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topguncortez · 2 years

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Bad Medicine | Chapter 5

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synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.MAJOR SLOW BURN (ENEMIES TO LOVERS)

word count: 4.8k

WARNINGS: drugs, guns, stripping, violence, abuse, fighting, prostitution, blood, alcohol usage, mentions of sexual assault, torture, death, cops, stalking, description of gruesome injuries.

Dante Soto was a fearless leader. The gang he ran was ruthless, a bunch of outlaws. Dante ruled his land with an iron fist, and wasn’t one to let things slip up and get messy. That’s what Jake admired about him. Dante was the one who offered Jake a partnership, promising to expand the Seresin gun business. Except, he was never true on his word. Jake had tried countless times to get in touch with Dante, and have a civilized meeting, but finally was fed up with the Outlaw’s antics. Jake had ordered the destruction of several of the Soto stock houses, destroying drugs, and guns. Jake knew the relation that would fall on his back, but he never expected Dante to drop dead bodies, literally, on his doorstep.

“Dante is smart,” Bob said, walking into Jake’s office, a folder in his hand, “But I’m smarter,” He smirked, “He’s been hiding at his side chick’s house, she lives down in Encinitas. Mickey says he’s a hot commodity with ATF.”

“We can’t all be super geniuses like you, Bobby,” Jake said, taking the folder from his friend. His green eyes scanned the surveillance photos that Bob had pulled, along with documents and records of where Dante had been, “Put a sight on him?”

“Of course, I told Rooster we’d talk about it when they get back. They should be back soon,” Bob reported, “Javy said she found a dress.”

“Lovely.” Jake deadpanned, not looking up from the folder. Bob rolled his eyes and Jake looked up at him slowly, “I’m good, you can go.”

Bob sighed, “Try to be nice to her. She’s been through a lot.”

“Just because she’s fucking damaged goods doesn’t mean I have to treat her with respect.” Jake spat, “I just want the guns to expand, and the fucking money. I could care less about marrying the Don of Italy’s fucking daughter. Thanks for the info Robert, you’re free to go.”

Bob didn’t say anything as he walked out of the office, his head hung low. His relationship with Jake had become strained in the past couple years. He was a lot closer to Rooster out of all of them, confiding in his best friend during fights with the man he once considered a brother. Javy and Jake always pushed Bob the hardest, trying to make him tougher. Bob hated it. He hated every aspect of the life that was forced upon him. Sure the clubs, the drugs, the money and the women were a bonus. But having to take another person’s life had kept him up at night. Bob could remember the first time he had to kill someone, the imagery forever ingrained in his mind, playing over and over like a broken record every time he closed his eyes.

Jake placed the folder on his desk, looking over the pictures, making notes on them. He scanned closely, looking at the cars, the street signs, the house markers, anything that would give away what Dante had been up to. He sighed, pushing the folder away and leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his chin as his eyes fell to the locked bottom drawer of his desk. He leaned forward, hitting a button under his desk to open the drawer. His hand pulled out the manila envelope, opening it, and pulling out the images hidden inside.

“Sick fuck. . .” Jake whispered to himself, taking in the gruesome images of his future wife and his deceased mother-in-law.

Jake only knew the information that everyone else in the mafia world knew about Francisco Solano. He was the oldest boy in his family, inheriting his father’s fortune and failing empire. Francisco’s father had set it up for him to work for Rafael Santiago, and that’s how he met Y/N. When she moved to New York, he came with, telling her that he was working at one of his father’s businesses in the city. She liked having someone from home around to hang out with. Their relationship went from platonic to romantic quickly. Every picture that graced the front page of tabloids showed two loved up people.

Everything between them was picture perfect, until it wasn’t. No one really knew the horror of what happened that night between Francisco and Y/N, but the images staring back at Jake were enough to give him an insight.

Her clothes had been torn, hardly covering her body. Every inch of tan skin was covered in blood and bruises. Stab wounds littered her body, varying in sizes. His eyes scanned the picture of her ribs, some clearly broken, and the bright red burned letters in her skin. Jake felt sick seeing the pictures of her broken jaw and eye socket. The written description of her injuries was even worse. Jake couldn’t even finish reading the doctor's notes when he slammed the folder shut, throwing it on his desk. He ran his hands over his face, he felt like he needed therapy just reading and looking at everything.

“Knock, knock,” A sultry voice sounded out, as the door to his office opened.

“God, why do you hate me,” Jake whispered, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He looked over at the entry, as Isabella walked in. The dress she wore left little to the imagination, showing off her legs. The deep V cut showed off almost too much cleavage as she moved over to the desk, standing in front of it.

“Where have you been, daddy? I miss you,” Isabella said in a silky sweet voice that usually turned Jake on, but right now it made him want to vomit.

“I didn’t miss you,” Jake responded.

“Don’t be like that,” Isabella purred, moving over to him, “Let me make you feel better. Bobby said you looked stressed.”

“Don’t call him that.” Jake said back to her, and put his hand on her throat. She smirked at him, biting her lip and rubbing her thighs together. Jake could hear the slam of a car door and he smirked, “Go wait upstairs. Main bedroom, I’ll be there soon.”

“Any other requests?”

“Naked. On all fours, ass up.”

Isabella nodded and Jake let her go. She quickly ran out the door, disappearing into the main bedroom as the front door opened. Rooster held the black and white dress bag, as Javy led them through the door. Reuben and Y/N were in a discussion about what type of flowers she should order. Bob walked into the foyer, greeting them with some file in his hand.

“Hey! How was it? When do we get to see the dress?” Bob asked, walking up to give Y/N a hug.

“On the wedding day,” Y/N answered, hugging him briefly.

“That’s not fair. They all gotta see it!”

“Should’ve come with,” Rooster shrugged and Bob squinted his eyes at him. Y/N shook her head at their interaction and placed a hand on Rooster’s shoulder.

“I’ll go run this up to my room. What else do I have to do today?” Y/N asked them.

“I think we were going to start talking about some of the clubs. We’ve got a club on Broadway that could use some serious female touch.” Bob said, “We’ll send someone up to come get you.”

Y/N nodded, taking the dress bag from Rooster and heading up. When she got to the hallway, she noticed the door to her room slightly open. She slowly and cautiously walked down to the door, and peered inside. Her face turned red at the sight of a naked girl waiting on her bed, probably waiting for her future husband to arrive. Y/N pushed the door open more, letting it bang against the wall as it did.

“You’re- Who the hell are you?” The girl spoke up, looking over her shoulder.

“Y/N Santiago. Who the hell are you?”

“None of your concern. The other rooms are on the third floor. This one is being used.” The girl smirked at her. Y/N scoffed and threw the dress bag down on the floor, before turning on her heel and storming down to Jake’s office. She knew better than to just barge into people’s offices, but the anger in her body had her going to blind to the rules that were ingrained in her body.

“I just want the bare minimum done to the club-”

“Why is there some whore on my bed!?” Y/N yelled as she interrupted whatever conversation Jake and Bob were in. Jake’s face contorted in anger at the outburst as he pushed himself up from his chair.

“Who the fuck do you think you are just barging into my office like that?” Jake demanded.

“Your future fucking wife. Now, explain the goddamn whore in my room!”

“Oh,” Jake smiled, “I see you’ve met Isabella.” Bob looked between the two angry people. The tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife, “Robert, give her the rundown of the club. I got something to take care of.”

Jake walked out from behind his desk, shamelessly fixing himself as he walked over to Y/N. She hated to admit that he looked good in his all black get-up, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. Y/N could see a cross tattoo on his forearm. He grabbed her arm and lowered his head, his lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She felt goosebumps rise on her body from the heat of his breath fanning over her neck.

“Let’s get a couple things straight here, doll,” Jake whispered, “I can fuck who I want, where I want, and when I want. And you’re not my future wife. You’re just some whore I got in a deal.” Y/N looked up at him, anger in her eyes. Jake smirked and bit his lip, “I heard you used to dance. . . that might be the one thing you’ll be useful for.”

Jake placed a kiss on her cheek, and let her go, walking out the door and going upstairs to Isabella. Y/N stood frozen, looking down at the ground. She tried her best to not let Jake’s words affect her, but she couldn’t help it. She hated comparing the two of them, but in this moment she would take a day with Francisco over this interaction with Jake.

“Y/N. . . “ Bob said softly, noticing the silent tears falling down her face.

“No,” She responded, wiping her tears, “Show me these club plans.”

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — —

Bob had left a while ago to talk with the rest of the guys about solidifying the overseas gun trades. Y/N hadn’t really paying much attention when he told her, and she hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he walked back into the office. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, watching as Bob walked into the office. Her eyes fell back to the laptop she had been staring at, holding her fingers over the keyboard, unmoving.

“I think it’s time for bed Y/n, you’re falling asleep looking at-” He moved around the desk looking over her shoulder to see what she was staring at, “-upholstery?”

“I’m fine, Bob,” Y/N said, trying to shake him off. She didn’t know where she was going to sleep anyway. She was guessing that Jake had done his business with Isabella in her bedroom, and she didn’t dare to go in there.

“Don’t stay up all night,” Bob said and Y/N nodded, whispering good night under her breath.

Her eyes were straining as she watched the screen, not really paying attention to the different colors of leather that were being displayed. She was fighting off sleep, feeling her body getting heavier and heavier. She sighed, closing her laptop, and pushing away from the desk.

The house was quiet and dark except for the soft lighting from the hallway lights. She didn’t even bother going upstairs to her room, instead she walked to the couch, pulling out a blanket from the chest. Y/N let out a sigh as she laid down on the couch and covered herself up. She rolled her eyes as she looked at the giant portrait of her future husband hanging above the fireplace. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was a narcissist with the amount of pictures of himself he had everywhere. Y/N turned on her side, looking out over the pool and seeing the distant lights of the city, slowly drifting to sleep.

Jake woke up to the sound of what he assumed was the office door closing. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked over at the clock sitting on his bedside table. He assumed it was probably Bob finally going to bed. Jake sighed as he tried to fall back asleep, staring at the ceiling for a few moments, before giving up and sliding out from under the covers. His eyes were barely open as he walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen, but the slightest movement caught his eye.

His lips twitched into a slight frown at the sight of Y/N trying to be comfortable on the couch. He knew that the couch was the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Quietly, he moved over to the couch and picked her up in his arms. She stirred in his arms a bit, curling her body towards the warmth of his. The walk back to his bedroom was quiet, the only sound his ears registered was that of her steady breathing. He gently pushed his bedroom door open and ambled to the side of his bed. Jake gently laid her down in the spot he was once in, and pulled the covers up her body.

He couldn’t help the warm feeling that filled his body as he watched her nuzzle herself into the warmth of his pillow. The slightest of sighs left tumbled from her lips as she breathed in the scent of his sheets. Jake caressed her hair lightly, before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Jake left the room as quietly as he could, walking to the floor below and opening the door to the master bedroom. He was barely conscious as he walked to the edge of the bed, pulling back the covers just enough to slide beneath them before letting his exhaustion take hold of him.

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — —

“You awake Y/N? Breakfast is almost ready, and we’ve got shit to do today.” Bob knocked softly on the bedroom door. His soft tone was telling, where he was usually fairly monotone when speaking about business, Bob’s tone changed depending on who he was talking to. When he spoke to Jake it was usually firm, and strong, not a hint of fear in his voice. But, with Y/N, he was soft, calm.

Jake groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in the main bedroom, it was probably before Natasha’s ordeal. He pulled the blankets back and trudged over to the door. Bob jumped back a bit as the door swung open and Jake was on the other side. He leaned in slightly, seeing if he could see Y/N’s body on the other side.

“Why-“ Bob began to ask, quickly being cut off when Jake moved past him, walking towards the stairs.

“She fell asleep on the couch because she didn’t want to sleep in that room.”

“Okay, and?” Bob said, following Jake.

“I took her to my room, figured I’d just sleep in the master bedroom.” Jake said with a shrug as they made it to the top of the staircase.

“Go eat, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Jake said, waving off his friend before turning on his heel and walking to his bedroom. He slowly opened the door, peering in to see the curtains still shut, the darkness remaining in contrast with the light that had overtaken the rest of the house.

Y/N was still asleep, curled up further into his bedsheets with her head almost entirely beneath the blankets. He hated that he felt a flutter of feeling in his heart at the sight of her sleeping frame. She looked peaceful as she slept, but the angry red scar on her face stuck out. Jake sighed as he brushed a hand over her face, his knuckles lightly touching the scar. Every scar had a story and her’s was certainly one that no one would ever want to know. He moved quietly towards his closet, pulling a pair of dress pants on and pulling a button up shirt over his arms and walking back out.

The other boys noted Jake’s entrance to the dining room, Rooster giving him a curt nod before moving his attention back to the food on his plate. One of the maids handed Jake his iPad so he could check the morning sales, and Emile set down a single cup of black coffee in front of him.

“Should I wake Y/N? We’ve got shit to do today.” Rooster asked.

“It’s fine, let her sleep. You can show me what she came up with after breakfast.”

The four of them ate, small talk cutting up the silence. Once they were all finished, they stood from the table, heading for the door. Jake stopped and waited for the guys to get a few steps out of the room before turning to Emile, “Could you have a plate sent up to my room?”

“Miss Y/N coming down for breakfast?” Emile asked him softly.

“No, she had a long day. I think the jetlag and all is catching up to her,” Jake said and Emile nodded.

“You’re taking good care of her?”

“I try,” Jake sighed, “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“So are you,” Emile laughed, “Karma for your teenage years.”

Jake smiled at the older woman. Emile was hired when Jake was first born by his parents. At times, she felt more like their mother than their own mother was. Emile had seen the good, bad and the ugly of working for a crime family. She had also picked Jake up off the ground when he had fallen. She saw the good in his soul, no matter what he did. Emile was the soul who was too kind for the world she was involved in.

“I wasn’t that bad. You have to admit, Sam was worse,” Jake joked, mentioning his older sister. Emile smiled and kissed his cheek, before gathering a plate and taking it upstairs to Y/N.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, and she immediately sat up in the king sized bed. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar room, looking around at the clothing that was haphazardly thrown around. She wasn’t sure how she got there, or even who’s bedroom it was, but she could guess by the red suit coat that was thrown over a chair, the room belonged to Jake. She pushed back the blankets, noticing the plain black t-shirt she was wearing and looked around for her own clothing.

“Miss Y/N? Are you awake?” Emile’s voice sounded out from the otherside of the door.

“Y-yeah, come in,” Y/N answered. Emile opened the door, her smile lighting up the room, a tray of food in her hands, “Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything-”

“Mr. Jacob asked me to,” Emile said, setting the tray in front of her, “Mind if I tidy up a bit? I love the boy, but cleanliness is not his first name.”

“Neither is respect,” Y/N mumbled as she picked up a piece of toast, “Go ahead.”

Emile nodded, and walked over to the windows, pulling back the heavy black curtains to allow the sun to shine through. Y/N blinked at the bright light, as she picked around her plate of food. She sat in bed, scrolling on her phone as Emile cleaned up the room. Once she was done, she gave Y/N a small nod, taking the finished tray of food with her. Y/N pushed herself out of bed, and into the bathroom to shower. She stepped into the hot water and let it hit her muscles, leaving red marks behind.

Jake whistled as he walked up to his room, and paused, hearing the water running. He walked in, noticing the clean room, and a single black t-shirt laying on the floor. He walked into the bathroom, and smirked, seeing her naked from behind the steamed up glass door. He could faintly see white scars on her back and he added just another reason as to why Francisco Solano needs to die. Jake leaned against the bathroom door and crossed his arms over his chest. Y/N could feel his eyes on her without having to turn around and look at him.

“Who said you can shower in here?” Jake asked. Y/N could practically hear his smirk. She rolled her eyes, and turned so he could see her naked frontside.

“Myself,” Y/N responded, grabbing the washcloth and squeezing it, letting soap run down her breasts, “Got a problem there, sir?”

“Hurry up,” Jake clenched his jaw, trying to think of anything but how good her tits looked, “You gotta go to the club, handle some shit with Javy.”

Y/N nodded as Jake left her alone to finish her shower. He sat on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, for another ten minutes before Y/N came strolling out of his bathroom. His eyes glanced up for a second, and did a double take. Y/N shamelessly walked towards the door, as bare as the day she was born.

“Whoa, where the fuck are you going?” He asked, standing from his bed and grabbing the towel from the floor.

“To my room…” She said, glancing back at him, confused.

“Butt ass naked, I don’t think so. I don’t need everyone in this house seeing my soon to be wife naked.”

“Again.” She stated plainly.

“Again…” Jake repeated, drawing out the word as he tossed the towel over her shoulders. She grunted and wrapped it around her body.

“Since when was I soon to be wife? I thought I was just some whore you got in a deal.”

“Don’t get smug, you’re still a whore I got in a deal, you just so happen to also be my fiance.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“Bite me, princess,” Jake smiled at her, before walking out of the room and leaving her alone.

