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lostfracturess · 20 days ago

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THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you.

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions.

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away.

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence.

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush.

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased.

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted.

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years.

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x gn!reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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sundrop-writes · 2 months ago

Text

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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yizhrt · 5 months ago

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perv!dreamies x 8th member f!reader headcanons !

notes ☆ since i'm obsessed with @luvyeni perv!dreamies headcanons, i had to write my own :( ngl im a bit insecure with this one lol

perv!dreamies who always look forward to have you flustered. their words or touches, all of them get bold when it comes to you.

perv!dreamies who throw some dirty jokes that only you and the members will understand, mostly when you guys are doing a live.

perv!mark who sends you a video of him jerking off moaning your name. he almost sent it on bubble though, clicking on it accidently while choosing some pictures to send.

perv!mark who insists to do a live with you so he can tease you. he keeps his hand on your thigh, wandering dangerously near to your crotch and 100% fingers you when the live is close to its end.

perv!mark who loves to keep your company on the studio, so he can ger some inspiration from you. well, naked you, giving him a head. and most likely to use your moans of his name on a song, but will never release it (or maybe...)

perv!renjun who, in front of your fans, looks the most adorable member, just like a brother for you, when in reality he's the meanest.

perv!renjun who fucks you in the sofa, so the members can catch your teary and vulnerable form being fucked by him.

perv!renjun who needs to have his hands on your ass, even if you're in public. he just can't help himself.

perv!jeno who loves to have you on his lap in live so you can grind him in front of your fans, even if they don't get what you're doing.

perv!jeno who rests his hands innocently behind your back, when in fact, he's fingering you from behind.

perv!jeno who walks around the streets with your panties stuffed on his pocket while having you tied up on his bed waiting for him to do what he needs to.

perv!haechan who is known as the most affectionate member and gets advantage of it, kissing you in public or touching any part of your body. he can go ever further by fingering you on events.

perv!haechan who is always hugging you from behind in between your performances on show, because he gets easily turned on and needs to relieve by humping your ass.

perv!haechan who posted a picture of you on bubble while sleeping on your stomach. little do people know he had his cock buried deep inside you.

perv!jaemin who records your fucking and shows the guys later. when it happens, you have two possibilities: you'll be fucked by all of them or they'll just jerk off watching how much of a good girl you are and will spare your poor body.

perv!jaemin who wakes you up by eating you out while talking about your schedule.

perv!jaemin who fucked you in tds3 backstage because he just couldn't stand the fact that you had to sing the part he was supposed to do with renjun in “better than gold” and might've just kissed you right there. nctzens didn't miss the way he looked like a lovesick pup.

perv!chenle who fucks you in front of a window just to tease you about someone seeing the nct dream's most innocent member being a needy whore.

perv!chenle who can't help himself and just make you suck him off in between the performances.

perv!chenle who buys you the prettiest lingeries so you can put on a show for the guys later. it always ends up with you covered in 7 different cums and sore legs.

perv!jisung who loves to be alone in the practice room so he can take his time with you. always fucking your throat and making a mess, covering your face in his cum.

perv!jisung who always has a hard on when watching your fancams. is not about the clothes, is about you and all of the things you've done before or after the performance. how you've sucked him off before the performance, or how you let him eat you out after it.

perv!jisung who zooms in your chest if your shirt has a low cut or in your ass if your shorts or skirts are too short while watching your fancams. he always ends up like a horny teenager, with a huge boner, humping his bed or fucking his fist.

perv!dreamies who'd love to let their fans know how much of a slut you are for them and only them. if only your fans knew how much of a horny girly the “angel” of nct is...

#nct imagines #nct smut #nct fanfic #nct headcanons #nct dream smut #nct hard thoughts #nct dream fanfic #mark smut #renjun smut #jeno smut #haechan smut #jaemin smut #chenle smut #park jisung smut #𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌ㅤㅤㅤ › 7dream .ᐟ

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aledmorningstar · 9 months ago

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╰┈➤Bad joke

Summary: Sukuna discovers that you don't like jokes.

Relationship: Ryomen Sukuna/Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Note: Slow updates, my editor and I are in a fight with my university administrators.

-‘๑’-: No curses au, uni au, sfw, humor, fluff, slight angst

The terrible hours of class had finally ended, the hard day of university had culminated its torture at 6:00 pm, every day you reconsidered the idea of continuing studying so intensely, did you really need that university degree?

Without a doubt, life sounded more beautiful in an imaginary world, being a pretty housewife who patiently waited for her millionaire husband who loved her madly, your days would be spent helping your children with their homework and wasting an unreasonable amount of money on any whim.

“We've told you to stop daydreaming, it could be dangerous in the wrong places.”

Your daydream was interrupted by one of your best friends, it seemed like your group of friends had already finished putting away their belongings and were just waiting for you to leave the classroom.

"Oh I'm sorry. I was just thinking about the future."

“Is the young lady returning to the fantasy of married life with her impolite boyfriend?”

"Hey! I already told you not to talk about him like that."

You argue while you put your notebooks and computer in your bag, the one that your boyfriend Ryomen had given you on your birthday even though you told him that a gift was not necessary, you knew how difficult it must be for him and how limited which can sometimes be the money in your situation; his mother, playing the role of both parents and trying to provide a bright future for her children; Yuji, his twin who had to complete several courses to be a firefighter and also study a Bachelor's degree in automotive mechanics; and finally Ryomen himself, who had to complete his university career as a lawyer.

It was definitely not easy for him or his family, unlike you, who had lived the life of a princess in an imaginary bubble impenetrable by the dangers and worries of reality. Even though you had insisted on helping that modest family financially, you were not allowed to do so. Both Sukuna and his brother and mother refused to accept a cent of your generous support, saying that they did not want to take advantage of your kindness. That did not stop them from you gave expensive gifts to each one on special dates.

Maybe that was the reason behind that expensive gift from your boyfriend, one day he simply listened to you talk about that beautiful designer bag that was going to become fashionable with its next release on sale, he used all his savings and even did part-time jobs, washing cars, walking dogs, helping model clothes for the fashion design department; just to be able to see a cute and excited smile on your face.

You are a princess, the most beautiful flower he could find and of course he would give you everything you deserve, everything that fine society has given you and he does his best so that you do not have any lack by his side, to be worthy of you.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you had pre-ordered that bag thanks to your father's contacts and that you had to refund it, angering some merchants for their wasted efforts.

“Hurry up, if we don't get to the cafe on time the tables will be full.”

Like every Friday you and your friends got together to talk about the latest news in your lives, your social circle was mostly made up of girls just as privileged as you, it wasn't difficult for your father to convince you to choose a career in law, much less make you enter one of the most demanding and prestigious schools in the country.

Your friends are good girls, you knew that otherwise you wouldn't have even looked at them; However, like you, they were overprotected and followed the sophisticated rules that society had imposed on them. This was one of the reasons why they didn't quite agree with your relationship with Ryomen Sukuna, a commoner in their eyes.

Like any conversation between friends, the topic of boys and relationships could not be avoided, a topic in which you came to light with your strange relationship of “opposite poles”, the little princess of the city and the delinquent of the campus, it was the funniest and most interesting experiment your friends could witness.

“So… How is our little princess's relationship going? Did he already ruin it?”

Of course there were going to be silly comments that doubted that your relationship was authentic and that waited for the slightest mistake from your boyfriend to shout in your face “I told you so.”

"No and he won't, you don't know my 'kuna"

“We know his history”

Even though all your friends were always supportive and kind to you, there was one in particular who wasn't very nice. Ann, always making sarcastic comments and believing herself to be better than everyone, everyone could see how jealous she was of you; She had been the last to join the group, one day you saw her alone and decided to integrate her into your group, unfortunately you never found the words to tell her that you no longer wanted to be her friend.

“Come on, darling, everyone here remembers how your relationship began.”

“He has changed, he is not the same person he was before, he is a new man”

Sure, your relationship may not have started off in the most convincing way possible, there were lies, misunderstandings and a lot of tears, but everything is different now. Now you have the romance that any girl could dream of, one full of love, affection and trust of those you only find in books, you would have your happily ever after.

“Well, I'll wait for your bad boy to do one of his things and don't say I didn't warn you.”

"When pigs fly, that's not going to happen"

The atmosphere had frozen in an awkward silence as you and Ann exchanged a big forced smile, it was strange to see you angry because of your sweet personality, but it would certainly be even stranger not to see you jump into an argument that included Ryomen Sukuna's name, you are his unofficial lawyer.

“Okay girls, let's talk about something else…”

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

You love Fridays, the best day of the week, since you could sleep over at your loved one's house and enjoy the weekend in his arms watching movies, doing puzzles, taking photos, listening to music, talking, watching videos, going out on dates, ordering takeout or even when he played a video game on the console and you were left coloring the pictures he printed for you (sometimes he needs his space).

That Friday the drawings were finished quickly, so you decided to watch some videos on your tiktok while Sukuna played a video game that you only knew had weapons because of the shots. The videos on your fyp were about pranks between couples (something that amused you), some light and others a little harsh.

Sukuna was someone who was a joker, someone who liked to make jokes but couldn't stand having one played on him; However, you were a couple, a slight joke between you could be kind of funny, it wasn't even a funny joke you just wanted to see how funny his reaction could be.

A message made Sukuna's phone ring, you thought it was the perfect time for your little act as you held back your laughter.

“Who is sending you so many messages? You have another girl, right?”

Your comment surprised Sukuna slightly, you weren't the jealous type, he looked at you for a split second and that was enough for him to know you were joking, he can play too.

"Oh my love. It's not even one girl, they´re five precious ones."

The amused smile that adorned your face disappeared in an instant, being replaced by a strange grimace, your eyes glistening from the tears that formed and that you refused to let go as you bit your trembling lower lip, preventing any sound.

"Really?"

“Of course, pretty. I'm too cool to stay with just one girl."

Memories of your conversation with Ann invaded your mind, Sukuna Ryomen had a past that was difficult to overcome, would he really change overnight for you?

Your boyfriend quickly realized that you had started packing your belongings back into your suitcase, why would you do that? The plan was that you would stay with him like every weekend, what was happening?

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Well, you had dropped a little bomb that exploded in your face and you didn't like it, but you wouldn't let him notice that it dealt a low blow at least for you.

“I'm just putting my things away. “Can you pass me my colored pencils?”

Sukuna decided to make the difficult decision to abandon his game and pay attention to the seemingly serious situation that was occurring with his beloved.

He did as you asked, you put away your colored pencils next to your other belongings with quick movements and finally wrote something furiously on your phone.

“I asked you a question, what are you doing?”

“Nothing… I'm asking my driver to come pick me up.”

"Now?"

“Yes, now. In fact I'm writing to him 'Please hurry up, I want to leave here right now, come as fast as you can'”

You could barely feel the force and speed with which Ryomen snatched the phone from your hands, he stood up and placed your phone on one of the highest pieces of furniture in the living room.

"Why would you do that?"

"What do you mean why? Did you hear what you said earlier?”

The hardest question you can ask a man, ask him the reason why his girlfriend was angry. The pink-haired man's reasoning quickly went to work.

Connect the dots, you had gotten angry within a period of 5 minutes, you weren't angry with him before that time, all he had done was play video games. Had that bothered you? No, he had given you drawings of your favorite characters to entertain you, the only thing he had done besides playing had been answering your joke... Oh.

“Ah, that's it.”

“Is that all you will say?”

Okay, a mental note for Sukuna: You like making jokes, you don't like having them made or returned to you. You're a crybaby, but he still loves you.

“Sorry, love, it was a joke. You know that I only love you, you are the only girl who occupies my heart, the owner of my soul and my body, I would kill for you, ask me to kill for you."

Ryomen approached to hug you from behind, he placed one of his hands on your abdomen and one on your shoulder, crossing your chest to bring you closer to him, you could feel his breath on your neck and after a few seconds you shivered from the kisses he gave you. he left on your cheek.

“I didn't find your joke funny.”

“In my defense, you started joking that I had another woman. You’re a baby, jokes aren’t your thing, darling.”

The look on your face made him feel like he had just kicked a puppy, his solution was to carry you back to the couch and hold you in his arms.

"I'm sorry baby. You can choose the movie we watch today, deal?”

"Deal"

⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭 master list is here

#aledthinks #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jujustsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #drabble #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #fluff

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timkontheunsure · 7 months ago

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Some of the reasons I think Stolas is on the spectrum

(finally getting around to popping this on up too).

He has special interests & misses social cues while being happy in them.

It not really normal to be happy reading legal documents when someone's life is on the line. But Stolas is just vibing that he gets to help with his love of words. Yay him!

Stims

He stims when both happy & sad to help regulate his emotions.

His happy stims are:

*clapping when he gets to take Via to the circus, because he thinks they can enjoy it together.

He also does this with contract reading.

*He hopps up and down when his dad gives him a new books. Also when getting ready for his date with Blitz. He's just so happy he needs to hop.

His sad stims:

*are bang his head again and again about the engagement.

*He self sooves with chest strokes when Blitz says his outfit is too much.

*He hand rubs and wringing his hat when worrying about Via in LA.

Special interests

The there's that Stolas info dumps on the playdate with Blitz all about his books and about plants.

Stolas also feels he has to explain why Blitz horse joke was soo funny. And why's it so funny?

Because it's accurate. I love his little cutie.

But he's also kept up his love of plants as a major hobby now he's an adult. When most people tend to swap interests as they age.

Side bar

His comfy resting hand position is t rex hands. This tends to be an autistic thing. Also works well as an owl.

Sensory issues

Stolas appears to also have some sensory issues too. When his a child he appears to be struggling when Mr Butler touches his hair out of nowhere.

But he's fine with Blitz doing it when they're kissing. This shows a lot of trust between them.

I think it's likely sensory issues are the reason why he swaps into his comfy, very old robe, as often as he can too.

Specific communication issues

While Stolas is very good at some communication styles, he's pretty bad at others.

When the audience think it's another joke about wanting to keep a puppy; he immediately knows Blitz's is panicking the studio. And tries to get to him.

