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#not too old to be raised to be whatever theo grew up to be but like

theodcrehughes · 7 months

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FATHER THEODORE HUGHES

the compassionate soul.

Age; 44 Originally From; Surrey, London Town lived in visiting virus was released; Atlanta, Georgia Town Job; Priest / Therapist / Teacher / Record Keeper Previous job; Priest

musings. // interactions. // playlist. // pinterest.

hcs:

Theodore adapts wherever he is.

As a priest he tries to be apathetic to those around him and of course has a compassion for society and the humans in it.

He believes everything can be turned into a positive, even when you can’t see it in the moment and strives to keep that mindset; infecting those around him with it.

He’s great at playing devil’s advocate and uses that ability to help others in whatever they’re going through.

Terribly misses home and fully believes the virus stayed within the North American continent, possibly traveling to South America.

Catching himself talking in an American accent every now and then, especially when saying specific words.

Can play piano very well and sometimes can be found tapping his fingers against his leg, keying one of the many hymns he’s learned throughout his church years.

Theodore Sebastian Hughes was born and raised in Surrey, London but grew up in foster care in a religious household. Mass was every Sunday. Prayers before every meal. A shrine of Mother Mary in the foyer of the house; and don’t forget to bow and sign the cross when passing the statute or, God forbid, it would be viewed as sacreligious. This was the only life Theo knew. He even went to Catholic school and eventually decided he was going to become a priest. He had the compassion for it, and the heart. When he revealed his future endeavors to his foster parents, they celebrated and adopted him into the family.

Despite many questions if it was the right life path, Theodore did become a priest and was assigned to the church he had attended since a child. He stayed with this church for many years adapting into a teacher role. Eventually came the time when Theodore was asked to accompany his peers during a trip to Georgia in the States. Never having been overseas, he agreed and packed that night. When they reached land, the airports shut down with news outlets claiming a viral outbreak had begun infecting people, making them turn into mindless, carnivorous beings and to stay clear of big crowds.

Theodore and his peers found a small group of people to lay low with. The small group grew, and grew … and grew, and grew. One by one his peers died off from either old age or a sickness. As they did, the community turned into a religious cult. Unfortunately, Theodore’s eyes were not open to this until it was too late. The leader of the cult began forcing the people to worship him - claiming he was the second coming of Christ. Knowing Theo would no longer be welcomed, he left and began traveling. Over time he came across many groups, staying with some until they either died off or were overrun. Before leaving his last group, Theodore took a white horse named Faith. Seemed fitting to take her as he was beginning to lose his. The two traveled together until finding Redwood.

#redwood.intro

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redwoodwv-hq · 7 months

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Name: Theodore Sebastian Hughes Age: 44 Town Occupation: Priest / Therapist / Teacher / Record Keeper Previous Occupation: Priest Redwood Resident Length: New Faceclaim: Tom Hiddleston

Bullet Points:

Theodore adapts wherever he is.

As a priest he tries to be apathetic to those around him and of course has a compassion for society and the humans in it.

He believes everything can be turned into a positive, even when you can’t see it in the moment and strives to keep that mindset; infecting those around him with it.

He’s great at playing devil’s advocate and uses that ability to help others in whatever they’re going through.

Terribly misses home and fully believes the virus stayed within the North American continent, possibly traveling to South America.

Catching himself talking in an American accent every now and then, especially when saying specific words.

Can play piano very well and sometimes can be found tapping his fingers against his leg, keying one of the many hymns he’s learned throughout his church years.

Biography:

#redwood.characters

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sunsents · 3 years

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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

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 3 years

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Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione), Part Four

Well, here’s part four for you! It’s really just part three continued, but since I didn’t want the previous part to be 7k words or so long, I split it up. The total wordcount is 12.4k words now!!

Thank you very much to those of you who’ve commented and sent me lovely owls on here to let me know you’re enjoying it! (this is a sideblog for me, so I don’t respond to comments on posts, but I do answer asks as Cashmere).

I know a lot of folks (me included) don’t like starting to read WIPs that are unfinished, so thanks to those of you who have hopped on now. Consider yourselves honoured beta readers! It’ll go up on AO3 when it’s all posted on here and completed.

No real warnings for this one, just some discussion of their past relationships (for both Hermione and Draco) before the plot thickens and things warm up a bit in part five. Not sure when that’ll go up - it kind of depends on how much feedback I get on this one I guess! Comments and reblogs feed an author’s muse after all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

___

At her wry smile and tiny shrug, Malfoy laughed, apparently reassured. “A little,” he repeated softly to himself under his breath.

After a heartbeat she shot him a sidelong look and added, “You’ve changed so much, Draco. I can hardly believe it, but it’s clear as day.”

He did a little double take at the sound of his name on her lips, and then he smiled. It was such a tiny, fragile melting of his expression that she nearly missed it.

“I mean it,” she said, tightening her fingers on his steel-cable forearm for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know if it was the war or your marriage, or becoming a father, or something else entirely, but… you’re not the same person you were back at Hogwarts. Not at all.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he hissed. “I had a hell of a lot of growing up to do. I think I did ninety percent of it in the space of sixth year. But Astoria helped steady me after… after Hogwarts and all the bollocks and bullshit of the aftermath of… of… you know.”

“‘Bollocks and bullshit’ is a mighty casual way to say ‘a short stay in Azkaban and three years of house arrest’, Malfoy. That’s got to change a person, for sure.”

He shrugged. “I’m just glad it’s all in the past now. For the most part, anyway.” The silence that followed spoke volumes of the baggage that they were all still hauling around with them, of one kind or another.

They wound their way across the park’s pathways with no particular direction in mind. As the glittering waters of the Serpentine drew into view in the deepening dusk, she murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, voice little more than a low rumble above the sussurating wind in the trees. “Theo seemed on fine form, and it was nice to see Pans again. It’s been a few months. Longbottom looks good too,” he added as an afterthought. “He grew into himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Never would have called his and Pansy’s relationship though. I thought she went for the bad boys like you and Blaise…”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m a ‘bad boy’ now, am I? That’s an interesting spin on my past.”

“Maybe not so much ‘bad boy’ now as ‘grumpy reclusive Mr. Rochester’. How about that?”

“He one of your Muggle heroes?” he asked without sting.

“Yeah. He’s Jane Eyre’s leading male. A bad-tempered rich man who has a big house in the middle of nowhere and a secret deranged wife in the attic.”

“Well, I hit three out of the four criteria…” he said and Hermione’s heart lurched as she remembered he wasn’t a bachelor but a widower.

“Shit, Draco, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was thoughtless of me.”

He shook his head, the silver hair of his forelock tossing about as he chuckled, an entirely unfamiliar sound which she decided she wanted to hear again almost immediately. “It’s fine, Granger. You haven’t got a malicious bone in your body. Besides, it was a long time ago.”

They came naturally to a halt in front of the man-made lake and stared out at the lapping water for a time before she uncoupled her grip from his arm and shucked her coat back on.

That done, she drew in a deep breath and paused, leaning her forearms on the back of a cast-iron bench overlooking a flock of huddled, plastic pedalo boats moored up offshore. Malfoy remained a pace behind her, back straight as an arrow, his hands tucked into his pockets now that she was no longer hanging onto him.

A fair few Muggles were out and about, some walking lazily as she and Draco had been, others pounding along the pavement on their evening run, and a good number were walking dogs. The sheer mundanity of it all struck her deeply for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.

“Granger?” he asked in a soft voice.

She straightened and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. “I was just thinking how close we came to losing all of this… Sometimes it seems like a million years ago, and others…”

“Like yesterday,” he finished a beat later. His eyes glittered in the half-light, pale lashes ghostly and ethereal, and in the dark, his pupils were wide and black and inviting.

“Let’s keep going, hmm?” she chirped.

In fact, he walked her all the way back to her rather modest apartment in Muggle London. “You didn’t want to live closer to work at the bookshop?” he asked as she fumbled for her very ordinary, Muggle keys with half-frozen fingers.

Giving up, she murmured a quick ‘alohomora’ and pressed her hand to the extra ward she had placed on it. “I’ve lived here since I moved out of the house with Ron. Never seen any point in looking for something bigger or whatever. It’s cosy, and it’s just me anyway. You want to come in? I’ll have to tweak the wards if you do.”

“I… I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, his expression pinching.

“No bother. It’s a three minute job, if that.”

He looked torn, teetering on the edge of a refusal, but as she swept her curls back out of her face and blinked up at him, he seemed to waver, and finally he nodded. “Alright. Yes please.”

“Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she said, and left the door open so that he wouldn’t feel like a stray dog shut out in the cold.

After setting her bag and coat down on a sofa in the main living room, she stood and centred herself, reaching for the wards with her magic. They thrummed reassuringly as she wove a slightly different pattern into them, allowing Draco Malfoy to come and go, and then she released the magic once again.

“Ok!” she called to him and he stepped tentatively inside, shutting the door with a polite click behind him and levering off his fancy dragonhide Oxfords at the doormat.

There was something so intimately sweet about seeing him pad across the fake-wooden lino of her living room floor in his dark socks that she couldn’t help grinning.

“Those are some powerful wards you’ve got up,” he commented as he blinked curiously around the room.

“Hangover from the Ministry days, I suppose. Plus this is technically a Muggle building, so I can’t have anyone noticing anything strange. There’s another witch here, up on the seventh floor, but we don’t see each other often. You want something to drink? I’ve got tea or coffee, and a small selection of wine, though nothing nearly as nice as what Theo has on tap…”

He smiled. “A tea would be lovely.”

She ducked out into the tiny galley kitchen and lost herself in the simple task of filling and boiling the Muggle kettle. She turned to find Malfoy leaning his shoulder against the door frame, hands cupped under opposite elbows, watching her with that owl-like intensity again.

“Muggle kitchen,” she grinned almost sheepishly. “Magic is great for a lot of things, but some routines just can’t be beaten.” Ron had always hated and mistrusted things like electric kettles and refrigerators, not quite fully understanding the way it grounded her in her Muggle upbringing.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse. “I’m just interested. Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, fishing in the cupboard for her selection of teabags. She held the cardboard box open for him to select one and her eyebrows rose when he chose a delicate mint and chamomile one, but she offered no comment. “I can give you a masterclass in using Muggle kitchens if you like.”

His lips pulled back into a broad, dazzling smile and he laughed. “Go on then.”

“Fridge,” she said, opening it and showing him. “Keeps things cold; powered by electricity. Freezer, keeps things, well, frozen…” She continued her tour while the tea steeped, and by the time she was done, the tea was ready and they made their way back out into the humble living room, with a second-hand sofa and a battered old coffee table with more ringed coffee-stains on than visible surface.

Her stomach rumbled and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t get a chance to eat anything yet, other than nibbles at Theo’s,” she cringed.

“Don’t let me stop you having something for supper then,” he said.

“I’m not going to scoff a freezer dinner on my own while you sit there and watch me,” she blurted, laughing. “Unless you want to join me? I’ve got a couple of pizzas in the freezer. Nothing fancy, but they’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so if I put the oven on now.”

Malfoy looked like he’d missed something somewhere but was too embarrassed to ask, so he just said, “Pizza? Sure. The last time I had pizza was when I took Scorpius to Rome.”

“Well,” she said, setting her mug down on the table and heading into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she called, “I can guaranteed these won’t be nearly as good as those were, but they’re pretty tasty. I think they’re both chicken and pesto - is that alright?”

“Perfectly.”

Oven on, she returned and folded herself into the squashy armchair which sat at right angles to the sofa, tucking one leg up beneath her and drawing the other foot up beside her. Malfoy, of course, sat like he was about to take tea with the Queen, while she felt like a pretzel on a shelf. A comfy pretzel though, she thought as she reached for her mug.

“I’m glad we walked back,” she said after a moment. “I can’t believe I worked myself up into such a tizzy over Ron like that. It’s so childish…”

Malfoy sipped his tea and then cradled it between his long, pale fingers for a moment. “What happened between you two? I thought you three were —”

“— the ‘Golden Trio’?” she purred, voice laden with sarcasm.

He made a conciliatory gesture with his head but said nothing more.

She sighed. “We were. I mean, Harry and I are still super close - I’m James’ godmother after all. Ginny’s the sister I never had, but something went wrong with Ron somewhere along the line.” She knew exactly what the final blow had been, but there had been a myriad other issues on both sides before that. “I think… I think he felt like he never had a real niche, you know? He was always second fiddle to Harry in the heroics and quidditch departments, and, well, everyone knows I was the brains of the trio,” she said self-effacingly. “That’s not to say that he’s stupid — he’s not.”

Malfoy scoffed at that, and for a moment she saw the petulant, petty little thirteen year old he had once been. A deeply sceptical look filled his eyes, and he looked like he was physically biting his tongue to keep himself from disagreeing with her.

“No, really,” she scowled. “He just makes stupid, split-second decisions without thinking anything through. I’m not defending what he did or how he behaved at the end of our marriage, but…” she sighed heavily and drank a mouthful of too-hot tea that scalded her throat on its way down. “He’s in a pretty good place now with Lavender. We just… rub each other up the wrong way, even now I think.”

“Theo said he was being an arsehole earlier,” Malfoy pushed.

She shrugged. “A bit. I think he carries a lot of bitterness towards…” she gestured vaguely in Malfoy’s direction, “… Slytherins? I’m not really sure. Stupid house prejudices that a lot of witches and wizards clearly never get over. As if one moment in our history defines us for the rest of our lives, or as if we’re limited to the characteristics of the house we were sorted into at the age of eleven… It’s just so fucking dumb, Malfoy!”

He laughed softly at that.

“What? You don’t agree?”

“No, I absolutely agree with you. I was enjoying hearing you swear, that’s all. Forgive me.”

She flushed and looked away, anger leaving her as swiftly as it had come. “Ron has a lot of insecurities, and a few of them centre around me, but… I guess I just wasn’t enough for him in the end.”

“How could you possibly be ‘not enough’ for someone, Granger?” Draco asked in a hoarse whisper. “And you were the bloody Minister for Magic for Merlin’s sake…! What more did he want from his witch? Morgana herself reincarnated?”

She laughed long and loud at that, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little in the wake of his little outburst. “My reign was very short though,” she said as she stood and took the opportunity to put the pizzas in the oven. When she returned, she asked carefully, “What about you and Astoria?”

“What about us?” he asked, voice even and steady, though his eyes swirled softly like Trelawney’s crystal balls, hiding their secrets behind a shifting sheen of silver.

“Were you happy?”

Malfoy’s eyes slid away from her to stare unseeing at a point across the room, and he sat back against the sofa cushions, still nursing his cheap, Tesco mug between his hands.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “For the most part we were. It wasn’t… earth-shattering or anything, but it was pretty good, all things considered. It was arranged by our families, you know?”

She nodded.

“I knew Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, far better than I knew her, but Daph promised to an Austrian count already. He’s actually very nice. I’m glad for her.”

“I vaguely remember Daphne from school, but I didn’t have many classes with her as we got older.”

“I’d met Astoria a few times before it was all formally arranged, but even then, we only met a total of perhaps five or six times before the wedding proper. It wasn’t the huge event my mother had always dreamed of throwing for me, but with my father in Azkaban and me under house arrest, the mood wasn’t really there, you know?”

Hermione did some quick maths and realised he must have been only nineteen or so when he’d been married, and her eyes widened. She’d only been twenty-two when Ron and she had tied the knot, but still, that struck her as very young. Scorpius hadn’t been born straight away though, and there had been vicious gossip about blood-curse-related infertility until the little mandrake had arrived. Hermione been about to make the leap to Minister at the incredibly tender age of twenty five when the attack on the Manor had taken place, and Scorpius had been mere months old at the time.

“Toria and I grew to know each other better,” Draco went on, “And in time, I think we came to love each other, in our own way. She certainly adored Scorpius before the blood curse took her.”

“What was she like?” Hermione asked in a whisper.

Again, Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes with his head tipped back to rest against the sofa cushions. “Quiet, intelligent, articulate, easy-going most of the time, but when she got passionate about something, she could be pretty stubborn. Scorpius inherited a lot of that from her.”

“He looks like you though,” she said. “I mean… almost exactly like you did at that age. It gave me quite the turn when I saw the two of you on Platform 9 3/4 you know?”

He smirked and cracked an eye open. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Mother is always calling him ‘Draco’ instead of ‘Scorpius’. It drives him nuts.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Your mother lives with you at the Manor then?”

“Yes and no,” he said, shuffling a little and getting comfy again, relaxing his torso more casually against the arm of the sofa at last. “She moved out of the main manor when Toria and I married. Now she lives at what we affectionately call the Dower House. Officially it’s called Nightshade Cottage.”

“Ominous name,” she said and he smiled again.

“Apt though. There’s a rambling, stone-walled potion-garden round the back of it, full of all sorts of interesting plants, and a stunning rose garden at the front. It’s really beautiful in spring, and rather potent in summer.”

“You make it sound almost welcoming,” she said without thinking and he huffed a dry laugh.

“Parts of the estate really are lovely, Granger; its sordid past notwithstanding.”

When the beeper went on the timer, Malfoy jumped and looked confused, but she laughed and showed him. She did use her wand to cut up the pizzas though, and by the time they were seated back on the sofas with plates in their lap, they resumed their easy talk as if they’d never been interrupted. Watching Malfoy in his fancy clothes and eating pizza with his hands was almost too much for Hermione to bear, but if she focused on his voice too much instead, she found herself mesmerised on that front too. Who’d have thought that Hermione Granger would have found herself growing more and more attracted to Draco Malfoy all these years later.

Long after they’d finished eating, they spoke a little more of Scorpius, and how Malfoy guessed he was getting on after his first week at school. “Of course, he hasn’t written to me yet, but I’m hoping he might pen something this weekend…”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“Constantly,” he snorted. “One of the burdens of being a father, I suppose.”

“Of being a good one,” she amended, and she didn’t miss the way he swallowed thickly and blinked his glassy eyes rapidly a few times.

Then he sighed expansively and then levered himself to his feet. “It’s late, Granger, and I should probably be going. I’ve got a meeting to get to early tomorrow morning in Scotland, and I still have a bit of paperwork to do tonight.”

“But it’s the weekend, Malfoy,” she said as she rose too. “You can’t have to work, surely?”

He nodded and shrugged, but made his way to the door and slid his feet back into his shoes without further comment or explanation.

A little, fluttering, doxy-wing cloud of nerves shimmered to life in her chest as they stood face to face at the door. Malfoy swallowed again and hitched a tiny, lopsided smile. “Thanks for tonight, Granger. And…” he faltered and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I should be thanking you,” she said. “You got me out of my funk and walked me safely home.” She ran her fingers through her mass of curls and didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to watch the movement before he blinked and turned away to open the door, clearing his throat.

With his fingers still on the handle, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “My pleasure, Granger. Sincerely.”

Hermione barely managed to offer him a watery smile before he was striding off down the corridor.

She lingered in the doorway long after his footsteps had faded down the stairwell — apparently using the Muggle lift alone had proved too daunting for him. After she locked the door and recharged the wards behind her, she picked up his empty plate and mug to put them in the dishwasher.

As she passed the dresser that had once belonged to her mother, she caught sight of a moving photograph of Crookshanks. The half-kneazel was staring at the flat’s front door with his yellow, lamp-like eyes wide. “What do you think of him now, huh Crooks?” she asked the photo. “Bit different, eh?”