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — —

The club was tucked into the busy street that was Broadway in San Diego. It wasn’t flashy, and didn’t stick out like others, and that’s what caught people's attention. During the day, it wasn’t anything spectacular, but a two story building, next to a dingy alleyway. Jake had stayed back at the house while Javy, Rooster and Reuben accompanied Y/N to see the place she’d be hopefully saving.

“Welcome,” Javy said, pushing open the backdoor. The stale scent of alcohol and blood hit her nose, “Yeah, I know, it kinda smells.”

“Kinda?” Reuben asked and Y/N giggled, “Why not just tear it down and start over?”

“That’s what she’s here for,” Javy shrugged pointing at Y/N.

At first the club wasn’t much, the first floor was a giant dance floor, two gold dance poles near the front by the dj stand, and a decent bar tucked in by the front. Y/N glanced over the selections of alcohol they had, most of it being fruit flavored seltzers and vodkas. She took note of how much glassware they had, and what their average stock of alcohol was behind the bar. She also took note of the furniture that was on the bottom level; the dingy looking leather couches that looked like they needed to burn in a biohazard fire.

“It’s not horrible. . . The couches gotta go,” Y/N said.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t touch those things with a ten foot pole,” Rooster added and walked over to the bar.

“Oh the boys are here!” The sounding of a shrill voice sent a chill down Y/N’s spine. She had recognized the voice from her interaction in her bedroom yesterday. Javy rolled his eyes as Isabella strolled through the abandoned club, “So nice to see you and the uh. . . her.”

“Isabella, play nice,” Javy said, “This is Y/N Santiago, Jake’s soon to be wife.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Isabella said, looking Y/N up and down. The girl felt like she was under a microscope and stepped closer to Reuben, for some kind of confidence and shelter, “Her? This is the Mafia queen he hasn’t shut up about?”

“I’m standing right here,” Y/N spoke up.

“I don’t care,” Isabella said, glancing at her and then back at Javy, “She know his cock was buried inside me yesterday?”

“And yet I’m still the one marrying him…” Y/N murmured.

“Okay, how about I go show you the private rooms in the back?” Rooster interjected, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Oh! Jake and I’s favorite!” Isabella added, taking a step forward.

“No, you stay here. Y/N and I will go check out the back,” Javy said, grabbing her and making her stand still in her spot.

Rooster placed his hand on the small of Y/N’s back, leading her to the back, where they had about ten private rooms at. Y/N glanced at them quickly, not daring to step foot in them. She knew what these rooms were used for, they looked similar to the private rooms back in New York.

“How often do these get cleaned?” Y/N scowled.

“You really don’t wanna know…” Rooster said as they made their way down the long hallway. “These four on the end get cleaned most often… they’re uh…”

“The Seresin posse’s own private rooms?” She asked, opening the door to one of the last ones and peaking in, “Let me guess, this belongs to my future husband?”

“Did the giant picture of himself give it away or. . .” Rooster said, pointing to the large portrait of Jake above the bed, “He’s kind of cocky about placing pictures of himself everywhere. I’m not sure why either, I heard his dick is small.”

“Clearly,” She scoffed, “Anyone who has the nickname ‘Hangman’ must be lying about something,” before turning to Bradley with a smirk on her face, “What about you, hm? Rooster. . . must mean something, right?” Y/N tilted her head a bit, looking the mustached man up and down. Rooster licked his lips, plastering a cocky smirk on his face.

“Mama, I would break you,” He said, nearly growling as his voice dropped into a lower octave.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Y/N asked, taking a long step towards him. Rooster gently lifted her chin with his knuckle, making her look up at him. He was a bit taller than Jake was, and Y/N could tell that he was a bit thicker than him. Y/N watched as Rooster leaned in closer, and closed her eyes. Her senses were overrun by the scent of his Armani cologne, and the feeling of his hand on her cheek. His lips brushed against hers for a split second, before he pulled back.

“A hypothetical, sweetheart,” Rooster said and Y/N nearly whined at the loss of his touch, “I’m not risking my life to fuck you, as much as I’d like to. Now come on, there’s a whole second floor to look at.”

Y/N sighed, and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her, but not before secretly flipping off the portrait. The two of them walked back down the hallway, back to the main part of the club, and she froze. Reuben’s eyes were looking at her, as Isabella was basically pressing her breasts in his face. Javy looked less than amused at the whole situation. Rooster looked between the two men and the girl who was practically fuming in her spot.

“Don’t-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Y/N yelled and stormed over to them.

“What?” Isabella said innocently, “You get one, sweetheart, not all of them. Besides, I like them a little bit beefier.” She giggled as she ran her hand up Payback’s bicep.

“Quit fucking touching him,” Y/N snatched Isabella’s wrist, holding it in a tight grip.

“Ow, fuck, daddy teach you how to do that one?” Isabella asked.

“Daddy taught me nothing, but I’ve done a whole lot more for so much less.”

Isabella huffed and tried to pull her wrist away, but Y/N tightened her grip, “You’re just another hang around whore for him. He’ll dump you sooner or later, doll.”

“Oh I fucking wish, but sadly, I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Y/N spat, “Stay the fuck away from them.”

She let go of Isabella's wrist, and the girl immediately brought it to her other hand, rubbing the red mark left by Y/N’s grip.

“That wasn’t a request, get the fuck out.” Y/N said, nodding towards the door.

@cherrycola27 @seresinsbabe @violyn20 @materialgirl01 @bradleybeachbabe @a-reader-and-a-writer @lt-spork @topnerd03 @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @bioodforbiood @topguncultleader @ma-fraise @abaker74 @double-j @cm27078 @thedroneranger @khaylin27 @mak-32 @unhinged-btch @wittywhispers @theliterarybeldam @bloosomjoon @chxcxlate-cxxkies @luckyladycreator2 @wellshit6 @harper1666 @phoenix1388 @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @emma8895eb @bonitanightmxres @love2write2626 @bobbyonboard @some-lovely-day @thenewdaysalreadyhere @cassiemitchellslibrary @ilymoonie @morgensternsblog @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @adoringsebstan @xoxabs88xox

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hedgiwithapen · 1 year

Note

okay last one! "If you don’t know my options, don’t judge my choices.” any fandom you want! just wanna see your (heartbreaking i'm sure) take on it.

I pick Leverage!

(set during mid s3!)

"Nate, we need to talk," Eliot said, grabbing the team's mastermind by the arm and dragging him to the empty bar. He looked around, making sure the others were out of earshot. Thankfully, they were.

"Alright then, talk." Nate said. Eliot wanted very badly to punch him for how blithe he was being.

"This is too much, Nate. Moreau? Absolutely not. I'm telling you as your hitter, we can't do this. we Shouldn't do this, and we can't."

Nate sighed, reaching for a glass. Eliot smacked his hand. "I'm serious."

"Yeah, yeah. Didn't I get you a train? Didn't we beat a Steranko? We can take Moreau. We have too." He retrieved the tipped glass, and a bottle to go with it. His eyes already looked glassy.

Eliot had had enough.

"Of course. It's your decision, every time, isn't it? Like you know better than the rest of us? We can find another way to keep you out of jail, man. You're so damn worried about your reputation, you're so full of your own damn skill-"

"Eliot," Nate said, steely. "Drop it."

Eliot recoiled.

"No! Not if you're bent on this bullshit. Sophie may not be willing to call you out, but I am."

"You don't get to judge my choices when you don't know the options." Nate took a long drink.

Eliot huffed, seething. "Your options, huh, and what are those? Get the team killed or look bad? I can see how that would be a tough--"

"You're all dead if we don't." Nate said. "At least if we try, we stand a fighting chance."

Eliot stared. "Excuse me," he said very, very softly, the kind of voice that made men who knew him very, very afraid. "What?"

"The Italian. Those were her terms. Six months to take down Moreau. Or it's open season on the team. You, you'd probably be fine on your own. The rest of them? It just takes one guy getting lucky. One cut harness, one rigged safe. A vase with a bomb in it…"

"You lied to us. You kept this from us. We could have --"

"Gone to ground? Hidden, for the rest of your lives? They wouldn't have been very long. Taking down Moreau is your only shot. Our only shot." Nate looked at the bar. "I'd have told you. When we hit five months. Or if the team decided to walk away. But it wasn't… you didn't need to know. That's my job."

Eliot shook his head. "Your job," he repeated. "Well, mine is to keep this fa--this team safe. Don't make it harder."

"Are you going to tell them?" Nate asked.

Eliot hated his answer. "No. You're right. Knowing would throw Hardison off. We can't have mistakes, against Moreau. But I'm telling them when we finally run at him. They'll need to know then. " He looked at the ceiling, hypocrite that he was, he took the bottle from Nate, and didn't tell him anything more.

#dammit hedgi day 2023 #Leverage #Eliot Spencer #nate ford

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zablife · 2 years

Text

The Orphan

Summary: In 1929 Jack proposes to his Italian girlfriend, excited for the birth of their child. When her brother interferes in their relationship, whisking her away to give birth in secret, it alters the course of his life forever.

Author's Note: Requested by @alimosblog.

Warnings: language, pregnancy, fighting, blood, mention of childbirth, mention of death, ethnic slur, mention of adoption, angst

November 1929

“What have you done with her?” Jack rasped, holding the man who would have been his brother-in-law by the collar.

“Why do you care?” The man replied, his grief making him bolder than his normal temperament allowed.

“Because she was going to be my wife! Before you broke it up, Sal. Why the fuck would you do something so stupid?” Jack asked, tightening his grip in anger.

Sal’s face twisted in disgust as he spat back, “Why don’t you drop the phony bullshit, Jack? You were never gonna marry my sister. That was just a lie you told her because she got scared after you knocked her up.”

Jack seethed at the notion he would abandon his fiance and child, rearing back and landing a punch squarely at Sal’s nose. He connected with a sickening crunch, letting go of the man he hated most in the world, the person who had taken the light from his life.

Sal had made one call to the don and Lucia was taken underground, somewhere no one could reach her, not even Jack’s spies. However, he was determined to find out how he could get her back.

Sal slumped forward holding his nose as the blood gushed forth. He huffed out a breath as he retrieved his handkerchief. Holding it to his swelling face, he raised his head slowly to look in Jack’s eyes. Jack was astonished to see tears welling in the corners as Sal spoke. “You want to know where she is big shot? She’s six feet under at St. Cecilia’s. All thanks to you.”

Jack clenched his fists by his sides, breath coming in shallow, uneven spurts as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. “What are saying?”

“She died in childbirth a month ago. And for what? A stillborn Mick bastard,” he spat at Jack. Pushing his fingers into Jack’s chest threateningly he continued, “Go home and leave our family alone. You were never welcome here.” With one final shove, he turned and shuffled away, dripping blood on the pavement as he walked. Jack stumbled to hold himself up against the wall, too overcome to retaliate.

—————————————————

December 1931

“You feeling alright, doll?” Jack asked, placing a hand to his wife’s swollen stomach.

“I’m fine. Stop fussing over me, Jack,” she said, shooing him out of the kitchen so she could finish cooking dinner. She found it sweet how he hovered over her, but sometimes he became overprotective. She had no way of knowing how his anxiety ate at him, wondering if something would go wrong the way it had with Lucia. He hadn’t been there for his fiance two years ago and the guilt nearly drove him insane before he met Maggie.

He tried to hide it as best he could, but there were tell tale signs of his past trauma. Maggie always wondered why he avoided St. Cecilia’s, for example, even though it was so close to their house. It would have been much easier to go there on Sundays, but Jack insisted on driving an hour away to St. Mark’s for a reason unknown to her.

Despite the fact they were not members, the women in the neighborhood had asked Maggie to join their ladies’ group at St. Cecilia's, providing items for the orphans at Christmas and she didn’t have the heart to deny them.

After working with them for some time, she developed close bonds with the nuns and the children in their care. Her heart ached for the kids, seeing their angelic faces every week. They were so appreciative of everything they received.

Being in their company made her want to have a child of her own and when she shared the news of her pregnancy, they all rushed to hug her legs telling her how happy they were she would be a mother soon. It was then she decided she wanted to be part of that church more than anything.

After dinner one night, Maggie carefully broached the topic with her husband. She thought appealing to reason would be the best approach. “Jack, I know you like St. Mark’s, but how would you feel about attending mass at St. Cecilia’s for awhile? I’m getting so big, it’s uncomfortable to ride so long in the car now. Besides, what if I go into labor on a Sunday?” she asked, leaning her head against him in bed. She felt Jack’s pulse quicken at the mention of it and wondered if it had been a bad idea to bring it up. To her surprise and delight, he took her hand in his and agreed.

“Of course, anything you want. I want what’s best for you, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders.

——————————————————

The next Sunday Jack lost sight of Maggie in the crowd after mass. With worry creeping into his chest, he set out to find her. A friend of Maggie's soon approached to calm his nerves, informing him she was in the orphanage next door.

Pushing the heavy door open, he found her holding a chubby toddler with olive skin and dark curls. An odd sense of familiarity crept over him, although he didn’t understand why. Then Maggie turned to face him, picking up the girl’s tiny hand and waving to him.

“Say hello!” she prompted the child who looked up suddenly. Jack froze as he found a pair of hazel eyes with flecks of green staring back at him, the same unique shade as his own. He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn’t be possible, he thought.

A nun whisked into the room greeting them and offered an apology, “I’m sorry Mrs. Nelson, but this little one has visitors,” she said with a bright smile.

“That’s wonderful, sister!” Maggie replied handing the child over carefully.

The little girl whimpered for a moment and Maggie hushed her with a palm to her chubby cheek. “There, there, sweet girl. Smile! You might be getting a mommy and daddy today,” she cooed at the child.

“God, willing,” the sister replied. “She’s been with us since the crash and times are hard,” she said with a shake of her head.

“When exactly did you say?” Jack asked.

“October 1929,” the sister replied. “But it wasn’t financial hardship that brought her to us. No, she was born to an unwed mother, all alone in the world, and the poor dear died giving birth to this little angel.”

Maggie came to stand by Jack’s side without noticing he’d grown pale as he matched the dates in his mind.

“We won’t keep you sister. Goodbye, Lucy!” Maggie said, waving to the child animatedly.

Jack felt a lump form in his throat as he asked, “Lucy?”

“Yes, she was named after her mother, Lucia. Isn’t that a beautiful tribute?” Maggie beamed. She placed a hand to her stomach, reaching for Jack’s arm, but his mind was far way. Sal had lied to him and he felt sick that he'd taken him at his word, never attempting to find Lucy when she'd been a stone's throw away all along. His heart broke anew as he watched his child being carried away into the shadows, slipping from his grasp a second time.

------------------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Jack Nelson fanfic #Jack Nelson imagine #Jack Nelson x OC

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lovesosweeet · 10 months

Text

better left unsaid // cth

chapter twenty seven

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

june 14, 2016 rome, italy orion

After our brief time together in the UK, Calum offered for me to join him and the band again in Italy. I’ve always wanted to visit, and class hasn’t started yet, so I once again took him up on the opportunity. It’s not every day that you get an invite to go backstage with a band and hang out with them in various foreign countries.

I once again asked my flatmates if they wanted to join, and this time Paula took me up on it. It was nice to have someone with me on the plane, and she’s excited to go to the show again tonight. She plans on hanging out with a friend for most of the day, and of course I’ll be hanging out with Calum, so I’m glad I’ll get him alone for at least some of today.

This time, Calum insisted on picking me up from the airport, which I sort of prefer considering I don’t speak Italian at all and don’t know how easily I’d be able to get around Rome. Paula is texting her friend — someone who had formerly lived in my bedroom in our apartment — and she’s going to meet him here, too. He’s been instructed to head to the drop off/pick up area where Calum’s supposed to be waiting, too.

“You excited to see your man?” Pau asks as we walk through the airport, following the signs that say uscita.

I roll my eyes at her question but can’t help having my cheeks turn hot. “He’s not my man.”

“He’s picking you up from the airport, giving your friend a hotel room for the night, spending his whole day with you, and, look,” she motions out the sliding glass doors, where I can now see Calum standing with a bouquet of flowers. “He brought you flowers. I’d say he’s your man.”

“He’s just being nice, Pau. That doesn’t mean he’s my man. He’s a nice guy.”

Paula hums a ‘mhmm’ and she waves to Calum, who’s now wearing a dopey grin and walking towards us with arms wide open. He once again is wearing sunglasses to try to mask his identity, but it’s obvious to anyone looking for him that it’s him. I’m not complaining — it makes him easier to spot in the huge crowd of people at this airport.

He pulls Paula into a quick side hug, holding the bouquet of flowers out so they don’t get crushed.

“Hi, Pau, so good to see you again!”

“You too, Cal! Can’t wait for the show later.”

Once Pau steps back from Calum, he turns to me and wraps me into a tight embrace. I hug him back quickly, inhaling his scent. It’s a faint mix of cigarettes, coffee, and evergreen.

“Hi, love.”

I don’t have to look at Paula to know she’s smirking at his use of ‘love.’

“Hi, thanks for coming to get me,” I quietly say into his chest.

