#this week in modesty thinks its her job to protect everyone

[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.”

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. A bit of an emotional chapter this time, but Bickslow is involved so there’s also some relief. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Nine - Some Time Later

One Week Later

Before the memories hit him, Freed felt a horrible sense of deja vu.

He was in the guildhall infirmary, with almost all of his energy sapped away from him, just as he had when he had first been taken to Fairy Tail. He had a feeling that there was something changed inside of him that would shape the rest of his life, just as he had after the demon had invaded his soul. He had a feeling of yearning, hoping to see someone who was destined to be a part of his life, only to be disappointed to see he was alone again. Everything was so reflective of how it had been when he'd first woken up after his first instance of possession, and it was horrible.

Of course, the memories did eventually come to him. The tournament. The twisted feeling of power that had slowly been seeping into him through the day. The lack of control that had overwhelmed him. The sudden inability to control his body. The feeling of trying to pour his magic into the demon to overwhelm it.

And then, there was Gajeel.

Gajeel had broken down every wall of defence that the demon had in place as if it were nothing. Even with the overwhelming power emanating from the fully unleashed demon, Gajeel had been able to walk towards him, and reach out to Freed. Like a light in the darkness, Gajeel had managed to drag him out of the demon's control and allowed him his autonomy again. He had managed to do something Freed had thought impossible.

The demon was gone. Gajeel had somehow burned the thing from his soul, removing it entirely. They had killed what remained of the demon together in a unison raid moments before Freed had passed out in his arms.

But, despite the importance of it all, that wasn't what Freed was thinking about.

I'm yours and yer mine.

That demon aint got a fucking claim on you.

Yer fuckin' mine.

It ain't ever hurtin' you again, y'hear me. Never

The words weren't subtle. They weren't something you could misunderstand. They weren't anything but a claim on Freed. Gajeel was stating loudly, in front of everybody in the guild - everyone that mattered to them both - that he and Freed belonged to one another.

Perhaps if it was coming from any other man than Gajeel, Freed might have felt fury. He might have felt some level of anger that Gajeel had proclaimed such a thing so publicly without so much as asking Freed, but he only felt a sense of rightness at what Gajeel had said. Of course he and Gajeel belonged to each other. How had that been in any doubt? The moment they had first laid eyes on each other, the motions were put in place to bring them into each other's arms. It was destiny.

Had Freed always been so romantic? Perhaps he had needed the right man to bring it out of him.

"Ah, you're awake," A grouchy, haggard voice cut through the silence. "You certainly took your time, didn't you?"

Freed looked towards the door of the infirmary, to see Porlyusica walking towards him. This too was how he remembered his first experience of living in Magnolia, with the impatient and impetuous woman acting as though his life was an inconvenience for her to deal with. That was something that was familiar, if nothing else.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Freed asked, and found his voice hoarse.

"Nine days," Porlyusica said, picking something up from the small table beside Freed's bed. He didn't know what it was, but it began to glow with healing magic. She turned to Freed and sighed. "Lower your covers and hold still."

Doing as instructed, Freed blushed a little when he realised he was without any clothing. The woman didn't seem bothered, and slowly began to lower the magical item over his body. It was scanning him, and he let out a gasp when the device passed over his heart. There was a sudden flood of warmth through his body, unlike anything he could ever remember feeling before. It was pleasant, but so foreign to him that he didn't know what to feel.

"Ah, good," Porlyusica said, placing the device down again.

"What was that," Freed demanded, pulling up the sheets to protect his modesty.

"I stimulated you, that magic was intended to induce a feeling of comfort and delight," She shrugged, picking up a small piece of paper that Freed assumed had his details on. "You've had that demon eating away at you from the inside for years, so you probably grew used to its influence. It has been slowly dulling your emotions for ten years. You just felt joy like the rest of us do for the first time since your possession."

What?

His emotions had been dulled?

Surely he would have noticed that. The ability to feel how he felt was something that he had always taken for granted, and he never expected it could leave him. Perhaps he had become jaded, but he had dismissed that as growing up and working in a profession where you often saw the worst of people. The demon had been responsible for that, too?

Fuck. Fuck his damn parents and the damn demon and the damn priest who had gotten him into this position. How the hell had he lost so much control of who he was without knowing it? Why had the people he loved allowed this to happen to him. His parents were meant to protect him, not to allow this.

Was this what anger felt like when not influenced by a demon? Uneducated and bitter?

"You'll acclimate," Porlyusica said, as if knowing what he was feeling. "Those friends of yours have wanted to see you since the incident. Annoying brats. I'm going to put you to sleep again, they'll no doubt be here before you wake."

"What?" Freed asked. "No, I don't intended to-"

"Quiet," Porlusica said firmly, and tapped her cane on the floor. "Sleep."

And Freed slipped away before he could protest.

——

"Hey baby," Bickslow's voice woke Freed up before his eyes were open. "Are you feeling okay?"

He didn't know how long it had been since Porlyuscia had put him to sleep, but he woke up in the same bed with the sun higher in the sky. He blinked away the light and saw that Bickslow, Evergreen and Laxus were all sitting around his bed, looking at him with expressions of mingled happiness and concern. He pushed himself off the mattress so he could sit up, wincing at the feeling of aching muscles.

With a quick glance around, he saw that Gajeel wasn't there. That didn't feel good.

"Erm, yes," Freed said in answer to Bickslow's question, his mind not working as fast as he would have liked. "I believe I am. Are you three unharmed?"

"We're not the priority, Freed," Evergreen scoffed a little at the thought, but her expression turned to one of sympathy. It was almost motherly, which was a concern coming from her. Even worse, she took his hand and squoze it as if he needed consoling. "We all saw what happened, now be honest and tell us how you're feeling."

Freed hadn't thought of that. Everyone had seen him weakened and out of control. On the brink of death…

Fairy Tail maged had seen a lot of bad things - it came with the job - but he knew that they always were more affected when it was one of their own being hurt. This could have been terrifying to watch, and he supposed that he owed them some honesty.

"I feel… drained," Freed admitted. "As if I got into the worst fight of my life. Everything is aching, my flesh feels like it's burning from the inside, but no more than normal after a difficult mission," He thought for a moment, moving his arm as if testing that he still could. Of course he could, and the feeling spread warmth though him. It reminded him of what Porlyusica said to him, and he smiled a little. "I'm lighter now. As if a burden has been lifted."

"Well that's good," Evergreen smiled. "And you're not hiding anything from us?"

"Not knowingly," Freed assured them.

"So we can start teasing you about the fact your demon ripped off your clothes and when you transformed back we all saw you naked," Bickslow grinned, and it was a clear attempt to lighten the mood. Evergreen whacked him on the arm, but he just laughed. "Because we all saw your dick, and I gotta say baby, I'm impressed with what you've got going on down there. Don't know how I went so long without seeing it."

Freed chuckled, slightly weakly. "I'd rather not be teased about it, if possible. And I was under the impression that you've started seeing someone."

"I am," Bickslow sighed dreamily, in an overly exaggerated sense of course. "And he's the most handsome man in the world. And he's better than you because he's always getting naked in public and I love it."

Freed laughed. It was good to have Bickslow in moments like this.

Evergreen and Bickslow, as they so often did, started to playfully squabble between themselves. Evergreen had said something about how the PDA between Bickslow and Gray was revolting and far too graphic for the guildhall, and Bickslow argued back saying that Ever only thought that because she didn't have the chance to do it with Elfman because they were still being secretive about their very obvious relationship. The arguments spiralled from there, and Freed watched with amusement.

His gaze drifted from the two squabbling idiots to Laxus, who was looking at him with a quiet expression of concern. When he noticed Freed looking, he curled an eyebrow as if asking if he really was feeling okay. Freed nodded, with a small smile, and Laxus seemed to deflate a little.

"Really gone, huh?" Laxus murmured.

"It seems so," Freed nodded, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter of the demon. For a moment, Freed remained quiet, but there was one thing he needed to know. "Where is he?"

Laxus sighed, ran a hand over his face, and spoke. "You not waking up was getting to him."

"That's not an answer to my question," Freed said firmly. "Where is he?"

"He needed some time away, to deal with everything," Laxus explained. "I'll find him, he'll wanna know you're okay."

"Thank you," Freed whispered, smiling a little.

"No problem," Laxus nodded, standing up.

He walked out of the infirmary without speaking to Bickslow or Evergreen, who clearly hadn't been following their conversation as they both looked perplexed. When Laxus was outside of the building, they could all see an explosion of lightning as Laxus shot off into the sky, apparently having a good idea as to where Gajeel was. Freed certainly hoped so, he needed to see Gajeel as soon as he could.

What was he going to say to him, though? Thank you for ridding me of my curse? Everything you said about belonging together I fully agree with? When you weren't here when I woke up, I realised I always want to wake up beside you?

"Wonder what that was about?" Evergreen commented, speaking about Laxus' departure and bringing Freed's focus back to the room.

"Maybe he's still pissy becuase he and Loke were the losers of the tournament," Bickslow grinned, again trying to keep the mood light. Freed looked at him with a raised eyebrow, because that was something that would certainly distract him. "Shit, you didn't know, huh? Yeah, they didn't work well together at all. It was funny. Lost by a landslide. Laxus wasn't happy about it when I reminded him he has to do a forfeit."

"I expect so," Freed smiled. "Who will be giving him the forfeit, might I ask. I assume you, since I passed out during the fight."