Photo-Crookshanks purred and circled in the bottom corner of the frame a few times, bottle-brush tail twitching, before returning to his fireplace and curling up with a look of contentment on his face. God, she missed that cat.

“Yeah. I think I like him too, Crooks,” she said. “Merlin help me, but I think I like him too.”

Part Five

___

I’ve only written all 12,410 words of this because people told me they liked it, otherwise it’d have stayed on whatever the first chapter was, so if you want more, let me know with a reblog! Feel free to send me an anonymous owl too if you’re more comfortable doing that.

Anyway, take care, and more soon, I hope. I’ve got a fair chunk plotted out, and it should take us up to Christmas in the storyline (it’s September now for them).

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #older dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #draco x hermione fic

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dracereads · 2 years

Text

A History of Wild Things

Overall Score: 3 out of 5

Christmas Week of 2021 was a pretty hectic week. It started off with a Doctor’s appointment. Ever since my accident, Doctor’s offices have given me a severe onset of anxiety. I needed a book to read while I waited through about 3 hours of doctor-visitation and the follow up labs. While I wait for results, I think I want to go ahead and get this review written and maybe sometime in the new year I’ll finally know what’s physically wrong with me at least.

The overall thoughts on this book: I might do an in depth look into this book in a different post. This will get technical and bring about a lot of plot points and some plot holes that I made note of during my initial read. There was a lot of “well, just fucking RUN” points in this book that would have abruptly cut the narrative short. It might have *also* killed the protagonist, but we can’t all be perfect. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But that being said, doing that in-depth look would be SPOILERS and I aptly try to avoid those things like the plague in these reviews. So. Like I said. If I actually care enough to get around to it (and considering the slog of books I want to write about and get to posting about on this blog, not likely) that will go in a separate post. If you’re that curious about it, badger me about it in the asks or something.

Okay. So my favorite thing about this book is Ernshaw’s descriptions. They’re so palpable and.. Cozy. The way she writes about the dead of winter and the summer in this book is fantastic. This earned the book some seasonal titles. Because if you’re reading them during either season it’s exactly what you’re looking for.

Synopsis: Travis Wren is the master of finding lost people. It doesn’t matter how long ago the case went cold. What’s old in the world is never truly forgotten by it, and the memories of those things linger around in Travis’ mind like ghosts. He can see brief glimpses into the past and he can use it to find whatever remains in the present time. The book starts off with Travis being assigned the mysterious case of Maggie St. James– an author of a horrifying children’s series that has gone missing in the heart of a mysterious mountain forest. Well. That’s what happens until Travis gets lost too. So. The real question is whatever happened to Travis Wren?

The Characters: Travis: I have a quiet admiration for Travis. I wrote a nice long answer to an ask about him while I was working on this review in the background. Everything I wrote in that ask still stands. The parts of the novel where we’re travelling with Travis feel like an open confessional. We’re listening to the sins of a dying man who experienced some fucked up things and had to live with them. Maggie St. James: I want to mention that we barely catch a glimpse of the character Maggie in this book. Most of what we can infer about her is from characterizations from those surrounding her and looking into her disappearance. I think there’s a real fucked up beauty to Maggie– writing her scary children’s tales based off of her mother’s stories.

— Spoilers(?) — The-I-was-raised-in-a-cult-starter-pack Trio: Theo: Theo is an endearing young man who takes over the perspective from Travis when Travis disappears. He’s mercurial, polite… but at the center of it all he has a penchant for danger and that gets him in trouble. For some particular reason, he doesn’t even balk at the idea of danger. It just doesn’t cross his mind.

Calla: Theo’s wife. She is the daughter of the original pastoral cult, and grew up with her sister Bee. Calla senses that her husband is lying to her, but she doesn’t know about what. She spends a lot of her time gardening and caring for the community.

Bee: A girl who tragically lost her eyesight at a young age from an unknown illness. Bee is a headstrong young woman who is in line to marry the next head of pastoral, Levi. She’s a strange young lady, preferring to stay to herself among the community. She does love her sister Calla, and at times seems wary of Theo. I absolutely love Bee’s perspective of things because the author relies on imagery other than well *sighted* imagery which is different; usually books place priority on describing things based on sight.

—END SPOILERS—

The Plot: If I haven’t given it away already, the plot revolves around Theo eventually discovering something belonging to Travis Wren, our missing protagonist in search of Maggie St. James. Theo’s wife Calla is suspicious he’s doing something to hurt the community and lying to her, all the while Bee is working through some personal issues while trying to go about her daily life in Pastoral. All three of these characters quickly turn and get at odds with one another which is– predictably– to their deficit. Has nobody ever heard of talk therapy?

Parting Thoughts: After reading this book, I spent a lot of time thinking about the themes presented at the end of the book and the question it posed. I also spent a lot of time weighing the pros and the cons of that farmcore-y life vs our own. Like this book, if nothing else, was very easing to my very weary and very very distracted mind. As predictable as it was, I didn’t outright hate it for being trite or trying to say too much. It was very peaceful, while still being able to be ominous and moody. For that, I think we have the author’s ability to write prosaic and set a good scene.

Is it worth picking up? Only if you’re looking for something to tear into for a descriptive sort of mouthfeel; you’d be doing to this book essentially what you do to tea. Steep it and taste the flavor of it as it changes.

#the review #a history of wild places

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farcry5 · 3 years

Text

but you always were what i came here for

pairing: jacob seed x deputy (theo ward) summary: no-cult au. Jacob spends his nights at the local bar after falling for a certain woman who has been in too many bar fights to count. warnings: alcohol and smoking of course. language. john. but it’s mostly soft. slight ns/fw just in case lol

a/n: anyways loving the idea of john and faith acting like old ladies who love knowing all the gossip and drama that goes around hope county... ---------------

She was always there, late in the night at the only bar in town- the only moderately proper bar in all of Hope County. Tall and beautiful, long black hair falling down her back in waves. She would drink heavily, dance in groups or alone, and laugh with friends and strangers alike.

There was something alluring about her that pulled people in. Jacob had never even spoken with her before, but he could feel that pull, stronger than ever.

Inside, she was so alive and full of charm, flirting unapologetically and as rowdy and unruly as the country men that crowded around her. There were a few times she had either stopped a bar fight or started one, throwing punches hard enough to knock a drunk out cold.

Outside, she’d sit on a chair with a cigarette between her lips, staring at nothing, all the life gone in an instant. Quiet and distant, only responding when someone told her goodbye as they walked out of the bar.

He had sat with her a couple of times, in an oddly comfortable silence that he found himself completely lost in. Neither would move for hours, just sitting outside the noisy bar, smoking or drinking without a word. Once, she jolted from her trance and looked around, sent him a gentle smile and ran her fingers through her hair. She had sighed heavily, flicked her cigarette onto the concrete and muttered a soft ‘good night’ to him as she left.

Jacob had been entranced ever since and he’d lie awake every night, thinking about the way her hair would fall over her shoulders, the curve of her lips when she’d smile, the way her body would move as she danced, the sadness in her eyes in the glow of the flame as she lit her last cigarette. The sound of her voice would ring in his ears as he finally manages to drift to sleep, even if only for a couple of hours.

John and Faith had been constantly bothering him about why he frequented the Spread Eagle every night now, when he hardly interacted with anyone in town, but he could never manage to tell them.

So the next night, they showed up, much to not only his, but to everyone’s surprise. Mary May watched the two walk in, eyeing them curiously. Theo and her group consisting of Hurk Jr., Sharky Boshaw, Jess Black, and Eli Palmer all paused their conversation to see the unexpected guests.

John walked in with a rather bored expression as his eyes scanned over every patron of the bar. Faith looked sweet and innocent but Jacob knew there was something mischievous under that smile of hers. The bar was full of people tonight, so they were on the hunt for the only reason Jacob was here.

As soon as they sat down at his table, the attention was gone like they had never interrupted in the first place. Yet, Jacob noticed Theo watching them and he couldn’t help but stare back, at least until Eli touched her arm and she looked away.

“Oh brother,” John smirks, still taking in the atmosphere. “You look more out of place here than I thought. Still, you fit in better than either of us could.”

Faith hummed and turned to him. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. I almost imagined you were actually talking to people.”

“Dancing, even.” John interjects.

“No, definitely not that.”

Jacob rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink he had left untouched. “Shut it. Why are you two even here?”

Their sister gets up to go get drinks from the bar, while John leans back in his seat. “We just wanted to know what would make the unsociable and grumpy Jacob Seed leave his house every night for two weeks. I had some ideas, but they seemed more my style than yours. Faith was worried you were becoming an alcoholic, yet, that looks like your first drink.”

A commotion at the bar causes Jacob to turn away from his brother, watching as Theo talks with Faith, laughing together while she keeps the cousins at bay and away from the younger woman. Theo speaks to Mary May for a moment, to which Mary May scoffs and shakes her head, but pours more drinks.

Faith finally returns, a drink in each hand and she sits down, beaming. “That woman, she’s so funny. Sometimes I forget she’s a sheriff's deputy.”

“Isn’t she on leave? Something about showing up to work drunk, I think.” John hums in thought, his dark eyes following the woman as Hurk Jr. pulls her to the small dance floor.

“I thought it was because she got into a fight while in uniform and smashed a man’s windows.”

He knew little about her, only what his brothers grieved about, since she was the one that arrested Joseph for one little accident. Jacob sighs and attempts to tune the two out, listening to the music that doesn’t sound so obnoxious anymore, watching as the woman who seemed to be the topic of everyone’s conversation lately, dances with her friend.

She was beautiful even then, under the hand painted colored lights, sweat trailing down her neck and strands of her hair clinging to her skin. Her movements were clumsier tonight, the alcohol hitting her harder than he had seen it, but at the same time, she was more sober than most of the people around.

When he looks back at John, there’s a knowing gleam in his eyes and he smiles, raising a brow, but doesn’t say a word. He may have been freed from answering questions for tonight, but he knew John wouldn’t let him carry on in secret forever.

The rest of the night was spent with Jacob having to suffer through John and Faith’s constant chatter, listening to drunkards sing terrible karaoke, and trying to drown his newfound feelings which never seemed to want to die. His siblings grew tired and eventually left, leaving Jacob alone with the off-duty officer and her dwindling group of friends. Sharky was passed out at the bar, Hurk Jr. was in the bathroom for what seemed like eternity, while Jess and Eli had left around an hour ago. Jacob had noticed the soft touches from Eli that Theo had received all night, but chose to ignore whatever meaning they could hold.

The night ended with Theo and Jacob sitting outside in silence like usual, but something was off. Theo was restless, leg bouncing as she smoked and stared off into the night. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her next move, which came sooner than expected and completely out of left field.

“Do you want to go home with me?”

Jacob turns to look at her, slightly shocked to see her staring back at him. There was no one else there and she wasn’t on the phone, so she was definitely asking him. The silent gazing lasts far longer than needed, but he isn’t sure how to answer.

Theo laughs, shaking her head quickly. “Sorry, you can forget that.”

However, Jacob stands and pulls his keys from his pocket. “Should we go now?”

Her blue eyes watch him for a moment and then she jumps up, pulling her keys from her pocket. He follows behind her on the drive to her home, which isn’t far as she had told him and it’s not long until he’s walking through her front door and she’s pulling him in for a kiss.

Jacob welcomes it, his boot kicking the door shut and his hands holding her against him. He takes in the way she tastes, the way she feels and smells and her soft moans as his fingers grip her waist. He’s pinning her against the wall as her hands slide over his throat to the back of his neck.

Theo pushes off the wall, tugging him by the shirt into her slightly messy living room, seating him on the couch. Without a moment to spare, she was on top of him, kissing him hungrily with her hips grinding against his. As she tugs on his belt, she smiles against his lips and starts to chuckle, leaning against his shoulder.

He frowns, hands moving over her thighs to hold her waist, attempting to pull her back. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” Theo gazes at him and smiles, fingers grazing over his jaw. “I was just thinking how funny it was that we always saw each other at the bar but only now-” She can’t finish her sentence, tilting her head as she tugs his belt again, knuckles brushing against his stomach.

“I hate that bar.” Jacob grumbles quietly and then sighs as he settles back into the couch cushions. It wasn’t an honest truth, but all and all, he wasn’t there for any other reason.

Theo’s smile slowly vanishes and she leans away, blue eyes narrowing at him. “You do? Then why did you go every night?”

A familiar moment of silence settles over the two as they stare at one another with mixed emotions. She’s confused and slightly hurt, but the lust and hunger was still there. However, Jacob was completely memorized and dazed the longer he watched her, his heart jumping in excitement at every movement.

“For you.” Was his soft reply, wondering if it was something he would have ever said sober or to anyone else. Words more romantic than a man like him was capable of.

Theo takes a breath, blinking and then moving her hand at his waist to under his shirt. “Really?” He nods and places his hand over her wrist as she moves up his torso. She smiles again, softer, and leans down, lips close to his. “I’m glad you showed up.”

The corner of his mouth pulls into a small smirk and his lips are light against her skin. He hums and closes his eyes, placing his hand on the small of her back and moving her closer against him.

“We usually bar hop and I don’t always go out-” She sighs in content as he places slow kisses against her throat. “I stayed every night to see if you’d be there.”

Jacob smiles and makes his way back to her lips, careful and steady, savoring the sharp taste of cinnamon whiskey. “I’m glad you did.”

#i wrote something??? wow #far cry fic #jacob seed #theo ward #oc fic*#i hope this is good yall know i'm too soft #i know i don't write jacob right but whatever #this is more self-indulgent than anything

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joyfulholland · 4 years

Text

Where Stories Start

a/n: bookshop/coffeshop au! this idea came to me months ago and it has been a long process trying to get it into something actually readable, so i would love to hear people’s thoughts on it, and if people would like any more as i could definitely write a sequel! any comments/ideas/requests are more than welcome in my inbox!

warnings: none

word count: 3000

The first time you see him, you spill your drink all down your shirt.

Admittedly, it wasn’t his fault. You’d been trying to pick up the stack of books you had to take back to the shelves and had unsuccessfully balanced your coffee cup on the top. In a haste to save the books you’d thrown them back down, only for the end result to be your previously white shirt to have a large brown patch all down the front. A handful of napkins had suddenly been held out in front of you, and as you’d lifted your eyes to thank your helper, you’d been met with a much warmer shade of brown than the one now dominating your shirt.

“It’s the worst when that happens.” The handsome stranger smiled, before turning his head to nod at Theo, your co-worker manning the coffee bar that day. “See you later.”

He offered you another smile before turning to leave, a navy rucksack draped over one of his shoulders. You watched him walk towards the door for a second, before Theo’s voice brought your attention away.

“I’ve got a spare hoodie in my bag if you want it?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, thoughts still lingering on the man who’d just walked out. “Yeah, thanks Theo.”

You’d first gotten a job at Where Stories Start when you were a student, desperately in need of money to help you out whilst you studied. Stumbling in had been an accident, hoping to find reprieve from the rain by wasting an hour or two browsing the shelves. Then you noticed the coffee bar tucked away in the corner of the shop, surrounded by mismatched tables and chairs. By the time you’d explored both of the two floors, discovered the entire wall by the children’s section painted with a character for every letter of the alphabet, seen the “Book Swap” section near the coffee bar where people could exchange their old battered copies for others to enjoy whilst they drank, and had spent at least twenty minutes writing a review of ‘Who Will Love Polly Odlum’ for the “Book of the Month” display, you’d completely fallen in love with the place. It was as if it were fate when you noticed the help wanted sign on the pay desk, and you had immediately asked the woman behind it for an application. She’d introduced herself as Bryony, the owner, and had hired you with only a five-minute conversation as your interview. A couple of years later, when you were graduating, she’d promoted you to manager, claiming that whilst being a starving artist was admirable, until you’d achieved your dream of being an author, she wanted you to have a steady income from somewhere. She was your biggest supporter, letting you write from the desk when it was quiet and assuring you that taking any freelance writing jobs you could find wasn’t at all like selling out your dream, just a way of getting your writing out there. The bookshop had become your second home, and you always secretly thought that there was a little bit of magic to the place.

Maybe that’s what brought him into the shop so often too.

The second time you encountered the handsome stranger, it was a much quieter affair.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and the shop was reasonably quiet. You’d just settled in behind the desk to check through any online orders when the bell on the door chimed to signal someone entering. You glanced up to smile at whoever it was and were taken aback when it was the warm brown eyes from the week before.

“Hiya.” He grinned, closing the door behind him before crossing the space to lean on the desk in front of you. “No accidents yet today?”

“No, but there’s still time I suppose.” You chuckle, noticing a tattered copy of ‘Life of Pi’ in his hand. “Here to swap a book?”

“Yeah, I grabbed this last week and thought since I’ve got some time, I’d come have a tea and get a new one.” He nodded, waving the book up. “I only came in by chance to grab a present for my Mum, but the place is so great I felt I had to come back.”

“I know what you mean. I only came in to escape the rain and I’m still here three years later.”

“I think there are worse places to get stranded.” He joked, waving his book again. You laughed at his joke as he grinned, lifting his bag on his shoulder a little higher. “Well I won’t distract you from your work anymore. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you.” You nod, smiling before turning back to the desktop monitor. You watch him walk a few steps before he pauses, and you lift your head to see him turning to face you.

“I’m Tom, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Tom.” You smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

Tom became a regular visitor after that week.

Every Thursday at around four o clock, he would come in, pause at the desk to chat with you, usually about whichever book he’d read that week, before heading over to the coffee bar to drink tea and start a new story. Sometimes you would join him; if the shop was particularly quiet and you had some writing to do, it was easy to slip into the chair opposite him and sit in a comfortable silence, occasionally sharing comments about what Tom was reading. Sometimes you would simply send him a wave as he entered; on the days were the shop was busy and you were constantly on the phone or helping a customer, you wouldn’t have chance to even say hello until he’d already packed away his things and was heading for the door. It became a nice routine, knowing that on a Thursday you’d see Tom, in whatever form your interaction took that week.

The only problem was that with each passing week, your attraction to him grew stronger.

You’d always found him good-looking, from the moment your eyes had met as he’d handed you the napkins. But as you spent more time together, you couldn’t help but find him more appealing as you discovered how his brain worked. Each time he finished a book you desperately wanted to know his opinions, whether they aligned with yours or not, simply so you could hear him speak. It was the passion in his voice as he spoke of his annoyance at how some characters acted, or how he was relived with the way a book had ended. You loved when he made connections between stories and his own life, especially when he related them to some anecdotes about himself, his friends and family.

It was these anecdotes that began the shift in your conversations to more personal matters. The stories he told would always prompt you to ask questions about the people who featured in them. You learnt about his three brothers, his best friend Harrison, his dog Tessa. Tom told you about his job working in what he described as “the most boring office in the world”, and how he was jealous of the people who got to follow their passion instead of just work to pay the bills. He, in turn, would question you on your family, your friends, your career ambitions. He’d constantly pester to read your writing, protesting when you told him it wasn’t ready yet.

“You’re such a cliché you know.” He chuckled one day, a few minutes after you’d settled down in the chair opposite him, coffee in one hand and laptop in the other.

“What?” Your eyes met his as you opened your laptop, raising your eyebrows as he smirked.

“You’re a writer who works in a book shop.”

“I’m an aspiring writer who manages a book shop.” You grin back at him, scrunching up one of the old Post-It notes stuck next to your mousepad and throwing it at him. “Very different.”

