#hmmm i should make her tail longer me thinks

[earlyyfebruary]

This is Flower btw. I made her a while back for a story that's basically animal crossing but none of the guys want to be there

oh yeah i dabbled in blender again today. im modelling one of my less detailed characters

[leffee]

Thoughts on Vinnie’s tail? The lps pets tails?

Hear me out, how about I bring back some of my handy dandy screenshots and do a ranking like with their hair? Yes, I think that's a good idea, I really wanna do those so if you have anything else like that I could rank please feel free to send em my way, I love talking about such details. Without further ado, lps pets' tails ranked from worst to best:

7. Russell

0/10, no tail :/. Damn, no hair, no tail, bro really doesn't got nothing. Everything else is 10/10 though :)

6. Penny Ling

My conlusion? That I don't have enought screenshots of her where her tail is visible. My judgement is hmmm 2/10. She has a tail so better than Russell given that it's a tail judging competition, but it's really small, most of the time you can't even see it, especially when she's wearing clothes (hence that last picture to show my point). It's still a good tail, I just prefer longer stuff as you will definitely see as we go.

5. Minka

4/10. I know what you're thinking "You just said you like long tails so wtf", well, yes, but while her tail is great at that, it's also sooo thin, what's the lenght if there's no volume? I really like it, but I would like it more if it were thicker and/or fluffier. Bonus points for making a heart with her tail

(real life footage of me looking at Vinnie)

but minus points for making it so small. Girl, look how long your tail is, that heart could be so much bigger. Who do I even blame for that? Minka whose tail it is or Russell who imagined this story? Either way it could have been better

4. Zoe

5/10 and yet another pet I don't have good screenshots for, I shall resolve that later. So there's really nothing wrong with her tail, and it's so fluffy too, good, good. She's only here because as I said I like longer tails more, but overall a really nice tail.

3. My boy

6/10, good-ass tail and while it is rather short, because he usually walks on two legs it looks just a bit shorter than it is plus he has that like... um curve (?) at the end, it makes it look a bit more interesting. Why is he higher than Zoe then? Because first - Vinnie, second - contrary to her his tail can do this

and I like it when their tails streighten out like that, they're so expressive ^^

also heart tail bonus cause it's cute

(me when I look at Vinnie again)

and I don't have a screenshot for that but sometimes that little curve at the end of his tail unstraightens a bit which makes his whole tail look a bit different which is cool. Another one of my points is that I mentioned it before as far as I understand lizards' tails should be as long as the rest of their body, so technically it's too short and I count that to his benefit.

Worry not however because I did my best at trying to draw him with a longer tail (also slight redesign)

2. Sunil

8/10 now that's a great tail, it's like Vinnie's but longer which as you know is something I like. Not much else to say here, it's just really good and long and also he wags it sometimes and it's adorable

Pepper

10/10 now this is a perfect tail - long I mean it's pretty much a half of her body; fluffy, plus it's the only tail that is two-colored and I love it. Great tail, love it, everyone's tail should be like that.

Bonus shot of Vinnie's (and I suppose Minka's) tail just because

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 27 - SOLE

When it comes to conversation partners, you could do worse than Rhiki! You could also probably do better, though....

(Oof this one was rough! I'm sooo tired and it took me forever to stumble upon an idea for this prompt, which I wouldn't have at all were it not for the help of @avalon821, @akirakirxaa, @elliewiltarwyn, @dragoon-mid-jump, and others! Now I am going to bed... Finally....)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, nonsense Characters: Ardbert, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Word Count: 1,164 Content Warnings: None

Ardbert told himself again and again that he should be thankful. He was thankful. He had been on the verge of coming undone, of fading away entirely, when fate had seen fit to pluck him from the precipice’s edge. His curse had been lifted! For the first time in centuries there was someone who could see and hear him, even if it was just the one person. How long had it been since he last heard the sound of his own name? It had been even longer since he had felt the stirrings of genuine hope.

He was thankful, truly. It was just���.

She talked so much.

“You know, I keep thinking about dying my hair,” she said as she looked into her inn room’s vanity mirror and re-fastened one of her small braids. “But I can never decide what color. A long time ago I thought about white, but white just seems so played out, doesn’t it? Plus, all of the other Scions have white hair. Have you ever noticed that? Hmmm.... Maybe silver? Red? Or maybe something bright, like teal! But then, if I dyed my hair, do you think I would have to dye the fur on my tail, too? I mean, is it better to pretend it’s natural even though everyone knows it isn’t, or should I just own the fact that I’ve dyed my hair?” When she was satisfied the braid was secure, she turned her head either which way, examining herself before glancing up at him. “You know, I’ve never thought about it, but can you do anything with your hair? I know you don’t have a corporeal form so you probably can’t cut it, but if you wanted to, I don’t know, muss it up or something, could you? Honestly, you should try it! I bet you could look a lot more roguishly handsome if you did something different with your hair!”

Internally, Ardbert sighed.

She was supposed to be his salvation, but occasionally he found himself thinking that she was a little more like purgatory. Penitence for his sins. She talked constantly. Sometimes he thought about concealing his presence, or about abandoning his newfound companion to wander the Crystarium, but he had to admit there was something nice about talking to someone again. Or, rather, being talked to again. Most of their “conversations” amounted to her vocalizing random thoughts that he expected she would have been having anyway in his general direction. She didn’t seem to expect or require much input from him, and he wasn’t sure if she even wanted it. She was, for the most part, content to ramble to herself, with him as a silent spectator. Sometimes he would contribute a few words, or answer a question if he was able, but not often. Perhaps it was for the best: he wasn’t really sure what to talk to her about, and his conversation skills were probably rusty anyway.

“How many different colors of Amaro do you think there are?” She wondered aloud as they passed the rookery. At first he had been worried people might think she was losing her mind, talking to thin air as she was, but most of the Crystarium’s residents didn’t pay her any mind. They seemed to assume that she was merely musing to herself, if they noticed her talking at all. “I don’t mean, like, ‘moss green’ as opposed to ‘swamp algae green’ – I mean actual different colors. Chocobos come in a lot of different colors, though I suppose only a few usually occur naturally. The color of chocobos’ feathers actually depends on their diet, so if you feed them the right grains and vegetables you can make them all sorts of colors! All of the amaro in the Crystarium are dark green, but I saw some red ones in Lakeland. Do you think there are any that have magenta fur? Or pastel blue? Wait, does that stuff count as fur? Or feathers? I’ll have to look more closely the next time I’m on one. It’s very soft, either way!”

She never talked about anything important, of course. Or anything too personal. She didn’t talk about how she was adjusting to life on the First, or how she felt about what the Crystal Exarch had asked of her, or what her plans were for slaying a Lightwarden. It was possible she would be willing to broach such topics if he asked, but she never seemed to bring them up in her running commentary. The closest she came to sharing her deeper thoughts on their situation was complaining – about being tired, or about the aggressive wildlife, or about the Exarch. Mostly, she just chatted about whatever thoughts popped into her head, no matter how inane or frivolous. It could occasionally be entertaining, but at times it could also be annoying. And yet, he still chose to spend most of his time shadowing her. She was the sole person with whom he could communicate, and, under the circumstances, he supposed he couldn’t afford to be too choosy. It wasn’t as if she was terrible company. Just… a little much.

Evening was coming on quickly, and he followed her as she wandered towards the Crystarium’s market district. She languidly perused the different shops and stalls, waiting for something to catch her eye rather than seeking out something specific. Their ambling took them within sight of the Last Stand, which must have made her think of food, because she said: “What do you think I should have for dinner? Any recommendations? I suppose food has probably changed a lot since you were alive, so maybe you’re no better off than I am, but is there anything you remember being good? Specific dishes? Spices? Types of cuisine?”

Oh? She’d paused long enough for him to say something. Come on Ardbert, don’t let this chance go to waste!

“Hmmm… well, it’s a bit hard to remember what things taste like, but Renda-Rae always liked baked megapiranha from the Greatwood.”

She pulled a face. “Bleh! No fish! I’ve eaten as many fish in my life as I’d like to, thank you very much! Unless fish on the First taste and smell completely different…?”

“Probably not,” He couldn’t help but smile a little. “Well, I was always partial to some old-fashioned roast ovim, but I’m sure you’ve had that already. I seem to remember that they used to make some sort of rice dish in Kholusia. It didn’t have fish in it, but the sauce was made from squid ink, of all things. Maybe that sounds mad, but I think I remember being pleasantly surprised by it. It might have had mussels in it, though. What was it called…? Something ‘negre’ I think?”

“Oh! That sounds good!  I don’t mind shellfish – they’re not really fish, you know? I wonder if they still make it! Let’s ask! I’d offer to give you a bite, but something tells me it would go right through you! Get it?!”

[kasarian]

HAIII this is for the oc ask game !!! Hmmm how bout Akku and Hiraya with Know, Self Care, Social circle, Fate and Meet strange ? :3 you can do any of these ! No pressure <3

HEWWOO!! Thank u for giving an excuse for me to ramble ~w~

[ Ask Game here! ]

Answers for Know:

Akku just goes with the flow of most things, but is rather assertive of his boundaries. If he is uncomfortable, he will say so immediately; Similarly, if he is enjoying his time, he'll make that just as clear. So, I'd like to think, yes, in a way that he goes with his gut rather than not! But y'know, nuance! He does try to sneak away at times he's uncomfortable, when he knows that he won't like the idea of doing a certain thing. Definitely had a lot of time to think about things he did not like. This isn't to say that he isn't willing to try new things though!

Hiraya definitely is an introspective fella, he's huge, towering most people in the village bar his fellow dragonics (...with the exception of Akku, but that's because he likes being small); and rather quiet. He's the type to keep to himself most of the time, but can be ever so emotive around those he's close with... That being said! Hiraya knows himself, but has trouble with getting a read on others, so he doesn't bother and does what he wants. He knows what he wants, but isn't vocal about it all the time. One really can't say what's on his mind. But observe him and his boyfriend a little closer, maybe you'll be able to!

Answers for Self Care:

Akku likes to indulge in a lot of rest and downtime if he does a lot of physical activity, or magical-power related training. If the thing is draining despite it being fun? You can find him the next day snoozing away, should he have not much responsibilities to do. If it's something of a social battery running out, you can also find him really glued to Hira's side, in his usual humanoid, fox-featured form, or a form that resembles a fluffy noodle curled along the man's broad shoulders.

Hira, however, is one that needs to be physically dragged (by Mela), sweetly convinced (by Akku), or have a plate of food visibly put in front of him (usually by Orbit, or even Alon) in order to take a break. See, he often takes up the heavy physical jobs in the village, and other than this, he also goes along with Akku and Mela with combat training. And then, he often forgets to take care of himself by the end of the day! Akku and Mela are ones who drag him along back to rest and recharge. (Orbit used to do this, but his peers have long since caught on.) So, it's not that he doesn't want to, he just,,, needs a reminder to!

