#description of injuries but nothing graphic
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Today in my AU: July 22
~Cozy Beach Adventures 2~
Thursday 07/22/2021
Gulliver wakes up, groggy and disoriented, in the bedroom of Resident Rep. McAllister with her and her sister Bailey Rose. At first he doesn’t remember how he got here, or even where he is.
McAllister helps him remember the events of the night before: he had taken a nasty fall off the third level (a cliff that spans about two stories in height) and most likely took a hit to the head. He was unconscious for a few seconds, maybe closer to a minute, before coming around in the girls’ arms as they began to carry him back to her house. The walk was twenty minutes. They kept him awake the whole time, but he was very much out of it…and once they reached her bedroom he had to stay conscious longer, until she finally allowed him to sleep.
Now he doesn’t remember most of this.
He struggles to get out of bed, from the injuries the fall had given him, and so McAllister insists he stay there for the rest of the day. The two sisters care for him, giving him medications and food. It is also revealed that poor Bailey Rose had stayed up all night worrying about him, and she eventually goes back to her own house to get some rest.
…
After the events of this story, Gulliver decides to move to Cozy Beach permanently. In addition, Tom Nook sets up a hospital in town for obvious reasons.
#bailey writes#more like an explanation#cozy beach adventures#july 22#acnh gulliver#mia mcallister#bailey rose mcallister#description of injuries but nothing graphic#i wrote this fic when i was 16
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@faeriekit I would have sent this as an ask, but then it got Long, so... TW for graphic descriptions of a flesh wound.
I have many fun medical stories from either myself or my family that I could tell, but the one that I enjoy telling most is from when I was 10 and the relevant brother in this story was seven.
So, it's a saturday morning, my siblings and I are all supposed to be cleaning our rooms. Brother Dearest, however, is not cleaning his room; he is messing around, jumping on and off the bed, and also, most importantly, he is playing with the mini-blinds cord. Specifically, he is wrapping the cord around his finger and then pulling his finger out of the coil, wrapping then pulling, wrapping then pulling. In a fit of genius, he decides to combine the jumping-off-the-bed with pulling-his-finger-out-of-the-coil, except this time, instead of the coil loosening and his finger smoothly sliding out, it cinches.
Tight.
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A brief aside, there's this really delightful medical term that is just wonderfully evocative of exactly what it looks like when flesh is stripped from bone; it's called degloving.
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Later, my brother claims that he didn't really feel anything at the time, and I suppose that makes sense as he didn't damage the nerves so much as remove them.
Because of this, he doesn't really begin to panic until he starts to bleed, and he bleeds a lot. His bedroom is in the basement, so in order to reach my mother upstairs, he has to climb a flight of stairs, round the kitchen, climb another flight of stairs and then round the landing, during which my mother is being treated to the rapidly rising sound of my brother crying out, "mom, mom, MOM! There's so much blood! MOM!!!"
My Mother is exactly the kind of person you want next to you in a crisis or emergency situation, and I like to think that I inherited this from her. In any case, my mom, who has four accident prone children with varying degrees of severe asthma, is a pro at emergency room visits. In this moment, she doesn't hesitate or freeze, just grabs a clean rag, wraps it around my brother's hand and herds him out the door and into the car and off they go. She doesn't stop to think or panic, just moves.
This will be important later.
------
Before she leaves, my mother calls me up from the basement and tells me that she's taking my brother to the ER, and that in the meantime, I, as the oldest child, need to watch my other two siblings. She's not gone long before I get curious as to what all the fuss is about and start nosing about. Because he didn't panic until he saw blood, my brother left a rather convenient trail of blood down the stairs, across the basement, and to my brother's room. There, I notice a round looking rubbery object on the window sill.
I think it's a bouncy ball.
Then I see the nail.
------
Meanwhile, at the ER, a nurse is unwrapping my brother's hand to get a look at his finger. Very calmly, she looks my mother in the eye and asks, "do you have the rest of his finger?"
Just as calmly, my mother replies, "I'm going to have to call my husband."
------
Realization of what exactly it is I'm looking at washes over me, and I spin to see my youngest two siblings indulging their curiosity just as I did in following the blood splatter down the stairs. They haven't come into the room yet, so they don't know what's happened. There's still time.
I push them both all the way up the basement stairs, shut the door at the top behind me, and declare with as much authority as I can that, "No one is going downstairs."
Soon, my dad will get home early from work. He has received a call from my mother with instructions to collect my brother's finger, put it on ice, and meet my mother at the ER to drop it off. I know exactly why he's there. I tell him my brother's finger is on the windowsill in his room downstairs. He leaves just as quickly as he arrives, and once again I'm left by myself and in charge of my siblings.
I will remain so for the rest of the day.
------
Back at the ER, my mother has now passed control of the situation to the nurses and has gained enough emotional distance to come out of crisis mode.
She's feeling a bit nauseous.
The nurse currently looking after my brother is certainly not helping; she's looking at the damage to my brother's finger again, and because it's uncovered, every time his heart pumps, blood spurts out and hits the nurse in the face. She doesn't re-cover his hand. It spurts again.
The nausea gets worse.
Finally, the doctor arrives to assess the situation and give my mother the options on the table, and my mother can refocus. The facts of the matter are that, because all the flesh was stripped from the bone, his finger is going to need some help getting blood and oxygen to the area to keep any reattached flesh from dying while the necessary blood vessels regrow.
The first option is to stitch the injured index finger to his middle finger, except that the top third of his finger would need to line up with the middle portion of the middle finger, meaning his finger would need to stay perpetually bent. If at any point he straightens out his index finger, it would tear out all the regrowing blood vessels and they would need to start again.
My mother is a little leery of this option, but thinks it might be doable. "How long would it need to stay bent without moving for?" she asks.
"6 weeks."
"There's no way! I don't know an adult that could do that, much less a seven year old! What are the other options?"
Option two is to make an incision in my brother's side and stitch his finger into his side. Again, if it is pulled out, they have to start over.
"For how long?"
"Six weeks."
"Can you not see how that's worse?"
Option three is to minimize how much reattached flesh needs to be oxygenated by filing down the bone in his finger and mostly just reattaching the nail bed. Recovery is once again 6 weeks, but this is the only option that feels doable. My mother picks this one.
------
My brother gets half a dozen numbing shots in his hand, but they don't knock him out or ask my mother to leave the room. My mother is still in the room when the hand surgeon pulls out an instrument that can only be described as looking remarkably akin to hedge clippers.
My mother's heart rate jumps a bit.
"That is not a file."
Neither the doctors nor the nurses hear her, the nurses are asking question after question to the doctor. They've never seen anything like this before. My brother is still not being knocked out and my mother is still not being asked to leave. They're going to do this right in front of them.
My mother's nausea returns.
My mother ends up asking a nurse for a sheet to hold up between herself and my brother and the nurses and doctor so they at least don't have to watch. They can still hear everything.
------
Finally, they put my brother's arm in a cast to keep the tendons in his hands from pulling on the healing area, instruct my brother to keep his arm above his heart as much as possible to keep blood from pooling, and to come back in six weeks to get the stitches removed.
And that's the story of how I found my brother's finger on the window sill. :)
#graphic injury#flesh wound#graphic descriptions of a flesh wound#seriously I tell this story as dramatically and graphically as I can for Entertainment Reasons#nothing pleases me more than to watch people's faces twist in horror and disgust as they realize what's going on#if you have a queasy stomach or are currently eating#consider scrolling past
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 38: Shattered
Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 7,743 words
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying
A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.
Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!
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The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts.
John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light.
He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.”
The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there.
“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.”
The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you.
Nightmare.
The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them.
His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you.
He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that.
Maybe someone was, but not in reality.
What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures?
A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest.
He’s crying.
He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing.
He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them.
“It’s okay.”
Kyle.
His sweet Kyle.
How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team.
What a failure he is.
He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing.
They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly.
“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half.
How he’s missed this.
“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny.
“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds.
“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.”
“I full-heartedly agree.”
John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door.
“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.”
John clears his throat. “How is she?”
“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair.
“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks.
“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.”
“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks.
“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.”
“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says.
Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.”
All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own.
That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier.
He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha.
Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can.
He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs.
It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take.
He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage.
That’s something he’s been trying not to think about.
They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next.
He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can.
They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger.
That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again.
But what comes next?
What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you?
Could they leave you alone again?
Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs.
They have time.
He has to make sure you’re okay first.
You’re not okay.
You’re so very far from okay.
The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room.
There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.
It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them.
You hate it.
You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything?
They left you.
They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do.
You’re not them.
You don’t want to be like them.
Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first.
Fuck them.
The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection.
Or worse.
You’d get picked up by someone else.
Graves. Shepherd.
If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead.
You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass.
You still haven’t spoken to them, though.
You can hardly stand to look at them.
Fuck them.
Just the thought of them makes you want to scream.
Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything.
You hate it.
Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them.
It makes you want to scream.
Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again.
Fuck them.
You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do.
Fuck. Them.
You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore.
It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there.
You were tortured there.
It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you.
Dr. Keller cares.
It’s her job to care.
Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive.
She’s the only one you want to forgive.
Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world.
You should have been their world.
They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first.
They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change.
You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first?
The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass.
You thought you were dying the first time.
You could only be so lucky.
The bond.
It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t.
Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first.
‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain.
Fuck yourself.
Fuck your omega.
Fuck your pack.
Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more.
Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.
Fuck Kate for choosing you.
Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass.
Fuck them all.
You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side.
Fuck. Them. All.
You don’t want him here.
He does it now, usually in the mornings.
You hate it.
You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort.
He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain.
You don’t want to.
So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it.
The sea.
They brought you to the sea.
John remembered. He did it for you.
The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger.
You hate it.
Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her.
You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you.
You don’t want them.
Fuck, you desperately need them.
Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t.
You can’t reach out.
You can’t take his hand.
How desperately you want to.
You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch.
“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.”
Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie.
Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness.
Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired.
If you fall, you’ll never get up again.
It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore.
You don’t feel like anything anymore.
You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever.
That will certainly make things easier.
But will it make things better?
No. Probably not.
It’ll make things worse.
But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now.
How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted.
Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing?
What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now.
How badly it would destroy you.
“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close.
You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally.
He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing.
He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it.
“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.”
“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says.
“She needs her alpha.” He argues.
“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.”
“I can’t give her that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now.
John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it.
“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.”
He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost.
He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head.
That’s a long jog.
If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight.
It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again.
Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t.
To the beach and back, then.
She’s like an angel.
The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is.
The Garrick beauty is genetic.
Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her.
“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.”
“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever.
“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?”
You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting.
“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit.
You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do.
“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed.
“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks.
What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books?
“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure.
“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.”
You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you.
You want to do it.
You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller.
“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe.
“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger.
“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more.
“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.”
You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now?
“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time.
“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.”
“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US.
“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.”
You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing.
You’re smiling.
You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long.
She’s funny too.
Stinky men.
They are that.
Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement.
You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller.
“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you.
“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.”
“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.”
“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile.
You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered.
Oh.
Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered.
Oh.
“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller.
She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.”
You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her.
That’s not possible. You know it’s not.
“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.”
“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.”
“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say.
Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter.
Another smile tugs at your lips.
You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to.
You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be.
“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here.
Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable.
You hate it.
“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.”
He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better.
“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.”
“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology.
It shocks him to stillness and silence.
The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you?
He never existed.
He left you behind.
He never cared.
Anger begins to bubble within you.
“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”
“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop.
They’re all listening.
It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to.
Fuck them.
“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you.
“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!”
You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too.
“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation?
“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump.
His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt.
“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it.
“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly.
“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.”
He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue.
“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels.
“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-”
“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!”
You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all.
“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.”
The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all.
“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”
He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it.
The bond.
You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all.
The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore.
If you fall, you’ll never get up again.
Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary.
She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll.
It was necessary, but at what cost?
If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress.
She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate.
But how?
How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer.
You need someone, and it can’t be her.
If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing.
You need someone.
An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win.
She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can.
She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.
She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away.
Just in case.
One can never be too careful.
She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her.
The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe...
She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.
“Johnny, I need your help.”
She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later.
NEXT ->
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#task force 141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#John price x reader#captain price x reader#Kyle Garrick x reader#gaz x reader#Simon Riley x reader#Ghost x reader#John mactavish x reader#soap x reader#alpha/beta/Omega dynamics#a/b/o#omegaverse
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v. deer dolly
see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder
"THAT SLAG!"
Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.
"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.
In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.
"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"
He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"
"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"
Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.
"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."
"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.
"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.
Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."
"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"
Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."
"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"
"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"
"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.
"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."
"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.
Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.
"Who's this?" she quipped.
"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."
Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.
"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"
"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.
"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."
"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.
A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."
"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.
Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."
.
"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.
Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.
"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.
Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.
Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.
"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.
The radio rumbled with delight at your response.
"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.
"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.
"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.
"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.
"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"
"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”
"Ah, but that's why you love me."
Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.
With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.
I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?
As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.
"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.
For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through
Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.
I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new
Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.
With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.
"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."
"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."
In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.
As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.
Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.
"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.
"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.
"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."
You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.
"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.
"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"
You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.
"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.
"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.
And there it was.
"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"
"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."
"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."
"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"
Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.
"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.
Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.
No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape.
Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.
With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.
Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.
Your matchbox wasn't there.
Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.
Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.
"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.
You eyed him skeptically for a moment.
In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.
Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.
Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.
"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.
"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.
"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"
"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."
His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."
Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.
"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.
"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."
"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.
Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.
"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.
"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."
"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."
"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.
"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.
"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.
"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."
A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.
"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."
Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.
"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."
Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the park in hues of golden warmth.
A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.
"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."
You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."
"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.
As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.
Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.
Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.
A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.
"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.
"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.
"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.
"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."
You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.
"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.
Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver.
Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.
"Oh, you cheese…"
With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.
Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.
Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.
Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.
What in hell was that?
Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.
Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.
Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.
A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.
But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.
The TV Demon, Vox.
His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.
"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"
Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.
"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.
"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.
Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.
"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.
"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.
"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.
"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.
"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."
"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"
"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"
Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"
"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"
"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"
Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"
Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"
"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"
The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.
"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.
"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"
As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.
.
Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating.
Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.
With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.
Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.
If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.
"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"
Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.
"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.
Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.
"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.
"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.
"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.
"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."
You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.
"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"
Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.
Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.
Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.
As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality
Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.
Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.
"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."
The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.
"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."
Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.
"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.
"Please let me kill for you."
Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.
A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.
A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.
"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.
There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."
.
Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.
A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?
A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.
It must be love.
With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.
"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."
Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.
"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.
With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.
The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"
You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.
A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.
"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"
With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.
With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.
"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."
"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."
"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.
Pretty Dolly Heart.
Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.
The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.
"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"
Your blood ran cold with fear.
"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.
Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.
"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.
With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.
A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.
"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.
With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.
Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.
Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.
"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."
#next chapter will explain all of their background :DD#sephiewrites#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor imagine#hazbin imagine#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x you#hazbin x you#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel vox
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the view between villages
platonic ! f1 grid x reader
summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.
cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,
song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan
(not based on any particular race)
today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.
"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."
the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.
she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.
"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.
"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.
"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.
---
"lights out.... and away we go!"
the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.
she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.
"i keep locking up."
her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.
"copy."
finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.
"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."
"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.
---
the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.
somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.
the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"
"yeah... turn up the volume?"
the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.
"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.
"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.
"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."
she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.
across the world, houses go silent.
---
"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."
the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.
"y/n, are you okay?"
silence.
"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."
no response.
the commentators continue.
"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."
---
his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.
"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.
"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.
"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"
"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."
"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"
"no word yet. sorry, logan."
"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."
"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"
"sure."
he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.
there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.
he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.
---
inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.
her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.
in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.
"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.
she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.
she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.
she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.
the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.
---
inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.
---
"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."
verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.
"what's happened?"
"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.
"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"
"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."
he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.
"tell me if you find anything out."
"copy."
as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.
"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.
he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.
he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.
---
a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.
"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.
and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.
and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.
she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.
---
the commentators are no longer focused on the race.
"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"
---
charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.
he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.
this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.
the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.
"we've got an update on y/n."
he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."
"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.
---
muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.
the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.
people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.
she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.
she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.
y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.
---
"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."
the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.
"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"
---
"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.
"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."
"how do you feel about her new nickname?"
"nickname?"
"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."
lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."
"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.
---
a few months later:
over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.
she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.
"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.
roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.
"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."
lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."
"yeah?"
"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."
y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.
he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."
"fuck off."
--- la fin ---
#formula one#f1#formula 1#formula one imagine#f1 imagine#f1 grid x reader#f1 angst#formula one angst#lewis hamilton x reader#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc x reader#logan sargeant x reader#max versappen x reader#f1 oneshot#formula one oneshot#starlightdelrey
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Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so
Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!
For Your Eyes Only
Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW
Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.
Word Count: 5.8k
After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.
You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.
The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.
Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.
What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.
Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.
The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.
A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.
Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”
Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.
“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”
“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”
“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”
And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.
“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.
You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.
Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.
When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.
“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.
“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”
“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”
Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.
“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”
“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”
“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”
But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.
Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.
“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”
“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.
“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”
Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.
Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.
“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.
“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”
By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.
The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”
It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.
Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.
The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.
You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.
Nothing. You find nothing.
“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”
“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”
He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”
“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”
A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”
Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”
“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”
“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”
“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”
The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.
“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.
“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”
“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”
You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.
“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”
You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.
You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.
Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.
When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.
Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”
But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.
Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.
Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?
Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.
In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”
Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.
“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”
Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”
“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”
Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”
He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.
There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.
When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.
The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.
For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.
You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?
Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.
“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”
You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.
“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.
He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.
Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.
He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.
Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.
You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.
He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.
And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.
After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.
You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.
“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”
He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.
You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.
After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.
Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.
One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.
When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.
Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.
You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.
“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”
“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.
“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”
“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.
And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.
You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.
Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.
He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.
He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.
And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-
And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.
“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”
Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.
“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”
He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”
You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”
He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”
He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-
Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.
You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.
Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.
He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.
For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.
You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.
“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”
And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.
“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.
“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.
You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.
Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.
You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.
If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.
He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.
Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”
You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”
He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.
“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”
Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.
His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.
You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”
And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.
You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.
You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.
“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”
And, gods, all you can do is laugh.
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The Way You Miss Me
Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader
I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.
Use my body against me - and all of our history.
I hate the way you miss me.
Summary:
Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.
And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.
So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?
Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.
Word Count: 18,500
Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).
For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.
A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.
...
Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated.
It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world.
These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you.
You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple.
Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures.
You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together.
But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone.
Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.)
You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks.
So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all.
And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited.
You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again.
By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it.
You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk.
From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way.
Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley.
You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’.
You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go.
This left you with only one glaring problem.
You had a crippling fear of heights.
It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it.
The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely.
When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were.
Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved.
But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.
Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again.
When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear.
You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was.
But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds.
You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension.
“You alright?” Fred asked you simply.
“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it.
You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up.
So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet.
This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts.
Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy.
And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.
“Y/N,”
He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling.
“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,”
Of course. Just as you had predicted.
“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-”
You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly:
“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-”
“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.”
Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever.
“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?”
You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body.
Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side.
“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.”
Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward.
“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.”
“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him.
You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.
And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.)
Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed.
This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said:
“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.”
This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore.
Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you.
But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up.
He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes.
The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you.
It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together.
So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping.
You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face.
“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him.
Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you.
What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up?
What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious?
“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second.
“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-”
“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true.
He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you.
“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply.
Your insides became heavy.
You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned.
It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it.
It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it.
So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread?
“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next.
You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face.
“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly.
“Why not?” You argued gently.
You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George.
He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him.
Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind?
“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed.
He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way.
“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words.
You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say.
“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?”
Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him.
“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-”
“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again.
‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’
“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.”
He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left.
But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him.
“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears.
You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry.
You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye.
For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate.
So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started.
“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.”
With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug.
You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now.
You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley.
You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again.
It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis.
The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys.
You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart.
But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak.
It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.
According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort.
You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now.
“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him.
“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone.
You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you.
Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing.
“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?”
“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?”
His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you.
You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold.
“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-”
“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?”
Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play.
“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you.
“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.”
It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry.
Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of.
The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup.
Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him.
Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight.
But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger.
Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off.
It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair.
It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking:
“Good?”
To which you replied:
“m fine.”
The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off.
When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes.
Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life.
“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!”
“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-”
“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-”
“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead.
Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one.
They were targeting Fred.
That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred.
“Y/N-?”
“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!”
You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what.
You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud.
You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect.
You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did.
You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life.
Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death.
He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes.
It was only you.
He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.
He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse.
He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight.
You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you.
As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you.
“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!”
“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.”
Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet.
His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer.
He had to pull you up.
“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-”
He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely.
Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you.
Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care.
The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground.
Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state.
Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs.
You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.”
Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred.
But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air.
You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear.
“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.”
Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him.
“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise.
He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt.
You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat.
Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head.
“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly.
Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch.
It was a horror show.
The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch.
“Georgie?”
There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart.
But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified.
“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly.
At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief.
“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked.
“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line.
You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed.
“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively.
Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death.
Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply.
“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?”
Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh.
“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.”
You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane.
“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly.
“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist.
When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here.
“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.”
It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves.
“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off.
“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.”
…
You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process).
Mad-Eye had been killed.
You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed.
You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer.
When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet.
Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside.
Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors.
“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs.
He couldn’t possibly be talking about…?
No.
No, he wasn’t.
You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion.
You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there.
But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him.
The sight you saw made your heart ache.
Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off.
His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night.
“Freddie?”
You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long.
“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness.
It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before.
You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed).
You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world.
He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears.
“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him.
You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could.
“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.”
Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought.
It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now.
“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.”
A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you.
“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.”
“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?”
Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-?
“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…”
He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out.
“I can’t lose you.”
The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear.
You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself.
“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.”
He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself.
His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you.
“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done.
You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before.
“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.”
He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively.
You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling.
“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.”
So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up?
Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you?
A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining.
“I let you go once before.”
He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up.
“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.”
“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew.
“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-”
You couldn’t take it anymore.
You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours.
You had missed him so damn much.
Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out.
When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare.
He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.)
Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival.
He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him.
He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them.
“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once.
All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length.
And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-
He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away.
“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.”
You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate.
Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging.
“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock.
All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.)
You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long.
“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips.
You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger.
“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent.
“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled.
As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried.
During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way.
Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair.
Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something.
You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger.
Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him.
“Fuck, darling, shite-”
You quickly became drunk on the feeling.
Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles.
The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft.
“Goddammit, please, please, oh-”
You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already.
You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely.
You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue.
“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-”
Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell.
It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks.
He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first.
He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling.
Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh.
“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?”
You moaned loudly at this.
You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak.
“I need you, pretty girl.”
He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time).
“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-”
He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet.
“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own.
He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers.
“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone.
“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims.
“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point.
“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver.
You hated that he was right.
You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself.
“Go on, good girl.”
You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well.
“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra.
“Oh darling, if only that were true.”
He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this.
Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long.
“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-”
“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee.
His words caused you to choke on another moan.
You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return.
You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel.
“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes.
Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it.
He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes.
“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with.
“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”
He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights.
“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-”
Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year.
“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-”
“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,”
You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you.
Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer.
Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back.
He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest.
The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you.
“Freddie,”
You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell.
“Good?” He asked, smirking at you.
“Yes, but what about-?”
You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him.
The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it.
He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes.
In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world.
As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.
“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,”
You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too.
But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was:
“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!”
“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-”
Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words.
Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.)
“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-”
“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.”
He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue.
You were close.
Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours.
“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?”
His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way.
“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response.
“Good girl. Come on,”
He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long.
“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-”
His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again.
“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat.
As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt.
“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips.
“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-”
He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt.
“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-”
He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders.
“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him.
It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe.
When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you.
“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.”
“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.”
He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer.
It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted.
When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back.
You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing.
Then, something else came to mind.
“My things are in Ginny’s room…”
You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her.
Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there.
Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely.
He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job.
“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes.
“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time.
“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing.
“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.”
You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate.
“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,”
You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted.
“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,”
Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you.
“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink.
You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness.
You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier.
He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you.
Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed.
When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking.
It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind.
“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream.
“Goodnight, Freddie.”
…
You wondered if all of it had been a dream.
Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day.
It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred.
You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir.
“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again.
Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning.
“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells.
“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck.
Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled.
“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed.
You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness.
“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up.
When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.)
Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves.
“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper.
Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before.
“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?”
You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great.
“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-”
An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good.
“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-”
“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there.
“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught.
You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in.
“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.”
“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored.
You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill.
“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him.
“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?”
“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned.
Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen.
“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.”
You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.
...
A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!
#sundrop writes#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred wealsey fic#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction
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Its never too late baby . . . ♡
(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Mutant Reader >_<
(✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> You were always someone who utilized your strengths. Physical and mental, you were a jack of all trades. You were a true hero to the students you taught within the school. Amongst the other X-men, you would always be one of them. But you had this little tick, that always annoyed Logan no doubt. You were a secretive person, too secretive for even his "standards." For others, you were a pillar of nurture and guidance. He saw your well-meaning nature from miles away. It was almost sickening to him how you would stretch your capabilities out to no end. He would never deny that he could be selfish. Sometimes it's more worth it to save your spine, than risk it for someone else. Though with the problems being thrown the team's way as of recent, he always saw you spinning your wheels. You wouldn't reason with him even when he of all people would lend you a shoulder to cry on. Even the students at the school could see it. With their childish snickers and big-eyed looks at your comfortable banter with Mr. Howlett whenever he helped with class. You were in love with the Wolverine. Again, out of all the Canadians - him? It wasn't something like a schoolgirl crush. It was an infatuation sort of deal. You burned for him mind body and soul. You would pretty much follow this scoundrel to the ends of the earth, even the end of your life if prompted. Which causes something to break between you two after you risk your livelihood for your family. The people that made up your heart, including Logan.
(✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> hi party people!! I saw so much of the sweet reception for my first ever logan piece , so tysm!! Genuinely from the bottom of my heart the love means so much. As I’m currently going through my x-men marathon time if you will , I’ve had this idea brewing for a while. Thankfully the resurgence of logan content has given me the push needed to formulate this yk! This isn’t a part two to my previous logan post. That will be coming very shortly, but this is its own thing. Timeline wise... erm.... idrk a good place to put this SIGH. I'm thinking like in between x2 and the last stand. also one last final note , the title I took from Chemtrails over the country club. specifically the one lyric - "it's never too late baby so don't give up." felt like an appropriate whimsy title, nd I have been hearing that song everywhere lolz. Anyways, toodles!!! ᐢᗜᐢ (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Descriptions of blood and graphic injury , they/them pronouns for reader !! , mentions of major character deal , Logan cares too much ... which could mean nothing , ur comatose for like the good first chunk of this , Jean and u have LORE!!!!! (not rlly but u and her have backstory beefers/her "passing" affect reader 100%) , mourning/grief, And that's on having no healing powers!! Buh-dun-csh!!
Your fall from grace was quick on the battlefield. This was supposed to just be any regular mission. You were using it as a way to clear your head after all. But you took a leap too far and now here you were, plummeting. The issue at hand was apprehended, sure. But you didn't leave the fight unscathed. Your vision grew too spotty for you to even make out your surroundings. Your hearing too even started to fog. Looking down, somehow or some way a large-sized piece of shrapnel metal had made it into your torso. Right in the sweet spot that was not in the lungs. Your legs began to wobble, losing your footing slowly but surely. You didn't realize your body was falling to the ground. The warm feeling rushing through you was the blood exiting from your hefty wound. It was ironic the last thing your eyes met before collapsing. Logan turned back around immediately once he noticed you weren't clamoring to the jet. His heart sunk to his stomach as he immediately sprung over to you. By the time your head had smacked against the ground, you went out. Your fingertips began to buzz, your fatigue lifting all of a sudden. All of the hurt and weight on your shoulders lifted? You felt freer than before, with a piece of debree stuck inside of your body no more. Even if some people regarded mutants as the next step in human evolution, a majority were still stuck with fleshy bodies. If only you were made out of steel. In this momentary unconsciousness, you thought about everything that went wrong. Your existence as a whole, joining the school. Moving up from student to teacher at Professor Xavier's school, like Scott and Ororo you were one of the first. Regarded as maybe one of the most useful of the bunch. No one could ever compete with Storm, the literal incarnate of a goddess. You thought of her as your eyes closed, embraced with the warm memories of your early days within the school.