“Still a cliché.” He continued to smile as he diverted his eyes back to his book. You rolled your eyes as your own attention went back to your laptop, taking his cue to mean the conversation break was over.

The two of you were still smiling to yourselves an hour later when you packed up to help close the shop.

A week before Christmas, he burst through the door on a late Saturday afternoon, his hair dishevelled, his scarf extremely lopsided and a panicked look across his face. His eyes searched the shop until he found you re-stocking the shelves, walking towards you as a tall blonde man, looking much calmer followed casually, hands in his pockets as he smirked at his friend’s behaviour.

“Emergency.” Tom stated, skidding to a stop in front of you. The man with him chuckled and Tom shot a glare in his direction. “This is not a time to laugh Haz.”

“You should have been an actor, mate, always overdramatic.” He laughed, before extending a hand to you. “Harrison. You’re Y/N I presume?”

“Great to meet you.” You nod as you take his outstretched hand. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.”

“Oi,” Tom interrupted, his eyebrows furrowed. “I really am having an emergency here.”

“Sorry.” You turned your attention back to Tom, attempting to pull your face into a serious expression but failing. “How can I help?”

“It’s the office Secret Santa tonight and I forgot to get anything.” His words tipped you over the edge and you couldn’t help but laugh, prompting Harrison to join in. “This is serious, stop laughing. Steve will have my head if I turn up to the dinner later without one.”

“Okay, sorry.” You giggled, placing down the stack of books you’d still been holding down. “Who do you have to buy a present for and is there a price limit?”

“Edie, the receptionist. Limit is fifteen quid.”

“How old is she?”

“About fifty. She likes Agatha Christie I think, she’s always banging on about how it’s a shame that there’s no more Poirot.”

“Perfect.” You nod, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the crime and mystery section. It only takes you a couple of seconds to locate the orange cover you were searching for. “This is by Sophie Hannah. She’s writing a whole new set of Poirot stories in Christie’s style. And it’s five pounds under your budget, which means you can go to Tesco around the corner and buy a gift bag and some chocolates to make up the rest.”

“You’re a life saver.” A grin spread across Tom’s whole face, and before you could register what was happening, he leant forward and brushed a hasty kiss across your cheek. “Best pay for this and go, Haz and I are meeting the boys for a quick one before I go.”

He turned and walked towards the check out before you could reply, joining the short line around the corner to pay. After a few seconds, you shook your head before turning to return to where you’d been stacking, when you noticed Harrison was still there.

“Thanks for saving the day.” He smirked, nodding before starting after Tom. “It really great to meet you, he hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks.”

The week the shop was closed for Christmas, you couldn’t help but miss Tom, despite the fact you’d only see him for an hour or two a week. When Thursday afternoon rolled around, you berated yourself for feeling a way about a man who’s friendship only existed within a small space and time, until a Facebook notification lip up your screen, displaying that you had a friend request from Tom Holland. You grinned to yourself as you accepted, a message coming through seconds later.

So I read your piece online about the Christmas placebo affect.

So you not only facebook stalked me, you also stalked my work

Well I kept asking to see it and you kept saying no

And it isn’t facebook stalking when we’re already friends

It’s completely normal for me to have found you on here and requested your friendship

So we’re friends now?

Of course we’re friends I showed you seven pictures of my dog last week I don’t just do that with anyone

Calm down stalker And you know I appreciated the pictures of Tessa

You know, I started this conversation with every intention of telling you my deepest thoughts and feelings about your piece but now I’m not going to

Ok fine with me

Great

Good

Tom?

Yeah?

What did you think?

I think you’ve been holding out on me

One Monday afternoon at the end of January, you bumped into each other in a pub, nowhere near the book shop, and you both froze like deer caught in headlights. It was odd, to see him in a situation so alien to what you were used to. Your friendship had only recently shifted to one that existed outside of the book shop, but even that was only via Facebook. His shirt was slightly smarter than his usual Thursday afternoon clothes, and the red tint to his cheeks alongside the empty pint glass in his hand clued you into the fact that he probably wasn’t drinking tea. You stood frozen as you realised he too had been assessing your appearance, far less professional than your usual work attire, before your eyes met and you grinned at each other.

“Of all the gin joints.” He joked, taking a step towards you and wrapping his arms around you in a brief but tight hug. You were both still grinning as he stepped back. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” You nodded, noticing the group he’d left behind. You recognised the faces of two of his brothers from photographs you’d seen, before Harrison caught your eye. The blonde smiled and waved at you across the room, before saying something to the group, whose eyes all turned to you in curiosity.

Tom bought your drink and offered for you to join them, even inviting your friends to come too. You declined, explaining it was someone’s birthday, before reaching out to give him another hug goodbye.

“See you Thursday.” He winked before turning back to join his group.

You returned to your own friends still grinning, rolling your eyes as they all started asking the same question; who was the handsome man at the bar?”

“That,” you grinned, eyes drifting over to where Tom now sat laughing with his friends again. “Was the Thursday Tom.”

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Tom was smirking as he came to lean his forearms on the desk, his rucksack already slung over his shoulder as he’d been in for over an hour.

“About?” You locked the shop desktop monitor before turning in your chair to fully face him.

“I’ve just seen your review of ‘Romeo and Juliet’.”

“Ahh.”

With it being the “month of love”, as Bryony had kept reminding you, you’d succumbed to peer pressure and made ‘Romeo and Juliet’ the Book of the Month. As shop manager, you were obligated to write a review for the display before the customers began to add their own. Normally, you were thrilled to do it, but this month you’d been very reluctant.

“You barely wrote anything.” Tom continued, smirk still in place. “Usually yours is the longest on there, even I could write more than your review.”

“I’m just not a fan.” You shrug, watching Tom’s face as he looked at you in disbelief.

“’Romeo and Juliet’ is the best love story of all time!” He exclaimed.

“Sorry I think you mispronounced ‘Pride and Prejudice’.” Your own smile only widens as he shakes his head at you.

“So you’re saying that millions of people are wrong.”

“It’s not even Shakespeare’s best work, ‘Hamlet’ is clearly the better play.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re an author, and you work in a book shop called Where Stories Start! ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is where most love stories start.”

“Exactly. That makes me more qualified than anyone.”

“Unbelievable.” Tom was grinning as he shook his head again. “Can I ask you to explain one more thing?”

“Go for it.”

“Would you say that our story started when you spilt your coffee down your shirt, or does it not start until I ask you to dinner on Saturday night?”

He’s still smirking as your smile turns into a look of shock, your brain unable to string a sentence together as you stare at him.

“I…well…it…did you just ask me out?” You splutter, finally regaining the ability to speak.

“Well, not technically.” His smile turned softer as he stood a little straighter. “Was trying to gage your reaction before I went for it. Have been, actually, since I first met you, but thought it would be strange to do when you were in the middle of trying to dry yourself.”

“Very considerate.” You nod, unable to stop the smile taking over your face. “Well, in my expert opinion. I would say that any moments leading up to you asking me out could be counted as a prelude, rather than where our story started.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Tom nodded, shifting his bag a little higher on his shoulder before grinning at you. “So, what do you say. Saturday night. Will you go to dinner with me?”

“I’d love to.” You nod, the grin taking over your own face. “And for the record, I’d have said yes if you’d asked me then too.”

Because maybe your story had started back when an accident had led to a stranger handing you a bunch of napkins, or maybe it properly yet to start. Or maybe, it had started before, when two individuals had stumbled into a random shop in two separate spontaneous moments. You supposed you couldn’t really be sure.

But you did know that you were still only at the beginning.

#please please please let me know what you think!#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland oneshot #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland writing #tom holland fic #peter parker oneshot #tom holland blog #peter parker blog

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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So Close - S.S. XLIX

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 49

Word-count: 6.5k+

A/N: so i thought i had this queued up for a few weeks ago?? but here it is!! this was one of my favorite pieces to write

Maiming you and Theo and then eating the Ghost Rider’s pineal gland wasn’t the only thing on Hauptmann’s - or Douglas’, the name he used at the high school - agenda for last night. He’d stolen the Ghost Rider’s whip and made Corey disappear.

It wasn’t all bad news, though: Lydia had managed to do the impossible. She brought back something of Stiles’ - only been his lacrosse jersey, but it was enough to solidify Stiles’ existence far beyond what you and Lydia felt or what Theo apparently remembered.

Malia managed to get some information out of a newly-healed Peter while they were looking for a rift in the woods. Peter told her a bit about what happened when he was in limbo, chalking up his surviving the rift between worlds to his werewolf abilities because he and Stiles had watched a human burn into nothing when he tried to cross it.

You felt sick to your stomach listening to Malia summarize Peter’s information. Despite all the craziness that your friends had been through, Stiles was human. He didn’t want to be anything other than human, and you couldn’t force him to change even if you wanted to.

But Scott was willing to change him. If it meant bringing Stiles home, Scott was willing to take the risk of biting him.

When all you could bring yourself to do was stare at him, Scott added in a strained voice, “We have to get him through the rift.” He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the desk where Liam and Malia were looking through papers as he said, “It’s the only way.”

Peter raised his hand as you and Lydia walked hesitantly over to the desk. “Just to clarify: Are you planning on biting everyone in the train station?” he asked.

“With Stiles back, he’ll be able to help us figure out a plan to bring back everyone else,” Scott said. “He’s good at that.”

Annoyance tinged your vision. Did Scott want Stiles back because he was his best friend, or because he was the only one who could come up with a plan to save the day?

“So the plan is to get Stiles back so that he can come up with a plan?” you asked, sounding more venomous than you meant to.

Giving you a harsh look, Malia asked, “Whose side are you on?”

“Malia, look around,” Peter said. Your annoyance grew as you realized that you had been agreeing with Peter. Oblivious to your thoughts, he continued, “We’re the only ones left in Beacon Hills. If they take us, Lydia will be the only left to haunt this place.”

“That’s why I’m the only person that’s going in,” Scott said.

“No,” you said instantly. You were arguing before you even knew what your argument would be; all you knew was that Scott wouldn’t go in there alone.

True to his older brother fashion, Scott talked over all your protests. “You guys will stay here with Mason. As long as somebody is left in Beacon Hills, the Wild Hunt can’t move on,” he said.

“I like your plan, Scott. I really do,” Peter said in a tone that implied that he didn’t like Scott’s plan, not even a little bit. “Especially the part about turning Stiles.” He stopped pacing. “But it can’t work.”

“How do you know?” Malia asked.

“Logic. Life experience,” Peter said. “Liam, what are the odds that he’ll get taken?” Without waiting for an answer, Peter went on. “What if Stiles isn’t there? What if there’s no Beacon Hills for you to come back to?”

“Okay, you got a better idea?” Liam asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, sounding like it should have been obvious. “It’s called ‘run like hell.’” He turned to Malia while the rest of you were too stunned to say anything. “So, we leave in five?”

“You promised you’d help us,” Malia said as she walked closer to him.

Watching her argue with him - knowing that Peter was her dad - made you feel like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to. You knew whatever happened with their relationship wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t block it out no matter how hard you tried.

“If you can’t help us find the rift-” Scott interrupted their argument, “Then we’ll find it ourselves.”

“Scott, I admit that you have a flair for beating the odds,” Peter said with a sigh. You wanted more than anything for Derek to be here instead of him. “But this? You don’t walk away from this.” He started backing out of the sheriff’s station. “You run.”

“I hate him,” you said without meaning to. Ever since your memories of Peter had come back, you’d been very careful about what you said in front of Malia, but all the memories of comforting her and talking to her about Peter was nothing compared to the anger you felt in that moment.

Malia turned away from the door with a sad look in her eye. She set her face into a carefully cold expression and said, “Me too.”

---

The new plan was essentially the same as the old plan: divide and conquer. Liam, Hayden, and Mason were supposed to babysit Theo in the sheriff’s station while you, Malia, Scott, and Lydia went into the woods to find the rift.

“When you were out here the last time, how long until the Ghost Riders showed up?” Scott asked.

Malia stepped over the tree roots carefully, squinting against the sun slightly. “A couple minutes.”

“That’s reassuring,” Lydia mumbled as she stepped over the same roots.

“What is the rift supposed to like?” you asked. “Like some magical portal or more just noticing that something isn’t quite right?”

“If it’s a tear in the fabric of our world, then theoretically it could look like anything from a microscopic black hole to a free-floating Einstein-Rosen bridge,” Lydia said.

After a second of awkward silence, you asked, “You, uh, don’t happen to have any pictures of those on you, do you?”

Lydia gave you a look that she only reserved for Liam when he tried to steal some of her Red Vines on movie nights. “No,” she said, “I don’t have any pictures on me.”

“Let’s split up,” Scott suggested, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

Instead of arguing, the four of you went off in opposite directions and hoped for the best. You didn’t get very far before Scott called you all to look at an old drain pipe. The bars had been broken and curled outwards, like something had burst out of the pipe.

Scott bent down to investigate and picked up a leaf.

“The rift’s not above us,” Lydia said. “It’s below.”

“Well,” you said with a sigh and knelt down next to Scott in the dirt. “Who wants to go in first?”

Scott gave you an uneasy smile and crawled into the pipe. You followed close behind him, helping Lydia over the bent bars, and Malia crawled in after you guys. After about a minute, you guys arrived at a service hatch and climbed down the ladder to find yourselves in the same tunnels that the Dread Doctors had used.

Dusting off your hands, you set to work looking for the rift in the very frustratingly normal-looking tunnels. You made your way as a group until you reached a fork in the road. You went left and Malia went right, and then Malia crashed backward into the floor.

“Found it!” Malia said triumphantly as you helped her to her feet.

Lydia walked past you and towards the rippling in the air. She held a hand out but was careful not to touch it. “It’s remarkably similar,” she said quietly.

“To what?” you asked.

“To the Einstein-Rosen bridge,” Lydia said. “See why I couldn’t have shown you a picture?”

You sighed and nodded reluctantly before turning your attention to the rift. It looked almost like nothing, but you had to figure out a way to cross all that nothing without being flung backward by Lydia’s Einstein-Rosen bridge.

Malia, it seemed, was thinking something similar. She broke off a piece of pipe and threw it into the rift. After almost decapitating Scott, she picked up the pipe again and started ramming it into the rift. All that happened was that the pipe got burnt and Malia burnt out. She groaned and threw the pipe to the side.

“There’s gotta be another way,” you said. “Lyd, do you have any other ideas?”

“I just need a minute to think,” Lydia said with a strained smile. She lifted her hand to her face to help her think.

“Think about how to get through a supernatural rift that melts steel.” Scott met your eye and frowned slightly.

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Lydia said, sounding partly humorous and partly defensive.

A voice caught your attention from the dark. “But it doesn’t have to be so hard,” he said. Douglass. Hauptmann. Creepy physics teacher. He stepped into the light with a look that could only be described as devious.

“He followed our scent,” Scott said as he stepped forward.

“I followed your desperation,” Douglass corrected. Your back ached with the memory of when he almost killed you; it had been so easy for him to take you out. “We’re all in a tough spot. Desperate to get inside and save everyone, and hoping to find a way to stop this army of the dead. We all want the same thing.”

There was something about the way he worded his sentences that creeped you out, but you were starting to think that everything he did creeped you out.

“He has a point,” Lydia said with a reluctant tilt of his head.

“Yeah, if he doesn’t kill anyone,” Malia said.

“Else,” Scott corrected. “If he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

“All that matters right now is getting through the rift,” Douglas said.

“Anything that touches the rift either bounces back or burns,” you said. “So you’re welcome to give it a try.”

“Oh, I think I’ll let someone else try it out first,” Douglas said with a sinister smile. He didn’t move, but Parrish walked out of the darkness behind him. He snarled at you, and his eyes were a bright green color instead of his usual golden red.

Lydia called his name gently, trying to get his attention.

“If the Hellhound can open the rift, we all go together,” Douglas said.

“You’re the bad guy,” Malia told him. “I’m pretty sure helping you is a bad idea.”

“Good guy, bad guy. When has anything ever been so black and white?” Douglas asked.

“Says the Nazi,” you scoffed. Your friends looked at you and you forgot they hadn’t been there when Douglas and Theo spoke to one another.

“And he wants the Hunt for himself,” Liam said as he appeared from the other tunnel. He looked like he'd run all the way here from the police station. “He wants his own supernatural army.”

Douglas sighed and unfurled the whip he’d stolen from the Ghost Rider. Your breath hitched.

“We’re not letting you through that rift,” Scott said.

“Not letting me?” Douglas repeated. “I see. You still think you have a say in the matter.”

Douglas cracked the whip and you pulled Liam back with you as your friends ducked. Scott shifted in an instant and roared at him, and Douglas cracked the whip again. He wasn’t trying to make any of you disappear, though you knew he wouldn’t hesitate if you didn’t move out of the way. Douglas just wanted you out of the way.

You pulled your friends, one by one, to the side of the tunnel.

“Hollenhund,” Douglas called.

Parrish followed behind him obediently. He started tearing through the rift without needing to be told what to do, and for a moment you were too hopeful to remember that he wasn’t on your side.

Scott remembered. “Parrish, stop!” he yelled.

But Parrish wasn’t listening to anyone other than Douglas. He continued to rip through the rift until it completely dissolved, not caring about how burnt and damaged he’d gotten in the process.

“Wunderbar,” Douglas said as he looked at what was left of the rift.

Parish roared at you as Douglas said something in German. He roared again as the burn marks spread further across his body. They started walking through the rift.

“Now!” Scott yelled.

The five of you bolted towards the rift but it sealed shut before you got there. Liam pulled you back before you lost an arm to the rift as it closed.

“No, no, no!” You pulled your arm away and reached out for the rift again, but Scott pulled you back just before two Ghost Riders stepped out. “No,” you whispered, backing away while keeping your eyes on the rift.

“Y/N, take Liam and Lydia to the bunker,” Scott said over his shoulder.

You forced yourself to look away from the rift and nodded at him. Taking one of Lydia’s hands in yours and Liam’s in the other, the three of you started running towards the bunker while you ignored the sinking feeling that hope was for suckers.

The bunker was further than you expected, and you had to keep tugging Liam back so Lydia could keep up. You froze when a roar broke through the tunnels.

“That wasn’t Scott,” you said. You recognized it but you refused to let that roar belong to Scott.

“Well, it didn’t sound promising,” Liam mumbled.

“They rarely are. We need to keep going,” Lydia said. She shuffled to the front but all three of you stopped when you saw a Ghost Rider. It snarled at you and Lydia pulled you and Liam behind her.

You started to argue that you should be the one to take the hit, but the Ghost Rider raised his gun slowly up to the ceiling. He didn’t shoot at you.

“What’s happening?” Liam whispered.

“I don’t know, but you guys need to stay behind me,” Lydia said.

You couldn’t let anything happen to her. “Lyd-”

“Trust me,” she said.

Using Lydia as a shield, the three of you edged your way around the Ghost Rider and ignored the snarling until it was safe enough to start running to the bunker. It was closer now, but you didn’t stay long before Scott and Malia came to tell you that the coast was clear.

The coast didn’t feel very clear when they told you that Peter was taken, or when you came home to an empty house. It was very, clearly muddy when the operator told you that the number you’d dialed had been disconnected and asked you politely to check the number and try again.

“Scotty,” you said gently, reaching your hand across the table to hold his. Scott pressed the redial button. “Hey.” You touched his face. “We’re getting her back, okay? I promise.”

