#semi graphic descriptions of injury

[sheepgirl3]

My first time writing for Whumptober and I wrote this in like an hour haha.

[sundrop-writes]

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!

[vampiricgf]

VARIOUS STORMS & SAINTS

friends dad leon kennedy x f!reader

wc : 2.5k+

warnings : graphic description of animal injury (the animal is fine tho), blood, age gap (he's older and reader is in their twenties), mention of bad family life, intoxication, car sex, semi public, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

not really written with a specific leon in mind but he's def late thirties-mid forties in my head. also the whole animal injury thing is a method I used to illustrate his projection onto the reader, it's not there for no reason but it is immediately beneath the cut so beware

He knows he’s not some kind of cradle robber, knows there’s really not that many years between you two but it may as well be an eternity. An ocean of time stretching out between your two selves, heavy and sticky as molasses. You’re vibrant in that way that only twenty somethings are, like theres this sheen of iridescence coating your skin. Just like that evening in the rain.

The first time you really met properly he’d run over a cat. It was grizzly, horrible. He’d been driving you back to your apartment after learning you had car trouble on the way over earlier to spend time with his daughter, your little hatchback left sitting forlornly in his driveway to be towed to a shop the next day as he wasn’t about to let a young girl potentially get stranded on the side of the road while it was getting dark. “I don’t want to have to pick you up, buddy,” he muttered, assessing the bodily damage while the creature spasmed pitifully and the rain reached a high roar.

Your bag slid from your shoulder as you crouched beside him, one hand pressing down into the mud to steady yourself. “I’ll pick him up. If you drive.” 

He’s not sure but the look on his face must’ve betrayed the small sliver of hope he had that the animal could be saved. 

You two worked efficiently, bundling the cat as best you could onto an improvised plastic bag stretcher, lifting from underneath and burying your hands even further in mud in an effort to make the transition smoother. It had mewed pathetically, one paw working the air in a feeble attempt at pushing the pain away. It was odd to feel such sudden, deep kinship with a cat.

“You know where there’s a vet?” he’d asked you after fumbling to get behind the wheel of the car while acutely aware of your presence in a newfound way. You were his daughters friend from community college, just being helpful, so he waved his tension off as worry for the little creature in your lap. 

“Yeah,” you said, clearly trying to recall, “Near the dentists place by the supermarket, my parents always took our cat there.” 

He’d said something to affirm he heard you, pulling away with the wipers on full blast, forcefully slicing through the deluge sheeting the windshield. Doing his best to drive smoothly, so as not to cause the cat anymore pain. 

“How’s he doing?”

It had stopped whimpering in your lap, instead panting gutterally. In between flashes of streetlight he could see the blood seeping into your clothes as the little plastic bag could no longer contain the sheer volume on it’s surface. You didn’t acknowledge it at all, didn’t express any discomfort or disgust. 

“He’ll be alright, he just needs to get stitched up.”

“I didn’t even see him,” He couldn’t help the explanation pouring from his lips, suddenly very focused on making sure you didn’t think of him poorly because of this. 

“It’s okay,” you said, looking down in your lap while your hands hovered over the cat, “it happens sometimes. Not your fault.”

Thankfully he found the vets office quickly, killing the ignition in record time to get out and wrench open the passenger door, ushering you and the wet bundle in your arms to the front door. The receptionist seemed to be unimpressed with the urgency, gesturing to you both to wait while she scurried behind a door, murmuring voices barely leaking past the threshold. 

The veterinarian that stepped out was a small man, older with wire rimmed glasses. He opened the door to an examination room fully, waving you two inside. 

“He’s been hit by a car,” you said, beating him to it as you gingerly laid the animal down, allowing Leon to see the full extent of the gore staining your clothes. It looked like some of the blood had even dripped and run down between your thighs, staining the jean material in almost lewdly directed streaks.

He assessed the cat fairly quickly, leaving you two to stand in awkward idleness as Leon tried not to linger too long on the sight of you. 

“The injuries look worse than they are,” he spoke, turing to eye the two of you, “does the cat belong to you?” 

“No,” he spoke for the first time, clearing his throat before continuing, “I, uh, hit him on the side of the road.” 

The older man gave him a level look before speaking. “Poor thing, lucky though you two brough him here quickly at least. We’ll get him fixed up fine, hopefully he’s microchipped.” 

Walking out through reception Leon was aware how insane it looked, a young girl practically drenched in blood walking out as if nothing abnormal had occured. He didn’t like the image of it. Didn’t like the forced recollection of all the other times he’d seen some unnamed women soaked in carnage. You practically wore an apron of the stuff.

In the car there were spots, about the size of a silver dollar, on the passengers seat and the familiar scent of metal hung suspended in the air so heavily he could almost taste it. 

You sat in silence, staring ahead with all the acute silence of a shock victim. Your skin had a semi sheen of sweat on it mixed with the rainwater, catching the light in an almost tantalizing way as it glittered against the exposed skin of your neck and chest.

He remembers feeling cold as he started the car back up, resumed the path to your place in heavy silence. 

Rounding the corner back onto the street where you told him you lived he spoke again. 

“It is my fault. I just didn’t see him.”

~

His fascination only grew from that restless night spent tossing and turning thinking of you, poor pretty girl all drowned in blood. How unemotional you’d been. A part of him recognized the appeal was that he was projecting himself onto you in no small part, suddenly ascribing to you certain characteristics he possessed. He knew from the vauge talks with his daughter that you had some trouble in your background, maybe a not so great upbringing or bad boyfriends, things like that. 

It made him feel protective of you all of a sudden, you whom he really only properly paid attention to that night for the first time. 

That’s what motivated him to call in the morning and have your car handled himself, paying the exorbitant fees and for the tow despite the eye watering amount. If you didn’t have anyone looking out for you then it was only the right thing to do. You seemed like a good kid, going to school and he knew you worked at some shitty diner in town to pay for your place. You were a good friend to his own kid, who god knows had been forced through enough upheaval thanks to him. 

He’d gotten your number from her, just to call and tell you your car was taken car of, he’d take you to the shop to pick it up even if you didn’t have a way to get there. That’s all it was. All it was supposed to be. 

Soon enough, as the days turned to weeks then months, he found himself reaching for his phone more and more, texting you just to check in. It was natural to worry about you, you were young and working hard. It was like worrying about his own kid. But it wasn’t long before those texts developed certain undertones, although he couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when the shift happened but it’s what led to the present moment. 

A rare phone call from you, around two in the morning, and lucky for you it was a night he was home. Something about being at a party but some shit was happening you didn’t want to be part of, too fucked up to drive though so pretty please Mr. Kennedy could you give me a ride home? The way your voice sounded, pleading, cutesy and a little drunk coming through the receiver immediately and shamefully made him semi hard as he sat up in bed, head hanging low and brushing the hair from his face with his opposite hand as he felt the change in bloodflow listening to you speak.

What kind of sicko pops a semi when a girl thats best friends with his own kid calls him for help? Jesus you need to get laid. With a woman your own age.

But he’d agreed, assuring you it was fine, just give him the address and wait outside he’d pick you up. There was a strange sense of pride in his head, that you thought to call him to come get you before anyone else. Did you see him as dependable? How exactly did you see him, anyway?

Behind the wheel his grip turns white knuckle. If he doesn’t make an effort to barricade those ideas things could quickly turn sour. Your tenuous connection aside, it was bad enough that you were only in your twenties. He was a old man comparatively, long since having lost that sparkle of youthfulness in favor of the dull realities of the world, the horrors of his job. And what would you want with a man his age anyway when you were doing exactly what any young person should be doing, getting drunk in the company of those most like yourself. Although he’d be lying if he said the idea of you drunkenly clinging to some nameless faceless boy didn’t make jealousy shoot through his head like a presicion bolt. 

And he thinks of the cat then, so many months ago now. The way you’d sat stone faced in this very same car, clothes ruined with it’s blood and dried mud cracking on your hands. You’d reminded him of himself, and in some strange way it was like that incident cemented you together.

But those thoughts vanish as he spots you under a streetlight, haloed in burnt orage light as you leaned against it like it was the only thing in the world that could keep you upright. He pulls over with a start, making the car jerk as it shifts gear before the drivers door is slamming behind him. 

“Hey, you okay?” he already knows the answer will be no. You look like you’ve had firmly too much to drink, shivering in an outfit so skimpy it makes his blood pressure skyrocket as he takes you in.

“Mr. Kennedy, m’so happy to see you,” you slur it with relief and that protectiveness surges once again. You pay his awkward posture no mind as you grab for his bicep to keep your balance, stumbling in heels. 

“You know you can call me Leon, now come on, you’re gonna freeze to death out here in those clothes.” 

You flash him a smile, eyes unfocused but he could see the redness in your sclera even with the dimly lit half dark. So you’d clearly been dabbling in weed too. Before he can admonish you as he guides you to sit in the passenger seat you do something that makes the words die in his throat. 

You cradle his jaw in your hands, fingers moving against the stubble he forgot to shave like you’re testing the sensation against your skin before placing your lips to his cheek in a soft, sweet kiss. It makes his adrenaline spike, coursing through his body like he just took an injection of the stuff and it takes a superhuman effort to not grab your soft cheeks and slam his lips on yours.

Tension filled the car, along with the smell of cheap booze and marijuana that clung to you like a second skin as he reversed into a three point turn to get back towards your place.

"You mad at me?" You ask and the words put his heart out of time. It sounds so... Small coming from you, endearing in some unnameable way.

"Why would I be? You're an adult, aren't you?"

You considered his words, wrapping a piece of hair around your finger as if what he asked carried more weight than he was aware of.

"So since I'm an adult is it okay to kiss you again?"

It was like a one man, all mental car crash. A body in free fall despite being firmly held in place by safety restraints and boxed inside a compact space. He was glad to be stopped at a red light then, but soon enough his eyes drifted to a patch of gravel that went off from the shoulder of the road, towards a little crop of trees. Secluded.

The decision was made before he realized, had been made the moment he'd seen you soaked in blood at that vets office all those months ago. You were like a shard of what could have been, all those years ago if his life had been normal, stayed normal. He would've loved you had he met you then. Kind, bright, alive. Maybe this scene would've played out in a similar way, that babyfaced version of himself picking you up and being jittery as hell thinking about getting you home, getting you all to himself.

You don't raise any questions as he pulls off the shoulder, the interior of the car cast in a thicker darkness thanks to the tree cover. Maybe you realize that you're in the car with essentially two people, the man he is now and the one that could've existed. Do you know how badly both ache to touch you, that it feels like being on fire?

As the car stops the air inside nearly crackles aloud between your bodies, he can feel the way his lungs inflate with air so acutely it's almost painful. But it has to be you, has to be your choice to start this.

And you don't keep him waiting long, unbuckling before turning to face him in the dark and leaning forward until one of your elbows is on the center console and you're holding your face as your eyes scan his. Even while buzzed it was clear you weren't incoherent, which put him at ease fractionally.

"So, can I kiss you again?" You ask again, half glazed eyes holding his, your tongue peeking out to run over your bottom lip and he's never wanted someone to kiss him so badly before.

"Or are you gonna make me beg, Leon?" You drag out the sound of his name with your voice dropped to a whisper and he could've moaned like a bitch in heat right then.

And suddenly it didn't matter that you were his daughters friend, it didn't matter that there was a canyon of time and experience between you, all that mattered was getting his hands on you in the next second and that's exactly what he did. He may be an occasional asshole but he's not going to make anyone as beautiful as you are beg him for anything.

The kiss he yanks you into is searing, one calloused hand on the back of your neck like he was scruffing a naughty animal while your teeth clicked together and your tongues slid over one another in something more akin to snakes slipping against each other. The scent of you is like getting a contact high, the muskiness of sweat and weed mingled with something sweet layering beneath it. Something distinctly you.

Your tongue tastes like sugary liquor, something vaguely vanilla enough that you can slam down shot after shot before realizing you've had too many. He can feel the spit clinging to his lips but it doesn't matter, not when you're climbing over the console and he's fumbling blind for the bar that'll set the seat all the way back.

When he finds it you gasp as both your bodies are jolted backwards, your hands resting against his chest to steady yourself and he thinks every man on earth would kill for the view he has right now. Your chest, nearly on full display thanks to the little halter top you're wearing, was heaving and he was enraptured by the way your breasts moved beneath the flimsy fabric.

His hands stretched out with purpose, grabbing the moldable flesh and kneading it between his fingers as you rolled your head back and his hips gave an experimental roll sending your body upwards like you were on a boat rocking in waves. You moan at the motion, the sensation, knowing he may be older than you but clearly still in shape enough.

When you bend down to capture his lips again his hands find the strings tied together at your neck, easily undoing them and allowing himself full access to your chest, breaking the kiss to mark a sloppy spit trail down your throat until he could lightly press his teeth against the soft flesh of your breast. The way you whined and laced your fingers in his hair spurred him on, sucking on your nipple and moving to leave splotches of deep red on the plump skin before lavishing the other breast with the same attention.

Your hips grind down against him, feeling the way he was straining against the jeans he'd pulled on in his rush to get to you. Truthfully he'd never been so hard in his life, felt his cock throbbing and aching to be buried inside you like if he didn't he'd keel over. Thick fingers pull your microskirt up to bunch around your hips, exposing what felt like cute silk panties to his rough fingertips and briefly he wishes it was a little brighter out so he could see them properly. Maybe he'll buy you new ones after this.

As his index strokes along the gusset of them it's a boost to his ego, feeling how wet you already were, how it made you mewl so pathetically against the shell of his ear.

"I know, baby," he cooed at you, half teasing half mocking as your hips bucked against his hand, chasing even a sliver of friction for your own satisfaction. A selfish streak is alluring, always has been to him.

But he's not cruel and once more he doesn't make you beg, pushing two fingers up inside you with ease and feeling your slick walls constrict around the intrusion instantly, squeezing and sucking them in and it was enough to rob him of the air in his lungs.

"Want more," you gasp against the crook of his neck as his fingers pumped in and out of you, soft squelching filling the car with every movement. "Please-"

You cut yourself off with a low keen as his fingers curl against a particular spot that he tucks the knowledge of away to keep, a sweet spot that makes you pant like a dog in his lap and he can't help but marvel at how adorably needy you are at this moment.

"It's all yours," he says, gravelly, as your hands slide down to his waistband, feeling for the button and zipper which you undo with impressive speed. It was flattering that you were so desperate for his cock in your hands, pulling him from his boxers and letting out a little moan feeling the size of him. He wasn't dealing with a monster but he always had been confident that he was well endowed enough to please, something your reaction only reenforced.

Being in a car meant there was little room for movement but you managed to make do on top of him, him holding your panties to the side while you lined the head of his leaking, flushed cock up with your entrance. The slide down threatened to dissolve his vision in a haze of static, the feeling of you on his fingers paled in comparison to this.

It was like you were made for him, made for this. The way your pussy opened up around him as you slid down inch by inch, mouth dropping open until you reached the hilt of him and a sharp groan fell from your lips.

His hands gripped your hips, rubbing slow circles against them as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. It was also for his own benefit, an anchor against the floodwaters in his mind that threatened to sweep him away. The last thing he wanted was to lose control or focus, slam up into you and end up hurting you. It has to be at your pace, this time.

But you don't keep him waiting, to your credit. You lean back down, nibbling on his bottom lip as you start rolling your hips slowly, getting a feel for a rhythm and he matches it when you fall into one you prefer. Slow, steady rocking of his cock up against the spot he found earlier, the one that makes you whine and whimper. He's vaguely conscious of the windows fogging, the car being jostled by the repetitive motion of your hips meeting and your pussy greedily swallowing his length.

He's never been much of a religious man, but in this moment with you he thinks he could be. Maybe god is in a lover, a warm body and soft skin, the way your voice goes higher as you say his name again and again. He doesn't want to hear anyone else speak it, like it's a secret only between the two of you.

His arms, still strong and corded with muscle, keep you held against him as he picks up the rhythm entirely, pumping up into you with relentless fervor as your cries reach a fever pitch and the first battering of his impending orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut.

Too soon, too soon. But there's nothing that could stop the thick, sticky ropes of cum from flooding your waiting cunt, the throbbing of the head of his cock against your walls a stark reminder that he's old and that it's been far too long since he's cum in anything that wasn't his own hand. All at once he's back within himself as he is, not a virile young man anymore but a world weary one. A lonely one.

His eyes are closed but he can feel your lips marking a path up from the neck of his tshirt, the column of his throat, his jaw, and before your lips find his again you speak.

"Come back with me, for the night?" It's barely audible, sends shivers wracking his spine as the words move over his mouth, crawling down his throat.

And for the first time since he was even younger than you he thinks of Saint Jude. Patron of lost causes. Maybe someone finally took pity on him, one of the most lost of all.

[lewmagoo]

trouble's always gonna find you | rhett abbott

description: in which you know he's no good for you, but you just can't stay away

pairing: rhett abbott x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ only, dark themes, questionable morals, non-graphic description of a gunshot wound, mentions of death, allusions to crime, unprotected p in v sex (on the floor lol), choking, creampie

notes: i have no idea what this even is, but as soon as i saw these pictures for the first time yesterday, i started writing this fic. i just wanted to write something mysterious and different. and i'm proud of myself for finishing a fic for the first time in months. i may also write more installments for this story in the future, depending on how well it's received.

You couldn’t sleep. 

It was late July, and the air was heavy and thick with humidity. You felt as if you lived in a swamp. Which, essentially, that was what Florida was. Your skimpy tank top and shorts did little to cool you down, but foregoing clothes wouldn’t offer you much relief. 

And to make matters worse, the small window unit that cooled your entire double-wide had broken, leaving you without a way to cool down. So, you found yourself outside, seated on your porch swing as you stared out into the night.

Your neighborhood was quiet. As it should be, at 2 o’clock in the morning. You were enjoying the peace, listening to the throaty calls of frogs and other nightlife. If it hadn’t been so miserably hot, you might have even felt serene.

That is, until the sound of a rickety old pickup truck approaching interrupted all the frogs and cicadas and crickets. You froze, your eyes widening as you watched the truck approach. A blue, beat-up GMC Sierra, circa 2006. 

The vehicle came to a stop at the trailer directly next to yours. You rose to your feet, immediately stepping toward the edge of your porch, watching as the driver shut off the engine and proceeded to climb out of the truck, heavy work boots thudding against the ground.

Your stomach twisted as you realized that he was hurt. The hand pressed against his left shoulder alerted you to that much. And even in the darkness, you could see the crimson shade of blood seeping through the fingers that remained against his shoulder.

He made eye contact with you as he limped toward the door of his trailer. You weren’t sure if he even wanted to see you, but you found your legs moving of their own accord, carrying you toward him, toward the man you knew that you never should have gotten tangled up with. The man who had more skeletons in his closet than you could ever count. 

The man named Rhett Abbott. 

He’d stepped inside already, but he’d left the door open, knowing you were following him. You stepped onto the ramshackle porch that squeaked beneath your feet and made you feel as if it was going to give way and send you falling to the ground underneath it. 