The professor was never one to play favorites among his students. But when he searched you out and arrived with a less conniving Magneto at your door, it was clear you were special to him and his cause. From that day forward you were seen as a pillar of hope to a lot of the students. To some, you were like a mother, to others a guardian who would save them no matter the risk. To Logan Howlett - "The Wolverine", you were a coward. A coward that he admired. A coward he respected due to the ways you handled... stress in the simplest of terms. From the day he met you, he wandered around the halls of the mansion bewildered and confused. Something about you stuck out. He would've done something with this urge sooner if his eyes weren't honed in on another.
From day one you were not surprised how fast he fell and yearned for Jean. The woman you saw as your confidant, your best friend, she was magnificent. Smart and poised all in one with a strong set of mutant abilities. She was on the same power level as the professor, which made sense for their connection.
For living in Jean's shadow, you didn’t hate it. You were her right-hand man. Your balance was comforting, she was like your sister. The professor in small quiet moments of honesty to you liked to compare you to him and Magnus. When times were simpler they weren’t at opposing ends of the mutant kind spectrum. Yours and Jean's dynamic made you feel at ease with yourself. How could you worry? Your identity became a part of hers a long time ago. Logan saw more to that with you. Sure you could nag a lot of the time, and you always barked up his tree whenever he found ways to smoke on school grounds. But you just had this pull for him. He'd always find his way to see you first whenever entering a room. His brash and gritty attitude always got all mushy around you. He over time grew a lot more fond of the smallest details when it came to you. He was an amnesiac, his past only bits and pieces. But you made him feel grounded. You cherished his growth in ways no one else had. You were the reason why he was so drawn to the "now" of life. He needed that in times like this. He couldn't keep up for long after the realization that Jean was gone finally sunk in. Drowning at his one-sided attraction, the longing that he could've done more, you pulled him right out from that rut. Thank god that the two of you combined had horrible sleep schedules. His nightmares still stirred while you were suddenly afflicted with these with the memories of being on that jet when it wouldn't take off. That same pain rocketed through you every night as you were haunted by the sight of Jean finally swept into the oncoming flood. The feeling of grief ricocheted throughout the entire school. But you found your way to stay afloat. It was Logan, which you never thought of yourself admitting. But truth be told it was him. He was the most anchoring thing around you. Ororo distanced herself for the first month, while Scott cracked under the pressure of grief. Late nights dashing around the campus halls to the kitchen, out to the court where you two just talked. You had never seen him talk so much until you two became each other's support. It made you feel better seeing him smile more. Especially when it was at you. Again, you would never utter that truth EVER. At least that's what you thought. But his smile was a nice reminder of all of the light he held inside of him. As much as he despised ... everything, he was still so nurturing in his own ways. Nightmares were an excuse for him to be next to you. Nightmares were his excuse to hold you tight to his chest. The pain of loss was a collective "excuse" between the two of you to just .. be close.
Soon though, this ideal predicament between you both started to crack. Because even though she was dead, you still knew you would always be inferior. It may be all in your head but the hate kept you driven. It kept you driven but also mad. Small things would set you off soon enough. You knew deep down whenever he'd look into your eyes, it was a nice reminder of Jean. Even with how much he denied it when you came to him in tears, your bitter pain and grief clouded your judgment.
Logan saw that even with his help you were still hurting. He didn't want to get involved in it entirely as some of it was your own demon. But he saw how bad your spiraling was and still wouldn't accept his help. Not even from Ororo or Scott, not even the professor. Neither of you would admit who started the argument. It was late, and you were tired from pushing yourself to grade papers. Logan couldn't sleep and wandered his way to your classroom of course. The conversation was fine until he mentioned the problem. Your problem which you didn't want to deal with right now. As you were only running on a few hours of sleep. But even with Logan's usual "take and give no fucks" attitude, he knew he needed to push. You were slowly shutting yourself off this time, and he didn't expect himself to be a part of that mix. It was all a misunderstanding, but the two of you were angry and fire was thrown.
Your shared feelings were complicated. This whole ordeal with him brought out the "worst parts" of your love for him. He too was dealing with his internal dilemma. How could he move on from Jean and you were still latched onto the idea of her? It was a stupid question that was brought up in a Logan way, which of course caused the spat to escalate. His poor mistake was what he shouted. Already with the fear of waking one or even all of the students, you hated what he even dared to utter. "We're friends, you need to calm down about this whole obsession thing bub!" Originally you were thinking of just heading to bed. You were too tired to continue on with this constant bickering. But that's when you exploded on him. You regretted every last word you said to his face. Because it was you speaking your honest truth. About what you felt for him, about your hurt and your pain. How Jean was practically your lifeline. Losing her was like losing a piece of yourself. Especially since you rubbed it in about the kiss he and her shared. That you had seen and that made you sick to your stomach. A couple hours later she was dead. Your heightened emotions make you feel almost dizzy. The more you talked the more you realized his expressions distinct shift. As he was reaching out for you, you immediately swatted his arm askew. He didn't realize he hated to see you cry as much as he did until now. With broken sobs, you ran out of your classroom. The papers once stacked neatly were now laid messily all over your desk. You made sure to keep quiet. What broke your heart even more was a half-awake Rogue you ran into. She looked even more awake seeing your distraught state. Her feet tip-toed against the wooden floors of the hall before she looked at you. A big reason you and Logan were so close too, was because of Rogue. She was a good kid, he always rubbed off on her. He told you everything about how he and Rogue met. You were so enamored hearing him recount even the foggiest of memories. It could even be arguments with Scott he had, you'd just sit there with wide eyes as you listened. His word became your gospel. It warmed you to your core hearing him almost sound like a dad. He had looked out for her from the beginning. You always tried to do the same even when he left for Alklai Lake for answers.
It was so silly when she had practically pushed you and Logan to talk. She was just a kid and you two took up the almost suto role of her protectors. Friend or parent, she too found two trusted people to confide in. So you immediately went into "teacher mode" as soon as she saw you with watery eyes. She looked puzzled when her face met yours. You calmed down her storm of questions as she sputtered on and on. What's wrong? , is something happening? Are you okay? The hug you shared was one of the last meaningful hugs you had with another living being. You practically cradled her in your arms as you helped her calm down. She looked up at you, her larger brown eyes almost like the ones of a puppy. "Please don't be lying to me... y'know ah don't like liars." She whispered softly, her bubbly southern accent quiet. Your heart broke into a couple more pieces as you lied through your teeth. With a content nod, you bidded her a goodnight. Turning back to your room to drown your sorrow in god knows what. It had only been a good couple of months after Jeans' death that a mission arose. The X-men were laying low after everything at the base. For the school's and students' sake. But it was always on time when something bad happened for the team to fix. Old enemies came a-knocking and this time it wasn't Magneto. It was all supposed to be an in-and-out operation. You immediately clamored to get your hands dirty once again. You and Logan hadn't been talking for the last couple of days. Not even meeting in the dead of night to speak to another. You longed to hear about his afternoons subbing with Storm. This was your chance to regain some well-needed level-headedness. The thrill of doing what's right for a better tomorrow always made you feel better The mission even got Scott to come out of his puddle of mourning. Making you feel even better seeing your good friend so triumphant as he quickly clamored for his uniform. You and Logan didn't even brush shoulders as Storm and Scott dashed off to prepare the jet for takeoff. Everything should have gone fine. You should have all made it out alive. Every single one of you, that's what you had planned. Your lapse in judgment will always be your curse. Because now here you were, in the lap of the man that made your stomach churn. That made you feel LIKE that silly schoolgirl feeling you despised. Snapping back to reality, you realize where you are currently laid. Logan's eyes eased from his previous panicked look of fear as he saw you conscious. You were still bleeding but it seems that with quick medical attention either one of them got it to lessen. Your heart raced as you felt the warmness of his hands as they pressed against your cheeks. "Come on, there you go. Just focus on me." He cooed to your heaving chest. In the far back of the jet, you couldn't see Ororo or Scott. What you could see though was the remnants of blood on Logan's suit. He must have carried you off of the rubble and into the X-jet. Your smile was nothing compared to the horrid wince that left you. Finally, after this long moment of ease, the pain set in.
Going down to hold your gut, you shuddered as your vision all of a sudden wavered. You took in a sharp breath as finally, you noticed how in bad shape you were. Red filled your palm as you shuddered. Thankfully Logan noticed you and your shaky breath and immediately gripped your hand. Even in this state, you were currently in, you would always be able to focus on him. "I know, I know it's scary. You got hit pretty bad, but it's okay. Just focus on me and you'll be okay? I have you." He encouraged softly with that comforting rasp in his throat. His eyes were shaken and his lip was firm. Though his mood lightened somewhat because at least now you were awake.
You tried to speak but you were so weak. That same fatigue stung you as you stumbled over your words. He cradled you in his arms as he kept his eyes only on you. Your weary mind still around belittling you, another one of your eerily humane curses. He saw your chest quicken and lip quiver as your eyes began to lull, you were struggling. "Hey .. don't strain yourself - what is it?" He too began to worry as you saw his vulnerability bloom. Finally your chest steady as you took in one big breath of air. You let out the one thing keeping you from slipping back into rest in one huff. "Don't let me die, asshole." The asshole part came out more garbled from you after you coughed out your last words. Your last words before your eyes fell closed. For some reason, your hearing stayed for just a while longer. In and out, you could hear him cursing under his breath. The last thing you hear is Logan's panicked shouting at Scott, "Can this hunk of metal go any faster?!"
Finally, after so much pain, there was quiet. Peace and quiet after your constant heartache. You felt freed from the chains of reality. From birth to now, now seemed like your death. You left your current reality with a bitter-sweet smile as you felt consciousness swarm over you.
You couldn't feel how long you were out. Oh, but Logan could. Six weeks you lay in the infirmary. With some sort of miracle and hope, Ororo was barely able to stabilize you. The team rushed back into the mansion in panic as your wounds were assessed. But no, you couldn't feel the panic that coursed through your loved ones as you lay so peacefully. You didn't know your heart rate was being tracked. You were stable but anyone could guess it'd take you a while to re-reach consciousness. That your accident broke the barely well Scott Summers. But most of all it affected Logan to the core. He felt his world shake under him as he finally realized what had just happened. Something snapped in a man so stuck in his ways. Those words you said to him before you went back down. They were short but in the moment meant so much. Not to mention the fact that even Logan, so careless and free, was guilty. Every time he came back just to see you, he wanted to curl over and into you. Just like how he mourned Jean, he mourned you. Though .. he couldn't because you were technically still here. He may have not noticed it but everyone else could. The lack of your presence hindered him the worst. He missed the way you'd bother him out of the blue during the quiet time around the school. He missed you telling him about your life. He missed the shitty snort you did when you laughed too hard at one of his bad jokes. He missed seeing you happy. He missed seeing you move around. Pestering students for turning in assignments late or cheating. He missed the feel of your lips against his forehead when his nightmares of Jean flared up. He missed the way you looked at him. The way you saw him not only as a man but as himself. He didn't know how to admit it but he.. missed you. He missed you so bad and it was eating away at him. He spent hours out of his day visiting you. Like what you two always did when you were alone, he talked. About his day, what he ate, and even the lessons he overheard. The school got even quieter with you gone and he hated it. He felt bitter and broken, he didn't want to feel like that. He especially missed the way he felt with you. Almost like being on cloud nine. He finally understood the pain you felt when Jean died. This time on a more intimate level than he'd like to admit. He felt like the moon was ripped away from him after the sun. Now he was just the lonely tide, washing away against the shore until you returned. Ororo did all she could to help. All she could do was maintain your physical well-being as your body healed with rest. Logan hated the wait. The time you spent not walking around the halls of the school was maybe one of the worst times in his life. Since it hit him so deep on a real level. In this array of pain and even more guilt, he felt something dawn on him as you were still comatose. He was in love with you, Logan was in love with you. He felt like an idiot but the realization would always stay true. No matter how stupid he felt. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew. In the middle of his thought process, he heard the swift slide open of the infirmary doors.
Right now he was standing over you. The one thing that kept his spirits high about your recovery was the gentle rise and lower of your chest. He didn't have to look behind him to know it was Storm. She too had taken her time checking in on your unconscious form. He sighed as she walked up right beside him. She gently cupped the examination table where your body would lay. She looked down at her hands with a bitter-sweet smile on her lips. She looked over to Logan, who was at a pause with himself. She decided to finally break the long silence. "You know they'll be fine, right?" She hummed as she glanced up to look over you. He chuckled softly as his brow pinched. His chuckle came out more like a rugged scoff. "I know, this just feels weird." He sucked in a breath of stale air. "It was funny the first night you arrived at the mansion.." Storm drew up a memory of that fateful night. "As soon as I and Scott brought you in, they immediately volunteered to help Jean down here with your examination. They were always enamored with your set of abilities. You were one of a kind to them especially, I suppose." Now his hands gripped into the sides of the examination table. He looked down, in pity of you and himself. How could he be so blind? Storm butted in once more as she noticed his demeanor shift. "All I'm saying is, they'd be happy to know how much you worried." He nodded in response, reminiscing when things were good. From your first encounter to now, his heart warmed. "I'd do it for anyone else." He gritted out as he bit back a smile. The truth was he was still in agony about Jean's loss. It felt wrong to love you as he had longed for her after all of this time. But you felt like a whole different story. He didn't have to sit in agony knowing that no matter what his love would always be with another. You always gave him the time and day, hell even down to the minute to just be honest. He needed you at his side no matter what you were to him. Maybe you were more than a friend, maybe he was crazy about you, but you understood him. In a way maybe Jean never had. Ororo knew he needed more time so she complied with the awkwardness in the air. "I'll give you some more time. Rest easy Logan, they'd want that." She insisted before making her way out of the infirmary. He immediately looked down back at you, before looking back at the monitor tracking your heart. He sighed, biting into his lip. He stuttered the only thing that had been keeping him sane since he last felt your eyes open. "Don't fail me now dimples... I need you." He gritted as his teeth were practically ground into his gums. It has become a regular part of his routine now. Once the students were back in their dorms for the night, down to the infirmary he goes. He could never be tired of seeing you at rest. Seeing you okay and not in pain. He just wished he could hear you speak. He hoped that you could hear his pleas for you to wake.
As much as he longed for you he just bided his time. Like the fool he was, like the idiot he felt like when you made him so weak. You made him feel the most human he ever could feel.
That day was supposed to be a normal day. Classes had been more and more brief. After the loss of Jean and you being "put out." But he did not expect to see what he did next. Going into the elevator to head downstairs, to of course see you as always. He was ready to talk about what you missed away and so on. His chest tightened once he saw what was right in front of him. It was you, you were walking? You were awake and on your own two feet. Your midsection was still bandaged but at least you were standing up straight. But then it finally clicked. Wait, you shouldn't even be walking around right now?!
He immediately ran to steady you once your expression went more absent. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He roughly inquired with a small, pleased grin. "I feel like shit, so don't start with me Wolvie." You gritted out with that smile that made him too feel all good on the inside. Quickly, his arms calmly wrapped around you. He longed for your embrace for too long. It wasn't like you were fighting him when he enacted this. You wrapped your arms around him too. He made sure not to squeeze too tight with your bandages and all. A gentleman must stay mindful, he could recall you poking at him as he had a beer bottle half hidden in his jacket.
Your head gently rested in the crook of his neck. That quiet he hated so much before when seeing you in the infirmary was warmer now. He liked the peace and quiet between the two of you when you were there WITH him. After some minutes passed, you met him back face to face. You eyes lingered as you watched the way he swallowed in with composure. You had longed for him to see you. Finally, all the puzzle pieces were clicking, and with your luck all at once. You knew before this would have never happened. It felt wrong and almost hurtful for you to be doing this. But go big or go home I guess. It was you who initiated it, and he gratefully complied. Still keeping you steady, once your lips met his hand immediately went to cup your cheek. In the bliss shared, all of a sudden it felt right. The tender embrace of your lips with his felt good. It was hungry and it was liberating. You could feel his heart beating out of his chest as quick gasps for air were taken. "I'm sorry." He uttered out, forehead against yours. "I know." You said with a sanguine look in your eye. "I love you." He uttered again at a rapid pace. "I know." You purred, your eyes looking back into his hazy ones. Things would always be complicated between the both of you. But deep down you had hope. Maybe not now, someday things could just be normal between you and The Wolverine. That's all you wanted and that's all you dreamed of. Yours and his timing by all means was horrible. So it wasn't surprising this delightful moment got interrupted by Scott of all people. You and Logan looked back, hands immediately darting off of one another. Time to address THAT later.
Scott's mouth fell agape as he began to regret coming down here in the first place. He readjusted his glasses with a small scowl. "Well hello to you too, and Logan." He turned his head to give him that same look. "Wanted to check on you but clearly -" He made sure to put a specific emphasis on 'clearly.' "That job has been overtaken by him.. I'll get Ororo." Before either you or Logan could interrupt him, Scott was already pressing buttons up to the main floor. Now that it was just the two of you bubbling laughs were shared. You felt finally okay. You felt like yourself after those months of nothing but remembrance. You and The Wolverine wormed back into conversation as you could finally talk BACK to him. Another thing you wouldn't ever admit was that yes, you did hear him. His gentle words would always be your favorite secret. After that display of affection though, your and Logan's bond never stayed just a little secret after that. Even after all the trial and error, and the more soon to come, you finally had another moment. Another moment that you could look at when you are older and with more grays on your head. Logan Howlett was yours, no matter how much the universe wanted to throw you around a loop. You'd always have him by your side, till the end of time. Nothing would stop you from cherishing this connection. Not even the burning phoenix crackling over the horizon. You and Logan against time baby.
ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3
#── ͏͏୨୧ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏credits to @aqualogia#gifs n divider r not mine!! dm for removal<3#IK THIS WAS CORNY WAHHHHH#x men#x men 97#x-men x reader#xmen x reader#x men x reader#x men 97 x reader#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine fanfic#mcu fanfiction#mcu fandom#x men fandom#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#wolverine imagine#logan howlett oneshot#wolverine xmen#logan howlett drabble#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine fic#logan howlett fanfic#wolverine x reader
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Anything (König x Reader)
The 1st instalment in the Anything-Verse
Main Masterlist
Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6
Like the characters? Read their fics below!
Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist
Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.
A/N: I have no idea how we got here
Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?
Warnings: Graphic description of violence || Graphic description of injury || Graphic language
“You’re a liability.”
The words rang like a church bell. You were never one for petty violence but in that moment, after he’d so calmly said the words, you thought that you just might kill him.
“A liability?” You hissed, glaring at your superior like he’d grown two heads. “I’m a sniper, Sir, not a fucking ninja.”
The captain simply shifted his weight lazily, unfazed by your temper. He’d dealt with it many times throughout the years but it hadn’t bothered him because you weren’t inherently his. You were somebody else’s spitfire, under another unit’s command; but now you were part of the 141 and you needed to learn.
“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”
Birdy.
You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.
When you said nothing, he continued.
“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”
How could you not?
The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.
A chill skittered across your skin.
“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.
“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”
Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.
“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”
Price smirked.
“Not everyone.”
___
You felt nauseas.
Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.
There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.
Training.
You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.
Your body ached at the memory.
There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.
You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.
“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.
The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.
“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.
He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.
“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.
This was a sick, sick joke.
“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.
You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.
König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.
You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.
No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.
You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.
You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.
Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.
Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.
You thought your skull had exploded.
Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.
“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.
You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.
You were in a coma for two weeks.
It took you months to recover.
And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.
Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.
Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.
König watched you carefully from where he stood.
“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.
“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.
You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.
You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.
“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.
“No,” you said simply.
“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“
“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.
“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”
“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, but-“
“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”
König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.
“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."
You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.
“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?
You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'
You began to understand why people wear masks.
“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”
König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.
Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.
“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.
With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.
Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.
The scars caught your attention.
Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.
“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”
You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.
“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.
König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”
His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”
“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.
A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.
“Anything, mein vöglein.”
My little bird.
____
Next Chapter
#könig x reader#konig x reader#könig mw2#könig modern warfare#call of duty#mw2#cod#konig call of duty#konig x you#König x you#konig headcanons#konig mw2#call of duty x reader#cod x reader
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Their reactions to your death
As it says on the tin, the HSR boys' reactions to your death. This is pure angst.
WARNING:
Contains descriptions of death (nothing too graphic, though)
Suicidal thoughts in Aventurine's part
Mentions of Aventurine's backstory
No happy endings, this is pure angst
Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan
🌹 Argenti
Argenti knew that taking you traveling with him was a dangerous endeavor. You had some combat experience as a Nameless, and he admired your determination to improve your fighting skills by frequently sparring with him. He warned you of the frequent dangers he faced as a Knight of Beauty in his pursuit of THEIR radiance, and despite his common sense telling him to let you go, neither his heart nor you were satisfied to sever the tender bond growing between you. Against his better judgment, Argenti caved to your pleas to join him on his journey.
At first, the days spent journeying with you were some of his happiest. The love blossoming in his chest filled his entire being, and he often swore to you that you must have been blessed by Idrila themselves because when he was with you, the entire universe glowed with radiant beauty. The world was more beautiful with you by his side, for that was how much of an impact your presence had on him.
Argenti soon came to regret his weak will for allowing you to come along on his perilous adventure. You were making a rest stop on a small planet when the Antimatter Legion invaded, set on destruction. Overwhelmed by enemy numbers, Argenti focused on protecting the citizens and trusted you to handle yourself. Though you were not on par with his strength, he saw you improve during your sparring sessions, and he wanted to believe in your capabilities.
When the battle was over and the dust settled, Argenti couldn’t find you. While calling your name, he forced his battered and bloodied body to move as he searched for you among the rubble. He soon found you, collapsed on the ground in a puddle of your own blood. Quickly rushing to your side, Argenti scooped you up into his arms to inspect your injuries. The gashes in your torso were deep—Argenti knew instantly they were fatal. He didn’t want to accept your death, but no matter how much he called your name, hoping you would magically come back to life and open your eyes, you remained still.
Argenti was no stranger to losing friends, as their knightly profession resulted in many of them dying. He still thought about his fallen comrades with an ache in his chest, unable to fully make peace with their passing. However, you were someone he cherished even more than his fallen friends. You were the first person he grew to love from the bottom of his heart, dare he say even more than his beloved Aeon of Beauty. You were the first person to instill such overwhelming joy and adoration in his being with your mere existence.
Gently taking hold of your hand, Argenti brought your palm to his cheek, his heart shattering at how cold your skin was. He remained like this for a long time, hunching over your body and cradling you close while holding your limp hand in his. He wept. Tears streamed down his handsome face, leaving behind wet trails among the dirt and blood smeared on his cheeks as he kissed the back of your hand the way he did so many times before, only this time would be the last. Argenti quietly apologized to you for not being there to protect you, for allowing you to join him on such a dangerous journey and lose your life because he wasn’t strong enough to resist his love for you.
The day you died, the beautiful universe as Argenti knew it, withered like a decaying rose. The things he once found beautiful were now rendered without that same brilliant splendor. Everything appeared bleak and ordinary. No matter how he tried, Argenti found it difficult to summon the love and appreciation he once had. It was as if you had taken that ability with you to the grave.
Worse yet, Argenti found his faith in Idrila shaken, leaving him questioning his devotion to the absent Aeon.
After all, how can beauty exist in a universe without you?
🃏 Aventurine
After he returned from a mission, Aventurine wanted to spend some quality time with you, so he took you to the local mall with the promise of buying you anything your pretty heart desired, no matter the price tag. Walking hand-in-hand, Aventurine and you were discussing which store to visit next when a man emerged from the crowd and stood in front of your pair. The man looked familiar to Aventurine, but before he had time to place the face to a name, the man drew a gun and aimed it right at Aventurine’s heart, screaming that Aventurine ruined his life and he would get revenge on him today.
The ensuing moments happened too quickly for Aventurine to react. The man pulled the trigger and a loud bang resounded through the shopping center, resulting in a cacophony of screams from the nearby crowd of shoppers. The bullet didn’t hit Aventurine, however. As if in slow motion, he watched you shield him from the assailant and intercept the bullet in his place.
His carefully crafted personal of smug confidence crumbled when you fell at his feet, replaced with rarely-seen panic as Aventurine saw red bloom at the center of your chest like an ugly rose. The terror of losing you overrode any other concern in his mind, and Aventurine barely spared a thought to the assassin, too preoccupied with stemming your bleeding with his jacket, not caring if it became ruined with blood. Somewhere in the background, he heard the man’s angry shouts as he was apprehended and carried away by security, but Aventurine couldn’t focus on that. All he had on his mind was ensuring you made it out alive.
He was so focused on stopping your bleeding, that the only thing that snapped him out of his panic was the sensation of your hand resting over his. Lifting his gaze to meet your pained one, Aventurine watched you mouth “I love you” before falling still moments later. Your eyes glazed over, staring through him into the distance, and Aventurine’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
Just five minutes ago he was happily holding hands with you, excited to indulge in a rare day off to spoil you, and how he looked down on your lifeless body cradled in his arms. You were gone and he will never get you back.
The ensuing days were a blur of police interrogations and IPC meetings, but Aventurine was glad to be busy. It was the only thing distracting him from his grief and guilt. It turned out that the assassin was a small company representative he screwed over a while ago for the sake of a mission, and the man wanted to kill Aventurine in revenge. A few of Aventurine’s colleagues said he was lucky to be alive, but that phrase made his stomach churn. Could it be considered luck if he lost you in the end? If so, then he doesn’t want to be lucky anymore.
When your funeral came, Aventurine almost didn’t attend. He couldn’t bear to face you with the knowledge that you gave up your life for his. That he stood here alive and well, while you lay lifeless in the grave because of him. But Topaz and Jade coaxed him out and he went, tuning out the entire procession or risk showing vulnerability.
After the hectic days wound down, the grief came in full force. Once upon a time, Aventurine found solitude as a saving grace after a long day of faking and scheming. Then you came along and wormed your way into his scarred heart, bathing him in a love and gentleness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Sharing his home with you was an unfamiliar yet joyous experience, and he found comfort in knowing that you were waiting for him to return each day. However, now his home felt awfully empty and lonely without you, and the silence sometimes choked him. Your things were still lying where you left them before that horrid day, and Aventurine didn’t have the heart to move them, much less throw them away. After all, they held memories of your happy times together, proof that you once existed.
Insomnia became his companion. The grief and guilt weighed on him like a boulder and kept him awake late into the night, turning over possibilities of what he should have done so you would have survived. When his exhausted brain forced him to sleep, all he saw were nightmares. Some nights he dreamt of his mother and sister, and the fires and bloodshed that tore through their little encampment. Other nights he dreamt of being shackled and watching blood run down his fingers while a lifeless body lay at his feet, beaten beyond recognition. Sometimes, he dreamt about being on a date with you, hearing you say “I love you” and then watching you fall lifeless at his feet with a bullet wound in your chest.
Aventurine woke in a cold sweat every time. Usually, when he had nightmares, you were there to keep him company until he calmed down, but now, there was nothing but empty space where you should have been. He did not fall asleep afterward.