Answers for Social Circle:

The Starkeep Sanctum is a small, mostly 'unknown' village, and the residents do not usually have children running about; But the times they do, the whole village helps raise them, like a community should! There have been children in the Sanctum, but the ones that don't live here permanently, so it's always been Akku, Hira, and Mela. But they eventually meet people along the way, of the story. Akku and Hiraya remain boyfriends all-throughout, Mela is aroace, they eventually have some weird but nice friend groups of their own. Can't elaborate on that now, but yeah!

Answer for Meet Strange: (I am going to try and not make this any longer) (lying)

This goes for Hira and Mela, in a way; I think that the most memorable way the two met Akku... it was when Mela (around age 12 at the time) was called to the riverbank by the outskirts of the Sanctum, and instructed to assist Orbit by bringing needed items to tend to an injured boy. He was humanoid, but with visible draconic details, such as nubs on his head (presumably horns), fluffy, canine-like ears, as well as scales on his skin and a thick(relatively) scaly tail with tufts of fur lining it until the very fluffy tip. Hiraya, 9 at the time, didn't come along, but when he saw a swaddled figure being rushed into the house, along with Mela trailing behind, her brows knit and was frowning, it made him worried, too. He peeked in one of the spare bedrooms to find Orbit neatly tucking in the now-visible kid on the bed. The two children are asked to stay by the injured boy's side as Orbit goes to prepare more supplies and they tend to the boy the whole afternoon. The next day, the boy quickly recovers, and Hira is the one to witness it. Hira reading a book out loud, on the topic of magic relating to the sea, and the boy wakes and listen silently until he mischievously decides to conjure a tiny shark, slowly making its way until it gently chomps on Hira's cheek. Hira startles and it alerts both Orbit and Mela, who were coming in with breakfast. The boy is giggling while Hira stares in fascination as the tiny shark zips around his head. Mela blinks owlishly as her dad has his brows raised. Eventually, everyone gets over the initial shock, and the boy introduces himself as Akku once Orbit asks. Akku very simply explains that he woke up to familiar terms being spoken aloud and decided to let the other person know that he knows that information too!

(After that, they do get into the deeper stuff, with Akku realizing that he's far, far from home, and that he misses his parents, and then a lot of emotions come flowing out and the kids and Orbit try their best to comfort the poor boy.)

[semi-imaginary-place]

4.0 stormblood pvp my beloved oh how i missed you. its interesting which items ended up being marketboard valuable and which werent. some items are very hard to get on the free trial but worthless on the marketboard. i pvp for the glamour and it took me 10 minutes to find where in the menu the actions were.

hmmm 3 plot threads: doma, ala mhigo, shinryu. i have a feeling like in 2.x ffxiv will be progressing all 3 at once, it would be interesting if they used the parallel narratives of doma and alamhigo to say something but i don't trust the writers.

not even out of rhalgar's reach and the game has crashed 6 times

if the ala mhigan resistance is so fractured no wonder illberd was successful if he could unite the factions. could take a leaf out of his book and do the same proping raubahn up as a figurehead to unite ala mhigo under.

attack on rhaelgar's reach: hooboy you can see how ffxiv was actually making money at this point so the dev team had an actual budget for like voice acting and fight choreography and animation. tsk cowards should have killed someone to drive home how zenos is a threat. kemp would have been the cliche choice so that the Resistance has to scrambled leaderless and even more disorganized. it would also give Lyse a chance to step up and unite Ala Mhigo as part of her character arc about struggling with diaspora identity. Y'shtola would be the other choice as the scions sacrifice yet another member and Lyse is faced with how her path is killing her friends. a concept i like is that all the scions eventually die so by the end there's no one you started out standing with yo but the devs are too cowardly to do so. like ship of Theseus scions as a friend group scions as a concept. (like when you first meet the scions alphinaud isn't a part of them yet). 3rd dude would also be cliche but i'd feel the worst about his death, brought back just to die is a terribly trope.

zenos sounds so incredibly bored i love the voice acting. that sword sheath is ridiculous why is it so big

i thought rhaelgar's reach was considered safe because garlemald didn't know where it was, and now that it is no longer hidden is it safe to stay here? oh lol they did kill meffrid aka the worst option. put on a bus since like level 20 msq and brought back just to die. waste of a character and his death is the least impactful of the 3. i just feel bad for him. because the last time the player sees him he's so angry and distraught and the player character is this last thread of hope and then you come and here see that he's found something meaningful to do

i've liked the soundtrack so far but its softer than i imagined. like there's a lot of lone soft piano.

sunk cost fallacy, but i don't want the old man to give up either. I feel for conrad.

this actually isn't a bad plan, i think i proposed something like this way back when i played 2.0

sidequesting! bioweapon black rose was developed and tested in gry albania using captured ala mhigans. comet's tail used to be a rhalgar holy site and the garleans used it for weapon testing. ala mhigan architecture traditionally uses stone and that made quarrying big especially when it was for royal palaces but garleans built using only metal.

I will say as a pipin enjoyer stormblood has been great with the pipin screen time

i have the unfounded yet strong suspicion that the writers who created yda in 1.0 are different from the people who wrote stormblood. they wanted a new character without having to introduce a new character. thus: lyse impersonating her sister. minfilia and lyse since they're both highlanders that inherited midlander models from 1.0 and they are like the only ala mhigans with very light skin, blue eyes and blond hair. like if it was just one i'd take that as a statistical improbability, but both of the major ala mhigan scion characters??? but them not looking like highlanders much is the same as cid being short in that in 1.0 midlanders were the only hyur model they had. its not going to happen but i dream of them revamping the models in 7.0 to be more like the other highlanders.

one thing i do like that arr (and maybe 1.0 idk didn't play it) sets up and then i see again here in stormblood is a theme of multiculturalism in the eorzean alliance vs the hegemony imperialism of the garleans. like the only way to gain respect in the empire in to act and be garlean so give up your original culture and try (and fail) to be as garlean as possible vs. the resistance is like hell yeah the snake ladies are great. there content in 2.0 that shows eorzeans can be just a racist as the garleans, but its hard to tell if it was done deliberately, if so actually that'd be a pretty good take. and there are aspects of this in the sidequests like where you help reunite the qiqin brothers or how they talk about how the ones outside uldah used to be regular merchants but the anti beastmen laws took away their livelihoodthe problem as with ffxiv as a whole is that its 50 (idk the real number) some writers all doing their own thing and they dont coordinate so while one group of writers are depicting the racism beast tribes face in eorzea, another group or writers is going haha look at these moral-less subhumans.so its not so much growth so much as the natural cycle of a old mmo where the writers are cycled out and we just so happened to get the anti racism ones as the msq writers where as before they were side quest writers.

[sunsents]

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

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

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

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

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

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

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

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

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

Five Years Later, 2003

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

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

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Auntie ____!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

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

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

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

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

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

“Wha-“

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

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

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

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

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

Jambo’s no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolute blasphemy.

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

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

Of course your logic sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

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

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

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

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

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, down girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” he says softly.

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

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

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

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

“Eva!”

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

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

Fred winces. “Actually-”

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

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

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

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

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

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

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a you problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well what changed your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eva stutters, “What?”

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

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

“No, he won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

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

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

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

[fruitcoops]

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn’t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

[niennandil-me-writes]

a mermaid's pleasure

cn: very light nsfw

[Purrl belongs to _JackFrost_, Jenny belongs to CaptnConfusion (both on twitter).]

The blazing afternoon sun was beating down onto the deck of the Relation. Capt’n Jenny McHeath was walking across the planks, tilting her hat a bit as she looked around, across the waters. They had set their anchor in a small bay, resting there for a few days, a well-deserved vacation. From below deck came the smell of onions and garlic cooking.

Jenny walked over to the railing, searching the waves there, in vain. Then she heard a stifled chuckle from below. She looked down.

“Purrl!” Jenny called.

Purrl was obviously startled by the call. The mermaid was drifting in the water, her back leaning – and now bumping as she jumped – against the starboard side of the ship. She threw her head back, looking up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you like that,” Jenny said, a bit surprised herself at Purrl’s reaction. “I was just looking for Ròn. Octopa sent me. Apparently, she promised to get him some fish for the stew he’s making for dinner, but she hasn’t brought any so far. Do you know where she is?”

Purrl had looked back down again, waving her arms through the water as Jenny explained. “Can’t say I’ve seen her, Capt’n.”

“Just because I think I saw her dive down this way earlier,” Jenny said.

“Like I said, Capt’n, I haven’t seen her.” Her voice sounded a bit strained, but maybe Jenny was just imagining that. It was very hot, after all. “In quite a while, actually. Maybe she is, you know…” She drifted off.

“Maybe she is what?”

“Hmmm.”

Jenny furrowed her brow. Purrl definitely sounded a bit out of it. “Everything alright with you?”

“What? Yes! Everything alright here. Ouch!”

Jenny leaned over the railing. “What is it?”

“Just – just fish, Capt’n, you know how they are in these climates, little biting bastards.” She was pressing her arms down in the water again, apparently shushing the fish away.

“Maybe you should get out of the water, then?” Jenny said, a bit worried. “What are you doing there, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, it’s nothing bad, really,” Purrl said hastily. “More nibbling than biting, aaah.” She winced again. “It’s… you know, relaxing. Mermaid stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Okaaaay,” Jenny said. “Uhm, so, if you see Ròn…”

“Hm?”

“Just… tell her to come by Octopa.” Jenny hesitated. “And maybe you wanna get inside? Or at least get to the other side of the ship, where there’s shadow? It’s pretty hot today. Wouldn’t want you to get a heatstroke.”

“Thanks for the advice, Capt’n,” Purrl said, but didn’t move. “Oh, and I’ll tell Ròn when I… I’ll tell her if I see her.”

“Okay,” Jenny said again. She scratched her head under the hat and then walked away, back into the cooler shade of the below deck.

Purrl waited for a moment until she couldn’t hear Jenny’s footsteps anymore and only then let go of Ròn’s head. The selkie resurfaced right in front of her, wide grin baring her pointed teeth. Purrl scowled at her.

“Did you have to bite me?” she asked.

“Ye were pulling mah locks. Ah guessed that meant ye liked it rough,” Ròn defended herself. She placed her hand on Purrl’s fish tail, running her fingers gently over the bite mark.

Purrl’s sigh of exasperation turned into a softer kind of sound. “I was holding you underwater because someone was coming and I didn’t want you to come up at that exact moment,” she explained. “Jenny was looking for you, by the way. Something about fish for Octopa?”

“Och, right, ah almost forgot!”

