#like it’s so insignificant it’s not even worth it trying to save money

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

you’ll ask your sister who liked the hunger games in middle school if she wants to go see the new hunger games movie during thanksgiving break and she’ll be like yeah sure and then suddenly it’s thanksgiving break and she’s decided that actually she doesn’t want to because she’s just soooo popular and has a packed social calendar and actually YOU’RE the loser freak for even asking god why can’t you go to the movies with one of your friends beth? and like. well ok i could have seen this movie without u several days ago sorry for thinking you’d enjoy seeing it… but goddamn guess i’ll go fucking kill myself i guess 🙄

#and why do you need to go to friendsgiving with your high school band friend group you barely talk to anymore. #and why are you acting like it’s impossible to go to an evening showing #there’s genuinely like a one dollar price difference at this stupid theater between afternoon and night showings #like it’s so insignificant it’s not even worth it trying to save money #beth.txt #i might go with my mom on saturday tho #but she doesn’t like. know a lot about the franchise so. #i know she likes it she keeps talking about how much she enjoyed listening to the hunger games audiobook #and if none of this works out guess i’m going alone next tuesday #which is annoying like. i wanted to see it THIS week :/ #and i THOUGHT. we had PLANS. to do so. sorry for assuming that someone saying they wanted to do something meant they wanted to do it

[blonditarot]

Han’s future spouse

A ten card answer. We have a new record. And his spouse seems like a perfect match for him. At least to me

I’m gonna start from the end. The strongest message is that they are someone that they have to take difficult decisions for people in their environment. They have a high position at their work and are the one that is leading people and projects. They probably work with people too. They have their own team that they would jump into the fire for. They do (try) to keep them happy and safe. They might have to take accountability for their team whenever they do something inappropriate. The blame is on them that they didn’t keep their people in line. They might even take the blame even if they are innocent to protect their friends,

They are someone quite wealthy they live a comfortable life, but they obtained their wealth with hard work. They might have had to face some obstacles in the past that left them stranded and tired but in the end they proved their worth and never gave up on their dreams. And it was hard they had to go through a bunch of tests but it was an one in a million opportunity so they just couldn’t let it go,

There’s something in that 8 of pentacles that makes me think about wringing. Instead of craving metal they are holding a pen and a piece of paper. Their job might involve writing. Something to do with poetry. Or song writing/composing,

There’s a lot about their career because it seems very important for them. It’s a huge part of their life and they are proud of where they are (or will be idk, I feel they will gain much more recognition for their work in the future). They treat their job so seriously that they often ignore everything else in their life. They don’t care about their love life, their health or loosing people around them although it does hurt them and sometimes they are tired of this lifestyle. However they won’t miss an opportunity at work. They will be working long hours, standing up their friends, being gone for work trips. If there’s a chance to gain more recognition at their fields they will grab it and they won’t let go,

But recently they might’ve started taking more care about their health, both physical and mental,

They are the type to always know what to do. They don’t seem very anxious if they face something unexpected, they would be more exited. I think they depend a lot on their intuition both for work and daily life situations. This is someone that is focused on the long term profits. They know where to invest their time and effort to gain something out of it. They might be good at manipulating people and playing with people’s minds. Like a magician that redirects your attention at something insignificant and then they take a coin from behind your ear to shock you. They have everything planned, always ten steps ahead from you,

One las message from the high priestess. Their are highly intuitive and their intuition saved their ass a good couple times. They just know where to invest their money, who will try to scam them and who is genuinely their friend. They just know it as if they heard a whisper in their ear “something’s not right, don’t trust them”,

Okay that the one last message. They are someone that looks a bit intimidating, like the high priestess on the throne. There’s something in their eyes that will send shivers down your spine. You look at them and see how smart and high value they are.

#kpop tarot #stray kids tarot #han jisung tarot #han jisung #han stray kids #stray kids #han tarot

[tokkias]

🌟⭐️🌟⭐️🌟⭐️🌟 yahoo yahoo yahoo

send me a star and i'll give you a directors commentary of a fic . always open

my lonely days are gone

this fic only has 62 kudos and you know what. that's a fucking crime. this fic is great and i am going to give a break down of it to prove it

this one was written for the "nostalgia" prompt for nalu week and it was an already existing idea i had on my list of them going through hargeon all those years after they first met

He let out a gurgled moan as he hobbled behind her, his head still spinning from what seemed to be a particularly hard train ride for him

poor, poor natsu. it wouldn't be a callback to the first episode if it didn't involve natsu getting off that damn train at the start of the episode. this fic was really trying to mirror that and so starting with them getting off the train together while natsu is trying not to vomit all over the place felt like their relationship was coming full circle

It had been a long time since they had been in Hargeon, and while the streets carried a sense of familiarity with them, some of it felt like they were seeing these streets for the first time all over again.

literally didn't realise i used the word "streets" twice in this sentence until now, i think there may be something deeply wrong with me. regardless of how many times i used the same word, the idea i was trying to convey here was that even though hargeon is not a place that they frequent, it still holds such significance to them that it stays memorable. regardless of how memorable it is though, it has been more than a decade since they first met there. in my head this fic takes place after the hyq so that's the 7 year time skip, the tartaros-avatar timeskip, the alvarez-hyq timeskip and maybe a couple years on top of that, so it's not surprising that some of it feels new to them

She vaguely recognised the stores they walked past from the first time she had come here, though one in particular that she had been acutely familiar with from her time here was now vacant, with a for sale sign hung up in the window, no doubt due to the dwindling base of magic users in the town.

the shopkeeper we see in the first episode mentions that hargeon isn't really a town of magic users and in the time between their first visit and now, it's not a stretch to think that he had either gone out of business or retired and the business simply wasn't able to stay afloat. the semantics aren't really relevant though, this is just the set up for a punchline in the next piece of dialogue

"Hmph, serves him right," Lucy huffed as she felt the taste of bitterness lingering on the tip of her tongue, still not over the grudge she held for that measly 1,000 jewel discount. "Geez, what’d this place ever do to you?" Natsu asked, confused by her sudden hostility towards a random vacant lot. "I don’t want to talk about it," she grumbled back in reply.

lucy here is so me. i hold a grudge for so long and i thought it would be funny for lucy to hold one over such a minor thing. i definitely think she considers the money she spent to have been worth it over the years--plue has been a great companion to her--but she can still be a little bitter over it. i don't think lucy would have ever mentioned her little (failed) seduction tactic to natsu ever, so i just thought it would be funny for her to grumble over it when natsu doesn't know why (but we do)

He had saved her that day, and from then on, he would save her again and again and again, in more ways than one, and she, in time, would return the favour.

i think frequently about how their meeting would have felt so insignificant at the time but their relationship would grow and flourish into something beautiful. their relationship is established with natsu breaking the curse and saving her from the boat and that definitely sets up a trend of what would happen a lot in their relationship but i think all the time he saves her really pales when you compare it to lucy rewriting the book of end. realistically, anyone could have saved lucy, but not just anyone could rewrite the book of end. it took skill and bravery and love for natsu that i don't think anyone else had and natsu would have died without her. that more than makes up for every time he has saved her i think

She stopped in her tracks, eyes stuck on the edge of the town square, as Natsu kept walking, not noticing she was gone until a few feet later. "Lucy?" He called out, turning towards her to see why she had stopped. "Everything okay?" Lucy didn’t reply immediately; instead, she walked over to the spot that had caught her attention before coming to a stop as her heart began to race and she felt herself reliving that fateful moment all over again. "This is where we first met," she breathed out. "I was standing here, and you were over there."

the scene that first inspired this idea. i had such a vivid image in my head of lucy standing in that spot again, tears in her eyes. she's a completely different person than she was the day that she met natsu and it was all because of that fateful encounter. she might not have thought about it much at the time, but i know that moment is burned into her brain forever

"Do you remember that?" She asked, lifting her gaze up to meet his. "Course I remember that, weirdo," he grinned down at her. "Cause that was the day I met my best friend."

i think it's obvious that outwardly sentimental lucy would feel nostalgic about that moment but natsu is flippant enough that lucy can never quite be sure what he's feeling. natsu is, of course, just as sentimental (if not more) as she is and that day was just as important to him as it was to her. it made me think of that scene where natsu looks back on the day lucy first joined the guild and she's showing off her guild mark and she's just absolutely glowing because he's so fond of her and that memory, which really juxtaposes how we outwardly see that moment in the second episode where it looks like he doesn't care. he does care but he's just a bit less outwardly emotional about it as lucy

i considered saying "girlfriend" in this line, but ultimately i wanted this fic to be able to be read as platonic or romantic. even though i am The Nalu Girl, i actually prefer to read it as platonic because they really put the best friends into best friends to lovers, and i wanted to really convey that idea of more than friends less than lovers idea. that being said, neither interpretation of the fic is wrong. i was purposefully vague so that each reader could decide how they wanted to interpret it

"I’m s-so happy you’re here," she choked out between tears, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest, but she didn’t care too much, knowing he could still hear her despite it. "I’m so glad th- hic -that every day I wake up and I get to be with you. I’ll always be grateful that I got to meet you." "I’m real glad I got to meet you too, Lucy."

if the last scene was a reference to early fairy tail, this is a reference to the final episode/chapter. i love how lucy isn't afraid to cry and be emotional, i love how in touch with her feelings she is, and i love how she's not afraid to let the people in her life know how much they mean to her. natsu isn't quite as articulate as her--he's an actions guy not a words guy, so he just sort of echos her words back at her. that's not to say he doesn't care just as much as she does, because you know he does, and he's well aware of those feelings of gratitude to have lucy in his life, he just doesn't know how to express it, so when lucy is able to articulate it much better than he ever could, he just goes along with it. i think lucy knows him well enough to know that even if they don't sound like much, his words hold weight to them

Wiping away her tears, Lucy looked up at him and found him looking back down at her, grinning from ear to ear as he looked down at her. "You’re making fun of me!" She whined, sticking her lips out in a pout. "I’m not makin’ fun of you! I didn’t say anything!" He defended, not keen to take on her false accusation. "You’re making fun of me in your head!"

lucy has known natsu for long enough that she knows that that grin means he's up to something, but alas! not this time! (okay maybe a little bit). i can't have an entirely serious nalu nostalgia moment, i need a little bit of banter or it wouldn't be a nalu fic. i just find it funny that even in a sentimental moment like this, they still bicker like an old married couple

"I’m not making fun of you," he assured. "I’m thinkin’ about how awesome my life is now that I have you in it."

again, natsu is not as articulate as lucy is, he doesn't really have the vocabulary to express what she means to him, that's why i settled on "awesome" in this line. it really felt like something natsu would say and i think that even though it sounds a little childish, to him, it's like the highest compliment in the world. a lot of the time when i'm writing natsu dialogue i have to stop and think "is this a word natsu would know, let alone use?" i try to be very intentional with my word choice, everything is a choice i have put a lot of thought into making because i want to craft a sentence (and a story) that is both in character and meaningful. i think i did both in this line

"I love you," she mumbled into his shirt. "I love you too," he replied.

"but mya, i thought you said you prefer to read this platonically" they can be platonic i love yous! i really love the idea that they're just so comfortable in their feelings towards each other that they can just say it to each other, even when the lines feel blurred between what is platonic love and what is romantic love. looking at it in that light makes these lines more impactful to me, in my opinion

"Now how about you buy me lunch again?" Natsu tried, a smile plastered across his face from ear to ear. "Y’know, for old time’s sake?"   "Oh yeah? What’d you do to deserve it this time?" Lucy replied, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised, not feeling nearly as generous as she was the first time they met. "Being the greatest best friend ever?"

lucy treated him to lunch the first time because he saved her from the love spell, probably expecting she would never buy him lunch again. little did she know. i started this fic referencing episode one and i wanted to end it that way too. natsu loves lucy, but he also loves food and he is more than willing to exploit her love for him in exchange for a free meal

"Not a chance," she shot back, only feeling a little bit bad about his dejected expression. "Maybe you should buy me lunch, just so we’re even." Natsu grumbled something that she couldn’t quite catch, seemingly unhappy with his unsuccessful attempt at getting a free meal out of her, which she took as a rejection of her idea. That was fine. After all, he had a whole lifetime to repay that favour.

i have a feeling that natsu has never brought her lunch or dinner or any meal really since that first day even though she definitely deserves it for some of the stuff she puts up with. i wanted the ending line to sort of be indicative that even after all the time they've spent together, that's still just a drop in the bucket for all the time they will spend together in the future. they're going to spend their lives together, they're going to figure out what's going on in their relationship, they're going to get married, and they're going to have babies and keep going on adventures together. i like to think that at least one time, natsu will pay her back for that lunch

#mya's mumbles #directors cut #nalu #asks

[hellizens-aa]

Background info for Boo, part two of two!

I’m putting it under a Read More because it gets pretty dark (at least IMO). Mind the tags before you click.

After running away from home, Boo became a literal alley cat, spending her time living on the streets and stealing food to survive.

She constantly got into fights, either over being caught stealing or by other homeless demons that wanted her supplies. She won more often than not due to the fighting experience she'd gained over the years.

While she was still homeless, she met another hellcat that was kind to her. She fell for him pretty quickly, and they started dating within a couple months of meeting each other. A few more months and she moved in with him.

Things were great...until they weren't. Boo was always a bit on the heavy side, and her adoptive mother would constantly put her down over it. Her new boyfriend began doing the same, albeit in a gentler, more manipulative manner. He convinced her to start dieting, and if she strayed even a little he'd get frighteningly angry, which kept her in her place.

Eventually, the dieting went into the extremes, and Boo became anorexic as a result. Still, even though her weight was dropping, he wasn't happy.

It was when she fell pregnant with his child that he decided to dump her and kick her out. He didn't want the responsibility, and she wouldn't be attractive carrying a child. So, again, Boo was homeless, but she was far sicker than she was before she moved in with him.

Boo had thought that maybe he would be happy to have a kid with her, that maybe she could MAKE him happy with her again if they had a family. She was wrong, and she was devastated.

The pregnancy was doomed to fail almost from the start. She miscarried shortly before her fourth month. Despite all she'd been through, holding that tiny fetus and watching it die in her hands was the absolute saddest moment in her life.

By this point, Boo was beginning to wonder why she kept trying so hard to stay alive. She didn't have anyone she could turn to, and after all the abuse she'd endured, she truly couldn't see her own worth. She felt like a wasted life; utterly insignificant to everyone, including her own self. She was nothing.

A bat sinner named Dot found what she initially thought was a corpse curled up into a shriveled furry ball next to the dumpster behind her diner. This demon couldn't be alive; they were so thin she could see their spine through their skin. Imagine her surprise when they lifted their head just enough to look at her, those dimly glowing orange eyes looking as though they might die out at any moment.

Of course she felt pity. Of course she took the hellcat in. Normally, Boo would have put up a fight as she was picked up and carried into the restaurant, but by this point she was so weak she could barely move. She had intended to die by that trash bin, maybe make it easier for whoever found her body to dispose of her properly. Even though the world hadn't been kind to her, she could still offer kindness, even in a morbid way.

Dot nursed Boo back to health. At first, the hellcat was resentful of the help. Why was she being kept alive? This woman probably just wanted to use her like everyone else had so far. But no. Finally, after being alive for nearly eighteen years, she'd found someone that didn't want a pawn. She was helping her just because she wanted to.

Over time the two became close. Dot was more of a mother than anyone she'd ever met, and that's how she came to see her. She began eating properly again, and after a while she returned to her normal weight. She wasn't looking to be adopted again, and by now she had aged out of the system, but that didn't stop Boo from calling Dot "Mom".

It was Boo that proposed she be a waitress at the diner. It was her way of repaying the kindness forward, and it would give her something to keep her mind occupied. Dot agreed, and after a couple years of working Boo finally saved up enough money to afford her own apartment. Dot had tried to buy her one outright, but she refused, saying she'd wanted to earn it herself.

And that's where she is now!