Your death weighed like a heavy boulder, suffocating him. It unearthed painful memories and reopened old wounds that never healed. Aventurine lost so much in his life: his family, people, planet, freedom, and now, the love of his life. Everything he treasured had been brutally taken from him, and the constant beatdown made it difficult to summon the will to go on. He might have pulled on a smile for his colleagues at the IPC, but in the solitude of his home, there were nights when he considered ending it all and joining you and his family in the afterlife. He probably would have gone through with those urges were it not for Topaz and Jade’s timely support. Their genuine concern for his well-being helped steer him away from such thoughts.
Having faced so much loss, Aventurine closed himself off from close relationships. He swore to never take another lover after you—he couldn’t bear to lose someone else again—but he does hold your memory close to his heart, much like he does with his family. He packed your things and stored them safely alongside his mother’s items, cherishing them as a memento of you.
Aventurine knows that one day he will reunite with you and his family. Maybe that day won’t come soon, but he finds comfort in knowing it will happen eventually. In the meantime, he resolved to push on and fulfill his goal of taking revenge against the IPC for the sake of everything they had so cruelly snatched from him. Just wait a little longer for him, alright? He will join you soon enough.
🦁 Jing Yuan
Having lived for several centuries, one would assume Jing Yuan had accumulated precious wisdom over the course of his long life. Though he remained humble, Jing Yuan liked to think so, too. Yet, entering a committed relationship with you, a short-life species, was not a wise decision at all. Compared to his long lifespan, your life was like a sparkler: beautifully bright but short-lived. Jing Yuan was fully aware that it would hurt him when he inevitably lost you, but love made people foolish, and he was no exception.
His long life and the loss of his beloved friends and mentor made him jaded, but being with you gave him that little spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt good to come home to find you waiting for him, and it motivated him to finish his paperwork faster so he could hurry back to you. The lazy days of taking naps on your lap, going on strolls through Xianzhou, and drinking tea together were akin to a dream.
But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, you started showing signs of aging. Your skin developed new wrinkles and your vision worsened, but otherwise, you were still perfectly healthy. Nevertheless, the sight settled like a heavy blanket over Jing Yuan. It was a reminder that you were slowly but surely approaching the end of your life span. The realization weighed on his heart, turning his time with you bittersweet, but he resolved to make the most of your remaining time together.
After a few more decades, you developed health problems and were no longer as active as you used to be, so Jing Yuan paid for the best doctors on the Xianzhou to care for you, all with the hope of extending your life by just a few more years. Even one or two more would do.
Over the years, you took many couple photographs to capture the fun times but also to leave something for Jing Yuan to remember you by. He used to look upon them with fondness, but now as he browsed through the photos on his phone, his heart sank as he saw how you progressively aged with each new picture while he remained unchanged. Though he knew it was inevitable for your species, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
A couple more decades passed by, and your figure changed even more. Your skin was wrinkled and your hair white, your vision was poor, and the aches and pains in your body prevented you from being active. Jing Yuan sometimes caught your melancholic gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and he knew his youthful appearance bothered you. You must have doubted whether he still loved you now that you lost your youthful beauty, but he did. No matter how much you changed, Jing Yuan’s love for you never waned, and he proved it to you by faithfully remaining by your side, showering you in compliments and affections the same way he did when he first fell in love with you.
Time marched on. Jing Yuan watched you slowly waste away in front of his eyes as you grew feeble with every passing year. Your time would come soon, and he would have to say goodbye to you. He was no stranger to goodbyes. He’s lost dear friends in the past, but the longing for his companions and the good times they shared together never quite left. He knew it would be the same with you because despite the short time you had been together, you had left a big impact on him. Capturing the heart of the Luofu General was no small feat, as he often told you with a playful smile. Rendering him practically kneeling at your bedside and grasping your hand with the fear of today being your last was no small feat either, though Jing Yuan never told you that part.
When your time was almost here, Jing Yuan spent all his free time at your bedside, desperately trying to get a few more moments with you. His laidback smile was ever present as he chatted with you and held your hand, but that mask faded when he felt your hand grow limp in his at long last. Though he was heartbroken to watch you go, he was glad that your death was a peaceful one, at least.
He did not cry for you. He had decades to prepare for your death, but your absence did leave a hole in his heart. He sorely missed the playful banter, cheerful laughter, and comfort you provided. Life returned to the same monotony it used to be prior to meeting you, but it felt incomplete without you. His house felt too silent, his bed was too big for him alone, and he still caught himself brewing an extra mug of tea out of habit.
Falling in love with a short-life species was not a wise decision, but despite the heartache Jing Yuan felt whenever he looked at photos of you, he knew he would make the mistake of loving you all over again if given the chance. It just hurt knowing he could no longer make new memories with you.
Maybe if he’s lucky, the mara won’t get him and he’ll get to keep these cherished memories of you and the High-Cloud Quintet until his last days. At least, he hopes such a small mercy can be granted to him.
#honkai star rail x reader#star rail x reader#hsr x reader#argenti x reader#aventurine x reader#jing yuan x reader
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The Moon Knows Our Secrets (2) - Final
Exes to Lovers!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!OC | Soulmate!AU
genre: angst, smut, exes to lovers, vampire/werewolf hybrid (emphasis on werewolf), soulmates, forced proximity
rating: explicit
description: He doesn’t remember loving you. How could he, when you’re the one who erased his memories? You run into him a year later at a wedding. The year after that he’s reported missing and you go off to find him. Then you wonder: did he ever forget you?
word count: 17.7k
warnings (SPOILERS!!!): tension, resentment, fight scenes (nothing too graphic), Boxer!JK, injuries, blood, spying, drama with exes, arguing, underground cage fighting with ill intentions, OC and JK wrestle for control when he goes into his rut, a magic spell gone wrong, biting, JK and OC's POVs are included, HAPPY ENDING
smut warnings (tread carefully): masturbation (male), JK later goes into his RUT, kissing, unprotected sex, thigh job, oral sex (male and female receiving), scratching, rough sex, face-fucking, standing sex, knotting, creampies, dirty talk, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, hickies, nipple play, tummy bulge, lots of cum, marking, doggystyle, slight breeding kink (no pregnancy), slight dumbification, pain kink, brief mentions of anal, chains, hand jobs
a/n: This is an epilogue for my series Moonstruck (inspired by TVD), but it can be read as a STAND-ALONE! You do not have to read Moonstruck (but it will be more satisfying if you have 😉). This is the most smut I've written in a while and I tried out a new writing style too. I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and asks always make my day, thank you! Or if you prefer AO3, I post there too.
| Part 1 | Part 2
Six Months Later…
Another unknown number. You stare at your phone on the motel bed like the device is an uninvited guest as you step out of the bathroom, scrunching a towel around your damp hair. The clock on the wall reads midnight.
Maybe it’s a client?
The call disappears before you can answer it, reverting to the lock screen—the wedding group picture from last year. You had cropped it where it showcases only you and Jungkook. It’s a tad pixelated from being zoomed in so much, but the same deer-in-the-headlights expression pokes through on both of your faces. He was holding you in a dip position because you had almost fallen. The memory makes you smile every time, and you need a little joy in this dreary room.
You sit on the bed and the phone rings again, as if on cue. The towel is cast aside as you answer it, tapping the button for speaker mode.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss [Y/N]?”
Even your alarm clock can’t get you out of bed this fast. You’re up on your feet, placing the phone against your ear as your heart rate spikes. There’s no way. That deep, smooth voice was unmistakable, especially when it used to whisper the filthiest things in your ear. “Y-Yes, this is her. Who is this?”
As if you don’t already know. “I’m Officer Kim Taehyung, Headmaster Kim gave me your number.”
What’s the latest phone model in store? Because you’re seconds away from shattering the current one in your hands. Or maybe you should redirect your anger around Namjoon’s neck instead. You kept your words steady as you said, “Oh, I see. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m so sorry to call you at this hour, but I’m worried about a… a friend of mine,” he says. His hesitation on the “friend” label piques your interest. “I haven’t been able to reach him in a couple of weeks. I’m worried he’s gone missing.”
Wait. He’s an officer now?
“If an officer such as yourself hasn’t been able to find him, that is worrisome. I’m assuming your friend is supernatural. Because that’s kind of all I do…”
“Yes, of course. He’s a hybrid.”
Your heart is lodged in your throat, unable to force the things you want to scream out. You had to take a deep breath before asking in a low voice, depicting how serious this is, “He’s a what?”
“A hybrid. Do you… know him?”
Do I know him… what a stupid question. You roll your eyes as if he could see you through the phone. “Text me everything you have on him. I’ll find him.”
“How?”
“Are you questioning my skills? I said I’ll find him.”
You hang up after that and collapse flat on your back, the mattress squeaking from your weight. You shouldn’t be so harsh on him; the poor man wasn’t up to date with all that’s happened. It’s not like he would know your history with Jungkook. Or you, for that matter. You made sure of that.
A buzz from your phone snaps you from your thoughts.
KTH: His name is Jeon Jungkook. His last known location was his apartment up north. I’ll send you the address and a picture.
He’s a man of his word, as the next text contains a map with the location marked by a round red pushpin. As much as you want to cremate Namjoon, Taehyung has given you the first lead you’ve had in months. If anything happened to Jungkook, you’d never forgive yourself.
*Bzz*
Well, that’s new. It’s a picture of Jungkook under a white duvet, his arm bent, his head propped on his hand. Most of his body was covered, but the amount of skin showing at the junction between his neck and shoulder lets you know he is naked. Or at most, shirtless. Both are equally hot options if you have anything to say about it.
His lips are pressed together into a coy smile, but his eyes are screaming “fuck me.” Like a personal challenge.
KTH: Oops. I didn’t mean to send that picture.
You: It’s fine. I got the jist of what he looks like.
Why he has such a suggestive photo of Jungkook in the first place was concerning, but not enough for you to press further.
Jungkook’s Point of View
My guard is up as my opponent swings his fists. His moves have zero technique, relying solely on blind rage as he tries to knock me out. Too bad I was quicker than him, playing the defensive first while I decided the best way to secure my victory.
As we shuffle around the caged ring, the burly man in front of me grows impatient, like a bull taunted by a red cape. The more he charged, the more I dodged. He hasn’t gotten a single hit in, which only spurs the crowd to cheer louder for me.
My heart is battering around in my rib cage, excited from the adrenaline rush. Having the spotlight on me, adoring fans, and exerting my muscles makes me feel alive. I don’t focus on anything else. I can’t. If I want to win, I transform whatever turmoil brews inside me into determination.
The rules are simple: no weapons, no biting, only fists and feet. Classic brawl style. We may be wolves, but there are boundaries, or our pride would cause a full-on slaughter.
The guy in front of me is drenched in sweat, and I see how his movements slowed—he was getting tired. It was time for me to go on the offensive.
I launch a kick, aiming for his right side. He caught it without even blinking, earning a choral gasp from the audience. They assume I’m in a bind, but I focus all my strength on my other leg and smack the dude across the face at lightning speed. He fell with a resounding thud, but I don’t wait for him to regain balance.
I hit him with all I got—jab, cross, jab, cross. Right hook, left hook. He cowered in the corner like a bitch and I knee him in the gut. It was like watching a boulder topple over, his pride smashed into smithereens. Throwing my arms up, I circle the cage to pump up morale. The crowd bangs their fists against the enclosure as I roar. The referee begins the countdown from ten.
Another victory added to my streak. Maybe I’ll treat myself and get laid tonight. I can smell the eager ones in the room and when I first got here, I always turned them down to be modest. Fuck that. I’m finally going to do it.
I scan the room for potential suitors when my eyes land on her. It was like tunnel vision where everyone else was blacked out and she was the light at the end. I’m nothing but a moth to her flame, so gobsmacked that I rub my eyes to ensure I wasn’t seeing things.
When I come to, she’s gone. There’s no way.
I worked so hard to get over her. Is my brain so fucked that it’s starting to make me hallucinate? It seems years of therapy did absolutely nothing. Thanks, Jin.
Next thing I know the big guy recovers and tackles me to the ground. He got a good hit in; I tasted blood. There was no time to dwell on a figment of my imagination. My thirst for victory shouldn’t be underestimated as I swing my fist square in his jaw. I wasn’t going down that easy.
Yikes. That’s a doozy.
I’ve been examining my face for five minutes now, hating how he split my lip open. Oh well. It’ll heal soon enough and I sent him home with far worse.
That was the last fight of the night, so I had the locker room all to myself. The staff went home after sending the customers on their way. I go to my locker, type in the combination, and pull out a spare change of clothes and a towel.
I head to the shower, placing my things on the bench. I undress, the first thing being my tank top, which had splotches of blood stained on the white fabric. Most of it wasn’t mine anyway, thankfully. I remove my shorts, discarding them in the same pile as my top.
I enter the shower and close the curtain, turning the water onto the hottest setting. Once it hits my skin, I throw my head back and feel my muscles release its tension as I bask in the warmth. I tilt my head forward to get my hair damp when thoughts of her creep into my mind.
It felt real. She looked real. I remembered everything about her appearance from head to toe even if I only saw her briefly.
Her hair was dyed now to a color that suited her features. She had minimal makeup on that further enhanced her natural beauty. Her body was adorned in black skinny jeans where the seams were in front, matching her black combat boots and leather jacket. Underneath was a short-sleeved v-neck, her cleavage prominent and so inviting. Ugh. I shouldn’t be thinking about her in such a way, but where was I supposed to look? Her push-up bra was doing god’s work.
Man, I’m so pathetic. I shouldn’t lust over her. She left me not once, but twice. What’s worse is she doesn’t know I remember everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept vervain on me that day. Would my life have turned out better?
I dispense some body wash into my hands, lathering it between my palms before rubbing my torso. My hands trail down to my groin area, and I thoroughly clean it because sweaty balls are such a turn-off. But then I wrap my hand around the base of my cock, stroking it slowly.
It looks like I’m washing it, but I already know what’s coming next. Memories of her are like shards of glass I can’t remove, embedded so deep that it scars. I reminisce about our past. How it felt to touch her, kiss her, love her. Her sweet moans, her soft breasts, her addictive scent. I’m palming myself and shuddering. Unlike her, my hands are calloused, but I pretend I have her soft touch.
I close my eyes and fantasize. I’d tear her clothes off with my bare teeth, mark all over her chest with my lips, turn her around, and take her. Indulge in my primitive urges and teach her a lesson. God, I wanted to fuck someone tonight, anyone, but my mind defaults to her.
The soap makes it easy to glide my hand up and down my cock. I’m going much faster now, my breaths more ragged. No one’s here anyway. So I moan. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just need to come and get this out of my system.
I’m about to finish when there’s a gasp outside my stall. My entire body stills and I don’t take a moment to ask “Who’s there?” like the stupid idiots you see in horror movies. I think about what to do next and then commit.
After turning off the water, I pull the curtain back and step out. I glance to my left to see the shower stall at the end has its curtain closed. It wasn’t like that before.
I put on my boxers because I sure as hell wasn’t going to face this intruder naked. I plan to charge in there and drag him out without saying a word. Other than the sound of my footsteps, it’s eerily quiet. I reach my hand out, but as soon as I’m about to grab the curtain, the shower turns on.
I hesitate, wondering if I’m about to be an asshole who’s about to expose an innocent soul out in the open. Before I built my reputation, I was jumped for being the new guy multiple times. That stopped after the third guy went home with three broken ribs though, but I can never be too careful. Some people were sore losers.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Great. I’m not only stupid but polite. I’m sure the person behind the curtain will slit my throat any moment, so I better act fast. I grab the curtain and attempt to pull it, but it’s stuck.
Or rather, someone is holding it still. I yank harder this time, but they refuse to budge. I use both hands, gripping it extra tight, and tug with all my might until the sound of torn fabric echoes in the room, revealing the culprit.
The person I thought I healed from, the one I once thought I would heal with, is standing right before me, her eyes as wide as mine. I can’t think straight, so my body moves without permission as I charge forward, pinning her to the wall face first. I have her arms pinned behind her back, catching my breath when I realized what I had done.
I don’t want her to look at me. Because then I’d have to accept the fact that she’s real.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Your Point of View
Where do you start? Do you tell him you tracked him down to the countryside and climbed down a creepy cellar door behind a barn only to find out he was an underground cage fighter? Or explain how you followed him to the locker rooms hoping to get a word with him until you tripped on your shoelaces?
It’s difficult to decide when he’s got your arms twisted behind your back. They were getting sore.
“I–I heard you were missing,” you say, wary of your next choice of words. “Can you please let me go?”
You attempt to move, but he holds your wrists with one hand while using the other one to render your head immobile. He uses enough force to press your cheek against the cold tile.
“I didn’t say you could move,” he warned, his voice laced with venom. “Congratulations, you found me. I’m no longer missing.”
“And you’re a cage fighter?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You’re cheating. This place is only for werewolves and you’re a—”
He flips you around so quickly you almost get whiplash, your back pinned to the wall while he covers your mouth. He has a murderous glare, his jaw clenches, and the vein near his temple bulges out. “Be quiet. You never know who’s listening.”
Your eyes drink him in, ogling him unashamed because his beauty should have been illegal. His hair was damp, but you can tell it’s cut short now. He didn’t have any piercings in, his natural beauty was enough to make anyone fall to their knees—which is exactly what you wanted to do for him. But you don’t make a sound.
You couldn’t help but notice the glorious sight of his inked sleeve. When did he get that many tattoos? You bet there was a story to each one, but before you can dwell on it, Jungkook shifts his hand from your mouth to your eyes.
There’s a sense of deja vu from his actions. The last time he covered your eyes was to prevent you from compelling him two years ago. Following through with such a heartbreaking decision was difficult, but you believed it was for the best.
As for now? You’re not sure.
“So you stalk me because you thought I was missing, follow me into the showers, and now you’re ogling me like a pervert?”
He got you there. “I… I didn’t mean to…”
“If the roles were reversed, I’d look like some sick freak. You invaded my privacy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. Let me ask you something, and I expect you to be honest: Were you listening to me earlier?” He saw you tuck your lower lip under your teeth like you wanted to seal the words shut. “Answer me. And don’t play dumb.”
“Yes,” you say, meek and pathetic. “I heard you.”
You can’t see him, but his eyes are crazed like he doesn’t know how to act around you. “And did you like what you heard?” He closes the gap between your bodies, his bare chest barely brushing against yours. His lips are ghosting across your own as he continues. “You like hearing me get off like some sick freak? Is that what you are? A fucking pervert?”
“N-No…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest.
His hot breath fans across your face. “I didn’t even get to finish.”
You gulp. “I… I could help you finish…”
Before your hand has a chance to sneak over to his lower region, he snatches it. “You aren’t allowed to touch me.”
“Technically, you touched me first.”
“Bratty now, are we? Don’t be flattered. I’d rather touch myself.” He releases your wrist, but his other hand is in the same spot, obstructing your sight. “I’m going to jerk off and you’re going to stand there until I’m finished.”
“What?”
“You heard me. And you’re going to keep hearing me until I’m satisfied. Understand?”
The constant steam from the shower was nearing the point of suffocation, but his words were far deadlier. “Okay.”
“Hands behind your back. I don’t want you tempted. Perverts like you can’t be trusted.”
You have to scold yourself for igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach from his slander, but you obey. Though you can’t see him, you hear the soft smacking sounds of him jerking his cock, surprised at how quickly he was to start.
If you had your sight, you’d be able to see how he is staring at your lips, wishing more than anything he could kiss you. How his eyes trail down to your cleavage and how the droplets of water made them look more enticing. His mind is racing a mile a minute through all his fantasies of how he’d take you, punish you, torment you until you were begging to come. As much as he does want to fuck you, you’re so damn gorgeous that admiring you was enough.
His moans sound like soft sobs the closer he approaches his climax, his hand speeding up. It’s erotic, whiny, and sexy when he’s so desperate. He’s grunting through gritted teeth, panting like he’s running out of breath. You wonder if he makes the same noises when he’s working out.
Fuck, you’d give anything to see him now. But his intentions were clear. You were to be still until he was finished.
“Does this turn you on?” he asks, his voice shaky. He lays his chin on your shoulder, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “I’m close.”
He lets out a choked gasp, whispering “fuck, fuck, fuck” as he pumps himself as fast as he can, reaching his high and submitting to the pleasure. It’s unbelievably erotic and he comes in his hand, catching the spurts of cum. He pulls back and stares at your lips again.
“Open.” Your mouth obeys willingly and he shoves two of his cum-soaked fingers inside. You close your lips around them, sucking them clean and savoring his taste. It’s bitter and slightly salty, but you welcome it. “Good girl.”
The praise brings a grin to your face. He rinses his hand under the water, turns it off, and finally releases his hold on you. You see the large expanse of his back as he walks away, almost drooling at his size. He slips on a loose black T-shirt, sweatpants, and slides.
He looks over his shoulder. “Do you need clothes?”
The question makes your heart swell. “I’m good.”
Jungkook hears you mutter words similar to Latin. He turns around to see your necklace glow when you rub it between your thumb and forefinger. Your clothes dry in an instant, and he chuckles. “When did you learn magic?”
“I’ve had some free time.”
He peers down to your feet, letting out a heavy sigh as he walks over. Getting down on one knee, he ties your shoelace and you can’t help but melt.
“I hope you have some free time now,” he says, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I’m not done with you yet. We need to talk.”
It’s past 3 AM. The air is cool and crisp, carrying a faint scent of hay. Stars are twinkling in the clear night sky while the moon casts a silvery glow, illuminating silhouettes of barns in the distance. It’s quiet since folks are deep in their slumber, so walks home are usually serene.
“Jungkook, wait up!”
Today’s an exception. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
You jog to catch up to his pace on the dirt road. He rolls his eyes but slows his steps, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t you say we needed to talk?”
He stops abruptly, and you almost bump into his mountainous form. “Okay. Talk. Why are you here? You made it clear the last time we met that you couldn’t stay.”
You fumble with your words, as your brain isn’t quite as speedy as your lips. “Well I… I wasn’t in my right mind then.”
“Did I hurt you?” Your expression softens when you see the concern in his features, those brown doe eyes so big and round that you can see your reflection in them. Had he spent all this time fearing the worst?
“No… not in the slightest. I left because I was embarrassed.”
“I don’t believe you. You looked at me like…” He closes his eyes as if the next words would pain him. “Like I was a mistake.”
“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head. “You are anything but a mistake.”
“Then why do I feel like you’re hiding something?” He invades your space, his large frame towering over yours. “Why are you really here, [Y/N]?”
This is your chance to tell him the truth. With one command, you can make him remember loving you and all the shared memories that came with it. You’re ready to love him the way he deserves, but the thing is… you’re not sure you deserve him. Consequences were in order and pain was inevitable. He’ll hate you. He’ll feel betrayed.
Panic takes charge, forming an excuse for you. “I told you… someone told me you went missing. I was worried.”
He raises an eyebrow, prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue like your answer was unsatisfactory. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”
“Kim Taehyung.”
Jungkook drops his arms to his side. “Wow. That son of a…” He clasps a hand to his forehead, pacing back and forth in utter disbelief. “Guess I have two stalkers.”
“What exactly is Taehyung’s relationship to you?”
He stops and faces you, looking like you had offended him. “There is no relationship. There will never be a relationship, but he doesn’t seem to get that! God!”
You place your hands on your hips. “I don’t understand.”
He decides against elaborating but quickly changes his mind after seeing you use Taehyung to deflect.
“He’s an old roommate. We used to fuck. Okay?” Time seems to stop between you two but for an entirely different reason. You’re abhorred, unable to comprehend the fact your ex fucked your other ex. This must be the universe’s punishment for messing with their memories. Because the Jungkook you know would have never sought him out after everything Taehyung put you through.
You fucked my ex?! The dude who tried to kill you?! The guy who backstabbed us and harmed us?! Are you insane?!
You have to bite your tongue before the house of cards collapses.
“I was experiencing my first rut. It was overwhelming. Not like I could fuck a human without hurting them. Permanently,” he adds, watching how your face morphs into one lost in thought. “What’s up?”
You snap out of it. “Oh. Nothing. Before Taehyung, I went west because there were rumors of the ‘Cervix Splitter’ and thought…”
He stares at you, mouth agape as he points to himself. “You thought that was me?!”
“I don’t know!” you say, holding your hands out with your palms up. “I think they might have a serial killer loose… damn.”
“Can we please stick to the subject?” he asks, exasperation coating every word. You nod and gesture for him to continue. “Anyway, he and I ran into each other and one thing led to another. We were both hybrids with needs. It was a good arrangement, but then he got obsessive. Wanted a relationship. I said no.”
You give him a look of sympathy as you recall how Taehyung reacted when you broke up with him. Even though you erased your existence from his mind, it seems his obsessive tendencies lingered. Some things never change. “He didn’t like that very much, did he?”
“What do you think? I ran away, so he’d leave me alone. It worked for the past few months until you showed up.” He narrows his eyes into slits. “Did you tell him I was here?”
“No. He keeps texting me though.”
He points an accusatory finger at you. “You’re not going to tell him anything. Got it?”
“I won’t. But if you keep that tone up, I might reconsider,” you warn.
“And how would that benefit you? Do you know Taehyung?”
Unfortunately. “It’s my job to help those in need in the supernatural community.”
“What are you, the Scooby Doo gang?” He steps back to laugh. “Is this what you’ve been up to since you’ve left?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” you scold. “Helping is what I do. I’m good at it. It clears my mind.”
“Okay. Then you can ‘help’ yourself out of here. Tell Taehyung you didn’t find me while I go home and rest. I’m exhausted.”
He dashes off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. You follow at once and encounter a quaint cottage surrounded by forestry. Jungkook waits at the front door, folding his arms across his chest.
“Do you need something else?” he asks. You swear you can see the cogs turning in his mind, unable to figure out what’s your angle.
“Are you going to continue fighting?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. It’s a great stress reliever. Keeps me from…” His eyes flit to your lips for a brief second. “... overthinking. Plus I get great perks. Respect. Fans. Money.”
“You don’t need money.”
“I know, but it’s a power trip having it. Besides, people bet on me. I’d hate to let my loyal benefactors down.”
You mirror his stance, folding your arms as displeasure passes your face. “You’re a hybrid. It’s a given you’ll win every fight and that’s not fair to their pack.”
“Only if they find out.” You’re about to counteract his argument, but he beats you to it. “Look. Boxing’s my thing. I enjoy the rush it gives me. Exerting my muscles, feeling that sweet burn, and fighting until my body gives out—it’s addicting. I feel alive.”
His eyes shimmer with every word he speaks like he was putting on a speech to inspire high school kids. It only brings you more dread when there’s a confession on the tip of your tongue.
“Well… do you have to box here?”
“I like it here. Now if you don’t mind…”
He pulls out his keys, turns around, and inserts them into the lock. You nibble on your thumbnail, scrambling to come up with another excuse. Once he enters, you use your enhanced speed and invite yourself in.
“Can I stay?” you ask, quick to shut the door. He chuckles, impressed by your tenacity.
“What is with you? Don’t you have a Cervix Splitter to catch? Please leave.”
The words bubble up in your throat, forcefully coming to the surface like word vomit. “You can’t stay here!”
The outburst garners his undivided attention as he stares at you dumbfounded like there is Wii music playing in the background. “Why?”
“There’s some people who know you’re a hybrid…” you reveal, your voice reduced to a mere squeak.
“What did you say?” he asks through gritted teeth. You don’t reply and he repeats himself, this time with a lower volume, which spooks you more than if he was shouting. “What did you do?”
“When I came here to find you, I asked if anyone saw you. I showed them a picture and told them you’re a hybrid. Thought it’d make it faster…” You let out a small laugh. “I was kinda right…”
Jungkook looks like he’s at a crossroads of whether to hate you or murder you. Or both. “Why would you expose me like that?”
“I didn’t know it was a secret.” He lifts his fist at an angle toward the door, and you wait for him to slam it down in anger. However, he sighs and lowers his hand slowly, splaying his fingers against the wood. You blink twice, choosing your next words carefully. “I don’t understand. Why would you hide the fact you’re a hybrid?”