However he doesn't get that his dirty talk is way OTT, because he's mostly likely coping it from the erotica. Not lived experience.

Speaking of erotica.

There's obviously a rule that reading is allowed at the diner table. But Stolas doesn't get This book isn't appropriate to read there.

Another rule he appears to follow more rigidly than most probably would; is that when you get an appointment you wait till you're seen.

Ozzie's ment to met Stolas at noon, but doesn't make it till 4 pm because of problems with work.

Stolas is only a couple of days out of the hospital and is probably feeling horrible.

But he sticks around a minimum of 4 hours to be seen, because he feels he has to.

(I'm assuming he also got taught you turn up earlier rule, but this just a guess).

Stolas genuinely wants to do something Via will enjoy, and he's fine taking Via to stylish occult when she asks.

But didn't get it till she's crying and sad that she wasn't enjoying Loo Loo Land.

"I take it you are.. not having fun." She needs to spell it out. Sarcasm isn't easy for him to interrupt.

His was obviously thought taking his daughter and his lover out to a theme park would be a good way to introduce them.

It's the sort of plot that only works on a novellas. And that's probably when he got it from. (Probably worked great for Gabrielle and Alejandro).

These are examples of him Masking, and not understanding why it didn't work.

Stella's being dangerous to be around = take Via out somewhere for her to have fun to blow off steam.

Wanting your lover and daughter to like eachother = ask IMP to tag along as the completely unnecessary bodyguards.

He doesn't really get that flirty with his affair partner, in front of his kid while going through a divorce isn't a good idea...

He also struggles to understand when his flirting comes off as condescending too. With "ittybity imps like you" or calling him Blitzy in public. He's most likely him coping language from other goeita.

But Stolas is very good at knowing when knowing when Blitz is fine being picked up, when to reassure him with face stokes, or how to calm Blitz down from a panic attack in just a few seconds.

So it's not that he's just never learnt these skills. It's just that some communication skills are harder for him than others.

But if you disagree that fine. 🙂 I just wanted to put down some of my thoughts why I think he could be.

#helluva boss #stolas #autism in helluva boss #Stolas on the spectrum #helluva boss theories

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scaredpigeons · 8 months ago

Text

Aqua Regia — experimentation is for the bold.

Read Aqua Regia // masterlist

Neuvillette x Fem!reader x Wriothesley (heavy heavy wriothesley x neuvillette)

Word count: 8.6k

After being married for a few years, your husband asks if you’d be willing to… experiment a little within your intimate life. Your best friend wriothesley is happy to help.

WARNING: SMUT, NSFW 18+ MDNI

CW: m/m/f threesome, m/f and m/m sex. Wriothesley fucks you and your husband. possessiveness(neuvi), danger kink(wrio), growling, slamming into walls, making out, vaginal fingering, anal fingering(male rec), vaginal sex, anal sex(male rec), Neuvillettes inhuman tongue, mentions of Neuvillettes dragon dicks, biting, minor mentions of blood at the end, clitoral stimulation, teasing.

Authors note: okay, okay. Listen. Listen. I had to, okay? Look— it doesn’t have to be AR canon if you’re not into it. It’s not imperative to the plot. It was just so eaaaaasssyyyyyyyyyy. No, Wriothesley isn’t joining the marriage, it’s not becoming a thing, but I am a firm believer that people can fuck their besties if they wanna and it can be chill. Fuck your besties!!! Especially if they look like wriothesley!!! Let your boy best friend fuck your husband!!! Especially if your husband looks like Neuvillette!!

“Have you ever had sex with a man?”

Wriothesley spit his tea across the entirety of his desk, soaking the morning paper crossword puzzle he was half paying attention to.

“I’m sorry, what?” He sputtered, wiping the leftover tea from his mouth and gaping at you with his blue eyes wide.

You simply shrugged, pretending like his reaction wasn’t the most hilarious thing you’ve seen in months. Though, you were expecting him to react something like that.

He was your best friend, but you’d never really talked about either of your sex lives before, mostly because you didn’t have a sex life before Neuvillette, and you always felt too awkward to talk about these things with Wriothesley.

The past couple years with Neuvillette had really whittled down your self consciousness on the subject though, and your more recent conversations with your husband had left you quite curious.

“Just a question, you don't have to answer if you’re not comfortable talking about it though.” You said, nonchalantly sipping your tea, trying to hide the grin threatening its way into your cheeks.

“No, no.” He said, rolling his neck as if the shock of the moment had put a crick in it. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. You just… don’t ever talk about this kinda stuff.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable discussing it with me, that's all.” You said, setting your tea down. “That and— up until Neuvillette, I didn’t really have any experience to speak of.”

He rolled his eyes. Wriothesley often joked about how gross you and your husband were. Flirting when no one was paying attention, stolen glances across the room, poorly concealed marks on your bodies— he called you shameless, teasing you but never prying.

“Well I mean, some people may find it a bit awkward, talking about the sex life of their two best friends… who happened to be married to one another…” he said.

”Do you?” You said, tone light and teasing, almost as if challenging him. “Find it awkward?”

“Not really,” he grinned. “Actually I’ve been dying to know what he’s got going on, y’know… with the whole dragon thing.” Wriothesley made a lewd gesture towards his crotch as he spoke, making you laugh.

“Ah ah, I asked first, your questions can come later.” You teased.

He chuckled, rolling his eyes again. “Fine, fine. The answer is yes, I’ve done almost everything under the sun with as many different kinds of people as there are out there.”

“Your Grace!” You said in a mock fluster. “How scandalous! What would the people say if they knew the Duke of Meropide was such a common whore!”

”Hey!” He laughed, taking your teasing just as intended. “Just because I’m not interested in a long term relationship doesn’t mean I need to be abstinent! Let a man enjoy the simple pleasures in life, you prude.”

You snorted, covering your mouth a bit as you tried not to laugh harder, Wriothesley’s wide grin and accusatory index finger pointing at you wasn't helping.

“What’s your, uh— preference in role when it comes to that type of sex?” You asked once you’d calmed down a bit.

He snorted again, making your laughter bubble back up and threaten to burst out once more.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “it's just so funny to try and see you talk about this shit.”

“Answer me!” You giggled, trying to brush him off. “I’m trying my best, here!”

He cleared his throat, attempting to take the conversation a little more seriously. “I’ve done both, and I favor neither one nor the other. It all depends on the partner, really.”

Not that you’d ever really entertained the thought of what Wriothesley looked and acted like in bed, but you could very easily picture him in a more dominant role, taking charge and leading the experience with a well practiced hand.

But picturing him in a more submissive role? Being the receiver, his broad shoulders pressed into luxurious blankets, large hands reaching up to grasp at long, silky white hair as he—

Oh. You were getting ahead of yourself.

You took the time to clear your own throat and calm your heated cheeks, trying to keep a proper posture.

“What is your opinion on people having casual sex with close friends?” You said, trying to keep your tone level and casual, as to not expose your nerves and ruin the entire conversation. If things took a sour turn, you could easily play it off as morbid curiosity.

He seemed to answer without really thinking. “I mean, I personally don’t see a problem with it, as long as everyone is consenting and, you know… chill.”

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous and frequent use of cryo puns. You swear he did it just to get a rise out of you sometimes.

But he suddenly paused, most likely connecting some dots, as you figured he would.

“If I didn’t know any better, I might think this illustrious personal assistant was propositioning me on behalf of the Iudex, which would never happen,” his eyes thinned, turning a bit dark, but you could see the remnants of a grin threatening their way onto his face once more. “Would it?”

“Quite preposterous in theory, for sure.” You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to meet his eyes and instead taking a delicate sip of your tea, proper and poise. “Though in practice it might not be so improbable.”

Wriothesley’s eyes glimmered as he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and watching you avoid his gaze.

He made a noise of affirmation before clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Yes, yes. Well, even so, I would find it hard to believe, considering everyone in Fontaine is aware of how devoted the honorable Iudex is to his most beloved wife.”

“Yes, well.” You sat your teacup down, eyeing the rows of books he kept while willing the heat from your cheeks. “One does not live life without developing… curiosities. And perhaps his beloved wife is curious too? It’s not so obscene to imagine.”

Wriothesley tilted his head, and out of the corner of your eyes you caught him licking his lips.

“Obscene isn’t the word I’d use when imagining it, that’s for sure.”

———————

“Are you sure about this?” He asks.

“You know you can say the word at any time and this doesn’t have to continue,” You add.

“Exactly.” Wriothesley agreed. “I’m here to do what you want, there’s no expectations. I won’t be upset or offended, literally anything that happens tonight will not affect our relationship whatsoever.”

Your heart thudded against your ribcage as you watched Neuvillette look between the two of you.

Sitting down in the living room with Wriothesley and your husband was a common occurrence, many nights of cards and drinks and laughs were shared here. But tonight was very different, the air seemed electro-charged and the fire crackling in its stone fireplace was only adding more distracting noise to the sound of your heart beat thrumming through your eardrums. Could Neuvillette hear it so loudly too?

Neuvillettes eyes still danced between the two of you, and his brow raised slightly as if in disbelief.

“You are both aware that I was the one who initially proposed this idea, correct?” He asked, slow and steady as if to make sure the words really resonated. “It would be rather foolish of me to ask something like this of the two of you, only to change my mind at the last second. Unless… you both are having second thoughts on the matter?”

Both you and Wriothesley tried to express your refusal of such an accusation at the same time, making the two of you chuckle at each other with your eagerness.

“It’s not us, it’s just…” Wriothesley paused, making a circling gesture with his spread hands, as if he was trying to gather the thoughts he couldn’t quite conjure.

“My love, you have a tendency to be a bit…” you started, looking for the right phrase to not offend him too terribly much.

“Sometimes you can come across a little…” Wriothesley looked at you, cringing a bit as he hoped you would finish as if to soften the blow.

You sighed, deciding to just come right out and say it.

”Possessive.” You said. “You can be quite possessive.”

Neuvillette only nodded, seemingly unaffected.

“It is true that I can be rather possessive of my wife, as is in a dragon's nature to protect their mate, to guard their treasures carefully.” He looked to you. “Though I don’t see how that would be a problem in this situation?”

”My darling, you growled at that tea seller from Liyue when he tried to offer me a discount.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I did not enjoy the way his eyes were roaming all over your body, as if you were some kind of confectionary treat to drool over.”

“You’ve almost broken my hand just for touching her arm.” Wriothesley deadpans.

“Unrelated.” Neuvillette huffs. “I was experiencing a fluctuation in elemental energy when the full power of the hydro sovereign was returned to its rightful owner. Any irresponsible choices I might have made during that time can be written off as flukes, one time mistakes, nothing more.”

“Any irresponsible choices like, for example, courting your personal assistant without the knowledge that she was aware that was what you were doing?” Wriothesley stood from his chair, rounding the little end table that held your books to stand behind the armchair you were perched on, facing Neuvillette on the couch.

You could see the tips of your husbands ears glow red in the firelight, and you suppressed the urge to giggle when he clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“Nonsense.” He looked at you, and his eyes softened. “The decision to court you may not have been a very well thought out one, but it was a decision I will stand by for the rest of my existence.”

You flushed. He always found a way to make your heart flutter. You were so in love with this man— dragon— you were in love with your husband, and it seemed his devotion to you was an endless pool as well.

“Well, if it's unrelated, you should have no problem with me touching her again now, hmm?” Wriothesley said behind you, and you froze a bit in shock. You didn’t think he would start this so soon, but better to get going naturally, yes? Surely if you tried to talk about it forever, it would never happen.

His large, still wrapped up hands slid down your arms, fingertips dragging along your exposed skin until he was bent over the back of the chair, nuzzling into the side of your neck. His index fingers smoothed over the insides of your wrists as he breathed in your scent, a soothing gesture surely— but it only served to rile you up even more.

You looked up at Neuvillette and involuntarily whimpered at how strained he looked. His eyes were dark, menacing. His gloved hands were gripping the edge of the couch, straining the fabric as if it was seconds away from tearing and exposing the cushion. He looked like he was about to pounce, a murderous glare trained on where Wriothesley was touching you, breathing you in.

“You smell so sweet tonight, is that a new perfume?” Wriothesley whispered, making sure his breath ghosted over your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Yes,” you squeaked, still watching Neuvillette watch you.

“Just for me?” You caught him flashing that cheeky grin in your peripherals. “You shouldn’t have.”

His hands smoothed up and down your forearms, his lips barely ghosting along your throat, the tease of it all making you breathless.

“You seem far too comfortable doing such things with your best friend, Your Grace.” Neuvillettes' tone was dark, his voice was steady and smooth like usual, but there was an underlying madness creeping around the edges of his words that set your skin on fire. “Should I be concerned?”

Wriothesley pressed his smile against the sensitive skin beneath your ear, not quite a kiss but it ripped a growl from Neuvillette’s chest all the same.

“It’s fun to play pretend sometimes, isn’t it?” The Duke whispered your name softly in your ear, and you could see his eyes dip up to finally look at Neuvillette. “We can play pretend for a little while… can’t we, doll?”

You met Neuvillettes gaze. He was livid, yes. But there was a flush on his cheekbones that wasn’t there before— a heaviness to his breath that didn’t seem to come from his anger. You nodded to Wriothesley.

“I haven’t even touched you properly yet and he looks like he’s about to burst.” Wriothesley chuckled, low and breathy in your ear, but loud enough that you were sure your husband could hear. “Tell your puppy to heel, hmm? I’m just trying to get the fun started.”

Your thighs clenched together, heat pooling to your core in droves as you watched Neuvillette, all while receiving Wriothesley’s gentle and teasing ministrations.

“Neuvillette—“ you gasped as Wriothesley moved his hands to your thighs, blowing cool air in your ear. “Are you… still okay?”

Wriothesley’s warm palms gripped onto the plush of your thighs, making your legs spread almost on their own, a natural response to the kind of feelings stirring inside you, but it still made you squirm knowing it wasn’t your husband who brought such a response from you.

Neuvillette still hadn’t responded, but you figured he would voice his concerns if he truly had any. He looked as though he was fighting against all instincts, but from a quick peek to the crotch of his pants—you could tell he was just as excited as you were.