“Well, I assume they can wait for a bit longer,” Purrl smiled. “So, would you be so nice as to dive down again? Without teeth this time, if at all possible?”

Ròn’s grin spread wider. She leaned forward and against Purrl to press a kiss to her lips. “Sure,” she said. “'n' then it's mah turn.” She let herself sink back down into the water, while Purrl leaned back again.

[acciofanfics]

Say Please (George Weasley x Reader) SMUT

Request: Any chance you could do one o f the weasley twins and a slytherin reader. From enemies to lovers with a nsfw

Pairing: George Weasley x FemReader

Warnings: Bad language words and smut

Word Count: 2567

A/N: So I hope this fits in with the request, the timeline is a little rushed. Also, I normally prefer Fred myself, but my partner in crime loves George so I figured I’d try writing for him 😂 -S

—————————————————————

Honestly, (Y/N) rarely caused much trouble. It might’ve come to a surprise to some of the close minded Gryffindors, but not all Slytherins lived to torment their class mates. In this particular moment she wondered how her house ended up with the poor reputation, because she would not be in detention if it hadn’t been for those annoying Weasley twins. She shot a glare over at... she thought it was George. “3 days. 3 days detention because of you and your brother! Could you have not at least waited until after class? I’m not sure what it is that warranted the abuse to begin with but no that wasn’t enough detention to?!”

Fred and George never thought too much about detention. They mostly didn’t get caught, but there were always a few hiccups and they’d learned the best way to deal was grin and bear it... it did suck that McGonagall was aware the punishment did little to deter them. It was her policy that they had to be separated during detention, she thought they had too much fun otherwise. Poor Fred... he was stuck in Snape’s classroom alone. Not that George much cared for the girl scolding him, “If it’s any consolation we weren’t even aiming for you. It’s hardly our fault you decided to sit next to that git Clark.”

As far as apologies went. That was a rotten one, but she supposed it did provide some comfort. If she were being frank, she didn’t really care for her desk mate either. He often snuck looks at her parchment and tried to correct her or offer his help to even the slightest mistake. It was so condescending, and he rarely knew what he talking about. She tried to imagine what it would like if he had been the one to open the exploding note. “Well, I guess that does clear some things up. Maybe you should work on your aim.”

“Well you can blame Fred on that, he’s the one with the bad aim.” George chuckled although he had to admit it wasn’t nearly as fun to pick on his slightly older brother when he wasn’t there to disagree with him.

“Well who’s the brains of the operation because it wasn’t the brightest plan to start with?”

Yeah, George definitely didn’t enjoy the company that much. She might’ve been pretty, but that seemed to be the only thing she had going for her. A sense of humor? Definitely not. An eye for genius? Clearly lacking. Sure the exploding note had been delivered to the wrong target and landed them all detention, but it got a great response. Lots of laughs. “Agree to disagree.”

“Well you don’t have to agree with me, I’m still right. You got a few kids to laugh, you missed your target, there’s no lasting effect really and had it been Clark who opened it you would’ve been spending detention with him for 3 days. Since you called him a git I’m guessing you three aren’t that close.” Her voice was so matter-of-fact, and so annoying. It also didn’t sit right with George that she might’ve gotten a few details right.

“Well what would be your brilliant plan?”

“Oh I don’t have one.” (Y/N) stopped her cleaning (no magic, because it was a punishment) and looked at George. He thought she was smiling for a split second, but upon further inspection it was definitely a smirk. “Of course I haven’t put any thought what so ever into it. I guarantee that I could come up with a better one though.”

The next day George cursed the fact he had detention again... it didn’t seem fair that it was only him that had to share it with (Y/N). When he asked Fred to go in his place, Fred told him the fact that he asked him to trade was proof enough he didn’t want to trade. Thankfully Professor McGonagall had a task for them that required a little more concentration and therefor less time he actually had to speak to the girl.

“I’ve done some thinking and I think I figured it out.”

George snickered at her thought. McGonagall had them grading first-years parchments. They should’ve definitely known the information already, but she left them an answer key just in case. “Well, I’d hope so. You’ve been looking at the answers for the past 30 minutes.”

She rolled her eyes, and didn’t bother looking up from the parchment. “Ha ha. I meant I figured out what I think would be a numerous prank for Clark.”

“Oh do tell...” George sighed, not at all interested, but willing to humor her all the same.

“I’ve spent an unfortunate amount of time with him, and I’d say he fancies himself more than anyone else. I’ve been paying a bit more attention, since our last conversation and I’ve noticed anytime he passes a mirror he checks his hair. I think you should do some sort of charm to mess with his hair. Even if it’s fixed relatively quickly he’ll be furious.”

Hmmm.... maybe? “What if it wasn’t a charm?”

“A potion might have a longer lasting effect... but how would you give it to him without him knowing something is up?”

“Maybe slip it in his drink?”

“He’d see it and none of us he likes enough to not suspect something and immediately know who it was.”

“Do you think it’d be possible to hide it in some sweets? Sign it from a secret admirer? He’s too arrogant to turn it down.”

George hadn’t meant to honestly give what she said too much thought and there he was:planning out a whole prank with the girl. Fred would feel so betrayed, until it worked at least. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he originally thought, but he still didn’t know if he liked her that much. Plus she was probably all talk.

Finally it was day 3, the end of their torturous sentence. It couldn’t come fast enough, especially since they had to clean again. George had shared the information he’d gathered from (Y/N) with Fred and he was all in. As much as he hated that they didn’t think of it, a good joke was a good joke.

“So it might interest you to know that I’ve acquired most of the ingredients to brew a hair raising potion. I just need one more thing I can nab tomorrow.”

Wow. Honestly he hadn’t expected her to really go through with it, much less steal the ingredients. “We haven’t even gotten out of detention yet and you’re already trying to get back in. You’re gonna miss me, huh?”

“Oh come off it. If you and your brother want to help, I’m going to set up in the girls bathroom on the second floor tomorrow night after dinner.”

There would’ve been no problem with that plan whatsoever. Sneaking out hadn’t ever been a problem since Fred and George snagged the Marauder’s Map in their first year, and even though they’d given it to Harry they still had most of the secret passages memorized. No, the problem that Fred had landed himself an extra day of detention. It wasn’t a secret that Snape didn’t like them, but it seemed unlikely that Fred really had done NOTHING to provoke him. He honestly couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit annoyed at his twin for leaving him to walk into that bathroom alone...

“Where’s Fred? I thought you two did everything together?” (Y/N) teased as she pulled a cauldron out of one of the stalls and gathered all of her supplies around the surrounding area. George was just a bit surprised that she actually recognized it was him. They’d tricked their own mother more than once, and she’d caught on in 3 days time?

“You know Snape, he’s got it out for us. Fred took the brunt of it today,” George shrugged and drew closer to her, ready to offer his assistance. “Look on the bright side, now you have me all to yourself.”

“Yay...” Her voice was less than enthusiastic, but a small smile played on her lips none the less. “Well don’t just stand there, hand me those rat tails.”

George had to admit that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he imagined. While, he was starting to come to the conclusion he might’ve misjudged her, he was now sure that was the case. He’d even gotten her to laugh! Surprisingly it was a good laugh too, one of the ones that were highly contagious. Brewing the potion didn’t take nearly as much time as he thought, and it wasn’t long at all before (Y/N) was giving it a final stir. “Now it just has to set for about an hour. I suppose after that we just need to put it in some candy and give it to him?”

“Seems simple enough, once we figure out the best place to leave it that will make sure he gets it.”

“I’ll leave it outside his room.” (Y/N) stated simply. It only made sense that she would, she was in the same house and the magical enchantments that the school was founded had a pretty backwards, but beneficial rule on the dorms. Girls could get into the boys dormitory quite easily, so I’d wouldn’t be a problem.

George couldn’t place it, but he didn’t know how thrilled he was with that part of the plan. There were other ways: like leaving it on a table in the great hall... or visiting the owlery? “What if you get caught?”

“I suppose I’m no stranger to detention now, am I? Don’t worry I don’t plan on letting you guys take credit for my brilliance, I won’t snitch.”

“It wasn’t that!” He didn’t know why it was so important she didn’t think he was worried about that, but it seemed like it was relevant in that moment.

(Y/N)’s smirk came back when she saw his cheeks turning just the slightest tint of red. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but there was the possibility she didn’t hate the twins as much as she did when she first opened that blasted note. Well, George at least (she hadn’t been forced to spend time with Fred). And it wasn’t like she was blind, he was attractive. Plus she hadn’t even planned any payback for him ruining her reputation in McGonagall’s class... it wouldn’t hurt to tease him just a bit. Really, he kind of deserved it. “We have an hour to kill... I wonder what we should do?”

George tensed ever so slightly when she leaned closer to him and batted her eye lashes. She was definitely on to him. Damn, well he wasn’t usually one to back down from a challenge. Usually he had his brother for backup, but that wouldn’t do him any good here and honestly he no longer desired to have Fred’s company... at least at the moment. “Well, I have a few ideas... we are alone.”

(Y/N)’s confidence didn’t waver, she expected a bit of stubbornness from him. Instead she climbed into his lap, her knees resting not so comfortably on the cool tile. Her forwardness seemed to catch him off guard slightly, but he quickly regained composure and smirked at her. It took a good bit of effort not to roll her eyes, but she managed. “Well don’t just sit there.”

George knew he was falling into a trap, but to be honest at that moment he didn’t quite care. He didn’t need to be told twice and he captured her lips in a lip bruising kiss. It was almost instantaneous that they both seemed to forget they they didn’t fancy either other. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands found her thighs, where he began to pull her against him.

It took no time for a sweet kiss to start burning into something more. No, it was more like someone throwing a match into gasoline: an immediate explosion. Her hips moved willingly against him, both enjoying the friction and she didn’t even think twice about George snapping open the buttons on her blouse. It gave her the idea to start on his shirt.

(Y/N) shivered when George helped her out of her bra. The cool air making her arch herself into him even further, but the cold didn’t last long because George began placing feverish kisses all over the newly exposed skin. Her moans definitely did something for him, even if it was just a confidence boost he nipped a bit harder or his grip on her skin got tighter. Normally, George might worry about leaving a hand shaped bruise on her arse, but he was far too focused and seeing how loud he could make her.

(Y/N) awkwardly reached between them and started to undo his trousers. George was willing to pull his hands away from her briefly to help her accomplish her goal. She leaned up, just enough for him to be able to wiggle his trousers and underwear down enough to free his erection. It wasn’t the most graceful thing they’d done, but she hiked up her skirt and pulled her panties to the side so she could sink down onto him.

The two let out a moan in unison and George grabbed hold of her hips, “Bloody hell...”