He holds onto the sides of his head like he is about to rip his hair out. “Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm is dripping in every word. “Did you forget how your grandparents tried to kill us when they discovered your existence?”
What did he say?
His hands drop down by his side as do yours. Realization dawns upon you two, the world coming to a screeching halt. Shock renders you immobile as the gears in your head try to turn, but they’re overwhelmed by the million questions plaguing your mind. He shouldn’t know that. He shouldn’t remember that. Unless… he never forgot.
“You remember me… You remember everything,” you say in a breathy tone. You should’ve seen it coming, especially with how he acted at the wedding. “How do you—“
“I had vervain on me,” he confesses without the slightest remorse.
You take a small step back, almost stumbling. “So this whole time… you never forgot me? You knew what I did and didn’t say anything? You slept with Taehyung?!”
“That’s what you got from this? That’s what you choose to focus on?” His question pins you for a fool.
“Because that’s the stupidest thing you could’ve done! I erased his memories so he could start fresh. Same with you!”
“What difference does it make? I asked, no, I begged you not to erase my memories and you did it anyway.”
You steel yourself to remain calm. “Because I didn’t want you burdened by me anymore. I thought I was doing what was best for you.”
He tilts his head, his eye slightly twitching as he raises a finger like he is about to lecture you. “Stop. Stop saying it was best for me when the reality was, you were only thinking about yourself.” He takes a sharp inhale. “You wanna know why I got with Tae? Because I was a mess when you left. Devastated. Broken people look for broken people, [Y/N].”
You threw your head back. “Oh my god... This is precisely why I wanted you to forget.”
He almost snarls. “You don’t get it, do you? You always do this. You make decisions without my consent. I never asked to be a hybrid, I never asked for any of this shit.”
You place a hand on your chest, offended. “I’m sorry, you’re upset I turned you to save your life?”
“You turning me was what started this whole mess,” he spits out, revulsion apparent. “I was sired to you, I fell in love with you, I went through hell and back only for it to not matter in the end. You left me. I could forgive you the first time, but not for the second.”
There aren’t any words you can say to combat this.
“I remember everything about you. About us,” he says, the look in his eyes resembling a kicked puppy. “I remember what you said the day you tried to compel me.”
“Don’t,” you plead. He throws your words back at you in a rather snarky manner.
“‘When I’m ready, I’ll come to you and you can decide then if you’ll have me.,” he quotes. “I used to think I’d be okay waiting for you to come around… but that was incredibly stupid. You came back only to abandon me again and for what? To go around playing vigilante?”
“Jungkook…”
“No, I’m not done.” He starts to pace back and forth. “Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted? Of course not. Because in the end, it’s all about you. You should’ve erased everything. What was the point of only erasing my love for you, huh?”
“What do you want me to say?” you ask, fighting back tears.
“I want you to tell me the truth. You erased Taehyung’s memories of you because he was a psychopath but spared me the smallest glimpse. Why? Why not erase it all?”
“Because I love you!” you exclaim. He stops pacing, shooting you a skeptical glare. “And knowing that you still remembered me, even a tiny part of me, was comforting enough to help me move on. I needed space.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet? But I’m not your safety net, [Y/N].” He walks over to his front door and pulls it open. “Get out.”
You shake your head. “Jungkook, please.”
“Either you get out or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and force you out.”
The resentment he had must’ve grown exponentially over the years. If you push him further than you already had, he might snap. So you exit his house but go for one final attempt at whatever relationship you can salvage with him.
“Please let me stay. I can protect you from those cage fighters if they decide to get even.”
“No. You’ve done enough.”
“Jungkook—”
“Enough!” His voice carries, causing birds to flutter their wings and find solace in another tree further away. You watch as he towers over you again, but beneath his icy glare is a heartbroken man. “Since I first saw you, I have belonged to you completely.”
He tightens his fists, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before saying the next part.
“I have always belonged to you. And for that, I suffered. I came here to escape, to heal, and it worked. I was at peace and you waltz in here, stirring up chaos in my life where it’s not welcomed.” His eyes never waver and you don’t dare look away. “And what’s funny is how you expect me to do what? Take you back?”
“I… I don’t know. I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” he finishes for you. “Do you think it’s easy seeing you? I’m angry, [Y/N]. You make me so mad I can’t even think straight.”
“Then yell at me! Don’t push me away.”
“I’m pushing you away because I know you. And I know what hurts you the most.” He caresses your face longingly, slowly, like it’d be the last time. His fingers ghost the surface of your skin, and you lean in, desperate for more. But he pulls back. “Either you choose me or you lose me. And it’s too late to choose me now. Goodbye [Y/N].”
“No,” you say like a stubborn child. “I don’t want to leave you. I’m afraid to lose you. Please.”
He clicks his tongue at you as he shakes his head. “I suggest you face your fears. It’s not like this is the first time.”
The last thing you see is the door being slammed in your face.
Jungkook’s Point of View
That was the worst sleep of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how I left her. She deserved all my venomous words, but empathy made me regret everything. Why do we even need such an emotion when all it does is make us feel like shit?
It’s pitch black in my room. The low-pitched sound of the air conditioner is my only companion. I enjoy being alone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely. I shouldn't get used to missing her, but I’m used to it again. I wish she were here.
I decide to get dressed and quickly leave the house. For once the angel and devil on my shoulder agree, pressing me to find her but for two different reasons. One says to forgive and forget, the other craves to deliver punishment and commit sins.
I tell myself I’m going hunting instead. Rabbits and squirrels fall prey to my clutches and I feel a pang in my heart when I drink their blood, but I have to survive somehow. Before I knew it, it was dark outside and the moon looked lonely, almost like it was crying in the night sky.
I couldn’t find her. I searched all day, but the countryside is vast, and I’m drenched in sweat. Checking the time on my watch, I see I’m late for my next fight.
Shit.
It’s fine. She’s an Original Hybrid and can take care of herself.
Rushing back to the barn, I circle to find the angled cellar door. I pull the handle, descend downstairs, and run into one of the bouncers. Aside from cage fighting, the underground establishment is used for clubbing and drinking most days of the week. I hear the heavy bass from the music, feeling the ground shake from the vibrations. I greet the bouncer with a handshake, but he stares at me like I had pissed in his thermos.
“Ms. Lim wants to see you,” he says, his voice gruff. He gestures his bald head towards the door that says “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” on the right, so I head there. There’s a narrow hallway and at the end of the corridor is her office. I slowly open the door.
“Jungkook,” Her nasal voice already has a trace of annoyance as I poke my head in. She’s sitting behind her desk with two henchmen about twice my size, both dressed in suits with their hands clasped in front. “Come in please.”
I do what she says and she points to the chair in front, so I sit. “Hello, Ms. Lim. I know I’m late, I’m sorry. Can I have the next fight?”
Her mouth twitches. “No. We need to talk.”
She snaps her fingers and the two bodyguards stand on either side of me, each placing a firm hand on my shoulders. When I squirm, they hold me tighter as if cementing me still. I let out a nervous laugh, feigning innocence. “What’s going on?”
The middle-aged woman adjusts her thick-rimmed glasses, scoffing like I was being impolite in the presence of royalty. “I run a tight-knit business, Jungkook. My wolves… They follow me. They listen to me. Because I’m honest and upfront. I don’t dish out bullshit.”
She stands, placing her hands behind her back as she circles the front of her desk, closing the gap between us.
“Wolves like to fight. It’s in our nature to have some aggression. Here you can release it in a healthy, controlled environment,” she says. “When you first arrived, I liked you right away. The sheer arrogance you had, the drive to win—you were a natural for the ring. People bet on you because you never let them down.” She leans against her desk, lowering her glasses onto the tip of her nose bridge to look at me. “You don’t want to let people down, right?”
The bait can’t be more obvious, but I indulge her anyway. “Of course not.”
My answer seems to placate her and she puts her finger under my chin, tilting my head up. “Then I need you to tell me the truth. What are you, Jungkook?”
“I’m a wolf. Just like you, ma’am.” Not like that was a complete lie. I am a wolf. Half.
She grips my chin harder, her pupils blown so wide that they overtook her irises. “Is that all?”
“Look, it’s clear you know something so why don’t you…” She whips out a pistol from underneath the slit in her long dress and I stare down the barrel without moving a muscle.
“There’s no fear in your eyes. Probably because you know and I know that this crummy little thing won’t kill you.” She pulls the trigger, but the shot is empty. I try my best not to scowl as she puts it away. “One of my men ran into a strange girl yesterday. She was hysterical, almost aggressive in asking about you.”
“Make your point.”
“She told me you were a hybrid. Is that true?”
I lean back against the chair, my shoulders less tense now that the secret is out. “Yes. So what? I’m still part wolf.”
“You’re half-wolf,” she corrects. “I don’t give a damn about you being a hybrid. But I do care that you weren’t fully transparent with me. And people talk. Word gets around I’m letting a hybrid take all the winnings and my business is done.”
“No one has to know.”
“Oh darling… she blabbed all over town about you. I’m sure everyone already knows. But I have a deal for you if you want to stay.”
Judging from her toothy smile, the chances of this deal being more beneficial for her than me are high. “What deal?”
“Do you know how much money I can make if I put two hybrids against each other?” she asks, flashing a smirk. “Especially with a pretty little thing like her against someone like you. The crowd would go wild.”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass. She’s not into cage fighting and I don’t hit women.”
“Who says she’s not?” I don’t like her tone and the insinuation behind it. “Darling, who do you think is taking your place right now?”
“What?”
“[Y/N] is fighting her heart out at this very moment. The wolves adore her. Probably because I said whoever beats her gets to breed her.”
This time I force myself to stand, knocking out both men when they attempt to grab me again with a one-two combo. They collapse with a resounding thud, and I head straight for Ms. Lim. I’m holding her dress collar and lifting her in the air, but she remains unphased.
“Where is she?”
“I see she’s important to you.”
“Where is she?!” I shout, not caring that I spit on her.
“She turned you, right? How’d she do it? Did you two have sex?”
“I’m not asking you again,” I warn. She wraps her hand around my wrist, her irises shifting to a muted gold as she pries my hold off her, dislocating my hand. I curse in pain, fully prepared to retaliate, but she snaps her fingers three times.
I hear footsteps from behind me and the door opens with a loud slam. Looking over my shoulder, I see about fifty men in black suits who are bigger than me enter the room. They all bear matching stoic expressions, but their fists are up and ready as their pointed glares shoot in my direction.
“There isn’t much information on hybrids and experimenting on an Original is too good of an opportunity to pass up. I’m sure my boys would love to breed her. Then business would be booming with hybrid fighters at my side!” Ms. Lim cries.
My blood is boiling and I swear I’m seeing red. I snap my wrist back into place without breaking eye contact and backhand her across the face. She falls to the floor, stunned, holding the side of her cheek. “I thought you said you don’t hit women!”
“My apologies. I meant beautiful women.”
Three men grab me—one at each arm and the last holding my waist. The others line up, each taking a jab at me. The first punch is aimed at my stomach. One breaks my nose. Another hits me square in the jaw. I see stars by the time Ms. Lim stands, holding her hand up for them to stop.
“How dare you? Oh, I’m going to make sure your little girlfriend is knocked up. Poor thing has no clue what plans I have for her.”
I muster enough strength to spit at her, flicking droplets of blood onto her face. She shrieks in disgust and slaps me in return. I only laugh like a madman.
“Good luck… she’s infertile…” I say, trying to find my breath. “And my girl can take care of herself. She won’t lose.”
“It’s okay. I can still find plenty of uses for her. If my boys can’t breed her, they can still fuck her once they’re done with you. I bet she screams pretty,” Ms. Lim says.
“You’re lying!”
“Am I?” She snaps her fingers again, prompting the last man who punched me to step forward. He pulls out something gold from his pocket, dangling it in front of me like a carrot for a rabbit. My face falls when I recognize the double moon charms. “Mr. Ahn here is the first one that defeated [Y/N]. He’ll get to have her first.”
The douchebag has a devilish grin as he slips the necklace over my head. He pats my cheek twice before smacking it hard on the third. I bare my teeth, more than ready to kick his ass, but other men are holding me still.
“I’m going to check the status of our beautiful prize and see if she’s ready for Mr. Ahn,” Ms. Lim declares, exiting the room with the sleazy bastard. Right before she closes the door, she sticks her head in and adds, “Whoever gets that necklace from him gets to have her next.”
The door shuts and I’m shouting curses at her until my throat is hoarse. All sense of self-control goes out the window as I unleash my wrath, my anger blinding me as my fists take control. In cage fights, I’ve had to hold back. But now? I’m ready to demolish anyone who gets in my way.
Your Point of View
After Jungkook kicked you out, you roamed the area for a place to stay. With your abilities, you had endless options: an inn, a motel, a farmhouse, or even the forest if you prefer. Heartbroken, you planned to wolf out until a middle-aged woman found you on the side of the road.
She drove beside you, parked her car, and rolled down her windows. Your first instinct was to walk away, but she mentioned Jungkook and how she was his boss. She told you how her place wasn’t too far away, offering a place for you to stay the night.
Questions kept pouring out of you, but she wouldn’t answer until you agreed to her offer. Your guard was up the whole night despite the fact she was a werewolf too. She doted on you with tea and snickerdoodles, but you didn’t dare take a bite until after she did.
Though you were on edge most of the night, her aura was warm, like a grandmother’s love or what you could only imagine as such. Your grandparents tried to eradicate you for being a hybrid, believing that your existence was an abomination. It’s funny how Ms. Lim, someone not blood-related, treated you far better than they ever did.
She answered your questions about Jungkook, but you didn’t dare overshare about your relationship with him. She persuaded you to join her the next day at work, offering the gym and free training sessions with her best fighters. You weren’t sure at first, but then ultimately gave in.
The next day Ms. Lim gave you a tour of the underground cellar and you couldn’t believe how massive it was. Everyone you encountered greeted you like one of the family, and you got to learn new fighting techniques with her bodyguards.
When it was nighttime, Ms. Lim suggested you fight for real. You worried it’d be unfair, but she assured you the opponents were more than willing.
Your first opponent is a man who looks like the descendant of a Viking. His muscles are so large you can see the veins bulging underneath his skin. He gives you a crooked smile, which you would’ve found somewhat attractive if he hadn’t made a sexist comment the next second.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in the ring? Hasn’t no one swept you off your feet and wed you yet?” You make the first move and use his words against him, sweeping him off his feet with your leg. He falls flat on his back and laughs while the crowd cheers. “It’s a shame. You’d make a great mother.”
“I’ll pass,” you say, sounding extra snarky.
“Come on. You know you can’t beat me.”
The man got back up only to be taken down again with a skillful spin kick, causing his back to slam against the cage. You smirk as his expression shifts to anger, and he tackles you to the opposite side like a mad bull. Grunts come from both sides as you use your elbow, jabbing the top of his head until he lets go.
You jump high and hang from the top of the cage, using your strong thighs to hold his head hostage. His oxygen depletes as his face turns purple, clawing at your legs but you don’t let up. His hands fall to his sides before his body collapses. Only then do you let go and land in a cool pose, feeling like a superhero.
The crowd goes wild and you jump up and down like a kid who scored the winning goal. “I did it!”
You see why Jungkook loved this place so much. It’s an indescribable feeling, a rush of exhilaration as glory consumes you.
Once you see Ms. Lim and her main bodyguard, you step out of the ring and greet her. “Ms. Lim, did you see? I won!”
She wraps her arm around your shoulder, giving you a toothy grin. “I know. I told you you’d do well. Let me show you your prize.”
You gasp. “I get a prize?”
She leads you through the sea of fans. “Of course. Everyone gets compensated.”
You enter a door that leads you to a narrow hallway. The lights were dim, but it was enough for you to see something horrific. From where you stand to the door at the end are unconscious bodies strewn across the floor. Some are slumped against the wall, others are flat on their back or stomachs, each carrying some deformity. There’s blood splattered on the floor, but it wasn’t gorey enough to be deemed a bloodbath (though the sight was still alarming).
“What the fuck happened?” you ask. Ms. Lim screams in shock when she steps in, covering her mouth as she stumbles back. If not for Mr. Ahn, she probably would’ve fallen.
The door at the end of the corridor opens and you hear ragged breathing. There you see Jungkook stagger out, barely able to hold himself up with one arm. He has cuts on his face and a black eye, so his vision is halved. His tank top is in shreds, the fabric hanging by a thread as it dangles from his bruised body.
He regains part of his strength once he sees you. “[Y/N]?”
You rush over to catch him before he falls. “Jungkook, what happened?!”
He’s putting his entire weight on you, close to fainting. But one look at Ms. Lim and he’s fired up. “That bitch… I’m gonna kill her…”
Ms. Lim wastes no time, urging Mr. Ahn to run away with her while you’re left bamboozled. “Ms. Lim?”
“She’s going to pay… She’s going to…”
Jungkook can’t fight his body’s limits anymore. The last thing he sees is darkness.
Sunlight pours through the window, stirring Jungkook from his slumber. He slowly opens one eye, surprised to see snow-covered trees and clear skies outside. In a daze, he sits up, holding his side as a sharp pain shoots through his body. He’s quick to notice his upper body has been covered in gauze and bandages.
Whoever did it was meticulous. His chest and shoulders are tightly bound in layers, protecting his battered torso. The bandages crisscrossed over his ribcage, some were wrapped around his biceps, with the gauze extending down to his forearms. Bloodstains seeped through while he was asleep, but they don’t warrant any concern for now.
Jungkook touches his face, finding the cut on his cheek and upper lip taken care of. His other eye is no longer swollen, allowing him to observe his surroundings. He sees he’s in a cozy room, the wood ceiling and floors making him believe he’s at a lodge. There’s a large window to his right as well as a nightstand. The lamp sitting atop casts a warm golden glow, and Jungkook turns it off by pulling the string.
There’s a gentle knock on the door. “Jungkook? Are you awake?”
He lays back down, covering his body with the duvet and closing his eyes as if he had never woken up. The doorknob jostles as you enter the room, holding a cup of water. You see his state and tip-toe closer, setting the mug on the nightstand.
Staring at people while they sleep is creepy, but Jungkook looks angelic. Even if his face was marred, it didn’t stunt his beauty. If anything, his injuries made him more beautiful, the bandages being proof of his protectiveness. What he was protecting, you don’t know.
“When you wake up, we seriously have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, pulling a nearby stool to sit on. “I don’t know why you did what you did. Ms. Lim and her men were so nice to me. She let me stay at her place after you kicked me out.”
You stick your tongue at him like a brat but end up giggling at your immaturity.
“You were right to kick me out though,” you say, sighing. “Even with the best intentions, I can’t make things right. I’m sorry. Trust me, no one is more frustrated with me than me. That’s why when Ms. Lim suggested for me to fight, I didn’t hesitate.”
You ball your fists. “But it was so fun. I won my fight like bam! Bam! Bam!” You punch the air at each onomatopoeia, and Jungkook has to refrain from laughing. Why were you so cute?
“I get why you do it now. I’ve always had to fight for survival. I didn’t think it could be… gratifying. Anyway, I support your cage-fighting career,” You purse your lips. “But I guess you don’t have one anymore, considering what you did back there. I’m honestly confused. Why did you hurt them? I chased after Ms. Lim and uh… well, she burned your house down.”
You wait a second as if he’d respond. “She told us to never come back with no explanation… I didn’t even get my prize for winning,” you huff.
Jungkook grunted, almost like he didn’t like what he was hearing. He turns onto his side, so he’d be facing away from you and wraps himself in a blanket burrito. The spot where he once lay had something gold in it. You carefully pick it up and caress the double moon charms with your thumb.
“My necklace…”
You stare at the back of his head, the gears in your head turning as you try to put the puzzle pieces together. Upon closer inspection, you notice faint bloodstains on the back of the charms and some on the chain.
“Did one of those men have my necklace? You beat up thirty men for it?”
“It was around fifty, but who’s counting?”
Your breath hitches, wondering if you were hearing things. Jungkook slowly sits up, resting his back against the headboard and flashing a cheeky grin. Heat spreads to the apples of your cheeks.
“Were you awake this whole time?”
“Maybe.” He gives you a quick once over. “Are you hurt? Did anyone touch you?”
“Hmm? I’m fine. I should be asking you that. You took a beating and I’m still confused as to why.”
He slumps against the headboard, sagging like a dramatic blob. “God, you’re dense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? My necklace is all bloody… was this the prize Ms. Lim intended to give me?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes so far back they might as well get stuck. “Ms. Lim’s prize wasn’t the necklace. It was you. You were her men’s prize after the fight. She planned to let them have their way with you.”
Your eyes fall to the ground, your heart heavier than an anchor in a bottomless sea. Jungkook sees how you clutch the necklace in your fist, wishing he hadn’t revealed the truth so bluntly.
“Hey… I’m sorry,” he begins. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No. I was naive. After what happened with my grandmother, I thought Ms. Lim was different. Anyway,” you say, changing the subject. “That’s why you did what you did?”
“I thought she had you trapped somewhere. Or that without your necklace, you were at a disadvantage. She told me Mr. Ahn defeated you and I just went berserk at the thought of something happening to you.”
It’s hard not to see the love he has for you in those beautiful eyes of his. “I never fought Mr. Ahn, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve won. I’m freakin’ awesome in the ring.”
Jungkook chuckles. “I know. I never doubted your skills. She riled me up and I assumed the worst.”
“Well… Thank you for looking out for me. I’m glad to have my necklace back. I thought I lost it for good.”
“I thought I lost you.”
Time comes to a standstill. No more words are shared, yet so much is being said through simple eye contact, an unspoken language only the two of you understand. Your hearts are burning, aching with desire, but you don’t dare act on it. You don’t deserve him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself to maintain restraint.
“Can I put it on you?” he asks, pointing to the piece of jewelry in your hand.
“Oh! Yeah, sure.” A white glow emits from your fist and when you open your palm, Jungkook sees the necklace is spotless. You hand it to him and shift positions, so your back is towards him. He scoots closer, his legs now dangling off the bed.
When he brushes your hair away, your body tenses up. You see the gold chain from above before it settles on your collarbone. Jungkook leans in, getting a better view of the clasp but struggles to attach it. Seconds tick by like hours, but you don’t mind how long he takes. His hot breath on the nape of your neck is distracting you anyway.
“Almost got it…” he mumbles. And thank goodness too because you didn’t realize you were holding your breath the entire time. Once he’s finished, he leans back but you turn your head to the side and almost end up kissing him.
“Oh sorry, I—” You move away, but he places his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.
“Stay.”
Stay still? Stay with him? Whatever he meant, it sounded like a command, a challenge, a test. You’re entranced by how close he is, your nose about to touch his, and his lips—fuck. They’re drawing near, but he stops a centimeter away and smirks like a damn tease. You swear you’re on fire, the heat radiating off his body further exacerbating things.
His eyes droop down, but it’s not to your lips. Rather, he takes his free hand and holds the double moon charms between his forefinger and thumb, sliding it until it’s positioned in the center.
“There,” he says, still far too close. There’s a deep yearning in his eyes, a passion he longs to share with you, but he’s holding himself back. “Don’t go anywhere.”
You pout. “What, suddenly you’re okay with me around?”
“Seeing you drives me mad, but not seeing you makes me insane,” An aw almost slips out of you, but you nod instead. “I’m trying so hard to hate you…” he whispers.
You match his volume. “Why?”
“Because it’s easier than admitting the opposite.” He finally releases his hold and leans back, allowing you to regain a semblance of sanity. “So where are we exactly?”
You fiddle with your necklace and try not to dwell on his words. “I used a teleportation spell and it took us here.”
“Randomly?”
“No. I didn’t know what to do, so I cast a spell to take me to Professor Jin. He’s here with Namjoon. They’re on vacation.”
All of a sudden Jungkook groans and he’s clutching his abdomen. “Ah fuck...”
You jump out of your seat to examine him closer. “What’s going on?”
Sweat forms on his upper lip, his body temperature rising steadily as if someone turned on the heater to its max. It’s an all too familiar feeling. He laughs at the horrid timing, but it exacerbates his pain.
“I’m going to need you to learn a new spell,” he says, panting so much you fear he’d pass out.
“Why?”
“Because I’m about to go into a rut,” he answers, glaring at you like you’ve made a grave mistake, “and I don’t have boxing to distract me anymore.”
“Do you want me to help—”
“No,” You can’t help but feel offended, and undesired, but he adds, “I don’t want to take advantage of you. It’s not right.”
“Okay…” You rub your arm and like the keen observer he was, he tacks on another thing and you’re not sure if he’s trying to make you feel better or himself.
“I don’t give consent because it’s out of my control. Our time together shouldn’t be influenced or pressured because of other circumstances.”
You almost laugh at the hilarity of that statement. “Isn’t that the whole basis of our relationship? Everything always comes with a condition. This is exactly why I left…”
Jungkook’s pained expression morphs into something worse—dismay. You go for damage control, wishing you could take those words back and shove them far into the depths of your mind where they couldn’t hurt anyone.
“I’m sorry,” you say, full of regret, “I shouldn’t have said that. If you say no, I understand. It’s a no.”
“It’s fine. Not like you’re wrong. Can you go get Jin please?”
Jungkook’s Point Of View
I want to tear these bandages off. And then my skin. It’s too damn hot and the timer on my sanity is dwindling. The snow outside looks inviting and is the only blanket I want covering me.
A knock on the door garners my attention and [Y/N] rushes in, carrying something silver between her fingers.
“Sorry for the wait, I got it!” Fuck, she smells incredible. There’s nothing on Earth that can compare to her delicate, sweet aroma. It’s my Kryptonite, my guilty pleasure. Once she draws near, I pin her to the bed, ignoring the soreness of the muscles I was supposed to be recuperating. “Jungkook?”
I snuggle into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent like some deranged pervert as I squeeze her hip. The closest description is like a honey-sweet fruit, ripe for picking. But fruit bruises easily when they fall into the wrong hands. And now she’s in mine.
She whimpers softly, and it only further fuels my arousal. “It shouldn’t be this easy yet your hold over me is… pathetic.”
I hover over her face and bring a hand up to squeeze her cheeks, forcing her lips to pucker. Cute.
“Do you know what filthy things I want to do to you? I’ve been fantasizing for years about this moment,” I say, unable to contain my smirk. Her chest heaves against mine and the panic that flashes across her face is adorable. I loosen my grip a bit so she can reply.
“Tell me then,” she breathes and I chuckle at how wobbly her voice sounds.
“I wanna fuck you like I hate you. It’s not going to be that tender bullshit, I’m going to be rough. I’m going to use you and all your holes until you’re screaming and I’m the only one that occupies your thoughts, so you can see the hell you put me through when you left. I’m going to bring you to heaven only to drag you back down to Earth and make you sin harder.”
I can smell much more than fear coming from her silence. Her fingers are clutching what I can now see is a silver body chain. She’s fast, but I’m faster as I pin her wrist down before she can put it on me. Her hand is hanging over the edge of the bed and I grip her wrist, upping the pressure and twisting slightly until she groans in pain, dropping the chain. It falls with a soft clink and I give her an amused grin.
“Was that mediocre thing supposed to quell my urges?” I taunt.
“Ideally, yes,” she remarks, unable to hide her bratty attitude. “Let me put it on you.”
“No.”
She gives me a look like I’m a bad child about to be put on time-out. Maybe I want to be bad. “Jungkook.”
“Come on… you said it yourself. You want to help,” I use my thigh to part her legs. “I’m in desperate need of it.”
She scoots her body upwards to get away, but like a parasite, I latch on and follow, pressing my entire body weight on her. “Jungkook, no. You said no. This isn’t you.”
“Oh, but what if it is?” She stops squirming and my eyes widen like I’ve gone insane, glad to have her attention. “What if this dark, twisted, horny part of me is who I am? What if I want to ravage you and my rut is simply pushing me to finally not hold back on loving you?”
“You… love me?”
Somehow that question pulls me from the depths of lust for a split second. “I never stopped.”
