#my three week struggle on these months ago was WORTH it brother

[lil--nuggett]

OKAY LAST POST OF THE DAY THEN I'M DONE–

This is something I was VERY nervous to post for some reason, but I've been SUPER into Elden Ring lately so, here's some designs I did for Archie and Maxie a few months back!!

( @abiding-by-the-laws-of-color and @ribbononline were huge inspirations for both the background and parts of the design process!! )

This took me about 3 weeks total because I had some struggles with them design wise (mostly Maxie, his gave me the most trouble), but in the end I'm VERY happy with them!! Maxie's minimal armor was inspired by the Black Knife Set, while Archie's is a mix of the Solitude Set and Relanna's Set and, had I drawn it, his helmet would've been like Guile's.

[allisonirish]

Just William: A FNAF AU FanFic

In an alternate storyline, teenager Elizabeth Afton struggles with her father's return from prison, nine years after the murder of her childhood friend Charlie Emily. Still struggling with grief and blaming her father for the death of Charlie, her little brother Evan, and three other children, Elizabeth will butt heads with not only WIlliam Afton, but also her mother and brother Michael. Has her father really changed or is it all just an act to get her to trust him before he strikes again?

Chapter 1

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Child Murder, Grief, Incarcerated Parent

Word Count: 1,385

Disclaimer: This story does not follow Scott Cawthon's FNAF games or books. However many of the characters and events are the same or have been adapted. These characters do not belong to me, but the rearrangement of events and character adaptations are my own works.

I stared down our gravel driveway, my arms crossed in anger. I glance at my mother, her green eyes contain hope, nervousness, but no frustration. My younger brother, Michael, stands half hidden behind my mother, bouncing on his tippy toes with nervous energy. Michael is twelve, but he is immature for his age. His therapist says his mental development has slowed because of what happened, that acting younger is Michael's way of coping. I guess that's true, although I don't really believe that therapist mumbo jumbo. The first thing my therapist learned about me is I don't like to talk about my feelings. Albeit, he tried, convinced the Doctor in front of his name would impress me into sharing my deepest, darkest secrets. Eventually my mother decided it wasn't worth her good money for me to sit and brood for an hour.

My name is Elizabeth Annette Afton, I'm seventeen years old and I was cursed to bear the same dark hair and blue eyes as my father. How I wish I would have been born like my mother, with golden hair and emerald eyes. My youngest brother, Evan looked like her and even Michael has her beautiful smile. Only I was conceived under the unlucky star that made me resemble my father in every way.  If you have a good memory and my name sounds familiar to you, that's probably because you read it in the Hurricane Valley Journal, almost ten years ago. I remember the newspaper being left on our doorstep with big, bold, black words on the front page. 

Eight Year-Old Girl Murdered By Local Restaurant Owner William Afton

I'll never forget that day. Police were coming in and out of our house and my mother cried until her face was red and swollen and her eyes refused to produce more tears. Michael and I slept with her for weeks. He, still just a toddler, too scared to be alone, and I, unable to go into my room without staring at the remnants of splattered blood on the wall and floor. Eventually the red marks faded to black, but you could still see them for months. About a year after the "incident", my mother got my room repainted and carpeted. Sometimes I wonder if the stains are still showing and if one day a new family will come to live here and upon tearing up the carpet will wonder what those black stains are from. 

I see two police cruisers turn onto our road and my breath catches in my throat. I'm not ready for this. Are any of us though? My mother is trying to contain the visible tremors that course through her hands and Michael has retreated even farther behind her. My mother pulls one of my arms straight and grasps my hand in hers. Her palm is cold and sweaty and her fingers hold mine in a deathlike grip. I let my other hand fall to my side and clench into a fist. The cruisers pulled to a stop about twenty feet away from where we stood. My mother let go of my hand and stepped forward as the first officer ducked out of his car. 

"Good afternoon Mrs. Afton." Chief Burke shook my mother's hand and nodded respectfully. 

I've known Chief Clay Burke my whole life. He has a son named Carlton who's my age. We used to go to school together and he was a good friend of... a friend of mine when we were younger. I don't have many friends these days. Two state police officers emerged from the second car and opened the back passenger door. 

"I know this is going to be difficult for you Clara. People are going to talk and-."

"It's already been hard, Clay." My mother trembles. "The last nine years have been hard. People have already talked." She took a sharp, haggard breath. "What more can they say?" 

A tall figure slowly got out of the police vehicle. My mother looked up, her eyes frozen, light reflecting off the tears glistening in them. It was my father. The state officer began to speak, telling my father the conditions of his parole. Don't remove your ankle monitor except to shower. Don't leave the farm without notifying your parole officer. Return home at 9:00 PM.  But I didn't hear any of it. All I saw was my father, standing there, dark blue eyes flitting between my mother, Michael, and I. He was different than I remember, thinner, his cheekbones protruding sharply from his unshaven face. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit that said Utah State Prison on the front and white tennis shoes. His hair, that fell to his shoulders just as it used to, was greasy and unwashed. He came forward, his strides hesitant and uneven. For a moment, some part deep down inside of me was glad he was okay. That's just the part that remembers what it used to be like. The part that remembers the fun, jovial, laughing, and gentle man I called daddy. That is not the man who stands before me, the stranger, the inmate, the murderer.   Chief Burke stepped to the side, giving my mother a full view of her husband. 

"William," She choked.

"Clara," He returned, his lips twitching as if they wanted to turn up into a smile, but were unable.

How many times in the last nine years have I watched my mother's heart break over this man. What did she see in him?

"I missed you." He said, almost inaudibly. 

I'd almost forgotten about his British accent, forgotten he was from another country. When I was young, Grandma Elizabeth (my namesake) would send us Christmas presents from London. That was before she died. Mom flew all the way to England for her funeral and those were the first nights Michael and I had spent without her since our father was arrested. I was ten. Michael was five.

My mother just nodded, a lone tear making its way down her cheek.

Fury burned in my eyes. I had hated this man for a long time, but I was even more angry at my mother for bringing him back here and even shedding a single tear over him. I've never cried, not since the day he was arrested. Being numb is so much harder, but it's better than feeling all those raw, sick emotions stabbing your heart and making you sick. My stance stiffened as my father opened his arms and mother awkwardly stepped into them. After a moment of total silence they broke away from each other. My father's eyes lit up as he turned to Michael.

"Hello...Do you remember me?" 

Michael nodded briefly, holding on to the back of my mother's shirt for dear life. 

"You're my dad aren't you?" He blinked twice.

"No!" I wanted to scream. He's not our father! He's an intruder, a convict, a killer! 

"That's right." The man in the orange jumpsuit offered my brother his arms and Michael accepted them. He hugged the man with the same uneasy tension my mother had. As if hugging your father after nine years of not seeing him was the most natural, and yet the hardest thing to do. 

That's when he turned to me. 

"Lizzie, you're so grown up." 

I brought myself to look him in the face and the turbulent sea of his eyes met my raging ones. In those eyes I thought I saw my father, but lucky for me, I never trust just what's on the surface. My fists clenched so tight I could feel my knuckles whiten, my scowl deepened, and I felt my body give an enraged shake. In those eyes I saw one thing...Charlie. This was not a man, this was not my father. This was a monster! A monster named William Afton. He took a step toward me, arms open, but I dodged his embrace. I swiftly turned and marched back towards the house. Behind me I could hear my father give a sigh. No! Not my father, William. Even without looking I could feel William's defeat. The farther away from him I grew, the more resilient I became. No longer would he be my father, he was only William. And that is all I will ever know him as. 

[moejommadontpreach]

I think I want to be a failure. Or I want to keep being a failure. This drug addict who lives in his moms basement, and totally ignores his future. Why did I lie about taking board exams? Why did I lie about failing the board exam I never took? Because I like being a failure. Is that the real answer to all my problems. I could email my schools dean and maybe by early January I could sign up and take it for real?

Maybe if I had a job I’d have the confidence to take pictures of myself and make a dating profile. But I can’t even imagine anyone actually liking me. The thought of a woman liking me has been so foreign idk where to begin.

Instead I struggle to do anything productive for myself. Because this is my natural state. I was always the whipping boy. Three older siblings with maybe lesser degrees of the same problems.

But they do talk down to me. My brother actively talks over and interrupts me. Flexing with his 69 hour work week and almost stay at home wife with two kids. Private school etc. one sister is a huge piece of works but kind heart. But The older sister is worth her weight in gold imo. I’m glad she’s around.

I really don’t want to be like this. But I feel like a weak annoyance, I’ve tried to work on myself a lot and idk if I’ve gotten anywhere. This is the second time I’ve tried to start studying again. Totally ignoring the fact that I can’t even sign up to take this test because I never actually graduated.

I have less ideation than a few months ago. I’d like to thank medication for that. My lows are not as low but I may be quicker to anger than before. I don’t think I’ve had a panic attack since I really started taking meds. I know one could happen but I’ve learned a few techniques to calm myself.

I spent most of the last decade thinking I was asexual. Not to realize I was another a word. Afraid. Afraid of commitment afraid of opening up. And it’s all my own damn fault. No one else was buying all that pot.

Self hatred is the worse drug in the world.

I wish I hadn’t picked a profession with 3/4 of the workforce are woman.

You know I partly did it so I might be able to find a girl with similar interests. Maybe she likes history or fantasy. A little shy. “Bookish and non threatening” was my answer for my therapist.

[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.”

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

JON SNOW - HOUSE STARK

NED STARK’S TRUEST CHILD

The title is a bit hyperbolic; All Stark kids share similarities with their father (which I’m going to write about in their prospective character weeks/months). However, I do find it interesting that the only Stark kid who is considered “falseborn” and who we actually know that isn’t biologically Ned’s child, is the one who resembles him the most - in terms of appearance and character.

Jon Snow takes pride in looking like Ned and likes when others point it out, especially if they mention how his other brothers don’t have the “Stark” look:

"You are the bastard, though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon admitted stiffly.

Lannister studied his face. "Yes," he said. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."

"Half brothers," Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf's comment, but he tried not to let it show.

It’s understable that Jon who was constantly reminded that was inferior to his brothers in terms of status finds solace in him resembling Ned the most.

Jon also tries really hard to live by his father’s ideals and in a subconcious level I believe he thinks that will give him Ned’s approval - even when the latter is dead.

This passage from when Jon was leaving The Night’s Watch to join Robb’s army (before his friends changed his mind) clearly shows it:

He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.

Also when he was younger, he often dreamed that he would make a great deed and that  his father would give him his sword, Ice, as a gift acknowledging his worth.

Jon tries so hard to do the right thing, the thing he thinks that his father would also do. After all, Ned Stark is known for his honor and Jon doesn’t want to have “a bastard’s honor” he wants to truly he honorable as his father. When he finds himself in a tough situation he ponders what his father would do in his place.

One of the greatest struggles Jon faces more than once is choosing between honor and love. The first time he’s faced with that dileimma it’s right after Ned’s death when he wished to join his brother in battle. In the end (and with the help of his friends) he decides that he will remain in the Night’s Watch as it is his duty to do so. The second time, it’s when Ramsay Bolton sends him the “pink letter” in which among other things he writes that he will abuse Arya and Jon decides to abandon his post for love - for his love for his little sister.

He probably thinks that this isn’t what Ned Stark would do. Just like years ago, when he was thinking to abandon the Night’s Watch after his father’s death he admitted to Maester Aemon that his father would always choose honor above anything else:

The old man seemed to sense his doubts. "Tell me, Jon, if the day should ever come when your lord father must needs choose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other, what would he do?"

Jon hesitated. He wanted to say that Lord Eddard would never dishonor himself, not even for love, yet inside a small sly voice whispered, He fathered a bastard, where was the honor in that? And your mother, what of his duty to her, he will not even say her name. "He would do whatever was right," he said … ringingly, to make up for his hesitation. "No matter what."

But is this really the case when it comes to Ned? Ned Stark lied for years and let his honor be tainted by pretending to have fathered a bastard. This was an act that was made out of love for his sister who entrusted Jon in his care, and for Jon himself. He choose protecting Jon over his honor remaining untarnished.

Another great example of Ned choosing love over honor is when Varys visits him in his cell and  suggests that Lord Stark could admit treason and  his life will be spared. Ned doesn’t want to do so because as his says his life isn’t that precious to him to make him do something dishonorable, But then Varys threatens him with his daughter’s life. And what the honorable Ned Stark decides to do? He actually falsely admits treason, in order to save his daughter Sansa. Once again securing the well being of a child of his is more important than his honor.

Compare that with Jon choosing to forsake his vows as a Black Brother in order to go and save his beloved sister, Arya. He truly resembles his father more than he will ever know.

[blanknamed]

trial and error pt. 3 [senku x reader]

I had a lot of issues writing this chapter for some reason. I think I ran out of creativity for a good few weeks so I kinda struggled trying to keep Senku in character. I really just wanted to get the third chapter out though so I hope you like it!

SHIPPING: SENKU X READER

PREMISE: [Name] had always known Senku was a little bit of an oddball but that’s what made him so interesting to her as children. Now in the Stone World, he’s only even more interesting what with his claims about shooting up to a million years worth of technology back, but some things never change with him; specifically on the concept of love. As a way to get him to think about it as something other than “disgusting feelings” she proposes for him to think of it differently, though it seems to be going in a direction she never expected.

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

{–*–}

CHAPTER THREE: FINDINGS

He was standing near his base by the time [Name] was done. From the looks of it, he had tried to dress up as well, even if it looked like the littlest effort was made. His hair stayed as big as it was, but what seemed to be a makeshift bowtie was settled on his neck (albeit lopsided, but [Name] didn’t really expect much from him in the first place).

“Jeez, who dressed you up, the local village boys?” She asked once she was within hearing range with Senku.

Scowling, Senku only shook his head. Flicking the strip of rag around his neck, he said, "Chrome and the bumbling fools of guards obviously haven't gone on dates before."

"I don't think you have much room to talk. Besides I’m pretty sure that was obvious," [Name] replied humorously, remembering when Ginro couldn't even look her straight in the eye during her and Senku's first few months at the village. "Why would you ask them of all people anyways?"

Senku raised his eyebrow, as if finding the question peculiar. "Who should I have asked?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the married men in the village?" [Name] suggested, watching as Senku furrowed his brows even more. Giggling, she shoved his shoulder. "So much for being a genius. What, were you so nervous to go on this date with me you forgot something as simple as retrieving data from the most obvious people?"

Senku rolled his eyes. "I'm busy with other things--saving the world from going back another thousand years in society, being one of them.” He reasoned as he turned his head away from her.

[Name] only laughed at him, pushing him to forward so they can start walking towards the woods. “Let’s just get this date other with, shall we? You didn’t forget to plan, I’m presuming?"

“Of course I didn’t. Do you take me for some idiot or something?” Senku asked as he peered at the younger girl, who only gave him a knowing look. Instantly, he shook his head. “No don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” [Name] trailed off. “Remember when you were so caught up in one of your projects you ended up putting too much laundry detergent in your washing machine?”

That day had been burned into her memory--it had probably been the only time she’d seen Senku visibly panic over something so mundane. They were helplessly watching the washing machine shake violently and become a soapy mess in it’s little area for almost an hour until Byakuya came home to a disgustingly sweet smelling hallway and two elementary school children covered in bubbled up laundry detergent from head to toe. 

“Don’t remind me; I smelled like laundry detergent for two months.” Senku muttered.

“It was funny, though. Definitely took thoughts away from my dad and brother.” [Name] replied happily. She didn’t need to turn her head to see that Senku had immediately spun his head toward her at the mention of her father.

A warm silence followed between them, no doubt Senku was thinking of something to say--should he say something about it? Should he brush it off? Senku had known [Name] enough to know that, while he never took anything like emotions too seriously, she wasn’t exactly emotionally attached to much either. He didn’t doubt for a second that [Name] thought about her family during those late night preparations she partook with him when Kohaku or Chrome couldn’t stay up past the 20th hour like they did.

He also didn’t doubt that she had done the same thing he had done once she thought her family over--understand the probabilities of seeing her mother and finding her father and brother’s grave were most likely slim and choosing to focus the task at hand: saving the world from total chaos at the hands of Tsukasa and his wildlings. So, she kept it silent, just like she always did.

Should I even mention anything about that? He wondered to himself as he helped her walk down a narrow junction between some large trees. They’d known each other long enough to understand each other without much verbal communication. Even after not having much contact once Senku entered middle school along with the whole thousands of years of being petrified in time, they still had a weird connection with each other. Maybe that was why he decided to free [Name] of her stony confindes; no one else could read his mind or understand what he’s thinking like she does.

Whatever route he took, it wouldn’t be awkward, he finally concluded when they reached the river. He let [Name] hop on the rocks that stood above the water before following suit. “Right, that was the day they got into that car accident.” He stated once they reached the other side.

[Name] hummed. “Mom was stuck at the hospital all day and wanted to take me with her; I couldn’t bear the smell there. It was too clean. So I went to your place thinking you might need something since you’re so useless--OW!” She rubbed her head as she glared over at Senku, who looked the other way, acting as if he hadn’t just slapped the back of her head so hard it made her hair flip over her head. “Anyways, I thought you needed me for something and apparently you did, but I don’t think an eight year old could have done much if a ten year old couldn’t do anything except stand around and watch the mess. It was funny, though. Mom and I laughed about it after a few years.”

“Glad to know my endless suffering and pure shock brought joy.” Senku said sarcastically, though [Name] could pick up the light heartedness behind it.

Elbowing him lightly so he can turn to look at her, [Name] smiled at him. “Well just so you know every time I think of the dad and brother, I also think of you with a bubble beard right after.”

Senku, for a moment, felt something turn before he wrinkled his nose. “Did you just family zone me? During a date?” He asked disgustedly. It was his turn to get a slap on the back of his head.

“Seriously? That’s what you took away from that?” [Name] asked, irritated. She decided to look forward as they kept walking, however it seemed as though they walked mindlessly through endless amount of trees. “Where are we going anyways?”

“Just a few more feet. There’s a clearing close by; I think you’d like it.” Senku said as he nudged her forward.

