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Chapter Text

Hogsmeade
Lottie’s Cottage
Second of August, 2002
1:30 AM

“When you said ‘warm’ did you mean like— Florida warm or Brazil warm?” 

“Save it, love. I’m not telling you anything else other than what I already have.” 

And what Fred had told her was this, verbatim. 

“Warm. Sunny. Drinks that taste better with umbrellas.”

So that narrowed it down to… half the world. 

Lottie sighed. Hands on her hips, tapping her foot.

The packing was not going well. Not that it ever did with her. But this was a special type of nightmare. Because not only was this just a vacation— this was a vacation with a boy. 

A boy she liked.

A boy she loved. 

Gross. 

She thought. 

She’d never… done that. So, naturally, she was overthinking everything. Clothes, jewelry, she’d even practiced her ‘cute walk’ in numerous swimsuits to make sure they all covered nip and crack at the very least. 

Swimsuits, sarongs, tank tops, shorts, sundresses, sandals, anklets, necklaces, even her fucking hair clips were all under a scrutinous gaze much narrower than her normal packing one. 

From the doorway, Fred leaned like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, grin slow. “Love, you do realize it’s just us, right? And it’s only three days. You don’t have to be worried about what to wear.”

She huffed. 

Not helpful.

“I think you look better without anything at all.”

Really not helpful. 

She whipped something flowing and green at him— he ducked, laughing, and the fabric fluttered onto a pile already threatening to topple.

And ever the opposite—

George sat on the edge of her bed, quiet, folding whatever landed near him into neat stacks.
Patient.
Puppy-like.

She felt the ache in her ribs just looking at him. Leaving him behind felt criminal, like shutting the sweetest, fluffiest, most loving dog in the world inside while you went off to play with another.

She didn’t need to feel guilty, but that didn’t stop it from creeping up the trails of her happiness. 

“You’re sad,” she said, softer than she meant to.

“I’m not,” George answered, smoothing a sleeve of one of her shirts with unnecessary care. He looked up, and she hated how kind his eyes were. “You don’t have to worry about me. Really. I’m planning ours.”

Her heart tripped. Their trip. It sounded like a promise, like a tether, and she felt both relieved and disoriented all at once.

“Gotta make it better than wherever that lazy sod’s taking you. I reckon he didn’t plan anything other than the route from the bed to the minibar.” 

Fred made a show of yawning. “Oh yeah, forgot the other one gets his turn. I was worried I’d have to keep her forever.”

“You’d love to be stuck with me forever.”

He gave a wink that made her— unfortunately— very warm inside. 

Smug bastard.

George saw. Of course.

He always saw.

And he wasn’t jealous. Not when he knew she felt the same, not when he knew he’d have his time too. Just later. 

But he’d make sure she remembered.

“Are you nearly finished? Bloody hell we gotta get going, Winslow. Our schedule starts as soon as we hit the sand.”

“Ahh— there’s sand.” She said like a great Holmesian deduction. But she already had a hunch it was a beach. Question was, which one? 

A final cram of some toiletry bags and far too many hairbrushes, a smooth of her hair, and another look at George.

When she met his eyes, his did hers.

He pushed closer.

Brushing his chest against hers. His hand came up to her cheek, she closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly into it. Feeling the soft search of his touch over her skin like it was going to be ages before feeling it again. She took a breath before looking up at him again.

“See you soon?”

“Real soon.” He kissed her forehead.

“Don’t let him forget to wear sunblock.” George nudged his head at his brother who was winking at himself in a mirror with finger guns. 

Then he whispered to her: “He’ll say he doesn’t burn, but he does.”

She laughed into his neck, and he felt that warm little puff fall over his shoulder like a hug. 

But why not just have a real hug anyway?

George pulled her tight, both of their arms circling each others bodies quick. 

He could have spilled his love to her all over again. Could have let her know he’d count the seconds until her return, that he’d be spending all of those seconds plotting how he can make his trip better than the one she just had. 

But it was going to be easier to just show her. 

So he just squeezed that short bundle of brown curl and anticipation. And they pulled away at the same time. 

And kissed.

Nothing heated, it didn’t feel required.

Only longing, and patience, and eventual destruction.

Four days later.

If she wasn’t destroyed already.

He pulled back and took her face in once more. Just because he loved it. Then pecked a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“Don't tire yourself out, darling.” 

She gave his arm a slow, playful punch. 

“Don't worry, Georgie. I have a feeling we're going to be very lazy in the next few days.” 

They both turned to look at Fred, king of sleeping in and eating crisps in bed. 

He was using illusion magic to try on sunglasses. Obviously not paying attention to these two. 

Settling on some classic raybans, he clapped his hands once. 

“Finally finished dry-humping? Or shall I pull up a chair?” He chirped, already reaching for Lottie's arm. 

“You like watching,” she bit back. 

He didn’t say anything.

She looped her arm with his, and he led them out. 

Outside the cottage, she could see George waving goodbye through the window. A sight that made her beam and break at the same time. Fred noticed too, he just rubbed her hand on his arm as if to say, soon. 

But the sadness didn’t last long. 

She looked up to Fred, fingers gripping her bag handle tightly, and gave a single nod.

But he didn’t go yet, no. 

First— he held up a finger as if to say just a moment, please, love— and rummaged in his pants pocket for something. Not one something though, two somethings.

“We’ll need these.” He stated. 

The raybans he was just magicking, and a pair of sleek gold-rimmed ovals. 

She raised her brow when she held her hand out. The golden legs clicked together in her palm before she took a closer look and realized—

That bastard stole these from my purse.

She scoffed, unable to produce a proper scold, and slipped them on before tilting her chin down with a sly grin.

He replied with a wink.

And they were off.

A pop and a CRACK and a twist later.

They were out of the night-drowsy Hogsmeade bubble and in the middle of…

Salted air, sunlight, sparkling cerulean waves, and Fred draping a lei around her neck.

Her jaw dropped. “You bastard!” She punched his arm. “This is— is this— we’re in—”

“Hawaii.” 

He grinned, already smug, already basking in the sunlight like it existed for him. “Told you. Warm. Drinks. Sun.”

She blinked at the horizon, at the scent of plumeria thick in the air, then turned on him. 

“Wait. How the hell did you even get us here? Apparition doesn’t work— like— you can’t— this is halfway across the world!”

Fred tilted his head, like he’d been waiting for her to ask. “Well…you remember your birthday party?”

Her brows shot up. “Obviously.”

How could I fucking forget?

“I may have had a chat with Nalani.” He admitted, receding slowly from the shoreline they appeared in front of and towards an adorable little bungalow.

That pulled her up short. “My Nalani?” she asked, sharp, almost possessive.

Fred’s grin widened. He kept walking. 

“Yeah, your Nalani. Lovely girl. Knows her way around more than surfboards. She walked me through the magic to make it happen without us splinching across the Pacific. Thoughtful, right?” He wiggled his brows, pleased with himself. 

“You’re impressed.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck— not just at the paradise that just exploded around them, but at him. 

“And,” he added, pulling her hand as they started up the path lined with hibiscus, “your Nalani got us a very good deal at a locally owned resort. No chains, no obnoxious tourist traps.”

That hit her harder than the view. 

Because when did Fred Weasley get so thoughtful? 

She was still staring at him, when he opened the door to their bungalow, their home for the next few days— a wood-planked little haven shaded by palms, woven lanterns swaying on the porch, the ocean framed in every window.

Fred spread his arms as if he’d conjured it himself. “Home sweet home, Island Edition.”

And for once, she didn’t even have a snarky comeback.

Only an overwhelming sense of shocked adoration. 

The first thing that hit her was the smell— orchids and vanilla, thick but not fake or suffocating. The whole place breathed in pale woods and woven textures, light pouring through slatted windows to catch on soft blue walls.

Fresh flowers spilled from a vase on the low table. A minibar gleamed, all glass bottles and polished brass, tucked beside a basket of vibrant tropical fruit she’d only ever seen in magazines. The floor under her sandals was cool, stone flecked with lava-black, leading her past a bathroom that looked like a luxe spa— broad shower with a lavastone floor, a tub big enough for two under a hanging lantern. 

And then the bed.

Simple but obscene in its invitation— draped in white linens, curtains loose at the corners, ripe for wrecking. It was too pretty, too pristine, the kind of bed that begged to be ruined by saltwater hair and sand-streaked legs.

Lottie turned in a slow circle, overwhelmed. 

Pretty, simple, perfect. 

Every detail thought of.

Behind her, Fred was leaning in the doorway like he’d built the place himself, hands in his pockets, grin easy. “Not bad, yeah?”

It was all so soft, so cozy, so… unlike him. And yet, exactly like him in every way. 

She let out a breathless laugh. “It’s— divine.” It was the only word for it. 

“Divine,” he echoed, smug and trying so hard not to tease. His gaze flicked toward the bed, then back to her, eyes gone darker. 

“I thought so too.”

She sat her bag down gently at the foot of the bed before turning and taking a few languid steps, like she was about to lean into him. Head tilted down, hands behind her back. 

But instead—

She spun and sprinted toward the bed and catapulted herself onto it with the force of a small meteor entering earth's atmosphere.

The second she sank into it, the soft sheets swallowed her body whole, and literally forgot her name. Fred flopped down beside her, dragging a lei from his neck and tossing it onto the nightstand.

They both laughed— she leaned into him without thinking, her head tipping to his shoulder. Sleep pressed at the edges of her mind, thick and inescapable.

Because an 11 hour time difference was much rougher than either of them anticipated.

“You’re tired,” he murmured.

“A bit.” She nuzzled. “Is it crazy if the first thing we do here in paradise is sleep?” 

Fred snorted, she felt it ghost the top of her head.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I’ll never turn down a nap.” His hand circled her waist like it was only waiting for her to appear so it could go back to its home. 

She could only chuckle. 

Her leg draped over his now, slowly encroaching his entire body with hers. Like he had a choice between death-by-cuddle or death-by-suffocation. 

“Okay, I want…” she murmured, sleep thick in her throat, “a very stupid amount of food when we wake up.”

He nodded against the pillow. “You’re gonna love the food. I scoped it out when I was booking. Plus… room service.”

Her lips curled a tiny bit against the weight of sleep. 

“Then…swim.”

“You’re gonna cramp and drown.” He whispered, already feeling drowsy himself.

“Willing to risk it.”

Outside, the ocean murmured. Flowers rolled in the breeze. And the two of them sank, slowly, into the kind of sleep you only get when the air smells like fruit and your body forgets the time.

And she woke to the sound of a knock and an empty bed.

Lottie didn’t sit straight up, she could barely pry herself off that cushy white-prison of a bed. She straightened her legs and stretched everything from her toes to her shoulders, sheets rustling over her limbs in their smooth grace.

Fred opened the door and took the tray with a few words and polite laughs with whomever delivered it. 

They ate on the little patio just off the bungalow— rice bowls with fried pineapple and an array of even more fried fish, topped with a gorgeous golden and red speckled sauce that had no business being so sweet and spicy.

And what kind of meal wouldn’t include dessert? Two shaved ices, one red and one pink. Topped with shaved coconut and sugar chunks.

It was just bare feet propped on woven chairs, food balanced on their laps, and the ocean crashing just a few steps away. The breeze smelled like a feast and sea salt, and somewhere down the beach, someone was strumming a ukulele again.

Lottie sat cross-legged, still sleepy-lidded from the nap, hair half-twisted and tumbling down one shoulder. Her bowl was nearly empty, pineapple skewers picked clean, fish devoured. She was poking through her shaved ice now like it was looking at her funny.

Fred had one ankle hooked on the chair rung, some allegedly non alcoholic drink in hand, eyes flicking between the beach and her thighs.

She didn’t miss it. “Okay. I need answers.”

He glanced at her innocently. “I’m innocent, Your Honor.”

She snorted and pointed at him with a chunk of ice. “Why Hawaii?”

Fred didn’t answer right away.
He took a sip, bought himself time, and then shrugged.
“Because it’s pretty. Because it’s far. Because it’s quiet and you needed to get the hell out of your own head.”

Lottie blinked, startled by the honesty. “So you picked literal paradise?”

“I knew we’d need to get you relaxed from all that work you’ve been doing.” He leaned back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

She squinted at him, suspicious. “You talked to Nalani.”

“I did.” Another sip. “It was innocent at first. At the party, she said you haven’t been back since you were a kid. I figured— why not? Place means something to you. Plus, I had connections.”

“Mm connections,” she echoed, dry.

Fred grinned. “What else do you want to know, detective?”

Lottie leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table, chin in hand. “What are we doing while we’re here?”

“Do you want to know, or do you want to guess wrong and let me mock you for it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to make me go jet-skiing?”

“Merlin, no.” He looked offended. “Do I look like I want to die tangled in a motorized watercraft with you?”

She perked up. “So no extreme sports?”

“No extreme sports. No snorkeling with anything that might bite you. No climbing a volcano unless it’s actively erupting and I need to throw you in to appease some god.”

“Great.” She smiled, content. “Then I’m all in.”

* * *

There wasn’t really any use of fully unpacking, but Lottie did it anyway. 

Mainly so she had an excuse to show off the absolute choice clothing selections. Maybe she packed better under pressure, because she pulled out all the stops. 

He was gonna die. 

She pulled the swimsuits from her pile and chose the most please rail me now worthy one from the heap. With a suspiciously bunny-esque hop and some gleeful little chuckles to herself, she was ready. 

And she was promptly knocked breathless when she remembered how fucking hot he was.

Even when he was wrestling that awkward length hair, shoving his hands through it like it would actually matter. It had hit that awkward stage— too long to ignore, too short to tie back— and the damp island air wasn’t helping. It has started curling at the ends, stubbornly falling into his eyes, even as he shoved them back again, again.

Lottie stepped out of the bathroom, tugging the edges of a gauzy wrap over her bikini, and nearly tripped at the sight of him. 

Fuuuuckkkkkk. 

Was the only thought coursing her normally quite intelligent and deep-thinking brain. 

She’d been lulled by naps, shaved ice, and cuddles— and she’d somehow forgotten he could stand there half-naked and look like some mythical statue that got lost halfway to a surfing competition.

And he didn’t even act like he was trying. Which was the worst fucking part.

It was also an unfortunate truth that between Fred and George getting everything for Weasley Wizard Wheezes 2 and Lottie with Vesperlight Atelier ({?} she was still unsure on the proper title for her shop) there hadn’t been much of the usual steamy intimacy going on.

To put it bluntly, against all odds, she hadn’t been fucked properly in a couple weeks. 

And it was killing her. 

Only because prior to that, her summer had been all about groping, and grinding, and shoving her tongue down—

“Please help before I rip it out of my skull” Fred broke her damn-near drooling stare without even looking up.

She cleared her throat, pretending to be a decent girl (wrong) who was absolutely not eye-fucking one of her boyfriends like a cartoon wolf. 

“I’m only suffering like this because you said you liked it long.” He spoke again, somehow knowing she was still far away somewhere.

She shook her head and stepped closer. 

He was still muttering; something about looking like a rabid hippie. 

“—And you’re lucky I listen to you.” 

That earned the slightest grin. Her chest gave a stupid flutter. She thought, not for the first time, that if anyone else told Fred what to do, he’d probably take a razor to it out of raw spite.

But here he was, bowing his head toward her without hesitation.

She rose on her toes, fingers slipping into the copper strands, raking them back gently until the messy curls swept out of his eyes. His hair was warm from the sun, and she smoothed it into place with a satisfaction she didn’t even try to hide.

It was surprisingly intimate. 

So much so when she looked up, his face was right there. Their noses almost brushing, his lips parted just slightly as if the kiss was inevitable.

Her stomach flipped.

“Ready to swim?” He piped like an oblivious dog just so ready to get in the water.

She couldn’t even find it in her to be mad, not with the way he sounded so happy. Couldn’t be mad at the way he literally leapt off the little porch and into the sand at a full sprint before turning around and grabbing her hand. 

All she could do was giggle like a schoolgirl.

He didn’t make her run though, being such a gentleman. He held her hand and swung it giddily, leading them down the beach until they approached a strand of creamy colored shaded cabanas. 

And he walked right up to one. 

“This one’s ours,” he said casually, chin tipping toward the setup. “Whole weekend. Just us.”

Lottie blinked at him, a little dazed. “This is for us?”

It was bigger than the others. Hazy ivory curtains billowed from four wooden posts, even more draped across the tops of those very same posts. Two loungers, a very inviting looking wicker and white daybed, and a mini fridge with a bowl of extremely vibrant fruits atop it. 

Fred shrugged, though his grin betrayed him. “Didn’t think you’d mind something a little cozy.”

Her chest tugged. Every time she thought she had him pegged as reckless and cocky, he blindsided her with this: thoughtfulness. 

He planned this. For her. 

For them.

“Wow,” she breathed, still smiling at the little details. Like the vase on the table nestled behind one of the loungers, rounded and black hosting some beautifully lush orchids. 

“Don’t sound so shocked, love. I’m capable of complex thought.” 

He slung his beach towel over the back of one of the chairs, waiting for her rebuttal. He turned, only to see her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Must be a new thing you’re trying out.” She smirked. 

Then, he turned fully.

Because she was taking her wrap off— 

And he went silent. 

The gauzy coverup had hidden everything— the pale blue bikini, the soft curve of her hips, the sun already warming her skin. Now she was standing there barefoot in the sand, hair loose and catching the breeze, the locket she’d not taken off in weeks glinting like it belonged in this light. Pathetic periwinkle triangles of fabric leaving very little of her chest to the imagination. 

Fred’s mouth opened, then shut again. 

He blinked. Actually blinked, like he had to recalibrate his brain.

Lottie raised a brow, biting back a grin she knew she’d earned. 

“What?”

He let out a slow, shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck, baby. You’re trying to kill me.”

She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed. “It’s just a swimsuit, Fred.”

“Closer to a bloody birthday suit if you ask me.” He muttered, actually fighting to act normal. 

He reached blindly for the sunscreen bottle on the little table, like he was moving on instinct. When he stepped forward, it wasn’t cocky or playful— it was almost careful. 

Wordlessly, he squeezed a line of lotion into his palm, warmed it between his hands, then placed them gently on her shoulders.

The touch was slow. Careful. His thumbs brushed her collarbones before sliding down her arms, spreading the sunscreen in steady strokes, as though she were glass and he was terrified of pressing too hard.

Her breath hitched, just a little.

He didn’t look at her face—he couldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on her chest, her stomach, the slope of her hips. Every drag of his hands was equal parts practical and worshipful, like this was the holiest task he’d ever been given.

By the time he smoothed lotion down her sides, around her waist, and over the swell of her hips, his throat bobbed. He finally forced out a word, hoarse and quiet:

“...fuck.”

Lottie’s lips parted, smug and soft all at once. “You good there, Weasley?”

Fred blinked up at her like he’d been caught in confessional. “…No.”

Pride oozed from her sly smile. That was exactly the reaction she was hoping for. 

“Your turn,” Lottie said sweetly, plucking the sunscreen from his hand.

Fred blinked, still dazed, like he hadn’t processed human language in the last three minutes. “Huh?”

“Arms out,” she ordered, already squirting lotion into her palms.

He obeyed— slowly— watching her like a man awaiting trial.

Her hands spread over his chest first, smoothing lotion in with slow, deliberate circles. Her fingers traced over the cut of his shoulders, down his ribs, lower. She wasn’t in a rush, and the grin tugging at her mouth told him she knew exactly what kind of face he was making.

He groaned softly under his breath. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Duh.” Her hands slid down the length of his arms, squeezing, smearing lotion into every freckle and tendon. “All alone. All rested up. All mine.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes dark, trying not to let her see just how much her words damn near ruined him.

By the time she finished, she patted his chest with a little flourish. “There. Amply protected, sun-safe Freddie.”

His mouth opened, probably to say something smart, but instead he placed his hand on the table and raised it up slowly.

Two liquid filled coconuts appeared as his hand rose up, straws poking from the tops, condensation beading down their fluffy sides.

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Show-off.”

“Takes talent to impress you, love.” He leaned back on the lounger, one arm behind his head, the other cradling the coconut drink.

She picked hers up and took a hesitant sip— coconut wasn’t really her favorite after all, but she didn’t want to be rude— and let out an involuntary moan.

“Fuck me.” She spouted, eyes still closed and lips still round the straw.

“Now or later?” 

She snorted, mouth almost squirting the tasty rum like a water gun.

Both. She thought.

And as much as she wanted to shove his face between her barely-covered boobs, plant one leg on each side of his waist and ride him into the sunset— there were still too many people around for that.

At the present moment, at least.

Not that she would have even had time to make a move— he finished that little coconut drink and practically yanked her up, leading them into the lapping waves.

The water was perfect. 

Not cold. Not tepid. Warm like the sun rolled her warmth across the top layer, just to get you comfy. But chilled underneath to keep you cooled. 

She felt the sand wash away from her feet, and the water carry her hair around her shoulders like lazy ribbons. 

When Fred was further out, she dove under. He didn't see her go under, but he saw blue flashes ripple by like a teasing mermaid just waiting for you to ask her for a song. 

She popped up right in front of him, and realized:

She couldn’t touch. 

Not that it mattered. Lottie was a great swimmer, a real fish when she was younger. She had previously been somewhat sad about the lack of swimming she'd done over the summer. 

Courtesy of a certain assholes tendency to stab their ex's at their birthday parties. 

But her scar was faded. Almost fully. 

It would never really disappear. 

But now it was only a faint whitish line, under her collarbone, just above where flesh starts to become breast. 

It was even a joke at this point. When it got brought up, someone never failed to call Jax a ‘fucking idiot' or ‘dumbass meathead’ because he didn't know what side the heart was on. 

Lottie hadn't thought about him in a long while though. 

Only about her boys. 

Her George. 

And her Fred—

Who was still fucking paddling out. 

“Slow down, I can't touch—” She called out. Only semi-joking.

“Can't relate. Keep up, short stuff.”

Short stuff????

She would have scoffed, if not currently submerged.

Finally he quit going out and stayed right where the waves were beginning to swell. 

Her head popped up in front of him. 

“This isn't fair. It's discrimination against the vertically challenged.” She wiped her hair out of her eyes, totally serious. 

Fred only hummed once. “We're fine.”

“I'm not.” 

“Yeah, but I am.”

“You're six foot fucking three. Of course you're fine. You've got your own fucking atmosphere up there.” Her eyes glared him down, her shoulders bobbing far faster than his. 

That bastard really was still touching somehow. 

A group of tourists drifted past on bright foam floats, laughing too loudly, half-drunk on sunshine and rum. Clearly as unbothered as he was. 

Before she could insult his unfair advantage again, he was scooping his hands through the water and under her legs. 

“Fred!” She squealed, flailing her arms. The waves touched her back when she got yanked, only slightly panic inducing. 

Only for a second, because she realized: 

He was only pulling her in. 

Without missing a beat, her calves pressed around his back. Hooking at the ankle like a death grip. 

And like she so often did with him— she let herself be held. 

The sun baked shoulders around her made for wonderful pillows. So her head tipped against his ever-sturdy chest. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t drown,” she muttered, wiping sea spray from her cheek.

“You’d float just fine,” he said, eyes dropping shamelessly to her chest. “Built-in flotation devices.”

Her jaw dropped. “You absolute perv. You’ve seen them, like— so many times. Why are you as fascinated as an eleven year old who found a porn mag?”

Fred blinked, dead serious. “Yeah, but now they’re— sparkling. Barely covered by this poor excuse of fabric. Literally glowing in this bloody sunlight. It’s an entirely new viewing experience, Winslow. It’s like you're a limited edition version of yourself.”

She smacked his shoulder, but he only grinned harder, hands still firm at her waist. She looped her legs around him tighter. 

“You’re impossible,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “But this?” He nodded at the water, the sky, her face still lit with salt and sunset.

“This is impossible in the best way. Look at us. We’re floating in the ocean. I’ve got your thighs wrapped around me like I won the damn lottery. You’re not yelling at me. I might cry.”

“You’re not going to cry.” She rolled her eyes, but there was pink creeping into her cheeks. She cracked a smile he loved seeing glow in the warm sun. 

“I might.”

Lottie hooked her arms around his neck anyway, legs firmly snaked around him like she needed them to be. She caught a cluster of sunburnt girls watching them from the shallows, whispering behind their sunglasses. 

That was about the only thing keeping her from sliding a little further down. So instead she deflected her mind—

“Don’t make me drown you.” 

She threatened, but it was clear it was her love-language talking. 

“Oh— my pocket sized-siren would do such a thing?” 

She barked a short laugh at the connotation of being a miniature death harboring fish-woman.

“Wait, no way you’re a siren. You’re too mushy inside.” 

Fred spun them slowly in the water, carrying the weightless girl around him like she was only a satchel.

He made a noise half meditative-hum and half mischievous-chirp.

Can’t wait to hear this shit.

She thought.

“Suppose you could be a starfish, the way you’re stuck to me,” but he only paused before cracking another smile. 

“You’re not that dumb though.”

“Thanks.”

“Pleasure.”

She inhaled, indulging this tirade for better or worse. Thumbs brushing the nape of his neck, twirling the salted curls of copper just barely.

Fred nodded to himself twice, like a man who discovered the invention of the wheel could be heightened with the addition of tires and spikes.

“You’re a jellyfish.” 

Lottie blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Soft to the touch, pretty to look at…” His grin widened, eyes dark and playful. “But sting the fuck out of me the second I get too close. And make me piss about it later.”

Her mouth fell open, half laugh, half outrage. “FREDERICK.”

“What?” He shrugged innocently, tightening his grip on her thighs to keep her buoyed. “It’s accurate. My little jellyfish.”

“You’re the worst,” she said, though her arms looped tighter around his neck, and her laugh carried out over the water, high and bright.

And Fred— grinning, water dripping from his lashes, her body wrapped around him— thought he’d never seen anything better in his life.

They drifted in eventually, after the Great Jellyfish Incident of 2002. 

As the water shallowed it became clearer and clearer, and she could touch her little legs to the bottom again. Fred finally sat her down, though he’d have been glad to keep her there for the foreseeable future. 

He stretched, arms rippling, looking annoyingly like a bronzed sea god risen from the depths. 

“See? You survived the deep end.”

“Barely,” she muttered, swiping water from her lashes.

Such taunting calls for retribution. She thought. 

Naturally, she cupped her hand under the surface, sly and quick, and squeezed— sending a sharp little jet of water straight at his ribs.

He blinked. Froze. Looked around like he’d been stung by some aquatic insect. “What the—?”

He side eyed her just a moment. 

She was already floating backward, expression neutral, angelic.

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you—?”

“Hm?”

He turned, scanned the water suspiciously, still not fully putting it together.

Bless him. Pathetic silly boy. 

He squinted. Said nothing.

She edged back a few feet, still treading water. Waited.

Then struck again. Another sneaky squirt— this time to his shoulder.

Fred glanced down at the droplets beading on his skin, then back up at her.

“...Huh,” he said flatly, though his mouth twitched. “Weird current out here.”

Lottie bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh, feigning a casual float.

And she tried to aim for his back— but he turned at the last second and she hit him in the chest.

That did it.

He went stone still— then grinned. 

Slow. Lethal.

“Ohhh you’re gonna regret that, jellyfish.”

Her laughter burst out of her as she spun and bolted for shore, kicking hard.

“No I won’t!” She shrieked, already half-laughing, half-panic. “You can’t prove anything!”

He was already coming for her.

The water churned around him like he was made for it, long arms cutting clean through the surface. She squealed, trying to dart away, but he was faster, taller, relentless.

“Fred!” she squealed, looking back just in time to see his grin— a flash of teeth and smug closing in.

“Oh, I’m catching you,” he called, low and sure, voice carrying over the water.

“Try it!” she yelped, though her legs were giving out from laughing.

She barely made it three more feet before his arm hooked around her waist and scooped her straight off her feet. She went airborne with a splash and a yelp, kicking uselessly as he locked her in with both arms and lifted her like a sack of very mouthy flour.

“Fred!” she gasped between giggles, twisting. “Put me down! I’ll be good!”

“You’re never good, you rotten jellyfish.” He adjusted her grip so she couldn’t wriggle out. “You declared war. Now you’re getting the consequences.”

“I didn’t declare anything! I splashed you!”

“And now I’m going to drown you in revenge.”

“Dramatic!”

“You started it.” And then he dropped backward into the water— taking her with him.

Thrashing under the surface like eels engaged in a territory battle. 

They surfaced with a splash and a howl of laughter. Fred came up first, wiping his eyes, breathless and grinning. Lottie followed a second later, gasping, soaked to the bone, hair clinging to her face, mouth wide with unstoppable giggles.

They looked at each other and lost it all over again.

“You—” she choked, pointing at him, barely able to get the words out. “You fully body slammed me into the ocean.”

He leaned back in the water, hair dripping. “Maybe you’ll think next time you splash a bloke.” 

“Doubt it.”

“And yet—” he lifted a hand and flicked water straight at her face.

She shrieked again, then lunged, but it dissolved into splashing and another round of laughter, both of them now treading water lazily as the tide rocked around them.

The sun was lowering now, lava spreading across the sky. Everything shimmered. The waves glowed orange like magma and felt cool like a that shaved ice from earlier. 

Lottie pushed her hair back and sighed, still grinning, still panting. “Okay. Okay. I’m suggesting a truce.”

Fred raised a brow, floating closer. “Scared of a little water, jellyfish?”

But she was far past the games.

Her head dropped, only enough to be caught by someone who’d seen her make that look before.

She looked at him, deadpan but something steamier cracking through. “Maybe I just wanna get you somewhere alone.”

Even the ocean sparked.

“Maybe I was gonna suggest that first,” he said, trailing a hand through the water beside her. “Somewhere dry?”

“Somewhere with pillows.”

“Pillows. Exactly. And privacy.”

“Oh, how convenient.”

And nothing else needed to be said that their wandering eyes couldn’t spell out.

The cabana had been baking in the sun all afternoon, and to their benefit too. Every cushion, lounger, and pillow perfectly warmed for a pair of ocean-chilled bodies. And thanks to the magic of— well, magic— the fruit bowls and coconut drinks were still chilled and glistening to perfection. Practically begging to be torn into. 

Lottie beat Fred there, dripping seawater; her hair fell in dark wandering trails down her back. He trailed just behind, watching her just a little too quiet.

The semi-opaque curtains swayed as they ducked inside. It smelled faintly of vanilla and salt, and those warmed cushions felt like heaven on Earth.

It was peaceful— but she wanted it not to be. 

Unfortunately if there was any misbehaving to be happening, she wanted it to be with as few witnesses as possible.
Preferably, zero.
But with her luck—

Stupid fucking billowing breeze— cracking the curtains at the corners to reveal obscenely red swim shorts and floaties galore. 

Tourists really do ruin everything. She whined internally. 

Luckily, her mind was turned. 

Fred sank into one of the armrests of the cushy, cream, daybed. Using a pillow as a tray for the large bowl of chilled fruit. His swim trunks still clung low on his hips, droplets sliding down his chest in lazy paths. His freckles were brighter, skin pink from sun and laughter.

He shoved a hand through his hair once more— and once more she shamelessly watched the curl of his arm and tightness of his chest catch the light when he did so. 

Suddenly, she never wanted his hair to grow a millimeter longer. 

Without wasting a second, she climbed across from him. Legs crossed, hands gripping her ankles like she was waiting for a story. 

But she was waiting for an opportunity. 

Sadly for her though…

Poor, sun-drunk Fred was only focused on his snack.

“Fuck,” he muttered between bites of pineapple. “I could live here and never want to leave.”

She plucked a slice of mango from the tray, bright and dripping, and took a slow bite. 

“‘Course you could. You were built for sleeping and eating like an indolent island god.”

He wiggled his brows in sly agreement, “C’mon, you couldn’t?” 

She shook her head only once, like it was a wild concept. “I never see myself living somewhere so—” she motioned around them with a handful of mango. “Sunny.” 

Fred made a noise low in his throat, eyes tracking the peel of an orange in his hands. 

“Right. I see. You plan on making me live somewhere dark and cold.”

The words landed soft and casual, tossed like a seashell in the water.

Lottie froze just a breath too long over her fruit, then huffed through her nose, smiling down at her knees. 

“I didn’t say make you,” she said, tone breezy, though her heart had gone fizzy.

He licked juice from his thumb, not looking at her. “Mm. You didn’t have to.”

She ducked her head again, hair slipping forward to hide the grin she couldn’t quite bite down.

Because even though she didn’t see herself living on the beach, she undeniably saw herself living with him. 

But he clearly wasn’t even phased by the pause she gave. He just put his orange peel on the table and popped a wedge of the luscious fruit in his mouth.

Juice rolled down his fingers, and he made a sound that was definitely not safe for public consumption.

Lottie gave him a look.

“What?” he said, licking the juice from his thumb.

She blinked quickly, eyes shifting downward to her hands. She shook her head, fingers peeling her mango. 

And she flicked her eyes up to his, “Sounded like it was yummy.” 

A scheming little grin curled the corners of his mouth, like he was already seeing the ‘x’ on the treasure map she was describing. 

“It was.” He said. Peeling another ripe section of orange from the wheel he held. 

Then, holding out a piece between two fingers, “Wanna try?” 

The air was suddenly thick enough to taste— warm, sweet, just like their ‘innocent’ snack.

And like a flame left alone, she lunged forward.
On her hands and knees, brushing his own bare skin with her hand.
She lowered her head to his hand. 