(Y/N) wasn’t sure what exactly came over her, other than a mixture of satisfaction and lust. “Say you’re sorry for getting me detention.”

Was she kidding? “Seriously?” When she started to lift herself up, he quickly changed his tune. “I’m sorry!”

She quickly dropped herself back down, earning another moan from the redhead underneath her. Of course having his cock buried deep inside her felt amazing, but having a bit of control made it feel even better. “Say please.”

George didn’t even think twice about obliging her order. The word spilled from his lips before he could even comprehend what he was saying, but he didn’t care. The plea made her move against him finally and he would say anything to keep her bouncing on his cock. Clearly she knew it too and that was enough to keep her satisfied because she kept it up.

It was somewhere between an eternity and a few minutes, before she felt herself getting close. It was harder to keep it up her rhythm, and George must’ve noticed because he started to use the grip on her hips to his advantage by lifting her and pulling her back down. She stopped abruptly, “If you want something from me, you need to ask.”

“Please?”

“Please what?” (Y/N) purred into his ears, rolling her hips.

“Please let me fuck you...” George’s voice was needy and he was so scared that she would tell him no. It was an instant relief when she muttered an okay against his skin.

Before (Y/N) could even register what was happening her back hit the frigid tile and George’s hips were snapping against hers hard and fast and she was seeing stars. So close... so close... she was coming undone. “George!”

It was no time, before he finished. Her orgasm fast-tracking his. He had to let his breathing steady before he could speak, “I think that should be a regular occurrence. We are way too good for it to be a one time thing.”

He laughed when she winked at him, “Well you know what to say.”

[yespolkadotkitty]

I really, really love I’ll Do My Best By You p1 & 2–there’s just something so lovely about the idea of having such a big strong grumpy man totally at your mercy! Would you be willing to consider writing a part 3 where the reader gets a happily ever after with her grumpy mercenary... or at least gets railed into oblivion by him? (Or maybe he’s learned to trust her enough that he can let his guard down with her and she gets to keep the upper hand in bed sometimes, even after he’s all healed up? Dealer’s choice) 💚thirstworldproblemss

I’ll Do My Best By You - pt 3

Sorry! This ran away with me a bit and is much less smutty and more angsty than you asked... I hope you love it anyway.....

Part I ~ Part II

Two evenings later, a knock sounded at your door. It was too late to be one of your few friends in the village come to chat. You knew who it was.

Pero lay next to you in bed, dozing, on his stomach, his arm heavy and comforting over your stomach. The man slept like the dead and you wondered idly how he hadn’t been killed on a sellsword mission, in his slumber.

You eased yourself out from under his arm. He mumbled something, his face momentarily creasing into its habitual scowl before softening again.

Because you apparently had no willpower, you dropped a kiss on his forehead. 

You loved him. You shouldn’t. It was stupid.

But your heart wanted what it wanted.

Pulling on your thick robe, you plodded to the door, yanking it open to see William. Your shoulders slumped.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said gravely. “Our Captain’s put the word out. There’s an opportunity.”

Opportunity. For death maybe, you thought, unspeakably sad, and angry. But you nodded. “He’s sleeping. Come back in the morning?”

William nodded, starting to turn, but then hesitated. “Thankyou. Truly. For all you’ve done.” He reached into his shoulder bag, ferretted out a little bag, jingled it. “For your services.”

“There’s no need.” The only thing you wanted, this man was going to take from you.

William took your hand, uncurled your fingers, pressed the money into your palm. “Please take it. You saved the life of my best friend.”

“You keep him safe,” you grated out. “You keep him safe.”

William gave you a silent, curt nod. And then he was gone, boots crunching on fallen leaves. You closed the door and leaned your forehead against it, stifling a sob.

“Querida?”

You swiped your free hand over your face, turned to see Pero standing a few feet away, a question sketched on his handsome visage. 

“Who was that?”

“William.”

“Oh Si.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He wore only loose back trousers slung low on his hips, and the light from the guttering candles on various surfaces in the cottage bathed his tanned skin in amber and gold. His skin had healed very well. “He has come to fetch me for a job, no?”

“He has. He’ll be back tomorrow.” You turned back to the door.

“Cielo.”

You didn’t move, but heard Pero’s footfalls as he crossed the small space towards you. “Would you look at me?”

Slowly you turned around, back to the door, hating the way your eyes were so wet.

He lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, and you sighed at the feel of his palm, warm, a little rough. “You should be happy, no? You worked miracles on these old bones. I will be a burden to you no more.”

“Don’t say that,” you choked out. “Go back to bed.” You swiped at your eyes, angry at crying in front of him.

“Querida.”

“Don’t… don’t be nice to me. When you’re leaving tomorrow.”

His face fell, and he crowded into you, embracing you, gathering you to him. Helpless, you went to him, burying your face in the hollow of his throat, breathing him in, half-desperate. “The life of a sellsword is not one that lends itself to love, querida.”

Your gaze snapped to his. “You love me?”

His brow quirked. “What else do I call this ache in my chest when I think of leaving this village behind, hmmm? What else do I call this hunger only you can satisfy?”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go….?” you asked tremulously.

Pero gently touched his forehead to yours. “And what would I do, hmmmm, hermosa? Assist you with bandaging the villagers who barely speak with you? Make myself useful around the town in some way? Sweep the floor for you?”

You laughed weakly. You couldn’t imagine him doing those things.

“If you go, you could die,” you whispered, breaking eye contact.

“Or perhaps I could bring you the spoils of my contracts, no? Beautiful things from faraway places.”

That he was thinking of a future with you in it made your heart clench. “I don’t need beautiful things.” You spread your hands over his bare chest; warm, scarred, the sparse hair coarse under your palms. You liked the roughness. “You’re all the beauty I need.”

He chuckled. “Such fine words that an old sellsword does not deserve.”

“Sometimes it’s not about deserving.” You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, leaned into him. “Sometimes it’s about not wanting to lose something you just found.”

Pero tugged you away from the door. “Come to bed, querida.”

And you let him lead you to the bed, let him lay you down on it. Open your arms for him and embrace him fiercely, feel his heart beating against yours.

When he slid inside you, the only feeling you could marry it to was one of coming home. Of perfectness. And after he fell asleep, one arm draped heavily over you, you gazed at his face until the candles guttered out, trying to burn his long dark lashes, stern brows, and full bottom lip into your memory, to remember when you were alone again.

*****

Pero was clearing away the crumbs from your breakfast of bread, honey and butter when William knocked again. You crossed to the door with a heavy heart, wishing that last night you’d shoved the bag of coin back in his annoyingly genial face.

You yanked the door open, and William stands there. He’s holding Pero’s looping back scabbard with the two swords slotted into the custom leather sheaths.

“Morning.”

He did at least have the grace to sound embarrassed.

“Morning.” Your mother brought you up with too many manners to be rude. “It’s time?”

“It’s time.”

Behind you, Pero stood. He’d dressed this morning, black tunic, black trousers, underwear, boots, leather armour. Last night you’d stitched the tears in his tunic as he sat by you, telling tales of his assignations with William. They had been friends for so many years. You could never ask him to choose you over his brother. They might not have been bound by blood, but you knew, sometimes the bonds of family you chose went deeper still.

“Give me a moment, William?” he asked, his dark gaze flicking over his friend.

William nodded stiffly, his face flushing for a second, and you wondered that he didn’t have a woman waiting for him, or at least someone he thought of as home.

It was a hard life, the life of a sellsword on the road.

The door banged shut behind him and you steeled yourself.

“Mi amor,” Pero murmured. He cupped his hands over your shoulders, leaned his forehead against yours. “I must go. But I will come back. If you will have me.”

You slid a hand up into his thick, dark hair. “How long?”

“I cannot say.” His voice hitched as he added, “I understand you may want to.. Take other lovers.”

You scoffed. “No. I don’t want other lovers. I will wait, but, not forever.”

He tugged you close, fitting you into his lines of his armoured body, and you exhaled shakily, holding him. “It feels wrong to let you go. I just found you,” you murmured into his chainmail.

“It is the only life I know, cielo.” He stepped back, tipped your chin up with one finger. “Perhaps one more taste of you, to carry with me on the long nights with only the Irishman for company?” There was mischief in his eyes, but you saw the sadness behind it and your heart clenched.

You nodded and he kissed you, softly at first, then deeper, and you opened for him, your tongue dancing with his, and then the energy turned hot and urgent, and you looped your arms around his neck.

“One more time, please,” you whispered, uncaring that William waited outside in the cold, and Pero scooped you up and walked you to the nearest wall. You scrabbled frantically at the ties to his breeches, freeing him, your greedy fingers stroking him, and he moaned into your mouth, one hand leaving your hip to gather your skirts, and in the next heartbeat he was inside you.

You buried your face in his neck as he started to move, and you expected him to set a punishing pace, but instead he moved slow and languid, whispering nonsense in a mix of English and Spanish, his voice low, raspy, and you came together, your eyes wet.

With the utmost gentleness he set you on your feet, kissed you fiercely, teeth scraping, and then swept out of the door.

You watched the wood vibrate in his wake; heard the canter of horses.

And then all was quiet.

*******

Two months passed. The season changed. You helped the villagers, as you always did. A few more of them had warmed to you, you had, after all saved the life of one of the mercenaries who’d dispatched bandits. That alone had elevated your status. A little.

You busied yourself prepping for the winter. A winter you hoped you wouldn’t be spending alone. You collected firewood; roasted meat and salted it, buried bundled nuts. Prepared poultices for fingers and toes that would be chafed by the coming cold.

And then, one not so special day, as the wind fluttered the leaves off the trees that lined the back of your land, the pound of horses’ hooves made you look up.

William and Pero rode towards you, the horses kicking up dust and mud in their galloping wake. Pero’s stubble was heavy, his hair longer than you’d ever seen it, tied back in a little tail, and a cloak billowed around his shoulders.

You dropped the branches you’d been tying together and ran, your skirts bunched up in your hands. Your boots skidded a little in the mud but you went as fast as you could, your heart thudding, skin hot.

Pero pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted so quickly you thought he might topple, and then he was running, too, and you leapt the final two feet and he caught you, and held you so tightly, and you pressed your face to his and it wasn’t clear whether your tears or his were hot on your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he rasped.

You waited a dozen heartbeats before you pulled back to look at his dear face, smooth your palm along his thick stubble. “You came back.”

He scoffed. “I said I would, no? A Spaniard always keeps his word.”

“I’m not taking him out again,” William said mildly from horseback. “Like an old woman, he was. Pining. I-” and then a woman shouted his name from a distance and he too, leapt off his horse and went running.

You pressed your face into Pero’s neck and smiled. 

“I think I would like to stay here. With you, cielo,” Pero murmured into your hair. “If an old dog like me can learn new tricks. If there is room for me at your hearth.”