[Name] covered her eyes as she began to notice leaves becoming lower and lower to the point that she had to duck and sometimes even squat to get through some spaces. Man, if I knew this would happen, I would’ve worn something besides this kind of dress, she thought reluctantly as she watched the ends and edges of the dress get dirtied. Still, she persisted as she had been curious as to what the clearing had looked like. She hadn’t gone so far in terms of exploring for the past few weeks; winter was coming and Senku needed every available person possible to help prep the village for the freezing season. She spent hours lining and sewing furs onto their cloaks and coats to the point that she left little prick marks on her hands permanently.

“Okay, we’re here.” Senku announced once they both managed to stand again. Shaking a few leaves away from her head, [Name] looked up to see a green clearing, like Senku said. However, he never said how… Ethereal it was. Wild flowers, ones she vaguely recognized to be new versions of flowers from the past, spread across the spanse of the field. Lightning bugs flicked and glowed every now and then, being the main source of light besides the makeshift lantern Senku was currently crafting beside her.

“Whoa,” was [Name]’s only response. “Don’t tell you found this last minute just for a date, Senku.”

A snicker followed right after. “No. I found it a few months ago when trying to collect foxtail millet for the noodles. Let’s keep walking, though. This isn’t what I wanted you to see.”

It’s not? [Name] thought as she let Senku lead her further past the clearing, walking around the flowers as best as possible. The walk was silent, which surprised [Name] since Senku sometimes never did keep his mouth shut when it came to his little experiments. Could it be he's taking this date more seriously than she expected? She let that thought cross her mind as she watched him walk ahead of her. Not possible. If anything, he might just be keeping things a secret since I'm the test subject. [Name] thought to herself. Why would he even take this seriously in the first place?

"Look I know this is a date and all, but could you not glare at me?" Senku finally piped up, looking at his companion warily. "You look like you're about to plot my murder?"

"Who said I haven't already?" [Name] quipped, finally shaking herself from her thoughts. "Anyways, where did you take us, Casanova?"

She laughed as she watched Senku's face scrunch up in disgust at his nickname. He opened his mouth, ready to spew an insult before he stopped himself, staring at the shorter girl. Sighing, he just waved a hand forward. "Look above you."

"Above…?" [Name] questioned as she craned her neck. She sucked in a breath as she looked at the lightened sky above her. Of course, she's had plenty of nights where she stood outside to marvel at the stars and sky--she had never seen it so bright pre-petrification. She had thought that was the brightest and clearest she'd ever seen when she was in Senku's observation tower. 

That is, until today.

"It's so… So…" [Name] started, but couldn't quite put her words together. She felt Senku brush up against her shoulder as he finished for her.

"Beautiful." He complimented as he stared up as well. 

The sky was littered with various shades of purples, pinks, and blues. There wasn’t a coud in sight, which allowed the stars to litter across the dark plain above them. Faintly, she can make out certain constellations, pointing out the ones she wasn’t too sure to her companion, who nodded in confirmation to all of them.

"Who knew we'd get to see the sky as non-polluted as this." Senku said as they continued to keep watch over the sky.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." [Name] laughed. "I thought the observation tower was something else, but you really outdid yourself here, Senku. I didn't even expect you to walk this far without having you get carried by Chrome or something."

"Killing the mood." Senku replied, flicking her forehead, though [Name] made sure to take notice of his shortened breath he tried to hide. She pretended to feign ignorance even further when she let him walk behind her, catching his breath behind some bushes and then shuffling around until he finally brought a basket out.

"Suika should've given better instructions on where to find this thing." The spiky haired scientist said. "It looked like it got buried under a bunch of dirt instead of sitting plain out in the open like she said."

Senku opened the lid, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out two bowls of his notorious green ramen, wrapped tightly in large leaves to keep it from spilling. With it came a makeshift picnic blanket (though, it just looked like old scraps of dresses sewn together over the years; no doubt Suika had asked one of the older village women if she can borrow it). Together, they worked to keep the blanket down, placing heavy rocks at the corners to keep it from flicking upward since the wind picked up a little stronger from where they placed themselves.

"This ramen tastes gross." Senku groaned once he settled down, though it didn't stop him from continuing to eat it. [Name] only rolled her eyes as she ate it herself (though she did have to agree with Senku; the ramen was gross, but she put up with it anyways), basking in the windy air.

“I’m surprised you haven’t said anything yet about the information you’ve gathered for this date,” [Name] said. “Usually you relay the data to me once you get it all down."

“Can’t exactly tell the subject about the data I’m gathering about them.”

“Oh but you’re dying to tell me, aren’t you?” [Name] pushed. Truth be told, she was more curious on just how exactly he thought of the experiment. Sure, she had been the one to suggest it, but she had zero idea on what his plans are--what were his variables? Was he gathering information? Was he including numbers or was all of this just pure observation? There was no doubt in her mind that someone was observing them as well; most likely Kohaku since she’s better off at hiding and watching without being noticed once.

“Maybe. I’ll tell you after I’m done with this whole experiment.” Senku replied as he took a sip of the water packaged with them before handing it off to her. [Name] took it graciously, taking a few sips as she thought about his wording.

Quirking up her eyebrow curiously, she asked, “Wouldn’t that be tonight?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Senku confirmed. “You think one night will determine this whole thing? It might take more days actually--a few weeks even. I’ll gather all my information, relay it to you, and then confirm whether or not love is just a construct of emotions for me. Which it will be, from the information I’ve gathered.”

[Name] watched him in disbelief. There was no way she actually heard that correctly. Weeks? How’s that going to work? Would I even last a few weeks managing to go on more dates with this idiot? She questioned. “Wha-- I-- Don’t you have a grandiose plan that requires all your time and attention?”

She only received a shrug as an answer. What the hell does that even mean? She questioned herself as [Name] watched Senku stretch. He was the one repulsed by the idea of going on a date. Why would he extend this to weeks? She let herself wonder, pulling all the probable possibilities as to why he decided it so suddenly. Sure, Senku was right about not being able to gather enough information from just one date, but he could have easily just done one or two more nights of their little experiment dates instead of presuming it down to a matter of weeks.

Finally it finally hit [Name]: he was hiding something. What it was exactly, she’s not entirely sure, though she knew Senku was probably planning something stupid that could most likely put him in danger, or worse killed, which in turn would cause her to intercept and talk him out of it. He was probably using this date shenanigans to distract her from his death inducing plans.

Squinting her eyes at him, she decided to hold back on her on findings. After all, if he isn’t bothering to tell her what he’s gathering on her, she’ll do the same. Instead, she sighed, opting to make it seem as if she should have known. “You’re unbelievable.” [Name] replied.

“Oh, I know. That’s what gets you on your toes right?”

PREVIOUS PART - NEXT PART

[bonjour-rainycity]

Home Again

Prompt: Domestic bliss/a day in the life (Content Challenge Day 2)

Pairing: Haldir x Female Reader

Rating: T

Word count: 2164

Warnings: Maybe I pushed the ‘T’ rating a little. There’s nakedness but like...tasteful nakedness? Also lots of kissing. And suggestions. And so much fluff. 

A/n Welcome to Day 2 of my content challenge! You can find the challenge’s masterlist here and my personal masterlist here. Happy reading :) 

Light shines into my closed eyes, and, mumbling in annoyance, I roll over, smushing my face into the pillow.

The ellon to my left chuckles warmly, wrapping an arm around my waist. “No, no, meleth nîn. Now that I know you are awake, I shan’t let you escape my attentions.”

I laugh as Haldir leans over me and peppers my face and neck with tiny kisses, encouraging me to roll onto my back. After much giggling and futile attempts to return to sleep, I comply, allowing him to kiss me fully on the lips. I sigh into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to me.

“I’ve missed this,” I breathe, closing my eyes when Haldir places a gentle kiss on my collarbone. “Three months is too long.”

At this, he raises his head, showing me the apology in his eyes “I know. I am sorry for leaving you for such a time, but I cannot ask it of my wardens and not hold myself to the same standard.”

I take one of his hands in mine, fiddling with his fingers. “You are much too honorable for my liking, Marchwarden.”

His playfulness from earlier returns, and he wraps his arms under my back. “I take offense! I shall have to prove to you that I am no such ellon.” With that, he releases his knees, dropping his full weight on top of me.

“Haldir,” I laugh, trying to push him off of me. “You must move, I cannot breathe!”

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Now what were you saying? I doubt an honorable ellon would try to squish his wife.”

“I shall have you arrested for attempted murder,” I gasp, elbowing him in the ribs and kicking at his shins.

He grins languidly, but relieves the pressure on me slightly. “And who is going to carry out this arrest? I am, as you say, the Marchwarden of this realm.” He raises a haughty eyebrow. “And I have no intention of incarcerating myself.”

I bump my nose against his, earning myself a soft smile. “Then it seems I shall have to lock you up.”

Haldir’s lips drop to mine, and he kisses me with a passion that has me quite willing to stay in this bed all day. “Such promises she makes,” he teases, and then seems to reign himself in. With a final, much more innocent kiss, he rises to his knees, offering me a hand. “Would you like breakfast?”

I enjoy my first full breath in minutes and take his hand, following him out of the bedroom. “You have been at the borders for three months. Sit, and let me cook for you.”

He does as he’s bid and, while I gather ingredients, he perches on one of the high stools that faces into kitchen. He does not stay on his side of the counter long, though, and soon wraps his arms around my waist, holding me closely against him as I cook.

There’s a knock on the door and Haldir and I exchange questioning looks. With a raised eyebrow, he releases me and walks through the talan to the front door. It’s not long before I hear the jovial greetings of Orophin and Rumil, and, smiling to myself, I retrieve two more plates from the cabinet.

Haldir enters the kitchen, his younger brothers in tow. “Do you mind, my love?”

“Not at all,” I grin, pulling the ellyn in for hugs.

“Of course she minds,” Rumil laughs, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before sitting on a stool. “Her husband only just got back last night, and now she’s got a kitchen full of guests. I’m sure she’d much rather be f—”

I hurry to interrupt the youngest of the three, carefully placing some fruit on his plate. “You know you are both welcome here any time, I—”

“Relax, Y/n,” Orophin laughs, holding up a hand to stop my protests. “Rumil and I do not plan to stay long. We only wanted to see our brother, make sure he’s in one piece.”

“And have breakfast,” Rumil declares, mouth full of bread. Haldir rolls his eyes and darts a quick hand out to shove Rumil’s head towards the counter. Rumil only just keeps his head from connecting with the wood, and ducks around Haldir’s outstretched arm to push at his chest.

“Enough,” I laugh, sitting down with my own plate. The two eye each other with amused suspicion, but otherwise obey.

The four of us inevitably get on the topic of Haldir’s time away, and he regals us with the more entertaining stories from the borders. Before we know it, the morning has passed us by, and Orophin and Rumil must rush away to attend to their duties.

Haldir closes the door behind them, then pulls me into his arms. “Thank you for putting up with them.”

I snort and lay my head against his chest. “You know I love them.”

We stay there for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Haldir eventually pulls back and pushes me in the direction of our bedroom. “Change into something suitable for hiking. I’m taking you to the woods.”

I do as requested, rolling my eyes as I go. “You ask so politely.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he calls after me, and, because I can hear the excitement in his voice, I decide to believe him.

{***}

Two hours later and we are still walking.

“You know, I was only joking this morning, but now I think you might actually be trying to kill me,” I huff, struggling up the millionth hill of our hike.

My husband only laughs, reaching for my hand. “We are minutes away, meleth.”

To his credit, Haldir was right. Not five minutes later, the ‘trail’ ends and we stand on a cliff, overlooking a deep pond. I glance between Haldir and the water in delight — he knows how much I love a swim. “How did you find this?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, though his chest puffs out. “I came across it during a scouting excursion a few weeks ago. I’ve been thinking of taking you here ever since.”

“I’m grateful,” I smile, leaning my back against his chest and pulling his arms to encircle me. He tightens his grip and starts a trail of lingering kisses up and down my neck. “It’s the perfect day, too,” I mumble weakly. The sun is shining, the air is hot, and a dip in the cool, clear water is just what I need.

I notice, perhaps belatedly, that neither of us brought proper swimming attire.

But it seems Haldir has planned for that.

He doesn’t stop his kisses when he speaks against my neck. “Take off your clothes.”

I let my eyes flutter shut. The sound of his voice and the way he sucks on my pulse point leaves me with no desire to protest. I pull at the ties on my tunic, and he follows suit. Soon, we are both undressed completely, standing naked in the shining sun.

Haldir pulls my mouth back to his, and, absently, I remember that, though we are in a secluded area, the woods is not necessarily private. “This area is unknown?”

His lips twitch against mine, and he pulls back so I can see his assured smile. “No one is around. No one will know we are here.”

That’s good enough for me. I wrap my arms around my husband’s neck and move to kiss him again, but he scoops me up in his arms, grinning wickedly.

Oh no. “Haldir-”

With a confidence that’s both infuriating and wildly attractive, he winks…

And steps off the cliff.

The water is much colder than I imagined, and I shriek the moment it touches my skin. Haldir finds this quite amusing, though I note with a smirk of satisfaction that a shiver runs up his own spine.

Not so invincible.

With that in mind, I wriggle out of his arms and splash as much water as I possibly can in his direction.

For a moment, he looks so utterly betrayed that I feel a twinge of guilt.

But then he lunges me, and all sympathy disappears.

He grips my shoulders firmly and shoves me under the water. He lets me up almost immediately, but the damage is done.

He’s submerged me in the freezing water twice already, and I cannot let that go.

I jump at him, but his skills on the battlefield apparently apply also to water fights, and he is much too quick for me. He places one arm behind my back and the other behind my legs and brings me into his arms, cradling me against his chest—despite my struggles.

“There, there,” he laughs over my protests. “Deep breaths now.”

I glower at him and manage to get a hand free, splashing a spout of water into his face. He raises an eyebrow, replacing his carefree laughter with the trademark Marchwarden Stoicism.

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

I lift my own eyebrow, meeting his challenge. “Release me and find out.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but the wind rustles the leaves, and he tenses.

I freeze against him, knowing Haldir well enough to see that, in the slight noise from the moving greenery, he has found cause for concern.

“What is it,” I whisper, but he raises a hand, cautioning for silence. I purse my lips together and strain my ears, trying to hear the forest as he does. Centuries in the trees have made him hyper-sensitive to every rock, leaf, animal — and intruder.

I gulp, tightening my grip on his shoulders.

Without warning, Haldir plunges me into the water once again, and I sputter, finding myself pressed against the cool skin of his back.

“M-Marchwarden,” a voice stutters out.

Oh Valar.

I’m suddenly painfully aware of how naked I am.

“Erlan,” Haldir sighs, giving the young ellon a displeased stare.

I recognize the name. Erlan is the newest member of Lothlórien’s Guard, only just having come of age some twenty years ago. Haldir says he is inexperienced, but shows promise, and frequently does week-long stints as part of the forest patrol.

“I-I am so sorry, Marchwarden. I did not mean—” While the elf stumbles over his words, Haldir tries to discreetly lower his hands to cover the essentials, but the movement draws Erlan’s eyes. Realizing what he’s doing, Erlan jerks his head upwards, staring safely at the sky. “Oh my, I am so—”

“Just leave, Erlan,” Haldir grits out, the pink twinge to his cheeks slightly damaging his commanding tone.

Erlan tries for a respectful bow, but as he bends, his eyes lock with mine and he yelps, straightening quickly. Haldir shifts to block me completely from view, raising an arm in Erlan’s direction. “Go!”

Erlan nearly runs into a tree in his haste to escape, and the hilarity of the situation overrides any embarrassment I might feel. I laugh, wrapping my arms around Haldir’s middle, encouraging him to turn in my arms. He does so, though his eyes scan our surroundings suspiciously.

To distract him from his anger, I press kisses to his chest, and, eventually he relaxes in my arms. Once I know his ire has passed, I rest my chin against his sternum, looking up at him with a wide grin. “I thought you said no one would find us.”

He fixes me with an unimpressed glare, the redness returning to his cheeks. “I will be speaking with him first thing tomorrow morning. His observation skills are—”

“Still in progress,” I interject, dragging my hands up his chest until I reach his shoulders. “Go easy on the poor ellon.” Using my grip, I pull myself up, wrapping my legs around his hips.

This seems to put him in a much more favorable mood, and he hums softly, laying his head against my shoulder. “I suppose you’re right. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Exactly,” I smile, pleased that I still have the ability to distract him like this even after a century of marriage. “Though I do believe that no one will be intruding upon us now, since Erlan is there to warn them.” I brush my lips against his shoulder, hinting at my intentions.

“My, you are smart,” his chuckle rumbles against me, and I dip my head to meet the lips that soon quirk teasingly against mine. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

I pull back, leveling him with a glare that rivals his own.

He attempts to school his expression, though he retains a mocking glint in his eye. “Intelligent and terrifying. I think I’ve hit the jackpot.”

I dip a hand into the water and flick it back towards his face, effectively wiping away his smug expression. “Do shut up.”

Laughing once more, he pulls me back to him, picking up where we left off.

I love having him home.

Even if I definitely plan on half-drowning him before we leave.

A/n So does anyone else adore Haldir, or is it just me? 

Likes, comments, and reblogs mean the world to me! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to a tag list :) If you have any questions about the challenge, feel free to message me/submit an ask!

Challenge participants*: @game-ofthe-company @grunid @themerriweathermage @errruvande

*As far as I know. Please let me know if I’ve missed someone!!! 

[squishneedsahero]

Not So Typical. Weird.

All or Nothing

Part 1 of 1

Word Count: 2930

Uhhh idk y'all I have cravings and just need to get them out. As always no smut cause we sex repulsed up in this house babes. Anyways this is a Loki x Bucky x Reader imagine. And also the reader is a werewolf.

Like I said it's a lot and idk but I needed it to be written

Weird. Weird was the only way you could describe your life. First off was the fact that you were a werewolf. Yes like a full on werewolf, a night with a full moon? You completely lost ability to control yourself, you had to chain yourself up to protect everyone in the vicinity. The rest of the time you were mostly fine, at night you could take your werewolf form by choice and control yourself, it was only nights with a full moon that left you deranged. The rest of the time you were just you, a person, with an unusually acute sense of smell and some other wolf like traits.