She hummed, sinking her teeth into it with a little sigh. Her lashes fluttered like the taste alone could undo her. She let her lips brush his fingertips for just barely too long— 

Fred made a low noise in his throat.

She licked the juice from her lips with an exaggerated display he definitely saw. 

“You know,” she said idly, leaning back against the armrest, “for someone who supposedly brought me here to relax, you’re doing a terrible job of looking relaxed yourself.”

“I was,” he said, voice gone gravel-soft. “Before you did that.”

Lottie smiled, reaching for a pineapple slice and holding it out lazily toward him. “My turn now. Eat.”

He didn’t take it. He just leaned in like she did.

His teeth grazed her thumb.

Her stomach flipped.

Fred chewed, swallowed, then gave her a grin so slow it made her pulse trip. “Sweet,” he said. “But not as sweet as—”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“—you.”

She groaned, falling back into the cushions. “You’re unbearable.”

“My pleasure,” Fred agreed, already reaching for another piece of fruit— though his gaze stayed firmly locked on her, like he was weighing if eating it or her would be more satisfying.

Lottie reached for another piece of fruit.

Not rushed. Not for show either. Just a slow, languid, motion— two fingers dragging a wedge of papaya through the syrup pooling at the bottom of the dish. She brought it to her lips without looking at him and bit. 

A little too slow. A little too precise.

Juice ran down the side of her thumb.

Fred watched it fall like gravity had slowed for her alone.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just flicked her eyes toward him through wet lashes and sucked the juice from her skin.

He shifted beside her, the cushions creaking.

Fred reached out, slowly, and picked up a starfruit slice. Turned it in his fingers like he was weighing something heavier than fruit.

Then, eyes still on hers, he held it out.

She opened her mouth and let him place it on her tongue, lips brushing his knuckles.

His breath spiked, hand stayed there a beat too long.

Her mouth closed. She chewed. Swallowed. All without breaking eye contact.

“Is that how you always eat fruit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. 

She smiled, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Maybe I'm just enjoying it.”

He leaned in then, watching her like a predator closing in. Without breaking his gaze, he reached out, brushing his thumb against her wrist. The faintest trace of juice from something still lingered there— golden, sticky, and sweet.

“Missed a spot—” his breath fell over her skin, her fingers twitching uncontrollably. 

Without hesitation, Fred licked it off her wrist, dragging his tongue slowly up the length of it, savoring the taste of the juice and her jumping pulse. Lottie shivered, but warmth in her chest spread down her body and went straight to her thighs.

She opened her mouth to speak— but found nothing other than what would have been a very pathetic sounding whine. 

Fred let her wrist go, and it took some time to move it. Frozen in the possibility of what might happen if she moved closer to him. 

But he wasn’t leaving. He stayed leaned in. Eyes trailing her up and down like he was scanning for something. 

“Hm, some more here,” 

He found more juice. Something from earlier had betrayed her and dripped down her neck and chest, leaving small drops of syrupy goodness at the edge of her bikini top. 

And Fred was leaning in. 

Hands bracing on either side of her head, and he dipped his head to her panting chest.

His tongue found the juice first— warm and slow as it traced the line up, from the start of the fabric, and up until he reached her collarbone. His lips followed, not kissing, just tasting.

Lottie let out a small breath— closer to a sigh than a moan, but not by much.

Fred was still hovering above her, his breath just brushing her skin, his mouth still tasting of fruit and want. The golden light spilled sideways through the cabana, striping across her chest, across his bare shoulder, his hand slid to the curve of her waist.

Then he looked down at her bikini top again— straps barely-there, fabric darker from salt and sun, stretched tight across her chest like it had been designed to ruin him. And by now, showcasing two unmistakable buds he wanted in his mouth. 

He scoffed— half breath, half groan. “Still can't believe you wore this,” he muttered, like it was the beginning of a full argument. “You packed like this. On purpose.”

Lottie blinked up at him, innocent as sin, chest still rising with each slow breath. “You didn’t know I had it in me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her fully. “I thought I did.”

She reached up, one finger looping into the edge of his waistband, tugging him just close enough that he had to really listen.

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured. “It’s just for you. For here. Because I want you to remember this.”

Fred’s jaw clenched. His hand flexed at her waist.

“That’s funny,” he said, voice rough now, lower. “I was just thinking I wanted you to remember this.”

There was a second— a heartbeat— where they just looked at each other. Her eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. His knuckles digging slightly into the cushion.

Then they broke.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t a test.

He kissed her hard, mouth crashing into hers like they’d both finally stopped pretending to care about control. Her arms wrapped around his neck instantly, pulling him down with her, their bodies sliding together in salt-slick heat and sun-dazed hunger. The fruit plate tipped sideways off the cushion and hit the floor with a muffled thunk, forgotten.

He groaned into her mouth. She gasped into his.

Her legs shifted slightly, just enough that she felt the soft tug of her bikini bottom, the weight of her own anticipation building. Slowly, carefully, she let her legs fall open wider.

She heard Fred’s breath hitch, his hand shifting just the smallest bit against the pillow beside her head. She could feel him— hardening— just inches away from her, and the sensation made her skin prickle.

Lottie swallowed, but it didn’t calm the hunger that was making her pulse quicken. “Fred...” she murmured, her voice a breathless invitation, her hands barely grazing his jaw as she pulled him back toward her.

He looked down at her, eyes dark and heavy with need, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. There was only the feel of his body hovering, his hands still holding the air between them.

Fred’s hands finally, finally dropped, gripping her waist as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. Their kiss was only amplified by the heat from their bodies building like a wave about to crash.

Lottie’s fingers dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer, wanting— needing— more. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, and she felt him respond immediately, the hard press of him against her stomach making her breath falter.

But Fred didn’t move. Not yet. He was still too lost in the slow, teasing rhythm, barely touching, keeping her on edge.

His lips trailed down her neck, moving with slow, deliberate intent, and Lottie’s breath quickened. “Fred,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice thick with desire. “Don’t make me wait.”

He paused, lips hovering just above her collarbone, and then— finally— his hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips, pulling her closer.

“Shh… I just want to take my time with you, baby.” He murmured, lips brushing her ear. 

Lottie’s breath came in short, needy bursts, her fingers tightening around his shoulders as she pressed against him. She could feel his cock, already thick and hard, through the layers of fabric between them, and it was making her crazy.

Her body moved on its own, rolling against him just enough to feel that delicious friction, just enough to make her toes curl. She gasped against his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, but it wasn’t the same smirk she knew from before. It was slow, satisfied, but completely wicked. “What is it, angel?”

Her eyes flashed open, the nickname still sending a wave of heat to her chest.

“Don’t you dare make me wait,” she half-whispered, half-pleaded, her voice thick with desire. 

“Please.”

Fred’s hand came up to her jaw, tilting her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with lust, but there was something more in them. Something pleased— like he knew exactly how close she was to cracking.

“Please?” he repeated, his voice low, teasing. “Fuck. Begging for me already?”

Lottie’s chest heaved, the sensation of him against her overwhelming. Her hips tried to press up against him again, more urgently now, her body moving against his in slow, desperate circles.

“Fred… please.” She reached for his waistband, desperate for skin, desperate for more.

But his hand wrapped around hers, stopping her before she could get anywhere.

“Ah, ah,” he murmured, voice thick and full of amusement. “You’re gonna wait, baby. You are gonna wait.”

She whimpered at the sound of his voice, the feeling of his body so close, but still not enough. She needed more. She could feel the heat building between her legs, her pulse racing.

Fred laughed softly, brushing his lips over her ear. “You sound so fucking good when you’re needy. Almost makes me want to make you wait more.”

Her whine trapped in her throat, choked by a gasp.

Her fingers curled into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she ground against him again, her body shuddering. She was so close to losing it.

But Fred’s hands were steady on her waist, keeping her from moving any faster.

“Not yet, angel,” he whispered, voice a little ragged now. “I’m going to look at you first.”

Her mind was a haze of frustration and want, and all she could do was bury her face in his neck, inhaling the salt and sun of him, needing him more than anything. 

Fred’s hands slid down her sides again, slow and deliberate, until he reached the top of her bikini bottom. He didn’t touch the sensitive skin beneath it yet, just hovered there, teasing, letting the anticipation coil tighter with each second.

Lottie’s breath caught in her throat as his eyes flicked to the fabric, the way it clung to her hips, the way she shifted against him, desperate for more. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and Fred could feel it.

He could feel her want.

Lottie’s hands found his neck again, pulling him closer, her body so tense, ready for him. Her lips parted as if she might beg again, but Fred silenced her with a soft, teasing smile. 

He loved the look in her eyes, that desperate hunger mixed with the frustration of not quite getting what she wanted.

“Fred…” She gasped again, her voice cracked and hoarse.

He pulled the fabric aside just enough to see the soft skin beneath, the glistening wetness that had nothing to do with the ocean water, everything to do with her need for him. 

He ran his thumb lightly across the seam of her thigh, but he never moved it closer, never gave her the relief she was aching for.

Her breath hitched, her body straining, trying to push against him.

Fred leaned in, mouth brushing against her ear, his voice a dark whisper, thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Already wet… not from water, though.”

Lottie couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped from her lips, her hands tightening around him. The sound of his voice, the way he praised her when she was so damn close to losing it, made her shiver in his arms.

“You like that, don’t you?” Fred murmured. “Like when I look at you.”

He hovered just an inch away from her body, teasing her with his closeness but never touching where she needed him most.

Her breath faltered, the tightness in her chest making her feel like she was about to explode. “Fred…” she breathed again, desperate. “Please.”

He smiled, that lazy, wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“Yeah, I know. You’ve been begging for it.”

But still, he didn’t touch her. He just watched.

Fred’s fingers hovered over her, just inches away from where she needed him, and the air between them crackled with tension. He knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed, and he wasn’t giving it to her— not yet.

Her body twisted beneath him, desperate to feel more, to demand more, but Fred just stayed still, those dark eyes of his focused on her, studying her like she was a puzzle he was slowly solving.

Lottie’s breath was ragged now, her hips grinding involuntarily as she sought the friction that would finally ease the ache. 

But Fred only grazed her— his fingers sliding over her slick skin, barely brushing her clit, just enough to send shockwaves through her body.

She whimpered, trying to push against him, but he held her still, watching her, waiting for her to catch herself.

“Fred,” she breathed, voice trembling, desperate. “Please.”

He smiled darkly, his thumb tracing slow circles over her sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you beg.”

She shuddered at the sound of his voice, feeling the heat between her legs intensify. God she needed him, needed him to stop teasing, needed him to just touch her.

“Stop making me wait,” she murmured, her voice strained.

He chuckled softly, pressing just a little harder against her. “But you like waiting, don’t you? Like knowing I’m the only one who can give you what you need.”

Her chest tightened, the frustration growing as she couldn’t do anything but wait for him to finally give in. She tried to grind against him again, but Fred’s fingers were there, stopping her every time, too slow, too gentle, just enough to make her crazy.

And then, finally, Fred’s fingers slipped down, past her slick folds, finally sinking inside her, the stretch making her gasp.

Lottie’s head fell back, her breath coming out in a rush as she felt the complete release of his fingers filling her. She shuddered, chest rising and falling, her body arching up to meet him, desperate for more.

Fred didn’t move right away, just watching her, watching her body react to him like he was everything.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice rough with satisfaction. “This is what you’ve been begging for.”

Fred’s fingers slid in and out, slow and deliberate, making sure every motion sent a ripple of sensation through her body. He was in no rush— he was savoring every second of it, watching the way she moved beneath him, lost in the feeling.

Lottie’s head tipped back, her breath coming faster with each flick of his wrist. Her hips rocked gently in time with the rhythm he set, instinctively finding the exact rhythm that drove her crazy. She couldn’t think—couldn’t focus on anything but the way his fingers curled inside her, stretching her just right.

Fred felt her, felt the way her walls pulsed around his fingers, the slick heat building with every breath she took. His thumb brushed over her clit once more, light and teasing, just enough to make her gasp.

"God, you feel so fucking good," Fred murmured, his voice dark, raw with want. “Can feel you getting tighter. You could cum already, couldn’t you, baby?”

Lottie’s legs trembled around him as her hips started moving of their own accord, rocking against his hand. She was already so close, and her body was taking over— just finding the rhythm and demanding more, her breath coming in short bursts, lost in the sheer pleasure of it.

She didn’t even notice how her fingers were clutching at the cushions, or how her body was trembling beneath him. She didn’t notice anything— except him. His hands. His touch.

“Fred...” she breathed, her voice a desperate whimper. “Please, more...”

He hummed, totally satisfied with the way she reacted. “You’re already doing the work for me, angel. Just let go.”

Her legs were shaking now, the pressure building, her body teetering on the edge as she rocked harder, finding that rhythm that made everything fade away.

Fred kept his pace steady, fingers working her with perfect precision, just enough to keep her on the edge of the abyss. 

He loved it— loved how completely she lost herself in it. How she was the one building the rhythm now, begging for more, her hips arching up into his touch as though nothing in the world mattered but him and the way he made her feel.

“Come on,” Fred whispered, his voice low and almost reverent now. “I want to see you cum on my fingers.”

And just like that, she was there— climbing— and then breaking, body shuddering as he held her in place with his fingers, working her through it as she trembled and moaned.

Lottie’s hands fumbled to pull him closer, body still rocking against his touch, lost in the overwhelming sensation. Her body went stiff for a moment before collapsing into the soft cushions beneath her, chest heaving, skin glowing with the aftermath.

Fred grinned, watching her ride out the waves of pleasure, fingers slowing as she came down from the high. His thumb brushed over her again, light, teasing, until she whimpered and tried to push his hand away, too sensitive now.

“Shh,” Fred said softly, leaning over her, brushing a lock of wet hair from her forehead. “You’re fucking perfect, angel.”

Fred slowly slid her bikini bottom back into place, the action almost gentle, but there was a little too much intent behind it. He didn’t look up at her immediately, just kept his eyes on the fabric as he tugged it back, adjusting it with the kind of care that made Lottie’s chest tighten.

She could feel his gaze on her— heavy, possessive. And then, when his fingers dragged back to his own lips, she watched as he sucked her taste off of them. His eyes never left hers, the pleasure clear on his face as he let out a low, satisfied hum.

“Sweeter than anything on this island,” Fred murmured, voice a little rougher now, the words making her pulse stutter.

Her body was still humming from the release, but she was already aching again, needing him more. Her hands gripped the armrest of the daybed, her chest still rising and falling with the aftermath.

“You’re a fucking tease,” she muttered, her eyes narrowed as she shifted her body, but the space between them felt electric now.

Fred didn’t respond right away, just smiled that infuriating smile— the one that made her stomach flip. He reached for her again, his hands sliding over her waist, fingers brushing against her ass before grabbing it firmly.

And he flipped her. 

Lottie’s breath caught, arms flying to brace herself on the armrest. Her hips twitching back instinctively. “Fred…” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Someone could see…”

He didn’t respond, just gripped her harder, pulling her ass up toward him, the angle perfect as she propped herself up. The air between them was charged, and every inch of his body pressed up against hers from behind was driving her crazy. Her head hung down, neck slack with devastation.

The heat of the sun had nothing on the heat in her chest, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“Come on,” Fred growled, hands moving under the fabric of her bikini, just enough to tease the sensitive skin beneath. “Who cares if anyone sees? You’re mine, baby. And I’ll make sure they know it. ”

She shuddered, his words sinking deeper than anything else, and then his lips were on the back of her neck, kissing, sucking, and his hands were sliding— slick and needy, just enough to make her thighs tremble.

The air was filled with the sound of the waves crashing, the distant chatter of strangers, the hum of the world around them. But none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except Fred— his hands, his body, the way he was making her feel so undone out in the open.

Fred’s hands slid to her hips as he rubbed his cock along her folds, feeling the slick heat that made him groan. Her body twitched in response, shuddering under him as he teased her, the friction making her pulse with need.

“You waited so well, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, praising her in the way that made Lottie’s insides tighten. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you for holding back.”

She whimpered, her body aching for more. “Fred, I—”

He didn’t answer her with words.
Instead, he slid his cock through her folds one more time, just enough to make her tense, then slowly, finally, he pressed into her, the stretch so hot and intense it made her gasp.

Lottie’s back arched, her fingers clutching the cushions beneath her, barely holding herself together as he filled her. She could feel every inch of him, the hot, thick stretch as he moved deeper. Her body accepted him so easily, so perfectly, but it still stung— that sweet, burning stretch she loved and hated at the same time.

“You feel so fucking good,” Fred groaned, pulling her back against him, every inch of him pushing inside her, his pace slow but firm. He was testing her, letting her feel every inch of the fullness, before moving deeper with each slow thrust.

Lottie’s head tipped down, a breathless gasp slipping from her lips.

He sank into her again in one thrust— deeper from this angle, sharper, her whole body jerking forward with the force of it.

She cried out, fingers scrambling for grip in the cushions.

“Oh fuck—”

“Yeah?” Fred gritted, hips already driving forward again, pace no longer gentle. “That the spot, baby?”

“Yes—”

He groaned, dragging a hand up her spine. “I knew it.”

And then they were moving.

Loud. Wet. Skin on skin. The sticky slap of bodies crashing together beneath gauzy white cabana curtains, the golden pink sunset just barely catching her glistening thighs and his slick chest as he fucked her over that little armrest like it was built for this.

For them.

She was panting, drooling into the cushion, nails biting into the fabric.

“Say my name again.”

“Fred—”

“Louder.”

“Fred!”

“Good girl.”

His hand came down on her ass in a quick, hot slap that made her arch with a breathless cry.

And again.

And again.

“All of you— just fucking— perfect.” 

He was so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Bent over, bikini bottoms tugged to the side, skin flushed and stinging from the warm slap of his palm.

She let out a high, half-choked squeal as he snapped his hips forward, forcing her up the cushions another inch.

And he paused. Just for a second.

To breathe. To look.

She felt one hand, one big and strong hand, brushing the side of her cheek. Then it left. 

He pulled the clinging-wet hair back from where it was stuck to her neck. 

He needed to see her. 

And he was back.
His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her hips into him just once, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his stomach tighten. He was gentler now, but just as controlled— no faster, no slower, just perfect.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you take me like this,” he breathed, each word coming out heavy, deep. “When you let me fill you up. So fucking good for me.”

Lottie could barely think, the only thing that mattered was him, the way he filled her, the way his body fit against hers. 

Fred reacted by pulling her tighter, his grip firm on her hips as he gave a firm, slow and filling thrust that made her gasp and shudder, her body rocking with his rhythm. The pressure built with every stroke, and Lottie couldn’t hold back the needy whimper that slipped from her lips.

Her body begged for more, but she didn’t need to ask. Fred knew. He always knew.

Fred’s hips stilled inside her, just for a second, his breath ragged as he felt the way she clenched around him, her body aching, so close. His head fell back, eyes shutting tight as the pressure built between them.

“Please…” Lottie whispered, barely audible, the words trembling on her lips. She rocked against him, wanting more, but something made Fred pause— just long enough to feel it: the distant sound of voices, footsteps on the sand.

Her body clenched around him, and Fred swore under his breath, fighting the urge to move, to bury himself deeper. 

He wanted to go harder, but he couldn’t— he couldn’t risk being seen. Not yet.

They waited.

Lottie’s chest heaved as she held her breath, eyes wide and waiting. Every part of her wanted him, wanted him to move, to finish, but there was no way. 

Not yet.

Then, just as suddenly as the moment had come, it passed. The voices faded into the distance, leaving them alone again in the quiet, the only sound the waves rolling in behind them.

Fred’s chest rose and fell heavily as he opened his eyes, staring down at her. “Lucky for you,” he murmured, leaning close, his lips brushing her neck. “I can wait.”

She whimpered, shifting against him, her body too aware of how close she was to the edge. “Please,” she pleaded again, breathless. “Please, Fred, don’t stop.”

His hand slid down her waist, guiding her hips, just enough to make her gasp. “You feel too good, angel.”

With a soft, deliberate thrust, he sank back into her, slow at first, but he couldn’t help himself— couldn’t hold back now that she was squeezing him like that. The sound between them was wet, slick, that delicious friction making her shudder with every roll of his hips.

Her hands gripped at the cushions, her body rocking against his, lost in the rhythm of him filling her over and over again. Her walls clenched around him, every inch of him tightening with her.

Fred let out a deep, low groan, his fingers digging into her hips as he finally found his pace. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. 

The sound of their bodies moving together filled the cabana, the slick, wet rhythm only getting louder as they both gave in, the pressure between them building again.

Lottie’s head tipped back, her eyes closing as she let go of the tension that had been building, her body shuddering with every thrust, every movement he gave her. She was already so close again, her own wetness making it all feel so much better.

Her head dropped, whole body tipping forward. She was all whines and whimpers now, and he was getting sappier by the second.

“Lottie. Baby. I’m not gonna last—”

“You better,” she panted, nearly crying from the stretch, the heat, the emotion caught in her throat.

He laughed. Not mocking. Just delighted.

Then he slowed— just briefly— dragged out long, sweet, punishing strokes that made her keening loud again.

“Every time you say my name like that, I lose another brain cell.”

“You didn’t have many left.”

“Keep it up and I’ll spank you again.”

She arched, already bracing herself. Grin plastered from ear to ear.

And fuck if that didn’t undo him all over again.

He drove back, and plowed in. One, powerful push and it broke her. 

She came hard— body spring loaded, squealing through it, hips twitching as he held her still, buried deep.

And for a second, Fred didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stayed pressed to her, watching her fall apart.

She was jelly now. Barely propped on the daybed, cheek resting on her forearm, mouth slack.

But still, she turned her head enough to catch him with a post-orgasm smirk. “We done?”

He blinked. “...Do I look done?”

Lottie shifted, slow and sultry, rising to her knees and immediately sinking to the ground. “C’mere.”

He followed— obedient, dazed— and she dropped to sit back on her heels in front of him.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Lottie—” he started, but her fingers were already dipping into his waistband.

And just as he let out a groan, she tugged at the triangle of fabric covering her chest, sliding it aside like a curtain.

Fred’s eyes snapped down. “Oh hell.”

Her breasts spilled out, sun-warmed and soft, and his hands were on them in an instant.

He didn’t grope— he worshipped. Palming them with adoration, thumbs brushing over her peaked nipples as if he hadn’t seen them a hundred times before.

“They’re for you,” she teased, voice breathy. “This was all for you, remember?”

He just groaned again— this time with feeling.

And then her mouth was on him.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

His hands never left her chest. One cupped low, cradling the weight of her breast as he watched his cock disappear into her mouth, inch by inch.

She looked up through her lashes, lips sealed tight around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re too good at that.”

She hummed— on purpose. And he shuddered.

Thumb still stroking over her nipple, he rocked into her just a little— controlled, slow, his hips trembling.

Then she went right back down.

And Fred Weasley was a goner.

He was sitting back now, shoulders pressed into the slats of the cabana, hair damp and curling at the ends, skin sun-kissed and glowing with sweat. One leg half-bent, the other hanging lazily off the edge of the daybed. And between them, Lottie— kneeling, hair loose and wild, lips wrapped around him.

Her hand splayed on his abdomen, fingers curling slightly every time he twitched. He could feel it— every subtle swirl of her tongue, every drag of her mouth as she took him deeper, every squeeze of her palm around the base where her lips couldn’t reach.

“Shit,” he groaned. “Baby…”

His voice was all gravel now, breaking open around the edges.

“You’re so good at this,” he panted. “Fuck, so good for me…”

He was watching— head tilted down, eyes heavy-lidded, watching her move on him with pure awe.

And still— still— his hands were all over her chest.

One cradled her breast, thumb brushing in slow circles around her nipple. The other was tangled in the fabric of her top, holding it open so he could see what he was touching, thumbing at the under-curve like he was sculpting it from marble.

She took all of him, then pulled back— swishing her tongue around his tip. 

“Fuck!” His head snapped back, a guttural sound ripping out of him as her mouth closed tight around him, hot and wet and perfect. His hands moved to her hair instantly, tangling in the damp strands, not to push, not to force, just to hold on.

Lottie hollowed her cheeks, her tongue swirling along the underside, working him with messy determination. Every time she pulled back, she sucked harder, taking him deeper, swallowing around him until his thighs trembled.

“God, Lottie— baby, you’re— fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking.

Her eyes flicked up at him, glinting wicked even as drool slicked her chin. She moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through him. Fred almost lost it right there.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged, his chest rising and falling hard. His hands gripped tighter in her hair as he forced himself not to lose it too fast.

And then she shifted, one hand slipping up to her chest, tugging at the bikini top. Fred froze— until he realized what she was doing. She pulled the fabric just enough, and it flipped down. Freeing the swell of her breasts, flushed and perfect in the golden light.

Fred’s brain flatlined.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, staring down at her— her tits bouncing with the rhythm of her sucking, her mouth full of him, her eyes locked on his like this was exactly how she wanted him: desperate, ruined, hers.

He groaned, the sound wrecked and reverent all at once. His grip tightened, his hips twitching helplessly, chasing her mouth. “That’s it, baby,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

Lottie doubled down, sucking him harder, dragging her tongue along every ridge, taking him to the back of her throat with filthy determination. Fred’s moan tore out of him, raw, his whole body unraveling.

His hips were jerking into her mouth in ragged little thrusts, his grip in her hair tight but trembling, his voice rough and wrecked as the heat coiled lower and lower.

“Fuck—”

And then suddenly— her mouth was off him.

Fred’s eyes snapped open, wild, staring down in disbelief.

Lottie sat back just slightly, lips swollen, chin slick, her hand wrapping around him instead. Slow. Lazy. A cruel, deliberate rhythm that was nothing like the frantic pace her mouth had set.

“Wha—Lottie—” Fred’s voice cracked, a groan tearing out of him as his head fell back. “Baby, don’t—”

She smiled, wicked and soft at once, stroking him with smooth, unhurried pulls, her thumb smearing the slick at the head. “Relax, Weasley. It’s vacation. I thought you could wait, or can’t you?”

His laugh was strangled, broken. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Her hand squeezed just right, dragging slowly back down. “Mhm. But you like it.”

Fred’s eyes rolled shut, his chest heaving as he tried to keep still, to not thrust up into her hand like a desperate man. “Fuck, you’re evil,” he groaned, hips twitching despite himself.

“Evil?” she echoed sweetly, leaning in to press a teasing kiss just under the head before pulling back again. “I think it’s called payback.”

His eyes flew open, hazy but sharp, locking on hers. “Lottie, baby,” he rasped, voice low and warning. “Don’t play with me.”

But she just smirked, her hand tightening, her strokes maddeningly slow. “Oh, I’m playing.” 

She took the palm that was wrapped around his cock, slowly, so he could see— and rubbed it between the center of her breasts. Smearing the slick over her inked-skin. 

He watched, eager to see what she was planning to do. 

And it all made sense when she leaned forward. 

She pushed her tits together, and slipped his cock between them. 

Fred’s entire body trembled with restraint, muscles tight, jaw clenched as he tried to hold back. He was used to being the one to tease, to edge, to control. Now she had him right on the brink, and he was wrecked.

She bounced herself just slightly, using this leverage to press herself around him tighter.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back, his abs tightening under the soft plush skin wrapped around him. “Lottie, please—”

“Please?” she repeated, her grin widening. “God, I love hearing you beg.”

His breath caught, and for once, he couldn’t muster a comeback. He just groaned, low and helpless, his body jerking as she slowed her rhythm even more, dragging him back from the edge inch by inch.

And she was off him again. But not for long. 

She wrapped her lips back on him in a rush of heat and wet, sucking him down so greedily Fred nearly shouted. His hands buried in her hair again, hips twitching helplessly as she worked him faster, wetter, harder.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I can’t—” His words broke apart, his voice hoarse with desperation. He was so close, the coil snapping tighter with every pull of her mouth, every swirl of her tongue.

And then—just when he felt himself tipping over the edge—she pulled off.

“Lottie—!” he gasped, broken, chest heaving. He was about to lose his mind.

But she was already wrapping her hand around him, stroking him with perfect, filthy precision. And then she aimed him at her tits— right against the swell of flesh.

“Come on, baby,” she murmured, her voice breathless but steady, her eyes locked on his. “I want you to cum. Right here.”

Her grip around him switched from torturous to purposeful, she could see every muscle in his body strung taut enough to snap. 

Then—

Fred’s entire body convulsed. His breath caught, his stomach clenched, and with a guttural groan he snapped, spilling hot across her chest, over the curve of her breasts, marking her in thick, desperate pulses.

“Damn it—” His voice cracked as his hips jerked, his hands clenching in her hair while he watched himself cover her. His eyes were wide, almost wild, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Lottie arched her back slightly, her lips parted, letting him see how she looked— his release painting her, dripping over her tits, her skin glowing in the fire-warm light.

Fred nearly collapsed, the sight searing into him. “Lottie…” His voice was ragged, ruined. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smirked, lazy and smug, swiping a bit of him with her fingers and licking it clean. 

“Then you’ll die happy,” she teased, breathless.

Fred groaned, falling back onto the cushions, wrecked beyond recognition. He couldn’t stop looking at her— marked, radiant, absolutely perfect. And he knew right then, he’d never forget that sight.

Lottie leaned back against the cushions, chest heaving, still flushed from what they’d just done. A slow grin curved across her lips as she dragged two slick fingers through his release and lifted them to her mouth. She licked them clean with deliberate decadence, eyes half-lidded as she watched him watch her.

Fred let out a low, strangled laugh, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You’re actually insane,” he muttered, though the awe in his voice betrayed him.

“Mm,” Lottie hummed, smug, before reaching for the towel he tossed her. She wiped herself down lazily, then let the fabric drop carelessly onto the side table. “If it’s wrong then I don’t wanna be right.”

“Consider us a couple of heretics then.” 

* * *

Chapter Text

* * *

They didn’t linger outside. 

Lottie was too scared someone might’ve heard. 

Fred was scared he’d jump on her again, given the chance.

Instead, the pair gathered their dignities— and belongings— and retreated inside to their little home-away-from-home. All that…sweating called for a proper shower.

This wasn’t a shower with motives though, no lingering hands and no lustful gazes.

It was just two people who cared too much— caring all over again.

Lottie tilted her head back as Fred smoothed his palms over her shoulders, washing away the last traces of sand. She laughed quietly when the water ran into her eyes, wiping it away as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Fred moved steadily behind her, hands skimming her back and arms just because he could. There was no rush in here, no agenda. 

Lottie turned to face him, tipping her head under the steaming water and rinsing the shampoo. 

“We should do something fun tonight.”

“Like what?” Fred asked, reaching past her for the little hotel soap, lathering it in his hands.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged lazily, water dripping off her shoulders. “Get dressed up. Go find dinner. Or go back to the beach and just… lay there until we pass out.”

Fred smiled, rubbing his palms gently over her shoulders, working the soap down her arms. “All brilliant plans.”

“Or,” she added, lips curving faintly, “we could just stay in this shower until we prune.”

“Also brilliant.”

She laughed, low and drowsy from the steam.

Fred was quiet a second, then said, “Earlier, one of the staff told me there’s a bonfire tonight. Little ways up the beach. Locals, not the tourist thing. Starts just after sunset.”

Lottie opened her eyes, smiling before she could stop herself. Something about the idea— the fire, the music, the randomness of it all— felt amazing. Like the kind of thing you stumbled into and remembered forever.

“That,” she said, turning toward him, “sounds perfect.”

They separated after a final hug under the water. Splitting off to go their own ways for getting themselves ready. 

Lottie, for once, didn’t take the longest. 

She’d opted for mascara and lipstick, nothing bold. Considering she FINALLY caught the tiniest, microscopic amount of tan— you couldn’t tell her anything. She felt like a goddess amongst mortals, even more so considering how the seasalt seemed to love her hair, forming her normally swirling curls into carefree waves. Though, the humidity of daytime usually ruined it, nighttime was truly vacation Lottie prime. 

Fred stood near the dresser, towel slung low on his hips, running his fingers through his hair with a scowl. Humidity doing cruel things to his awkward-length hair. He raked both hands through it, muttering something under his breath as it flopped stubbornly back into his eyes.

Lottie’s weapon of destruction (outfit) tonight was a yellow halter top, floral maxi skirt that hung low on her hips, and of course— the locket.

The final birthday gift Fred and George had given her. 

Together.

Both of their faces clasped privately in their metal confines, pressed firmly to her heart.

Forever staring back at her like her sun and stars. 

She caught her own reflection in the glass door as she adjusted it against her collarbone, rubbing the pendant between her fingers without thinking— just to feel the weight of it. A familiar shape. A grounding one.

Fred caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He stopped mid-rake, hair sticking up in damp defiance, and turned toward her. “Y’okay?”

Lottie blinked like she’d been caught thinking too loud.
Her hand flew down from the locket, and she crossed the space between them in a few easy steps, catching his hand in hers. 

“Better than okay,” she said lightly, tipping her head up at him. “You’re shirtless and smell like idyllic fruits.”

Fred laughed under his breath, shaking his head as his fingers curled around hers. “Can’t argue with that.”

And then— because they could— they kissed. Not the biting, desperate kind. Not the slow-burn inferno kind. Just wholesome, filled with warmth and everything unsaid.

They moved around each other in the easy, unspoken rhythm that had grown between them— her at the mirror smoothing a flower in her hair, him finally conceding defeat to his unruly hair and raking it back with damp fingers. She slipped sandals on, tucking a tiny woven bag under her arm; he grabbed a linen shirt but left it unbuttoned, fucking puka shells still resting cocky at his collarbone.