"Me and Gray were deemed the winners, after we were sure you were okay of course," Bickslow assured him. "But we felt it was kinda bullshit. So we thought you and Gajeel could take the money from the prize, and me and Gray get to have fun with the forfeit. That okay?"

"I suppose," Freed chuckled slightly, because almost any other person would want the money. "What have you planned for them?"

Maybe it wasn't the most relevant thing to think about at the time, but Freed wanted the distraction. The lightness of his soul, the revelation that he could truly feel his emotions to their fullness again, and the fact that Gajeel hadn't been there when he woke were all starting to pile up on top of him. A distraction, even a ridiculous one like this, was exactly what he needed. Bickslow seemed to sense this, as he spoke with gusto and joy.

"Well, I wanna have them dress up like old-timey jesters and perform shows every night of a week where they make total asses out of themselves in front of everyone," Bickslow grinned. "And my darling baby wants them to be our butlers for a week and then they have to do everything we say. We haven't decided yet."

"Surely, if you have them as your butlers, you could make them dress like jesters and perform shows as well as anything else you wish," Freed suggested, and Bickslow grinned.

"You're a genius," He exclaimed. "And instead of suits, I'll make sure they're only wearing really tight black briefs and bowties. Really give me something to look at."

Freed chuckled. This was normal, at least.

——

Gajeel needed to keep moving. He needed to keep himself moving and active and his mind away from Freed because the moment his mind did fall onto Freed it would inevitably linger on the fact that Freed wasn't awake and that Freed might not wake up and that something Gajeel had done might have ended up killing the man that had so quickly intertwined their lives together. That was a thought too awful to even consider, so Gajeel had to keep moving.

After three days of waiting for Freed to wake, Gajeel had left Magnolia. Maybe he was a coward to do so, but he didn't care. He found himself walking, and hours later he was in the forest where he trained. The same forest where he had first gotten to know Freed.

It hadn't been a good idea.

He'd been sleeping under the stars ever since. He had exercised and forced his body to the brink of exhaustion every night, because the idea of lying down and letting sleep overcome him was nauseating. He couldn't let his mind wonder because that would mean letting himself think about Freed and he couldn't do that.

Every day, his body ached. He had pushed himself further than he ever had before. He'd ran more laps of the forest than ever, swam across the lake faster and with more purpose than he could remember doing, and he had pushed the dead tree trunk further up the hill than he thought he ever could. It was all in vain, because even in the split seconds his mind might wander from the exercise to Freed, it felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and horror flowed through him.

He couldn't take any more. Today, his body was beyond moving more than necessary, protesting against the slightest attempt to exercise. That was how he found himself sitting in the shallowest part of the river, cross legged, with his hand turned to a small blade as he whittled away at a piece of wood.

His intention had been to meditate, something he often did. But today, confronting his mind has not been possible, because they made him feel sick to his damn stomach. And so he'd reached for a nearby bit of wood, and started to carve away at it. First it had been to occupy his hands with something to stop himself from fidgeting, but the more he carved the more he got into the rhythm of it, and he quickly realised that he was carving it into something. Something for a very specific person.

A crown. A crown fit for a prince.

And fuck it, when Freed woke up - becuase he would wake up dammit - Gajeel was gonna treat him like a prince. Two weeks ago he'd given Freed shit for being pampered, but now Gajeel would give anything to be the person pampering his spoiled ass that moment. He'd bring him hot tea, make him dinner, massage his damn feet if he had to. Anything to get his prince back to him.

But for now, he had to make the crown. Because once the crown was complete, then Freed would be awake and everything would be fine. It just had to be fine. Yes, it was a ridiculous claim to make, but he had to cling onto something for hope.

He'd make Freed a real crown one day. Metal, infused with gemstones.

Freed would like that. He'd call Gajeel an idiot, but he'd enjoy it really.

Gods dammit, this was so stupid. Gajeel growled and stood up, but kept the half-made wooden crown in his hand. His body protested from the small amount of movement, but he stormed towards a nearby upturned tree that he had been resting on and slammed his fist into the bark. He did it again, and again, not turning his skin to iron so that he could feel the coarseness of the wood grazing his knuckles. He needed to feel something dammit!

"That helping you?" Laxus' voice came from behind him, and Gajeel nearly jumped at the sudden sound as he turned. Fuck, how had he missed the man approaching. "It doesn't look healthy."

"The hell are you doin' here?" Gajeel grunted. He wasn't in the mood for company. "Needed to think."

"I get that, I've been there," Laxus shrugged, leaning against the tree that Gajeel had punched and looking unwilling to move. "But he woke up, asked where you were. Thought you might get pissed off if someone didn't tell ya."

Gajeel paused.

Freed was awake.

Awake, and asking for him.

For a week, Gajeel hadn't allowed himself to think about Freed at all, and the few moments that resolve had slipped he had gone to the worst case scenario. Maybe it was some kind of bullshit defence mechanism, where if he thought only about the bad outcome then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when it happened, but he suddenly realised that he hadn't entertained the possibility that it might be okay.

He wanted to storm back to Magnolia as quickly as he could, but stumbled a little under his feet. His legs were aching and his body objecting to any movement whatsoever. He tried to fight through it, because dammit he could make it through some pain if he got to see Freed, but he nearly fell to the ground. The only thing stopping him was Laxus.

"He's not gonna be happy if you nearly kill yourself getting to him," Laxus said, hooking Gajeel's arm over his shoulder. "The two of you are fucking idiots, you know that. You love each other to the point of self destruction."

"Love?" Gajeel muttered. "He said that?"

"He looked pretty damn heartbroken when he realised you weren't there," Laxus said, slowly walking while helping Gajeel. "It means he loves you."

"Y' think so?" Gajeel asked.

"Of course," Laxus scoffed, helping the aching man traverse the woodlands. "He's not gonna admit it yet, probably convinced himself it's too soon to say it, but it's pretty damn clear. He doesn't show his emotions very well, so the fact he's showing them about you is a big deal. And if any guy could affect him so much to make him fall in love within a week, it's you."

"Really?"

"In a week, you managed to turn hatred into a special bond, you managed to nail a unison raide, you got rid of the fucking demon that's been ruining his life," Laxus laughed. "You're it for Freed. You're the last guy he's ever gonna love because who the fuck could compare to that?"

Gajeel blushed a little. Was Sparky always this complimentary?

"Aint this the point where you say yer gonna kick my ass if I fuck around with him?" Gajeel asked, because he wasn't particularly good with his feelings and Laxus had just said a lot of things that could overwhelm Gajeel if he lingered on them for too long. "Give me the shovel talk or whatever?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Laxus asked. "I saw how you look at him, I know you're not gonna be a dick or hurt him. And if you do, he'd deal with you himself."

Gajeel certainly agreed with that, his prince by no means needed anyone to fight his battles for him.

He found himself a little happy that he had gotten Laxus' blessing, even if he didn't think he particularly needed it. Laxus was an important part of Freed's life, and Gajeel didn't want to be the reason for any kind of rift between them. He also wouldn't have been surprised if Freed was firmly the type of man who might choose his friends over a new lover, and Gajeel respected that. So to have Laxus approve of them felt good.

"Just be good to him, okay?" Laxus said quietly, helping Gajeel pass over a branch that had fallen. "A lot of people have been shitty to him - more than he realsies - so be in his corner, okay?"

"Of course," Gajeel nodded, because he didn't need to be told that.

"But don't take any shit from him either," Laxus said with renewed volume, and apparently the seriousness of their conversation was over. "He's a cocky son of a bitch and he can pull some shit when you least expect it. If you're gonna be his boyfriend then it's your responsibility to knock him down a peg when he's being an ass."

"Kinda contradictory, don't y' think," Gajeel laughed a little.

"Trust me, you'll see just how much of an ass he can be, and you'll see what I mean," Laxus grinned at Gajeel, and Gajeel felt as though this was Laxus' way of offering Gajeel a way into his life, as well as Freed's. Gajeel grinned back, and they continued walking. After a little while, Laxus spoke again. "Now, you're gonna have to test how much you care for him now. We can either walk back like this, and get there past midnight, or go to the train station and risk a fucking train without his runes to settle our stomachs? It'll be faster, but feel shitty as hell."

"Train," Gajeel said immediately, despite his stomach groaning at the thought. "He's worth it."

——

When Gajeel saw Freed, he almost wanted to cry.

He stormed across the infirmary, and Freed looked towards him with an expression just as relieved as Gajeel was feeling. He didn't stop moving, and wrapped his arms around Freed as tightly as he could in a hug. Freed did the same, apparently his body recovered enough to deal with Gajeel's full strength. For a moment, they both clung to each other as tightly as they could, and Gajeel found solace in the scent of his lover's embrace.

Freed was alive, awake, and here. Everything was okay.

"I'm sorry," Gajeel mumbled into the crook of Freed's neck. "I should've been here when you woke up. I'm sorry."

"You're here now, that's all that matters," Freed whispered, and the hoarseness of his voice made Gajeel feel like shit. Freed seemed to notice, as he pulled away and cupped Gajeel's chin firmly. "I've been tortured by a demon for all of my adult life, and you have gotten rid of that. Not being at my side the moment I woke up is entirely forgivable."

"Should've been here," Gajeel argued, pressing his forehead against Freed's.

"I don't mind," Freed whispered again, leaning up and pressing his lips against Gajeel's in a chaste kiss. "So long as you're here now, I don't mind."