The nights you chained yourself were the worst. You'd fall asleep a good while before it got dark, always bored by the fact that you were stuck and didn't want anything you could tear to shreds near you. Then hours later you'd wake up, on the floor feeling worse than hungover, and have to slowly unravel the chains from around yourself, pick up anything you had broken, patch the inevitable holes in your wall and place the rug Mack over the torn up flooring.

At least, it had been this way for years, more recently you'd found a good use for all of this werewolf stuff. One night you'd gotten out of your chains and had been causing horror in the forest surrounding the small upstate town you lived in. You had caused enough problems that the Avengers were called in to keep you from murdering anyone.

Finally when you changed back to yourself and woke up they talked it out with you. It wasn't any different to them than Hulk getting out of control, but it wasn't safe for you to keep living in your ruined apartment where no one could keep an eye on you on those nights. That was how you'd found yourself forced to move into the Avengers compound.

It wasn't all bad, you had a secure room you could tear up on nights of the full moon, and plenty of attractive heroes to spend time with. For a while you lived there as more of a guest than prisoner until at some point some idiots decided to attack the compound. That's when you finally revealed you could make controlled changes other nights. You had been an amazing addition to their team and that was how you'd become an avenger a couple years prior.

Your life had only gotten better from there, it was like you had a family. You hadn't had one of those before, moving from foster home to foster home until you were 16, when you had somehow become a werewolf. You had no idea if you'd been but or if it was just in your genes and finally activated but it was what it was. You'd run for it at that point, able to survive on your own until you were 18, thanks to the fact that being part wolf allowed you to just live in the forest and not have to worry so much about what you ate.

Your life was going smoothly up until about a year ago. That was when, a few weeks apart some new members joined the team.

First there was Loki, he hadn't paid you any attention until that first night you transformed when he was around. Something about the way you couldn't control your actions in that form and the fact that you could change, it fascinated him. He had slowly begun to spend more time with you, asking questions about your abilities and so on. It was through all of this that you had grown close to him, probably the only person he was close too and would let get close to him.

The second one to come was Bucky, Steve's childhood friend. He had been rescued from Hydra and rehabilitated, you'd just been being friendly, making sure he was comfortable in the compound since you'd been in that spot a few years prior. The both of you had become fast friends, having a similar sense of humor and enjoying laughing at Steve.

The three of you would hang out together, watch movies as you caught the both of them up on earth culture that they'd have no idea about. It was behind your back during these times of all of you hanging out that Loki and Bucky would be glaring at each other, making rude comments to each other when you left the room and competing for your attention.

The two were good at hiding it from you, but not the others, especially not Thor and Steve. Thor and Loki were brothers, and Bucky and Steve might as well have been brothers. They could easily see how they would restrain themselves from lashing out at each other in your presence, forcing themselves to simple glares and stealing your attention from the other.

This competition made it awkward for anyone who was in the room with the two of them when you weren't there as well. Which had lead to the three of you spending more time alone as no one wanted to get in between the two when you weren't there.

It went on for months, and you were oblivious, until, one night with a full moon. You'd warned them that you wouldn't be able to join them that evening as you needed to lock yourself up. It was an especially rough night for you, and the two idiots hadn't been able to keep themselves away and listen to your cries from outside the cell.

They'd both burst in, wanting to comfort you, and you unable to control your actions attacked them. You'd always been starving those nights, ravenous for any game you could hunt down. Human or not it made no difference to you, it was as you lunged that they realized their mistake. They had to work together to restrain you, leading to the three of you laying on the floor of the cell together as they held you.

You had struggled all night, and as always when you changed back you instantly passed out from exhaustion. The two were also tired out from having to hold you down all night to prevent themselves from dying. It was then and there that they had silently agreed that they would work together to protect you at all costs. They didn't get up, and neither did you, that day the padded floor was your bed.

When you woke up the two of them were wrapped around you, fast asleep. You were trapped in their embrace, since you were only human when you weren't a wolf and the two of them had super strength. They had slept for a while longer, keeping you trapped there for long enough to come to the realization that they'd been competing for your attention for months.

When they did wake up and realized that they were cuddling not only you but also each other they jumped away from the embrace. Leaving you to suddenly flop to the floor since you'd been being supported by the two men. You groaned and sat up to stretch, looking at the both of them as they, embarrassedly, avoided eye contact.

"I hope the both of you know you're idiots. I'm going to have to make sure the others keep you out of here from now on, I don't want to hurt you."

Bucky mutters something about it being worth it to keep you comfortable.

"I'm Asgardian, even in your wolf form you cannot harm me," Loki protests.

Bucky laughs, "yeah, keep telling yourself that. I'm pretty sure she would have torn you to shreds had I not also been here."

You sigh and shake your head as you get up off the floor, letting yourself out to go find something to eat and leaving them where they were on the floor.

They must have figured something out that night, come so some sort of conclusion about their shared feelings for you and wanting to keep you out of harms way. The two approached you while you were eating practically everything you could find in the kitchen. They both then and there admitted their feelings, and asked you to choose, they didn't want to be fighting over you anymore.

You'd silently looked at the both of them as you finished your food, not giving a response after you'd gotten up to get your second cup of coffee. "I'm not choosing," you state simply, and when they both open their mouths you continue before they can interject. "You two are my best friends, and I've realized I have been oblivious to both of your advances. But you cannot make me choose between the two of you, I won't loose a friendship over this... plus I don't think I could choose if my life depended on it."

They were both completely confused at this point, not having a single clue where you were going with this.

"Look," you say firmly, "both of you like me. I like both of you. I'm not loosing my best friendships over something as dumb as choosing one man over another." You pause, deciding to just say what you were thinking, "if the two of you can overcome your differences the three of us could be together. All or nothing. If you cannot do this then I suggest the both of you get over it and know we will be nothing more than friends. I'm going to go shower and get changed and the two of you can come find me when you've talked it out."

With that you walked out of the kitchen and to your bedroom, leaving them to stare at your back and then each other in shock. You go and take a nice long shower that is much needed, sure, you were worried about how they'd react. If they'd both start ignoring you and you'd loose those friendships after all that, or if maybe the three of you could be something more together. Sure you had thought about it before that point but you'd been oblivious to their advances and you hadn't wanted to start a love triangle. But then, as you were lying on the floor in both of their arms you'd come to the realization, if they were willing to give it a try why couldn't you all be together.

It would keep you from having to choose, hopefully keep from jealousy and maybe the two could see they didn't need to fight over your attention. But who knows, maybe the idea disgusted them, and would just scare them away. You shake the thoughts from your mind and relax the rest of the time you're in the shower.

You exited your bathroom fully dressed, with a towel in your face as you dried your hair. It wasn't until you dropped your towel in the laundry basket and turned around that you saw both Bucky and Loki standing awkwardly in your room waiting for you.

"So?" Is all you can bring yourself to ask, the courage you had last time you'd faced them was all but gone.

They share a glance with each other then look back at you, "we're willing to give it a go, for you," Bucky says.

"Yes, we are," Loki confirms. "It was rude of us to try and make you choose, we have no right to demand that of you, and we would like to apologize."

"We aren't exactly sure how it'll work out... seeing as we haven't done anything but see each other as competition but we'll give it a shot to make you happy," Bucky concludes for the two men.

You can't stop the huge grin that breaks out across your face as they speak, running over and hugging them both tightly as soon as they finish. "Thank you- thank you for understanding-" you look at the two, who only have their arms around you, but that's fine.

You look at them, wanting to kiss the both of them, but how to go about that without jealousy with who you kiss first you had no idea so you just saved that problem for later. "I'm still exhausted from last night... I'm going to take a nap, would you like to join me?"

They both agree to it, Bucky had changed since you'd shredded his clothes the night before. Loki had used magic at some point to either protect or change his clothes so he was already good to go. The three of you climb into your bed and it's comfortable, one of them on either side of you, and you expect to fall asleep quickly.

Things don't always life up to your expectations though. The two men were obviously still tired as well and they fell asleep before you. Even in their sleep they were fighting over you as though you were a blanket they had to share.

It was kind of cute and made your heart flutter, but you'd never be able to sleep like this. You aren't quite sure how you manage it but you get them to come closer together, throwing a leg over Bucky and using his chest as a pillow while Loki acted as your big spoon. After you get into this position the two seem content, and finally stop tugging you back and forth, and you fall asleep in their arms.

This cuddly tug of war had gone on for months. But slowly the two realized that the other wasn't so bad. There was less bickering and they even seemed to enjoy the other's company at some moments. Everyone noticed and wondered how the hell you'd tamed the two.

You kept the relationship quiet, not mentioning it to anyone since it was still kind of just a trial period. You had no idea how long they'd be able to stand this situation so you were going to make the most of it. At least that was the plan until one day things just kind of flipped. Suddenly you'd enter a room and they wouldn't be sitting apart as they waited for you, but they'd be sitting next to each other, sometimes even hugging. It all became real when you'd walked in for one of your planned cuddle sessions after a night of a full moon, to find the two men not only waiting on your bed for you but they had started the kissing without you! Needless to say after you arrived all of you had some fun that day despite your exhaustion.

Yet, things were quiet about the three of you being together. Sure they had ideas of what might be happening but no one had any proof. At least they didn't until one night the three of you were watching a movie together and had fallen asleep towards the end. The next morning they'd found you three on the couch, with Loki and you sandwiching Bucky between you. Loki's tall slender form was the big spoon, with one arm clearly wrapped around Bucky's waist. Then there was you, somehow wrapped around the two men, a leg thrown over theirs arms around their shoulders and hands in their hair. Bucky had his arms tightly around you, holding you to his chest and Loki's other hand had found it's way to act as your pillow.

After this, there were no doubts, money might have been exchanged to settle bets. But also the three of you never heard the end of it.

"You three should get a room."

"Aww it's cute Bucky and Loki decided to let you be their teddy bear."

"So which one do you love more?"

That last question was the first and last time anyone tried to ask that. The death glares from you and Bucky, plus the fact you had both whispered something to Loki and he'd glared for a moment longer before a mischievous smile flashed across his face. Yeah, there was still plenty of teasing but none of them made comments like that anymore. Who knows what you and Bucky would have let Loki do if they had.

The three of you are still practically inseparable, you had always been close to each other before this started but now Bucky and Loki were close as well. Things were perfect, except for the fact that they still tried to sit with you through the full moon nights. You'd had to make absolutely sure with Tony that neither of them could get into that room. Magic, technology and everything was put into preventing it. You tried to convince them that it wouldn't be so bad to just cuddle each other on the nights you could be there. They didn't like it, and would whine when you had to leave them but the promise of plenty of cuddles after while you recovered your energy as enough to keep them from finding a way to break into the cell.

So yeah, things were weird, but a good weird. You, your two boyfriends who kissed you and each other. It wasn't normal or typical but the three of you were happy. Misfits who had hurt people in their lives and come to regret it, who'd found each other and helped each other be better. All of you had bad nights with nightmares but with two people who loved you to hold you as each of you went through it, things became bearable. Things were far from perfect but they were your not normal, not typical weird that to you was everything.

[thegirlonpeetamellark]

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone  - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done. 

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me. 

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight. 

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it. 

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket. 

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six. 

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins. 

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.” 

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?” 

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words. 

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down. 

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense. 

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room. 

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do. 

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him. 

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!” 

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN. 

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another. 

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.  

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.” 

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap. 

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now. 

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?” 

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.” 

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls. 

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her. 

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother. 

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet. 

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears. 

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.  

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is. 

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep. 

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile. 

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm. 

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests. 

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms. 

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? 

“Are we all done, doctor?” 

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence. 

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively. 

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.  

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.” 

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece. 

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.  

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file. 

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality. 

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit. 

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.” 

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays. 

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy. 

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat. 

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth. 

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits. 

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them. 

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”  

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat. 

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury. 

She opens the door fully and glares at him.  

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses. 

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy. 

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits. 

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut. 

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely. 

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone. 

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen. 

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him. 

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides. 

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family? 

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have. 

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

[thinkinem]

cf headcanons that have been kicking around my brain for forever

I haven’t contributed to fandom since I was like 12, but I love these characters too much and I thought it’d be fun to actually jot down the little stories I tell myself in the tags. 

and like, drop a line if you want to hear more about something or w a “prompt” 

Casey and Severide used to be a Thing. 

it was a long time ago and never super serious, but after tough calls as candidates they’d meet up for drinks and then just kinda not let each other go until the morning

it also made sense bc Andy and Heather were together pretty much since the first day of the academy and then all their other mutual friends found themselves significant others. So Casey and Sev ended up being the “perpetually single” friends at all the gatherings and it always made the grin and bear it at those things easier when you knew you weren’t really alone

Andy knew pretty much from the get but never said anything

eventually Kelly met Rene and Matt met Hallie and their Thing ended if you can end a Thing that never really existed past beers in a crowded bar and slow mornings with the bedroom door locked and jammed shut

(they picked it up again exactly twice: when Rene walked away and when Matt and Hallie broke it off for the third--but not last--time)

and even though it was never any thing More, it’s twelve years later and Matt can make Kelly’s morning coffee better than anyone else in the house and Kelly knows exactly how far Matt can get pushed before he has to loop an arm around his chest and pull him away before Matt risks a conduct unbecoming

Losing Andy was tough. Ten years later and Kelly still feels a tug of guilt for how he treated Matt those long months afterward. Except, a small, ugly part deep down inside him has never let him really apologize to Matt (because Andy was his best friend, dammit) so now he just overcompensates by being the occasional mother hen and the older brother that Matt had in Andy and deserves in Severide 

Kelly lets it slip to Stella that he and Casey used to have...Something. She’s remarkably unsurprised and that makes Kelly a little indignant because “hey! I’m a catch and in case you haven’t noticed, Case has zero game!” which of course got him “Kelly, you know his locker combo by heart, you don’t even know mine”

Matt’s dyslexic. 

not officially actually, there was a note in his school file starting in 2nd grade that it would probably be a good idea to get him tested but “there’s no way in Sam Hell that any son of mine is gonna be called slow for the rest of his life. Matthew is fine, and if he’s behind the other children it’s because he isn’t working hard enough. His mother coddles him you know”

Sylvie thinks it would be fun for them to start cooking a new dish every week from around the world and Matt gets into the habit of memorizing the recipes the night before because the idea of struggling through reading aloud in front of Sylvie Brett makes his hands sweat

she’s picks up on it eventually because she is Sylvie Brett after all and immediately starts researching and by the end of the month Matt has tried four different “reading and writing strategies” which also makes his palms sweat but more in a holy shit this woman sees all of me and takes to google and not the door what did I do to possibly deserve this kind of way

(it takes zero time at all for Boden to notice the difference in the speed and spelling of Casey’s incident reports and if the guy wasn’t still turning in godawful chicken scratch he would have started accusing Kylie of running a boon)

Four weeks after Matt and Sylvie finally Get It Together, Matt buys a house

which is to say Matt’s name is on the deed and Sylvie gets to live out her wildest HGTV fantasies 

they discover water damage in the attic and also that Matt has a serious thing for Sylvie in beat up jeans and one of his ancient academy hoodies (which means they also discover Sylvie’s skin is too sensitive to take even a quick roll on a $10 drop cloth but the store sells all natural organic ones for just 2 bucks extra and “Sylvie, babe, it’s definitely worth the investment, trust me”

The house is livable after 5 months of hard work and Matt never really asks Sylvie to move in it just becomes “when we get home” and not “I’ll meet you at the house” and a frankly inequitable split of closet space because “I like hanging stuff better so I can see all my choices thank you very much, Mr. Jeans-and-a-henley” (”I should’ve known you don’t like my clothes seeing how you’re always so eager to toss them on the floor”)

they spend the whole reno calling the third bedroom the office except neither of them even think about buying a desk and it’s a good thing too because 6 months after their first time hosting a party as homeowners Casey and Severide are three beers deep each assembling a crib each because “damn Case, you can never do things by halves huh?

Stella and Kelly get married on Molly’s back patio on a warm summer night in July four months after Stella found the ring in Kelly’s bedside drawer looking for a phone charger

Kelly nearly had a panic attack when she ran into the kitchen and thrust the ring box at his face with a triumphant smile because “Dammit, Stella, I had a speech and a nice bottle of champagnes and everything, --and stop laughing at me!” 

Boden walks Stella down the aisle and Terrance is right there next to him when he gets back to his seat but he’s known with absolute certainty that it’s been years and years since he’d answer “just one” if a stranger were to ask how many children he raised

Casey buy’s Sev’s first beer at Molly’s every night for the first full year of his happy marriage to make good on a bet they made with Andy in the academy

Mouch doesn’t have official Godfather title to any of the Hermann kids. But he doesn’t really mind because it means he can come over and wind those monsters up and then leave without an ounce of guilt. (When Hermann falls through the floor of that house with Casey Mouch starts packing his freezer with kid pleasing frozen meals because the job is risky and it’s always better to be prepared than not).

Mouch and Sylvie write a sequel to Sheets On Fire and it goes viral in the erotic fire-fiction community.

(Once, at family dinner, Severide looks Sylvie dead in the eyes and quotes the opening line of Chapter 6. Sylvie chokes on her rosé because maybe Severide (the bastard) really was interested in having a legitimate discussion about hose coiling techniques, but she just has to doubt it.)

[skelemira]

Ooooh whats Rowan's lore? *grabs popcorn*

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Gonna leave it after the cut (if I remember how to do the cut right on mobile lol) so I don't clog up feeds

So Rowan started out as a human. Her family was okay financially, probably lower middle class. Not rich enough to be truly comfortable, but not in a whole lot of danger debt-wise. She had a mother, a father, an older sister named Magnolia (Nolia for short) and a little brother named Cedar (lol do you see a naming pattern here I'm so creative). Her parents were... Okay. They weren't abusive or anything, but they weren't exactly doting. They didn't really have the time to be doting, since they both worked all the time. The siblings all got along really well, though, the type of siblings that stuck together initially because they lacked that true family relationship but slowly morphed into ride or die siblings.

So one day, little 14-year-old Rowan (Nolia was 16, soon to be 17, and Cedar was 10) gets home from school, pretty average, normal day.