Your hips bucked up and arms tensed as Wriothesley kissed you gently on the junction between your neck and shoulder, your thinly strapped top giving him easy access to plenty of skin.

“So responsive…” Wriothesley groaned. “Aren’t you just a little treat for me.”

You bit your bottom lip as his kiss turned wet, his tongue dragging across your skin with each press of his lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you whined when he nibbled on your jawline, making your hands grip the arms of the chair even tighter as his hands continued their leisurely strokes on the tops of your thighs, fingertips only slightly teasing the fabric covering the inner flesh here and there.

“Such pretty little noises too,” Wriothesley said, bringing his fingertips further into the flesh of your inner thighs on the next stroke of his hands, watching the way Neuvillette lurched at the sound of your whimpers. “Does she make such pretty noises for you too, Iudex?”

Neuvillettes voice was chipped at the edges, wavering and dark, anger and lust and all other conflicting emotions swirling in the syllables as he growled out into the firelight flickering along the dark walls.

“My touch commands sounds more beautiful than you will ever pull from her, I can assure you that.”

“That sounds like a challenge to me, Monsieur.” Wriothesley was pushing it, he really was. You were honestly shocked at how well Neuvillette was handling himself thus far, but there had to be a breaking point.

The Duke of Meropide looked your Husband dead in the eyes (you only knew he did because you watched as Neuvillette met his gaze, his pupils thinning into tiny slivers,) and dragged his fingertips up your thighs, bringing his left and to press his middle and ring fingers deeply along the seam of your pants— the seam directly covering your aching core.

Your cunt throbbed at the attention and you cried out, a little startled but mostly just overwhelmed at such a heavy and sensual touch after all the light teasing.

As quickly as the touch was there it was ripped away, your body jolting back in shock as Neuvillette was suddenly upright, bolting across the few feet between the chair and couch to push Wriothesley away from you, making the Duke stumble backwards a few steps.

If he pressed him back where he stood, his back would surely collide with the bookshelves behind him, and somewhere in his instinct driven lizard brain he must have realized that, so he grabbed Wriothesley by the lapels on his vest and hauled him against the wall perpendicular to the shelves, which happened to line up quite nicely with your field of view as you turned around in the chair.

You sat on your knees and gripped the edge of the chair back as you watched them. Their profiles illuminated by the stone fireplace, the breaths in their chests heaving as they looked at each other.

Wriothesley was no small man, but he seemed so tiny as Neuvillette loomed over him, his eyes blazing down and piercing into the Duke.

“Your impudence knows no bounds, does it, little boy?” Neuvillette growled.

Oh.

Oh, did that ever do something for you.

Wriothesley cheekily grinned under his murderous glare, looking up at him without a care in the world— like one of the most powerful beings in Teyvat wasn’t pressing him up against a wall, looking like he wanted to tear him limb from limb.

Or maybe that's exactly why he looked so happy. Wriothesley used to be a bit of an adrenaline junky, didn’t he? Nothing crazy, just jumping into the water from high cliffs, picking fights with bullies much bigger than him, that sort of thing. You figured that spark must’ve died down since his sentencing to the Fortress, but it looks like it was still alive and well, glimmering up at your husband.

“Oh,” Wriothesley breathed, shifting his knee up in between Neuvillettes thighs. “I know plenty of ways to disrespect the honorable Iudex, if he’d like me to show him.”

Neuvillette let loose a sound halfway between a growl and a moan as Wriothesley pressed his thigh into Neuvillette a little harder, grinding against what was surely an aching erection.

“Or would he rather disrespect me?” Wriothesley’s breath was heaving in his chest as he pulled Neuvillettes hands from his lapel to his throat, steadying his grip there as he moved closer, pressing further. You watched as his gaze flickered from Neuvillettes eyes to his lips, before that sinful tongue came out and absentmindedly swiped across his own bottom lip.

And that was all it took.

Neuvillette crashed into him in a flurry of teeth and tongues as he devoured Wriothesley, pinning him further against the wall with his slender hands cupping around his throat.

You gaped as Neuvillette managed to slip a knee between Wriothesley’s legs now, and you nearly moaned he ground his hips against the duke, the tents in their pants pressing against each other's hips. Every few strokes they would bump into each other until Neuvillette must have decided that he preferred when they did, because he shifted until they were pressing against each other's cocks with every grind of their hips, making Wriothesley whimper out a pitiful sound that had you feeling your heartbeat pounding between your legs.

The Duke managed to pull his arms up and over Neuvillettes shoulders, wrapping his hands around the back of your husbands neck, pulling him closer as they devoured one another.

Their breaths were heavy, the grinding of their hips making you squeeze your thighs together as you watched them. You had half a mind to think that maybe you were a bit perverted for enjoying this so much, but the other half was too enraptured by the sight in front of you and the wetness pooling in your underthings to worry too much about it.

“You kiss—“ Wriothesley breathed between kisses, “—like it's a conquest.”

Neuvillette growled, pressing himself closer, squeezing the sides of Wriothesley’s throat in warning. “Only when I have a partner so desperate to be conquered.”

Neuvillette moved his hands in favor of sucking and nibbling along the exposed skin of Wriothesley’s jawline and throat, nibbling between the black wrappings and making the Duke’s knees shudder while he moaned.

His eyes caught yours where you sat and a grin pushed its way onto his heated face.

“Look at your little wife, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette turned his head, and his pupils dilated in the firelight as he caught you so shamelessly staring, face flushed and thighs surely squeezing together.

“Bedroom.” He said, voice leveling out but having no less of its ever commanding tone.

“Bedroom.” You squeaked, nodding as you nearly fell off the chair.

—————————

“I never imagined that Madame Neuvillette would be so shameless…” Wriothesley breathed in your ear as you squirmed in his lap, head lolling back onto your husband's shoulder as the Iudex sucked along your throat from where he sat behind you.

Your clothes were long tossed off, and you pulled at Wriothesley’s tie and hand wrappings, desperate to expose more of his skin. Wriothesley chuckled and moved to take it all off, his coat and vest long since discarded into the darkened corners of your bedroom.

Satisfied with Wriothesley following your needy directions, you reached over your own shoulders to pull at your husband's shirt, wanting to feel his bare skin pressing against your own.

“My love…” you whined. “More, more— I wanna feel you.”

Neuvillette brought his fingertips to your mouth, and you whined as you pinched the tip of his glove in between your teeth, holding on as he slipped his hand from the offending fabric. He brought his other hand up to do the same, and you watched as Wriothesley’s pupils blew wide at the movement.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth as you dropped the gloves in your lap, looking at Wriothesley with a face that was surely more lewd than he’d ever seen on you before.

Finally, his upper body was bare, and your hands roamed the wide expanse of his scarred skin.

“Kiss me?” You asked, looking at him through your lashes.

“What kinda question is that?” Wriothesley grinned as he leaned up to capture your lips. He tasted like tea, and a vague hint of your husband's lips from their earlier tryst downstairs.

You moaned as the duke's hands caressed your waist and cupped your breasts, his hips rocking up into you as your tongues danced together, messy and uncoordinated but so enjoyable.

Wriothesley pulled back and his eyes flickered behind you before a pained expression washed over his face.

“Damn it. Fuck. That’s so fuckin’ unfair.” The duke whined.

You looked back to see your husband shirtless, finally. You knew exactly what Wriothesley was whining about too.

Neuvillette was always beautiful, but all his finery and fabrics hid just how stunning he actually was.

His pale skin was flawless, glowing in the moonlight streaming in your bedroom window. His shoulders were broad, arms sculpted and showcasing the odd blue veins here and there. His abdominals were strong and lean, his trim waist dipped into his hips with a perfect v cut that drew your eyes directly towards the light speckling of hair that trailed below his navel. He had the body of a strong swimmer, he had the body of a being so beautiful not even the gods could compare.

He was stunning, he never failed to take your breath away even after years of the privilege of seeing him this way.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you pouted as you looked at him over your shoulder.

Neuvillettes long silky hair fell over his shoulder as he leaned in to crowd you against Wriothesley, his bare hands tipped in the faintest pale blue— the element he commanded pulsing through him too powerful to stay hidden away— running along Wriothesley’s sides to paw greedily at his chest, his arms caging you in and forcing you deeper into the dukes lap.

“You both act as if your forms do not beget a reaction so feral and obscene that it makes ones insides shudder in anticipation.” Neuvillette growled, his fingers trailing through the dark hairs coating Wriothesley’s chest.

Wriothesley groaned as you reached down to join your husband's perusal of his chest. Neuvillette was right about one thing at least— as beautiful as your dragon sovereign was, Wriothesley was a different sort of attractive altogether.

Wriothesley was thick. All broad shoulders and corded muscle, large arms that looked like they could pick you up and toss you across a room without issue. His waist didn’t cut in as narrow as Neuvillettes, his abdominals less defined, but you could still see the strength in him tense as you ran your hands across his body. Scarred, marked by his past tribulations and coated in a speckling of hair that just screamed that rugged sort of sexy that made your mouth water.

“Fuck,” the duke said, tossing his head back as Neuvillette ran his nails from chest to navel. “Is he always so quick with the flowery dirty talk?”

You smiled, squirming down on his lap, surely making a mess of the front of his pants. “You act like it didn’t make your cock jump.”

You bit your lip and moaned as Wriothesley grinned and bucked his hips up against your cunt as punishment.

Neuvillette leaned closer, his head dipping above your shoulder to mouth at Wriothesley’s jawline as you were squeezed between them, helpless and turned on with the Duke's erection pressing at your core and your husbands twitching against your ass.

“Your insistence on tormenting my wife will not go unchecked, Your Grace.” Neuvillette whispered as his hands pawed at the Duke's chest once more.

You could hear Wriothesley’s breath hitch as you squirmed further into his lap, and you felt your husband grab and squeeze at him while dragging nibbling kisses along his throat and jawline.

“You’re so fucking good, Neuvillette, shit—“ Wriothesley moaned, stumbling over his words a bit. “Damnit— I want to fuck you so badly.”

Everything seemed to still for a moment. Neuvillette leaned back, letting you look at Wriothesley’s flushed face and heaving chest. His cock was straining against his pants beneath you, you could feel it twitching as he looked up at both of you.

“Do you really?” Neuvillette asked.

“Wha— what?” Wriothesley breathed.

“Do you want to fuck him?” You said, sounding equally as breathless.

Wriothesley seemed confused for a moment, before his eyes darted between the two of you, his face still tinged pink.

“With the way things were going… I figured he’d be the one to— but if you—“

“Do you want to fuck Neuvillette, Wriothesley?” You asked, lowering your tone into something more sultry as you looked at him through heavy lashes.

“Fuck—“ he groaned, his eyes rolling back a bit. “Fuck yes. Yes— you have no idea.”

You both slid off of him, and Neuvillette grabbed at his thighs to pull his legs to the edge of the bed. You sat beside the Duke, watching intently as your husband lowered himself to the ground between Wriothesleys knees.

Wriothesley sat up, looking at the Iudex on his knees in front of him, and his face suddenly turned a whole new shade of red.

“You don’t have to— I mean, I said I was—“

“I want to try. Let me try it?” Neuvillettes' tone was a lot softer now that Wriothesleys hands weren’t actively on you, and you knew that would be the case.

Wriothesley propped himself up with his hands behind him. “Fuck, yes. Yes— okay.”

You leaned over to help Neuvillette undo Wriothesley pants, wanting an up close look at the way his face would change when he saw Wriothesley’s cock. And he did not disappoint you.

His eyes widened and pupils dilated as Wriothesley’s cock burst from its confines, the weight of it making it droop a bit to the side instead of smacking against his stomach. You felt your own mouth water at the sight of it. He was long and obscenely thick, you think he was perhaps even thicker than your husband, and you could see the way Neuvillettes gaze took it in, watching the gears turn in his mind as he realized he was going to try and fit this thing inside him.

A taste of your own medicine, much? You wanted to snicker.

Neuvillettes eyes dipped over to you, a look of hesitation flickering across his features. You smiled down at him, reaching a hand to card your fingers through his hair.

“Take it slowly, darling. You know what feels good, just let yourself have fun with it, okay?” You said.

He looked to Wriothesley, who just silently nodded in agreement, hands fisting the blankets and staring in almost disbelief at Neuvillette between his legs.

Finally, finally, Neuvillette leaned in and let his hot and wet tongue lick up Wriothesley’s shaft before releasing its inhuman length out to curl lewdly around the head of it, lapping up the pre-come dripping from the tip.

Wriothesley shuddered, his eyes widening even more as a desperate sound of shock was ripped from his throat, and he pulled away, scurrying himself back up the bed.

“OH!— okay okay OHkay—“ he yelped as he scrambled back. “If we keep doing that shit I’ll be done in five seconds flat. What the fuck?”

You giggled, looking at Neuvillettes' disappointed pout as Wriothesley panted beside you.

“Yeah, I had about the same reaction the first time too— though I let him keep going.”

Wriothesley sighed. “Yeah well— I said I was going to fuck him.”

The Duke shuffled out of his pants fully, tossing them on the floor. His thick thighs flexing as he kneeled on the bed.

“Sorry, sorry. We can try that again another time.” He took a deep breath, grounding himself. “If it pleases the honorable Iudex, I’d have him lie on the bed and make himself comfortable.”

Neuvillette eyed the cock still hanging hard between Wriothesley’s thighs, but listened without complaint, laying himself down on the pillows.

“Good.” Wriothesley said, the flush in his cheeks slowly dying down to something more reasonable.

He crawled closer, kneeling in between Neuvillettes spread legs, eyeing him for signs of discomfort as he slowly reached for the buttons of his pants. Neuvillette simply relaxed his face, lifting up his hips when Wriothesley pulled at the waistband to tug them off his body.

To Wriothesley, it probably looked like Neuvillette was in calm indifference, just going with the motions, but underneath, you could see your husband brimming with nerves and anticipation, his eyes blazing with need. Your husband was just incredibly used to schooling his own emotions into a mask, he was doing so now to hide his nervousness.