Gajeel leant down further, and pressed their lips together again. He pushed into Freed slightly to deepen the kiss, and his inner dragon purred at the feeling of Freed kissing him again. One night with the man had been enough for Gajeel to know that Freed was special, and that no kiss would be as good as a kiss from Freed. He had been wanting nothing but to feel the man against him again, and to have it finally happen was euphoria.

When they pulled apart, Freed was smiling at Gajeel with a lovestruck expression that looked so good on him. Gajeel would have loved to keep Freed in that moment, because such an expression could only be achieved when someone was feeling bliss. Freed was blissful looking at Gajeel!

"Lie with me," Freed requested. Gajeel didn't need to be told twice.

He maneuvered his tired body into the bed - resisting the urge to make a comment about Freed's nude state - and rested against the headboard. Freed shifted slightly, and leant against Gajeel, nuzzling into his chest with a yawn. So fucking cute.

For what seemed like forever, they stayed like this. Just the two of them, together again and breathing and alive and happy. Gajeel would happily live the rest of his life in that moment, with Freed in his arms and with comfort filling his soul. This was a level of contentment that Gajeel had never felt before, and he was unwilling to let it go. Freed was going to be his for as long as Gajeel could fight for him.

"I meant it, y'know," Gajeel murmured, pressing his lips to Freed's ear. "I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. I meant everything I said."

"I know you did," Freed smiled, looking up. "I want to be yours too. I want to wake up beside you every morning, and kiss you goodnight every night."

Gajeel couldn't help but grin, lean forward and press their lips together again. Freed was his. He was Freed. In each other's arms, they fell asleep. Content, happy, and in love.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part Two

Many thanks for the cover image to @awkward-haux!!!

Content Warnings: unnegotiated kink scenes, anxious / negative self-talk

Summary: The Reader gets used to her new role in Ivar and Ubbe’s apartment. Trading chores for free rent should be simple, right?

Part One here

You had thought the bathroom would be the most awkward part of this arrangement, but after the first deep-clean, that job isn’t really all that bad. It turns out that for you, laundry duty carries the most emotional impact. Sorting through Ivar and Ubbe’s used clothes brings an array of tantalizing scents wafting to your nose; they each favor a different cologne, and the occasional undershirt carries a deeper musk that hits you on an entirely primal level. Ubbe’s is spicy and distracting, making your head spin just a little as you imagine being tucked under his arm. Ivar’s is sweeter, hypnotizing, and the one time that you privately brought his shirt to your nose for a full-on huff, you felt like you had been drugged.

And after the clothes are clean, the folding, pressing, and hanging feels like an intimate, worshipful little ritual all of its own. You like to do it when they’re not home, and you can be alone with your little domestic fantasy. It feels like much more of an invasion to be opening drawers and going into their closets to put things away while they’re around, anyway.

Plus, the first time you brought a fresh, fluffy laundry basket back up to the apartment, so you could fold it in front of the TV, Ivar had watched you like a hawk. He just could not stop giving you increasingly-specific instructions. It warmed your chest and set your teeth rattling in equal measure.

“Long-ways, then in thirds.”

While you get a submissive little thrill every time he tells you what to do, at this point his barrage of critique starts to make your throat thicken with the familiar anxiety about not being able to please.

“Crisper, Y/N. Smooth it out with your hand before you make the fold.”

Ubbe growls a warning sound from his end of the couch. He seems to need to remind Ivar at least once a day to go easier on you.

You hear Ivar catch his breath, holding something back. When he speaks again, his tone is softer. “I just really like the way Marie Kondo does it.”

Your eyes widen as you whip your head and look up at the boys sprawled across the couch. “Wait. You guys can’t be bothered to lift a finger to take care of anything, and you watch a cleaning show?!”

“I like a tidy house,” Ivar sniffs, unapologetic in his sheer hypocrisy. “And I like the way she organizes.”

Something tugs at your memory. You’ve seen some of her videos before. “Isn’t she the one who says you need to like, convey your affection for the clothes while you smooth them out with your hands?” Your neck starts to tingle as you connect this thought with the associations that the boys’ laundry had already started to have in your mind.

Ivar’s eyes sparkle as he holds your gaze, as if he can tell exactly what you’re thinking. “Yes. And I want to see you doing just that. With every piece.”

Ubbe groans.

You smile a little at how protective he tries to be, even if he’s missing the point. “It’s all right, Ubbe,” you say primly. “They’re Ivar’s clothes, I’ll do them however he wants.”

“Well, you don’t have to be that obsessive with mine. Just having them clean in the basket is good enough for me.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t leave them to get wrinkled like that.”

You finished folding Ivar’s clothes in silence that night, your nerve endings sparkling like you were doing something sexual in front of him the entire time. You kept the movements of your hands slow, graceful, and you took your time spreading each piece of fabric, knowing he knew you were imagining his chest under every shirt, wondering about the usual occupant of each pair of boxers… While it was an experience you often find yourself replaying in your mind now, you still have never quite overcome embarrassment enough to do it in front of him again.

 * * *

 Ubbe liked to paint himself as easier to live with than Ivar, but as everyone got more comfortable together in the apartment, that was not necessarily the truth. While Ivar used your services to kickstart himself into reorganizing all of his possessions, and then actually started to pick up after himself whenever he thought you weren’t looking, Ubbe was much more prone to leave everything lying around all over the place. Towels migrated out of both kitchen and bathroom, and were left crumpled wherever he was standing once his hands were dry. He wouldn’t always ask you to cook for him like Ivar would, but he’d leave the kitchen covered in spills and dirty dishes after whipping up whatever snack he’d just been craving.

Your freshest example of this aggravation comes unexpectedly as you’re reading on the couch, alone. Ubbe busts through the front door, hair plastered to his scalp from the sweat that darkens the top half of his sleeveless shirt. His gym bag drops. He acknowledges you with a quick nod before starting to strip right there, exposing shiny washboard abs and glistening curls of hair in the center of his chest.

The shirt, of course, lands right in the middle of the living room. He kicks his sneakers vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack and flings white socks almost as far as the kitchen in his haste to get them off. You hold your breath, knowing his shorts have to be coming off next. He’s already moving past you though, gunning for the shower, and you only feel a little guilty about turning your head to watch the big muscles of his back ripple as he drops his shorts right there in the hallway.

The sight he revealed, boxer briefs clinging to his sculpted ass, is going to stay with you for a while. One thumb hooks into his waistband, but he rounds the corner into the bathroom before you can see anything more than a sharply-contrasted tan line at the top of his hip.

You finish reading your chapter before you stand and start scooping up the trail of damp clothes Ubbe has left along the floor. You hear the shower stop after you dump them in the hamper just around the corner in his bedroom. You’re retreating to your own room when you hear Ubbe call out.

“Hey, Y/N, can you find me a towel?”

“Shit!” you exclaim. “I forgot I hadn’t put those back yet!”

“No worries,” you hear him say as you zoom toward the basket of unfolded towels you left behind the couch.

You grab one and push through the bathroom door with it. “I really should have—” the self-flagellating response dies on your lips at the sight that greets you. You had expected Ubbe to wait for you behind the shower curtain, but he’s standing right there in the open, dripping onto the tile floor without anything to cover him at all.

Rivulets of water are darkening the hair on his lower half, making it cling to the golden skin of his thighs and the paler areas usually hidden from the sun… You just kind of freeze. Ubbe takes the towel from your hands with a throaty chuckle, and uses it not to cover his body, but only his head, scrubbing first at his hair. The brisk movements make the impressive cock hanging between his legs bounce just a little on its bed of curls. You’re pretty sure you see it starting to swell.

“I’m so sorry,” you force your lips to say, your feet trying to back you out the door while your eyes don’t seem to be able to peel away from the athletic body on display before you. Tight lines of muscle definition extend up from his growing manhood, drawing the eye up the wide ‘v’ of Ubbe’s developed lats and along the bulging biceps and triceps working that towel through his hair.

He wipes down his face, revealing pale blue eyes that lock onto your own. His knowing smile says everything, but you have no idea what to say or do next.

“Mmm,” he rumbles, “worth it. This towel is still warm.” He spreads it over his chest, still doing nothing to protect his modesty. “You just standing there, or are you gonna give me a rub-down?”

“I….” It doesn’t seem like your mouth, or your feet, or your arms work, and you continue to gape at him like a fish.

“Relax,” Ubbe smiles, finally wrapping that towel around his waist, “I was only joking.” His brows pinch in concern as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry if that was in poor taste.”

Damnit, now your awkwardness has made this awkward for him too. “N-no, it’s… I’m just going to… go, now.” You feel your face twist into something halfway between two different facial expressions, and finally you regain enough control over your muscles to make a break for it.

 * * *

 Overall, you feel like this arrangement has been going really well. Without any job to head off to, it’s pretty easy to fit all the chores into the free hours you have between classes, study sessions, and sleep. You’re warmed with pride as you move through the apartment each day, wiping things down and tidying up the clutter. And the boys make sure you feel valued for your work, each in their own way. One time last week you actually found Ivar cleaning up after himself, picking up his cereal bowl from the place at the table that used to always be encrusted with old milk spots before you came around. He froze when he noticed you caught him, and very deliberately spilled a few drops from the bowl while staring into your eyes like an arrogant housecat. It was rude, but somehow endearing. Like he couldn’t have you thinking you were starting to change him.

Your groove falls apart during Finals week. Between twelve-page papers and all-night cramming sessions at the library, you don’t even notice the way dishes start piling up in the sink. Ubbe’s discarded linens stay wherever they dropped, and Ivar’s milk splashes congeal once again on the kitchen table. You come home exhausted after your last exam, your brain blocking out the row of empty beer cans and dirty plates cluttering up the coffee table in front of Ubbe where he lays on the couch.