When they stepped out, the air was warm, the last of the sunset bleeding out over the horizon. The sound of the surf was steady and low, the sand cool beneath their feet as they wandered toward the distant glow further up the beach. Neither of them said much. 

The quiet felt like a third presence walking between them, easy and companionable.

It wasn’t until they were halfway there, the firelight just beginning to flicker in the distance, that Fred spoke.

“Do you miss him?”

Lottie’s head turned sharply toward him, brows knitting. “What?”

He glanced down— not at her face, but at the small locket glinting at her throat.

Her chest gave a strange little squeeze.

“Oh,” she murmured. Her fingers twitched, almost rising toward it before she caught herself.

She stayed quiet. The breeze toyed with the hem of her skirt, carrying the smell of charred driftwood from somewhere ahead.

He glanced sidelong at her then, and she knew— knew— he could see it, that moment of panic in her eyes. That split second where she’d been thinking of George, had slipped into it without meaning to. And how guilty she suddenly felt about it.

Her throat tightened. 

She didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about missing George instead of Fred, or choosing one over the other.
It was just… complicated.
Messy. Bigger than her.

Fred gave her shoulder a bump.

She slowed to a stop, toes sinking into the damp sand, and said softly, “I was thinking about him.”

Fred turned to face her fully, early moonlight and leftover sunset catching in his eyes. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stiffen. 

He just… waited.

“I do miss him,” she admitted, the words coming halting and quiet.

“But not—” She huffed, frustrated with herself. “Not like that. It’s just… when I’m with you, I miss him. And when I’m with him, I miss you.”

Fred’s brows drew just slightly together, not in hurt— just trying to understand.

“I’ve never…” She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve never wanted to be around someone this much. Either of you. It’s like… if you’re not there, something’s missing. And I hate it, because it makes me feel like I’m not appreciating the person who is there enough.”

Her voice cracked faintly on the last word.

Fred’s expression softened at once.

“Hey,” he said gently, closing the space between them. He reached up and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, not because she was crying— she wasn’t— but because she looked like she might fold in on herself. 

“That’s not what this is.”

Her throat went tight. “It feels like it sometimes.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet but sure, warm in the cooling air. “But missing him doesn’t mean you love me less. And missing me when you’re with him doesn’t mean you love him less either.”

Her chest ached.

“This was the whole point, remember?” Fred went on, softer now, thumb stroking her cheek. “You don’t have to split yourself in half. We knew it’d feel… weird sometimes. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Lottie’s breath shuddered out, and she nodded, barely. “I just don’t wanna hurt either of you…”

Fred smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“You could never do that, angel.”

She brought herself to muster a small smile. 

“It's not about choosing,” he started. “But I can say— with total, unshaken honesty, you make me feel chosen every day. Just by being mine.”

Her breath evacuated against her will. She stammered to keep composure.

And Fred wore a recognizable grin that said, alright enough of that.

“And for the record,” he murmured, “I’m glad you miss me when I’m not there.”

That pulled a laugh from her— small, watery, real. “You would be.”

He grinned, wide and soft all at once. “Obviously.”

They walked side by side, their feet sinking lightly into the sand, the distant hum of a ukulele drifting toward them on the warm night air. 

The firelight up ahead flickered in between the palm trees, neither of them rushed towards it. The night was quiet, the moon still climbing higher over the ocean.

Finally, she glanced at him sidelong. “How are you feeling about… everything?”

He squinted at her. “Everything?”

She made a vague little motion between them with her finger. 

“Y’know… everything.” She gave him a half smile, a little nervous, but honest.

Fred paused mid-step, looking at her like she’d just asked if the sky was blue. 

“Of course,” he said with a casual grin. “I love being one of the two pillars holding up a ‘singular radiant apex,’” he added with exaggerated dramatic flair.

Lottie rolled her eyes, a quiet chuckle escaping her, but she pushed on. The playful tone was good for deflection, but she wasn’t letting it slide this time.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, her voice a little softer, a little more vulnerable now. “It’s obviously a bit… different. So I can imagine if you’re probably feeling kinda—”

Her own scoff cut herself off. She was doing so well articulating feelings, sooner or later her own emotions were bound to catch up. 

But he was saving her without even knowing. 

“I’m good, Lottie. I really am. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked at her properly, his smile fading just a little. 

She nodded, but wasn’t satisfied. She couldn’t quite shake the memory of that one conversation— the one from their time at Winslow Manor. The one where Fred had admitted that he’d felt like second in some way. 

And she wasn’t sure he realized how much it had stuck with her. She felt like she’d neglected him in some way— like she said she loved him but made no effort to prove it.

Lottie never wanted that to happen again. 

Ever. 

Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she glanced over at him as they walked. “Okay. Good.” She took a breath, her voice dipping lower as she tried to find the right words. “Because I still think about what you told me. You know… that day. About feeling second. You’re not second, Fred. You never will be.”

She hesitated, unsure if that was enough. Her hand tightened around his a little. She wasn’t great with feelings, wasn’t sure how to make it sound the way she wanted, but she had to try.

“I just hope you never feel like that. Like you’re second to anyone. Because you’re not. Not with me.”

You’re not second anywhere— I love you too. Is what she wanted to say.

Fred’s expression softened immediately, a little surprise flashing across his face. He stopped walking, pulling her gently to face him.

“Lottie—” His voice dropped, a little raw. He stared, eyes searching hers like he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words either. “I know that. I do. It’s just… sometimes I forget that I’m allowed to be yours too”

Her chest tightened, a lump rising in her throat.

“No, you are,” she insisted, leaning in slightly, pressing her palm to his chest. “You’re so allowed. You mean so much to me, Freddie. Always have.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, pulling back to look at her like she’d just given him something precious.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, voice low and serious. “I’ll be here, no matter what. No second thoughts. No question.”

Lottie nodded. She reached for him then, her lips brushing his in a soft, tender kiss.

“Good,” she whispered, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes, smiling a little. “Because you’re my world, too. Just... be here. With me.”

Fred chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. “I can do that.”

The pace continued, inching closer towards the fire. Slowly, but eventfully.

And then, without warning, he said, “You know, I never thought I’d be like this. Here, with you, on a beach at night. No expectations, no rush. Just...”

He paused, shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the words.

“Just what?” she asked quietly, slowing her pace so she could catch his eyes.

Fred let out a breath, then met her gaze. His expression was raw. 

“Just... I’m not used to letting myself feel this way. You know, with someone. Where it’s not a joke or something to hide behind. You make me want to be here, Lottie. Really here. Like— I want to keep feeling this with you.”

Lottie paused. Her heart was in her throat, but she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. She hadn’t expected him to open up— hadn’t expected him to melt like that, to give her pieces of himself he usually buried.

“You’ve never been so—” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s... kind of perfect.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his shoulders dropping in the most vulnerable way she’d ever seen. “Yeah, well. You make me want to be.”

She swallowed, heart racing, but this time, she didn’t look away. She held his gaze with a steady calmness, letting him see her affection without reservation.

“Fred, you’re… incredible. And I’m glad we’re here. Really.”

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek, as if the touch was just as much for him as it was for her. 

“You’re so much more than I ever expected, Lottie. You’re my life.”

They stood there for a second, just looking at each other in the night’s quiet. And then Fred shifted, glancing over at the distant bonfire, the orange glow flickering through the trees.

He cleared his throat, looking back at her with that familiar spark of playful mischief, even though the softness was still there. “So…” He gestured to the fire. “Should we go see what that’s all about?”

Lottie smiled, breath catching at how effortlessly he shifted back, but how much of the softness lingered in his eyes. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go see what’s happening.”

As they made their way toward the bonfire, the night air heavy with the promise of more unspoken things, Fred laced his fingers with hers again, that quiet tenderness lingering between them. 

And Lottie, for the first time in a long time, felt like she was exactly where she needed to be.

As they approached the bonfire, the warm glow surrounded them, flickering in between palm trees, casting long shadows on the sand. The air smelled like roasted pineapple and coconut, mixed with the salt of the ocean. The sound of ukulele and guitar strings filled the space, soft and harmonious, like something plucked from a dream.

A local woman greeted them first, flashing a friendly smile and offering them both a cup of something cold and fruity, her voice light and welcoming.

“You’re here just in time,” she said, nodding toward the circle of people gathered by the fire. “We were just about to start the songs.”

Fred took the drink, glancing at Lottie. She grinned, accepting her own cup. They followed the woman to the fire where others were chatting, laughing, and passing around skewers of grilled fish and fruit.

Before they could even fully settle in, someone offered them a seat by the fire, and soon enough, they were welcomed into the warmth of the gathering, drinks in hand, small talk flowing as the music wrapped around them like the night air.

A couple of dogs circled the group, one of them taking a very cute liking to Fred. He fed it a couple pieces of his skewered fruit when nobody was looking. 

The flames danced in front of them, casting shadows on their faces. Lottie settled comfortably next to Fred, their bodies close, but not too close— still in that soft, quiet space where words weren’t necessary.

She let herself relax into the moment, watching the firelight flicker, and it was Fred’s voice that broke the silence, low and steady.

“I was serious— earlier. I could see a home here,” he said, almost casually. He didn’t look at her at first, his gaze still on the flames, but his words were slow, careful.

Lottie felt a weight shift in her chest, and she turned toward him, studying his profile, his posture relaxed as he leaned back, watching the fire. She knew he was trying to bring up what he so casually tossed around earlier. 

And for some reason— maybe it was the drinks, the vulnerability, or maybe even her own lovesickness encroaching in on her iron barriers— she wanted to talk about it again. 

“Yeah?” Her voice was soft, a little breathless, like she was waiting to see what was going to happen.

Fred nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “I really do like it. Something about it... the simplicity. The peace. I could wake up here. With you.”

Lottie’s heart stuttered. His earnestness much more noticeable now in the glow of the firelight and laughter, he wasn’t just kidding earlier— and he certainly wasn’t kidding now.

She swallowed, her fingers curling around her cup, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. "I think about that too," she admitted. "Not just here, but… somewhere. With you. I could see it, Fred. A future. A real one."

Fred’s eyes met hers then, and there was something in the way they held each other’s gaze— so much unsaid, but so much understood.

He smiled, and for the first time, Lottie saw the softness in his expression. 

“I know. I think about it more than I should. Us. I always have. Just... didn’t know if it would work. But now? I know it’s what I want.”

The words were quiet but felt like a declaration.

Lottie’s chest tightened, her breath catching. “Fred…” Her voice faltered for a second, but then she said what she needed to. “I want that, too.”

Fred leaned toward her, pulling her close, brushing her cheek with his thumb before dipping his head, his forehead resting against hers. “You don’t need to say it all at once. But it’s nice to know we're both thinking the same thing.”

Her smile was soft, tender. “Yeah, it is.”

They sat like that for a moment, just breathing each other in, the world around them fading into the background. The fire crackled, the music filled the space, but the only thing that mattered, for now, was the quiet assurance that they were building something real. 

Something lasting.

They were starting forever.

The fire crackled, sending sparks up into the night sky as Lottie pulled her legs up, tucking them beneath her. She turned her gaze back toward Fred, watching him sip from his drink, still distracted by the warmth of the fire and the hum of the conversation around them. That dog that liked him was at his feet, still munching the leftover fruits he’d tossed when pouted at. 

She hesitated for a moment, then shifted her weight to her knees.

“You know,” she began, pulling a small, folded cloth from the wicker bag at her side, “I got something for you.”

Fred glanced up, his brow quirked. “Something for me? What is it? Another piece of mango?”

Lottie laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Nope. Better than that.”

She pulled a small cloth covered wad from her bag, and started unfolding it like she was afraid of what might come out. 

“I was making things— for the shop and I had an idea for this,” she said, like it was nothing, like her heart wasn’t hammering. “Wanted to see how it would work. How it would look in real life and not just as a sketch.”

She stretched her hand over, just hoovering above his lap. 

Fred blinked at the little shape in her palm— a ring, warm and golden, the back of its band engraved with a trotting fox so fine it almost seemed to move in the flicker of firelight. Or maybe it was just enchanted to run. A small rectangle garnet lay horizontal at its center, glowing as if it had its own ember inside. A soft border ran around it, probably to keep it in the band, but it made the garnet look so much more regal.

His mouth parted.

Then, because he was Fred, his lips twitched. “You proposing to me, Winslow?”

“Oh, shut up.” Lottie elbowed him sharply, cheeks flushing. “It’d take more than one good fuck on the beach and a warm shower for all that, Weasley.” 

But she was smiling, and her hand didn’t waver.

Fred went quiet as he took it from her fingers. The weight was nothing, but it sank through him like an anchor.

The fire snapped. Music swelled faintly on the breeze.

And Fred just sat there, staring at the ring cupped in his palm, utterly silent.

She’d made this. For him. 

Not just a piece of jewelry— his. Thought of him when she designed it, when she shaped the band, when she carved that fox so it would run with him wherever he went. Another part of her, but this one he could have with him no matter the time or place.

She could pretend it wasn’t what it was, but he knew.

He knew she was saying I love you.

His throat tightened. He slipped it onto his right ring finger slowly, as though it might vanish if he blinked too hard. The garnet caught the firelight and flared red, bright as her smile.

Fred exhaled, low, almost disbelieving. “It’s fucking perfect,” he said quietly. So soft she almost missed it.

And though she only smirked like she knew it would be, something soft bloomed in her chest at the sound of his voice. 

“You really like it?” she asked, her voice just a touch too careful.

Fred’s gaze didn’t leave the ring. 

“Mm,” he hummed, too soft, too honest. Then he blinked, straightened, and said, “Think I need one for every finger, actually.”

Lottie barked a laugh, relief breaking out of her all at once. “For fucks sake.”

“Yeah,” he went on, deadpan now, still twisting the ring with his thumb. “Like— different vibes for each finger. Index finger for pretentiousness. Middle for flipping people off in style. Pinky just for feeling like a mobster.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“True,” he said easily, finally looking at her— and she caught it, just for a second, the softness still lingering in the corners of his grin. “But admit it. I’d pull it off.”

She rolled her eyes and looked back toward the fire, hoping the warmth there could pass for the blush creeping up her neck. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“Like it?” He scoffed, leaning in to bump her shoulder. “I’m obsessed, baby. I’m never taking the bloody thing off.”

She rolled her eyes as she tipped her head on his shoulder, resting but not ignoring. 

She watched the group in front of them play music and dance around the fire. Everything had faded from scorching heat to molten amber. The smell of salt soaked wood and rum still wafted on the nightbreeze, a reminder of where exactly they were, as if they could forget. 

He kept spinning the ring around his finger with his thumb, flexing it, watching how the garnet flashed when the flames caught it just right. Every so often, he’d look down at it, grin like an idiot, then pretend he hadn’t.

Lottie watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying not to smile too hard. Her heart was too full and fizzy to sit still.

Then, out of nowhere, he straightened, her head forced to hold itself up again.

He was staring across the circle at an unattended ukulele, perched beside one of the locals. Without saying a word, Fred raised his hand in a small, playful motion— an almost comically formal gesture, as if asking permission. 

The person beside the instrument raised an eyebrow, then passed the ukulele to him without hesitation.

Lottie blinked in confusion.

Fred smirked, still holding the ukulele in his hands as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Then, without any fanfare, he plucked the strings.

Her eyes narrowed. 

At first, it sounded a little shaky. 

Definitely not perfect— there were some tuning issues, and the strumming was just slightly out of sync. 

But then... it clicked. Fred found his rhythm, and the familiar, light, tropical chords floated from the strings. He wasn’t a virtuoso, not by a long shot, but he knew it.

Lottie’s mouth fell open slightly, her heart giving a little jump as she watched him, now totally absorbed in the music. She’d never heard him play anything like this before.

“Fred,” she said, trying to hide her surprise, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “You can play?”

Fred didn’t look up at first, focusing intently on the ukulele, his fingers finding the strings in smooth, practiced motions. 

“Guess so. Not too different from a guitar, I suppose,” he said with that familiar lazy grin, not missing a beat. “Didn’t seem worth mentioning.”

Lottie’s eyes softened. She had never seen him so— softly careless.

He joined the impromptu group by the fire, slipping right into the next song. A few people, mostly locals, gathered closer to play along. Fred strummed his way through the simple tune, humming under his breath, tapping his foot in time. He was into it, fully present.

Lottie watched him, transfixed. 

Fred was always like this; always had this effortless way of fitting into whatever space he was tossed into, of being fully there with everyone. She didn’t know why she was surprised— it made sense. Fred always knew how to make people feel things, even when he wasn’t trying.

He made her feel things all the time, whether he knew it or not. 

She leaned back, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching him. There was something about the soft glow of the firelight against his skin, the way the ukulele hummed in his hands, the new ring flashing bright with each flick of his fingers. 

Like her work was made to live with him. 

It made him seem so different, so much softer, than the reckless version she knew so well.

Fred finished the song with a final flourish of strumming.

The others he had been playing with applauded his mediocre playing politely. One of them patted his shoulder and he swatted his hand at whatever they had to say to him. 

He returned to his jellyfish with a smug brow raise and slouch down beside her. 

“Not bad, eh?”

Lottie couldn’t help but laugh, completely charmed. “Not bad? You’re probably going to be a local legend now. Strange, cryptid-sized Englishman fascinates locals with heavenly strings.”

He laughed, reaching for his drink, a little too casual. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just showing off for you.”

“Is that so?” Lottie smirked, leaning toward him. “Guess I should be impressed.”

“Oh, you’re not?” he said with a wink, letting the lingering tension of the moment melt into laughter.

They stayed close, their hands brushing against each other as the firelight flickered, the music floating into the night, and the world beyond the bonfire felt miles away.

* * *

Back in the bungalow, the night air and giggles from their walk home clung to them, chilled from the breeze but warm from their feelings. 

Fred tossed his new prized possession, a puka shell necklace onto the dresser with a clatter and flopped back onto the bed after shedding his shirt, stretching out like he owned the place.

Lottie lingered by her open suitcase, rifling through the mess of clothes she’d haphazardly packed. A thin cotton slip in pale pink caught her eye— short, strappy, nearly sheer when held against the light. Hardly pajamas, but then again… wasn’t that the point?

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. Fred had one arm thrown over his eyes, the other lazily twisting his new ring around his finger. He wasn’t fucking looking.

Good.

She shimmied into it quickly, tying the little bow at her shoulder, then padded toward the bed barefoot.

Fred cracked one eye open. Froze.

The arm dropped away from his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

And like she was innocent—

“My pajamas,” Lottie said, climbing onto the mattress, casually, as if it was nothing.

“Pajamas?” His voice pitched higher, disbelieving. “Angel, that’s… that’s the thing wars are started over. That’s… that’s— lace and lewd thoughts.”

She smirked, tugging the thin sheet over her lap as she settled in beside him. “Maybe I like your lewd thoughts.”

Fred was still staring, propped up on one elbow now, ring flashing in the lamplight. His eyes dragged slow over the cling of fabric, the way it barely hit mid-thigh, the bare line of her shoulders. He swallowed hard.

“Fucking hell” he muttered, almost to himself. 

 Her back to him, like she was actually going to sleep. And she bumped her nearly-bare butt against him, just to make him crazy.

But she felt it— the weight of his gaze, the restless shift of the mattress as he moved closer.

He’d finally stopped muttering after shutting the lights off and returning to her under the covers. 

The room had gone quiet except for the faint hush of waves and the low hum of the salt lamp glowing peach against the wall. The sheets smelled faintly of flowers and her lotion, sweet and clean against the sharper edge of the sea breeze curling in through the slatted windows.

Lottie was cozily tucked up on her side, hair spilling over the pillow, breathing steady but not quite asleep.

Fred lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling for all of three minutes before he sighed, lifted his hand, and started rolling the ring around his finger again. Over and over, the garnet flared faintly in the lamp’s light, catching with each twist. 

He wasn’t taking it off. Not tonight. Probably not ever.

His gaze drifted— away from the ring, to her.

The curve of her shoulder was bare where the slip had slipped low, rich indigo ink circling it in runes that shimmered faintly when the light caught. Fred rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand, and reached out, letting the pad of his finger trace one of the marks.

Lottie stirred faintly, murmuring into the pillow.

“You awake?” he asked softly.

“Mmh,” was all she managed.

He grinned, fingertips skating over another rune, following the lines like a puzzle he could never quite solve. 

“Never get over these,” he whispered, half to himself. “Like little stories etched into you.”

He remembered how shocking it was seeing them for the first time. How they faded into her skin, breaking the concealment magic she used for protection. 

She thought he'd be mad— or disappointed, or even call her a liar. But none of that happened. Instead, he started plotting his own. 

Fred had always liked the idea of a piece of art you could wear. It was a temptation he didn't feel the need to indulge… until he saw hers. 

Badass. 

Was what he thought when she revealed them that night. 

And now, he liked to look at them. On her. How each one was such a perfect piece of her that made total sense after finally knowing her

His hand drifted lower, across the curve of her arm where vines and flowers wrapped in endless loops. He trailed along the ink, slowly, the way he might follow constellations on a clear night.

“I like these,” he murmured, his voice warm, almost drowsy. “All these little pieces of you you choose to show.”

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t answer, just shifted closer into the pillow, letting him keep talking.

Fred smiled to himself, still tracing, still spinning the ring with his other hand. “Not fair. You’ve got the magic tattoos, and me? Just freckles and a perfect jawline.”

A soft, sleepy laugh escaped her, muffled into the pillow.

Fred’s grin widened. He leaned closer, lips brushing the back of her shoulder, right where the rune circle began. “Guess that makes us even, huh? You’re art, and I’m chaos.”

Fred dragged his finger slowly around the circle on her shoulder, following it like a track. “Y’know,” he whispered, “‘Bout time I get some. Tattoos. Balance it out.”

Lottie made a soft noise into the pillow, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Mm?”

“Yeah. Imagine it,” he said, rolling onto his back for a second like he could picture it on the ceiling. 

“Big piece, right across my chest. Maybe a dragon. Or your face. Both. Dragon and your face. Real subtle.”

Her shoulders shook with a muffled laugh, too tired to lift her head. “Terrible idea, Weasley.”

“Alright, fine. Something classy.” He rolled back toward her, tapping the side of her arm where the vines curled. “A fox, maybe, like the one on my ring. Little guy. Trotting along. Very distinguished.”

Her hand flopped back blindly, smacking weakly against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.” His grin was audible. “Though one on my arm, and one in my ring… might be overkill. The symbolism would scream instead of suggest.”

Fred just kept twirling the ring, pretending it was nothing, his finger still tracing her ink like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Fred’s finger drifted down her arm again, following the winding vines and flowers. 

“Maybe I get a whole sleeve,” he mused. “Something dramatic. Smoke, fire, lions head. Really mysterious.”

Lottie groaned. 

Then made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like please stop talking.

“Or— hear me out— little food doodles,” Fred continued, undeterred. “One for every place we go. Pineapple for here, bagel for Manhattan. Maybe a little strawberry for Veritas Point.”

She buried her face deeper into the pillow. “That’s so stupid.”

“You say stupid I say sentimental,” Fred said proudly.

He shifted onto his back, hands behind his head, eyes gleaming in the salt lamp glow. 

“Maybe knuckle letters,” he went on. “Like LOVE and HATE, except mine would say SNACK and TIME. Very scary.”

Lottie made a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been despair.

“Oh, or your name,” he said suddenly, rolling back toward her. “Tiny. Somewhere scandalous. Like my hipbone.”

Lottie imagined Fred with a slutty tramp stamp and almost laughed. 

But she didn't want to encourage him. 

“Fred.” Her voice was raspy with exhaustion. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, grinning in the dark. “My brain’s alive with possibilities. I’m gonna be a walking scrapbook.”

She cracked one bleary eye open, glaring. “You’re gonna be asleep in thirty seconds.”

He smiled, softening as he brushed his thumb along her shoulder again. “Not if I keep thinking about you.”

Her glare faltered.

“Just sayin’,” he murmured, lips brushing her rune-marked skin. “You’re real hard to stop thinking about, angel.”

She exhaled, long-suffering, and curled tighter into the pillow. “Shut up.”

Fred only grinned wider, spinning his ring again, eyes still on her tattoos like he was memorizing every one.

Fred’s finger drifted down her back again, slow now, almost reverent, tracing the soft edge of her spine. His voice had gone quieter too, less ridiculous, more like he was talking to himself.

“You'll always be cooler than me until I even things out with my own.” He murmured. 

Lottie hummed faintly into the pillow, eyes still closed— but she was awake. Very awake.

Fred’s touch lingered at the dip of her waist, then swept lower, over the soft curve of her hip. 

He exhaled, slow. “Every time I think you can't get more beautiful— you somehow do.”

Her mouth curved against the pillow despite herself.

“All of you,” he whispered.

His thumb brushed just under the hem of her slip, feather-light. And instead of pulling away, Lottie arched— just a subtle roll of her hips back into his hand.

Fred stilled.

Then his grin flashed in the low light, quiet and sharp. “...Oh,” he said softly.

“So you are awake.”

Her eyes opened, hazy, the faintest glimmer of challenge. “Was trying to sleep. You wouldn’t shut up.”

“Impossible to relax when you look this good, love.” He murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing her bare shoulder. His hand slid over her hip again, this time more deliberate, molding to her.

“Mm.” She stretched, slow and feline, letting the thin fabric ride higher on her thighs. “I bet we can find a way to tire you out.”

Fred’s breath hitched, his mouth tracing lower over her shoulder. 

Fred’s hand lingered low on her hip, thumb brushing back and forth in lazy arcs, his lips ghosting over her shoulder. The air between them had thickened, slow and heavy, but still— he hesitated.

“Lottie,” he murmured, voice low, “you sure you—”

Before he could finish, she shifted. Smooth, unhurried.

Her top leg lifted, sliding back over his hip, draping across him like an invitation. The thin slip bunched high, baring the warm inside of her thigh to his wandering hand.

Fred went still.

Lottie tipped her head back just enough to meet his eyes over her shoulder, lashes low, mouth faintly curved. No words. 

Just herself, offered, unmistakable.

Every molecule of him snapped tight.

His hand slid up the newly bared line of her thigh, his touch no longer tentative— just hungry, certain.

She shivered when his thumb grazed the soft heat between her legs through the thin fabric, her breath catching audibly.

She breathed slow and heavy against the pillow, leg draped over his hip, slip bunched high on her thighs.
She wasn’t unsure— she was melting, warm and languid; her body humming with desire even as her eyelids fluttered like they might stay closed.

Fred traced his thumb over the soft inside of her thigh, heart thudding, and whispered, “Don’t even worry, love. I can take care of you. Just relax”

Lottie’s lips curved, faint and sleepy, but sure. “Mm. I’d like that.”

Something in his chest clenched.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her shoulder. “Just relax for me.”

His hand slipped higher, ghosting up the delicate heat between her legs and she shivered. Fred kissed the back of her neck, over her ouroboros, before trailing down, down.

The moonlight pooled over her bare skin as he settled between her thighs, hands already sliding up to part her gently.

“Let me see you,” he whispered, and then— he did.

Fred eased her onto her back, the thin pink slip tangled high around her hips; his eyes raked up her body, like he was studying her for poetry and sport. He settled low, shoulders braced between her knees, and for a moment he just looked— like he was memorizing her all over again.

Fucking unreal. How does she look like that doing absolutely nothing?

His grin was small, crooked, almost private— like he’d just decided something about her and wasn’t going to tell.

Instead, he just ran his broad palms up the revealed skin of her stomach before him, silvery moon light falling over both of them like opaline radiance.

A low sound slipped from her lips, more sigh than moan. Just from the careful touches and soft kisses.

“Been waiting for this trip, love.” He spoke low, rumbling the words over her soft thighs. “We've been too fucking busy lately. I— I missed you.”

She hummed in soft agreement, pressing her hips higher into his touch.

His hands slid up the length of her thighs, not greedy, but molding to her skin. He pressed them apart gently, thumbs stroking the tender insides until he felt goosebumps.

Then he dipped lower, fingertips tracing the damp heat through the thin fabric of her panties. Barely a touch, just enough to tease, to feel how wet she already was.

Lottie whined just a bit, her hips rolling faintly up into his hand. She felt herself dissolving under his hands, piece by careful piece.

“Yeah,” Fred whispered, his grin crooked and soft at once. “You missed me too, didn't you?”

She nodded again, drowsily— but still writhing her hips.

He hooked a finger under the edge of the fabric, sliding it aside, and finally stroked through her folds. 

Slow. Lazy. Like he had all the time in the world. Spreading her slick all around, just to feel.

Lottie gasped, eyes fluttering open just long enough to catch him watching her, pupils blown wide.

“Shhh—” He cut himself off, pressing two fingers just at her entrance, circling. “I’ve got you, angel.”

Her fingers curled in the sheets, slow and unfocused.

He eased inside then, just his fingers, sliding in slow and deliberate. The stretch made her shudder, her hand curling in the sheets.

Fred groaned, low and wrecked. 

He set a rhythm, slow and deep, his other hand splayed across her stomach to hold her steady. Every curl of his fingers drew another broken sound from her lips, and every sound made him sink further, like he could get drunk on it.

“Missed this,” she whispered, clenching her fists hard, watching him just out the slice of vision she could muster. “Missed you.”

He kissed the inside of her knee as agreement, velvet-soft.

Fred’s rhythm stayed unhurried, steady, two fingers stroking deep while his thumb teased lazy circles over her clit. 

Her lips parted, slack and breathless, a soft little whimper breaking out each time he curled just right. Her head tipped back into the pillow, hair spilling loose, and for once there was no tension in her brow, no guarded edge. 

Just Lottie, undone, enjoying.

I could keep her like this forever. 

Fred’s chest tightened at the sight.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice gone rough. “Just let go for me. Don’t think. Just feel.” 

She murmured something incoherent, vowels stretched with pleasure. Her thighs quivered as he pressed deeper, spreading his fingers inside her, pressing and dragging. The slick sound of it filled the quiet room, obscene under the hush of waves outside.

He adjusted his angle, curling hard until she gasped, eyes flying open— then fluttering shut again as her whole body arched.

“Right there?” he asked, though he already knew. 

He could see it all over her, written in every line of her face.

“Yes,” she breathed, wrecked.

He grinned, leaning in closer, his other hand sliding up her ribcage to steady her. “Good girl.”

Her face softened even further at that, lips trembling as the pleasure pulsed through her, eyelids fluttering, mouth slack and perfect.

Fred couldn’t stop watching. He was obsessed. The way her body moved under his hands, the way her sounds stuttered out unguarded— it was everything he’d missed, everything he needed.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Could watch you all night.”

Fred kept his fingers moving, slow and deliberate, until Lottie’s whole body tensed. She gasped, the sound breaking at the edges as she came— her hips jerking up into his touch, fingers curling into the sheets as he held her steady.

Her breath was ragged as she came down, the soft tremors still rolling through her body, but then she went still, her chest rising and falling, eyes flickering open to meet his.

And there it was. 

The look.

That unreadable little gaze that said, Are you done already, Weasley?

Fred didn’t let go of her immediately. Instead, he kept his fingers inside her, the slow strokes gentle, letting her feel the aftermath of the orgasm still throbbing inside her.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “I love when you break for me, baby.”

She swallowed hard, legs still trembling, but her eyes didn’t leave his.

Fred hummed, his grin crooked. “Can I keep going?”

The question was simple, casual, but the air between them paused.

Lottie blinked, like it took her a moment to fully process the words. 

Then she gave him that little smile, the one that was part sweet, part wicked. “You can.”

Fred’s pulse quickened, the shift inside him almost too much to handle. 

She let out a shaky breath as he positioned himself, hovering above her for just a moment. His hair fell forward when he ducked his head, and she felt the tickle of it at her hip. 

Fred’s gaze was fixed on her, and he could see the flush still coloring her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath, the way her lips parted in anticipation.

And then, he finally lowered his head, his tongue brushing against her, soft and tentative at first, tasting her slowly, savoring every part of her. One long, luxurious lick from her entrance to clit.

Fuck— if this is the last thing I ever taste, fine. Let it be her.

Lottie gasped, her fingers tightening in the sheets again, but this time, she didn’t hold back. Her body arched toward him, hips shifting as she gave herself up to him completely.

Fred’s hands slid down to her hips, hooking around and tugging her toward him, his mouth working her as he took his time— intentional, slow licks that had her trembling underneath him. He could feel her body pulling him closer, and with every second, he was lost in her, her in every way.

Fred’s mouth slid over her, lips and tongue working in tandem, pulling a string of breathy gasps from her throat. But there was a hunger to it now, a need that bled through the strokes.

He tasted her like she was a treasure, a feast, but every movement had that same urgent burn—that Fred Weasley wanting, like she owed him this. Like he was going to consume every part of her, and she’d thank him for it.

She felt warm and heavy and unbearably alive under his mouth.  

Lottie’s hands twisted in the sheets, her chest rising in uneven rhythm as he dragged his tongue through her, tasting, savoring, then licking higher, tracing the sensitive folds until she arched up into him.

She gasped, “Fred…”

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice thick, rough as he parted her even wider. “Just relax, baby. Let me do the work.”

His hands dug into her thighs harder, pulling her up toward him with a firm, possessive grip as he sank back into her, mouth moving with purpose now. There was no gentleness in the way he kissed her— no slowing down. He was greedy, pushing into her, taking her in the way only he could.