Hesitating, you stood in the doorway for a moment before your feet crossed over the threshold. You glanced around, eyes adjusting to the warm glow of the lamp he had turned on as he came through.

“Rhett?” You cautiously called out. You shut the door behind you as you walked further into the trailer, old, orange shag carpet soft beneath the soles of your sandals. You walked down the dim hall, toward the bathroom, where you finally saw him.

He was hunched over the sink, hands whiteknuckling the counter. He was trembling, fighting to keep his breathing steady. “Rhett?” You spoke again as you came to a stop in the bathroom doorway.

Now that you were closer, you could see that his shoulder injury was actually a gunshot wound. Your eyes went wide and your chest tightened. “Who did this?” You asked. The heavy weight of dread washed over you. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he gruffed.

“Yes it does.”

He looked at you in the mirror, his gaze harsh. “You know who did it.”

A chill ran down your spine. He’d always refused to share the details of his job with you. You knew that he drove semi trucks for a living, but early on, you had learned that he transported materials for some dangerous people. You had no idea who they were, or what he actually transported for them, and he had sworn to you that you never would know, either. 

You knew that you were foolish for getting involved with a man like him. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with him, and now, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Maybe it was because some part of you believed that you could somehow fix him. Save him from himself.

But Rhett Abbott didn’t want to be saved. Whatever it was that he was involved in had him chained down like a prisoner. He couldn’t leave. Not even your love for him was strong enough to pull him away. 

“I can’t leave,” he murmured to you one night, as you lay in bed with him. “They’ll kill me if I do.”

Those words had stuck with you ever since. And now, every time he left, you feared that this time, he might not come back. And now, seeing him hunched over his bathroom sink with a bullet wound in his shoulder, you were struck with a wave of nausea. 

“But…but why? Why did they do this?” You whispered.

He shook his head, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The less you know, the safer you are,” he responded. 

You stepped forward, reaching your hands out, touching either side of his face. His stubble was rough beneath your palms. You wanted to ask so many more questions, but you knew he was right. Despite your involvement with him already being a risk to your safety, he did what he could to protect you still. And part of that was disclosing as little as possible with you about his line of work. 

The people he worked for were capable of heinous things. He had witnessed these things firsthand. Unspeakable acts of violence and depravity. He would cut off his own arm before he let you be subjected to those things. 

“Can I at least help you take care of this wound?” You softly questioned.

His lashes fluttered. “Mhm.”

You let go of his face. “Go sit at the kitchen table. And take your shirt off, if you can.”

He let out a breath, nodding almost imperceptibly before he stepped around you, leaving you to scrounge up whatever first aid items you could find in the bathroom as he took a seat in the kitchen. Wooden chair legs scraped against cracked linoleum as he sat down. There, he took his hat off, tossing it onto the table before gingerly removing his bloodied shirt. 

The wound wasn’t that bad. In fact, it could have been much worse. It was only a warning. If the man holding the gun had been intending to kill him, Rhett would already be dead. Instead, he had a nick in his shoulder, and he doubted it would even need stitches.

As you approached with gauze and rubbing alcohol, he eyed you, and felt a sadness building in his chest, clouding his lungs like wildfire smoke, making it difficult to breathe. He was selfish to keep you in his life. He needed to let you go. But he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to do so.

As stoic as he appeared, he cared for you deeply. Hell, he loved you. And that terrified him, because in his experience, whenever he loved someone, they were ripped away from him. He tried to tell himself this time would be different. But that was merely wishful thinking. 

“I wish you’d leave this job,” you murmured as you soaked a piece of gauze in alcohol. You used it to wipe the blood from his skin, cleaning the area around his wound. As it came in contact with the gash, he hissed only slightly. He’d endured far worse pain in his life.

“Can’t,” he simply said.

You sighed as you tossed the bloodied gauze in the trash. “Why? Is this what they’ll do to you if you try? Will they kill you for leaving?”

In the low light, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. His chest heaved slightly. “Don’t ask me anythin’ else about it.”

“Why not?!”

“Because they could take you from me! And I can’t lose you!” He shouted, his outburst causing you to jump in surprise. 

You stared at him, your body tense, your breath trapped in your lungs for a brief moment as you processed his words. You didn’t know how to respond. So you did the only thing you could think of. You reached for him, pulling his body toward yours, letting his head rest upon your abdomen as one of your hands came up to run through his hair. 

He was trembling. So were you. You realized that you had never fully grasped the gravity of the situation until now. This was, quite literally, life or death. A clear reason to walk away, to leave him behind and find another place to live, for your own safety. And yet, you didn’t walk away. 

You stayed right there, in the middle of his kitchen, in a rundown little trailer in the middle of a Florida trailer park, holding him close. You were already in over your head. What was allowing yourself to sink a few more feet into the water going to change?

“Sorry for yellin’,” he mumbled as you finally pulled away to continue tending to his wound. His voice trembled.

“I didn’t realize you felt that strongly about me,” came your soft response. Your tone wasn’t accusatory. 

Rhett was a hard man to read. You had met him two years prior, when he’d first moved into the trailer next door to yours. He’d come to Florida, of all places, for a fresh start. Claimed the reason he’d chosen this place was because it was as far away from his hometown as he could get. 

The attraction between you was there. It resulted in a casual romp between the sheets, that soon turned into both of you catching feelings. Around that time, Rhett started a new job at a trucking company, which meant he was gone for days at a time. And that was all well and good, until he started coming home with a haunted look in his eyes and an uneasy countenance. 

He wouldn’t tell you what had happened. Refused to share any details. He insisted that it was for your own safety. But it only created a sinking feeling of unease in your gut. Whoever he’d gotten involved with was powerful. 

You knew he cared about you in some way, because he was so adamant about protecting you. But he wasn’t much for words. He’d never truly expressed how much you meant to him. 

But now, as you stood before him in his kitchen, it was finally out in the open. He was terrified of losing you. Couldn’t stomach the thought of you being taken from him. You could see it in his eyes. Raw fear that made you shiver. 

“‘Course I feel that way about you,” he whispered. “I know ‘m shit with expressin’ my feelings, but…you mean so much to me, an’ I can’t– I can’t stomach the thought of losin’ you.” He’d never forgive himself if he ended up being the reason for harm coming to you. In his heart, he knew you were safest if you weren’t associated with him at all, but selfishly, he couldn’t let you go. 

You sighed softly as you moved to finish patching him up, smoothing medical tape over the gauze so it would stay in place. “For what it’s worth, I really care about you, Rhett. I don’t know exactly what you’re tied up in, and maybe I’m stupid for sticking with you because of it. But I want to be with you. I want this to work.”

“Me too,” he hummed, watching as you gathered up all of the first aid paraphernalia, tossing the used items into the trash.

“I just hate seeing you come home hurt,” you added on, voice thick with emotion. “And it…it scares me, what they could do to you. You say you’re afraid to lose me, but did you ever stop to think that I feel the same way about losing you?”

He nodded, his eyes downcast. If he was looking at you, you would have been able to see the raw emotion glimmering in his eyes. “I’ll…I’ll figure out a way to leave this job. I promise,” came his confession.

You took his face in your hands, thumbs gently rubbing circles against his cheeks. “I hope you do,” you replied. 

He took a deep, unsteady breath before he released it. Your touch calmed him, melting some of the tension he carried upon his shoulders. His large hands came up to rest upon your hips, and he pulled you closer, slotting you between his knees. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers slotting into the curls at the nape of his neck. His hair had gotten longer since you’d seen him last. He was in need of a haircut. You would likely end up giving him one outside in the yard one of these days. 

His stubble had grown out, too. He looked weathered and tired, but still so handsome. 

His lashes fluttered at the feeling of your fingers brushing against the skin of his neck, and he shivered slightly. It had been a while since he had felt the tenderness of your touch. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for it. 

Slowly, you leaned in, gaze flickering to his lips before you caught his eye. He gave the faintest of nods, giving you permission before you gently captured his lips with your own. 

He melted into you, a soft grunt leaving his throat as you kissed him. His heart rate quickened in his chest, his skin heating. 

You were dressed in your little tank top and shorts, and he could feel how warm you were against his bare torso. As his large hands splayed over your hips, the fabric of your shorts rode up, granting him access to the swell of your ass. 

He broke the kiss, breathing rushed as he pressed his face against the side of your neck, mouth open against your skin. 

“Need you,” he gasped. He was desperate to feel your body against his again. Desperate to have that connection with you. After all he’d been through, he craved tenderness. 

As one of his hands came up to paw at your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top, you knew you could not resist. You wanted him, too. 

Your knees went weak as he tugged your top town further, his tongue laving at the exposed swell of your chest. One hand remained tangled in his hair, guiding his head further into you. “Need you too,” came your breathless response.

He looked up at you then, and you saw unbridled desire in his eyes. “I…” he began, but trailed off, unsure of how to express what he truly wanted. He was overcome with such an intense wave of emotions. He might even describe himself as being ravenous for you. Having a near brush with death had brought out an almost feral yearning for you.

What was soon to follow would not be gentle. It would be animalistic. Somehow, you knew this. So you nodded your head. “It’s okay. Take what you need.”

So he stood from his chair, one hand holding the side of your neck as he pulled you in to kiss you again, his hulking frame hunched over you. His mouth locked with yours again, kissing you deeply as he backed you into the kitchen table. 

He guided you to sit upon the smooth wood, and he immediately slotted himself between your thighs. His stubble was rough against your skin, creating a delicious burn that made you shudder. Then he trailed his mouth down your jaw, teeth nipping at you as he went lower. You gasped, back arching, body pressing into his as he shifted his attention to your neck. 

Then he yanked your tank top down, exposing your breasts. One of which he gripped in his hand, the other he attended to with his mouth, teeth grazing your nipple, causing it to harden beneath his touch. 

Your fingers tugged at his hair, and you could feel the molten heat beginning to settle between your legs. Being this close to him, breathing in his scent, feeling his body against yours, was so overwhelming. You had missed him so terribly.

Being in your proximity was affecting him, too. He grabbed your hand, bringing it down below his belt, alerting you to what you’d done to him. You gasped softly at the feeling of his hardness. You ached for him, longing to have him inside you, joined as one.

In a flurry of need, you reached to undo his belt buckle, hands fumbling, eager, impatient. He watched you for a moment before he pushed your hands away and finished the job himself.

Then those big hands of his were pulling your shorts down your legs, completely removing them, tossing them aside. Then came your tank top, which he all but ripped over your head, the flimsy fabric protesting in the form of popping seams as he did so. 

Now, you were fully exposed to him, laying bare naked on his kitchen table, staring up at him, silently begging him to take things further. He ducked forward, trailing his tongue over your abdomen and up between your breasts, tasting the salt of the sweat on your skin. 

Then he moved to kiss you again, tongue delving into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. As he did this, he brought his hand down between your legs, dipping his middle and ring fingers inside you. You gasped at the feeling of the thick digits, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he fucked you with his fingers, with the intention of making you wetter than you already were, so he could fuck you with ease. 

With his left hand, he grabbed your throat, ignoring the twinge of pain in his injured shoulder. He applied just the slightest bit of pressure to your neck, fingers pressing into the sides, intentionally avoiding your airway so that you would be able to breathe with ease. Your eyes went wide, and you gasped sharply, mouth falling open. 

Rhett could feel the way you suddenly tightened around him, and it sent his blood rushing south, cock growing even harder. He could feel you, even slicker around his fingers. You’d begun to drip like a juicy peach bitten into on a hot summer's day, coating his hand in your molten arousal. It pulled a breathless groan from his throat.

He pulled his hand back then, lifting it to his mouth to suck your wetness off his fingers before he hurriedly began unbuckling his belt. You watched him, dazed. You found yourself suddenly desperate for him, your desire to have him inside you completely overwhelming you senses.

Your eyes flickered downward, unable to tear your gaze away as he tugged his jeans and underwear down, exposing his hard, leaking cock. You whimpered softly, biting your lip as you quite literally began to salivate like a starving animal at the sight of him.

Rhett tipped your chin up then, so you were looking into his face. "Keep your eyes on me" he instructed, and you obeyed, staring into the deep blue, so dark it was almost like looking into the midnight sky.

He aligned himself with you, and in one carefully timed thrust, he was fully seated inside you. No hesitation. No easing into you to let you adjust. He made you take him all at once. You let out a cry at the feeling, and he watched the way your brow furrowed, the way your mouth fell open. In the yellow light of his trailer, you looked so heavenly, like a deity sent to grace him with your presence. He wanted to commit your features to memory.

With one hand pressed against the table and the other cradling the back of your head, he began to move. Slowly at first, working up to a rhythm. You melted in his arms, moaning lowly at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding into your tight, slick heat before pulling back again. His thickness filled you in such a satisfying way.

Rhett leaned back to watch his cock disappear within you with each push of his hips into your own. The sight of you stretching to accommodate him had his knees going weak. A switch was flipped in his arousal-clouded brain. He wasn’t going to fuck you slowly. He was going to take you hard and fast.

You cried out as he quickened his movements, driving himself into you deeply before pulling back, just to do it all over again. the force of which caused the legs of the kitchen table to scrape against the linoleum floor. However, the harder he fucked you, he found that the table was inching its way back, moving across the floor little by little. To solve this problem, he lifted you, inside you still as he lowered you to the kitchen floor, one hand supporting the back of your head so you wouldn't bump it on the way down.

You gazed up at him, completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. His frame was hulking over yours. He was so broad, he could make almost anyone feel small beside him. But despite his roughness, despite all that he was tied up in that had hardened him this way, you knew you were safe here, connected to the man that you loved. You weren’t sure when you realized you were in love with him, but the realization had been painful, because you knew you shouldn’t be involved with a man like him.

Yet here you were, on his kitchen floor, letting him fuck you. You were in too deep now.

You lifted her back off the ground, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair as you pulled him down to kiss her. "Nobody else gets to do this to me," you breathed. "Only you." Because that was the truth. No matter how many times he left, or how long he was gone, he was the only man you wanted.

A growl escaped his throat as he ducked forward to kiss you hard, resuming his pace, though this time, he went harder. He placed his hands on the floor by either side of your head, using his strength to drive himself into you. There was an intensity in his face, a look that seemed almost animalistic. Mouth curled into a snarl. Brow furrowed.

Beneath him, you whimpered and wailed at the feeling of him inside you. Your pretty, broken sounds were music to his ears. He wanted to hear them always. 

And when you asked for more, he gave it to you. He ground against you each time his hips met yours, his pubic bone pressing into your sensitive gathering of nerves. This sent you shuddering in pleasure, head thrown back as electricity crackled through you.

Your chests were pressed together, heartbeats and breaths intertwining, joining you as one. You clutched at him, careful to avoid his injured shoulder as your fingers dug into the rippling muscles of his back. You felt as if you might float away, each ripple of ecstasy stronger than the last.

It felt so dirty to be fucked into the kitchen floor, and yet, your entire body was a live wire, crackling and sparking beneath him as you wailed and cried and begged for more. Rhett captured your cries in his open mouth, kissing you languidly, gasping against your lips, moaning your name, swearing under his breath.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, shifting your hips up to meet each thrust, trying to chase that delicious spark that you felt each time he grinded against you. But Rhett wasn’t going to let you do all the work.

To help you plummet toward your end more quickly, he slipped his good arm between your bodies, hand quickly locating the place you needed him most, deft fingers swirling against your swollen clit. You arched into him, mouth falling open as you gripped his arm, nails digging into the meat of it.

“Wan’ you to come for me,” he growled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. 

The pressure he used against your swollen, twitching clit was certainly going to cause that to happen. “C-close!” You squeaked.

He nodded, lock of hair falling against his forehead. “I know. Can feel y’ squeezin’ me.”

Your pussy was involuntarily clenching around him, and you could feel the evidence of your arousal dripping from you, soaking his shaft, creating a puddle on the floor beneath you. Rhett could feel it, too, and it made him shudder above you.

“S’fuckin wet.”

All you could do was whimper, jolting against him as he offered a particularly deep thrust. “O-oh my g–ah!”

You wrapped both arms around him, and locked your legs in place, holding on for dear life as he fucked you into the floor, grunting and growling as he did, the weight of his body heavy against your own, but not overwhelmingly so. Oddly enough, the weight felt almost comforting. It grounded you, and if only for a moment, you felt as if nothing could take you away from him. You were safe. You were shielded. 

And then he was in your ear, gritting out, “c’mon baby, need y’ to come for me. Come all over me, just let go.”

And oh, you wanted to give it all to him. Wanted to succumb to the intensity roiling deep within you. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears of pleasure slipping down the sides of your face as you did so. You felt hot all over, buzzing from head to toe, near your boiling point. 

Rhett leaned back, bringing his hand to your throat all over again, pressing his fingertips into the sides, cutting off your blood flow. Your eyes shot open, and your gaze locked with his as you let out a sound between a shriek and a gasp. The restricted blood flow made your head spin, and suddenly, you felt as if you were floating above yourself, in the midst of an out-of-body experience.

Everything you felt was heightened tenfold, and you were very quickly overwhelmed. 

“I said, come,” he growled.

And you did. Whether it was on command, or your body was already tipping over the edge, you didn’t know. But what you did know was, you were plunged into the throes of an orgasm so intense, you swore you blacked out for a moment. Searing ecstasy rippled through you, spreading from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

You cried out Rhett’s name, holding onto him for dear life as you convulsed beneath him, pulsing around his cock. He had to fight to hold it together, because he was moments away from his own end, and he wanted to enjoy you like this for a moment longer before he let go.

He watched you in awe, amazed at how beautiful you were when you were in such a state of unbridled pleasure. As you writhed in his arms, he held you, keeping you grounded when you felt like you’d float away.

As you slowly came down from the intensity, Rhett took that as his cue to pick up his pace, kissing you when you began to whimper from the sensitivity. "I'm gonna fill you to the brim," he gritted out, voice strained as he approached his own release.

You welcomed it, you begged for it, longing to feel his essence spilling deep within you. And he gave it to you. With nothing short of a roar, Rhett came undone. He buried his face against your neck as he lost himself, hips pressed tightly to yours as he spasmed and filled you with his warmth. You held him close, shivering at the sensation.

Still breathless, his body relaxed against your own, though he was careful not to rest dead weight on you.  As he slowly regained his composure, he lifted his head, moving to plant a deep kiss on your lips. 

You held his face in your hands as you kissed him back. But your connection could only last for so long. His cock was beginning to soften within you, and you could feel his seed dripping between your thighs, joining the mess you’d already made on the floor. 

Although he didn't want to part from you, he knew he couldn't stay this way forever. So eased himself from you, soothing you with another kiss before he lifted his head to gaze between your legs at the mess he'd made.

Wordlessly, he swiped his fingers through your combined mess, and then brought those fingers to your mouth. Eagerly, you parted your lips, tasting your shared arousal, sucking his digits clean. He hummed low in his throat. The sight was nearly enough to have him growing hard all over again.