Scott didn’t say anything. You held his hand a little tighter and let your other one fall to your side.

“What do we do now?” Liam asked awkwardly.

“We can’t hide from them,” Malia said, easing herself into the chair across from you.

“What about Lydia?” Liam asked as he stood up. “The Ghost Rider was afraid of her.”

“It wasn’t fear. It’s …” Lydia took a breath. She and Liam sat at the table. “It’s almost like reverence.”

“It doesn’t matter. The rift is gone,” Scott said. It had been a long time since you’d heard him sound so hopeless. “We’re the only ones left in Beacon Hills.”

A knock at the door interrupted your hollow comforts and Noah stepped into the kitchen. You hadn’t realized how happy you were that he hadn’t disappeared like everyone else until you saw him, despite the argument you’d had the last time you’d seen each other.

Noah met your eye as he pulled up a chair. “I have a son,” he said. “His name is Michislav Stilinski, but we call him Stiles. I remember.” He took a breath. “When Stiles was a little kid, he couldn’t say his first name. Not sure why, it pretty much rolls off the tongue,” Noah explained with a hollow laugh. “But, uh, the closest he could get was ‘mischief.’ His mother called him that until …”

You reached a hand out to Noah and he didn’t pull away. His hand was warm.

“I remember when, uh- When Stiles first got his Jeep,” Noah went on. His voice sounded raw. “It belonged to his mother. She wanted him to have it. The first time when he took a spin behind the wheel, he went straight into a ditch. I gave him his first roll of duct tape that day. He was always getting into trouble, but he always had a good heart. Always.”

Noah squeezed your hand and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“And we’re here tonight because my goofball son decided to drag Scott - his greatest friend in the world - into the woods to see a dead body,” Noah finished.

“How did you remember?” Scott asked softly.

Noah sighed. “It started with Stiles’ jersey,” he said with a look at Lydia. “Then I found the red string for his crime board. Finally, his whole room came back … and all the memories.”

Your mind drifted to the Feliscore Arcade token in your pocket and you felt a sudden stab of jealousy that was so violent that you had to check to make sure that your claws weren’t out. They weren’t. Noah still had his fingers.

“And then the strangest thing happened,” Noah said, snapping you back to reality. “I- I thought I saw him. It was like something opened right there in the middle of the room. Just for a moment.”

“A rift,” you said instantly. “It doesn’t matter the other the rift closed. If we remember Stiles, then we’ll open another one.” You got to your feet. “Can you- can you take me to his room? Anything. I need-”

Lydia said your name when you were talking and then again louder when you didn’t listen to her. “We need to slow down and think,” she said.

“I can’t!” you snapped. “All we’ve been doing is waiting, Lydia. I need to remember him.”

“We will,” Lydia promised. Her voice was strained and her eyes pleading. “We just need a little more time. Please.”

You clenched your jaw and caught Noah’s eye. Reluctantly, you sat back down. “Okay,” you said quietly. “What are you thinking?”

---

As you got the freezer ready in Chris’ bunker, you thought of submerging Isaac in ice water to get him to remember what happened when he found Boyd and Erica. It had been dangerous, but he insisted on doing it to find his friends. This was dangerous, but you all insisted on doing it to find Stiles.

As you hoped Isaac was doing alright, Scott slammed the bunker door shut behind Lydia and strained to turn the lock.

“Do you think it’ll hold them off?” Malia asked.

“No, but it’s all we’ve got,” you said. Your eyes flicked over to the freezer and you walked over to it. “I don’t know how cold this thing gets but it didn’t kill Parrish so I think I can handle it.”

“What does freezing have to do with remembering anyway?” Malia asked, clearly not impressed by the freezer.

“It’ll slow your heart rate and put you in a trance-like state,” Lydia explained. She looked at all the dials, buttons, and levers. “If we can figure out how to work it.”

“Well, this says ‘start’ and that says ‘stop’ so maybe it’s not that complicated,” Malia said. “Who’s first?”

“Me,” you said instantly.

“No,” Scott said. He looked at you carefully, doing his best not to argue. “Please. I need to do this.”

“Okay,” you said quietly. You nodded at him. “Be careful, please.”

Scott nodded and flipped a switch on the freezer. He turned around to take off his shirt and you tried to prepare yourself for what was going to happen. At least when it had been Isaac, you could hold his hand, but there was no hand-holding through the metal.

“Okay. It’s doing something. Are you ready?” Malia asked.

Scott gave a run-of-the-mill answer as he opened the freezer door. He looked at you as Lydia locked him inside. You hated this.

“Remember,” Lydia said, “this will get cold enough to kill you. So if something feels wrong or like it’s not working-”

“It’s going to work,” Scott said.

“I hope you’re not saying that because you think I know what I’m doing,” Lydia said.

Scott smiled. “I’m saying that because I know you can figure it out.”

Without another word, Lydia nodded and turned the temperature down on the freezer. All four knobs were turned to their maximums.

Scott started gasping and shivering. “Oh, okay. Alright, yeah- that’s really cold,” Scott sputtered. “Like really cold.”

“Scotty, it’s okay.” You took a step closer and put your hand on the glass. “I’m right here with you and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe.” You were distantly aware of Malia and Lydia talking behind you but you were focused on your brother. “I need you to focus on my voice, okay? Can you hear me in there?”

“Scott, you have to concentrate on Stiles,” Lydia said as she took a step closer to you. “Try to picture him in your head. Think about what he looks like. The things he said.”

The freezer whirred loudly and Malia tensed. “I don’t like this,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

“We need to give it a few seconds,” you said quietly. “With Isaac, he freaked out before it finally-”

Scott groaned and put his hand on the glass, exactly opposite yours. And then his whole body went still. He opened his eyes and they shined a brilliant red.

“Scott, can you hear me?” Lydia asked. He didn’t answer but his heart beat steadily. He was still breathing. “Scott, don’t fall asleep. You have to keep your eyes open.”

Scott sounded far away when he spoke again, “I’m trying.”

“It’s not sleep. I think you’re losing consciousness,” Lydia explained. “And if you do that, I think we’re going to lose you.” Scott’s eyes kept fluttering closed.

“Scott, stay awake,” Malia ordered. “Scott!”

Scott’s eyes closed. In that far away voice, he said, “Stiles, please let me out. It’s the full moon, I swear.” Your blood ran cold. It was working. “You know I wouldn’t do any of this on purpose. And it’s killing me. I feel completely … completely hopeless. Just let me out. Please?”

Your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Scott kept mumbling disjointed conversation and looking around him like he was looking for something.

“Scott, try to find him,” Lydia urged. “Try to find him in your memories.”

Scott’s heartbeat skyrocketed and he looked more frantic. It was just like when Isaac didn’t want to remember finding Erica’s body. He was terrified.

“Find him in any memory. Good or bad,” Lydia told him.

Scott looked like he was having a panic attack. Malia said he looked like he was lost.

“I think he is. I think maybe it’s too much information,” Lydia said.

“Isaac overloaded when he tried to remember,” you said quietly. You took your eyes off Scott to look at Lydia. “How do we get him to focus?”

Lydia took a shaky breath and looked at your brother. “Scott, can you hear me? You have to try to focus!”

Scott covered his ears with his hands.

“You hear that?” Malia asked, walking towards the door.

“Thunder?” Lydia asked.

“Maybe,” Malia said.

“Guys, we need to figure this out,” you said. “Scott is going to fry his brain if we can’t get him to focus, and then he’ll freeze to death.”

“I know!” Lydia took a shaky breath. “This is my first time opening a dimensional rift in space-time. I’m kind of just fumbling around in the dark here.” She got a look on her face that you recognized whenever she got an idea. “The dark,” she repeated. “I think we have to treat this more like actual hypnosis. They use images to guide you through the memories.”

“Okay, then let’s give him an image,” you said.

“Scott, can you hear me?” Lydia asked again. “Listen to me. I need you to imagine this. Imagine you’re in the high school. Visualize yourself in the high school, in the corridor where all the lockers are. Just try to imagine standing there. That’s where your memories are. They’re all in the lockers. They’re locked away behind each one. Every memory of Stiles is in a separate locker.”

Scott was still straining. He looked like he was in pain.

“Scott, you’re there. You’re in the high school,” Lydia said. “You’re standing there now.”

Scott went still. He dropped his hands and looked around slowly, carefully.

“Stiles, you there?” Scott asked quietly. Louder, he said, “Lydia, I need your help. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t figure it out.”

“You have to keep looking,” Lydia said gently.

“There are all these memories, but I don’t know which one’s the right one,” Scott said.

“Find another memory,” Lydia said. After your whispering, she added, “Any other memory will work. You just have to keep trying.”

Scott stayed still for a long time without saying anything else.

“It’s getting too cold,” Lydia said behind you. She walked closer to the tank to read one of the gauges. “He’s getting too cold.”

“What if it’s not enough to remember him?” Malia asked. “What if it’s some kind of a connection he’s supposed to make because of a memory?”

“Like an emotional connection?” you asked.

“That could be why it worked for Stilinski, right?” Malia asked.

“Scotty,” you said hesitantly. “All these memories are important, but Stiles is more than just a memory, okay? He is your best friend. He’s the person that’s been with you even before you were bitten, and he’s the person that will be there for you long after all this is over. He’s a piece of you. Scotty, he’s more than a memory. He’s your brother.”

Scott was so still that he looked dead. His heart was thready, faint. For a moment, he stopped breathing. Then he gasped and his eyes burned bright. Malia managed to pull him out just before he collapsed.

“What’s wrong? Why did you bring me out?” Scott cried. You never thought you’d be so happy to hear him whining.

“Your heart rate dropped. You were going to die,” Lydia told him harshly.

“We had to,” Malia said.

“But- but nothing happened, did it?” Scott asked. You looked away from him. “It didn’t work.”

You wouldn’t allow yourself to feel hopeless. You stood up and set your jaw. “I’m going in,” you said. “We know how to make it work now. You can get me to focus quicker. I- I’ll remember more.”

“No, put me back in,” Scott said. “I could feel something happening.”

“Yeah, hypothermia,” you said as you stepped around him. “Scotty, you’ve gotta let me do this or it will kill you.”

Scott stared at you for a few hard seconds. “Okay,” he said eventually.

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Lydia argued.

“Lyd, I love you but I’m going in there whether you help me or not,” you said. “You can either help me, or you can let me fumble through the dark and melt my brain.”

Lydia didn’t want to help you, but she knew you weren’t going to back down. “Okay, I have an idea for a visual,” she said. “But I’m not letting you kill yourself in there. If your heart rate drops-”

“You’ll pull me out,” you said with a smile. You kissed her cheek as you dashed around her into the freezer. “Let’s do this.”

Malia locked you in the freezer and Scott turned all the dials. You did your best to ignore them and focus on Lydia telling you to picture yourself in a car. Any car, as long as it had a radio.

“Every memory is a station,” Lydia said in her calm and clear voice. “You can change the station whenever you want. Are you sitting in the car right now?”

You looked around and found yourself in the powder blue Jeep. You felt yourself smile. “Yeah,” you said, putting your hand on the old gearshift. “Yeah, I’m in the car.”

“Okay, I need you to turn on the radio,” Lydia told you. “Every station is a new memory, and I need you to find a memory where you connected with Stiles. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you said quietly. You took your hand from the gearshift and touched the radio knob.

Taking a breath, you switched it on and immediately fell into a memory.

The spring in your bed poked into your back uncomfortably, but you didn’t hardly noticed anymore. Your body was sore and tired, and all you could think about was Stiles’ voice on the other end of the line.

“I really miss you,” you said before you could stop the words tumbling out of your mouth. Your hand tensed around the drawstring you’d been fiddling with. “I mean, not like you specifically. I miss being at home. With Scott. And my mom. And …”

“Me?” Stiles suggested drily. You heard him move around and sigh on the other end. “I miss you too, McCall. No one’s here to drive my Jeep into an old lady’s mailbox.”

“That was one time! It’s your fault for not telling me which one was the brake and which one was the accelerator.”

“I thought that was pretty freaking self-explanatory.”

You argued with him but you laughed anyway. You were filled with a light feeling in your chest as the line got quieter. The tiredness in your muscles faded into fuzzy happiness.

“You still there?” Stiles asked quietly.

“I’m still here,” you said softly.

“Good.”

The line was quiet again. After a few minutes, you heard Stiles snoring softly.

“I’ll see you soon, Stilinski,” you said with a small smile. “I love you.”

You breathed heavily and tried to focus. That wasn’t enough. You turned the station.

Stiles taught you how to drive. You taught him how to punch someone without snapping his wrist. He wrote you letters while you were at Willow Creek. You wrote him poems. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

He was everywhere but none of the memories were the right ones. None of them felt powerful enough to bring him back. You changed the station again, begging the Jeep to show you something meaningful.

The cold air washed over your face mercilessly, but you didn’t mind. The music coming from inside the rave was so far away that it actually sounded peaceful; thumping in time with your heartbeat as you balanced along the inner arc of Stiles’ mountain ash barrier.

“Is it always like this?” you asked, shooting him a teasing smile. He looked pretty in the moonlight.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stiles said with a half-hearted sigh. He looked like he was going to say something else but then he squinted at the bag in his hand. Something was wrong. “Hey, does it look like this bag is getting empty?” He brought it closer to his face to take a look, but before you could answer, he’d poured what was left into his hand. “Crap, crap, crap, cr-”

“Stiles,” you said, snapping him out of his stupor. “Calm down.” You put your hands on each of his shoulders and shook him lightly as you took a deep breath that you hoped he’d mimic.

Stiles refused to take a deep breath. Instead, he said, “Calm down? There’s like fifty feet of ground to cover and I’ve got like three sprinkles of magic fairy dust left!” He looked over to where the mountain ash needed to reach, shook his head, and took a shaky breath. “You know what? I’ll call Scott. Scott always knows what to do. I’ll call him.”

Stiles started fumbling for his phone but you caught his wrist and placed your hand over his. He stopped moving. “Stiles,” you said gently. “You don’t need to call Scott. You’ve got this. Plus, he probably won’t answer anyway.”

Stiles said your name in a replica of your tone of voice and added, “We don’t have enough mountain ash. Scott will help us.”

“Stiles!” You let out an exasperated sigh and let go of his hand. Looking him straight in the eye, you said, “This is your job. It’s all on you. You’ve gotta believe you can do this. Scott believes you. Deaton believes in you. I believe-”

You didn’t get the chance to tell Stiles that you believed in him because he kissed you. It was the first time that Stiles had ever kissed you, and it was better than anything you could have imagined. Your hand moved up to the side of his neck and your fingertips lightly covered his jaw.

“What was that for?” you asked quietly when he pulled away. You looked in his eyes and tried to find the answer.

When he spoke again, Stiles sounded like he was telling you a secret. Something he couldn’t quite explain himself. He said, “For believing in me.”

You let out another harsh breath as Lydia yelled that they were pulling you out.

“No!” you yelled. You changed the stations again until you found something. “One more memory. I just need one more-”

“It’s me. I’m next.” Stiles' voice sounded hollow as he lowered his phone from his ear. He slid it into his pocket and then he started running.

Even though you couldn’t remember him, you ran after him. He’d already been taken from you but you were determined not to let him disappear.

When you finally caught up to him, you grabbed his hand. “Hey!” It took Stiles a painstaking second to realize that you weren’t a threat. He recognized you, even if you had no idea who was back then. “Hey, let me help you,” you said quietly.

“What’s my name?” Stiles asked with a trembling voice and tears in his eyes. You knew him, and you knew the way his hands felt, and you knew his favorite color was blue, but you didn’t know his name. All you knew was how badly you wanted to make him safe. “Oh, god. You don’t remember me.”

“I know you,” you said adamantly. Your hand tightened around his. “I don’t- I don’t know how. I know you.”

Even though your hands were intertwined, Stiles lifted your hands to either side of your face and kissed you. The kiss was over in a second but it felt like you’d been kissing him all your life.

“I love you, but I’ve gotta go,” he said, sounding heartbroken.

He pulled away and started running again when you grabbed his hand again. “No! Let me come with you,” you begged.

Stiles looked like every second he spent with you broke his heart, and now you knew why. “You don’t even remember me.”

“But I know you,” you said. You changed your grip on his hand so that your fingers laced together tightly. “And I’m not letting anything happen to you. So wherever you’re running … I’m running, too.”

“Okay,” Stiles said quietly, not entirely believing what he’d agreed to. He nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

Stiles started running, leading through the school at a pace too slow for a werewolf. Back then, you’d thought he might have been like Lydia because of how he kept looking at things that you couldn’t see and pulling you out of invisible danger.

“Don’t look at them,” Stiles warned. He sounded frantic. “Whatever you do, don’t fight them and don’t look at them or they’ll take you too.”

“But I-”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. No matter-”

The words caught in your throat. You wanted to yell ‘no matter what’ until you were blue in the face, but you had no control over the memory.

Stiles dragged you to his Jeep and fumbled for the keys as you slammed the doors shut behind you. He froze when he realized there was no escaping. He looked around and took a deep breath, holding the keys in his hand.

“Hey, we can still get out of here,” you said gently, leaning over to touch his hand. Fire spread through your fingertips.

“No,” Stiles said quietly. He looked over at you with the saddest, most hopeless expressions you’d ever seen. He broke your heart. “There’s no time.”

“There’s plenty of time,” you argued. You moved closer, trying to move his keys into the ignition. “Just start the car. We can go anywhere you want.”

“Hey, listen to me.” Stiles turned and cupped your face like he did in the hall, but he didn’t kiss you this time. “My name is Stiles. I’m gonna be erased, just like Alex. You’re going to forget me.”

“Stiles,” you repeated. “Stiles, I won’t forget you. Not again, okay? I can’t- I can’t lose again.”

“I love you,” Stiles said. And you knew he meant it. He knew you better than you knew yourself, and he loved you.

“I lo-”

The doors opened and you fell out of the freezer too soon. You didn’t get the chance to tell Stiles that you loved him, no matter what he did, no matter what happened to him. That you'd loved him since before you knew what love was.

“No, no, no,” you cried, fighting against Scott to crawl your way back to the freezer. “Let me go back to him. I need to tell him-”

“I know,” Scott said. He held you so tightly that his skin burned you to the touch.

“Scotty, please.” You sounded pathetic. Your face was clammy and wet with tears. You didn’t even know what you were asking him for as the whole bunker shook and green light filtered through the few windows high up. “Stiles,” you whispered.

You got to your feet and walked over to the door, leaning too heavily on Scott as the ice stubbornly clung to your bones and stabbed your muscles. There was a white light at the end of the tunnel and you pushed away from Scott to move towards it.

And then he started walking towards you. Stiles was right there.

You started running towards him with all the supernatural speed you could muster up, but he was gone before you even had the chance to give out beneath you. Stiles was gone and all he left you with was a pair of bloody palms to break your fall.

“No.” It was all you could get out. “No, I have to… have to get back in the freezer. I have to remember.”

Scott said your name gently as he helped you up. He told you that you couldn’t go back into the freezer because it would kill you.

“But he was here,” you said. “You saw him.”

“We didn’t see anyone,” Malia said.

“I saw him,” Lydia told you. “Stiles was here.”

Tagged: @ietss @used-avocado @trustfundparker

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #so close #mccall!reader #stiles stilinski #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine

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faofinn · 3 years

Text

BTHB - Anger Born of Worry

When Fao left on tour, he seemed to take most of Harrison’s sense and stability with him. The younger wolf began causing issues almost immediately, quickly squaring up to Sheila and Fred. Even Steve couldn’t control him, or his wolf.