She's sitting at the table doing her hw when someone knocks at the door and her parents (it was kind of weird, they were never home at this hour) rush to open it. There stands a man in a lab coat, holding an envelope. Rowan hated him instantly. Something about him seemed wrong.

He talked to her parents for a bit, and her parents asked her to go get Nolia and Cedar with some urgency in their voices. And.... If she was right in placing that tone.... Guilty excitement...?

She got her siblings and they came downstairs.

Turns out her parents had been closer to debt than she realized. So to get some more money and.... Relieve some financial burdens, they sold their kids to a group of scientists needing victi----research participants.

Of course there was a struggle, Nolia stepping up to try and defend her siblings, screaming at her parents, Rowan holding Cedar close while silent tears poured down both their faces.

But the scientist was prepared, and before anyone could react, three men appeared with rags, holding them over the kids' mouths.

She woke up in an empty white room.

Well... If you could call it white. It was more of a dinghy, hardly cleaned beige. These men were not with the government, she could immediately tell that.

Gonna sum up this part bc it involves torture but basically the scientists were experimenting to see if they could turn a human into a monster. They found only Rowan's soul was compatible. They used her siblings to keep her under control..... Only they had dumped Nolia and Cedar on the streets weeks ago. They simply reused footage to "prove" to Rowan they were still there.

They almost succeeded in their experiment. They forced so much magic into her soul that it started to flip.... But it was too much and Rowan flatlined. They dumped her body in the woods, only disappointed that they came so close.

A couple months passed. Her body decayed until only her skeleton remained. The decaying process was helped along by all the magic, which seemed to have concentrated in her bones, morphing them slowly until they were all connected.

She woke up.

She spent several years on the streets. She begged, she stole, and... She drank. Or at least she tried to. (She was allowed into bars because people thought she was a monster, and she wasn't wearing stripes, so that must mean she was an adult.) She quickly discovered that her alcohol tolerance was *legendary*. She drank bars dry having drinking contests with people (that's how she paid for all her drinks) but felt no different than before. Eventually someone dared her to try Everclear, and though she grimaced at the taste, she drank the entire bottle.

The bar was silent.

The taste eventually grew on her, a kind of self-inflicted punishment that soon became a routine, almost a comfort.

Now a good chunk of the next part has to do with my friend's sonas which I'm not going to talk about because they're not my characters, but suffice it to say they were amazing friends to her and helped her recover and get on her feet.

One such friend discovered her sleeping by Grillby's dumpster, and Grillby let her stay the night on his couch, setting up a job at Muffet's for her the next day. She and Muffet became really close friends and finally she started to have a more stable life. (She finds and dates Underlust Sans but that's another story lol which I would be happy to share in another ask~ but y'all these two are so cute plz)

So someone suggests she go see a therapist. Goodness knows she's got some trauma. So she agrees. The name of her therapist seems..... Eerily familiar but she decides to ignore her gut and go anyway. She walks into the therapist's office and---

And sees her mother sitting there, looking professional and well-rested and happy.

She runs.

Yeah so suffice it to say she isn't gonna trust therapy again for a bit lol, and it takes her even LONGER (and some good therapy sessions) to accept the fact that her mother was clearly better off without her and her siblings.

Yeah ya girl has a lot of issues, especially abandonment <3 she is very much a people pleaser and WILL put your needs high above her own. Anything to make you want to stay. Anything to make her feel needed or wanted.

So she's hanging out at Grillby's one day (he and his bartender like to try out different mixes on her, try to see if they can get her to make a face at a cocktail) when a huge party comes in. Rowan automatically shrinks a bit from discomfort because of the big crowd, and she continues her game with Grillby and the bartender (the bartender is my friend's sona that's why I'm not naming them lol). Then she hears something that makes her freeze mid-sip.

"Let's hear it for Magnolia!!!! The first of us to get tied down!" Followed by raucous laugh....ter...

She recognizes that laugh.

She flees the bar, with no explanation to anyone. She catches a glimpse of Nolia, with Cedar by her side, and both of their eyes squint slightly in confusion as she passes by them.

She makes it outside, looking around for where to go, unable to think in her panicked confusion when---

"R......Rowan?"

She goes ramrod straight and slowly turns, hands balled into fists to hide the violent shaking. Nolia bursts into tears, Cedar immediately clinging to her stiff form, his shoulders shaking as bad as her hands.

They.... Recognized her. They.........

Were *happy* to see her.

Slowly she hugged them back and they got to catching up. (So yeah if it wasn't clear Nolia was getting married, they both had survived on the streets together until Nolia was old enough to get a job).

Also something I forgot to mention lol is Rowan had found 2 kittens behind Muffet's, an older girl kitten fiercely protecting a little boy kitten. They immediately latched onto her after she made it clear she wasn't a threat, and she decided to name them after her siblings.

Also things worth noting, she smells like apples, she has magical red translucent hair, her soul wavers from more upside down like a monster's to more upright like a human's, she loves to bake, she is like the DEFINITION of cottagecore, she has magical tattoos on her face that change around to look like the Day of the Dead skulls (the colors get brighter or darker with her moods), and she drinks 2 bottle of everclear every time she goes to Grillby's. The paramedics in the area quickly become used to people calling the ambulance when she drinks (seriously look up everclear it's basically pure alcohol). She eventually stops drinking (not that it was *really* harming her since she had that alcohol tolerance and a body made primarily of magic at this point (plus alcohol isn't really gonna hurt her, she doesn't have kidneys lol) but she wanted to stop anyway. She loves to paint and teaches one of her friends to paint, tending to her friend's garden while her friend paints. She also loves to cook and bake, she eventually helps out with baking at Muffet's, though she refuses to bake the spiders into the pastries. Her scones are things of legend, they sell out as soon as she brings the tray out of the kitchen.

Yeah that was a lot lol and there's little things here and there that I missed so feel free to send in questions about her if you want to know anything! Or if you want to know how Rowan and UL Sans got together (spoiler: they eventually get married and it's so cute)

[bunnylouisegrimes]

It’s A Wonderful Afterlife (NOS4A2 Fanfic)

A/N: I’ve had this story idea in my head for awhile, but I got to writing it yesterday and the day before yesterday. Basically, this one is the story of Rose’s transformation into a vampire. It’s gonna cover some heavy topics such as nearing the end of your life and terminal illness, so be warned, but there’s a lot of happiness in the middle and near the end. Hope you all enjoy!

It’s A Wonderful Afterlife

A NOS4A2 Fanfic

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

As the years went by for Rose, very little had changed in terms of her personality. She had remained shy and introverted (unless in the company of those she deeply trusted), she had remained both gothy and girly, and she had remained nerdy. Her love for her toys, her games, her writing, her art, her vampire husband, and her children had never waned. Fifty years of marriage and a set of dhampir twins later, and from the inside, she was as young as she had been on her wedding day.

Physically, she had her differences.

By the time she reached 57, grey hairs were starting to show in ways they hadn’t before. She had never been the type to dye her hair, but in order to preserve its beauty that she so cherished, from then on out, she dyed her long hair the closest shade of matching brunette she could.

Her height was as short as before, her weight was roughly around the same spot thanks to her vigorously making sure she never went past 200 pounds, and her eyes were as hazel as before, with the exception of holding an aged look. Her face and skin had shown the obvious signs of age, but such a thing was inevitable. It was nothing a little makeup couldn’t help make look better.

Charlie still found his June Rose to be as beautiful as he always found her. He had asked her on and off since their consummation on their wedding night, where he took her virginity and kept it within him to turn her into a vampire just like him one day, if she was willing to grow an older human. She always told him she did; she wanted to see how long this “human” thing would go. She wanted to experience humanity till the end, when the next chapter in her life would have to begin and vampirism would take the lead.

But by the age of 75, when she looked as though she was older than Charlie (when he wasn’t in desperate need of souls), and looked to be a grandmother to the children of Christmasland rather than mother, and her parents and brother had moved on to the other side from their own respective health issues, things were beginning to be odd. It was a whole seven months after her 75th birthday when something wasn’t right.

The first sign was the weight loss. Rose had always been a bit plump, but both she and Charlie noticed her normally soft potbelly was slimmer and smaller. They also noticed her thighs and arms were slimmer. This confused them, and they kept it in mind, but they figured it could be the result of age rather than a sickness.

The second sign was the pain in her abdomen and middle back. Within a few weeks of noticing her fat going down, she had pains in these areas on and off, and they would pick up in intensity and frequency some days.

The third sign was the general sickness she felt. One moment, she would be playing with the children, the next, she would be feeling extremely nauseous and fatigued. She would have to throw up in the bathroom and it would take a few minutes for her to recover. Charlie and her both knew that this went beyond weariness from play due to elder age. This was an apparent illness, and something was physically wrong.

However, Rose was also unusual not just in her gastrointestinal area, but her mind as well.

Forgetfulness and misplacing something was nothing noticeable, as she did it all the time. But she suspected something wasn’t right when within those same few weeks, she was slowly starting to forget things that just happened. Both her and Charlie would be watching an episode of one of their shows, and by the time commercials ended, she was struggling to remember quite a few details of what happened before them. It took her a moment to connect the events together. The same happened when she would read, and every once in a while, she would have to slowly read the same paragraph three times.

The turning point came when she and Charlie were discussing things in bed, and she was struggling to remember certain conversations they had and she had with the children only a month ago that she remembered a week before. A few details Rose brought up were nonexistent, and Charlie had to correct her. That night, she decided that between these small forgetful spells and these stomach issues, it was clear she needed to go to a doctor as soon as possible. He agreed and promised to take her in the morning.

The next day, they left Christmasland for the appointment Charlie made for her the moment he woke up. They explained to the doctor all of Rose’s physical and mental symptoms. The doctor nodded; how he nodded made her nervous. When she was younger, she was a nurse, and through her medical knowledge, she could guess what these symptoms meant, but she wanted to trust another medical professional’s judgement, as these things could be nothing rather than something, but as obvious as it sounded, it was always better to be safe than sorry. She had seen that nod before when in the presence of both patients who were relieved to find their serious symptoms were nothing and those who were about to have the news of terminal illness broken to them. Like a coin flip, it would be heads or tails: heads would be another day to live, tails would be a death sentence.

A series of nerve wracking scans and tests with Charlie by her side later, and the diagnosis was clear. The moment the doctor came back to their room, Rose, like a bloodhound, smelled the sullen seriousness in his face and tone of voice. She recognized that face and voice from her nurse days; the coin was tails. He was about to give her the date and method of her execution before slamming his gravel down.

Rose had always imagined that she would go out thanks to her heart or some sort of diabetes related sickness, given bad hearts and diabetes ran in her mom’s side of the family, and her obesity she tried to control would certainly be a contributing factor. Genetics were a hell of a double edged sword: they could give you the most beautiful set of eyes and hair with skin to match, but they could also give you the worst odds of illness you could think of.

This time, it was not Rose’s heart that would fail her, or the development of diabetes. It was two things that were just as genetic, but aruguably worse. She recalled her mother telling her that Rose’s great aunt had died of pancreatic cancer, and it was a miserable way to go. She also remembered her mother telling her that Rose’s great grandmother was suspected of suffering from Alzheimer’s before succumbing to death.

Well, it was no surprise to Rose when she learned that these two things were her method of execution. Not only because she suspected they could be possibilities, but because the facts were simple: if she was somehow strong enough to survive the painful destruction her body would suffer from the cancer, the synapses in her brain would be eaten away, just as if she was bitten by a zombie from one of her stories, and much like a zombie, not much would remain of her but a dead shell. She would be a burden to her husband and children, and they would have to watch her go from being a loving, wonder filled woman to a sickly, miserable, pain filled stranger who wouldn’t even be able to remember herself, her lover, or her children.

Both her and Charlie took this news with with equal sadness. The future was bleak, and they knew that. Not even chemotherapy treatment was worth it.

“My grandfather suffered from esophageal cancer, and he did not fare well with chemo thanks to his genetics,” she explained to the doctor. “Given that I am half my mother, and she is half of him, my odds are not good, are they?”

“Well, you certainly have a better chance than your mother, but yes, he is a direct blood relative, so the odds are there. If you wish to go through chemo, we can get you started on it, but if you don’t want to risk it or have any treatment, you’ll have roughly a year left to live. Since cancer and dimentia do have a connection, as it spreads throughout your stomach and body, your mental decline will come rapidly. I estimate that you will go through the final stages of both illnesses simultaneously, and it will, to put it lightly, be painful for all parties involved.”

Rose nodded. “I don’t think I want to risk it. I don’t think there’s much of a point to go through all of that, only for my mind to fail me. Not to mention, wouldn’t chemo worsen it?”

“It can, yes,” the doctor continued. “Since the state of Colorado offers the End of Life Options Act, we can administer physician assisted suicide, if that is what you would prefer, but there will be a few things you’ll need to do.”

Had Charlie not been in her life, Rose would’ve agreed to do such a thing in these circumstances, although, if she hasn’t met him, she most likely wouldn’t have been in the state of Colorado and instead stuck back home in Ohio, where no such laws would exist. She knew that with the choice of transforming into a vampire, suicide wasn’t needed.

“I’ll need to think on that,” Rose lied.

“I understand, as this is a lot to take in. Please contact me as soon as possible when you have come to your decisions.”

Father and Mother Christmas departed the hospital and stepped inside the Wraith. The drive back to Gunbarrel was at first silent, but Charlie needed to pull over to a secluded area. Rose could see the tears in his brown eyes.

“My beloved...” He hushed, his deep voice breaking. “You’re so sick...”

“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to give my humanity the best run I could, and I did. But I’m not going through this shit. I’m going out on my own terms, only I won’t have to die. I’m becoming a vampire, and going into the next chapter of my life.” She turned to Charlie. “You don’t need to cry, baby. You have the power to prevent my departure from this world. I already talked to each of my family before they went, and they knew I was going to be immortal as long as I could be, but I could still contact them through my new psychic powers. If you and the kids are more sensitive to spirits, that must mean I will be too. Hell, we’ll make it look like I chose to die without treatment or assisted suicide to the doctors. I’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.”

“Yes, I know,” he sobbed, wiping his eyes. “It’s just... the idea of you dying... the fact is, you had been dying, and you are dying. I know that’s humanity, but when you have something like this... you are not only dying in the human sense, but the clinical as well.”

The gravity of Charlie’s words slapped Rose in the face, just as the news of her diagnosis in the first place had moments ago. Even though she had another chance, unlike so many others in her place, there was still a sadness to be had. This chapter in her life was done, and she could either do one of two endings: continue down a horrible road until salvation was given to her and everyone was left scarred from their experiences, or embrace salvation now. Rose knew that she was going to avoid that horrible road and jump straight to the awe inspiring transformation that would mark the next chapter, but it was a shame her human form had to suffer like this, and that it was even an issue. In addition, 75 was decently young for elderly death. If she were in her 80’s, or especially her 90’s, this was expectant, but 75... it seemed a bit too soon.

She began to cough, and Charlie handed her his white handkerchief. Her eyes widened when she saw blood splatter, and that’s when her own tears poured from her eyes. She gave it back to Charlie and buried herself in his chest. The two held onto each other and wept for a good twenty minutes before deciding they needed to head back home.

Before they exited the car to greet their children, Rose suddenly smiled as she held Charlie’s hand. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I think tomorrow is a good day to celebrate my last day of humanity, and then I’d like to transform. If that’s okay with you.”

A smile formed on his own face. “Whatever day you are ready, my love. I will fuse your innocence back inside of you whenever you desire.”

They broke the news to the children, but they handled it well. They understood the severity of the situation regarding their mother’s health, but were excited and viewed the positive side, that their mother was to be an immortal vampire much like them and their father. When their mother told them she would like to celebrate the last day of her humanity tomorrow and transform into a vampire tomorrow night, they knew that much was to be anticipated for. Their father assured them that tomorrow would be a day to never forget.

While the other children ran upstairs to go to bed, excited for what tomorrow would hold, Millie, Lorrie, Nicholas, and Holly stayed behind. They ran over to their mother and hugged her.

“Even though you’re not gonna be a human anymore,” Lorrie began, “it doesn’t change a thing.”

“We always knew you’d be a vampire like us one day,” Millie added. “We hope you’ll be healthy and happy again real soon.”

“I will, babies,” Rose reassured them. “I will.”

“If we’re half human...” Nicholas spoke up.

“...That means we’re the last pieces of your humanity, right?” Holly finished.

“Yes, it does, babies,” Rose smiled wider. “I suppose it does.”

The twins beamed at each other in pride.

“But just because I’ll become a vampire doesn’t mean I still won’t be myself,” she clarified. “We’ll all still be just as we were, just with me having some physical improvements. It’ll be just as if I will always human.”

They nodded and knew it was time to get ready for bed with the others. They raced each other up the stairs, their parents tagging behind. When everyone was ready, Charlie and Rose bid the little ones good night before snuggling close to each other in their own bed.

Sleep could not come quick or easy for Rose, as her worries and anxieties mixed with her excitement kept her awake, but somehow, she found herself asleep. While Charlie slept, he dreamt of how the party would look for his beloved: the balloons, the streamers, the cake, the lights, the roses everywhere, the unicorns, the glitter... everything to honor his lover’s life and everything that represented what she was and would always be to their family.

When he awoke the next morning, Rose was still asleep. Letting her get her much needed rest, he snuck downstairs. The children had all woke up at the same time he had. They all snuck down the steps and they paused, amazed at the sight that awaited them downstairs...

When Rose opened her eyes and rubbed them, she turned next to her to find Charlie missing. She went to the bathroom and left her bedroom to check on the children. They were not in their very large and ever expanding bed. She noticed that the living room was dark, but all sorts of odd shadows filled it. She went down the steps and turned the lights on.

“Surprise!” Everyone cheered.

Rose gasped. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she saw what her living room had become.

Rainbow lights and glittery streamers filled the ceiling. Colorful balloons and roses of all colors were everywhere. In the center of the coffee table was a cake with candles that became aglow once she turned the lights on. A wonderfully designed unicorn figurine with roses in its mane and tail set on the cake.

“Oh... oh, it’s beautiful!” Rose cried, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Oh, I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

Charlie beamed and pulled a pink dress over her nightgown. She hugged him and kissed him on the lips, cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“How did you all do this?” She asked.