Lottie’s legs quivered as she reached for him, hands tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned at the contact, the sound barely audible as he kept his rhythm, his tongue working faster now, feeling her pulse, her breath. “So fucking sweet,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper against her skin. “Taste so good, baby.”

Lottie’s breath hitched, a faint shudder running through her body as he slid two fingers into her, pumping them in time with his mouth, each movement more demanding than the last. She couldn’t stop herself from grinding up into him, wanting more.

Fred groaned against her, lifting his head for just a moment, eyes wild with hunger. 

“Easy— take it easy. I’m here.”

His words were low, almost primal as he watched her, saw her body unraveling under his touch. He felt the slickness coating his fingers and mouth, felt her body quivering with need.

Lottie’s back arched, her hips jerking as he pushed her over the edge, her body tightening in that delicious white-hot release, the tension that had built all day breaking apart in waves. 

She let out a soft cry as her orgasm hit, her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there.

Fred didn’t stop. 

He didn’t care if she was still trembling, still coming down. He just kept going— ruthless, determined, like he was going to drain her dry.

Fred’s rhythm stuttered as Lottie came down from her orgasm, still trembling, still gasping for breath. He gave one last, desperate lick, but then— he stopped, his forehead dropping to her thigh, his breath heavy and ragged.

Lottie stayed still for a moment, eyes fluttering open, watching him with that soft, knowing look as he pulled away with a groan. 

She grinned to herself, eyes softening as she snuggled up beside him, her head resting on his chest. She could feel the heavy thrum of his heartbeat under her ear, slow but steady, just like his breathing.

“Did that actually tire you out?” She muttered.

Lottie shifted closer, one leg draping over his, her body fitting perfectly into the familiar contours of his.

Fred’s hand rested on her back, barely moving, his thumb rubbing circles as if he was trying to keep from falling completely asleep.

“Mmph.”

Was all he mustered.

Apparently it did work. 

He was halfway to drowsy-town, his slow rubs on her lower back already losing their momentum.

“You’re really not gonna stay awake with me, huh?” she whispered, a gentle tease in her voice.

He mumbled something incoherent, the sound almost too soft to catch.

“I knew it,” she laughed, sliding an arm over his chest, pulling him tighter.

Fred let out a slow exhale, his body relaxing into hers, the tension finally easing out of him. 

“You’re so fucking snuggly. It’s unfair.”

What wonderful last words, Freddie. 

She snorted just a puff of air in response. 

He was out. 

Lottie’s lips brushed his collarbone as she settled in, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. She knew, though, that the moment she’d closed her eyes, it wouldn’t be long before she drifted into that sleepy warmth with him.

The moonlight poured softly through the open window, the scent of the sea lingering in the air, and the sound of the waves crashing just outside, like a lullaby meant just for them.

She pressed a soft kiss to his chest, and Fred hummed in unconscious contentment, his hand finally stilling on the small of her back, holding her close.

They didn’t need to speak now anyway.

They’d had the fire, the tension, the release, the emotions, and the release again. 

Now all there was, was the simple, quiet togetherness of the night.

Lottie’s breath evened out, her body molding into him, feeling the pull of sleep as it settled over her. It was easy, being with him like this. Just the two of them, in the quiet peace of their own little bubble.

And in that moment, with her curled into him, wrapped in the warmth of their shared breath, everything felt like it was exactly where it was meant to be.

Chapter Text

* * *

Lottie was fucking humming when she woke up today. 

Like a lovesick village maiden from a sappy period piece.

But honestly— she wasn’t even bothered by it.

Nobody around to protect herself from, nobody around to mask for. 

Just her, and her Fred.

In paradise.

After spending a morning filled with sappy cuddles and maybe a bit too much making out—

She couldn’t not hum to herself as she bounced around the bathroom like a bumblebee from flower to flower. 

Except she was gathering her underwear.
But still.
Quite the picture of perky smugness.

After finally breaking themselves apart from each other's mouths, they’d planned to have a chill day. Some walking around, exploring the local town, some shopping and ingesting far too much shaved ice.

It was shaping up to be another blissful day in paradise.

Lottie stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her hair, and a soft smile tugging at her lips from the lingering warmth of the morning. The bathroom was still foggy with steam, and the early sun was slanting through the open window, casting a soft glow across the room. 

She moved over to her suitcase, picking out a pair of light, denim shorts and a cute tank top that screamed vacation with one of my beloveds. Fred had just finished his breakfast, but as she turned toward him, she saw another plate on the nightstand. 

Something about the scene was… suspiciously peaceful.

His eyes were glued to his book, the cover curled back in a swirl that said I've already read this and I don't need to again. His lips were smirked up at something else though. 

But Lottie’s keen eyes were fixed on the plate— small, unassuming, but that glint in his eye that told her something was up.

She walked over, her brows raising slightly. 

“What’s this?” Knowing damn well exactly what that was; she’d seen a hundred or more of them in her life.

Four inches by four inches, fudgy in the center, with sprinkles on its crackled top. It was even a corner piece.

Fred looked up at her, feigning innocence. 

“What? That?” He gestured lazily with his free hand. “Oh, nothing. Just a little treat from your sister. You know, brownies.”

Lottie blinked.

He gave her a wide grin, trying— unsuccessfully— to hide his mischievous excitement. “You know, the kind that are extra special. You know, for special purposes.”

Lottie’s eyes narrowed. “You brought a pot brownie on our vacation?”

“Mm,” Fred hummed, giving a half-shrug, already too entertained by her reaction. “What better place to try it than in paradise with the person I trust the most?”

Lottie leaned over, giving him a pointed look as she grabbed the plate and held it in front of him. “We’re going to get high and shop around this tourist trap?”

Fred leaned back in bed, propping himself up on one elbow, the most innocent grin spreading across his face. “Only if you want to.”

Lottie paused, glancing at the brownie again, then back at him. 

The fact that he was trying so hard to play it cool while his eyes were practically sparkling with glee made her smirk. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m adventurous,” Fred corrected, winking. “And I’m in good hands.”

He started breaking the chocolate menace but Lottie stopped him—

“Hold up,” she said, deadly serious. “It’s your first time, so you don’t need a full half...”

Fred leaned back in the bed, his expression one of mock horror. “You think I’m going to be a drooling mess!”

She scoffed, “Maybe, yeah. It’s hard to tell how you’re going to react, everyone’s different. I just want you to enjoy yourself and not spend the high wishing you were asleep in a cloud.”

He didn’t argue. He knew she was right. 

“I always wish I’m asleep in a cloud—” He watched her tear a piece larger than a ‘big half.’

“Now don’t you go taking too much and making my wasted arse take care of you.” 

She snorted, tearing off the smaller piece of the brownie and handing it to him. “Please. I’ve had enough of these in my life to eat a whole one and still be more put together than you ever are.”

He eyed the brownie suspiciously, then looked back at her with a crooked grin. “Last chance to back out, jellyfish.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She assured, winking as she popped the larger piece in her mouth. She chewed with exaggerated enjoyment. “You’re with a pro, don’t worry. If you start groping me too much or looking like you’re about to shoplift I can spank you into submission.”

She held a smile that didn’t seem friendly.

Fred stared at her for a moment, then laughed with an overexaggerated lip bite. 

He took the smaller piece and began inspecting it like it might spontaneously combust. He made a show of dramatically chomping down the tiny piece, his eyes still watching her with a bit of skepticism.

“If I turn into a mushy puddle, you’ll probably have to feed me, you know.”

“I can handle that,” she said smoothly, her smile slow and knowing as she watched him. “But I’m not carrying your giant-ass anywhere. I’ll just let you lay there and the sea turtles can nest in your hair.”

He scoffed, brought a dramatic faux-betrayed hand to his chest.

“Sure I’ll be fine.” He kicked back on the pillow, already looking way too comfortable for someone who was about to embark on something that wild. 

“Who knows— maybe it’ll unlock some hidden genius lurking in my subconscious.”

“Hm, don’t know if anything is lurking in your empty skull, babe.” She gave him a pathetic leg rub and laid back on his chest.

They sat there on the bed for a few moments, just letting the world move slower around them, waiting for the brownie to kick in. Part of Tansy’s charm with these was they were much faster acting than standard edibles from the non-magic kind. No awkward pondering time waiting for it to hit, only a few moments of peace to brace yourself for whatever came next. 

Fred was still acting nonchalant, but it was clear from the way he looked at her that he was still slightly anxious. Lottie, on the other hand, was already feeling it start to hit— and the corners of her lips curled up in anticipation. She hummed when that telltale fizzy-brain and heavy tongue feeling loosened up her muscles. 

And Fred wasn’t far behind, she could tell when it hit him because he literally blinked louder. He muttered something about the ceiling looking like whipped cream and wanting to see if it felt like it too. But the cherry on top was when he tried to reach out for the ceiling, but said his arm felt like treacle tart filling. 

Oh yeah, they were stoned alright. 

And what better time than that to go shopping? 

It was, perhaps, the most drowsy and pathetic rally ever executed in either of their lives. Fred didn’t know how to work a shoelace, and kept insisting it was fighting him. Lottie handed him his sandals and he literally looked like a neanderthal had been given fire. 

As for Lottie— as she so wisely suspected— she still felt relatively normal. 

Floaty? Sure.
Giggly? Absolutely.
But aside from that, she wasn’t anywhere near the level of gone Fred was. 

And a good thing too. On the walk over to town he had taken to staring flowers and bushes head on, as if they were daring him to have a no-blinking competition. If it wasn’t for her hand yanking him along, they’d have been there all fucking day. 

The little shopping district was bustling, the streets lined with stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to local wares, the air filled with the scent of fresh fruit and sea salt. The sun had softened as it climbed higher, warm but still shielded by clouds. It was the kind of place that felt like it belonged in a postcard— bright and alive, but not too crowded to enjoy.

Fred’s hand rested lightly on Lottie’s shoulder as they strolled down the street, she’d managed to convince him to act a bit more normal. Only under the white-lie that if he didn’t keep his hand in hers or on her shoulder— she would float into the sky.

Sometimes, lying is okay. 

Fred was wearing the most ridiculous grin, one that was slightly lopsided, and every few steps, his eyes flickered between the little trinket stalls, as if they were all secretly plotting to entrap him.

“Dude,” he murmured to Lottie, nudging her with his elbow. “Do you see this?” He was standing in front of a small stall selling absolutely ridiculous keychains: little turtles, hula dancers, and ones that lit up when you pressed a button. 

His finger pointed at the keychain that had a tiny surfing Santa on it. “This is art.”

Lottie rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide. “You’re so high,” she laughed, pulling him along gently by the sleeve of his shirt.

Fred was still transfixed by the keychains. “It’s a tiny surfing father Christmas. How can you not appreciate this?”

She glanced over her shoulder as he muttered to himself, amused by his deep connection with the trinkets. 

She loved him like this— no guard up, just completely into the little things. 

“I’m just saying,” he went on, eyes wide and slightly pleading, “I feel like I’m being personally called to buy one. I’m gonna give it to you, and it’ll be like… a symbol of our vacation. Every time you see it, you’ll think of me.”

“Some people would call that a ‘souvenier’.” Lottie grinned and pulled him closer. “You’re not getting one of those.” She turned on her strict voice. 

“I knew you were going to say that.” Fred sighed dramatically, then swung around to face her, a little too quickly, swaying in the process. “You never appreciate trinkets, Winslow.”

She laughed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before tugging him to the next stall. “Yeah, yeah. But I do appreciate you, you big dork.”

He beamed like the sun.

They wandered through the market at their own pace— Lottie browsing the clothes, Fred distracted by all the weird little things that caught his eye. They passed a stall with brightly-colored sarongs, another with hand-carved wooden figurines, and yet another selling crystals and semi-precious stones.

Normally, she would have licked her lips and eyeballed the crystal stand. But with being around so many recently with her store opening, she actually sighed and moved along— a bit sick of the things currently. 

But Lottie paused at one stand, running her fingers over the fabric of a strapless sundress that shimmered with tiny beaded flowers and sparkled in the sun. The colors were bright, the fabric soft and light. She caught sight of herself in the little mirror beside the stall and smiled at how it would look. 

“This is perfect,” she murmured, turning to Fred, who was staring at a spinning pineapple windmill.

He blinked, completely caught up in the spinning motion, before turning to look at her. “What’s perfect?”

“This,” she said, holding the dress up. “What do you think?”

Fred blinked again, the stoner haze slowing him down for a beat. 

He scanned her, then back to the dress. “I mean, if it makes you look as good as you already do, without making you look worse than you do then— hell yeah.” He gave a thumbs-up, barely understanding what was going on, but still grinning like he’d just discovered a new planet. 

She blinked at the lack of coherent thought. 

But she thought it was a good sign. 

Lottie rolled her eyes. “I’ll look great, thank you very much.” 

She exchanged her money for the dress and changed into it instantly, eager to see its magic in the daylight. She turned back to Fred and gave the dress a quick twirl, making the beads shimmer even more.

Fred laughed, his voice way too loud in the quiet corner of the market. “Merlin, I swear. Every time you twirl, you get even more beautiful.”

Lottie smirked at him, shaking her head. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I know. That’s why you love me.”

She could feel the affection in the air between them, the way the world slowed and blurred around them, like everything else was fading to the background except for this. 

Just them, high as hell, wandering through paradise.

They’d wandered deeper into the market, where the stalls grew quieter and more curated— handmade goods laid out on sun-bleached tables, the air carrying a drift of sandalwood and sea salt.

Lottie slowed at one stall lined with hand-carved figures— sleek dolphins, graceful whales, tiny sea turtles no bigger than her palm.

One of the turtles caught her eye. Its shell a smoothed sea glass, graceful and dark, with faint whorled etchings across its back like waves.

It was steady, comforting, safe even.

She picked it up gently, thumb tracing its little green flippers. Looking in its soft brown eyes. Something about it hit low in her chest— calm and certain and grounded. 

George.

Her lips curved before she realized it, soft and a little sad.

Fred, two steps ahead and wearing a floppy straw hat he had absolutely no business wearing, caught her expression instantly. His grin eased into something quieter.

“He’d love it,” Fred said.

Lottie startled faintly, caught, the turtle still cradled in her palm. “What—”

“George.” Fred’s tone was warm, no tease in it, just easy certainty.

Lottie exhaled, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. He would.”

She set the turtle gently on the counter to pay, feeling that familiar ache and warmth braid together.

Fred didn’t say anything else— just bumped his shoulder against hers as they walked on, the market crowd folding around them like sun-dappled water.

A few stalls later, their hands full of small paper-wrapped treasures, Lottie was glowing in that soft, half-stoned way— loose-hipped and smiling at everything.

She’d already snatched up a tiny hula girl dashboard bobbler for Wren (“She’ll die,” Lottie had whispered, giggling), and a delicate spiral shell gleaming blush-pink for Tansy, who would probably make it wearable somehow.

But then they passed a table draped in gauzy turquoise cloth, and Lottie stopped dead.

Laid out on pale driftwood slats were rows of delicate things: shell-and-pearl anklets, iridescent glass pendants, and a comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl, catching rainbows in the sunlight.

Lottie’s hand drifted toward it like she was caught in a current. The comb was carved in a sweep of fanning scales, in the center was a tiny opal that shimmered soft purplish-green. It was glittering, impractical, and completely enchanting.

She picked it up, turning it in her fingers with a small, dazzled smile. It was easy to put in, almost like she already knew how it would feel. 

It slid in perfectly, pushing some hair away from her face in a soft swirl.

Fred went very still beside her.

“...You look like a mermaid,” he said, voice gone soft and oddly serious.

Lottie glanced at him, startled by the tone. 

His eyes were fixed on her, pupils blown, sun catching in his copper lashes.

“You do,” he said, shrugging helplessly, like he couldn’t stop himself. “Like you just swam up here for a minute to grab a sailors heart and then disappear again.”

Lottie laughed under her breath, cheeks warming as she handed over a few bills to the vendor.

“Then I guess I should keep it,” she murmured, slipping the comb carefully into her bag like it was treasure. 

Because who wouldn't want to look like a ravenous sea wench?

Fred was still looking at her, half-dazed. 

“Mermaid…” he muttered.

They’d just stepped out of the last stall when something pale drifted through the warm breeze— a soft ivory plumeria bloom, spinning lazily as it fell from a tree overhead.

Fred’s hand shot out before it touched the ground, catching it in his palm. “Ha.” He beamed like he’d just caught a falling star.

Lottie blinked at him, smiling. “Show-off.”

He just grinned wider and stepped closer, the paper bag of their new treasures crinkling under his arm. “Hold still.”

She stilled as he reached up, sliding the bloom gently in her new hair comb, tucking it just above her ear. His fingers brushed her cheekbone, soft and certain.

“That side,” he murmured, lips twitching.

“What about it?” she asked, even though her voice had gone a little quiet.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “Means you’re taken.”

Her breath caught just slightly. The plumeria glowed against her sun-warmed skin, tucked neatly into the comb like it had always belonged there.

Lottie found herself smiling in spite of herself— small, helpless. “Guess I am.”

She tilted her chin up, slow and dreamlike, meeting his line of sight. But it didn’t feel like leaning in— it felt like falling. 

And his lips met hers first, brushing with that familiar mix of warmth and hunger she’d come to crave. Her heart felt too loud in their silence, like it might give her away. 

Her hands curled at the hem of  his shirt because she needed him closer. Their soft pulsing slowed, tongues retreating to their own mouths again. 

But he if never stopped, she thought she wouldn’t mind at all. 

It was a soft pull away, mutual in every sense. Because this wasn’t some needy thing, this was just how they communicated. 

Not with heartwrenching confessions— with total surrender.

Fred stepped back, just looking at her for a second too long. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and it wasn’t stoned hyperbole— it was soft, honest, awestruck.

She gave his arm a lazy slap, too weak to actually try. And they were back to wandering. 

They grazed along stalls until they found a little stand selling paper cones of fried plantains and tropical fruit drizzled in honey, the smell so rich it made Lottie’s stomach growl.

She gave him a look that needed no explanation— a look that said: Let’s order twenty. 

They carried their cone of fruit and fried plantain to a shady bench tucked just off the main path. The breeze carried the sounds of the market— soft laughter, music from a distant radio, the chatter of vendors.

Fred bit into a plantain slice and made a noise like he’d discovered god. “Oh my god. This is— this is insane.”

Lottie laughed, leaning back on the bench as she popped a slice of mango into her mouth. “Enjoying your stoner munchies, Weasley?”

“I am,” he agreed cheerfully, still staring at the fruit like it was art. “And this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Except maybe you. No, it’s tied.”

She choked on a laugh, nudging his knee with hers.

They sat there for a long while, legs pressed together, people-watching as the market swirled around them— just two blissed-out little specks in the middle of paradise.

They lounged in their shady bench nook, sharing their snack amongst their hazed brains and loose limbs. Fred had been staring into the distance, she thought it was just a little disassociation. 

But she followed his gaze when she plucked more pineapple from the cone. He was staring across the plaza at a couple clearly arguing over a map.

“Lost honeymooners,” she declared, popping the pineapple in her mouth.

Fred tilted his head, squinting. “Nah. I’m getting divorced energy. Like—‘we came here to fix it’. But they forgot they hate each other.”

Lottie snorted, nearly choking on her fruit.

“Look at him,” Fred went on, voice hushed like he was narrating a nature documentary. “He’s clenching the map like it stole his stock share. That’s a man who regrets everything.”

She giggled into her hand, eyes darting to a trio of guys in matching floral shirts and sunglasses who were attempting (and failing) to take a group photo. “Those three are definitely in a band.”

Fred followed her gaze, nodding sagely. “Mm. Ska band. They broke up two years ago but are pretending this trip is ‘for the vibes.’ The one on the left definitely cries in the shower.”

“The middle one’s name is Chad,” Lottie added.

“Of course it is.”

They dissolved into quiet laughter, shoulders knocking together, fruit slipping sticky between their fingers.

A woman teetered by in enormous wedges, dragging an oblivious man behind her as she barked at someone on her phone.

“Oi,” Fred whispered, eyes wide, “crime lord.”

“Definitely,” Lottie murmured. “That man she’s with? Human decoy. She’s wearing diamonds in the daytime.”

“Her shoes cost more than our shop rent.”

“Combined,” Lottie confirmed.

They grinned at each other, warm and conspiratorial, and for a long, content moment.

They were still snickering over the crime lord woman when a man in board shorts and a sun-bleached ball cap strolled past their bench, fanning out glossy brochures like playing cards.

“Marine wildlife tour, folks,” he called. “Dolphins, sea turtles, maybe even manta rays if you’re lucky— boat leaves in thirty minutes, spots still open!”

Fred’s head snapped up like someone had rung a bell inside him.

“Dolphins,” he declared, eyes huge.

Lottie snorted, biting back a laugh as the man pressed a pamphlet into Fred’s hand before drifting on down the path. Fred was already unfolding it like it contained the secrets of the universe.

“Look at this,” he said, holding it between them. The brochure was a chaotic explosion of poorly drawn waves, leaping dolphins, and Comic Sans. “This is… this is what we are called to do right now!”

Lottie took a slow bite of mango, eyes glinting. “This is the most aggressively touristy thing imaginable.”

“Yeah,” Fred said immediately, still scanning it. “We have to go.”

She stared at him for a beat, then cracked a smile. “Fine. But this is the one tourist activity I’m allowing myself.”

“Deal,” he said, snapping the pamphlet closed with unnecessary drama. “You won’t regret this, jellyfish.”

“I probably will.”

“You definitely will,” Fred corrected, grinning, already tugging her up from the bench.

By the time they made it down to the dock, Fred was practically dragging her by the hand, the paper pamphlet fluttering wildly in the sea breeze. The wooden planks creaked under their sandals as they stepped out toward the line of tourists boarding.

The boat bobbing at the end of the pier looked… serviceable. Mostly. The paint was sun-bleached and peeling in strips, and the canopy overhead sagged slightly, but it smelled of salt and sun-warmed rope and something about it felt alive.

Fred’s grin only got wider. “Perfect,” he declared. “It’s got history. You can feel it. This boat’s seen some things.”

“Yeah,” Lottie said, squinting at the suspicious green duct tape holding one of the white seats together. “Like leviathans.”

Fred gasped, eyes bright. “Merlin, I hope so.”

They shuffled on board with the rest of the group, settling onto the side bench… and froze.

Uh-Oh

Ska Band was back.

The three floral-shirted men from the market— one now wearing a freshly purchased puka shell necklace, the other two loudly arguing about sunscreen— were sitting right beside them. 

Fred’s entire body stiffened. His lips pressed together, trembling violently as he tried to hold in a laugh.

Lottie clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and sparkling, her whole face twitching.

It lasted maybe three seconds before Fred made a strangled noise and doubled forward, shoulders shaking.

Lottie lost it instantly.

The ska band trio glanced over, vaguely concerned, then went back to their sunscreen debate.

Meanwhile, Fred and Lottie were folded in on themselves, desperately trying to smother their laughter like a pair of badly behaved children.

To the rest of the boat, they just looked like two sun-dazed idiots giggling over absolutely nothing.

Which, in fairness, was exactly what they were.

The boat chugged away from the dock with a low groan, the engine coughing to life beneath their feet. The water stretched out like molten glass, glittering under the sun as the shoreline slipped behind them.

Lottie leaned her elbows on the metal rail, her hair whipping in the breeze, trying to look composed while her brain hummed like a lazy beehive.

Fred… had abandoned all composure.

He was perched forward on the bench, sunglasses askew, scanning the water with wild intensity.

Lottie didn’t like how he was leaning over the rail. So she slid one of her arms down the railing and in front of his stomach… just in case he flew overboard. 

The ska band trio were halfway through cracking open cans of something vaguely tropical, but Fred didn’t even notice. His hand suddenly shot down to grab Lottie’s thigh.

“There!” he hissed.

Lottie squinted. “That’s sea foam, babe.”

“It moved.”

“Foam does that.”

The wind was whipping against his shirt, snapping tight against the lean lines of his back. Sunlight caught his sea-salt formed hair, now in long waves thanks to the humidity and lack of haircut. He was all elbows and excitement, braced on the railing like a kid on Christmas morning.

God, I love this idiot.

But then she was interrupted; a dark shape sliced just under the surface ahead— and the water erupted.

A dolphin arced clean out of the sea, gleaming heavenly silver-blue, its body catching the sunlight like molten metal before it splashed back down in a burst of spray.

Fred made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes huge, his whole body vibrating.

Another dolphin surfaced right beside the first, chattering, sleek and quick, and Fred clutched her arm. 

“They’re real. They’re real. I’m going to cry. I love them.”

Lottie’s mouth twitched, she turned around to watch what he was enthralled by. 

“You’ve known they were real your whole life.”

“Not like this,” he said hoarsely, already craning over the rail like he was trying to climb in. “They’re… they’re sea dogs. Perfect. Joy incarnate. I need— do you think— I could hug one?”

“Absolutely not.”

The dolphins darted alongside the boat, weaving through the waves, clicking to each other. Fred was openly grinning now, hands planted on the rail like a five-year-old at the world’s best zoo.

“You’re so gone,” Lottie said softly, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Oh yeah,” Fred confirmed, eyes glued to the water. “Absolutely gone. Dolphins are my new true love.” 

She snorted her laugh quickly, slightly offended but not surprised by being overthrown by a conniving sea-mammal.

He watched them until the last second, leaping and curling through the water like knives through butter. The dolphins finally peeled away, disappearing back into the depths, and the boat settled into a quieter hum.

Just when Fred went to sit back normally—

Then the guide called out, “Sea turtle off the bow!”

Fred and Lottie both leaned over the rail.

The turtle floated just beneath the surface, sun-dappled and impossibly serene. Its shell gleamed dark and ancient, each slow movement unhurried as it glided alongside the boat.

The world seemed to still around them.

Lottie’s hand went still on the rail. She could feel Fred watching— not the turtle, but her.

Her hand clutched her bag that held her own little turtle, protectively making sure it was still near her. 

When she finally looked over at him, his gaze was soft, knowing.

No one said anything.

Fred just reached down, brushing his fingers against hers on the rail. The lightest touch.

She let him, her thumb sliding against his in a quiet acknowledgement neither of them tried to put into words.

The turtle dipped its head, slipping back beneath the waves, leaving a soft circle of ripples in its wake.

They stayed like that a moment longer, silent, holding hands against the warm metal of the rail as the boat drifted on.

The boat settled into a lull again, the engine droning low as the waves stretched endless and calm. Ska band boys were handing the guide wadded up cash for more tropical cans, still somehow arguing about something.

Lottie had gone quiet, her head tipped gently onto Fred’s shoulder. He’d stopped bouncing by then, too— one arm draped across the back of her seat, fingers lazily tracing circles on her upper arm.

They rocked with the boat, lulled, content.

Then the guide’s voice rose over the breeze. “Manta rays up ahead— if we’re lucky, we might catch a whole group.”

Lottie’s head lifted instantly.

Fred blinked, glancing down at her sudden shift. “Mm?”

But she was already leaning forward, eyes scanning the water with sharp, searching urgency.

And then— there.

A shadow rose from the deep. Then another. Broad, winged, gliding just under the surface like silk drifting on invisible currents.

Manta rays.

Lottie’s breath caught audibly.

Fred opened his mouth to crack a joke— but stopped.

Her eyes were wide, glassy, lips parted. She gripped the railing like it was the only thing tethering her.

He saw her mouth wiggle its composure, her brown eyes glaze up with wetness. 

“Angel,” he said softly, nudging her elbow. “What’s—”

She shook her head, blinking fast, a wet laugh slipping out. 

“It’s nothing. I just…” She dragged a hand quickly under her eye, smiling helplessly. “I’ve never seen them. Not in real life.”

Fred’s chest tightened.

“I’ve always wanted to…” she whispered.

Another ray drifted beneath them, its wings casting shadows across her face as the sun refracted off the water. It was close, close enough for her to see the smooth dapple on its back, close enough to watch the way its wings rippled the surface of the golden water.

Fred didn’t say anything, just slid his hand over hers on the rail, steady and warm.

Lottie exhaled, trembling, still smiling as her tears caught the light like sea-spray.

The rays kept gliding beneath the surface, more and more of them appearing— dark, wide silhouettes slicing like shadows on glass.

Lottie leaned so far over the rail Fred instinctively curled an arm around her waist, anchoring her.

“They’re so big,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“They can be twelve feet across,” she said, voice hushed but electric with joy. “Some even more.”

Fred blinked at her. “That’s— too big. But majestic.”

Lottie laughed, soft and bright, her eyes never leaving the water. “They’re harmless. Big babies. They don’t sting, they don’t fight… they just fly.”

As if to prove her point, one of the rays swept closer to the boat, its wingtips fluttering like silk scarves in slow motion. Sunlight caught across its back, and the whole thing seemed to glow for a moment before drifting deeper.

Lottie made a sound Fred had never heard from her before— somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, caught in her throat.

“God, I love the way they move,” she whispered. “Like they don’t even know gravity exists.”

Fred wasn’t watching the rays anymore.

He was watching her— her smile trembling at the edges, her eyes wet and shining, her shoulders loose with awe.

The wind tangled strands of her hair across her cheek, and she didn’t even notice. She just kept leaning over the rail, entranced, her words tumbling out soft and stoned and reverent.

“They migrate thousands of miles,” she said, like she was sharing a secret. “Some of them remember people. They’re… they’re real magic.”

Fred’s chest ached.

“I can’t believe they’re real,” she whispered.

Fred pressed his chin briefly to her shoulder, smiling into her hair. “I can,” he murmured. “I think they were waiting for you.”

She laughed, watery and quiet, and didn’t look away from the water.

“Corny— again.” She muttered, anything to stop crying in public over sea creatures. 

And just as easily as they went out to sea— they were headed back. Somehow the come-down from the brownie was even easier than the high. Maybe it had something to do with the setting, or the present company. But either way, Fred nor Lottie no longer felt the effects that had made them so floaty earlier.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t still warm and fuzzy inside. 

The boat hummed low as it cut back toward the shore, the island rising from the sea ahead of them, draped in molten gold from the sinking sun.

Lottie was curled sideways on the bench, legs slung across Fred’s lap, sunglasses sliding down her nose. The soft, ocean-drunk glow had faded, and she could feel her own edges again.

Fred was flicking water droplets off his arm like they’d personally wronged him. “Well,” he said, “I think that was the best experience of my life.”

“Yeah,” Lottie said, grinning. “We’re never topping manta rays.”

“Nope. Everything from here on out is just… disappointment.”

She snorted. “God, you’re dramatic.”

“I’m right.” He tipped his head back against the rail, staring at the streaked sky. “What are we even supposed to do now? Go to dinner like normal people?”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Right? Talking? Sitting upright? Forks? Absolutely not.”

They were quiet for a moment, just the hiss of the wake and the ska band softly arguing over who lost their sunglasses.

Then Fred straightened a little, eyes gleaming. “We could do something stupid.”

Lottie turned her head. “Like, me stupid or you stupid.”

“Local arcade stupid. Mini golf stupid. Like— whatever tourist hellhole is closest to the resort. The tackier, the better.”

Her mouth curved, slow and wicked. “We have been dangerously wholesome today.”

“Exactly. We can't let these people believe we're some wholesome couple. We've got reputations to uphold.”

Lottie laughed, already pulling her legs off him. “Alright. We can be destructive, only as long as we play ski-ball.”

“Deal,” Fred said, standing as the boat nosed up to the dock. “And then I’m beating you at air hockey.”

“You wish.”

“I know,” he said, offering her a hand off the boat with unnecessary flair.

They tumbled off the boat with the rest of the group, still laughing as they wandered up the dock. The bungalow was only a short walk from the dock they’d landed on. So the walk was lazy and full of future promises of arcade destruction. 

When they got inside, Lottie peeled off her new— and now ocean-salty— sundress, humming to herself as she dug through her suitcase. She tucked the plumeria back into her new comb, angling it so it sat perfectly at her temple.

A simple dress tonight— soft, strappy, the color of seashells, flowing just enough to sway when she walked. She caught her reflection in the mirror, hair still tousled from the ocean, skin kissed golden by the sun.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Fred was on the bed wrestling with a button-up, halfway through doing up the wrong holes. He froze when he saw her.

His hands dropped.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

Lottie arched a brow. “Oh?”

“You look like…” His mouth twitched. “Like you just wandered out of a dream. Or a rum ad.”

She smiled, sweeping past him to grab her little bag. “You’re lucky you get to sit across from me, then.”

Fred blinked, still halfway shirtless, then scrambled up. “Wait— hold on— I need shoes. You can’t just—”

“Too late,” she called, slipping out the door with a wicked grin.

Fred groaned, snatching his sandals as he bolted after her.

They’d both dressed for spectacle.

Lottie in her seashell-colored dress, the plumeria glowing bright in her hair, lips glossed and cheeks kissed pink from the sun. Fred in a pale button-up, sleeves rolled, hair finger-tousled into submission after three failed tries. They looked like they belonged in the glossy pages of a travel magazine.

And yet…

As they stepped out onto their little porch, the humid evening air wrapping around them, the golden hush of the beach stretched out below— quiet, soft, alive— the thought of going anywhere else suddenly felt exhausting.

Lottie rested her forearms on the rail, watching the surf lap the shore. “Don’t be mad at me,” she murmured. “But I think my social battery is dead...”

Fred stilled beside her, then slanted her a look, crooked grin sparking. “Good,” he said, voice dropping low.