Cal steps away from me to create a bit of space, and then he kisses my forehead, sticking the flowers he’d brought in between us. “Happy to come to get you whenever. Here, some flowers for you.”

I look down to the bouquet. It’s a colorful mix of wildflowers and greenery, a few stems of chamomile mixed in. I haven’t even told him that chamomile is my favorite. The bouquet is beautiful. Far nicer than any bouquet of flowers any other boy has bought for me. Exes have always defaulted to roses, assuming that’s what I’d like because they’re a very popular choice of flowers. I never complained, always grateful for any kind of sweet gesture but feeling like they don’t really know me.

Here Calum is, just shy of knowing me for two weeks, and he already has flowers for me that would be an arrangement that I’d pick out myself, but never buy because they’re probably expensive.

“Thank you, Cal,” I all but whisper, grabbing the multicolor bundle from him and taking a whiff of the floral scents.

I glance over at Paula and find that she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Here, let me take your bag,” Calum says, reaching for the straps on my backpack. I don’t fight it, somewhat stunned by the whole flowers thing, and just let him take it.

“Paula!” A voice calls out, and then her friend is coming up and giving her a bear hug. I know that his name is Giuseppe and he used to live with Paula and Marta before Ilse and I moved in. He’s also the one who introduced Lucia to Paula, but I don’t know the full story on how that happened.

“Giu, so good to see you!” Paula says. They break their hug quickly, and then Paula motions toward me. “This is Orion, your replacement, and the reason I’m here today.”

I wave awkwardly. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Giuseppe, or Giu, smiles at me and then leans in to kiss each side of my face. It’s a practice I’m still getting used to and it makes me feel so European when I do it, but it almost always catches me off guard.

“You as well,” Giu says. He turns to Cal then, holding out his hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Giu.”

Calum shakes his hand. “Calum, nice to meet you.”

“Is this your boyfriend?” Giu asks, motioning between me and Calum. I widen my eyes and shake my head no.

“No, no, he’s not my boyfriend,” I say before Calum has to explain anything. I try not to notice the somewhat disappointed expression that paints Cal’s face when I say it. It’s the truth, so he shouldn’t feel slighted.

Giu eyes the large bouquet of flowers in my hands but nods, I guess dropping it based on how quickly I corrected him. He starts to study Cal’s face for an oddly long amount of time, all four of us standing in silence. “Why do I know you?” He finally asks.

It’s Calum’s turn to blush then. He looks down at the ground and his sneakers, kicking a small rock. “Oh, um, I’m in a band. Maybe that’s why.”

Paula cuts in then. “Have you heard of 5 Seconds of Summer? Calum is the bassist.”

Realization washes over Giu’s face and he nods. “Yes! My sister has your poster in her room.”

I try my hardest not to laugh, even though I do find it quite funny. Cal’s embarrassed, but he should be proud. People know him and who he is for something he loves to do. It has to be cool to be famous for doing something he’s passionate about.

“Giu, let’s grab a picture of you and Calum so you can show your sister that you’re the coolest big brother ever.”

Cal and Giu are both reluctant, but neither argues. Paula grabs Giu’s phone and pushes the two guys together, aiming the camera as they pose. They both just hold up a peace sign and awkwardly smile.

“Adorable, she’s gonna freak out,” Paula says while she hands his phone back.

“Y’know, if you’d like to come tonight, I can get you and your sister in. If you want, no pressure.”

Giuseppe looks surprised and raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t have to. We just met, I don’t want to—“

Cal shakes his head and smiles. “No pressure, but we’d love to have you. Any friend of Orion’s is a friend of mine.”

Giu and I just met, so we’re not really friends, but Cal is obviously being generous. It’s a good look. I appreciate someone so willing to do kind things. It makes me like him more, and the weight of the flowers I’m holding reminds me I have several reasons to like him even more than I already do. I love it and hate it at the same time.

“Thanks, man, I’ll send her the picture and ask. She may already have a ticket.”

Cal nods. “Even if you just want to come and hang with Pau, you’re welcome to. Just give me a heads up and we’ll make sure you’re on the list.”

“Should we go? Giu has a full day planned for us, don’t want to miss anything from my official tour of Roma.” Paula must sense that I’m starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by Calum’s kindness, and I’m grateful she’s picked up on it.

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Giu says, giving Paula a playful smile.

“Okay, well, we’ll catch up with you guys later?” I ask. I would like to actually get to know Giu. Any friend of Paula’s is a friend of mine.

“Definitely. We can plan on meeting at the hotel later this afternoon? Just keep an eye on your phone to confirm details.”

Paula and I hug quickly, and she waves goodbye to Calum before she and Giu start walking away, leaving me with Cal. He’s smiling at me an has an arm wrapped around me protectively while the people at the airport mill around us.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” I whisper to him. My cheeks are hot. He’s being so sweet, and I don’t really know why.

“Of course I don’t have to. I want to. Do you like them?” He looks so nervous while he asks.

“I love them. Thank you.”

Calum smiles with his award winning grin and he goes to grab my hand, but stops himself. “Can I hold your hand today?”

I look around and don’t see anyone staring at us or paying any attention, so I grab his hand in mine. “For now.”

He laughs. “Is kissing you on the table?”

I sigh, once again checking to see if anyone is looking at us. I have had a handful of pictures of us together pop up on 5SOS fan Twitter, and nobody has any idea who I am, thankfully, but still. There are some from each place we’ve been — Madrid, London, and Brighton, and I have no doubt that some will come from today and tomorrow since we’ll be together. I like Calum. I really do, but I don’t want to be just another face on the 5SOS gossip pages.

“When we get inside the van, yes, please.”

“Okay, then come on. Wanna kiss ya.”

Calum starts walking with me in tow. We’d been fine in London without security, so for now, we’re allowed to walk around freely without needing a bodyguard, but if anything happens, that privilege will be easily revoked. He takes me to the van that’s parked down the street about 100 meters or so, opening the door for me and letting me climb in first.

“Good morning,” I say to the driver.

Calum tosses my backpack into the backseat before throwing his body next to mine and swinging the door closed, instantly leaning over and pressing his lips to mine and resting one hand on my jaw and the other on my waist.

When he pulls away, I curse. Cal looks concerned and raises his eyebrows to ask what that meant, just as the van starts moving.

“We should’ve taken Paula’s bag to the hotel, too. I feel bad.”

“I’m sure she’ll live.”

I nod and lean back in my seat. This van is far more comfortable than the shitty seat I had on my RyanAir flight and I appreciate the cushioned bench more than I should.

“Any specific requests of things to do in Rome?” Calum asks. He has his arm wrapped around me now, his eyes focused on me. I feel nervous under his gaze and look out the window, watching the streets of Rome come to life.

“Hmm… probably just see the Colosseum if we can? Oh, there’s a really neat boat fountain I’d learned about in high school that would be neat to stop by. I want to get gelato and some kind of pasta. I don’t really want to go into the Vatican, but just seeing it could be nice? Oh, and the Trevi fountain, of course. I’m really up for anything, though. Just happy to spend the day with you and your friends.” I realize my list just kept going as I started thinking about it, but I really do want to do all of those things if we can.

“Oh, most of our friends went back to LA and London, so it’s back to just being the boys,” Cal says. His fingertips are tracing circles into my side and it feels so nice to just… have him next to me. “Oh, and Crystal, she’s still here.”

Crystal is Michael’s girlfriend, but Luke’s was with us before, so I question it. “What happened to, uh… what was her name again? Luke’s girlfriend.”

Cal chuckles. He’d explained to me that none of them like her, aside from Luke (obviously), but I still expected that she’d be here if Crystal is. “They’re so hot and cold. They’re in an off phase of their off and on relationship, so he’s probably on the prowl for a replacement for the night. We can join the crew on a night out tonight if you’d like? Paula is invited, too, of course. Everyone loved her in Madrid.”

I doubt Luke has any difficulty finding a replacement, and I’m sure that Calum and Ashton have a fairly easy time finding someone to fill their beds with for the night. It wasn’t exactly difficult for Calum to win me over two weeks ago. The same could go for Michael if he wasn’t taken.

“That sounds fun, and happy to help play wingman for Luke,” I joke, although not really. He and all of the guys and their friends have been nothing but sweet and friendly. I’m happy to help them out, though in this particular situation I doubt I’m the one they want help from, though.

Cal tightens his hold on me. “Uh uh, no, I need you all to myself. No wingman-ing, please.”

I roll my eyes. “Your fans won’t like it too much if we’re all over each other, you know?”

He sighs. “Don’t worry about the fans, Orion. They tend to actually like the people we hang out with if they’re… y'know… decent people. Might take some time, but don’t stress, OK?”

I nod, wanting to drop it as soon as I’ve brought it up.

“Besides, we’ll likely be in the VIP area tonight if we go out. Space Monkey was a rare occasion when we went somewhere so casual. Normally we go places where we can be separated from the general crowd.”

I nod again. I hadn’t thought about it, but when I got the recap of the night in Madrid after the show, the girls said they went to a nicer club called Capital, and when we went out in London, we went to a very fancy club where we were in a roped off VIP area. That night is quite blurry for me. I’d been slid a few too many espresso martinis by Calum, so I have to jog my own memory to have that in mind.

Calum seems to be concerned by my silence. “But we totally don’t have to go out tonight if you don’t want to! We can order some pasta and a bottle of wine from room service and just hang around my hotel room. It’s up to you.”

I turn back to him and give him an uneasy smile. “We should go out. I want to. Just not used to being a VIP, or, I guess, being with VIPs.”

“Good, but if you wanna head out early to, uh, head back to the hotel…” Calum trails off, as if he’s nervous to mention that we’d probably hook up again tonight. I didn’t think it was even a question. I came all this way to see him again, didn’t I?

I smile then, for real. “I think we can manage to cross multiple things off the to do list.”

He grins at me again cheekily and leans so his mouth is right by my ear. “You’re on my to do list.”

I gasp and hit him on his chest. “Calum!”

He just giggles, leaning back in his seat next to me.

Then I remember that I’d only brought sneakers with me. “Shit,” I mumble.

Cal perks up. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it okay if I didn’t bring heels? I was turned away from Capital last night because I was wearing my Converse. I had to run back to the apartment to change.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You can wear whatever you want. They tend to, uh, bend the rules for us, wherever we go.”

I blush, a bit embarrassed. I forgot that when you’re famous, people kind of give you a free pass. When I’m with Cal, I’ll be extended some of that same luxury.

Calum and I keep talking about the plans for the day, and we’re on the same page about getting pasta and gelato. He also wants to get coffee with a cannoli, and I tell him I’m more than game for that. I like that we both prioritize eating good food. I hope to try a few good wines, but that feels like an unforgettable, mandatory, and easily achievable part of visiting Italy.

We get to the hotel and Calum carries my bag for me again, and when we get off the elevator on the floor we’re staying on, we run into Crystal, Michael, and Ashton. Crystal lights up when she sees me. On my last trip to visit Cal, she and I got to talk a decent amount, and she said it’s always nice to have a girl around when on tour, since it’s usually just the guys and their friends.

“Orion! Yay, you’re here!” She almost screams with excitement, pulling me into a hug.

“Hi!” I say, happy to see a friendly face. I hug her back as well as I can while still holding my bouquet.

Crystal steps back from the hug and eyes the flowers, her eys widening and her smile growing. “Oh my god, Cal, did you buy those!?”

Calum looks embarrassed and stares at the floor, his cheeks turning red. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re incredible, oh my gosh!” Crystal gently takes the bouquet from me, examining the flowers. “Mike, why didn’t you get me some?”

Michael groans, and I watch him give a sneaky glare to Calum.

“Crys, we just got up, when would I have had a chance?” He sighs.

Crystal laughs, slapping him on the arm softly. “I’m kidding,” she says, even though I don’t think she is. “But seriously, those are incredible.”

I smile, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, too. They really are stunning, and I’m flattered that Calum got them for me. “They are.”

“Well, we’re headed out for breakfast, or…” Crystal checks the time on her phone. “I guess it’s almost lunch time. Do you want us to wait for you guys? We could all go together.”

I make eye contact with Calum, trying to gauge what he’d like to do, but his expression looks like he doesn’t have a preference. He shrugs. ‘Up to you’ he mouths. I look between the three boys and Crystal and nod.

“Yeah, sure, let’s grab breakfast together, and then I think Cal and I will go hit up some touristy things on our own after.”

“Yay! Okay, we’ll head down to the lobby and meet you there in a few, sound good?” She rests her hand on my arm, taking a step toward the elevator.

Calum speaks for us then, his arm find its way to rest across the small of my back. “Sounds great, we’ll see you in a bit.”

We all swap places, Mike, Ashton, and Crystal getting into the elevator and Calum and I walking into the hall. He guides us down all the way to the end and opens the door on the left.

“Pau’s room is right across from ours, do you think she’ll be okay with that?” He asks as he steps into the hotel room and turns on all the lights.

“I’m sure that’s perfect,” I tell him. “Thank you for getting her a room, I would’ve helped her get one since I dragged her out here.”

Calum shakes his head. “Nah, we always book a whole floor when we tour for a safety thing. Nobody would’ve been in her room if she wasn’t.”

I nod. I walk through the room, taking in the fancy hotel bed and the art on the walls. There’s a vintage-looking photograph of the Trevi Fountain above the bed, and a small collection of photos of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel hanging above the dresser. When I step onto the balcony, I’m left breathless.

“Holy shit,” I say.

Calum follows me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “Sick view, right?”

I nod. What feels like the entirety of Rome is visible from the balcony. So many streets, a park or two, bustling people, and the Colosseum is off in the distance. I can’t wait to see it at sunset or at night. I bet it’s incredible.

“This room was originally assigned to Luke, but I bargained with him.”

I look up at him and find him already trained on me. “What was the trade?” I ask. I’m flattered that he bargained with him in order to get the room with the view for us. It’s exceptional. I can imagine under normal circumstances the hotel can charge more for this room simply because of it.

“I buy all his drinks tonight. Not that bad of a trade if it means it makes you happy.”

It takes everything in me not to melt in his arms. I settle for giving him a swift kiss. “Thank you.”

Calum grins. “Here, let me take a picture of you out here. So Instagrammable.”

My knees go weak again and I just smile and hand him my phone. “Would you? Do you remember how I like them?”

He rolls his eyes. “You only spent 10 minutes in front of the Eye showing me how to take a proper Orion-approved photo. I think I got it.”

I walk out onto the balcony and give Cal my biggest cheesy grin for a photo, and then start posing. A peace sign, holding my arms out and almost tipping over, leaning over the rail on the balcony, and fixing the hem on my dress.

“Are they cute?” I ask, not moving from the balcony in case they’re not good.

“Orion, any picture you’re in is cute. I’m not the best judge. Wanna look?”

I nod, and Cal walks out and holds my phone out to me, the photos pulled up. They’re cute, and he did a great job. “Thank you, they’re great.” I then hold my phone out in front of us, the front-facing camera open. “Smile,” I tell him.

Cal grins for the photo and I click the shutter a few times. Right when I go to put my phone away, Cal pinches my waist and says, “Just a few more.”

I start clicking the shutter again, capturing Calum pressing a kiss on my cheek and my subsequent blush.

“Okay, we should go down to your friends.”

Calum shakes his head no and then takes my phone from me again, leaving it on selfie mode while he takes photos of us kissing for real. “Now we can go downstairs,” he says, handing my phone back.

I’d thought our pictures in London would be our only photos together, and here we are with at least 10 more good ones amidst the few dozen we just snapped. It makes me happy, having someone to have cute pictures with, but at the same time, it makes me sad. This is just a casual thing, and I feel myself falling quickly, which I don’t want to. I decide I should just enjoy it while it lasts. If anything, it’ll make a great story to tell people someday. I had a fling with the bassist of 5SOS.

“Is my outfit okay?” I ask Calum before we walk out of the room.

“O, you look beautiful.”

People call me O a lot, but it’s Calum’s first time calling me that, and it makes my heart flutter a bit, especially when paired with that compliment.

“Thank you.” I reach out to take his hand while we walk out of the room and into the elevator.

When we get down to the lobby, the three of them are all sipping on coffee cups.

“Took you guys long enough,” Ashton says with a chuckle.

I blush, a bit embarrassed that they had to wait on us. I hate making people wait and I hate being late to things. I’m a very punctual person. “Sorry, we had a bit of a photoshoot.”

We all start walking out of the hotel, using the service door so we aren’t met with a crowd of adoring fans. Crystal pops up next to me before I know it, Cal holding my hand on the other side.

“I wanna see the pictures! Cal said your guys’ view was incredible.”

I sneak a look to Calum, wondering why he was talking about the room with her, but then I remember he had to barter with Luke, so I’m sure it was a conversation point for all of them before I got here. “I’ll show you when we get to breakfast.”

“Crys, leave her alone, she just got off the plane,” Michael says, grabbing his girlfriend’s hand and pulling her in front of us.

“No, she’s fine!” I defend. “I swear.”

Michael just laughs and keeps walking with her, and she turns around and smiles at me, so I know she doesn’t think I didn’t want to talk to her.