#abuse tw #eating disorder tw #pregnancy tw #miscarriage tw #suicide tw #headcanon: boo

[wizelywizeup]

How Many Income Streams Do You Really Need?

In personal finance, we often talk about side hustles and multiple income streams. The extra money that we make from a side hustle can come in handy for a variety of purposes like making a down payment for a house, or paying off debt, or to build an emergency fund.

In this way, having multiple streams of income can help you mitigate risk and keep you financially secure at all times.

But what do we exactly mean by a stream of income and how many streams of income should we ideally have? Let’s try to decode it.

Start saving in digital gold with as low as Rs 10!

Download Wizely

What is an Income Stream?

Let's first understand what do we mean by the term 'income stream':

An income stream can be defined as a unique source of income which is reliable and can help cover your monthly living expenses.

So if you need Rs 30,000 to cover all your monthly expenses, then a side job that pays Rs 5,000 cannot be counted as a reliable source of income. But if the same side job paid you Rs 30,000 consistently then that can become an additional income stream for you.

Think of an income stream as a protective shield to protect your emergency savings even if you lose your day job.

We are often advised to create an emergency fund, with at least 3–6 months' worth of living expenses so that we are prepared for unforeseen situations. But if your additional income stream could cover your monthly living expenses, then you wouldn't have to touch your emergency fund, even if you lost your day job.

So having two solid streams of income i.e. your regular day job and an additional income stream can act as a great financial defense for you.

Also read: 10 Best Side Hustles You Can Start Earning With Now

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Download Wizely

Ideal Number of Income Streams?

There is no magic number for how many income streams you must ideally have.

But having two reliable income streams can be a good starting point for you: 1. Your regular 9-5 day job 2. Your side job

Gradually you can get to a point where these two income streams can pave the way for a third passive stream of income - income from investments.

A passive income stream is one which requires almost no effort from your end. For example, rent from a property, dividend payments from your investments or any other enterprise where you are not an active participant.

Building a passive income stream is difficult initially and takes time. So the more you maximize your savings, the sooner you can build a passive income stream. And this is exactly where an additional income stream comes in handy. If your living expenses are covered by one stream of income, then you can save up all of the income earned from your additional job. This way you can maximise your savings in a faster and easier manner.

Tip: Try to keep your living expenses constant and always be on a lookout to increase the number of your income streams. This way you will be able to invest enough money relative to your living expenses.

Yes, your investments will only bear fruit if they are done in the right proportions with respect to your living expenses.

For example, an investment of Rs 1,00,000 can help you build a passive income stream if your living expenses are constant at Rs 30,000. But the same investment can seem insignificant if your living expenses rise to Rs 60,000. So it is essential that you don't increase your living expenses because of your two income streams. And once your passive income starts covering your living expenses, you could also decide to drop one of the other two income streams.

Also read: 5 Side Hustles That Can Make You Money on the Side

So Just Two Streams of Income?

Well, that depends entirely on you. If you feel you can manage your regular day job, a side hustle and an additional job or project, then by all means go ahead. These days, you have a variety of options to choose from: affiliate marketing, online courses, podcast, newsletters, photography etc. After all, more work means more pay and more pay means more savings!

But if you feel you are spreading yourself too thin, and unable to enjoy any of your jobs, then it is best that you try to sustain two streams of income first. And pick up a third one only if you feel like it.

And like we explained earlier, once you have built a passive income stream, you can either choose to keep both of your active income streams or drop one.

Remember, it is easy to work for money but difficult to make money work for you. So make smarter financial decisions so that your money starts working for you while you work on things that you really enjoy.

For more information, you can visit here

https://wizely.in/wizeup/income-streams-financial-health/

[sunsents]

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

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

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

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

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

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

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

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

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

Five Years Later, 2003

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

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

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Auntie ____!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

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

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

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

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

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

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

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

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

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

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

“Wha-“

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

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

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

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

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

Jambo’s no different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolute blasphemy.

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

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

Of course your logic sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

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

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

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

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

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah, down girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” he says softly.

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

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

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

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

“Eva!”

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

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

Fred winces. “Actually-”

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

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

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

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

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

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

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a you problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well what changed your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eva stutters, “What?”

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

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

“No, he won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

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

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

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred freezes - second time that night.

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

Fuck fuck fuck.

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

But it was too late.

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

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

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

You almost swallow your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

“Finally!” George yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____.”

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

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

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Took you long enough.”

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

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

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

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

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

“____.”

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

“____, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

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

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

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

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

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

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock Knock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

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

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

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

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

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

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

“I did.” you smile.

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

“Near what?” You gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fred, don-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too - oh!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well shit.”

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

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

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

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

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

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

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

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

#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

[cinnamonest]

Rewriting my Diluc housewife thoughts but I saved it in my notes this time, but I made it infinitely more sexist than it already was before bc 1) I was in the kink mood and 2) the spirits of writing gods possessed my body and told me that is the way all Diluc content should be, so, this is major 1950s-ish housewifey horrendously misogynistic shit, you've been warned. Like, even *I* looked back over this and was like "wow this is vile" which is kinda saying something for me so, putting the nastier parts under cut for the sake of my followers' eyes ----------- I was thinking about the post a while back about Diluc reforming a criminal darling - a thief around Mondstadt that's been on a crime spree and of course he catches wind of that and goes to defeat the perpetrator (surprisingly very easy? How is a thief this weak?) and haul the bastard off to jail except... What's this? Said criminal is actually just some girl and not a gross ugly bastard?? This changes things. Clearly, this was not an intentional act of malice or greed, but rather, he, master of criminal psychology™, rationalizes that the world is far too cruel for unwifed girls that have no one to depend on, a cold terrible place, so you must have been driven to these actions out of desperation. You had no provider, no caretaker, which are needs. How could you possibly be expected to provide a means of living for yourself?? This is just the consequences of the unfairness of the world. However, things all work out in the end. You need to be taken care of and restrained from these self-destructive choices by force (since you cannot recognize how bad it is, not that you're expected to, it's natural that you have poor perception, that's why you need a man to make choices for you), and he needs a wife. This solution benefits all parties.

He is, however, a rather dense man, and doesn't really think to like, tell you that. Or tell you anything. He's too lost in thought in his planning -- gonna get you new clothes to replace your ragged ones, gonna have to rearrange the guard schedule so they can watch the house better, all that -- and just kinda slings you up and over his shoulder without a word. Ignores you kicking and hitting because it doesn't really hurt or anything, you're too weak for that. Just says he’ll explain in detail later, but don’t worry, you’re not going to jail. He’s just taking you home. This is better, he says. Stop struggling so much, what, you want to go to jail? No? Then be still. And you don't recognize that it's good for you yet, but again, that's expected. In a better time or society, you would have been married off sooner, and prevented from ever falling victim to your own decision making to begin with, but the world isn't perfect and you can be forgiven for it. You're not responsible for your own actions since you can't comprehend them. It's frustrating and he sighs a bit over it, but that's just the way things are. You'll be happy in the long run, even if it takes a while, you're naturally programmed for a better lifestyle he has in mind. And, really, he's glad you weren't married off, because if you were then he never would have had you, so even though it was technically unideal, the stars align and the universe works out things perfectly. It's all the more of a sign that this was fate and you were made for him. The issue is that a hardened criminal darling is... Not the ideal candidate for a housewife. To some extent, he's right that the criminal underworld hardens a person, you can't survive in that realm if you're submissive or weak willed. And criminal darling certainly is not. Loud mouthed, opinionated, argumentative, bad attitude, defiant and aggressive and very much unafraid. A complete loose cannon. All very unfavorable traits. Worst of all, very much unaccepting of and ungrateful for the privilege of a second chance and being graciously granted the opportunity for a better life. Lots of bad behaviors.

The cursing is a problem. It's not very... Wife-like. Gives off a bad image, you know. Especially since said cursing is usually directed at him at a very loud volume with a snarl and getting all up in his face to tell him he's fucking insane and a bastard. To be honest, the worst part isn't the words themselves, it's the fact that you are so unafraid to be defiant and so fiery that is the primary issue. You disobey very deliberately. Little acts of pettiness. Being mean to the maids who are so graciously trying to teach you how to cook (at his direction), since you had no idea how to (and nearly burned his house down as a result). The first time you were mean and bitter and that's how you learned they report back to him about how you behaved. It did not go over well.  

Intentionally burning food. Once you somehow found a bottle in a cabinet somewhere in the mansion and put rat poison in his food, made him sick. Muttering a sarcastic whoops and shoving a vase off to crash and shatter on the floor. Early on you refused to wear all the nice dresses you were generously given and even tried to go through his clothes to find something to wear, which was kinda cute since it was way too big, but still. You mutter and grumble under your breath every time you're given a command. The most important thing is sex, though. You know, your job. One of your only real responsibilities. He has a very stressful job. It's only reasonable that he can expect to come home to his sweet, loving little wife with open arms and equally open legs. You've probably fucked around a bit right? For money, for favors, for intel, you get the idea, lots of ties to criminal gangs to earn their trust. So, if you do it for something so insignificant, how much more does he deserve it for taking care of you fully? You should -- and you will, with time -- drop to your knees the second he walks through the door. But instead, sigh, you fight and whimper and cover your face in shame after you spasm and cum, and worst of all, you actively try not to cum. You shouldn't feel ashamed of that, it's good, he says. Sure, you may not be officially married (since the laws of Mondstadt unfortunately require that whole "consent" thing for both parties, ugh), but, he's basically your husband right? So, it's perfectly normal, you're supposed to cum for him. Maybe once you're all knocked up you'll be even hornier, and less shameful. He actually wasn't expecting you to be this bad. Incredibly stubborn and prideful. Literally the exact opposite traits of a good wife, you know, submissive and humble and obedient. He kinda thought that it was like... automatic. That once he just kinda shoved you in the right environment, it would be like flipping a switch right? Apparently not. But no matter. It can be changed, with effort and time. You're worth it. See, you're not supposed to backtalk him, you're supposed to smile and do what you're told without question. You're supposed to submit and obey, and instead you seem hellbent on pissing him off out of spite - and frankly, you're doing a good job of achieving that. Every time you defy him it sparks an irritation he can't describe, worse than he'd normally get from just being snarled at by anyone - no, something about being disrespected by someone he feels is beneath him makes him much, much angrier than it would be if it were, say, one of the business partners who get snappy and argumentative very frequently. He could break you and it would be easy, don't you know that? You stomp and you hit him and you yell, but clearly you process that you have to look up to look him in the eye, you have to realize how much smaller you are. You hit him even though you have to know by now he'll just grab your wrists, and like always you'll be unable to even hope of pulling out of his grip, the strength difference between you two is so great. There's no way you don't realize all that, yet you continue to behave the way you do. The inferiority is so blatantly obvious, but you act as if it's not. He spends a lot of time contemplating the source of this, the cause of your behavior, it occupies his thoughts. It's like... You resent him for something. Could it possibly be kidnapping you and keeping you as a glorified sex slave? No, no, that's not it. It's something else, yes. Are you just bitter about being inferior in, you know, every conceivable way? Is that it? The criminality for you was compensation to make you feel powerful, perhaps. You have a complex. You resent him not for anything he's done, but because you know he's stronger and smarter and generally superior to you. You don't want to accept it. You're prideful when you shouldn't be. You're supposed to be humble and content with your inferiority. Yeah, that's it. You just have a negative perception of the lifestyle you're supposed to have. Maybe some event in your life or someone else warped your view of things. You don't realize how happy you'd be if you just accepted it. Yes, if you submitted to it, if you swallowed your pride and actually accepted your place, you'd find you would be very happy, you just don't know that. Or maybe, your brain can't grasp something like that. After all, that's the reason you're supposed to be the submissive party of the two of you, you're not as bright or perceptive (says the densest man alive). You have to be... Led. Guided. So he says it. He is, again, a dense man. He does not really think about the fact that perhaps blatantly confronting you with the epiphany he thinks he's had and specifically using the words inferior and weak and small is probably not going to make you very happy. You get bitchy and bratty and try to hit him and he sighs because, see, this is exactly what he's talking about. You reacting the way you did only confirms you do have a complex, he says. So, how could he go about... reconditioning? He is not the most creative man, but thankfully it's a rather easy problem to solve. If you're reminded of a reality often enough, you have to accept it. For starters, using physical strength against you. Maybe that will metaphorically open your eyes. Holds you down in place when you're hitting him like you do, firmly bending you over a counter or whatever and just holding you in place. Come on, try to get up, try to push him off. You snarl and claw at the marble and push will all your strength, but he doesn't budge, not until you politely apologize and ask him to let you up. If you're being difficult and not going where he tells you to, well, he can just sling you up over his shoulder and carry you. If you're fighting being fucked he can just flip you over and press your face into the mattress and hold you still, and you can't help but take the brutal reality that you're basically a ragdoll to him, that is, physically overpowering you doesn't even require trying. It helps to knock you down a peg, remind you of your place and maybe get you to swallow that pride a bit. The orgasms and fucking have a similar effect -- every time you can't help but feel like he has a power over you. And really, he kinda does. Every time you lay there still panting and shivering in aftershock, the shame comes swarming in, all the obscene noises you made and the way you came undone under the person that treats you like property. Even if the rational part of you knows better, you can't help but feel like in a way it's like you let him win, allowed yourself to more or less prove him right. Maybe you'll learn better if you're in more humiliating positions. Stuck getting rammed from behind, hand forcing your face down and ass up. Actually correcting bad behaviors requires more direct approaches, so he takes the... Old fashioned route. After all, it's pretty much guaranteed to work. You don't listen to words, you don't listen to reason, but you'll certainly listen to handprints and belt welts on your ass. It's the first time you really, truly break, and that brings him a lot of satisfaction. The first time you really cry and whimper and beg and apologize so profusely it feels like you mean it for once. Granted, for a while you just persist in your bad behaviors and even try to run when you see him sigh and take the belt off, but you never get far. And, most notably, you actually fix your behaviors, with enough reminders. At one point, the next time you start being bad and get to bitching and snarling and putting up a fight, you catch the look on his face and, for once, you shut your mouth and look down and mumble an apology by default. See, you're learning. Speaking of, you still have that major issue with backtalking him. You're supposed to submit to him and acknowledge his authority over you. So he gets firm. Grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look him in the eye and reminds you that you will *not* get an attitude with him. You *will* show some respect. You say yes sir and no sir and do what you're told. And if you forget, he can give you a reminder, if you want that. But you shake your head with fear in your eyes, say you don't want that. It makes you mad. You want to lash back, but you swallow your pride and mutter a fine - before realizing the mistake, violating the rule you were just reminded of. You stammer out a yes sir but it's already too late. He has to control himself too, not let his anger get the better of him. He speaks in a way that isn't snarling and mean, but rather firm, cold, a flat tone that asserts dominance and demands respect. But... still wants you to like him. So he has to be nice, too. After all, you'll learn better if you're rewarded for being good, right? So you can get little rewards. Words of affirmation. A pat to the head. He'll buy you something you want, let you drink a bit (since, as a thief, of course, you had a problem with that before you came home, but that had to be corrected too, since drunkenness isn't very befitting). And sooner or later he does have a really good little wife. He's proud of you. You smile and obey commands without complaining. He can come home every day, and rather than hearing a long report from the staff about how much trouble you caused that day, instead you have food and smiles and sweet affection waiting on him, you hug him when he walks through the door. You're polite and sweet to the various business partners and guests that come through -- you don't speak to them without permission though, of course, and you look down at the ground so you don't make eye contact with another man. People say he's lucky and how they wish they had a wife that was so outwardly affectionate to them as you are to him, always clinging to him physically. And you don't complain or every object to anything, you just smile and say yes and do it. It makes him happy in a weird way he can't quite articulate. A warm swell of pride, a feeling of success. You have vague memories of a time when you were breaking into houses just to scrape by, not knowing when you'd eat next, not knowing where you'd sleep. It's kind of a fuzzy memory now. You don't have to worry about those things anymore, and you're a lot happier this way.