After a particularly vicious moon, leaving both Harrison and Fred bruised and sore, things took a turn for the worse. He’d started on Finn, rounding on him over breakfast. They’d scrapped over nothing, Finn ending up landing on the floor rather roughly. He’d yelped immediately, scrambling away as he tried to protect himself. Still, Harrison didn’t stop.

The Daniels were furious, struggling to believe Harrison would do that to Finn, the kid he’d always adored. He was kicked out, the rest of the pack watching him as he collected his belongings. It was clear he wasn’t welcome.

Theo took him in, let him crash on his sofa while Steve patched Finn up - while he’d done what he could at the clinic, but it was clear he needed their hospital. Harrison, being bigger and more prepared, hadn’t fared too badly; a few cuts and scrapes that would heal soon enough.

While Theo’s offer was kind, Harrison couldn’t stay. He wasn’t sure if it was couldn’t or wouldn’t, but either way, he had to go. He left notes, an apology to Finn and then the Daniels, a few notes he’d saved up included to pay for the broken plates and chairs; another to Steve, for taking the chance on him and him screwing it all up, like he always did; one for Theo, a quick explanation and a (polite) request to not throw his stuff out, not that he deserved it; and finally, one for Fao. He wasn’t sure if it was a plead for him to come home safely, or an apology for everything he’d ever done. A love letter of sorts, things he’d never say out loud, but since he wasn’t coming back, that didn’t matter. Fao might as well know.

He waited until Theo had gone to bed, the older man offering to stay up and chat, sensing something was off. He’d declined, lied until he was left alone. Despite the other wolf trying to wait up, he’d drifted off, giving Harrison his opportunity.

He’d taken food from his cupboards - old stuff, nearly out of date, things he’d heard Theo complain about. It wasn’t like Harrison to just take charity, so he left some money too, under his letter of apology. With nothing left to do, he shouldered his backpack, shoved his rolled duvet under his arm and slipped out into the night.

When Theo woke and found Harison gone, he called everyone he knew, panic clear in his words. Nobody had seen or heard from him. And then, he found the letters.

The pack was out searching as soon as Theo raised the alarm - Harrison was still part of the pack, even after his actions. Everyone was distraught, worried about him - it wasn’t the first time he’d ran off, but everything felt wrong. His letters held too much finality, too much goodbye.

When Fao came back from his tour, it was to the family and the pack in chaos. Harrison missing was worrying, and the letter Fao read made his stomach twist. He was exhausted, just come back from war, but he threw himself into searching. Of course, after he'd spent some time with Finn. Something about what Harrison had said in his letter sent Fao searching further afield than he usually would. He spent days scouring the woods as wolf, sleeping under bushes despite the cold and wind. He clung to every hint of a scent, desperate to find him.

Haarrison kept his distance, travelled North. He’d never been far from London, only ever travelling to the south coast on the ‘family’ holidays he’d had. There was nothing for him in the north, but that was part of the (pull) of it. He wasted most of his money on hotels, trying his best to find somewhere to stay out of the cold and rain. There wasn’t much he could do; he couldn’t work, had to be careful where he left his leg when he shifted too. He did his best to hide his scent, to keep the pack from finding him, not that they’d be looking for him anyway.

The food was gone quickly too, despite his attempt to ration and hunt when he could. The idea of fish had quickly grown stale, rabbit and pigeon following suit.

He didn’t dare to beg, though would often find some safety in sleeping in doorways in city centres, his duvet wrapped tight around him. He was caught out a few times too, woken up to someone trying to rob him and beat him up. Bloody lip and bruised eyes left him more suspicious, made him sit awake at night. His black eyes grew into dark bags under his eyes, his tiredness past exhaustion.

With the days slightly warmer, more crowds flocked to the streets. His usual sleeping places disturbed by foot traffic and prying eyes. As much as he tried to sleep during the day, every instinct in him begged him to keep moving, to try and evade any search efforts that might still be going on. After all, he’d caused so much trouble within the pack, they’d surely still be out for blood.

It took Fao a long while to even get close to finding him. But his letter kept him going, scanning over each word to try and find any hint of where he was. It took him much further North than he expected. He lost the scent, and had pretty much given up as he headed into the town, very much human, in search of a hotel room to stay in and get cleaned up. But then he caught a scent again, and whilst he couldn’t be sure, it certainly seemed like him.

And there, curled up in a shop doorway, was Harrison. He was curled under a filthy duvet, and he smelled sick, but it was him.

Fao stopped dead.

“Harrison? Tomcat?”

He didn’t move at first. There was no way Fao had found him, not this far away. He sniffed quietly. Well, shit. Not one to give up, he pulled the duvet further over his head, trying to hide.

“Harrison?”

“No.”

“It’s only me.”

He sat up slowly, breathing deeply as he tried to check if it really was just Fao. The others wouldn't be too far away. “Fao.”

“Hey, stranger.”

“What do you want?” He got stiffly to his feet, backed in the corner.

“Wanted to find you. Came back from tour and you’d gone.”

“Yeah.”

“I've missed you, Tomcat.”

“So what have you come to do?”

“Came to find you. Your letter… Well, I…”

“I said what I said.”

“I was scared I'd lose you.”

“I’m not coming back.” He frowned. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“I'm not gonna kill you, don't be daft.” Fao said. “But I swear I've been wolf for like a week, I was gonna get a hotel room, grab a shower and some food? Wanna come?”

“So you can tell the others where I am so they can get me? Yeah, sure.”

“They don't know I'm here, and I'm not going to tell them. I won't tell them I've found you, if you'd rather not. But nobody wants to kill you.”

“Of course they do.”

“They don't, Hars. They're all really worried about you.”

He shook his head with a bark of a laugh. "Don't be daft."

“They are. Sheila's a wreck.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t.”

“They’re not my pack any more.”

“They’re always going to be your pack, Hars.”

He scoffed. "They kicked me out. I deserved it."

“They told you to leave the house. That doesn't mean you're gone from the pack.”

“As good as.”

“Not at all.”

“I’ve said what I said, Fao. I’m not going back.” He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, let’s at least grab a shower, some hot food and sleep in a real bed tonight.”

He shook his head, though his heart desperately wanted to. “No, I’m not...I’ve got to go now.”

“No commitment. Have some food, a soft place to sleep. And then if you still want to walk away… I can’t stop you.”

“So you can kill me in my sleep.” He laughed drily or dryly whatever. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?”

“I trust that pack will come before I do.”

“They’re not coming. I can’t even tell them, my phone is dead.”

“You can charge it.”

“Why would I tell them? I’m just here for you.”

“Because you all want me dead.”

“We don’t.”

He couldn;t allow himself the hope. “No.”

“I swear, tomcat. Swear on my life.”

Fao wouldn’t lie to him. “No, mate. It’s okay.”

“Come on, let’s get you warm and fed, eh?” Fao said, offering him a hand.

He flinched away; his back hit against stone and he groaned. “I’ve said no.”

Fao frowned, and stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, I know.” He wrapped an arm around his stomach, protecting himself. “I know.”

Fao dropped his gaze, wolf body language taking over by default. “I’m just here to help you.”

“Honest?”

“Honest. I wouldn't lie.”

He hesitated, almost giving in. “I’ve not got any money.”

“Let me worry about the money.”

“I’m not taking charity.”

“Do I look like a charity? You're family, shut up and let me take care of you, tomcat.”

"I'm not family." He spat.

“You are to me.” Fao said, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't snap at me.” His tone betrayed where he'd been for the past few months, a hangover from his tour.

"I'll do what I want."

Fao raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say a word.

Harrison's lip curled. "What are you going to do?"

“Dunno. Figured I'd just wait for you to stop being an ass.

"I'm packing my shit and going." He all but snarled, starting to roll his duvet up.

“Okay. You want a hand?”

"Does it look like I want a hand?"

“Well, you seem to be making this a big thing. Bit dramatic if you ask me, all I did was offer you some food and a warm bed.”

"You only offered so you'd have the chance to hurt me."

“No I didn't. I don't want to hurt you.”

"You have to."

“No I don't.”

"An eye for an eye."

“Nobody cares about any of that crap.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I'm not lying.”

"I'll pay you back." He softened.

“If you want to.”

“I will.”

“Come on then. Food, a shower and sleep in a real bed.””

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“No, come on. We'll get you a good bed.”

He could fight it later. “Okay.”

Slowly, Fao offered Harrison his hand again. “Come on, then.”

Harrison shouldered his pack, then reached for Fao's hand. "Thank you."

“I've missed you.”

"Don't be daft."

“I really have!”

He didn't say anything. He still wasn't sure where he stood. There was no sign of ill intentions with Fao, but he couldn't be too careful.

Fao sighed, but didn't push it. Harrison was going to take time to trust him again. But he lead him to the hotel he'd planned on staying in, and managed to reserve a double room. They'd both have somewhere proper to sleep, hot water, and food that night and the next morning.

Harrison hesitated again. “Can I grab a shower?”

“Of course. You got some clean clothes?”

“Clean enough.”

“Grab some of mine, they're clean. And we can buy some more for you.”

“It’s fine. I can wash them in the sink.”

“No, Hars. We’ll get you some nice clothes.”

“I’ve got clothes.”

“Clean clothes.”

"They will be once I've washed them."

“Alright.”

“I told you,” he said gruffly. “I’m not taking charity.”

“I know. But there's a difference between pity and help.”

“And I don’t think you know the difference.”

“Of course I do.”

"Then stop pitying me."

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just trying to help.”

He scuffed his feet. "Feels a lot like pity."

“But Tomcat, you think anyone who's trying to help is pitying you.”

“Because it’s the same thing.”

“It's not.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How far is the hotel?”

“Not far.”

“I’ve had enough walking.”

“It's not too far. But I can carry some of your stuff?”

He jerked away. "It's mine."

“I'm not gonna take it. Thought it might just make the walk easier if you didn't have so much to carry.”

“I always have to carry it. Otherwise someone would nick it.”

“I'm not gonna nick it.”

"You might." He shrugged his backpack on again. "It's fine."

“Okay.” It hurt that Harrison didn't trust him any more, but he didn't know what else to do or say.

Harrison could sense the pain from Fao and he sighed. "It's filthy anyway, I'm better off carrying it."

“Whatever you're comfortable with.”

"Not fair on you."

“Not like I'm not fit.”

He huffed. "Yeah, that's true."

“So I'm happy to carry if you need it.”

"It's okay."

“Let’s get going, then.”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Fao led the way to the hotel, trying to keep a slow pace so Harrison didn't have to rush.

Harrison hesitated outside, turning to Fao. “They’ll kick me out again.”

“No they won't. They've been paid enough.”

“Still, they’ve seen the state of me.”

“You look fine, just a bit scuffed up.”

“I look homeless.”

“Well, Hars, I hate to break it to you, but you have been living on the streets.” Fao attempted to joke. “Come on, take my hoodie.” He pulled it over his head.

“You think I don’t know?” Harrison snapped at Fao.

“Sorry, sorry. Stupid joke. Come on, just take the hoodie, it’ll be alright. You’re clearly with me, so it’s fine.”

“And what about my shit?”

“I’ll carry it.”

“They won’t let you in.”

“Give it here, I’ll shove it in my bag?”

“Let me carry the bag though?”

“Sure, so long as you don’t break it.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Good.” Fao shrugged his bag off and rolled Harrison’s duvet and other crap up to shove it inside. “That’s alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He swung it onto his back. “Thanks.”

“Let's go, then.”

“Right.” He nodded. “After you.”

Fao led the way inside, glancing back at Harrison to make sure he was still following.

"I'm not going to run off. Don't give me that look."

“But you thought about it.”

“No.” He lied.

Fao raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. They got inside, and spoke to the person at the desk. He shot them some slightly odd looks, but Fao spoke in a way that dared him to give them shit, and nothing was said. They were given keys, and directions to the room. They headed up, and Fao unlocked the door to let Harrison inside. “Here we go. Much better.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Do you wanna grab a shower?”

“Yes please.”

“Go on, then.”

He glanced at Fao before heading into the bathroom, backpack still on. “Won’t be long.”

“Harrison. My pack, please?”

“It’s got my stuff in.”

“Take your stuff out?”

“Fine.”

“Thanks.”

He shoved his pack towards Fao. “I’m getting a shower now.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Enjoy it.”

He headed back into the bathroom, dumping his stuff on the floor before stripping. He ran the water hot, used as much shampoo and bodywash as he could, and just stood under the stream. It was a stark difference from his previous attempts at a shower, a hurried wash in the mcdonalds toilets. After washing his hair and body, he slumped down, sliding until he was sat on the shower floor. His head in his hands, he let himself cry, all his emotions coming to a head.

Fao gave Harrison plenty of time in the shower. He deserved his privacy, and it was no doubt the first shower he'd had in far too long. He sorted through the other wolf's stuff, only to neatly fold it for now. He'd go through and wash it later for him. Even the duvet could be washed, he was sure. Of course he wanted to bring Harrison home, but if he chose to keep living this way, the best he could do was make him more comfortable.

Harrison eventually emerged from the bathroom, hair still dripping and a mess on his head. He was in slightly cleaner clothes, his others having also had a wash. When he saw Fao, his lip curled.

"I told you not to touch my stuff."

“I just folded them for you.” Fao said, guarded. “That way you can pick out what wants washing and if anything needs fixing. It didn't seem right, just leaving it in a pile on the floor. It's all there, you can check it for yourself."

"It's not yours to touch."

“Look, sorry. I was only trying to help.”

"I didn't ask for your help!" He shot back, his wavering voice betraying him. "I didn't ask for any of it."

“Look, I don't know what the fuck happened back home, I don't care, but I'm your pack and I'm your family and we help eachother out when we end up in the shit! I'm not long back from fucking Afghanistan, and yet here I am with you, because I'm not just going to walk past and leave you to suffer. So get your head out of your ass and just let me help, for fuck's sake. It's not pity, it's not charity, it's me helping a friend. And I'm sorry I touched your stuff, I am. But I was only trying to make your life easier!”

Harrison didn’t say anything, visibly shrinking back on himself, his lip trembling. He turned away, grabbing his clothes and stuffing them haphazardly into his bag.

Fao softened, and stepped back. He'd gone too far, he knew he had, but Harrison was just so frustrating. It didn't help just how worried he was about him.

“Look, Tomcat, I'm sorry…”

He shook his head, his wet clothes shoved on top. "Don't."

“Don't go. I'll leave you be, the room is yours. Don't have to see my stupid face. But take it, sleep in a real bed, eat real food. For your own health.”

"It's fine." He tried to slink past Fao. "I'm fine."

“No, Hars, you're not fine.”

"I am."

“You're so far from fine it hurts. I read your letter, I really thought I was never going to see you again. I thought I'd lost you. Please, don't go…”

He stopped, finally looking at Fao. "You weren't meant to find me."

“And yet I did.” Fao said, stepping closer. “Come on, don't throw it all in now.”

"I can't." He shook his head, clenched his jaw to try and stop the tears that threatened again. "It's already over."

Fao couldn't help himself, he pulled Harrison in for a hug, crushing him against his chest. “Oh, Tomcat, nothing is ever over.”

#Harrison #Fao Blackwood #whump #bthb card #whump prompt #Harrison is sad #anger born of worry #what immortal au #he's been homeless a While #bc he's a dick #harrison is having a bad day #tomcat and wolfie

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mercheswan · 4 years

Text

Steospooktober - Ouija

Also in - AO3

Stiles arrives to the Raeken's Manor to try to help the Ghost who lives there to find peace.

The Ghost, Tara, wants to talk with her little brother. Theodore Raeken.

Why is Tara pointing out how cute Stiles is to her brother?!

Stiles liked to call himself a supernatural investigator. One of his favourite things to do was visiting, allegued Haunted Houses. That was how he ended up in the Raeken Manor.

The Raeken’s were a wealthy family, the mansion was secluded and it covered an extensive land.

Stiles heard that the ghost haunting the house was female, and thanks to Stiles research he was pretty sure that it was the ghost of Tara Raeken. The Raeken’s had two children, Tara the oldest and Theodore the youngest. Tara died in her teens, apparently from an accident as no one was prosecuted for it.

Stiles accommodated himself in one of the rooms of the House, a teenage boy’s room which probably belonged to Theodore. He totally broke into the House and he was hoping not to have problems with the police and/or the ghost. The house was basically intact, the Raeken’s must have fled the place to forget about the death of their daughter.

On the first night Stiles tried to contact the ghost, but there was no luck, still Stiles did believe that someone else was with him in the house, he got pretty good at feeling the supernatural.

It was on the fourth night that the ouija board he used moved. The ghost was indeed the one of Tara Raeken and she seemed to like him which made things much more easy. After several days of conversation Stiles figured out that, what Tara wanted was to speak with Theo, her brother.

“Well let me see... oh here Theo Raeken, he has a Facebook page. Oh he is a resident in a hospital and... oh he is hot” Stiles said looking at Theo’s profile picture. Stiles could swear that he felt a pat in his shoulder. “Got it, not ogling the baby bro” Stiles snorted.

Stiles wasn’t sure how to make Theo come to the house so he could speak with his dead sister. He decided that he could pretend to buy the house, it has been on sale for many years but no one has ever bought it because of the ghost.

Stiles met with Theo at the entrance, the Raeken man seemed hesitant to enter, he must have not visited his old house in a very long time.

“Mr Stilinski?” Theo asked.

“Call me Stiles” Stiles said shaking Theo’s hand.

“You’re not what I expected” Theo commented. Stiles raised his eyebrow amused. “You’re young and you look normal...” Theo added

Stiles chuckled. “Thanks?”

“I mean, I’ve never managed to sell the house cause all the people who claim to be interested are weirdos thinking that it’s haunted or something” Theo said.

“You don’t believe in ghosts Mr Raeken?” Stiles asked. That would make things a little bit more complicated.

“Theo please. I guess I’m a man of science” Theo responded.

“They say the ghost could be your sister's?” Stiles said nonchalantly. But he clearly made a mistake, Theo became rigid and looked at him with an unfriendly expression. Stiles kept messing up.

“My sister did not die in here” Was all Theo said.

Stiles thought that the only way to make Theo believe would be to be direct with his approach.

“Look, I’m actually a supernatural investigator...” Stiles muttered.

Theo snorted angrily. “Of course you’re one of the freaks. I would have to ask you to leave Mr Stilinski” Theo said coldly.

“Wait... you... please, I’ve been talking to your sister...” Stiles explained.

“You’ve been what!? Oh god you’re crazy, I’m calling the cops” Theo declared reaching out to his phone. Stiles made a movement to try and stop him and at moment a vase broke, starling the two men.

“I told you, she wants to speak with you, she’s always asking about you” Stiles insisted.

“Did you put a trap in there? Why are you doing this! Let the dead be dead!” Theo shouted furiously.

“I’m trying to help her! And you! She’s obviously has something she needs to tell you! That’s why she is trapped here!” Stiles shouted back.

“She would not be wanting to speak with me. IT’S MY FAULT SHE IS DEAD!” Theo stormed off the house.

Stiles stood watching at the open door to which Theo exited. The room’s wood floor made a noise. Tara. Stiles ran to catch Theo.