There’s a silent period where we stare at each other. Sometimes I think we’d hold the world record for how long one can zone out, lost in a world of our own. But my needs resurface, clouding my mind with crazed lust. I’m corrupted by something I can’t control and no matter how hard I resist, she’ll be in the crossfire.
She must have noticed her small window of opportunity because she pushed me off with her inhumane strength. I bounce on the mattress when I land on my back as she scrambles to grab the chain off the floor. She makes a break for the door, but I block it, tackling her to the ground so I can feel her soft body against mine again.
We tussle and roll around like animals, the chain flying across the floor during the scuffle. It’s a wild game of Capture The Flag, each of us diving for the coveted item. She’s on her stomach, crawling towards it until I take her ankles and drag her backward, cackling like a madman. And like in horror movies, she screams and squirms, kicking me until I let go.
She drags her body forward, snatches the chain, flips around, and clamps her thighs around my head. Her strong muscles could probably break a watermelon, but I welcome the constriction.
“Ooh, yes, make it hurt,” I choke out, wheezing out a short laugh. Revulsion in her scowl, she cages me in tighter, and I pull back so she slides towards me. Using my remaining strength, I lift her so she’s now perched atop my shoulders, her sweet pussy right where I want it. I dart my tongue out to lick a stripe, the barrier of her leggings so thin that she yelps from the contact.
I’m on my knees and I move forward, pressing her back against the wall. It supports her weight and I pin her hands down, so she can’t sneak the chain on me. She’s shouting at me, but I only hum in return, so she can feel the vibrations of my lips close to her lower ones.
“Jungkook, let me go!”
“I can already taste you… such arrogance to think you can handle me.”
I look up through her thighs, earning a sharp inhale from her. “Trust me… I’ve been holding back.”
She chants foreign words under her breath and my ears soon discover a sharp ringing noise, making my brain feel like it’s being shredded by a cheese grater. I hold my head with both hands, toppling over and releasing her as we both fall to the floor. When the cacophony subsides, I see she’s standing above me with the lamp. She’s ruthless as she smashes it against my head, the glass shards scattering everywhere.
I lay on my stomach, dazed, and she put the chain on me hastily. It glows as it erases all forms of rage and lust, and my mind clears while my soul aligns. That’s when the painful sensations of my injuries I had ignored earlier hit me in full force.
With impeccable timing, the door to our room swings open, and in comes Jin and Namjoon. Jin has his arms up in a fighting pose, his hands encasing two pink orbs prepared for attack. Namjoon has his crossbow gun pointed at me until [Y/N] waves him off with a dismissive gesture.
“You’re a bit late. Put it down.”
The orbs flicker out and Namjoon lowers his weapon, being the first to speak. “What happened?”
“Things got… rough. I put the chain on him. He’s fine now.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “Can someone please get the first aid kit? I’m bleeding again…”
Your Point of View
Jin’s making it a point to be hospitable. He dragged you around the lodge, indulging you in all the amenities the lodge offers. From paying for your food and drinks to complimentary snowboarding, it was almost like he was overcompensating.
While he was gracefully swerving down the hill, you spent most of your time falling face-first into the snow, frustrated at the bulky clothes you had on. You called it quits and he finally yielded to your pleas.
Back at the lodge, you shed yourself of your multiple layers, feeling like an onion. At least now you can caramelize by the fireplace in the lobby while sipping on a piping-hot cup of cocoa.
Jin makes his presence known, plopping himself onto the same futon where you sat with a refreshed “Ah, hot cocoa. Delicious!”
You roll your eyes when he holds his mug out, but you clink your cup against his anyway. “I hope you and Namjoon had your fun in the shower. That’s a nasty hickey.”
He coughs, adjusting his turtleneck to cover up said blemish. “Sorry. I didn’t know you would need me.”
“It’s fine,” you say, glancing around for any unwanted spectators. You whisper the next part. “I grabbed your spellbook and did it myself.”
He bears a proud smile, looking like he is about to deliver well-deserved praises when suddenly, his expression falls. Setting down his beverage, he seemed rather pale despite being near the fireplace. He looks up at the night sky and you follow his gaze. “Oh shit…”
You set down your drink too, paying no mind as it sloshes enough to spill over. “Jin… what’s wrong?”
“It’s a full moon…”
“Yeah. And?”
He shoots up like a rocket and sprints upstairs to his room. You follow at once, off-put by his erratic behavior. He’s found his spellbook on the bed where you left it, flipping through the pages so quickly, you thought they’d rip. Once he settles on the desired section, he shoves the book in your face.
“Is this the spell you used?!”
You eye the page in its fancy script, seeing the same picture of a wolf howling under the moon. “Yes. It says Binding Chain at the top and I read it. It suppresses a male’s rut.”
“Did you see the fine print?”
“There’s a fine print?” you echo. Skimming the page, you squint at the very bottom to see an anecdote at the bottom marked with an asterisk. You read it out loud. “On the night of a full moon, the binding chain’s powers are reversed. Rather than suppressing a rut, the male’s urges will be amplified…”
The book shuts and you’re greeted by Jin’s stern look. It’s the same one he gave you that time you set his hair on fire by accident. “The closer it gets to midnight, the more unhinged Jungkook will be. This is why you should’ve asked me for help.”
“How was I supposed to know? He was in pain and you were bumping uglies with Namjoon!”
“Spells like this are tricky, especially for novices. We don’t even know if you did it right.”
“Gee, thanks for the bode of confidence.”
A concerned voice from the doorway calls out to you and Jin. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?”
You both turn to see Namjoon in his winter gear, covered in snow like he was a dessert dusted with powdered sugar. Jin walks over and brushes some off his furry hat. “[Y/N] used the wrong spell for Jungkook. His rut is about to come back tenfold and it won’t be pretty.”
“It’s not my fault,” you argue. “If you and he weren’t fucking each other, this wouldn’t have happened!”
“Okay… this is horrible timing,” Namjoon says with a forced awkward laugh. Jin holds him by the shoulders.
“Honey… where’s Jungkook?”
“I… lost something important when we got here. Jungkook and I went out to look for it. I gave up, but he’s stubborn and is still out there.”
You look out the window and see the snowfall getting heavier, each flake larger and more frequent as it piles on the thick blanket that already covers the ground. Visibility was diminishing and you could barely see the outline of the moon in the sky.
“I’m going to get him,” you say, determined. They look at you like you have three heads. “I’m the only one who can handle him on a night like this.”
“It’s dangerous. The snow is getting worse out there,” Namjoon warns.
“Yeah, and whose fault is it that he’s still out there? He may be immortal, but he has limits too.”
Namjoon recognizes your stubbornness; you share that with Jungkook. He pulls out his phone, hastily texts something, and sends it, which triggers a chime on your phone.
“There’s a cabin out there that I use on my missions sometimes. You’ll find a cage in the basement that can hold Jungkook for the night. Food, water, clothes, sedatives, weapons—you name it.”
He offers you his crossbow gun, but you decline. “I can get through to him.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But… It doesn’t feel right to hurt him. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Stay safe. We’ll come find you in the morning.”
Winter is the superior season, some would say. Because with the cold, you can layer clothes nonstop until you’re warm. Newsflash: that’s a lie. You’re freezing your ass off despite your best efforts to combat the frost, but Mother Nature couldn’t resist challenging your limits.
The weather has taken a turn for the worse as snow swirls around you, making it difficult to see or hear anything. You trudge through it, the flame in your palm being the only source of light and heat as harsh gusts of wind threaten to extinguish it.
Your magic was technically infinite, considering your necklace was a conductor for it. The jewelry siphons the magic from your hybrid body and allows you to use it like a witch would. However, like with most things, if you overdo it, it drains your energy and weakens its potency.
When you reach the forest, the wind howls through the trees as your breath comes out in heavy puffs. Each step you take sinks deeper than the previous one until you’re knee-deep in snow. The ground is uneven and your steps slow because even the slightest misstep could be your last. With no one around for miles, this was not the way you wanted to go out.
You don’t know how much time has passed, but the flame flickers until darkness remains.
“No… no… please…” You wrap your arms around yourself, the biting cold unforgiving. A rustle in the distance alerts your fight-or-flight and you scan your surroundings, seeing a dark silhouette who you can only assume is… “Jungkook?”
Whoever it was burst into a sudden sprint in the opposite direction. Your body has a mind of its own, chasing him down without hesitation. You reach a clearing where his broad back faces you, the moon casting a soft glow behind his figure. He turns around, revealing his ruby red eyes with streaks of gold, which sparkle like luster dust in water.
His face is unreadable until you risk a step forward.
“Don’t come closer!” he barks, startling you to retract back. The hurt in your eyes breaks him, but he couldn’t bear to be a burden for you to shoulder. “I feel like I’m going crazy. You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s the full moon. The body chain is making things worse. I can—”
“No!” He bares his teeth and bends his knees as if preparing to pounce. “You need to leave. Now!”
Falling onto all fours, he lets out a strangled groan, cursing like there was no tomorrow. His bones snap, pop out of place, and lengthen to create a new foundation for his werewolf form. It was like all his organs were set ablaze, the searing pain shooting throughout his body. You deny his request and take another step.
“Stay… away!” he orders, his voice roughed and strained.
His head hangs low, clawing the snow beneath him. Though shapeshifting was a great distraction, doing so during a rut could have unpredictable circumstances. It was far too dangerous; he knew better but was desperate for relief.
“Run…” he breathes, lifting his head. Your legs tremble from his unwavering, lethal gaze. “Run!!!” His canines peek through when he growls at you once more and you are hit with the severity of the situation. Fear strikes through you like a javelin and combined with your rush of adrenaline, you escape the premises.
Everything is a blur as you zig-zag through the snow-capped trees in the forest. You don’t stop running until your lungs burn to the point where you’re about to vomit. Despite how numb your fingers are, you check your phone, looking up the location of the cabin. It’s not too far away and if you can manage to lure Jungkook there, he’ll be safe for the night.
An eerie howl startles you and you trek forward, looking over your shoulder every so often. It’s not until you come across a line of forestry, where there’s a gap in the middle of two trees. Upon closer inspection, you squint at the darkness that sits between them, and two glowy orbs greet you.
A low snarl sends chills up your spine as two black paws emerge into the moonlight before their true form follows. You’re face to face with the big black wolf, its eyes glowing with feral intensity. The body chain’s magic allowed for the accessory to enlarge, accommodating Jungkook’s new size.
“Jungkook…”
He doesn’t respond, almost like that name was foreign to him. All he does is crouch, and you start to regret not having a weapon. With a growl, he lunges at you, powerful muscles rippling under his fur. You barely dodge in time, but his claws graze your arm, ripping through my coat and drawing blood.
Damn. I’m getting sloppy. I need blood.
You clutch onto the wound, hissing at him as your eyes shift to fiery gold. “Stop! Jungkook, it’s me!”
He circles you like a shark, instilling more fear before he pounces again. His heavy weight forces your body to topple backward, the snow cushioning your fall, and soon stained a vivid crimson. Jungkook had bitten your shoulder this time, his fangs sinking deep.
Not even your blood-curdling scream dissuades him from prying his jaw off. You feel the prick of tears behind your eye, but you push through it, using your remaining good arm to punch him. The wolf is hurled about twenty feet away and you force yourself up.
“Okay… it’s clear you’re more beast than man right now…” you say, panting as more blood trickles onto the snow. The wolf shakes its head and slowly rises, its predatory gaze stripping you of your fortitude.
Just then a deep rumble beneath your feet alerts you to look up, where the heart of the mountain was. The signs are there: the snowpack drifting, ominous cracks in the ground, and a thunderous roar as snow cascades down the landform.
“Shit…” you say, running in the opposite direction. “Come on! Chase me!”
Thankfully you don’t have to ask twice. Jungkook’s hot on your trail as the snow is on his. The ground continues to shake, the avalanche's roar deafening, drowning out all other sounds. Both your lives are at stake and you run to the cabin up ahead, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
As you reach the door, you swipe the keycard Namjoon lent you, the faint click giving you a moment of reprieve. You throw the door open at the same time Jungkook tackles you from behind. You stumble forward, his weight crushing you as he slashes your back with his sharp claws.
Now you’re pissed.
You flip onto your back, clutching his paws while his jaw snaps towards your face, spit flying everywhere.
“God, Jungkook! Get a grip!” You grunt as you exert your muscles, throwing him into the living room area. A wooden table is smashed into bits and the TV screen has a crack down the middle, but you don’t care. You kick the door shut just as the avalanche slams into the ground outside, its force shaking the cabin walls.
The noise is overwhelming, but it distracts the beast long enough for you to search for the basement. The cabin’s small space makes it easy as one narrow door sits in the corner, so you try your luck. There’s a set of steep, wooden stairs and you descend quickly, seeing dim recess ceiling lights that cast a soft yellow glow.
Unlike the cabin, the basement was underground and wide, with ample space for the cage Namjoon had promised. It’s in the furthest left corner with thick chains attached to the floor and ceiling. A workbench greets you once you reach the last step, filled with various weapons and tranquilizers you were all too familiar with.
Due to his hybrid nature, your best bet is to grab the syringe with vervain and wolfsbane. Reassurance is but a fleeting moment when Jungkook descends the stairs too, determined to finish you off.
He bites your leg this time, and you jam the syringe into his neck simultaneously. Once the wolf loses consciousness, you stumble backward and hit your head on the edge of the workbench, drifting into darkness.
Jungkook’s Point of View
Something wet touches my fingers and it stirs me awake. My muscles are screaming, feeling like I have been hit by a semi-truck. I open my eyes, forcing myself to sit up and look at my hands.
“Oh my god…”
Red is all I see. I’m covered in it. My lips taste it. But I don’t remember how it got there and that scares me. However, I look over to see [Y/N]’s unconscious body next to me. The blood is hers, pooling from her head and her body looks like a corpse from a crime scene. I’m terrified now, crawling over to her while my body shakes.
“No… please.”
I saw the gruesome claw marks on her arm, the nasty bites on her shoulder and leg, and her head wound that was still bleeding. I lift her head first, then her back, seeing the scratches there too. I don’t know what to do other than hold her close, listening for signs of life. It’s faint, but she’s breathing.
“Who did this to you?” I breathe, but the question is stupid. I’m covered in evidence of my crimes, a sin with no solution. Her face looks sickly, so I bite my wrist and put it against her lips, forcing her to drink my blood for sustenance.
I choke out a sob when I don’t see a difference.
“I’m so sorry…” I kiss the top of her head, praying to anyone who hears it, to bring her back to me.
“Jungkook…”
I thought I was hearing things until she calls for me again. It’s a fucking miracle. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to…”
“Shh… haven’t you heard of kissing a person’s boos-boos?” Her lips curl into a faint smile and I’m thrown for a loop. How can she speak so lightly about the horrors I’ve committed?
“You must have a concussion. I need to patch you up.”
“No. Kiss my wounds, silly. Just like you did to my head.”
I was too distraught to realize, but the blood on the rug we were on had vanished. Her hair no longer smells of iron either and realization dawns on me.
“Okay. Let me help you get out of your clothes first.”
It’s not a smooth process, but she handles it like a champ as I maneuver her coat, shirt, and tank top off. I pause every so often when she winces, making sure she’s comfortable before I move on. Her boots come off next and then her leggings, leaving her only in her undergarments.
Lying her flat on her back, I get on top and kiss her shoulder area first. It’s a magical sight watching the wound seal itself as new skin regenerates while the blood evaporates. She coos at the relief, giving me a warm smile.
“That feels nice.”
I head for her arm next, giving it several smooches to cover the claw marks. Each one repairs itself the same way. I lean back on my knees, holding her leg up until it reaches my lips and I leave another kiss there. Her eyes shimmer in excitement as do mine when the bite heals.
“Can you turn around for me?” I ask. She gets on all fours, exposing her back to me. It was the nastiest injury yet, the laceration deep and red. I don’t care and kiss every inch of her skin until it goes away, noticing how she shivers each time.
Once she’s fully healed, I see a cage in the corner and eye the chains inside. I get up and head there, frantically trying to get the cuffs on. She follows me and I curse at my shaky hands for being too slow.
“What are you doing now?” she asks as if it’s not obvious.
“Damn it all, why can’t I get this on?!” She places her hands on mine, steadying them until they stop trembling. “[Y/N], please. I need to be chained up. It’s dangerous for you to be here, I almost killed you!”
“But you didn’t. I’m fine. I knew the risks.”
“Why didn’t you beat me senseless? I deserved it.”
She shakes her head, still able to give me a soft smile as if I didn’t try to maul her to death however long ago. “Because your rut… it’s not easy to deal with. And I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you. Besides, I messed up on the spell.”
She points to the body chain on me. “On a full moon, it amplifies your rut. Not suppress it.”
I drop the cuffs and grab the body chain instead, ready to yank it off when she snatches my wrists.
“Don’t,” she orders. “I want it on.”
My eyes widen. “This thing almost got you killed.”
“It’s hot on you.”
“Are you okay? Is your head fully healed? Why are you—”
She pecks me on the lips to shut me up. It’s cute, sweet, and simple. Sometimes I wish we were simple.
“Jungkook… ever since I saw you at the wedding, I haven’t been able to heal properly,” she confesses.
My hands drop to my sides. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure. But whenever I got a cut, it healed but not as fast as it usually did. And I thought about when I got hurt at the wedding, how you kissed my hand, and how fast it healed then. This has never happened to me before, but I realized… I can’t be without you.”
She caresses the side of my face and I shiver at her gentle touch, placing a chaste kiss on her palm. “No… you were right to leave. I’m dangerous.”
A finger comes up to my lips. “Shh… our fates are entwined whether you like it or not, you stupid bastard,” I can’t help but chuckle and she giggles. It lights up my world. “When you said you never stopped loving me back at the lodge… were you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Her expression is teetering between fondness and confusion. “Sorry, that’s not romantic, huh?”
“It is to me. I love you too.”
Her confession triggers something in me. It's a carnal, animalistic need and I realize my rut is surging back with renewed intensity.
“My love, I need you to make a choice,” I say with labored breathing. Sweat coats my hair, matting it to my forehead. My body feels like I’m being incinerated inside out. “I want you permanently. Not temporarily. Body and soul. Your devotion. If you stay…”
“I’ll stay. I promise,” she says without a trace of hesitation. But I can’t help but be reminded of the past.
“How do I know you won’t leave again?”
She ponders her answer but then says, “Because when I’m not focused on my future, I’m focused on ours.”
It brings me immense joy, but my lust drowns it out.
“Okay. We’re going to need a safe word. Or you need to promise you’ll defend yourself against me by any means if it becomes too much.”
“Jungkook—”
“I mean it. Because everything I said at the lodge was true. Everything.”
She wets her lips at the memory, which tempts me with depravity. “Are you okay if I’m still infertile?”
“I never minded it. Because I’m going to fuck you like I’m gonna breed you anyway.”
She nods. “... Red.”
“Red,” I repeat and then I’m all over her.
Your Point of View
Jungkook lunges at you, his movements a blur of desperate need. You’re pressed against the iron bars of the cage as he kisses you like he’ll devour you whole. His hands roam your body to tear off your bra and panties, and you gasp, but he swallows it by kissing you deeper.
His hands are greedy, kneading your breasts in circular motions. He twists one of your nipples with his forefinger and thumb, the sensation borderlining pain and pleasure, but you succumb to it. Especially when he stops kissing you to lower himself, sucking on your other nipple. He doesn’t hold back and tugs on it between his teeth, earning a mewl from you.
When he pulls back, he releases it with an audible pop before giving the other one the same treatment. Your hands run through his hair, gripping hard enough to make him moan with hunger. He pushes your breasts together, so he’s able to suck both nipples simultaneously. The sight enraptures you, and you swear he’s the most attractive man alive.
“I can’t wait, I need you now. I need you many… many times tonight,” he says after he’s left several purple constellations in his wake. You’re turned around, holding onto the bars for support as his bicep slithers around your neck. His lips find purchase on the shell of your ear. “God, I want to destroy you.”
He slips his thick cock in between your thighs, feeling the copious amount of slickness between your folds. He thrusts back and forth and you rock your hips in tandem, appreciating his restraint. Each time his tip brushes against your clit, you moan to the ceiling while he groans against your neck.
You’re sensitive, on the brink of an orgasm, but Jungkook comes first. White spurts of cum spill out from his tip, and he shudders when you use your hand to coax out more.
“Fuck, I can’t hold on anymore. I’d do more to prep you, but I can’t wait. I’m sorry.”
Despite coming already, Jungkook was still fully erect. You swore he might’ve even gained an inch. He was deliciously massive, blessed in both girth and length.
“It’s okay. I can take it,” you assure.
“If it’s too much?”
“I say red.”
Jungkook holds onto your hips and pulls you back, your body now parallel to the floor at a ninety-degree angle. You arch your back and stick your ass out for him, even going far as to shake your peach to tantalize him. Without needing to guide it, he slams his dick into you with such violence that it leaves you winded.
He wastes no time thrusting, his pace desperate, rushed, and greedy to satisfy an insatiable hunger. You’re holding onto the bars for dear life as he fucks you like it’s his last day on Earth. There’s a burn that comes with not having time to adjust to his inhumane size, but you endure. Lust covers a world of hurt and the stretch ignites a fervor.
The basement is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin and unabashed moaning. Jungkook grips your hips so tight, they bruise. He smacks your ass multiple times, each sting resulting in a tighter clench from your soaking pussy, which drives him wild. You love how he stretches you out, how he’s using you like a dumb fucktoy for his cravings. You want to please him because it pleases you.
Without warning, he pistons into you faster, and you can barely see straight. His last thrust is sharp and calculated, a rough grunt escaping him as he empties himself into you. Your legs are trembling when he pulls out, admiring how his cum oozes out of you.
Sliding down to the ground, you rest your back against the cage and close your eyes to catch a break. However, Jungkook smacks your cheeks a couple of times to get your attention. He’s erect again, no surprise. You swear with each orgasm, he’s getting bigger.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
He places a hand on your head, guiding your lips to his throbbing cock. It’s coated in shared body fluids, but you open your mouth like an automated response until he slides himself in. You gag when he hits the back of your throat and he pulls out, but not all the way. You have to mentally prepare yourself for what comes next as he grabs ahold of both sides of your head, fucking your face as he pleases.
You’re choking and saliva dribbles down to your breasts, your eyes sting with tears, but he keeps going and you take the abuse. He doesn’t hold your head lovingly. Rather, his hand cages you in, guiding you however he sees fit. Your jaw is sore, but that’s a small price to pay when you have the most gorgeous man throwing his head back in bliss because of you.
Once his hips stutter and he comes again, you swallow the slightly bitter fluid and he releases you.
“Get up.”
You’re a bit dizzy, so he helps you to your feet. You see him squat and bring your legs atop his shoulders. In one swift motion, he stands with you perched atop and you squeal, holding his head in fear of falling.
“Jungkook!”
“Hold onto the cage.”
You don’t question him and do just that, thinking about how this was the same way you took down your opponent back at the farm. However, the only danger here was Jungkook having you right where he wanted you.
He sticks his tongue out and begins lapping up your juices from earlier. You’re unable to process being suspended in the air while getting eaten out at the same time. It’s thrilling, and you almost sob when he invades your walls and tongue-fucks you. The slurping noises that leave him are obscene. It’s as if you were his last meal, which only coaxes out more arousal. It’s too much when your orgasm nears, but he grabs your ass tighter and everything snaps.
You’re screaming his name, rolling your eyes in the back of your head. Your ears ring, your toes curl, and you shut your eyes to ride the waves of bliss. You don’t even realize when you’re back on the ground because it feels like you’re not even on the same planet anymore.
And suddenly you’re in the air again. Jungkook grabs the underside of your thighs and lifts you, your legs perched around his waist and your hands around his neck. He uses one hand to guide his tip to your entrance, and your breath hitches.
“We’re not done yet.”
“I never want you to be. Use me.”
He sinks you onto his cock, bouncing you like a rag doll. You hold each other close, staring intensely into each other’s eyes. Everything burns inside Jungkook’s body. His thighs, his arms, his heart—but that pain fuels him to fuck you harder. You kiss him first this time, inserting your tongue and sliding it against his. It’s sloppy but erotic, and he only ups his speed.
He doesn’t last long and comes again, but you wait until he decides to put you down. You’re on your back now and he places a sweet kiss on your forehead.
“God, I wanna fill you up again. Breed you until you’re exhausted.”
He has hold of your ankles, bringing them up high until your knees hug your chest as he inserts himself again. You can see his fat cock going in and out of you, his cock creamy and white from your slick. Your tummy bulges with each thrust, but the nightmarish visual is, somehow, incredibly sexy. He makes you feel full, yet you can’t seem to get enough.
“Fuck, how are you still going?” you whimper. He chuckles like he’s flattered, lowering your legs so he can lay flat on top, chest to chest. You’re both sweaty and reek of sex, but it feels right.
“Because you’re my soulmate. I’m going to ravish you.”
Hours pass. He’s more beast than man at this point, almost unrecognizable. This wasn’t making love. He was determined to fuck your brains out.
Every position imaginable, no part of your body went unexplored. If you were a country, he was a sergeant invading every part of you. You’re bruised and full of bloody scratches, but so was he.
Whenever you were nearing the possibility of passing out, he found a way to give you a break. Whether by humping your thighs again or using your hands, he didn’t care. You’re soaked in his cum, a sticky, filthy mess that he deemed beautiful. He took pride in his work like you were his canvas for a Jackson Pollock painting.
His boundless energy inspired him to get creative, making use of the cage’s chains. He had you dangle from the ceiling as he fucked you from the front. From the back. In your ass.
If he thought you were tight before, your ass was a whole other story. You’d never taken something so big. It took a while for you to relax and though lube was ideal, the copious amounts of cum he filled you with earlier worked fine. More than fine. Something about him shoving his two fingers in you to draw out his cum to finger your asshole felt lecherous. You swore you were going to tear in half, but when his tip brushed sweet spots you didn’t know existed, you came harder than the previous times.
Now you are on all fours, his hand in your hair, locking you in the humiliating position. He penetrates deep inside, loving the way your ass jiggles every time your bodies meet. You’ve been reduced to a moaning mess, unable to think about anything but his cock.
You’re saying “Yes, yes, yes!” but the words are slurred, reduced to pure nonsense, thanks to his brutal movements. His thrusts are merciless, repeatedly hitting you in that sweet spot with no signs of slowing down unless he changes positions.
“Fuck, this is it,” he grunts. He carefully pulls out, lies on his side, and brings you close so you’re on your side too. Lifting your leg, he slides into you again and resumes penetration. This time when he comes, you can see your belly expand from how much he fills you up. His monstrous cock swells and you whine from the discomfort, feeling like you’re about to pop.
“It hurts,” you cry. Jungkook cuddles you as his knot takes form, ensuring no cum spills out.
“I know, love. It’ll be okay.” He litters your neck with kisses to distract you from the pain until you’re used to his new size. You’ve never felt so full and can’t believe you’re stuck like this for who knows how long. It’s a phony moment of reprieve, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once the pain subsides, you lay there as he hugs you, feeling his chest on your back. He holds your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours. You take this chance to look at his tattoos, noticing one stand out in particular.
“What’s this?” you ask.
You’re pointing to a tattoo of a lake with mountains that have a full moon situated between them on his forearm.
“Oh, that? It’s where I first fell for Namjoon when he sparred with me.” His playful lilt makes you pout.
“Hey…”
Jungkook kisses your shoulder and grins. “That’s where I first fell for you, silly. And where I fell for you again the night of the wedding. I contemplated getting rid of it, but… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Aw…” A question pops into your mind that you’ve been dying to ask. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why did you have vervain on you that day? Why carry the burden of knowing?”
He hums like he was expecting that question. “Because I know you too well and maybe… I wanted to keep that pain because it was my last link to you. I couldn’t give that up.” He turns your face so you’ll look up at him. “I love you, [Y/N].”