#this is vile im sorry #tw: ff #tw: misogyny #.dl #yan.txt #q

[xbunnybunz]

Weak Hero University (2/?) [Reader x Weak Hero]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 6/1/2021

A brief introduction of everyone later, you haul a suitcase into the room while Ben noisily and clumsily pulls on his shorts, after much persuading from his friends.

“You’re living… Here? In the boys dorms?” Eugene asks, tagging beside carrying your schoolbag. “Isn’t that against the campus policy?”

You park the suitcase beside by your room and sigh, popping your back briefly.

“I’m just as confused as you guys are, but the keys here seem to be for this room here.” You allow a single gold-hued key to dangle from your fingers on a cheap polyester lanyard, Eugene’s eyes follow the menacing stare of the school mascot printed on the side until you pull it out of his sight.

“Let’s see just how fucked up this school is when it comes to money extortion.” You put the key in the door and hear a tell-tale metallic ‘click.’

“Wow.” A voice says from the couches. “Pretty fucked up.”

You sigh, shoulder slumping forward. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Most of the items go into your room without much hassle at all. A suitcase full of cute PJs you and your nonexistent best gal roommates could rave over, a plastic box full of face masks you’d probably never be able to use without being made fun of, and a waterlogged ziplock baggie half-full with notes (and corn chips) from last semester.

What? A folder? What the fuck is a folder?

A boy with silver hair passes by and begins to say something to you, but seems to debate better options when he sees the plastic baggie on the floor.

Feeling slighted somehow, you ask Eugene who he is once he’s out of earshot.

Eugene laughs and begins to speak but an arm looping around his neck cuts him off.

A pair of shimmering emerald eyes meet your own, but it’s clouded with a shadow of mischief. “You haven’t heard? That’s the white mamba of E-quad. He’s fearlessly beaten bastards so bloody with belts that we have metal detectors installed at the dining hall entrances now!”

“Stop exaggerating, Alex.” Eugene chokes out, sounding mildly discontented while desperately trying to pry the arm from around his neck.

“Wait, that was because of him?”

Eugene and Alex both freeze, brows furrowed. “Wait, you weren’t kidding?” Eugene asked.

“I was.” Alex says.

They both fix their gazes on you, and you’re suddenly struck with the memories of needing to surrender your lockpicking kit in front of several dozen freshmen behind you, and the hot desire to bury that memory consumes you.

“Haha, me too.”

They don’t seem convinced.

Before the conversation about buckle-assisted homicide can continue, a large shadow descends upon your form and a great arm reaches out from the heavens above. “Here, I grabbed this from the kitchen in case you needed a snack.”

You look up and see Gerard, the tallest and blindest of the group. You accept his gift of a single (1) lunchables capri-sun with much adoration in your heart.

“Thanks Gerard.”

He gives you a smile to remind the audience that he is, simply put, cool as fuck.

“No problem.”

Well, one problem. You eye the last bit of your luggage sitting at the doorway like a heaping pile of hot flaming garbage. It’s an amalgamation of the extraneous bits of your personality you’ve collected over the course of the past semester at Weak Hero University and maybe a forgotten bagel. Despite your previous roommate’s pleads for you to throw some of it out, you’d be damned if you weren’t a treacherous little hoarder. Simply put, it was a huge box of insignificant trinkets that made for a very significant problem. You had gotten lucky to cross paths with a cute but gullible junior earlier, who you immediately marked as prey and flirted with before unceremoniously dumping your crap on him to carry across campus. But now you’d have to pick up the box of crap yourself, which would prove to be a challenge with how little you actually wanted to be responsible for your own items.

The three boys see you eying the box and you perk up immediately, eyes glimmering with the possibility of wooing the fine gentlemen into helping a oh-so-meek lass like yourself.

You twirl a piece of hair between your fingers and bat your eyelashes at nothing at all, pouting your lips and hoping they weren’t too crusty. “Oh, I’m so tired. How am I ever going to move that big and heavy box?”

You stare dismally into an off-corner and attempt to look forlorn, grimacing when you see a weird  construction of a human-sized dorito-chip statue made of empty dorito bags beside the television. This was the moment your main love interest would swoop in and offer his servitude to you, dewey roses blossoming on convenient parts of the screen. Here it was, your very own shoujo moment!

But there’s no offer. In fact, you stare so long at the doritos statue that you begin to get spots in your vision.

When you turn back, the boys are by the box in question, though they are not attempting to move it at all. Instead, they lament over the problem with you as opposed to offering a solution.

“Ah, that thing looks so heavy. Sucks to be you.” Alex laughs.

Euguene shakes his head. “Right? I wouldn’t even be able to get a corner off the ground.”

Gerard places a thoughtful hand on the back of his neck. “You should probably save the capri-sun for after moving everything.”

Ugh.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Ben meanders out of his room. This time, all his articles of clothing are intact.

“Hey, what are you guys staring at?”

Yes! This was your movie-moment after all!

“Oh Ben! Thank god you’re here.” You resume your maiden in distress pose. “I was just so tired from the trip, my feeble heart and body can’t bear to-“

Alex pokes his head up when he hears Ben approaching, waving him over. “Look at all this shit she has. She’s like those people on My Strange Addiction!”

Irritated that he’s cut you off, you try to continue. “I won’t ever be able to lift all that on my own-!”

“Aren’t you talking about Hoarding, Buried Alive?” Gerard asks, clearly already losing interest in the luggage.

“Actually, I think that would be Hoarders, the reality television show that aired a little before My Strange Addiction took flight! It’s actually really interesting how that all started out, if you want to hear about it.”

You scowl at the back of Eugene’s head and stop quickly when Ben shoots a grin at you.

He puffs out his chest in a stupid himbo way and thrusts his thumb into his chest. “I can move this for you! No sweat! Just tell me where you want it!”

Sweet! You were about to resort to desperate begging, but those plans are cancelled!

You clasp your hands together and sigh, envisioning a world where men with muticolored hair fall in love with you.

“Oh, anywhere in here is fine, thank you so much Ben!”

As he goes in to lift it, you can see his muscles straining against the well-fitting fabric of his shirt.

Oh yes, this is definitely worth the dorming fee.

“Ben, you’re so sweet for helping me with this!” He ambles past you while struggling to hold the lid of the box closed. A strained voice comes from beyond the green rim of the bin. “Yep, no problem at all.”

You follow him into your room, tailing him while rambling about how grateful you were.

“You know, there was a junior who I met by the campus square on my way here. He helped me move everything to this building, but he struggled with that box a lot longer than you! I’m actually not sure how you’re even getting it off the ground without a wedge and trolley, but boy am I glad!”

Ben stops at the foot of your bed, barely able to peek over the edge of the bin. “Erm. Is here okay?”

“Hey I mean, as strong as that guy was, you’re definitely cuter than him. I was almost sad to see him go, but that’s the life of a busy woman!”

“Pleasemyarmsareshaking-”

“As great as all this is, I’m actually really excited to make friends with everyone! Given these strange circumstances that usually only happen to indulge borderline psychotic fans, we should take advantage and-”

Ben drops the box on the floor and you screech, a pain shooting up your leg and pumping adrenaline into your veins.

“-FUCK! Shit!”

Ben freezes and realizes the absolutely fuckery he has just caused, but before he can react, you grab the corner of the box and throw it off your foot in a show of brute gorilla strength, crumpling to the floor in agony.

The boys have their heads poked into the doorway, curious after hearing two cuss words successively. They blanche when they realize the situation.

“Oh fuck. My bad?” Ben wants to comfort you but is frankly quite scared to after seeing your display of power.

“Did she just throw that thing with one hand?” Gerard asks.

Alex stares at the scene before him. “What the hell happened to her foot?”

Eugene titters about nervously, playing with his fingers “Do we have first aid?”

From the kitchen, a deadpan voice is heard. “Where’s my capri sun?”

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero university

[blissfulalchemist]

returning fire with multiples of 5 for sahar (in honor of moon knight dropping soon) >:))

I didn’t forget Macy! Just slow!

5. What’s their most useless, weirdest, or least marketable skill?

Sahar finds her most useless skill to be being able to correctly guess where the daily doubles are in Jeopardy each time and yes on both earths as well. It would only be useful if she was able to compete but sadly she cannot so it’s useless as no local trivia nights use the double jeopardy tactic.

10. What do they fantasize about?

You’d have to be a little more specific on just kind of fantasies. Domestic? She wants her old life a little with Marc and the gang by her side, mostly the money and slightly nicer living space. Romantic? She wouldn’t mind the old school romantic evening honestly, not that she’ll ever admit to it. And sexually? Well buy her some dinner first and you might find out.

15. How would they describe themselves?

Sahar would describe herself as somewhat of a hermit even prior to her incident (This is untrue as she had a social life and always something happening). She’d tell you that she’s blunt and uncaring (false. she is very caring), willing to lie and cheat to get her way (within reason), and someone that in the long run is insignificant and shouldn’t be treated as someone that is worth more than what she actually is. Her views on herself are much more negative, though occasionally you will get her more “I love myself” Sahar now and then just not as often as prior to her breakdown. Woman needs some therapy, though she does get a little more confident when she jumps worlds and uses it more as a front to keep people far from her.

20. Who’s their go-to person for advice?

Her absolute go-to people for advice is still her best friends and its because of this that she gets herself caught with her hallucinations. When they don’t provide the advice she needs or wants she will turn to Marc or Rheese to give some guidance with Dr. Badar on some occasion as he was her first mentor. When on the new earth she turns primarily to Yelena and Matt, Steven after awhile as she trusts him the most given his more open nature. It does take some time for her to go to Marc for any kind of advice though.

25. What’s one thing they’re utterly incapable of doing without the help of someone else?

Patching herself up after a fight. Sure she’s good at helping others but she can’t patch herself up to save her life beyond like scrapes and minor cuts. She’s partially just too stubborn to realize she needs to treat herself with more care. Should have seen how many times that neck wound would open and how badly she’d try to sew it up at home.

30. What’s their political stance?

Comics politics is out of my depth and so I can’t give much of a proper answer. Her core values though boil down to doing the right thing even if you have to do something that’s against the law in order to do so.

35. Do/did they want children?

Sahar doesn’t want children no. She loves the idea of being the cool aunt with all the cool presents more so! Though she also feels that if it happens then it happens for her and she’ll come to terms with a decision should it ever happen.

40. What do other people find annoying about them, if anything?

Her hot and cold nature. She can be very friendly and open but then just as quickly turn around and be shut down and making you go away, think very much like an untrustworthy cat and that’s Sahar. They do also find her speed at Jeopardy to be annoying though this is probably due to the fact that she’s in competition with everyone else.

45. What kind of movies do they like?

Sahar is more the B-Movie Horror genre and historical dramas (which can include things that just happened within the last 20years honestly). A good Shakespeare rendition is also something that she loves and will watch over and over, especially the more accurate to the story it is (so no direct lines isn’t a requirement).

50. Do they have any insecurities?

Her biggest one is losing herself in her own head. Its feels so vast in there and so few people understand it enough to find her within it that she hates telling too many people. She also just can’t stand the stigma around it especially when they find out that she’s still technically has her biological brother as her legal guardian, which leads to questions on how that came to be, and then judgement on her potential for violence at any given moment.

55. Who do they look up to most?

Sahar always looked up to her father the most. They spent a lot of time together and he was a good man. He always treated everyone he met with the same level of respect and worked with various charities until he was no longer able to but even in his old age he was part of a mentoring program with their local mosque.

60. What are some of their simple pleasures?

Her bath bombs and Nest New York Turkish Rose Perfume Oil. Sahar has quite a bit of money still and access to it all but has majorly toned down her lifestyle, however her perfume is one such commodity that she will gladly spend the $100 per 1oz bottle. She does try to not go over 4 bottles a month though which was about the norm prior.

#sahar mahin oc #sahar chara ask

[shirtlesssammy]

5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight

Then:

The End is Nigh

Now:

Davenport, Iowa

We begin this episode with Pestilence paying an ailing woman a visit. He’s riddled her with more diseases than she can handle. What an experiment!

One Day Earlier

At Bobby’s, Sam’s getting an earful from Dean about his plan to say yes to Lucifer. Dean gets a call from Cas. Dean wants to know where he is --they all thought he was dead. He’s in a hospital. He’s not one for conversation at the moment, but does tell Dean that he just woke up in the hospital. Dean tells him their next step: get Pestilence. 

For Hospital Bed Science:

Cas groans in pain and tells Dean he can’t fly anywhere. He’s thirsty, and his head aches, and he has a bug bite, and he’s all so very... Dean finishes his thought with, “human”. Cas needs money for pain meds and travel expenses. 

Also, he stops Dean from hanging up and says that he owes him an apology. “You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be,” he confesses. Dean’s awkward about such a solemn apology. I’m soft about how soft this moment is. 

The brothers head out to scope out the convalescent home where Pestilence chills. They knock out the security guard to watch video footage of the place. 

Eventually Sam notices the camera flickering with one person. They head out to find him. 

As Pestilence is taking care of Cold Open Celeste, a demon comes in to warn him about the Winchesters. He’s upset over what they did to his brothers, and wants revenge. The demon reminds him he’s not supposed to hurt “the vessels”. He doesn’t care and starts hurting everyone in the building. 

Sam and Dean start coughing, and struggle to keep walking. They both collapse outside Pestilence’s door. They’re now riddled with disease, just like Celeste. While the boys struggle on the ground, Pestilence gets to monologue a bit about the frailty of humans. 

Enter one VERY human-like angel. Yeah, poor Cas is just as affected as the Winchesters. Pestilence laughs, “There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?” Cas then lunges at him, and cuts his ring finger right off. “Maybe just a speck.” Oh Cas, you badass. Never change. 

The demon attacks, and he knifes her. Pestilence disappears, but not before ominously stating, “It’s too late.” 

And now they have three rings. 

At Bobby’s, Dean asks for some good news. Bobby tells them that Chicago is about to get hit with the storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die. 

GOOD NEWS, Bobby! Or as Cas deadpans, “I don’t understand your definition of ‘good news’.” 

Bobby points out that Death will be there. They still need his ring. 

Sam wonders how Bobby knows all this. Enter Crowley. 

Bobby admits to selling his soul to Crowley. Dean demands that Crowley give it back. Sam wonders if Bobby had to kiss him. Bobby denies it --but Crowley’s got proof. Of course. 

Crowley won’t give back Bobby’s soul as insurance that the Winchesters won’t kill him. I mean, I kind of have to side with Crowley here. He’s being REALLY generous even considering giving back Bobby’s soul. Bobby sold it fair and square. He’s getting information from Crowley in return. 

Later, by the Impala, Dean and Sam talk. Sam admits that he has his doubts about his plan as much as the rest of them. “You, Bobby, Cas...I'm the least of any of you.” Like, OUCH, Samuel. We deep dive into Dean’s self-worth issues on the regular, but let’s just pause and reflect on the younger sibling right now. 

Sam’s all they got though, so they have to try. 

Crowley interrupts the broment with news about the world. It seems that Pestilence was spreading Swine Flu, and Sam’s old buddy Brady’s company was cranking out the vaccine --only it was full of Croatoan virus not a cure. If this vaccine is distributed nationwide, it’ll all be over.

Cas and Bobby pack up the van. Cas is...moody. He mourns the loss of his angelic might. The only thing he has available to him now...is a shotgun. (Starts humming) Bobby tells him to quit whining and load the truck. 

The teams finish packing for their respective hunts. Sam waxes nostalgically about the simpler days of hunting monsters. Dean doesn’t think it was ever simple. Crowley interrupts and presents Dean with Death’s own scythe (in travel-sized form). 

Crowley urges Bobby to stand up and get ready to fight. He reveals that he inserted a little healing clause into Bobby’s soul deal that healed Bobby’s paralysis. Bobby stands up triumphantly. 

Later, Sam, Bobby, and Cas drive towards the Croatoan virus operation. Cas reflects on Sam’s idea to toss himself into the pit along with Lucifer. He thinks it’s a solid plan. 