In Crystal’s place, Ashton appears.

“I don’t feel like we’ve gotten to really talk, so I’m glad we’re getting breakfast together,” Ashton says to me. His smile is friendly and his eyes are warm.

I didn’t realize I was supposed to be talking to all the members of 5SOS. I thought I was just here for Calum. I’m not opposed to making friends, especially not with people as nice as they have been to me, I just didn’t think it was my place.

“Oh, yeah, well, I fucking love breakfast, so I wouldn’t turn it down, ever.”

The sound of Ashton’s and Calum’s laughter fills my ears, and makes Michael and Crystal turn around to see what’s so funny.

“I’ve never met someone with such an intense dedication to a meal,” Ashton says, giggling slightly and making me laugh at the sound of his giggles. His laugh is infectious.

“Don’t get her started, Ash, she’s got a whole spiel if you wanna listen,” Calum tells him, his own laughter in between his words.

I look to him with wide eyes. “Excuse me, but my spiel is entirely warranted.”

“See?” Cal says. He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Ashton.

With that, I drop Calum’s hand. “You lost hand-holding privileges, my guy.” I fold my now free hands across my chest.

Cal’s jaw drops in shock and everyone, including me, starts to laugh loudly.

“I like you,” Ashton says to me, smiling and looking back and forth between me and Calum.

“I like all of you guys, honestly,” I confess. Crystal turns around to quickly smile at me, letting me know she feels the same about me, too.

I’m glad that it seems like Michael and Crystal know where we’re going, but I’m not sure if they’re just walking until we pass by something that looks good or if we’re going somewhere specific.

As if they can read my mind, Michael speaks up. “A fan who met us at the airport told us to come here, and we checked it out online and decided it looks good.”

“She said it’s run by nuns and all the profit goes to charity,” Ashton adds on. All of this sounds good, but the food is my main concern, although I do like the idea about the food going to a good cause.

“They have vegetarian stuff,” Calum mentions. His hand is now pressed against the small of my back as we weave through other pedestrians, still following Michael and Crystal’s lead. “I checked.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, and I mean it. “I appreciate that.”

“According to the reviews on Yelp, they have the best Nutella croissants in all of Italy,” Ashton says.

At that, I’m sold on this place, and happily continue our walk to wherever we’re going. I’m now quite excited about it, even though I’m excited about any breakfast. We’re not that far from this place, apparently, because not even a full minute later, Michael is opening the door to a cafe for all of us.

I thank him and follow everyone inside. It’s busy, but I see a table available in the back corner that I hope we can take. A nun is waiting just inside the door and she says something to Crystal before we all walk through the restaurant to sit at the table. She hands us all menus, completely in Italian, and grabs a carafe of water for us before she disappears.

Another nun comes a few moments later and we all order cappucinos. Once she’s gone, Ashton sets his menu down on the table.

“Orion, we wanna know more about you,” he says.

I nervously glance at Calum, wondering if he knew this was coming. He reaches over and squeezes my leg reassuringly, and I grab his hand under the table.

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

Ashton giggles again, and once again, his laugh makes me laugh. “Well, I mean, everything, but let’s start with the basics. Where are you from? What do you do? Cal’s a closed book when it comes to talking about details about you, other than that he’s very, very interested in you and the things you guys have done together in Madrid and London.”

Calum coughs when he’s mentioned, and I just squeeze his hand. We’re both kind of being grilled now.

“Ash, tone it down a bit, please?” Crystal says, sensing that his comments and questions make me nervous.

“Sorry, I just… you seem great. Just want to learn more!”

I smile. “I mean, I wanna learn more about you guys too, so I get it. Uh, so…” I trail off, trying to remember everything Ashton had said. “The basics. My favorite color is green, second favorite is baby blue.

“I’m from San Diego but go to UCLA, so when I am done with my semester abroad, I’ll be back in LA. I’m a student, but I work at the library on campus. I want to be a lawyer, though, so school is far from over for me and the start of my career is several years away.

“I believe that everything is better when you have a yummy drink in hand. I’ve been vegetarian for about three years now. Um… my favorite band is this kinda small one called The Wldlfe. They’re from Indiana.

“Oh, I have a younger brother. His name is Eridanus, but we call him Eri. He’s four right now and very, very cute. We’re both named after constellations.

“My best friend in the whole world is named Emelia, she’ll be visiting me during her Thanksgiving break and I’m really, really excited about it.

“I’m a scorpio, ENFJ, and enneagram 2.” When I finish my speech, I look to Calum, trying to make sure I’d covered enough. I try to remember if I’d even told him all of it, but I’m almost certain I have by now. He smiles at me and squeezes my hand, letting me know I did well with my brief explanation of myself.

Everyone else at the table is nodding, so I’m hoping I didn’t say anything that has them questioning me and my presence at this table.

“I’m a scorpio too!” Mike says.

“I’m also an ENFJ,” Ashton chimes in.

“My favorite color is green, but I know nobody would guess that,” Crystal says. She smiles at me and motions to her outfit of black clothes and purple hair.

“See, everybody gets along,” Calum tells us all, and I just elbow his side. I try to be a generally agreeable person, so I like to think I get along with most people.

“It’s just nice to get to know the girl Cal won’t stop talking about,” Ashton says. He smiles at his bandmate with sparkling eyes. I find myself blushing for what feels like the hundredth time this morning.

“I mean, I am pretty cool,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from Calum’s feelings for me, whatever they are.

“Far cooler than any of the other girls these boys bring around these days.” Crystal’s tone is clipped and somewhat annoyed, and it makes me feel awkward to be here, witnessing her dig at the others’ taste in women.

Mike snorts a laugh, and it lets me know that his girlfriend is at least partially kidding, but also that he mostly agrees.

“Hey, Luke’s trying to get out of that,” Ashton says.

“Is he?” Cal asks. He sounds quite unsure. The other two boys sigh and shake their heads. I wonder what the full story is there, but I know I’m not in a close enough relationship to anyone to merit them telling me the story, which is fine. Maybe I’ll find out tonight or tomorrow.

“Trying is the key word,” Michael clarifies. “Succeeding? Who knows.”

I try not to laugh at Michael’s comment, even though I find it funny.

“Let’s not forget the girls you’re finding, Ash,” Crystal circles back with another dig.

“Hey, that was one time!”

That sounds like another story I’d like to hear, but I understand that I’m essentially a stranger to most of the people at this table, so I don’t ask any followup questions. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out to see what it is.

From: calum 5sosAsh accidentally brought a hooker back to his room. Poor guy didn’t realize.

To: calum 5sos hey, sex work is still work!!! but yeah, kinda funny lol

“Anyway, it’s nice to have a new, normal human here who happens to be very nice and fun,” Crystal finally closes the door on this weird tangent, and I’m grateful.

“I’m glad you guys like me,” I confess, honestly. “For the record, I think you are all also very nice and fun.” I think I’ve told all of them I like them nearly a dozen times already this morning, but the whole thing feels quite blurry.

The nun comes back and we all order. The boys all order some variety of breads, prosciutto, pesto, cheese, eggs… I don’t even know, it’s just a huge selection of food, and I just make sure we get at least one of those Nutella croissants for each of us. I guess we’re all kind of just planning on sharing things, which is totally fine with me, as long as I get an egg or two and a croissant. I’m not a big person, so I don’t need much food, but I do need at least a little protein to be equipped for a full day of exploring Rome.

When the food comes, I just about lose my cool.

The eggs are the best eggs I’ve ever had, and I love eggs, so that’s saying something. The croissants are incredible, and I tell Cal we should order a few to go so I can bring one to Paula. The breakfast with everyone truly makes my heart happy, and I’m so glad Cal and I decided to join his bandmates and Crystal.

Crystal makes one of the nuns take a photo of all of us at the table, and she then texts it to me, making sure I have her contact and can talk to her whenever I want. I feel welcomed into the group, even if it’s only temporary. I’m also so grateful for whoever suggested to the boys that we come to this restaurant, because it’s easily going down as one of the best breakfasts of my entire life, both due to the food and the company.

“Orion, are you coming to the show tonight?” Ashton asks as we are all just hanging out at the table. The check has come and gone — Ashton picked up the whole thing, but I offered to at least pay for a third of it — and it’s nice to just be sitting here with everyone and chatting.

I look at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but you think I came all this way to hang out with the ever so lovely Calum Hood, only to not go see his show?”

Calum squeezes my hand, hard, under the table, and Ashton takes on an expression I can’t read.

“You’re right, Cal is quite lovely.”

I look at him through the corner of my eye. “Literally the most lovely person I’ve met in a very long time.”

—

Paula and Giu meet us at the hotel a few hours later, after we’ve crossed off most of our to do list, bar the hooking up part, and Calum and I take Pau up to her room. The view from her room is also very nice, but I won’t pretend that the view from Calum’s isn’t better. I haven’t told her that ours is breathtaking, but I’ll probably show her the photos later if I don’t post them to Instagram.

“Oh, wow, this is nice,” she says when we walk in. Giu carried her bag up for her, and he tosses it onto her bed when we get inside, headed straight for her balcony.

“Damn, wish this was my view from my place,” Giu says, taking in the sight of an almost birds eye view of his city.

“Giu, where do you live? Is it far?” I ask.

“I’m back at my parents’ house, about an hour out of the city by metro and about 20 minutes by car,” he says.

“Oh wow, you’re still a student?”

“Yeah, I was in Madrid on Erasmus. I still have another year of university, and then I plan to go to the US for my masters’ degree.”

I nod, all of what he’s saying adding up in my head. “Ilse, the other new girl in our apartment, is also on Erasmus and has the same plan. Maybe once we’re all in the US, Paula and Marta can come visit and we can all hang out?”

Paula claps her hands together excitedly at my suggestion. “YES! That would be perfect!”

“What’s Erasmus?” Calum asks.

I decide to answer, even though it’s not something I’m an expert on. “It’s basically just a study abroad program, but within Europe. A lot of the EU countries participate.”

He nods. “A whole different world in a different life, I guess,” he says, laughing.

Paula heads into the bathroom to freshen up, and then I’m left with just Giu and Cal.

“I’ve gotta head to soundcheck in a bit, do you want to come with, or do you guys want to go walk around and head to the show later?” Calum asks. He’s grabbing some things from his suitcase in our room across the hall with the doors open so we can still see and hear him.

I debate saying my feelings, but decide transparency is most important. All I can think about is that we haven’t had a chance to get gelato still. “I mean, I do kinda still wanna get gelato…” With everything else we did today, we didn’t have time and neither one of us was hungry enough to get any when we’d passed one of the hundreds of shops.

Calum looks to me, nearly offended. “We can get it after the show! I want some too!”

I laugh. “Okay, then that’s fine, but I need to get some gelato before I leave this country.”

He pouts. “Not without me.”

“Look, as cute as you guys are, I do need to go get my sister for the show. She doesn’t have tickets and she would kill me if I didn’t go get her. Orion, if you’d like to come with me and Pau, we’re definitely going to be back in time for the show, but we do need to head out soon.” Giu lays out the plan, and I appreciate it.

I look at Calum. “Do you mind if I go with? I’m happy to join for soundcheck if you want.”

Cal shakes his head. “No, no, go with them. As long as you’re at the show, cheering me on, we can hang out later and I promise you, hand to God, we will get gelato.”

“I promise, I’ll be at the show.”

He smiles. “Okay, yeah. Go ahead, and I’ll see you in a few hours?”

I nod.

Without much warning, Calum crosses the space between us to softly kiss my lips in front of Giu and Paula, which, frankly, catches me off guard, but I don’t want to not kiss him back, especially since we’re sort of in private. Thankfully, Giu and Paula don’t say anything about it.

“Okay, I’ve gotta get going,” Calum says. He reaches into his pocket and holds out a few key cards to us. “Here are some keys to get in and out of here, in case you need them. Call me if you have any problems, and I’ll make sure you and your sister are on the list, Giu. Just have Orion text me her full name to be safe.”

“Thanks, bro,” Giu says. He has a big smile on his face. “She’s gonna be so excited.”

“Anytime. Happy to do anything for Orion and people who matter to her.”

Calum exits the room then, leaving just me, Paula, and Giu. As soon as Cal’s out of the room, Paula squeals quietly, running across the room and grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Ohmygod, Orion!” She says. “He’s so into you!”

I roll my eyes. “Pau, don’t read into it.”

When I look at her, she looks like she wants to smack me. Thankfully, Giu steps in before she can say anything else.

“We should get back to my place, so we can grab Francesca,” he says. “And maybe we can grab a drink before the show? Or we can catch soundcheck, but either way, gotta get moving.”

“Sounds good, let’s get going,” I say, grabbing my bag off the desk by the door and opening it, tucking my key card into one of the pockets.

After a lot of train changes and several minutes on the metro, and a brief bus ride, we end up at Giuseppe’s family’s house, out in the suburbs. Francesca runs out of the house when we get there, without even knocking on the door. She’s dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a simple white t-shirt, Vans on her feet and a cardigan in her hands.

“Hi!” She says as she approaches us, giving her brother a hug and greeting Paula like they’re old friends. When she turns to me, she gives me the signature ‘kiss kiss’ that the Europeans I’ve come to call friends have all done when I’ve met them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, taking in her beauty.

She has straight, long, dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Her lips are full and pink, and she’s tall, especially compared to me. She’s wearing a very 5SOS appropriate outfit, so I can tell just how big of a fan she is. If I didn’t feel as comfortable in my situation with Calum as I do, I’d worry about bringing her. She’s stunning, to put it simply.

“Oh my god, no, it’s nice to meet you! You’re the reason I get to meet 5SOS!”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, if you want to put it that way, but really, thank Calum. He’s the one who said you and Giu should come.”

Paula looks at me with an expression I can’t read. “Orion, my sweet, sweet Orion… that boy is a goner for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Pau, he’s a famous musician. He’s good at putting on the charm. I’m nothing special, it’s just who he is.”

Francesca’s eyes flit between all of us, unsure of how to respond to any of us, which is fair. She’s 17, still getting a handle on the world. Not that I’m any different at 19, but still. She doesn’t know me, and, while I think she’s met Paula before, I don’t think they know each other very well. “I don’t really care, but I have you to thank for opening this opportunity up for me, so I am going to say thank you to you.”

“If this is all it takes to get a thank you,” I say, “then you’re welcome.”

Paula sighs, looking quite annoyed next to me, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Alright, let’s get going. If you want to meet the band before the show, we’re running low on time.” Giu has his phone out, and I think he’s calling an Uber or some other similar service that they have here.

We all wait patiently for a few moments, and then a dark blue SUV appears in front of the house. Clumsily, we hope into the car, and Fran pulls a flask out of her purse once we start moving.

“Don’t know if you guys like vodka, but I do,” she says, taking a quick swig from the container.

I laugh and take the flask from her, swallowing a big gulp and trying my hardest not to wince as it burns my throat.

Giu then takes it from me, swallowing vodka himself, and I think Pau feels left out, so she sips from it, too.

“OK, Giu doesn’t know, because I asked and he said he didn’t, but I’m dying to know,” Fran starts. “How the hell did we end up here?”

I laugh, and Paula is giving me some kind of weird ‘knowing’ eyes. I also giggle because of her reference to their song title. “I mean, there’s not really much to tell,” I start. “We were out at a club. Actually, the club Paula’s girlfriend works at, and Calum was there, and we started talking… and I guess the rest is history from there.”

Francesa looks at me with a weird expression. “That’s it?”

“No,” Paula injects. “That’s not it.”

I look at her, not fully knowing what she means.

“He came up to Orion in the middle of her trying to take a picture of me and Lucia, and he’d scared her, and she fully dumped her drink on him. They started talking, and the next thing any of us knew, they were leaving the club to go on a fucking ‘night adventure.’ We didn’t see or hear from her until 4 pm the next day, and then they invited us to the show. Orion and Calum went back to his hotel to do god knows what, and the rest of us got to party with the band and their friends. Now she’s chasing him all over Europe for their tour.”

I glare at Paula. “I basically just said the same thing,” I say. “And, I am not chasing him all over Europe. This is my third time seeing the man.”

She goes to say something, but Francesca interjects.

“For the record, as an outsider, Paula’s not wrong. Your story definitely was missing some key details.”

“Oh my god, so we go get some fucking falafel after we meet at the club and spent the night talking in a park, is that really that big of a story change?”

“YES!” Paula and Francesca yell at the same time.

I just roll my eyes, and Francesca asks for more details about what’s happened since then with Calum. I make her promise to keep all of this to herself, and she literally promises on her brother’s life, so I fill her in as well as I can. It includes him paying for our late night falafel, sightseeing in Madrid and London, sneaking off to his hotel after each of the shows I’ve been to, the flowers from this morning, and, only because Pau drags it out of me, the fact that he’s followed me on Instagram and liked every single one of my posts.

“I’m on Pau’s team. He likes you.”

I just roll my eyes. “I’m sure literally every other girl he hooks up with thinks the same thing.”

“HE GOT YOU FLOWERS!” Paula practically screams. Our Uber driver makes eye contact with her in the rear view mirror, glaring.