She blinked. “Good?”

He leaned on the rail too, shoulder brushing hers. “Because you look entirely too good tonight, angel. And I don’t feel like sharing. No one else deserves to see you.”

Lottie laughed, soft and startled, heat curling through her chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“And selfish.” He said. 

Her smile lingered as she turned toward him, and he caught her hand. “So fuck it, let’s stay in.” He said simply. 

Lottie hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Alright. But I’m not eating anything delicate.” She pointed her finger out inches in front of his chest. 

“Me either,” Fred said immediately. “Question is…cheese or grease?”

It was the easiest choice they’d ever made. 

Fred found the stack of take out menus on the mini-fridge in their little half kitchen. There were only three options, all of them entirely too healthy. 

All of them except the perfect combination of cheese, grease, and fried deliciousness. 

They ordered something vaguely Mexican— three different kinds of tacos, two chimichanga concoctions, nachos drowning in cheese, guacamole in a bowl the size of Fred’s head. When it arrived, they carried it outside to the porch table, still in their full finery.

They ate with their hands, laughing, wiping sauce from each other’s fingers, while the ocean whispered in the dark below.

It felt stupid and indulgent and perfect— like they’d carved out this secret little bubble from the world.

The table was a glorious disaster— crumpled napkins, lime wedges, half-eaten tacos slumping under the weight of too much cheese. Lottie leaned back in her chair, barefoot, her dress slipped loose at one shoulder, the plumeria still miraculously intact in her hair.

Fred was dismantling his third taco with the concentration of a bomb defuser.

“I can’t stop thinking about the rays,” Lottie said suddenly, voice gone soft with it.

Fred glanced up, a smear of guac on his thumb. “You’ve been smiling about them for hours.”

She didn’t even feel embarrassed anymore. They made her so glaringly joyous she couldn’t even feel a smidge of anything else. 

“Because they were perfect.” She propped her chin on her palm, staring out toward the blackening water. She put down the half of taco that was nearly finished. 

“The way they move… like they’re flying. Like they don’t even notice the rest of the ocean, they just—” She flapped a hand vaguely, eyes half-lidded. “—glide through the world.”

Fred watched her for a second too long, then smirked faintly. “You kind of looked like that. Watching them. Like if I’d let go of you, you would’ve floated off with them.”

She smiled at her plate. “Maybe I would’ve.”

“Fuck… the dolphins,” he went on, tossing his napkin aside, “were clearly me. Chaotic. Overly affectionate.”

“And think they’re funnier than they actually are,” she added.

Fred gasped, hand over his heart.

Lottie bit back a laugh.

They lingered there in the warm air, trading lazy barbs and bits of tortilla chips, the sea sighing just beyond the railing.

Fred was still leaning back in his chair, ankles hooked under the rung, when he said it— almost absently, like he’d been chewing on it awhile.

“He really is a sea turtle, isn’t he?”

Lottie snorted mid-sip, nearly choking on her drink.

“Oh, easily.” She wiped her mouth, laughing. Didn’t even need to clarify who; they both knew. It was so obvious.

Fred smiled down at his empty plate, quiet.

Lottie toyed with the lime wedge on hers, voice going softer. 

“They’re known for… patience, I think. And grounding. And protection.” She gave a small laugh, almost to herself. “They carry their whole world with them, you know? Slow and steady, never in a rush. But they always get where they’re going.”

Her words faded into the hush of the waves, the plumeria bobbing gently in her hair as she stared out toward the dark horizon.

Fred didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tease.

He just watched her, something soft flickering behind his eyes.

Because yeah—he could see her thinking of him.

And she should.

So Fred just reached across the table, stealing the last bite of her taco without looking, and let her have her quiet moment.

He didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t reach for her hand or make a joke to break it.
Just… let her have it.

The waves sighed below the deck. Somewhere down the beach, faint music carried on the wind.

Then she blinked, her mouth quirking.

“Dolphins freak me the fuck out,” she said.

Fred startled, halfway through licking cheese off his thumb. “What?”

“They’re too smart. And too cocky about it.” She leaned back in her chair, smirking now. “Maybe that’s why you like them.”

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“They’ve got that whole look-at-me-I’m-clever-and-cute thing.”

“Check.”

“They’re also emotionally unstable and prone to chaos.”

Fred grinned, unbothered. “Check.”

Lottie laughed, warmth breaking through the quiet as Fred flicked a tortilla chip crumb at her and missed spectacularly.

Fred straightened in his chair, pointing at her with a solemn chip.
“I like them and all— but I’m not a dolphin.”

Lottie’s lips twitched. “Fred—” 

He literally went on and on about them but the second he was compared to on it was a hilariously different story.

“No. No, I reject this. I refuse.” He gestured broadly, nearly knocking over his drink. “Clever as they are, dolphins are smug little ocean jocks.”

“You literally described yourself.”

“They’re—” He flailed for words. “—glossy and unserious.”

“You are glossy and unserious.”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

Fred threw his arms out. “Okay, I’m chaotic, but I’m not wet about it.”

Lottie dissolved into laughter, doubling forward in her chair.

Fred pressed a hand to his heart, wounded. “I’m… I don’t know. An eagle, maybe. Or a—” He paused, thoughtful. “Something sleek. But not damp.”

“Not damp,” she echoed through her laughter, wiping her eyes.

“Exactly.”

“Dolphins aren’t damp, they’re—”

“Slimy,” Fred declared with finality.

Lottie howled, nearly tipping her chair back.

The waves crashed lazily below, warm air curling around them, and for a moment they were just two over-dressed idiots barefoot on a porch, laughing like they had the whole island to themselves.

She liked this closeness, this familiarity. It wasn’t something she’d had very often with others. But lately, she’d had it doubled.

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the queso-coma, maybe it was her emotions, but she wanted to know—

“What did you like to do when you were younger?” Lottie nudged him with her knee under the table. 

He shot her a look with a slightly lowered lid and a small mouth curve. He was clearly lost in thought about something else.

But she only widened her eyes in expectancy. 

Fred’s mouth curved slow. “Uh— sometimes I liked to steal Charlie’s razors to carve doodles into the shed wall.”

Her brows shot up. “What kind of doodles?”

“Mostly swear words and stick figures with enormous…” He made a vague gesture.

She cackled, covering her mouth. “Oh my God, Frederick.”

“My turn.” He shifted posture, “Favorite holiday?” 

She inhaled through her nose in thought. Tapped her fingers on the tabletop during the silence. 

“Probably— Halloween.” She nodded, then looked surprised. “Or Samhain, actually. Big party at the house every year for it. One of the rare occasions I actually don’t mind attending.” 

“Interesting, Winslow.” He leaned back, winked, pleased. “Your move.”

“Alright.” She tapped her chin dramatically. “If you weren’t running the shop, what would you be doing?”

That made him pause. Really pause. He toyed with his glass. “…Artist, maybe. Not for money, just… making things.”

She softened under the confession, but didn’t press. “Okay. That’s a good one.”

Fred pointed back at her. “Same question.”

She pursed her lips. “Running away somewhere. Living in a caravan by the ocean. Selling shells at a roadside stand.”

“Classic,” he said fondly. “Half romantic, half vagrant.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

Another beat, quieter.

Then Fred said, “Alright. If you could relive one day, which would it be?”

Lottie blinked, caught. She thought long, tracing condensation down her glass. “The night after the club, in New York.” She bit her lip with the unconscious movement that only came after remembering something really good.

Fred’s throat bobbed, his grin flickering into something more fragile.

The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of that memory.

So she cleared her throat, tipping her head at him. “Okay, my turn. What’s something I don’t know about you?”

Fred swallowed hard, his smile faltering for just a second. The quiet lingered between them, and for once, the easy banter seemed to slip away. 

He looked at her, lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Lottie’s eyes softened at the hesitation, that familiar fire of curiosity growing, but she didn’t press. Not yet.

Finally, Fred stood up, his chair scraping the floor softly. Lottie watched him move across the room, his shoulders stiff as he went inside and started hunting. He disappeared into the corner, rustling around in the small chest of drawers, and she could see his movements slow for a moment.

Then, he returned.

Something was pressed tight to his chest like a shield. He hesitated before sitting back down at the patio table, eyes darting to her and then away again.

Lottie sat up straighter, heart beating a little quicker. She could tell.

His eyes flicked to hers for a fraction of a second before he spoke, voice quieter than usual.

“Don’t laugh,” Fred said, his voice a little raw, even though he tried to cover it with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He slid the journal across the table.

Grey.

Soft dappled leather.

Fox engraving.

Her journal for him.

Lottie didn’t say anything at first, just studied him— the way his hands tightened around the journal, how his usual bravado softened at the edges.

Her heart stuttered, just for a moment.

“Fred,” she said, gentle. “You don’t have to…”

But Fred shook his head, cutting her off, his voice rougher now. “I want to. I trust you.”

She reached for the journal slowly, feeling the weight of it in his hands, and then in hers. The world shifted as she held it— this was more than just pages. This was everything he hadn’t shown her yet.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then she looked at him— so gentle, so serious— and gave him a quiet nod.

He took in a breath, his gaze flicking nervously to her face, then back down at his feet. “It’s... everything. About you. All the things I couldn't say.”

Her heart skipped, and without thinking, she reached out and squeezed his hand gently. “Fred,” she murmured. “You can tell me.”

He exhaled shakily, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth. He stepped back and sat beside her, close but not too close.

“I just—” Fred paused, eyes still down. “I never wanted to seem... soft.”

She let the silence sit for a moment, the journal heavy in her lap. Then she looked up at him, voice quiet. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Fred looked over at her, meeting her gaze, the guarded look slipping slowly. 

Lottie opened the journal carefully, feeling the worn leather against her fingertips. He was letting her in.

And she didn’t intend to take it half-heartedly.

The first pages were filled with landscapes— sketches of the garden at Winslow Manor, the creek winding its way through the woods, a few birds fluttering through the trees. The lines were soft and fluid, as though he’d been caught in the moment of watching it all unfold. Some birds unfinished, she could almost imagine them flying away mid penstroke and hear his grumbled frustration.

She smiled. Flicked the page.

Here and there, little handwritten lines— snippets of song lyrics, fragments of thoughts.
One about clouds parting after a storm.
Another about the way the light catches the water.
And yet another about how the air always smells different after it rains. 

Lottie turned the pages slowly, still lost in the softness of what she’d already seen.

Some of the flowers were a little off, the shapes a little skewed, but that was part of the beauty of it. His own way of seeing the world. The edges of his sketches were filled with bits of notes, little guesses of what each plant might be. He didn’t know for sure, but he’d written them down anyway, just in case.

She smiled softly at the thoughts he’d captured, the way he’d taken the time to document things that most people would never even notice. 

He was soft— more than she knew. 

And then, she turned another page.

There she was.

She was scribed on the page in fragile strokes and soft shading. 

A day she remembered vividly— it’d only happened a few weeks ago. 

The day they were all caught inside. 

Her head propped on her arm, supporting its weight in disgruntled effort. She remembered Wren kicking her ass at their game. But you couldn’t read the stress on her face. Only the hair framing her face and the bunched up sweater sleeve in her fist. 

The storm was raging outside, but she was quiet there— curled into herself, completely unaware of the watchful gaze of the artist behind the page.

Lottie’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t actually expect him to be drawing her.

But he had been.

She could feel the softness of the memory in the way the sketch had been made— gentle strokes, quiet lines, capturing the moment without needing to explain it.

Lottie’s fingers brushed the sketch lightly, her heart aching. 

“Fred…” she whispered softly, but not to him.

He was sitting beside her, his own gaze just as warm. 

She looked up at him, her eyes a little misty now, the weight of the journal still in her hands. “You… you did this?”

Fred nodded, his voice low. “Not just for me— for you too. How you deserve to be seen.”

She smiled, a little shaky, and continued flipping through the pages. The sketches grew more intricate as she went. There were more of her— moments when she didn’t know he was watching, little details he must have caught, the curve of her smile, the way her hair spilled over her shoulder.

Some were more abstract too.

In one of them it looked like she was crowned in monarch butterflies, surrounding her head like a royal deity. 

Another of her with what looked to be deer antlers, long and slender. Reaching above her in a graceful outstretch— vines and flowers bordering the page.

It was unbelievable. 

Lottie closed the journal slowly, taking a breath. “Fred, this is…” She didn’t have the words, not yet. She had to inhale, steady herself. 

“Look at the next one.” He said, eyes still glued to the book, ready for her to go back in. 

She pinched her brows a little, she’d already seen so much. It felt like an intrusion despite the permission given. 

But he nudged his chin at it, and when she slipped her fingers inside the pages, he didn’t stop her.

Then her fingers paused again.

Her face, framed by the crown of flowers she’d worn to the Dryad Festival.

Daffodils and silvery leaves. 

The sketch was just of her shoulders up, the flower crown sitting delicately in her hair. It was an unfinished line drawing, a few strokes of white and yellow for the flowers, the rest of her face left softer and lighter in the background. There was something raw about it, as if he had captured her without ever needing her permission— her head tilted slightly, the faintest hint of a smile.

Lottie’s fingers brushed over the lines, tracing the curve of her jaw, the soft arch of the flowers. It was like feeling his soul in her fingertips. He had taken the time to see her, to capture something she hadn’t known was even there.

Fred’s voice interrupted the quiet.

“That one’s from memory, so... it might not be accurate. Sorry if I gave you weird eyes.”

She smiled, soft and knowing, her heart swelling at the tiny apology in his voice.

“You didn’t. I—” her voice caught on her emotions on the way out. “Fred, it’s perfect.”

Fred sat quietly for a moment, and she felt the weight of the journal between them. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I know it’s... not a lot. Just, like— little bits. Things I wanted to remember. And you... you’re in it all.”

Lottie looked up at him, the quietness between them settling like a blanket. “I don’t think I ever realized how much you saw me.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s the thing. You’re always there. Whether I’m looking or not. You never leave my head—”

This time his voice cracked. Only slightly, but the weight was telling.

Lottie closed the journal slowly, pressing it against her chest for a moment, feeling the weight of it— of him— all the things he’d captured that she hadn’t even known he’d seen. It was humbling, sweet, and everything she never knew she needed.

Fred met her eyes, his voice a little softer now. “I wanted to show you sooner but— sometimes being open is— hard.”

She blinked, feeling that same softness slip through her own heart. She knew what he meant, of course she did.

“I’m glad you showed me. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

He smiled, the edges of it more genuine now, less nervous. “Well, if you’ve made it this far with me, I figured I’d give you the whole package.”

Lottie smiled back, leaning her forehead gently against his. “You already have.”

The quiet stretched on for a moment longer, the only sound between them the soft rustle of the pages in the journal, as if the world outside had melted into the hush of the bungalow. Then Fred, always just a little too comfortable, leaned back, his arm draped across the back of her chair.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft but laced with that mischievous undertone she knew all too well, “could I draw your tits next time?”

Lottie’s head snapped toward him, a startled laugh escaping her lips. “What?” she asked, blinking at him in disbelief.

“I mean it,” he said, his tone serious, but his eyes were twinkling. “I’ve got the journal now. I’m just thinking… you’re a work of art. And I want to capture all of you. In the most tasteful, beautiful way, of course.”

She stared at him, and for a split second, she wondered if he was serious. But then, without missing a beat, she threw her arms out dramatically, striking a pose. 

“Should I pose like Titanic?’”

Fred’s grin spread across his face as he laughed. 

“Not like that,” he said, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “You’re just art to me. I want you to see you. All of you. How I see you. But only if you’re okay with it.”

Her stomach did a little flip, and her breath caught. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, underneath the playful banter. His eyes softened, waiting, a little vulnerable.

Lottie blinked at him, her heart giving a small thump as she absorbed what he was saying.

“Well,” she said slowly, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “I can’t say I’ve ever had someone beg to draw my tits. But... I mean, you do know what you’re getting into, right?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned closer. “Of course. I’m a man of culture.”

She laughed, feeling the tension lift, and gave a soft, exaggerated sigh. “Alright, fine. But I’m only agreeing because I’d like my tits to be immortal when we're old and saggy.”

Fred leaned in, his face lighting up with a mixture of triumph and soft affection. “Deal. I’ll treat them like the masterpieces they are.”

Lottie rolled her eyes, laughing softly as she tucked the journal back onto the table. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, a warmth blooming in her chest.

Fred stretched out beside her, his hand finding hers, fingers slipping between hers like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

“You make me want to get better at this. At being—” he motioned softly to the fraction of space between them “All of this.”

She turned her head to him, “You’re already better than you think.”

He kissed her hand softly, a gentle, tender moment between them.

Lottie let her head fall against his shoulder, their chatter tapering off into that gentle, lingering silence. She felt the slow pull of drowsiness, the hum of the night wrapping around them.

Fred’s hand held her shoulder, his thumb grazing her skin in that familiar, grounding way, and she settled closer, closing her eyes.

The moon hung high outside, the night thick with warmth and the soft, constant lull of the ocean. And for the first time in a long while, Lottie felt fully at peace, fully herself, with someone that understood her better than anyone else.

Chapter Text

* * *

“Get! Up! Sleepy! Bastard!”

Fred’s mind wasn’t even functioning at 10% capacity, but what little that was working was regretting the promise he made to her last night.

Sunrise? Sure, jellyfish. That’ll be beautiful.

But here she was, pouncing on his shoulders and chest like a bunny who’d drank espresso martini and snorted a line of raw cane-sugar. 

The room was still dark, gauzy curtains breathing with the open door’s breeze. Lottie perched on the edge of the bed, arms out, palms flat on Fred’s chest because was entirely too asleep for someone who was supposed to be up twenty minutes ago.

“Get. Up. Get. Up. Get. Up.” 

She chanted, hands pressing down on his bed-warmed skin with an irritating rhythmic shove.

He may not have been awake enough to argue with her— but one thing about Fred Weasley is—

He is always strong.

She didn’t stand a chance when his sleep-heavy arms shot around her with the precision of a targeted missile strike. Like a bear-trap they clamped around her wriggling torso with precision, and he pulled her down onto his chest.

“Please— please,” his voice crackled with the dull remains of his dreams. “Shut the fuck up.” 

She grinned into the skin of his chest, softer than she’d expected. 

Normally she’d bark right back, twist out of his hold and keep tormenting him until he admitted defeat. But this morning— sunrise minutes away, the whole horizon about to light up— she only smoothed her palm over his shoulder and tucked her nose against his neck.

“Sorry,” she cooed, not wanting to anger the bear. “It’s happening soon, we gotta get moving.” 

He groaned again, arms tightening as if to keep her hostage against him. She let him.
It wasn’t a bad prison, his heartbeat steady under her ear, his skin still carrying the warmth of sleep.

For a beat, it seemed like he might dig in, play the immovable object. Then, with another low, dramatic sigh, Fred pulled his head up just enough to peek one bleary hazel eye at her.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

“No matter how cute I am, the sun will not wait!”

That got the faintest smile out of him— lazy, reluctant, but there. He shifted, still clinging to her as if she were leverage, and finally rolled them both toward the edge of the bed.

And he didn’t really walk outside. 

He sort of… shuffled.

Dragging his feet in every literal sense of the word. He raked one hand through his hair to push it back, and the other clenched around a blanket like a child who’d been starved of said blanket for naptime. 

Lottie was the opposite. 

She’d made coffee, gotten dressed, and braided her hair in dual braids that swished when she walked. Sandals in hand and shades on her head, this was something she’d been waiting for. 

Even if it meant waking up at the asscrack of dawn. 

The beach was still dusky when they stepped out— sky painted coral and lilac, the tide tickling the sand. She tugged him down the beach until she found a good spot, the kind with just enough slope to see the horizon clean. Not even the morning ocean breeze scented with that fresh salty zing could wake him up.

Fred dropped his tall sleepy body to the sand with a thud, pulling the blanket around his shoulders as if to say I’m going to sleep until it’s time. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned. Already ending the feelings that were creeping back across his face. 

“I’m up,” he whined, propping himself on his elbows. The sound of the surf curled around them, mingling with the faint chatter of morning birds waking inland. For once, no crowd, no noise— just ocean and sky. Fred snaked his arm with the blanket over it around her far shoulder, tipped his head on her other one. 

Just when she thought his breathing was getting too steady, it paused, and he gasped. 

The first streak of fire cracked across the water. 

Lottie hugged her knees, eyes bright as the colors bled pink, orange, and molten gold. She blinked against it, until she stopped trying to take in the whole horizon and just let her eyes rest on one patch of light. The stretch of ocean looked on fire, endless and alive.

Fred didn’t say anything. His lips still slightly parted in muted amazement.

He held her, chin still balanced on her shoulder, watching the world wake up. The glow lit him in pieces— hair catching fire at the ends, freckles sharp, the planes of his face carved out as if the sunrise had chosen to sketch him personally.

Lottie turned slightly, just to see him in it. 

And it felt… holy, the way the light loved him. Like the sun itself was in on her secret— that he’d always been a little larger than life, a little untouchable.

She reached up, brushed the curve of his jaw with her fingertips. He finally looked at her, and for a heartbeat they just sat there, two figures caught in a painting..

“You’re glowing,” she murmured before she could stop herself.

He smirked, faint and sleepy. “Pretty sure that’s you.”

But his hand tightened on her shoulder, and his eyes lingered long enough that she had to look back to the ocean; forgetting there was a whole world outside of him. 

The light climbed higher, turning the tide into rippled gold. Fred shifted beneath her, the blanket rustling, and before she could ask what he was doing he pulled her on his lap, face to face. Her legs bracketing his hips with familiar ease.

“Fred—” she groaned, the fluttering in her heart flaring up.

“Shh.” His hands bracketed her thighs, not demanding, just anchoring. The sun blazed at her back, haloing her hair, painting her in soft fire. For a second he didn’t smirk, didn’t tease— just looked.

“You’re…” His throat worked as he tried again. “Prettier than a sunrise.”

Lottie’s chest tightened. 

She shoved him lightly, palms against his shoulders, trying to deflect. “Jesus, vacation Fred is such a sap.”

“Might be a sap.” His grin tilted, slow and fond. “But not a liar.”

But she didn’t move off him. She stayed, her knees digging into the blanket on either side of his hips, her silhouette blazing in the morning light.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss just beneath her collarbone where the light hit hardest, murmuring against her skin, “Mine’s the better view anyway.”

Her breath caught— half laugh, half shiver— and she let him hold her there as the ocean roared its quiet song.

But it was cut short— Fred leaned in again, head tipped up. Lips brushing hers with soft ferocity. 

The first kiss was brief, but it opened the floodgates. 

Soon she was leaning down and he was tilting up, mouths catching and sliding in the salt-warm air. His hands splayed wider on her thighs, thumb tracing lazy circles that made her hum against his lips.

The ocean kept on rising, light spilling brighter, but they let themselves move slow. No urgency, just the savor of being the only two people awake in the world. 

She pulled back once to breathe, forehead against his, her smile small and unguarded. 

He kissed it right off her.

It lingered like that, lazy and unhurried, until the horizon fully spilled yellow-gold in the sky. Lottie finally pulled back for real, brushing her hair out of her face and laughing at the sight of him— eyes half-lidded, lips pink, freckles lit like they’d been painted on fresh.

“Okay,” she whispered, giving his chest one last pat. She knew damn well the whole day was likely to be spent right here if they didn’t move.

“To be continued. We have a day to get to.”

* * *

And they did get to their day.

Well, Fred was sort of dragged into it, but happily still— despite the grogginess. 

Lottie didn’t let him mope around and whine about sleepiness this morning. She truthfully didn’t even feel bad about keeping him up— because she knew he’d wake up soon enough. 

She’d planned the morning in her head; exactly how she wanted it to go. 

And didn’t tell Fred any of it.

He just listened, like a good little retriever.

He was right next to her now, leaned against the counter at a car rental agency. Looking quite at peace pretending to study the laminated posters of “island driving safety” while he really just listened to her, carefully. 

Lottie was half leaning across the desk, voice low but firm, eyes alight with that spark she got when she wanted something.

“Something fast,” she told the clerk. “Something topless. And preferably red.”

There was no room for argument, but no meanness either— her words lilted like a dare, her smile honey-sweet. Fred recognized the combination for what it was: a Winslow’s way of bulldozing through the world while making people thank them for the privilege.

The poor guy behind the desk blinked, nodded, and scurried off to make it happen.

Fred smirked, pushing off the counter to follow her outside. She was already tugging her skirt higher up her thighs, ready to sit. Her head cocked like a queen awaiting her carriage.

“You always conduct business like that?” he queried, falling into step beside her.

She didn’t even glance his way, lips twitching. “Only when it works.”

“Oh, it worked.” He slid his hands into his pockets, watching her with open amusement. “Bossy little jellyfish. Didn’t know I was dating a car salesman’s worst nightmare.”

Finally, she turned, squinting at him in the sunlight. “Nightmare?”

Fred grinned, teeth flashing. “Oh— sorry. I meant dream customer.”

The sound of an engine turning over pulled their attention— bright red, glossy, sun glaring off the hood as their new ride purred around the corner.

Lottie’s answering smile was pure triumph.

It slowed to a stop in front of them. It was the color of fresh poppies and shined like it was slathered in Crisco. The kind of shiny red that begged to go at least 80 mph around a curve bordering dangerous.

The clerk hopped out, jingling the keys with a nervous smile. “Here you are, ma’am.”

Lottie plucked them from his hand like a queen accepting tribute, her voice dipped in honey. “You’re an angel. I’ll name my firstborn after you.”

Fred choked on a laugh, watching the poor guy flush before scurrying back inside.

She sauntered to the driver’s side, skirt swishing, hair catching the sun like it was staged. Sliding into the seat, she fit there too perfectly. Fred didn’t even make it to asking if she was driving the whole day; because she was already smiling brighter than that damn sun.

“You’re passenger today,” she ordered. “I’ve got the plans.”

He arched a brow, smirking. “Plans, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re map-illiterate. Keep us on course, Weasley.” She handed him a folded map, one corner circled in her messy scrawl. 

Fred pulled down his sunglasses with mock solemnity, peering at her over the frames. “I know a thing or two about maps, love.”

“Good.” She slipped her own shades into place, grin wicked and sunlit.

Then she gripped the wheel, revved the engine, and with a sharp grin tossed his way—

“Hold on.”

And they tore out of the lot, red sparking against the island’s green.

Town passed by in a blink, then the island opened around them. The road ahead of her looking particularly tempting. Palm leaves bent down and rustled overhead, the sky so violently blue it demanded sunglasses. 

Lottie leaned into the wheel like she’d been born for it, hair whipping, grin sharp as glass. Every shift of her hand was confident, every lurch of the car deliberate, like she wasn’t just driving— she was orchestrating the whole damn automobile.

Beside her, Fred braced one hand against the dash, the other clutching the door handle with sunglasses skewed across his nose. The noise that left his mouth when she floored the pedal was half-worried laugh and half-shriek. 

“You’re loving this way too much—” he was cut off by Lottie taking a sharper than necessary left turn. 

“Mhmm,” she hummed, downshifting just to hear the engine snarl. “This is my element.” 

The earth blurred— black lava fields, green cliffs, flashes of blue ocean foam. Fred squinted, shaking his head. 

“What if— we slowed down just enough to look at the scenery instead of—” he groaned with another lurch of the car. “Warping past it?” 

She flicked him a sidelong glance, lips curved smug. 

“Relax. Where we’re going, you’ll see plenty.”

“Pretty sure I’d see plenty if you just got naked instead.” He tipped his sunglasses down, voice going wickedly low. 

Her knuckles tightened on the wheel, and instead of answering she stomped the accelerator. The car lurched, engine roaring.

Fred’s head smacked lightly back against the seat as he let out a strangled laugh. 

“Hold on tighter, Freddie.” Her grin was radiant, feral. “Wouldn’t want you missing the view.”

The road curved inland, cutting through green so lush it looked painted on— ferns brushing the edges, trees twisting overhead like an archway. Then it opened again, cliffs dropping into frothing blue foam, the car flying along the narrow slice of asphalt between paradise and sky.

Lottie whooped once, sharp and wild, hair flying behind her. Fred could only laugh, helpless and a little breathless, like he’d forgotten how to breathe without her chaos in his lungs.

“You’re insane,” he shouted over the rush of air.

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to him behind those sunglasses. “And you’re still alive. You’re welcome.”

That earned her another laugh— richer this time, less panicked. He let go of the door handle, finally. As for his other hand— it was reaching across the console and somehow landed on her exposed thigh. 

The grin cracked her face instantly. She bit her lip, not bothering to hide it, and shifted gears smoothly, his palm tightening instinctively with the movement.

“You think that’s gonna distract me?” she teased.

“Not trying to distract,” he said, voice gone lower, playful. “Just…holding on.”

She barked out a laugh, swerving a little harder into the next curve, forcing him to tighten his grip. “Mhmm. Sure.”

The car ate through the miles, wind snapping, ocean flashing bright one second, jungle dark the next. Every sharp turn pressed them closer into the kind of giddy, dangerous freedom only found on roads like this with company you loved.

Lottie leaned back into the seat like a queen at the helm of her chariot, Fred’s hand steady on her leg, their laughter slipping in and out over the engine’s roar. For once, there was no schedule. Just their red blur and the island rising to meet them, mile by mile.

The road dipped, then rose again, hugging the cliff edge. Lottie leaned into the curve, hair slashing across her cheek, the wheel snug in her grip. The car purred under her hands like it was begging to go faster.

Fred’s palm slid higher. Slowly. Purposefully.

Her grin spread the instant she felt it. “You’re bold.”

“Just like you,” he said, voice rough with the wind but lazy as ever. His thumb stroked against the inside of her thigh, deliberate enough to make the air inside the car feel hotter than the sun outside.

“Hands on the dash, Weasley.”

His smirk cut sideways. “You gonna arrest me if I don’t?”

“I’ll slam the brakes and give your empty head a good rattle.”

He laughed, too full of teeth, but didn’t move his hand. It crept higher, knuckles brushing the hem of her wrap skirt. He wasn’t subtle about it. Didn’t care. Didn’t have to be.

The car hit a stretch where the trees parted— ocean exploding into view, horizon gleaming endless and wild. Her grip on the wheel tightened, not just from the turn.

“It’s not working.” Her voice lilted with a sharpened taunt.

“Oh yeah?” Fred leaned closer, sunglasses slipping down his nose just enough to show the glint in his eyes. “Then why you goin’ faster?”

She bit her smile down hard, fighting it. The speedometer ticked up, the engine humming louder, wind battering their hair and necklines like the whole island had joined the joke.

The pressure of his hand burned, high enough now that every shift of the car made her ache to lean into him, to let go of the wheel and fold. But she didn’t. 

Because this was her drive. Her element. 

And if he thought he could unseat her so easily—

“Nice try, Weasley,” she murmured, eyes glued to the horizon as the red car tore along the coast.

The red car screeched to a halt, tires crunching against gravel. Lottie yanked up the handbrake with a flourish, her grin stretching ear to ear.

Fred’s hand braced the dash, sunglasses slipping crooked as his head whipped around. “What the fuck—”

“We’re heeerrre!” She sang, already unbuckling, her hair wild from the wind.

He blinked at the stretch of road around them. Cracked asphalt, jungle pressing in on one side, a jagged drop to the sea on the other. It looked less like paradise and more like the world’s sketchiest pull-off.

Here where? She’s mad. 

It was… kinda depressing. Not like normal barren highway depressing, Hawaii is incapable of such things. No. This was depressing like the way you only get one scoop of ice-cream expecting two. 

“You’ve officially lost it,” Fred muttered, peering out the window. “Looks like you just stranded us on the highway.”

She leaned across him, pointing vaguely with a lazy wave of her hand. “Not stranded. Options!”

“Options,” he repeated flatly, but his mouth twitched like he couldn’t help it.

“Mhmm.” Her grin turned coy. 

“One way leads to something loud and dramatic. Like you—” She tipped her sunglasses down, brown eyes sparkling. “The other is more private. Quiet. A good place to chill out.”

Fred squinted at her, suspicious now. “You’re not actually going to tell me what that means, are you?” He asked flatter than the horizon.

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ as she slid out of the driver’s seat, skirt swishing around her legs as she moved to the hood, waiting for him. “So? Which one do you want first, babe?”

Fred didn’t move right away. He stayed in the passenger seat, one brow arched, scanning the jungle with a tiny path on one side and the drop-off on the other like the punchline might reveal itself.

“Alright,” he started, voice slow, “I gotta have more. Is this all an elaborate prank? Are you going to strand me here with no shoes and make me swim back to the bungalow? Get me full of snacks and liquor and make sand-tits on me?” 

Lottie snorted. Disappointed she didn’t do that already.

Lottie was halfway to the hood, tugging her shirt-straps back up onto her shoulder, shaking her hair out of her face like she hadn’t heard a word. She adjusted her skirt with both palms, humming to herself.

“—or, wait. Secret island cryptid? Am I about to meet the Hawaiian Nightseer? Does he wear a lei—”

She turned, sighed, and asked, “Which one?”

Fred shut his mouth, still squinting at her, tapping his foot. He scanned her face for anything. 

The he blurted—

“Loud and dramatic.”

“Excellent.” She breezed past him, smug with the confirmed suspicion she was harboring. She took two small steps toward a winding path, whatever lay below obscured by black lava rock. “That means it’s time for lunch. Grab the bag, please.”

Fred sat for half a second longer, eye twitching. Then he grabbed the tote, slung it over his shoulder, and followed after her.