But he gave you both a moment of reprieve, moving to settle beside you on the floor, as you stared up at the aged popcorn ceiling together. His hand rested on his abdomen, while the other searched for your own hand, interlacing your fingers.

“I missed you,” you whispered into the silence.

He hummed. “I missed y’ too.”

The heaviness of reality had begun to set in as the afterglow faded and your conversation grew serious. You moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, gazing down at Rhett. “Should I be worried about you coming home with more gunshot wounds from now on?” You asked, as you lovingly traced your fingers around the area you had covered with gauze.

He sighed. “I…I can’t promise it won’t happen again. But I want ya to know, I’m gonna figure out a way to quit this job, alright? You deserve a better life. A better man. And I can be a better man. I just gotta clean up the mess I made first.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

But the truth was, Rhett wasn’t sure that he could keep that promise. He would try, dammit, he’d try. But he was very well aware that going through with it could result in his own life being snuffed out. 

And that night, as he lay in bed, with you sleeping soundly by his side, he considered what might happen to you if he ended up meeting a premature end. He had several thousand in cash stuffed into a loose floorboard in the closet. You could live off of that for a while.

He just wanted to make sure you were taken care of in the event that something happened to him.

The thought made him uneasy. But as he gazed upon your peaceful form, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to build a beautiful life with you. He wanted to take you away from all of this, away from this hick trailer park, and give you a home worth living in.

But the only way he could do any of those things, was by breaking the shackles that held him down. He had to walk away from the line of work that he was tied up in, and he had to do it now, otherwise, he’d never be free.

So, in the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise, he slipped away. He wrote you a note, left you a twenty dollar bill to buy yourself breakfast with, and left a featherlight kiss against your temple before he walked out to meet fate.

When you woke a few hours later, you found his note on the wobbly old nightstand beside the bed. 

It read, Went to try and fix things. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Buy yourself some breakfast with this 20. If I’m not back in a week, there’s a few grand under the loose floorboard in my closet. Take it and move far away from here, because it won’t be safe for you to stay here anymore. 

P.S. I know I’m shit at words, but I just want you to know, I love you. Hope I see you soon. - Rhett.

You stared at his barely legible writing, your chest tightening with uncertainty. What on earth did he mean by if I’m not back in a week? A pit of dread formed in your gut. You knew he was trying to leave his job, but would doing so cost him his life?

You so badly wanted him to have his freedom back, but what good would that freedom do him if he was dead?

You didn’t buy breakfast with the money he left you that morning. You felt much too sick to your stomach, knowing he was deliberately putting himself in danger. But there was nothing you could do about it. You had no idea where he had gone, nor did you have any clue where to start looking for him.

All you were left to do was worry, and wonder if you would ever see the man you loved again.

-

tagging (those who expressed interest in the concept post i made): @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @floydsmuse @hangmanapologist @bobfloydsbabe @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @milesmillergf @laracrofted @floydsglasses @westpastor @seitmai-too @topherwrites

[elliewithcellie]

Rite of Passage

summary: steve takes care of you after a date gone horribly wrong (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

wc: 2.0k

cw: results of the date which is not described, but understood to be sexual assault, Please use your discretion (marked in the tags so it can be filtered), steve stays platonic, he is the comfort in the hurt/comfort, reader takes a bath, semi-graphic description of injuries, angst but fluff in how steve cares so much for reader. PLEASE let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: this is not for the faint of heart. it has been in the vault since 2022 just as a kind of a coping thing. it's one of the stories i revisit and literally just cry rereading, but maybe it can be helpful to others. this is just one way one can react to this sort of incident. everyone's own reactions are valid, and i love you.

It could happen to anyone. Almost every girl experiences it, some sick rite of passage to prove that you are a woman. To remind you that you are still inferior, second class, an object to be used. Then these women share their stories so nonchalantly, in passing, and in response to their friends’ stories. Some don’t share at all. Some bottle it up and smile through the pain anyway, now nothing behind her once vibrant eyes.

But you never really thought it would happen to you. Not that you were invincible or immune or reckless; it’s just not something that anyone can fully comprehend. You’d been told to smile more. You’d been objectified or ignored. You thought that put you on the list already.

You thought he was a sweet guy. You wished you listened to Steve. You had laughed at his suggestion to “at least bring him back to the apartment.” You were so embarrassed at the thought of making out with some guy while Steve hid in the other room. And you didn’t want your date to know that you lived with another guy. But all that seemed so insignificant now.

You had to walk home. Your teeth chattered in the drizzling rain, your gait slightly wider than usual. You crossed your arms and bit down on your lip hard, a desperate attempt at a distraction. Not a single car passed you on your trek home. The darkness consumed you. The silence betrayed you. With your phone now dead, making it to your apartment was the only hope filling your heart. You prayed that Steve hadn’t waited up for you. You just wanted to be alone.

You fiddled with your keys as you approached the locked door. You didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking. You struggled for a few more moments, begging for the strength to get inside without crying, when the door opened for you.

“Y/N! I’ve been calling you for like an hour! Where have you been?” Steve guided you inside. He attempted to take your jacket from you, but you jerked his hand off of you.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me.” Your voice quivered at the end of your sentence.

Steve lifted his hands and closed the door behind the both of you. “Sorry, I didn’t – I – you’re soaked, hon. Did—did you walk here?”

You nodded. You felt overwhelmed, anger rising to cover your tracks. “Can you just fucking cool it with the questions? My phone died. I walked here. I’m wet 'cause it’s raining. Just—just leave me alone.”

You shoved him out of your way with your shoulder and stormed to your room. You had never acted this way toward him, toward anyone. People knew you to be kind, gentle, and sometimes blunt, but never rude or aggressive. But you felt that part breaking right in front of your eyes. You were confused. You couldn’t comprehend what was happening, that this was happening.

You plugged in your phone. You paced around your room for your phone to light up again. When your phone turned back on, you checked for his number. He had already blocked you.

Your lungs boiled. Your body vibrated with rage. The impulse to scream grew stronger and stronger by the second. So, you did. A guttural, soul-clutching scream escaped your throat. Tears stained your cheeks. You felt your destruction in your hands, transferring the havoc condemned to you to your room. You threw your books, kicked your chair, and flipped your mattress, bawling and yelling through it all. You punched your pillow over and over until hands gathered you in their arms. You fought the arms, but the hold was tight.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Steve. Relax. I’ve got you. You’re ok. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You sank into his touch and wept. Destruction left your body and devolved into devastation. Your body suddenly so heavy, you slumped to your knees, Steve following right behind you and still holding you close.

You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed on the floor of your bedroom. But Steve held you with the same force he did from the very start. He wasn’t going anywhere. You cried until you lost your energy, tears still streaking your face. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. You were glad that you had Steve to lean on.

“How can I help?” Steve asked. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t process such an open-ended question. It seemed that Steve understood that. “Water is supposed to help relax people. What if I fill up the tub for you? You can rest in there, and I’ll grab some clothes for you. How does that sound?”

You nodded, not yet able to find your voice. Steve gently lifted you up, and the two of you walked to the bathroom.

You sat on the closed toilet as Steve crouched by the tub, testing the water with his hand. When the tub filled, he stood up and headed toward the door. “I’ll leave your clothes by the door, ok?”

He opened the door, and your stomach flipped. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, I don—Can you stay?”

Steve’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. He closed the door behind him and nodded. “Uh, yeah, ok.”

The two of you sat in silence. You didn’t ask for him not to look. You didn’t start to change. You didn’t move, a haze falling over you. The weight of horror and defeat pulled you down.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to Steve’s. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Do you—would you like some help?” Steve’s voice shook as if you were made of glass and one misstep would shatter you.

All you could do was nod. You shuffled out of your jacket as Steve untied your shoes and removed your socks, still damp from the rain. He rose to his knees to meet you at eye level. He patted your arm, and you lifted them halfway into the air, as much as you could muster. Steve carefully pulled your shirt over your head, officially crossing a line the two of you never even toed.

And what Steve saw broke his heart. Blue and green bruises in the shape of fingertips wrapped around your neck. More, less cohesive shapes scattered across your chest down to the top of your hip bones where the waistband of your pants sat.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. He sat in observation, conflict brewing within him. The more he looked, the angrier he got. His shame screamed for him to look away, to salvage the friendship you both have and remain a ‘gentleman’. But the true friend in him wanted to document every bruise on your body, to share the knowledge in your pain, and to lighten the load in any way possible. This part fueled him to continue.

“Stand up for me, please.”

You paused. Your heart began to pound, and you found it harder and harder to breathe. You started to feel dizzy.

Steve took your face in his hands and had you look at him. “Breathe. You’re ok. Breathe with me. In…and out.” You matched the rhythm that Steve set and took deep breaths. You collected yourself under Steve’s gaze, but you were still a little overwhelmed.

“I’m here for you, ok? Whatever you need just say it. Need me to turn around, I will. Need me to leave? I can. But I think you need to get cleaned up, ok? You think you can do that? What do you need from me?”

You thought for a moment. Your brain felt jumbled, like crossed wires scrambling messages. Steve sat at your knees patiently while you considered what you wanted.

“Let’s—let’s just get it over with,” you sighed, a dry laugh forced from your diaphragm.

You stood up with what strength you had left, resolving to lean your body weight on Steve’s shoulders as he kneeled beneath you.

He wasted no time in unbuttoning your pants, desperate to not make a scene of it. He glided your pants to your ankles, and you stepped out of them while using Steve to balance. He stood up and guided you into the water. As you stepped in, the dried blood between your thighs sucked the air out of Steve’s lungs. Now he felt dizzy. Now he felt rage. He could only have guessed, but now he was certain. His eyes stung as he blinked back tears.

“I—I’ll be right back,” he said, turning away from you.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna grab those clothes for you. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He tore out of the bathroom, his tears now falling freely. He was gonna kill him. He was gonna kill that man if it was the last thing he did. He paced the halls debating on grabbing his bat. His blood boiled. Steve didn’t know what to do. He stormed into your room but was quickly reminded of the destruction that already took place. His temper cooled back down. You were his priority. You needed his attention. You needed him. He took a deep breath and collected all of your favorite cozy clothes.

He wiped his tears before knocking. A weak ‘come in’ responded. Steve opened the door. You had already begun draining the tub as you reached for your towel from your seated position. Steve grabbed the towel and pulled you up to your feet. He wrapped you up and did what he could to dry you. Then he helped you into your sweats and socks before guiding you to his room.

“What are we doing?” you asked.

“Well, your bed is kind of indisposed at the moment,” Steve chuckled. “So, you can sleep here for now, ok? I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” The truth was he planned on cleaning your room and putting it back together. He knew it was late, but a fresh start in the morning was sure to allow things to move forward a little easier, right?

“You don’t have to. I can sleep on the couch; it’s fine.”

“Please, I insist.”

“It’s your bed.”

“Well, then, at least stay with me. I want you comfortable. I want you to get some sleep tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.”

“I think I’d like that, actually.” You tried to smile, but you were much too tired.

“Come on, then.” Steve smiled. He held your hand as he led you to his bed. He pulled the covers back, and you slipped in, Steve following close behind.

The room was dark and silent, two things that again began to trouble you. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep your composure. Steve, too, stared up at his ceiling fan, all too conscious of the space between the two of you, hoping you were comfortable, or at least relaxed enough to fall asleep.

“You were right,” you whispered, your lip beginning to quiver.

Steve’s ears perked up. “Huh? What do you mean?” He turned his body to face you, his arm propping up his head.

“You knew he was bad news. I should have listened.”

“No, no. No. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know. You did nothing wrong. Okay? Look at me. You did nothing wrong.”

You nodded in the dark, the silence continuing to settle around you. You wanted to believe him; you really did. But fragments of memories struck your nerves, all too vivid and all so wrong to be truly convinced.

“Why did this happen to me, Steve?” Your voice broke. Steve pulled you into his chest as you cried for the second time this evening. He stroked your hair as he held you close, failing to keep his own tears at bay.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’m gonna keep you safe from now on, you got that? You can count on me.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

The room eventually grew quiet and still, the only sounds the heavy breaths leaving both of you. Steve kept his promise, holding you in his arms and keeping you safe the entire night.

[gingeralecranberry]

CHAPTER 1

𝟐-𝟏 ; 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AS YOU’RE RIPPING ME TO SHREDS

☺︎ cw:

mentions of death, fighting, canon-typical violence, gojo may be ooc he's a lil bit of a weirdo, sukuna and gojo both deserve their own warnings, scarring, brief mention/description of injuries, Megumi is an edgy teen, that one scene were itadori is chained to that weird ass pole, mentions of executions, semi-graphic descriptions of Sukuna's finger (cause it really is disgusting)

"Under Jujustu regulations, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcize you as a curse!"

Under the shrouded night sky, the moonlight blanketed the scattered chunks of jagged debris strewn across the school rooftop in a soft radiance. The holes in the structure croaked with a melancholy groan, the noise swept away by the sound of the wind. Spiderweb-esque cracks stretched their slender fingers across the concrete, across the pale gray walls, across the splintered siding of the building.

"Wait, really, I'm fine!"

Across the expanse of carnage, the two teenagers stared each other down.

The older of the two boys sat on the far end of the building, laying in a pool of his own blood. Spiky black hair matted to his forehead, both from sweat and his injuries, he raised both his fists in a false circle. The heightened collar on his gakuran cast an intimidating shadow over the lower half of his face, highlighting the kindlings of desperation burning in his muted green eyes.

The younger of the two, a much more spritely and jovial personality, raised both his hands in mock surrender. The pink hair that's previously been ruffled to stand up nearly straight cascaded down towards his forehead again, the ominous black markings all over his body seemingly being swallowed by the flesh tone of his skin. The sharp black talons on the ends of each finger dissolved, almost as if they'd never been there in the first place.

"More importantly, you and I are both pretty beat up, let's get to a hospital."

Stuck at odds with his logical rationale and his gut feeling, Megumi Fushiguro could feel the familiar feeling of frustration welling up in his throat.

'I can't tell if the one speaking right now is Itadori or the cursed object! Damn it...'

His hands were stationary, still in the same faux circle he'd arranged them in earlier. He hesitated to drop the stance, fearing an ambush.

'...What should I do?!'

In the near deafening silence, both of the combatants failed to notice the presence of a third person on the roof. As if it were just any other day, the new guy waltzed in seemingly without a care.

"What the situation?"

Fushiguro immediately dropped his hands in favor of whipping around to look behind him, jaw dropping open as his eyes settled on the familiar sight of his teacher. His internal wheel of emotions seemed to spin back and forth between horror, relief, and utter mortification. Eventually, his wheel settled for a nightmare cocktail blessed by all of the above! "Wha... Gojo-sensei?! What are you doing here?!"

Kitted up in his signature gakuran, blindfold, and a bag from the local pastry shop, his white hair stuck up from the pressure of the blindfold on either side of his face.

Leisurely, he greeted his student with a smile, "Hey." He stood idly on the sidelines with his hands shoved in his pockets, "I wasn't planning on coming, but man, you're roughed up..." As though a million dollar idea flashed on a big screen behind his blindfold, a cruel grin ran its way up the man's cheeks, "I should show the second years."

His student grimaced, doing his best to twist his broken body away from the camera. He hissed through gritted teeth, swallowing both his physical AND mental pain in an effort to keep his dignity. Still, Gojo persisted, leaning in close as he began to snap what the Sendai-student assumed were dozens of pictures. "Hahaha! Face this way!"

Itadori could only stand by and watch in what he described as abject horror-fascination.

Eventually, when it seemed the older man got his fill of amusement, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "The higher-ups wouldn't shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing, so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing." Curiously, he examined the surrounding area through the confines of the black fabric pressed over his eyes. "So, did you find it?"

"..."

"..."

The teenagers exchanged glances momentarily.

"Um..."

Oblivious to the situation at hand, Gojo tilted his head to the side, "Hm?"

"I-"

"He ate it."

Collectively, all heads turned towards the voice originating from the huge hole in the concrete wall of the school.

"Huh?"

Quiet footsteps resounded against the desecrated rooftop in the dead silence of the encounter. Peeking from the shadows cast by the ruined architecture, a tall man in strange attire stepped into the low light of the moon. Donning a pair of black hakama pants and a matching plain black haori jacket, he traipsed towards the trio missing the common trepidation one would have when confronting the strongest curse alive.

He raised a finger, matter of factly, "The finger, he ate it."

The two teenagers blinked at him stupidly.

Gojo's posture, on the other hand, straightened with excited recognition, "Sensei!"

'Sensei? That guy barely looks any older!'

Before Itadori could think about it any further, the white-haired teacher disappeared from view before reappearing on the other side of the rooftop. In the blink of an eye, he was already falling into stride alongside the newcomer with an eerily calculated ease. "What are you doing here?"

Still, the stranger paid no mind to the sudden change in position, walking forward at the same measured pace, "It's been 10 years since you graduated Gojo, I'm retired. You don't need to call me Sensei, especially since we're coworkers now."

The other sorcerer hummed, "Well, calling you by your last name feels too formal, but I don't wanna say your first name since you don't call me mine..." He trailed off, letting the silence hang in the air for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

"..."

Finally, he tacked on, "So... What are you doing here? Did you miss me so much you had to visit? No need to feel embarrassed!"

Fushiguro could feel his nose crinkle in disgust.

'God, he's humiliating.'

Completely unphased, the older man's eyes were still trained forward and locked on target. "When one of Sukuna's fingers goes missing, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the higher-ups are going to panic. I was sent in as back-up." Finally he came to a stop in front of the pink-haired teen in quest, "Itadori, was it?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

The 15-year-old gulped down a lump of spit, tilting his neck to look up into the other's (eye-color) pupils.

Instead of trying to kill him (like expected), the stranger offered a hand, "(name) (surname), may I?"

"..."

"..."

"...Huh?"

"Oh, uh-" The man shook his head, chuckling sheepishly, "Sorry, I should probably explain myself first." He retracted his hand in favor of letting it fall to his side again. "I'm a cursed object specialist. Since you swallowed a cursed object, I want to do a quick check to make sure nothing's wrong with you."

"Oh," Yuji murmured, "Yeah... yeah, that's fine."

(name) smiled gratefully, doing a quick visual inspection first.

'No signs of markings... but what are those?'

Without warning, the older man's hand gripped the teen's chin gently, tilting his head to the side to scrutinize the new scarring on his cheekbones.

A moment of silence passed among the group.

Finally, the specialist's arm returned to his side, "Fascinating..." He placed a hand on his chin, sitting on any potential questions before asking, "Does anything feel off with your body?"

The teen glanced over his appendages, looking for any injuries, "Not particularly."

He hummed again, satisfied, "Truly fascinating."

Laying a hand on (name)'s shoulder, Gojo moved his former teacher out of the way before inspecting the teen himself. "Damn, it really did combine with you... That's hilarious!" He trailed off, continuing to scan the composition of the teen's newly concocted and brewed cursed energy. There seemed to be a particularly mischievous idea forming in his head, indicated by the curling of his lips. "Say, can you swap out with Sukuna?"