“People also get their family flowers, and their dead relatives, and their sisters at their dance recitals… flowers can mean a number of things.”

Paula looks like she wants to kill me. “Orion, he got you flowers. Flowers that you would like. Don’t act like that was some generic bouquet a man gets for a woman. Those flowers were for you.”

“Once again, I’m on Paula’s side,” Francesca says. I turn around in my seat to give her a death glare.

“Alright, listen. If I text Cal right now and ask him to take y’all off the list, he would. If I were you, I’d say you should shut the hell up about this,” I say, hoping people take me seriously, but knowing that I’m not exactly intimidating, and I wouldn’t actually do that because I know how excited Francesca is right now. I would never rescind an offer like this one, and I hope Fran knows that.

“Jeez, take it down a notch,” Paula says.

“I will if you do.”

I give her a death glare, and then the car is silent, listening to the radio that the Uber driver has playing. It’s ‘Gasolina’ by Daddy Yankee. Normally, it would hype me up, but I’m somewhat frustrated by Fran and Pau.

“Anyways, I’m excited about this concert!” Giu interjects, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh my god, me too! Are we going to be front row or off to the side? Or are we going to just get whatever random tickets are left?” Fran asks. She looks so excited, and I’m glad we get to bring her along. If it means this much to her, it’s absolutely a worthwhile excursion.

I smile. “Whatever you want, actually.”

Her eyes light up and I am happier than I was before that I’ve gotten Calum to give her this opportunity. She really loves this band.

“Damn, Orion! You really are my new favorite person.”

We get to the venue, and I’m excited when I see Gus on the side of the building where Cal had said we should walk toward upon arrival. He’s busy talking to some of the crew when he sees me, and then he waves at me happily.

“Orion!” Gus cheers, and he pulls me in to a one armed hug.

“Hi, Gus! So lovely to see you again.”

“Oh my goodness, you, too! It’s always a pleasure. Here, come on through, are these all your friends?”

I nod. “Yep, I can give you their names if you need to check the list?” I ask, unsure of if it’s OK for all of them to just follow me.

“No, no, you’re fine. I trust you,” Gus says, winking at me.

I feel a bit uncertain, but Giu, Paula, and Francesca all follow me backstage, where I find Crystal waiting for me.

“Orion! Yay, you’re back!”

I smile, giving her a quick hug, and then go to introduce everyone to her. “You’ve met Paula,” I say, motioning to my beautiful roommate. “This is Giu, and his sister Francesca.”

Crystal smiles and pulls all of them into their own individual hugs. “It’s so great to see you again, Paula, and to meet you two!”

“Oh, my, God,” Fran breathes out. “Crystal!”

Crystal looks at me, uncertain about Francesca’s reaction. ‘She’s a fan’ I mouth to her, and she nods. Francesca is so excited to be meeting the band and, apparently, Crystal, too. She can’t wipe the huge smile off her face.

“Do you want a tour of the backstage?” Crystal asks her. Fran nods excitedly. “C’mon, let me show you around.”

Crystal and Francesca disappear then, and I’m left with Paula and Giuseppe. I see the boys’ typical cooler of beers in the corner of the room, so I start toward it and pop it open, finding about 6 cans of both a random lager and Red Bull.

“Beer?” I call out to them.

“Porfi!” Paula says.

“Same, thanks!” Giuseppe says.

I grab three cans and hand each of them their own. “If we need more, I can go find Gus again.”

“Wow, you’re so official,” Pau says, laughing as she cracks the seal on her can of beer.

“Yeah, three shows and I learned the ropes,” I roll my eyes. I just picked up the habits and learned the patterns. I know if Calum was back here he’d make sure I got my beer and told my friends where it was, so I just assume it’s fine. If it’s not, I’ll take it up with him later and take the full blame for drinking their beer.

“You’re basically his girlfriend,” Giu says, laughing, probably thinking back to this morning when he asked if Calum was my boyfriend.

That startles me, and I almost stop breathing and almost drop my can of beer. I’m not Calum’s girlfriend, and I feel far from it. I know I keep saying it to everyone, but we’re just casual. It’s just having some fun while we’re both in Europe, and I’m okay with that.

“No, no, no, I’m not!”

Paula and Giu both look at me with a look of disbelief.

“Guys, I’m keeping my expectations low. It’s chill, it’s casual. We’re just… we’re just messing around.”

Paula snorts and I watch her hold back her laughter.

“Sure. It’s casual.”

After soundcheck, Cal and the rest of the band run offstage. I finally get to see Luke for the first time today, and he breaks out into the widest smile I’ve ever seen him have when he sees me. Crystal and Fran come into the room at about the same time, and I think they probably watched the end of soundcheck from the side of the stage.

“Orion!”

“Luke!” I mock. He gives me a somewhat sweaty hug.

“Sorry I missed breakfast, was a little hungover.”

“It’s cool, maybe you can join us for gelato after the show?” I question, looking between Cal’s silly smile and Luke’s tired face.

“Fuck yeah, I want gelato!” Luke says.

“OK, whole band and guests, gelato after the show.” Calum says. He weaves his way past Luke and everyone else to give me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“And then we’re going out, right?” Ashton confirms. He looks far sweatier than the rest of the band, but I think that comes with his territory of drumming. If I remember correctly, Ashton was the absolute life of the party when we went out in London.

“Oh, yeah, I’m happy to show you guys the best clubs in the city,” Giu interjects.

The band, aside from Cal, look very confused by his presence, but nobody questions him. It makes me wonder how often random people get invited backstage.

“Yeah?” Luke asks.

“I’ve lived here almost my whole life, I can definitely make some recommendations,” Giu continues.

“Sick,” Luke says. He holds his hand out for Giu to shake. “I’m Luke, by the way.”

“Giu, I’m Paula’s friend!”

“Oh, Pau! Didn’t even see you there!” Luke says, acknowledging Paula on the other side of the room. She looks slightly embarrassed as she looks up from her beer can and whatever she was doing on her phone, but gives Luke a hug too when he approaches her. “Glad to have you back with us again.”

“Hi Pau,” Ash says, crossing the space between them and giving her a hug, too.

“Oh my god, Pau! So sorry, can’t believe I didn't think to say hi to you!” Mike says.

“Guys, it’s fine, I’m here, it’s not a big deal,” Paula says and laughs.

“No, but we like you!” Cal says. He’s not the person I’d have expected to say it, but I’m glad he’s being extra nice to my friend. I’ve learnt that Calum doesn’t often say much in groups. One on one, or in very small groups like just three or four people, he speaks more, but he’s definitely more of a bystander in general. It makes me feel lucky that I’m someone he seems to be able to speak with freely.

“I feel like you guys were more excited for her than you were for me,” I add in, laughing. I’m just kidding, and I know everyone knows it.

“No one could compare to you,” Calum whispers, taking my hand. I hear heavy breathing and am brought back to earth, realizing it’s coming from Francesca. She’s is standing off to the side with Crystal and practically foaming at the mouth with excitement.

“Oh, sorry, everyone, this is Francesca, Giu’s sister. She’s a huge fan, hence the excitement,” I say and walk over to her to pull her into the small circle we’ve all formed.

Fran raises her hand in a shy wave, and she doesn’t resemble the confident, fun girl she was before the boys showed up or who pulled a flask out of her purse in an Uber. She’s very nervous and reserved. “Hi, I love you all.”

The boys all laugh and come up to her to give her a hug, introducing themselves, even though she definitely knows all of their names. I take a quick picture of them all together but promise we can take more later if she doesn’t like it. She breaks out her vodka and asks anyone if they want some, and the boys all take a quick gulp. She seems to chill out a little bit after that.

“Guys, I’m so stoked for tonight!” Luke randomly cheers. I think he’s already drunk, but Fran’s vodka is definitely helping get him there if not.

“No, me too! I’m excited to have you as a wingman, Luke!” Ashton yells.

“Hey, was I not a good enough wingman?” Calum asks.

The three of them start arguing then, each of them trying to win the title of best wingman. I then wonder about the night Calum and I had met. He approached me, and we started talking, and it took off from there. Was he someone’s wingman that night?

“No, you’re the best wingman ever, Cal, but I get that you’re busy tonight and don’t wanna ask you to be on duty,” Ashton clarifies finally.

Cal looks at me and smiles, but my thoughts continue to race.

“Do you guys always have wingmen?” I ask, looking between all three of the ‘single’ guys. Luke is sort of single, but Cal and Ash are fully single right now. I assume they’re constantly trading off duty.

“Always,” Ashton says, not thinking twice, but I catch Calum glaring at him, which makes me think maybe he didn’t want Ashton to say that.

I realize I’ve had a beer or two when I am bold enough to ask, “Who was supposed to be your wingman at Space Monkey?” My question is aimed at Calum, but I can’t help but look between Ashton, Luke, and him.

All three of them convert into nervous messes, sharing anxious glances.

“Uh,” Ashton starts, but he doesn’t dare continue, looking at Calum very nervously.

Paula springs into action then, apparently also very curious suddenly. “Well?”

“I mean, we aren’t always each other’s wingmen,” Luke says. His voice is shaky and nervous. I feel like I’ve found the three of them inside a rabbit hole that they can’t dig themselves out of, and now I’m too curious to drop it.

No one dares speak after that, because they literally just said they “always” have wingmen, and Crystal, Paula, Fran, and I start communicating nonverbally.

“Ladies, let’s go grab a drink,” Crystal says, ushering Paula and Francesca out of the room. Even though he’s not a ‘lady,’ Giuseppe catches on quickly and follows them.

“Well?” I ask, looking between the boys of 5SOS, waiting for someone to clarify.

As far as I know, Calum had walked up to me and that was the end of that, so I’m now curious about what the wingman situation was that night.

“Does it really matter?” Mike asks. His voice is shaky and nervous, just like Luke’s, and I can tell he’s trying to redirect the conversation. Once again, I feel like we’re too deep into this to just drop it. I’m not known for being someone who can just let things go.

“I mean, based on the fact that all of you are now nervous wrecks, I can’t help but be even more curious.” I cross my arms across my chest, looking between each of them.

Ashton coughs. “Cal, sorry, but I’m terrified of her. I’m gonna have to dip out.”

He then walks out of the room, following everyone else who’d evacuated the conversation. Nobody’s reactions are helping this situation, and I’m more curious now than ever. How had Calum and I ended up talking enough that night to leave together?

“Mike, leave while you can, we all know you weren’t wingman-ing, so go!” Luke says, and he leaves it to just himself, Calum, and me. I don’t know why he’s sacrificed himself and stays behind, but he does.

“Well?” I ask, staring at Calum, whose dark brown eyes are avoiding mine.

He’s silent and doesn’t say anything. I look over to Luke, who looks helpless. ‘Sorry’ he mouths to me before he runs away, too, leaving me and Calum in the green room alone.

“Jesus, Cal, all this silence is making things worse for you, you know?”

He sighs, finally meeting my gaze. “No, no, I know, I just don’t know how to tell you.”

His words send my heart plummeting to the floor, but I try to remember that we’re not ‘really’ dating. This is just a casual thing and whatever the wingman situation is doesn’t really matter, because we don’t matter.

I sigh. “I’m a big girl, Cal. Just tell me the truth.”

Calum takes a big, deep breath before he says anything else. “You were my wingman.”

I raise my eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what he means.

He watches my face change and then he speaks again. “I was going to use you as my wingman.”

Oh, I think. I wasn’t his target. The truth dawns on me. He was after someone else.

I should have known. I’m not ‘model pretty.’ I’m not even generic pretty, honestly. I don’t want to say I’m ugly, becasue I know I’m not, but I’m definitely not anything special. I’m not ‘get-rockstar-at-a-bar-to-talk-to-you’ pretty. Why would Calum have approached me at that bar? It doesn’t make sense, so I should’ve thought this through before now.

I want to have hurt feelings, but I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have expected that he wanted anything to do with me just because he saw me across the room at Space Monkey and wanted to dance with me or buy me a drink.

“Who… who were you after?” I ask. I wonder what pretty girl I’d interacted with that made him think I was the ‘in’ with.

He sighs frustratedly. “Orion, me telling you this is pointless.”

“Okay, if it’s pointless, then you can tell me, no?”

Calum shakes his head and takes a few steps back to put space between us. I can tell he’s on the verge of getting upset.

“Cal, c’mon, dragging this out is making it worse for you, by the way. Just tell me.”

He sighs, and when I look into his eyes, it’s almost like I can watch a battle going on in his mind. He’s at war with being honest and sparing my feelings.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s fine, really. As long as whatever you were originally plotting to do isn’t illegal, it doesn’t actually matter to me now. I’m here, with you, and I’m happy.”

Calum studies my face, making sure I really mean what I’m saying, and then he takes yet another deep breath before he speaks. “I was going to use you to help me talk to Paula.”

A normal person, under normal circumstances, would wait a few seconds to figure out what to ask next, but I apparently am not a normal person under normal circumstances, because my followup questions come immediately.

“Paula? Why?” She’s open and obvious about her relationship with Lucia, a woman. She hopped up on that bar to dance with her and they kissed, right in front of everyone. Regardless of her partner’s gender, she’s taken, and even if she wasn’t taken, she’s not interested in men.

Cal rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing dumb, I just don’t get it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Cal, seriously.”

With frustration laced through his every breath, Cal inhales and exhales. “I saw Paula and thought she was hot. I’d seen her talking to you and you seemed friendly and approachable, so I approached. When you turned around and I finally got to see your face, though, I promise, O, on my mum’s life: I was a goner.”

Things start to make sense. Paula is model pretty. She’s tall and tan with striking green eyes and a smile that could light up any room. We had been standing at the bar alone right before Calum had come up to me, and I had helped her up onto the bar, probably right as Cal was walking over. She probably kissed Lucia right as Calum placed his hand on my back, so it was too late for him not to speak to me once realizing that Paula was taken and interested in women.

It was a mistake. He wasn’t trying to talk to me. He wasn’t interested, but I spilled my drink on him and he had to talk to me, at least for a few seconds.

“Got it,” is all I can think to say.

I had said it was fine. It is fine. We’re just having fun together, and as far as I can tell, we’re both having plenty of fun, so whatever it took for him to talk to me shouldn’t matter.

“Are you mad?” Calum asks cautiously.

I can’t be mad.

“No, I mean… I don’t know. Feels a little shitty, but… we’re here now. We’re having fun. You’re having fun, right?”

Calum steps toward me, grabbing my face in his hands. “Orion, the time I’ve spent with you throughout these last two weeks has been the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time.”

I nod. Normally those words would make me melt, but in this specific situation, it doesn’t. It’s just a bandaid over the problem, which is fine, but it doesn’t mean as much as it could. “Yeah, so… we’re good. It’s fine.”

I lean up as much as I can to kiss him, and he kisses back without hesitation.

“I’m glad we’re good. Ash was right, you’re scary when you’re upset.”

“I am not!”

He rolls his eyes, kissing me again, and then wrapping his arms around me in a hug with his head resting on mine. “Whatever you say, tiny human.”

—

Francesca chooses that we watch the show from the pit, which I prefer anyways. We stand off to on the end on Calum’s side, with Giu and Crystal standing behind Francesca, Paula, and myself. Francesca gets the end that puts her closest to the middle of the stage, and I get to be in the middle of her and Pau.

We’re all just in front the barricade, which security has to escort us to, but we don’t take a spot that fans have waited hours, or maybe even days, for. Francesca is shaking with excitement the whole time, and I take close to a thousand photos of her so she can remember this night forever. Most of them she has no idea I’m taking. She’s just talking to the girls next to her in Italian and they squeal so much I wonder what they’re saying.

Crystal has on a hat to partially hide her purple hair, hopefully making it less likely someone will talk to her. She’s well known enough in the fandom that people may want to take pictures with her, and if it gets too much, security is close by to take her backstage.

I hear someone talking to Giu behind us and I turn around to see what it is, and Paula does too.

“How long did you guys wait in line?” A girl is asking.

Giu looks to me with panic in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. I don’t know where it comes from, but I pull a lie out of my ass.

“We’re manning the social media for the venue tonight, so we didn’t have to wait in line.”

The girl looks surprised and impressed. “Oh, wow! That’s so cool.”

I nod and turn around, hoping that’s the end of the conversation. I don’t want it to come off as rude, but Crystal is right here with us and I don’t want her to have to leave unless she wants to. I don’t want her to get ambushed by fans and she have to retreat to backstage for safety.

Between the opener and 5SOS taking the stage, I lean closer to Fran.

“Are you excited?” I ask her.

She grins and looks back to me. “Oh my god, so excited. Thank you so much for getting me in!” She speaks a little too loudly, because the girl who’d spoken to me a while ago pipes up again.

“I thought you guys were working for the venue?”

I cringe and look at Crystal, silently pleading for any kind of help.

“Wait, you’re…” Another girl says, and I feel her studying my face and outfit. “You’re the new groupie!”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Actually, she’s a friend of mine,” Crystal says, drawing attention to herself, taking one for the team.