“Theo wait. Wait!!” Stiles exclaimed. “Please you have to believe me, I’m not doing this to open old scars or to create drama, I really want to help her, Tara it’s been nice, believe me, I’ve deal with much more horrible ghost that her. I’m sure she doesn’t blame you for whatever happened, she wants to say good bye” Stiles said meeting Theo’s wet eyes.

Theo huffed turning around but not moving away from Stiles. “It was my fault... she... she didn’t die here, she died in a lake in the woods, we were playing, I left, I stopped looking for her, and she was hurt and couldn’t get out...” Theo cried. So it was an accident, but It could have been prevented.

Stiles raised his hand and hesitantly placed it on Theo’s shoulders. “Come with me, we can talk to her through my ouija” Stiles declared.

“You’re just a charlatan trying to get some money, I’ll give it to you, but stop with the nonsense” Theo muttered still crying.

“I don’t want your money. I swear” Stiles claimed taking Theo’s hand.

Theo reluctantly flowed Stiles. Stiles set the Ouija board. “Do you know the rules?” Stiles asked. Theo nodded.

“Hello Tara” Stiles said to the air.

The ouija moved.

“You’re moving it” Theo accused.

“No I’m not” Stiles assured.

Theo. The words in the ouija showed. Dreadful brother. Was the next world it showed. Stiles felt cold suddenly. He really thought that Tara wanted to say goodbye to his brother, not to insult him, Stiles did not want to see Theo suffer more.

Theo exhaled and Stiles saw that he had a smile on his face. Weird. “How did you know about that?” Theo asked meeting Stiles eyes.

“What?” Stiles questioned.

“She used to call me that, to her friends, pretending I was a nuisance” Theo huffed. “Is it really you Tara?” Theo asked.

Yes. The ouija answered.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Theo cried.

I love you. It wasn’t your fault. You good doctor.

Theo laughed. “How does she know that I’m a doctor?”

“Well... I-I might have been staying here for the last couple of weeks...” Stiles admitted. Theo raised his eyebrows in shocked expression. “I’ll pay for the electricity and the water! I wanted to see see what was the problem and why she stayed linked to the house” Stiles said.

Stiles nice.

“Oh thank you sweetheart” Stiles laughed.

He cute.

Theo snorted. “Are you seriously playing matchmaker right now?!”

“Oh you like boys too...” Stiles muttered. Theo smirked amused. Stiles refused to blush.

The fire of candles on the table grew stronger. It was getting hotter and not only because of the fire, Stiles was suddenly very aware of Theo’s hands touching his.

I have to go. The Ouija said.

“Wait! No, I want to talk more! We waisted so much time!” Theo complained.

You good. I’m free.

“Tara...” Theo whispered.

Stiles placed his hands on top of Theo squeezing them, the later met his eyes. “It’s time to say goodbye” Stiles smiled kindly.

Theo nodded at Stiles and they both moved the their hands to the goodbye words written in the ouija board. Stiles could swear that he listed a soft female voice whispering goodbye, and just like that, the Haunted House was no more.

Stiles was relieved that in the end all Tara wanted was to help his brother deal with the guilt inside him.

“You can’t contact her again, can you?” Theo asked his eyes covered in tears.

Stiles denied with his head. ��She’s gone” Stiles said. Theo covered his face with his hands. “Theo… she is where she is supposed to be, whatever that is…” Stiles tried to console Theo.

Theo hugged Stiles placing his chin on the supernatural investigador’s shoulder. Stiles caught off guard by Theo’s sudden need of physical contact, but he hugged the doctor back.

“Thank you” Theo whispered into Stiles’s neck.

“What for?” Stiles questioned in a hushed voice. Theo’s closeness was begining to be distracting.

“For insisting although I called you a freak and a fraud” Theo explained.

Stiles chuckled. “Not the first one” Theo snorted too. “Are you okay? I know saying goodbye it’s hard, but she really loved you, and she was really proud of what you achieved” Stiles said.

“You investigated me for her?” Theo smirked.

“O-only stuff that you can find online… Like where did you study, where you lived, what were you doing for a living… I checked your social media” Stiles admitted.

“I’m clearly in disadvanyage here, I know nothing about you except for the fact that you have a very peculiar occupation, that you are very persistant and that my sister liked you” Theo chuckled. Stiles huffed a laugh. After a few seconds in which Theo looked at Stiles with a curious glare like he wanted to figure out Stiles, he asked “You’re not buying the house, aren’t you?” Stiles laughed out loud and Theo smiled, Stiles mouthed no between laughs. “I guess I’ll keep it for now” Theo said.

“It’s a nice house” Stiles agreed.

“If you’re not getting the house I can’t let you go empty handed” Theo stated. Stiles looked at him with a confused and amused expression. “How about dinner?” Theo proposed. Oh. Was he flirting? “And you can tell me a little bit more about my sister…” Theo added. Oh. he is not flirting. “And what you thought about my gym pics” Theo grinned seductively. Oh.

“S-sure!” Stiles agreed.

Sometimes there was good in goodbyes. Wherever Tara was she surely was happy about his little brothers choice of boyfriend.

#steospooktober #steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf au #steo au #steo fic #stiles x theo #tara raeken #ouija aesthetic #ouija au #ouija board

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themattress · 3 years

Text

My Top 15 Favorite Gotham Characters

Plus one Honorable Mention.

Honorable Mention: Silver St. Cloud - She's an honorable mention because of how tragically the show wasted her. Silver was a standout character in 2A's “Rise of the Villains” arc, as we see all the layers peeled back from whimsical, kind-hearted, well-mannered young socialite to cruel, manipulative, cold-blooded agent of an evil religious cult to vulnerable, scared and remorseful girl in way over her head who forges a real emotional connection with Bruce. However, despite all the rich potential for her to develop even further as a character, she was never seen again after the 2A finale.

15. Tabitha Galavan - While as a character she's the very definition of a second-stringer, Tabitha is an interesting case study in what happens when a single ember of innocence is still left burning within the darkest of souls. Raised in the evil Order of St. Dumas and kept firmly under her older brother's thumb, Tabitha is certainly no angel, being the sort of person who will fatally stab an innocent old woman in the back and feel no remorse. But the desire to care and be cared for is still very strong in her, and we see it manifest many times: with Silver, and with Selina, and with Barbara, and of course with Butch. Unfortunately for Tabitha, she is also a case study in how this doesn't guarantee that such a person will receive a happy ending, as she is unable to avoid karmic justice.

14. Butch Gilzean - I didn't really care about Butch initially, since he didn't seem like anything more than Fish Mooney's affably evil muscle. After he became brainwashed into obeying the Penguin's every command, he gradually became more interesting and sympathetic, and by the time he got romantically involved with Tabitha I had become so accustomed to him and his perversely likable sort of villainy that I couldn't imagine the show without him. But maybe the show would have been better off without him after his death in the Season 3 finale, as the immediate retcon afterward of his real name being Cyrus Gold and his resurrection as Solomon Grundy in Season 4 was just nonsense, especially when he ends up just as dead in the Season 4 finale as he was in the Season 3 finale, so what was even the point? Sometimes, dead is better, and I’m sure Butch would agree.

13. Harvey Bullock - For much of Season 1 it felt like the writers were trying to play Harvey Bullock too seriously, and I think that was a mistake because the character always benefits from being played more broadly, and lord knows that Donal Logue can do that very well. Thankfully, that's exactly how he started to be played more often from Season 2 and onward, with whatever serious arcs he did receive such as in Season 4 benefiting from him being so much more likable as a result. I'd rather watch him on screen than Jim Gordon any day.

12. Leslie Thompkins - While initially kind of bland, Leslie "Lee" Thompkins is a character that grew on me overtime. I felt really sorry for her throughout Seasons 2 and 3 as Jim Gordon proved to be the worst love interest ever, bringing her no end of pain, and then in Seasons 4 and 5 she used that pain and anger to shape herself into a total badass anti-heroine who was still all about helping those in need but now was open to using less than moral means to accomplish this. She's a character who finished the show stronger than she'd ever been, and her and Barbara becoming bros is everything I never knew I needed.

11. Sofia Falcone - Sometimes, a sharp and devious mind is all it takes for someone to be a great villain, and damn did Sofia ever put hers to good use. In the comics, this was a forgettable character who was just an obvious thug in design and demeanor, but Gotham's version is terrifying in how petite and pretty and kind and charitable and all around attractive in every way she is...the perfect way to manipulate others and conceal that on the inside she's beyond just a thug; she's a raging, ruthless, vindictive, amoral sociopath who only cares about herself. And kudos to Crystal Reed, whose performance sold the character perfectly. The only real downside to Sofia is that the writers clearly were forced to write her out earlier than anticipated, and her abrupt exit from the show is nowhere close to being as satisfying as the build-up to her gaining power within the city would lead you to believe.

10. Ra's Al Ghul - As wonderful as Sofia was, there was never any question as to whom Season 4's most formidable villain was: the same villain who is the series' ultimate Big Bad, Ra's Al Ghul. Beyond the phenomenally perfect casting of Alexander Siddig, who is hands down the most comics-accurate portrayal of the character in live-action to date, Ra's benefits from the series positioning him as the final answer to the long-running "who killed Thomas and Martha Wayne?" mystery and totally being able to convince viewers that most of this series' events were according to his plans due to the self-assured, in-control and borderline omnipotent way the Demon's Head carries himself. No-one in Gotham City is left unchanged by his machinations, least of all his chosen "heir" Bruce Wayne.

9. Hugo Strange - The Big Bad of 2B's "Wrath of the Villains" arc is in the running for the show's most despicable villain. Professor Hugo Strange is a brilliant psychologist and scientist, but he is utterly devoid of a conscience and will do anything to achieve his twisted aspirations, from ruining peoples' lives with his experiments to bringing people back from the dead to personally ordering the death of those he considers to be friends. What makes Strange enjoyable in spite of his depravity is B.D Wong's performance: he looks absolutely perfect as a younger version of Hugo Strange and his voice seems to be channeling Corey Burton's Christopher Lee-inspired take from Batman: Arkham City. He's a much stronger villain than 2A's Theo Galavan, and tellingly got to return in every following season.

8. Edward Nygma - I really wish I could place Ed higher on this list, since the Riddler is one of my favorite Batman villains and Cory Michael Smith is perfect in the role. But sadly, he's the subject of some really weak writing throughout the show that holds him back from breaching my personal Top 5. Whether it be the constant Nice Guy(TM) hounding of Kristen Kringle, the bizarre Two Face-esque split personality angle, the ungodly stupid Isabella plot device and subsequent clashing with the Penguin because of it, his needless romance with Lee that didn't make sense for either of their characters (which wasn't helped by the fact that it happened at a time where he kept on getting made a fool of in a way that undermined how menacing he was just a season ago), and being used as an obvious red herring in the Haven explosion mystery...he really deserved better material, and it's lucky that Smith makes him so enjoyable to watch since it would otherwise drag him down much further.

7. Jerome Valeska - Cameron Monaghan's performance as Jerome single-handedly forced the Gotham producers' hands when it came to their original plans (or lack thereof) for the Joker in their series, as right off the bat he managed to perfectly capture the same maniacal energy that the likes of Mark Hamill and Heath Ledger did, meaning fans would accept no-one else in the role. While Jerome ends up being more of a test run for the actual Joker - the Beta Joker, so to speak - he still is one of the most frightening and malevolent characters in the show's entire run, spreading chaos for chaos' sake and causing pain to others just because he finds it hilarious, and doing it all in the most theatrical way possible.

6. Jeremiah Valeska - Yes, I agree that this character's whole basis - Jerome's secret twin brother who actually becomes the Joker - and how he was introduced is unbelievably stupid writing; in hindsight it would have made more sense to just find a way to transition Jerome into this kind of characterization as part of a continued evolution toward becoming the Joker. But we're stuck with Jeremiah, and as it stands he is a much worthier Joker than Jerome was. I don't really like the Joker whenever he's written to have no motivation beyond "random crime and chaos because LOL crazy!!!" - the best Jokers always have a reason for doing what they do, it's just that it's always a twisted reason that holds no basis in reality and just serves as an excuse for the Joker to spread pain and chaos across Gotham City and match wits with Batman. (Ex: Heath Ledger's Joker may say he has no plans and just "does things" as a manipulation tactic, but in reality he does make plans and does have the tangible objective of proving his nihilistic, anarchistic worldview to everyone; Batman in particular.)

Jeremiah's penchant for intricate planning combined with the psychotic objectives that lie behind his plans is what makes him more believable as the Joker compared to Jerome, and it really felt like the show's stakes rose to an entirely new, darker than ever before level when he stepped up to the plate at the end of Season 4. I also love his development: being in denial about his own insanity and likeness to his brother until his personal obsession with Bruce overpowers that and causes him to willingly give into the madness so that he can be a worthy enough foil for Bruce as Gotham's Dark Knight, since that gives his miserable life a sense of purpose. Add to this Cameron Monaghan still pulling off that Joker energy flawlessly and you have a Joker that can stand beside Nicholson, Ledger and Phoenix's portrayals.

5. Barbara Kean - This one really took me by surprise. I knew going into the show that Barbara was considered a poorly written, irritating obstructive love interest to Gordon in Season 1, but that she got Rescued From the Scrappy Heap in the following seasons. What I didn't know was the way that rescuing happened - she goes crazy and becomes a surprise villain in the Season 1 finale, and from then on out she is freaking nuts in the most hilariously over-the-top way, with Erin Richards chewing the scenery for all it's worth. Barbara is so entertaining throughout the various guises and positions she goes through across the series, not to mention a complete badass who you just can't help but respect for being true to herself even if she's an awful human being. Her redemption arc in Season 5 was a beautiful way to bring her journey full-circle, and I don't begrudge her the happy ending she got at all.

4. Alfred Pennyworth - We're all used to Alfred the butler, but Gotham got me accustomed to Alfred the soldier. Sean Pertwee is thoroughly convincing in the role of the hard-assed, frequently grumpy or moody yet caring, loyal and dependable Alfred, whose relationship with young Bruce Wayne is perfectly depicted. The only time I didn't care for him was during 2A, where he was cruel and unfair toward Selina because she killed his treacherous war-time buddy who almost murdered him and was planning on doing harm to Bruce. Thankfully, from the midseason finale and onward he managed to redeem himself, regaining his status as one of the show's best-depicted characters and maintaining it all the way to the end.

3. Bruce Wayne - This character was always going to live or die based on what child actor was playing him, and by God did David Mazouz nail it in his performance. Even putting the dead parents and destiny as Batman aside, Bruce Wayne is clearly not a "normal" kid, being raised in the lap of luxury and privileged to the point of extreme naïveté, with an overly formal way of speaking hammering in his distance from the rest of Gotham City. Watching him grow stronger and smarter and more worldly and responsible as the series progressed was always a pleasure, and he naturally made a far more compelling protagonist than Jim Gordon did, with the show ending on the shot that it does making it even more clear that this was primarily his story all along; just one elongated origin story for the goddamn Batman.

2. Selina Kyle - For quite a while in Season 1, the teenage girl who would be Catwoman spent a lot of time just slinking around the fringes of the story and accomplishing little of value. But once she finally met Bruce, Selina's character really took off, and she ended up becoming my second all-time favorite character in the show. Aside from the strong writing and character development, much is also owed to Camren Bicondova, who is utterly charming in her depiction of the cynical, sharp-tongued, street-smart thief with a heart of gold, and she is even able to make her rushed final transition into Catwoman in Season 5 believable. And kudos to Lili Simmons who plays her in the final episode, she is perfectly convincing as an adult version of Selina, looking and sounding just as I expect Bicondova to in a few years.

1. Oswald Cobblepot - OK, this is probably an unoriginal choice, but I can't help it - Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin, is the one character on this show who just did no wrong as far as I'm concerned (as a character, I mean, he obviously did a lot wrong morally!) In addition to being the role Robin Lord Taylor was born to play, there is a consistency in the writing of his character and in the quality of his development that I think is unmatched by anyone else in the cast. Aside from that one blip in the Isabella plotline of Season 3 that I credit as more of a blemish on Ed than I do Oswald, he was always a fully three-dimensional character who acted and reacted believably, and he always stayed firmly on the line between being a heinous, ruthless, murderous criminal chiefly seeking power and a tragic, sympathetic, even funny and likable person chiefly seeking love. And he always remained the "noble villain" when compared to the other villains around him; always the one you could count on to join the heroes and do the right thing when it counted because he's a pragmatist with moral lines he will not cross....and because he loves and believe in Gotham City too, in his own way.

#Gotham #Opinion #Analysis

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artbymavy · 3 years

Note

could I get uuhhh 35 and/or 51 maybe w theo+luca?? as fluffy as possible please

35. “You make me feel safe.”

51. “You make me feel alive.”

“You know something? I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a room this big before.”

Luca was lying peacefully beneath silken sheets, his arm about Theo’s shoulder, thumb tracing absently across the hard ridges of the scar on his arm. It was he who had spoken.

It was warm in their room, though not unpleasantly so. Soft morning light was streaming in through its large open windows, and with it a cool, salty breeze off the sea beyond. Luca did not open his eyes to either of them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room this big before.” He replied.

“What? You must’ve been.”

Theo sat up then, looming over Luca, who cracked an eye open to watch sleep lose its grip on him. It was thus that he was allowed to bear witness to the way the golden light of morning was lucky enough to be cast across the planes of his back, lighting the freckles on his shoulders, and Luca came to know that if stars could be seen in the daylight, they would look something like this, only probably not as lovely.

“Doesn’t feel like it. This one feels bigger,” He mumbled rather stupidly. Beauty tended to have that effect on people. Or so he had noticed.

“It is rather empty in here,” Theo conceded. “Except for us.”

Luca hummed in response, lifting a hand to trace his knuckles indulgently over the dip at the base of his spine.

“Hey, do you think I can make it echo in here?”

Theo took a deep breath, but before he could follow through with his experiment, Luca had wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him down into a kiss that stole the breath he had just taken, and pressed him down into the bed, where he seemed more than happy to stay.

“Mm no, too early for yelling please. Besides, you definitely can, or didn’t you notice last night?”

That earned Luca quite a remarkable blush, and not for the first time he found himself wondering if flowers grew in such a colour – if they did, he would fill a whole garden with them. He doubted that they could capture quite the right shade, though.

“I can’t say I did. Though admittedly, I was a little preoccupied.”

“Oh, you were, were you?” Luca crooned, awake enough now to find a mark just bellow his collarbone that certainly had nothing to do with the battle they had fought mere days ago, and kiss it as if in apology, though in truth he intended no such thing, eliciting a soft gasp. “Good.”

Theo planted a hand to the side of his face, taking a fist full of his hair to pry his head back, and met his eyes with a glare. Its effect was somewhat lessened by the smile he hadn’t managed to smother in time, though. “Hey, it’s not like I was the only one! I don’t even think you slipped a knife under your pillow before you went to sleep.”

He made a great show of wrestling the numerous pillows they had been provided with from beneath them, tossing them aside to lounge in the scandalously empty space they left behind.

Luca was not phased in the slightest.

“Well, if you want one under there so badly you can put it there yourself, since against my better judgement you have one now.”

“Oh no, I don’t feel that need. Not now anyways.”

Luca nodded thoughtfully. “I do suppose it would be rather hard to sneak up on us in here. Not really much to hide behind.”

Theo laughed. “What? No! That’s not why!”

Luca raised a brow, his lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Oh? Do tell then.”