As his pants and undergarments were finally pulled from him, his cock twitched, long and hard and leaking as he laid there, and you simply couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down and took the head of it into your mouth, giving him a few firm sucks just to loosen the tension in his spine.

He moaned, his hand coming to your shoulder as he squirmed. You pulled away, smirking at the flush now coating his face.

Wriothesley whistled as he took in Neuvillettes completely naked form, running his hand along a smooth milky thigh, thumbing gently where it meets his hip.

Neuvillette squirmed, his hand reaching for yours. You grasped it gently, smiling up at Wriothesley. “He’s fine, just getting all quiet because he’s nervous.” You explained when wriothesley looked to you in concern.

“Nervous?” Wriothesley chuckled. “After all that? He’s nervous now?”

“Se—“ Neuvillette stuttered. “Nervousness during sexual exploration is normal, however sharing new experiences with someone that one has no sexual experience with prior can be cause for some anxiety. I am… I am fine— eager, even.”

Wriothesley smirked affectionately, rubbing Neuvillettes thighs. “Well that's good. Is it alright if I touch you now?”

”You may.” Neuvillette breathed.

You continued to hold his hand as you sat down by his hips, eyeing the way Wriothesley squeezed his inner thighs appreciatively.

His large calloused hands spread up and cupped around Neuvillettes pelvis, his thumbs gently running along his balls, watching gleefully as the Iudex twitched under his teasing touch.

A hand finally came up to grasp his cock, starting a slow pace of languid strokes, making you both eye the precome beading at his tip as Neuvillette bit his lip and watched.

“You know, I was expecting something a little more… dragon-like down here.” Wriothesley teased, eyeing Neuvillettes cock before tracing his gaze appreciatively all over his naked body. “You’re fucking ridiculously big, and so damn flawless it’s certainly a little inhuman… but not what I was expecting.”

Neuvillette watched as Wriothesley’s hand picked up the pace, only to slow right down once more, his calloused fingers squeezing here and there as his other hand still teased the junction between his pelvis and thigh.

“This is my… least alarming form.” Neuvillette breathed, and you watched as his brow twitched. he was certainly holding back. “I thought it appropriate to keep the experience as close to… normal as possible.”

“His other form is so pretty,” you pouted, twirling your index finger around Neuvillettes pert nipple, the pink flesh pebbling from all the attention. “But he wont let me play with them… he says I’ll just end up hurting myself.”

“Them?” Wriothesley’s hand paused as he looked at you with a raised brow.

You gave him a cheeky grin, raising up two fingers as you glanced down at Neuvillettes cock. Wriothesley audibly swallowed as you gestured a measurement well over a foot with your hands and mouthed the word big with some finality in your expression.

“Your mortal body is not equipped to deal with such—“ Neuvillette was cut off by his own choked groan as Wriothesley bent down to lap at the head of his cock, blue eyes still staring up at your husband with such intensity.

“You’re telling me you have two cocks?” Wriothesley teased between strokes of his hand and tongue, watching as Neuvillette writhed on the bed. “And you’ve been holding out on our girl here?”

Neuvillette’s head snapped up, glaring at Wriothesley between his spread legs.

“Mine.” His voice was a rasping growl, eyes aflame. “Not yours.”

You watched Wriothesley shudder, his grin ever present as he simply continued the strokes and little licks around your husband's leaking cock.

“Oh fuck, that’ll never not be hot.” He murmured almost to himself as Neuvillette settled back down at your soothing touch running along his chest.

“He’s just teasing you, my love.” You whispered to him, nibbling along his pointed ear. “Everyone knows I belong to you.”

“You have to let me see them,” Wriothesley chuckled as he sat back up, pinching along Neuvillettes thighs. The sight of your husband spread wide and flushed was enough to send pulses of searing heat between your legs, and you simply couldn’t take it anymore.

Neuvillette cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with The Duke as you settled to lay down on the bed beside him, rolling on to your side to face him. You nuzzled into your husbands neck, kissing and nibbling at his skin as if it would soothe the ache in your core.

“Perhaps another time.” Neuvillette didn't sound very thrilled, in fact he sounded rather embarrassed. You remember how long it took to convince him to let you see his more dragonian features.

Wriothesley smiled at the premise of another time, another instance of this happening between the three of you. It seemed that he certainly wasn’t going to object.

“Lubricant?” The Duke asked.

“Top drawer, right side.” You mumbled from your mission of scattering purpling marks along your husband's collar bones.

You felt Wriothesley shift as you wrapped your arms around Neuvillettes neck, bringing your lips to his for a fervent kiss. He consumed you, his inhuman tongue twirling with yours and dipping deeper than usual, teasing your gag reflex and pushing little tears to form at the corners of your eyes.

Wriothesley was back, spreading the lubricant along his fingers. “I’ll start slow, okay?”

“I am not made of glass, your Grace.” Neuvillette scoffed slightly as he paused your kiss.

“Have you done this before?” He looked between the two of you.

“No, I didn't want to hurt him, I’ve never done anything like this.” You said, looking up at Wriothesley before your eyes were pulled right back to the lewd sight of Neuvillette running his tongue along his bottom lip.

“Exactly. I know what I’m doing. Let me do it.”

You and your husband nodded, seemingly more interested in sucking on each other's tongues than Wriothesley’s scolding. That is, until Neuvillette paused, his eyes widening.

“There, there's one. How is it?”

A rough breath pushed from Neuvillettes nose, as he shifted, and you watched the muscles in Wriothesley’s arm flex as he pumped the digit in and out of your husband, slowly and with a careful gaze.

“It is… different.” Neuvillette finally said, letting you nibble on his bottom lip.

“Good. Please say something if you feel any pain or discomfort.” Wriothesley’s eyes were sparkling as his eyes flipped between watching the two of you and watching his finger sink in and out of Neuvillettes hole. “Think you can take another?”

“Yes.”

Wriothesley’s fingers were thick, you knew that. Watching Neuvillettes face change color as Wriothesley pressed a second finger inside made you writhe beside him.

A small noise left Neuvillette as Wriothesley started his slow pumps once more, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. You rolled to your back, immediately spreading your legs and running fingers along your clit, still watching your husband try to hang on to his composure.

You whined as Neuvillette gripped the blankets beneath him, his breaths becoming heavier as his face grew more red. Wriothesley was picking up the pace, slowing every now and then with a focused expression, as if he was looking for something.

The Duke watched you as he kept going, smirking down at your shameless display.

”Awe, you both just have such greedy little holes, don’t you?” His hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you down the bed closer to him. A surprised squeak left your lips, and you watched with wide eyes as Wriothesley reached his free hand over to pet at your leaking cunt, fingertips slipping through and pressing so wonderfully.

He pressed the tip of one finger into your hole, before pulling back out and squeezing two inside you, slow and hot and so good. You keened at the stretch, your achey walls screaming at the sensation of finally being stimulated.

“There you go, ‘that what you needed, pretty girl?” he asked.

You nodded obediently, spreading your legs further as he pumped his fingers in and out of your hole, your back arching as you moaned and cried for him.

You turned to look at your husband, who was surely fuming at another man touching you so blatantly, but you were only met with a flushed and panting mess.

It seemed in your distraction, Wriothesley had added another finger, and Neuvillette was reacting sensationally to the pleasure. His voice was still held back, but you saw his eyes glazed over with lust, his little fanged teeth biting into his bottom lip.

Before you could get too distracted, Wriothesley crooked his fingers inside you, making you sob out and arch your back as he prodded at your g-spot.

To your surprise, Neuvillette cried out at the same time as you, a loud whine being ripped from his throat.

“Found it,” Wriothesley grinned.

The dam had finally cracked, though only a trickle of Neuvillettes true expressions were leaking through. He softly groaned, his eyes rolling back as his horns glowed, his hands nearly tearing holes in the sheets.

“Yeah?” You breathed, still spinning from Wriothesley’s fingers stroking inside you. “Does it feel good, my love? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Your Grace,” Neuvillette panted, tilting his head up to meet Wriothesley’s heavy gaze. “I… I need—“

“What do you need, Your Honor?” Wriothesleys hands pumped in sync now, heavy strokes of his fingers stimulating you both. His smirk was smug, his eyelids heavy and cool eyes blazing.

You could feel your core tightening, the pleasure mounting inside you.

“Wrio…” You keened.

“Fuck, who knew that you’d both be such sluts? You’re both just begging for cock, aren’t you?”

He leaned down, pressing a messy kiss to Neuvillettes lips, and you watched Wriothesley nibble on his bottom lip before pulling away from your husband completely, slipping his hands from the both of you.

“Let me get you riled up before I fuck you, hmm? You’re so hot when you’re being possessive.”

Neuvillette looked confused for a moment but the realization dawned across his face as Wriothesley moved to gather your thighs in his hands, pushing your knees back until they rested on either side of your head.

“Just need a little taste of it, sweetheart.” Wriothesley murmured, running his ridiculously thick cock along your folds.

You squirmed, hands balling into tight fists in anticipation. Looking at Neuvillette, you watched as his eyes grew dark once more, and he looked as if he was going to rip Wriothesley away from you at any moment.

“The more fuss you put up, the longer I’ll fuck her— which means the more you’ll have to wait.” Wriothesley teased the head of his cock against your hole, and your back arched as if to encourage him.

Neuvillette settled back, though a deep predatory noise rumbled from his chest, and you could feel Wriothesley’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over that.” The Duke nearly whined.

“Please,” you whimpered, your words starting to slur from the fog clouding your mind. “I wan’ it”

”Yeah? Think you can handle it?” Wriothesley added more pressure, wetting the tip of his already weeping cock, teasing you further. “You only took two fingers, you think that's enough to take this?”

”Please, please,” you bucked your hips, whining again when he pulled back. “I can take it, I can take it, I swear.”

Wriothesley chuckled, low and deep and so seductive. “If you say so…”

After a moment that felt like it dragged on for hours, Wriothesley finally pressed into you, and your eyes blew wide, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

He was thick. You were so insistent on taking him, you didn’t think about the consequences of not being adequately prepared. In a perfect world, you’d have likely taken three or even four of the Duke's lovely fingers and perhaps a couple orgasms to loosen yourself up before taking this claymore of a cock.

But oh, were you a glutton for punishment.

It stretched you so completely, not unlike the way it felt the first time your husband entered you this way, though he always seemed to prepare you more than necessary to ensure your comfort and pleasure.

“Think I can wring one out of you before I fuck your husband?” Wriothesley grinned as he bottomed out, watching your face as you tried to process how ridiculously full you felt. It was like he was in your throat, carving out a new space in your insides just for him to fit into perfectly.

Then he started moving.

Your cunt instantly fluttered around him, the position he had you pressed into forced the fat head of his cock to press against your g spot with insane precision, and the Duke slowly worked his thrusts into a rough slapping of your hips, until he was fucking you at cruel and brutal pace.

“Oh, oh!” You cried out, unable to do anything but take it, staring at the ceiling as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing and clenching as your orgasm built.

You could hear your husband's low growls, but you could also hear a secondary wet noise, prompting you to glance over in your haze of pleasure.

You keened out as you saw Neuvillette stroking himself in time with Wriothesley’s thrusts, his eyes dark and menacing but the twitch of his cock was unmistakable.

“Yeah, that's it sweetheart,” Wriothesley groaned. “Give it to me.”

And you did.

It shattered through you, the build up so quick and harsh that the tipping point had you crying out, writhing around in his hold as you came with such force it made you squeal.

“Good,” Wriothesley whispered, gently pumping his cock into you, prolonging your pleasure. “Good girl.”

You felt a cool hand reach for your thigh, your husband's possessive growling reaching closer to your ears, before Wriothesley’s hands pushed him away, his cock slipping from you rather quickly as he pinned Neuvillette to the bed beside you.

“Nuh-uh,” he chided. “Good boys wait their turn, monsieur.”

“I‘ll tear your hands from your body if you do not use them properly in the next five seconds, Wriothesley.”

“Ooh, violent.” Wriothesley smiled, pinning both of Neuvillettes hands within one of his own, bringing the free one down to run a thumb along your husband's bottom lip. “But I believe that would be a most heinous crime, Monsieur. And though I don't think you’d last a week down in the fortress, I’d make sure your time there was very, very comfortable.”

Wriothesley pressed his hips against Neuvillette, rubbing their cocks together in a lewd squelch that made you whimper and flush, realizing that it was your own arousal coating Wriothesley and making the slide of their lengths so wet and smooth.

“Let me fuck you,” Wriothesley breathed as he stared into Neuvillettes heated eyes. “Fuck, I need it.”

Neuvillette keened, his cock twitching and drooling where Wriothesley pressed against him. Though his brow was still furrowed, his hands still thrashing in the Duke's grip, he nodded, murmuring something that sounded like a breathy “please”.

Wriothesley wasted no time reaching down to thrust three fingers back into Neuvillettes hole before pulling out and lining his cock up, still dripping in your juices.

“It’ll be a lot at first, just try to relax for me.” He murmured against Neuvillettes ear, his muscular forearm tensing where it held him up.

You watched as he pressed forward, as your husband's mouth fell open, his eyes widening as he gazed up at The Duke, his hands clutching the sheets beneath him.

Your mind was in a haze, watching as Wriothesley started his slow and sensuous pace, the line of his hips driving into Neuvillette in a way that made your insides shudder.

His voice was a symphony of broken little sounds, smaller and more vulnerable than you were used to hearing, but his flushed face and bite-swollen lips looked so enticing.

“Is that good?” Wriothesley whispered as he leaned over him, pushing your husband's thighs wider, further back. “You like it?”

Neuvillette released a weak whimper, and you could see the wetness pooling behind his ethereal eyes. Even so, he gave a delicate little nod.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, beautiful.” Wriothesley groaned, his pace quickening. “Fuck, between the two of you, I’m not going to last long.”

You realized you were absently swirling your fingertips along your puffy clit, the pleasure in you from watching them too much for you to handle— you needed release.

Wriothesley’s eyes flickered between the two of you, watching you both, and you could see the muscles in his abdomen tighten.

“Gods—“ Wriothesley made the mistake of moaning out that dreaded word.

Neuvillettes legs snapped around his waist, his clawed hands gasping at his shoulders, at his back as he pulled Wriothesley closer and growled.