Your heart simply filled up with joy, as happiness unfurled inside your chest. You burrowed into his broad warmth. “That depends. How good are you at sweeping?”

Bonus:

Unbeta’d. Tagging some people from pt 2, and @alwaysbethewest because she likes finished stories :) @lilkermit14 @dornish-queen @mrsparknuts @thegreenkid @knittingqueen13 @heatherbel @f0rever15elf @thirstworldproblemss @fleurdemiel145 @strangelittlenobody @goblinqueen95 @dartheldur @voteforpedropascal @graveyardnails @pascalesque @marydjarin @theravenreads @roxypeanut @mourningbirds1 @kindablackenedsuperhero @holographic-carmen @starlight-starwrites @jaime1110 @gamingaquarius @the-dazzling-urbanite @keeper0fthestars @wildchild1964 @littlemissthistle @lackofhonor @cryptkeepersoul @alienprincesspoop @ripleyafterdark @tainted-gay-ghost @on-the-razor-crest @beccaplaying @thehiddenmystical @agirllovespancakes @88dragon06  @littleferal @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @songsformonkeys @mxndoscyarika @hiscyarika @mrschiltoncat @havenforafrazzledmind @badassbaker @mostly-megan @chews-erotically @mstgsmy @trashbin2 @randomness501  @libellule2001​

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week. 

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food. 

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless….” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody,  shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?” 

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy. 

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t  think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m  just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach. 

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat. 

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open. 

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze. 

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content  to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?” 

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement.  His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that. 

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.” 

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability. 

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form  disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

[jattendschaton]

for the prompts maybe 13 with ladynoir👉👈🥺? also like jdhjdhd your writing is incredible

Thank you so much, you’re so kind <3 <3 <3!!!! And yes, this prompt absolutely screams ladynoir, I love it 🥺

13.  This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…

At 22:00, Ladybug’s mouth ached from smiling so much. She’d already been out for hours—the sun setting long enough ago she couldn’t recall if the sky was more orange or pink—goading Chat Noir into flipping off a building with whatever combinations she could imagine and teasing him for not pointing his toes like a proper gymnast. 

When midnight barreled through, she felt lighter than air. Floating above Paris without caution or care, her eyes locked on her partner as he did a silly impression, her laughter bubbling out her lips like soda fizz rising over the edge of the bottle.

As 1:00 passed, she noticed magic in the night air, crisp and taunting. It begged the superheroes to stay out just five minutes longer, wrapped them up tight like packed snow, encouraged them to crawl just a little closer, touch just a little more, speak just a little quieter. 

But when she checks her yoyo and sees the screen flash 2:00, Ladybug knows she’s past the point of understandable ignorance. She’s expected at the bakery in three hours and she isn’t any closer to falling asleep than she was six hours ago when she faked a yawn and told her parents she was off to bed. She should be mad at herself—should be questioning her decisions to spend every free moment with a boy so frustratingly handsome she isn’t sure whether she wants to throw him off a roof or kiss the smirk off his mouth.

(She could do both.)

(She does neither.)

“What is it?” Chat Noir asks, peeking at the yoyo in her hand with his head lolled on her shoulder. She pretends it’s his hair tickling her neck that makes her shiver and not his lips centimeters from her skin puffing fire against her chin.

She shakes her head but only a bit, afraid of dislodging him. “Nothing.”

“The ridge between your brows says otherwise.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, so you’re a Ladybug-whisperer now?”

“I’d say I know my lady pretty well at this point.”

“Oh really?”

His grin is toothy and bold and he spins himself around to face her, swinging a leg over the ledge they’re perched atop so he can straddle it. “I’m hurt you think I don’t.”

“Fine.” She looks away from him. She doesn’t want him to see the color darkening her cheeks when his face is so near. “Prove it, then.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he says, eyeing her. His hand scratches his chin exaggeratedly as he considers her and she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling at him. “What to do, what to do...oh!”

“Figured out a way to impress me?”

He snaps his finger and points at her. “You had tea right before coming out tonight.”

Her eyelids lower when she looks at him again. “It is two o’clock, it wouldn’t take a genius to guess I had some caffeine.”

“Ah, but you didn’t.” He lays back against the ledge, one hand cradling his head while the other wraps around his tail like the self-satisfied smirk wraps around his mouth. “Caffeine doesn’t wake you up, it calms you down. Therefore, I, the brilliant-and-unbelievably-handsome Chat Noir, know you had green tea.”

“I could have had decaf,” she mutters, fingers tightening on the concrete beneath her butt.

“But you didn’t.” His voice is full of glee, more cheerful than he has any right to be. “See? I do know you.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Luck isn’t really my wheelhouse, bugaboo.”

She knows she’s grasping at straws. “Maybe I’m just rubbing off on you.”

“Fine,” he sighs, sitting back up quickly enough to make her head spin and dropping his hands in front of him for balance. They barely graze her thigh. “I’ll just have to prove it again.”

She huffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Ooo, admitting you like to look at me, my lady? How scandalous, I don’t know if I can be out here with you anymore! It’s so late—the impropriety! What will my neighbors think?”

She shoves him with the hand closest to his shoulder and he falls back easily, but not without grabbing her arm and pulling her to fall on top of him. She squeaks when her chest presses against his, her free arm curling around his waist as their momentum throws them off the parapet and onto the flat rooftop.

They land with a thud, tangled limbs keeping them locked together while the breath is knocked out of them both. Her forehead smacked against his collarbone in the fall and she’s certain she left a bruise. There’s a dull pain in her hand from where his shoulder blade is digging into her palm, knuckles pressed against the hard ground.

She’s stunned speechless, afraid to catch his eyes, when she feels him squirming beneath her. The movement is unexpected enough to drag her attention to his face, red and smiling with uncontained mirth. Seeing him so happy and carefree—detached from all the worries that usually keep him out so late—warms her chest. There’s a bubble of some emotion rising to her throat and she doesn’t know what it’ll do when it’s released. She tries to shove it back down, along with the way her pulse keeps quickening when he kisses her hand and how her knees weaken whenever he shoots her that soft smile, but it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface.

“I didn’t know this is all it would take to get you to fall for me, my lady,” he teases with a wink and she sits up out of his eyeline to hide her blush.

She shakes her head in an attempt to dislodge the heat filling her. “Oh chaton, I didn’t realize you’d hit your head hard enough to cause brain damage.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘damage’ but I’m definitely seeing stars.” 

She knows without even looking that he’s staring at her. She looks anyway. “Does that line ever work?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, his expression gentler than she expected. “I don’t know. This is my first time trying it.” He brings a hand up to her face, curling a stray piece of her around her ear, showing more of her face to his tender eyes. “How’s it doing?”

“G-good.” She clears her throat when the word comes out gravely and soft. “It’s—uh—good. Good one. You could definitely use that one again.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest as he looks at her up through his blond eyelashes and fringe. “I wouldn’t say ‘damage’ but I’m definitely seeing stars.”

“Not on me, genius.” She rolls her eyes at him. “On someone you’re interested in.”

His sigh is heavy and playfully over-pronounced and he leans just a centimeter closer to her. Their legs are still slightly tangled together, her knee overlapping his, calves pressed together, and one ladybug-spotted foot lying atop a heavy boot. His nose almost grazes her chin and she’s afraid to breathe.

“Ladybug,” he says her name softly and patiently, like he’s a lighthouse calling her back to shore. He still has a hand on her face, gently tracing the edge of her jaw, falling down to rest on her shoulder. “I’m definitely seeing stars. When I look at you.”

The places they’re connected feel like they’re on fire. She’s hot and cold all at once, flames licking her skin and making her blood boil, but she keeps squirming closer to the source, like she’ll freeze without it. She only realizes she’s moved when her palm is shot with heat as it rests gently on his chest, thumb drawing circles overtop his suit.

She lifts her body up to transition a knee beneath her, never taking her eyes off his. Her free hand cradles his neck and she watches in fascination as a deep blush spreads along Chat Noir’s nose and cheeks. He doesn’t take his eyes off hers either.

The hand at his neck follows the lines of his face, curving gently against the underside of his jaw, tilting his chin up. She can’t help her eyes briefly falling down to his lips, parted in wonder and anticipation.

“Ladybug,” he whispers and her lips quirk up in a half smile before finally meeting his own.

It’s hesitant and sweet, lasting only long enough for Chat Noir to inhale her breath, tickle her skin with feather-light touches. Her face glows like she’s emanating her own light and he stays close enough to feel the electricity pass between them.

“It’s—um—it’s getting late,” she says softly, air fanning against his lips. 

He nods his agreement, nose lightly knocking into hers as he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against her brow.

Her fingers curl in his hair, smoothing over his scalp and keeping him near. “We should probably go home.”

“I am home.”

He always has a way of making her heart stutter. 

There’s a low rumble starting in his chest that pulses out to the tips of his fingers. Ladybug sighs, pulling him against her tighter, letting the vibrations travel through her hands and along her limbs. It’s soothing, like his purr has found resonance with her own body, and she relaxes into the touch effortlessly.

It doesn’t take long before she’s drifting on the edge of consciousness, barely holding her head above water as he coaxes her to a place of comfort and lethargy. They’re still tangled together, but her fingers have stilled in his hair, her body heavy against his own. Her eyes blink drowsily, nose twitching whenever his breath hits her enough to tickle. 

“Gotta sleep, chaton.” Her voice is thick like it’s trudging through molasses, but low enough to feel like a secret.

“I know,” he sighs. “Don’t want this to end.”

She detangles her hands from his hair, stretching her arms out behind her to a symphony of cracks and pops and yawns, turning her face into her shoulder so she doesn’t blow on him. When she’s awake enough to open her eyes fully, she tilts her head back to stare up at the dark sky, clouds hanging low enough to reflect the streetlight back at them.

“Just think.” She takes his hand without looking, squeezing it once. “We’re that much closer to our next date.”

He flips his hand over, interlacing their fingers. “Next?”

“You didn’t think I’d stay out this late with just anyone, did you?” She turns to wink at him. “I thought you were Chat Noir, the Great Ladybug-Whisperer.”

His eyes are half-lidded like he’s melting into her. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.” He catches her in a toe-curling kiss. “But I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

Right to the Good Parts Prompts

[hazbinextgeneration]

Safe Haven’s Angel Book1 Ch7

Said dragon stood in the doorway. His yellow eyes stared at Juliet, who now was still wagging her tail in happiness. He slowly went back and forth between her.....and her new limbs. "Honey?," she asked curiously. He didn't move so she tried again, "Marx?" Out of no where, he bolted towards her. Pushing the none important figures out of the way to grab her cheeks. With a worried look, he moved her head side to side carefully examining her. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! DID THEY HURT YOU?! HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP?! DID THEY TRY EXPERIMENTING ON YOU?!" He was panicked, but could you really blame him. Juliet was taking longer than usual to get ready, so one of the female assistants volunteered to go check on her.....The blood curdling scream that followed was enough to alert half the studio. Thankfully, someone had enough sense to go get him.