“It’s you. Because I’m with you.” Theo admitted quietly, for the first time that morning breaking his gaze from Luca’s. “You make me feel safe.”

Luca chuckled. “I make you feel safe?”

“Yes! What, don’t I make you feel safe?”

With that, Luca gifted him with a rare, full laugh. “No! I was definitely safer before I met you.”

“Oh really?” Theo countered, prodding one of several large and rather brutish old scars on Luca’s thigh. Luca caught his hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips with a chuckle.

“Alright, I see your point, but let me raise you this: no one ever tried to blow up a building while I was still in it before I met you.”

Theo scoffed. “Okay, first of all, I was never actually going to blow up that building, you know that -”

“Do I? You and I must have very different memories of that situation” - Theo began to stammer his objection, but Luca continued on before he could - “and besides, you were definitely safer before you met me, too – I bet no one ever tried to shoot at you or stab you or light you on fire or anything before you met me. So no, Horatio, you do not make me feel safe.”

He chuckled, and pressed a firm kiss to the side of Theo’s jaw to soften his teasing, but when he pulled back to meet his gaze once more, he could tell he was in danger of turning Theo’s mood to storm clouds. He hadn’t meant to sound harsh – but realizing Theo had confided in him so easily as to make it seem no matter at all gave him pause. He did not want to ruin this. And he did not want Theo to think his feelings were not so strong as his, that they did not merit confessing. But he knew if he was to do it, and save the situation, he had little time to compose his thoughts.

“You – you make me feel…”

He trailed off for a moment, pressing the pad of his thumb against Theo’s temple, staring full into those deep, thoughtful eyes of his, willing him to understand, for he knew not the words to express what Theo had done for him – how he made him feel. Still, he knew Theo needed these things said out loud when he could, and he wanted to try.

“You make me feel alive. You make me want to feel alive. When I’m with you it’s like… like whatever you’re feeling is so big, it spills over into me. Like, through you, I feel all these things I never could have before – that I wouldn’t have let myself, or that I wouldn’t even have thought to. I never knew what it was, to smile until your face hurts, or to laugh until you cry, or just to cry, until you showed me. By the stars, Horatio, I don’t think I even know how good it felt to breathe until I shared the same air as you. I lived in the world, but I never really saw it, until I used your eyes. And maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but I don’t ever want to stop. I want to live against your chest, between your palms, in your hair. I want to filter my world through you, and fuck I hope you let me, because yours is the only world worth living in.”

Theo had risen to meet him, their legs tangling together as he rushed to throw his arms around his shoulders. Luca found one hand fell naturally into the dip of his waist, his other coming up to work its way into his soft, sleep-mussed hair.

Now that he had begun to tell him, really tell him, the words came easily. He had no need to stop and consider if they were the right ones. He knew he was understood.

“Before I met you, I was so ready to die for my cause that I think I would have taken death sitting down. But now… I still might not know what will become of us, but I do know one thing - that I would fight tooth and nail, use every last breath I had to give just for one more moment with you. Because you are what I want. But I want so much more than that. I want us to live – really live every moment we have, together. I want us to be by each other’s sides, until the sun sets on these whole continents for its very last time. Because I can’t picture it any other way.”

Theo’s answering laugh was watery. He pressed a palm over Luca’s heart, which only now did he realize was racing, staring at the space between his fingertips for a long moment before looking up at him once more.

“Let’s do that.”

Luca couldn’t help himself but laugh.

“I’m serious, Luca. If you want it, then my eyes are yours to see. My hands, yours to use. My heart, yours to hold. I’ll fill my lungs only with you, and my lips will speak only your name. If I’ve shown you what it feels like to be alive then I am truly sorry for I have not gone nearly far enough. I want to teach you what it feels like to be loved – really loved, none of this stupid self-preservation bullshit I’ve peddled to you so far, because whether you like it or not, I’m yours.”

He traced his fingers over the line of Luca’s collarbone, to reach over his shoulder once more, and follow the lines of the brand that marked his old, ill-taken oath with reverence.

“I’m yours.” He repeated earnestly, pressing a hard kiss into the knot of Luca’s shoulder.

“I’m yours.” Another kiss at the hollow of his throat, softer this time.

“I’m yours.” His breath was barely felt before it was lost to the deep kiss Luca offered him in return, losing his way to it, and finding it once again in the space of a moment, a heartbeat, an entire lifetime.

“I love you,” he whispered, warm against Luca’s lips. “Let’s start today.”

#asks #writing #my writing #beneath the continents #I... am so sorry but I don't think this counts as fluff anymore #I think I got kind of carried away here.....#like... really I did and I HOPE you like it but if not idk what to say #I think writing this fucked me up a little #did that happen to you too? let me know...#tobeasyouarebeing

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sceosource · 4 years

Photo

That’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone that participated in Sceo Week 2020! There were a lot of amazing works this year and we couldn’t be happier with the participation! Please continue to follow us for future Sceo events. :-)

Below is the round-up post for all the content that qualified for the event.

FICS (General - Mature)

Boardshorts and Bandsaws by Numendar Loss is not a fine cut thing, sometimes you have to lose to become more than you were.

I'd Give You My Sunshine by tiniestawoo (thosewhofall) Scott wasn’t exactly surprised that, of all the people who might call him from jail, it had been Theo’s voice on the other end of the line. What had surprised Scott, though, were the long silences and out of character insecurity in his voice. Stiles would undoubtedly have hung up the call and left Theo to face the consequences of whatever he was calling ‘wrong place, wrong time stuff’. But that just meant Scott knew he shouldn't.Ignoring someone who needed help had never really been Scott’s strong suit. For all the undeniable wrong Theo had done, when Scott asked him to step up and help them, he had.-Or the one where Theo Raeken used to be a sex worker, gets arrested, and throws a kink into Scott's carefully crafted sense normalcy.

tell me somethin' i ain't heard before by CerinityKS “So that alpha…” Scott started, voice tense. Theo nodded.“Not sure what, exactly, he would have done but it likely wouldn’t have been… pleasant.”“And when he said you belonged to me…”“Well,” Theo hedged, knowing his next words likely wouldn’t help. “He wasn’t completely wrong.”(or theo lets scott in on some truths about being an omega, scott loses his damn mind, and theo is annoyed but secretly loves it, really. as long as it doesn't kill him first.)

Under the Stars by TheKingsChimera First ever submission for Sceo Week. Hope you enjoy. Prompt is "First Time".

Matched by xartificialsweetnerx & DemonzDust Valentine’s Day is around the corner and Scott is in charge of his animal shelter’s holiday-themed adoption event. Little does Scott know that his perpetually single existence is preventing his best friend from finally tying the knot with his own match. And as for Theo? Well, he is just plain unable to admit he needs a match of his own.

What Should Have Been Ours II by DemonzDust After being kidnapped and tortured by Mr. Douglas, Theo has learned the truth about why the Dread Doctors chose him as a child. He now knows that Scott was supposed to be his soulmate, and that the Dread Doctors intentionally corrupted him to keep them apart. Now Scott saved him from Douglas's clutches, but the True Alpha has no idea what Theo learned and Theo plans on keeping it that way.

I shouldn't have ask. by Elit3 This is the third part of my series. This will explore Theo's childhood and his encounter with the dread doctors. There will also be Stiles' feelings about the chimera. Will the elders of the group finally accept Theo in the pack?

These violent delights by Prospero_Caliban After Theo has a very normal surgery Scott wants to start a relationship with him. Theo wants to make things right even if that means saying no. Making decisions is hard now that he thinks about others. give me your heart cuz i ain't gonna break it by CerinityKS “She said it was a gift,” he continued.Deaton glanced up in surprise. “A gift? Now that is interesting.”“Why? What is this stuff?” Liam asked.“A double-edged sword,” Deaton explained, then continued at their confused and, in Scott’s case, frustrated, expressions. “A gift is one way to describe it. This substance,” he swiped a finger through the powder coating Theo’s neck in demonstration, “is a type of hallucinogenic,” he explained.“So Theo is hallucinating right now?” Malia asked as she wrinkled her nose, clearly not seeing what was so bad about that.“In a sense,” Deaton agreed. “But it’s a very specific type of hallucination. See this substance is used to give the victim a glimpse of their soulmate.”(or theo gets whammied, scott freaks out, get jealous, and somehow the only two who don't see whats happening are theo and scott.) Dear Scott by DemonzDust SummaryIn a dusty shoebox tucked into the back corner of Scott’s closet there’s a box of letters from his secret grade school crush.

Damn be the body temperature. by Prospero_Caliban SummarySince his body temperature is lower than others Theo has to think about sharing this problem with Scott. New Wolf in the Old Guard by liliaeth SummaryAfter Scott is killed by hunters, he somehow manages to recover from what should be unsurvivable, even for an alpha. The worst part though, are the dreams, as he keeps dreaming of a woman locked in a coffin burried in the ocean. Termination Shock by Escalus Termination Shock: The point in space where the solar wind -- the pressure generated by the sun -- is finally overwhelmed by the strength of the interstellar medium. Often used to mark the end of our solar system.In other words, it is the point where everything you've ever known -- everything you could have possibly known -- has ended, and every step you take after that is into some vast new darkness, where the only source of light and comfort is that which you bring with you.Scott McCall, permanently blinded by his fight with the Anuk-Ite and ravaged by indescribable tragedy, embarks on a quest to stop Monroe from ruining any more lives. He won't risk anyone else he cares about on this dangerous mission, but he can't go alone. Who cares about Theo Raeken anyway?

FICS (Explicit)

Alpha Needs by DemonzDust As Scott turns into the six month anniversary of his eighteenth birthday his body begins to undergo a new transformation that threatens to drive him mad. After advice from Derek, he seeks release in the form of a chimera that’s been trying to worm his way back into the pack since summer started.

Where There’s a Waiter, There’s a Way by ColetheWolf Scott McCall and Derek Hale are celebrating their first year anniversary at a fancy restaurant, but Scott finds himself venturing into the realm of infidelity for the first time with the hot waiter, Theo Raeken. now all i want is your body close to mine by CerinityKS Theo had no idea how the fuck he’d gotten himself into this situation.This situation being Scott mouthing at his neck, the hot press of his body behind him as his hands worked their way under his shirt. Theo whined, heat racing through him as he pressed back against Scott, erection straining against his jeans.He could hear yelling in the other room, raised voices and the scent of anger attempting to penetrate through the haze of lust and want clouding his head. Scott, sensing his attention drifting, bit down sharply on the crook of his neck. Theo gasped and shuddered, going limp in Scott’s arms and trusting the alpha to keep him upright. Scott rewarded him with an apologetic lick at the angry wound as one of his hands dipped beneath the band of his jeans.(or the boys get whammied by sex pollen and uh, help each other out - including theo typical angst and a scott more in tune with his emotions than theo expected, but he's not complaining.)

There's Only One Van by TamerOfPickles Scott, Theo, Stiles, and Liam are on their first tour as an up and coming band. Their gigs don't pay much yet, so they save money sleeping in the back of their van while one of them drives to the next location. Being cooped up in a small space causes things to get a little more intimate than they expected.

Finding Something to Do by TamerOfPickles While searching the Dread Doctors' complex, Scott and Theo accidentally get trapped together in a bunker with a twenty-four hour lock.

The Trouble with Portals by VolsungartheMighty Stuck in quarantine, unable to visit each other, Theo and Scott are desperate for sex. Weeks locked away with only their hands for company, Theo manages to find something that might ease the tension.

i'm not tryna be your part time lover by CerinityKS “Whatever McCall,” Theo sneered, “suck my dick.”Not the best comeback but at this point Theo just wanted this confrontation to be over so he could head over to the gym and pound his frustration out on a punching bag. He didn’t expect Scott to stop, give him a considering look, then close the distance between them in a blink and drop to his knees. Theo stumbled back into the row of lockers behind him, eyes wide and ready to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when Scott reached out, grabbed the band of Theo’s shorts and underwear, pull them down in one quick move, and then dart forward to take Theo’s into his mouth.(or theo and scott are dumb high school jocks who start blowing each other after school - featuring pining, dumb boys being dumb, jealousy, and their captive audience the rest of the beacon hills high students) See Me After Class by TheorianDG SummaryIt's not that Scott is surprised, there were always certain types that flocked to dating apps and truth be told he hadn't expected much. The first few he'd ignored but then came Theo, who on top of being genuinely interesting just so happened to be a student at the university. Christ, why did he let Stiles talk him into this?

It's a Long Way Home (When You're On Your Own) by clotpolesonly “I didn’t, like, come looking for you,” Scott finally managed. “I just caught your scent over at the…”At the gas station. Around behind the gas station, where all the most questionable smells were concentrated. The ones Scott had opted not to examine too closely. He still wasn’t sure that he wanted to.Instead, he blurted out, “Are you living in your car?”Theo’s pink cheeks grew pinker. His sharp eyes narrowed dangerously. “No, Scott, I’m putting myself up at the Hilton with the fortune I have in the bank.”It was Scott’s turn to flush.

Mistaken at first sight by Notsalony One time doesn’t mean anything, two times, usually means something, but three times, that clearly means something right? At least that’s how the pack feels. One Size fits my Boyfriend by Notsalony Scott and Theo are dating and they’re roughly the same size. So why shouldn’t they share clothes? Theo can’t think of one good reason either… even if it ends up with him naked a lot of the time.

VISUAL FAN WORKS (FAN ART, EDITS, AND GIFSETS)

Tyler Posey & Cody Christian on Wolf Watch by @sceosource

I’d Give You My Sunshine Promo by @tiniestawoo

Sceo Stydia Edit by @demonzdust

Theo staring at his salvation by @sceoedits

Alpha Needs Promo by @demonzdust

Sceo Commission for What Should Have Been Ours by @akimao

peace. // folklore by @tiniestawoo

First Time by @sceosource

Scott Protecting Theo, Teen Wolf 6x07 by @sceoedits

totally correct sceo texts by @demonzdust

Matched Promo by @demonzdust

Theo ‘Heart Eyes’ Raeken looking at Scott by @tiniestawoo

softer world by @tiniestawoo

Scott & Theo, Teen Wolf 5x09 (Ouroboros) by @sceoedits

Scott x Theo by @prrtnrr commissioned/posted by @demonzdust

What Should Have Been Ours II Promo by @demonzdust

Tyler Posey and Cody Christian Flirting at Comic-Con by @sceosource

When you’re thinking about your crush in class by @sceoedits

I’d Give You My Sunshine CH2 Promo by @tiniestawoo

Dear Scott Promo by @demonzdust

Lovestruck Theo by @sceoedits

Sugar, we’re going down swinging by @tiniestawoo

Sun and Moon by @testostones commissioned by @princeescaluswords

I’d Give You My Sunshine CH3 Promo by @tiniestawoo

IT’S A LONG WAY HOME Promo by @tiniestawoo posted by @clotpolesonly

A Hogwarts AU by @tabbytabbytabby

Saturday Night (Music Video) by @nyxelestia

#sceo #SceoWeek #scott mccall #theo raeken #teen wolf #cody christian #tyler posey

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years

Note

hi hi hi, please can i prompt something a lil bit angsty (because i do adore my angst). the first serious fight that theo x draco x hermione have, and maybe how they make up after? thank you.

I loved loved LOVED this prompt, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get round to it. If it’s any consolation, it’s nearly 4k words long...?

Featuring: Draco being the grandiose nobleman he was brought up to be, Theo unthinkingly going along with it, one EXTREMELY tired Hermione who is absolutely not up for surprises or grand, showy, romantic gestures, Hagrid, Fang, Firenze the centaur, and a dollop of fluff to wash the fleeting angst and misunderstandings down.

Hope you enjoy it!

___

After the longest week, with barely a moment to catch her breath, burning the candle at both ends, all Hermione wanted to do on Saturday was sleep, read up on a few more things for an upcoming Ancient Studies test, perhaps lounge in the boys’ room down in the Dungeons, and perhaps convince one of them to give her a massage. Simple, humble plans, every last one of them.

But the universe, apparently, had other ideas, given that it had seen fit to make the busiest week of term so far culminate not in an ordinary weekend, but in Valentine’s Day.

Wizarding and Muggle alike the world was awash with pink hearts and red roses, and Hermione wanted nothing to do with it. She never had, and she knew that both boys were unfortunately prone to grand displays of affection, and that made her anxious and snappy. She’d spent most of the previous week - in the cumulative half hour that she’d actually spent in their company - trying to hint and suggest heavily that she had no interest in grand surprises and romantic endeavours. The most romantic thing someone could do for her was respect her wishes, after all.

Quite deliberately, she’d not made any concrete plans to see the boys that Saturday, helped by the fact that Draco had an extensive Quidditch training session scheduled and Theo had some work to catch up, but after she’d woken at her usual time anyway, and had lain there for an hour, praying for sleep that wasn’t going to return, she got up. Her mother had always said that if you can’t rest, do something productive.

The Great Hall teemed with excitable younger years, one or two unfortunate howlers, and a plethora of Exploding Envelopes filled with glittering confetti hearts from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and she turned around and left before even bothering to step inside. It wasn’t that she hated the sentiments behind Valentine’s at all, but honestly, it just felt rather cheap and the thought of it all simply… exhausted her further.

Without pausing or returning to the Tower, she made the split-second decision just to bolt out into the grounds and found herself eventually at Hagrid’s hut. He was outside chopping wood and Fang was busy sneakily lapping tea out of the bucket-sized mug that Hagrid had set on a spare stump. The enormous hound looked up suddenly as she caught him in the act, but then gave a low, baying woof of welcome.

“‘Allo, ‘Ermione,” Hagrid said with a grunt and a little puzzled frown as he straightened from his work. “Good te see yeh. What brings yeh down ‘ere at this time o’ day?”

She shrugged. “Got any jobs I can help with?” she asked instead and he raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“Don’t see yeh swinging this around…” the half-giant laughed, hefting the axe that looked like it weighed five times what she did.

“Preferably not,” she said. “Though I’m not opposed to using magic to get it done.”

“I think I’ve got a few jobs we can do together,” he said. “Fang? Let’s go see Uncle Firenze, eh?”

They spent the day in the Forbidden Forest with the centaurs, a rare opportunity that Hermione relished, gathering wild mushrooms that only grew in the very depths of the forest and bringing them back carefully in a covered basket for the potions storeroom, among other rare ingredients. She also spent a long time walking with Firenze, the pale centaur quizzing her about the state of the wider wizarding world now, and she in turn asking him questions about the more rigorous sides of the art of divination. The three of them, four if you counted Fang snuffling about in the undergrowth, ate a packed lunch of cheese sandwiches which Hagrid drew out of his top pocket, only slightly misshapen and squashed, and afterwards Firenze showed them some rare, early-spring berries that tasted like pomegranate but had the texture of blueberries.

At last, her physical exhaustion matched her mental tiredness, and by the time they returned to Hagrid’s hut an hour from sunset, grubby and a little sweaty, she felt fit to fall over.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said, pushing a strand of her ‘witch of the wilds’ hair out of her face, only for it to spring back again. It was so big at that point that a hippogriff chick could probably have nested atop it in perfect comfort. “I needed the distraction.”

He bowed in quiet understanding. “Any time, ‘Ermione. Yeh know that.”

She blessed him silently for not asking any more, and with a nod and a final pat on Fang’s head, she turned her steps towards the castle with no more thoughts in her head than for a long soak in a bath and an early night.

Again, the universe apparently had other ideas.