I don’t know what to say next. I look between the fans’ faces, waiting for someone to say something else.

“You’re no better,” one of them sneers to Crystal, and I wince.

“Here, do you guys want my spot? I don’t mind switching,” I offer. I want Francesca to be able to stay, but if I can get out of the way and cause less problems than I already am, I want to.

“Orion,” Crystal starts, which makes me recoil. Now they’ll know my name. I don’t think Calum follows a ton of Orion’s on Instagram and they’ll be able to find me now. I have a private profile, so they can’t see anything, but still.

“You think giving me your spot makes up for you being a slut?”

“Woah!” Giu says, suddenly springing into action. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Giu, it’s fine. I’ll leave now. I don’t want to cause a scene.” I start to move toward Crystal so she and I can go backstage, hoping that at least Fran and Giu can stay.

“Jeffrey, can we get through?” I hear Crystal yell as we start to move off to the side further. I just grab onto her arm and let her lead the way.

We weave our way through the mass of bodies and off to the barricaded area for crew and press. I try to stay calm and act as neutral as I can considering a stranger just called me a slut for doing… whatever I’m doing with Calum. Once through, we walk quickly back to the green room, where the boys are doing pre-show shots. They look surprised when we get back.

“No pit tonight?” Calum asks. He’s only talking to me. Crystal was only out there because we were; she far prefers to be away from the crowd, and I definitely understand why. I understand why now more than ever, but experiencing what we just did didn’t need to be a firsthand experience.

“Yeah, felt a little claustrophobic,” I say. “Think I’m a little dehydrated from our day in the sun.”

Crystal looks to me, and I can tell she thinks I should elaborate on what actually happened, rather than lying, but I don’t want to. I knew that getting spoken to like that was part of the risk of choosing the pit, so I don’t feel like it’s worth bringing up. Calum looks concerned and he heads over to a fridge that I hadn’t even noticed until now. He grabs me a bottle of water and brings it over.

“Sparkling okay? Do you want to sit down? Or do you need to go back to the hotel to rest?” He has his arm behind me, soothingly rubbing my back.

“Thank you,” I say, opening the bottle and taking a big gulp, trying to pretend like I actually am dehydrated. “I should be fine. I’ll just hang out here for the show. I’ll come stand on the side of the stage for part of it if I can.”

Calum has a worried expression on his face. “You sure? I don’t mind if you want to go back. I don’t want you to feel crappy and be stuck here. I can come straight to the hotel after the show and hang out with you.”

I shake my head and try to fake a smile. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Boys, stage in 2 minutes,” Matt yells, sticking his head into the room.

“Duty calls,” I tell Calum, and he nods.

“If you end up going back to the hotel, just shoot me a text if you need me to get anything for you on my way back.”

“Thanks.”

He kisses my forehead before he and his bandmates head out in the direction Matt just came from, leaving me with Crystal. She’s smiling at me with sympathy, and I kind of hate it.

“You okay?” She asks. We both take a seat on the couch and she’s got cans of beer out for both of us.

I crack open the beer and take a few sips. “Yeah, fine. Sorry you got roped into that.”

I pull out my phone to text Paula.

To: paula sorry about that 😅 please stay out there and have fun!!! will catch up with you guys later, okay?!

From: paulagirl no that wasn’t your fault. they’re just jealous. are you okay?

To: paula yeah, i’ll be fine.

From: paulayou don’t seem all that convincing

To: paula it’s cool, i swear. just wish the guy i’m hooking up with didn’t have such a devoted fan base.

From: paula for the record, you handled that like a champ. i’m proud of you.

To: paula it’s not that deep! just enjoy the show pls! 🙂make sure fran has the BEST time!!!

From: paula oh trust me, she’s having the best time. see you after!!!! try to enjoy the show still.

Once I reach a good ending point in my conversation with Paula, I look up and find Crystal’s eyes trained on me. She looks very concerned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks.

I nod. “It’s fine, I knew this kind of stuff could happen. I guess there’s no more going in the pit for me, which sucks.”

She shakes her head. “No, I promise it’s not always like that. I’ve been in the pit more times than I can count with friends and sometimes the fans are so sweet, like Fran.”

I sigh and just nod again, taking another few drinks from my can of beer. “Cal seems so unbothered about the fans, but they—’

Crystal cuts me off. “Are scary?”

I laugh loudly. “Yes!”

She grins and shakes her head slightly. “I know, Mike is the same. Actually, all of them are. It really does get better over time, though, but, it’s important to know, you can’t make everyone happy.”

I want to talk about whatever my status with Calum is, but I also don’t want her to think I’m reading into things. I know she’s pretty close with him and I don’t want anything to get back to him that I’m asking about my level of importance and exclusivity is with him, because at the end of the day, I know it’ll be a letdown. What I don’t know can’t hurt me.

“Let’s go to the side of the stage and watch the show?” I ask after a few moments of us just drinking our beers.

Crystal smiles sympathetically. “Sure, if you think you’re up for it.”

I roll my eyes. “I got called a slut. I think I’m fine.”

She giggles and then she hops to her feet, sets her beer down on the table, and holds her hands out to me to help me up. “I say we do shots and then go.”

“Deal.”

Crystal and I both do two shots of the tequila we find in the freezer — she says it’s Luke’s, but promises he won’t mind — and then we head to the side of the stage to catch what’s left of the boys’ set. They’re playing one half of my favorite song that I’ve heard by them so far, Outer Space. I’m a little sad I missed them playing the other half, Carry On, that they open with, but am glad to at least not miss out on this one.

She and I sing along together, swaying slightly.

“You learned the words!” She says to me about halfway through.

“I mean, it’s the least I can do with all these backstage passes!”

She laughs so loud I can hear her over the music and the screams of the crowd.

We’re standing on Calum’s side, but have a clear view of Michael’s mic stand. He notices his girlfriend and he grins at her. Somehow, Luke and Calum see it, and then they both take turns looking off to where we are.

Cal fixates on us, and I watch with bated breath as he practically serenades me with the bridge.

The darkest night, never felt so bright, with you by my side

They sing it over and over before moving on to other lyrics and Calum looks away. It feels special to have him stare at me while he sings the words, and I try not to let it get too much into my head.

It feels like such a privilege to witness their show from this angle. We can see both the crowd and the whole band, watching the energy exchange that’s purely electric. The screams from the fans are deafening, but the boys manage to stand out above everything else. They sound so different live, compared to their recordings, in the best way. Calum continues to look at me throughout the set, and I try not to worry about anyone in the audience noticing his continuous checking in with me. I don’t doubt that the slut shamer from earlier has noticed, and hell, she might even be Tweeting about it.

In between their penultimate and last song, aside from the encore, it’s Calum’s turn to speak. They finish their cover of What I Like About You, and Michael plays a few simple chords on his guitar while giving Cal time to talk.

“Roma,” he begins. “You’ve been fantastico tonight! We’ve got one more for you guys. I think you’ll like this next one. It’s one of my favorites. Also, the name of this song reminds me of some lovely people in the audience tonight, so this one’s for you. You know who you are!”

Calum sneaks a look to me before they start playing.

My girlfriend’s bitchin’ ‘cause I always sleep in

Luke starts the song out and everyone goes crazy, and I find myself blushing given Calum’s speech about their song She’s Kinda Hot.

The boys run off the stage after they finish the song, Michael running straight up to Crystal and giving her a fat kiss. Calum smiles widely at me, sweaty and going in for a hug, but I take a step back. I’d tell him he’s too sweaty, but the screams from the audience are far too loud to even attempt trying to say anything.

I lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek, squeezing his hand and just giving him a wide smile. I feel the beer and tequila in my bloodstream now, so when he bends down to kiss me, I just let him, even though I’m sure some of the folks in the front row can see it happen and could very well be taking pictures.

After I’ve been slutshamed tonight, I might as well try to live up to the name.

The band stays off to the side for a few moments, waiting for the appropriate amount of time before the encore. They just goof off with each other in the wings until a crewmember gives them some kind of cue to go back out. Ashton goes first, starting a drum beat, and then Calum, adding his bassline, and then Mike, who plays a guitar riff, and then Luke walks out, his guitar swinging from his neck.

They sing their most popular song, and the only one I’d known before meeting Calum, She Looks So Perfect. The whole room sings along, even the crew members and security people nearby. The energy in the air feels like electricity, and it’s infectious. I knew from the first time I saw them take the stage that there was something special about them, but now I get to watch with a newfound sense of pride. They’re amazing.

After SLSP, they do their bows, which Crystal and I head to the greenroom in the middle of, giving the boys space to do their thing and take their time.

The four of them run to the green room moments later, Ashton carrying Luke on his back and they’re all whooping like the goofballs they are. They’re chanting that it’s time for shots, and when Luke pulls his bottle of tequila out of the freezer, he immediately notices that it’s less full.

“Alright, who drank my tequila!?” He holds the bottle up high, right as Fran, Giu, and Paula enter the room again.

“Not me!” Pau says, running over to me. She’s giving me an up and down look, taking in whether or not I’m upset.

“I’m fine,” I whisper to her. She nods, leaving it be for the moment, thankfully.

I think Crystal has had more to drink than I’ve realized, because I try not to freak out over the comment she makes next.

“Orion got slutshamed, so we took shots!”

If looks could kill, the glare I’m giving her would have her funeral scheduled for next Tuesday.

Calum looks to me, concerned. “What’s she talking about?” He walks closer to me, reaching out to grab my waist and pull me even closer.

I sigh. “It’s fine, just had a weird encounter in the pit.”

Francesca stumbles over to us now, and I think she’s drank a lot more vodka from her flask, because she’s giddy and barely standing. “They called her a groupie, and a slut, and got pissy because she had such a good spot!”

Yet another person who would be dead if my death glare could actually cause death.

Calum looks shocked and almost like he pities me. “Orion—”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, cutting him off. “I thought we were going for gelato!?” I ask the room, and Luke and Ashton start cheering, thankfully. Calum’s concern is sweet, and cute, but I don’t want to talk to him about it, especially considering I’ve already mentioned feeling watched and uncomfortable by the fans. I’ve already made efforts to ameliorate that situation as a whole, and, well, here we are.

The other boys run over and grab Cal’s arms, pulling him in the direction of their wardrobes so they can change out of the sweaty clothes they wore on stage. They disappear briefly, and return a few moments later in fresh shirts and with freshly washed faces.

“GELATO!” Luke yells, and for some reason, he chooses to charge at me, throwing me over his shoulder and starts running outside.

“How much tequila have you had!?” I ask him through loud, giggly, almost embarrassing laughter.

read next chapter

a/n: UM i apologize idk how we got here but this chapter is like 15k words lol. sorry not sorry.

#5sos #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #michael clifford #ashton irwin #fanfiction #fanfic #5sosfam #imagine #calum fic #calum fanfic #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff #calum 5sos

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kawasiki-jo · 2 years

Text

Venice’s Day Out

Prompt Day 5: “Breathe.” + hurt

Featuring MacauChay, Tankhun and baby Venice.

Beta by: @tino2410

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42055944?view_adult=true

“Don't you dare fucking touch him!”

It surprises both Macau and Porchay that the one to yell is Tankhun.

“I swear, if he gets even one more scratch on his little face, I will have you killed myself.”

There's a gruelling laugh, it's curt and echoes off the metal walls like spikes.

“You, have me killed?” Lobo, that fucking Italian leviathan, allows his words to be punctuated with a scream. But it's Porchay’s, and the boy cries and thrashes against his binds as he watches the blood gush out of his lover.

Macau grunts through clenched teeth as he tries to tense his left shoulder to stop the pain. But of course, Lobo can’t allow that, so he pulls out the blade and readministers it just an inch below the last puncture. Macau bellows, hunching over as far as the binds will let him, they tug against the weapon pushing it in deeper, permeating the first cry to fall from Macau as he tries to count the pain away. His body shakes with every shallow breath, his hands gripping the sides of the chair as he phases through his agony.

Porchay is screaming profanities to kingdom come, trashing around and threatening Lobo’s head until he's silenced with a smack, hard and bruising. It has Porchay’s ears ringing as he lolls his head back, nursing it against the crane of his spine.

“Aye, you cowardly fucker, leave the children alone!” Tankhun’s voice trembles, but there is a semblance of threat. It makes Lobo smile, all fangs and no remorse for what he's about to do.

“No,” Is all he says at first as he signals to one of his men. A gun is handed to him, it’s Macau’s - his initials golding the grip - and he unlocks it, firing the first round into Macau’s kneecap. Macau wails into the tape over his mouth, tears falling full as they meander around the cuts, bruises, and tape. “Come on, weren't you so lively before, talking loud and throwing your hands around? What's wrong now? No more fire?”

Porchay starts to cry, his body leaning towards his lover until one of the men hoists him back into place and angles a rope around his neck tying it to the binds that circle his body. He groans when the knot pulls and his throat feels like it’s getting crushed. Tankhun gasps at the sight and demands to be let go or there will be hell to pay. He’s frantic with his words, all jitters and madness. Lobo raises his gun once more, face scrunching in annoyance with how piercingly loud the man is. Tankhun falls mum, eyes wide and following the weapon.

“You don't seem to get it, Firstborn. I'm not here for a ransom, I'm here for revenge.” There are two more shots fired, and Macau bleeds from his arm and waist. “Neither of you are going to live.” Macau slumps against his binds, his body seeming to go limp.

Porchay weeps aloud, calling out his boyfriend’s name as Lobo frivolously pulls at Macau’s hair, lifting his face towards the light. The boy's face is battered and blueing near the jaw from his previous fight - before he was outnumbered and pinned to the floor. Macau had tried his best to keep the men that broke into their house away from his cousin, lover, and baby brother. He really did. He'd managed to separate the men that came, diverting them away as Porchay took Venice and a panicking Tankhun to the saferoom.

They would have made it if it wasn't for the sudden gunfire that resounded through the hall, it jarred, before ushering in unsettling silence. Porchay’s heart had stopped in that instant, hands trembling with the thoughts running through his mind. The deafening moments when they could hear nothing at all had started to solidify, getting too prolonged for Porchay’s comfort, so he had had no option but to act faster.

He had shoved Khun into the room, placing Venice in the elder’s arms, his eyes telling the other to stay put and not to come out. They were so close, the door so close to shutting, when Porchay was being yanked away and manhandled onto his knees by two men. Tankhun had started to hyperventilate, the baby in his arms crying and screaming as he was being snatched from his hold, the force throwing Tankhun into a spiral against the wall. Porchay had yelled at the men not to touch either of them, to leave the baby alone and not harm Tankhun who looked in the middle of a panic attack, wheezing and eyes doubling with unfocused fever.

“They didn't do anything, don't touch them!” Porchay had screamed until a gun was pointed straight at his forehead, the barrel inches away from his eyes. He was then bound and laid down, a knee into his spine and his face pressed into the carpeting, the gun aimed at the back of his head. Cooperation, for the sake of his cousins.

“What do we do with the damn child?” The one holding Venice had asked then, obvious discomfort edging his features as the baby screamed in despair, the frequency shrill throughout the room.

“We take them all.”

When Macau had been lugged out of the van, looking thoroughly gated but still alive, Porchay had released a cry of relief. Porchay and Tankhun had been dragged out of the house without knowing if the worst had happened to Macau - Porchay had spent the entirety of the ride to wherever they were heading silently crying into his eldest cousin’s shoulder; He wasn't sure if his boyfriend had made it. But seeing Macau breathing was all he needed to try and retaliate to get to him.

It didn't work well. A shot had been fired and Porchay’s body had gone rigid. His eyes had darted to Macau and then Tankhun to see if either was hit, but when his attention met their kidnapper he saw the barrel aimed at the sky. He had moved hesitantly, straightening and backing away from his lover. Cooperation.

Venice had been nowhere in sight, not even a whimper to indicate his presence, and Porchay didn't know at the time if that was a good or bad thing. So all he could have done was focus on staying alive and keeping his lover and cousin so as well.

🐢

“Your brother and cousin truly fucked my father over. I didn't appreciate the box y'all sent me of his remains, but I got to say - Very creative. I'll be returning the favour threefold,” Lobo indicates to the three of them. “Four, if my men haven't already killed the whining brat,” he adds with a laugh.

It's humourless and Porchay for the first time feels dread soak into his bones. They might all die here, there might not be an escape. Not this time.

Lobo aims the gun at Porchay next, a steady line to his stomach pulling the trigger. Porchay can only brace himself, heart banging drums in his own ears, loud and he is afraid like no other. But there’s only a click, then another, and Lobo realizes the gun’s magazine has run out. He huffs in annoyance as he hands it to one of his men for a refill.

It’s a stalling that Porchay prays thanks for, his head turning toward his lover. Macau hasn’t moved since the last shot and Porchay’s heart aches and tugs, rowing him through the stream of denial. Sinking. Drowning.

“’Cau-” Porchay's voice cracks, breath shuddering with his efforts to mute his cries so as to not alert the men guarding them. “Macau, please wake up baby. Please just let me know you’re still with me.”

Please. I don’t want to go without hearing your voice.