Cas passes along some new intel about the archangel prize fight: Michael has taken Adam as a vessel. He warns Sam that failing to control Lucifer means that the apocalypse will happen, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Oh, and “there’s also the demon blood…” Sam will have to drink gallons of blood in order to be strong enough to contain Lucifer. BLEGH.

The next morning, they lurk at the distribution facility. A truck tries to leave and Cas takes out the driver and jams the gate controls. Sam and Bobby head into the warehouse, only to find that the demons have already infected some of the workers with Croatoan. Sam races off into the warehouse to save (uninfected) civilians. 

Dean and Crowley enjoy their first date, tracking Death to a little warehouse.

There’s a lovely clip where Crowley mentions that the area is swarming with reapers, and we get a reveal…

Crowley zaps into the warehouse, discovers that Death isn’t there, then meets Dean outside again. He suggests hightailing it out of Chicago and waiting for the next doomed city in order to find Death. That’s not good enough, though. Dean wants to find a way to save people, even if they can’t track down the Horseman. While Dean despairs, Crowley peers into a little pizza place and then heads back to Dean. He found Death! With his work done and not even a high five to show for it, Crowley zaps out of there.

Back at the warehouse, Sam’s finishes evacuating the uninfected civilians. Just as they think they’re home free, Sam gets attacked and Bobby’s gun jams. Enter Castiel, who shoots Sam’s attacker and says, “Actually these things can be useful.” 

For Angel with a Shotgun Science:

Dean creeps through the pizza parlor, which is full of dead patrons and waitstaff. Death’s scythe heats up in his hand and, agonized by the red hot handle, Dean drops it. The next thing he knows, his Death super-weapon is safely by Death’s side. 

Death sits at a table savoring a piece of pizza, and invites Dean to join him.

Dean wants to know if he’s about to die, but Death informs him that he has other plans for him. Death quietly reminds Dean that he’s as old and vast as the universe. No biggie though. Dean’s a bacterium, practically, but it’s fine. Death serves Dean a slice of pizza and I desperately long for some good Chicago deep dish. 

Death says that he’s as old as God, and maybe older. “At the end, I’ll reap him too.” (And while I appreciate that they didn’t kill Chuck in the traditional stabby manner, I’ll always mourn that we didn’t get to see this line fulfilled in one of the finale’s endless montage sequences, and that Billie didn’t survive to do the job.) (Boris, huddled in the corner: Death didn’t reap Chuck because he won, and the story isn’t over yet...)

Anyway, Dean’s appropriately awed by Death’s power. “This is way above my pay grade,” Dean mutters. Death reveals that he’s been waiting for Dean to catch up to him - Lucifer’s spell has prevented him from directly seeking out the Winchesters. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum,” Death spits. Preach! Death proposes depowering Lucifer’s Death weapon. He’ll hand Dean his ring willingly.

“What about Chicago?” Dean asks, ever the hunter.

Oh, Chicago can survive. Death likes the pizza. He hands Dean his ring and tells him that he has to do whatever it takes to trap Lucifer. “You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?” Dean takes the ring as Death issues one final warning. “You know you can’t cheat Death.”

Back at Bobby’s, Dean looks at the rings. They’ve got all four of them and together, they form into a magic little bundle of rings. Bobby finds Dean for a little heart to heart. 

Dean reveals that he lied to Death - he’s not okay with Sam tossing himself into the pit. However, Bobby thinks that Death may be right about Sam’s plan being their best option. Bobby watched Sam save all the civilians in the factory before they blew it up, and he thinks that Sam can handle it. “Sam will beat the Devil, or die trying. That’s the best we could ask for. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”

O, Quotes:

I don't understand your definition of good news

We'll catch Death in the next doomed city

Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #death #crowley #spn 5x21 #Two Minutes To Midnight #supernatural season 5 #and that's it for season 5

[lilallama]

Hi Umm today is my birthday and I was wondering if you could do let the clubs react to it?? 🥺🥺❤️ (it can be which ever you have the most inspiration from, I love all of them)

[Congratulations!! I only saw this now, but I'll try to hurry to get it done in time. ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤🍑]

The reactions of most of the clubs are quite similar. Who wouldn't be exited when you'd get to celebrate your beloved's birthday! Though their levels of intensity vary.

The newspaper club is definitely the first to congratulate Y/n in the morning. As soon as you'd wake up, your phone would practically explode with messages from your girls. Jennie willgo out of her way to buy you something huge. For your sixteenth birthday she bought you a Lamborghini, and for your seventeenth she got you a private island. Unlike Jennie, Rosé will not resort to buying something materialistic. But she'll spend weeks, sometimes months creating the perfect song for you. She wants to make it special. Jisoo, as the passionate photographer she is, prepared an entire collage or photo album filled with pictures of you five. It's always very professional and aesthetically pleasing. To that she'll often gift you some jewellery. The earrings she gives you are worth 600€. In all honesty, Lisa doesn't really care for birthdays. She can never remember them, except for yours because it's, well, you. She doesn't know what to get, so she'll likely bring a bunch of your favourite sweets and invite you to go shopping with her. That way you can pick out your own present. Your parents love these girls, they're always so sweet, and thanks to them you now own a private Island and jet, so...

The cooking club will prepare a giant cake for you. It will be redone until the result is absolutely perfect. Now, they can't bringit to school, sadly. But you're invited to come over to Hoseok's mansion, you can all celebrate together there. Hoseok knows exactly what you want, he is your best friend after all. So whatever you asked for, he's got you. You could've asked for a horse, it's there. Seokjin definitely forgot it was your birthday until the boys called him over to make the giant cake, two days in advance. So you ended up receiving a big, beautiful rose bouquet. Jin would let you decide on your present, he'll go anywhere with you, and get anything for you. Yoonfi is less confident. Anything he gets feels so insignificant in comparison. He saved up money to buy you a really cute plushy that you pointed out once, the newest album of a group you like and he even made you a self-made card. Similar to Hoseok, Namjoon doesn't really care for birthdays. He's only excited because it's your birthday. But you'll likely get a yacht or private flight to anywhere you want, with hotels and all other costs already payed for. But he makes sure to still give you a congratulations letter with 500€ inside the envelope. Jimin is extremely excited. He's got you almost every single thing you pointed out when going shopping with him. The only things he ignored were the ones he deemed 'cheap'. But he will give you so many hugs that it gets obnoxious for everyone else. Taehyung values that day, for it's the day his God/Goddess was birthed. He's the type to thank your parents for conceiving you. He'll get you a bunch of jewellery and a portrait of yourself. But the main part really i that he won't shut up about how great you are on that day. Praise overload. Meanwhile Jeongguk will gift you the newest version of your preferred console with a bunch of new games, a new computer with three monitors, and a brand new headset. Plus, he'll draw you a picture. He's been secretly practising ever since you complemented Taehyung on his painting.

The skate club isn't too close with you in those regards, they wouldn't get you anything. You're their pet, why would they have to give you anything. But they will congratulate you. The kam club is ecstatic! They'd all get you something grand together and will likeky have a sleepover with you. The art club probably didn't even know it was your birthday. But when they found out, they all sang happy birthday to you. The five will definitely give you something special very soon. Gasi seemed excited as well. The deama club is very chill, they give very sweet gifts like self-knitted sweaters or the entire soundtrack of Hamilton. The gardening club will place a bunch of beautiful flower bouquets on your desk. They're not that close to you, but they still wanba give you something.

#yandere bts #cooking club #yandere blackpink #newspaper club #yandere itzy #skate club #yandere twice #gardening club #yandere txt #art club #yandere mamamoo #kam club

[simprisottowriter]

Helloo can you write gyro headcanons ?UwU

Of course, Anon!! I'm so glad you're back with the requests, and it's as lovely as the previous one!! ♡ Gyro is a wonderful character and I'd be so happy to write about him :D {As this was a special request, I gave it my all! Even more headcanons than usual, hope I didn't tire you! Enjoy!}

°☆ Personality and Private Life☆°

◇ Making random conversations about any subject that comes in his mind is what he's amazingly good at. He always has something to say to spice up a conversation or change it in a whole different direction. Gyro is incredibly expressive, and even when he's thinking, you just know what is in his mind. Even if the person he is talking with isn't the talkative type, he'd help them break out of their shell with his silly jokes and the unpredictable ideas he spews. Loves it and becomes so excited when someone responds to his nonsense with more nonsense. Just imagine him annoying Johnny with so many questions as they are trying to sleep under the night sky of the desert.

◇ When he is very sleepy, or just has been woken up, he speaks in italian for quite some time without realizing it. He isn't a morning person, neither is Johnny and he has a difficult time getting up early. Would probably make coffee for himself but also for the person that woke him up too.

◇ Following the above statement, this man is an incredible cook! Italian cuisine is a must and he always swears by it!

◇ Loves things that shine! He doesnt like golden stuff because of their value, but because of how they sparkle!

◇ He has a fragrant leathery scent, with a faint hint of freshly brewing coffee. If comfort was a smell, it would be this.

◇ Cute things? He adores them! He has a collection of stuffed animals he treasures, and never shows anyone. Unless he really trusts them.

◇ Loves drawing and sketching, even if he is terrible at it. He admires his drawings and thinks of them as masterpieces nonetheless. You admit that they have a specific charm, right where they lack the skills in anatomy. His fridge's door is fully decorated with stickmen sketches. He is really trying his best!

◇ Makes up random songs for whatever he is doing at the moment. Especially while going on a walk, doing chores around the house, cooking or just lounging. His singing voice is also very melodic and such a delight to hear ♡ Listening to him sing and play the guitar on a night outside might be the best thing ever. Get ready to hear so many Fleetwood Mac songs from this man.

◇ Emanates warmth. Metaphorically and literally. He is just so warm all the time. Perfect for a hug or holding someone's cold hands!

◇ Whenever he is anxious or deep in thought, he twirls or toys with his loose hair strands, that usually rest on his shoulders. It's one of those habits he himself never notices until someone points it out.

◇ Shows his gratitude softly and subtly, through small things and actions. Giving a helping hand in tasks, teaching them of what he knows and generally making someone's day easier and interesting are what come naturally to him.

◇ Always tips more than the usual. He's careful with money but never cheap, and would probably spend or give most of it if he had plenty of it!

◇ Never. Stops. Talking. Really, that man loves talking. He mainly likes other's reactions about what he says. Really appreciates when his strangest ideas are being listened to.

◇ Loves stargazing and has an extensive knowledge about the constellations. He keeps pointing them out at the desert night sky, by Johnny's side. After that, Gyro would test him on this knowledge, just for the laughs. Even if he refused to answer to Gyro back then, I believe Johnny would remember them with such regret and point them out on his own, when Gyro left him forever ♡ :)

◇ Really protective of his close ones, and those who have been wronged. Would stand up for anyone he finds worth fighting for. He cares more than he ever shows, and appreciates it when someone reads this through him, as Gyro speaks through his actions.

◇ He's always a ray of sunshine whenever the days are dark. His humour and attitude can boost anyone's mood and fix any bad day. He's so uplifting and caring, even if he hides it behind his jokes most of the time. His signature smile is contagious!

◇ Loves playing some harmless tricks or pranks on his close ones. Inside jokes are his favourite things and show his personal trust in someone.

◇ Did I say that he is caring? Like, really caring! Even physically. A headpat or a pat on the back is his casual greeting to the ones really close to him. Hugs are very meaningful to him! It's one of the only things that put him back on track again.

◇ Other than being affectionate, he adores quality time more than anything. What saves him is someone listening to him. To his worries and inner feelings. Because only someone special to him would ever know how neglected and disregarded he feels. How insignificant and puny he felt when he dared to defend someone that was one step from death. And how he ended up constantly fighting to prove himself.

◇ Stronger than he could ever show or admit. Admirable courage. Abrasive, ambitious and competitive, but for a good cause. His sheer will has led him to where he is now, even if he had to leave everything behind just to fight for the weak. He would brush off any serious compliment about his personality or goals, but he deeply appreciates them :) Chaotic good, at its finest.

◇ Major flirt. Pretty obvious. He would be really playful and throw one-liners all the time when he finds someone that he likes enough. A simple touch on the shoulder would make his crush on someone even more obvious.

◇ Cursive handwriting, that usually comes off as unreadable, even if it is neat. His words are crowded and usually writes in lowercase.

◇ Behind the cheerful and cocky mask he puts up, he is a very complicated, deeply compassionate person, who overflows of empathy and altruism. He felt what his fate would have been from the moment he dared to oppose Marco's execution and joined the race, but he never gave up. It's in the Zeppeli blood to fight till the end.

#gyro #gyro headcanons #gyro x reader #anon #jojo writing #gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli headcanons #gyro jojo headcanons #anon request #send me anons #okay since you arent reading this i confess that i write better headcanons than essays #imagine how bad my essays are #okay back to the tag work #gyro jojo #steel ball run #jojo part 5 #jjba #jojos bizzare adventure #hope you guys enjoy #jojo headcanons #requests open!! #hcs #gyro hcs #jjba gyro #jojo hcs #UwU anon

[sweetestlamb]

Rain On Me

A Motel Smut Fic 

Summary: The rumbling of the engine vibrates through her exhausted body, the fatigue from her aimless walk now catching up with her as she clings to the wide span of his torso. The rain leaves his thin cotton shirt plastered to the coiled muscle of his abdomen, those enticing abs she had only seen a glimpse off are tight and compact beneath her weather worn digits. 

Author's note: Sorry that this took a while, life has been a bit busy in the best way. I’m very excited to see so many others joining the fandom and writing fanfiction though, glad to be able to read stories from talented writers! I hope you guys enjoy this one, I had a harder time than usual with this smut, and the pov switches a few times because MY and GT had a lot to say and I just followed their lead. I can never write smut without a tinge of emotions so please excuse the excessive inner thoughts and inner monologues, I initially planned on just starting with the sex but I just love a build up. * Plays Ashanti’s “Rain On Me” 

Thank you for the beautiful header @essantial​ you’re the absolute best! 

The rumbling of the engine vibrates through her exhausted body, the fatigue from her aimless walk now catching up with her as she clings to the wide span of his torso. The rain leaves his thin cotton shirt plastered to the coiled muscle of his abdomen, those enticing abs she had only seen a glimpse off are tight and compact beneath her weather worn digits.

She hasn't the vaguest idea where he intends to bring them but she knows she'll follow him wherever he leads. Her heart had spattered to a stop just like the motorcycle's rumbling engine when she saw him approaching, his face chiseled and undeniably beautiful under the hard cascade of precipitation pouring from the skies. She'd never had a knight in shining armor, never had anyone try to protect her. She was hard, jagged and sharp, lashing out and wounding others before they could get close enough to harm her.

Yet.

There he'd been. Coming to save her even after snapping at her like a viper, acid dripping from the tip of his tongue as he crushed her under his foot like the empty can he'd compared her to. She had been too shocked to respond, to retaliate, to defend herself.

There was also that little voice that had awakened in her mind, advising her to think before she acted, a voice that frustratedly sounded like the very person who she itched to lash out at. The irony of her situation was not lost on her. He was both the one who tormented her and soothed her.

Ergo, she'd let his words slash her skin, hot tears boiling in her eyes as he rejected her once again. She hated herself for how devastated his words had left her, what he declared was no different from the thoughts that plagued her mind already. Was she just an empty can with no feelings? Loud and clattering, merely a hindrance to others who needed to be avoided at all cost? Was her father justified for squeezing the air from her lungs? If she had succumbed to death's inevitable call would she be doing the world a favor?

But, he had come to rescue her, and by extension of his act did that mean she was worth saving? Worth living?

"Get off. We're here." His curt words abruptly drag her back from her rumination, as he begins to slide off the bike, trying to pry her cold fingers from his immense warmth. "Let go." She tightens her hold fearing that if she releases he will abandon her, leaving her cold and alone. With a strong swipe he breaks her tight grip on his soaked shirt and stands up, long legs unfurling from their bent position on the bike.

"Come on."