His finals must be done too; the boy is sprawled out shirtless across the cushions, the TV remote nestled in his hand.

“So are you like, graduated now?” you ask him as you plop onto the couch beside him. A little sigh escapes you as your muscles welcome the reprieve from gravity. You think you might sleep for about a week straight now that Finals are finally over.

Ubbe’s smile is lazy and proud. “Yeah, basically. Still have to do that ceremony and shit, but all my classes are done and I’m pretty sure I passed them.”

“Well, congratulations, man.” Your eye follows Ubbe’s left hand, idly scratching at his chest hair. “Victory day means no shirt day, huh?” you tease.

Ubbe’s eyes are locked on the figures moving on the TV screen. “Actually, there’s no clean shirts left.”

He didn’t say it in a mean way, but it still hits you like a brick to the gut. You had been aware you were choosing to let some things go this week, but Ubbe’s laundry had entirely slipped your mind. A wave of anxiety threatens to steal your breath, as your brain tells you this is a pretty major fuck-up. And if you forgot this, what else might have slipped through the cracks? “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You propel your exhausted body up to your feet. “I’ll go start your laundry right now!”

Ubbe’s hand is around your forearm before you can take a step away from the couch. “Wait.” You turned to him, and he inspects your face carefully. “Don’t get worked up about it, Y/N. I don’t really mind.”

You try to shake him off, pressing your lips together to hide how upset you feel. Tears are starting to prickle hot behind your eyes. “It’s my actual job, Ubbe. I’ll do it now. I can’t believe I forgot.” Your voice cracks somewhere in that last sentence.

Ubbe hears it, and shakes his head with calm authority. “No.” He tugs at your arm. “You deserve a break after this week, just like the rest of us. You’re sitting back down right here with me.”

You force a weak smile, even though the impending tears are threatening to cascade over your cheeks now. You let him pull you down to the couch.

“Stay here, I’m getting you a beer.”

You try to protest that you can get it yourself, but he holds you down onto the seat with a friendly-yet-firm smile before heading into the kitchen himself.

You let yourself cry just a little while he’s not looking. A distant voice from the back of your head is saying that you’re overreacting, but you can’t stop the ugly wave of shame and worry that you’re caught up in now. You fucked up. You had one job. How hard is it to keep house? Every damned human on this planet has chores, it should have been easy to keep up.

You barely notice Ubbe’s return until he presses a cold bottle into your hand and settles his body into the cushion. He sits down so close that his thigh presses into yours, and he starts rubbing your back too. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on.”

“I just don’t want to let you guys down.”

Ubbe’s hand presses a little harder. “Y/N. You do such a great job around here, I promise. I can’t believe how nice you’ve been able to keep everything.”

You bark a bitter laugh, eyeing the garbage strewn across the coffee table in front of you. “Other than this week.”

“Yes, other than this week, the busiest, most stressful week of the term. Cut yourself some slack. You need to let yourself relax, and be human, too. The place doesn’t have to be spotless every time we get home. While I appreciate the aesthetic, this isn’t the 50’s and you’re not our housewife.”

You sip from your beer and then cling to the bottle with both hands, trying to make yourself believe what Ubbe just said. Also trying not to get distracted by the mental image of twirling through the house in a full skirt and kissing Ubbe and Ivar each on the cheek as you send them off to work in some retro domestic fantasy. “I just want to do a good job for you, and hold up my end of the bargain. I don’t want you to think I’m gonna start slacking and not pull my weight.”

Ubbe sighs. He shifts toward you and puts both hands on your shoulders, attempting to loosen them with a little squeezing massage. “I was worried this would happen when Ivar came up with this idea. Don’t treat yourself like you’re our slave. That can’t be fun.”

A half smile tugs at your lips. “Well, sometimes it’s a little fun?”

Ubbe doesn’t say anything to that. You think maybe he just doesn’t get it. He squeezes the tops of your shoulders more firmly, then starts pressing his palms down your back. It’s a few minutes before anyone speaks again. “I think the problem here is that you feel like you live at your job, right? So it’s hard to figure out when it’s ok to just stop, or leave something undone.”

You nod. “Yeah, it’s like every time I’m home, I wonder if you guys think I should be doing something.”

“That’s no way to live.” His hands travel up to your neck, pinching more carefully until he finds just the right spots.

You groan a little and lean back toward him.

“What if… we made up a schedule for you. Set the expectations a little more clear, so you don’t feel like you need to do anything too often, and so you can’t” –he squeezes around the base of your skull in a way that makes your eyes roll into your head—“imagine that we want more from you than what it says.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you give a really good massage?” you interject. Between the rush of emotion that you’re finally coming down from, and the soothing kneading of his hands, your voice comes out sounding liquid and woozy.

Ubbe chuckles behind you. “Maybe I’ve heard that once or twice.” His hands slide down your back. “But what do you think? Would something like that help you feel like you’re allowed to get time off, too?”

You can’t help focusing on the crumbs scattered over the table in front of you. Your hands still twitch with the urge to give in to the shame and go on a frenzy of manic, exhausted cleaning until everything looks perfect for them again. So you could feel proud once more. So you could feel Good. “Maybe,” you say softly, though your tone is as drawn as the expression on your face.

Ivar busts in the front door, slowing his pace as he takes in your slumped posture on the couch next to his brother. “What’s going on?” he asks sharply.

“Don’t start with her, Ivar, not tonight.” Ubbe’s hands curl over your shoulders, squeezing more briskly. “She’s having a bad day. She’s been pushing herself too hard, don’t you think?”

“It’s Finals, we all have,” Ivar answers, studying your face intently. You wonder if your eyes are still puffy from the tears you let loose a little earlier.

“Yeah, but she’s worried she let us down with the chores this week. It’s really getting to her. Tell her she does a great job keeping house for us, but it’s not necessary to keep things quite so perfect.”

The concern in Ivar’s bright eyes pierces you. “Why did you not tell me you were feeling this way?” he demands.

A bitter laugh barks out of you. “I didn’t really realize I was, until it hit me just now.”

He swings himself a step closer, looking down from his full height and trying to take charge of the situation so similarly to how Ubbe did just a little earlier. You wonder if their father handles things the same way, or if they get it from somewhere else. “Listen to me, Y/N. I love what you have done around here, but you don’t have to drive yourself mad trying to keep everything spotless. You have to live your own life, too.” He glances at Ubbe, and there must be something for him to read on his brother’s face because he takes a breath and keeps going. “I know I take things too far sometimes. I like to tease, and maybe this game wasn’t as fun for you as it was for me.”

You shake your head, worried that your breakdown was about to ruin the very vibe that was making all this worth it to you. “It’s not that—”

Ivar cuts you off. “You have to be honest with me, and tell me when enough’s enough. Can you do that?”

You nod. Ubbe’s palms smooth over your entire back in big, soothing strokes.

“Good.” Ivar looks around the place, then nods like he’s come to a conclusion. “That’s settled, then. No work for you tonight, Y/N. The place was much messier than this before you moved in, and we tolerated that just fine. Let’s get a pizza. And tomorrow, after my last exam, we’ll throw a party. Once the place is thoroughly trashed, we’ll all help clean it up.”

After the pizza’s gone you crawl into bed early, reassured but kind of exhaustedly fuzzy and ready to crash. Ivar comes in before you turn the light out, laptop under one arm. “Scoot over,” he says, then lays on your bed alongside you. “You have to watch this show with me, it’s so dope. I just binged like the entire thing last week.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but you’re sure this is another way he’s trying to make you feel better. And when he lays the laptop over your hips so he can slide himself under the blankets next to you, it’s so easy to pretend that you’re his girlfriend that you almost tear up again. You hold it together because he keeps turning to look at your face every time his favorite parts come up, wanting to see your reactions. You wonder at first if he’s using this to try to make a move on you, but he seems genuinely interested in just sharing his love of this show with you.

You’re enjoying the story, really you are, but sleep starts to drag your eyelids down somewhere into the third episode. At first Ivar nudges you awake with playful bumps of his shoulder when he notices, but eventually he relents and shuts down the computer screen. He tucks the blanket in around you after he slides out from under it. “Sleep well, little one,” he croons, probably half-sarcastically, then turns off your light on his way out.

* * *

 Ivar takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long jet before responding. “That’s a good point, Y/N. I never thought about it that way.” He really is quite cool to hang out with when you’re alone with him. If he’s not showing off and trying to command the attention of a whole room, he actually listens, and can sometimes even sound like he cares.

You take another puff from your own smoke. It’s a warm Tuesday afternoon, one of the first days that feels like summer, and Ubbe hasn’t gotten home from his internship yet. You and Ivar are sitting in the little garden out behind the apartment building, in two of the communal lawn chairs. Earlier, he had scowled when you caught him with a cig on his lips and a lighter in his hands upstairs on the couch. Everyone had agreed last week that the apartment would feel much fresher, and more pleasant, if nobody smoked indoors anymore.

He had scowled, but he had gathered up his shit and made for the door. It was one of the few changes you’d made around the place that directly impacted his behavior, and you still feel a little insecure about how he’ll take it. So you had grabbed two beers and resolved to keep him company out back while he gets used to the new system.

You’re never sure where you stand with Ivar, but today the conversation is flowing so easily that you let your beer get warm in your hand while he chain-smokes and the two of you trade ideas, discovering just how well your perspectives about the world mesh together.

