency to take you to his bedroom rather than toss you outside like he had done with Eva.

If the situation was any different, you’d be over the moon right now. Alone? With Fred Weasley? In his big bedded, fireplace occupying, additional bathroom having bedroom?

Said situation did not have you sitting on a leather rocking chair, big mug of coffee in hand while Fred lectures you like a parent. Actually, you wouldn’t know.

You’ve been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, too scared to say anything and anger him further. You knew how much this party meant to him, and you had ruined it with your childish, pent up jealousy. It wasn’t just you per say, but you had let Eva get to you.

“Can’t the two of you act your age for one fucking second,” he groans, hand propped against the brick fireplace. “I know how infuriating she is, but you-” inhaling sharply, he strides towards you. “Say something will you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

You gulp, you shouldn’t have brought it up when he was agitated, but you can’t listen to him while the words echo around your head. You feel awful, insensitive, anything else to call yourself that makes you feel better towards your lack of judgement. “She cheated, you didn’t tell me. Why?”

Fred pauses, after what feels like a seconds he bends down on his knees in front of you while you watch him, engrossed.

“Been waiting for you to bring it up.” he chuckles, his smile disappearing in an instant. His ginger locks hang in front of you and you realize that his shampoo, like the rest of him, smells amazing. You fight the intense urge to card your fingers through.

“Merlin, I just,” he meets your eyes. “I felt ashamed.”

Suddenly standing up, your hands flail. “Why?”

Fred stands up as well. His stance alarms you, arms wrapped around himself, brows furrowed and defensive. “Not ashamed because of you, because of myself.”

You take a step forward when Fred indicates that he’s going to continue. “I thought you were going to judge me. Bloody coward, can’t even break up with his cheating girlfriend.”

You scoff, “Fred, I’ve known you since I was eleven. Sure we had some tough times but do you really think that low of me?”

Now he scoffs, it’s nothing short of mockery. “Tough times my arse. You avoided us like the plague, ____.”

“I had my reasons,” you raise your voice, wincing slightly and it only fuels Fred’s anger.

“Proper liar you are, you didn’t even write, or even just explain why you suddenly walked out.”

You don’t feel ashamed for what you did, it was for your own good. Though, Fred’s right. You never gave a proper reason other than those childish insults at Hog’s Head. But now, with your head banging, you can’t think logically.

“Again.” you grit your teeth, words spilling between like venom. “I had my reasons.”

Fred quickly stalks towards you, enough so you can reach a hand, grab his jaw and smash your lips against his. But you don’t. “Excuse me for not giving a rat's arse about your reasons, do you know how worried I was!”

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred wealsey fic #hp smut #fluff #angst #hp angst #reader insert #george weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

[actualbird]

came across the “a day with...” series that was posted on the tears of themis twitter and...

this poor chump... marius seems to have sadly gotten saddled with an 8am class, one of the worst evils in the world of academia, and thus has to wake up at 6:05am for it. i really love those extra five minutes, because i like to think that he’s supposed to be up by 6 but he spends five minutes in bed just hating the world before getting up for real. like, look at his face. that is the face of somebody who Does Not Want To Be Awake Right Now But Has To Be. 

on that note tho //grabs marius by his stupid designer jacket and shakes him vigorously. GO TO SLEEP EARLIER!!! 12:30am??? and u get up at 6 the next day???? thats 5 and a half hours of sleep, oh my god, honey, what the hell. like, okay, fine, this isnt out of the ordinary for somebody who is still studying, but marius is also hustling as CEO in the afternoon and then works on his art in the evening. HE NEEDS MORE SLEEP, FOR THAT.... 

thank you, tears of themis twitter, for showing us that the only reprieves artem gets from work is when he cooks his own dinner and when he dissociates in morning rush traffic. 

moving on.

finally, somebody who sleeps in. vyn understands that sleep is needed for sanity and rightfully indulges. additionally, im very glad that the class he teaches is at 2pm and not a terrible ungodly 8am like marius. like, 8am classes are nightmarish already if youre the student. as somebody who comes from a family of teachers, i must tell you: 8am classes are worse when youre the teacher. thank god vyn doesnt have an 8am. id be scared for his students if he did.

additionally, i love his plant time and phonograph time!!!! vyn is 27 yet he lives his leisure time like an octogenerian. mad respect.

5:30am...

luke...

...what the fuck

okay, see, i get the early wake up times for marius and artem, they have to be awake because they have set schedules due to their occupations but like. based on luke’s three jobs (antique shop owner, private detective, NSB investigator) his time is the most unstructured among the boys. he can set his own hours for his shop and for his investigations. so like. why. why are you up at 5:30am. by...by choice???

good lord. i regret to inform you all that luke pearce is a morning person (derogatory).