He walks away before she obeys his direct command, and that's when she realizes where "here" is, a brightly lit motel, fluorescent light blinding in the dark fog left by the rain. After a slight pause, she hops off the bike following him through the glass door into the motel, the heat surrounds her almost immediately, her soaked body shivering underneath his sweater- the knight's armor.

The motel clerk perks up at their entrance, pushing the magazine he'd been reading to the side before welcoming them, "Hello, how can I help you?" His voice is inviting, much like a vendor selling goods on the streets.

Gang-tae flounders at the innocuous question, as she rolls her eyes, he routinely claims she's impulsive and needs to take time to think things through, yet he is the one that sped out on a motorcycle during a storm and now brought them to a motel only to act like a deer in headlights when asked a simple question.

She doesn't save him, watching him raptly along with the motel clerk. Curious about what he'll say next. Seconds pass as they both watch him awaiting an answer before finally, he solemnly turns to her, "Get a room here and wait out the rain. I'll ride home."

His words cut her like the blade of a sharpened knife, his presence was merely temporary, he'd had no plans of remaining with her, she was simply something to save and capriciously toss away before forming any attachment, insignificant. Anger and shame simmer in the pit of her churning stomach.

Poison curls around each syllable in her words, "I didn't ask you to bring me here, I was fine walking in the rain!" She spins around, with the full intention of marching right back into the rain and walking until her body is numb, longing to feel nothing and become the empty can he believes her to be.

His hand on her wrist halts her motion, "Stop being stubborn! You can't go back out there, it's too dangerous! Are you that fearless to travel outside in this weather by yourself? What if something happened to you and I wasn't there to--"

Her eyes widen at his shouted concerns, his grip on her wrist is hard as steel as his eyes pierce into her soul. Who is he to look at her like that and say those words to her? As if he cares about her.

She explodes.

Snatching her wrist from his hand she bulldozes into his space, eyeing with satisfaction as he retreats as she looms closer, one step forward, one step back.

"Why do you care if I'm out in this rain? Who cares if I put on a strip show outside like a crazy woman?" His eyes minutely twitch at the suggestion, something almost possessive flashing for only a second.

She misses it as her rant continues, "Are you angry? Does it bother you? Do you like me? Do you think you can handle it!" She barks each question into his face, until they collide with the machine, lights blaring in their sight, the crash from her hand slamming on its surface deafening in the otherwise silent hall.

It is dead quiet, only the sound of their breaths filling the air.

"Well? Why aren't you answering? I want to know how you're feeling, I can't tell. Maybe it's because I'm a empty can." She states spitefully, watching regret swirl in the dark pools of his eyes, his wet rain curled fringe only distracting her for a split second.

She shows no mercy, mockingly pressing on, "Why are you being so quiet? Are you an empty can too?"

Despite the clear difference in their height, he shrinks under her wrath, cowering under the weight of the carefully placed venomous words.

"I...I..." He stutters out, incomplete sentences dangling in the air, she watches as his eye dart across her face before he looks over her shoulder and suddenly turns a fiery scarlet hue. His cheeks lighting up like a wildfire. He pushes past her arm cornering him in and she spins around to continue her tirade.

Before her eyes land on the motel clerk, shiny foiled contraception hanging from the tips of his fingers, mischievous smirk on his face.

"She'll take a room." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and slamming down an indiscernible amount of money on the table.

The clerk begins to rattle off information about the quality of his "steamy hot" rooms and all the features available, mirrored rooms, costumes, handcuffs, and even a hot tub. She hears almost none of it, still stuck on his statement, she'll take a room.

The motel clerk passes the room key, glimpsing at them both, eyes pointedly lingering on Gang-tae as if trying to converse with him with just the shifting of his pupils, before mouthing, stay with her.

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, reject her again, he has hurt her enough today to last a lifetime.

The rolling sound of the zipping descending is loud as she pulls it down the length of her body, tugging the jacket swiftly from her body, ignoring the immediate chill that stabs her skin, shivers rushing through her body. Vehemently she throws the sweater at him, watching as he jumps back from the soaked material before his eyes land on her throat. He gasps at the sight.

She knows what he's seeing, can feel her father's hands still curled around her throat bruising the tender skin and marking her a monster. Something to be passionately murdered, snuffed out of existence.

If that was his sole purpose for coming she didn't need his fucking pity.

Snatching the key she storms off, absently listening as the clerk directs her to the location of her room. She strides down the winding maze of the hall, following the signs as they guide her until she sees her room door, 1J. Finally, she approaches the door, key already in hand.

Only to be stilled by a hand on her shoulder, twisting around in shock she's rendered speechless by the face that greets her.

She's never seen this man in her life but his smarmy smile instantly puts her on edge. A gold tooth glints back at her when his mouth curls up in a salacious grin, "What's a pretty little thing like you doing here all on your lonesome? You look like you could use some company." He boldly moves into her space, openly perusing her like goods, her skin crawls under his appraisal, her black undergarments peeking through the soaked white of her dress.

The desire to cover herself is colossal.

"Don't touch me." She shoves him away, snarling at his audacity, homicidal thoughts surging in her mind as she contemplates removing her shoe and bludgeoning him until he's an unrecognizable pulp on the dingy carpeted floor. 

He chuckles at her refusal, "Don't be like that. You should know that girls that look like you only come here for one reason. Don't play hard to get. I have money." He proudly pulls a few crumpled bills from the dark crevice of his pants, his hands encroach closer, intending to slip the money into the top of her dress.

She recoils from his grubby hands, voice raising with indignation and horror, "You think I'm a whore?! And you think you can pay for me with this measly amount of money? Get away from me you loser, use your hand like you have been all your life!" Her voice echoes off the walls and she watches the smirk melt off his face, giving way to pure distinguishable rage.

"You bitch! I'll show you your place!" His hand draws back, open palm flying toward her face. She stands still expecting the fire that will ignite on her cheek.

Only it never comes.

Her eyes which screwed shut in anticipation of the impact, flutter open only to see his broad back covering her completely. His hands are wrapped tightly around the wrist of the man, twitching in his grip as the man sputters out, "Who are you? Let go of me! This is none of your busine--aahh!!" He screams dropping to his knees as the pressure on his wrist increases, pain etched in every wrinkle of his putrid face.

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry, please let go. You're breaking my wrist, please!" The man pleads on the floor, pulling at Gang-Tae's hold, unable to pry even a finger loose, she watches as he squeezes even tighter, his own white knuckles standing out starkly against the burnt red of the man's wrist.

Then finally he releases him. Tosses his hand away with a short cry, when he speaks his voice is crushed glass, "Get out of here." The man clutches his tender flesh to his chest before scrambling away, too terrified to even look back at them as he runs away.

He turns to her with a penetrating glare, "Why are you standing in the hallway looking like that? Come let's go inside." He motions at her body at his first inquiry, eyes struggling to avoid her tempting figure that can be seen through the almost transparent dress.

She remains still, baffled by his sudden appearance before turning to open the door and watching dazedly as he enters the room, dragging her alongside.

She'd unaware of the internal battle that had raged his brain after her departure, his eyes had followed her longingly as she moved further and further away before disappearing out of his sight. He couldn't deny the fear that raked through his bones, yearning to protect her, he'd tried to leave only to stomp back in to the annoyingly cheerful smile of the motel clerk. Defeated, he'd asked for a second key and followed her down the hallway, only to see red and then black. His reaction had been visceral, immediate and uncontrollable. He'd yearned to beat that bastard to a unrecognizable pulp for daring to touch her.

Thinking of what would have happened had he not been there makes his skin crawl. He can't leave her alone in a place like this with suspicious characters like that lurking around every corner.

Despite his best efforts he couldn't stop the pull that she had on him, his body dragged into her powerful orbit. He watches her beautiful face, expressionless as she gazes at him, none of that fire that's usually directed his way. His eyes soften at the red markings that decorate her otherwise blemish free silken skin. His anger flares again.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left." Never one to stray away from a confrontation, she immediately begins her interrogation. Eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, tracking his every movement for signs of deceit.

At a lost at how to answer, he simply stands there, their eyes locked in a battle that has been fought many times since they crashed into each other's lives.

"I don't need your pity." She bites out, snarling at him.

Her fury ignites his own, "Good. You won't get any from me. I brought you here so I should stay. That's all."

Her eyes scream liar, liar, liar as they pierce into him but she doesn't question him any further. Stomping off to the what must be the bathroom before slamming the door shut. He sighs a short breath of relief before collapsing into the bed.

Without her there to distract him he openly glances around the room, cheeks burning when he notices what exactly he has willingly walked into. The entire ceiling is smooth clear glass, streak free and crystalline shiny. His own embarrassed face stares back at him, his lips opened in a small oh.

Something fuzzy and pink catches his attention in the reflection at the head of the bed, he turns to see what it is before flinching away in surprise. He falls off the bed during his jolt, butt plummeting into the floor.

His brains tumbles before resettling.

Hand cuffs. A pair of hand cuffs are attached to the metal bar of the bed post, one half closed as the other lays open in a fluffy pillow. He's only asked for a basic room, nothing special, his exact words. Yet there is nothing ordinary about this room. He mentally curses the motel clerk, that presumptuous instigator, he'd give him a piece of his mind when they left.

All the blood rushing to his head distracts him from hearing Mun-yeong's return. Steam wafts from the bathroom, completing her dramatic entrance, his heart thumps into his chest violently as he watches her step through the steamy fog.

God damn it.

Her long raven hair spills over a naked shoulder, wavy and damp, clinging to her skin as she approaches the bed. The only thing protecting her dignity is a comically small towel, barely reaching the middle of her thigh, putting miles of bare skin on display, her legs smooth and long, skin gleaming in the dim light.

His tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth as he gapes at her.

He juts his head up at the ceiling only to groan in frustration when her equally enticing reflection greets him. Stammering out, "Yah! Put--put some clothes on. You can't.... can't just leave the bathroom with a towel on!"

She smirks, "Why are you getting so worked up? You saw my clothes they're soaking wet, I couldn't put that back on. This towel was my only option, unless you preferred I came out naked." Her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifts at the provocative suggestion, he adamantly tries to obliterate all images of that very vision that rush to his mind. Other regions of his body similarly taking an interest with this conversation.

He doesn't respond to her obvious teasing remark. Primarily because he is overwhelmed, not used to being this turned on. He can't even deny that reality, not as the heat between his legs begins to perk up in interest, ignored for far too long.

Terrified he glances back at her, finding her enraptured in the ceiling , winking and smiling at her reflection, oblivious to his plight. Gratitude and relief both dance in harmony across his skin, he uses the diversion to quietly scamper to the bathroom. The door closing signaling a much needed reprieve. He lets out a sigh as he presses his head to the door, the wood cool against his hot face. In and out, in and out. He centers himself, tugging the strings of control back into there rightful place. Feeling the desire that bloomed in his loins fissure away until only smoke remains in its destruction.

Seeing her undergarments carelessly strewn across the floor almost undoes all the carefully constructed walls he built but he closes his eyes and hops into the shower, willing himself to think of nothing.

He did the best he could to wring the excess water from his clothes before dejectedly dragging the wet cold material back onto his now shower warm skin.

It's not the best solution but it is unthinkable to exit the bathroom in only a towel, knowing that she would be donning as little as well. If they were both in towels, it would be bad. Catastrophic, even.

He gives himself a pep talk sitting on the towel, praying for control and Mun-yeong's deep slumber that will last the remainder of the night. 

His second wish is not granted as he opens the bathroom door, stopping in his tracks at the inexplicable scene.

Her lips are sealed around something plastic held between her fingers, she blows into the object and it expands in her hands, he notices the phallic shape before realizing that she's blowing the condoms like balloons.

Where did she get condoms?

Why does she have condoms?

Why was she blowing them up like erotic balloon animals??

He sputters out, flailing his arms, "Wha--What are you doing?"

With a final puff of moist air, she pulls her lips away from the condom, tying it off and looking at him nonchalantly, "You were gone for a long while, I got bored." She shrugs, "Plus we won't be needing any condoms tonight."

Disappointment drops like lead his his stomach at her statement, he should be happy, should nod in agreement and be thankful that they are on the same page, she will not be seducing him or tempting him to lose control.

Good.

Great.

Fantastic.

His heart shouts liar liar liar as he tries to convince himself.

"I'm on birth control so we don't need these getting in the way. I want to feel every inch of you, I don't want anything in between us." She calmly detonates a bomb on him, all while undressing him with her eyes and leaving every little to his imagination in her attire. Tossing the condom to the side to land with all the others she has blown up. 

"I told you to stop. Stop saying things like that to me."

"Hypocrite. You're the one who brought me to a motel, you're the one that got jealous in the hallway, you're the one who came out in a storm to rescue me. Your actions scream as loud as my words. You want this too. You want me. Just admit it."'

Admit it.

His head is spinning from her accusation, his behavior has been nothing but confusing to him as well since the moment he raced out on the motorcycle, but hearing her lament everything so concisely forces him to face the truth. He had been the one to seek her out. Impetuously, searching for her as soon as he heard what happened, unable to stop himself from reacting. Why did she have this affect on him? What was it about her that called out to him so strongly? Why couldn't he control himself when she was involved?

All questions he wasn't ready to hear the answers to.

She wasn't wrong, he was a coward.

Wordlessly he sways to the bed, needing something solid to keep him afloat in the ocean of his thoughts.

The red circling her neck grabs his attention again and he whispers, "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Different emotions swirl in the haunting eyes and he fears she'll lash out at his question, coldly banishing it as the pity she shouted she didn't want from him.

She never does what he expects.

A humorless grin spreads across her face, "I'm alive. I'm fine. This wasn't the first time and it probably won't be the last. That man hates me and the feeling is mutual. You know what's funny, you're the first person to ask me if I'm okay. All of your little nurse friends just watched as he tried to kill me. Isn't that funny?"

It isn't funny. His hands clench in ire thinking about her gasping for life on the ground as no one came to her aide. Unable to fathom how her own father could be so cruel.

"That shouldn't have happened to you."

She looks at him dispassionately, fight leaving her eyes and her shoulders sagging.

"All monsters must die. Didn't you say that people like me should be avoided? Don't you think he was trying to do the world a favor by killi--"

"Shut up." He slams his hand over her mouth, rolling cross the expanse of the bed until they are a mere inches apart.

"You said you didn't want pity. So stop pitying yourself. What happened was wrong and you didn't deserve that."

Her eyes desperately search his face again, as she looks up at him, finding what they're looking for before he sees the sadness bleed from her eyes leaving room for something better, brighter.

It's only when her eyes shift to his lips that he realized how close they are.

Too close.

Moving his hand off her lips, he starts to lean back, scurrying back to safety. But she moves with him, towel shifting down with her upward movement, precariously close to falling and his eyes grow larger in fear.

Suddenly their positions are swapped and he's gazing up at her hovering over him, dark curtain of her hair tumbling over her shoulder and cocooning him. He aches to run his fingers through the locks.

"I don't want pity. But I do want your desire. You're looking at me like you want to eat me alive. Do it. Give me that."

His body constricts at the demanding request, shaking his head in arbitrary refusal, disregarding the heat and want that swells like a wave at her words.

"No. No... We shouldn't. I can't. Just go to sleep."

She brushes a hand through the wet fringe that frames his forehead, sliding through the wet locks, "You look delectable with your hair like this. I have to admit though, seeing you racing to come save me. I was quite smitten."

Pride unfurls in his chest.

Then she steals his breath.

The kiss isn't sudden or spontaneous, she smiles at him, a gorgeous smile that transforms her face from pretty to breathtaking, before she becomes to lean down, her eyes locked on his lips leaving no need for speculation. Her intentions couldn’t be clearer. 

He has ample time to move, reject her once again and only allow himself to have her in small manageable doses. Being around her is far more addicting than any drug.

He is too weak to follow through. 

The kiss is soft, softer than he expected from someone as unrestrained as her. Her hands are gentle on his face, caressing his cheeks as she presses her insistent lips into his. The kiss is nothing like he expected and thus it is perfect.

Just a kiss. He'll allow only one kiss. That should be enough to sate his hunger for her.