Itadori blinked, "Sukuna?"

Gojo nodded, "The curse you ate."

The teen paused, "Oh... Yeah, I think I can do that."

Upon being given the greenlight, the white-haired menace started to stretch. Rolling his shoulders and squatting to open up his legs he continued, "Then give us ten seconds."

Megumi opened his mouth to voice protest, but (name) simply shook his head in response.

The teacher righted his posture, shaking out his arms, "Once ten seconds are up, come back to us."

Seemingly already familiar with the danger pertaining to the entity inside him, the younger teen also seemed hesitant to comply, "But..."

Immediately, he was cut off, "Don't worry. I'm the strongest." Upon seeing the boy's shoulders relax a little, he called over his shoulder. "Megumi."

Fushiguro gave a small grunt in response.

"Hold on to this."

Despite tossing it to his student, (name) ended up catching the bag in one hand and shifting to wedge himself between Megumi and where the fight was going to take place.

Fushiguro's eyes trailed up to the bag, gesturing towards it with his less injured arm, "What is that?"

"Kikufuku from Kikusuian!" As if he wasn't about to go up against the King of Curses, Gojo smiled eagerly and started to make over the top gestures with his hands as he spoke, "It's Sendai's speciality, and it's super good. I personally recommend the zunda and cream flavor!"

Quietly, the eldest of the four released a tired sigh, holding the twine straps in one hand. Megumi, though, narrowed his eyes, mumbling a rather pissed off, "This guy actually went and bought souvenirs when people were out here dying...!"

As Gojo went on to argue about the specifics of his souvenir shopping with his student, (name) closed his eyes, allowing the thrum of cursed energy to trace the outlines of his feet where they connected with the ground. Despite having fought special grade curses as a special grade sorcerer, the man still hadn't ever faced such... malicious decadence twisted into the very source of the energy itself.

Undoubtedly, the King of Curses was only a handful of yards away.

Then he wasn't.

Megumi's body surged forward in alarm, "Behind you!"

His teacher paid his cry no mind, wagging a finger at him with a hand on his hip, "Kikufuku's not like other souvenirs-"

The large cloud of dust exploded from what little remained of the concrete floor, brushing against your closed eyelids. As if tapping into your third eye, the outline of the battlefield appeared like a blueprint before the expanse of darkness in your head...

...two large husks of cursed energy gave particularly strong outlines.

"--And the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite."

You fanned away some of the aftershocks of the explosion with your hand, opening your eyes.

Not even a foot in front of you, the Ryomen Sukuna was hunched over... with your former student perched on his back.

The curse gave an angry laugh, immediately weaving to strike Gojo again. He wasn't expecting the man to match his pace, ducking and sliding out of the way with every fist that came soaring his direction. Eventually, instead of dodging, the man parried, sending the Curse hurtling through the air to the other end of the rooftop.

Another plume of dust flew up like a smoke wall, obscuring the King from view.

"My student's watching, so I'm going to show off a little."

Ah... something about hearing his own former student saying that made a little memory in the recesses of (name)'s heart flutter with nostalgia. He remembered when he would've done the same thing.

Oh, to be young and stupid.

With something akin to a groan, Sukuna advanced again.

'He's unbelievably fast? No, that's not it.'

The two met midair, the curse finding itself on the receiving end of a fist straight to the face. Once agaain thrown nearly head first into the decaying building, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, just barely managing to correct his footing before landing, "For crying out loud... You jujutsu sorcerers are always trouble, no matter the era!"

Following his proclamation, he leapt into the air, bringing his wrath down onto the roof where his opponent stood. Before he could make contact with the floor however, it seemed the concrete hardened and reinforced itself with an electrifying concentration of cursed energy. Two of his four eyes glanced to the source, widening.

'That volume of cursed energy... and yet it doesn't feel as though he has any.'

(name) stood to the side, hands behind his back. His eyes were, once again, closed.

"Seven... Eight... Nine..."

Sukuna let out an exasperated growl, chest heaving with the excessive exertion.

"Should be time."

Instantaneously, all muscle control seemed to slip through the curse's fingers like sand through a sieve. Any attempt to grasp at motor function only served for it to escape him quicker.

'Damn it... Again? I can't take over. Who the hell is this... Itadori... brat?'

(name) peeled his eyes open, enamored as he retracted his own cursed energy from the environment. He watched the malevolent aura of the King dwindle and dwindle until it was no more than a blot of the outline of Itadori's soul.

The teen's body slowly returned to normality, tattoos and nails regressing to that of the average human. The eyes on the side of his head closed into scars once again, "Oh, was everything okay?"

From the heart of the explosion, the remaining sorcerer sauntered back over the group. Gojo gave a lopsided smirk at the sight, looking over Itadori again with his Six Eyes. "I'm shocked. You really can control it!"

The pink-haired teen nodded, hitting at the side of his head with furrowed brows, "He's kind of annoying though, I can hear his voice."

(name) hummed, "That's to be expected when you're a vessel."

The other teacher expressed his own agreement, "It's a miracle that's all he's doing."

Just like the cursed object specialist had done earlier, when Gojo approached and outstretched his hand towards Yuji's face, the highschooler didn't pay any mind. This time however, when two fingers made contact with his forehead, something didn't quite feel right. With maybe a millisecond to register the strange sensation, his eyelids started to droop. Fighting to keep them open, he made a noise between alarm and discomfort, instantaneously confronted with the creeping, rapidly expanding feeling of his body turning to lead.

"What did you do?"

The youngest of the four crumbled, chin unceremoniously knocking on the sorcerer's sturdy shoulder.

"Knocked him out," he rearranged the Sendai student's body to drape across his back. "If he isn't possessed by Sukuna when he wakes up, he might have potential as a vessel. Now, Megumi, I have a question for you."

"..."

"What should we do with him?"

(name) grimaced, watching the uncomfortable bend of the teenager's spine over the curvature of the other man's back.

Like the responsible kid he was, Fushiguro ruminated on his thoughts before he made a final decision. It was almost as though his eyes reflected each and every one of the potential outcomes while his brain parsed through the best and worst what-if scenarios.

"Even if he is a vessel, Jujutsu regulations demand Itadori be executed."

The cursed object specialist hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time he observed the first-year. His stomach sank, a heavy heart pushing it down until it felt like it was in his feet. Still, he offered a small sigh.

"...However,"

(name) paused.

Fushiguro's eyes met Gojo's, piercing through him with a thousand-yard stare, intense and packed with conviction, "I don't want to let him die."

"..."

"..."

His teacher's lips peeled back into a coy smile, "Personal feeling?"

The young man nodded, completely resolute in his decision, "Yes. Please do something about this."

His teacher's smile only grew wider, a single hand reaching up to brush through his untamed white hair with a quiet snicker, "Now it's a request from a precious student... Leave it to me."

"Wait."

Teacher and student whipped around to the other man situated just a few feet away.

The man cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that all attention was situated squarely on his shoulders.

"..."

"..."

"...Let me carry him, Satoru."

"..."

"..."

A breeze drifting by was seemingly swept up in the silence that wrapped up the destroyed rooftop like a blanket.

There was a snort.

Then Gojo broke out into laughter.

(name)'s cheeks sprouted a flustered pink hue, extending from the roots to fan the flame over his nose and cheekbones. "You're holding him like a sack of potatoes," He averted eye contact, looking towards the waning moon, "he's already going to be sore after being thrown around like a ragdoll, I thought I would at least spare him the unnecessary back pain."

The sorcerer, despite his blindfold, made the motion of wiping a fake tear from his eye as his boisterous laugh echoed into a near silent chuckle. He took another deep breath, resting his hand on his stomach, "Always so doting to students... I wonder where all that was when you were teaching me."

Fushiguro felt like he wanted to vomit.

'God, he's so fucking cringe.'

"But... the recap and current events don't line up."

The room was dark, its only challenger being the gentle light offered by a generous collective of candles haphazardly stationed around the gloomy chamber. While their burning wax dripped onto the dirty concrete floor, the flame dancing at the end of each wick revealed the hundreds--thousands--of sigils and talismans looming above. The pages, yellowed with age, acted like impromptu wallpaper. A few corners beginning to peel, a few ink-stained fingerprints on others, the imperfections in the calligraphy didn't stifle the atmosphere in the slightest. The energy seeping in from the unknown, shadowy corners of the room was suffocating.

“Hey, I did my best.” 

Sitting with his front pressed against the back of a plain wooden chair, Gojo observed the teenager through his blindfold.  His Six Eyes traced over the intricacies of newfound cursed energy, almost mesmerized by the twisting, turning, warping of the two souls manifested in his singular body.  He rested his forearm against the back of his seat, “The execution’s still on, but I managed to get your sentence suspended.” 

“Suspended?”

Itadori sat flat on the ground, leaning against the room’s singular pillar.  Large, steel manacles weighed heavy on his wrists.  The chains that bound his cuffs to the room’s far wall were thick like pythons.  Wrapping around the pillar like a pair of constrictors, they criss-crossed over one another in an x before melding into their respective anchors. 

“So you’re not killing me right away?” 

Staring into Gojo’s blindfold felt weird and unnatural, but the teen didn’t really have any other options. 

“Yup,” The man would be the one to break eye contact first, maneuvering to reach into his gakuran’s pocket, “I’ll explain it from the top.” 

His slender hand returned with something that looked very familiar.   He presented the object proudly, holding it up in front of Itadori’s expectant face.  “This is the same as the cursed object you ate.” 

Amber eyes raked over the grotesque appendage.   Ugly, wrinkly purple skin scrunched around the knuckles in an uncanny manner that sent uncomfortable tingles down Yuji’s spine.   The texture was only made worse by the lack of a clean cut, bits of flesh left hanging off the finger.  Being this close to it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“There are twenty in total.  We currently possess six.” 

Looking at it was like watching an accident.   It was deeply disturbing but it retained this all powerful magnetic quality that made it near impossible to look away. 

“Twenty?” 

Fighting his compulsion to stare, Itadori made eye contact with the sorcerer sitting in front of him, “Each finger and toe?” 

Gojo’s smile only grew wider and more unsettling in the low light, “No, Sukuna has four arms.” 

Without a heads up, the older man tossed the cursed object into the air.  In the nanosecond it took the Sendai Student to glance at the sudden movement, an abundance of cursed energy crackled to life like electricity.  It snapped like a whip, launching the finger in a cloud of smoke. 

“...”

“...As you can see, we can’t destroy them.  The curse is just that powerful.” 

The boy’s jaw hung open like the fat koi fish in the pond he’d pass on the way home.  Staring at the fresh crater in the previously unblemished wall of talisman, he failed to notice the teacher standing up from his seat. 

Delicately plucking the curse from the steaming indentation he’d lovingly branded into the side of the room, he sauntered back over to his wooden chair.  Completely relaxed, his airy lilt carried through the room, “The curse grows stronger every day, and the seals of modern-day jujutsu sorcerers just can’t keep up.” 

Tucking the finger back into his pocket, he threw his leg over the wooden seat, “That’s where you come in.” 

Finally closing his mouth, the teenager blinked at him. 

“...Huh?” 

“You see, when you die, the curse inside you dies as well.”  Dramatically, the sorcerer slumped forward with a sigh, “Our elders are total cowards, you know? They’re demanding we kill you right away.” 

“...”

Gojo pursed his lips, “But that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” 

Itadori cocked his head to the side, struggling to process the clusterfuck of information he had unceremoniously dumped onto his unsuspecting lap, “A waste?” 

Resting the side of his face against his palm with an awkwardly cheerful ‘mhm!’, the white-haired stranger went on, “There’s no guarantee another vessel capable of handling Sukuna will ever be born again, so this is what I proposed,” he held up a pointer finger, waving it around to punctuate his statement, “If we’re going to kill you anyway… why not kill you after you’ve absorbed  ALL of Sukuna?”

“...”

“...”

Gojo crossed his arms over the back of his wooden perch, offering a non committal hum, “It took a lot of convincing, and Sensei had to pitch in, but eventually, the higher-ups agreed… so now you have two options before you.” 

Staring into the blank darkness of the black blindfold, Itadori finally seemed to notice how dry the inside of his mouth was.  

“You can either die right now…”

He swallowed.

“…or you can find all the parts of Sukuna and die after you’ve absorbed them.” 

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎ taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten @ilovebattinson @satansdaughter123

masterlist ☓

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part two: i don't wanna be me

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 6.6k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, descriptions of a crime scene/injury (bullet wound and head trauma)(not shane or tim), heavy petting, oral (male receiving), protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, tiny bit of misogyny (shane is ignorant af and it's like 2002 lol), first time bottoming, shane's internal battles, tim being a really fucking good partner, f e e l i n g s, seriously this is sappy y'all, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (seriously i can't explain how much taylor has helped with this story, go give her some love!)

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

Shane locked himself in his bedroom for three days after the disaster at Tim’s apartment. He’s never felt so stupid in his life. How could he just… kiss him like that? 

Why did he do that?

He thought about that moment constantly, for hours at a time. Tim’s lips, for how briefly they’d touched his own, felt so… correct. They were soft, a little chapped, but warm. It was like things clicked into place for him. He doesn’t remember any kisses with Raven ever feeling like that. Or any girl he’d been with, for that matter. 

He hated himself for how good it felt. Especially because Tim ended it before it ever really began.

Shane wasn’t sure if there was anyone else he could go to about any of this. Legally, he still lived with his mom and her husband in their downtown apartment, but they never saw each other. He basically had his own area of the apartment to himself. His mom and her husband made enough that they didn’t really notice or care what Shane did with his life. He didn’t have any goals, and he guessed that’s why he did petty crimes like he did. He was just so fucking bored.

And now he was dealing with… this. 

He stared at Tim’s business card, his thumb rubbing over the older man’s name. He was curled up on his bed, holding one of his pillows close. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. The bright green text read 2:18am. He sighed to himself and rolled over onto his back.

He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

Nobody noticed a change in Tim at work. If they did, they were professional enough not to bring it up. He felt fucking awful for how things went down with Shane. He wanted to reciprocate so badly, but Shane was vulnerable and Tim didn’t want to take advantage of him like that.

“Boss, I got those files you needed.”

Tim looked up from his desk, pen still in hand while he filled out the paperwork for a robbery he’d taken care of the day before. He’d thought about Shane and his magazine the entire time. “Thank you,” he grunted, pointing at an empty spot on his desk. “Can just set it there, please.”

The agent set it down and took off, getting back to work.

Tim looked back down at the file he was working on and sighed, losing his focus. He looked over at the phone on his desk and frowned. He didn’t have Shane’s number so he couldn’t call him. He wanted to tell Shane that what happened wasn’t wrong, or even unwanted.

The sound of heavy footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Matthews, his partner, slammed Tim’s office door open.

“There’s been a shooting!”

Tim furrowed his brows, pushing his thoughts of Shane away for now, and focusing on the task at hand. “Where? Do we know anything else?” He asked, opening the drawer in his desk to put his gun holster on over his shoulders.

“Yeah, it was at a liquor store downtown. We have an idea of who the victim is based on descriptions from the employee working at the time, but not of the shooter,” Matthews answered, handing Tim’s trenchcoat to him. 

The two detectives made their way to Tim’s car and sped off to the crime scene.

“His name is Howard Xavier, and he’s twenty-eight,” Watson, the cop who was in the area, explained. “He’s on his way to the hospital now, but he looks to be in decent condition.”

Tim nodded, eyes looking over the crime scene. Flashes of photos being taken filled the peripheries of his vision. There were bottles of wine and hard liquor crashed everywhere. “Looks like Xavier tried to run from the shooter,” he mumbled, crouching down to look at the dirty boot prints on the linoleum floor.

“Do you think they knew each other?” Matthews asked.

Tim sighed, looking up at his partner before standing again. “Who’s to say?” He shrugged. “Maybe. Do we have any information on any relatives or associates?”

“No family, but we’ve found a couple of friends on file,” Matthews replied. “I think we’ve got them back at the station.”

Tim nodded. “Let’s head back and see what we can find.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. 

Known Associates: Tracy Wynanski and Shane Morrissey.

This had to have been the coincidence to end all coincidences or Tim had an insane amount of luck. There was a phone number for Tracy, but no address. He stepped out of his office and approached his secretary, an older woman by the name of Dolores.

“Can you get me Shane Morrissey’s file, please?” He asked, voice a little more gruff than he’d intended.

“Of course, sweetie, give me one moment,” Dolores smiled, rolling her chair to the file cabinets. 

Shane’s file in hand, he sat back at his desk and started looking through the files for Howard Xavier again. A bullet wound to the thigh, and blunt force trauma to the head.

He figured it’d be easy to get the professional parts out of the way first and called Tracy, asking if she knew anything about the shooting. She said she didn’t, since her and Howard hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months. She’d gone back home to Philadelphia after a breakup. 

“Thank you, Tracy,” he said. “Do you happen to know Shane Morrissey? He’s one of Howard’s other known associates and I’d like to ask if he knows anything.”

Tracy let out a bitter laugh and said, “Oh, I know Shane. He can kiss my ass for all I care.”

“Ms. Wynanski, please–”

“I don’t have a number for him, but I can tell you where he lives. Not saying he’ll be there, though,” she paused. “Likes to frequent this one house full of his ‘friends’ when he’s not at home moping.”

Tim felt his entire body relax, shutting his eyes as he took a deep breath. “That will be very helpful. Thank you, Ms. Wynanski. Do you have the address for the other house?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t go in there like you’re looking for him, though. They’ll all run off.”

“I can handle it. Thank you, Ms Wynanski.”

After confirming that the address Tracy had matched the one they had on file, and wrote down the other address, he called Matthews, who decided to check on Xavier at the hospital.

“He’s stable. He’ll probably stay here for a couple of days,” his partner said through the phone.

“Alright. I’ve got a lead on one of his associates. It’s fucking Morrissey, John,” Tim chuckled.

“You’re shitting me. Employee at the liquor store said Xavier looked like he walked out of the Satanic Temple so I guess I’m not too surprised.”

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted, making one last note on Howard’s file. “I’m gonna head out and look for him. Could you go to one of these addresses for me?”

“Sure thing, Tim. Don’t get trapped in some ritual sacrifice.”

“Fuck off,” Tim laughed.

Tim decided to go to the second house full of Shane’s “friends”. He figured it was more likely that he was there, and he was right. It looked like it was a gathering of about ten or fifteen other kids around Shane’s age, all dressed in similar clothing.

The house was filled with smoke and had music playing, so he decided it was better if he stayed in his car until Shane came outside. He didn’t want to embarrass the kid.

It didn’t take too long, Shane stumbling out of the house and laughing loudly. Tim turned the key, the engine for his Caprice coming to life. Shane startled and looked over, eyes locking with Tim’s behind the wheel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane barked, stomping over to the passenger window and glaring at the older man.