#tears of themis #hc #yes i am analyzing the chibi comics. WHAT ABOUT IT!!!!

[raggaraddy]

Sugar Daddy turned sour

Request: Hi!!!! read all of ur works its all amazing cant believe ur new.. can i request for a yan sugar daddy taehyung x reader x yan sugar daddy jungkook. they found out that that y/n have 2 sugar daddies and they lost their sanity(as if they even have that)...Thank u and YOU GOOD,KEEP GOING💜💞💞💞💞😘😁

A/N: I don't know how to post a reply to a personal message yet because I am new and Tumblr deficient 😅 But I hope you like the scenario ^-^ thanks for the request 💜

Here for Part 2

Summary: Juggling two guys and getting everything you want from them has always been easy for you, and Taehyung and Jungkook are no exception. Or so you thought.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of non-con, assault, cheating, violence.

Yandere! Taehyung

Yandere! Jungkook

Sunday.  Taehyungs day.  

You open your webcam, checking your eyeliner quickly in the startup view as you wait for the Tae to pick up on the other side. He pops up quickly a beaming smile filling his face.  

“Y/n! Baby, I’ve missed you.” He’s radiant. As happy and as bubbly he always is. 

You go along listening to him excitedly run through his past few days, telling you everything in excruciating detail as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another. He may be an adult but he certainly has a young soul. The whole while you feign attention, your fingers continually fidgeting with the diamond necklace or the matching bracelet he had sent you a few weeks back.

“How was your weekend?”  He finally gets around to asking. 

“Not so good. I always have to work so much," You complain, batting your eyes at the camera.  

“You could always quit and come live with me.” He jokes-but not really. It’s a topic he has raised 3 times already.  And you have the same answer ready as always. 

“Daddy, you know I’m a strong and independent woman. I could never let someone else pay for me.” You pout, running your tongue over your lower lip while pushing your chest up a little to draw attention.  “It’s just my rent is so expensive. I feel like I work just to pay the bills.” 

In truth, your rent is already being covered by someone else.  But he doesn’t need to know that. 

While you continue to run through the fabricated details of your weekend, Taehyung is distracted, looking down at his phone.  You know what's happening. It’s like a game. And you’re winning. Your banking app sends a notification, letting you know that K. Taehyung has just sent you a payment. 

You open it up. Yep. That's rent for the month.  Or more, money for that new TV you wanted.  

“Oh! Daddy, noo.” You whine down the camera. “You can’t.  I am okay. Really. Please don’t spend your money on me.” You frown if only to stop the smile that is fighting to fill your face. 

“I want to baby. I have the money, and I just want you to be happy. Don’t stress about bills okay. I’m here.” 

Sometimes, it’s almost too easy.  

“Okay Daddy, if you insist.”

Tuesday.  Jungkooks day.  

With Jungkook it’s a much more straightforward transaction.  He has said he wants to pay for you and he hates the back and forth pretences.  He just wants you to say thank you, smile pretty, and give him all your attention.  

“Do you need anything more for the week?” He asks through the camera.

“No Daddy, you take such good care of me. Thank you.” You smile. 

“You still have the weekend of the 14th off?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.  Off-screen you quickly scan through your calendar.  

14th, 15th and 16th: Jk weekend.  

Hmm, that came up quicker than you expected. You try to keep your booty calls with them as far apart as possible. 

“Of course, I’m so excited! I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You say, it been less than 100% truthful.

“Months.” He corrects with a surreptitious undertone.  

“Where are we staying this time?” 

You always insist to stay in hotels. Because ‘your apartment feels too busy and mundane, and you want the time you spend with him to be magical and undistracted’. Honestly, you just don’t want him, either of them, in your personal space. You purposefully chose boys who live a few hours away.  It’s hard enough to keep them separated in your everyday life with them being far away. It could only get messy for them to know where you live and how to reach you in person.

You’ve certainly gotten smart at this. Arranging the two men into different days of the week, scheduling them into your calendar to keep them apart and unaware of the other. Both had specifically said very early on that they do not want to share you with anyone else.  And that you were all theirs. And while both of them seemed to trust you, you knew their reactions would be unpleasant, to say the least, if they found out about the other. 

Sugar Daddies can be so possessive. 

But while both these men are very handsome, money is better and more reliable than boys. And if they are stupid enough to spend it all on you, why should you care.

The week passes quickly and it’s the 14th.  Once more you find yourself in the lobby of a 5-star hotel. Jungkook arrived in town early and sent you a message with the room number. 