“I dreamed it, like I do everything... well, not everything, as you are far too beautiful to be dreamed from me.”

She blushed and hugged him even tighter. “You are the sweetest man I’ve ever known. I am so happy to know you, be with you and have all these little ones to raise with you.”

The children rushed to her and she gave them as many hugs and kisses as she could give.

“Look outside, and you’ll see the party goes beyond this room,” Charlie said.

Rose opened the front door and was taken aback. Christmasland was covered in more roses, balloons, glitter, and rainbow lights. Amongst it all, the rainbow unicorns from Charlie’s zoo played in the snow together, free to roam from their usual enclosure.

“It’s all in your honor, my dear.” Charlie laid a kiss on her head.

She could speak no words, just gaze in amazement as the children ran outside to play. Charlie and Rose did the same, and for the rest of the day, they played and occasionally stopped to eat. Rose did her best to keep it together, but surprisingly, no ill feelings or forgetful spells came to her. Perhaps because her body knew that it was only one last day until her body would be immune to all ailments, so it needed to use the last of its strength. Or because happiness was her best medicine in the moment. She couldn’t tell which.

By the end of the day, they had gathered back inside, she blew the candles on the cake, and they began to eat some of it. The time had come where they needed to go to bed so that their mother’s transformation could occur. She read them her favorite bedtime stories before they all got too tired to stay awake. She and Charlie kissed them all good night and closed the door, knowing that would be the last time they’d ever see her in her old form.

When they entered the room, the couple closed their door and the fireplace kicked on thanks to Charlie’s abilities. Rose laid on the bed and sighed.

“Today is one of the best days of my entire life,” she said. “I have you and the babies to thank for that. You have made my human days very special, and you will make my vampire ones the same.”

Charlie laid next to her. “You have made my days very special, and you have made the babies’ days very special. We have you to thank for that.”

They exchanged a kiss before Rose sat up. “Well now... are we ready?”

“Are you ready is the more important question.”

“I think I am,” she said. “Words cannot describe how wonderful this day has been from start to finish. It is a day I will cherish forever. And before my sicknesses get to me... I shall end my humanity and ring in my new vampirism on the happiest note possible.”

She looked at herself in a mirror nearby as she slipped her dress off. “Oh, my dear human body. You have seen so much since the moment I was born. And yet, here we are. You won’t be the same ever again, and you will be improved in ways unimaginably amazing, but I hope you know how much I appreciate you. Even when I’ve experienced self hatred, I was always thankful for you. I hope you love this new form.”

She turned back to Charlie and laid back down. “I guess this means I’ll get to eat people with you guys. The right ones, of course. And fangs, nails, a new body temperature... That should all be an interesting experience. And I can’t wait to see what using similar if not exact abilities like you will be like... this will not only be the next chapter in my life, but will be a bonding experience that will bring us all closer together, I think.”

“I agree, my love,” he said. “I agree.”

The two snuggled close together.

“Thank you for doing this, sugar pop,” she sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“What would I do without you is the bigger question,” he chuckled. “I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you too.”

He leaned into her ear. “Are you ready at this moment?”

“Yes.” Her voice had some nervousness in it, but the confidence outweighed it in ways immeasurable.

“Lift up your chin so I may see your neck.”

She did as she was told. Charlie gazed upon it and his fangs came jutting out, an energy boiling within him.

“Good bye, old life,” Rose whispered with peace. “May our memories live on for all of immortal eternity.”

“Welcome to your new summer to blossom, my June Rose.”

Charlie slammed his fangs down upon her neck, an energy force emitting from the two bite marks. She gasped and her eyes widened. A foreign, but comfortable and oddly familiar sensation came over her. She clutched onto his back as blood dripped down from the bite marks. They glowed a white-blue color.

As the sensation consumed her, she felt as if she was traveling back in time. Every few seconds was another year she felt healthier and younger. It took her a moment to register that’s what that was, but when she saw her face in Charlie’s eyes... she could confirm her wrinkles were fading.

She looked at the arm she could see most clearly. Her wrinkles had dissipated and the fat had returned. She was sure her other arm looked the same. When she looked at her hand, she saw her nails gaining a yellow tint. She felt them increasing in length. Once they reached the same length as Charlie’s, they stopped. She couldn’t see her feet or legs, but she could feel the same effect happening to them. Her legs and feet (and especially her thighs) gained back the weight they had lost. She noted that her pallor was now matching Charlie’s, based on how her arm and hand looked.

Her breasts, always large, plumped back to their youthful size. Her stomach had also returned to the cushiony potbelly Charlie always loved to rest his head on. As embarrassing as it sounded, she felt her privates tingle and somewhere above them, a burning sensation occurred. She thought about it, but considered that her fertility must’ve been returning. She was miserable on and off when experiencing menopause, but she supposed as a vampire, she’d be able to withstand any pains she might experience if she had periods again. In addition, she was sure Charlie would still find her menstrual blood as delicious as he did before when she was human.

Through the reflection in Charlie’s eyes, Rose could see her wrinkles had completely faded. The aged look her hazel eyes held flooded with a new look of old youth meeting for an eternal kiss after years of departure. Her face returned to how she looked on their wedding night, only a bit more pale. She grunted as her white teeth gained their own yellow tint and increased in sharpness. A group of fangs came out from behind these new teeth. Once this occurred, blood filled her mouth and trickled down her throat while ice cold breath emitted from her nose and mouth like a rabid animal. A warmth in her stomach made her feel as if she had drunk the finest coffee or hot chocolate rather than blood.

My God... this is why vampires crave this stuff... it’s got flavors in it that we can’t taste.

The dye in her hair had faded, exposing the natural grey. But it quickly disappeared as her natural brunette took over. At long last, she felt she could embrace her natural hair again. Even its volume, thickness, and waviness returned.

Rose had to fall back further at the sheer force from her insides. The blood that fell from her neck returned to the permanent bite marks and absorbed back inside of her. Cold chills consumed her. Her eyes, nose, ears, tongue, and touch nerves sharpened. The cancer cells in her body exploded like little stars until they were gone entirely. Every healthy cell underwent a metamorphosis that strengthened them and kept them permanently superhuman. Because of this, her immune system had reached powers impossible for the human body, destroying anything abnormal. Any sickness would be identified and wiped out instantly thanks to her new antibodies. Even her asthma had been erased from her lungs. From within her brain, the synapses snapped back together like a puzzle, and her memory was the clearest it had ever been.

I’m healthy again... Thank God, I’m heathy again...

Once her body was complete, a new sensation took over her back. She tried to jolt forward, but Charlie was still on top of her. He stepped back, as every ounce of innocence was back inside of her now. She lurched forward and leaned down. She could see her new legs and feet and her other arm, just as the other one.

Her back felt heavy. Something was weighing her down... something was coming out of it... something...

Unable to control the scream that came from her, two large masses of bone, muscle, and skin came from her back, perfectly ripping her nightgown, and extended to reveal... bat wings. Through the light in the room, the veins had looked like their own art piece to Charlie.

As quickly as the pain came, it left Rose and she laid back down, gasping and skiddishly feeling the new wings. Just like one’s arms or legs, she found she could move them like any other appendage. She flapped them, noticing they were larger than her. A small gust of wind filled the room.

“They’re... beautiful...” Charlie marveled.

Unable to speak, Rose stood up and stumbled. She found that her wings and heavier weight added some balance issues, but within thirty seconds, she had adjusted. She walked over to the mirror to look at herself more closely. Her toenails clacked against the wood, just as Charlie’s did. She looked just as she did when she was young; this time, she was pale, colder, had sharper senses, had vampire teeth and nails, a vampire bite mark on her neck, and very large bat wings on her back. She curled them up and extended them out comfortably. She flapped them a few times, and she found herself being lifted up into the air through the force of such gusts.

“Woah!” She cried. She let her wings die down and she landed as gently as she could on the floor.

She turned to Charlie, who stared at her with twinkling eyes.

“I guess I’m gonna need to make holes for these bad boys in all my clothes, huh?” She laughed. Her voice had largely remained the same, but this time, there was a youthful strength to it.

Charlie chuckled and beaconed her back to bed. “I suppose we shall. You look absolutely stunning, just as you always have. Only this time, your inner beauty is emanating from you. We shall see all of your abilities in the morning, especially since I’m sure the children would love to see you and your new talents as well. I’m quite surprised that scream didn’t stir them. But I believe your body needs a rest after the amount of change it had to go through.”

She nodded and crawled back into bed, right next to Charlie. They cuddled up next to each other. Her wings curled back up in a way that was comfortable. He rested his chin on her head and she nuzzled her face in his chest. Their combined warmth made sure they wouldn’t feel cold while sleeping. Rest had come easy for the both of them, and they found themselves sharing a pleasant dream.

Tomorrow would be the day the children would awake to be gifted with their healthy vampire mother, but even so, she would still always be the mother they knew and loved. For Charlie, she would always be the wife he knew and loved. For Rose, her new chapter had begun, and the dawn of a new era was ready to last for the rest of their eternity.

[milfjensenackles]

nothing safe is worth the drive

2.8k words | read it on ao3

found family road trip :) I decided team free will 2.0 needed a vacation 

“Let’s go on a vacation.”

Dean walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table across from Sam. Sam looked up from his newspaper, incredulous at the suggestion. “A vacation? Since when do you, of all people, want to take a break from hunting?”

Dean smirked. “We’ve been working hard for years, Sammy. I think we all deserve a break. You, me, Cas, and Jack. We could… go on a road trip! There’s plenty of stuff you and I haven’t seen yet. We could drive to California and see the ocean, maybe stop by those tourist traps like the ‘Biggest Ball of Twine’ or whatever.”

Sam shook his head and laughed at his older brother. Dean’s eyes were lit up with excitement, though, and who was he to ruin that? “Sure, Dean. Sounds good.”

Dean clapped his hands together before running down the hall to share the news with Cas and Jack. Sam smiled to himself. This would be interesting.

Cas and Dean had started dating only a few months ago, so things were still relatively new and exciting between them. Dean still struggled with not only giving Cas the love he deserved, but accepting that Cas loved him, of all people. It was difficult, coming to terms with the fact that loving Cas meant that he liked dudes in general. Dean still wasn’t comfortable labelling himself, and Cas was okay with that.

Dean’s thoughts wandered back to the day he and Cas finally got their shit together. Dean, after a grueling five days in The Empty, finally brought his angel home. After a tearful homecoming, Sam and Jack retired to their bedrooms, leaving Dean alone with Castiel for the first time since they said goodbye. Dean suggested a movie they’d already seen plenty of times, and Cas agreed easily as usual. As they settled into the couch together, Dean couldn’t help but focus his gaze on Cas’ lips. Cas couldn’t help but notice. Dean remembers Cas looking nervous, before slowly asking: “What’s going on here, Dean?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Dean’s hands were on his face and his lips were pressed against Castiel’s.

Dean finished the walk to his bedroom. Their bedroom. Cas moved in only last week. Another new thing Dean wasn’t used to yet, but he loved it all the same. Cas didn’t have many belongings, so the transition ended up being easier than Dean anticipated. Dean purchased another nightstand for Cas, which Cas covered with a small lamp and some framed photos of his family. One of Cas and Dean, with Cas holding the camera and Dean pressing a kiss to his cheek. Another of the four of them, sitting around the table and eating pizza. The final one shows a smiling Jack, arms around both of his dads.

Hearing Dean move into the room, Cas looked up from his book to smile softly. Dean grinned back, leaning over their bed to ruffle his boyfriend’s hair. Cas gave Dean his best disgruntled face before softening again, holding his arms out for Dean to join him. Dean kicked off his shoes, immediately kicking his leg over to straddle Cas. Cas stretched up to meet Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and pressing their lips together. Even after all this time, Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach every time Cas kissed him. They stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in one another, trading lazy kisses back and forth. Cas swiped his tongue across Dean’s bottom lip and his hands started wandering lower on Dean’s waist. Dean regretfully pulled back, placing his hands on either side of Cas’ face. “Before you completely distract me”, he kissed the tip of Cas’ nose quickly, “I came in here to ask you something.”

Cas pecked at the bolt of Dean’s jaw one more time before quirking an eyebrow at him. “Okay. What did you want to ask me?”

“So… I was talking to Sam. What do you think about all of us going on a trip?”

“A vacation?” Cas smiled. “I’d like that very much, Dean.”

Satisfied with that answer, Dean returned to their previous activities. Cas definitely didn’t mind.

***

“You guys finish packing yet?”

“Yes, Dean. Almost done.” Even though Dean couldn’t see his face from the hallway, he knew Cas was rolling his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to care, focusing instead on his own luggage.

Dean had mapped out their entire trip. As fate would have it, they happened to be passing by the twine ball Dean had mentioned on their way to the Grand Canyon, seeing as it was only thirty minutes from the bunker. Cas suggested a stop at a honeybee farm that gave tours in Utah, and Dean couldn’t say no to that. Once Jack became privy to the information that Dean was taking requests, he made an extensively researched list of the places he’d like to visit. When Dean saw it, he gave Cas a look, but Cas merely shrugged and smiled softly at Jack. In that moment, Dean knew he was absolutely whipped by the man in front of him. He’d do anything to make Cas and their son happy.

They packed the Impala to the brim, including camping supplies for when they reached their destination. Dean hadn’t been this excited in… well. He had never been this excited before. He never had a chance to do the normal stuff, like a real family vacation. He and Sam had never really even had a family to go on a vacation with.

Dean rolled his shoulders back to shake the thought from his head as he reached up to close the trunk of the Impala. Cas and Jack strolled up to the car a moment later, arms full of suitcases and backpacks.

“Did you pack the whole bunker?” Dean asked with a chuckle.

Cas looked confused. “No, Dean. We only packed items that we thought might be useful on the trip. How would we fit the entire bunker into these bags?”

Dean threw his head back and barked out a laugh before unceremoniously pressing a kiss to Cas’ lips. He reveled in the feeling of Cas’ mouth against his, not caring if anyone could see them. “Where’s Sam?”

“He told me to tell you that he was almost ready and would be out in a minute!” Jack was already in the backseat, very proud of himself for passing along Sam’s message.

Eventually, Sam finally appeared, ignoring the mumbles from Dean about his tardiness. Dean started driving.

***

The World’s Largest Ball of Twine was… less than impressive, in Dean’s opinion. Cas and Jack found it fascinating though, so it ended up being worth the trip. Cas managed to purchase a t-shirt, without Dean noticing, that said in big block letters: Check Out My Balls. In the center of the shirt sat two circles of twine. Sam burst out laughing when he saw Cas walk up to the Impala wearing it, but Dean thought it was adorable. Jack was holding his souvenir, a small twine ball keychain. He insisted that he was going to use it to break the previously held record for largest twine ball once they arrived home to the bunker.

Once they got back on the road, Jack immediately requested to stop for McDonald’s. Dean groaned but knew Sam would have to stop to use the bathroom soon anyway. Dean pulled into the parking lot, and as expected, Sam rushed out of the car immediately. Cas handed Jack some cash to get food for everyone, and then it was just Cas and Dean waiting. Dean looked over at Cas. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was sometimes. Cas had the most beautiful blue eyes Dean had ever seen, and they were even more impressive with the evening sun reflecting on them. Cas realized Dean was staring and reached out to run his thumb along Dean’s hand. “I hope you’re having fun.”

Cas’ voice always made him weak, especially when he was worried about Dean. “I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Cas smiled, content to sit in the front seat of the Impala, palm pressed to the back of Dean’s hand, for the rest of the evening. They were soon interrupted by their son though, hands full of burgers and fries with a huge grin on his face. Sam followed soon after with a salad and a water bottle. Dean rolled his eyes at him before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

***

By the time they were close to Jack’s first location request, Cas was starting to get a little grumpy from the lack of sleep. It was day three of their trip now. Some days, Dean would stop at a motel for them to stay in, but yesterday he chose to drive through the night. Cas stayed up with him, fighting against Dean’s argument that at least one of them should get some shut eye. “Dean, if I don’t stay awake, you’ll fall asleep behind the wheel. You can’t get by on four hours anymore.”

Dean snorted. “You callin’ me an old man?”

Cas smirked and Dean pushed at his shoulder softly, grinning to himself.

Sam groaned from the backseat. “You guys are such an old married couple.”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sam in the rearview mirror, Dean pulled to a stop at a red light before reaching over to give Cas an obnoxious kiss, releasing his lips with a loud pop. “Jealous much, Sammy?”

Sam mimed a gagging motion at the display, while Jack looked on with glee. “I didn’t know you and Dad were married!”

Dean choked at that, coughing for a good minute before stuttering out, “I- we’re not- Jack- “

“Dean and I are in an intimate relationship, but we are not married. Although, I would like to marry him someday.” Cas cut Dean off, speaking with certainty.

Dean gaped at that. They hadn’t even said they love each other yet, and Cas was thinking about marriage? “You want to marry me?”

“Of course, Dean. Why wouldn’t I?” Cas was smiling at Dean now. Dean couldn’t help but smile back, lacing their fingers together.

“Alright, enough of this gross couple stuff. We get it, you’re in love and it’s disgustingly sweet. Let’s stop for dinner.” Sam said, a hand running through his hair, obviously frustrated with himself for being the one to start this conversation.

***

Today marked their fifth day on the road, and they were finally going to the honeybee sanctuary Cas was desperate to visit. Dean was actually pretty excited too. Anything was better than Sam’s pick, which had been a weird museum back in Colorado. Dean couldn’t remember what the museum was actually for, he couldn’t focus on all of the old relics and ancient artifacts when Cas was right there. Cas was Dean’s favorite ancient relic, which he decided to share with Cas, only to be greeted with the bitchface Cas saves only for Dean.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the farm, which was made up of an assortment of small buildings along with green fields that extended for miles. Jack tumbled out of the backseat, dragging Cas by the elbow to the front door. Sam and Dean followed closely behind, watching as Cas and Jack pointed out various new sightings to one another. By the time Sam and Dean met up with them, Cas had already signed them up for a tour of the farm and a session explaining how honey is harvested and sold.