“No.” He rasped, fire burning in his gaze as his claws pulled at Wriothesley’s shoulder blades, making the duke shudder and cry out. “No gods. Only me.”

Your fingers stuttered as your thighs shook, your high approaching much sooner than you realized, your sensitive folds dripping and aching for it.

“Oh, fuck—“ Wriothesley groaned, leaning down to breathe into the crook of Neuvillettes neck as his hips stuttered too. “Neuvillette—“

Neuvillette did something you’ve only seen him do a few times, on occasions of high intensity and emotional wreckage during your intimate moments. It was a primal and animalistic act, a response brought on through his instincts and inner feelings, typically hidden by his proper decorum and high intellect.

He opened his mouth wide and latched his teeth possessively into the meat of Wriothesley’s trapezius muscle, deep and firm.

Wriothesley nearly screamed, his hands white knuckling the sheets as he came, gasping and pumping into your husband with a shocked and embarrassed expression, the blush on his face so extreme it trailed down to his shoulders.

Neuvillette groaned, and you watched his cock jump and spray deep splatters of white across his chest and abdomen, even up onto Wriothesley— all while still latched onto him, teeth baring down possessively into the flesh. Small rivulets of blood began pooling where his tongue wasn’t laving it up, and you shuddered and came at the sight of it all.

Your body arched, mind going blank as it hit you.

When your sight returned, all you could hear were three sets of panting breaths, three pounding hearts in the moonlight pooling in the room.

Your heart stuttered out a little bout of jealousy at the sight of Wriothesley petting your husbands silky hair as he soothed him away from his aching shoulder, watching the droplets of blood pool in the wetness left behind from his mouth.

But as Neuvillette relaxed back into the pillows, wriothesley looked up at you with a cheeky grin, wriggling his eyebrows at you, and suddenly the stillness of the room was broken by your unfiltered giggles.

Wriothesley joined you, his chuckling making Neuvillette look at you both in utter confusion. The Duke of Meropide raised his hand, and you limply sat up to meet it, clapping your hand against it in a high five both childish and out of place for the aftermath of such a heated exchange.

“That was… crazy.” Wriothesley said, pulling himself from Neuvillette and sitting back on the bed.

Your giggles calmed, and you snuggled up against your still gaping husband, who continued to look between the two of you with a flushed face and furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I was not expecting it to be like that.” You said as you ran your hands along Neuvillettes chest, soothing him.

You were expecting a bit more awkward tension— but then again, Wriothesley was your best friend. Everything felt easy with him, and even in the aftermath, you couldn’t help but feel light and happy, not an ounce of shame or awkwardness to speak of.

“This exchange…” Neuvillette looked between the two of you, wincing as he tried to sit up less than gracefully. “…is it a positive one? I understand that laughing has more than one meaning, I trust that this means you both enjoyed yourselves?”

You and Wriothesley looked at him, and then each other before you both burst out in another fit of giggles.

“Mmn.” Neuvillette hummed, his face now relaxed and serene. “I take it you’re staying to do our laundry, Your Grace?”

Wriothesley’s laughter sobered up in an instant. “Uh, what?”

“Well, considering that you’ve yet to clean up the mess you left between my legs, which I can feel attempting to drip onto my silk bed sheets, I assume you’re planning on washing them after you’re done relaxing?”

Neuvillette wasn't one for unnecessary messes, always rushing to clean you up after your trysts. He wasn't opposed to a mess or two, but would very promptly strip the bed afterwards to avoid staining his very expensive and very old silks.

Now it was your turn to giggle alone as Wriothesley’s eyes widened at the space between your husbands open thighs, tumbling off the bed in his haste with a grumbled “oh, shit!” As he raced to find a cloth.

“Thank you for indulging me, my love.” Neuvillette whispered against your temple as he pressed a kiss there, holding you closer.

“Do you have any more ideas?” You smirked, and he smiled finally, scrunching his nose playfully at you.

——————————————

Authors note: not my finest work, i kinda lost interest halfway through if you can’t tell. I still wanted to finish it and actually have something to post for y’all while i crawl my way out of this creative block, so visiting the old wips is a must. Anyways, let me know what you think, comments and reblogs are most important!! Love you all so much. —Rae🖤

#neuvillette smut #wriothesley smut #neuvillette x female reader #neuvillette x reader #wriothesely x reader #wriothesley x fem reader #wriothesley x neuvillette #wriolette #wriolette smut #wriolette x reader #wriolette x reader smut #ARu #that stands for aqua regia universe lol

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multific · 2 months ago

Text

Two Pieces of a Puzzle

Simon "Ghost Riley x Reader

Summary: You are sent on a mission with the infamous LT, but you might have just as many talents as he does, if not more.

When you found yourself on a mission with a military man, Lieutenant Ghost, you knew you were in for a treat.

He was a tall, rugged man with an attitude and a sharp wit that kept you on your toes.

As you set out on your mission, you were quick to realize that you were in for an adventure unlike any other.

The Lieutenant was a seasoned soldier, and his experience showed in every move he made.

He led you with precision and confidence, never hesitating to make tough decisions or take risks when necessary.

You found yourself in awe of his leadership skills and his ability to think quickly on his feet.

He was impressive, you weren't going to lie about that.

As you navigated through the treacherous terrain of the dense forest and faced unexpected challenges, Ghost remained calm and collected, always finding a way to overcome whatever obstacles stood in your way.

A rescue mission.

The children and wife of an important politician were kidnapped and you received intel that they were in a hidden house in the middle of a dense forest up in the mountains.

Of course, your way to the forest was an entire mission on it's own, but you heard the tales of the infamous Ghost.

His determination was infectious, and you found yourself pushing harder and digging deeper than you ever thought possible.

Every second you spent with him, you felt your movements sharpen.

It was inspirational.

But it wasn't just Ghost's military prowess that impressed you.

On no.

The mystery.

The secrets he held inside himself.

The mask.

That damned mask.

He also had a wicked sense of humour that kept your spirits high even in the darkest of moments. His jokes and witty remarks never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when the situation seemed dire.

His jokes, even if they were tired and mostly military-related, did help your mood a lot.

Despite the dangers you faced and the odds stacked against you, Ghost never wavered in his commitment to completing the mission.

His unwavering dedication inspired me to do the same, and together we forged ahead, determined to succeed no matter what.

You got to the house, just the two of you, hiding behind trees as you assessed the situation.

"You take the back door, I take the front." he said.

"With all due respect, Sir, I believe Captain was clear, you get me here, I get in and them out. I'm called Shadow for a reason." you smirked and put your gun down.

Your time to shine.

You were a specialist in kidnapping and hostage situations. They always got you as you were quiet on your feet and you always got to the point fast.

You always rescued the person or people and no one ever saw you coming.

In the end, your mission was a success.

As always.

The happy family was back together as you and Ghost walked back into base.

"That was impressive." you heard him say.

"Thank you, Sir. I do live to impress." you said with a smile.

As you celebrated our victory, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to work alongside such a remarkable man.

And as you parted ways, you knew that you would always carry with you the lessons from your time together on that unforgettable mission.

Or so you thought.

You would say you were tipsy, others would call it drunk.

Ghost called it sexy.

You loved to see how his scary mask fell from his face. How his walls crumbled as you climbed into his lap and kissed him.

It was dark in the alley you followed him for a smoke.

He sat down on the steps and you followed suit.

"How did you do that? How did you get in and out without anyone seeing you?"

"The same way you got us through that block on the road or how you made me crawl on my stomach under a car so they wouldn't see us enter the woods. Skills, Sir. Years of training and skill."

It might have been your fault that you leaned in too close.

It might have been him when he looked at your lips. You weren't sure. But you were sure about one thing.

The way he kissed you spoke volumes.

He was touch starved and scared at the same time.

But you did like the thrill of it.

And also because you were the same.

You two fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum

@asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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bonny-kookoo · 10 months ago

Text

Jungkook

Green| Part 01

A good idea not thought through.

Tags/Warnings: Rabbit hybrid!Jungkook, Fox hybrid!Reader, Single Dad!AU, strangers to lovers, Fluff, romance, angst, suggestive, mentioned smut but sfw

Length: 3.7k Words

-> Masterlist

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When Jimin had set this whole date up, Jungkook had expected.. Nothing, really.

As far as he knows, he’s supposed to meet you at the restaurant right here, and you supposedly know exactly which table he sits at- but what he did not expect, was for you to be so.. Pretty.

You’re clearly a fox hybrid, distinctive hybrid features standing out, very much well taken care of. The second you sit down, he notices even the shape of your pupils being the same as a common fox’s, though they don’t make him feel intimidated at all. Not as they should, at least.

Jungkook remembers the teasing jokes back in school, or the struggle to earn his spot even later in life as a prey hybrid. Many people still believe that he’s not a good fit for a leading position in his company as a rabbit, unable to apparently make important decisions with a realistic view on things or not mentally strong enough to withstand the stress of responsibility. But he’s not just a meek little bunny.

And from the looks of it, you’re not a dangerous predator either.

“Well, Jimin wasn’t lying when he told me you were.. Cute.” You say, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath- and you take it as a bad sign, instantly going back on your words. “Not as in, not-to-be-taken-seriously-cute, but like- uh.. Your ears just look.. Pretty?” You tell him, and at that, his eyes move to look at you from the rim of his wineglass, one of his mentioned black rabbit ears slowly standing up.

Silver piercings are decorating it. It’s an uncommon sight- but you decide it fits him.

“...thanks.” He nods, before he licks his lips, and averts his eyes. “I apologize, It’s been.. A while since I’ve been on a date.” He shamefully admits, but you wave him off.

“It’s not a problem.” You deny. “I don’t go on dates often either.”

“How come?” He wonders, seeing an opportunity to spark some smalltalk, so he can find out a little more about you.

“Just.. Not the time. And no partner to go on one with.” You giggle, thanking the waitress for your glass of wine. “I’m usually pretty busy with work.”

“Work?” He asks, and you nod, your pretty fox ears suddenly standing tall with pride, tail swinging behind you. It’s pretty cute, in his humble opinion.

“I’m an author!” You beam happily. “I write children’s books, and fantasy novels.” You explain, and Jungkook’s thoughts instantly go back to his daughter, currently in the care of Jimin at his house. Did you write a book she’s seen before?

“Children’s books?” He wonders, feeling a bit stupid for just asking you, and never giving you anything in return.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Mostly.. Very simple one’s. Ages 4 to 7.” You explain. “And you? What do you do for a living if I may ask?” You wonder, resting your chin on your hands.

“I’m.. The vice president of HLC at the moment. Hopefully I might get a promotion at some point.” He chuckles, and your eyes widen.

“Wow.. That's. Okay, that’s huge.” You laugh a bit uneasy now.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He wonders, a bit confused. Both of his ears are up now, his body becoming more and more comfortable with your presence.

“A little?” You admit. You’re honest, it seems like. He already decides it’s a very positive point. “I feel a little.. Out of your league, so to say.” You say a bit jokingly, taking a sip from your wine. He shakes his head.

“Don't worry about it.” He denies, reassuring you. “We both have our places in life.”

“So it seems.” You nod, while you wait for your dinner to be served.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

A place Jungkook had not seen you in his life, was beneath him, in his bed.

But that’s exactly where you’ve ended up, most of your clothes already having been stripped from your bodies, lying somewhere in the bedroom. He honestly blamed his attraction to you on his hormones at first, and the fact that he’d neglected his natural need for physical intimacy for so long due to his single-father situation, but in this moment, he knows that it’s more than just that.

And that just screams trouble.

But right now, Jungkook can’t make himself think of anything other than you beneath his hands, skin warm as you push your bare behind right into him. He’d technically wanted to drive you home, a simple act of chivalry since your date had honestly been very nice, but somehow, you ended up agreeing to at least let the night come to an end in a more relaxed atmosphere at his apartment, since you told him that you’ve always dreamed to live in a apartment high up with a view of the city skyline.

He really just wanted to show you the view. He really doesn’t know when you both started to make out.

But he knows that it’s something you both clearly want- your hands holding onto his bedsheets almost impatiently, while he’s busy wrapping the condom over his length. If the situation was just a little different, Jungkook could see you both getting along a lot longer than for just this- but he’s got responsibilities, and he can’t just bring someone into his life without thinking about it long enough.

And also, with his daughter still at such a vulnerable age, there’s just no way she’d accept you.

Initially, he’d keep it at this. You’re in perfect breeding position, face in the pillows, behind pushed into him- but he has to see you. It’s not some magical connection type of thing, just simple attraction, and maybe, just maybe, his inner need to at least pretend for a moment that he’s just a young guy being together with his girlfriend- even though that’s never going to be the truth.

Just for a moment, he wants to pretend.

Just for one night.

On your end, this is just an adventure you’ve never been on before. Jimin had told you to come out of your shell a little, be a bit wild for once, and meet his best friend who’s got a ‘just as dry’ intimate life as you did. And you can’t deny that this friend- Jungkook- is anything but charming, and attractive. Despite being a prey hybrid, he’s oozing a certain sense of confidence that’s not overbearing, but simply comfortable to be around.

But all good things must come to an end- and to spare the poor young man the awkwardness, you get up in the middle of the night- early morning, barely three AM.

Putting on your clothes, and somewhat fixing your hair, you carefully make sure to write a small note to leave on his kitchen table. Your face is already bare, since you both did shower yesterday before going to bed- so you don’t have to worry about that.

Maybe he’d like to meet you again? Well, you surely left your number on the note for him to reach out to, if he so decides to do so.

However, just as you try and walk out, you notice something.. Odd.

A small, childrens-size pale green wintercoat, hanging on the wall next to the entrance. Tiny shoes, green, frog-themed rain boots, and an equally themed little umbrella hanging on the wall as well, next to what you assume must be Jungkook’s clothes. These things clearly belong to a child- and now that you pay more attention to it, you do smell the uniquely scent profile of a kid in the apartment.

And the scents are too alike to deny that it must be his.