Saying those three words back again didn’t feel like enough. He was your one and you wanted to spend eternity with him.
“Mark me. Make me yours for good.”
His doe eyes form an OJO face, which earns a laugh from you. Despite all that’s happened, this manages to surprise him.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, and you allow him to mark you as his.
The next morning you and Jungkook are cleaned up, cuddling by the fireplace in the living room area.
“Why is there a saxophone over there?” you ask, pointing to the random instrument near the door.
“You know what… I’m not sure.” Jungkook gets up, walks over to it, and picks it up. The face he makes while examining it is endearing, but you’re curious when he reaches his hand in the bell of the instrument. “I feel something.”
He pulls out something small, but you recognize the diamond instantly. “Is that a wedding ring?”
His face morphs into panic. “It’s not for you,” he blurts. You giggle and approach him, swiping the ring.
“I know that, silly. You wouldn’t propose to me here.”
He visibly relaxes, rubbing the back of his nape, cheeks flushed. “It’s Namjoon’s.”
“Oh! Is this what he asked you to help him find? Is he going to propose to Jin? How sweet!”
A strange hissing noise distracts you two, and you turn your attention to the window. The snow from the avalanche is melting rapidly and soon, the door opens, revealing the couple you were just talking about.
“We’re here!” Jin shouts with his arms out in a ta-da position.
“Again… you’re a little late,” you tease. Namjoon strides in, taking a look at the damage you two inflicted in the small space.
“Geez… what did you two do?”
“What didn’t we do?” Jungkook says, giving you a wink. You can only laugh as you playfully hit his shoulder.
The clothes the cabin had were a size too big on you, so they drooped on your small frame. Namjoon and Jin are quick to notice the bite mark on your exposed shoulder and how it solidified into something akin to a tattoo.
“Oh… Oh,” Jin says, realization hitting him as his ears turn red. “Congratulations!”
“Well, we should congratulate you too,” Jungkook says, giving Namjoon a pointed look. The man is confused at first, but then nods once he feels you slip the metal item into his palm. He’s ecstatic and immediately grabs the saxophone. You and Jungkook grin while his rather awkward proposal plays out, with Jin mostly unaffected and choosing to criticize his partner’s clothing choices instead.
“Hey! I practiced hard for you and you only talk about my clothes?!” Namjoon says, but the smile he wears lets you know he’s not hurt. Jin laughs and hugs him.
“I’m touched!”
Namjoon finally gets down on one knee and pops the question. “Will you marry me then?”
Now Jin’s entire face is flushed. “Oh my god… of course, my gentle giant.”
Jungkook and you give each other a knowing look, wondering when your turn will come next. He holds your hand and you lay your head on his shoulder.
“That’ll be us someday,” he says.
“I know. But I’m not in a rush. I’m already yours.”
General A/N: Hello!!! Thank you for reading until the end. I appreciate reblogs and asks if you wanna share your thoughts. 💘
Moonstruck Readers A/N: So for those who are curious, I was going to include NamJin’s wedding where Taehyung shows up and he sees OC and JK together. And that could lead to a whole other spiral of feelings. ;) But I’m not promising to write it. This is their happy ending and OC and JK do get married eventually.
Or if you’re like my friend who keeps saying TaeKook should both be with OC, well, that’s in another universe I guess. LOL!
#ggukienet#jungkook smut#jungkook#bts smut#bts scenarios#jungkook x you#jungkook fic#bts x reader#jeon jungkook#jungkook scenarios#my scenarios
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cigarettes in the theater || s. geto
❦ suguru geto x sorcerer reader
❦ oneshot
❝ the week following the declaration of suguru geto's status as a curse-user, you receive an invitation to meet him for a movie. you know you should decline, but you don't have the heart to do so. what harm is there in sharing one last cigarette with your lover? ❞
❦ warnings ; no pronouns used. angst. hurt/comfort. pet names (angel, sweetheart, darling). use of cigarettes. graphic descriptions of death and injury. heavy subject matter discussed.
❦ words ; 3.4k.
masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up
By all accounts, you should be scared. You should be breathing heavily, your heart pounding in your ears, wide-eyed at the carnage that surrounds you in the theater.
Yet… you aren’t.
You’re numb to it, numb to it all.
A body slumps to the floor in the row before you and all you can do is swallow the bile that threatens to upheave the contents of your stomach.
The presence behind you shouldn’t bring you the ease that it does. Yet, he’s been the only constant in your life as of recent, and you can’t bring yourself to hate him for what he’s done, even as a drop of blood runs down the side of your face. It isn’t your own, of course. He wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you.
You should have fought back against him, you should have protected everyone, but instead, you sat and watched. Maybe that makes you just as bad as it makes him. Maybe you’ll be sentenced to death by the higher-ups as well, seen as an accomplice to his actions tonight.
You wonder if you’re broken.
The worn red fabric of the seats hides the bloodshed so well that with little effort, you could clean everything up. You could hide the night’s calamity and go back home to Gojo, Ieiri, and Nanami. You could sweep this all under the rug, hide your trail, and blame it all on him.
Yet, you don’t move to do that.
He sits only a few seats back, smoke drifting languidly from his cigarette. His eyes are glued to the screen, just as yours are. There’s a sort of dramatic irony to the kind words being spoken on-screen as a drama plays.
“Cigarette?”
His voice is as sultry and kind as ever. You take a breath before you turn to look at him.
Suguru looks as beautiful as ever. His dark hair is up in a half-bun and the rest cascades down his shoulders, falling effortlessly over his collarbones. His eyes are sunken, tired, but that’s not unusual for him as of late. He’s wearing a deep blue sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. It’s almost cruel of him to do so, he knows it’s your favorite outfit on him.
It tugs on your heart strings in ways you can’t describe with words.
Your chest feels heavy, heart pounding suddenly against your rib cage, practically tearing its way out.
“Yeah,” you respond, barely above a whisper. You know he can’t hear it over the movie, but he reads your lips.
Long legs step over the chairs, descending the theater until he reaches your row. He pulls down the uncomfortable red seat, plopping down beside you. His cigarette hangs from his lips as he pulls a small box from his pocket. His sharp eyes watch your movements as you pull the cigarette from the cardboard.
“You look tired,” he comments, leaning over to light the cigarette.
“I could say the same for you,” you respond neutrally, taking a drag from the nicotine sitting between your lips. You blink a couple of times as you let the relaxation wash over you, a temporary escape from the dark corners of your mind.
Then again, it’s all temporary. Every life saved, every ‘thank you’ or lack thereof, each one a fleeting moment forgotten in the grand scheme of things and instead replaced with the sight of your lost classmates. Your lost friends.
The sight of Haibara flashes through your mind and you turn your head from the screen, from the bloodied seats before you, your jaw trembling subtly.
Suguru notices your movement, setting a hand on your knee. Your brain tells you to pull away. It tells you he’s dangerous, but there’s nothing more you want right now than to curl into his arms and feel his lips against your temple just as you had only a week ago.
So much has changed since then.
“Did it make you feel better?” You ask out of the blue, keeping your tone even as you steel yourself and push the image of your classmate’s body from your mind.
At the end of the day, his answer doesn’t matter. You’re surrounded by corpses in a theater. By all accounts, he’s already made his bed and you’re both laying in it here and now.
Suguru pauses, observing your expression. He can’t gleam anything about how you’re feeling, beyond the underlying sadness in your tired eyes. That look has been there for a while now, though. He recognizes it all too well. The dark circles beneath your eyes are a shade so dark that concern plagues him, though he knows he has to play his cards right in this conversation if he wants to help you heal.
“I don’t regret it,” he responds evenly, his thumb rubbing circles into your knee.
You bite your lip to prevent it from trembling. “That’s not what I asked, Sugu.”
You’re finally looking him in the eyes, for the first time in a week, for the first time since his return from the mission that sealed his fate as a curse-user.
You’re as gorgeous as he remembers, perhaps more. Even with sunken eyes, glossy and sad, and your hair somewhat disheveled, he finds himself unable to stop the way he stares at your lips. He still yearns to call you his still.
“It did, yes.”
It’s a nail in the coffin. This isn’t just a departure from Jujutsu Tech, he’s traveling into dangerous territory now, with malicious intent.
It should hurt to hear those words, it should be painful beyond belief. Yet, it’s not.
You think again that maybe you’re broken.
Silence hangs heavy over you both as you take a deep breath, processing his response.
“How’s Satoru?” He asks calmly.
You swallow the bile rising in your throat. It’s sour and you frown at the feeling. “He’s been better. He’s angry with you.”
“I figured,” he hums softly, a bleak smile pulling at his thin lips. “Shoko?”
You take a long drag from the cigarette. “I’m not really sure,” you admit, avoiding his gaze now. You feel guilty for the fact that you’ve drifted apart from both Nanami and Ieiri, but the entire faculty seems to be drowning. None of you have time to yourselves and when you do, you’re locked away in your dorms.
“And you?”
You pause. You don’t know how you are.
No, that’s a lie. When Suguru reached out to invite you to a movie, deep down you knew this would happen. Maybe not the pile of bodies, but this conversation. From the moment you hesitantly typed see you there, you knew it would all lead to you crumbling in his arms.
Suguru is your lighthouse, your beacon of hope and safety. Your home. You love him too much to let him go.
“I miss you.”
He doesn’t miss a beat as he responds, “I miss you too.”
You can’t help it this time, your lip trembles and your chest heaves with a sob. “It’s all so fucked without you, Sugu. I don’t think-” Your voice betrays you, cutting you off as another sob wracks your body.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he hums, resting the cigarette between his soft lips as he moves his hand from your knee to wrap his arms around you. He braces himself as he lifts you up out of your seat, away from the armrest so that he can cradle you in his lap.
With a final drag from his cigarette, he puffs the smoke into the air and puts it out on the plastic armrest beside him, leaving a melted circular indentation behind. It doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of the mess that is the theater.
His nimble fingers slip your own cigarette from your fingers as you cry into his chest. He taps his finger once against it, his other arm holding you tightly to his chest.
His warmth is so familiar and brings a sense of comfort you haven’t felt since the day the news broke.
The corpses of 112 of the village inhabitants were found dead.
Like alcohol over an open wound, the thought stings. You don’t agree with what he did, but… you suppose there is a reason you’re here.
“Why did you do it?” You swallow a sob, taking a deep breath to steady your breathing when you finally begin to steady your emotions. You shift in his lap to straddle him, letting your hands rest on his built chest.
He leans back in the chair, which reclines slightly with his weight. Taking a drag from the cigarette that was yours, he lets his hand rest on your hip. “You know the answer to that question.”
Of course you do. You’ve been thinking it. Nanami’s been thinking it.
Ever since Haibara’s passing, it’s been plaguing you all. Nanami feels he failed Haibara. You feel you failed them both as their superior. Yet Suguru… he’s been feeling the effects since Amanai’s passing. He’s been slowly spiraling and despite your best efforts, it’s clear this was inevitable.
“That’s not what I mean. What was the breaking point?”
Suguru blinks calmly, holding the cigarette to your lips to take a drag. “I exorcized the curse,” he begins, “yet they demanded I kill two young girls.” His expression shifts from neutrality for the first time in the night to one of disgust. “Shit, you should have seen them. Caged like goddamn animals, two innocent children.”
You try to keep an impartial expression, but your eyes widen, betraying your shock and distaste. If he can find the right words, Suguru wonders if maybe, just maybe, he might find you back in his arms for longer than this conversation.
“They’re sorcerers,” he tells you, “but they weren’t responsible for the curse.”
Your fingers grip at his sweatshirt as you wrestle with your emotions. You want to hug him, bring him the comfort his eyes silently beg for, but there’s so much going through your mind, so many questions to ask.
“There were innocent people there,” you state blankly.
“Were there?” He challenges you.
Your brow twitches, you’re not sure what to make of the question. It seems obvious that there would be. “Of course,” you respond, lips parting.
Suguru takes a long drag of the cigarette, putting it out in the same fashion as the previous one before dropping the stub to the floor. “Are they innocent for calling on us with no regard for the sorcerer bodies piling up?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Are they innocent for standing by and allowing two terrified children to be caged like animals?”
Your gaze drifts to the side, melancholy swirling in your tired eyes. Suguru admires you as he lets you think, resting his hand that had been holding the cigarette on your thigh. He longs to bring you closer, to kiss your soft lips, but he refrains out of fear of ruining the conversation.
“I suppose that means I’m not innocent either,” you mumble, eyes darting to the severed leg that sits on the ground behind Suguru. You’re forced to swallow bile again at the sight, a shiver running up your spine. You’ve grown numb to the sight of death, but your stomach certainly hasn’t.
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, his deep and observant eyes taking in the minute twitches of muscles in your jaw.
With one hand firmly keeping distance between you despite the compromising position you’re in, you lift your other hand to rub your face, sighing. When you drop your hand back to his chest, he offers you a small smile. It’s just like him to keep smiling and offer solace for those in need in spite of his own turmoil.
“Do you disagree with my actions?”
“Yes,” you tell him firmly, not hesitating for a moment.
“Why didn’t you stop me, then?”
Your lips part, brow knit tightly as you spare a glance at the bloody scene around you. Why didn’t you stop him? You’re asking yourself the same question.
“I’ll ask again, my dear. Why didn’t you stop me?”
You want to vomit. You don’t agree with him. You don’t want to kill people. Why are you here?
All you can do is stare helplessly at him. Stare at his sharp and beautiful features, the way he looks at you with such admiration, the way his hands feel at home on your body.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. You’re almost certain he doesn’t hear you as the movie playing behind you picks up in volume and music plays.
Suguru attempts to pull you closer, but you keep your arms firm, keeping distance between the both of you. He doesn’t dare push it, push you. Not when he feels your resolve crumbling before him. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t care to be selfless any longer. He wants you, he wants you by his side.
“There’s a purpose to this all,” he tells you, raising his voice over the movie’s music. He’s running out of time to get through to you. Running out of time before the carnage is spotted by employees and Jujutsu Tech is informed. He already failed to convince Satoru to join him, but he knew that would happen already, the snowy-haired sorcerer was far too set in his ways.
“Satoru told me,” you say all too quietly, but he reads your lips.
“Then why are you here, my love?”
“I-” you pause, the words die in your throat. You can’t say what you’re thinking, it pains you physically as you turn your gaze to the melted hole in the arm of the chair, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t him.
“You can tell me,” he coaxes you, “even if it hurts me.”
You would never hurt Suguru.
“I miss you,” you tell him again, eyes brimming with tears now. The words are on the tip of your tongue. You know it, he knows it.
“I miss you too, sweetheart.”
He’s so patient, so calm, as he always is. You know no matter what conclusion you come to, he’ll accept it. He would let you leave, though you think you wish he wouldn’t.
The music in the background fades as the movie comes to an end, much more somber, quiet music taking over as the credits roll. The light from the screen dims, leaving the both of you in near-darkness. Suguru is running out of time with you as the movie nears its final moments. It’s only a matter of time now before staff arrive and the police and Jujutsu Tech are informed.
“I think I still love you, Sugu,” you whimper. You can’t hold back your tears any longer as finally they spill, sobs wracking your body.
Suguru shushes you softly, relieved when finally you give in and allow him to hold you to his chest. He runs his hand gently along your spine, soothing you as you tremble in his muscular arms.
“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he relishes the moment. He missed you more than he ever thought possible, and the idea of losing you again when he’s already lost his best friend brings with it a sense of hopelessness he’s grown all too familiar with.
You clutch at his sweatshirt desperately as the reality of your situation crashes down on you. You want out. You want out of the world of Jujutsu sorcery and curses, you want out of the world where those you care about die.
Yet… you don’t want to leave with Nanami. You don’t want to work a nine to five job like he’s expressed interest in. You don’t want to stay with Gojo, you know he’s too dedicated to Jujutsu Tech. You don’t want to eliminate humans from the world like Suguru. But you don’t want to live without him either.
In a matter of a week it’s like your whole world came crashing down and you sit in limbo.
Suguru’s eyes flicker to the screen and he sighs. The credits are reaching their end as more and more logos show and he knows he’s nearly out of time. He can’t face Satoru again if that’s who they send after him, not right now with you here in his arms. He’s running out of time with you.
“I want you by my side,” he tells you softly.
You raise your head from his shoulder and he gently wipes your tear-streaked cheeks. “You can’t ask that of me.”
His calm eyes observe you carefully. “Talk to me, then. Why are you here?”
Your lips part, hesitant, but you manage to choke out what’s on your mind. “I feel lost.”
“You don’t want to be at the school anymore,” he fills in the blank. He knew that already, before he chose how he wanted to live, back when he was still a student, you had expressed a desire to leave.
“I don’t want to- to kill people, Sugu.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
You sigh, chewing on your lip. You inadvertently find yourself glancing down at his lips, pursed as he waits for you to make a decision.
“Then what are you asking of me?”
Suguru pauses, he hadn’t thought much of his answer to this question. He knew you wouldn’t want to bring harm to people, you’re too kind. He lifts his head slightly, staring into your eyes, a tempest of uncertainty thundering within them. As his lips brush yours, he can only hope, pray, that you’ll allow him to close the distance, that you’ll give in to him.
“I could use help looking after the girls while I’m away.”
You pause, taking in his words. There’s still a lick of uncertainty to this whole situation. Your life has lost its direction, but the one thing you find yourself drawn to is him. Although you disagree with his methods, he’s right.
You are here.
You didn’t stop him from wreaking havoc on the theater.
You don’t hate him for what he’s done.
You feel his pain. Yours just manifests in a different way.
Like a switch finally flips, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. Your fear, your pain, even if only for a moment, it all dissolves as you’re consumed with him, with Suguru, your lover.
He slides a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into him as he deepens the kiss, passion overflowing from the movement of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes your lower lip and with a quiet whimper, you give him access to deepen the kiss. It gives him the chance to say everything his words don’t.
He parts from you, eyes flickering wildly over your features with nothing short of adoration in those beautiful deep irises of his. He pants lightly, catching his breath as he cups your cheeks.
“We need to leave, angel.”
You swallow hard.
This is it, there’s no turning back now.
Slowly, you nod.
“I love you, Suguru.”
“I love you, too.”
Hand in hand, you escape out the theater’s emergency exit. As the sun sets over the horizon, you spare a glance at your boyfriend.
You hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting but blood coats his sweats, dried into the gray fabric. His hair still drips with fresh blood and your breathing hitches when you see the way his keen eyes follow your gaze. He doesn’t seem at all phased by it.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that he has bloody handprints covering his shoulders. Shaky hands lift to stare at your crimson palms. Before you can overthink your decision, Suguru gently takes your hand in his.
“I need a cigarette,” you whisper shakily, thankful when he complies. He lights it for you and as you take a drag, you feel your nerves calm.
You wonder what life would have been like had you met him at a normal college.
As news breaks of the carnage in the theater and you’re labeled as a curse-user too, you wonder if you have any right to wish for things to be different.
You wonder again if you’re broken, but as two young girls run up to meet you excitedly and hop into your boyfriend’s strong arms, you watch him with a small smile. Though he still looks exhausted, he seems happier.
For the first time in a week as you’re dragged into Suguru’s new home, you don’t feel the crushing weight of uncertainty.
You don’t regret your decision.
masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up
#dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/adornedwithlight#inspired by cigarettes in the theater by two door cinema club#starmapz works#starmapz oneshot#starmapz#oneshot#jjk oneshot#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#suguru geto#geto#suguru geto oneshot#geto oneshot#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto x reader#geto x you#geto x reader#geto x y/n#geto fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen oneshot#jjk angst#geto angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you
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vi. deer dolly
see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder, heated scene (making out)
˚୨୧₊♱
You never really liked cars.
The first time you had ridden in one was in the 1930s.
It was after one of your shifts, the wet streets illuminated only by the flickering glow of the rusting lampposts. There you stood, still in your glad rags and wrapped in a coat, the misty drizzle kissing your face. Alastor arrived a few minutes later with a honk of his horn, surprising you with a ride home in his latest purchase—a stunning red car with a sleek roof that gleamed in the dim light, its long, sweeping fenders and rounded body cutting a striking figure against the darkness of the night.
As you got into the car, excitement tingled in your veins, eager to experience the wonders of modern transportation. However, the thrill quickly turned to fear as the speeds increased, and your husband, the ass he was, seemed to enjoy nothing more than pushing the accelerator and hearing your horrified screams. Each time the car accelerated, you found yourself clinging onto him for dear life, the rush of wind slamming against your flushed face, your heart racing in your chest.
Since then, you swore never to get into a car again, preferring the safety of solid ground beneath your feet, the memory of that terrifying ride haunting your thoughts whenever you heard the roar of an engine.
Now, standing outside and shivering in the cold, you watched as a long royal blue limo pulled up before you. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding city. The doors, adorned with gold accents, were automated and opened up for you, revealing a plush interior illuminated by soft, warm lighting. Small steps extended gracefully from below, inviting you to step inside.
Velvette wasted no time and went in first, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floor as she settled into one of the luxurious seats. Already engrossed in a phone call, her voice echoed faintly through the open doorway, mingling with the low hum of the engine.
Meanwhile, Vox stood by your side, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pavement. You knew he was making sure you wouldn't attempt to escape, although the thought barely crossed your mind.
After all, where could you possibly run to now? Any endeavor in that direction would likely prove futile and possibly even fatal. The evidence of your soul being sold was clear, evident in the now black color of your sclera.
"Well," Vox drawled, his voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience as he gestured towards the open limousine door. "Aren't you going to go in?"
You hesitated, biting your lip as you reluctantly took a step back. Vox eyed your actions warily.
"Is it safe?" you found yourself blurting out, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
"Is it safe?" Vox repeated with a scoff, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Of course it's safe! I made it!"
He pointed to the VoxTek logo on the car—as though he were a seasoned salesman promoting a product. The metal emblem gleamed under the faint streetlights. Yet, rather than assuring you, the sight of the branding only heightened your unease.
Vox noticed the lack of change in your expression and sighed, deciding to take a different approach. With a faint glimmer of empathy, he motioned toward a nearby building which had a large billboard featuring his face and image.
"See there?" he gestured, his tone adopting a persuasive edge. "See what that billboard says? VoxTek is a symbol of power and security. You're in the safest hands possible. This limousine is equipped with state-of-the-art safety features."
His attempt to reassure you only rang hollow in your ears, and despite his words, a sense of unease continued to gnaw at you. Yet, Vox still persisted, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you. You had to crane your head up to look at him while he stared down at you, his figure casting a shadow over your form.
"I assure you," he pressed, his tone gentler now. "You have nothing to fear."
With no other choice but to comply, you reluctantly stepped forward, your movements stiff and hesitant. Vox held your hand as he guided you towards the waiting limousine. As you entered the luxurious interior, the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing your fate as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.
Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of color as the limousine sped through the streets. With each passing moment, the distance between you and Mimzy's torn-down lounge grew.
Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when the limousine finally came to a stop, the sudden silence jolting you back to reality. As the door opened with a soft hiss, you gazed out to behold the imposing V Tower looming before you.
Its grandeur was undeniable, with its towering floors and striking red windows gleaming in the night. At the very top, a massive antenna sat, reaching towards the sky like a beacon, while a studio sign was plastered along the building's front, featuring red lips nestled within the arches of the middle V, an iconic symbol of the entertainment empire housed within.
Vox and Velvette emerged from the limousine, their presence causing a few loiterers on the street to scurry away in fear.
Oh, how you wished you could do the same.
Inside the car, you hesitated, nerves coiling in your stomach as you fidgeted with your hands. Then, unexpectedly, Vox turned to you, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand.
Surprised, you paused for a moment before accepting his hand, allowing him to guide you down the steps. The chilly night air enveloped you as your feet touched the pavement, the distant sound of the limo's engine fading away as it drove off.
Seconds passed, and Vox still maintained his grip on your hand, his hold firm. Confusion flickered in your mind as you turned to him, noticing the irritation in his gaze as he eyed your wedding ring.
"Is there a problem, mister?" you asked as you followed his gaze to your ring.
Vox's expression remained inscrutable for a moment before he finally responded, his tone cool and detached.
"I suggest you ditch that," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's a liability now. Doesn't do any favors for your image, doll."
"But I'm awfully attached. It's…" you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find a good enough excuse.
You knew all too well the consequences of revealing your connection, especially in your current vulnerable state. The mere mention of Alastor's name could unravel everything, plunging you deeper into this mess. With two powerful overlords and a soul contract hanging over your head like a guillotine, caution was not just a choice but a necessity.
"It's a symbol of your past life," Vox interjected, his voice cutting through your hesitation.
"And we're leaving that behind now." He extended his hand, the glint of his metal claws catching the dim light, mirroring the uncertainty in your expression. "Hand it over."
With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly slipped the ring off your finger, a pang of loss gripping your heart as you handed it to the overlord. Vox accepted it with a dismissive nod before tucking it into his pocket, his attention already turning back to the looming entrance of the V Tower.
As you entered the building flanked by both Vox and Velvette, you were immediately struck by the brash, modern atmosphere that engulfed you. The walls were painted in bold hues of pink and red, illuminated by the glare of oversized LED screens that flashed with images and advertisements for upcoming events. The floor beneath your feet was polished to a sterile sheen, reflecting the harsh neon lights that bathed the space.
Velvette, with her usual air of haughty superiority, led the way to your room, her steps brisk and impatient. She barely spared you a glance as she gestured towards the metal door that stood before you, its surface cold and unwelcoming.
With a swish of her fingers, she conjured an obtrusively bright star decoration on the wall, reminiscent of celebrity door decorations found in Hollywood, with your name scrawled in cursive on its surface.
"Right, if there's anything you need, you just go down to the lobby and find someone named Shalom," Velvette barked, her tone sharp and impatient, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.
"Say, is there a chance I could lay my mitts on a radio?" you asked, hoping to grasp onto some semblance of familiarity in this alien environment, your eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.
But instead of a response, Vox began to buffer, his screen flashing with bright neon glitches, while Velvette's lips curled into a sneer, her expression one of thinly veiled contempt and amusement at your request.
"Guess I'll take that as a no then?" you smiled tensely, your attempt falling flat.
To your surprise, Vox shook his head, and his screen flashed back to his face, the glitches disappearing as quickly as they had come.
The TV demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. Without a word, he plopped it into your hand, and you turned it over, confusion evident on your face.
"A phone?" you said, flabbergasted, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You blinked in astonishment, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. You were more surprised by the fact that it came from his pocket. Does he keep random smartphones on him at all times?
"Yes, a phone," Vox confirmed with a smirk, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "Consider it a courtesy from VoxTek. No need for a radio when we have such sleek products. This is the future! You don't need old shit from the past. Those radios barely pick up anything worth listening to, just crappy, barely audible broadcasts."
"Oh," you said, the air deflating from your lungs as a pang of disappointment settled in your chest. The phone was a thoughtful gesture, but it wasn't going to fix your longing to speak to Alastor. "Well. I suppose I should thank you."
"Don't mention it," Vox replied casually, his demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness, his tone devoid of any genuine warmth or concern.
With a resigned sigh, you turned and stepped into your new room. You looked around the décor curiously, taking in the sleek modern furniture and it's peculiar design.
Velvette followed closely behind you, her eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow, narrowing as she regarded you with disgust. The glint of her perfectly manicured nails caught the harsh overhead lights as she folded her arms across her chest.
"Really? A hooverette dress?" Velvette sneered, each syllable dripping with disdain. "You're like a relic from the '40s. Outdated."
You felt a surge of anger at the comment. Sure, you died near the 1940s, but that didn't mean you were outdated. Before you could even muster a response, Velvette raised a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, she effortlessly transformed the fabric of your dress. It rippled and shifted, morphing before your eyes into a pink silk pajama robe, trimmed with a cream-colored fur. She stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips as she admired her handiwork.