There’s a sudden commotion echoing outside of where they’re kept and Porchay is feeling foolish enough to take it as a spark of hope.

He is a fool.

It’s more men, one of them holds a weeping Venice and Porchay hears Tankhun start again. Profane and fiery, words venomous and smiting with a new salvo.

“Oh!” Lobo seems to perk up, smile insidious. “Bring it here, I’ll let him choose who I kill next!” And Porchay’s heart drops to the floor. Next.

Venice is put down, unceremoniously, and he immediately goes to lie down and cry. Porchay pulls against his binds, strangling himself a bit in turn, but yells out for them to leave the baby alone. Lobo pays him no heed as he nudges the baby with his foot, baiting him to crawl forward. Venice makes a hurt sound and Porchay can’t take it anymore.

“Please, please!” Porchay is relentless against the ropes, voice now screeching as he yells and screams. “Please, he’s just a baby. Don’t fucking hurt him!”

Venice’s head raises at the sound of a familiar voice, his eyes bubbling with thick tears when he sees Porchay. He’s up on his knees and crawling to comfort and Porchay doesn’t even care that he’s chosen, his wrist blistering under the tightness of the tie - the friction of his urgency bleeding blue - he wants to reach out and hold Venice. Wants to shield him with his body, wipe his tears and coo him to sleep, away from whatever they have fallen into right now.

Porchay cries out when the tie breaches through his raw flesh and Venice makes noises of discomfort at not being carried like he’s begging to. Venice’s hands grab at Porchay’s pants, pulling on it as he whimpers in despair at not being acknowledged and comforted.

“’Ay, up. Up. Up.” Venice’s arms go up as he begs even more. His lips are upturned and they tremble, holding back his whimpers just so he can say the few words.

“I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!” Tankhun is raging with fury, rattling the chair he's in, dragging and screeching it against the concrete. “I'll have your fucking head, I swear!”

“Sure, whatever makes you die faster." Lobo shrugs the threat off and re-aims the gun at Porchay, this time to his chin, which Porchay had presented when he tried to slide down the chair to get his fingers to try reaching Venice.

There is the sound of the shot, resounding and bounding off the walls, and it's like a declaration of war.

Tankhun screams.

And it comes down like rain from above. Bullets.

"You fucking bastard!" It's English and Porchay's body shakes as he cries out. Vegas is murderous, his eyes tell no other. He doesn't stop. Shell after shell drop around him.

Porsche is up and in front of his crying brother, hands frantically going at the ropes, cutting and snapping. His hands go up to cup his brother's face, all wet and bruising from the slaps. Porsche is tender, but Porchay does not have time for it right now. When he's fully free he rushes to his lover. Falls to his knees as Pete, who is nursing Venice in one hand, finally frees the last of the rope tangling him. Macau slumps right into Porchay's hold and Porchay weeps. He shakes and trembles.

"'Cau, please my love. Please don't leave me!" Porchay is trying to get a look at his lover's face, trying to search for something. Anything.

"He's alive, Chay. Just unconscious from blood loss and pain." Pete's hand is feeling for a pulse near Macau's neck, checking his body and examining the wounds. When Vegas takes over, cursing and pulling his brother's shirt away for further inspection, Pete finally turns all his attention to Venice.

For the first time since the morning, the baby is quiet. He holds onto Pete, clinging on for dear life, as he hicks and shakes. Pete's body trembles and Porchay just knows that Lobo will be dealt with by him.

"Come, let me check you now." Porsche is pulling him back, but Porchay goes only once Vegas tells him to, tells him that he'll take care of Macau.

🐢

Macau’s hand gently strokes Porchay’s face as the boy cries softly into his neck, he’s having one of his moments again. “It’s okay, I’m still here.” Porchay just clings on tighter, legs tangling themselves with the one that isn’t recovering from surgery.

It’s been a month since Macau was discharged from the hospital. Two months since the beginning of Tankhun’s persistent demands to have the minor family reinstated in the Minor mansion, because he will not stop blaming Vegas for detaching himself and his family from the family property and name. Vegas had declined every time, refusing to let his family live in that dungeon of a building, and everyone understood. Well, nearly everyone.

“I don’t understand why he can’t just let her go! What is his problem, huh? Why is he holding onto her hair? Oh god! I knew it! I knew it!”

And Macau snorts into Porchay’s hair, the other boy stilling before he huffs out a short laugh, choking on his moment. Porchay doesn’t bother to remove himself from his lover’s body as he speaks, voice soft and slightly raw, breath tickling the other’s skin. “Khun, my room has a TV as well, you could go watch there.” He’s grumbling but he knows Tankhun doesn’t care.

“No, I like it here. Macau can’t move his stupid ass and you won’t leave him alone to even breathe, and I have no one else to watch with me!” Tankhun’s eyes never once leave the screen. Arms flying around dramatically to criticize the main couple in the new k-drama he’s watching. Macau can only sigh.

“Don’t you have a battalion of guards now to force into watching this shit with you?” Macau’s voice lacks spite, he knows the real reason Tankhun refuses to leave either of them alone, knows it’s the same reason Porchay refuses to leave him alone for even a second, knows it’s the same reason Vegas no longer leaves the house without all of them in tow.

Knows it’s the same reason he stays awake every night, just to be grateful for the chance to watch his lover breathe beside him, face dull with the repercussions of his recent onslaught of nightmares but ever still beautiful and elegant. Knows it’s the same reason he finds his brother and Pete sleeping in Venice’s room every night when he limps his way to the front yard to get some fresh air, the faintest of noises having Pete scrambling for his gun until Vegas reassures him that they - that their family - is safe. He can’t imagine what they must have felt when they got home and found the house in shambles and everyone missing.

Macau’s fingers run through Porchay’s hair, soothing and gentle, calming the both of them down from the torrents raging in their minds. It’s not as much as Macau would like it, but baby steps. They have time to work themselves through this. Slowly, he’s not worried about rushing. He will give the both of them the time they need to be strong enough to look at each other without crumbling in fear of losing the other. Is this what his brother and Pete went through?

Porchay’s hand starts to tremble slightly on his chest and Macau brings his own up to link their fingers and lift Porchay’s hand to his lips.

“Breathe.” He punctuates with a kiss.

“I’m right here, love.” Another.

“I’ve got you.” And another.

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colorsunimaginable · 2 years

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the spare // chapter forty-seven // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 3k warnings for this chapter: masturbation, dirty talk

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Forty-Seven:

I sleep like the dead that night. It’s a sleep so good that when I wake up, I’ve no idea the time or place, and I honestly couldn’t give a fuck. The dark curtains for the room I’m in have been pulled back, letting the bright sun drag across the space. It disrupts my blissfully ignorant sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I push myself up onto my elbows.

Oh, fuck. I’m in Thomus’ room. There’s a few sparks of regret for trespassing in on his space, but they quickly fizzle out. What the fuck’s he gonna do? Be mad at me? He can just add it to his list.

I sigh, falling back onto the pillows, and roll onto my side, away from the light.

As tends to be the case lately, so much so that it almost feels like a habit, my mind wanders to what he’s doing. Maybe there’s a major time difference and he’s still asleep. Maybe he’s hard at work, bossing poor Italian wizards around their office. Is he wearing his Death Eater outfit or office attire? He probably took over the Editor in Chief’s corner office, overlooking something of importance. I can only imagine that he’s a nightmare to work with. Especially coming in for a hostile takeover. He’ll be commanding and rude, probably easily irritable.

I’d surmised that La Penna de Venezia meant The ‘Something’ of Venice, and from what I know of Venice, there’s more waterways than there are roads. I hope whatever poor soul he has at his beck and call just pushes him into the fucking river. Lord knows he’d deserve it.

My hands start going numb from being tucked so tightly under my jaw, so I shift and cross my arms over my middle. I feel where my torso cascades, my hip jutting out from where my belly and fupa shift towards the bed. As my arms cradle that part of me, I remember how Thomus had touched me there. Especially when fucking me against the wall, he’d touched me like it… turned him on.

Of course I know that there are guys out there who’re into plus sized women like that. I’ve just never met one. Does Thomus just… secretly have a fat fetish? It’s always something I’ve had a negative connotation with, but his apparent appreciation for this part of my body doesn’t feel negative. He’d looked at me with reverence and fucked me like he couldn’t get enough. How is that a bad thing?

Coming from him, it’s wildly confusing, but definitely not bad. A conversation we’d had while he was still healing from the doxy bite makes more sense now. I remember saying that he was ashamed of me and he didn’t deny it. I’d thought it had something to do with my blood status. Maybe it’s both what I look like and my blood status. Was he telling the truth about the lust potion or was he just trying to cover his own ass?

I wish that man would start making more sense.

Unsurprisingly, because I’m lying in bed, thinking about sex, specifically sex with Thomus, my monkey brain starts to take the wheel. Every ounce of self-respect and shame leaves my body the moment I get it in my head that I wanna get off. I flip onto my back and shove my sleep shorts down my legs, kicking them off under the covers. Fuck it, undies too.

My heart is racing by the time my fingers start circling my clit. My thoughts are consumed with Thomus pushing me up against the wall again. Hands bound to the wall, his grip on my hips so tight he’d leave bruises. In my head I can hear the pornographic slap of skin on skin and my two middle fingers slip down to plunge into my entrance. The wet squelching sounds rising from between my legs only add fuel to the daydream. If only I could hear his voice right now.

You wanted this, didn’t you? No, don’t lie, you wanted your cunt stuffed full with my cock.

Imagination running wild, fingers pumping, thumb pressing in so good. I’m losing my mind here, so close to the edge.

Look at you, a dripping mess for my cock, so needy and desperate to cum.

My body’s torturously tense. My free hand’s cupping my breast, twisting and pulling at my nipple. My forearm is starting to cramp from how hard I’m fingering myself. I can barely breathe I’m so close. The lack of oxygen makes my mind narrow and focus only on how good I feel and the wanton scene in my head.

That’s a good girl, cum on my cock. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Such a dirty fucking whore.

My insides tighten around my fingers and my hips tilt upward, heels on the bed pushing myself against my hand as I fucking lose it. Insanity has completely taken over as I lose myself in this fantasy, writhing on the bed as I climax.

Of course, once the tremors have stopped and I pull my hand out from between my legs, my emotions are all over the place. It’s not unheard of for me to get emotional after an orgasm, but this feels particularly… overwhelming. I haven’t touched myself since before Thomus and I had sex for the first time. I don’t know what I feel about it, but I know I’m definitely feeling something. Maybe it’s because of how confusing everything is. Well, how confusing he is.

I’m exhausted once again and I shove my face into the pillow when I roll over onto my side. Smelling him makes me wonder what he’s doing again. He’s probably busy, running a fucking newspaper, flirting with pretty Italian women, not thinking about me at all.

~*~

The next time I wake, I force myself to get out of bed. I go back to my own room, putting myself together enough to wander the manor. It’s late in the afternoon, probably nearly supper, or dinner, or tea. Whatever it is they call it here.

I find Narcissa in her study, scribbling away at something on her desk. She spots me right as I’m about to knock.

“Come in, dear,” she says, her lips curved into a soft smile.

“Hi.” I step in through the doorway. “Just wanted to prove I’m still alive.”

“You look very well-rested.”

I laugh once. “Yeah, I feel a lot better.”

She dips her quill into a black inkwell. “If you’d care to wait a few moments, we can walk down to dinner together. I’m just finishing some letters.”

“Sure.” As I wait, my eyes travel the small room. There’s a bookcase behind the door, the kind that’s embedded into the wall. I’m drawn to it because it’s covered in framed photos and knickknacks. A few are pictures of Draco growing up, either playing Quidditch or dressed smartly in his Hogwarts uniform, even one I’m assuming is him as a baby. Lucius and Narcissa on their wedding day, flanked by a bridal party consisting of Bellatrix and a teenage Thomus, plus a few others I can’t name. The oldest looking picture is of three girls. Two of them are obviously a young Bellatrix and Narcissa, but the third girl, she looks like a strange mixture of the two of them. The girl also bears a resemblance to… someone, but I can’t quite place it.

I barely notice when Narcissa rises from her desk, finished with her task. She comes to gaze at the pictures, too, standing next to me.

“He was quite tall, even then, wasn’t he?” she says. “I think he was only twelve when Lucius and I married.”

My eyes widen and they dart back to that photo. He’s nearly as tall as Lucius. “No way.”

She chuckles. “The Malfoy men have always been tall.”

“Must’ve eaten all their green beans,” I say. “My mom’s side of the family’s tall, too, and that’s what she’d say.” I glance at her and she just smiles in return, a soft acknowledgement. My eyes go back to the picture of the three girls. “Do you have another sister?”

She pauses a moment before answering, her expression turning somber. “Yes. Andromeda.”

“Did she not come to your wedding?” I ask. Andromeda is noticeably absent from the wedding photos. Then I smile sheepishly. “Sorry if I’m prying.”

Narcissa’s expression turns regretful. “It’s quite alright,” she says, and then takes a deep breath, her shoulders lifting. “She hasn’t been a part of our family for a long time.”

I frown. “That sounds dramatic.”

Her next words are spoken carefully. “Traditions and… prejudice run deep in families like ours,” she says. “I consider myself quite fortunate to have fallen in love with Lucius.” She can see the questions in my expression, so she continues. “She married a muggle born man named Edward Tonks and my parents disowned her.”

The lightbulb in my brain clicks. This must be Tonks’ parents. It’s no wonder I saw some resemblance.

“Did you?” I ask quietly.

She sighs. “In my own way. We write. It can be… difficult to put aside our upbringing. Prejudice isn’t just an external battle, but a mental one as well. One that has to be fought every day.”

“I understand,” I murmur. “Maybe if you weren’t the only one reconsidering all the brainwashing, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

A gentle smile returns to her face. “I’m not the only one.”

My eyebrows raise and I cross my arms, my tone light. “Oh? And who might that be? Definitely not someone like your sister.”

One perfectly shaped brow perks up. “You’ve definitely turned a certain someone’s life upside down.”

I’m confused for a split second, then I snort and have to cover a stupid, disbelieving grin on my face. “No, absolutely not.”

She merely smiles at me and doesn’t say anything. I regain control and look at her seriously.

“Really,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not like that. He hates me. He’s said so himself.”

“If that’s true, then he has a funny way of showing it.”

I can only look at her dumbfounded. “I don’t know what he thinks,” I admit. “He says one thing and – and acts completely different than to the thing that he says. I’m sorry if that makes no sense. I’m confused myself most of the –“

“Melisa, dear,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Do yourself a favor and do not listen to a word he says.”

I press my lips together to prevent myself from thinking aloud. Shaking my head slightly as I try to think of a way out of this conversation, my eyes land on a camera displayed on a lower shelf. I step back to look at it and her hand drops from my shoulder.

“Is that a No-Maj camera?” I ask.

“Oh, em,” she steps back to view it as well. “I believe so. It belonged to Abraxas. Lucius and Thomus’ father.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Of course.”

I bend to grab it. It’s a Canon AE-1 Program. They were really popular in the ‘80s and even now to the film photographers. I have its predecessor, the regular AE-1. This one looks brand new.

“I believe I was told it was broken,” she says.

“Broken?” I turn the camera over, trying to look for something amiss. I look through the viewfinder. The light meter isn’t on, but I still press the shutter button. Nothing happens. “The battery probably just died.”

“Battery?” Narcissa questions.

“Mm-hm,” I hum, flipping the camera to the front to open the battery hatch. The 6V inside is all crusty. I hold it out for her to see, pointing to the small metallic cylinder. “That’s not supposed to look like that.”

I dig my finger into the compartment and pull the battery out, dusting and blowing out the white crust.

She holds her hand out. “May I see?” I drop it into her hand and she peers at it closer. “What does this do?”

“It’s an energy source to make it work,” I explain. “It just needs to be replaced.”

“This means the camera isn’t broken?”

“Nope,” I smile. “Should work just fine. It looks like Abraxas was almost done with this roll of film.”

“Would you –“ she starts but there’s a knock on the door. We both turn to see Hermione. “Oh, hello, dear. You’re here for dinner, aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting.”

“It’s no trouble,” Hermione responds, stepping back.

I go to put the camera back on the shelf, but Narcissa stops me. “Bring that with us. Would you mind explaining to me the process for how it works?”

I straighten. “Oh, um, sure.”

“I’ll meet you and Hermione in the dining room,” Narcissa says, staying in the study while I join Hermione in the hall. “I just need to owl these.”

~*~

All through dinner Narcissa has questions while I explain how cameras work and the process for developing the film. She asks if it’s standard practice among wizard’s to use No-Maj cameras. I had to politely explain that camera’s made by wizards were typically garbage. At least all the ones I’d come across. The main photographer at The Daily Prophet used a heavily modified No-Maj one.

I end up talking all about my experience and how I got into photography in the first place. It’s not difficult to talk about Sam, but it’s easier to talk about her as if she’s still alive. I don’t want to explain she’s my entire reason for being here. Thankfully, Hermione doesn’t give me away. She’s known the truth since we met.