Pacing the entrance hall like his caged namesake, she found Draco looking breathtakingly smart in a set of charcoal grey dress robes and shiny black Oxfords. When he looked up and spotted her, his face did something complicated, the final expression settling on relief, and he came over to her in two quick strides.

“Where the hell have you been?” he barked, scowling. “Look at the state of you!”

“Out and about in the forest,” she said tersely, hackles rising at his tone. “I didn’t know I needed to report my whereabouts to you, Draco…”

“You —” he began but he broke off and took a breath. “You don’t. Of course you don’t. But I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Theo too. He’s gone to Gryffindor Tower to ask for you again. You weren’t in the library and no one has seen you all day.”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s not like we made plans…”

Draco went still at that, his cheeks first paling and then flushing.

“Did we?” she pressed, hand on hip, now quite certain that they had not. “Oh god, Draco, don’t tell me you’ve got something dramatic planned for Valentine’s, and you haven’t told me because you wanted to surprise me?” She pinched the brow of her nose. “Please… I told you how I feel about that kind of thing…”

When he spoke again, his voice was cold, defensive, even haughty. “Actually, yes, I do. I wanted to do something nice for you today, and I’d appreciate it if you went and washed the thestral shit off your skin and the twigs from your hair, and changed into something nice. I know you know how to dress up, Granger.”

The frayed end of her metaphorical tether slithered into sight and vanished utterly, and she gasped, “You’d ‘appreciate it’, Draco? Well, you know what I’d have appreciated? Being asked!”

“I’m asking you now,” he said petulantly.

“No you’re not!” she shrilled back at him. “You’re demanding. This is the classic, old Draco - ‘Go and change, Granger’, ‘dress up nicely, Granger’.”

Draco balked visibly but ground his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he snarled, sounding more frustrated that contrite. “But we’re going to miss our booking, and I’d really like to make it. Please… will you go and change?”

She nearly said yes. Damn her, but she nearly said yes.

Even after the week from hell, with tutoring sessions and tests and homework and prefect’s patrols, she nearly said yes.

But this time, Hermione Granger was going to stand up for herself.

“No, Draco, I won’t. I’m exhausted, and all I wanted from today was to relax, have a bit of time to myself, and spend the evening in the bath and then in bed. If you’d told me instead of just assuming I’d go along with whatever grand gesture you’re pulling out of your arse, then maybe I’d think differently. But you don’t just get to order me around like I’m some pureblood debutante to decorate your arm for the evening, Draco. Goodnight.”

And with that, she stormed up the stairs, leaving an astonished and fuming Draco at the bottom, his face revolving through a series of expressions and colours.

She passed Theo on his way back down and he almost didn’t spot her as he scuttled down the staircase looking equally and devastatingly handsome as Draco had. “Hermione?” he asked, skidding to an ungainly stop and having to grab the banister to support himself as she charged past him.

“Ask Draco,” she said over her shoulder. “But whatever it is, I’m not going. You two should go and indulge your penchant for lavish evenings on each other.”

“Fuck. I knew it,” she heard him hiss, but to his credit, he didn’t follow her either.

Hermione fumed all evening, and even the bath did nothing to calm her down. Despite her agitation, however, she did sleep soundly, the exertions of the day robbing her brain of the ability to over think itself into ever tighter and tighter circles. Sometimes she could see how far Draco had changed in what would be a year this May, but other times he defaulted to his pureblood upbringing; to the son of a nobleman, used to having people do his bidding without question. She tried to be patient, but at times like this, it irked her more than she would have thought possible.

The fact that this was their first major falling out - sure, they’d had little misunderstandings and had snapped at each other before now - was also a major contributing factor to the free-floating stress and anxiety coursing through her. What if he never learned to ask instead of demand? Was that the kind of person she wanted to spend her life with? And Theo had been Draco’s boyfriend before he’d been hers. Would he always just go along with what Malfoy wanted? Doubts chased each other like kneazles and bats in her brain when she woke in the early dawn, until she thought she might go mad.

Malfoy really had been a wonderful boyfriend so far, but he was undeniably prone to bouts of showy, melodramatic romanticism. Her mind conjured images of the diamond necklace he’d gifted her for Yule, and the staggeringly expensive watch he’d gifted Theo, and she struggled to brush them away. He’d come a long way, and he’d changed a lot, but some things took their time, and she doubted whether other things would ever change.

When she stepped out of the Fat Lady’s portrait the next morning, she ground to a halt and almost walked straight back into the tower before the portrait could swing shut. She didn’t, however. She held her ground and stared at Draco who was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, looking like he’d been there all night. The charcoal grey robes were the same, if dishevelled, the shirt open at the collar. Merlin, he really had been camped out there all night.

He levered himself to his feet and stared at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he blurted before she could open her mouth. “Hermione, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t listening to you at all, and I should have asked, and I never should have just… presumed like that. I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

She stared at him. “So you know why I’m angry.”

“I didn’t ask,” he said immediately. “And I didn’t respect you. I knew that what I was doing wasn’t the right way to treat you, to show you… but I wilfully ignored that and went ahead with it anyway. I was a giant ass and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

His handsome face looked ashen and wan, his eyes pink behind the silver of his irises. He also carried the sleepless smudges of a night spent in a draughty corridor beneath his eyes.

Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Theo?”

“Hiding,” Draco said bashfully. “And brooding. It’s awful. Sitting here on the floor all night was actually preferable to being around him.”

Fighting a smirk at his humour, she asked, “Did the two of you go last night?” Wherever it was they’d planned to take her.

Draco’s brows dipped into a deep scowl. “Without you? Of course not.”

At that, she did twitch her lips. “Go and change out of last night’s robes, Draco,” she said gently, well aware that that was one of the things Draco had said to her, sparking the argument off in the first place. “And take a shower while you’re at it.”

“Hermione —” he began, taking an aborted step towards her, but he swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’ve said what I wanted to say,” he added dejectedly, and turned away to walk down the corridor with his head held in a distinctly un-Malfoy bow.

Before he’d gone two steps, she reached out and latched her fingers around his wrist. “I’ll see you in the Great Hall in a bit for some breakfast, ok?”

With eyes wide and achingly vulnerable, Draco tried out a little smile on his worried lips. It didn’t stick, but at least it had been there. “Ok. Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes as he walked off, hands in his pockets. “Such drama,” she said as she turned to find the Fat Lady watching their exchange with avid interest.

The Fat Lady popped another chocolate into her mouth as if it were cinema popcorn, and giggled. “Young love,” she crooned. “I’ll enjoy telling Violet all about this later on! You mark my words. You know,” the portrait added thoughtfully as Hermione started to walk away too, and the witch halted immediately.

“Know what?” she asked, warily.

After another chocolate and a quick giggle, the Fat Lady said, “He tried every trick he could think of to get me to let him in. I know very well who he is to you, but I very nearly had to leave my painting in frustration. He kept it up until at least two in the morning.”

“When Draco sets his sights on something, he’s very difficult to dissuade,” Hermione agreed. “Thank you for not letting him in. I wouldn’t have welcomed his presence last night. I was still too angry with him.”

The Fat Lady looked horrified and said, “As if I’d let someone in that wasn’t supposed to be here!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione said. “But thank you all the same.”

With a soft ‘harrumph’ around another praline, the Fat Lady nodded.

Theo was already in the hall when she entered, and she spotted him almost immediately. He was stirring his ceramic tankard of coffee listlessly with his spoon and staring into it like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Drama queens, the both of you,” she muttered fondly to herself under her breath. Ignoring the Gryffindor table, she turned her steps towards the Slytherin one.

Her presence there was now not such a surprise that most people ignored her approach without comment, effectively giving her the chance to sneak up on the lone Slytherin, sliding into the space on his right before he’d even realised she was there.

“Morning,” she said in a low voice, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The spoon clattered against the mug and coffee slopped over the sides as his fingers released it unbidden.

“Hermione,” he breathed.

His whole face was a question, and she laughed. “Yes, I’ve spoken to Draco, and yes, he’s still got his pretty face and both his bollocks.”

“What about his cock?” Theo joked reflexively, nervously.

“You’ll have to find out later, won’t you?” she deadpanned without looking at him, reaching out to pour herself a mug of tea from a nearby pot.

After a pause, in which Theo vanished the spilled coffee that had pooled around the base of his own mug, he asked, “So… how badly did we fuck up yesterday?”

She took a sip of her tea and added a splash more milk before responding. “Not going to lie, I was really annoyed with both of you for just assuming I’d be ok with being whisked off to wherever without a moment’s warning. I hate surprises, and you both know it.”

“Yeah…” Theo admitted.

“So what were you thinking?” she almost shrilled. “That it’d be different if it came from you? That I’ll magically stop hating surprises just because they’re from you two?”

Theo half-shrugged, half-twitched, and said, “Kind of… Look, Hermione, I’m not trying to excuse us - we didn’t listen to you, and that’s the bottom line - but…” he broke off and ground his jaw for a moment.

“Just spit it out, Theo,” she said, turning and resting her elbow on the table to regard him properly.

“We were raised in a different world from you, ok? From most witches and wizards actually. Purebloods like us are expected to behave in certain… coded ways with the women we’re… courting.”

“‘Courting’?” she snorted, unable to help herself.

Adopting a sycophantic, over the top manner, he gestured and said, “Wooing, of whom we are seeking the favour, ingratiating ourselves… making our intentions known…”

“Shut up, you pompous prick,” she laughed and his face cracked into a tentative smile.

He was clearly relieved to find laughter in her reaction, not anger. “So…” he continued in a more normal tone, returning his hands to the table and running his thumbnail along the grain in the wood, eyes downcast. “So… there are certain behaviours we kind of default to, and… honestly, there are certain behaviours that the women in our circles also expect of us. Big, showy, romantic gestures being one of them. You should consider yourself lucky you didn’t wake up to a room full of messenger owls all hooting imperiously and bearing enormous bunches of the rarest roses on earth or something…”

“I suppose I should,” she said, beginning to see it now from their point of view.

“A pureblood wizard is expected to show that he can take care of the witch he intends to —” he cut off and swallowed, freckles briefly disappearing behind a rising flush. “—to court. That there’s nothing on earth he couldn't provide for her at the drop of a hat. I think we just… we just wanted to show you that we’re serious, but… we may have underestimated the calibre of the witch we’re dealing with here…”

“Maybe just a little bit,” she said dryly, and then sighed. “Did Draco really spend all night outside Gryffindor Tower?”

“Yup.”

“Big, showy, romantic gestures, huh?” she said, plucking a croissant off a nearby platter and tearing one end off. “I’m half expecting him to come in here with a single white rose in his hand,” she scoffed, looking up to find that Theo eyes were now fixed on a point just behind her. Draco had apparently arrived then.

She saw his pale hand reaching down to the table out of the corner of her eye and when he picked up a silver spoon, she closed her eyes and laughed softly to herself. A tingle of magic nearby told her what he was doing, and sure enough, when she turned around to look up at him from her seat, Draco stood there with a single, transfigured white rose in his right hand.

“Unbelievable,” she said, rolling her eyes again.

Silently, Draco held it out to her and she took it. It smelled like summer evenings and she exhaled.

“Apology accepted, Draco,” she said, glancing around. “Now sit down. You’re causing a scene.”

He slid onto the bench on her right and stared at the empty plate in front of him for a moment, hands resting elegantly on either side of it.

She reached out and placed her palm over his, feeling the slight twitch beneath as their skin made contact. Hermione squeezed his long fingers until he looked up at her, his eyes shining and his face wracked with a complex mixture of emotions that she had no hope of deciphering.

“Theo and I talked,” she said. “And he may have pointed out to me a certain ‘difference in upbringing’ that went some way towards explaining why you went to the lengths you did yesterday.”

“I still —” Draco began but she cut him off.

“We’ve established already that you could have opened your lugholes a little sooner, but I feel like we’ve also moved on from that. It came from a place of love and good intention, and as such, I’d like to propose a compromise.”

At that, Theo and Draco both gave her their absolute and undivided attention and curiosity.

Stifling a smirk, she said, “I don’t know what it is you had planned for yesterday, and frankly at this point, I don’t ever want to know. But how about we go into Hogsmeade next weekend and have dinner together. I’ll know it’s coming and what to expect, and you two can argue over who foots the bill if you want to make it a romantic gesture. Or we can split it three ways.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco said instantly and something hot flared inside her at that. “I meant splitting the payment three ways,” he added bashfully, seeing where her mind had gone instead.

At that, the tension shattered and she tipped her head back and laughed, gripping his hand for support as she leaned almost perilously far back. Theo put his hand between her shoulder blades just in case, and half the Slytherin table began to stare at them.

Theo leaned in close and said in her ear, “You’re causing a scene, dear Hermione.”

She squeezed Draco’s hand and let out a long, slow sigh as the laughter faded. “What am I going to do with you two?” she said, shaking her head.

“Be patient…?” Draco all but begged, mumbling into his coffee. Where Theo took his black, Draco piled cream and sugar into his until it was barely recognisable as coffee in the first place. She smirked fondly to herself as she contemplated his ridiculously sweet tooth, and wondered if, with his penchant for apples, he also liked sour sweets. Perhaps she’d get Harry to owl her some Haribo to try out on him.

“Hermione?” he asked, looking up at her. His skin was so pale it was like marble in the soft light of the Great Hall, and he looked eerily like the statue of a saint at a shrine in that moment, all hope and tentative expectation.

For her answer, Hermione slid her left hand into Theo’s, and then reached up and took Draco’s chin in her right hand, turning him by his sharp and now-just-perfectly-pointed chin. His eyes were wide, gleaming, silver mirrors, fixed unyieldingly on her own.

Hermione held him there between thumb and forefinger, and as she pressed a searing kiss against his pale lips, she felt Theo’s grip tighten on her left hand.

___

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

#draco x hermione x theo #draco x theo x hermione #dramione #dramioneo #draco malfoy #hermione granger #theodore nott #angst and fluff

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mavy1 · 4 years

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Id love to hear bout your ocs! Idk where to start, so what are the basics of them?

AAHH OKAY!! I’ve posted some things about them before (you can fine pretty much everything under #my ocs) but I’d love to give a rundown of there current development!!

Horatio “Theo” Goldenbough - 22, he/him. Theo is around 5’8” or 5’9” with a slighter build, thick, very curly, deep reddish-brown hair, warm, medium brown skin and freckles, and deep brown eyes. As a child, his mother used to tell him stories of all the places she had been - their people, their cultures, their legends and magic. He knew one day he had to see them for himself. But when his mother died, things changed for him. He began to develop anxious and nervous tendencies, worried for himself but especially for his younger sister, who in his mind didn’t seem to understand how dangerous the world could be, or how to take care of herself. Growing up he did everything he could to look out for and take care of her, and when his father was injured he took on even more responsibility. He spent most of his free time studying, hoping that one day he would be accepted as an alchemy student. When he was 17, he was given the opportunity to study and apprentice to an alchemist at a prestigious university in a neighboring kingdom. It was incredibly difficult for him to leave his family, but Evelyn assured him she would stay out of trouble and look after herself until he returned. Though he got along fairly well with his classmates, who appreciated his humor and caring disposition, he often felt rather lonely, because he didn’t have much in common with them beyond a surface level. While his classmates were ambitious and driven he always knew that he would eventually return home and likely end up losing contact with most of them. His apparent lack of ambition was a source of frustration for his professors as well, who knew that he could be a truly great magician one day if he applied himself, but they were unable to convince him his studies were more important than his family. Once he finished his apprenticeship he returned home, where he reopened his mother’s old shop, creating potions for the townspeople. After returning home he only felt more pressure to care and provide for his family, and to try and control his sister who, while she had kept her promise to behave in his absence, was becoming increasingly restless. He sees the safety of his family as his responsibility, and that responsibility often weighs heavily on him. Theo’s naturally curious nature is often at odds with his learned cautious behaviour, and while he tends to overthink every decision he has to make for ages before making it, he sometimes ends up acting rather impulsively anyways in the end. Similarly, while he tends to be very anxious, fearful of most everything in one way or another, years of experiencing and dealing with these fears have left him somewhat desensitized to them

Evelyn Goldenbough - 19, she/her. Evelyn is around 5”1-5”2, with a heavier build. She, like her brother, has curly hair which she usually dyes - red, pink, gold - whatever colour she can get her hands on really. She has brown skin somewhat darker than Theo’s. She was a rambunctious and energetic child who always seemed to be getting into trouble of some sort, but never anything too worrying. She was only 5 when her mother was killed, and has few distinct memories of her. After her mother’s death, her father was much more watchful and strict with her, especially after she began to show some natural magical abilities. Her father seemed to think that the best way to ensure her safety was to keep her close, and so took her to the blacksmith’s forge with him after her mother’s death. As a teenager, she began learning his craft herself. She’s fairly good at the work, and enjoys working with her hands, but the life of a blacksmith seems boring to her. She knows the work is important, but she longs to do something that could really help people in need. Learning of the hardships beyond her own little world leads her to believe her time could be better served somewhere where she can do more than hustle gold from greedy traders and free the animals kept in their cramped cargo holds. When Theo leaves for school, she promises him she won’t go looking for trouble while he’s away, and she keeps her promise. For three years she dutifully looks after her father and their forge, but all the while she grows more and more restless. When her brother finally returns, she barely manages to convince herself to stay in her hometown. But she loves Theo more than anyone, and the thought of leaving him alone forever to take care of things while she ran off to find her place in the world would not only make her look incredibly ungrateful and selfish, but she would never be able to stand the sadness and guilt it brought her. Still, she yearns for a purpose in life, a way to make the world a little better in a way she feels truly matters.

Luca Mertillot - 23, he/him. Luca is around 6’, and years of hunter training have given him a lean, muscular frame. He has silvery grey hair which he wears in a bun, the sides of his head shaved (this is the traditional style for initiated members of his hunter pack), a fairly pale complexion which has darkened somewhat over time as he spends most of his life outdoors, and hazel eyes. He was born the only son of the chief of a small village, but was separated from his family when that village was attacked and pillaged by a small band of sorcerers. He was found and rescued by an unfamiliar woman, a member of the hunter group known as the Wyverns who had been pursuing the sorcerers in hopes of capturing them. The Wyvern pack took him in and raised him as one of their own. He trained from childhood, learning to fight, track, and fend for himself in the harsh elements of his home territory, to become a full member of the hunter pack, who track and apprehend dark sorcerers, and at the age of 16 swore an oath of loyalty to his pack, initiating him into its rank. He understood his oath of loyalty to mean dedication to his cause, and not simply dedication to his pack, which eventually would lead to a major disagreement between himself and his pack leader - when news reached them that a dark sorcerer in the west was gathering forces and power to begin a siege of neighboring lands, he believed it was their responsibility to stop him, while his leader assured him that disputes outside their territory were not their concern, and that he should focus on his responsibilities to his pack. Eventually, however, this grew beyond a simple disagreement, and after an incredible fight, Luca left his pack to search for help elsewhere. Doing so caused him great pain, they being the only family he could ever remember having, and to defy his oath being highly dishonorable. He knows that whatever happens now, he will never be able to return home.

#my ocs #asks #Thank you anon for asking!!!!!#and giving me the opportunity to gush all of the most current info about my children!!!#admittedly... this is a little more than just the basics...#but if you also want to see my art of them or read more #just search #or just ask me I guess that works too #Anonymous #theo #luca #evelyn

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