Panic starts to bubble up inside you. If he has a child, there must be a mother to it as well, right? Maybe not, but the chance is too high for you to really take any chances. Jimin didn’t mention that at all- if he’d told you that this rabbit wanted to cheat and not just ‘go on a date’, you would’ve never agreed to it!

Did you just become a homewrecker?

You’re taking a step to take your note with you again, but you instead hear Jungkook move around in his bedroom, sleepily calling out your name- and that makes your instincts go haywire, as you instead basically rip the door open after somewhat slipping into your heels, and fetching your small handbag from the floor near the way too cute rainboots staring at you oh-so innocently.

The door snaps shut behind you, and you don’t look back as you rush down and into the elevator, leaving the fancy apartment building and this whole mistake behind.

Already fuming as you call Jimin, uncaring about the time.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“I’m so sorry!” Jimin apologizes to Jungkook, who just sighs as he washes Minji’s plastic dishes in the sink, while the little girl is occupied on the couch, watching her favorite show before bed. “I didn’t think you both would end up here though-”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.” The young father denies, putting every piece of cutlery on the side to dry later. “It’s not like it would’ve worked out anyways. I just wish she knew that this was just a huge misunderstanding.” He clarifies, turning off the faucet before he grabs a towel to dry the dishes.

“I tried explaining it to her, really.” Jimin whines, feeling incredibly guilty for screwing this up so badly for his friend. “But she doesn’t believe me at all.” He sighs, sitting down.

“Like I said, it’s not like it would’ve worked out.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Minji already got nervous when Taehyung dropped her off this morning already just because her scent lingered.”

“But.. Isn't there, like, any way of getting her used to it?” Jimin wonders. “Like, I swear I’ve seen predator-prey couples with a prey child, and they looked fine to me.”

“Rare.” Jungkook just shrugs, putting the plastic cutlery and dishes away in their respective places. “It’s really fine. I just hope she doesn’t feel guilty about things, or believes that she was just some sort of.. Body for me to use.” He says, ears low against his head, simply flopping down. It’s obvious that Jungkook is upset about it all. Because from what Jimin had told him, you’d felt horrible, believing that you were some part in him cheating on the mother of his child- unaware that she’s not even in the picture, and hasn’t been for years.

“I’m gonna try and convince her one way or another.” Jimin sighs. “Really, this is so fucked up. The main reason I tried setting you both up WAS Minji!” He whines to himself, thanking Jungkook for the glass of water he offers him, before the young father sits down across from him at the kitchen table.

“What do you mean?” He wonders.

“She loves kids!” The human reveals. “She really does, but she herself can’t have any. Which I think might be why she feels so strongly in this situation.” He explains, making Jungkook sigh.

Well, that just makes him feel so much worse.

“There’s got to be a way to make this right somehow.” Jimin complains to himself, while looking over at Minji, who’s busy watching the TV with her favourite plush toy in her lap keeping her company. “I’m really sorry. I thought.. I don’t know. I forgot that because you’re two different hybrids, you might not get along too well..” He says, but Jungkook shakes his head.

“I.. We got along very well, actually. I really liked her. Or rather, still like her.” He chuckles a bit bitterly to himself. “But I guess finding a partner is out of the question for me, at least until Minnie is a bit older.”

“A bit older? Jungkook, you said she probably will stay scared of predator hybrids until she’s what? Twelve?” His human friend reminds him.

“...generally, yeah.” He shrugs.

“Jungkook, no. That can’t.. I refuse to accept that.” He shakes his head. “I’ll explain it all to her, I promise, and you’ll try and make this work with Minji when the time comes. Please.” Jimin says. “I don’t want to see you so lonely all the time.”

“I’m not lonely- I have Minji.” Jungkook refuses.

“You know what I mean.” Jimin presses.

“...alright.” Jungkook sighs. “If- IF- you somehow work it out with her, and she wants to.. Talk, give her my number. And not the office phone, please.” He runs a hand over his face, before he gets up with his friend to bring him to the door. “But don’t pressure her. If she doesn’t want to see me again, that’s fine too.”

“I won’t.” Jimin promises. “Promise.”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re sitting in front of Jungkook again, in a public cafe, a hot cup of milky coffee in front of you, while he seems equally as nervous with his own iced americano in his hands, fingers tracing the pearling condensation a little.

“So.” You start, looking at him, nervously licking your lips.

“So.” He nods. “I have a child.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You answer him, legs swinging a bit back and forth, due to the chair being a bit too high for you.

“Her mother.. Left, pretty much a few weeks after she was born.” He explains in a neutral tone, staring down at his beverage. “No one really has an answer why. But she just.. It was as if she was disgusted with her own child, pretty much right after birth.” Jungkook recites the events. “Didn’t want to hold her, got angry when she cried, refused to take care of her. We thought it might just.. Be postpartum depression?” He leans his head to the side a little. “It happens more than one might think, after all. But it never got any better.” He shakes his head. “So.. We decided to split up, and I took care of Minji by myself.”

“Did she ever.. Maybe reach out?” You wonder, but Jungkook shakes his head.

“She re-married again. Lives in Italy now, with her new husband and stepchildren.” He chuckles a bit. “I’m happy she’s happy, you know? Just wish it went a little different.” He honestly reveals.

“How old is Minji?” You wonder, dreading the answer. Because from both the scent and the size of the clothes and shoes in his home, she must be young.

“She’s three and a half.” He reveals, and both of you become quiet.

Oh.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. With his daughter this young, there’s just no way you could ever move forward with your friendship even- considering you’re still a predator hybrid at the end of the day, something that surely will scare the poor little bunny half to death. Why do you always have to get crushes on the worst possible people?

“Well, I’m sure.. She’s very lucky to have you as a dad.” You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. “And you’ll soon find a proper partner as well. You’re very likable after all.” You praise, praying that he can’t see the way your eyes begin to water.

“I’m sorry.” He answers, and his voice sounds just as dissappointed as he feels. “I.. Wish we would’ve met under different circumstances.”

“Then you wouldn’t have Minji.” You deny, spotting two drops of your tears having fallen onto the table. “Sorry, I’m a crybaby...” You say, fetching a tissue from your handbag.

“We could still try-” He starts, but you shake your head.

“No, she’s gonna be terrified of me, I don’t wanna scare her.” You refuse, drying your cheeks with a good amount of embarrassment, large fox ears pinned back in shame of it all.

“Minji is a lot braver than one might think.” Jungkook chuckles, reaching out to help you wipe off your slightly smudged mascara from beneath your eyes. “She just.. She might just be a bit shy. Or very shy, most likely.” He adds, and you giggle a bit.

“Jungkook.. I’m sorry I’m me.” You say, but he shakes his head, smiling at you.

“Don’t ever apologize for something like that.”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You decide to meet up again at Jimin’s birthday party- the human having invited you both, and Minji as well for the dinner he’d organized at his favourite restaurant in town. You’ll have the whole venue for yourselves to make it both easier for the staff, and everyone attending.

Jungkook is nervous in his seat, Minji next to him in her seat, happily coloring in her little book that he brought with him to keep her occupied, different shades of green crayons all over her spot at the table.

It’s then that the door to the restaurant opens, and you step in, together with Min Yoongi- a coworker and fellow predator hybrid whom you’ve befriended a few years ago, or so Jimin said. The big cat hybrid is apparently a tiger- though his ears and tail aren’t even slightly orange, instead monochrome white and black, his light eyes proving the fact that he’s not a standard.

But, Jungkook can’t look at him for too long, because he’s too busy blatantly staring at you instead, with your pretty face, dressed up for the occasion. So much so, that Minji has to pull on his sleeve to get his attention back, looking at him before she tilts her head, small bunny ears in between her hair moving on a constant, since so much is going on.

This will be it. If she gets too scared, he’ll have to go home early- and basically bury his hope of ever building something with you.

But even though she does seem nervous, she’s not yet scared- instead clinging to her father by instinct, who’s calm, mostly that is. “Come, let’s say hi to everyone, yeah?” He offers her, and she reluctantly gets up with him, clinging to his hand while they both walk towards Yoongi and you, who’s just hanging up your coat.

“Long time no see.” Jungkook offers Yoongi, who nods and shakes his hand politely, before he leans down to make himself as small as he can, in hopes of maybe getting at least something out of the little girl- but she instead steps behind Jungkook, the predator hybrid too intimidating. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be. She grew quite a lot in a year.” Yoongi dismisses, while you reluctantly walk closer, politely moving to shake Jungkook’s hand as well- but the rabbit hybrid instead moves to give you a hug, despite his daughter being so close. And much to your surprise, this action alone seems to spark Minji’s interest- her head poking around Jungkook’s legs, just to look at you curiously, especially your fluffy tail that’s nervously swaying from side to side behind you.

“Say hello, Minji.” Jungkook urges her, but as if snapped out from her trance, she shakes her head, instead running back to her seat at the table where she picks up her crayons once more.

“She’s cute.” You say, earning Jungkook’s attention back. “Looks.. A lot like you.” You mention, and he nods.

“I know. A lot of people tell me she’s like.. A mini-version of me.” He chuckles, walking towards his own spot next to his daughter. “Do you.. Want to sit next to me?” He wonders, and you nod, accepting happily. Sitting next to him will get Minji used to your scent, while also putting a safety barrier between her and him, so she can figure you out from afar.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.

Something you’re very much surprised about, is that throughout the entire evening, the little hybrid girl does not seem to complain whatsoever. Not once does she get fidgety, or whiny about sitting in one spot for too long- and once she does, Jungkook is quick and skilled in handling her well, calming her down or occupying her attention for a moment.

Though, at some point, she does get up and roam around a little, under the watchful eye of her father of course.

You’re currently talking to Jungkook about your work, when you notice something on your tail, one slight look from you revealing that it’s the little girl, carefully running her small hands over the fur, interest too great to really let her inner fear control her. You know she’s on high alert- ears standing tall and completely turned towards you, motions freezing entirely when she notices that you’ve noticed her.

Jungkook smiles at his daughter. “It’s pretty, hm?” He asks her, and nods, before she reaches out to have him pick her up and sit her on his lap, where she stares at you, now a lot more bold in the arms of her father. She’s visibly taking your entire appearance in, before she looks at Jungkook again, attempting to pull one of his jet-black rabbit ears, making him laugh and gently prevent her from doing so. “What do you want with dad’s ears, huh?” He jokingly scolds. “You’ve got your own, right there!” He reminds her, gently pulling her own equally dark ears, which makes her laugh.

You can’t help but smile fondly at the interaction.

That is until suddenly, the little girl boldly reaches out for your ears now- something that makes you both surprised and excited- your head leaning closer so she can clumsily grab at your ears, laughing most likely at how soft they are. It clearly makes Jungkook hopeful, his own tail wiggling around without his own knowledge as he watches the short but warm interaction with you two.

It’s obvious that while Jungkook is around, she feels comfortable and safe enough to interact with you- but as soon as his attention is somewhere else, she becomes more withdrawn and suspicious again, which is natural. But the fact that she’s not panicking at least, is already a great sign.

Maybe there’s a chance.

Maybe this could really work.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader

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wingedstatesmanlandturtle · 2 years ago

Text

Telling off Mineta

It was a training day. Everyone was excited to finally be able to use their quirks after long boring classes, being able to burn off some energy. Everyone was in the changing rooms getting ready and changing into their hero costumes. Making small talk with each other wondering about what exercise Aizawa and All Might would make them do.

“I hope we get paired up today Iida. Ive been working on my powers and I want to see how well it would measure up to your super move!” Midoriya slide on his suit while thinking about how exactly he would use his shoot style and ways he could improve it.

“Youve been practicing well Midoriya, but your not the only one. Everyone has gotten stronger” Iida said tying up his shoes tight. It would be horrible if he used his quirk and he ended up tripping.

Midoriya turning to grab something overhears Mineta spouting on about someone. Midoriya has learned to ignore Mineta's antics until he heard who exactly he was spouting about. You.

Even though you didn't even attend UA that didn't keep you safe from Mineta's perverted antics.

“You’ve seen Y/N right? I hope she comes to visit UA again. The skirts at her school are so short. Mmm~ I just want to-” His speech came to a sudden halt when he felt a deadly grip on his shoulders. Glancing up he saw Midoriya with a...smile? “Mineta ...do you mind not talking about Y/N like that? I dont think its really appropriate to do so” Even though Midoryas face seemed warm his tone and grip on Mineta's shoulder told a completely different story.

Mineta sucked in a breath “Y-Yeah of course. It was just a joke” His choice of word just agitated Midoryia more. “Yeah? Well the next time you decided to “Joke” about Y/N we will have a problem.” Mineta nodded his head quickly and Midoriya went back to Iida.

“You know what Iida. I wouldn't mind Mineta being my partner today either” He slammed his locker shut walking off.

“What happened to Midoriyas locker?” Kirishima asked Iida looking at the door hanging off a single hinge. “Mineta” Iida simply said closing his and heading out to join the rest of the class.

Everyone had settled in the cafeteria. Students bustling, utensils clattering, the mumbled tones of food-stuffed voices, it was utterly annoying to him. It's not the fact that it was loud, heck he could be louder than anyone in there. It was the catastrophe sound of it altogether.

“...it was so cool to see! I have to train 100x harder to be on their level!” Baukgo was with his usual group. Kirishima was telling some story of a Hero he saw that morning. He wasn't fully listening only picking up on parts here and there. “Dude you train all the time. You train just as hard not if harder than everyone else here” Denki responded. “Yeah man, you will reach the Hero level sooner than you know it” Sero chimed in.

Bakugo was mostly in his own head. Thinking about training today school work and other things, but something pulled him out of his thoughts. Someone. A voice stood out to him, an annoying one at that. Bakugos sudden grown snapped Kirishima out of his story. “What's wrong man? What-” Bakugo instantly stood from the table hands slapping down and shaking it.

Hands in his pocket he walks up to him. “So I was thinking me and you could you know...” Mineta's hand reaches out to you but before it makes contact a shadow looms over him. Mineta looks up behind him. Bakugos eyes were narrow and livid “What were you trying to do with my girl you fucking pervert” His voice was low and dangerous. “Katsuki...” you said calmly. He clasps his hands on Mineta's shoulder his hands starting to spark.