He was about half way through the giant stack of paper work his boss left behind when a panicked Victor burst through his office door. His green eyes filled with horror. "J-J-Juliet.....down....b-b-blood everywhere," was all he managed to stammer out. And it was enough to get him out of his chair and down the hallway faster than you could say Romeo and Juliet. The crowd of people in the doorway was scary enough as he pushed through to the dressing room. The sight before him almost caused him to faint. There was Juliet......collapsed on the floor and red liquid seeping from her back. Of course naturally he freaked and just grabbed her without thinking. At the time, he ignored the wings that somehow burst from her back. Probably assuming it was a part of the costume she was wearing. Only one thought was on his mind as he ran. Hospital. But, now that he was here, he could plainly see the wings fused to her back. He slowly released one of his hands from her cheek and shakily reached out to touch a wing. It flinched at his brief touch. ".......Marx?" "ARE YOU OK?!" His loud volume made her lean back. "Yes.....I'm fine. Just.....don't yell." Two arms suddenly wrapped around her before she was pulled against his chest in a tight hug. She could've sworn she heard him give a rumble of relief. "You're.....Married?" Leeson was staring at the taller dragon at the taller dragon with a strange look. "Why should I tell you?.......Who are you people?" He glanced between him, the doctor, and Mr. Zecariah......before freezing at the sight of the large animal. She felt him unconsciously grip her tighter and a whine escaped his throat. She tilted her head up confused at him. Was something wrong? "A assure you, Sir. No one has harmed her in our pressance," he responded calmly, "I only have a few questions. If you don't mind me asking." "........What questions?" He turned to her. "Have you always had these wings or any knowledge of them?" She shook her head. "Are you absolutely certain?" "Y-Yes." "Hmmm." He turned to the door. "Mr. Larson. If I may have a word with you." "Oh,...Yes. Yes, of course." A moment later, they were both out the door. Leaving the three in the room. Leeson gave a hum before also walking to the door. Mumbling incoharant, leaving the couple on the bed. "..........I don't like this." "Why? What's wrong?" He gave her a worried look. "T-That's Zechariah. Z-Zoey's father. Y'know. Winter's girlfriend." ".......The PeaceKeeper?" She had only met Winter's girlfriend a couple times. But according to her husband, the Don only approved of her because her father was a PeaceKeeper and it would be benefitial to their mafia. "Yes. A-And I have a bad feeing about al this." She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the door opened and Mr. Zechariah and Dr. Larson made their way back inside. "Miss.....It's come to my attention that, considering our current crisis, I'd like to request you stay in the hospital until you fully recover from the blood loss. And allow us to run a few tests." "Tests?" His eyes narrowed. "What kind of tests?" He turned to the dragon. "A few x-rays and blood related things. To make sure no one's using anything supernatural to mess with our heads. You must understand our position. If everyone knows about this, there might be false hope and rumors spread. The last thing the hospital or you need is hundreds, possibly thousands of people trying to demand you do things you can't. The last thing we need is whoever is behind this to cause a distraction away from the actual problem." "Wait......How do you know someone's behind this and it's not just caused naturally?" He went silent for a few seconds."..........I'm afraid....I cannot release that information until the culprit has been caught." They both glanced at each other. "........And if the wings ARE naturally there?" "Then we would have no choice but to let you go. I cannot hold you hostage if you have not commited any crimes......But...." He gave them and the doctor a stern look, "I would rather this stay between us until the matter is resolved. Who knows what kind of people this would stir up." "What a second." The doctor looked around. ".........Where's Leeson?" Everyone froze. "........Didn't you see him go out of the room?" "No. I was talking to Zecariah. I didn't know he left." Marx gulped and looked down at his wife who went wide eyed. "........oh, no." .................................................................................................................................................................................................. The still cold weather clung to his body as he trudged back to where he currently stayed. The warmth of the cabin fell over him as he entered. He almost didn't notice the white female walking towards him. "Fitch." "Hello, Misk." The moth woman smiled. "Hi, Honey. What was the meeting about this time?" ".......Is Miracle gone?" ''She's having a sleepover with Cappuccino. Why?" "I don't think she'll like what I'm about to say about her aunt."

[noodlyfun-blog]

Mystics and Malice

I have new stars that fly above me. They’re bright; the brightest is green like Gugo’s hair. They form no constellation  but make a foundation. I sit in a tall tower, surrounded by lightning on the top floor. Nothing is keeping me inside but I like looking out into the distance. Way off is a visible island, the sea is no longer infinite and dark, over it I can see the old stars of my dreams. Odd that they sit over land now when they used to just rest over sea. Primary color is a deep blue, blue like the oceans. 

The tall Viera, illuminated in a dull orange by candles, sighed deeply and closed her diary. She hadn't been keeping up with her dreams as she had wanted and knew she had forgotten some details; but dreams are temporary like these days spent in a city. Alaria took one last look around her makeshift tent; her tea kettle resting over a small fire, a couple empty chairs across from her, a small table with only an assortment of odds and ends resting atop, and a depressingly empty jar next to her that simply read ‘Tips’. It was a rough night outside the tent with rain falling in sheets and thus it was a bad night for customers. The woman stuffed her diary back in her bag and replaced it with a single night-blue teacup. She'd at least enjoy a sip of hot tea before making her way through the cold night for the ship.

Alaria had just lifted the hot kettle when a pair stumbled their way into the Viera's tent. She couldn't make out too many details of the two as they both had their own drenched cloaks wrapped tightly around their faces. Neither had a tail nor discernable ears. They were neither very small nor very tall. Neither seemed to acknowledge the Viera at the other side of the table, their wide eyes darting in every direction and to each other. Alaria couldn't tell if they were shivering from the cold or trembling in fear. She decided that it must be both. 

"Welcome my dear new friends. Please have yourself a seat." The two jumped in surprise when Alaria spoke in her sagely, mysterious witch tone as they realized they weren't alone. 

"You're both in luck as I was about to read my leaves. Come grab yourself a seat and share a cup of tea with me." The two were hesitant and just stared at the Viera with wide, fear-filled eyes but she got a better glimpse of their faces. They both had gray eyes and the same nose, clearly siblings, maybe twins. The Viera smiled at them while placing the kettle on the table. "Come now, it's very warm." 

The promise of warmth loosened the two up and they tentatively stepped deeper into the tent, eyeing the flap they entered warily as they sat. Alaria rose to her feet and blew out all the candles except one and extinguished her little stove taking the fairly lit tent into a barely illuminated haven. She returned to her chair to see the pair more at ease with the lights dimmed. 

The Viera returned to her chair and pulled out two more tea cups. She filled all three cups with hot water before opening a jar with loose tea leaves. She sprinkled a fair amount into each cup. 

"Now while those are heating up, how about you tell me your names my new friends? Mine is Alaria, reader of the stars and teller of the moon." She spoke barely above a whisper with a sing-song seer voice. The two removed the cloaks from their head to reveal dirty but young faces, they both had to be a few years younger than Alaria. One sported some face around the face that barely passed for a beard and the other had a ring through their nostrils and long, red hair. 

"I'm Erryl and this is my brother Philipe" said the one with the piercing with a soft voice. Philip looked upset at being introduced. Alaria paid him little mind and motioned at the cups. 

"Erryl and Philipe, how wonderful for the stars to guide you to me tonight." She lowered her head slightly. "Now I want you two to think of a question that you need answered. Feel with all your being and concentrate on it as you drink your tea. And please don't drain your cup entirely, try to leave a thumbful." 

Alaria studied the two from behind her own cup as they drank their tea. Philipe seemed relieved to just have something warm, but his eyes barely left his sibling and the tent flap. Erryl mouthed a silent prayer as they brought the drink to their lips and drank with their eyes tightly closed. The pair had some mud caked on their faces, probably from hiding. What clothes she could spot under their cloaks were barely better than rags. The two were also thin. She frowned that she didn't have any snacks to offer. 

The Viera’s long green ear tilted toward the sound of boots splashing in the streets outside. She couldn’t make out how many pairs of boots were running out there nor the shouts being muffled by the rain and the tent. Erryl opened their eyes and Philipe tried to crouch lower into his chair at the sound outside but thankfully the boots seemed to run right past Alaria’s little tent.

"That should be enough tea for now." Alaria said to the pair as she pulled a couple spoons from her bag. The two turned their attention back to the Viera just as she had hoped and she handed them both a spoon. "Now swirl those leaves in your cups. And remember to concentrate. We want to make sure you get an answer." 

Philipe half-heartedly turned his spoon in the cup, paying much more attention to the outside of the tent. Erryl had returned their full attention to theirs and swirled and swirled, the spoon occasionally clinking the edge of the glass. Alaria watched them but began putting a few items in her bag. Normally there would be some expected theatrics as she tried to cultivate a mode, but tonight was not the night for it. Instead she spent a minute gathering whatever was in reach until finally telling them "Stop. That should be good." 

Alaria rose to her feet and leaned in behind Erryl, placing a hand on their shoulder for comfort, to gaze into the cup. They watched as the leaves settled into place; Philipe's leg began to twitch. The leaves danced and danced as Philipe’s leg bounced faster and faster and the rain dropped harder and harder. But as the leaves finally settled into their place, Alaria gave a big “hmmm” and squeezed Erryl’s shoulder.

“Ahh a wing.” She said tracing the outline of a wing with her fingers. Erryl leaned in more closely and even Philipe calmed down to watch. 

“What does the wing mean?” Erryl asked softly.

“It means you need to find your freedom. You are caged; held down by some oppressor.” Alaria says barely above a whisper. Both siblings’ eyes dart first to each other and then the Viera.“You may be crushed from a danger unless you find your own wings and fly to your own freedom.” 

“The Hikari Family wants to kill my brother!” Erryl blurted at the Viera; her voice cracking with a plea.

“Quiet Erryl! We can’t trust anyone!” Philipe interjected, his voice strained. 

“You heard her though! We need to run!”

“What do you think we’re doing?!”

“Please! You have to help us. We have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Please!” Alaria saw tears forming in Erryl’s eyes. Their brother looked absolutely exasperated. She pulled Erryl in for a quick hug.

“My dear new friend, you were guided into my tent tonight.” Alaria gave her most reassuring smile to both of them. The pair shared an uncertain look with each other as the Viera grabbed her bag. "I have a ship docked right now and we go back a-sea in two nights time. You can hide there and then we can get you out of the city." 