"Much better," she declared with a clap. "Listen, you're representing VoxTek now. Even when sleeping, we can't have you looking like a washed-up has-been, can we?"
Swallowing your pride, you forced a tight-lipped nod, suppressing the urge to lash out in defiance.
"Yes, ma'am," you managed to grit out, your voice strained. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've got a lot of work to do, and you've got a long way to go before I can get you stage ready."
With that, Velvette stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each brisk step. As she disappeared from view, Vox leaned in, his shadow casting a long silhouette against the wall. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers gliding over the cool metal.
"Goodnight," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. With a gentle pull, he closed the door with a thud, sealing you in with your thoughts and fears. The latch clicked shut, and you were left alone, enveloped in the eerie silence of the unfamiliar space.
With a heavy sigh, you turned to survey your room even closer.
Your eyes swept over the tall walls adorned with abstract artwork, bursts of vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the subdued hues of the furniture. The wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, with skyscrapers twinkling in the distance like distant constellations.
Approaching the plush king-sized bed, you sank into its cloud-like mattress, feeling its comforting embrace envelop you. It was definitely an improvement from Mimzy's lounge. And yet, despite the luxurious trappings, a sense of confinement lingered. After all, a gilded cage remains a cage.
As you assessed your situation, it became clear that you were going to be the star attraction in Velvette's upcoming fashion extravaganza. Her shows were always a hit, and this year's circus-themed spectacle had her buzzing with excitement. The lead model was a singer-actress you'd heard of; you'd seen her the day Mimzy dragged her into the lounge. Pity the poor girl died.
Given the circus motif, it was apparent why Velvette had chosen you. Your background as a singer, coupled with your doll-like appearance, made you the perfect fit for the role.
The best course of action now was to play it safe. Going along with her plan was sure to draw attention, from the lowest imps to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Your face was bound to be plastered on every screen in the infernal realm, broadcasted to demons and damned souls alike. Even with his hatred for the picture shows, Alastor would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.
He would come for you, you knew it deep in your bones, and yet a pessimistic voice in the back of your head whispered doubts.
Did you even deserve to be taken back after all of this?
With these thoughts weighing heavily on your mind like an anchor dragging you into the depths, you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your lids. But sleep remained elusive, evading your grasp.
As the night wore on, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy fog, its tendrils enveloping you in a suffocating embrace. Despite the turmoil raging within, your body succumbed to weariness, and gradually, you slipped into your dreams.
˚୨୧₊♱
Both you and Alastor embarked on a slow journey through the darkened streets of Louisiana, the car's headlights cutting through the enveloping gloom like beacons. Carefully navigating the labyrinthine city, you avoided the occasional patrol car with its blinding flashlights, skirting through shadowed alleys and side streets to evade detection.
Finally reaching the outskirts of town, where the forest awaited, Alastor brought the car to a halt, the engine's low hum fading into silence. Turning to you, he noticed the fear etched on your face, your wide eyes reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
With a tender touch, Alastor took your face in his hands, calling for you. "Cher?"
You turned to him, your lips parting slightly as tears welled in your eyes. Alastor's touch was feather-light as his fingertips traced a delicate path along the curve of your cheek. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he coaxed your eyelids closed. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving a trail in their wake. As you blinked your eyes open again, you were met with the tender press of his lips against yours.
"We did what we had to do," Alastor murmured against your lips, his voice a low rasp that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin.
With his eyes closed, he leaned in closer, his kiss growing more urgent, almost desperate. You responded in kind, the roughness of the kiss igniting a fire within you.
Feeling his fingers threading through the back of your hair, you whimpered and melted into his embrace, your hands clutching onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Alastor groaned in response as he lifted you effortlessly from the passenger seat and settled you onto his lap. Your chest pressed flat against his, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his own.
As the sky grew darker, the moon mingling with the fading hues of sunset, the wind whispered through the open windows of the car, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning.
Alastor eventually pulled away, his gaze lingering on your tousled hair and puffy lips as he leaned back in his seat, taking in every detail of your appearance. Seeing you in such a ruined state stirred something within him.
"Are you ready?" he asked. You nodded meekly in response, your heart racing.
Truth be told, you didn't think you could ever truly be ready for what you were about to do.
Your husband hummed in acknowledgment, allowing you to slip off his lap as he straightened his brown coat, the fabric rustling softly with each movement.
Guiding you out of the car, he then reached into the backseat, retrieving his hunting gun. The metallic click of the firearm being loaded echoed in the quiet night. And you damn near fainted when he handed it to you, the weight of it feeling heavier than you could bear. The metal surface was icy against your palm, and you fought the urge to recoil, but Alastor pressed it firmly into your hand, his touch reassuring yet commanding.
"You'll need this," Alastor spoke lowly, bending down to your height, his glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. "Use it for safety. There might be wild animals out."
You hesitated, the weight of the weapon heavy in your hand, but the urgency in his tone spurred you to nod in agreement.
"Do you remember when I taught you how to hunt?" he questioned, slipping on a pair of dark leather gloves he had pulled out of his pocket. His voice was low and smooth, laced with a hint of nostalgia. "You remember how to shoot, no?"
You nodded, eyes still glued to the gun, unable to tear your gaze away.
"Words, cher. Use your words."
"Yes, love," you whispered, finding your voice. Alastor smiled, the rough texture of his glove grazing gently against your cheek as he pressed his hand to your face one last time before stepping away.
Your husband made his way to the trunk of the car, the soft glow of the taillights casting long shadows across the forest floor. With strong pull, he opened it, revealing its contents. Your breath caught in your throat as he retrieved a shovel and a black body bag, the sight sending a sickening feeling through your stomach.
Alastor slung the bag over his shoulder and began walking, his steps confident, as if he knew exactly where he was going. The weight of the bag seemed inconsequential to him, swinging lightly with each stride. There was an odd, almost unsettling look in his eyes as he whistled a tune, the sound echoing eerily through the silent woods. A glint of something primal and untamed flickered within their depths.
Nonetheless, you followed him, drawn to his presence like a moth to a flame.
Trudging deeper, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The silence pressed in on you from all sides, broken only by Alastor's whistling and the sound of your footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Each step felt like a descent into madness, the unknown lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight's beam.
Suddenly, Alastor halted in a secluded corner, where the trees were decaying, their long branches resembling gnarled fingers reaching out for you in the darkness. He turned to you, the dim light of your flashlight reflecting off his glasses, giving his brown eyes an otherworldly glint.
In that moment, illuminated by the pale beam, he looked almost demonic, his features twisted by the play of light and shadow.
"I'll be back shortly, cher," he hummed with a smile, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice a darkened spot on his brown coat, the collar of his white button-up now stained with crimson. "Stay here."
With that, he disappeared into the darkness, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the forest, leaving you alone amidst the looming trees.
Time stretched on endlessly, each minute feeling like an eternity as you stood alone. Faintly, you could hear the distant sound of Alastor's shovel breaking through the earth's surface, its metallic scrape and the muffled thud as it struck the soil sending another wave of nausea curling in your gut, each noise a grim reminder of the task at hand.
All you wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of your quaint house in the city.
More than anything, you longed to open a bottle of whiskey, to drown your fears and sorrows in its comforting embrace. Maybe have a second, or a third, and just forget.
Forget about all of this. Forget it all ever happened. But deep down, you knew that no amount of alcohol could erase the memories of tonight, each image now etched into your mind like scars on your soul.
All of a sudden, a rustling sound behind you sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins, followed by the distant but unmistakable bark of dogs. The sound seemed to come from all directions, surrounding you in a menacing chorus.
With a sharp gasp, you spun round and round in a whirl, your vision tunneling with fear as you scanned the darkness, eyes wide and frantic. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed to magnify the sense of dread that gripped you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the cool night air burning in your lungs as you struggled to keep your composure.
And then, without warning, something lunged from the darkness, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing even faster. Instinct took over, and without thinking, you raised the gun and fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the silent forest.
You gasped for air, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you found yourself sitting on the damp, muddy ground. The recoil of the gun had sent you sprawling backward, leaving you disoriented and breathless.
With trembling hands, you clutched the gun closer to your chest, the cold metal providing a shaky sense of security in the darkness. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, a surge of determination propelled you forward, your muscles tensed and ready for whatever danger lay ahead. Scrambling to your feet, you pushed yourself onward.
Each step was punctuated by the crunch of underbrush beneath your boots, the sound amplifying in the stillness of the forest. Amidst the shadows and foliage, you caught a blur of brown, relief flooding through you like a wave crashing against the shore.
Oh, heavens, it was just a deer.
As you trudged towards the poor animal, your foot caught on a branch, and you stumbled, the unforgiving forest floor meeting your body with a painful thud. In the fall, your gun slipped from your grasp, skidding off into the shadows.
Wincing, you pushed yourself up to your knees, the earthy scent of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You looked toward the fallen creature, its form now visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. But as you crawled over, dread crept into your heart.
There, lying face down on the dirt, was Alastor, his once-immaculate brown coat now dirtied, blending seamlessly with mud. His glasses lay shattered and discarded in front of him, glinting faintly in the dim moonlight that danced across the forest floor. A pool of crimson blood seeped from his head, staining the earth beneath him.
Your eyes widened with renewed horror as the truth dawned upon you, and you fell onto your back, scrambling away from the corpse of your husband, the damp earth sticking to your palms as you clawed at the ground in your panic.
The bark of the dogs were louder now, closer. Ignoring the dizzy vertigo in your head, you pushed yourself to your feet, your senses on high alert.
You choked out a broken apology but found that you could not hear it, that you could not make any sound at all.
You breathed, it was all you could do, all you could manage at the moment, and with the terrible weight on your chest, even that was made difficult.
What have you done?
˚୨୧₊♱
"Salutations! It's Tom back on the airwaves! Hold onto your hats because we've got some news that'll knock your socks off! Alastor Caron, the big shot radio host and husband of underground singer Dolly, also known as Y/N Caron, has been found pushing up daisies out in the sticks of Louisiana!
That's right, folks, he's dead!
Word on the street is, ol' Alastor met our maker with a bullet to the head in what can only be described as a real tragic whodunit. Sources close to the case are whispering in the wind, suggesting that Dolly herself might be mixed up in this spicy little affair. The coppers found her fingerprints on the gun! Can you believe it?! Stay tuned as we peel back the curtain and spill the tea on this sto—"
You shut the radio off with a frustrated slam of your fist, the sound echoing through the desolate living room.
Eviction papers and newspapers, crumpled and worn from countless readings, are strewn haphazardly across the table.
"Gone Girl," "Husband-killer," "Missing Marionette," "A Doll's Vanishing Act," "Manhunt underway for Suspected Murderer," "Louisiana Radio Host dead; Wife blamed."
The headlines scream, each word a painful reminder of the nightmare engulfing your life.
Empty bottles litter around you, their contents spilled and forgotten, the sharp scent of alcohol mingling with the drowning feeling of grief that permeates the room. Sirens wail in the distance while red and blue lights dance along the walls, cast by the dim light filtering through tightly shut curtains.
As you reach for another bottle, the drinks blur into one another, their labels indistinguishable in the dark room. The burning sensation as the liquid courses down your throat offers temporary relief from the turmoil raging inside your mind, numbing the pain and grief threatening to consume you. Each sip takes you further into a haze.
The room spins around you, items warping and dancing in a twisted mockery of your predicament. There are whispers now, soft and insidious, slithering into your ears like serpents. You try to push away the accusing voices echoing in your mind, drowning them out with your bottle's numbing embrace. But with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations grows heavier, dragging you deeper into despair.
Nausea churns in the pit of your stomach, and you finally stop moving, the dizziness overwhelming you. A deathly coldness settles over you, seeping into your bones like icy tendrils, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Your fingers lose their grip on the bottle, and it crashes to the ground with a shattering sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, shards of glass scattering across the floor like stars falling from the sky. You follow suit, collapsing onto the floor, limbs heavy and muscles twitching.
You stare vacantly ahead, unable to move, your eyes glazed over with a hollow emptiness as a sense of dread washes over you, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight. Each breath feels like a battle, your chest tightening with every inhalation, as if your lungs were filled with water.
Your breaths grow more labored, each one shallower than the last, until they eventually cease altogether, leaving you gasping for air that refuses to come.
The world around you fades into darkness, the edges of your vision blurring as consciousness slips away, leaving you engulfed in a silence broken only by the faint echo of your last heartbeat.
˚୨୧₊♱
There was screaming.
Footsteps thudded along a path nearby, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as creatures soared overhead.
You awaken with a startle, disoriented and groggy.
Slowly sitting up, you find yourself surrounded by a crimson landscape, a pentagram shimmering ominously in the air above you. As you move, your hand sinks into something cold and wet, a sickening squelch accompanying the sensation.
Horror grips you as you realize your hand is touching a corpse, its monstrous form adorned with twisted horns, jagged tails, and rows of sharp teeth. The pair of lifeless eyes shift and stare into you, devoid of any trace of humanity.
Frozen with terror and panic, you scramble away from the grotesque sight, the ground slick with crimson ichor, each step leaving bloody handprints and footprints in your wake.
The evening light of this place reveals a grim environment surrounding you – a lumpy, uneven field of corpses and bones, a mass grave unlike any you've ever seen. But these corpses are not human; they are demonic, twisted and contorted in death.
Before you can even make sense of this grotesque scene, a spear slices through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the dim light. With a thud, it embeds itself into the ground beside you. A sharp, stinging sensation follows as your cheeks burn, crimson liquid trailing down your skin.
Gasping for breath, you look up and catch sight of a figure soaring overhead, its massive wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Each beat sends a gust of wind rushing past you, whipping your hair around your face. The figure's single eye fixates on you, its gaze piercing through the darkness, the other obscured by a large 'X' mark.
Adrenaline surges through your veins as you run away, the cold sweat of fear prickling your skin.
Your surroundings blur into a chaotic whirlwind as you race through the labyrinthine alleys of Hell. With every stride, your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. Each footfall echoes in the narrow passageways, the walls closing in around you like a vice, but the chase of the angel behind you drives you forward, your muscles burning with exertion as you push yourself to your limits.
Suddenly, you're yanked to a stop, your body colliding with a stone floor as you're pulled into a hidden doorway. Pain shoots through your arm, and you wince, clutching it tightly against your chest. It throbs with a dull ache, bruised from the fall.
As you cautiously lift your gaze, you find yourself in a familiar setting—a speakeasy, though more rugged and rundown than you were used to. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Mismatched furniture and a barely held-together bar give the place a sense of makeshift charm.
"Well, look who it is."
The voice freezes you in place, and your eyes nervously move upward to see a familiar blonde woman before you, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark and intense.
"Mimzy?" you whisper, disbelief coloring your voice.
"It's me!" she cheers, swinging her legs and jazzing her arms up in the air. With a jump, she plops onto the ground, circling your hunched-over form with a mischievous grin. "How you doin', Dolly?"
"How?" your mind scrambles. "You-You…"
"I know! You thought I was dead?" she snickers before knocking you upside the head playfully. "Welcome to the afterlife, you ditz!"
"What?" you rasp, eyes frantically darting from her to your surroundings. "What are you talking about? Why do you look like that?!"
"Look what? Adorable~?" Mimzy hums and waltzes over to a gramophone, inserting a disk and starting a scratching melody that fills the speakeasy.
Hello, Dolly! Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to have you back where you belong~
"Come on, Dolly," Mimzy says, her voice low and melodic as she sways to the music. The bedazzled fringes of her dress sparkle in the dim light as she twirls, her heels dragging along the floorboards. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you? Or did'ja just arrive?"
You're lookin' swell, Dolly I can tell, Dolly You're still glowin', you're still crowin' You're still goin' strong
"I don't understand," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like a dream—a nightmare, more accurately. "Where am I? What's going on?"
"We're both dead," Mimzy chuckles, tapping her heels along to the beat.
We feel the room swayin' While the band's playin' One of your old favourite songs from way back when
"What do you mean?" you manage to croak out, the words barely audible over the music.
Mimzy pauses mid-twirl. "Oh, Dolly," she sighs, shaking her head. "Hell, darling. We're in Hell."
Your blood runs cold at her words, the reality of your situation sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest. The memories of that fateful night flood your mind, filling you with a sense of guilt and despair.
Before you can voice your thoughts, Mimzy grabs your hand and pulls you into a dance, the gramophone's melody swirling around you like a sinister lullaby.
"So, take her wrap, fellas," Mimzy sings along, her laughter echoing off the walls. Her eyes gleam with a mischievous light as she leads you through the steps of the choreography you once knew so well. She twirls you around and drops you into a dip. "Find her an empty lap, fellas!"
"Dolly'll never go away again~"
You feel a surge of frustration building within you, the absurdity of overwhelming your senses. With a shout of anger, you push Mimzy away, a scowl etched deep on your face. She stumbles back, nearly losing her balance in her heels, her smile fading into a look of annoyance.
"Will you cut it out!" you snap, your voice echoing in the empty speakeasy. "Tell me what's going on!"
"Killjoy." Mimzy rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She moves over to the gramophone and turns it off, the melody abruptly silenced.
"I just told you what was going on, you doof!" Mimzy retorts, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The speakeasy falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the faint sound of distant screams echoing outside the building. You gesture toward the source of the noise with a look of shock.
"Alright, I know well enough why I'm here, but what is that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension.
"An extermination. Angels come here to rid of sinners and such," Mimzy shrugs, her expression nonchalant despite the gravity of her words.
"Well, what about Alastor?" you press, the worry evident in your voice.
Mimzy's expression darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a smirk. "Oh, you mean your darling husband? He's probably causing chaos somewhere, as usual. He'll be fine."
"I don't think he even knows you're here," she adds on with a yawn. "He probably thinks you're up in the shiny gates of heaven with his momma or something."
"Al knows I'm already dead?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yup!" Mimzy chirps, her grin widening. "Your death came out in the news months ago. But only Lord knows why it took 'em so long to get you through purgatory."
The barrage of new information leaves you dizzy, your head spinning with the implications. "Wait—my death? The news?"
Mimzy moves over to the bar, kneeling down the worn floorboards as she digs through the bottom drawers.
"Didja know there's this little killin' business in Hell? I.M.P.—the Immediate Murder Professionals. And there's this cute little fella named Blitzo who does deliveries for me. I was his first costumer and poor guy needs the extra money so—"
"Mimzy, why are you telling me this?" you interject, confusion evident in your tone.
Mimzy's grin widens as she peeks at you from over the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Well, sweetcheeks," she purrs, continuing to leaf through piles of paper, "if you paid attention to their name, they do murder. Murder in the human world, to be exact. And I hired them to go snuff you out!"
"But lo and behold, to my surprise," Mimzy continues, her tone laced with amusement, "you did their job for 'em! And this is what they brought back as proof."
With a flourish, Mimzy procures a newspaper from the depths of the cabident, her hands waving it around in excitement. She throws it to you, and you catch it, fumbling to see the headline. Your stomach churns as you take in the bold letters.
'LAST SWING: Speakeasy Star Suspected of Husband's Murder Dies in Alcohol Overdose.'
"Hi-larious!" Mimzy snorts as she presses a finger against the title, her expression gleeful. You hold the paper up, your hands trembling as you read through the article detailing your own death.
With a cackle, Mimzy jumps onto a nearby table, her movements lithe and energetic as she snatches the paper away from you.
"So, did'ja do it?" she taunts, leaning in close to your face with a devilish grin. "Didn't take you as the type. What was it? Poison? Housewife classic, I tell ya. Maybe a knife? Good ole push him down the stairs? Or was it a gun?"
You tense up at her last words, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Mimzy smirks, her snicker ringing out like a sinister melody. Curls bounce around her face as she leans in closer, her lips practically ghosting against your cut.
"You shot him?"
"I—" you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as you run a hand through your frazzled hair, the disheveled strands tangling under your trembling fingers. "I didn't mean to! Heavens. I thought he was a deer!"
At that, Mimzy bursts out in loud laughter, tears streaming down her face as she clutches her stomach, doubling over with mirth. The sound echoes off the grimy walls of the speakeasy.
"Is that right?" she wheezes between fits of laughter, slapping her knee while still shaking with amusement. "No wonder he looks like a deer! Oh! The irony!"
"Deer?" you whisper out in confusion, your mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words amidst the chaos of her laughter. She laughs even harder at your response, kicking her feet in the air with unrestrained glee.
After a few minutes, she finally calms down. With a skip in her step and a glint in her eyes, she saunters over to you. Humming a tune, Mimzy twirls around you again, her movements fluid and graceful despite her earlier outburst.
"I know something you don't know~" she sings.
"What do you mean?" you frown, your voice trembling as you gaze at her, searching for any hint of what she's hiding.
"All in good time. I've told you a lot already, didn't I?" Mimzy replies cryptically, her tone snappy. "Let's see—I graciously saved you from that angel that was ready to spill your guts out, I've given you a wonderful welcome, helped you learn about your death, and, well, you were involved in my murder. I'd say the scales aren't balanced! You owe me. A lot."
Guilt churns in your gut as you nervously wring your hands. "Mimzy, no words can express how much guilt I feel about your—"
"Oh, cut the weeping dame bullshit. I don't care about that," Mimzy interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she leans in closer.
"I'm feeling generous today," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "So, I'll make you a deal."
You eye her warily, the guilt in your gut twisting into a knot of apprehension. Despite your unease, you nod, silently urging her to continue, bracing yourself for whatever devil's bargain she has in store.
"In exchange for absolving your involvement in my murder and providing information on your husband," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice, "you'll owe me a favor. A big one. I want you to work for me again."
You tense, your mind racing as you process her proposition, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "What?"
Mimzy's smirk widens at your reaction, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she relishes in your discomfort. "That's right, sugar. I want you back on the job, working for me just like old times."
"Well I… I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you reply, clenching your fists in frustration.
Mimzy's laughter reverberates through the speakeasy, each chuckle sending shivers down your spine.
"Of course not! Would you prefer to go running to Alastor instead? Oh, dear hubby, please shield me from the consequences of my sins! My apologies for putting a bullet in your skull!" she mocks your voice, drawling the syllables out as she clasps her hands together and bats her eyes at you.
A surge of humiliation and guilt washes over you, weighing heavy on your shoulders as you struggle to come to terms with the choices before you.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Despite the overwhelming guilt and shame swirling within you, you know that you're cornered. Mimzy has you right where she wants you, and the only way out is to play her game.
"Fine," you say through gritted teeth, your voice tinged with resignation. "I'll work for you again."
Mimzy's grin widens, her sharp teeth flashed at you. "Excellent choice, darling. You won't regret it."
With a snap of her fingers, a contract materializes in her hand. She hands it over to you, and you read through it. Funnily enough, it looks almost identical to your previous employment contract in the living with her, but one detail catches your eye.
"To settle the debt incurred due to the aforementioned act, Y/N Caron, acknowledging the gravity of her transgressions, agrees to become a singer for Mimzy's Lounge for a duration of ten decades," you read the line in shock. Turning to Mimzy, you clutch the contract tightly, your nails threatening to break the paper. "Ten decades?!"
"What?" Mimzy scoffs, her voice dripping with derision. "You stuck here for all of eternity anyways, and so is your husband. Might as well do something."
With a theatrical flourish, Mimzy reaches into her chest and pulls out a pen, waggling it teasingly in your face. "So? What will it be? Are ya gonna sign the contract? Or am I gonna have to throw you out where those angels can tear you to pieces?"
You read through the contract again, your eyes frantically scanning the paper for any loophole or escape route, but you come up empty-handed. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you realize that you're in this for the long haul.
"But what about Alastor?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your voice.
Mimzy's laughter filled the speakeasy, bouncing off the walls like mocking echoes. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed with faux sympathy, "haven't you read the fine print? Your dear Alastor is strictly off-limits. Can't have him interfering with our little arrangement, now can we?"
"But… I need to see him," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.
Mimzy's smirk widened into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And I need to make sure my end of the deal is fulfilled," she countered firmly.
Glancing down at the contract, you saw her pointing to a specific section. "Y/N Caron's husband, Alastor Caron, is strictly forbidden from being physically present around her in any way, shape, or form for the safety and integrity of this agreement."
"But… can't we find some middle ground?" you asked, a sliver of hope lingering in your voice.
"Ah, I've got an idea," Mimzy grinned , reaching into her drawer and pulling out an old radio. She extended it towards you. "You can talk with him as much as you like. This little radio will be your hotline to him. But there's a catch: he stays far, far away from you and this joint. How's that sound?"
Twisting the radio in your trembling hands, you felt the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. The device seemed ancient, its surface worn and its knobs slightly rusted, yet it held the power to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between you and Alastor. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly brought the pen to the paper, the ink blotting the sheet as you signed your name away, sealing your fate.
"It's a deal."
#sephiewrites#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor imagine#hazbin imagine#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x you#hazbin x you#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel velvette
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INSULT TO INJURY — Platonic Arlecchino & reader
i. SUMMARY: What is Arlecchino to do, when her child comes home injured? ii. CWS & NOTES: Injuries, mild descriptions of blood, mentions of violence, nothing particularly graphic. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. hurt/comfort. they/them pronouns used. 0.9k words. iii. A/N: HI THIS WAS FINISHED IN MY DRAFTS AND I DID NOT NOTICE... this was a suggestion from @romaritimeharbor!!
Arlecchino was by no means a traditional parent, but she did share common qualities with those who were. She kissed her children’s hair when they were sick, wiping the sweat off their forehead and tucking their sheets extra tight. When they sought comfort, she would hold them close to her chest, even if her affection was rare and only offered away from all other eyes. They appeared in her thoughts constantly, even in the most mundane situations; occasionally she would find herself wondering if Lynette would enjoy a particular brand of tea, or if Freminet’s diving skills had improved in the past months.
Those outside of the House of the Hearth could never imagine a soft side to a cutthroat woman like Arlecchino, not after witnessing her ruthless ways. All they saw was the terrifying Harbinger that cut through hoards with her scythe, taking down each and every one who stands in the way of the Fatui. They would be mistaken to dismiss her as soft-hearted, but even more so to proclaim her heartless. It is simply that her heart beats for the Hearth, and nothing more.
When she settled into the role of Father, she vowed that even if the Fatui wouldn’t treat her children with love, she would. However strict she appeared, her love for the House of the Hearth was poured through every drop of blood shed in the name of the security of the Fatui. The Fatui were the foundation holding up the orphanage, and so long as it remained strong, so would their home.
It was one of her most notable traits, and one that many parents held; she would do anything to protect her children.
So when [Name] turned up at her office, bruises peeking out between the rips in their shirt and bright splatters of blood dotting their arms, she didn’t scold them for walking in without knocking. She stood, moving mechanically over to where they lingered in the doorway. She swept her gaze down their body, taking note of each and every injury. And as they looked up at her, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, she brushed her hand across their face to rid the hair sticking to the blood across their forehead and hissed, “Who did this to you?”
“I–” Whatever rasping words were almost spoken broke off in a fit of coughing. A low cry of pain spilled out, and their hand clutched their side. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
Arlecchino looked out through the hallway, spotting a child half-hidden behind the corner, unsubtly trying to spy on the situation. They squeaked, as she caught their eye and barked out an order. “You! Go to the medical wing and bring back a first aid kit, and several ice-packs. Now.”
They scurried off, the sound of tiny footsteps growing quieter every second. Once they were inaudible, she looked back at her other child, whose eyes were drifting shut slowly. A quick touch on their shoulder sent them flinching backwards, eyes flying open.
“What happened?” She asked, ignoring the way they shrunk into themself at the question.
“I failed. I was ambushed, and they–” They shuddered, once again gripping their side. Arlecchino took note of the way they winced each time they moved too sharply; bruised ribs, if not broken. “I’m sorry, I just came to report on what happened.”
“You’re injured, [Name].” Arlecchino stressed.
“I know,” They said quietly. They didn’t even seem to have enough energy to fight the tears that have begun dripping down their cheeks. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be better.”