Mineta froze in place “Answer me when I ask you something shit face!” Burn marks starting to form on Mineta's shirt “OW! OW! N-NOTHING, I WASN'T TRYING TO DO ANYTHING” A sinister smirk came up on Bakugos face “You better pray we aren't paired up together for training. You won't live through it” He says letting go and walking towards you. “He didn't touch your right?” He asked you still slightly pissed off. You shook your head giving him a reassuring smile and placing a hand on his arm.

“I'm fine Katsuki. Thank you.” He smirks grabbing you and kissing you deeply so Mineta and everyone else knows that you are his and his only. Mineta kept his fat mouth shut for the rest of the day but was unlucky during the training session. He was with Recovery Girl for the next 2 days.

It was pretty quiet in the classroom. Mostly hushed voices and paper rustling. Everyone was just waiting for Aizawa to roll into class. Todoroki was just reviewing notes with you until you stepped out to use the bathroom.

Todoroki continued to review notes on his own until he could have sworn he heard your name. He glanced around the classroom looking until, there. He spotted Mineta talking to Kaminari and Sero in the back of the classroom. Gesturing towards the door you just walked out of with that gross look on his face that made Todoroki shrivel up in disgust.

“Did you see the way her legs looked? They're so slender and sexy”

“Bro I don't think you should-”

“And her bust! Oh man I was Y/N to just-”

An ice crystal soon shadowed the room. Mineta is displayed inside. “I strongly suggest you keep your perverse topic of conversation away from Y/N and all the other girls in class”

Todoroki said towards Mineta's frozen body before swiftly returning to his notes. “All right everyon-” Aizawa halted seeing the large spear of ice. Glancing towards Todoroki who innocently carries on with his studies. “What happened here?” He questioned everyone pointing at you as you coincidentally walk in. You stand there confused seeing an ice block and fingers pointed towards you slowly putting together what had happened.

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 3 months ago

Text

Pure Filth

Pic used: x - It has not been altered.

Summary: You and Jensen enjoy a brief interlude back stage.

Pairings: Rockstar!Jensen x Musician!Reader (You)

Warnings: Smut. Dirty imagery. Brief fingering. Unprotected PinV sex. Public sex (mostly - your backstage, people are around). Little bit of dirty talk.

Word Count: 801

A/N: Okay, so I'm for sure still working on Chapter 5 and 6 of The Quicksilver Princess and barring some sort of disaster, I'll post both chapters by next Friday.

But I still haven't been able to get Austin out of my mind. The man is an absolute sex rock god! and the concert is lingering in my mind. I know I'm not alone. I got this request from @kayyay1219 and I knew I had to write something else besides Whiskey, Neat.

Hope you enjoy!! ❤️

As always, of course, this is a single, multiverse version of Jensen. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

His head was thrown back, his pearl white teeth sunk deep into his plush bottom lip as you rubbed him through his jeans. His body still dripped sweat and the tang of it hit your nose as you buried your face in his neck.

You and Jensen had barely made it off the stage before he'd slipped behind some stacked up equipment boxes to slam you against the wall there, only partially shielding you both from the eyes of those who were running around backstage.

It didn't matter.

The rest of the band and the road crew knew how the two of you were together. You fought hard, fucked hard, and made incredible, electric music together.

That volatile combination was what brought endless, teeming crowds to your concerts and made the band skyrocket to the top of the charts over and over again.

So everyone just dealt with the fallout from it.

Jensen's lips were frantic and searching now; he breathed you in as he ran his tongue along your jaw before plunging it, wide and wet, into your open, waiting mouth.

As he inhaled you, consumed you, his hands were pulling at your clothes, shoving them up and out of his way so he could dimple your soft, yielding flesh with his hard fingers, squeezing you so tight it felt like he was leaving his fingerprints behind.

You pushed your hands up under the tank top he wore, running them over his sticky skin to his back, loving the way his muscles flexed and moved under your roaming fingers.

He lifted your tight black skirt so it sat around your waist and then pushed your panties aside so he could swipe his middle finger and forefinger through your hot, wet slick, coating them quickly.

“Unf, fuck, fuck…” He chanted into your ear, before growling loudly as you raked your nails down his beautiful back, collecting him under your nails. The skin and sweat there made you feel dirty and clean at the same time.

You often joked with each other that the life you lived together was pure filth.

The way you loved each other was pure, even if it was dangerous. The way you clung to each other as Jensen slammed into you, acting as an alchemist, changing you from two beings into one. He was Plato, putting the two halves of your one soul back together, and it was pure.

But the sounds you both made, the physical reality of the moment between you was filthy. The way he grunted as he desperately tried to get even deeper inside you, the way you sucked in too much air and let it slowly leak out of you in an earthy, whining sigh, the way your bodies slid against one another, slick with sweat - it was filthy.

The two of you together were pure filth.

In the hot, thick cacophony of backstage, he fucked you hard and deep, your leg held to his hip as he drove into you. His other hand was pressed tight against your clit, his fingers circling and creating a sharp and aching pleasure that you knew was about to explode.

He knew it too, and when he spoke his voice was rough, whiskey soaked and demanding, the same voice he used when he sang your songs on stage.

“I want everything from you, baby, squeeze me so fucking tight. Give me all your heat and all your screams.”

He bent his head to lick the salt from your skin and suck on your neck, drinking you in like smooth, sweet tequila.

With his final thrust, you gave up all he asked for, screaming and clenching around him so tightly that he came instantly, his body rutting against you as your pussy milked him dry.

You both stood on shaky legs and pulled in shaky breaths as he crushed you against the wall, the only thing keeping the two of you propped up.

Less than a minute passed before you heard your stage manager calling out to you both, standing far enough away that she wouldn't get an unsolicited peep show.

“Come the fuck on, you two!" She yelled at you. “The crowd's going ape shit for an encore!” She walked away, shaking her head indulgently.

You managed to help each other stand up straight; you tucked Jensen back into his jeans, and he pulled your skirt back down.

The way you could feel his cum slowly leaking out of you, staining your panties and wetting your thighs, was indecently filthy.

But the warmth in his shining green eyes as he looked down at you, and the way you could both feel your hearts pick up the rhythm of the drums as they called you to the stage - that was beautifully pure.

It was the Yin and Yang of your lives with one another and you wouldn't have changed that perfect balancing act for anything.

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Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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#jensen ackles rpf #jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #rockstar!jensen x reader #rockstar!jensen #jensen ackles drabble #jensen ackles fan fic #jensen ackles fan fiction

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

Note

wait… camboy art? camboy art?? pls he would get so much validation and gratification. the thrill of possibly being recognized as tennis pro art donaldson would probably drive him crazy

@dream-a-dream-for-me wrote smth abt camboy!art that i love so check their work out too ! !

i think exhibitionist art would looove doing this.. he keeps his eyes and nose out of the frame but lets his viewers see his pretty lips (and the rest of his body of course)

he usually sits at his desk and spreads his legs open so that everyone watching can see his strong hand feverishly stroking himself while he moans and bites his lower lip

he never speaks, worried that his voice will give him away, but there are definitely a few people that have already figured him out. mostly because some of his grunts that he lets out when he gets close sound dangerously similar to the little whines that slip on the court when he hits a hard forehand..

but art lets the speculation swirl in his comment section everytime he goes live. his lidded blue eyes scouring over the typed responses popping up and flooding his chat.

‘why does he sound like that one tennis player??’

‘doesn’t art donaldson have a few small scars on his shoulder like this dude does… umm…’

‘lol if this really is art.. then he’s such a slut. like damn. putting ur reputation on the line for what?’

‘this is so fucking hot. we <3 you art! i don’t care what anyone says, we know it’s you!’

and each little comment about his true identity sends his heart racing faster and his cock aching more intensely in his grasp.

when he cums, his whole body arches forward in his seat, jerking slightly as he lets out the most debauched moans known to man. one time, he accidentally knocked into the camera and his whole face was exposed for half a second, and wheww.. his fans went crazy. it was all over twitter and deuxmoi ! but jokes on them, the attention only made him hornier <3

#🌸 - ask prompts #camboy art! camboy art! my beloved lil freak ! !#exhibitionist art:( so pervy 24/7 it’s hard for him to control his constant daydreams about being publicly exploited for his bodyy #art donaldson smut

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mickandmusings · 7 months ago

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love you, miss you, mean it (ii)

*part two of the original!*

**read part one here!**

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: during his time back at topgun, bob finds a found family within the daggers. now that the special detachment mission is over, the daggers are being recognized for their success, and all of their families are gathered around them. when rooster recognizes an esteemed guest arrive with shiny new wedding bands, bets are on who the admiral's daughter is married to.

based on this ask! (thanks for the best ideas frank <3)

warnings: mentions of injury and hospitals, a small section of angst, dagger family love, phoenix being my fav ever, angst followed by more bubble gum fluff.

Years later, after a long engagement and an intimate backyard wedding, flight school and master's programs, TOPGUN (the first time,) and a handful of deployments and moves, Bob and Y/N Floyd now lived in a cottage-style home not far from the beaches of North Island. Well, they did for the past few months, since Bob got his call back to TOPGUN. Y/N didn't mind, she knew what she was signing up for when she married a Navy man, she only missed Bob now more than ever. She occupied her time by walking their dog, visiting her Dad who lived only a ten minute drive away, and rewatching her favorite TV show while she waited for Bob to come home at night. This mission had been different from the others, not that Bob nor her Dad could tell her much, the details had been fairly secretive. Y/N only knew that Bob left early in the morning, almost always before the sun, pushing his glasses up his nose and kissing her forehead. He'd return home after the sun had set, reeking of jet fuel and sweat. He'd be exhausted and dirty, but he'd make sure to take his sleeping wife from the couch to their shared bed before going to shower the day off of him. He'd be gone by the time she woke every morning, but there was always a post-it on her coffee mug in his scratchy handwriting:

Love you, miss you, mean it.

Y/N knew about his new teammates, the cocky Hangman, the kind and charming Rooster, the pranking, jokester duo of Payback and Fanboy, the smooth talking Coyote, and of course the infamous Maverick, who she knew better as Uncle Mav. Maverick had been in and out of her house throughout her whole life, which Bob was somewhat shocked and also unsurprised to know. She knew every time he was about to go into the air, accompanied by his new partner, Phoenix, who he talked about most of all. Y/N would hear her phone ding with a message, checking it quickly to see Bob's name flash across the screen.

In the air with Phoe, love you, miss you, mean it. x

The phrase that had started as an inside joke had slowly become a term of love that she looked forward to every day. It gave her something to look forward to, a sign that he was okay, that at least for a brief moment in time, he was okay.

After a week or so into his new training, Y/N began to notice some differences in her husband. He was still mostly himself-quiet but talkative in her presence, talking about his day with an upbeat attitude, but any mention of their present mission would send the corners of his smile downward a bit. Y/N didn't fully understand why, but with the amount of talented pilots and WSO's on this mission, she knew it was a dangerous one.

Several days later, Y/N woke up feeling...out of place. She had woken earlier than normal, considering how late she had stayed up waiting for Bob to get home. She felt uneasy, but blamed it on her lack of sleep. She continued her routine like normal-coffee, breakfast, walking the dog, starting the laundry-but every time she started a new task her mind began to wander. She knew she was likely overreacting, her mind playing tricks on her. When she came in from her walk, she immediately checked her phone, her thoughts taking over. She breathed a sigh of relief, there were no terrible messages or missed calls, only random notifications from her installed apps. Y/N still feels shaky for reasons she can't explain, so she reaches for the one person she always calls when she feels this way. It rings for a few seconds before the call picks up and her father's voice fills her ears.

"Hey, pumpkin! What's going on?"

Y/N sighs, biting her lip.

"Hey, Dad, sorry to bother you at work, I just, I've got a bad feeling I can't shake...I-I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Hey, hey, none of that. Nothing's wrong with you," her father's voice was calm and comforting. "Remember what we do when you have thoughts like this?"

Y/N was about to respond when her phone beeped with another incoming phone call from an unidentified number. Y/N's eyebrows furrowed, she recognized the local area code.

"Dad, let me call you back, I'm getting a call."

Her father signed off quickly, and Y/N's heart hammered as she answered the other number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Y/N Floyd?"

"Um, yes, this is she. May I ask who's calling?"

"Mrs. Floyd, this is the Naval Medical Center of San Diego. You've been listed as the emergency contact of Lt. Robert Floyd-"

Y/N's ears seemed to flood with water, unable to hear anything the nurse on the other line was saying as she sank onto the nearby chair, forcing her brain to tune into the words coming through the speaker.

"He is in stable condition, he is alert with no serious injuries. We would just like to keep him overnight for further observation."

"O-Okay, um, thank you. Am I allowed to see him?"

"Of course, he's in room 431, just visit the desk before to get a visitor's pass."

"Thank you."

Y/N hung up the phone and collapsed against the back of the sofa, her chest heavy and eyes overwhelming with tears. Her phone beeps, reminding her that her father was still on hold. She takes a deep breath, wiping away her flurry of tears before pressing the button and rising form the couch, in search of her keys.

"Hey, everything alright?" Her dad's soft voice entered her ears.

"Uh, no, no," She couldn't keep her resolve, her tough facade faltering quickly. She knew that Bob was fine, that he hadn't been hurt, but the phone call had terrified her. "Bobby and his partner had to emergency eject, he's at the hospital. I-the nurse said he was fine, but it scared the shit out of me, Dad."

She pulled her keys from the bowl by the door, all but racing towards her car as her father tried to calm her, reassuring her everything was fine.

Bob leans back against the pillow on the hospital bed, his few scratches and cuts already bandaged. Phoenix had been the same, the dark haired pilot now sitting in a chair next to her backseater's bedside.

"My wife is gonna kill me," Bob's quiet voice finally broke the silence, his eyes toward the ceiling.

Phoenix wasn't an idiot-she knew that her partner had a wife. Bob was quiet, private, especially with the other members of the squad, but Phoenix was incredibly observant. She noted the gold band on the chain around his neck under his flight suit, and the Polaroid picture of him and a girl tucked into his chest he glanced at from time to time. She'd never press him to talk about it, but she noticed.