“I need your help,” Tim said softly.

Shane rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you fucking stalk me here? You can’t be here– They can’t see me with you.”

“Then get in. They won’t know.” Tim looked up at him, eyes softening when he saw the clear hurt on Shane’s face. He wasn’t very angry by the looks of it. Just upset.

Shane scoffed, looked back at the house, and raised his arms in defeat. “Fine,” he grumbled, opening the passenger side door and sitting down.

“Seatbelt.”

“Eat me, old man,” Shane rolled his eyes. He lifted a leg and rested his chunky boot on the car’s dashboard. 

Tim sighed heavily and didn’t argue. He’ll just clean his car later. “You wanna talk at the station or at my apartment?”

Shane bit his lip, picking at a rip in his jeans and making it worse. “I don’t wanna go to the station.”

“Figured as much,” Tim exhaled, looking behind the car for any oncoming traffic and pulling out of the neighborhood towards his apartment.

Shane stared at Tim’s arms underneath the tight white dress shirt, the fabric pulling at the thick muscle. He wondered what Tim looked like on top of him, those strong arms pinning him to a mattress and–

“You know a Howard Xavier, right?” Tim asked, eyes squinting at the file in his hands. 

The two of them were seated at the table in Tim’s dining room, the surface in front of them covered in documents and files. 

“Yeah, that’s X,” Shane mumbled, picking at his nails so he could hide the pink in his cheeks.

Tim raised a brow but didn’t comment, nodding. “Do you know if he had any enemies, Shane?” He asked, digging his glasses out of his front pocket and putting them on. “That’s better,” he said to himself, the text on the files clearing up.

Shane blinked a couple times, the sight of Tim wearing glasses doing more for him than he thought possible. His breathing picked up a little, heart pounding in his chest when Tim made eye contact with him, waiting for Shane to answer. “U-um, I don’t think so? X was always pretty chill,” he mumbled.

Tim nodded and took notes on a sticky pad. Tim’s phone started ringing, making the older man get up and answer it. “Rockford,” he grunted into the receiver.

Shane stayed seated and kept to himself, listening to the one sided conversation.

“You’re shitting me. He did? Thanks, John. Yeah. You too. Have a good night.”

Tim exhaled and hung up the phone, clicking his pen. “Good news,” he smiled, taking his seat at the table across from Shane. “Xavier woke up and described the shooter. My partner found him.”

Shane nodded, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table. “‘S good,” he mumbled.

Tim watched Shane’s face closely, eyes trailing over the piercings and the messy hair. “I’m sorry I took you away from your party,” he said softly.

“‘S okay. Don’t like those guys very much,” Shane shrugged. Now that he was here, he was having a hard time not curling in on himself again. He couldn’t even look Tim in the eye without thinking about what his lips felt and tasted like.

Tim furrowed his brows. “Why do you hang out with them, then?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to pry, but it was sort of his job to find information. Shane wasn’t a job, though. He was much more than that.

Shane sighed and angrily looked at Tim for a second before looking away again. “Why do you care?”

Tim bit his lip, fiddling with his tie. “You really wanna know, kid?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he rolled his eyes.

“Because I see a lot of myself in you, Shane,” Tim admitted gently, crossing one leg over the other.

Shane furrowed his brows and looked at Tim incredulously.

“It’s true. Would you believe me if I said I got arrested? Was about your age, too.” Tim chuckled as he remembered what caused his arrest.

A small smile grew on Shane’s face. “What’d you do?”

“Public Indecency.”

Shane’s eyes grew three times in size. “Did you get caught having sex? Were you streaking?” He giggled, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Uh, well,” Tim chuckled. “I was in my car at the time and having sex.”

Shane laughed, face as red as a tomato. His thoughts flooded with images of what Tim having sex looked like. What sort of faces did he make? What kind of sounds did he make? Was he more dominant or submissive?

“Were you going down on her or…?”

“Him,” Tim answered easily. “And no, we were uh… I was found on top of him.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. He looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked back at Tim briefly before settling his eyes on Tim’s tie. “You’re…?” He asked shakily. 

“Yeah, kid,” Tim chuckled. Shane looked terrified and it broke Tim’s heart. “I said I was here for you if you needed me. I still am.”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy, shaky breath. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans and looked at Tim with wet, glossy eyes. “I don’t– I don’t understand,” he shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t seem–”

“Not every gay person is really flamboyant, Shane.”

Shane blushed in embarrassment. “Why did you turn away from me, then? Why didn’t you kiss me back?” He frowned, voice shaky and hurt.

Tim’s eyes rounded, his whole face becoming softer. “I wanted to,” he admitted, looking down at Shane’s ring-clad hands. “But it wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t… I didn’t want to take advantage of you like that.”

“Take advantage–! I kissed you!” Shane roared.

“You were vulnerable and confused. And,” Tim gulped. “And I’m a lot older than you, it’s… It’s not appropriate.” He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly at how much it hurt to say out loud.

“Tim,” Shane whimpered, biting his lip. He felt a thick lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation right now. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. It felt like he was having an out of body experience. “I don’t care about that, I’m– I’m more worried about you being a cop than being older than me. I’m an adult,” he scoffed, his bottom lip trembling.

Tim couldn’t hold in the chuckle that bubbled out of him. “I know you are. I just don’t– I don’t know how this could continue–”

“Please, shut up,” Shane begged, getting out of his chair and making his way over to Tim. He looked down at the older man, face burning, and slowly crawled into Tim’s lap, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck. “I don’t wanna talk anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t wanna think anymore. Please.”

Tim’s hands instinctively found their place on Shane’s hips. His eyes moved from Shane’s to the younger man’s lips, then back up. “Are you sure?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumbs into Shane’s hip bones.

“No,” Shane mumbled. “Well, yes, but… No.”

Tim raised a brow and smirked. “How about we take things slow.”

Shane nodded, biting his lip. “Okay.”

Tim smiled and softly connected their lips, caressing Shane’s head, thumb rubbing at his jaw. Shane whimpered quietly as he tentatively kissed back. His lips trembled against Tim’s, soft huffs of air expelling out from between them. He’d kissed before but this was so… different. The feeling of Tim’s facial hair against his lips was weird. Good, but weird. 

Shane experimentally ran his tongue along Tim’s bottom lip. Tim took the hint and softly caressed Shane’s tongue with his own, making the younger man gasp into his mouth. Tim squeezed Shane’s narrow hips, trying to ground him, and sighed into the kiss. It built a little over time, but eventually, they found a rhythm. The soft clinking of metal from Shane’s earrings filled the otherwise silent apartment. They learned each other over the course of their kissing. Tim learned that Shane liked to nibble and bite, and Shane learned that Tim liked to encompass him entirely, like he could devour Shane’s mouth if given the chance.

When Tim pulled away for some much needed air, Shane whined in protest, his face leaning toward Tim’s to keep going. “Slow your roll, kid,” Tim chuckled, pressing his forehead to Shane’s and panting quietly. Shane blushed, and chewed his swollen bottom lip while he waited. “C’mere,” Tim grunted, tugging Shane’s leather duster off his shoulders. Shane went along with it, pulling his arms free before the sound of squeaky leather fell into a heap on the floor. 

Large hands ran over Shane’s hips and waist, but never ventured lower. Shane shivered when Tim’s blunt nails lightly scratched at the exposed skin of his lower back as his t-shirt rode up. Shane’s cock twitched in interest, making him blush high on his cheeks.

“‘s okay, sweetheart,” Tim hummed. He rolled his hips a little, his own half-hard cock rubbing against Shane’s.

Shane’s eyes grew twice their size at the feeling and looked down at the bulge in Tim’s slacks. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. His imagination was a lot easier to handle than the real thing pressing into his inner thigh. 

Tim furrowed his brows in concern and rubbed Shane’s skin underneath his t-shirt comfortingly. “What are you thinking about?” He asked softly.

Shane inhaled heavily, and slowly let out a deep breath before turning his head back toward Tim. He opened his eyes, but didn’t make contact. “Just… weird. Feeling your…”

Tim hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you want to stop?”

Shane shook his head, eyes still burning holes into Tim’s slowly rising and falling tummy. 

“Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop,” Shane whispered.

“Do you want to lie down? There’s no expectation for anything,” Tim said, sitting up a little more in the dining room chair. 

The stretch in Shane’s thighs suddenly overtook any doubts he had, making him shakily get up from Tim’s lap. He was used to having someone sit on his lap like that and being in that position made his stomach hurt.

Tim laced his fingers through Shane’s and gently guided him to his bedroom. He kept the lights low and rubbed his thumb over Shane’s knuckles. “You okay?”

Shane stared at Tim’s bed and swallowed a lump in his throat. “Y-yeah,” he croaked.

Tim chewed on his lip in thought and let go of Shane’s smaller hand. He gave Shane some space as he took off his glasses and removed the tie he was wearing. He toed off his dress shoes and put them in his closet. When he turned around after unbuttoning his dress shirt, Shane was sitting on his bed, hands curled up into fists on his ripped jean-covered thighs.

Tim sighed softly and sat next to him on the bed. “What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?” He asked, tugging on pieces of Shane’s hair that were sticking straight out.

Shane shut his eyes and took another deep breath. “I’m just… I’m having a hard time being… like, the female part.” He curled in on himself, his shoulders hiding his ears.

Tim blinked a couple times. “Sweetheart, we’re both men.”

“I-I know that! I just,” he swallowed a lump in his throat. “Usually, I’m in your position. Taking charge.”

“I see,” Tim sighed, getting more comfortable and turning toward him. Shane did the same, but didn’t make eye contact with him. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Shane blushed, those big brown eyes of his lifting up to meet Tim’s. 

“Alright, firstly, who told you there were ‘male’ and ‘female’ roles?” Tim raised a brow.

“W-well, uh–”

“It’s alright, I already know who. Lesson number one,” Tim smiled reassuringly. “Just because you’re sitting on my lap, letting me ‘take charge’, doesn’t mean you’re weak, honey.”

Shane gulped and nodded, taking all of this in. Tim felt like a professor. Probably the first one Shane would ever listen to.

“And women aren’t weak, so get that out of your head, too.”

Shane let out a heavy breath. This was a lot to take in.

“Did you feel good?” Tim asked, picking up one of Shane’s hands and rubbing his thumb over the scabbed knuckles. When Shane nodded jerkily, Tim grinned, his chest feeling warm at the admission. “That’s all that matters. Think of it this way,” he paused. Shane hung onto every word. “Everything we do? It’s with your say-so. You’re driving the car here.”

Shane blinked as he thought about it. He could work with that. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“You want me to make you feel good again?” Tim smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. Shane’s heart thundered at the sight.

“Y-yes.”

“Go ahead and lay back for me, alright?”

Shane nodded and got comfy, head cradled by Tim’s fluffy pillows. His entire body was buzzing and tense. He kept his eyes on Tim’s popcorn ceiling, the sounds of Tim’s belt jingling filling the room. When the bed dipped with Tim’s weight, Shane’s heart stuttered a little. One of Tim’s big hands cupped his cheek and gently turned his face so he could look at Tim again. Shane wasn’t expecting the softness in Tim’s features, or the heat in his eyes.

Tim rubbed Shane’s cheek with his thumb. “We don’t have to go far tonight. There’s no rush.”

Shane nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

This time, when their lips connected, Shane eased into it a lot sooner, kissing the older man with renewed fervor. He sighed into it, the warmth radiating off of Tim being an endless source of comfort. He gripped onto Tim’s opened dress shirt and tugged it down his shoulders. Tim released Shane’s lips briefly while he shrugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Shane moaned weakly when Tim surged forward and sucked his bottom lip between his own.

Shane’s head was fuzzy, all the blood there rushing down between his legs. He gasped when Tim rolled him over and hovered over him, pressing his hips between Shane’s thighs. Tim took his time with him, kissing him languidly while he unbuckled Shane’s jeans.

“Can I touch you?” Tim breathed between kisses.

Shane nodded quickly, holding the sides of Tim’s head and tangling his fingers in the short, thick locks of Tim’s hair. Tim smiled against the younger man’s lips and pulled Shane’s baggy, ripped jeans off. Shane toed off his own socks before wrapping his legs around Tim’s thick waist. Tim was so much larger than Shane was and it made his head spin.

Tim’s hands played with the bottom of Shane’s t-shirt and slowly lifted it up, bunching under his armpits. He pulled away to look at Shane’s torso and grinned when he saw the small tattoos there. Both hands holding Shane’s sides, he gently rubbed at the younger man’s nipples, making Shane gasp. Goosebumps and flushed skin covered his entire body in seconds, making Shane lightly smack Tim’s shoulder. Tim laughed lightly and softly kissed his way down Shane’s torso until he was eye level with the tent in the younger man’s boxers.

Shane blushed hard, eyes wide. “W-what are you doing?”

Tim raised a brow and tilted his head slightly, tugging on the elastic of Shane’s boxers. “Said I’d make you feel good, sweetheart.”

Shane blinked. “B-but isn’t that…”

“There are no roles. But if you don’t want me to, then–”

“I do!” Shane smacked his hand over his own mouth and shut his eyes, hoping the bed would swallow him whole. 

A wolfish smirk crossed Tim’s features as he lowered his head, kissing along Shane’s pelvis. Shane whimpered at the feeling of Tim’s facial hair across his skin, his body shuddering. “Breathe, sweetheart,” Tim whispered, shutting his eyes to suck gently at Shane’s hip and leaving a mark. 

Shane forced himself to take a deep breath, shutting his eyes to center himself. When he opened his eyes, Tim quirked a brow up at him as he tugged on Shane’s boxers again. Shane nodded his consent and almost groaned at the cool air in the apartment hitting his throbbing cock. Tim hummed appreciatively and didn’t waste a second, kissing the tip, then making his way down the shaft.

Shane moaned openly gripping the sheets of the bed into tight fists. “T-Tim, what–”

“Shh…” Tim whispered, engulfing the head of Shane’s cock in his mouth. He moaned at the taste and watched Shane’s face as he slowly bobbed his head up and down. Shane’s eyes rolled back and arched his back off the bed. 

Shane felt his cheeks throb and the blood rushing in his ears, doing everything in his power to keep his hips down. When his hips bucked up on their own, he moaned weakly, looking at Tim’s face to make sure he didn’t choke him. What he found instead made his cock twitch.

This was one of Tim’s favorite things to do. Making his partner feel good with his mouth was something he always got pleasure out of and Shane was no different. In fact, this was probably one of the more rewarding times, because this was the first time a man had done this for him. He felt good knowing he got to be the first, and a little possessive side of him liked the idea even more.

Eyes shut, Tim moaned around Shane’s length, losing himself in it. He gripped Shane’s hips and rubbed the bones there to soothe him. Shane’s chest rose and fell quickly as he watched. He felt a little embarrassed to admit that this was probably the best head he’d ever received.

Tim opened his eyes, keeping an eye on any changes in Shane’s face. 

Shane felt his balls drawing up, making him moan weakly. “I-I’m gonna–” He cut himself off, gripping the sheets tighter. Tim doubled his efforts, bobbing his head a little faster. “Oh, fuck,” Shane whined, his thighs trembling on either side of Tim’s head.

Tim moved his hands up Shane’s torso and rubbed at the younger man’s nipples again, urging him on.

“W-wait, wait–” Shane gasped, smacking his hand against Tim’s shoulder as the pressure built and built. Tim watched closely and if he could, he’d grin to himself as he watched Shane’s eyes roll back. Shane’s entire body stilled and he came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting down Tim’s throat. Shane’s moans went up three octaves as he shook with pleasure, his toes curling.

Tim swallowed everything and slowly, gently, raised his head. He licked Shane clean, kissing back up his torso. Once he was hovering over Shane again, Tim smiled at the blissed out expression on his face. He chuckled lightly and kissed Shane’s cheek.

“Still with me?”

Shane shivered at the gravelly tone of Tim’s voice. It must be an octave or two lower than normal given what he’d just done. He slowly blinked his eyes open and didn’t have the energy to hold back the smile when he saw Tim’s handsome face. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he mumbled, his body feeling heavy and sated.

“Good. You should get some rest, sweetheart.” Tim’s laugh rumbled in his chest.

Shane pouted, big brown eyes glazed over, but determined. “What about you?”

“I’ll be okay. Get some rest,” Tim said, kissing Shane’s forehead. “Can I take your shirt off?” He asked, pulling the material down from where it was bunched up under his armpits.

Shane nodded, watching in awe as Tim took care of him. It was at this moment that Shane realized Tim was completely serious with him. He wouldn’t make fun of him, or use him. Shane felt tears prickling behind his eyes, but quickly blinked them away.

“Be right back, okay? Gonna get you some water,” Tim grunted quietly, crawling off the bed. Shane didn’t have the energy to argue, and just watched Tim’s broad back leave the bedroom.

When Tim returned with the glass of water, he was greeted with the sight of Shane’s sleeping form. He smiled at him, and set the water on the nightstand closest to Shane. 

He got himself undressed, making sure to be careful of his own half-hard cock. Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he crawled into bed behind Shane and held the younger man close. The day caught up with him as he laid there, eyes trailing over the messy curls and multiple piercings in Shane’s ears.

He drifted off quickly, and had a dreamless sleep.

Twitch. Twitch.

Shane groaned in his sleep.

What was that?

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the light. He tried to turn and feel what was poking against his back, but he was held firmly in place by… Were those arms?

Shane’s eyes snapped open as the memories from the night before came flooding back. His cheeks burned as he looked down and saw the strong, very male, hands holding him close to a broad chest. Tim huffed in his sleep, making Shane smile shyly. He couldn’t deny it, being held by Tim felt really good. It was so warm.

He tried rotating in Tim’s arms, silently exhaling in relief when he didn’t seem to wake the older man. He felt the twitching again and looked down between their bodies.

Oh.

Shane smiled at the sight of Tim’s morning wood through his boxer briefs. He looked back up at Tim’s sleeping face and decided against doing anything until he’d woken up. For now, he ran his fingers through the thin layer of chest hair on Tim’s skin. It seemed obvious when he thought about it, but it was so different than when he was with a woman. He didn’t feel like he had to hide with Tim. Tim wouldn’t judge him.

Tim made him feel safe. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Shane startled and looked up, Tim’s soft smirk and sleepy eyes greeting him. He shook his head in lieu of an answer.

When Tim grumbled in response, it reminded Shane of a bear. 

“Do you want… You need help with that?” Shane asked timidly, pointing between their bodies. Their legs were tangled together and they were touching everywhere. The proximity and the feeling of warmth radiating from between Tim’s legs had Shane throbbing in no time.

Tim snorted and leaned forward, kissing Shane sleepily. Shane moaned into it, grinding his own cock against Tim’s. Tim pulled back and panted a little against Shane’s lips.

“We don’t have to. I’ll be okay–”

Shane cut him off by gripping Tim’s ass and squeezing. When Tim made a small noise of surprise, Shane smirked, attempting to pull Tim onto his own lap. “I want to,” he said, voice determined, but shaky. “I want… I wanna know what it feels like. I have to make sure.”