There’s no doubt that the heat of summer is finally here. Only the regular gusting of a cool breeze is saving you, bringing with it the scent of freshly-cut grass and the feeling that nothing matters but right now. Or is it Ivar doing that to your mood? His rare openness and candor, that crooked smile is lighting you up from the inside out, forcing your face to reflect his.

He’s holding your eyes, on the tail end of one of those grins, as he wraps his lips around his bottle and takes a sip. Something shifts in his expression as he swallows the beer. “Y/N,” he says softly, tone going serious. His eyes darken as his lips curl playfully. “You’ve let my beer get warm.”

You crease your brows, confused. “We have been out here a long time, haven’t we.”

He shakes his head, clucking his tongue in exaggerated disappointment but refusing to release your eyes. “You’ve failed me, Y/N. A good thrall would anticipate my every need.”

He’s finally doing it again. A shiver runs through you, the excitement of what kinky things you hope he’s implying whipping against your spine. It pushes a nervous laugh from your throat. “I can’t control how hot it is out here.”

Ivar cocks his head to the side, condescension under his lifting brow. He wiggles his bottle.

“…Should I get you a new one?”

A beatific smile spreads across his features; he seems pleased with your offer. “That would be wise.”

You notice your fingers shaking just a little as you set the butt of your almost-finished cigarette into the ashtray. You like when Ivar makes you feel this way; the whole world narrows down. You peel your sweaty thighs off the cheap lawn chair and rise, almost regretting your choice to wear such skimpy shorts. But surely you’d be dying in the heat out here in long pants. And Ivar seems to like looking at your thighs. You wonder if he’s leering at you now, while you scamper back into the apartment, but you don’t dare to look over your shoulder at him.

Luckily, you had had the foresight to chuck a few of the warm bottles you had brought home today right into the freezer, assuming that Lothbrok appetites were sure to run too quickly through the short supply left in the fridge. The brown glass is frosty and perfect as you take them out now. These will be sure to return you to Ivar’s favor in this silly, contrived, tantalizing game.

When you come back outside, Ivar is gazing across the garden, sucking softly at the last of your cigarette. Has he pulled your chair closer to his, or did you just imagine that part?

He says nothing as you come around to resume your seat; he just watches you, with an intensity that burns hotter than the sun scorching the plants just outside the line of shade you’re sheltering under. You hand Ivar a bottle so cold that it has already started to accumulate moisture in the three seconds it’s been outside.

He takes a sip after you sit, and makes a pleased noise of appreciation. “Much better.”

You get one swallow of frosty beverage down your own throat before Ivar speaks again.

“Now come here.”

You’re already sitting next to him. His wide hand gestures to the space directly in front of his own chair. Your mouth goes dry; you put your bottle down anyway. There is no question but to do what Ivar asks.

His eyes glitter, impossibly large in his handsome face, as he watches you come to your feet and stand before him. You can’t seem to read his intention and it’s hard not to flinch when his arm moves. “You still need a lesson.” His gaze moves to the beer bottle in his hand, and so yours does too, attention catching on the drips of condensation on the glass.

He presses that coldness directly against your thigh, other hand coming to your hip to hold you steady when you inevitably squirm.

“This is how cold I like my drinks. Do you feel that?” He rolls the bottle toward your inner thigh, the contrast with the ambient air shocking each nerve ending in turn.

You suppress a squeal when the icy glass presses between both legs, but you feel the clench of his fingers around your hip and try to stay still for him. The cold almost burns, and your body’s not sure how to handle it if retreat is not an option.

Ivar’s face is lit with a glee that looks more than a little bit demonic. His eyes travel up your body. “On your knees.” His voice remains calm and even.

Arousal blooms, relaxing your joints as you drop to comply. This may look more like bullying than foreplay to anyone else, but this is hotter than any of the shy kisses or sleazy groping that other boys have tried on you in the past. Ivar threads his free hand around the back of your head, under your hair. “You didn’t answer me.” He presses the bottle against the side of your neck, making sure the sudden freeze hits the most sensitive place behind your jaw. “Do you feel how cold that is?”

You force your body not to cringe; your answer rushes out on your overwhelmed exhale. “Yes, Ivar.”

“Do you understand what I expect, when I am drinking beer with you now?” He curls the bottle around toward the back of your neck, biting his lip at whatever change he sees in your face.

“Yes, Ivar.”

“Good.” He slides the bottle toward the front again, the base making contact with the top of your collarbone. “Before you serve me again, you can check the temperature like this” –he presses the bottle into your neck more firmly—“or, here” –he moves it down to the swell of your breast, above the v-neck of your shirt—“or, if you want, like this.” Swinging his grip to catch the neck of the bottle between his fingertips, he leans forward and presses the thickest part of it right between your bare thighs. “Remember how this feels,” he coaches, and you watch his full lips move as he speaks the words so close to your face. “If it’s not this cold next time, I’ll have to give you a more extensive lesson.”

A whimper escapes your throat, and you can’t pretend it’s only from the cold. After so much anticipation, for Ivar to finally be touching you like this, to be treating you in a way that is unmistakably sexual…

He leans back abruptly, removing the frosty bottle from your flesh and taking a smug swig out of it as he settles back into his chair. “Do you understand, Y/N?”

Every cell is vibrating inside your body as you gaze up at the dark look on his face. “Yes, Ivar.” You can’t wait until it’s time to serve Ivar again, so you can press the next bottle to your skin just exactly as he had instructed.

The sliding sound of the back door whooshes. “There you guys are,” Ubbe’s voice rings out, the sound of it shouldering into the space between you.

You rock back reflexively, but look to Ivar for instruction before moving further. He shakes his head with almost-imperceptible disappointment and nods for you to rise before Ubbe can wonder what exactly was going on out here.

Part 3.1 here

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[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Previous

AO3

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy. No t many chapters to go now.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and support

Chapter 28: A Waiting Game

The more Susan waited, the more the doorbell didn't ring. Or the phone.― Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

“Hello, Jamie. It’s Isobel. How are you? Just wondered how you and Claire are doing? We haven’t spoken since before Christmas.”

“No’ too bad, Isobel. How’s yerself? Listen, come round fer brunch this Sunday, if ye fancy it. John’s comin’ too.”

“Gosh, thanks. I’d like that. I haven’t seen John for ages… wait… you’re not planning on cooking are you? Can Claire cook?”

“Weel, she can make a bacon sandwich and fry an egg.”

“Without setting the fire alarm off? That’s an improvement on you then, Jamie. Do you remember that time at university when you…”

“Aye, so we’ll be seein’ ye on Sunday then. ‘Bout eleven? Bye Isobel.”

******

“Sassenach…”

Jamie stretched out in bed, impatient for Claire to come and join him. The sounds of her bedtime routine filtered through the closed en suite bathroom door as she applied her various wee creams and potions to her face before cleaning her teeth. She didn’t really need to bother with them but he loved how she would slide into bed next to him, her skin still moist from her ministrations, her neck smelling delicately of rose and almond. And when she lifted her hands to his face, the scent of lavender would fill his nostrils.

“Sassenach…” He called her again. “I’ve asked Isobel fer brunch on Sunday as well. That’ll be ok?”

The door opened and Claire stuck her head out, her hair tied up with a scrunchy and cheeks pink from scrubbing. “Fine with me. Just need to buy a couple more croissants… wait, you’re not trying to match John and Isobel are you? I mean you know them better than I do, but I think that would be a hopeless challenge.”

Jamie snorted with laughter as Claire’s head disappeared back into the bathroom. “Nah, jes’ thought it would be a good catch up fer us all. I’m goin’ tae have tae rely on Isobel more over the next few weeks, ye ken. Now, woman, are ye no’ finished in there wi’ all yer potions and such? Yer man is awfa lonesome in here.”

The ping of his phone distracted Jamie from his solitary status. He quickly opened his message. “Christ!” He exclaimed.

Alarmed, Claire rushed into the bedroom, settling herself beside him. “What’s the matter, love? It’s not the baby, is it? It’s too early.”

Jamie shook his head and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’m no’ hidin’ this from ye. Trust me...Geneva’s sent me some photos.”

Noticing the look of alarm on Claire’s face, he quickly added. “They’re of Geneva...jes’ her.”

“Can I see?”

“Do ye really want tae?” Jamie asked before passing the phone to Claire as she nodded.

The image on the screen was a studio portrait proof of Geneva - a very pregnant and very naked Geneva - her modesty only protected by an arm barely covering her nipples and a strategically bent leg. A second image, from behind showed no hint of a baby bump, just her elegant profile and shapely back descending to two perfectly placed dimples above the cleft of her buttocks. Claire’s initial reaction on seeing the pictures was a blend of jealousy and admiration mixed with a tinge of inadequacy.

“I have to say, Jamie, I think they are beautiful. Being able to have that memory of your baby must be very special to treasure. I think I would do that… if it were me…” Claire tailed off.

“Aye, I ken that, but this is Geneva. I think ye’re too generous, Sassenach. She’s no’ sent them to me fer no reason. This is another attempt of hers tae play happy families. I canna be doin’ wi’ it. Jes’ delete them, would ye? I dinna want tae even look at them.”

As requested, Claire pressed delete. Jamie pulled her closer to him, inhaling her scent and slowly unzipping her onesie, his phone discarded on the pillow. His hand snaked inside and underneath her vest, its gentle strokes making her squirm and bring her body even tighter against his.

With his mouth warm against her ear, he whispered, “When it’s ye that’s carryin’ our bairn, I will take as many photos as ye like and will cherish each and every one of them… because it’s ye and me and our love.”