Their tour guide started speaking as he walked backwards, explaining the purpose of the farm, “This honeybee sanctuary is a place that supports the health and positive transformation of the honeybees that come to stay with us. Honeybees are an endangered species, so we do everything we can to protect them and maintain their species. Up ahead, you’ll see one of our beekeepers working with a hive to prepare for honey harvesting.”

They continued forward, Cas with the biggest smile on his face Dean had ever seen. If this is what it took to make Cas look like that, he’d drive them to Utah every weekend. Dean had to admit, honeybees were pretty cool. He could appreciate their loyalty to the hive, always working to support one another unconditionally.

By the end of the tour, Cas was waxing poetic to Sam about the efficiency of hexagonal honeycombs and Sam was attempting to keep up with the conversation. With Cas distracted, Dean snuck off to the gift shop to make a purchase. He came back with a pair of socks with cartoon bumblebees on them, which Castiel was so delighted to receive that he kissed Dean in front of Sam, Jack, and their tour guide. Dean didn’t mind.

***

It took them much longer than anticipated to reach California, but Dean didn’t mind. It just meant he had more time to hold Cas’ hand across the front bench of the Impala. Soon enough, they finally reached the ocean. Dean drove onto the beach, the tires leaving indentations in the sand behind them. The sun was setting quickly, so they needed to move quickly to set up camp. Having realized this, Dean moved quickly to remove their items from the back of the car. Before he could, though, Cas grabbed his hand and pulled Dean toward him, their chests resting together. “Come with me.”

Dean nodded, and Cas pulled him toward the water. Cas pulled his shoes and socks off, and Dean followed suit, pressing their toes into the sand. Dean reached for Cas’ hand again, and Cas complied, interlocking their fingers. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching as the water ebbed and flowed and crashed. Cas broke the silence after some time, murmuring, “Are you happy, Dean?”

Dean paused for a moment to look over at Cas, who was still staring out at the sea. Releasing Cas’ hand, Dean gripped his elbow to turn the angel’s body to face his own. Dean’s other hand reached up to softly brush some of Cas’ hair off of his forehead. Eventually settling on Cas’ jaw, Dean pulled Cas’ gaze from the water to finally look at him. “I know I’m not great at showing you how much I care, but I do. Care, I mean. I have never been this happy before. You. Me. Sam and Jack. That’s all I need. I’ll spend every day trying to prove it to you if that’s what it takes. I love you, Cas.”

Cas pulled back like he had been shocked. Oh, shit. They’ve never said that before.

“You love me?” Cas was looking at Dean like he hung the damn moon. Dean opened and shut his jaw a few times, trying and failing to make words come out of his mouth

Both of Cas’ thumbs softly caressed Cas’ face and Cas brought their lips together. The kiss wasn’t what Dean would describe as aggressive, like it usually was with them; it was slower and sweeter. Like they loved each other. Cas pulled back an inch, his lips still ghosting on Dean’s. “I love you, too.”

Dean reached up to his own face to place his hands over Cas’ and rested their foreheads together. They both started giggling uncontrollably. “You love me,” Dean said, looking into those beautiful blue eyes.

“I do. So much more than I could ever put into words.”

A loud noise pulled Dean out of his Cas-induced reverie, and he looked up the beach to see Jack struggling to finish putting together a tent.

“We should get back and help,” Cas said, hiding a smile. Dean rolled his eyes but pulled Cas by his hands toward Sam and Jack’s makeshift campsite.

“While you two were having a moment, Jack and I finished getting the tents set up, so you both are responsible for cooking dinner.”

Dean groaned, but was secretly happy to take care of dinner, as long as he got to do it with Cas. While Cas started unpacking their food, Dean reached for the cooler. He grabbed four beers and started handing them out.

Cas immediately saw the fourth beer and said, “You can’t give Jack a beer, Dean. He’s three years old.”

“Hey! I’m three and a half,” Jack said, indignant.

“See? He’s three and a half. It’s fine.”

Cas shook his head, but Dean could tell he was trying not to laugh. “No, Dean.”

Dean held up his hands in surrender but leaned over Jack anyway to sneak the bottle into his hand. If Cas noticed, he chose not to say anything.

Dean looked around for a second, trying to take it all in. Sam and Jack were in the middle of a heated discussion debating the best part of their trip, Sam gesticulating wildly in defense of his museum. Cas was preparing a fire to cook their burgers, the dimming sunlight golden on his concentrated face. Dean could hear the waves crashing on the shore behind them, a sound he never thought he would get to hear and actually appreciate. As he moved to start helping Cas, Dean realized that maybe now they can be happy. They can be at peace. And he couldn’t wait to find out what came next for himself and his little family.

[hatake-no-sharingan]

Time travel AU (Part 3: Live for me)

AU Summary: The world is falling apart, and the Sage of the Six Paths sends Naruto back in time to find his parents and collect the thing that will help him and Sasuke save the shinobi.

Link to part 1: HERE

Link to part 2: HERE

Part 3 Summary: Naruto’s birth is here, and as much as he’d like to make time with his family last a little bit more, he has to face the thing that hurt him all his life, the loss of his parents. 

Characters in part 3: Y/N (as Naruto’s mom/ Minato’s wife), Minato, Naruto, Sasuke, Obito/Tobi, Kakashi and Sakura

Warnings: Character’s death :( (I’m so sorry about this, it was painful to write)

A/N: Thank you for letting me write this beautiful story @itsao-mine Hopefully you won’t hate me too much for making you wait and writing a sad story :( I really do hope you like it. It has a bittersweet ending, but I really like the way it turned out. I switched the events in Naruto’s birth a bit, so it doesn’t follow exactly like canon. Enjoy reading and keep requesting <3 Be kind.

Live for me

The three of them wished they could’ve frozen time that week, and stayed like that forever. Naruto even imagined that the baby Y/N was carrying was his little brother instead of himself in this odd and tragic reality. Maybe in another life he’d get to carry his little brother on his shoulders and teach how to use jutsu for mischief, take him to the academy for the first time, train together in the woods, then they’d go back home and Y/N would be waiting for them with a big bowl of ramen, and they’d get to share stories with Minato, and they’d be a nice happy family of four. Perhaps Minato would have fixed everything with the Uchiha, and they wouldn’t have to die. Sasuke would smile more, and Itachi would treat both of them as his little pupils. Maybe things could’ve been different. There wouldn’t be a timeline where Kaguya enslaved everyone to the tree, and he wouldn’t have had to meet his father as a reanimation. Maybe Obito would have lived and maybe Kakashi would be happy too. Too many maybes, and just one wish that he could save his parents tonight.

Naruto, you’ll feel the deepest pain you’ve ever felt, but you have to let things happen the way they were meant to be. If you don’t, Kaguya will win, and everything you’ve ever known will be gone.

The sage’s words echoed in his mind, creating a scar deeper than his battle wounds.

Now he was here, holding his mother’s hands and stroking her hair as the birthing contractions hit her body.

It was weird, seeing himself be born. The worried look on his father’s face, his mom’s eyes full of hope through the pain, and then it happened. Everything was blurry and confusing, it was way faster than he imagined it.

Obito was there, he had his baby self hostage. There was panic in his father’s eyes, but a glance at him let him know the baby would be fine. However, he let Minato rescue him, because things were supposed to happen this way. It was Naruto’s worst nightmare happening before his eyes. One of the most terrible tragedies in Konoha was about to take place, and he couldn’t do anything about it. This was harder than anything he’d ever done. He could fight the strongest enemy, learn the hardest jutsu, but this, was worse than anything. He had to let things happen.

Restraining himself was worse than anything he’d done, but he did it. So hid himself and watched as his mother cried, how Obito was about to break Kurama’s seal, and all he did was prepare himself to collect the special chakra that would leak out as the tragedy took place.

He wished he could take Y/N’s place as the Kyuubi was being pulled out of her, his heart breaking at the sight, but he made the signs and put his hands out. He felt the power the sage had given him activate as the chakra started seeping in. White hot powered gathered in his palms and spread through his body. He couldn’t think, only feel. It was intense, but like a shooting star, it was gone in a second.

The residual chakra was now safely inside him, and he was ready to get back to his timeline, but seeing Y/N weak and in pain stopped him.

Once Obito was gone, he rushed to her side and tried to aid her with the only medical jutsu Sakura had taught him.

“Mom, stay with me, please, live for me”

Tears dropped from Naruto’s eyes to Y/N’s chest, as he summoned every prayer he knew with his heart.

“Mom, I’m here, I love you” he held her close and then teleported both of them to the spot where he knew Minato would be fighting Obito.

Sasuke is already waiting for him there, ready to pull them back, but he knew this was hard for Naruto, so he waited for him to give him the sign whenever he was ready to leave.

The fight with Obito was already over, it was only the Kyuubi, his dad, his mom, his baby self and him, with Sasuke watching from the side.

Had that much time passed? The entire night didn’t make sense to him, and as much as he thought he had prepared for this, it was a thousand times worse.

“Dad!” He shouted and Minato looked at him and Y/N while struggling against Kurama. Strangely, he flashed him a kind smile, like he’d already figured something out.

Everything was already in place for the seal. So he was going to go through with it. Minato was still willing to sacrifice his life for his son. He does everything exactly as the tale he’d been told said. The black mark appears on the baby’s stomach, and he knows there’s no turning back.

“Naruto, get your mom close to me”

He obeys his dad without thinking and gets her close to him. Minato makes a few hand signs and presses his palm to Y/N’s weak chest. When he removes it, there’s a slight glow exactly over the spot he touched.

“Listen to me,” tears sting in the boy’s eyes as he looks towards his father “I don’t have much time. I’m not going to make it because the seal needs to take my life in order to work, but your mom will. Your mom can live, she’s an Uzumaki. I sealed a small part of Kurama’s chakra back inside of her. Just enough for her to live. I need you to be strong, Naruto. Take your mom with you to the future. Nothing will be altered. If you take her now, she’ll get the chance to live there with you, but the baby in front of us will grow up exactly the way you did, without parents and with Kurama sealed inside of him. He’ll still save the future, but you’ll have your mom now. Take her, and as much as it pains you, let me die here.”

Naruto nodded furiously, clutching his dad’s arms as if that could prevent him from slipping away.

“I love you, Naruto. Never forget that. Take care of your mom for me. Listen to everything she says, and whenever you miss me, just hold her tight.”

He turns to meet his wife’s gaze. She’s barely hanging on. Pain pulses through her body, but her husband’s kind eyes keep her safe.

“Y/N, my love, I’m not sorry for this. I’m not sorry for my life, and for dying to give you and our child life.”

“Minato” Y/N pleads, voice broken

“Live for me, Y/N. Give Naruto all the love we couldn’t give him all those years. See him become a great Hokage for me. He’s already surpassed me. I love you my sweet princess. You made my life worth living.”

“I love you Minato”

The last thing she sees is her husband’s calm smile, then she passes out.

Naruto thinks he notices the sandaime gesturing towards his dying father as Sasuke holds him and Y/N, pulling them into the time travel jutsu that will take them back to their timeline.

Y/N wakes up in the hospital a week after Naruto and Sasuke’s fight. Her wounds are mostly healed, and her strength seems to be recovering. Tsunade herself oversaw her care. She placed her and Naruto’s beds next to each other.

When she opens her eyes, she sees a familiar figure in front of her, though she experiences a bit of a confusion because the person in front of her is slightly different than she remembers.

“Hi, Y/N” says the voice she knows too well. “Naruto will be back in a bit, he asked me to watch over you while he’s in rehab therapy.”

“Kakashi” she manages, with a smile “you’re old”

“I know, it’s weird, right? That we’re almost the same age even though you and your husband basically raised me”

“This will definitely take some getting used to”

Kakashi immediately notices the change in her expression as she remembers what happened. He’d lost Minato a while ago, but she’d just lost him now, and he understood her pain, he knew it was greater than anything because he’d never seen two human beings mor perfect for each other than Y/N and his sensei. Tears start falling from her eyes and Kakashi sits next to her, gently holding her hand and giving her the support she needs.

“I know it’s not okay, but it will be. You have an amazing son to live for, and after all this time, I’m so happy to see you again, Y/N”

As he finishes saying it, Naruto enters the room with Sakura pushing his wheelchair.

“Moooooom! You’re awake! I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve missed you so much, so long. It was very boring to lay here in bed and just watching you sleep. I missed talking to you. Well I did talk to you, a lot even though you were asleep. But I’m insanely happy that I got to bring you with me. And guess what? Sasuke is good again! I mean, he’s always been good, but he just noticed it now! He’s back here, and everything will just be so good now. I can’t wait for you to meet him, and all my friends. Gosh everything will be-“

Sakura landed a blow on Naruto’s head.

“Baaaka! Can’t you see she’s barely woken up? She has to recover and you’re bombarding her with a ton of information.”

Kakashi laughs lightheartedly and Y/N is happy to see he’s come a long way from the hurt, sad boy she knew. He gestures for Sakura to leave, and they let mother and son have their space.

A month later, Y/N and Naruto are fully healed and discharged from the hospital. Kakashi, Sakura and Sasuke, also recovered now, are there with them.

“We have a surprise for you two” says Kakashi, as they’re walking out.

He leads the way, and a few minutes later, they find themselves in front of a sunset colored house.

“We rebuilt it with my memories and a few pictures, it’s not the exact same, but hopefully it’ll be good to help you start your lives as a family again”

Y/N and Naruto have their hearts full with gratitude.

“It’s perfect. Thank you all. You have no idea how much this means.” She didn’t want to cry, but being with her son, and seeing her house, Kakashi being happy, Sasuke and Naruto getting close again, it was all too much.

They celebrated inside, Y/N made ramen for them, and they spent the evening laughing and telling stories to Y/N from when they went to missions together as Team 7.

They left a bit late, and Naruto helped his mom clean up.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get to hold you as a baby, to cuddle you and to give you all my love, but I see now that you had the best support team you could ever have. I’m thankful Iruka and Kakashi stepped in for us.”

“I’m just grateful I get to have you with me now, mom. That I can call someone mom, and that I have a real home, like I always dreamed of, yaknow?”

She laughed and hugged her son tightly.

“I just wish Minato were here to see it all. He was so proud of the man you have become. I miss him so much.”

“Hold on, he gave me something for you. Give me your hands.”

She held them out and Naruto placed his hands on top of hers. A warm glow passed between them, and she recognized the chakra by the way it felt. She closed her eyes, and inside her mind, he was there.

“Hello beautiful”

“Minato”

She hugged him tightly.

“I’ll always be here, inside you. Now a part of me is a part of you. You get to live for me.”

[yoondoze]

make a wish | jjk - 2

jeongguk didn’t know it, but his wish came true. as the best things in life do, it comes back around.

alternatively: a compilation of scenes in the after of “make a wish” and how they pile up and weigh you down until it’s too much to handle.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 6.4k

genre: angst, fluff, romance, best friend!au, mutual pining... shh

warnings: language. besides that, this is pretty tame! only slightly edited bc its 2 in the morning and i just want to get this up lol

a/n: didn’t mean for this to be so long but i got a little carried away. this wraps up make a wish, so i hope you guys like it! also, feedback is always appreciated in any way shape or form <3 muah!

It’s just as you’re leaving when Jeongguk’s phone rings. His eyes widen in disquiet as he stares at the number displayed at the top of his phone. In preparation, he shakes out his limbs dramatically and takes a deep, exaggerated breath. Considering it’s for your entertainment, you roll your eyes and wave him on.

He picks up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is muffled as you try your best to listen in. Your heart pounds in anticipation, gripping onto the straps of your purse with white knuckles.

“Yeah. Okay. Okay, great.”

He paces around the room aimlessly. His fingers fiddle with a loose thread on his sweatpants as he listens closely. You’re sure he’s already sweating, more nervous than you could imagine despite the playful act he put on before answering.

“Yeah. That’s fine! Okay, thank you so much. Alright, bye.”

He’s facing away from you as he clicks the end call button. Just as you’re about to ask, he spins on his heel, lips pursed as he holds back a grin.

“Guess who got the job?”

A toothy grin spreads across his face as he singsongs. Jeongguk’s expression of pure excitement is a privilege to see. It’s impossible to deny how it lights up your own.

“Oh my god, you got the job?”

“I got the job!”

His bangs bounce as he jumps with both fists raised in glory. You squeal, going in for a tight hug and swaying back and forth as you congratulate him.

“I’m proud of you, Gguk,” you say into his shoulder. “Really, I am.”

And when you say it, you mean it. After so many months of struggling at his old company, he took the leap and applied for a position at a more well-known film studio. The late night introduction practices with you, which included him reciting prepared resume-esque lines and weeks of tiring interviews had paid off like you knew he deserved it to.

“Okay. I should get home,” you try, voice strained as his arms crush your diaphragm like walls in a deadly escape room. Upon hearing your winded sentence, he loosens his grip.

You don’t even think about what it might mean before you place a departing kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek, fueled by the elation running through you at the upward turn of events. It’s an accident, it just happens naturally as if it was something you’ve done a thousand times. It only hits you that you shouldn’t have after it’s already done.

Sure, you make out and kiss all the time, but the difference is that’s only when you’re taking advantage of the benefits you worked out. That kissing is all attraction, nothing chaste or romantic like this. So when you pull away from the hug, you expect to see his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and giving you a look of disgust.  

“Uh-” you sputter, ever a wordsmith, trying to think of some rational explanation to excuse why you might have kissed him like that. The previous bouts of joy sparking in your heart fly out the window.

However, his eyes only show a mild, innocent surprise. At his silence, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to address it, and you assume he’ll assume it was just congratulatory. You can work with that.

“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home,” you blurt as untroubled as it can come, spinning on your heel and hurrying out the door. After closing it behind you, you slump back against it for a breath.

God, what were you thinking? Were you fucking stupid? Your fingers find your forehead finds as you try to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad. You’re prone to over analyzing, anyway. Jeongguk’s too occupied to think about it like that. He just got his new job, he has a thousand new things to worry about. He won’t read into it. If he does, he’ll think of it as a heat of the moment sort of thing.

Right?

Inside, Jeongguk pauses, staring at where you were standing just a second ago and scratches the back of his neck. The corners of his mouth turn up slowly. 

He finds himself checking his phone every five minutes for a text from you, which never comes.

☆☆☆

At the end of the day, it was your fault. 