She starts to deepen the kiss, tongue poking at the tight seal of his mouth impatiently, then her fingers trail under his now slightly damp shirt, nails raking at the muscle that lays hidden, his mouth falls open at the new sensation. Wasting no time she licks into his mouth, moaning when she finally gets a taste of him. He suppresses an answering groan, light-headed as she overwhelms his sense, her scent and her taste coiling around him in an impenetrable wall.

He losses himself in the kiss, riding the high of finally tasting that mouth that has tormented him for too long. Letting her tongue swirl in his mouth, sinuously dancing with his own, until his lungs are burning .

When she begins to push his shirt further up his torso, baring his stomach, he jumps away from her touch and ultimately breaking their wet connection. Grabbing her wrists in his own shaking hands, he halts her movement, taking a deep measured breath.

"That's enough. I.... can't."

His control shudders at the sight of her above him, her eyes begin to slide open slowly as she falls back to earth, the passion that pours out from those eyes is enough to knock him off his high horse, her lips are kiss swollen and rosy wet, teasing him, tempting him. Her face is flushed as she pants, minty breath landing on his face with every exhale.

"Aren't you tired?" The tone of her voice is exasperated, at his bewildered expression she continues, "Of lying to yourself? Doesn't it get tiring never getting what you want?"

You're just a kid who wants to be loved.

I know you want to have fun.

She's the only one able to see right through him, reading him like he's an open book with pictures and startling him with her apt analysis, another reason he knows he should stay away from her, she will be his undoing, untimely demise.

"You want this. Tell me otherwise." She demands.

He wills his mouth to open and do what she says, deny his desires and sever this moment, the glint in her eyes informs him that this will be her final request, answer wisely.

He lays frozen, words lost in the jumble of his mind. Moving too fast for him to pluck them out and form a coherent sentence. Then she begins to move away, taking her delicious heat with her and his hand flies out instinctively, grabbing her towel covered waist his brain screaming no.

She stills, narrowed slits glaring down at him. Reading him again. Searching his face before she nods, "Okay. I'll take that control."

Slithering up his body, she catches his lips in another toe curling kiss, harder than before, all tongue and teeth, biting at his lip and demanding entry, he rushes to give it to her, weak at her passionate onslaught. This time he kisses back, wraps his tongue around hers and sucks, drunk on her flavor and ignoring the voice in his head that demands that he stop.

He feels her hands traveling up his chest, brushing on his nipples, before running up his arm and settling on his wrists, she lowers all her weight on him, knocking a shuddering breath from his overexerted lungs. The soft press of clothed breasts on his chest throwing his thoughts off kilter. In a flurry of movement, he feels her tug his wrist with both of her hands, something fuzzy curls around immobilizing him as his eyes snap open.

He pulls and meets resistance.

She draws away from him to watch his reaction, both of their eyes fixated on his wrist. He peers into the ceiling unable to look fully above his head and his pupils dilate as he sees what he already knew, felt on his skin.

Handcuffed.

Just as she promised she'd taken away his control.

A moan escapes his lips. She squirms in response to the sultry sound.

"I found something else when you were gone." She leans to the side of the bed, bending at the waist to retrieve something, rocking into his erection with the motion and he bites his tongue to contain his moan.

With an all knowing grin, she sits up grinding down into his hard length, throwing her head back, long hair whipping over her shoulder, wild and free.

He almost spills from that image, alone.

"Look." She offers what resembles a tiny remote with a cord connected to the bed, light vibrations start to buzz through the surface of the bed as she twists the dial.

The bed trembles and shakes beneath them rocking them along with the waves of vibrations.

"What are you going to do to me?" He whispers, fear and anticipation fighting for domination.

With a shark like grin she replies, "Take you apart and put you back together."

Immediately she sets off on her mission, openly appreciating his body, tongue dragging across her lips as she takes in the alluring vision of him at her mercy. He watches utterly captivated as she runs her hands up her own body, briefly pausing to mold her hands around her breasts, squeezing them and moaning deeply.

His mouth is arid dry, tongue turning to sandpaper at the seductive picture.

Then she tugs at the seal of the towel, loosening its hold, one strong pull is all that is necessary to have it tumbling off her body and cascading to the bed, baring every inch of her body to his ravenous eyes that dart from the soft swell of breasts down to the smooth mound of her naked sex.

Again, she takes herself in hand, pinching at her dark pebbled nipples, groaning at the pain before comforting herself with a gentle swipe of her thumb. His free hand cries out to join her in this endeavor.

"Touch me." Before the words have even settled in the air, she's capturing his free hand and bringing it to her chest, soft, hot, fuck, the only words left in his vocabulary as his hand becomes full of her. After a moment's hesitation, he squeezes the soft flesh in his hands, eyes locked on the tight furl of her nipple. His touch his soft, revered.

In absolute disbelief at the precious gift is he being given.

"Harder." His hand responds to her cry, tightening his hold and viciously tweaking her peak, eyes darkening at the way she rolls along his body, smearing her wetness across the plane of his stomach. He can feel her heady warmth sizzling on his skin, fingers longing to run through the drenched folds and tease her hidden jewel.

"Watch me." He falters at her words, grabbing her waist when she starts to slide off his body, wordlessly begging her to stay. She pushes his hand away smiling at his worry and dismay, laying flat on her back next to him, "Look at me." When he twists his head, wincing at the twinge from the pull of the hard metal on his wrist, he finds her eyes averted to the ceiling, he meets her eyes there.

Entranced as she slowly brings a finger to her mouth, lips wrapping around the digit, she opens her mouth showing him the way her tongue laps and soaks it, before pulling it out with a filthy wet pop. The finger trails down her body, pinching her nipples but their journey continues until they reach her center. He watches her reflection dazed as she uses two fingers to spread her lips open, bringing her feet flat on the bed to give him an optimal view. His heart beat skyrockets pounding in his chest as all the blood rushes to his cock.

With a deep seated moan, she takes two fingers and plunges into her wet center, her puffy lips giving away to the press, widening at the invasion. She shoves in until her fingers disappear into the depth, before dragging them out and fucking back deeply, her voice slices through the white noise sloshing in his brain.

"Gang-tae, I need you."

She fingers herself, in, out, in, out, eyes screwed shut from her pleasure.

He smacks her hand out of the way, control all but decimated, mashed to smithereens,before rubbing across her wet folds her moan setting him on fire before he mimics her movement, showing two fingers into the tight grip of her pussy. His rigid erection jumps at the thought of taking its place, her wet heat wrapping around him.

The vibration of the bed bounces her on his fingers, knocking her back on to his digits every time he withdraws. She bodily rides his hand, "More, more, more." He presses a third finger in, forcing her walls open sighing as the flesh gives under the pressure.

Ramming into her he watches her face twists in pleasure in the mirror, his own lust blown eyes greeting him as he watches her. She grabs her breasts, squeezing them as his fingers plunge into her steadily and powerfully.

Grabbing the reins of his desire he presses a fourth finger into her, his thumb accidentally rubbing across her clit and the most beautiful sight plays out in the mirror. Mun-yeong twists violently on the bed, bucking away from his fingers but he chases her, shoving the fingers back in and purposely massaging at her observing as she falls over the edge, orgasmic screams drawn from her mouth.

Her juices drown his fingers as she quakes apart on the bed, his eyes drink in the sensual sight of her fluttering lips around his soaked fingers.

He slowly drills into her lax hole, lost in her heat before she grabs his wrist. She takes three deep breaths, naked chest rising and laying before she turns towards him, eyes dancing.

"You're a fast learner." He reddens under her open praise. "Your turn."

His turn? She answers his wordless question by crawling into his space, and he's momentarily blinded by her beauty. Her face and body a work of art, all clean lines and soft curves, petite and tight. Her hand tugging at his pants drag him away from his musings.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhhh no more talking unless you're saying my name, asking for more or moaning. I already told you what I'm doing tonight."

Taking you apart and putting you back together.

He shudders at her words and then at her daring fingers, tugging his now unbuttoned and unzipped pants off his hip. The cold air slams into his overheated erection, doing nothing to change its stiffness or ardor.

"Beautiful." Dismissing his blush, she grabs him through the soft stretch of his boxers, stroking teasingly from root to tip. Watching a dark stain form at the tip as she massages the head.

She strokes him through the cloth a few more times, avidly tracking his face, "So handsome." She whispers it under her breath, clearly not intended for his ears and he heats up at the open awe in her voice.

Nothing could prepare him for the pleasure that overwhelms him when she extracts his length from its clothed prison. It stands at attention, thick and veiny in her hand, clear fluid pooling at the red tip and spilling down the sides.

The beds vibrations pushes his erection into her grip and he groans twisting his hips up, desperate for her touch. "I got you." The promise laced in her words cause his eyes to water, he's usually the protector no one has ever supported him, he rapidly blinks the tears away shame faced. 

She misses his emotional riposte, her eyes locked on his erection jutting out and almost too thick for her hand to circumvent fully.

Using both hands she strokes him, using the leaking fluid from gathering on his cock to ease her journey, he pants in response, "Please." His pleads fall from his lips, desperation annihilating any reservations that lingered, he's completely on board now watching her burst apart from his fingers ripping the last tendrils of control from his grasp.

She doesn't leave him wanting, eagerly bending her head to pop the tip of his erection into her mouth, lips curling around the tip and swallowing the liquid pooled there.

His toes curl as she hums at the first taste of him on her tongue, vibrations hitting him from both ends now, the bed and her mouth. His head spins from the new sensations, he has never felt anything like this, scarcely even finding comfort in his own hands. Hard to find moments alone while sharing a space with his brother.

She sucks him in ever deeper, his hand slams on the bed, handcuff forcing his body to pull taut as he tries to prevent himself from thrusting into her mouth. It's a fruitless battle, she slurps and bobs on his cock, dismantling him down to a molecular level. Every atom of his body is screaming her name, he doesn't notice when it falls from his tongue, "Ughhh Mun-yeong!"

His cries emboldens her, she loosens her mouth sinking the rest of the length down his erection until her lips are flush against the root. His eyes slam shut, spots bursting behind his closed eyelids, he thrusts up powerfully his cock slipping down her throat and euphoria batters at his brain.

He's powerless as he bursts apart, release shooting into her waiting mouth, expecting her to pull off he's further deconstructed as she happily hums, swallowing each drop as it explodes in her mouth.

The tight suction of her mouth is too much following his release and he weakly tries to pull free, his cock slides out of her mouth, with a final suck of his tip she lets him fall from her mouth.

"Delicious."

Her voice is raspy and rough, the tone causes his dick to twitch feebly.

He feels fatigue begin to form after his earth shaking orgasm, his first with someone else. His eyes drift close as he falls into a deep slumber. He's vaguely cognizant of a wet material wiping across his skin and a blanket being tugged over his now chilled body.

"Rest for now."

He obeys, sleeping finding him easily.

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

She watches him sleep, peaceful for once, all the worries missing from his handsome face. Her body tingles in memory of what they've done. His fingers in her most intimate places, his cum thick and hot on her tongue, his salty flavor still lingering on her tongue. His orgasm had surprised her but it was a pleasant surprise, she had greedily taken everything he had to offer, hungry for more. 

His flaccid cock lays innocently on his thigh now, taunting her, it had been anything but innocent plundering her mouth earlier. She's been watching him sleep for a few minutes, a boom of thunder waking her from her slumber and she'd been unable to fall back into the sandman's clutches.

Instead she watched him sleep, taking in every delicious inch of his body, that gorgeous face with a chiseled jaw and wide inviting lips, his hair curled beautifully from the rain, the wide berth of his shoulders and the solid stretch of his chest which tampers into his narrow waist that is all set atop long thick thighs and legs.

His dick twitches and she glances up to see if he's awake, his eyes are moving rapidly beneath his closed lids, in the throes of a dream it appears.

"Must be a good dream." She ponders as his erection swells under her watchful gaze.

He thrusts up, handcuffs clanging at his sudden movement, as he starts to pump into the air. His lips falling open as he moans incoherently before she hears something that causes her to moisten, "Mun-yeong..."

He's dreaming of her. From the movement of his hips, it's apparent what fantasy he is living out, she shifts next to him, prepared to make it a reality.

Glancing up at the mirror, she ponders her next move before looking at him fucking the air and reaching a decision. She crawls over him, legs straddling his thighs her back to his front, her breasts jiggling in her reflection.

She grinds down onto his upward thrust, his tip catching on her moist folds, hands on his chest she presses back harder, letting his cock run through her wetness, moaning as the head rubs against her hidden bead.

She hears the moment he snaps back into reality, his hand immediately grabbing at her waist, she looks up into the mirror smiling at his glossy eyes that burn a hole in her face.

Before he can ask her asinine questions as he's wont to do, she reaches behind herself, firmly gripping his cock and leans her back onto his shoulder, he watches the stretch of her body as she puts herself on display for his pleasure.

With steady hands, she guides him to her opening, he can see everything in the reflection, her folds glistening as she presses the head in, his eyes slam shut at the feeling.

"Open your eyes. I want you to watch."

Her voice leaves no room for argument. He has no desire to.

He watches as his cock slowly disappears into her wet hole inch by inch, all of the air in his body suspended, she widens her stance as the fattest part of his length pulls at her walls before he feels her loosen and sink onto him, fully. He is drowning in the vision of his cock spearing into her tight heat, he might never breathe again.

The tightest vice around his length, borderline painful.

The continuous vibrations from the bed mildly rocks him into her, but after a pause she draws off, only the tip remaining before slamming back down onto him, the dual sensation of simultaneously watching her sink onto him and feeling her overloads his sense.

She rides him languidly, hips gyrating in dizzying circles as she undulates on his length, his arm shoots out to wrap across her flat stomach, pressing her incredibly closer to him, his abs rubbing against her back. Her back curves into his hold as she plants her feet harder into the bed, her hole spread wide as he pistons into her. Vivid obscene images reflected by the mirror, he can't look away.

He blindly finds her breasts, squeezing and groping at them in turns, pulling and pinching at the taut nipples.

"Gang-tae, harder, deeper." She demands, he rams up into her, length drilling into her spread hole, sinking deeper and deeper, slamming into her so hard that the echoes of his hips meeting her ass cheeks bounce off the walls.

"I'm too close.." He warns her, visages of his dream still plaguing his thoughts, he'd been lost in a fantasy, one of many wet dreams featuring the temptress wild in his arms. They'd been brutally fucking in the rain, cold raindrops sizzling off their skin as he pushed her over the handle of the bike and slammed into her over and over again. Her cries lost under the booming thunder that roared in the skies.

Pleasure beyond his knowledge had dragged him from that scintillating dream, only to be met by an equally enticing reality.

He woke up already on the edge, unprepared for her attack.

She begins to grind faster, reaching one hand down into the hidden depths of her center, rubbing at her clit in perfect synchronization with the motion of their fucking.

Grabbing her impossibly tighter he shoves up, pushing his cock as deep as it can go, her cries music to his ears, as he slams in out in out in out. Her walls clench around him, her fingers a flurry of rapid movement on her bead, he never slows down, driving deeper and faster, until wetness gushes out of her and coats him, her body bows tight into his hold. 

For the second time tonight, his brain oozes out of his dick. Hot load exploding into her depth as his eyes finally leave the mirror and screw close as he rides the wave of his second orgasm. Unable to fight it with her walls squeezing him and demanding that he fill them, fill her up with his cum. 

She collapses onto his body, milking the last drops of his release.

With a deep shuddering breath, she pulls off his softening length, rolling to her side of the bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, resembling a siren luring men to their doom.

"Wow."

He agrees, holy fuck wow.

Their eyes meet again in the mirror.

"You like watching." It's not a question so he doesn't deign it with a reply. They'd both seen first hand just how much he enjoyed watching.

"Aren't you full of surprises." She preens, slipping from the bed, comfortable in her nudity. His eyes follow her every movement, he could look at her forever.

She disappears for a moment after the flush of a toilet, reappearing with another wet towel, carefully cleaning him once more. It feels oddly intimate despite all they've done tonight, the lines between lust and affection blurring.