"Doubt it," came her reply. "She's probably freaking out though. Not a common occurrence that your loved ones have to eject a fighter jet."

Bob's eyebrows raised, "When your father is the Commander of the US Pacific Fleet, you get used to it."

Phoenix's eyes widened, her jaw dropping. "Holy shit, Floyd! You married an Admiral's daughter?! Iceman's daughter, no less! I never would have thought that. Innocent little Bob, with an Admiral's daughter."

Bob chuckles lightly, sitting up with a slight groan. Footsteps sounded behind them, Y/N appearing before both of them. She had been crying, Bob noted quickly, her clothes disheveled as if she had simply ran out of the house.

"Baby," Bob's voice came, Y/N saying nothing as she approached him, doing nothing but wrapping her arms around his torso, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She nearly cried at his familiar touch, his familiar smell-jet fuel, sweat, the lingering scent of his cologne. Any other time, she would've pushed him off lightly, telling him he needed a shower, but now, she wouldn't have cared if he smelled like rotting food. Bob's muscular arms held her tight, kissing the top of her head.

"Robert Floyd, you scared the living shit out of me. Never do that again."

He knew his wife's words were in jest, she had been shaken by the news of his ejection, but was thankful he was okay. The couple broke apart, Y/N's hands pushing Bob's hair that had fallen in his face, his hands on either side of her hips. Y/N turned to the girl in the chair, her face clouding over with embarrassment.

"I am so sorry, I completely barged in without even speaking. You must be Phoenix. I've heard so much about you, it's so great to meet you. I'm Y/N."

Phoenix smiles, "Natasha, it’s great to meet you too. Although I can’t say the same, Bob here keeps all intel about you on pretty tight lock. Don’t blame him though, the others would probably give him hell for snagging an Admiral’s daughter.”

Y/N blushes but laughs heartedly at Phoenix’s jab, the two quickly falling into a conversation with one another. Bob sits back and watches, his thumb rubbing his wife’s diamond ring and wedding band where their hands intertwined. As he watched the two women bond, he began to think of the rest of his found family. He wanted to introduce Y/N to the other Daggers, for his favorite people to finally all know one another.

The perfect opportunity presented itself in the form of the Daggers’ recognition ceremony after their successful mission. All of the Daggers and their respective families would be present, and of course, Ice would be there as well, as long as numerous other Navy personnel.

Under the summer sun of North Island, each of the Daggers sported their dress whites, their families in chairs in the crowd. Bob sat next to Phoenix, the pair exchanging knowing glances when people they knew arrived, or when certain family members arrived in a sort of over-the-top fashion. Phoenix had nudged him harshly with her elbow when Y/N arrived, dazzling in her sundress, sunglasses over her eyes as her arm was interlaced with her father’s.

“Since when was Ice Spice married?” Rooster’s voice sounded amongst the small crowd the Daggers had formed. “I swear I saw rings on her left hand. I mean I haven’t actually seen her since we were like sixteen, but I didn’t know she got married.”

“Ice Spice? The hell are you talking about, Bradshaw?” Hangman’s southern accent responded, eyes squinting as he looked into the crowd. “You mean Admiral Kazansky’s daughter? ‘Ice Spice’ where’d that come from?”

“It was her nickname, we grew up around the same people, most of the kids nicknames were extensions of their Dad’s call signs. Baby Goose,” he gestured to himself. “Ice Spice.” He gestured to Y/N. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend though, God I’m out of the loop.”

Bob couldn’t help but grin to himself, almost glad he’d not told anyone other than Phoenix, whose brown eyes were piercing the side of his head, as if to say ‘are you gonna say something?!’

“She’s gotta be married to someone here, though, right?” Coyote’s voice sounded. “Not like she’s coming to all her Dad’s events for shits and giggles. My money’s on someone higher up, some other Admiral or something.”

Fanboy scoffs, “Who? Cyclone?” His voice is laced with sarcasm.

“No fucking way,” came Payback’s reply. “She’s way too good looking for someone like him. Way too young too, he’s ancient next to her.”

All Dagger eyes were locked on Y/N from across the pavilion, her smile wide as she spoke with another Admiral’s wife Bob couldn’t quite remember the name of.

“I’m gonna go with Javy’s theory. Nobody under Ice would be man enough to try to date his daughter. I’m a cocky son of a bitch, but one look from Iceman makes sweat roll down my back.” Hangman’s response was honest.

“He’s not so bad,” Bradley spoke. “But you’re not wrong, he’s one hell of an intimidating man. You’d have to have balls of steel to approach him about dating his daughter, especially if you’re under him.”

Bob smirked, remembering just how nervous he had been on Tom Kazansky’s front door at seventeen years old.

“What about you two? Where are you placing your bets?” Mickey looked over at Bob and Natasha.

Phoenix’s smile widens into a sly grin, the one she gets when she proves Rooster wrong, or gets one over on Hangman in the air.

“Girl like her-gorgeous, high-ranking father, everyone seems to love her. My guess is on someone you’d never expect, someone out of left field.”

Hangman nods, contemplating. “What about you Baby on Board?”

Bob’s eyes widen beneath his glasses as he scrambles for a thought. He looks over at his wingman, Phoenix giving him a look that undoubtably means to play along with it.

“Uh, I gotta go with Nat’s theory.”

“Course you do,” Coyote jokes. “So $100 on the bets, winning team take all?”

The Daggers agree unanimously, Phoenix’s grin almost slimy with satisfaction.

“Floyd,” a slap on Bob’s shoulder jolts him into sitting straight before turning to look at where the voice came from. “Good to see you, man. Haven’t seen you and the missus around much lately.”

“Admiral Jones, good to see you,” Bob shakes the older man’s hand with a firm grip. “They’ve been keeping me busy. I think we’re coming to the barbecue Sunday, you and Mrs. Jones enjoy Boston? How were the grandkids?”

The Daggers watch intently as the most reserved member of their group chats animatedly with an Admiral that they’d only seen in passing, Phoenix stifling a chuckle at the secret only she seems to know. The Admiral walks away after a moment, and Bob turns back to the group, who all look at him as if waiting for an explanation.

“Neighbor,” came Bob’s short reply.

“Missus?” Rooster’s voice speaks, his whiskey colored eyes shooting down to Bob’s hands, his wedding band glimmering in the sun. “I’ve never seen you with that.”

“Oh, no, probably not,” Bob starts. “Wear it on my dog tags when we’re in the air.”

“Bob’s married, and we’re all bachelors? Never saw that coming.” Hangman’s voice pipes up.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Payback’s retort is the last chuckle as the ceremony begins.

Admiral Kazansky opens the ceremony, introducing Maverick and the other members respectively, honoring them and finishing out the ceremony as quickly as professional. As the service ends, the Daggers distribute but keep close quarters, looking to see who the Kazansky girl ends up running to. Meanwhile, Phoenix watches as Bob interacts with nearly every member of high-ranking in attendance. He goes from bumbling, awkward Bob, to some other version of himself that makes dad jokes and has a firm handshake.

“Well Phoe,” Rooster speaks as he sits down in the chair next to her. “The only person I’ve seen her hug is Mav, and I know it’s not him. Should I just ask her myself?”

Phoenix face breaks out into a full blown smile as she watches Y/N make a quick sprint through the crowd of Navy uniforms to get to her husband, her arms thrown around his neck as her smile could blind.

“Won’t be necessary, Roo. I think the mystery has been solved, and I’m about to be $300 richer.”

Rooster’s eyes cut to his childhood friend embracing his teammate, Bob’s hands resting respectively on her waist, his blue eyes locked on his wife.

“Holy shit. Bob? And Ice Spice? Jesus-you-“ he turns to face Natasha. “You knew!”

“They’re high school sweethearts. Got married right after he finished the Academy, been together ever since. Live in one of those cute cottage houses by Penny’s, got a Corgi named Solo. Frequent guests at most Navy personnel barbecues, birthdays, weddings-it was Bob’s story, didn’t seem right for me to tell.”

Rooster sighs, standing to tell Coyote who stood talking with his sister. Javy’s eyes widen, looking over at the couple who is now talking to another Admiral and his wife, Y/N’s laugh fading into the crowd of voices. Javy nudges Jake talking beside him, Jake’s cocky grin fading as Mickey and Rueben have both already noticed. Their looks of shock fade momentarily as Bob pulls Y/N towards their direction, a smile plastered onto his face. Y/N’s smile is bright, her arm intertwined with her husbands, her pastel purple dress blowing in the sea breeze.

“Floyd! Got somethin’ you’d like to tell us?” Hangman’s shit-eating grin faced Bob.

Bob let’s out a chuckle. “Y/N, meet the one and only Hangman.”

Y/N smiles, nodding, “Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Seresin.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Hangman gives Bob a wink as Bob flips him off in response.

“Ignore him, baby.” Bob’s voice is full of good-natured humor, used to the teasing. “The tall one is Coyote, next to him is Payback, Fanboy, of course you know Phoe, and R-“

“Bradley Bradshaw,” his wife’s voice speaks. “How long has it been?”

She approaches Rooster with her arms wide open, Bradley reciprocating her hug.

“Too long, Ice Spice. How’d a nice girl like you end up with our Bob here?”

Y/N’s eyes furrow, her smile never faltering. “Um, when Dad and I moved, Bobby and I went to the same high school, been together ever since, high school sweethearts.” Her eyes sparkled as they met Bob’s sapphire ones, her arm going back around his arm. “What can I say? He’s a charmer.”

The Daggers hovered for nearly an hour, all taking turns swapping stories with Bob and his wife, getting to know one another. They mostly told stories to embarrass Bob, jabbing at him and his ‘balls of steel’ for not only dating, but marrying an Admiral’s daughter. Commending him on his royal stupidity for hiding his wife from them, all commenting that she was infinitely cooler than Bob himself. Bob took them all in stride, giving Y/N a kiss to her head before Phoenix began chatting with his wife. Standing in the center of the big group of people he considered family, his wife on his arm, charming them all, his heart swelled in his chest, warmness blooming, the same warmth he had felt when he spent time in the Kazansky house-true familial love, understanding someone without having to say a word.

As the Daggers split off one by one, leaving only Bob and Y/N, he pulled her close, hand on her waist, the setting sun and light breeze a picturesque backdrop for their night.

“Hey, Floyd?” His wife’s sweet voice reached his ears.

“Yeah, Floyd?” He chuckled back, pulling her in closer, leaving a kiss on her temple.

“We should have a celebration of your successful mission. A real one, not a formal one like this. We could invite everyone, all the Daggers, and their families. We haven't had Nat around at the house yet, and Dad would love it, would give him and Uncle Mav more time to conjure up how to terrorize the Navy even further.”

Bob nods, “I like that idea. Sounds good, I’ll text the group, see what weekend works best." His voice turns serious. "Thank you, baby, you’ve always been my biggest supporter, feel like I don’t tell you that enough.”

His wife is quiet for a moment, her focus on her shoes walking on the ground. She looks up at him, her expression serious.

“I’m proud to call you my husband. Always have been, but just thought I should remind you. And as much as I’ve missed you through this special training, it’s nice to see you have other people who take care of you, appreciate you like I do.” She’s quiet before she starts again. “All that to say, love you, missed you, mean it.”

Bob laughs loudly into the air, stopping to pull his wife into a proper kiss, one a tad more inappropriate than the chaste ones he’d given her after the ceremony. The two finally break after a need for air arises, their pupils blown wide as they stare at one another.

“How long do you think we have until your Dad notices we’re not at his place for dinner?” Bob’s voice is deeper, sultry.

“Long enough,” his wife replies. Bob smiles and picks her up into his arms bridal style, her laughter boisterous as he races her back to his trusty pick-up truck parked close by, his chest so full of love for her he simply can’t contain his wide grin filling his face.

As he starts the truck and peels out of the parking lot, he looks over at his wife, her curled hair blowing in the wind from the rolled down window, her pastel purple dress highlighting her best features. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, a younger version of his wife in this same truck-her hair a bit longer, her eyes still wide with new love, a purple corsage on the same hand where a wedding band now sits.

“What?” She giggles, noticing his stare on her as they’re stopped at a red light.

“You’re beautiful.” She blushes pink, just like she had at the bottom of her childhood home’s staircase, the night Bobby had uttered those words through a shaking voice.

He thinks of seventeen-year-old Bobby, the version of himself who had said those words for the first time, more in love with Y/N now than he was then. If only seventeen-year-old Bobby could see him now, maybe he wouldn’t have been shaking with nerves, sweating through his rented tux. Bob smiles to himself as Y/N leans to turn the radio up, a folk song they both love.

He shakes his head, maybe it’s best his younger version didn’t know the outcome. The nerves were good, healthy. Even shaking, stammering teenage Bobby had more nerve than he thought. After all, he was there to pick up an Admiral’s daughter.

#bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #top gun #request

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week.

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat.

Stay away from me, or else.

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin.

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good.

The man clears his throat, face burning.

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.”

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes.

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well.

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself.

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place.

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles.

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.”

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent.

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day.

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters.

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine. “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that.

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor.

This case was just as important to him as it was to you.

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.”

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.”

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away.

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.”

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen.

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination.

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry.

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning?

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.”

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone.

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping.

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in.

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that.

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through.

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual.

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva.

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes.

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl.

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.”

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes.

“Just me!”

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?”

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.”

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears.

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.”

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious.

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve.

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.”

The man laughs, chest jerking.

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook.

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him.

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up.

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire.

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest.

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.”

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own.

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit.

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer.

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess.

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter.

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing.

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin.

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering.

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes.

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall.

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours.

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard.

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip.

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs.

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care.

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.”

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.”

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away.

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information.

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.”

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page.

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead.

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking.

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.”

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.”

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell.

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All.

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?”

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.”

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.”

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock.

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them.

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief.

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first.

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t.

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily.

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away.

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line.

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.”

You open your mouth to speak.

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes.

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap.

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it.

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds.

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal.

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more.

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information.

And then you open the car door and exit.

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait.

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance.

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back.

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind.

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match.

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

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