The path wound sharp through brush and rock, the sound of waves slamming themselves against stone growing louder with every step. Lottie moved ahead like she’d walked it a hundred times, skirts catching the wind, hair haloed by salt-bright sun.

Fred trailed behind, still muttering under his breath. “Lunch on the side of a cliff. Love that for us. Real romantic, Lot.”

She just laughed, looking back over her shoulder, eyes glittering. “Wait ‘til you see it.”

The trail spat them out onto a lush, wide, ledge that jutted over the water, lava rock underfoot worn smooth by wind and salt. It wasn’t a death trap— it was stable, broad enough to stretch a blanket, the kind of place you could sit and let the world swallow you whole.

Fred stopped in his tracks.

Turquoise ripples fanned below, so clear he could make out flashes of silver as fish darted near the rocks. The ocean breathed against the cliff, deep and endless, every crash spraying a fine mist just on the edge of earth. Overhead, palm fronds shuffled their leaves in time with the breeze, and the occasional bird call rang inland.

“Bloody hell,” Fred muttered.

Lottie’s smug grin was immediate. She planted her hands on her hips, chin tipped up like she’d orchestrated the whole thing herself. 

“Told you. Loud and dramatic.”

He gave a short laugh, still slackjawed, turning slow in a circle to take it all in.

“Look,” he said after a moment, nodding toward a tree crooked near the edge. A small cluster of orchids clung to its trunk, pale and perfect against the bark.

She walked over, leaned in, and breathed deep. Salt, green, faint sweetness. When she straightened, she caught him watching her, eyes lit with something softer than awe of the view.

She nudged him with her shoulder as she passed back toward the center of the cliff. “Better than the ditch you thought I’d drive us to?”

“Depends.” He smirked, but his gaze drifted back out to the horizon, jaw loose with wonder. “All depends on how good this lunch is.”

The ocean roared again, the orchids swayed, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just this ledge, just them.

Lottie took the tote from Fred and sat it down on a flat rock, the little enchantments inside working their quiet magic. Cool air drifted up as she pulled out neatly packed containers, a thermos, and a pair of wrapped sandwiches that hadn’t wilted in the least.

Fred flopped down beside her, long legs sprawled, peering into the bag like a kid at Christmas. “Bless enchanted purses.”

“You’d starve without them.” She handed him one of the sandwiches, then pulled a blanket free and shook it open with a flourish. The fabric fluttered once before settling over the lava rock, softening the hard edge of the cliff.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, unwrapping food while the ocean hurled itself below. The first bite made Fred groan low in his throat, head tipping back. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. This is the best sandwich of my life.”

Lottie snorted, nearly choking on her own bite. “You’re dramatic.”

“You brought me to the perfect stage for it.” He gestured to the horizon, mouth still half-full. “Gorgeous view, best food, and my—” 

He caught himself, smirked instead. “Chauffeur.”

She shoved him with her shoulder, but not hard enough to push him off balance.

The quiet settled again, the steady crash of waves, the shuffle of palm leaves above, the faint sweetness of the orchids carried on the wind. Fish darted below, and every so often, Fred leaned sideways like he was making sure she noticed them too.

They ate like that, knees brushing, laughter bubbling here and there but mostly silence, the kind that felt thick and warm.

Fred polished off his sandwich before glancing sideways, eyes narrowed like he was up to something. He pinched the corner of hers, tugged it toward him. 

“You gonna share that, or am I supposed to starve while you hoard the rest?”

“You had the exact same thing,” she protested, tugging it back.

“Yours looks better.” He leaned closer, smirk widening. “Probably tastes better, too. Everything’s better off your lips.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed anyway. With exaggerated patience, she tore off a small piece and held it out. “Here. Happy?”

Instead of taking it with his fingers, Fred leaned in and caught it with his teeth, close enough that his breath brushed her knuckles. He chewed slow, humming like he was some kind of critic. 

“Mm. Yeah. Better.”

Lottie shook her head, laughing under her breath. “You’re incorrigible.”

He licked a crumb from his thumb, then tipped his sunglasses down to peer at her properly. “Big word. You callin’ me annoying?”

“No, I’m calling you impossible.”

“Synonyms.” He smirked, leaning back on one elbow. “Don’t worry, angel. I know what you meant.”

She pretended to ignore him, unwrapping the fruit container. Fred perked up immediately, eyes fixed on the slices of pineapple and mango like he’d just been handed a second wind.

“Cliffside dessert,” he declared, plucking a piece and popping it in his mouth. “You planning on hand feeding me, or do I gotta beg?”

“Try it,” she said, popping one of her own with a smug grin.

He leaned in again, this time closer, voice low with mock-seriousness. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a terrible track record when it comes to fruit and you.”

Lottie dusted her hands, muttered a little charm, and their picnic wrappers folded and vanished neatly back into the tote. 

“Well,” she said, brushing off her skirt as she stood, “don’t get carried away now. We’ve still got another stop on our sightseeing afternoon.”

Fred groaned dramatically, sprawling back on the blanket. “Demon woman.”

She ignored him, digging into the tote again— this time producing something boxy and pastel, its corners rounded and a strap dangling. Fred squinted. “Is that the same—”

“Camera Wren likes to terrorize us with? Yes. Yes it is.” 

“Merlin—”

“Oh, shut up. Let’s take a picture like normal people on vacation” She flicked her wrist, the camera hovering up into the air, angling itself like an invisible hand was holding it. “Get over here.”

He dragged himself up with a put-upon sigh, but let her pull him into place. She nestled at his side, arm looped around his waist, face tilted toward him. The camera hummed, ready.

Then Fred’s hand slid to her side. Two fingers prodded— light, testing— before digging just enough to make her jolt.

“Fred—!” she squealed, twisting.

And he tickled mercilessly, laughing under his breath as she erupted into laughter, hair flying, her free hand clawing at his wrist. At that exact second, the charm flared and— click.

A soft whirr and the photo popped out, fluttering down onto the blanket.

Lottie snatched it up, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes narrowing. “Ugh. No. Look at this.”

Fred leaned in over her shoulder. The picture showed her folding in laughter, head tipped back, cheeks full and flushed, her eyes squeezed half-shut. His own grin was wide and wolfish, arms wrapped tight around her. The slight movement now immortalized wasn’t what she was expecting. 

“It’s adorable,” he said simply.

“It’s atrocious. My cheeks look enormous.”

“They don’t.”

“I’m red as a lobster, and my eyes are… squinted and small—”

Fred plucked the photo from her hands, turning it between his fingers. His voice, when it came, dropped softer, stripped of its usual teasing edge. “Nah. You’re prettiest when you’re laughing.”

Lottie’s protest faltered. Her mouth closed, breath catching just slightly.

Fred reached up, brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, fingers warm against her temple. And he didn’t smirk, didn’t tease— just looked at her like she was the only thing worth looking at. Island be damned. 

And when she leaned in, it was easy.
Natural.
Their lips met in a kiss as soft as the orchids swaying in the cliffside breeze, the ocean below thrumming steady as a heartbeat.

When they finally broke apart, Fred didn’t rush to fill the space with his usual quips. He just stayed close, thumb brushing her jaw once before falling back to his lap, his gaze steady.

“I mean it,” he said quietly.

Her brows arched, ready for some inevitable twist of wit. But none came.

“I love making you laugh,” he admitted, voice low but certain. “Just to see you smile like that. Feels like… the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

It punched through her chest like a sucker hit— unexpected, a little ridiculous, and somehow exactly like she’d come to know him these past few days. She tried to hold her deadpan, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward until the smile stretched wide.

This time, she lunged first, arms wrapping tight around him. 

Fred folded her up instantly, slotting his chin over the crown of her head like it was always meant to fit there. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, steady and grounding against the wild ocean below.

The silence stretched, not awkward but full, warm as the sun still baking the rocks.

Then his voice rumbled above her hair. “So. You planning on showing me this other hidden spot, or was this just a roadside scam?”

She leaned back, eyes gleaming amber in the light, grin curling like a secret. “C’mon, Weasley.”

Before he could blink, her hand had slipped into his, tugging him up with her. She didn’t let go as she started up the trail, skirts catching against her calves, determination sharp as ever. He followed, laughing low, letting her drag him back toward whatever trouble she had in mind.

And a few moments later, Fred Weasley was stunned silent for the second time in one hour. 

Fred’s brows climbed as the path broke open again. “Holy—”

Lottie brushed a few wide jungle leaves aside with the back of her hand, and there it was: a watering hole framed in black stone, fed by a narrow waterfall spilling in from the cliff above. The water gleamed turquoise-green where the light punched down through the canopy. Clear as a window, rich as a painting. 

A couple of honeymooners floated in tubes lazily near the base, tangled in each other’s arms. A man the color and texture of an overbaked leather sofa was stretched on a rock ledge with his eyes closed, looking like he’d fossilize there.

“Not bad, huh?” she said, already tugging the blanket from her bag. 

She snapped it out onto the nearest stone, smoothing it with her palms before peeling her shirt over her head. The skirt followed in one swirl, leaving her in a dark pink one-piece that hugged her lush curves, tattoos vivid against her skin. The faint pale scar across her right breast caught the light, a quiet reminder to her; she was both fragile and indestructible at once.

Fred’s throat worked. He didn’t say a word, just watched.

“Quit staring, there’s witnesses.” She teased, her grin sharp with mischief— before diving clean into the water.

She cut through the surface and emerged with her hair darkened and slicked back, droplets streaming down her shoulders. 

Lottie lifted one brow, locked eyes with him across the pool, and lifted a single finger. A slow, deliberate curl of it. Come here.

Fred blew out a laugh, shaking his head, though he was already tugging his shirt over his head, shoes kicked off onto the stone. Bossy little jellyfish, he muttered— but he was smiling.

Fred slipped into the water with far less grace than she had, surfacing with a shake of his head, droplets scattering everywhere. He swam toward her, grin crooked. The water came to his hips, not really deep. But perfect for floating or standing— whatever leisure you desired.

She switched from a crouching-tread to standing, palms dragging the water at her waistline. Cyan waves rippling against their bodies in steady laps.

“Alright. Teach me that trick. The little…squirt gun thing.” Fred piped.

Lottie smirked, already cupping her hand beneath the surface. “You mean this?” She squeezed her fist just so, a neat stream of water jetting out to smack his stomach with a wet plink.

Fred looked down, blinked, then laughed. “That’s witchcraft.”

“Physics,” she corrected, smug. 

She grabbed his wrist, turning his hand into the right shape, curling his fingers tight. “Squeeze, but don’t choke it. And aim.”

He tried, water sputtering out in a sad drizzle.

“Pathetic, Weasley.” Her grin widened. She floated back, teaching was not in her agenda. 

“Oi.” He reset, determination sharpening his jaw. Another squeeze, more controlled this time— plink. A clean shot right at the center of a rock.

His whole face lit. 

“Yes!” He caught her by the waist and spun her in the water like they’d just scored a game point, both of them laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

By the time they stilled, breathless and grinning, the leathery man had shuffled off, towel over his shoulder. The honeymooners clambered out, wrapped themselves in each other and their towels, and headed for the trail with a quiet wave.

Fred glanced after them, then back at Lottie. Realization flickered across his face, subtle but clear. 

Alone. 

The water rippled between them, silence settling like an unspoken invitation.

He waded to where she was floating, standing over in a slightly menacing manner.

Lottie was just letting herself drift, hair spread like a halo in the water, eyes tipped up toward the sunlight that poured through the canopy. Her voice came soft, but with that teasing edge.

“Hey, jellyfish.” Fred spoke. Soft but loaded all at once. 

She rolled her eyes before regaining her footing.

“You can’t keep calling me’ jellyfish’ when we go back.”

Fred dipped his hands in the water, sending lazy ripples around her body. He leaned just close enough for his grin to shadow over her. 

“Going back? Who said anything about going back?”

She scooped water with her palm and flung it at him. 

Splash. 

He took it full in the chest and laughed.

“I mean it,” she said, paddling just enough to keep her float. “That’s special edition Lottie. It won’t fell the same back home.”

“Whatever you say… Jellyfish.” He dragged a wet hand back through his hair, then shook the droplets at her. “Besides, I wouldn’t deprive you of your Georgie forever by keeping you as my gorgeous island hostage.”

The laughter dimmed. The falls thundered in the background, steady as a drumbeat.

“C’mon I don’t wanna talk about him,” she said finally, her voice smaller under the roar.

“You can,” Fred murmured, shifting onto his back, floating beside her so they faced the canopy together. “You know I don’t mind.”

“I know, but—” She trailed her fingers through the water, making a small splash between them. 

“Right now, this is ours. We’re here for us.” A pause. She flicked another little splash at his shoulder, softer this time. “And, I’m not going to talk about you when I’m away with him.”

Fred’s head rolled toward her, shock painted across his face. “How rude! You’re so mean. Refusing to gush about me to your other boyfriend.”

The words left her mouth before she could catch them. 

“Who said you’re not the other boyfriend?”

Oops. 

The splash of the falls seemed louder after. She felt the sting of it instantly, throat going raw, chest tightening. 

He’d felt out of place before— and they’d literally just talked about it. And now she’d just reminded him all over again. Her throat closed in on itself. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—”

Fred’s expression shifted— something quick and tight in the eyes— but he smoothed it away, even forcing a little grin. 

“S’okay. It was a good one.”

Her lips pressed together, shame tugging her gaze down to the water’s ripples.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way.” His voice was gentler now, even, like he was trying to smooth the jagged edges for her.

“I guess you’re both the other boyfriend, huh?” She nodded once, still wincing, still ashamed. 

Because that was the reality of this relationship. That someone could always end up on the outside. Someone could always end up hurt— and by the hands of one who loved them.

She felt sick when that rushed her mind.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rushing falls. The wind shifted slightly, carrying the sweet tropicality into their conversation. 

Then Fred tipped himself upright, wading a little closer, his smirk flickering back into place as he reached out to flick water at her nose. 

“Well. Guess that makes me your favorite other boyfriend.”

He was good at making things better. Lighter. 

And she was more grateful for that than he ever knew. 

He patted her butt in two quick taps, motioning his head towards the blanket and towels they’d spread out earlier. 

They pulled themselves out of the water, skin slick, hair dripping trails down their shoulders. Lottie spread the blanket out on the rock again, and they collapsed side by side, faces tipped to the sun.

No real conversation, no real action, nothing but warmth. 

The hiss of the falls, the far-off swoop of a birdcall, the occasional hum of a car somewhere beyond the trees. Salt dried sticky on her lips, heat sunk into her bones, and for once her mind went still.

Fred stretched his arms over his head, long body slack, chest rising slow under the sun. His hair— awkward, in-between length— splayed damp across his forehead. The sunlight cut hard along his jaw, traced every freckle, turned the ring on his finger into a gleam of fire.

Lottie cracked one eye, and then the other.

Goddamn.

He looked edible in that lazy, sprawled way. Too handsome, too smug even asleep, like the island itself had decided to lay him out for her on a platter.

Her lips tugged into a grin. She rolled onto her side, elbow braced against the blanket, head propped in her hand as she looked him over.

“Don’t stare too hard,” Fred muttered without opening his eyes. “You’ll burn a hole through me.”

She snorted. “Can’t help it. You look… biteable.”

That earned her a crooked smile, still with his eyes shut. “Thought that lunch filled you up?”

“Changed my mind.”

She leaned closer, her shadow falling across his face, and finally he cracked one hazel eye to find her hovering above him. Her damp hair tickled his shoulder, the scent of sun and water clinging to her skin.

She didn’t hesitate. One breath, one easy, practiced motion, and Lottie had slid up over him, knees planted on either side so she was perfectly where she liked to be— above, the sun turning the wet freckles on his shoulders into little constellations. The blanket rustled under their weight; the waterfall was a hush behind them.

Her hands moved like they always did when she’d decided on something: bold, appreciative, exploratory. She let her palms map him— across his chest, the line of his ribs, the dip at his hip— like she’d been saving the memory. 

He breathed out, soft, the sound steadying and… relieved. She tasted salt on her lips and the faint tang of mango from lunch and thought, not for the first time, how completely ridiculous and real it all felt.

She lowered forward until her forehead rested against his, eyes bright and playful. 

“Do you feel like listening to me tonight?” she asked— the roundabout, almost-smirking way she had of asking: Will you be my good boy again?

Fred blinked, an easy grin stretching across his face even as something small and delighted lit his eyes. 

“You know I can’t say no,” he said, voice low and sure. 

She laughed, a quick, satisfied sound, and shifted her weight just enough to feel him under her, to press into that little, intimate contact that said more than words. 

It wasn’t a move toward anything violent or rushed; it was a quick preview, a soft reminder of promises already made. 

She rolled slightly, planting a hip, letting him feel the slight dominance of the moment— and then, because she was Lottie Winslow, because she loved the push-pull more than the finish, she eased back into the blanket, folding down into lizard-mode again.

He watched her, his chest rising and falling, eyes warmed with something like care and mischief. She hooked a finger under his jaw and dragged it up to meet hers, lips brushing in a kiss that was firm and featherlight at the same time. 

No frantic fumbling.
No hurry. 

“Good boy,” she murmured, half-teasing, half-soft, and kissed him again — slower now, the kind of kiss that holds promises without spelling them out.

Lottie almost fell asleep. Her high from the sunrise wake-up call finally catching up with her. Sunbeams and dirty thoughts did nothing for her relaxation though. The charge between them hummed, full and patient, held for later. 

It wasn’t announced they were leaving, it sort of unfolded when Fred sat up and Lottie patted her head to see how dry her hair was. She shot him an earnestly warm grin that said: Time to go. 

They packed up slow, skin still warm from the sun, and tugged clothes back on over damp swimsuits. Lottie shook out the blanket with a snap, stuffed it into the tote, and practically skipped back to the car with bare feet slapping on the hot rock.

Fred followed, dragging his towel over his head, hair sticking up in a dozen ridiculous directions. Fruitless effort to fix it, considering the driving he was going to have to endure again.

By the time they slid into their seats, she was humming under her breath, smug as a cat who’d dragged home a trophy bird.

He buckled in, stretched, and finally muttered, “Alright. I’ll admit it. That was a pretty good spot.”

Her grin was instantaneous. “Oh, was it? I didn’t catch that, could you say it louder for those in the back?”

He groaned, head thunking back against the headrest. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm, is that how it feels?” Her voice hummed. Those words were practically her trademark with these two Weasley boys, but she’d never had the pleasure of being accused of such things.

And honestly? It only emboldened her. 

With a melodic sigh she flicked on her blinker, U-turning back onto the road.

For a while the car hummed steady, the sea flashing through gaps in the trees. Fred dug into the glove box, rummaged, and then pulled out the magical polaroid from earlier, the one that had captured her mid-laugh on the cliff. He tilted it in the light, the image rippling faintly with its enchanted motion.

“We’ve gotta use this thing more often,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, keeping her focus forward. “Yeah, because one humiliating picture isn’t enough.”

“Exactly. Now I have two,” he slipped the polaroid into his wallet, tucking it in with practiced care. He spoke again quickly before she could question him—

“This’ll keep my other one company.”

Her eyes darted sideways. “Other one?”

Eyes darted again.

Road.
Fred.
Road.
Fred.

She lurched the car to a stop at the stopsign too quickly, and Fred— grinning like the devil, pulled out a second photo. 

He held it just out of her reach, flashing the moving image of her from Velorum. 

Dancing behind the DJ booth, hair flying, tattoos gleaming, a wicked smile plastered across her face. She looked every inch the sex menace she’d been that night. It looked— older than it should be. 

Her mouth dropped. “Fred Weasley— give that here.”

He snapped it back, lightning-quick, tucking it into his wallet again. “Eyes on the road, jellyfish.”

She growled under her breath, hands tightening on the wheel as she rolled them forward, begrudgingly obeying. 

“You are excruciating.”

“And yet,” he said, smug as hell, leaning back in his seat with his sunglasses sliding down his nose, “you keep me around.”

Lottie muttered under her breath for the next mile, knuckles white on the wheel. Fred lounged back, smug as sin, wallet tucked safely in his pocket like the crown jewels were inside.

“Unbelieveable,” she repeated, more loudly this time.

“Adorable,” he corrected, resting his arm out the window, wind tugging at his damp hair.

She opened her mouth for a retort, but something flickered past in her periphery— a wooden sign, half-hidden by ferns. Her eyes cut to it just in time to catch the words burned into the plank: TIDE POOLS with an arrow pointing right. 

All rage had been backseated, this was priority now. 

Her lips curved before she even thought about it. 

“Don’t you dare,” Fred said instantly, already straightening in his seat.

Her hands twitched the wheel, blinker clicking.

“Lottie—”

She turned sharp onto the narrow road, tires crunching gravel. A small squeal left her throat. 

Fred’s palm smacked the dash. “Merlin, Winslow, you trying to kill me?”

“Relax.” She grinned, hair flying around her face as the car jostled over uneven ground. “Trust me.”

He groaned but didn’t fight her, one hand braced on the door, the other still guarding his pocket like she’d make a grab for his wallet mid-turn.

They bumped along a short stretch before the road opened into a rocky turnout, the ocean stretching vast and glittering beyond. Lottie killed the engine and hopped out, already tugging her skirt higher to scramble down toward the dark lava rock below.

Fred sighed, dragging himself out slower, squinting against the sun. “If we find another feral cousin of yours down here, I’m telling her you need jail time.”

“Mhmm,” she tossed back, hair catching the light. “You’ll thank me in five minutes.”

The tide pools were busier than she expected. A few families were spread along the rocks, kids crouched low with plastic buckets, parents calling warnings about touching things. 

A couple of teenagers dangled cameras over the pools, snapping shaky pictures.

Fred followed her down the slope, muttering about sharp rocks and death traps, until she was already crouched at the first little basin, peering in with childlike delight.

“Look,” she whispered, though her voice carried anyway, “wittle fish.”

Fred leaned over her shoulder, squinting. 

All he saw at first was murky water and algae-slimed stone. He was about to crack a joke when something orange caught his eye. Just off to the side, stuck firm to the rock— five arms sprawled, rough and brilliant. 

A starfish. And another beside it. Then three more, clumped like lazy little suns.

“Oh,” he murmured, surprise softening the word. He squatted down, bracing a hand on his knee, staring closer. “Bloody hell. They’re real.”

Lottie laughed, tipping her chin at him. “What did you think, they were cartoon-only?”

He didn’t answer, already moving along to the next pool. 

“Holy shit,” Fred breathed, stepping barefoot onto the warm rock. Each pool was its own tiny aquarium. Darting fish, colorful urchins, little crabs scurrying sideways, more starfish clinging to the stone.

Lottie crouched beside one, skirt hiked up around her thighs, amber eyes wide with delight. 

“Look at this! He’s got a shell like a spiral staircase.” She pointed at a tiny hermit crab hauling itself along.

Fred crouched beside her, knees cracking, grinning like a kid. 

“Reckon he’s faster than me?” He nudged her shoulder, then squinted closer. “Nah— he’s got your attitude. Marching around like he owns the bloody place.”

“Rude,” she laughed, splashing him lightly with her fingers, but her grin was wide.

They made their way slowly, pool to pool, crouching, leaning, pointing. 

He dared her to poke an anemone, then yelped when she made him do it instead, jerking his hand back when it closed around his fingertip. She laughed until she nearly toppled, and he caught her by the elbow, still laughing himself.

For a while, the two of them blended right in with the families, just another pair of people squatting on rocks, marveling over worlds small enough to fit in a palm. 

Lottie crouched low, her knees brushing damp stone, pointing at a pair of brittle, translucent shrimp darting beneath a ledge. Fred balanced awkwardly beside her, his shirt already damp where he’d leaned too close.

“Look at them. They’re see-through.” She pressed her nose almost to the water. “Like little glass ghosts.”

Fred snorted. “Ghost prawns. Terrifying. Haunt you with the faint smell of garlic butter.”

She swatted his arm, then gasped—“Fred!”—as something scuttled from one shell to another. They watched together, heads almost touching, as the hermit crab traded homes right before their eyes.

“Moving day,” Fred whispered. “I’m stressed for him. That’s the tiniest eviction notice I’ve ever seen.”

“D’you think they cleaned the places out before they switched?”

“Course not,” Fred scoffed. “Bet the little orange fucker left a broken loo and plans to bill the other for it.” 

Her laughter rang out, rolling over the lapping tide. 

And then— quiet. 

Just them crouched in the orange spill of the late sun, the tide beginning its slow creep. The pools shivered with reflected light, and the creatures inside glowed like tiny deities caught between land and sea.

Fred finally sank down onto a flat rock, brushing damp sand from his hands, eyes still roaming the water like he couldn’t help it. She flopped beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Lottie gasped and tugged Fred’s wrist, pointing toward a dark lump half-tucked in seaweed. “Sea cucumber,” she whispered, like she’d just spotted treasure.

Fred squatted beside her, squinting. Then his lips twisted. It was…unfaily phallic shaped.

“That’s not a cucumber. That’s… good lord, that’s indecent.”

She elbowed him hard. “Don’t be mean! It’s not his fault he looks like that.”

He tried and failed to stifle his grin. “Tell me that’s not nature’s worst prank. Bloody chap looks like he should come with a censor bar.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it made her dizzy, but she was laughing too. 

He, of course, doubled down— pulling the polaroid out of her tote and snapping a picture.
Not of the cucumber, thankfully, but of the starfish pool glowing orange under the low light. The photo slid out, and when the image came through, they both burst out laughing at how serene and lovely it looked compared to the cucumber’s unfortunate… situation.

“Much better,” Fred declared, holding it up like a prized artifact. “That one I’ll show people.”

“You’re impossible,” Lottie muttered, but she was grinning, cheeks warm.

By now the world had shifted shades— the water reflecting soft purples and pinks, the sun dragging its hem under the edge of the ocean. They found a smooth slab of rock, warm from the day, and sat shoulder-to-shoulder. 

The tide tickled their toes. The last birds called overhead. Neither of them spoke for a long while. They just watched the sky spill colors, their breaths syncing without trying.

* * *

Lottie leaned over the sink, getting as close to the mirror as her nose allowed, and examined her peeling sunburnt skin. She’d made sure to keep Fred amply protected, but the thought slipped her mind to reapply after swimming. 

She tried not to peel at it, but just a little bit was okay… right?

A little turned to a lot and she felt worse but looked better.

He’s not gonna be looking at your fucking nose, Lot. 

She groaned. Being away with a boy was stressful in its own right— enjoyable beyond all belief, of course— but it also felt like there was a constant pressure to be perfect. 

Even though, deep down in her heart that was still learning to be open, she knew he already thought she was perfect. Not that he’d ever said things like George had… 

Like the—

“I love you.” 

Things. 

She physically shook the thought from her head. 

Stop thinking about him.  

Soon, she’d be with George.
But not now. 

She met her reflections eyes.

Let’s go see what my Freddie is up to.

The sigh building in her chest finally crawled out; more wistful than pensive. And she let out another one for good measure. 

Paradise was wonderful, but not for her curly hair. She’d gotten the short end of the stick while her sister got the glorious “oh, the humidity only makes it curlier and shinier!” genes. With a little huff, she ran her fingers through it again, fresh from the shower but still on track to puff up. Once again reminding herself that she doesn’t need to try so hard. She never had to stress over every aspect being neat, and polished, and proper.

Never for Fred.

The effort was futile, but it was worth a try. Moving on to the thing she was most excited for—

A navy blue lace set. Silver detailed threads dipped and crested the lace like helpless stars, perfectly sheer but tastefully sexy. 

I do look good in blue.

She trailed her fingers over its lace and couldn’t help but be forced to remember.

Jackson. 

Because once upon a time, Jackson the Trashbag was the one controlling her colors. Her fabrics. Her entire wardrobe was up to him and him alone. 

Always something flashy or revealing. Always something too generous on the skin showing. Always something that he could dangle in front of people.

A section of her life narrowed by a single man's permissions. 

He’d called it strategy. 

She called it prison. 

But now—

That was over. 

And this? 

This was different. 

She dropped her towel and slid the set on with careful precision. 

Fred didn’t tell her, hell— he didn’t even ask her— to wear blue. He’d mentioned it only two or three times how it made her seem like she sparkled more. She’d filed it away, and now, she’d chosen it. 

Chosen to pick it out in the store, chosen to pack it, chosen to wear it.

 To walk out there and let him see. 

It wasn’t a forced surrender, not anymore. 

It was a fearsome reclaiming. A small, defiant rewrite. She would decide to wear the things that her boys liked. Not because they told her to, but because she wanted to.

To watch their faces light up. 

To take in Fred’s face when she walked out there. 

To perhaps suffer another ‘sad lake’ comment. 

The difference sat like a triumphant flame in her ribcage, under the blue mesh and lace. 

I get to choose who I give myself to. 

She adjusted the straps, took a breath, and pushed the bathroom door open. 

Fred was already sprawled across the bed like a cocky king— half reclined against the wicker headboard, sleep pants low, and not a scrap of shirt to be found. One arm folded back behind his head, showing off in the laziest way possible that should have been considered indecent. 

His left hand held a small book, something well worn he definitely read several times. The cover curled back in that way it would only curl if you’d done it a hundred times. 

Her breath caught slightly at his infuriating casualness. 

Fred’s eyes flicked up from the page, stayed on her for a second before returning back, like she was only passing through. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, only turning slightly. Arm propping her up and just letting her body relax across the blanket like a sun-bathing housecat. Even as she stared at him, locked her eyes on his— his were still scanning the pages in front of him. 

Her lips pressed to a firm line, she thought the promise of ‘later, will you listen to me?’ would have been enough to make him snap to attention when she entered the room. 

But nothing. 

Bastard. 

She thought.
She looked good, like, so good. And he was going to just sit there and fucking— read? 

But instead of switching it all on at once, instead of calling his ignorance out— in classic Lottie Winslow style— she wanted to make him sweat. 

Rising slow and burning, not too different than the sunrise they watched that very morning, she inhaled and circled him as if he was now prey. 

She moved closer, close enough now that she could feel the heat between them but stopped just short of touching him. His posture was relaxed, sprawled across the bed like he owned the whole damn room. She stepped back, scanning him—shirtless, just the way she liked him—her gaze lingering on his exposed chest and the way his abs flexed slightly under his loose stance.

She crossed her arms, leaning in ever so slightly, just enough to make sure he could hear the words clearly.

“You sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

She piped, just loud enough to cut the silence like a starting slice in a sword fight. 

Fred, still not looking at her, took a long pause before shrugging lazily.

Which was the opposite of what she wanted. But maybe he was taking a page from her book this time. 

She could feel her pulse quicken, but she bit back a smirk. Fred was playing, and she wasn’t going to let him win this little game.

She plucked the book clean from his hand—  it didn’t close when she yanked it away. Just sat stunned. 

She closed it and looked at the cover

Frankenstein

She almost scoffed. Some creepy fucking scientest being more enticing than her specially curated sex clothes was almost enough to set her into full spiral. Instead of letting it bother her though— she channeled it. 

With an exaggerated sigh, she flopped the paperback onto the nightstand, the thud louder than it needed to be. 

“Really, Freddie?” she muttered, half amusement, half annoyance.

Fred’s mouth curled at one corner, a flicker of mischief in his eyes now that he’d been caught. 

“It was just getting to the good part,” he said lazily, voice rough and unbothered. He stretched over his head just to rub it in. 

“Mm-hmm.” Lottie climbed over him. Thighs hugging a familiar spot on the side of his hips. 

But she didn’t grind or writhe— not yet anyway.

For now, she slid her hand down behind her, palm grazing the warm skin of his leg. Tipping her weight back with a lazy arch of her back, letting him see the hard work she so carefully put into this.

But he didn’t say anything then either.
Just let his barely-dark, half-lidded, faux-calm eyes roll down her chest veiled by the blue bra, to her bare waist, and landed on a flash of a thin navy band, like a single ocean wave on the moonlight of her skin. 

He didn’t feel the undetectable twitch of his eyelids— but she did. 

She felt a twinge of victory, Now he fucking sees me. 

And he did.
He tipped his head just to let his lips graze hers. And she could’ve melted.

His kiss didn’t start heavy, but she found herself pressing and rolling her hips into his before she even thought to pull away. He had a way of doing that— making her get lost before she even knew she was.

And currently, she was lost in the way his body felt against hers, how his hands knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply. Lottie arched into him, the sensation of his touch and growing cock under her making her eyelids stutter for a moment. But just as she was about to sink further into the pleasure, she snapped out of it— just enough to keep herself from losing control.

Because tonight wasn’t about his pace.

A smile curved across her mouth, slow and sure. The lace bit at her ribs, a reminder of what she’d chosen— for herself, for him.
She wanted this.
Wanted to give and to take.

So she let the brat rise.

She didn’t pounce right away. She draped herself over him instead, slow and warm, the way she might slip into a hammock. Her hair spilled across his chest as she slid her palms up the lines of his ribs, feeling him shiver under the drag of her nails. Fred’s hands came up automatically, thumbs brushing her hips, a lazy squeeze of her waist as she shifted to rock against him. His left thumb slid under the band of her underwear, pressing it of the way like it owed him that.

For a minute it was that. Slow, and rubbing. Feeling. 

Feeling.

She had a wicked thought. 

Maybe after all his ignoring, he doesn't deserve to see me.

Then she peeled herself away.

Fred blinked up at her, dazed. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. 