Claire looked into his deep blue eyes. “Oh, Jamie, I do love you.”

********

“Sassenach, are ye sure ye dinna want me tae try ma hand at some drop scones? We have everything we need in the cupboards.”

Claire brushed past Jamie, playfully pushing him out of her way and towards the kitchen door. “Nooo!” She said laughing. “We want a stress free time. I can manage scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and make sourdough toast without burning. We have plenty of croissants and pastries.  Make the coffee, you do it so well… and the washing up!”

Only pausing to fondle her arse, Jamie left the kitchen. Claire could hear him in the living room pottering around. Her guess that he was looking for some background music was proved correct as Biffy Clyro poured through the speakers set up in all the downstairs rooms. The sound of the doorbell interrupted Jamie’s tuneless singalong.

Claire ventured out of the kitchen to greet John and Isobel as Jamie gathered up coats and bottles. After the general exchange of hugs and greetings had died down, Claire excused herself to continue with the (minimal) preparations, while Jamie was left in charge of mixing up the Buck’s Fizz. Isobel followed Claire into the kitchen.

“Can I lend a hand? Anything you want me to do?” Isobel offered.

Claire shook her head. “Not much to do, just need to make the scrambled eggs and some toast. Even I can manage that.”

“Well that’s more than Jamie can do. I remember when he was at university, one evening, he…”

“Och, what’s all this then? Gossiping in here? What are ye doin’ tae me, Isobel?” Jamie handed them both a glass with a smile. “I dinna tell all yer secrets now, do I?”

******

To Claire’s relief, brunch had gone surprisingly well. By no means a natural cook, she had always worried in the kitchen and had often been made to feel inadequate when preparing food for Frank and the occasional guest. But she hadn’t burnt anything, everyone had eaten their fill and now she could relax with a large cup of coffee dutifully prepared by Jamie.

“Thanks to our hostess for this brunch.” John raised his mug in a toast to Claire. “So, is this official? Are you two living together now?”

“No…” Claire and Jamie responded in unison.

“Well,” John continued. “When were you last at your place, Claire?”

“Yesterday.” Claire said emphatically.

“Hmm. For how long?”

Claire suddenly found the contents of her coffee cup remarkably interesting. “Er, about an hour…”

“And before that?”

“I ken what ye’re gettin’ at, John, ever the lawyer. And, aye, we are together most of the time. But it’s no’ ‘official’, as ye call it. We canna rock the boat at the moment. Until Geneva’s had the bairn and ma name is on the birth certificate, we have tae be careful.”

“And you genuinely believe Jamie is the father?” John asked Isobel.

Isobel considered the question. “I really do. Once she saw Jamie again at the wedding, she told me this was her second chance. Even when he told her it wouldn’t work, she still believed he’d come back, that the split was temporary. She wouldn’t have risked that.”

“She’s no’ finished playin’ her games though, has she?” Jamie turned to Isobel.

Isobel thought for a moment before responding. “I’m not sure, Jamie. She doesn’t tell me what she’s about to do. She thinks I’ll disapprove of her ideas, or try to talk her out of them. Not that she listens to me. You saw the photos, I take it?”

John looked quizzically over to Jamie who answered his gaze with an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“Aye, we saw the photos,” Jamie replied to Isobel. “And then we deleted them…”

“I know. I did try to tell her not to send them to you, but she went ahead anyway. You didn’t respond with a flurry of compliments and she went into a massive sulk. She found a game she can’t win, no matter what tactic she tries. It’s not like when she wanted a pony, or a skiing holiday, or a new car. This is something that Mummy can’t fix for her, though I know she’s tried.”

Jamie nodded at the recollection of Mrs. Dunsany storming into this house demanding that he “do the right thing” by her daughter.

“Aye, I think in days gone by I’d have been marched off tae the kirk wi’ a shotgun at ma back. I ken I’m no’ popular wi’ yer mother, but ye think I’m ‘doin’ the right thing’ by yer sister, do ye no’?”

“I do, Jamie. I think part of it with Geneva now is the challenge of being told no. Everything’s been given so easily to her and she wants to win so badly.”

Jamie reached across the table, covering Isobel’s hand with his own. “Ye’re a real treasure, ye ken, Isobel. Claire and I both would be lost in this situation wi’out ye.”

Smiling, Claire nodded in agreement.

“So, what’s next in this situation?” John asked. “Have you discussed the birth? Not long to go now.”

“Well, for once we’re all in agreement. Geneva doesn’t want Jamie around during the delivery… which is just as well as he doesn’t want to be there either.”

Claire laughed. “She probably doesn’t want him to see her looking less than her usual immaculate self. I’m surprised, though, that she’s not having an elective caesarean.”

“Actually that was the original plan but she wasn’t convinced that the surgeon would do a good enough job with the scar, so it’s a normal delivery if possible. I’ve agreed to be her birthing partner. So I’m going to ring Jamie when Geneva’s in labour, and then when the baby is born and he can come and visit.”

John looked across at Claire, suddenly silent, gazing into the depths of her coffee cup. Her fingers stroked the delicate necklace nestled at the base of her throat.

He knew all too well what she must be feeling - the pang of sadness and envy as someone else was about to share special experiences and memories with Jamie. Experiences that he could not be part of. He wanted to reassure her, explain that she could live with these feelings, accept them, bottle them up even, for years, until they became part of the fabric of everyday life, just like him. He was the master at that. And he also knew he could never share any of this with Claire.

“More coffee, anyone?” Claire pushed her chair back and headed to the kitchen in search of a distraction.

*************

As Geneva’s due date grew closer, Claire found herself becoming more and more anxious and tense. She had to make a conscious effort not to flinch every time she heard Jamie’s phone signal the arrival of a text.

It was a nervous time for Jamie, preparing to meet his son, but to Claire it marked the end of a part of their relationship. The little insular bubble that they had been living in for the past eight months was about to burst and then there would always be other considerations, other demands on Jamie’s time.

To compensate, Claire tried to throw herself wholeheartedly into the plans Jamie was making. She spent a weekend with him carefully decorating a spare bedroom, turning it into a nursery fit for his son. She spent hours looking at cots, changing stations and nursery furniture, helping Jamie decide which to buy. She even helped him select a suitable gift for Geneva. Actually, more than helped, she created the gift, buying a large wicker hamper and filling it with carefully selected goodies for mother and baby - the softest cashmere baby blanket, the cutest teddy, vests, babygros, memory books and a huge selection of Neal’s Yard aromatherapy products for mother and baby. The kind of gift, in fact, that Claire herself would love to receive, if it were her...

Jamie’s heart filled as he saw Claire so involved in the plans for his child. He loved and admired her so much. He recognised that this was a difficult time for her and yet she was there, by his side, supporting and loving him. He tried to take time to reassure her, show her what she meant to him.

His regret was simple. He didn’t wish his son away, not now, he knew that he would love him and cherish him. No, he wished that it was Claire carrying this child, that they were making all the preparations together for their bairn.

It would be their turn, together, in the not too distant future, he hoped.

**********

Jamie watched from the doorway as Claire, seemingly unaware of his presence, opened drawers and cupboards, putting away some of their latest purchases and hand-me-downs from Wee Jamie.  He crept up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“How can ye do this?” he asked.

“Well, this stuff Jenny gave for the baby needed to be put away and so…”

“Nah, I dinna mean that. I mean, being here, supporting me… loving me.”

“Say it was me.” Jamie looked confused as Claire continued. “Say I was the one who had a child when we met, would you have still wanted a relationship?”

“Aye, I get what ye're saying. But Geneva as part of the package? That would be enough tae try the patience of a saint.”

“Well, what about if Frank was part of the package, what would you do?”

“I dinna ken,” Jamie admitted. “Mebbe punch him?”

“Well, I’m sure Geneva would love that, if I hit her… she could make me out as the evil homewrecker, charge me with assault, who knows? No, she wants me to react, create a scene… so the nicer I am, the more frustrating for her.”

Claire turned around to face Jamie. “You know, for months I hated Geneva, despised her for what she is doing. But not now.”

“Ye dinna hate her?” Jamie looked surprised.

Claire shook her head. “No. Look at the little games she's playing… getting more and more desperate and obvious. It's just sad, pathetic really. So no, no I don't hate her. I pity her.”

“Ye pity Geneva. God, she'd hate that.”

“I know.” Claire said happily.

********

For Jamie and Claire, Saturday night meant a takeaway curry, samosas, bhajis and a stack of poppadoms, all washed down with a couple of bottles of Indian beer. Perched on the sofa, watching the television, they had just started eating when Jamie’s phone rang.

Nervously, he answered. Claire listened intently to his side of the conversation.

“Hi… hello… Isobel.”

“Ok… everything ok?”

“Aye… like a torrent, ye say?”

“Thanks… keep me posted.”

“Oh, and Isobel, please wish her well from me. I dinna ken what else tae say. Bye…”

Jamie turned to Claire, his food now forgotten. “Ye ken what that was, Sassenach, I take it.”

Claire nodded and took his hands, now slightly trembling, in hers.

“Isobel says her waters broke and she’s started wi’ the pains, so they rang the hospital who said tae go in. She’s only early stages yet, so a long ways tae go. Isobel’ll ring when there’s news.”

Jamie pulled Claire close and kissed her soundly on the lips. Despite his nervousness, she could see the excitement in his eyes.

“Christ, Sassenach, a baby… my son.”