Tim blinked at him, a little shocked by the sudden change in Shane’s behavior. One of his legs was draped over Shane’s waist as he cupped the younger man’s face. Shane seemed to melt at the gesture, making Tim smirk. “Are you sure?” He asked, brows pinched in concern. He didn’t want Shane to rush into anything. 

“Yes,” Shane nodded.

There was more conviction in that one word than a lot of things Shane had ever said to him, so Tim smiled softly at him. He held onto Shane’s thighs and rolled them over so he was hovering over Shane again, and rubbed the smooth skin comfortingly. “Alright. Lube and condoms are in the top drawer,” he nodded his head toward the nightstand. 

With pink cheeks and a determined expression on his face, Shane reached over and dug out the necessary equipment. Everything really settled in his gut when he was holding everything. This was really going to happen. This wasn’t some dream he’d come up with while he was alone in his bedroom, looking at the cracks and fist-sized holes in his walls.

“C’mere,” Tim grunted, gently taking the items from him and holding Shane’s hip. “Gotta get you prepared, okay? Don’t want it to hurt for you.”

Shane nodded appreciatively and watched as Tim discarded his own underwear, kneeling on the bed between Shane’s thighs. He looked the older man over, eyes raking over the messy, gray curls and pillow creases on Tim’s cheeks. His eyes traveled down over the broad shoulders and chest, and down to the swell of Tim’s stomach. That was probably one of Shane’s favorite parts. His eyes landed on the thick cock between muscled thighs and Shane bit his lip. He had to remind himself not to pinch his arm, because this was real. 

Tim carefully got the condom secured around his cock and drizzled some lube on his fingers. “You ready?” He smiled down at Shane, chest warm at the sight of him. Shane nodded, smiling shyly up at him.

Tim curled his fingers around Shane’s cock and pumped slowly. Shane sighed and shut his eyes, lips parting. Tim couldn’t help himself and surged forward, kissing the younger man deeply. He kept his hand on him, keeping up a decent pace as he teased a finger against Shane’s hole.

Shane’s body jerked at the intrusion, making Tim soothe him gently. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”

Shane let out a weak noise and nodded, holding on tight to Tim’s shoulders. He spread his legs a little more and wrapped them around Tim’s waist. 

The first press of one of Tim’s thick fingers inside him already had Shane seeing stars. He panted as he looked down between his legs, trying to see what was happening. Tim cupped his face and forced him to look there instead. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he smiled.

Shane bit his lip and nodded, but gasped soon after as a second finger joined the first. His face twisted into an almost pained expression. Tim watched closely, eyes locked onto him. Tim pumped his fingers in a steady rhythm, searching for that sweet spot inside him. Shane was panting heavily, eyes glossed over, but staying on Tim’s face.

When Shane rolled his eyes back and he gasped, Tim knew he found it. Shane moaned, his cock twitching violently against his lower tummy. “H-hurry up, old man,” he groaned, toes curling on either side of Tim’s hips. “P-please,” he breathed.

Tim snorted, but didn’t argue, removing his fingers gently. Shane groaned at the loss and braced himself for the intrusion, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sweetheart, I need you to breathe first.” Tim leaned over him and kissed him tenderly. He watched as Shane let out one last deep breath and nodded up at him. “Atta boy,” Tim grinned.

Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. As Tim lined himself up, Shane’s heart thundered in his chest, watching the focus on Tim’s face mellow out. He had that same facial expression whenever he was interrogating Shane back at the station, or reading through files, or taking notes. But here, with Shane, he seemed to deflate a little. He relaxed. 

The first push in knocked the wind out of Shane. He moaned, digging his nails into Tim’s broad shoulders. Tim hid his face in Shane’s neck and kissed along the younger man’s sleep-soft skin. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he breathed, hips slowly pushing forward.

Shane trembled in Tim’s arms until Tim’s hips were flush against him. Time stopped as Tim settled, letting Shane adjust. Shane had to blink a few times, swallowing around a lump in his throat. All thought left Shane’s head and the only thing left was the sweet stretch of Tim’s cock inside him. Every wall he’d built up was successfully crumbling at his trembling form. 

Tim petted Shane’s sweaty hair out of his face, kissing him on every available patch of skin he could find.

“M-move,” Shane panted, eyes half lidded and glazed over. “Please.”

So Tim did.

He built up a slow, steady rhythm. Before either of them knew it, their bodies rocked together in perfect harmony. Tim hugged Shane closer, his hips being the driving force while his arms kept Shane grounded.

The sounds leaving Shane’s mouth were so unfamiliar to his own ears, he couldn’t even tell where he was for a moment. The only thing he could feel or think about was the stretch of Tim’s cock, Tim’s heavy breathing against his neck, and Tim’s big hands holding his hips. It was all Tim, Tim, Tim.

He didn’t even feel the tear slowly falling down the side of his face until Tim gently wiped it away. He nearly sobbed when Tim kissed him, chest hitching with every powerful thrust. 

Tim grunted every time Shane clenched around him. He was so tight, which he expected, but he was having a hard time keeping a steady rhythm. He was still tired and his body was trying to catch up. He watched the younger man’s face twist in pleasure and sped up a little, moaning down at him.

Shane wailed, one fist curling up tight and weakly hitting against Tim’s chest. “I-I’m close,” he panted, his cock dripping pre-cum onto his stomach. “T-Tim, I’m–”

“‘s okay, I’m here,” Tim groaned, curling his fingers around the younger man’s cock. He started pumping his fist in time with his thrusts, eyes glued to Shane’s face.

Shane nodded furiously, scratching his nails down Tim’s chest. Not long after that, his entire body shook like a leaf and he clenched hard around Tim’s cock, coming in waves. He moaned out loud, his back arching off the bed, and gasping for air.

Tim’s own eyes rolled back as Shane squeezed around him. Shane’s face was turned into the pillow as he breathed heavily, coming down from such a high peak. Tim slowed down some, letting Shane have a moment.

When Shane made eye contact with him again, Tim’s heart stopped. He didn’t think Shane had looked more beautiful than he had right in that moment. His hair was a mess, his face was blotchy and red, there were tear tracks down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from all the biting. Tim was pulled out of the fantasy when Shane clenched around him again, making a moan bubble out of him.

“C’mon, old man,” Shane smirked, voice tired.

Tim huffed a laugh and hugged Shane close, hips snapping quicker now. Chasing his own release, he hid his face in Shane’s neck, sucking a dark mark against the younger man’s collarbone.

In just a few short, quick thrusts, Tim was following Shane over that ledge with a deep groan, emptying inside the condom.

Shane exhaled deeply, arms wrapped around him. Then, he giggled quietly. He was elated, he was on cloud nine.

Tim lifted his head, hair sticking up every which way. He raised a brow at the younger man and smirked. “You alright?” He chuckled.

Shane nodded, a wide grin on his face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” Tim grunted, slowly moving out from between Shane’s legs to dispose of the condom. He crawled back into bed and cuddled close, kissing Shane lazily. They both sighed into it. Eventually, they had to come up for air, and when they did, Tim breathed, “You hungry? I’m hungry.”

“God, yes. I’m fucking starving,” Shane groaned.

Tim laughed and rolled his eyes and pressed a light kiss to Shane’s lips. “You like pancakes? I make some really good pancakes.”

Shane giggled, feeling lighter than he had in years.

[lacontroller1991]

Come Back To You (Danny Walker x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Misc Master List

Link to AO3

Summary: Danny lives, but now he has to make some choices.

Warnings: 18+ Near Character Death, Language, Period Accurate Diction, Semi-Graphic description of injuries, Evelyn isn't pregnant but still has her heart set on Rafe and Danny and Danny has his heart set on her and reader

Author's Note: I had to guys, I just had to and I'm honestly thinking about doing a whole ass multi chapter story revolving around the movie. It's an itch in my brain and it's not getting out. Again... Darn you Josh Hartnett

Word Count: 1.9k

----------

The sun is bright in the blue sky by the time the plane lands on the asphalt and comes to a stop. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as your heart pounds. It’s been months since you’ve seen Danny and you feel like you haven’t been able to breathe normally since. Evelyn moves from beside you, nails shortened by her nervous biting. What’s going to happen now that Rafe and Danny are back? If they are back? Did Danny change his mind after he’s been away and wants Evelyn or is he still keeping his word and coming back to you? 

“I feel like I’m going to faint,” her words are hushed as she tries to poke her head through the crowd of people and you try not to make a snarky comment. You and her were best friends, practically sisters, but she had broken your trust in a way you never thought she would. Since then, your relationship with the nurse has never been the same. 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Despite your harsh words and harsh exterior, inside you are panicking. What if he died? Then what? What if he chooses her? 

“I love him, you know? I love both of them so much.” If there was one thing you loved about Evelyn it’s that she’s a romantic like you, but not as much when she’s talking about the person who you’ve dreamt about for months on end. 

“I love him too. More than you can know.” You grab her hand and lead her through the group of people toward the front as the door to the plane drops open. Doolittle comes out first and you watch as his wife rushes towards him, gripping onto him as others slowly start to trickle out. Most you’ve met before, Gooz, Red, Earl, Rafe. Rafe. At the sight of him, Evelyn bolts forward, running straight into his arms and your heart beats a little faster. Maybe it’s the sun beating down on you or maybe it’s the fact that you have yet to see his face, but you feel sick to your stomach. 

Slowly walking towards the plane, you wait in high hopes as the remaining men come out, but still no Danny. Your heart sinks. Oh Danny, you stupid boy. Tears begin to swell in your eyes as your brain jumps to the worst possible situation. Evelyn takes note too, her hand reaching up to her mouth to hold back sobs, gaining Rafe’s attention. Noticing that Danny is nowhere to be seen, Rafe gently removes Evelyn from his arms and makes his way back to the plane. “Danny get your ass out here.”

“Boy s-s-sure knows how to make an entrance,” Red mutters, walking towards the group of people with a solemn look on his face, wishing Betty was amongst the crowd. 

A boot steps onto the stairs from the shadow and into the light, causing your heart to drop for the second time. “Danny,” you whisper softly, wiping the tears from your eyes as you rush past the group and up the stairs of the plane, grabbing onto him and pushing him back into the shadow causing him to let out a groan of pain. “I thought I lost you.”

Danny lets out a choked sob as he wraps one arm around you and buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. God he’s missed you. You’re the only thing he could think about for those months. The way your skin lights up in the sun. The way your eyes twinkle from the lights. The way the wind moves your hair. Everything about you is what kept him going, even when he crashed. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he chuckles as you pull away, looking over him as realization crashes over you. 

“Oh my God, what happened? We need to get you to a hospital,” you wince as you look over the extent of his injuries. His arm is in a sling, his leg has a long metal brace on it, and he has a big bandage over his neck.

“Wasn’t one of my better landings. The Chinese took good care of me and got me to this point,” he takes a step forward, pulling you back into him as he bumps his nose against yours. “They got me back to you.” He places a feather soft kiss to your lips before pulling back. “You’re as beautiful as the day I left you.” 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” you comment, taking his good side and hoisting his arm over your shoulders, helping him down the stairs as people cheer.

“I don’t plan on it.”

“Danny!” Evelyn rushes to his other side, being careful to avoid hurting him further and a lump forms in your throat. The moment you and him just shared was intimate, loving. There should be no confusion about who he chose, but still, there’s always that probability. 

“Evelyn. It’s good to see you,” he wears a smile on his face but he knows that the only woman he’ll ever love is the one on his good side.

“Yeah,” she pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, “you too.”

“Alright, let’s get Danny some proper treatment. Those Chinese nurses did a temp job, but he needs some actual medical care.” Rafe steps in, aware of your thankful gaze before the four of you walk off and get some medical help.

-----------

The hospital room is warm with a slight breeze coming in from the window as Danny lays on the bed, arm and leg in a proper cast. The tension in the room is visibly thick with you and Evelyn sitting on either side of Rafe, no one dares talking as the doctor and nurses work to make Danny comfortable. 

Turning to the three of you, the doctor gestures for all to step out of the room before eyeing you and Evelyn in confusion. “Which one of you is the wife?” 

“Neither of them are, sir. Whatever you need to say, you can say to all three of us,” Rafe comments as the doctor shrugs his shoulders in response.

“Captain Walker’s injuries were very severe. The doctors overseas did a good job of stitching his neck, but with the extent of his injuries to his arm and leg, he will have to be under watch for several months with several more months of physical training. We speculate that he will never be medically cleared to fly again.” Rafe’s head hangs in pity for Danny, but you see the look of relief that comes across Evelyn’s features and you feel the same way. “It was an act of God that he survived how he did. He should feel very blessed, but the pain is going to be tough. We will monitor it and give pain medicine as needed, but there is only so much we can do.”

“We understand,” you chime in, fingers picking at your cuticles. “Thank you Doctor.” He nods before walking away, leaving the three of you in the hall. “Now what?”

“We gotta be there for him. He’s not going to take this news well.” Evelyn nods along with Rafe’s words as a nurse steps out of the room and faces them.

“Is one of you Evelyn?” Evelyn’s eyes widen as she nods her head, stepping forward.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“He’s asked to speak with you.” The nurse holds open the door for Evelyn to go inside and sit down at his side, taking his hand. You can’t deny the feeling of hurt that encompasses you and Rafe notices. Taking your hand in his, he gives you a series of light squeezes 

“He loves you. Don’t worry.”

“How do you know he won’t choose her?” The question is genuine and Rafe looks to you with exasperation. 

“All he talked about was coming back home to you. Even in the thick of it, when we were surrounded by Japs, he kept praying to whoever to let him come home to you. I don’t think he once mentioned her.” Rafe gestures to where Danny lays and Evelyn sits, crying into her hands. “Believe me, he fucked up big time kissing my girl when he was going steady with you, but you’re the one he wants. The one he’s always wanted.” You let out a sigh of relief, giving his hand a reaffirming squeeze before letting go and letting your heart slowly mend. It’s true that Danny did kiss Evelyn while the two of you were seeing each other, but he had assured you that it was a one time deal and it would never happen again as long as he lives. She, on the other hand, made him her everything. 

Evelyn storms out of the room and faces you, tears rolling down her face. “If you ever hurt him…” It’s an empty threat and you know it. Evelyn couldn’t harm a fly, much less one of her former closest friends. Seeking solace in Rafe, she buries her head into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, still not sure what to make of the entire situation. Taking that as a cue, you walk into the room, closing the door behind you and making your way to his bedside. 

“Hey there,” his voice is raspy and you instinctively reach for the cup of water, bringing the straw to his lips for him to drink.

“Hey to you too. The doctor said you’ll be here for some months. Said your injuries were more severe than you let on.” He nods his head, pushing away the water and laying his brown eyes on yours. 

“Did they say if I can fly again?” Hanging your head, you reach for his hand and grasp it into yours. 

“I’m sorry honey, but probably not. The army won’t clear you after something like this. They said it’s a miracle you’re even alive.” Danny smirks and internally feels relief. Yes, he wants to continue and work for the war effort, but he also just wants to leave the world behind and move to a small house with you to live out a domesticated life. 

“You’re the only thing that kept me going. When I was out there,” he pauses, looking away and trying to bat the tears away. He does not want to look weak, not when he’s already looking weak as is. “When I was out there, I thought I was going to die. I was bleeding profusely, losing consciousness by the second and the only thing I could think of was you. You’re my world, (Y/N), and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you the way I thought Rafe left me. And I’m sorry that I kissed Evelyn. We were both mourning and needing comfort and she was the only one that could understand, not that it doesn’t excuse it. But I love you and I will make it up to you for the rest of my life if I have to.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He chose me. It’s me who he wants. “Danny, what are you trying to say?” 

Mustering the strength, Danny brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your soft knuckles. “What I'm trying to say is, will you marry me?” 

“Oh Danny!” You surge forward, pressing your lips against his as tears roll down your cheeks. Breaking away from the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, his breath and your breath mingling together. “Yes, a thousand times, yes!” 

“Yes?”

“Yes!” Your lips connect with his again and for the first time in a while, you feel that everything is just right. 

people who had an interest: @phoenixhalliwell @waywardtigersandwich

[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

Shadow (Dark Link x Reader x Link)

Summary: The reader accidentally stumbles into Dink's boss room while scouting ahead for monsters.

MASTERLIST Warnings: 18+ themes such as gore, graphic descriptions of death and fatal injury, emotional/psychological manipulation, etc. coming up. Reader actually dies and is revived. This story is not suitable for small children and easily disturbed individuals.

The temple is completely silent aside from the moves of yourself and your best friend, Link. At first he'd warned you to stay in the safety of Kakariko, but lost that argument when you'd held your own in a sparring match.

Now, the two of you gaze upon the expanse of the room you'd emerged from. Lots of water, as expected, fills the area. You notice a plethora of hookshot points, platforms, and tectites. None of them see you or Link as you swim past them to a hallway entrance. You find that it leads to an underwater passage.

In fact, most hallways do, you realize as you trail Link throughout the temple. Most of that trailing is spent picking off monsters Link can't get to, helping point out puzzle solutions, and quickly stealing Navi's attention if her timing is inopportune. Conversation between Link and yourself is scarce, both a strategic decision and a comfortable one, especially for you. Too many other things might come up right now, things that will cause more problems than will be solved if you choose silence. So you do, especially underwater, where magic is your lifeline. Both you and Link have fully stocked up on bottles of magic for this reason.

That magic almost goes to waste when a sing-song voice calls Link's name. You resist a gasp as your attention is drawn to the literal princess who produced it. How in Hylia's name is she here? You suppose, as the sacred house to the water medallion, it's technically still part of the Zora domain, but you distinctly remember hearing how all of Hyrule's royalty is dead, hiding, or otherwise decommissioned. Perhaps Ruto is safe here? When you look to Link's face to read his expression, he looks shocked and semi-afraid.

"It's me! Your fiancée! Ruto! I never forgot our vows from seven years ago." The princess' words horrify the hero and leave you nearly choking again. Fiancée? Vows? Seven years? She's not serious, is she? "You were so mean to keep me waiting," definitely serious, "but this moment can't be for love. My domain, I know you saw it's completely frozen! A man named Sheik freed me from the ice. The others haven't woken, so I need your help to save them! As my future husband it's your duty!" Ruto, finally ready to drop the marriage topic, proceeds to explain the temple's three water control points, and even leads you to one of them. She's gone by the time you and Link reach the top, most likely continuing ahead without you.

Link reads over the symbols on the wall, muttering to himself the whole time you're inspecting this tiny room. A soothing song comes from that ocarina of his mere moments later. The water level lowers, much to your intrigue. Magic must be part of the architecture here, you think. Instead of vocalizing your curiosity about the subject, you wordlessly follow Link into the next room and help pick off the monsters you find, grabbing the map out of the chest that appears. After examining it, you decide to head back for the bottom floor. The string of rooms brimming with monsters and puzzles begins with that simple jump down. A puzzle, a new room, some monsters, a key. This process repeats twice to get you to the second water control point, which also has to be activated through song.