Time to actually work for your money. 

You knock on the door only to find it slightly open.  Entering there is a trail of rose petals lining the floor leading into the suite. All the lights are dimmed with a warmth of candlelight filling the room. This is so typically Jungkook. Pulling out all the stops to try to impress. 

Dropping your bag at the entrance, you close the door behind you and explore inwards.  

“Daddy?” You call out in a singsong voice. Your heels clack on the tiled floor as you round the corner into the living room. Jungkook is sitting on the lounge, one leg crossed over the other, arms rested up over the back. You smile at seeing him. You always seem to forget just how stunning he is in person. 

“Which one of us are you referring to?” A deep voice startles you from behind. You jolt, spinning to see Taehyung standing behind you leaning against the wall.  

Holy fuck. 

Your mind starts to jumble through what is happening. Thinking about what it was that might have given you away. Evaluating how much they may know. And planning your next move.  

Damn it.  You doubt you’ll be able to smooth talk your way out of this with Jungkook. He’s too direct and absolute. So you’ll just have to accept that that relationship is over. However, you might be able to salvage this situation with Taehyung if you play your cards right. Being defensive should do the trick.

“What is this?” You snap, keeping focused on Taehyung. “This is such a violation of my privacy! You keep smothering me Taehyung! See this is why I tried to find someone else to hang out with.” You stomp your foot. He would always wrap around your finger so quickly with the little girl act. 

“Ha!” He blurts out a short laugh in contradiction to how you expected him to react. “Wow. No, go on. I want to see where this is going.” 

“Do you think we only just found out about each other?” Jungkook pipes up, coming from the couch. 

You sigh. You had almost saved enough for a holiday to the Maldives too. But they seem to know too much. Fine. You can burn both relationships. They were starting to get too clingy anyway.  “Whatever.” You roll your eyes. You got all you could from them. Time to move on to the next.

As you shrug them off, Taehyung steps into the path of the front door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Both he and Jungkook start to close in tighter. There is a cold tone to his words. Something far too close to a threat for your comfort. Even in heels, both men naturally stand taller than you which usually wouldn’t bother you. But with an unsteadiness to your footing and a very short dress on, in a dark room with two men you have used and spurned, you are feeling even more vulnerable than you feel you should. 

“Move.” You order. 

A smirk on his lips, Taehyung lifts his hand up and backhands you, knocking you back a few stumbled steps. You gasp, your hand clinging to your cheek, eyes wide in shock. He starts forward, Jungkook intervening, standing between the two of you. 

You can not believe he just hit you! He has never done anything like that before.

“No, don’t do that.” He stops Taehyung as he starts to swing again.  Shaking all over, you’re relieved that one of them is seeing sense.  You take the outstretched hand of Jungkook, lip trembling from the burn on your cheek. He draws you closer and you wrap into him for protection. In the same motion, his free hand swings down punching you in the stomach, doubling you over, dropping you to the floor. “If you hit her head, she might get spaced out. I want her to feel this.”

His words send a chill down your spine. This can not be happening.

“Are you crazy!” You gape, trying to speak while gulping down air. Your head is dizzy, your lungs burning.  Kicking off your heels for better movement, you climb back up to your feet not wanting to engage either man. Eyes focused you look past Taehyung to the door, storming forward. “I’m leaving. We’ll forget all of this, okay.” You bargain through short, panicked breath. 

Taehyungs large hand slams you into the wall, pressing his palm against your shoulder. He follows Jungkooks lead, pounding his fist into your gut. And then again. And again.  His hold removes letting you free and you plummet to the ground, crying within broken huffs while cradling your battered torso. 

“You’re right. That is better.” He laughs at Jungkook. 

“Stop!” You beg, unable to raise your voice above a soft yelp. 

“What's wrong baby? You wanted two men. Now you have them.” Taehyungs bright smile returns to his face. This time with an entirely different meaning than it had ever had until it shifts into a straight, harsh look that you have never seen from him. “Didn't you always say you wished there was some way you could repay me?” 

“You said that to me too.” Jungkook joins his side, both hovering above you, trapping you between them, the wall, and the floor. 

Leaning down Jungkooks hand follows you as you squirm away from him. His fingers wrapped around your throat and lift you up, keeping you against the wall. He takes advantage of you being stuck, leaning into you pressing his lips to yours as you resist as much as you can. 

“Baby, you’re going to pay us back for every dollar we spent on you.” He snarls. 

Taehyung turns your face to him, also forcing a kiss on you. “Don’t worry, Y/n, you’ll see that we know how to share.”  

Part 2

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