[avidbeader]

Voltron fanfic: “Scattered” Chapter 2

Season 2 AU. No ships, K+ to T rating. Begin at the beginning here.

Keith stared for a moment at the four enormous stone portraits of Mount Rushmore. He was home. He was back on Earth.

He could report! Even though it was unlikely that Earth would attract attention from the Galra without the Blue Lion hidden there, the fact that they had been here needed to be shared.

“Okay, Red. Do you have a way for me to communicate with the locals?”

The lion seemed to poke around his brain for a moment, seeking details on what he wanted to accomplish, then a screen popped up. Keith touched it and immediately heard frantic conversation about the Red Lion’s crash landing.

He took a deep breath and touched another part of the screen. “This is Keith Kogane, former Galaxy Garrison cadet and pilot of the Red Lion. Please respond.”

There was stunned silence for a moment, then several voices began yelling back at him.

“One at a time!”

“This is Lieutenant General Darzi of Earthforce Central Command. You will surrender that ship and yourself for questioning immediately!”

Keith slapped a switch, feeding more power to the defense bubble around Red. “With all due respect, sir, I will not surrender it. It is part of a force belonging to another planet and I’ll be returning with it when I finish reporting what you need to know.”

“Now see here—”

“Keith, this is Commander Iverson. What do you need to tell us?”

“First off, there is an alien empire, the Galra Empire, that has been expanding for over ten thousand years. They first became aware of Earth last year when they kidnapped everyone on the Kerberos expedition with Dr. Holt. The Blue Lion, another piece of the force I’m a part of, was hidden here. That was the mess that happened…how long have we been gone?”

“About six weeks, son.” “Thanks. Six weeks ago. We got separated in battle and I got flung back here by an unstable wormhole. I don’t think any Galra followed me through it, but I recommend increasing long-range scans. I can share known tactical information about their ships, not that it’ll help. Their technology and power is a thousand times greater than anything we have.”

Darzi, apparently through with being ignored, shouted, “Cadet, you will obey the chain of command and report to the squadron that is on its way to your position!”

Keith leaned back in the pilot’s chair, enjoying the feeling of sardonic amusement coming from Red that echoed his own. “Sir, I am not part of the chain of command. Haven’t been since I was kicked out of Galaxy Garrison. I don’t answer to any of you. I’m trying to do you a favor and fill you in on what you need to know. Sam and Matt Holt are possibly alive but prisoners of the Galra. Takashi Shirogane, as you know, managed to escape and return to Earth before he got caught up in the same chain of events I did and we all got sent with the Blue Lion to Arus.”

“Then we’ll get civilian security to take you in!” Darzi’s shout was furious; Keith imagined some gray-haired old man frothing at the mouth. Red stirred and growled.

“Easy there, kitty. They’re just scared.”

“Darzi, let me handle this! What did you say, Keith?” That was Iverson.

“Nothing, sir.” Keith made a snap decision. He would give Earthforce the information about the Galra, but keep Voltron and most of the information about the Alteans to himself. He didn’t like the reaction he was getting. “I need to send messages to the families of the others. Shiro, Hunk Garrett, and Lance McClain. Everyone’s alive, or at least was when we got separated by that unstable wormhole.”

“I can arrange that. Will you meet me at Garrison headquarters? It’s about a two-hour flight from your position.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll head there right away.” Keith didn’t mention that the Red Lion was capable of getting there in under five minutes. Time to think was a good thing.

<> <> <> <> <>

Hunk led the Metrean fighters, teaching their pilots as many defensive formations as he could remember from his classes at the Garrison, given that he was trained as an engineer and not a pilot. So far they had picked up four more civilian transports, fourteen fighters, and one mid-size warship on the way to the rendezvous.

The Yellow Lion hovered protectively as the fighters docked in the warship and the transports set down at the rendezvous point. They were south of the equator on a planet near a star similar to Earth’s. Hunk was reminded of a vacation his family had taken the year before he entered Galaxy Garrison, exploring the Pampas of Argentina.

The rendezvous was a grassy plain, with two wide rivers feeding into a large lake. Patches of trees lined the rivers. There would be plenty of resources once the Metreans had the chance to cultivate some crops.

At Luvixx’s request, Hunk set the Yellow Lion down on the outskirts of the rapidly organizing camp and exited the Lion to meet him. Luvixx brought a small delegation of Metreans with him. Hunk got his first look at them and was glad they were still some distance away and couldn’t see his first reaction. They were awfully spider-like, with more arms than Hunk was used to and dark, hairy faces.

“Honored Paladin, I am Luvixx and these are the remaining Representors of Metrea who have made it here so far. We wish to thank you – our transport would not have made it out without your help.”

“Hey, part of the job. Glad I could help. And call me Hunk.”

“Your modesty is refreshing, but we must show our gratitude. What can we do in return?”

“Well, how about something to eat and maybe a dip in the lake? It feels like I haven’t eaten in days and I know I probably smell.”

The other Metreans made a high-pitched wheezing sound. It took Hunk a moment to realize it was laughter. Luvixx clapped him on the back with one spindly arm. “Very well, food and a bath to start, Paladin Hunk. Then we will continue this discussion.”

<> <> <> <> <>

As he drew closer to the moon, Lance realized that the Blue Lion wanted him to scan the Galra ship from a distance. He did and his confidence soared to realize it was some kind of freighter, with minimal weaponry. It would be an easy takedown!

Before he could launch an attack, more information popped up. The Lion had continued the long-range scans and found a single enclave of people on the planet. It also showed that the people were a wildly mixed bag of aliens, with no more than three or four of a kind among over two hundred individuals.

“Oh no…it’s a slave camp!”

The Blue Lion sent him a sense of agreement. Lance sat back for a minute, thinking furiously. His experience with the Galra so far suggested that there would be no more than a handful of officers on the ship or in the work camp. The rest would be sentries and drones. If he took out the ship first but carefully, it would provide an escape for all the prisoners. The trick would be doing so without the ship alerting the work camp supervisors, who might be able to call for help.

A new screen popped up to his right and Lance looked at it, trying to puzzle out the Altean script. His Lion was amused and shared the idea.

“A jammer? We can do that? We can keep them from contacting reinforcements?”

Yes.

“Then let’s do this!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Shiro gave up on communicating with the others for the moment and continued to fly over the planet’s surface. Everywhere he looked, there was devastation.

No, not devastation. Just death. There’s no sign of anything destroying parts of this planet with weapons. It’s as if something just...killed it.

He had a sudden flash of Dr. Holt telling his son to be careful as they extracted samples of ice on Kerberos. Perhaps that was an answer, to gather samples of the soil and dead plants. Maybe there was a laboratory on the Castle-ship that would give Coran and Pidge a chance to examine them, if he could find a way to collect and preserve them.

That would help him keep moving. He could feel the pain from Haggar’s strike growing slowly, like an infection of dark magic. His cybernetic arm was twitching in response, as if recognizing its origins in the new injury. All he wanted to do was lie down, but his instincts screamed that it would only speed up the poison seeping into his body. Action, as much as it would hurt, was necessary.

Decision made, Shiro looked for a safe place for the Black Lion. He wanted a cave, somewhere out of easy sight, just in case there were patrols. The Lion responded with alacrity, scanning and finding a cave system in the mountains on the horizon.

As they flew, Shiro let his thoughts drift back to the Holts, trapped somewhere and forced to work for the Galra. He thought of the gladiator pits, of his desperate bid to protect Matt by faking a bloodlust and injuring him, just enough. He thought of Pidge, so determined to find her family but honoring her commitment as a Paladin of Voltron.

I promise you, Katie Holt, that the moment we’re back together as a team, we’re going to find them.

<> <> <> <> <>

As she approached Arus, Pidge started scanning. There was no sign of any active Galra tech, which was a good thing. She orbited around to where the Castle of Lions had stood and saw that the Arusian village nearby was still a wreck. She landed on the hill overlooking the village and did one more scan at the highest levels to be sure there were no threats nearby.

As she exited the Green Lion, Pidge spotted several Arusians approaching, including Klaizap the warrior. He ran forward. “Paladin of the Green Lion! You’re back! Where are the others?”

Pidge pulled off her helmet. “We were separated in a battle with the Galra. I ended up nearby and came to check on you.”

Klaizap bowed deeply. “We are humbled by your concern. All has been quiet here. But the king will wish to hear your news. Come!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Allura tried yet again to enter the repair sequence on the console and yet again it failed, flashing orange and letting out a long mechanical whine.

“Augh!” She slammed both fists on the console, which whined even louder in response. “Why won’t you work?”

Coran moved to her side and put his hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps you should take a break for a few minutes.”

“I can’t take a break! The Paladins are out there, isolated, hurt, and possibly in danger! We need the communication system back online so we can reach them!”

“Princess, think! I’ve got the navigation controls going again. You should be able to trace the Lions even if we can’t speak to the team yet. You do that and I’ll work on restoring communications.”

She looked up as his practical suggestion quelled her panic. “Yes, yes! That will work!” She strode to the pilot’s station and laid her hands on the controls. The star map sprang into view.

Coran looked at the map. “Quiznak, Hunk and Keith are almost on the other side of the universe! Good thing we have the wormholes.” He spun the display for several ticks until the other three lions were visible. “Interesting, Pidge is back on Arus of all places. But both Shiro and Lance are deep in Galra space.”

“Shiro first. He’s wounded and we can’t risk Zarkon getting anywhere near the Black Lion again.”

“Why is that? I saw Zarkon do something to break Shiro’s connection to Voltron, but couldn’t he do that with any of them?”