Just leaned over the nightstand, the curve of her back arching beautifully as she dug through the drawer. The little rummaging sound of bottles and packets filled the room before she straightened, something clutched loosely in her fingers.

“Oh…” she said, voice gone syrupy-sweet again, “well, since you didn’t care to look at me…”

She let the item slide through her fingers so he could see what it was—

One of the things she bought the day prior, a silk hair scarf with a delicate cream and light blue hibiscus print.

She rolled it slowly between her palms, watching his eyes track the movement without comprehension.

“Baby…” His voice had dropped, low now, a faint question threading through it.

She held one end of the scarf in each hand and drew it taut. The sound of silk stretching was soft, but it made the air between them tighten like a primed tripwire. 

And then, because she was nothing if not deliberate, she let it dangle in front of him— exactly the way he had dangled a silk tie in front of her.

The recognition flickered across his face. His breath hitched.

“Now you get to see how it feels,” she murmured.

Fred’s smirk finally broke. He swallowed, a slow drag of his throat, and tipped his chin up to meet her eyes. And without even realizing it, he leaned forward, head leaving the resting place against the headboard. 

He didn’t even give her time to say it. 

She leaned in, so close that her breath tickled his ear, and slipped the scarf around the back of his head. When she tied it over his eyes, she tugged the knot a little sharper than necessary, just to hear him. Then she guided him back against the headboard, settling back on his lap again, her lace brushing his skin in maddeningly light drags.

“Hands,” she murmured.

He started to lift them.

“Sit on them.” She tapped his thighs. “I don’t even want to see them.”

His breath came a little heavier. “Lottie…”

“Shh—” she kissed his cheek, right under the edge of his visions hindrance. “Don’t you wanna listen to me?”

He did. 

So he nodded. Quick. Not trying to get on her bad side already. 

His palms flattened against the mattress under his legs. His throat bobbed.

She stayed astride him, one hand trailing down the side of his neck, over the dip of his collarbone, brushing the edge of his chest hair before skimming lower. With every stroke she shifted just enough to let the lace of her bra scrape lightly against his skin, a deliberate sensory overload.

Her mouth hovered just above his, but she didn’t kiss him. Instead she rocked her hips once, a slow press of warmth against him before pulling away. Her fingers brushed his chest, a random kiss at his jaw, then nothing. Another kiss at his shoulder, then a soft drag of nails over his stomach. Every contact just long enough to make his breath hitch.

Her nails trailed down his chest, so light it made him shiver. 

He tried to follow her touch, body twitching toward it, and she clicked her tongue.

“Uh-uh. Stay still.”

She kissed his jaw, then shifted down and licked a slow line across his collarbone. He gasped, head tipping back into the pillow, and she smiled against his skin.

He shifted beneath her, blindfold tight, jaw flexing as though he could will his sight back. But all he had was the heat of her thighs caging his hips and the maddening tease of her lace brushing over his skin.

Then— nothing.

Silence.

He tilted his head, listening, every muscle strung tight.

The first kiss landed just under his collarbone. Soft, almost thoughtful. Then she was gone again, leaving him to the silence and the frantic anticipation.

Another kiss, this time higher, at the hollow of his throat. A scrape of teeth, a sigh ghosting his skin. Then nothing.

Fred’s breath hitched. “Fuck—”

“Shh.” Her mouth brushed his ear, her voice dripping with smug delight. “See how it feels? How every touch is hotter now? Amplified— because you don’t know when it’s coming?”

He groaned, deep and guttural, his head thudding back against the headboard. “Yeah. I feel it.”

“Good.” She pressed her lips to his jaw, slow and deliberate, before pulling back again. “Now you know what I felt like.”

Her hand skimmed down his chest, nails tracing just lightly enough to make him twitch. Then— nothing again.

“Lottie,” he muttered.

She smirked, watching the way his chest rose faster, his arms shifting uselessly under his thighs.
Helpless Fred.
What a rare, beautiful thing.

And then she kissed lower, teeth catching the top of his chest where the muscle thickened, sucking just hard enough to leave heat behind. He groaned and tried to lean into it, but she pulled back, fingertips trailing over the mark she’d just made.

“You liked that.” It wasn’t a question.

“Mm.”

“Words.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “More.”

Her grin bloomed slow, wicked. “That’s better.”

Her teeth grazed his skin again, right over the swell of his pec. Fred braced for it— waiting for the bite, the mark— but she pulled back at the last second, only leaving the ghost of pressure.

He cursed under his breath.

A beat later she did it again, this time on the other side, just enough nibble to make his pulse jump— then gone.

“Oh—” His voice was rough now, low and frayed.

She hummed against his chest, almost a laugh, then straightened, rolling her hips down into him. The lace dragged across his stomach, his cock pinned under the thin fabric of his pants. She ground just enough to make him buck, then stilled, watching him squirm beneath the blindfold.

Another near-bite. 

Gone.

His hands twitched under his thighs, fingers balling up the sheet under him. 

This time when she lowered her mouth, she didn’t pull away. She sank her teeth into him properly, firm and claiming, the sound he made muffled by gritted teeth. She soothed the mark with a slow lick, then kissed it sweet, soft.

He groaned, head rolling back. “More.”

She gave him another, higher up, sucking until she felt him shudder beneath her. Her hips shifted again, dragging along the stiff line of him, just enough friction to make him hiss through his teeth.

Her lips hovered at his collarbone, a whisper of pressure— a single kiss— then gone again.

Fred groaned, chest heaving. “Don’t—”

Instantly, she pulled back, sitting up straight on his lap. He felt the headboard shake under pressure— then warmth at the sides of his head. 

Lottie's arms were caging his head in. Cruelly, she used it for her own leverage.

Her hips rolled down hard, grinding into him through the thin lace and his sleep pants. The sudden friction dragged a choked sound from his throat. She didn't care how wet and how bad she wanted him right now— he wasn't listening. 

“Don’t?” 

She echoed, her tone prickling like a silk glove against sandpaper. “Are you telling me what to do, Weasley?”

He shook his head quickly under the blindfold, jaw clenched. “No— fuck, no. I wasn’t—”

Her nails skimmed down his chest, light enough to make him shiver. She ground again, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his body arched beneath her.

“Good,” she purred, leaning close enough for her lips to ghost his ear. “Because you should know by now— I'm the real boss here.”

He swallowed hard, muscles flexing uselessly beneath her, every line of him begging even if his mouth stayed shut.

She smiled, drunk on the power. “Now. Ask me nicely for what you want. Or you get nothing at all.”

The most adorably pathetic sound rippled out of his mouth. Her hips shifted again, slow and heavy, just enough to make him groan. 

“Use your words,” she murmured. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

She savored the vision before her of her beautiful bitten boy. His chin up, neck exposed. Adam's apple bobbing when he tried to gather the resolve to speak.

Fred’s breath stuttered. “Bite me.”

She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Is that all?” 

Another roll of her hips, harder, dragging a sharp sound from him. “You want me to bite on you then leave? That’s it?”

He swallowed hard, blindfold twitching as he shook his head. “No.”

“No?” She hummed, nails grazing over one of the marks she’d already left. “Then what do you want, baby? Tell me everything.”

His mouth opened, shut. He gasped when she shifted her weight, lace dragging over him like a live wire. “I— fuck—”

“Words.” Her tone went almost sing-song, patronizing but sweet. “Come on. Don’t make me guess.”

He broke then, voice rough and low. 

“I need you,” he said, the words spilling out in a rush. “I want your mouth, your hands— need you to touch me, to fuck me— please.”

Her smile bloomed, slow and satisfied, a flush of heat climbing her own throat at how wrecked he sounded. 

“There it is,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

She leaned down and finally bit him properly, deep enough to make him arch off the headboard, then soothed it with a slow lick.

She pulled back from his chest, lips tingling from where she’d bitten him, and trailed her fingers down the thin lace stretched over her breasts.

“Think you’ve earned more yet?” she asked, her voice lilting, daring.

He nodded too fast, chest heaving.

“I guess so. Let's see those hands.” She grabbed his wrists where they were tucked under his thighs, tugged them free, and guided them upward. His palms hovered, fingers stretched out, trembling with restraint, until she pressed them flat against her breasts through the lace.

“Hold them,” she ordered. “Don’t move unless I say.”

He groaned, thumbs twitching, but he obeyed. His breath stuttered as she reached behind herself, fingers snapping the clasp. The bra slipped from between his hands, and now he suddenly held bare skin.

Fred’s chest rose sharp, like he might lose it right then, but she caught his chin between her fingers and tilted his face up. 

“Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “Stay there.”

And then she was kissing everywhere but his lips— his jaw, the hollow of his throat, the edge of his shoulder. Soft one moment, teeth the next, little licks and nips while his hands clutched her as though he’d been starved for the feel.

He was panting now, blindfold damp at his temples. Every gasp seemed to feed her, every groan pulling her deeper into the high of power.

“You like how it feels?” she murmured between kisses, her mouth dragging over his pulse. “Every touch hotter, every kiss sharper, because you can’t see me?”

He nearly growled, grip tightening around her, voice breaking: “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

She shifted, rolling her hips once more before pulling his wrists back, guiding his hands toward her shoulder blades, then down the curve of her waist. His fingers were hungry already, flexing against her skin like they’d been waiting years.

“Easy,” she whispered, catching his jaw with her teeth for a sharp nip. “Since you did so well earlier, you can touch me as much as you want tonight…”

His breath hitched, hands roaming instantly, desperate to map her with fingertips alone.

“…as long as you listen.”

That froze him. Just for a beat. Then he nodded quickly, chest rising against hers. “Yes. I’ll listen.”

Her smile curved wicked.

She dragged his hands lower, pressing them to her hips, holding them there until he gripped tight. “Now, start with these. Hold on to me.”

He obeyed, fingers digging in, pulling her flush as she kissed his neck again, then bit down just enough to make him hiss. 

Blindfolded, hands full, Fred Weasley was trapped between obeying her and needing her.

Lottie shifted back, just enough that his hands lost their anchor on her hips. She caught his wrists, lowered them into his lap, then leaned down to breathe against his ear:

“Feel me. Anywhere you want.” Her nails barely carved his chest, light and sharp.

Fred’s breath stuttered. “Fuck.”

His palms found her shoulders first, sliding down the slope of her arms, fingers brushing over the cooled skin. He cupped her breasts, thumbs sweeping almost gently before slipping back to her collarbone, her neck. Then lower again, relearning the lines like he’d never touched her before.

Down her waist, her stomach, over the flare of her hips. He lingered at the small of her back, then pressed lower, cupping the curve of her ass.

“Stop.”

The word snapped through the room.

Fred froze instantly. Every muscle locked, every breath held. His hands stayed exactly where she’d cut him off.

Her smile spread, pride swelling hot in her chest. She didn't really want him to stop; only needed to know he was really listening. 

“Amazing,” she murmured, kissing the edge of his jaw. “You passed.”

He let out a shaky laugh, part relief, part arousal. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Mm,” she hummed against his throat, sinking her teeth in just enough to make him hiss. “Then you'd die happy.”

Her lips trailed along his throat, her teeth grazing his pulse, while his hands remained locked exactly where she’d left them. She kissed his ear, soft and smug.

“Be still.”

He groaned, muscles taut under her. She felt it in her hips, in the way his thighs flexed against hers, like he was aching to flip her over. But he didn’t.

She rewarded him— grinding down slow, lace dragging over the rigid heat straining his pants. He cursed, a strangled sound muffled in his throat.

“Good,” she whispered, brushing her mouth across his cheekbone. “You listen so well when you try.”

Her fingers slipped over his wrists again, guiding his hands higher— pressing one to her breast, the other low on her stomach, just above the waistline of her panties.

“Touch me here.”

He obeyed instantly, thumb brushing her nipple until she gasped. His other hand pressed tentative against her belly, fingertips trembling with the urge to go lower.

“Don’t you dare move,” she murmured, hips rolling down to remind him what waited just below.

He swallowed hard, shuddering. “Lottie—”

“Shh.” She nipped his jaw, then whispered against his skin, voice dripping with mockery and heat: "You're doing so well, baby. Just a little bit more. Don't plan on fucking it up now do you?”

He groaned, head rolling back, blindfold damp. “Yeah. No— fuckin hell. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” She kissed his mouth, feather-light, then pulled away before he could chase it. “You’ll wait. You’ll listen.”

She rocked down hard this time, dragging over him, his gasp breaking sharp. Then she kissed the corner of his mouth, abruptly pulled back, just out of reach.

“Go lower,” she ordered, guiding his wrist beneath the lace. “Touch me. Right there.”

His groan was near feral as his fingers slid down, brushing over her clit, tentative at first, then bolder when he felt the heat of her. She let out a quiet gasp, head tipping back, savoring it.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips rocking into his hand. “That’s it. Just like that.”

He cursed softly, thumb circling, fingers dipping, his body taut as a bowstring under her weight. Every sound she made seemed to unravel him further. 

His thumb prodded her sensitive bud in small, light circles— just the thing he knew she’d crumble for. The tip of his index finger barely bumping against her entrance made him work harder— like if he made her cum faster he’d be allowed inside faster.

But Lottie’s resolve was strong tonight. 

She let it build— let herself build— until she was nearly panting against his ear.

“Enough,” she breathed, sharp but low.

His fingers kept moving, eager, desperate to push her over.

Her hand shot down, clamping over his wrist, yanking him away. The sudden loss made her thighs quiver with frustration, but her voice came out steady, edged.

“Oh, no, Weasley.”

He froze, blindfold slipping as his head turned toward her voice, breath ragged.

“I told you to stop.” Her tone dropped, silk over steel. “And what did you do?”

“I—” His chest heaved, words failing. “You sounded close, I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” She shifted off his lap just enough to free her arm. Before he could beg, she brought her palm down sharp against the inside of his thigh.

The smack rang in the quiet room, followed by his strangled gasp.

“Fuck!” he groaned, thighs jerking. His brows pinched above the silk border, voice steeped in confusion.

Her nails traced over the red bloom where she’d struck, soothing the sting, her lips brushing his ear. 

“Feel that? That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

He swallowed, chest rising hard. “What the—”

“Stop. Talking.” She dragged her fingers higher on his thigh, almost grazing the bulge under his pants before pulling away again. “You want me to let you back inside me? Then you follow my orders. No exceptions.”

His voice broke, rough and low. “Yes. Yes, I’ll listen. I swear.”

“You better.” Her breath came evenly, satisfaction rolling through her chest. She kissed the side of his throat, teeth grazing lightly. “Now keep those hands still until I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Yes,” he rasped, trembling.

Her hand stayed on his inner thigh for a beat, fingers tracing slow circles where she’d struck. Then she slid her palm higher, fingers brushing the hard line straining against his pants.

“Hands still,” she murmured.

Fred’s fingers stilled, frozen by his own brief burst of pleasure and a little healthy fear. 

She bit her lip, trying to force her smile from stretching (as if Fred could even see it) as she stroked the length of his shaft through the fabric, her other hand still pinning his wrist against her stomach. 

She leaned down, nipped at his throat again, then whispered against the skin: “Want me to let you back inside me? Or should I keep you like this all night— blind, begging, and hard?”

He nodded. Frantic. Desperate. Needy.

She thought about it— taking what she wanted right now. Riding him like the heat between her legs was demanding her to do. 

But she was having too much fun playing with her food. 

With a little flick of her fingers she tugged at his waistband, pushed the fabric down just enough to free his cock. The sight of him— thick, flushed, dripping— sent a dark thrill through her.

“Look at you,” she purred, though he couldn’t see her. “Can’t even see me— but still fucking aching for me.”

He groaned, hips jerking up.

She wrapped her hand around him but didn’t move, just let her thumb circle lazily over the head until his breath caught. Then she stroked— one slow, deliberate glide from base to tip, and stopped.

A strangled sound tore from his throat.

“You shouldn’t have fucked up earlier, baby,” she said softly, her thumb smearing the bead of slick at his tip.  

 Another stroke, even slower. Stop.

“Maybe you’d be inside me by now—”

He swore under his breath, hips twitching, trying not to thrust.

“You want me, don’t you?” she whispered, her grip loosening just to make him tremble. “Want my mouth, my pussy, everything.”

“Yes,” he rasped, voice breaking. “God, yes.”

She drew a deep breath as she gave him one more slow, cruel twist of her wrist and stopped again. “Then maybe next time you’ll remember who’s in charge.”

He groaned, so deep it vibrated through his chest, every muscle trembling from the effort not to move.

“Good boy,” she whispered, leaning in to bite his shoulder, soft and slow. “Now, do you think you can listen again?”

She pulled her hand off him, ignoring his broken groan. Tugging his waistband back up with a sharp snap, she leaned in to whisper at his ear, voice low and smug.

“We’re moving.”

He stilled, swallowing hard.

She tugged him up by the wrist, guiding him a few paces across the room until his thighs brushed the loveseat against the wall. A push and he sank into it, half-sprawled, muscles tense under the blindfold.

“Lose the pants.”

There wasn’t even a pause. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid them down, stepping out of them clumsily, his cock heavy and flushed against his stomach.

She watched him for a moment— blind, naked, waiting for her word— and felt a dark ripple of satisfaction bloom low in her belly.

“Sit down,” she ordered.

He listened like a program obeying its creator. She caught his wrists and draped them over the backrest, spreading him wide, a throne he didn’t even realize he was filling.

“Don’t move again,” she warned, leaning in close, her teeth dragging over his jaw. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Yes,” he rasped, voice already wrecked.

“Good boy.”

She straddled his lap but didn’t grind, didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, she kissed slow along his neck, lips dragging, biting just enough to make him gasp. Down his collarbone, across his shoulder. She pulled back, watched the way his chest heaved like he was already spent.

Then her hand skimmed down his stomach, light as silk, just brushing over the underside of his shaft— once, twice— before pulling away. His groan tore out frustrated.

“You’re crumbling already,” she murmured, licking the edge of his throat, leaving another blooming bite there. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

Her nails scraped gently over his ribs, down his sides, her mouth returning to his chest, alternating sweet kisses with cruel little nips. Every time his cock twitched under the fabric of her panties, she let her hand graze him— then abandoned him again.

Fred’s head thudded back against the cushion, jaw slack, the blindfold darkening with sweat at his temples. “Lottie…”

She smiled slow, drunk on the sight of him undone. “You’re not even close to begging hard enough yet.”

Fred’s head thudded back against the cushion, a sound between a groan and a whimper tearing from his throat.

She shifted, grinding just barely against him, enough to make him gasp. “You could be inside me by now, Freddie,” she whispered, her breath hot at his ear. “But you didn’t listen.”

Her mouth wandered greedily, leaving its trail along his chest and shoulders, biting just enough to make him jolt. Each time she soothed the sting with a kiss, his groans got lower, rougher, his body trembling under her control.

She shifted, brushing her damp, lace-covered heat along his length again, savoring the way he bucked helplessly. His arms stayed frozen over the backrest, obedient even as his whole body screamed to move.

“Good boy,” she murmured against his skin, sinking her teeth into the edge of his throat. He gasped, blindfold darkening with sweat, and she licked the mark sweet after. 

Lottie thought she could stay here for hours. Feeling and biting teasing and kissing him, but there was something else she could do that would feel so much better. 

She let out a small hum as she made her choice.

Then— without warning— she lifted her hips just enough, tugged her panties aside, and slid down onto him in one slow, devastating motion.

Fred choked on a curse, every muscle going rigid as he filled her. His head thudded back against the cushion, mouth open, chest heaving.

“Fuck!”

Her own gasp broke sharp, her nails clutching at his shoulders as the stretch burned and soothed all at once. The pressure was exquisite, that perfect fullness that always made her toes curl.

She rocked down fully, gasping through a laugh. “God— you always feel bigger when I’m being bossy.”

He groaned, strangled and desperate, hips twitching under her.

“Mm. Always such a good fit, though. Just right.”

She smirked through the whine in her throat, kissing his jaw even as she clenched around him. 

His hands twitched against the cushions, dying to grab her. “Lottie— please—”

“Shh.” She tightened around him deliberately, reveling in the shudder that racked his whole body. “You just stay put. Let me enjoy you.”

She moved over him slowly, savoring every inch, every drag of him inside her. The sound of their bodies together was obscene in the quiet, his breath coming out in broken groans under the blindfold.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, nails lightly raking down his skin as she rolled her hips, slow enough to drive them both mad.

Fred’s fingers were flexing and curling uselessly over the backrest, gripping the cushions so hard his knuckles had gone white. He was trembling, chest heaving, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream.

She caught the sight and a flush of pride bloomed in her chest. Her Freddie, holding on, following her every command.

She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, her voice velvet and hot. “You did so well, baby. You want your freedom?”

“Yes,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

“Then take it.” Her smile pressed against his skin.  “Touch me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, his hands shot forward, clutching her hips, palms sliding up her back to her breasts, his fingers trembling as if he didn’t know where to start first.

A gasp tore from her as he gripped and kneaded, thumbs circling her nipples, hips rising up to meet hers in desperate, hungry thrusts.

“That’s it,” she breathed, clenching around him, nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him. “Show me how much you missed me.”

He groaned, deep and raw, his hands roaming everywhere now that he’d been allowed— gripping, pulling, guiding her as she moved, each thrust a little harder, a little less controlled.

Her head tipped back, hair spilling down her back, and she rode him slow but firm, each grind of her hips punctuated with a shuddering sigh. 

“God, Fred…”

He buried his face against her neck, blindfold slipping slightly, groaning her name like it was the only word he knew.

Fred’s hips had just started that desperate rhythm, shallow thrusts that drove up into her with ragged need, when her voice cut through— low, commanding, edged with sugar.

“Stop.”

It ripped through him harder than any slap could’ve. He froze mid-thrust, body tense, chest heaving. She felt the stutter in him, the way his cock pulsed inside her like it was begging to keep going.

“Lottie…” His voice cracked, more plea than word.

But she didn’t budge. Didn’t lift, didn’t grind, didn’t ease the ache. 

“Arms back up.”

And back they went. Flying to the top of the sofa like magnets kept apart too long.

She only sat there, stretched open around him, every second of stillness becoming its own exquisite torment.

Her hands framed his face, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, soft where her words weren’t. “Good boy,” she whispered. “Just like that. Don’t move.”

He groaned through clenched teeth, head falling back against the loveseat. His fingers flexed uselessly on the pillows, trembling like he might break into pieces if she made him hold still a second longer.

And she stayed right there, letting the weight of her body keep him buried deep, warm and clenched around him without mercy. His entire body shuddered under hers, every muscle straining with restraint.

She tilted her head, watching him unravel, enjoying the delicious contrast: his ragged breath, his ruined composure— while she sat in total control.

“See?” she murmured, rocking only the faintest inch before stilling again. “I can keep you right here forever. So full, so close, and nowhere to go.”

Another strangled groan tore out of him. He was ruined, sweat shining along his chest, his entire body screaming with the effort of obeying.

Her hands slid up his chest, nails dragging just enough to make him hiss. She could feel him trembling under her thighs, every inch of him wound so tight he might snap. His knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the loveseat, jaw clenched, eyes blindfolded.

She leaned down, mouth at his ear, and let the whisper drip like honey and venom all at once.

 “Fuck, you’re so deep,” she purred. “So hard it hurts, huh? You’re dying to fuck up into me, aren’t you? I can feel it—” she shifted, just one single slow roll of her hips that made him choke on a sound, “—the way you’re throbbing inside me like you’ll split me open if I let you move.”

His head fell back against the cushion with a groan. “Lottie…”

She smiled against his jaw, lips brushing the stubble there. “You want to thrust so bad. You want to shove me down on it until I can’t breathe, don’t you?” Another tiny rock of her hips and he actually whimpered, the sound breaking low in his throat.

Her teeth grazed his earlobe, voice dropping filthier still. “But you’re not going to. You’re going to sit there like a good boy and let me use you. Let me squeeze around you until you’re shaking, and you’re going to take it because you love it, because you need me to tell you when you can move.”

His fingers spasmed against the cushions. The muscles in his arms flexed as if he were holding himself back from grabbing her hips and slamming her down. Every breath he took came out a ragged groan.

“You really do feel bigger like this,” she whispered, rocking once more, just enough to make the slick sound of them echo in the room. “So big and so helpless. You want me to keep talking like this? Want me to tell you every filthy thing I’d do to you if you were allowed to move?”

He gave a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a nod. His whole body shuddered at the words, and she felt it— his cock twitching inside her at the sound of her voice.

Her mouth trailed over his throat, her voice low and unhurried like she had all the time in the world. 

“Mmm… I don’t even know where I should let you come tonight.” She bit lightly at his collarbone, then kissed it better. “Maybe all over my tits… watching it drip down. Like the other day. That was nice, wasn’t it?”

His thighs tensed under her, she felt the involuntary shift of his pressure from outside and in. 

“Or maybe—” her lips brushed his jaw, “—all over my pretty face. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He groaned, muscles twitching beneath her. She smiled against his skin and kept going. “Or maybe I’ll take it in my mouth… let you watch me swallow every drop. Or inside me, so deep I feel you for hours after.” 

She rocked once, deliberately slow, savoring his stifled grunt. Her next kiss landed just under his ear. “Or maybe I’ll spin around and let you paint me across my ass…”

She shifted lower, lips brushing his chest now, her voice curling darker. “…or outside, right over my pussy. Watching me drip with you.”

That earned her a raw, guttural groan. She stopped moving altogether, sat back to look at him—even blindfolded, his expression gave him away. The sound had cut right out of him.

“Ohhh,” she laughed softly, breathless but not mocking, “is that the one?”

He nodded immediately, his throat working around words he didn’t trust himself to say.

“Why?” she pressed, leaning close, hair falling like a curtain around them. She rocked just barely to feel him when he talked.

He sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the words out. “Because…” His hands flexed hard against the loveseat. “Because I like watching you be claimed— mine. Covered in me.”

Her body shivered at that, a pulse of heat that had her rocking forward without thinking. A low moan escaped her as she ground down against him, slow and deliberate. 

“Oh… yeah?” she whispered, lips brushing his cheek. “Fuck. I like that too.”

She rode him again, slow at first, then deeper, rolling her hips until the slick sound of them filled the room. 

“You can touch me again—”

His hands took no pause. They were everywhere now, greedy and sure, sliding from her hips to her ass to the small of her back, squeezing like he’d been waiting all night for this. She could feel herself building, climbing toward the edge, every inch of him inside her a reminder of how good he always felt.

And then— she stopped. Froze above him, still full of him, her palms planted on his chest. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak she reached up and tugged the blindfold loose. 

It fell away in a soft whisper of fabric.

For a second, neither of them moved. 

Her hair was a dark halo around her face, her hands cupped his jaw as if she were holding something sacred. She smiled, small and crooked, like she couldn’t quite hide how much she adored him even when she was playing this game. His eyes, wide and dark, stared up at her as if she’d just handed him the stars.

Her thumbs stroked along his cheekbones. “Hey,” she whispered, a quiet tremor under the word. “Look at me.”

He was already looking. His grip on her waist tightened.

The dominance cracked; her voice turned low and hungry. 

“You’ve been so good for me…” she murmured, leaning down so her lips brushed his. “But I’m done now. I need you to fuck me.”

The last two words landed like a key turning in a lock— an invitation, a surrender, and a command all at once.

The second the words left her mouth, his body moved like instinct. 

He gripped her hips, spun her down onto the cushions in a blur. She gasped at the suddenness, head tipping back as he shoved her flat, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other draped recklessly over the back of the loveseat.

And then— he drove into her. No preamble, no slow build. Just a hard, deep thrust that knocked the air from her chest. She arched up, a sharp cry spilling out, nails raking his back. 

All of him felt from the inside. She’d been too comfortable with her drowsy pace that she forgot just how good it felt to be fucked hard.

He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, hair falling in his eyes, sweat already beading at his temples. Every stroke was deliberate, merciless, and exactly what she’d asked for. The blindfold lay discarded on the floor, but she could still feel the phantom of it in the way her nerves lit up at every single push of his hips.

“You—” he growled through gritted teeth, slamming her deeper into the sofa— “don’t get to tell me that— and not expect me to ruin you.”

Her cunt squeezed around him, back arching up when his words fell by her ear. She canted in rhythm, meeting his pace with growing speed.

The sofa squeaked under them, her leg trembling where it was thrown high, and she couldn’t do anything but take it, nails digging deeper as he drilled her into the cushions, relentless.

It was useless now— her bratty exterior, her bossy veneer, all of it was gone.

Every sharp edge she’d sharpened earlier had melted into a thin, desperate whine. Her head tipped back against the cushion, hair sticking to her damp temple, lips parted as little sounds tumbled out uncontrollably.

He heard them, every single one, and it only drove him harder. Her legs shook, sliding against his shoulders, her thighs quivering as he fucked her straight into helplessness.

“Done being in charge. Good,” he rasped, but his voice was molten, not cruel. “Now I can fuck you how I want to.” 

She whimpered, clutching his forearms now, nails barely grazing his skin because she had nothing left to dig in with. “F-Fred—” It was half a sob, half a plea, her whole body tightening around him like she couldn’t bear even a second of him pulling out.

The sound broke him into a grin— merciless, breathless, adoring all at once. He bent down, pressing his mouth to the soft space beside her ear, words spilling in hot, steady whispers. “Go on. Let me hear it. You don’t need to hold it together, not with me.”

Her answering whine hitched into something nearly keening, her nails raking uselessly down his arms as he kept drilling, driving, pushing her toward the edge again. His cock fully sheathing with each reckless fuck. So deep she could cum at any moment— so fast that exact moment was nearly there.

Her lashes fluttered, confusion written across her face when his pace faltered, then stilled altogether. He stayed buried inside her, hot and throbbing, her body quaking around him as if begging for the rhythm back.

Her whine caught in her throat. “W-why—”

He hushed her, lowering his mouth to her cheek, his breath hot and ragged. One broad palm slid down, steady, purposeful, until his thumb pressed against her clit. 

“Because,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “I can.”

Normally she’d slide a remark into the mix, but not now. Her whole body shuddered, thighs quaking as the steady circles he worked into her clit tipped her past the brink. She bucked against him once, then again, helpless against the rising tide, her nails raking across his shoulders as her climax crashed over her.

The heat of it pulsed through him too— her walls clenching, milking, fluttering around him exactly like he wanted, nearly dragging him over the edge with her. He groaned, half-feral, clutching her hip with his other hand just to keep himself grounded while she came undone beneath him.

Her voice was higher than usual, raw and broken in its release, and when her head lolled back against the cushion, mouth parted and trembling, he pressed his lips to her temple, whispering, “That’s it. Just like that. Squeeze me ‘til you can’t anymore.”

He didn’t ease back into her— he slammed.
The sofa jolted beneath them, her cry snapping sharp into the humid night air.

His rhythm turned merciless, hips pounding into hers with the kind of reckless abandon that made her toes curl and her voice tumble into broken little sobs.

She felt herself climbing again, impossibly fast, her body seizing under the force of his thrusts. He gritted his teeth, jaw taut, every muscle in his body straining as he held his own release on a razor’s edge, determined— stubborn— to wring hers out first.

“C’mon, angel,” he rasped, forehead pressed to hers, their breaths tangling. “Finish for me.”

Her back bowed, one leg trembling against his shoulder, the other braced over the sofa’s back, and she shattered— arching, gasping, clenching so hard around him that it nearly stole his soul. The sound she made was raw, ragged, nothing she could hide.

That was when he broke. He pulled out with a growl, fist wrapped tight at his base, and released hot over her. The warmth spattered across her folds, slick trails painting her lips and thighs as promised. She felt it slide down her skin, sticky and indecent, marking her like the words he’d whispered hours ago.

Her hand brushed low, spreading it, smearing the heat where she still pulsed and twitched from her orgasm. The look on her face— half wrecked, half smug— nearly made him collapse right over her.

My perfect, messy, angel. 

Chapter Text

* * *

The sheets were cool when they slipped beneath them, the window cracked to let in the hush of waves outside. The salt lamp across the room glowed faint, painting the walls in low amber. 

Fred stretched once, long and loose, then rolled onto his side to face her.

Lottie fussed with her pillow, pulling the blanket up around her waist. She sighed, a little sound of surrender, then settled into place beside him.

It was that quiet, in-between time where everything had been said through touch already, and words weren’t necessary. 

Just the steady sound of the ocean, the scent of sea air lingering on their skin, and the warmth of him curling close as they drifted toward sleep.

Fred shifted, tucked one arm behind his head, the other lazily draped around Lottie’s shoulders, his fingers tracing idle circles against her upper arm. She curled against him, cheek pressed to the warm slope of his chest.

“I’m so not ready to leave,” she murmured into the quiet, her voice soft but clear in the hush of the room.

Fred huffed out a laugh, tilting his chin down at her. “You mean you’re not sick of all the sunburn and frizzy hair?”

“Shut up.” She snorted, giving him a playful shove to the ribs. “You know what I mean.” Her hand smoothed down his stomach, lingering there as if to ground the words. 

“I just mean... It’s been—” she hesitated, searching for the word, “—amazing.”

She let a feeling exist in her ribs, in her chest— in her heart. 

Going back meant she got to go away with George next, and she was unbelievably excited to do so. So much so she felt her toes tingle when she caught herself dreaming of it the night before. Then when she woke up, the dream turned sour. Guilty. She couldn’t help it.

It felt strange, to be so satisfied but still so ripped in half. 