This one raises the water, although not as high as it was earlier, allowing you and Link to enter a newly revealed passage. It leads deeper into the temple, where the new area leads to a puzzle, more monsters, and another key.

"Is this what every temple is like?" You ask, fingers tapping against your weapon's grip point.

"Yep." Link grunts as he stores the key in his satchel. "There's usually more foes than this," he adds. Your chest swells and tightens at the same time, your eyes going wide with a harsh realization. He could die here. You could both die here. What if one of you gets fatally injured in the midst of a difficult battle? It would be a choice between saving the other person or trying to fight off the monsters quick enough to still have time to do so. What if you ran out of healing items?

"We should split up soon," you find yourself blurting, partially for good reason and partially for the selfishness of not wanting to potentially see Link die.

"Why?" He asks firmly. He was difficult to persuade when it came to your accompaniment, you hope this might be easier.

"We have no idea what to expect in here! Monsters, items, locked doors, sure we know that. Not what kind of monsters, or how many, or where any of those item chests might be. Plus, if you run out of supplies before we split up, I'd be able to smash a jar here and there to bring you back more."

At your words, the same reluctance from Kakariko this morning crosses his face. You know Navi can identify new monsters for him, but you also latch onto the glimmer of consideration adorning his eyes at your offer to pick some off and scavenge for extra items.

"Fine," he finally says, hesitance mostly gone. Warmth blooms in you at his trust that you can handle yourself on that level. This isn't something any random Hylian can handle. You keep that thought in the front of your mind as Link dives back in the direction you came from. You follow soon after.

The third and final water control point sits above a room containing a water geyser puzzle. You draw your bow to shoot the crystal once you and Link both stand on it, raising you to the door leading to the control point. With the water only partially filling the temple, the point you've entered appears to be a vantage point over the temple's main area. It becomes level with everything else when Link brings the water up, and on you go to the next locked door.

You instantly shoot down two waiting keese on the wall behind the door, returning it to your gear when no more show up. Link yanks you back as you attempt to step further into the room. You're preparing to be annoyed, but immediately take notice of how the room is built. You would have fallen clean off the area you now stand on and landed on a platform about 10 feet below you. That platform leads to more platforms, one of which sits on the same wall and four others slowly fall down a waterfall's current. You groan when you notice the hookshot platforms. Link laughs softly beside you.

"The hookshot is uncomfortable!" You whine in defense, while a much worse feeling creeps up your spine. How many rooms has it been since you last encountered a monster? "Tell you what, I have to get used to it anyway. Let me scout ahead now! I'll tell you all about the next puzzles when I come back," you hastily promise before snatching the hookshot from Link. You cross the room before you can back down and before he can protest. The next room, another hookshot puzzle which contains a crystal, almost makes you want to rip your hair out. You don't, instead keeping a cool head as you pass through the room, alternating between bow and hookshot to activate the crystal and cross gaps between the platforms.

You're about to celebrate when you see one last hookshot point, but your face goes pale when you notice spikes directly underneath it and a slime creature bigger than you waiting on the other side. With sword drawn, you hook onto the ceiling, immediately doing a downwards spin-slash to finish it off when you drop to the floor. The next door is not locked.

The room it leads to is not inhabited. Instead of monsters, puzzles, or chests, you're greeted by a peaceful scene. An endless expanse of calm, shallow water expanded on all sides. The only disruptions are the door you came from, the door leading forward, and a small sand mound with a leafless tree sitting between them. You take a step forward and find that the water reflects your face perfectly. You feel oddly safe to take another step despite no visual of solid ground. Your feet sink slightly, but nothing more. You walk, then pause when you notice the door ahead has bars on it. The room is empty, isn't it? You turn around in a panic, trying to spot anywhere a monster could hide. In the water maybe? You take a second look at the surface, only to see a lack of your reflection. The pit of your stomach sinks. This room, and whatever is going on, is fueled by magic. This thing didn't need to hide from you, it could hide itself.

"You're not the hero," a voice sneers, sounding as though the room itself is speaking. That tone, that slight rasp anyone else would miss, it sounds just like-

A hand suddenly covers your mouth, your body being pulled backwards against another. Your instincts call on your weapons, but your assailant grips your wrist with superior strength. A sob begins building in your throat. This is a foe, one who is clearly prepared for Link and not some Hylian girl. You're dead. You'll never get to run around the village again. You'll never get to train with a sword again. You'll never get to tell Link-

"That's right, you'll never get to tell Mr. Hero-boy that you loOove him~" the voice purrs against your ear, his its tone cruel and mocking in a level whisper. Your lungs freeze when you process the words' true meaning. this thing knows your deepest secret and deepest fear. Worst of all, its voice sounds almost like Link's with the exceptions of a heavier rasp, being slightly deeper, and a permanent sadistic venom lacing every word he it spoke.

"I'm so touched you know who I am," it continues. Your body is jerked in a 180-degree spin and shoved to the ground, leaving you sprawled out and disoriented. You're still reeling from being winded like that when you notice a blade at your throat and freeze. A familiar blade, only darkly colored rather than the hauntingly beautiful silver you're used to. You slowly bring your gaze upwards, eyes meeting Link's face when you fully meet the monster's. It's Link?

"I am not that foolish child of the light," it says with a snort, still sounding calm and deadly whilst amused. "No, I am the stronger and more courageous warrior he could not bring himself to be. That Link, that hero that you love so much, he will never be what you think he is. He will never be what I am. I will pry what is rightfully mine from his sinking corpse." The last sentence is a growl full of venom and jealousy that has you trembling. Something tells you this monster really does stand a chance against the mighty hero of time. You would be mad, you should be mad, but his blade still sat against your neck. You don't dare to move or speak as you try to form a plan.

"Tell you what, here's a plan:" Link's evil copy presses his blade against your throat more, "I kill you, possess your corpse, and force hero boy to choose between letting it kill him or mangling it in order to stop me!" The monster says it like it's trying to suggest a fun new game you haven't heard of before. His eyes are wide with a sadistic kind of glee, one that enjoys seeing you so terrified, meanwhile something in you stirs. At first it's slight, something you bite back, but you can't just let him talk about Link like that.

"Don't even-" Evil Link begins, slashing his blade, but you roll away in time to get slashed on the shoulder instead. It isn't too deep of a wound, but you need to make quick work of this foe or else you'll lose your edge. Springing up, you jump backwards before drawing your sword and shield. The monster charges at you with a cry not unlike your Link's. You try not to think about it as you raise your shield to parry the incoming slash. With the opening it creates you manage a minor slice on his its shoulder. It isn't the monster's sword shoulder, but if it causes any struggle it's worth it.

As you take the second to acknowledge your handiwork, you find your own wrist being slashed at. You get a mild cut, hand starting to shake as you force yourself to support your sword. You back away in even steps, Link's dark version matching your pace. He It suddenly sinks back into the floor below when you're about to reach the other door again. Your reflection not returning keeps you on guard. As you survey the room for the monster, its words pop back into your head. It talked about Link like he's nothing! You internally seethe. Clinking behind you gathers your alert and you turn around just in time to brace your shield against his blade. It bounces backwards harshly enough to dent your shield and send the monster stumbling into the wall behind him. You step forward and slash at him again, inflicting a gash on his arm that's severe but not deadly. He drops his sword and shield, one arm now too hurt and one arm holding the gash. He only grits his teeth at you and glares before disappearing again.

You smile victoriously and saunter back to the door leading forward. I never could've gotten a hit on the real Link, you think as you reach for the bars over the door-

Wait, what? Your heart speeds up immediately as you retreat from the door. That's impo-

You feel warmth travel down your abdomen, a very heavy warmth that makes you instantly sleepy. You yawn and reach down to try to pull it over you like a blanket, hands wrapping around something. Your hazed mind doesn't realize the object is sharp as you weakly tug on it, becoming frustrated when you have no success pulling it up. You tear up, but a soothing feeling settles in your throat when you try to cry rather than choking. Slowly, you find yourself falling asleep as your vision fades out.

You wake up what feels like hours later, to Navi's concerned voice and a fairy missing from your inventory. Exhaustion is still burrowed into your bones and unconsciousness keeps a desperate grip on the corners of your mind.

"Y/n! Y/n! Thank Hylia! What in her name happened here?!" The fairy's voice is fast, full of panic. You open your mouth to speak, but as the memories fade back you can't even begin to process it. Saying it proves impossible when you burst into tears, resisting the urge to scream when your body instinctively tries to choke.

"I- I'll get Link! Stay here!" You reach to try to stop Navi when she flies towards you, but you're too fatigued and a sharp pain in your abdomen stops you. You lose the ability to keep your cries silent. It hurts so badly, you don't even want to breathe because even that causes pain. You swear you can feel it in your organs, even. The little blue-winged fairy carefully, silently, sifts through your belongings and extracts the hookshot before she leaves the room. You curl up in the water, which no longer bears your reflection in the absence of the shadow being, and lift your armor slowly to peek at the wound.

Despite having a fairy's healing applied, the wound is horrendous, and looking at the surrounding skin has you in hysterics. Inflamed, red, with a bubbling rash and several tender bruises already visible. Not to mention the stab wound sitting in the center, looking somewhat scabbed over but still obviously new. You try not to think too hard about it, or about anything except Link, as you slip into the simplicity of the morning's memories for comfort.

"Link! Link!" You call excitedly as you jog towards the Death Mountain gate to greet the currently blue-clad hero. You notice he's brandishing a different sword than the famous Blade of Evil's Bane. "New tunic and a new blade in the same day? Awesome!" You cheer, skipping next to Link, who stays quiet beside you. "Where're you headed now?"

"Water temple," Link grunts. When he notices the spark in your eye, visible concern replaces his typically stoic expression.

"Do you need extra eyes?" You ask eagerly. "An extra blade to back you up?" Link turns to you and grabs your shoulders. You know what he's about to say when he opens his mouth.

"Y/n, it is my job to save Hyrule. Not yours. I'll be back before you know it. You're safest in Kakariko," he says in a firm yet comforting tone. A cheeky grin spreads across your face as you form a plan.

"Let me spar you! How about that? If I can't defend myself against you, I'll stay here!" You announce. Link sighs with a defeated look as you celebrate and prepare your gear.

The door opening and Link's alarmed exclamations bring you back to your unfortunate reality. You open your mouth to try to explain, but break all over again when he gently moves to shush you. You can't help but flinch away from his hand. He looks confused, hurt for a moment, before he notices a fairy missing from your healing items. Potion is immediately poured into your mouth, your eyes tracking the seams on the leather covering his hands. You physically relax as the calm warmth of healing comes over you, a much different and more blissful warmth than the one you remember from earlier. You drift back to sleep, barely registering a pair of arms lifting you as you fade away.

You wake in the middle of Kakariko. It's the middle of the night and it's foggy. Everyone is inside for the night. The village is dead silent. The moon and stars are absent, yet a gentle light is barely visible through the fog. It's beautiful, and red. You think it may be a torch at first, other villagers you can't see, but the light seems to shrink as you approach. Curiosity fills you, urging you forward. More characteristics about the light become distinct the closer you get. The source splits into two separate ones when you're what seems to be a few feet away. Their shape becomes perfectly circular.

Your blood goes cold. You freeze in place when you see Link. The evil one, the one made of darkness. The one who had... encountered you in the temple. A smirk crawls up his face as he yanks you towards him and pivots. You feel the edge of the abandoned well dig into your back. You don't have time to process how his eyes aren't red, how his hair turned white, how his skin turned grey. How he looks more human now. He completely fills your personal space, his body pressed wholly against yours as he tips you backwards over the edge of the well, lips poking your ear.

"Welcome home, y/n~" he whispers before shoving you over the well's rim. A scream rips from your throat as you fall into infinite darkness, Kakariko village, your home, getting smaller and smaller. You flail, you cry, you helplessly try to grab for anything that will get you out of this. The air feels like it's moving too fast for you to breathe.

"Help! Help!" You scream out desperately as your heart twists and your stomach flips inside out. Your hands finally grip something you can't see, and you squeeze as hard as you can, not caring when you feel tingling in your knuckles. You pray to Hylia for safety as you clench your eyes shut.

You wake in Kakariko, in your bed, in Link's arms. You tense, prepared to scramble away from him, and burst into tears when you process that this is your Link. Your hero, your best friend, your crush, not the monster that-

You choke at the thought. Link gently brings you into a full embrace, one you desperately want to find comfort in, but all you can think about is how many times that's happened to him.

"D- Does it a- always hurt?" You choke. Link lets out an audible breath and holds you closer.

When he departs for the temple again, you want to beg him to stay. You want to cry to him and tell him everything eating at your brain. Instead, you insist he at least takes your remaining healing items. Two fairies and five potions. You made him pledge to give the bottles back when they were empty, those things took years to gather. All you can do now is wait and hope he makes it back safe and sound.

Read the next chapter here

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.9 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 8. Chapter 10.

Plans and Arguments

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Mentions of breakdowns, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

“Those missiles have a 100 megaton yield!”

Fives was exasperated at the new plan Krell had thrown at Rex, “We won’t even make it to the delta!”

“What can I do?” The captain met the ARC troopers eyes steadily, “I’ve tried to reason with him. Those are the orders.” 

March on the capital despite the massive missiles that rained from the sky. Fucking brilliant. 

Jesse sighed, “Great, another suicide mission.” he continued to inspect the console, typing on the screen, “The capital is too well armed.”

“Why does it seem like he has it out for clones?” Tup chimed in from where he continued to study the mechanics of the starships.

“Are we sure Krell isn’t, you know, fucking insane?” You mumbled, continuing to look at the data of the anomaly you saw earlier.

Dogma scoffed, “I think you're all overreacting,” He was steadfast in his belief in the general, “Obviously General Krell knows what he's doing. do you really think he doesn't care if he loses men?” 

Yes. you nearly responded, but opted to remain quiet. 

Jesse crossed his arms, “I’m not saying that,” He kept his voice steady, doing well at remaining calm, “But I do think his desire for victory has blinded him to the fact that there are lives at stake.”

You nodded, “Field doctors keep in contact with one another, and several doctors I knew have been killed under his command, not to mention the number of troopers,” Your hands were still as you focused on the conversation, “I’ve never seen such a high number of casualties from a single general.”

“He’s out of control!” Fives snapped, “He is not acting like the other jedi. He has no respect for us.”

I don’t think he has respect for anyone but himself. You thought bitterly. 

Rex stepped forward, trying to calm the ARC troopers ire, “Listen, I don’t agree with him either, but I don’t have a better plan.”

“What about using these starfighters to destroy the supply ship?” Fives continued, motioning to the ships that were in different stages of maintenance. 

“Our fleet has been trying, The Umbarans have it as protected as the capital.” The 501st captain rubbed his temple, clearly reaching his own limit. 

“But we've got their access codes and their own hardware,” Fives stepped up next to Jesse, looking confident. 

Rex, on the other hand, looked more surprised and hopeful, “You were able to crack it?”

“Mhm!” the ARC trooper gave a friendly punch to Jesse’s shoulder, earning a smile and a head shake from the other trooper, “We can sneak right past their blockade, get to where our ships can’t.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if begging. 

The captain looked down and rubbed his chin, he remained silent, mentally planning and strategizing with this new information. 

Fives’ continued, as if trying to convince him, “If we take out that supply ship, then we cut off arms to the capital.”

Rex smiled, looking up and meeting his friend's eye, “This is why you’re an ARC trooper,” He put a hand on his hip, now with a proud smirk, “I’ll talk to Krell, see what we can do.” 

Fives practically cheered, and you laughed at his joyful display. The ARC troopers' energy and good mood always amazed you. 

The captain shook his head and gave a soft laugh before turning and walking out of the hangar. You, however, got up and followed him, “Captain, I don’t know where the barracks are.” you stated, with a small grin, “Can you walk me to them?” 

“Mesh’la,” he rolled his eyes but he matched your smile, “Of course.” 

Now that you two had semi-privacy, “Are you ok?” you asked him quietly. 

“Once this campaign is done, I will be.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “General Krell is…a challenging General to work with.”

You brushed your hand against his as a small sign of affection, “You’re doing the best you can given the circumstances.” 

He gave you a grateful, yet exhausted look. 

In the far distance, potentially a mile away, Umbaran missiles slammed down, exploding into a bright green and orange light. Despite how far the strike was, you could still feel the vibrations in the ground. 

“Damnit, they never give up.” Rex sighed, “This won’t stop until that supply ship is taken care of.”

“Hopefully Krell will listen,” You said as the doors to another section, the living quarters, of the airbase opened. 

“He hasn’t so far.” your lover led you through the halls before pressing a button next to a door. They slide open, revealing Rex’s temporary quarters and office. To the Umbarans, the private room must’ve belonged to the leader of the airbase. Once the doors closed, he held your face in his gloved hands.

“I want you to rest, mesh’la,” He murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your exhaustion.”

“I can handle it.” you put your hands over his, “You and the others have been-.”

“We are built for this,” He interrupted you, “We’re clones, we can handle days without rest.”

You stared into his beautiful brown eyes, “Rex…”

“Please, mesh’la,” He whispered, “I can’t…I don’t think I can handle it if you're hurt again. Or worse.” He was pleading with you, gaze filled with an emotional desperation. It was rare to see him so unsteady. So unsure and even…afraid.

Your lovely captain was in despair. Yes, you’ve lost soldiers, but Rex has lost brothers. 

You moved your hand and stroked his cheek, “Ok…” your words were soft, “Alright Rex, I’ll get some rest.” 

He let out a small, relieved breath before kissing your forehead again, “Thank you.” 

As promised, you allowed yourself to sleep once he was gone again. It was comical how as soon as you laid down on the stiff bed, you were completely out. It felt like your brain just turned off. You didn’t even dream, so exhausted your consciousness just faded out of existence. 

When you awoke, it was due to yelling.

“Where is the honor in marching blindly to our deaths?!”

Fives.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your face in your hands with a pounding headache. You could hear Rex respond, but his voice was quieter and much calmer. It was hard to make out the words. 

However, you heard Fives loud and clear through the door, “I'm sorry. I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong! Especially when lives are at stake!”

Your lover answered him, and again, he was quiet. 

“I do support it. I do!” Fives was angry and frustrated, that much was clear, “But I am not just another number! None of us are!”

You admired the ARC trooper for his independence. He was a powerhouse on the battlefield and never backed down. Your friend was a very rebellious, free thinker, but intelligent enough to know when to fall in line. 

He was a good friend who you loved dearly. 

Surprisingly, you heard Rex’s voice, “Fives, where are you going?”

The ARC trooper responded with something, but you couldn’t hear him clearly that time. 

You sighed and stood, stretching your arms over your head. How long has it been…?

With a quick check of the time, it had only been a few hours. Everything was sore and you were still tired. It would take more than a nap to help, apparently…

The door to the captains quarters opened and Rex seemed surprised to see you, “You should still be asleep.” He approached to kiss your cheek. 