“No, just the Black Lion. While I was in the Galra base, I could sense the Paladins and their Lions, but after Zarkon forced Voltron apart, for a short time I could sense him in the same space as Shiro. I can’t explain it any better than that, but I know Shiro is the most vulnerable alone. Even if he were unhurt we’d go after him first.”

“All right, Princess. Shiro first. Then Lance and Pidge?”

“Yes. Better to have as many of us back together as possible before venturing to the edges of known space. How long before we can open a wormhole safely?”

Coran squinted at his readouts. “An hour, perhaps?”

“Then let’s get communications back online while we wait.”

Next chapter

[gabriellakirtonblog]

Don’t Let Your Clients Butcher These Three Exercises

“Can you meet with my dad? He can’t seem to resolve what’s wrong with his lower back.”

My client, Sara, brought up her dad’s struggles as I logged her numbers at the end of our training session.

“He’s been complaining of back pain for years,” she continued. “He’s been to this trainer and that trainer, not to mention physical therapists and chiropractors, and he can’t seem to pinpoint the root cause. Nothing has stuck.”

“Well, I’m not Gandalf,” I said, with my customary evidence-based modesty, “but I’d be happy to take a look and see if I can help.”

In addition to not being a wizard, I’m not a physical therapist, a chiropractor, a massage therapist, or anyone else who can diagnose and/or treat musculoskeletal conditions.

But as a strength and conditioning coach, I can assess and audit movement. I can take into account a client’s health history, ability level, and goals, and then create a safe, effective, and time-efficient training program based on that information.

I’m also pretty good at calling out BS.

For example, in the last season of Game of Thrones, you remember when Jon Snow led that expedition north of the Wall to capture a wight? (For those unsullied by GoT fandom, a wight is a corpse that’s been reanimated by the White Walkers, who were themselves created by the Children of the Forest … On second thought, let’s just go with zombie. It’s a zombie.) Logistically, that trip would’ve taken months to pull off. But they did it in one episode. Like it happened in a week or two.

Pfffffft, whatever.

More to the point of this prehab article, have you ever noticed that some personal trainers haphazardly toss “simple” exercises like dead bugs, bird dogs, and glute bridges into their clients’ programs? And that they’ll do it without explaining to their clients why those exercises are important? And, because they didn’t explain the purpose of the movements, they leave their clients with no idea how to do them correctly?

If you’re like me, you see this a lot. And each time you see it, you want to throw your face into a brick wall.

READ ALSO: “Three Ways to Write Better Training Programs”

Back to Sara’s Dad

We met a week later, and the conversation was … interesting.

As we went through his health history, I listened to him describe just how long he’d been dealing with his lower back pain, and how many health and fitness professionals he’d worked with over the past two decades.

When it was my turn to talk, and we got around to specific exercises, I didn’t mention anything he hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah, yeah, they all had me do glute bridges and dead bugs,” he said. “I know how to do them.”

“Show me.”

And he did.

You know how a jaw drops in a cartoon? Yeah, that was me.

When I asked him to demonstrate his glute bridge and tell me where he felt it, he said his quadriceps, hamstrings, low back, and eyeballs. Everywhere except where he was supposed to feel it.

In all that time, and with all the money he’d spent, he’d never learned how to do a glute bridge in a way that allowed him to feel his glutes doing the work.

We all know that the glutes help protect the lower back. Conversely, when the glutes don’t function properly—that is, when they don’t act as the body’s primary hip extensor—what picks up the slack?

The lower back.

And don’t even get me started on his bird dogs and dead bugs. If the imaginations of Stephen King and Mary Shelley had twins they wouldn’t have looked more nightmarish.

I was equal parts flabbergasted and pissed off—flabbergasted that he’d been told the correct exercises to perform, and pissed off that no one had taken the time to teach him how to do the exercises correctly.

This isn’t an isolated event, either. I see it all the time. You probably do as well. There’s a pandemic of incorrect form on corrective exercises. I think it happens for three reasons:

Many fitness professionals have no idea why these exercises are so commonly prescribed. A trainer who can’t explain the purpose can’t coach or cue them properly.

Trainers teach them incorrectly because they learn the exercises from YouTube or Instagram videos posted by people doing them incorrectly.

The general public is the final link in this chain of bad training advice. When good intentions meet bad instructions, the result is a lot of people flailing around on the floor with no idea what they’re trying to accomplish.

So let’s look at each exercise in more detail.

READ ALSO: “How to Make Sure You Aren’t One of the Bad Trainers”

How to Properly Coach the Dead Bug Exercise

The dead bug is one of my favorite core-training exercises, and a splendid choice to improve motor control and spinal stability. They’re superb at enhancing lumbo-pelvic control while training individuals to “offset,” or resist, external forces, like the movement of their extremities.

They’re also a potent corrective exercise for an overextended posture or excessive anterior pelvic tilt, something that’s fairly common among athletes, and that we’re seeing more and more in general population clients.

The key word there is “excessive.” Anterior pelvic tilt isn’t bad or dysfunctional. The lumbar spine is designed to be in this position. But someone who’s in excessive anterior pelvic tilt will almost always have extension-based back pain. It puts an ungodly amount of stress on structures like the facet joints and posterior discs, which, down the road, can manifest into spondylosis (spinal arthritis) or even a more profound issue like spondylolysis (end plate fracture).

Mike Robertson has a cool term for this: flawed active stability. In an effort to gain stability, you’re effectively crushing the spine by cueing the body to engage the paraspinals and spinal erectors.

It’s not uncommon for people with excessive anterior pelvic tilt to experience chronic pulled hamstrings, anterior knee pain, hip pain, and a myriad of other issues.

Dead bugs are a fantastic way to encourage more posterior pelvic tilt, while simultaneously enhancing motor control and engaging the lumbo-pelvic-hip stabilizers to do their job.

How to Properly Coach the Bird Dog Exercise

Popularized by Dr. Stuart McGill, the bird dog is a staple for spine hygiene, targeting both the lower back and hip extensors. It also, and more importantly, teaches the discipline of using proper hip and shoulder motion while maintaining a stable spine.

The bird dog is also one of the most butchered exercises on Earth.

Here are two examples, about a year apart, of women I worked with at CORE who came to me with lower-back issues:

EXAMPLE ONE

    Ver esta publicación en Instagram

  Una publicación compartida de Tony Gentilcore (@tonygentilcore) el 11 Feb, 2017 a las 3:33 PST

EXAMPLE TWO

    Ver esta publicación en Instagram

  Una publicación compartida de Tony Gentilcore (@tonygentilcore) el 16 Sep, 2018 a las 7:08 PDT

Each had worked with a different trainer before coming to me. To be clear, I’m not calling those trainers out. My point is to show how easy it is to mess it up.

On the one hand, the seeming simplicity of the bird dog leads to lackadaisical execution. If clients think the only goal is to extend the contralateral arm and leg, that’s what they’ll do, with no focus on maintaining a stable spine. It’s just out and back for however many times the trainer tells them to do it.

On the other hand, a client who’s trying too hard to do it right will look like my clients in these two videos. She’ll go into excessive spinal extension in order to get a full range of motion. For someone with extension intolerance, doing the bird dog the way she thinks she’s supposed to will feed the very same lower back symptoms she’s trying to alleviate.

How to Properly Coach the Glute Bridge Exercise

There’s no need to overcomplicate things here. Most of what you need to know about the glute bridge is right there in its name.

You lie on your back with your feet flat on the floor and knees bent roughly 90 degrees. Lift your hips until your body forms a straight line from chest to knees. Yelling “this … is … Sparta!” every rep is optional.

As explained earlier, and as you knew long before I explained it, the goal is to target the glutes with a movement they’re designed to do: hip extension. If your client can only complete the movement with excessive lumbar extension, or feels it in the hamstrings and quads instead of the glutes, then something is clearly wrong.

But figuring out exactly how and why the client is getting it wrong isn’t always straightforward. This is a case where everyone is, indeed, a special snowflake. Once you take into account all the possible combinations of bone length, pelvis shape, hip-socket orientation, muscle lengths, and adaptive characteristics caused by activity (or lack thereof), the variety is infinite.

A few specific considerations:

Do they feel it in their lower back or hamstrings?

Slow them down, and reiterate that this is a glute exercise, not a “see how fast you can finish your reps” exercise.

Do they feel it in their quadriceps?

The problem may be that they’re pushing through their toes. Teach them to push their heels into the floor.

Do they make those changes and still feel it in nontargeted muscles?

As with squats and deadlifts, each client will need to experiment with stance width and foot position—moving them closer to the butt or farther away.

Also consider range of motion. As with the bird dog, many will try to complete the movement by hyperextending the lower back. Find the point of maximal glute activation, and stop there. You’ll know you have it right when the client feels it in the glutes, and nowhere else.

READ ALSO: “The Real Reason Why People Everyone Must Squat Differently”

Final Thoughts About These Prehab/Corrective Exercises

What I’ve just explained only works for your clients if you, the fitness professional, can explain the goal of each exercise in a way that makes sense to them. But you can’t explain what you don’t understand.

And if you don’t understand “simple” exercises like the dead bug, bird dog, and glute bridge, how in the world are you going to coach someone with a barbell on his back? It’s like trying to teach high school algebra when you’re still struggling with the nuances of long division.

If, on the other hand, you do understand them, don’t assume your clients share your understanding. It doesn’t take a wizard to coach these three exercises. But it does require a fitness pro who’s paying attention.

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