“And you’d help us just like that?! Erryl! We can’t trust this woman! There’s no reason for her aid us, no reason for her to not sell us for some gil!” Philipe pleaded with his sibling. Meanwhile, Alaria had already begun stuffing her bag with some of her things.

“Philipe. If she were to turn us in, she would have already. She’s done nothing but kindness for us.” Erryl reasoned. 

“Listen to your sibling Phil. I can tell that neither of you are armed so you’ll want to stick close.” The Viera had made it to the flap of her tent and opened it. “Come on then. Let’s open your wings and fly out of this city, hm?”

With a resigned sigh, Philipe relented to following their new guide out of the city. Alaria prayed her tent wouldn’t be moved by morning so she could collect it; she had grown rather fond of its ugly purple cloth. It was a long and harsh trek with bitingly cold winds and sharp downpour of icy rain as the three wove their way through backstreets and alleyways. The Viera kept an open ear and cautious eye to avoid any armed looking guard on their hike. Unfortunately for the trio, the cold rain made for empty cobblestone streets which meant no hiding in crowds. Fortunately though, the weather made the street lanterns nearly ineffective; their orange glows dimmed or dead in the winds.

No crowds meant slower movement as to not be seen. They had to have been sneaking their way for at least a bell in this miserable weather before finally spotting the docks across a bridge. Alaria ducked behind a box as the other two hid behind some barrels; one guard stood stoically in the middle of the bridge with his back toward the group. They could try and find another way across and into the docks but Erryl and Philipe were waning with each step. It was clear to Alaria that they were exhausted and needed rest.

There was only one clear solution Alaria sighed. She motioned for the others to stay down as she stood straight up. A small line of purple aether began to swirl around the Viera’s right wrist. She summoned all her anger toward those who would oppress and the line of aether became a pool encompassing her wrist. She invoked all the loathing she had for herself and the pool of aether swallowed her entire arm. She called forth the malice toward Her and the aether shot from her arm. Alaria glared at this man as her violet aether shocked through his body. He crumpled there and the Viera strolled toward his body. Maybe he was still alive but it didn’t matter to her as she rolled his limp form into the black waters below. She beckoned the siblings and they continued along.

Finally they had made it. Only Boone stood guard but his was a giant with an axe; only the foolhardy would dare tempt him. He grunted as the trio made their way aboard.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the mermay fills: 10 & 22 with indruck? 👁️👁️ (nsfw or sfw)

I went with ten (tattoos/piercings) first, since 22 will be part of another fill. I went with NSFW, and wrote this as a follow-up to my “Heat” fill from last year.

Indrid swims up  and down the hall outside the palace infirmary. He’s far from the only one doing so; the reef serpent wreaked havoc through the city before the Chosen mers defeated it. He’s not even the only person waiting to see if Duck is alright.

“Have courage, Prince Indrid Cold!” Minerva, sporting a new gash on her face, clamps her hand down on his shoulder in what he knows is her version of a comforting gesture, “Duck Newton is the strongest Chosen after myself. He will pull through.” The blue of her tentacles flashes with pride. 

“Besides” Ned, the castle mer who has, against all odds, become Indrid’s closest advisor, flicks his orange and silver tail “you informed us yourself there were no futures where our friend passed away.”

“I know.” Indrid takes a breath, intending to explain the tangled net of anxiety in his chest. All that comes out is another, “I know.”

Behind him, he hears two nurses murmuring that they’d better bump the prince’s consort up in the line, but before he can turn and order them not to, they’re gone. 

It happened like this: Duck kept his word, began courting Indrid properly once the seer's heat passed, and Indrid reciprocated without hesitation. This caused a near scandal; yes, Duck was a Chosen and thus noble to a degree, but Indrid was a prince, and a prized one. Indrid pointed out that he rather liked someone who cared about his welfare, not just his happiness, and if they had an issue with that, that was their problem not his. And so the comments about Duck moved from to his face to behind his back, which he counted as good enough.

Duck found the whole consort business stressful, given that he’d forgone his Chosen destiny in favor of tending the kelp forests specifically to avoid that kind of fanfare and politics. Thus, they steered clear of the castle when they could, spending their time with their friends in town or in the sunken ship Duck called home. 

When the serpent attacked their town, Duck discovered the limits of his rejecting his destiny, and joined the fight to save his home. Indrid is proud of him, even if his stomach churns whenever the futures shift and he has to see whether the strings of fate weave a grimmer outcome for the man he loves.

It’s well after moonrise when he’s allowed to see Duck. The other mer is half-asleep in his infirmary bed, a massive bandage on his side and one of his tentacles bitten down to a nub

“Hey darlin” The sleepy drawl is accompanied by the mer opening his arms. 

Indrid carefully settles against the non-bandaged side of him, rests his head on his chest with a relieved sigh, “I’m so glad you’re alright. Or, well, mostly alright. You’re in one piece. Sort of. I, I’m not conveying this well.”

“I ain’t dead, given how today went I’m callin that a win. Besides, this’ll grow back in no time.” He wiggles the stub of his tentacle. 

“Mmm” Indrid cuddles closer, purring softly as intact tentacles pet his tail and back.

“When’d you last sleep?” Duck murmurs, kissing the top of his head.

“Not since the attack started.”

“Seems to me we’re both due for some shut eye.”

Indrid nods, right before falling asleep and dreaming of strong tentacles and stronger arms. 

-----------------------------------------

“Guess I gotta get a tattoo now.” Duck studies the scar on his side, his bandages having permanently come off this morning. 

“I suppose so. Though, if you’ve avoided so many other parts of Chosen protocol, I fail to see how skipping this one will make things worse.”

“I dunno, I kinda like this one. Used to strike me as macho bullshit, showin off how many battle scars you got. But now...makes me think of how when the forest gets trashed by a storm, or a huge-ass monster tearin through it, there’s a certain kind of pleasure that comes from watchin it heal, watchin it go from desolated and scarred to somethin beautiful.”

Indrid loves when he talks like this, smiles dreamily as Duck adds, “you could even design it for me. I’d like that.”

“I could do you one better; I could apply it as well. And since I foresee you asking yes, I do have the training to do so. Royal mers learn to tattoo themselves, due to rules about being touched by lower ranking mers that I judiciously ignored.”

“No kiddin” Duck grins, two tentacles coiling around Indrid’s tail, teasing the red stripe, “now that I’m healed up, gonna do all kinds of things to you to remind you why you ignored those rules in the first place.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you nervous?” Indrid finishes setting out his tools on the pristine table in his pristine chambers. He tends towards messiness in his habits, but when it comes to Duck’s health he’s cleaned the whole place by hand and with magic. Twice. 

“Nah, I know I’m in good hands.” Even as he says this, a burst of anxious yellow moves up his tentacles. 

“All the same, if you need a break at any point, let me know. And if the scar starts stinging or throbbing, tell me at once.”

“You got it, darlin.”

Indrid takes his time using a spell to transfer his design to Duck’s skin, double checking the placement before picking up the charm-powered tattoo gun. When finished, the tattoo will be a small forest of kelp, with the scar making up most of the body of the serpent swimming between the leaves. Six shades of green ink, three shades of brown, one shade of copper, and black for outlining, lay on the table, Indrid dipping into each of them in turn as he brings the image to life. 

“Love watchin you draw” Duck sighs, then shudders, “sorry, gettin a hell of an adrenaline rush from the pain.”

“Just try to stay still. If you twitch or fidget too much, it will cause mistakes on my end.”

“Do my best.”

“If you don’t, I’ll just have to tie you down.” Indrid says breezily. The tentacle near him pulses purple. Desire. Interesting. 

He’s most of the way through when Duck’s arms shake, his tentacles following suit, occasionally bumping Indrid’s tail or sides.. They’re small movements, all things considered, but in most futures they mean he has to re-do the entire last third of the tattoo. 

“Nono, this won’t do at all.” He set’s the gun down, flitting across to the closet near his bed. A sea-grass rope waits, right where he left. There hasn’t been much call for it, Duck capable of restraining Indrid in a variety of ways all on his own. 

“Now” Indrid bites off several lengths of rope, “since you cannot be still, I am going to tie your tentacles down. You’re to keep your hands where I put them, or I will tie them as well.”

Ducks tentacles are now deep, unflinching purple, “Holy fuck, ‘drid.”

“Just because I am generally submissive around you does not mean I’m not capable of giving orders.” Indrid smirks, tying the first two tentacles down.

“I, I know, it’s just  you, uh, you, you never talk like this.” Duck’s eyes are wide, excited even, as they track Indrid’s circular path. 

“I suppose you don’t hear me during advisory meetings, so this is a new experience for you.”

“Maybe I oughta start sittin in on ‘em.” Duck whines when Indrid kisses his cheek but refuses to stick around long enough for Duck to kiss him back.

“Perhaps. Right now, however, you are to sit still until I’m done with you. Understood?”

“Uh huh.” Duck smiles, docile and sweet, and Indrid wonders why they never thought to try this before. 

He returns to his work, inking colors into Duck’s skin, enjoying the intimacy of learning the familiar curves of his ribs and belly in new ways. At one point he notices Duck tensing and almost moving his hand, but the other mer catches it in time. 

“Good boy.” Indrid purrs.

“Fuck.” Duck tips his head back, “how much longer?”

“About ten minutes more, I’d say. You can manage it my sweet, you’re doing so well already.”

Duck whimpers low in his throat as Indrid goes back to his work. Exactly ten minutes later, he puts a protective covering atop the tattoo and pushes his supply table aside.

“There, all done. You did wonderfully.”

“Great, now untie me.” Duck wriggles hopefully.

Indrid raises an eyebrow, “In a hurry, sweet one?”

“Yes” Duck holds out a hand, trying to coax him closer. 

“Whatever for?” He replies airly, as if can’t sense the arousal pouring off his boyfriend in waves, “and stop moving so much, you’ll aggravate the tattoo.”

“‘Drid please” The folds between his front-most tentacles ripple as his cock starts emerging. 

“Oh I see.” Indrid swims so they’re face to face, pinning Duck’s hands to the back of the chair as he leans into his space, “you want me to fuck you, is that it? You’re willing to risk pain to new scar tissue, even marring my lovingly done work, just to have your cock played with?”

“Holyfuckinshit, why is this the first time you’re talkin like this?” Duck bites his lip with a little moan as Indrid rubs their cheeks together. 

“I don’t know. In hindsight, it seems so obvious; you’re my powerful, competent mate, you always take such wonderful care of me, but you want someone to take away that power from time to time, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Duck tips his chin up, hoping for a kiss, but Indrid floats backwards out of reach,

“What shall we do about that, hmm?” He swims a slow, tight circle around the other mer, staying just out of arms reach, “shall I keep you bound until the urge passes? No, that’s far too cruel for my beloved. Perhaps I should make you see to it yourself? But no, you might accidentally hurt yourself. Hmmm, what to do, what to do….” He taps his chin as Duck growls and whines, tentacles now straining against their bonds. Indrid knows Duck could snap them easily if he needed or wanted to. Which means he wants to remain at Indrid’s mercy for the time being.