It was your thoughtless action that made Jeongguk think that incorporating romantic gestures like that into your relationship could still be platonic. You rocked the boat with that one, but it wasn’t enough to completely capsize your vessel, and for that you were grateful. 

Still, your heart now tore itself into smaller and smaller pieces every time he kissed you goodbye or grabbed your hand to swing it back and forth or wrapped his arm around you after cleaning up. 

“By the way,” he says, tossing you one of his shirts from his place in front of his dresser. He pulls on a clean pair of boxers as you cover up. “There’s this work dinner I have to go to next week for networking and stuff, and it’s a buffet-type thing so they charge you for a spot. But, I found out that there is a couple’s discount and was wondering if maybe… you’d want to come with me?”

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes is one you just can’t ignore. Doing so would feel like a one-way ticket to hell, the only valid consequence for such a rotten crime.

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile at your compliance takes away all the apprehension you might have had, at least for a second. He wears it like a medal.

“Okay, good. I have to talk to a lot of people so I’d just feel better if you were there.”

Your brows draw together as you watch him get dressed. “But Gguk, you’re good at talking to people,” you say, going as far as to admit teasingly, “You’re fairly charming.”

He laughs, hopping into his slacks. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t freak out inside. It’s scary!” The dark brown mop of hair atop his head jostles into his eyes as he adds, “There’s gonna be a lot of well-known people there so it’s my chance to make some connections.”

Despite that, you’re sure he’ll be just fine. By nature, Jeongguk is inviting and easy to talk to. That is one of the reasons why you became such fast friends, and probably why you lasted so long. Along with his agreeable presence, his captivating looks probably wouldn’t hurt in striking up a deal either, though you’d never say that to his face.

“What’s the dress code?”

“Semi-formal I think?” He says, looking out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what that constitutes in terms of dresses but…”

A certain memory tugs at the back of his head. He considers just leaving it there, maybe slightly sentimental for his usual image, but what’s the harm in bringing it up?

“Do you remember the dress you wore for my brother’s graduation dinner? The blue one?”

You, on the other hand, are just surprised he remembers something like that. It must have been years ago by now. Still, it’s a good memory. It was a breezy evening by the shore to celebrate his brother’s graduation from college. The dinner was nice, but the best part was when you and Jeongguk ended up sneaking off to go sit on the beach later on in the night.  

Jeongguk is intertwined into nearly every lasting memory you make. It’s hard to imagine a world where he isn’t a part of each story you retell or each thought that crosses your mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s probably buried in my closet somewhere.” 

He’s relieved you don’t question him.

You might have to do some digging when you get home to find it, but you definitely still have it. It’s not like you have the money to be purchasing new semi-formal dresses for every occasion.

“That would be good. Or something like it, I don’t know.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt and tugs on the cuffs to straighten them out. His reflection in the mirror sends you a beaming smile, at this point accepting how his heart rate seems to spike every time he sees you in one of his shirts nowadays. He’s gotten very good at lending them to you casually.

He continues after a glance at the clock tells him he’s been letting his time with you slip on for more time than he can afford even though he wishes he could stay. “Anyway, I have to get going so make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.” And then he’s padding out the door, car keys jingling in his hand as he picks them up from the dish on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He pokes his head around the hallway entrance to see you. “There’s coffee out here for you when you want it.”

He dashes off before you have the chance to react or even say thank you, a sheepish grin tugging at his features as he walks to his car. When you go out to see, it’s already made with cream and sugar, just the way you like.

☆☆☆

“You look really pretty tonight, Y/N,” Jeongguk says, voice soft as ever, eyeing your dress as you step out of the car. “Seriously, I mean it.” The heels you wear click evenly like a metronome’s beat on the pavement as you walk around to join him at his side.

You ignore the heat in your cheeks, rather offering an endearing grin as you grip the clutch in your hand. “You too, Gguk. You’ll do great tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made everyone here fall for you while you’re at it.”

His initial thought is to ask if that includes you, but his better judgment tells him it’s too bold. Instead, he just laughs and hands his car keys to the valet.

The dinner is a week later at a stunning three-floor, dimly lit fine dining restaurant decorated with dark hardwood and intricate chandeliers that make the soreness in your neck seem worth it while observing them.

Jeongguk cleans up nice, and even though you’ve already known this for a long time, you consider it a treat since this attire rarely, if ever, sees the light of day. 

He props out his elbow and nudges for you to take it, which you so graciously do. Together you walk to the glass doors, through which you can see the party has just started. You can already hear the muffled music and chatter in the background.

“By the way,” he says, leaning down to your ear, like what he’s about to tell you is no big deal. “I… might have told my coworkers that we’re engaged-”

“Engaged!?” you whisper, eyes wide and staring at him incredulously. 

So maybe he should have told you earlier. In his defense, he needed the extra time to produce an irrefutable excuse. In the end, it was only sort of reasonable, but he was hoping you would just roll with it. Isn’t that what the two of you always did?

“I know, I know! But listen. It just makes more sense in terms of you being my plus one and it also makes me seem like I have my shit together. And it’s always good for me to seem like I have my shit together, right?”

You sigh, narrowing your line of sight at him. “Okay. What do I do if someone asks why I’m not wearing my ring then?”

He mutters, “Oh, yeah.” Then he’s fishing through his side pocket and out comes a shiny silver ring with a small diamond placed into the center, held so flippant between his fingertips. “It’s my grandma’s. Borrowed it from home for this weekend.”

His heart pounds. Was that smooth enough? He has a lot of talents, but he isn’t sure if this was one of them just yet. Jeongguk tenses as he waits for your reaction. Best case scenario, his carefree attitude about it will rub off onto you.

“I figured it’d fit you,” he adds.

When it slides on perfectly, you know there’s no going back. Yet somehow, it is completely in character of him. You should have expected something like this because Jeongguk always has and always will be a man of spontaneity.

You’ll have to ask him how he knows your ring size sometime.

Inside, he introduces you to his coworkers. There are too many to remember but you catch a few here and there that you recall him talking about before, like Namjoon, the diligent Production Assistant and Taehyung, another member of the crew who he often eats lunch with. It’s an initial blur of faces and few-worded exchanges before you can take a breather off to the side.

“Not bad?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way it makes your heart flutter is addictive. He has you in his palm and he doesn’t even know it. Unfortunately, you don’t know if it’s something you can give up yet, not without it being messy.

There’s a short line behind a board that displays the seating arrangement, and though it’s moving quickly, it allows you a moment of space from the other guests.

A tired smile pulls at your lips. “Not bad.” You squeeze his hand in yours.

The people in front of you move from the board into the dining hall so both of you can inch up. Jeongguk’s eyes trace the small handwriting, eventually spotting the two of you in the far corner of the room.

Dinner goes well, and Jeongguk does the most of the talking. It’s nice to see him so bright as he laughs with his coworkers. It’s that part of him that he’s had since he was a kid, the part that made him fit in so naturally and charm every person around him. Seeing it out in the open and no longer repressed from emotional baggage is heartwarming. Compared to a few months ago, you might not recognize him at all.

After a while, Jeongguk wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his chair out from the table. “Alright, I’m gonna head to the bar lounge for a little while and see who I can talk to. Are you gonna be fine on your own?”

He’s nervous, you can tell. By the way his eyes dart around the room, the way he’s biting the inside of his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” you nod, taking a sip of water. “I’ll just stick around here.”

He gives himself a once over and wipes his palms on his slacks.

You tap his shoulder, bringing him down so you can whisper to him a small, “You’ll do great.”

He pulls back with a shy, one-sided smile. “Thank you. I hope so. Text me if you need anything.” Effortlessly, he plants a chaste kiss to your cheekbone that has your face ablaze and excuses himself from the table. The feeling of his lips on your skin sticks well after he’s gone.

Ryujin, the script supervisor, puts down her drink with a roll of her eyes. “Finally, all the boys are gone. I’ve been trying to talk to you the entire time but he’s always butting in!”

It pulls a laugh from you. “No, no, he’s just trying to help,” you explain, “I’m new to everyone here so he just doesn’t want me to feel awkward.”

“Yada yada,” says a bubbly Chaeryoung, a PA, waving it off with her hand. “I expected him to be protective with how much he talks about you, but wow. It’s cute though. Sometimes I wish I had someone like that.”

“Yeah, I’m really lucky,” you nod, reminded that you’re just pretending. You’re lucky, but not that lucky. “But… wait, what kind of stuff does he say about me?”

Ryujin chortles at your worry. “Oh, only good things. Just stuff you do together, jokes, those kinds of things. You’re involved in a lot of stories in some way or another.”

“Like, “This one time in high school, Y/N and I got in a fight...” or “Last week, we went to this new brunch spot and Y/N got this sandwich…’” Chaeryoung clarifies, but it only makes you want to pry further.

As she says it, both of the memories come floating back clear as day. You can’t remember what exactly you argued over, but it had been when you were paired as partners in a history class. The sandwich, you recall, was heaven on earth. The images are picture-perfect despite how they’d been buried.

The fact that Chaeryoung remembered things you didn’t is mildly startling, but you’re more surprised that Jeongguk shared so much. Not that it’s an issue, you just didn’t think you’d find yourself being perceived by so many people you had no prior knowledge of. The idea of him spilling your high school gossip fits like a puzzle to his persona, but the thought never occurred to you that he might think about you when you’re not there.

But you won’t let yourself become too optimistic.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I think it’s different since we grew up together as family friends. He’s in a lot of my stories, too.”

“Ugh, that’s cute,” Ryujin sighs. If only. “So when did you start liking each other? Or start dating?”

You take a deep breath as if you’re looking back on the day when in reality you’re just trying to come up with the most believable love story you can manage. It’s also your most ideal. Maybe if your current situation went the way you wanted.

“I think we liked each other at different times over the years. Y’know, I liked him when we were kids, he liked me when we were teenagers, kind of on and off like that. But sometime after college, I think the cycle lined up once and for all and…“

Do you think you could manifest it by speaking it into existence?

“...here we are.”

That thought was stupid. You make yourself forget about it. Stop with the hope, remember?

When you finish your spiel, you think you’ve finally made it in the clear. Until another question comes.

“So what was your first date like? Was it weird?”

You know they’re just trying to make conversation, but god, you’re not ready for this. You’re preoccupied with other problems. If only they knew how your brain was short-circuiting in an effort to think up an explanation that will make you sound versed and most importantly, convincing. You go with what you wish had happened. 

“Um, a little bit, but since we had been close friends for such a long time, I think we had that mutual understanding of how things were so we could laugh about it. We just…” you say, shaking your head along, lips pursing as your train of thought rolls through the detailed daydream you know so well. “...went out to dinner one night... and it was sort of a process to transition to something more romantic, I guess, but it just kind of happened.”

But it feels nice to be Jeongguk’s girl. Even if you’re just playing a part. If you sink yourself into the atmosphere, tune into the clinking of the glasses, and the relaxing jazz in the background, you can pretend you’re really engaged and sharing your love story to whoever will listen.

Would it hurt too much to hold out on it one day become reality?

“I’m always so happy when the company hosts these events,” Chaeryoung comments, leaning back in her chair to take in the room. “It’s the only time I can come to a place like this since you know I can’t afford it with my own money.” A small talk sort of laugh bubbles up from her as she says it. There is an inkling of confusion that strikes you at her words, but you think you’ll just brush it off for the sake of being casual.

Ryujin looks to you as she adds, “And they even let you bring a plus one for free! You know, I was thinking of bringing my boyfriend, but I just felt like it might have been too soon…”

Your brows furrow as you recall the conversation with Jeongguk. Didn’t he say that it was a pay per guest scenario?

“So the company pays for these dinners?” you ask out of pure curiosity and with no hint of suspicion weaved in your tone.

“Yeah!” says Chaeryoung. “It’s all from the company’s budget since this is technically a networking event. Usually, people swap ideas or come up with deals that turn into projects a couple of weeks down the line.”

You nod along as she explains eagerly, but all you can hear is that there never was a price to pay to begin with, and more importantly meaning that there never was a discount. Not one that Jeongguk needed you around for. 

But why would he lie? 

Maybe Jeongguk was embarrassed asking for your company or didn’t want his ego bruised by telling you it was free and he wouldn’t have to pay for you. It’s the benefit of the doubt for your best friend (and love of your life, but that’s a separate issue) that makes it your first thought. In reality, thinking about the boy you know, it doesn’t make sense. At this point, he shouldn’t have to feel like that when it comes to you. 

Whatever the case may be, you hope that he knows he’d never need an excuse to invite you somewhere. It’s not like you’d ever refuse. You’d never refuse him, not in any life.

☆☆☆

It’s the middle of the night when another bad dream jolts you awake with a pounding heartbeat. Your eyes flutter open, brimmed with tears, to reveal that the moon is still high in the sky above the towering buildings, and a shift to the side facing the nightstand lets you know you have another three hours before you have to start your day and leave Jeongguk’s apartment.

The last few weeks, the dreams have been growing more and more common. Not enough for you to dread going to sleep just yet, but definitely something you’re quickly getting sick of. At this point, you’re tired of going to sleep just to wake up freaked out in a cold sweat. You chalk it up to the stress piling on you, not only that of regular adult life but that of your messy relationship with your best friend.

How ironic that must be, considering the whole reason it started was to relieve stress when now it’s your main source.

You empty your lungs with a shaky sigh and slide to the edge of the bed, intending to fetch a glass of water to calm yourself down. Before you can reach your feet, Jeongguk’s arm catches you at your waist, and then you’re being reeled back under the covers.

“Easy,” he mumbles, his voice grainy and low from sleep, “You’re fine. Talk to me.”

You swallow thickly, the scenes from your subconscious flashing back to you. “Um, that’s alright. Not a big deal.”

You wish he’ll just leave it at that and fall back asleep like he usually does. When his breathing steadies, you think you’re in the clear, but you are horribly mistaken when he yawns and adds, “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently.”

Is it another prompt for you to talk? You’re not sure what to say. 

In fact, you’re never sure what to say anymore. Never sure what’s too much, what’s too little, what the difference is between what you say and what you mean. The line blurred months ago and now you’re wandering blind.

You’d enjoy moments like this if it wasn’t for the stark fact that the person you’re with doesn’t love you like you love him. 

 “Yeah…” you agree. Right now, your chest is heavy and not strong enough to support a conversation. You hope that he’s not too drowsy to take the hint.

A small sound from him makes it seem like another sleepy sentence is in the works, but fortunately, the tension in your chest begins to fade when nothing comes out. His hair shuffles against the pillow and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of your neck, lips lingering there for a second too long before he sinks back into his position.

When you’re sure he’s slipped under the veil of slumber again, you carefully slide out of his grasp and squeeze into your own space at the edge of the bed. You don’t know how much longer you can last like this.

☆☆☆

“She texted me.”

The sentence makes you stop chewing. Your movements stop aside from an absent blinking, gears spinning overtime to process it.

“She uh, she wants to meet up,” he tacks on. “I think I should go.”

“Why would you do that?”

Jeongguk slowly twists the pasta around his fork, taking a blatant newfound interest in his dinner. He takes a deep breath, but when he opens his mouth, the words catch in his throat.

“I don’t know. I think we need to talk about what happened.”

You scoff, and he takes an immediate offense to it. His eyebrows knit together as a wounded expression takes form on his features.

“What happened? Gguk, she dumped you because you were going through a hard time and she didn’t want to ‘deal’ with it.”

It’s not just you playing the protective best friend role and trying to talk sense into him. It’s not jealousy, either. And sure, maybe you never liked her to begin with, but for good reason. She ended up doing exactly what you thought she would - shattering his heart into a million pieces and leaving it for someone else to pick up the pieces. And considering that’s been you on a multitude of occasions, you think your point of view is valid.

“Listen, I don’t blame her… That can be really hard on someone.”

“So it’s okay for them to just pop in out of the blue, say they can’t handle your emotional issues and bounce? Someone who they claimed to love for over a year and a half? Someone who they were thinking about marrying?”

Jeongguk purses his lips as you speak, a hefty exhale coming through his nose in frustration.

“I just miss her sometimes!”

And you really wish Jeongguk would love you back, but we can’t all get our way, can we?

Not to throw yourself a pity party, though. It’s not like he owes you anything for what you do because you brought it on yourself. He doesn’t control your feelings, even when you want to blame the nerve he has for smiling because it makes you get all jittery. 

“She doesn’t even give a shit about me anymore! She’s out with other guys, doing all this shit, posting it everywhere. I… I loved her so bad and she acts like she has no clue.”

You give him pep talks when he’s about to go out with someone else. You comfort him when he’s distraught over someone else. You love him when he loves someone else. 

And then-

“You don’t know what that’s like.”

You freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat, closing the gate on your lungs until you forcibly open them again as subtle as possible. A stinging feeling you know all too well burns in your eyes as you try to hold back. Jeongguk doesn’t notice in the slightest as his gaze is still fixated on his food.

Your initial reaction is anger. All you want to do is yell, tell him wrong, tell him that you know it all too well because you love him and he’s pathetically oblivious whether by his nature or by choice. Everything you want to say, shouts and confessions, float across your mind and bounce around the walls as each one brings you further to opening your mouth and letting them spill. Then you just want to cry.

But you won’t do any of that. Your situation won’t allow it, not if you want to risk losing him. It’s not a risk you’re willing to take, even if it means suffering in it by yourself and letting the irony of his words go unrealized.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, the fork gripped by your white knuckles tapping mindlessly against the side of the bowl as you swallow the feeling back down. Your hand comes up to scratch at the corner of your eye, wiping away the wetness beginning to pool composedly so he won’t notice.

“I don’t.”

☆☆☆

It’s on a Tuesday evening a couple of weeks in the future when you next see him. 

Maybe more than a couple. Maybe a few. Maybe too many. Just enough for his tone to turn to something more confrontational than just casual when he sends you a text saying that he wants to see you again. Particularly when he specified that no, he needed to see you again.

He suggests the park by the river. You’ve been there a few times with him for lunches and to hang out, but the energy is different this time around. Both of you know why you’re here, even though you never thought you’d have to be. 