The past few days were truly paradise, in every way imaginable. Lottie couldn’t have asked for a better trip away with him. But the odd feeling resurfaced again— when things were feeling too comfortable with one, it made her wonder if the other was feeling left out. The feeling that told her she was rotten for thinking of George when she was with Fred. 

But Fred, strangely enough, did say it best:

‘Missing him doesn’t mean you love me less. And missing me when you’re with him doesn’t mean you love him less either.’

He was more emotionally mature than she’d been led to believe. Or maybe that was a recent development. Regardless, she lay there, nestled smooth against him like moss upon stone. Jittering with enthusiasm yet petrified with fear of what came when she got home. 

For a moment he didn’t answer, only tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer into the crook of him. His lips brushed the top of her head. 

“Good news for you, jellyfish,” he said, his voice lazy with the edges of sleep, “tomorrow morning we’ve got one more stop before we go back.”

She shifted, peering up at him, but he just smirked, that smug, secretive Weasley twin expression that meant he wasn’t about to elaborate.

“Hmm.” She let her head drop back down, satisfied to let it hang. The silence stretched, warm and easy, their bodies tangled up in the dark.

As she drifted, the thought struck her quietly, slipping through the haze of sleep,

How simple it felt to belong here, in his arms. How terrifyingly easy it was to imagine staying.

Her breath slowed, her grip on him loosening as sleep finally tugged her under. Fred stayed awake just a moment longer, watching her face soften against his chest, before he closed his own eyes, the sound of waves carrying them both away.

* * *

The room was bathed in late morning light, pale gold slipping through the sheer curtains. The ocean crashed in the distance, steady as ever.

Lottie stirred, rolling across the wide bed, reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. Her hand landed on cool sheets. She cracked one eye, groggy, then squeezed it shut again, pulling the blanket over her head.

A moment later, a playful nudge pressed against her side.

“Up, jellyfish,” Fred’s voice rumbled above her, maddeningly awake. “It’s ten. We gotta go.”

She groaned, long and dramatic, burrowing deeper under the covers. “Nooooo.”

Another nudge, this time firmer. She flopped onto her stomach, hair a dark tangle over her face, and kicked one foot lazily at him in protest. 

He poked her bare foot sticking out from the blanket before she yanked it back in, shooting her middle finger out to where she thought he was standing. 

Nothing happened. She pulled her hand back in, thinking she’d won. 

Then— a smell. Sweet, warm, unmistakable. Something tropical.

Fred crouched beside her, holding a plate dangerously close to her nose. 

“If you won’t get up for me,” he said, his grin audible, “at least get up for breakfast.”

The scent of buttery banana pancakes, drizzled with syrup and topped with slices of pineapple, slipped through her nose. She cracked one reluctant eye, then both, blinking up at him.

Her lashes still stuck together from sleep, but the first thing she saw was him. Fred Weasley, annoyingly fresh, with the plate balanced in one hand. His linen shirt hung open just enough to show a strip of chest, hair pushed back from his forehead, smug grin firmly in place. He held the plate just out of her reach, waiting.

Her voice was sleep-soft. “You’re evil.”

Fred’s grin widened. 

She sat up slowly, hair wild, eyes still half-lidded, and reached for the fork. He didn’t move the plate closer, just watched her squint and sit forward like a sleepy niffler sniffing treasure.

When she was leaned against the headboard she made some menacing grabby-hands and Fred offered it the way a lion tamer offers the lion a meat slab.

Eagerly, she stabbed a bite and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes closed, blissful. “...Okay,” she mumbled around the fork, “worth waking up for.”

Her gaze drifted past him, and she noticed it: her suitcase, zipped and waiting by the door. His bag already slung over the chair. The room otherwise neat, tidy, completely packed down.

“You didn’t—” she muttered, voice clogged with pancake.

“Oh, I did.” Fred cut in smoothly, lifting the plate just out of her reach. “Everything’s ready. I’m just waiting on you, love.”

Her other eye opened, this time narrowing at him. “You packed my things?”

“Mm.” He shrugged one shoulder, casual, as if it were nothing. “Folded too. Even untangled that mess of jewelry you left on the nightstand.”

“You what?”

Her jaw dropped a little, the pancakes temporarily forgotten. Fred’s grin sharpened. 

“Don’t look so surprised. Turns out I’m a natural housewife.”

Lottie groaned and flopped back into the pillows, dragging a hand over her face. “Unbelievable. You’re insufferable. And hot. And kind. And insufferable.”

Fred crouched down again, holding the plate just inches from her nose. “Pick one, Winslow. I can’t be everything.”

She scoffed. He is everything.

Her eyes flicked back up to him— handsome and bright-eyed, every inch put together, while she was still in a tangle of hair and sheets. She sighed.

Her hair was still a bird’s nest, skin still impressed with the wrinkles of the pillow, but she remembered he’d said they had somewhere to go. 

“So. Where exactly are we going?” she asked, mouth full.

Fred stretched, hands behind his head, smug as ever. “A stop.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“A really good stop.”

She narrowed her eyes, chewing slowly, then leaned forward with mock seriousness. “Do I have to bribe you with a tit?”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m bigger than that.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” he insisted, though his grin was impossible to hide.

They both laughed, her giggling around another bite of pancake while he sat back, pleased with himself.

“C’mon,” she pressed, tone wheedling now, “just a little hint? Something? Anything? I need to know what to wear. You can’t drag me out of paradise without some explanation.”

Fred tilted his head, watching her chew. His expression softened for a beat, then slid back into something sly. 

“Fine. One hint.”

She perked up immediately.

“It’s… artistic.”

Her brows pinched together, suspicious. “Artistic? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Horrible.”

She groaned, stabbing another piece of pancake. 

“You’ll love it.” He leaned in, dropping his voice low. 

That made her pause mid-bite, fork hovering. The certainty in his voice had heat creeping into her cheeks. She ducked her head quickly, shoving the bite into her mouth before he noticed.

They lingered longer than they should have, breakfast eaten between stray giggles wistful glances. But eventually, the plate was empty, the bags were zipped, and there was nothing left to do but leave. 

She dressed in a relaxed option she’d brought. Jeans, cute belt, cuter tank top. With a performative spin and Fred’s applause of approval, she felt less intimidated about this detour.

Fred slung his pack over his shoulder and opened the bungalow door, the glass rolling softly in the track. Warm, salt-heavy air rolled in, full of orchids and ocean and the faint char of last night’s bonfires.

Lottie followed, her tote strap looped over her arm, her hair refusing to sit flat no matter how many times she smoothed it (thanks humidity). She stepped outside and paused, eyes half-shut, filling her lungs with the air of paradise like she could bottle it up and re open when she felt like missing this. The boards creaked beneath her bare feet, and for a moment it felt like something big was going to happen. 

She turned her head toward him. 

Fred was already watching her, the faintest smile on his mouth, the kind that was soft but sharp enough to knock the air out of her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Her throat tightened. “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do this.”

They clasped hands, palms warm, fingers threaded. She braced, stomach already knotting at the thought of where he was about to drag her.

Fred leaned down, pressed a kiss against her forehead, and muttered, grin curling, “Don’t puke.”

And then the world spun.

They popped.

Not into some scenic overlook or grand museum rotunda like she’d half-suspected. Not into a vineyard or jungle or hidden rooftop garden. They landed squarely— smack dab in the middle of—

“…My apartment?” Lottie blinked, spinning half a turn on her heel as her boots hit the brick. The scent of the city hit her nose: coffee grinds, asphalt heat, distant curry. The burble of the little stone fountain filled the stillness, familiar and bizarre all at once.

It was about five o’clock. The courtyard sat in that golden lull just between the chaos of the workday and the buzz of evening— the warm light turning the red brick honeyed, vines spilling over the wrought-iron balconies above. A lone pigeon pecked at a snack wrapper near the bench by the fountain.

Fred just stood there with that expression— the one he got when he was enjoying the setup of a joke no one else was in on yet. Shirt rolled at the sleeves, shoulders slouched in total satisfaction.

She turned to him and slapped his chest lightly. “My apartment?” She said again, this time fully demanding an explanation.

He bit back a laugh. “Oh, good, apparition didn’t take your eyesight.”

“That’s your grand surprise? You brought me back to my own abode?” She smacked him harder this time, though it still made him grin. 

He let the smugness bloom. Hands in his pockets, head cocked. “Would I ever do something that underwhelming?”

“You would,” she said, half-shoving him now, laughter spilling out against her will. “You absolutely would. Just to spite me. Just to get me excited and show me a high score on a pinball machine.”

“And yet…” he murmured, already stepping toward the main doors, “It’s not over.”

They slipped inside the familiar double doors, past the eerily calming chandelier crowned lobby. Fred approached the creaky elevator, and the buttons immediately lit up in descent.

Lottie watched the lights blink above the door, the hush between them somehow cozier for being surrounded by all this familiar city noise. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, still half in disbelief to be here at all— her own city, her own building, her own heartbeat going a little wild.

The ride up was all her picking nervously at her tote handle, expecting an apartment filled with glitter-stuffed balloons, or her household appliances to be somehow charmed to make exaggerated noises when neglected too long. 

But nothing came when she turned the key in the lock, the familiar click echoing in her mind like an old friend. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was home. The same old place— plants crowding the sill, towering music stack, the faint scent of her old perfume and the city itself. Afternoon light spilled over the floorboards.

Fred set his bag down by the table, then reached for hers on her shoulder, careful and easy, and did the same.

She lingered in the doorway, fingers brushing over the keys, just standing there, drinking it in. It felt like a different life. She’d only been gone a few months, but somehow the room felt shrunken, faded and precious at the same time.

Fred watched her for a beat, soft-eyed. “Missing it?” he asked, voice gentler now, a note of understanding running underneath.

She blinked, startled out of her little time loop. Her lips pulled into a crooked, evasive smile. She shook her head— quick and instinctive— then relented with a softer, “Yeah… Maybe a little.”

He only nodded, accepting her answer with that little flick of a smile that said he got it. But he didn’t press her. He just turned to the door again, shooting her a wink.

“We’re just dropping our stuff,” he said. “Got something better in mind.”

Lottie felt her pulse skip at the promise in his voice. She dropped her keys in her purse, gave the apartment one last glance, and followed him out. 

Back down in the courtyard, Fred was all business, herded her along with a barely-contained grin. 

“Short trip this time,” he promised, already shifting his grip to her hand. “Promise you won’t even—”

POP. WHOOOSH.

“Notice.” 

They landed with a rush of cool air, feet hitting smooth cement. Lottie blinked, hair blown back, heart leaping into her throat— but this wasn’t a gross city alley; it was clean, tucked between two glossy buildings. The sound of traffic was distant, muffled.

Fred squeezed her hand, giving her just enough time to find her balance before tugging her forward. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, blinking against the late afternoon glare, and spun a quick circle, orienting herself.

And then she saw it— the big, shining glass facade. Silver letters over the entrance, glowing quietly in the city light.

She turned back to Fred, mouth already half-open in disbelief, then back to the doors. 

Museum of Modern Art.

Her jaw dropped. She looked at Fred, then at the building, then back again, speechless.

“Fred…” she managed, a breathless laugh bursting out of her, “you—you absolute devil—”

But he was already beaming, full body lit up with the satisfaction of nailing the surprise. Not smug in an “I win” way— smug in the way of “look at you, look at your face, I knew you’d love this.”

Lottie covered her mouth, barely able to keep from squealing. “You did not—”

He just shrugged, giving her a nudge. “I figured… Before we left—”

Lottie didn’t waste a second— she barreled straight through the glass doors, practically dragging Fred with her. Her excitement was radiating so hard she didn’t even stop to tease him for once.

Tickets in hand, a slim little booklet folded under her arm, she looked around like she’d just stumbled into another world. The museum wasn’t crowded— people moved in soft clusters, quiet, respectful murmurs in the echoing space. There were gaps of silence too, only broken by the creak of footsteps or the hushed shuffle of someone turning a page.

Fred watched her eyes go wide at the first stretch of white-walled hall, paintings staggered like jewels. He was watching her more than the art, truthfully.

“I’ve never been here,” she confessed suddenly, her voice lowered, as though she was already falling in line with the reverent hush.

“Really?” Fred tilted his head, surprised. “You lived in the city all this time and never came?”

She shrugged, the corner of her mouth tugging wry. 

“Sometimes you forget the cool places that are right next to you. Too busy with everything else. Or maybe I thought I’d get to it eventually and just… never did.”

He made a soft noise, like he was tucking that away. But he didn’t say anything— just let her lead, letting her feet decide where they drifted first.

They moved into one of the main galleries, where blocks of color and stark brushstrokes stood ten feet tall. Lottie slowed, scanning each one like she wanted to drink them in. Fred was behind her, hands in his pockets, deliberately silent while she stared.

“Okay,” she said after a long pause, gesturing vaguely at a canvas drenched in blues and yellows, “that one looks like how it feels when I’m trying to sleep and you won’t shut up.”

Fred grinned. “That’s incredibly insightful, love.”

“Don’t make me regret trusting you with my art-mind,” she whispered back, smiling despite herself.

“Art-mind—” Fred repeated slowly.

She rolled her eyes, “Well, don’t you think a little different when admiring art?”

He didn’t reply, just tipped his head in a silent manner that gave her the confirmation he did in fact, think a little differently when in spaces like this.

They wandered through the galleries in a rhythm of their own— sometimes both falling quiet, sometimes one snickering under their breath at a piece they just couldn’t make sense of. 

Fred muttered once that a blank canvas looked like it belonged in her shop window as a shade, and Lottie nearly snorted loud enough to get the attention of the snooty wanderers.  

Other times, one of them would tilt their head, catch something the other didn’t. It wasn’t about knowing more— it was about sharing how it landed.

Fred told her about how he liked a particular piece's use of a single, unlifted brush stroke. The way you could see the paintbrushes entire life on the canvas. 

Lottie expressed a certain fondness of a series of insanely rounded, vaguely-horse shaped sculptures. 

They turned a corner and stopped short. 

Rothko No. 10. 

A wall of hovering, thick color. Narrow stripes and wide blocks. Beige and blue. 

Lottie paused, folding her arms. She kind of liked Rothko, though she never felt like she “got” him the way she was probably supposed to. The colors stacked like emotions she couldn’t quite name, hovering, seeping into each other. She let her eyes blur a little, like she’d read somewhere you were meant to.

Before she could speak, Fred’s voice slipped in low and thoughtful. 

“I read he wanted them to feel like… like you could step into them. Not just paintings, but whole… rooms of feeling. Some people think it’s about tragedy, or eternity. Or both.”

She blinked at him, startled— not outwardly, not enough to tip him off, but in her chest it landed with a quiet thud. He hadn’t said it like a trivia card, either. More like it meant something to him.

She looked back at the vast canvas, then at him. She knew Fred liked art, as surprising as it was to learn initially. Of course he’d have read about this. Of course he’d thought about it. Of course he carried feelings about it with him. And like the Rothko in front of them, she thought, too many people only ever saw him at surface value— flirty, loud, chaotic— and moved on. But there was so much more.

Her eyes prickled before she could stop them. She reached sideways, fingers brushing into his until they curled together, warm and sure. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Fred gave her hand a quick squeeze, eyes still fixed on the color blocks in front of them, as though he hadn’t noticed her shift at all. 

But of course he had.

They lingered a while longer in Rothko’s hush, then let the flow of the gallery pull them onward, still hand in hand, still quiet.

The next room was just as serene— soft light, polished floors, a single centerpiece on display beneath a halo of skylight.

Lottie slowed. Then stopped entirely.

“...What in the hell is that?” she muttered.

Before them stood what could only be described as a nightmare geometry of welded metal, matted fur, and... disco balls? 

It was roughly the shape of a bull, if the bull had been built by a gnome-horde during a fever dream. 

One side had something like a human arm reaching out of it— wearing a vintage gardening glove. The head was possibly a smashed toaster. A small pink mirror had been affixed to the groin area, reflecting each of their stunned faces back at them.

Fred cocked his head to the right. Lottie to the left.
Neither of them said a word.

She broke formation first, circling around slowly like she was inspecting a crime scene. Fred wandered the opposite direction, brow furrowed with solemn curiosity.

They met eyes over the top of the sculpture.
Fred’s expression cracked. Just a twitch. A betrayal.

Lottie’s nose twitched.
He bit his lip, hard.
She clapped her hands to her face.

It was over.

Fred turned his back to it, shoulders shaking, silent laughter crumpling him forward like he’d taken a hit.
Lottie wheezed into her palms, trying to muffle the full-bodied laugh threatening to burst out of her. She looked around to confirm the emptiness in the room. There was no other choice than to circle 

“What is it,” she gasped through her fingers.

“Sexual cow toaster duck nightmare,” Fred choked. “With garden flavors.”

That only made it worse. She had to grip his arm, breathless, and he was still half doubled over.

They got a look from a passing couple— stern, academic types— but Fred just whispered, “Don’t look into the groin mirror,” and Lottie howled silently all over again.

Eventually they staggered away, clutching each other like survivors, wiping their eyes and wheezing with effort.

“…Art’s subjective,” Fred managed finally, wiping a tear.

“Yeah,” Lottie panted, “but that one’s objectively cursed.”

They wandered onward, still grinning, stealing little looks back at the haunted garden-toaster nightmare like they might get cursed if they didn’t. 

The halls had emptied, the museum grown still in that late-hour way— a hush that felt like a secret between only a few souls. The echo of distant jazz drifted through the air, warm and out of place.

A few interesting pieces made them stop and stare. Something that looked like a cat. A sculpture of a woman ascending to the sky. A photo of a swarm of bees that made Lottie itchy all over.

Fred nudged her gently as they entered a smaller gallery, the world shrinking to just them and the soft click of their footsteps.

“Look,” he whispered, but the word was already making her break. 

She followed his gaze.

There, hung on the far wall, illuminated in a golden wash—

Magritte, The Lovers.

Two figures— mouths covered, faces shrouded, pressed close in a kiss both intimate and unreachable.

For a moment, Lottie’s breath caught. She went absolutely still, every muscle in her chest drawn tight. Her mouth fell open just a little, a tiny gasp of recognition and disbelief and something ancient— like loss and longing folded together. Something someone like her wouldn’t be expected to be acquainted with.

She didn’t say a word. Tears slid over her cheeks, hot and silent, before she could even register them.

He stood at her side, silent. The echo of music from some distant gallery floated in, barely more than a memory of notes. The whole room felt haunted by the painting, by the hush, by the ache between the two of them.

Fred reached for her hand, not squeezing— just letting her feel the anchor of his skin, the proof that someone did see her, even now.

She couldn’t move, just stared at the painting, eyes burning, the beauty of it landing like a blow. It was just them and The Lovers, as though the world had emptied itself out and left them alone with all the longing in the universe.

Lottie stepped closer, as if drawn, until the velvet rope and the faint alarm lines on the floor told her she could go no farther. Still— she leaned, toes pressing the edge, eyes widening like if she just looked hard enough she could walk inside the canvas.

The strokes were more jagged than her print at home, the whites less clean, the shadows heavier. Every inch of it taken in by her wandering eyes, cherishing all of it down to the uneven border peeking though the brushstrokes. She traced the fall of fabric over the faceless heads, the suggestion of lips pressing beneath suffocation, and her chest seized.

Behind her, Fred didn’t move. She could feel him there though— the heat of him, the weight of his gaze on her even as his eyes flicked back to the painting. He gave her the room, let her stand alone in front of it, but he was there.

Her eyes darted— figures, background, the strange muted red at the edge. Over and over, the loop of their obscured mouths, that kiss you couldn’t ever quite reach.

Her throat clicked as she swallowed. 

“I feel sorry for them—” she whispered, not even meaning to break the silence but needing to, needing words or else she might drown in it.

The sound startled him. It seemed too loud against the hush of the empty gallery. 

“Why?” He replied, soft and simple and without urgency.

She gripped her wrist with her other hand, grounding herself, staring harder, like the more she stared the more it might explain itself.

“Sorry for them because they want so badly to connect, but can’t. Because all they can see is the veil— the barrier, the distance. Because some love stories only ever get as far as almost.”

Her mouth trembled.
Her shoulders shook the faintest bit.
She didn’t move, though. She kept her eyes fixed, like she was speaking to the figures themselves.

“Sorry that they’ll never know what it’s like to feel each other the way they want”

Behind her, Fred shifted his weight, a faint sound of breath like he might say something— then stopped. 

“I feel,” he started, a deep breath grounding him to the emotion. “Not happy, but like… relieved.” 

She didn’t look at him, not while she was still crying. But she tipped her head closer to hear him. 

“Y’know like, despite their obstacle— their barrier— they still have each other. Even though they probably know it’s hopeless, that they’ll never know the taste of each other, they still try. For love. For them.” 

Her heart gave a single, painful thud. 

She finally tore her eyes away from the veiled figures to look at him— his profile cut by the soft museum light, jaw tight, eyes softer than she’d ever seen. The weight of it hit her so hard she moved without thinking, lunging into his side, arms looped around his middle in a desperate, wordless hug.

Her face buried against him, she whispered into his shirt, “I’m glad we tried.”

Fred’s throat bobbed. 

His hand tightened on her shoulder, and he bent his head until his chin rested on the crown of her hair. For a moment, it was unbearable, that nakedness between them, so much heavier than the painted cloth in front of them. 

He nearly broke, nearly let the tears sting through.

And then— salvation by humor.

“Or,” he croaked, voice unsteady but mischievous, “it’s just a metaphor for sexual frustration.”

Lottie gave a wet laugh, pulling back enough to swipe at her cheeks. “Please. It might as well scream impotence.”

They snorted together, too loud for the room, shoulders bumping as the echoes of their giggles spilled into the empty gallery. She blinked away what remained of her tears, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she glanced at him again.

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d remembered her print back home, remembered her. And standing here in front of the real thing with him beside her, Lottie had never felt more seen.

They didn’t stay long after. The piece lingered behind them, still burning in her chest, but they drifted out with their laughter still warm in the air. The museum felt different now— softened somehow, even with the shuffle of distant shoes and the hum of stray chatter.

When they reached the lobby, Lottie slowed, fingers slipping from his only to take the last look over her shoulder. Fred stopped too, watching her, then offered his palm out. No quip, no smirk. Just his hand, steady, waiting.

She took it, sliding her smaller fingers into his, the movement oddly sacred.

On the way through the glass doors, past the echo of their own footsteps, he gave her hand a little squeeze. “Thanks for letting me share it with you.”

Her throat felt tight again. “Thanks for… remembering.”

The city air met them, cooler now, already deep into evening. Neon blinked in the distance. A taxi honked somewhere up the block. And between all that noise and color, the two of them stood together for a long moment on the sidewalk, sharing a silence that for once didn’t need to be broken.

Lottie drew in a long breath, city air filling her lungs where ocean wind had been only a day ago. It felt heavier, but alive. She exhaled and tipped her head toward him. “So… now what?”

Fred shoved his hands in his pockets, rolling back on his heels with that careless swagger he always put on when he was covering something bigger. “Now? Now you’re finally free of me. Trip’s over, and you’re no longer jellyfish. I’ve officially fulfilled my duties as tour guide, cabana boy, and snack mule.”

Her laugh was soft but caught. “Snack mule?”

He smirked sideways at her, but his eyes flickered warm, just for a beat. 

“Unless you’re dying for a couple more rounds of sex on the beach, sand in your shoes, and talking my ear off about manta rays. Otherwise…” He gave her a small shrug, casual to the bone. “Guess it’s time to hand you back over. Ready to see what kind of trip your other third has planned?”

He said it with that little mischievous tilt in his voice— half teasing, half daring her to spark back— but the way his hand brushed hers, just barely, betrayed the truth: he wasn’t ready for it to be over either.

She could’ve done it all again. Another three days in heaven with him. More infuriatingly endless jellyfish jokes and mango margaritas. More drowsy afternoons and white-hot nights. And as much as she was tempted to, as much as she wanted to relive those days over and over and over— there was something else, someone else, that called out to her like a lighthouse to her ship at sea.

George. 

Her lips curved before she could stop them, a grin tugging her face open as his name lit up in her chest like it always did. She glanced at Fred, that grin refusing to fade. 

“Yeah,” she said softly, half to herself, half to him. “I’m ready.”

He caught it— the way she didn’t have to say more. He huffed a little laugh, shook his head like he’d expected nothing less, and looped his pinky through hers as though that was answer enough.

* * *

The world snapped back around them, no ocean salt, no honking taxis, no bright hibiscus air— just Hogsmeade. 

The midnight-blue village stretched quiet and small, like it had folded itself into some ancient slumber. The cottages were dark, windows shuttered, cobbles slick with the last of the evening dew. It smelled of moss and stone and hearth smoke. 

Lottie looked around the path, empty. Save for the dim glow that refused to flicker in the street lamps, and the bright full moon pouring onto them.

Their bags bumped to the ground beside them, and they breathed it in— home. 

For now anyway.

It was strange, how unchanged everything looked. She didn’t know what she’d expected after paradise. Maybe some new hue in the air, maybe her little town would look different in her absence. 

But it was the same.
Exactly the same.
Except—

She turned. Lottie’s cottage on the hilltop was lit warm in the window. A lamp glow softened the panes. Inside, she could just see him— George, head bent over a book, his hand in his hair, a few messy pieces shadowing his temple. The ancient tv crackling something in black and white, but his attention turned elsewhere.

Her grin broke wide and irrepressible, every mile of ocean and sky collapsed into that single beam. Paradise had been perfect. 

But this— he— was home.

George’s head lifted at the flicker in the window, like some instinct had tugged him upright. He blinked once, twice— then he was already on his feet, the book tumbling to the couch in his wake.

Lottie glanced at Fred, heart already pounding. 

His eyes found hers, steady, knowing. 

A quiet nod— go. 

It wasn’t bitter, not even close. 

It was permission and recognition in the same breath. She squeezed his hand, gratitude written in the press of her palm, before he nudged her forward with that small push.

And then the door flew open.

George didn’t hesitate. 

He was across the garden in seconds, arms closing around her before she even had time to say his name. He swept her up, spun her once, twice, her laugh breaking into the sleepy silence of Hogsmeade. 

His face was buried against her neck, her arms looped tight around his shoulders, the world narrowing down to the simple fact of being in each other’s reach again. 

He held her like he’d been asleep for centuries and she was the only thing that could wake him.

Fred lingered at the foot of the walk, bags at his side, watching with a grin tugging crooked across his mouth. 

Not jealous. Not wounded. 

Just…wholesome, full, glad. Because he knew— without question— that she loved him. 

And he knew just as surely that she loved George too.

George kissed her like he’d been starved, quick and urgent, a breathless press before pulling back just enough for her to grin and blurt, 

“Look how tan I am!”

She threw her arms out wide for inspection. Clearly beaming with some sort of pride.

George’s eyes slid down the length of her— bare arms, ink lines wrapping her limbs, still pale as a glass of cold milk. He tilted his head, deadpan. 

“Oh yeah. You’re one shade of snow darker.”

She slugged his arm with mock offense, laughing, and he hauled her right back into his chest for another hug. They murmured at the same time, overlapping—

“I missed you.”
“I’m so glad to be back.”

The echo of it made them both giggle, foreheads pressed together as if they’d never been apart.

When they finally peeled apart, Fred was still at the edge of the light, hauling the tote bag up the walk. George straightened, meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Have fun without us?” Fred lifted his chin. 

George smirked. “Loads. Did this thing called work, don’t suspect you’d know anything about it.”

The distance between them closed in a couple strides. 

No handshake, no awkward greeting— just that brief, shoulder-clasping half-hug they’d been trading since boyhood, quick and solid.

Lottie stood back, watching them together, heart tugging as she breathed it in: my boys.

The cottage smelled faintly of old wood and candles, a comforting contrast to the salt and hibiscus that still clung to their skin and clothes. 

Lottie practically collapsed onto the couch, tossing her purse into a heap beside her. The cushions swallowed her up, arms flung wide in pure, spent satisfaction. Fred, of course, made a beeline for the kitchen without a word, rifling cupboards like a man starved even though he’d eaten half of Hawaii clean.

George lingered a moment by the door, just watching her. Then he sank into the armchair next to her, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees. 

His voice was quiet, a little hoarse with how much he’d wanted her back. “So. Tell me about it!”

That was all she needed.

Words tumbled out of her in an avalanche— something about the cabana, the way Fred had surprised her with it, the little drinks in coconuts, the swimming, the food—

“George, I swear even the pineapples tasted different— like sunshine and sugar all at once!” He listened, every word caught in the net of his attention, eyes never leaving her as she animated each piece with her hands, her smile, the far-off dreamy look when she remembered.

She skipped ahead, cheeks flushing as she said, “Oh my god—and that menace! He brought one of Tansy’s brownies, you know the ones. We split it before going shopping. Thought he was gonna die, but he actually kept it together—ish.”

From the kitchen, Fred’s voice floated back, muffled around whatever he’d already shoved in his mouth. 

“Oi! I kept it together perfectly. Don’t listen to her.”

She laughed, then leaned back into the couch with a sigh. “Then we did the sea animal tour.” She paused mid-ramble, eyes going distant again. 

“George, the manta rays… I actually cried. They were flying through the water, like silky shadows, and the turtles, oh my god, the turtles—”

Fred reappeared just then, a plate of crackers and cheese in hand, plopping beside her with all the grace of a boulder. 

He cut in cheerfully, “I’m basically a dolphin expert now, by the way. Could start a column. They’re my brethren.”

George arched a brow, deadpan but warm. “Loud and squeaky, always underfoot. Makes sense.”

Fred clutched his chest, staggering back into the cushions like he’d been mortally wounded. 

“Cruel. You wound us dolphins. I’m majestic.”

Lottie snorted into her hand. She elbowed Fred lightly before barreling back into her account. 

“Anyway. After that, the joyride. Oh I drove— don’t make that face, George, I was slick— then the waterfall, and…” Her grin softened. “We just… ate and ate. Felt like we’d pass out, but it was perfect.”

Her voice dipped low as she remembered. “And today— he took me to the MoMA. George, I’d never been. And then…” Her throat bobbed. 

“Magritte. The Lovers— that painting I have back at home? It was… there. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head, overcome for a second.

“I’m glad you loved it.” George’s gaze didn’t leave her, his voice gentle. And he meant it, every syllable steady and sure, his hand brushing the top of her knee like he might reach for her if he thought he could let go.

Lottie leaned back against the couch cushions, still glowing from her rambling recount. 

Fred was happily demolishing his cracker plate beside her, crumbs already a disaster, and George sat leaned forward, watching her with that steady gaze that always made her feel both exposed and sheltered at once.

Then she remembered.

“Oh— yeah.” She twisted toward her bag, half-buried by her legs. Her fingers dug around until she found the little cloth-wrapped bundle. When she pulled it free, she hesitated just a moment, her heart doing something silly in her chest. 

She turned back toward George, her hand opening slow.

Inside was the carved deep-green sea turtle, small enough to fit neatly in his palm, polished smooth by whoever had shaped it. Its shell caught the lamplight, warm and golden-brown, like it had soaked up a bit of the island sun with it.

“I saw this,” she said, voice quieter now, softer. Her smile was sheepish but real. “And I thought of you. I— didn’t forget about you.”

George blinked, surprise flaring in his eyes before it melted into something even gentler. He reached out, carefully taking the little guy from her, like it was something fragile. His thumb brushed over the shell once, twice.

For a long moment he didn’t say anything, his throat working. Then he managed, barely above a whisper, “Lottie…”

Fred, sprawled beside her, swallowed his cracker and muttered around his grin, “Sea turtle George. It’s official now.”

Lottie elbowed him without looking away from George, because the way he was staring at the figurine— no, at her— was enough to knot her stomach and make her chest feel set on fire at the same time.

 “Thank you,” he said simply, earnest as ever. He finally set the turtle carefully on the table, his other hand curling around hers. “For remembering me.”

And she squeezed his hand back, her smile breaking a little with how much she meant it. 

“Of course.”

Because how could she not?

George let the quiet sit, fingers still curled around hers, his thumb rubbing at the back of her hand like he didn’t want to let go. 

Eventually, though, he leaned back in the chair with a soft exhale, eyes warm but firm. 

“We should be going. You need to rest, darling.”

She blinked at him. 

“I’ve only been up for five hours.”

“Doesn’t matter.” he said, tone final in that way that wasn’t bossy so much as concrete. Fred picked up the mission quickly, in the way that shared brain of theirs did sometimes.

“Because when that sun comes up…” He gave her a look that sent a fizz of nerves and delight through her chest. 

“You’re mine for three days.”

Her smile broke wide and foolish, a little giddy laugh escaping before she could stop it. She twisted on the couch to face him more fully, teeth catching her bottom lip. 

“Where are we going?”

She didn’t expect him to answer— George was the secret-keeper between the brothers, always tucking plans close until the last second. 

But he stood, tugging his shirt straight, already shepherding the stretching Fred toward the door. Fred shot her a wink, wiggled his fingers in a mock wave, and smacked a kiss in her direction before George nudged him along.

George paused in the doorway, though, turning back just for her. She was already smiling, hopeful and bright-eyed. He held her gaze for a heartbeat, then let the secret drop with quiet satisfaction: 

“France. Wine country.”

Her gasp was instant, hand flying to her mouth, eyes blown wide.

“Bring a gown.” He winked at her, soft and sure. “Be ready at eight.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her half-sprawled on the couch with her pulse racing and her heart so light it felt breakable. She pressed her hands over her face, biting her lip like it might keep the glee from spilling out everywhere.

France. 

George. 

Alone.

* * *