“You do look wonderful like this. I didn’t even plan it this way, but how I tied you shows off most of your assets.” Indrid rubs the upper front of his tail, “now you’re getting me all wound up.”

“Good” Duck growls, tentacles swirling purple and pink. 

“Yes it, ahnnn, it is rather good, isn’t it. After all, I have the perfect solution to the situation sitting right in front of me.”

Duck’s cock is fully out, it and the slit beneath it tempting Indrid to abandon his plan. He swims in front of the other mer, eyeing his cock approvingly, “yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”

“Thank fuckOHfummmhp” Duck’s surprised moan turns to a laugh as Indrid, having zipped upwards in a flash, finishes shoving his cock into Duck’s mouth.”

“Yesss, ohyes, goodness I love doing this, you look so charming with your lips around my cock. Ah, ah, don’t you dare move your hands from the chair. This” he gives a sharper thrust, “is all I need to be satisfied.”

Duck moans louder, which Indrid takes as his cue to hold his head in place and fuck into his mouth with abandon. 

“That’s it love, that’s it, oh I ought to have done this months ago, tied my big strong hero down and reminded him of hisAHAnnn, his duties as consort.”

“‘M ot a ero.” 

Indrid looks imperiously down his nose at him, “It’s rude to contradict someone when they’re giving you what you want, my sweet. I guess I’ll need to render you further incapable of speech” He concentrates and extends his cock, a mechanism meant to ensure he can reproduce with mers of any size or genital configuration but that he uses only to make Duck groan with pleasure. 

His orgasm is already racing towards him, as it always does when Duck lets him (or orders him to) fuck his throat, and he shuts his eyes, concentrating on tight heat and the happy, muffled grunts floating up to his ears. 

“Just a little, nnnn, little more my sweet, let your prince ravish your throat a little longerOH, ohgods, Duck, sweetheart, yes.” He cums, a shudder rippling down his tail, and doesn’t pull out until Duck struggles to swallow the rest down. The other mer is still collecting his breath when Indrid wiggles down and pushes his tongue into his slit.

“Fuck!” Duck jerks hard enough to move the chair an inch to the right.

Indrid snickers, wraps both hands around Duck’s cock, stroking it hurriedly as he raises his head, “What do you say, beloved?”

“Th-thank you?” Duck cracks an eye open. Indrid nods, then dips his head back down to to suck and tongue at the senstive skin. 

“Fuckme, ohfuck, ‘Drid, darlin’, this is fuckin incredible, gonna, gonna be such a good consort, do whatever you say, fuck you five fuckin times a day, just, FUCK, just promise we can do this again.”

“Muv ourse.” Indrid thrusts his tongue deeper, twisting his hands on his upstrokes. The fourth time he does, he pops up to suck on the head just in time to catch Duck’s cum in his mouth. He takes his time, sucking him clean with happy trills and moans while his boyfriend utters curses that would make sailors blush.

He pulls away to wipe his mouth, intending to start untying Duck. The futures show that won’t be necessary, 

Snapsnapsnapsnap

The ropes break in pairs, rapid fire, and then Duck is on him, enveloping him in arms, tentacles, and love. He tries to press closer, then winces back, “owfuck, you’re right, the tattoo is real sore.”

“It’ll be that way for a few days. Your Chosen strength will help, but you should still rest when possible.”

“I dunno” Duck kisses him sweetly, then nips his lower lip, “you know how stubborn I can be. Might have to uh, tie me to the bed.”

“That, my love, can be arranged.”

[redbirdbella]

@clintasha-week Day 4 - AU

The first thing Clint did after Bobbi asked for a divorce was buy a 24-hour gym membership. It wasn't what he imagined he'd do after he found out his wife was cheating on him, but then he hadn't expected his wife to cheat on him. He didn't think Phil would understand exactly what had convinced him to buy it. It wasn't like there was a guide to this thing, Divorce 101 the dummies guide to learning how to live when your wife's been boning another man, but still being a member of Fab Fun Fitness wasn't exactly helping with the self-hatred.

In the spirit of making lemonade out of lemons, he decided to try at least once before he sacked the whole thing in and brought something more cliché like a motorbike instead.

So he books a class, for the next day, at night. At 1 am.

Soul cycle with Natasha. It better not be a cult.

*******************************************************************************************

He's the only one to turn up, so if it is a cult they really need to work on their attendance issues. The instructor's nice with a dry sense of humour that Clint really sympathizes with. They talk and talk, and talk some more and only end up completing half of the class but she picks out the hardest tracks to make up for it. It's nice though, not a bad lemonade from the lemons he's been given. He even forgets about Bobbi and her stupid high flying new boyfriend as the ache in his legs builds. But it doesn't last, the next morning her lawyer's paperwork is on the doormat.

It makes it as far as the kitchen but not far enough to actually be opened.

He books again, in two days time and again for the two days after that. Routine is important for survival and right now it's the best he can hope for.

******************************************************************************************* Natasha doesn't ask questions. She either doesn't care enough or she's done this long enough to be discreet about why a grown man comes to her class at 1 am. He isn't even sure he wants to find out but Clint Barton's preservation skills have never exactly been great.

"Does it ever creep you out that I keep coming to your class at 1 am?"

She grins "Well I've seen you in the gym in the day time so I know you're not a vampire. Is there anything else I should be worried about?"

"Hmmm, I could be a vampire with just a killer sun-screen"

She laughs and Clint finds he likes it. A little bit too much.

"Well I'm a certified kickboxing instructor so I wouldn't try anything"

"Noted"

"But to answer your question, no the people who tend to come here seem to be too busy trying to escape something to pay much attention to me and I like it that way"

"Why do you even do a class at 1 am?"

"Well I'm single, live alone and I'm contractually obligated to a class every 4 hours. Last one was at 10 the next at 5. It works. For me and for the company"

"No one special in your life"

"Not any more, divorced young, married even younger."

"Oh," Clint says and he hopes it comes out as comforting as he means it. She doesn't have the tan line on her fourth finger through, he notes. Not like he does.  

"Don't worry it was a military spur of the moment thing. Doomed from the start, I'm over it"

Clint sighs, "Me too. Well kinda, married at 22 divorced by 24, well I will be soon enough"

"I'm sorry to hear that"

"Not your fault my wife tripped and fell on her boss's dick."

"Oh"

"Yeah"

"It gets easier, eventually, I can promise you that"

"I know. I just- I don't want easier. I want my life back"

Natasha nods "We don't have to do the class-"

"No, I want to. It helps me forget"

"I can understand that," She says before pressing play on tonight's setlist, "Right tonight's class is a real calorie burner!"

******************************************************************************************* He signs the papers, begrudgingly, after 5 months of fighting (but at least now the next time she decides to screw around she won't be cheating even if it still feels like it is). He heads to the gym every day. He's somewhat of an addict. A good one cause this is exercise and that's healthy and so he's healthy.

He's doing well. The results of the gym are really paying off. He's looking good, feeling confident. He even flirts a little with the receptionist and pretty girls at bars who don't seem to mind how rusty he is. (They stay in the bars though the pretty girls in nice dresses, they never make it home to the white walls and the dirty sink. He isn't doing that well). No one notices if he's a little stiff and tired after his 10th work out that week.

Except Natasha. Natasha notices.

"Where's the bikes, Natasha?"

"Didn't think you needed them. You worked out earlier and had that class with Sophia. That's it. Your welcome to stay though"

"What is this?! an intervention?!"

"If you want to call it that"

"Look I don't pay you to tell me off, I pay to be able to work out"

"You don't pay me anything, Mr Barton. Fab Fun Fitness pay my wages. I work here. I'm contracted to be here 25 hours a week. You shouldn't be here more than I am"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Cause I don't think anyone else cares enough to tell you no"

"Rich, from the woman who works nights cause she's got nothing better to do!"

"Don't! Just don't! I liked you! 3 weeks ago my contract changed I don't have to do this class"

"Good then don't!"

He finds the treadmill. It's not the same but he's mad. He sprints flat out until his lungs can't take it until he can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his head. He regrets it. All of it. Signing the papers, letting her go, taking it out on Natasha. Natasha who had been so good to him. Natasha who he had ruined everything with. Whatever everything means.

She's still in the studio when he goes back, tail between his legs.

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I've been there."

"It's not"

"Your right, it's not. But as a first-time offence, I'm sure you'll work to get back into my good books"

"I promise"

"Promise me you'll see someone. It helps, it really does. before you get hurt"

"I'll try."

"Good. Now go home, and I'll see you on Wednesday Mr Barton"

******************************************************************************************* He sees someone. A nice man named Daniel. In a nice house, with a chair that's been worn slightly too soft and where the heatings a little high. It's cosy. The sort of thing he imagines retiring to with Bobbi, or he did 6 months ago.  

They talk things through. He resolves Clint of some of the blame and addresses where he could change. It takes time but he has nothing but time, all his plans dissolved with the divorce. It does get easier.

Natasha still runs her class at 1 am though he no longer has to book. She's just there in the studio when he turns up. It's not just soul cycle anymore, she just picks one of her classes and they do it. Kickboxing, HIIT, CrossFit, she gets out all the weights and toys the gym has to offer. He draws the line at Zumba but she still ropes him into dancing. He barely minds but he prefers Yoga with her. She makes it easy, they both laugh, and she has a bit of eye candy too. Come on he's deaf, not blind and she's freaking gorgeous. And Funny. And Clever. And Kind. And just perfect.

So he might like her. No big deal, if only he'd had his obligatory rebound. It is not worth wasting what they have. He doesn't even know if she likes him, but he likes the odds. So he bides his time waiting for the rebound, but one month becomes two and eventually, Natasha decides to make a move.

"Do you want to go for drinks tomorrow?" She says with a coy smile after one session.

"Don't you have a class?"

She smiles "I got a promotion. I'm the new daytime shift supervisor"

"Congratulations"

"So this is my last session at 1 am, but I want to keep seeing you"

"Like a date?"

"Yeah, like a date. Like this but maybe we can get up to a different sort of exercise"

"Natasha. I want to keep seeing you. I just. I'm not good at this. And I need a rebound to get everything out of my system."

"I can help with that"

"I don't want you to be a rebound."

"Don't act like we haven't been seeing each other for 2 months. You haven't screwed it up yet."

"Ok, one date, I want to see where this goes"  

She grins leaning in close pressing her lips against his.

"It's a date. Let's see how you scrub up Mr Barton"