Photography had been a way to bridge the gap between our worlds. The magical and the non-magical. Going to separate schools and being so far away was difficult, but being able to send her photos of what life was like at school made it easier. It’s like I got to include her. Her way of sharing her world was writing really long letters. Vignettes and blurbs about what was going on in her life. Sometimes she’d send short stories and even poetry. She was an amazing writer.

Nearing the end of our meal, Narcissa asks if it’s possible for me to develop the film currently in the camera. I say yes, but there’s a whole list of things I’d need.

She just smiles. “If you get a written list to me, I’ll be more than happy to get what you need.”

“Really?” I ask, unsure. “You don’t have to go to all that trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” she reassures me. You would be doing our family a favor. The film is at least thirty years old. I’m dying of curiosity to know what’s on there.”

“Alright,” I say after a moment of thought. The opportunity to be able to do what’s so familiar to me, what’s more than just a hobby, is… fuck I’m excited. It’s almost too good to be true.

~*~

I finish The Disappearance of the Scourers that night, sitting with Hermione in her room. I don’t really find much in the way of magical slavery and I feel a bit discouraged. Hermione does as well, even though she’s sticking to the journals.

When I finally trudge to bed, I sleep in Thomus’ room again. I need to have regular, semi-decent sleep if I’m going to keep my head on my shoulders.

I wake in the morning, late morning, and on the nightstand where I’d put the camera, there’s a little paper wrapped package and a note. The elegant cursive tells me that the batteries and film were all she could obtain at the moment. A few of the ingredients for the developer on the list I’d given her will take some time.

I can’t remember since I’d been kidnapped, ever getting ready so fast. I practically sprint to my room to get dressed for the day. When I leave the room, camera locked and loaded, I follow my nose to the conservatory. Hermione and Narcissa are already seated having breakfast.

Without thinking, I launch myself at Narcissa, hugging her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Then I pull back, realizing that I probably shouldn’t be hugging a lady I don’t know all that well. “I’m sorry.”

She just smiles, if looking a little surprised, and straightens her dress. “It’s alright. I’m looking forward to seeing your work.”

“And I can’t wait to get started.” I can’t keep a grin off my face. I grab two pieces of toast and head for the door.

On my way out, I hear Hermione say, “I’m glad one of us is having a good time.”

The comment makes me slow down, and I pause, reigning in my excitement. I know she was being genuine and didn’t imply anything negative, but it still makes the guilt take hold. Thomus’ words of contempt as he reminded me of the privilege I have echo in my head.

Before I go outside, I grab the next book on the pile from the library. With the better sleep, I’m feeling more mentally able to help Hermione with the research.

It’s another beautiful day. Mostly overcast, my favorite kind of lighting, and a little windy. When I get to the clearing, my eyes immediately go to the spot where the blank paper is. Seeing that it’s exactly as I left it, I don’t bother to look at it closer.

For a little while, I roam the garden, trying to figure out what exactly I want to take pictures of. There’s only twenty-four frames and I want to make each of them count. I get a good shot of the house, an artistic angle of the maze, and a beautiful shot of the gazebo out on the pond.

I take myself back to the clearing, getting ready to settle for at least an hour of reading. From where I sit, there’s a perfect shot of the house, framed by the trees and foliage. I take the shot, and keep the camera to my eye, looking around through it. I turn towards the fence, the paper stuck under the rock is flapping in the breeze. I turn the lens to zoom in, noticing something on the paper. I want to make sure it’s maybe a blade of grass or a leaf stuck in between the folded paper. The lens focuses and I realize it’s not any of those things.

It's writing.

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smiletimeisrunningout · 1 year

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headcanon + lotr? @rhogeminid

Okay, so, as a crossover as in my fantasy princess Emma (the original!!! which I almost never write lately lol) going to visit Middle Earth, keeping in mind that I can't mention locations without the wiki open because in Italian the names are translated and different, and that I'm basing it on the trilogy alone:

under read more because I said a few and then I went slightly overboard.

-she has a little too much in common with the hobbits when it comes to food so I feel like there is an immediate, quick bromance with ALL the hobbits who find her funny, so jot that down -elves. she instinctively finds them beautiful in a whole special way, possibly due to the fact that having magic in her blood to the point of nearly being outside of her own specie she probably feels a subconscious connection with them, and they are even closer to nature than she is (she's pure love, after all, and an unending source of it at that) -if she had met the Sauron version from the rings of power she'd have probably flirted with him noticing nothing, though. it comes and goes

-considering that her reaction in verses where she gains white magic, which is pure and good and perfect and all powerful, is "I don't want that." if she was ever anywhere near the ring she'd be like Galadriel about it and try to stay as far away from it as possible, she doesn't like the idea of having too much power

-she wins the hobbits she didn't over with the food and the friendliness the first time she starts singing because wow okay

-bros with Eowyn. IMMEDIATELY. Would teach her better swordfighting given that Emma has a lot more field experience, even invite her home so she can be a knight there once she trains more (and then of course Eowyn she meets Faramir, so no)

-she's into Aragorn for 0.3 seconds before she realizes the man is taken and oh no gross, so she is routing for him and Arwen, and checks before flirting with Legolas that he's actually single. Legolas doesn't even notice.

-let's be honest, there is no reason why she shouldn't get along with the dwarves if they are into fighting, drinking, jewels, and minding their own business.

-watches fireworks Galdalf makes with the same exact expression and interest of hobbit children, so of course Gandalf every now and then shows her pretty lights because apparently her heart soars just from that. she's so simple.

-Gandalf and some of the other elves can feel there is something very wrong with her and that Great Evil is coming, and hope she'll make the right choice and not become, basically, the Sauron of her own realm (she gets real close to becoming exactly that, later on). They'd help but have no idea how, so there is some caution when dealing with her, because she doesn't even seem to be able to remember that they told her her memories have been tampered before, she keeps forgetting, so that can't be good.

-honestly, there is something about being around Elves that nearly draws the magic out of her if it's not already out (the good kind, not the kind that happens when she remembers the life she was meant to have in another world and loses it)

-she learns ALL THE SONGS SO FAST. So much faster than she should considering she can't read two pages from a book without falling asleep?

-I feel like the animals of Middle Earth and especially in places filled with magic would react to her like the animals of the Enchanted Forest, with instant friendliness?? I don't know why. But they can feel the love-power.

-an Emma born in this universe would have some super special power, given that in canon she's supposed to be the Chosen One and Most Powerful One and Savior and all that, like some super Uber-Elf Witch. But that's why I don't write it, I don't want to overpower her lol

#i literally wrote my first lotr starters today listen #rhogeminid #headcanons: lotr #headcanons

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sukirichi · 4 years

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closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway!

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist !

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

The one where Ethan is pretending

Description | When you bump into Ethan in Paris, you fail to mention that you know exactly who he is. You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to keep it up when he asks you out for a drink.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | Ethan x gn!Reader (with the exception of one female pet name)

Word Count | 2071

Taglist | @ginny-lily @ethaneskin @tabi-toast @mywritingonlyfans

***

There was no way you were staying in the same place that Måneskin had just arrived at. There was no way, you kept telling yourself. Paris was a massive city, the number of available hotels in the hundreds, maybe thousands if you had to guess. And yet, somehow, you had managed to pick the one place one of your new favourite obsessions would spend their time. You knew it didn't mean much, the hotel had more than a couple of rooms and with your luck, you wouldn't even catch a glimpse of them. But as you kept scrolling through Instagram, seeing pictures of people meeting the four Italians in front of the place you had checked into mere days ago, you couldn't fight a little bubble of excitement forming in your chest.

Well, you told yourself you wouldn't get your hopes up. And you definitely wouldn't hang around in front of the hotel or in the lobby. You had booked your solo trip to Paris months ago, after dreaming about visiting the city for most of your life, and you would be damned if you wouldn't stick to your itinerary and enjoy your holiday. However - you had gotten up at what felt like dawn to go queue up for the Louvre and spent the last couple of hours there, so you decided that a nap was the way to go if you wanted to continue exploring the city in the evening. Fortunately, the walk back to the hotel wasn't long.

You had made it to the last corner before entering the street you were aiming for, when two giggling girls ran past you, unceremoniously bumping your shoulder and sending you tumbling. You were fully expecting to hit the ground, but instead, a pair of strong arms caught you and brought you back to your feet. A pair of strong arms belonging to a strong chest that you came face-to-face with, belonging to a gorgeous face, belonging to Ethan Torchio.

"Tu vas bien?" His broad French accent confused you, momentarily forgetting about the little detail that you were, in fact, in France, as you stared at the drummer in front of you, who was still protectively holding onto your upper arms.

"Huh?" Was the immensely intelligent answer that thus left your mouth.

"Oh, not French?"

"No, definitely not French." You finally said, taking a step back from him to avoid the increasing awkwardness you were feeling about being touched by him, while the two girls who had previously knocked you down were now lingering around the two of you suspiciously, not coming close enough to be rude, but obviously desperate to get their own piece of Ethan. "No, just a tourist."

"Me too," Ethan smiled. "A tourist, I mean. Well, kind of. I'm here with my band so it's not like we have time to do a lot of sightseeing."

He briefly turned around to look at the two girls who still seemed frustrated at you hogging his time and gave a small wave before turning back to you. It was the movement that made you realise he had the most gorgeous red rose tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Well, it used to be the most gorgeous rose - after your little crash, it had bent in the middle, the top hanging only by a thread, in the most miserable fashion.

"Oh, no I am so sorry!" You gasped, carefully grasping the delicate petals that were on the verge of breaking off. "I must have crashed into it when you caught me."

"Don't worry about it," Ethan said, softly, and pulled the stem from his waistband. The flower looked even more tragic now, in all its crushed glory. "A fan gave it to me a few minutes ago."

"Huh?" You surely proved yourself articulate in this conversation. You mentally hit yourself, angry at yourself for being so easily flustered.

"There are a few fans waiting in front of our hotel, because we're in a ... band ... and things."

Apparently, your awkwardness was contagious. Also, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Ethan thought that you had no idea who he was.

"Let me get you a new one," you suggested. "There's a flower shop just two doors down from the hotel - I mean, I am staying there, too, so I know."

He smiled at you with a serenity and calmness that had your heart soaring. You decided you'd be willing to buy him a million roses if only he kept smiling at you like that for a little longer.

"Well, I've got to go now, but it would be rude to refuse your offer. Meet you in the bar of the hotel at 8 tonight?"

No way this was happening. You almost gasped, but at the last moment managed to keep your cool, outwardly. On the inside, you were a mess. Bumping into the drummer of one of your favourite bands was a wonderful chance meeting as it was - but this almost sounded like a date. Now, of course, Ethan wouldn't be asking you out on a date. That would be ridiculous. But there was also no way you would miss out on a chance to meet him again. Preferably without those two giggling girls that were still standing behind him, watching every move of your interaction but luckily too far away to hear what you were saying.

"It's a d- uh, deal," you quickly recovered before almost spitting out the word date instead. Ethan chuckled.

"Right, see you later, then, for our... deal."

He had seen right through you anyway, you thought. But he was still laughing, so it wasn't all that bad - right?

With another quick touch to your upper arm, Ethan walked past you, turning around just one last time.

"My name is Ethan, by the way. You can tell me yours tonight."

Oh, you would.

***

The rest of the day was... well, restless. You couldn't nap because your mind was a whirlwind and your stomach was twisting with excitement. So instead, you had made sure to get the prettiest red rose you could find in the flower shop down the street - while slightly wincing at the price that a shop in the center of the city of love demanded - and put it in a glass the hotel receptionist had been nice to give to you. Then you had decided that there was no way you would manage to relax before 8, so you allowed yourself a few hours simply wandering through the city, no real destination, no itinerary for once, just a nice long stroll with nothing but your thoughts.

At five past eight - being slightly late was still cool, right? - you did a quick check-up in the mirror, realised you were not going to get any happier with your appearance whatever you tried to do at this point, grabbed the rose from its makeshift vase, and left your room.

It only took you a second to see him when you entered the little bar on the ground floor of the hotel. Even in the dim light, the white blouse that he had already been wearing when you met for the first time stood out like a sore thumb. Long dark hair fell over his back in a silky fashion. You had never wanted to touch anyone's hair more.

You took one more deep breath and then walked over to Ethan, smile on your face and rose in your hand.

"A rose for the handsome gentleman?"

Ethan almost jumped, apparently not having heard you coming, but quickly a smirk spread over his face while he stood up.

"I'll take the rose and your name, then."

"It's Y/n."

Ethan greeted you with a soft kiss to your cheek, before taking the rose, pulling your chair back, and inviting you to sit. It was almost ridiculously romantic and if it had been anyone else it would have seemed over-the-top and off-putting, but with Ethan it seemed sincere and fitting.

"Glass of wine, Y/n?" He asked as he casually waved the waiter over to your table.

"Just one. I want to get up early tomorrow for some more sightseeing."

***

It didn't end up being just one glass. It ended up another one and then a bottle shared. But it also ended up with three hours of talking, laughing, teasing, and slowly moving your chairs closer together until you were basically sitting on the same side of the table. You had asked him about his band - still trying to cover up that you knew exactly who they were out of pure fear that he'd reject you for being a fan - and he has asked about your job, your life, your family. In fact, you only left the bar when the waiter had started throwing you annoyed looks while demonstratively cleaning the tables around you.

"I'll bring you to your room," Ethan chuckled lightly as you waited for the elevator. His hand was on the small of your back and it was spreading tingles all through your body. You were standing close enough that you could smell his perfume, a light yet musky scent that encapsulated everything about him.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he lightly pushed you inside and you found yourself not minding him leading you like this. You pressed the button for your floor, leaning against the wall as you studied the man in front of you. He was a thing of beauty, no question about it, and when he smiled down at you the way he was right then and there, he made you feel like one, too.

"I had a lovely evening, Y/n. Is there any chance I could get your number?"

What a question, you thought to yourself. You'd be mad to refuse him!

You dug your phone out of your cluttered bag. You had switched numbers just a few weeks ago and had not yet learned the new digits by heart. Quickly, you switched it on - and your heart sank. Oh crap. You had completely forgotten about this.

The lockscreen of your phone was a picture of Måneskin.

As you looked up, you realized Ethan had seen. And, contrarily to the reaction that you were anticipating, he was wearing a massive grin.

"Ethan, I am so sorry, I should have told you immediately when we met but I kind of just stumbled into this and you were explaining you were in a band and I didn't know how to say-"

"Dolcezza, calm down. I've known all along."

"Wait - what?"

He didn't explain. Instead, he pointed to your bag - your tote bag - your Måneskin tote bag.

You truly felt like the least intelligent life form on earth.

"I've been carrying that around all day, haven't I?"

While your embarrassment grew, face heating up, Ethan grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his body. His arms tightly wrapped around your body and you could feel his giggles in his chest, as your head was pressed against it. You didn't hesitate in reciprocating, clinging onto his torso, slowly swinging from side to side. Both of you caught in a tipsy stupor.

You only stopped when the elevator arrived at your floor, both of you stumbling out and dragging each other to your door while clinging on. When you reached your room, you let your back lean against it, pulling Ethan along so you were standing face to face, smiling at each other shily and yet never breaking eye contact.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You finally asked. He stroked your cheek, leaving goosebumps. He had now gotten so close that you could feel his breath on your, drowning in each other.

"I liked pretending."

And then he kissed you. Boldly, unafraid and passionate. You melted like putty under him, letting him take control while letting yourself fall, as his lips moved against yours.

You only pulled away enough to get another glance at him, before once again searching your bag, now one-handed, so you never quite had to let go of him. A small triumphant sound escaped you as you located the key card. Holding it up next to your face, you shot the man in front of you another smirk.

"Why don't we keep pretending? At least for tonight."

It wasn't an offer he was going to refuse.

#ethan torchio #maneskin #ethan torchio imagine #ethan torchio fiction #ethan tochio x you #ethan torchio x reader #maneskin imagine #maneskin fiction #fluff #my writings

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sunsents · 3 years

Text

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

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

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

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

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

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

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

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

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

Five Years Later, 2003

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

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

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Auntie ____!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

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

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

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

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

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

“Wha-“

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

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

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

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

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

Jambo’s no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolute blasphemy.

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

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

Of course your logic sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

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

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

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

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

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, down girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” he says softly.

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

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

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

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

“Eva!”

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

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

Fred winces. “Actually-”

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

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

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

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

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

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

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a you problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well what changed your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eva stutters, “What?”

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

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

“No, he won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

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

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

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred freezes - second time that night.

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

Fuck fuck fuck.

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

But it was too late.

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

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

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

You almost swallow your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

“Finally!” George yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____.”

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

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

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Took you long enough.”

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

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

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

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

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

“____.”

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

“____, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

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

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

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

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

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

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock Knock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

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

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

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

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

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

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

“I did.” you smile.

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

“Near what?” You gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fred, don-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too - oh!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well shit.”

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

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

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

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

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

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

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

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

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred wealsey fic #hp smut #fluff #angst #hp angst #reader insert #george weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

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