He attempts to turn onto his side before remembering the constraint on his wrist, he pulls at it before glancing at her.

"Take these off."

She blinks at him, "Oh. I didn't see a key."

He blinks owlishly in return, "What? You put this on before finding a key!" Voice raising an octave at the tail end of his question, disbelief furrowing his brows and dragging his lips into a hard line.

"I had to. You wouldn't have given in otherwise. It's your fault, you're too stubborn." She scoffs folding her arms defiantly, he tries his damnest not to ogle her naked breasts that are pushed up with the motion.

He fails spectacularly.

"I guess I could go to the front desk and ask for a spare key."

He thinks of her white dress, now transparent from the rain and then her standing in that little towel. Those are the only things she could wear to the front desk and the thought of her walking around in either of those options makes his blood boil. Especially remembering that piece of scum who had tried to assault her.

"No."

"Why not?" She stares at him in confusion.

"I said no." He doesn't elaborate, avoiding eye contact.

With a shrug she cuddles into his side, naked body warm against him.

"Okay I'll keep you locked up like my love slave. " He tries to glare at her but he can't muster up the energy, exhausted, shuffling until he finds a comfortable position with his arm locked over his head, it's not an easy feat but eventually he finds a spot.

Their eyes drift close, exertion catching up with them.

Rain pattering away on the window, thunder rumbling in the distance.

He feels movement next to his head and then a soft press against his lip, fleeting and gone as quickly as it came.

His heart stutters at the implications. He tries not to think, fearing the storm that is brewing between them.

Sleeps finds him unarmed, taking him to a land where they can be together. He dreads the morning knowing he'll have to push her away, erect the fortress that surrounds his heart once more.

He doesn't have the time or luxury to have what he wants.

Moonlight streams in through the window, illuminating the key that lies innocuously on the floor, hidden under their discarded clothes. 

#its okay to not be okay #its okay to not be okay fic #psycho but it's okay #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #motel smut #mirror sex #handcuffs #a dash of feelings too #hopefully it was worth the wait

[off-in-the-moors]

Joseph Kavinsky analysis, part 1

aka how did I get here and why is he the reason

Warnings: spoilers for the whole Raven Cycle, mentions of: drug-use, abuse, death, murder, homophobic slurs, xenophobia

Part 1 // Part 2

After finishing The Raven Cycle and analyzing every chapter, character and the overarching plot with my friend, we were left feeling empty. It's been few months, I kept looking-up more TRC related things, other people's opinions, look through fandom content and even read some post from the author's, now deleted, tumblr account, trying to find answers to why I'm feeling like this. Why the books seem to decline for me in quality as I kept reading? Why I can't see Ronan in the same light as the rest of the fandom? Why I couldn't like the author? And the answer was looking me in the eyes the whole time.

"Depending on where you began the story, it was about Joseph Kavinsky."

I loved his character from the moment we met him in The Dream Thieves and still think about him to this day. But why? In a way, Kavinsky is too familiar to me, from his attitude, through appearance to his voice. It’s like I knew him, and this isn’t surprising. I met/saw Kavinskys on the streets, I know Kavinskys, and I was a Kavinsky once in my life. Although I'm the opposed to him, I still sympathies with him and understand how it feels to be in dark places in your life. And I'm not the only one, many people adore him and don't deny his actions to be terrible. But on the other side, the majority of fans hates him and titles him "the worst/most evil antagonist of the series". But why? What about K makes him so polarizing? The simple answer is: the way he was presented and the function he played in the plot. Even then, K's whole arc in TDT was handled horribly and damaged the way readers will view, not only people like K but also themselves. This and also future posts, I’ll be analyzing everything relied to K, including his treatment after book's release by the author and what some deleted scenes and unused ending can shine on.

This is part 1 of a series of posts to come.

This part is about the narrative and characters views of Kavinsky.

Narrative and characters

Narrative is a powerful tool of telling a story, well crafted and coupled with character's internal-voice makes the reader view the story under different light. In a PoV of one character, one thing might bring-up different emotions and ideas, than the others. Exploring relationships and events differ, because everybody experience it differently. But problem begins when the narrative forces a reader to a opinion, without backing it up with reasons or giving a opposing one. In case of Joseph Kavinsky, before we properly meet him, we are told by the characters to hate him and the narrative backs them up in reasons to hate him. All the reasons given to us at that time, boil down to "I heard a rumor."

Gansey hates him, because "There was nothing about Kavinsky that wasn’t despicable" and "he thinks life is a music video". He doesn't want Ronan to associated with him, which is connected with him covering and getting Ronan's ass for the mess he made, having him project his anger and frustration he has with Ronan on to K, who part-takes in the same activities and probably with Ronan, is understandable. But I didn't expect much from a guy who: payed the school officials so they won't kick Ronan out; insulted Adam and throw Adam’s abuse at his face, just to instant of apologizing to him, make a pity party for himself (also having Adam apologies to Gansey for his rightful outburst isn't okay), is fine with having a romantic relationship with Blue while she's still with Adam, hurting him even further but makes it all about himself, etc. Him hating K, just because of his lifestyle, made sense. But were the line was crossed, was when he started to decide on other people's worth. Lines like "we matter" (on which I'll extend later in the post) or "Ronan is fixable and has a soul [Kavinsky doesn't]", were used not only to show what Gansey himself thinks of K (he isn't a human being to him), but also demonize K and make the reader not consider him an equal to the Gangsey (a teenage).

Blue hates him, because he's yet another Raven Boy. Her hatred comes mostly from her distance for them, rich boys with privilege to which Gansey gang is an exception (although two out of four are exactly the kind she hates, and she told Noah directly she wouldn't be friends with him if he was alive) (There can be made a whole post about Blue's hypocrites regarding Raven Boys, but this isn't it). She also talks about how she doesn't feel comfortable around K and "if she couldn’t forgive Kavinsky for always managing to make her feel so insignificant", which makes sense. But while describing him, she calls him "a import from somewhere else", not only lessening him as a person but also making a xenophobic comment, noting his long nose as one of the factors (you could say, she meant him being from New Jersey, but you don't "import" stuff from inside a country, you only "import" from abroad and K is Bulgarian, doesn't matter if he's an immigrant or just has Bulgarian roots). Later, while discussing what to do with K draining the ley lines, Greyman offers to talk to him, to which Blue asks him "can you make him feel worthless while you do?”. Yes, she asked a hit-man, who killed not only Niall Lynch but also multiple people (including three on pages, which was described in the case of the ones breaking into Montmouth) for money. (Yes, fans say it's fine he murdered Niall, because he was a dick and horrible father, but what we forget is that it wasn't a fast death. It was slow and brutal, having him bludgeoned to send a message to Declan. No "he was a weapon in Greenmatle's hand" can excuse it.). Plus, he beat-up and threatened Declan with a gun if he doesn't give him the Greywaren. "Making him feel worthless" can only mean the worst. Kavinsky was a asshole, but he didn't deserved that. Also Blue gives the idea to give Kavisnky to the Greyman instant of Ronan, which was shot down, but not because it's horrible, inhuman and they can't decide on someone else's life, but because they think Greenmantle's people will come back also for Ronan. They were ok, with K being basically a scapegoat so Ronan will live.

Adam just "hates that prick" and "looked at the table with a studied disinterest" when K approached their table at Nino's, those are his only interaction in anything Kavinsky related (In a part regarding the "original" ending, we'll see it wasn't always the case.).

Noah barely exists in the series after The Raven Boys and never comes in contact with K or gives any opinion on him, outside of "ducked his head down into his shoulders, but couldn't take his eyes off the newcomer".

Ronan's relation with K could be its own post all together and there already are some good post about it, but for this one, I'll only mention few things. He gives us a very "I hate him but I'm into this lifestyle" attitude. He races against K but doesn't want to have anything to do with him or he's "dogs". (Yes, Dream Packs canon name is "Kavinsky's pack of dogs" as Ronan calls them. Ironically, Ronan gets angry then Declan and K called him "Gansey's dog" but is fine when Gansey calls him "his dog".) He never thanked or acknowledged K saved his life from the Night Horror. He accepted K's help in dreaming-up the new Pig but afterwords ditches him without even a slit gratefulness (his motivation being remembering Gansey's words), and mocks that K thought there could be anything between them (friendship or relationship, it dependents how you interpret it), turning this into just using K to get what he wanted. And yes, what K did while Ronan slept (tracing Ronan's back tattoo with his finger) was unacceptable, if it really happened and wasn't just phantom-touch while falling asleep (if it was real, it can be interpreted as K acting out of his internalized homophobia, letting himself a moment of “curiosity”, but it still wouldn't make it fine).

Ronan and K insult one-another multiple times through-out the story but the difference is quite showing. K's insults are mostly homophobic, calling Ronan a "fag" or implying Ronan and Gansey are together. This is a typical teenage insults, but are also showing of K's internalized homophobia if viewed through "Don’t say Dick Gansey, man. Do not say it. He is never going to be with you. And don’t me tell you don’t swing that way, man. I’m in your head." and "It's a bomb. Just like you." scenes.

But Ronan, excepting the typical insults like "ball-sack", goes after who K is. "Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit" or "Russian" (to the latter, K responded "Hey now, let's not make this ugly") are personal, referring not only to from where K's from, implying he's a mobster like his father and just calling him "a waste". Unfortunately, K's whole character is already one big stereotype of Slavs as viewed not only by Americans. But insulting someone for being "Bulgarian", something they had no control over, is xenophobic. (And for "Russian", as a Slav myself, let me tell you. Calling a non-Russian Slav "Russian" is a quick way to get on their bad side.) And if you're like "Ronan isn't xenophobic, because he's Irish" or "Maggie isn't xenophobic, because Ronan...", you have no idea how things work in Europe. This is the same argument as "He can't be racist, because he's black". TRC fandom is always ready to bring-up all K's sins and even enlarge them, but when in comes to Ronan, all his sins are either forgotten or excused.

One more thing I want to touch on is one of K's parties. After Monmouth got broken into by people looking for Greywaren (which Greyman broke into first), Gansey thinks it must be Kavinsky's doing, because of the fake ID left in front of the door. Him and Ronan go to K's party, he tells them, it's a substance party and asks where are theirs. As an answer, Ronan hits him in the face and throws through a car, just to show him his blooded knuckles with "This is your substance.". The rest is Gansey and Ronan not believing K, that he didn't trash their place, and a "different Gansey" throwing a Molotov cocktail at K's car. After that, they leave. But one thing isn't sitting right with me. The "This is your substance" is a beloved, may I say iconic, scene that is glorified by fans and cited as this "Ronan is so cool and K soo deserved it" thing.

Here's the thing. K is in full right. It's his party, on his rules. Gansey and Ronan just came from nowhere, probably for the first time, so the rule is stated for them. And Ronan's response? Physically assault K. Even if he's angry about the apartment, still he shouldn't just assault him. And Gansey does nothing. And one more thing: K never hits Ronan back. Not in next chapters, not at the end. Never.

Before the chapter ends, we get probably my most hated line from this book:

"Closing his eyes, Gansey leaned his head back on his seat, chin tilted up, throat green in the dash lights. There was still an unsafe sort of smile about his mouth — what a torment the possibility in that smile was — and he said, “There was never a time when that could’ve been you and me. You know the difference between us and Kavinsky? We matter."

We matter. And he doesn't. I could talk about this line and how damaging it is to people who see themselves in Kavinsky, but instant I'll say, why I hate it.

I have anxiety mixed with being introverted and back-in-the-day I felt isolated from my classmates, desperate for friends but only had toxic ones who dropped me so the popular girls would talk with them, just to be friends with me again after some time, bullied to the point of breaking multiple times, and hating myself for not fitting in, unable to connected with my peers in anyway. The line "we matter" echos my worst fear and thoughts from that time. "Everyone matter, you don't". I was too young to even have those thoughts, but they were always there. In the back of my head, like a recurring nightmare.

Just the idea, someone can say with confidence that someone, anyone, doesn't matter, makes me sick. No one has the inside to what's going on in someones life, to what thought are plaguing their head. Everyone's life matter and to say something like this in a book targeted to 12-18 year olds, who are at there most vulnerable stage, is not only irresponsible but enraging. Gansey is saying this about a guy his age, who is drug-addicted and self-destructive, because he doesn't like him and wants Ronan to stay away from. No one calls him out on it. Not Ronan, not the narrative. Nothing.

Until the kidnapping of Matthew and the paradox/question "did the tattoo tracing scene happened?", Kavinsky did nothing to earn hatred from the reader. He was living his life, being a stupid, reckless teenage boy with a power to get everything he wanted. Ask yourself a question: "If you had the power to pulled anything* from your dreams, wouldn't you go crazy with it? Maybe in a very selfish way?"

*  Throughout TRC and CDtH, we see no limit to what a dreamer can pull-out. From a pen or working car, living creatures (animals, copies of real people or purely made-up) to abstract things, like a word with power to animate the dead or an apocalypses.

Yes, K's dreaming drained the ley lines, causing Cabeswater to disappear. But did K knew about it? He knew that he needed to wait for it to recharge before dreaming more things and he did just that. The over-draining was cause by preparations for this Fourth of July party (dreaming many copies of his Mitsubishi) but same did Ronan’s dreaming (but Cabeswater acts as weird gatekeeper, so Ronan seems to be forgiven). But did he knew about Cabeswater? Or furthermore, Glendower? We can't confirm or deny it, but considering K isn't from Henrietta and probably is there only for school, he's there for about 2 years. Would he be interested in some random forest or some Welsh King, which just idea of him being in America is so far fetched to believe in?

No. All he was interested it, was parting and wasting himself away.

We don't get any other or opposing opinions on Kavinsky, only the ones given by Gangsey. They are the outsiders looking in, not having any inside, just rumors and their shallow observations/interactions. But we don't even get any "inside", not from other Raven Boys or even the Dream Pack (who are barely characters). After K's death, the only thing we get is Gangsey's not caring or being glad K's gone. Aglionby is silent and Henrietta, doesn't even acknowledge Fourth of July's Party even happened (but to be honest, the town feels like a theater stage than a living place). The only mentions about K that gives some idea someone noticed anything, was his name alongside Whelk’s and Dittley's in the newspaper at the end of BLLB (but this plot point is never mentioned again).

#joseph kavinsky #anti maggie stiefvater #anti raven cycle #anti trc

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 5: “Take Me Instead”

Cömmenté? Validátion? Please?

Summary: The triplets get kidnapped by evil scientists. It’s about as bad as it sounds.

Trigger Warnings: broken bones, torture, kidnapping, human experimentation  

1560 words

There were three cells.

Three glass cages, all spaced out evenly. But only one was in use. The triplets had been shoved in there by some faceless people in lab coats hours ago.

For a long time, nothing happened. The triplets were left alone, and while that should have been a comfort, it only served to put them on edge. They had no idea what these people wanted with them.

They didn’t like the look of the lab coats.

A door opened, and a few of the people filed in, their focus primarily on clipboards and tablets that they were holding.

As they approached their cage, Huey put himself in front of his brothers definitively. If they wanted to get to them, they’d have to go through him first. And he would not let them get to Dewey or Louie.

But they didn’t actually do anything. They stood at various points, all a few feet from the cage, just looking at them. Looking at them and writing things on their tablets and clipboards. They weren’t even trying to get closer.

Huey clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get rid of the gross sensation of vulnerability that was quickly descending upon him. They were so exposed like this. It was creepy.

Occasionally the people would change position slightly, moving around the cage and observing the boys all the while. What were they doing? 

It dragged on for a while. The room wasn’t silent, per se, but the lack of noise was still driving him mad. On occasion, the people would talk to each other, but it was always so quiet that they couldn’t hear them through the glass.

They were being observed like a 4th grade science project, and Huey didn’t like it.

Just as these thoughts surfaced, something finally changed.

A few of the people set aside their things, and then, with the press of a few buttons, the door to their cell opened.