I don’t want you to be better, her mind screamed. I want you to be okay. Arlecchino bit her tongue hard to stop the words from pouring out. It would be unbecoming of the Director to show such earnestness in front of one of her children, especially one who had clearly suffered a failure. She may love them, as she does all of her orphans, but she was raised in the Fatui as well. She knew the cost of failure all too well.
“You will be.” Arlecchino stood back, letting them lean against the door frame again to stop themself falling over. “I’m sure you understand that there will be consequences to this.”
“I do.”
“Excellent. You will be dismissed from all missions for the next six weeks.” Six weeks, that was just long enough for injured ribs to heal, if she recalled correctly. “You will be required to remain in the House for that time, and any outings must be approved by me before you leave.”
They stared at her, eyes wide.
“Am I understood?”
“Yes, Father.” They said quickly.
She didn’t ask any more of the person who had left them in such a state, but they did cross her mind as she wrapped bandages around their arms. She could almost see them now, celebrating their victory over the Fatui. How proud they must be, to have sent one of the Knave’s own agents fleeing.
A barely noticeable grimace tore her attention away, and she forced her hands to loosen the bandages around their arm. In her quiet fury, she had begun to wrap them tighter than a tourniquet, much to their discomfort.
For that moment, she dismissed the assailant to the back of her mind, and turned all of her attention to her child.
They would come later, and then, they would learn the true meaning of fear.
reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡
#✒️ — writing#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#—stellaronhvnters.#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#platonic x reader#platonic genshin x reader#platonic genshin impact x reader#arlecchino x reader#platonic arlecchino x reader#genshin arlecchino x reader#fatui harbingers x reader
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Pirate/Mermaid Steddie One
There is way more mermaid culture world-building than I intended, but that's the fun part lmao
This part discusses injuries, has a mention of mutilation in passing, and involves stitching up a large wound. Nothing is graphic, but there are some descriptions of pain
Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future parts!
As always, if you see any typos no you didn't
----
There were a few things Eddie expected from this raid. Gold, of course. Supplies like food, obviously. Some new weapons, surely.
A fucking mermaid? Nowhere near that list of expected things.
And yet, here he stands in the doorway of the raided ship captain's cabin, caught in a staring contest with a merman that's definitely seen better days.
He's stuck in a tiny wooden tub, his tail forced against his chest as the rest of it flops over the edge and trails the floor. His blue-and-green with inexplicable hints of orange scales are dull, too dull, and Eddie is trying really hard to control the sheer rage he feels at the jagged cut that drags down the middle of the tail and through the fin at the bottom. The edges of the wound have crusted over, but it still looks painful, and Eddie knows it was meant to keep the merman from using his tail to escape.
Eddie takes a step into the cabin, ready to just scoop the merman up and take him back to his ship. But he stops when the merman tenses, his entire body somehow becoming more rigid. His hands on the edge of the tub tighten, his sharp nails digging into the slowly rotting wood. He's staring at Eddie like he's some new threat, which seriously is not gonna help with the whole "take the gorgeous merman with incredible hair and alluring brown eyes back to his ship and nurse him back to health" thing.
Eddie freezes and holds his hands up. "Sorry," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The merman doesn't relax much, but his nails are no longer digging into the wood. Eddie figures that's a tiny win.
"I'm Captain Eddie of the Corroded Coffin. We didn't expect to find you here, sweetheart."
The nickname just slips out, an unthinking attempt to butter the merman up and an admission of his own thoughts. The merman's eyes narrow, slowly looking Eddie over as though sizing him up.
Eddie lets him, perfectly content with standing still if it means the merman will give him even one iota more of his trust. "That doesn't look very comfortable," he says, nodding to the tub. "Would you like some help?"
The merman relaxes a little more, and Eddie has no clue what he did to cause that. Before he can think too much about it, the merman points to a dresser on the other side of the room, looking at Eddie expectantly.
"You want something from there?"
The merman nods, which tells Eddie he at least understands human language. That doesn't give him any idea if the merman can speak it, though.
He walks over to the dresser and looks at the merman, pointing to each drawer in turn until the merman nods. The fourth drawer is, apparently, the correct one. When Eddie opens it, he finds a small treasure trove. It must be a collection of trophies from the ship captain's previous raids.
A quick glance reveals a gold crown with rubies, several diamond rings, a few silver bracelets with various gemstones along the bands, and a pearl and seashell necklace thrown on top. Eddie knows the merman probably wants that necklace most, but he can't help thinking of a rumor that mermaids like shiny things.
The drawer is full of shiny things.
He hesitates for less than a second before pulling out the entire drawer itself and turning around. "I'm not sure what you want from here," he lies, smiling apologetically at the merman. "Can I come close enough to show you?"
The merman stares at him before slowly nodding once, suspicion practically radiating off of him. Eddie flashes a more genuine smile and slowly approaches, giving the merman enough time to reject his presence. When he's a few steps away, Eddie crouches and tilts the drawer so the merman can see what's inside.
Immediately, the merman reaches out and snatches the pearl and seashell necklace. The gills on the side of his neck flutter slightly as he puts it on, and Eddie wonders if that's a sign of relief. "Was that everything you wanted?" he asks.
The merman glances at him, one hand still lingering on the necklace. He glances down at the drawer again, seeming to argue with himself before reaching out and removing the crown and every bracelet. He carefully slips the bracelets on and clutches the crown in his hands.
"Anything else?" Eddie asks, his tone indulgent. It must be reassuring, though, because the merman looks at him with curiosity more than anything else. It's like he's trying to figure out what he can get away with.
A few seconds pass before the merman glances down at the drawer. His gaze lingers at the edges, and Eddie starts to wonder what could possibly be there when the merman points at one of his rings.
Eddie blinks, following the merman's finger to a chunky ring. It's shaped like a bat with emeralds for eyes and diamonds for teeth. It's one of Eddie's favorites; he found it on his first raid, took it right off the captain's hand himself. Nobody has ever dared ask to touch it, let alone have it.
Without a second thought, Eddie puts the drawer down, slips the ring off his finger, and offers it to the merman. It sits in the palm of his hand, meaning they'd have to touch if the merman really wants it that badly.
Slowly, the merman reaches for the ring, his nails tickling against Eddie's palm as he takes it. From the light brush against Eddie's fingers, the merman's skin is cool, exactly like jumping into the ocean on a hot day.
----
Steve is a firm believer in the power of small comforts, especially as it relates to the growth of his guppies. Dustin has long outgrown his baby tail belt, but he still wraps it around his wrist every morning. El and Will no longer need the seaweed and coral dolls Steve made for them when they were barely able to swim a straight line, but they still tuck them in every night.
So, when the human (Eddie, Steve reminds himself) offers up a drawer filled with shiny jewelry, Steve doesn't hold himself back. The bracelets make him feel grounded, the crown gives him something to clutch without the risk of breaking it, and the ring...
Well, the ring was more to see if Eddie's actions would match his tone. And because Steve thought it was fascinatingly grotesque. What kind of creature would have wings without feathers? Sure, the gulls he sometimes sees near the surface are confusing, but the ring depicts something even further beyond his imagination. What's up with the sharp teeth? Why must the eyes be green? Does it know it's a freak of nature?
Anyway, the jewelry helps. Steve uses it to distract himself from the sheer agony screaming from his tail when Eddie lifts him out of the cramped tub. He thinks about which bracelet he'll give to which guppy (Robin will get the crown) when the edges of his tailfin graze against Eddie's legs as he confidently walks across a plank connecting the two ships. He closely studies the featherless wings on the ring to avoid thinking about what's to come when Eddie sets him down on a large, surprisingly comfortable bed in another private cabin and starts gathering a needle and thread.
There's not much left to distract him when Eddie kneels next to the bed and looks up at him, his eyes reminding Steve of his guppies when they've done something bad and need him to clean up the mess.
"This is gonna hurt," Eddie tells him, his voice soft and gentle and full of regret as he grabs a bottle from the table next to the bed.
The liquid inside is clear, and Steve would think it was water if his nose hadn't been hit with such an astringent scent when Eddie opened it. Before he can fully process the smell, Eddie tips the bottle and pours the liquid onto Steve's tail.
An involuntary screech rips out of his throat, a burning sensation clawing along the cut and making his scales buzz. Without thinking, Steve grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks it away, his lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals sharp teeth. Despite the physical pain, Steve thinks the worst part is that he let himself get distracted by small comforts and warm brown eyes and Eddie's soft voice.
He should know better.
"Shit," Eddie mutters, quickly dropping the now-empty bottle to the floor. It cracks but doesn't break, and he looks up at Steve. "I should've explained that better. Holy fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I had to clean it. If I sewed it up without doing so, it might get infected."
Steve narrows his eyes, his grip tightening briefly as he studies Eddie's face. He seems genuinely apologetic, and Steve understands his intentions once he's processed Eddie's words. Steve had to do something similar when Mike and Lucas bothered a shark too much. Their wounds weren't nearly as bad as Steve's, but they'd still cried and shouted when Steve and Robin had to pull teeth and bits of coral out of their wounds before wrapping them in seaweed.
"I'm done with that part, though," Eddie says, his voice practically desperate for Steve to understand. "You can squeeze my shoulder or something while I sew it up."
A few seconds pass before Steve nods once, slowly letting go of Eddie's wrist. As Eddie starts threading the needle, Steve places his hand on his shoulder, bracing himself for the upcoming pain by squeezing the crown in his other hand.
Eddie takes a deep breath as he glances up at Steve. He licks his lips, looking back at the top of the cut. "Okay, I'm starting now," he says, waiting long enough to see Steve nod before starting the first stitch.
The alcohol hurt. The stitching is a fucking bitch. But, honestly, none of it is as bad as when that first disgusting human dragged a dagger through Steve's tail. He still hisses, gripping Eddie's shoulder tighter and unable to stop his nails from digging into his skin. Despite how it must hurt, Eddie doesn't flinch, and Steve feels a little better.
"You know," Eddie says, mostly focused on keeping his hand steady and his stitches even, "I wish I knew your name. I can't keep calling you sweetheart."
He could. Steve wouldn't mind it. But he also knows it isn't entirely fair that Eddie doesn't know he can speak. They'll need to be able to talk, Steve thinks, if they're going to be around each other for a while longer.
And Eddie has been kind enough that Steve wouldn't mind being around him for however long it takes his tail to heal.
"Steve," he says.
To his credit, Eddie doesn't drop the needle. He does tense for a moment, his hand pausing as he looks up. "What?" he asks.
"My name. It's Steve."
"You can talk."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Eddie hums, looking back at the cut as he starts stitching again. "You didn't say anything before," Eddie says.
"The last human who saw me mutilated my tail," Steve replies.
"Fair. Is, uh, is your name really Steve?"
"That's the closest translation to your language."
"What's your name in your language?"
Steve hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. He feels his gills flutter, trying to create the bubble pattern that accompanies his name as he lets out a rhythmic series of squeaks and clicks with a short hiss at the end.
A few seconds pass after he's done. And then Eddie nods once and says, "Steve it is. How'd you get caught, Stevie?"
Ignoring the slight urge to point out that Eddie said his name wrong, Steve frowns slightly. "One of my guppies got caught in that ship's net. I got them out but was caught myself."
"One of your...guppies?"
"Yes. You would call them...children, I think?"
Eddie has nearly reached the middle of Steve's tail by now, and his hand falters once more. "Children? Aren't you...a little young?"
Steve bristles, glaring at Eddie. He's heard that same question plenty of times from members of other pods before, and he's tired of it. "What does it matter if they are happy and healthy?" he asks.
"Sorry," Eddie whispers, glancing up at Steve. There's something he can't quite read in Eddie's eyes. "Do you raise them alone?"
"What? No, of course not. My partner, Robin, raises them with me. We have seven guppies, with an eighth on the way."
"An eighth?!" Eddie asks, sounding strained as he pauses his stitching once more to look up at Steve. "Shit, man, shouldn't you give Robin a break?"
Steve blinks, tilting his head slightly. "Why would she need a break?" he asks.
"She's already popped out seven!"
Suddenly, Steve realizes what the disconnect is. He blinks once more and dissolves into laughter. "Oh!" he says, the exclamation broken by a giggle as he tries to calm himself down. "No, no, she is my partner, not my mate. Besides, she doesn't even like mermen."
Eddie seems to relax at Steve's explanation, his shoulders dropping and his voice significantly lighter as he starts stitching again and says, "Oh, I see. Then whose kids are they?"
"Technically, they belong to the pod," Steve explains, gritting his teeth as Eddie reaches the tailfin. He feels warm all over, his nerves jumping and his scales feeling half-ready to just fall off. "Each pod has at least two caretakers. Mates have a guppy and let caretakers raise them while they focus on their own roles within the pod."
"Do you like being a caretaker?"
"Yeah," Steve says, managing a shaky smile despite the tugging on his tailfin and Eddie's fingers pressing against his scales. "They're my guppies. I'd drain the oceans for them."
"And, uh, what about your mate? Do they mind you being so...devoted to the guppies?"
It's not at all subtle, but Steve finds it oddly endearing nonetheless. He slowly exhales, forcing himself to loosen his grip on Eddie's shoulder. "I don't have one."
Just like before, Eddie seems to relax some at the answer. He also finishes stitching, tying off the thread with a secure knot before carefully cutting away the excess. "Well, uh, we'll get you healed up and back to your guppies as soon as possible," he says, looking up at Steve.
"It needs to be wrapped in kelp. And, uh, I'll need a tub. You know, with seawater."
Eddie nods along, flashing a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, Stevie, I'll get you anything you want," he promises.
"Anything?" Steve asks, leaning forward some as he tilts his head.
"I already gave you my favorite ring, sweetheart."
Steve glances down at said ring, wondering what about it could possibly make it Eddie's favorite. He can't immediately figure it out, but that doesn't change the sweet warmth and anticipation for the time he'll spend with Eddie that he suddenly feels.
#steddie#steddie fic#high seas steddie#that's gonna be the fic tag for this series btw#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddie fluff#my writing
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The Layers of Thomas Shelby - Frozen Fear (one-shot)
Synopsis: Fear was an emotion Tommy elicited in others. He never thought he'd feel it himself. Not like that. Never like that...
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader
Genre: angst, slight fluff
Warnings: graphic descriptions of blood, injuries, kidnapping, swearing, death not sticking to canon whatsoever :)
Word count: 3028
Fear was something Thomas Shelby was intimately acquainted with. He elicited it and made others tremble to their very core with just a glance or a whisper of his name from someone else’s lips. Fear was as much a shadow in his life, as his daughter who followed him around wherever she could.
But fear was also what he felt in that exact moment as he stared at the bloodied napkin on his table, the silver locket he’d gifted Y/N when their child had turned one inside it, a simple note of “For Angel” attached to it.
Sadie was tight asleep on his chest when he’d received the damned box. Y/N had taken her to Ada’s so she could have the day to herself, get her body pampered, do up her hair and maybe spend a bit of money on some new shoes or a winter coat as a birthday present from him. If she’d asked, Tommy would’ve bought her the Eifel tower, and she’d bloody well deserve it. Valentine's was coming up, after all.
He was so proud of her. Despite the certain things that’d happened, he wouldn’t want anyone else to share a life with. She’d picked up the broken pieces Grace had left his heart in and mended it with gold. But gold didn’t matter at that moment when he didn’t know where she was. Where her body was.
When Frances had brought in the box that’d been left by the doorstep, Sadie had been softly snoring on his shoulder for the better part of an hour while he ran tired blue eyes over the logs of the previous week.
He thanked her, his voice a whisper to not stir his toddler, before cautiously examining the square. When he opened it, Tommy swore his heart stopped beating. Or he wished it did. Because it wasn’t like that time when Grace’s boyfriend had taken Y/N, or like that time she’d gotten mugged behind a shop. No. This time, he knew she was dead, and he wished he was too.
It took all of his self-control to ring up his brothers and tell them to get to Arrow House right that second. It took all of his restraint not to shout or scream, the only thing tethering him to earth and sanity his pride and joy asleep in his arms.
When Arthur and John got to his home office, Tommy simply threw them the note, his eyes trained on the small oval locket, thumb tracing the inscription upon it, smearing blood more and more over his own hands.
“Find her.” Those were the only words he uttered.
For a brief second, he’d glanced up and saw terror rush through the eyes of his brothers; he knew how much the two loved his wife, they loved her like they loved Ada and Polly, so without a second to spare, they ran back out, no doubt to gather every Blinder and search every nook and cranny while he clutched the brown-haired girl to his chest, the silver locket clutched in his other palm.
He wasn’t a religious man, didn’t even necessarily believe what his gipsy ancestors did or even his aunt Pol, but at that moment he turned his head to the ceiling and prayed to whoever might listen, old gods and new, Norse and Greek and Slavic – anyone that would hear his pleas.
Tommy thought back to every time Y/N had smiled at him, had laughed and filled his world with light. He even thought back to all those insane moments where he felt like his jaw would snap with how hard he’d been clenching it because of some stupid thing she’d done. He wished he’d appreciated those moments more because when two hours later Arthur came back to the house, the coat his wife had been wearing that morning in his hands, soaked and dripping freezing water onto the Turkish carpet, Tommy knew she was gone.
***
Her whole world consisted of cold, nothing else. It was the only thing she could feel, taste and sense. Was there anything to sense? Y/N didn’t know. She didn’t even fully believe her legs were still attached to her body, but somehow she was making her way across the field.
Time had become a concept she couldn’t comprehend, and the only thing that showed it had passed was the ever-changing position of the moon - her only companion through the long journey.
She had stopped shaking a while back, which it didn’t take her being a genius to know meant trouble if she didn’t find a way to get warm, but even that didn’t matter. Nothing but getting home did. If she had to die, she wanted to do it there, not somewhere in a ditch let alone beneath the frozen surface of the lake where Luka Changretta had dumped her.
He thought she’d been dead. He’d slit her throat, but not before ripping off the beautiful little necklace Tommy had gifted her.
“So he has something to remember you by,” the Italian mobster had given her a mocking smile before taking a knife from his side and slicing it across her neck.
The pain had been blinding, knocking all sense of reality out of her mind. She knew it would be the end. When her body lifted above the chair she’d been tied to, when her back greeted plush leather seats, her blood staining them forever. She knew she would die sooner or later. Then sweet blackness greeted her.
But death was a lot more painful than what it’d been described to be like in all the books she'd read and edited, especially the wound in her throat. Her breaths were white-hot knives dragging down her oesophagus and her lungs were on fire with each shallow take of air.
Through a haze, Y/N heard Italian being spoken before two rough hands grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her out of the car.
Her body hit the frozen ground with a thud, and it took every bit of remaining brainpower not to whimper from the pain. The winter air stung every piece of her body inside and out, caressing her with icy nails.
Slowly her mind was coming to, the cold sobering her up, but when someone took her wrists and another took her by the ankles, setting her flying, it was the frozen surface of the lake she cracked through that awoke her completely.
Y/E/C eyes flew open, murky depths of the water greeting her while every nerve and cell in her got shocked. Instinct told her to swim up, get a breath, and get out of the water before it pulled her under, but with the mightiness of a Norse goddess, Y/N suppressed all that and allowed the lake to gently pull her down, and her mind finally started to understand what’d happened.
They thought she was dead and decided to throw her body in some lake, probably hoping it would freeze over before she floated to the top and would remain that way until the very spring, prolonging the pain for her family.
The thought of her family grieving her was the only thing keeping Y/N from not trashing below the still surface. Instead, she slowly slipped her arms out from the coat and let it move to the top, while she sunk lower and lower.
Soon enough her feet touched the slimy earth below, which is when she once more opened her eyes and glanced up. There wasn’t really anything to see, apart from the light of the moon streaming in through the broken place where her body had been thrown and two retreating headlights.
Y/N waited two more seconds her whole being in shock and begging to get out and away from the cold when she pushed upwards and broke the surface. She gulped the air down in greedy takes, not caring about her split neck or the trembling of her body - at that moment all she cared for was air.
Her teeth were chattering so hard she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, afraid it might get caught between them and she’d bite it off. Swishing her head around, she looked if the ice had broken anywhere else. Out. She needed to get out. And to whatever god had taken pity on her after everything, underneath a small makeshift pier where kids would come and fish, the ice had cracked right to the very edge.
She knew every second spent in the water was a second closer to hypothermia, so as quick as her frozen limbs would allow, she swam to the land. It was a hand’s stretch away when another pair of headlights came into view. Y/N cursed and instead of getting out of the lake, she ducked underneath the wooden planks, pressing a palm to her mouth, so whoever it was wouldn’t notice the air steaming up in the air from her mouth.
Her ears were ringing, so Y/N couldn’t hear whatever the men were talking about, only see how they fished out her coat and took it with them. They left another minute later, and she swore at whoever it was for costing it to her. Home. She needed to get home and fast, but she couldn’t be seen, couldn’t let Changretta know he’d half-assed her murder and she’d survived. He wouldn’t do so again, so Y/N waited another bone-chilling minute, checking if any car passed by again.
And then she got out, her dress clinging to her body, hair against her face, matted with seaweeds and blood, one heel of her boot snapped off – a wraith come to life and ready to haunt.
The first step was agonising, and Y/N collapsed underneath her weight, needles piercing her feet. Her knees bruised and scraped raw against the stony earth as did her hands, but she welcomed the pain, let it ground her, and used it to remind herself – pain meant she was alive. No pain would be the real problem.
Y/N wrapped her hands around her body, digging her nails into her biceps, each step an arduous labour. Small pebbles cut the soles of her feet; she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way; her bones ached from the very inside and each breath was a task, the wound in her neck, although scabbed over, split with every small movement, small streams of blood trickling down and staining her white dress.
Lights were visible in the distance, even as her vision blurred more and more, the small bright dots becoming stretched-out beams before everything tilted and she was staring up at the sky.
The stars were magnificent, she thought. You couldn’t really see them shine like that in the city. Even with Arrow House being further away from the centre, the beauty of it didn’t compare to that of the open field.
Her mind went back to Tommy, to how they met, how they used to bicker about every single thing and to that first morning she’d woken up beside him and instead of finding his pillow cold, a strong arm had been wrapped around the middle, his nose hidden in her hair.
Neither mentioned it a few hours later at breakfast, but it’d been the day things slowly had started to shift. Then she’d gotten shot, and the switch had completely been flipped. All those glances they’d shared, the soft smiles and tiny touches were no longer hidden, but out on full display. His hand now always gravitated to touch any part of her, they fell asleep facing one another, most times Y/N using Tommy’s chest as a pillow. And then someone else came along and used his chest as a pillow, his heartbeat as a lullaby and his eyes as the ocean to pull them in and never let go.
She’d been scared to become a mom, but even with that, she’d never seen Tommy so absolutely terrified. When Y/N had gone into labour, she thought he would pass out, but he swallowed the fear and stayed with her. Despite Ada being adamantly against a man being present during “women’s business”, she’d threatened to break her neck if she so much as looked at Tommy, Polly snorting beside her.
“He put me in this position, and by God, he will be here,” Y/N had sneered at her sister-in-law before a contraption rippled through her body and she almost crushed her husband’s hand.
But then the pain went away and a small wriggling person was placed on her chest. She’d never seen Tommy fully break down before that.
“Huh,” Ada had shrugged. “So he does have a heart.”
She’d promptly received a smack from Polly and Y/N for that comment, but Tommy had chuckled.
“No, I don’t.” He’d leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple. “These two stole it a long time ago.”
After that day, it wasn’t uncommon to find Tommy either in his office or even in their bed with Sadie sound asleep on his chest. She just about melted each time.
But now all that stared back at her was the cloudless winter sky. Y/N wanted to sob at the thought she’d never see Tommy’s blue eyes anymore or fix the way Sadie’s curls framed her face, but every little movement was agonising, so she just laid there, staring at the cosmos and waiting for that black void to get her.
***
When Y/N came to she was confused as to why there was so much yelling when being dead, why her head was pounding and her body was racked by violent shivers.
“You undressed my fucking wife!” A deep voice boomed from somewhere very far away it seemed while at the same time, the noise echoed in her skull, rattling her brain.
“Oh, would you have liked me to have left her in that frozen fucking dress?” A deep, gruff one replied. “She was already hypothermic, but by all means, you’d rather no one saw her in her knickers than be alive.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Solomons!”
That name being said snapped her eyes open, which was a big fucking mistake, as even the warm light from a candle by the bed and from the fireplace was enough to make Y/N feel like she was looking directly at the sun and burning her retinas.
Another horrible shiver went through her frame, her teeth chattering nonstop. Pins and needles were running all over her skin and Y/N curled up in a ball as if trying to not let any of the heat she’d managed to get back escape, but that only made her feel more pain, a groan escaping her mouth. That small noise was enough though for the door to be busted open and for two men – one lean and tall, the other a burly, beard-covered menace to rush inside.
Tommy was by her in an instant, a careful palm placed on her cheek.
“Don’t try to talk,” his own voice was that of a whisper. “The wound’s pretty rough.”
If it didn’t feel like it’d hurt like hell, Y/N would’ve just rolled her eyes, but all she could do was squeeze them shut as shivers went through her body. When Tommy saw that, he was instantly on his feet, going for the fireplace and adding more logs to the dwindling flames.
When he turned around, Y/N had slid her shaking hand from underneath the duvet and extended it to him, a silent plea for him to come back.
It didn’t take much more than that for Tommy to take off his jacket and suit, not caring about the company in the room, his trousers following until he was in his breeches, sliding into the bed, wrapping her frozen body with his own warmth.
A groan escaped her mouth, as she clung to him, Tommy releasing a string of expletives when sensing just how cold Y/N actually was.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
Gently, he intertwined her legs with his, and his fingers went to card through her matted strands, the motion more so calming him down, than her.
He’d put their daughter in bed after calling for Polly to come, with the thought Y/N was dead, his whole being a numb void. He’d thought the only time he’d ever get to see her again was after her body was found, that was if it’d be in a recognisable condition, so he’d take her frozen feet against his calves, her cold lips against his chest and stiff fingers digging painfully in his sides, as long as it meant she was alive.
At some point, after Alfie and Tommy exchanged words, Solomons left, and they spent the whole night and early morning like that, tangled in one another until Y/N was no longer cold or more appropriately would snap her tongue off if she so much as opened her mouth. She still couldn’t speak despite how Alfie had cleaned and stitched the wound in her neck, but she could write.
Alfie had brought a pen and paper upon Tommy’s request so they could communicate and the first and only word she scribbled was “home”.
“We’ll go home soon,” Tommy promised. “Arthur’s just… taking care of a few things.”
To that Y/N just nodded; she didn’t need any more explanations.
She took the pencil again and flipped to a new page. “Alfie has shitty sheets.”
Tommy chuckled, tightening the grip he had around Y/N’s waist. “He does, doesn’t he? You’d think the fucker could afford silk by now. Did he even change them before he put you in the bed?”
She just smiled and nuzzled closer to Tommy pressing her no longer cold nose to his chest and breathing in his scent, as he cradled her nape.
Y/N could hear the rapid thuds of his heart. When he'd first joined her in the bed, it'd been racing like one of his horses, stuttering and trying to find a beat, but now it was a steady song, matching her own.
No longer were they afraid.
Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):
Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger
Thomas Shelby tags: @datewithgianni @captivatedbycillianmurphy @screemqueen @mrsmalfoyshelby @theamuz @lyarr24
A/N: sooo, it's been a while, hasn't it? Just wanted to drop something for the upcoming Valentines :)
P.S. hope you liked this :)
P.S.S. please don’t plagiarise my work and repost it/ translate it on other platforms (wattpad etc). re-blogs are very welcome
#Peaky Blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinder fanfic#Tommy Shelby#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby angst#cillian murphy#cillian x reader#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy angst#thomas shelby imagine#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby smut#thomas shelby angst#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby x y/n#thomas shelby x you#thomas shelby x y/n
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