For a while, you didn’t want to make things weird, so you’d come over when he’d ask and leave as soon as you could in an attempt to curb the damage on your heart. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that you actively started flaking on him. You’d let his calls ring until he hung up or left a message and say you were busy when there was absolutely nothing going on. 

He stopped by your apartment at one point, too. You were freaking out after he texted you he’d be visiting, pacing around and wondering what to do, what to respond, if to respond at all. The knock at your door came sooner than you expected. Before you were about to pull it open and face what you’d been so casual about denying for so long, it occurred to you: You could simply not open the door.

So you waited. He knocked a few more times, sighing so loud you could hear through the door. He called out your name softly, as if he knew you were right on the other side. He stayed for a few more minutes. Then came the sound of his footsteps padding away. You were safe for another day, but the awful feeling stuck in your chest for days.

It stuck in his, too. He knew he should have never gone that far, never said anything that night, but he also wondered if he could have done it any other way. Standing at your door and having to face the fact that you were undeniably steering clear of him, because of him, was a nightmare. It was stupid of him, but you’d see past it - wouldn’t you?

And now you’re seeing him live and in person for the first time in god knows how long. It’s a foreign feeling you’ve never felt with Jeongguk before, and you hate it. It’s been long enough for the sense of familiarity to fade, or at least be buried by time. 

Is this how a comet feels when it passes earth again after so many years apart? Does it feel new every time seeing how things have changed, or are they old friends who pick up where they left off?

“ So… what’s been going on with you?” Jeongguk asks nonchalantly, leaning back on his elbows and shaking the hair out of his eyes. “It’s been a while.”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” you shrug, vision focused on the calm waters in front of you. You tug at the grass under your fingertips, loosely hugging your knees to your chest as you sit beside him. “Not much I guess. Just work as usual, you know.”

“Yeah, but how are you?” he presses, trying to find your eyes as you avoid his.

He knew something was wrong from the evident distance and your attitude, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad. He didn’t think he’d fucked up this bad.

Your laugh is awkward and forced. “I’ve been fine. Been good.”

Thinking about the past few weeks, it’s not hard to remember but incredibly hard to grasp. It’s the same moments over and over, sourced from a lonely routine. Day by day spending time with yourself, missing Jeongguk, thinking about texting him but never doing it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

His face turns from you and you miss it the second you can’t see it. The feeling is off and both of you know it. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it as he thinks of what to say. If the wrong thing comes out, he’s worried he’ll chase you even further away. It took so much to even get you here.

“Listen, can I be honest with you?” he says.

Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? He’s tired of beating around the bush. The two of you know so much more than bland small talk.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath. “I always thought that nothing could ever be uncomfortable with you and me. Like we could be straightforward and blunt without it being weird. But things right now are really weird and I don’t know what happened. You’re avoiding me and you don’t want to see me. It’s not like it used to be.”

Your nails scrape beneath each other, entangled in your lap. Clearly things aren’t the same, but you don’t have the energy to be snarky. There are so many things to address and you’re ignorant on where to start.

“I know there wasn’t a discount for the work dinner.”

He nods, looking out over the river. “Yeah, figured.”

“So why’d you lie?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I just wanted you there and I didn’t know how to ask you. I… was starting to feel the shift and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Saying that just gave me an excuse to take any of the weight off.”

He adds quietly, “Your turn.”

“Gguk,” you start, shaking your head as you try to find the right words. You think of the kiss, the dinner, the ring, the argument.

“We act like a couple. We do things couples do. We pretend we’re a couple. But... we aren’t a couple.”

He’s silent. He knows where you’re going. He knew it before you even got here because if you didn’t bring it up first, he would have.

“I think you already know what’s going on, but if you need it spelled out for you, I kinda caught feelings for you. And then you give me your grandmother’s wedding ring and tell me you love me and it hurts so fucking bad because I know you don’t mean it like that. Not the way I wish you did.”

The words dissipate into the fresh evening air, soon filled by delicate chirps and birdsongs. Distant laughter floats around the park, with muffled ferry horns layered behind it all.

“How do you know?”

Your hand pauses, chlorophyll green blades pulled taut between your fingers. No fucking way.

“What?”

He scratches the back of his neck before locking his eyes with yours. “How do you know... that I don’t mean it like that?”

He’s not playing with you, is he? No, he wouldn’t. You respond slightly confused, hesitant to lean into his words just yet.

“Are you saying that you do?”

He laughs and it makes your chest feel like it might burst open. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been saying it. I mean, I thought I was being obvious.”

You suppress the excitement bubbling in your stomach for a second longer to throw him a questionable expression with an extended palm for emphasis. “You told me you wanted to go see your ex-girlfriend and were talking about how you loved her.”

He exhales through his teeth as he squints at you. “Yeah, that went a little far...”

“Only a little?”

“I’m apologizing, so let me, please?” He says, eyes wide with a small smile tweaking up at his lips. “It was stupid. I wanted to see what you would say or if you would get jealous. ‘Cause I thought you might have felt the same and at the time that was the only thing I could think of doing.”

Your expression falls.

“Wait, so did you actually meet up with her?”

“No, no!” He exclaims, rushing to refute such a bizarre idea. “Yes, she texted me, but I said no. Everything you said was right, so… it wasn’t worth it.”

He thinks he’s done, until he sees your stare still lingering on him. What’d he miss? He flops over on his stomach, elbows in the grass as his chin rests on his palms to look at you.

“You also said I didn’t know what it was like to love someone who didn’t love me back.”

A cheeky grin grows on him. “Okay... but technically you don’t because I loved you back the whole time.” One of his arms lowers to the ground, his fingers finding your own. He weaves them together with an affectionate squeeze. “You just didn’t know.”

The way your heart flutters is different this time. Gone are the tiring nerves and teary eyes and the weight of stress on your shoulders. It’s a comfortable sort of excitement, one that you’re in love with almost as much as you are with the boy himself.

“Since when?” you ask shyly, feeling the tingle in your cheeks. 

It’s a relief to have Jeongguk back. A life without him wouldn’t be one you could ever get used to. 

He was there at the start, he’s here now, and he will be here for as long as he possibly can. When it comes to you, there’s no doubt. He’s yours every time.      

His deep brown eyes sparkle under the setting sun, golden and glowing, as he makes a point to find your own. Tone dulcet and tender, he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Since always.”

[bluejayblueskies]

philia

n. a love between friends; based on mutual respect, common values, shared desires, and unwavering trust

Words: 2.5k Relationship: Sasha James & Tim Stoker, past Sasha James/Tim Stoker Tags: Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Aromantic Sasha James, Lovers to Friends, Awkward Conversations Warnings: internalized arophobia (throughout), fear of arophobia from another character (doesn’t actually occur)

|| Ao3 ||

.

If one thing could be said about Sasha James, it’s this: she doesn’t scare easy. All the traditional spooks—spiders and the dark and heights and everything in between—don’t send her heart racing like they did some of her childhood friends, and when she was old enough to go to the library by herself, she slowly and methodically worked her way through the meager horror section at her disposal. She liked the way that the fear tasted, metallic in her mouth and sending gooseflesh tingling across her arms and lips, and even when she landed on a book or a movie that pushed her beyond her limits for terror, she found that she couldn’t look away, too immersed in the way that her hands shook as she turned the page.

 Maybe that’s why she ended up at the Magnus Institute. When the horror began to feel stale, each story contrived beyond the point of enjoyment, where better to turn to than somewhere that collected horrors that were real?

Sasha lasted three months in Artifact Storage before she decided that she’d finally found her limit, and it was gold monocles that turned your sight inward and stainless steel knives that leaked briny blood and a chalkboard eraser that could peel the skin clean off your face with a single stroke. Her brand of horror lay in stories, not in things, she decided then. In stories, at least, the fear was contained.

 The problem, though, is that it’s easy to not be afraid of stories. Even if they’re real ones, told by real people, they’re still just stories, and so Sasha can separate herself from them, lock them away in the Institute at night and return to the more mundane horrors of her television screen or her bookshelf. It’s much, much harder to not be afraid of the things she can’t escape.

 Sasha James doesn’t scare easy. But when she walks into the Institute on Monday morning and sees Timothy Stoker sitting at his desk, positioned opposite to hers and in the perfect location for mid-day glances and snippets of conversation, her heart jumps into her throat so fast she thinks she might choke on it.

 Sasha puts on her headphones, sits down at her desk, and doesn’t let her eyes stray from her computer screen for the rest of the day.

 And the next.

 And the next.

 Fear is a funny thing, she thinks as she stands in the shower that Friday night, letting the water drum against the back of her skull and trying to figure out why even after fifteen minutes of standing in the scalding spray, her skin still itches with unseen dirt that she can’t quite rid herself of. It can spur people to go to lengths they never thought imaginable. Like Gregory Chavez, who found he could run nearly two miles at a dead sprint when chased by a thing that had once been his son but that now craved nothing but blood and terror. Or Biah Wynn, who found it within herself to burn her family home to the ground with her brother still inside when a sharp-tongued thing from her dreams told her to.

 Or Sasha James, who’s been avoiding her best friend for a week because she had sex with him and now can’t bring herself to admit that it was a mistake. Or, more accurately, to admit why it was a mistake.

 Tim probably hates me now, she thinks as she tips her head back and lets the water run over her eyelids, holding her breath as it trickles over her closed lips and hits her arms where they’re crossed over her chest in a protective gesture. And he’d be right to. I kind of hate me now.

 Sasha turns the shower off, laments for a moment the state of her water bill for that month, and readies herself for bed.

 She allows herself to continue this way for two more days before the voice in her head manages to convince her that don’t ruin a good thing is becoming more and more of an impossibility the longer she ignores the inevitably awkward conversation that they need to have. Her resolve finally breaks through the sharp static of fear Monday evening, when Tim pushes back from his desk and Sasha says, breaking the silence with all the grace of a battering ram, “Fancy a cuppa?”

 Timothy Stoker doesn’t startle easy. At the sound of Sasha’s voice, however, he jumps so badly that the file folder he’d been preparing to stow away slips from his hands, spilling loose pages on the ivory tile floor in a mess of white paper and black ink.

 “Jesus,” Tim says, bending down to collect the papers. His eyes are cast firmly on the ground when he says, voice tight, “A little warning next time before you decide to break a week-long vow of silence?”

 Sasha’s wince is full-body. “Sorry,” she says, trying and failing to impart a week’s worth of apologies into a single word. Then, with forced levity: “Permission to speak again?”

 Tim’s quiet for a little too long. He’s collected all the papers and they sit limply in his hands as his eyes trace the lines between the tiles, lips curled down into a pained expression that Sasha hates, though she knows it’s nobody’s fault but her own. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t know, Sasha. Maybe a week ago, the answer would have been yes? But I… I don’t know if I feel like talking now.”

 Thorns of Sasha’s own design dig into her heart and claw up her throat, and she fixes her eyes on the surface of her desk. It’s full of yellow post-it notes she doesn’t remember writing and approximately twenty stray pens and pencils and a million other things that are far, far less important than the man still squatting on the floor next to her, pretending to organize the papers in his hand.

 “Okay,” she says, and the word bites into her tongue with razor-sharp teeth. Then, even though she said she wouldn’t, she says, “I’m sorry, Tim. And I want to explain, if you’d let me.”

 Please let me.

 Tim looks at her, just once, and the hurt in his eyes cuts into Sasha like broken glass. “I… I just need some time,” he says, like Sasha hasn’t given him too much of that already, like she hasn’t already had the thought of I just need more time, more time to figure this out running through her head for days.

 “Okay,” she repeats. The smile she musters up feels hollow, too full of hope to hold up to scrutiny.

 “Okay,” Tim says.

 Tim leaves. And Sasha works late, if only to give her mind something to do that isn’t wallowing in guilt and self-pity.

 She works late Tuesday, too. And Wednesday and Thursday. Then, as her computer blinks 17:00 on Friday and she flips open another file, she hears from behind her a quietly amused, “You’re turning into Jon, you know.”

 If asked later, Sasha will maintain that she didn’t startle at the sound of Tim’s voice. The file, at least, stays firmly clasped in her hand, though she sets it down before turning in her chair to see Tim standing a few feet away, jacket slung over one arm and hesitance written all over his face even as his mouth forms a teasing smile.

 “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sasha says, aiming for levity and coming close enough for it to count. “I don’t have nearly enough grey in my hair for that yet. Besides, you know I can’t pull off a sweater vest.”

 “Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

 Sasha smiles fully, letting tendrils of humor pull the corners of her mouth up toward her eyes, and the lines of tension in Tim’s face begin to smooth. The hesitance is still there, the hurt lying just beneath, but it feels a lot less like a wall and a lot more like a locked door. She just hopes that Tim still trusts her enough to give her the key.

 “Fancy a cuppa?” he says.

 They pick a little tea shop a few blocks away from the Institute, open later than the rest and with prices that only make Sasha wince a little bit as she orders a cup of jasmine green tea and then sits at a little corner table across from Tim, away from the hum of the rest of the café. He wraps his hands around his mug of Darjeeling, looks at Sasha, and says, “Is this the part where you say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

 Sasha winces and takes a long sip of her too-hot tea to cover it up. When she pulls back, the roof of her mouth thoroughly scalded, she says, “In… a manner of speaking.”

 It’s Tim’s turn to wince, though he doesn’t bury it in his tea, instead painting over it quickly with a mask that’s not so thick that Sasha can’t still see the hurt that lies beneath. “Right,” he says, and the little laugh that escapes him is entirely devoid of humor. “Guess that’s it, then. Nice and succinct—don’t know why it gets such a bad rap in rom-coms, to be honest.”

 The guilt is burning its way up Sasha’s throat, hot and sticky. It’s a struggle to force herself to speak around it, but she does, because it’s important. Because it matters. Because she’s not going to lose her best friend just because she’s afraid. So, she swallows the lump in her throat just enough to say, “It’s not because I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, Tim; it’s because I don’t want to be in a relationship at all. A… a romantic one, at least.”

 Tim doesn’t say anything at first, and though Sasha knows he’s just taking the time to parse her words, to understand what she’s trying to tell him—he’s ace, he told her before they… before, so he’ll know what she means—she can’t keep the anxiety from clawing up the back of her throat with acid-dipped nails. She takes a drink of her tea, and then another, until she’s staring at the bottom of her mug with her heart thrumming in the back of her throat. The sound of her own pulse in her ears is so loud that she almost doesn’t hear Tim when he says, quietly, “I’m sorry, Sasha.”

 Sasha sets her mug down hard enough to chip, surprise and guilt turning her blood to liquid nitrogen and her muscles to ice. “No, please- please don’t apologize, Tim, I should be the one who- I should have told you sooner instead of- of leading you on when I was never going to reciprocate. And then you told me you were ace and I- I still didn’t say anything because- because—”

 Sasha waves her now-free hand in the air wildly, grasping for a reason that just won’t come. Finally, for want of anything better, she lands on, “Because I somehow thought that was going to be the thing that you’d hate me for instead of for how I’ve been acting all week.” She deflates, ever so slightly, and says, “I am so, so sorry, Tim.”

 She affixes her eyes to the table, to the spiraling wood grains that trace lines across its surface, and doesn’t let go. She can think of a million expressions Tim might be wearing right now, ranging from guilt to sympathy to frustration to hurt, and she doesn’t want to see any of them.

 A hand, warm and terra-cotta brown, settles on top of hers, and Tim says, “I meant that I’m sorry for assuming that the reason you were avoiding me was about me. I should have asked sooner, but I…” He lets out a small laugh. “I suppose I thought you hated me. That I’d done something—though I couldn’t figure out what—and now you never wanted to see me again. And then I- I made it about me. Got frustrated when you wanted to talk. Didn’t even consider that there might have been something else going on.”

 “Why would you have?” Sasha says quietly, eyes still glued to the table. “I didn’t give you any indication that there was. I didn’t say anything.”

 Tim hums, a sad sound, and says, “I suppose neither of us did.”

 It’s quiet between them for a moment. In the interim, the sounds of the café filter in: the clank of cups against countertops, the hiss of steam as it spills free from stainless steel water heaters, the chatter of those around them who are lost in their own worlds of words and wants and wishes. Then, Tim’s hand tightens around Sasha’s, almost imperceptibly, and he says, “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

 Sasha finally looks up from the table. Tim’s watching her, his eyes full of an affection so sweet it tastes of melted caramels on Sasha’s tongue. “I’ve loved you in so many ways, Sasha James, in so many times and places and moments. And I’m not going to give them all up if one of those ways isn’t something that you want from me. I’ll just put that one aside and replace it with new ones.” Tim shrugs and smiles, and it’s so casual, so easy, that Sasha thinks she must be dreaming it. “If you don’t want to date, then we won’t. And that’s not going to make me love you any less.”

 Sasha looks at Tim, trying to wrangle the tendrils of emotions within her into something beyond the electrifying, giddy happiness that she feels bubbling up in her chest. What comes out, in the end, is a small laugh and a quiet, “It’s that easy?”

 Tim holds up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

 “Huh.” Sasha taps a finger against the edge of her mug, feeling the press of now-cool ceramic on her skin. The smile tugging at her lips is insistent enough that she finally just lets it slip free, uninhibited by shaking hands or acid claws or rapid-fire heartbeats. It’s still a nervous thing—a fawn just learning to walk, a baby bird pushed from its nest and struggling to unfurl its wings mid-freefall, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon with stained-glass wings and a life turned upon its head. It remains so for several weeks, through the still-awkward coffee runs and the times Sasha spends curled up on Tim’s couch with the space between them burning red-hot and icy-cold in equal measure and the staggering guilt that still returns as Sasha stands in the shower or lies in bed or walks through the doors to the Institute to see Tim sat at his desk, his smile growing wider each day.

 Then one day Sasha reaches for it, almost absently—that nervous feeling, the almost-falling swoop of her stomach—and finds it gone. She reaches and instead finds Tim, standing in the kitchen of her flat with flour dusted on his nose and kneading a ball of bread dough as he regales her with a story of his first tried-and-failed attempt at making bread that involved not one, but two separate fire-alarm incidents. And when she smiles at him, it feels so light and freeing that a laugh comes with it, bubbly with surprise and affection.

 She spreads stained-glass wings, strong enough now to carry her weight and beautiful in their own right, and lets the wind carry her home.