Dewey took a tiny step forward, but Huey put his arm in front of him, effectively stopping him from continuing.

Dewey didn’t argue.

The three of them watched warily as the people approached the cage swiftly.

The thing was big enough that these obviously-adults could step in no problem, even if it was a little cramped. But they didn’t stay for long. 

They grabbed Louie, ignoring his startled yelp, and began to drag him out.

“Wait, stop!” Huey demanded, trying to free his brother from the people’s grip. “Where are you taking him?”

They just bat him away like he was an insignificant fly. Huey was right back at Louie’s side in an instant, clawing at them. Dewey was on the other side of Louie, throwing hits and doing his best to help.

But these people were so much bigger than them, and they were outnumbered, too. Huey and Dewey were nothing but a minor inconvenience to them, and before long, they’d successfully dragged Louie from the cage, the other two still locked inside.

“What are you doing?” Huey asked, growing desperate. 

“Hey, we can talk this out, can’t we?” Louie attempted, grunting as he was practically manhandled. “Stop dragging me!”

His struggling hardly deterred them, and he was forced over to an area of the room filled with weird machinery. There were computers, what looked like a hospital bed, and, most notably, this giant machine that had two very thick metal plates, sitting vertically from each other.

It took two of the people to hold Louie down once they’d all but thrown him on the gurney-type-thing. 

“Come on, I’m sure you have better things to do than — hey!” Louie cried, helpless as his arms were strapped down.

The machine from before, the big one, was brought to life, and Huey’s stomach began twisting in knots. 

“What are you doing?” he asked again, pushing against the glass like it would suddenly give way if he just didn’t stop trying. 

The other people were still just taking notes like they had nothing better to be doing.

Louie’s leg, his left one, was forcefully placed between the two metal plates, and just when Huey understood and a cold horror settled over him, the gap between the plates began to close.

“Oh my god!” Dewey shouted at the same time as Louie gave a pained cry, the plates meeting on either side of his leg.

Louie grit his teeth, grimacing in pain.

“Increasing pressure,” someone mumbled, and though it didn’t look like the plates had moved, Louie’s panic made it clear what was happening.

Dewey and Huey threw themselves against the glass with a renewed vigor, banging against it. “Stop it!” Dewey said, bashing his body against the wall.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the scientists asked.

“Excuse me?”

“In your leg,” she clarified.

“I — no? My brother is the one you’re hurting, and if you don’t stop it right now, you’ll regret it!” Huey shouted, slamming against the glass yet again.

“Increase pressure,” the woman instructed.

At Louie’s pained scream, the other two grew frantic. “Take me instead!” Dewey insisted. “Just stop hurting him! Take me! Please!”

The otherwise unoccupied people were furiously scribbling down notes like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh god,” Louie was saying, repeating it over and over again like a prayer. Maybe it was. “If — if you stop, and let us go, we can get you money. I’m talking thousands — millions! Whatever you want, okay? Just — gah! Please!” he begged, voice strained with cries he was struggling to hold back.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the others repeated. 

“Let him go!” Dewey demanded.

One of the men let out an angry, throaty sort of sound something akin to a growl. “Increasing pressure,” he said, and though the boys couldn’t see his face, they knew he was glaring. It was easy to hear, with a tone like that.

Louie screamed so loud it made Huey’s ears ring, followed by a noise that was somehow even louder. Somehow even worse. A horrible crack resonated through the air, and as a screeched sob tore itself from Louie’s throat, Dewey and Huey were right back to screaming, too.

They were yelling so much that even Huey was having trouble differentiating between himself and Dewey’s words, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was what they’d done to Louie. All that mattered was that somehow, they needed to get them to stop.

Wordlessly, the scientists began resetting the machine so that Louie’s leg was released, and he was unstrapped from the gurney.

Something that might have been hope blossomed in Huey’s chest. When they put Louie back in, he could get out. And he would make them regret everything they’d just done.

But they didn’t bring him back to the cage. Instead, they released him, watching as he collapsed to the floor.

“Get up.”

“I can’t,” Louie sobbed.

They roughly dragged him to his feet. “Walk.”

“W-walk?” he sniffled, confused.

“Walk back and forth along this area.”

Louie whimpered, taking a shaky step forward. He wailed at the pain, but took another step anyway, dragging his broken leg behind him in a limp.

Back and forth. They wouldn’t let him stop no matter how much any of them cried or begged. Louie mostly just cried. Like he didn’t think it was worth it to argue.

They asked Huey and Dewey if they felt anything again. Huey, despite the faint gross feeling in his own leg, just glared at them. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but everyone felt wrong and twisted when watching other people get injured. Especially when it was his brother, who he was supposed to protect. He wasn’t supposed to let anything bad happen to him, and yet… 

“Fuck you!” Dewey spat, and for once, Huey wasn’t about to lecture him about language.

Louie finally collapsed with a broken cry, gripping his leg. “I can’t,” he said through tears, “It hurts, I can’t…”

Huey had never seen Louie so… openly distraught. Then again, he’d also never seen Louie tortured by evil scientists, so.

One of the scientists approached Louie calmly, patting him on the head in a way that seemed like it was meant to be fond. Louie flinched away.

They pulled a lollipop from the pocket of their lab coat, pressing it into Louie’s hand. “For good behavior,” they said. Huey shuddered in disgust.

Two more of the scientists came over and finally, finally all but dragged him back into the cage. The second he was released, he collapsed on the floor, Huey and Dewey by his side in an instant.

The door closed before Huey could lunge at them.

“It hurts,” Louie admitted, curling against his brothers weakly. “It hurts so much.”

“I know,” Huey said, running his hands through Louie’s hair helplessly. “We’re… we’re gonna be okay. Uncle Donald will come for us. And Uncle Scrooge, and mom, too. I bet they’ll be here within an hour.”

Louie screwed his eyes shut tight, nodding. Huey and Dewey shared a nervous look. It had already been hours. Where was their family? Shouldn’t they have been saved by now? What was taking them so long?

“Test #1 was a failure,” one of the scientists was saying. “However, Subject 3 was much more cooperative than expected. Test #2 will commence tomorrow.”

#broken bones #torture #kidnapping #tw broken bones #tw torture #tw kidnapping #kat writes #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #whump #angst #febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday5 #durable #the family tree #human experimentation #tw human experimentation #I use human lightly obviously #because they are in fact #ducks

[canvas-the-florist]

Fist Fight the After Life (Sander Sides)

Ship(s): Brotherly Anxceit, Creativitwins, pining Logince

Warnings: frog mention, lots of talk of death, food mention, insomnia mention

Summary: Ghosts can become corporeal to prevent one event from occurring. Virgil and Janus become corporeal by accident by trying to stop Remus and Roman from going down a really steep hill in a shopping cart. Chaotic and heartfelt shenanigans ensue.

Word Count: 1.9K

-

“This is a really stupid idea,” Roman hummed, looking at the bicycle helmet his brother handed him and then looking at the shopping cart. Then, he shrugged and put it on. “Still, sounds kinda dope. Wouldn’t want you to claim all the glory for this stupidity.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“No, it’s not.” Janus booed. Remus didn’t flinch or move, because Janus wasn’t quite there. He was in the astral plane watching with mild disinterest. “I’m the spirit.”

“Shut up, snake.” Virgil shoved his brother half heartedly. “No one wants or can hear your dumb puns.”

The two continued bickering as Roman and Remus started setting up their fun stunt. They had found a steep hill at the bend of an abandoned road. Remus had tried to talk his friend, Logan into joining the two, but Logan actually had a brain cell and decided to pass. But he had agreed to watch at a bench in case they needed an ambulance. Roman forced Remus to wear his helmet before they climbed into the cart. Virgil face palmed across the planes.

“They’re really going to do this huh,” Virgil bit his lip. His hands have hidden in the sleeves of his hoodie and he grabbed the insides of it. Janus looked over to see that Virgil was even more anxious than usual. “If either of them die I’m going to kill them when they get here.”

“I’m sure they’re going to be fine, Virgil.” Janus reassured, not knowing himself if he was lying. He turned back to watch Logan walking up to the cart, ready to push it down the hill that seemed to grow taller the more he looked. Virgil’s worries were rubbing off on him. Janus considered for a moment before seeing that Logan was just about to push and-

“DON’T!” Janus and Virgil shouted, this time causing three people to flinch and the shopping cart fell on it’s side just as Logan moved forward. The three humans looked up, shocked and frozen as two… ghosts were staring down at them.

Janus and Virgil looked at each other and then at their environment, realizing what they have done. Virgil’s face fell into his hands while Janus cursed quietly. He saw Remus and Roman get up as if they’re about to run and (metaphorically) stepped in. “Hello, friends. My brother and I are just here to say that…” Roman and Remus looked back as Logan was still frozen. “We’re your guardian angels! Not yours though, Logan. We had the chance to save you two from doom if it was ever to get too dire. So you’re welcome!”

Virgil looked up, aghast at his brother. He mouthed, what?! Janus ignored him. “Any questions?”

Remus raised his hand and talked as he did so. “Are you gay?”

“Yes.” Virgil and Janus replied at the same time, without hesitation. Virgil continued, “But that’s not exactly relevant. Umm, sorry for interrupting your ‘sick stunt’, we’re going to go now. RIGHT, JAN?”

“Of course.”

-

They couldn’t leave. After about a minute, Logan offered his house to have a more private conversation. While walking back the three humans asked a list of endless questions, about guardian angels. Virgil let Janus take the lead as he was trying to calm down. Janus kept answering about what ghosts do but he was sure that Roman wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in the end. Well, until the actual end, he supposed quietly. Logan unlocked the door and the others walked or floated into the front room.

“So you guys were just watching us like a 3D movie?” Roman asked. “Why not watch someone cooler? Unless we’re more interesting than… Lin Manuel Miranda?”

Virgil shrugged, finally able to form a sentence without his voice cracking. “I’m pretty sure many people are watching Lin Manuel Miranda right now, on this plane or not. It’s more interesting to watch someone insignificant.” Virgil realized what he said and quickly continued before Roman had the chance to be offended. “Well, insignificant at first glance. You- y’all are more fun than any privileged asshole with too much money would be.”

“You get to decide who to spectate?” Logan asked, while getting a notepad and pen from a cupboard. “How do you decide? What do you do when a person you’re watching dies? How many times can you step in to help someone?”

“Well,” Janus started. “You can decide who to watch, and you kinda just float around the world and if you want to watch someone, you do. When that person dies and you’re around you’re supposed to help them adjust to the afterlife. And… You can only step in once. But it has to be before their action or you’re going to have to fix it yourself. Which is too much work.”

Logan continued writing this down. Remus blurted out “So what happens after you save their donkey asses? Do you explode into frogs?”

“Nope.” Virgil looked down, uncomfortably. He didn’t know how to respond to this question. It was a sort of touchy and ambiguous part of being a spirit. “I’m not exactly sure what happens. The person who introduced me to this afterlife,” He gave a side look at Janus who looked slightly guilty. “Never told me what that’s like.”

The three humans then looked at Janus with attention. Remus whispered to Roman “I’m still betting on the frog thing.” Roman snickered as Janus started. He was ringing his hands and toying with his gloves while he talked. “In the afterlife you can either choose to just stop all your consciousness or become a sort of spectator… thing. A lot of people choose to watch over the world to cope with their death. When people intervene with an event that’s occurring their existence becomes kind of limited. You can only save a person once and we,”

He looked at Virgil who was looking very nervous at what was happening. “We just so happened to use it. I’m not certain on what happens after this but I do know that people don’t return to the astral plane when 24 hours of being corporeal ends.”

“Well that fucking sucks.” Roman stated after a long pause. “You save someone from something bad and you get in an even worse position? Life in the afterlife doesn’t seem so… ideal.”

“I mean, it IS death.” Virgil shrugged.

“Whelp, thanks for stopping us for doing a sick unstable trick. Now you’re stuck with us for the rest of your existence!” Remus said giddily, like he was a mix of grateful and mad at them. Roman hit him on the head lightly. “What? That is what happened, right? They’re not going to explode into blood and guts, they’re just gonna poof!”

“Well, I wouldn’t cross that quite of the list yet. Neither of them seem to have any knowledge about what’s going to occur.” Logan pointed out and Remus gave a crooked smile. Logan then turned to the ghosts. “What are you going to do now? You have about… 21 hours and 46 minutes left until your undetermined future.”

Virgil and Janus looked at each other and shrugged.

“Do you guys want to prank anyone?” Virgil asked, causing Remus and Roman to grin.

-

After making a bad youtube video with it’s top comment being “The editing is so unrealistic”, doing the most impressive magic tricks to the five random strangers who wanted to participate, and generally scaring people, there was about 15 hours and it was now 12 AM. The group had kind of ran out of things to do so they were playing truth or dare on the carpet. Janus and Virgil were hovering in a position that kinda looked like they were sitting.

“Virgil!” Roman declared dramatically. “Truth or dare?”

Virgil raised his eyebrow. “Uhh,, dare? I wanna see what you can come up with.”

“Dammit I only had a truth prepared, give me a second.” He closed his eyes, as if he had to think really hard just to come up with a dare. Then Roman’s eyes popped open and a smile spread across his face. “Lemme swish my hand through you! I wanna know what it looks like.”

“Rude, that was going to be my dare for Janus!” Remus punched Roman, causing him to fall onto Logan. Logan had a brief blush while Roman obliviously sat back up. “So, do you take the dare Virge? Or are you chicken poop?!”

“I believe you just misused an idiom.” Logan pointed out before smiling a little bit. “Was I just the one to point that out? That was me understanding a metaphor? I did it!”

“Good job, Logan,” Janus remarked. “Accept the dare Virgil, I would LOVE to get ‘swished’ by the not at all greasy twin.”

Virgil shrugged. “Sure, I mean it’s not like I can feel it I guess.” He didn’t even finish his sentence when Roman leaned forward to run his hand through Virgil’s arm. Virgil flinched backwards at the sudden movement but then relaxed again while crossing his arms. “Got it out of your system, Princey?”

His arm was dispelling like smoke moving when air conditioning turns on. Roman did it about two more times before leaning back against the couch, not noticing how close he was to Logan. Logan noticed though. “Yeah, I’m done. Your turn now!”

The games continued like this for a while. There were about 11 hours left when the corporeal humans passed out. Except for Remus, who just seemed to get bored, take a Red Bull from the fridge and go upstairs to do whatever the hell he did in his spare time. There were about 8 hours left when Janus and Virgil floated outside to the front yard. Virgil flew up to the roof and lied down in the air to look at the polluted air in the sky. Janus joined him a little bit after.

“They seemed fun.” Janus started, pulled one of his knees to his chest.

“Do you think it was worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Us saving them. They might not have even been in danger. And we intervened.” Virgil looked at his older brother and he could see the fear in his eyes. “What if we broke some sort of ghost rule? I don’t know how any of this works and that’s not the vibe honestly.”

Janus took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and put it back on. He was looking forward, in the direction of the hill. “I don’t know. But we did that and now we’re getting consequences. Whether or not this is bad, I don’t know. But I do know that we’re going to be okay. I lied-”

“Of course…” Janus looked at Virgil, unenthused. Virgil held up his hands. “Sorry, what were you lying about?”

The older brother rolled his eyes. “We’re not going to stop existing yet. Because I don’t feel like it. How would you like to survive out of spite? We might not see any of these fools but we could haunt shit, which I know is not your whole vibe.”

Virgil laughed quietly before making eye contact, his eyes holding excitement and fear within them. “All I do is out of spite, idiot.”

Taglist: @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @logan-sanders-enthusiast @onceler-simp @bullet-tothefeels @sugaryenovis @bapbee @mysticalninjanut @fuckimasanderssidesblognow @meowthefluffy @eeredecimalsanderssided @mariita-2006 @mystic-theater-geek @bewaretheidesofmarchyall @callme-vee 

#platonic anxceit #creativitwins #subtle logince #pining logince #I just like happy endings okay #emile writes #sander sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #ghosts #sander sides fanfiction #fanfic #writing