“I heard yelling. Is everything ok?” You asked, leaning into the peck. 

“The march on the capital will continue as originally planned.” He sighed, “the men are understandably against it.”

“You are too.” You pointed out. 

He nodded, looking downright tired, “I am, and if we had the time and the training, I’d go along with Fives’ plan. I know General Skywalker would with no question. But Krell has orders.”

You pet your lover’s cheek, “Rex, would you really follow every single order Krell gives?” 

“I am duty bound to follow.” He responded.

“Even if you know they’re wrong?” 

“I…” the captain sighed, “I believe in the Republic. I would fight and die for it without question.”

He’s avoiding the question. Pushing too hard might stress him further. You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “You're a good soldier, Rex. but you're also a man with your own thoughts and feelings.”

He melted under your touch, “Without you, I’d probably have gone insane by now.” he mumbled, earning a small giggle from you. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” Your words were tender and filled with love, “I need to check on the med bay, but I want you to get some sleep. Even if it's just a nap.” before he could argue, you booped his nose gently with your finger. 

Rex let out a small chuckle, “Alright mesh’la, I’ll get some rest.” He pecked your cheek before you walked out of his private quarters. Getting to the med bay was quick and easy, and as soon as Kix saw you, he nodded in greeting. 

Back to work. You were the 501st field doctor, you had a job to do, “What supplies do we have?” 

Your medic friend listed everything you had. 

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits

It was better than before taking the airbase, but the amount of such items was the real concern. Perhaps in a standard battle you’d be able to help everyone, but with Krell’s overwhelming need to kill as many soldiers as possible, It would be difficult. 

You swallowed, taking in the low numbers. Triage would be crucial. Managing pain wouldn’t be the priority. Save bacta for critical wounds. Sutures and bandages for anything else. 

“I’m going to talk to Krell.” You informed Kix, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t get killed.” He called to you as you left. 

Your steps took you up to the tower. Were you nervous? Potentially. If he took a step out of line, you might end up snapping and laying a fist in his face. Your anxiety came from your lack of faith in your own restraint. You’ve hit your limit, and if the damn Jedi pushed you too far, you might break. 

Once the doors opened, you were met with Appo and Hick typing at a console while Krell looked over the Umbaran holomap. 

“Doctor,” He greeted you rather…politely, “I didn’t call for you.”

“I have concerns, General.” You stepped inside, “I am aware of the impending march on the capital, but Kix and I do not have the supplies to keep everyone alive.” 

Pong Krell looked up at you, eyes looking down right uninterested in what you have to say, “You have an extreme lack of faith in your skills, Doctor.”

“I am not doubting my skills,” You responded, tone becoming icy, “I am limited by the supplies I don’t have. I can save lives, but if I don't have the medical supplies to do so…”

The General pressed a button and the map changed. He went back to ignoring you, “And what do you propose I do about your misuse of much needed medical equipment?”

Misuse!?

You swallowed, “Respectfully, General, I think for the sake of the men, you should work with Captain Rex and think of another strategy to take the capital.”

“We do not have time!” he slammed his fist down, causing you and the other soldiers around to jump, “Every moment we waste, we are getting that much further away from taking Umbara for the Republic! Now I know your judgment is clouded by your useless feelings surrounding these clones, but winning this war is the priority!” 

“Respectfully, General,” You backed down. All that bravado you told yourself earlier melted away. He had the power to court martial you, or worse, “My…feelings are concern for my patients. I am a doctor first, before I am a soldier.”

“Is it duty you feel, or something else?” He raised his head, “You spend an awful lot of time with the Captain, don’t you.” 

Your blood ran cold. 

He knew.

Your throat ran dry. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Appo look up from his console. 

Back track. Now. 

“Captain Rex and I have known eachother since the beginning of the war,” you explained, “We are friends, and I trust him with my life.”

“Just friends?” He rubbed his chin, “Your judgment is indeed clouded, Doctor. Your bias is hindering your view of the reality of this war.” The volume of his voice picked up until he was damn near shouting at you, “You can’t have friends on the battlefield! If you worry about those clones, you’ll never achieve victory!” 

Wrath burned under your skin. You wanted to shout back, but you didn’t have Fives’ courage, “I understand General, but these men, not just Rex, have protected me. Saved my life on the battlefield. In turn I do my best to keep them alive. It’s my duty to care for them. Because of this, I am able to view things objectively during battle.”

Krell was silent for a moment before he gave a slimy smirk, “Rex, huh?” 

Shit.

“Captain Rex, sir.” you cleared your throat and you caught Hick pausing in his typing on the console, “Since we are not currently on the battlefield, It’s easy for me to forget rank and titles. Forgive me, General.”

“I suppose you call General Skywalker by his name as well,” He turned to face the window, indicating he was done with you, “I am a General, Doctor. You will do well not to make that mistake with me. You’re dismissed.”

You saluted and turned, leaving the tower as quickly as possible.

Once on the ground, you spotted Fives and Hardcase walking to the hangar where the starships were being kept. With a glance back up to the tower, you followed the troopers. 

Oh what trouble were they about to get into?

[ang3l0fde4th4ndd0gs]

Moonwater Microfic:

TW: Some violence and semi graphic descriptions

Words: 532

Remus ran down the hallway to find his best friend’s younger brother, Regulus sitting on the floor of the hallway, covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Remus had been watching the map all night, it had become a habit. It was summer break but Dumbledore had been nice enough to let him stay for those few months due to his condition.

“Where’s Sirius?”Remus asked as he crouched down in front of Regulus and used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe the drop of blood running down Regulus’ lip from his chin.

“He went to the Potters’. He begged me to come with but I knew it’d be a shitty idea. So I came here.”

“Castle’s empty and I can’t do-”

“Remus, the shit’ll heal on it’s own.”

“Then why’d you come here instead?”

Instead of responding out loud, Regulus leaned forward and kissed the taller boy. Remus blushed and grabbed Regulus’ torn jacket in his hands for dear life as he kissed back. Regulus sat back against the wall a moment later, clutching his broken ribs sighing in pain.

“Oh…”Remus muttered. “C’mon. You should at least get some rest.”

“Rem-”

“We’ll talk about this later. You’ll bleed out.”

“Alright, alright.”

Remus got up and picked Regulus up bridal-style as gently as he could. Regulus rested his head against the werewolf boy’s chest.

“So you only came back to school because you wanted to see me? Other than the injuries, of course.”Remus asked as he carried Regulus to the Gryffindor dorms.

“I just thought… Well… Things are better when you’re around, okay?”

“How so?”

“For some reason when you’re in my general vicinity I feel less like everything could just fall apart.”

“And the kiss was for?”

“You overthink everything and I guarantee that for those few seconds, you didn’t.”

Remus flushed. “Well, you’re hurt. I really can’t help it.”

Regulus laughed at that. Remus blushed harder as he carried Regulus into the Marauders’ dorm and laid the younger Slytherin on his bed.

“Get some rest, Reg. You’re delirious and you’ve clearly lost a lot of blood.”Remus said as he sat down in the windowsill across from the end of his bed and picked up a book.

“Because my mom’s an ass. I’m fine, I promise.”

“What’d she even get after you for?”

“Pretending to be… ugh… you’ll hate me too, nevermind.”

“Because you ARE trans and gay?”

“You know?”

“I mean, we hang out a lot. So after a while I noticed a lot of things.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s… I was just sure you would.”

Remus shook his head and got up from his seat. Regulus sat up and rested against the pillows. Remus leaned down and kissed Regulus.

“I can’t hate you, I care too much for that. Please get some rest though.”Remus whispered.

“I can’t hate you either, Lupin. Can you lay down? Might help me sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Remus laid down beside the other boy and rested his head on the pillows. Regulus turned over and rested his head on the brunette’s chest. Remus held the boy gently, being sure not to hurt him.

[tiptapricot]

Kombatember Day 8: Wounded

(Warnings for semi graphic descriptions of gore/injury, and choking.)

———

“Lao!”

Raiden grunts in pain as he stumbles again, hand clutched against his side as he ducks beneath another blast of energy and weaves past a pair of fighting Mileenas.

The pyramid is swarming with bodies around him, order and darkness clashing along the stone steps in a battle fit to shape an era. Raiden was proudly among them when it all started, happy to serve his Lord Quan Chi and lay waste to these invading forces just as he was asked, but now…

“Kung Lao.” He skids to a halt, practically crumpling to his knees as his hands slide through wet hair and slick red to shakily cradle his head in his lap. “Oh, by Shinnok’s mercy, no.”

There’s a line, cleaved cleanly across the flesh of his throat, parting his trachea open like a fish’s dead maw. Kung Lao himself is staring straight up, his eyes bright green and manic as they flick across the sky, but when Raiden comes into view, his gaze locks onto him, a gurgling, wet, cough bubbling up past his lips as one hand lifts weakly off the ground to reach for him. Raiden quickly takes it in a vice, thumb running gently over the back of his hand.

“It will be alright,” he says, hoping his words are audible over the clashing sounds of kombat all around them. “When we are victorious, Master Quan Chi will revive you with the Netherrealm’s fire.”

Kung Lao blinks, jerking slightly as he chokes again. Raiden feels the hope in his heart falter.

“Lao,” he hisses, “you cannot leave me yet.”

He is not meant to. It is not their time. By the great orders of Shang Tsung himself, they are meant to be young harbingers in a new wave of conquest. They are creations, born to carry the legacies of their faithful forefathers, born to serve, and serve together.

But now…

Raiden curls over Kung Lao, pressing his limp hand to his cheek as something foreign and inhuman rises in his throat.

They were not meant to get attached, he knows that. The ranks of great darkness are not built for love, and yet… they found it. In the long years of training, and the feasts of endless victory. Fleeting and hidden and visceral and awful. Two mutants of hell’s belly forged to fight at each other’s side and finding commonplace in the steady rot of their hearts.

“Lao…” Raiden whimpers, pulling him closer. He feels fingers twitch against his cheek, another wet, popping, gurgle sounding out before they ever so weakly slide in to cup the side of his head. Raiden makes a pained sound.

“We will not surrender,” he says roughly. “I promise you that.”

He pulls away with a breath to meet Kung Lao’s eyes a final time, dull green blinking slowly as Raiden’s face tenses in anger.

“I will not surrender until their blood runs endless at my feet.”

Kung Lao smiles, just slightly, and with one final spurt of phlegm, laughs.

[gojoshooter]

A to Z — with Gojo Satoru

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x reader (any gender)

Genre : sfw, fluff and loads of fluff, gets a bit steamy but still sfw

A/N : lots of gojo headcanons <33 this is my second work so im still learning. reblog if u like? ♡

WARNING : non-graphical description of make-out sessions, mention of blood, injury, arguments, spoilers

A = Affection (are they affectionate with you?)

He doesn't get to spend a lot of time but this boy loves you so much

Bringing souvenirs is his love language, god he spoils you

A hard day makes him super touchy so he either spoons you to sleep & gives unhealthy amounts of kisses or just drapes himself on you if he's feeling extra lazy

Sweetheart over babygirl

B = Babies (how many kids does he want?)

He doesn't really mind, hasn't though about it much

He'd let you decide whatever you want tbh

Lowkey would like three to four kids, either all daughters or all sons to make a cult gang of his own

You both are like mom & dad to Megumi so he's fine either way

C = Comfort (how do they comfort you?)

When you start ranting about another mean customer and how hard the day has been, he let's you take your time and reminds to take long breaths in between, lacing your fingers together with his mild warm ones

He'd usually get quite when you're crying, holding you in his folded lap but takes it into his own hands and cracks silly jokes when your crying becomes uncontrollable

You'd crack up most of time and relax, explain him what's going on with you, but if it goes any further and your state is worse than he expected, he'd be dangerous to deal with

Now better expect the person who hurt you dead

D = Date (how was your first date? what are dates with him like?)

He would usually get overboard with dates, getting you high-end expensive branded clothes to a dinner in one of the best restaurants in japan

Don't get him wrong though, he does this not to be pompous of his richness but because he gets so little time to spent with you

E = Emotion (is it easy for them to express his emotions in front of you?)

If there is anyone he can let himself be him around, it's no one but you

Since the day he executed his best friend, you're the only person left to hold him when he falls

He barely cries, (except that one time he killed geto) just becomes quite and you know something is not right

He never reaches out first so you sometimes end up over thinking about his health

F = Feelings (when did they know they were in love with you?)

He can't pinpoint a specific time when he started to fall for you

But maybe it started when you both were given a mission together and you planned and executed the whole thing with so much brains and courage, all you left him to do was to rescue you after you, a semi first grade sorcerer finished off the special grade curse all by yourself

He was so impressed, almost called himself a simp if he didn't know the fact you were all the same head over heels for him too

G = Gym (do they go to the gym? how built are they?)

His busy life as a 'shaman who protects people' takes credit for those guns

He has applied for a gym session but that's just for the talk

Is actually quite buffed up

Can do more than a hundred push ups

Just the perfect amount of muscles to make him an eye candy

H = Hands (how do they like to hold hands?)

When holding hands he swings your arms back and forth like a little kid

He does it so absent-mindedly you find him adorable

Doesn't let go of your hands if you both are making out

He does that because you shy away and he enjoys how helpless you look flushed bright red under him

Plays with your fingers when nervous

I = “I love you” (who said it first? and how?)

It was obvious to almost everyone who knew you two about your mutual pinning each other

But you keep chickening out and so did he

One day when you were badly injured due to an exceptionally hard mission with him he loses his cool and composure because it was you and in the heat of the moment he tightly hugs you making you promise to not let go and inevitably yelling the three words

For the sake of being a bitch and getting it back on him for every mean thing he did to you, you say, holding his face in your equally injured bloody hands, "I'm alive, honey"

You cackle as he picks you up for treatment at Shoko's clearly fake-pissed off

Ultimately you kiss his cheeks confessing back in the moment

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous? how do they act when they’re jealous?)

Gojo can get jealous really easily so you don't need to try

And when he is, he would act like a child

If he could just throw you over his shoulder while saying “mine” he would

But he settles for coming from behind you, relaxed smile on his lips, he asks what you guys are talking about in an innocent tone

K = Kiss (how do they kiss?)

It is usually short and quick ones when he kisses you bye for his solo missions or somewhere out with his students

To compensate he'd kiss you really deep and long during make out sessions knowing the fact you don't have musk ox of a lung like him

It's either quick or deep ones, no in between

Forehead kisses are his favorite

L = Love language (how do they show you that they love you? what is their love language?)

KING OF GIFT GIVING BYE

He'd pick flowers if there are any around, and braid/tuck them into your hair

Lightly scratching behind your neck and ears then smothering them and asking you to do the same

Gojo would bite your cheeks in the most random moment

Buy sour patches and gummy bears to eat with you

M = Memory (what is their favorite memory with you?)

Drunk karaoke

Neither of you could sing but it didn't matter and you couldn't stop laughing about how terrible you sounded together

Nanami came to the rescue and booked a cab

You recorded the whole thing and couldn't stop watching it when you got home

N = Night (how are nights spent with him?)

Falling asleep against his shoulder after a late night movie marathon

Sometimes he'd insist to cook the dinner by himself

And it's a new recipe of Kikufuku

You'd try to act mad but can't put it up for long not when he holds a spoonful with big eyes of the sweet desert he made

Loves to cuddle you specially on winter nights

O = On cloud nine (how do they act when falling in love with you?)

Becomes a lot more thoughtful on the next thing he gifts you and a bit more excited about giving them

Might be a bit more flirty without really realizing

Gojo also notices a lot of things about you that he begins to like more than usual

Starts acting more silly and childish (which you love)

P = Pet names (what pet names do they use?)

He's a tease, so he comes up with new odd but funny nicknames like 'nugget' and calls you that before switching to something new after almost a week

Lots of pet names when he'd comfort you, usually cute ones like 'love bug', 'bambi' or 'pup' which are your favorites

Gojo often calls you by your name followed by a '-chan' or '-kun' if he refers to you in front of anyone

Q = Quizzes (how much do they remember and know about you?)

He's a busy man, so you wouldn't mind if he forgets your birthday

But the thing is he doesn't

Keeping small things about you in mind that are important to him, like whether you're depressed or anxious

Making playlists that match both of your tastes and sending them to you late at night when he's abroad on a mission missing you

R = Rage (what do they do if they're mad at you?)

Literally almost none of your actions can make him angry

Oh but one thing

Gojo was really mad that one time you put yourself to such a diet it started to effect your body mentally and physically

Never raises his voice though, you got a day of cold shoulder untill you gave up on the diet

S = Sugar or Spice (what do they prefer?)

He has a big sweet tooth

Eating almost half of the desserts that you bring in a day

You wish his teeth rot but he's god's favourite

Can not handle spice much as you can

Probably the only thing Gojo Satoru isn't good at

T = Twitter (are they on twitter? if yes, what do they do there?)

He made a private twitter account few weeks after in a romantic relationship with you

Only lets few closest of his friends and students in

The username is 'y/nlovebot'

Isn't very active but tweet at a random hour asking the weirdest question about love advice

Megumi blocks him

U = UwU (would he ever act cute for you?)

Do you think he needs to act?

He's a jerk but he can do that to make up and you'll always fall

He'd look cute even with his small smile playing on his slightly pink glossy lips

Prolly his copping mechanism

V = Vip (how important are you to them?)

If he could choose, he'd choose you over being the strongest sorcerer in the world

You're his top priority

If not one of the top, besides Geto

You're afraid to test where he might draw the line but you believe in him, he'll never let you down

You're his 'special little pup' and very much vip

W = Waking up (what are they like when they wake up next to you?)

It's not rare that you're up before him

Waking up, you open your eyes to see his broad bare shoulders & his light hair slightly across his face

Or sometimes you wake up tangled somehow, arms and legs are often intertwined, and you're lying on his chest

He won't wake up untill his morning kisses are given

X = X-ray (how does the relationship look from an outside perspective compared to how it really is?)

Your relationship seems the cute and stable type

If there are any arguments, Gojo and you would work it out the smart ways

He knows how to handle your bad mood the best, giving you space and preparing a warm drink to make you relax

There's never a time he makes you feel things wouldn't be okay

He's not the type to baby sit you and you know that because he lets you do your part of the mission

He fell for what a rebel of a person you are, come on

Y = Yes (do they think of getting married/proposing?)

It would start off as a joke between the two of you on a late evening, in between the laughs and the light breeze coming from outside the Jujutsu tech

Gojo would find the idea of marrying you very appealing, suddenly not laughing anymore

There would be a high chance that he would promise on holiday or something to make it a special time

On the day of proposal night, that happens to be your birthday, he'd definitely do something silly like wrap a bit of tissue around your finger as a fake ring until he got one

Z = Zzz (how do they sleep with you?)

Finds it easier to sleep while hugging you to his chest

Often tangles his legs around yours out of habit when he spoons you

He's not a heavy sleeper thanks to his sharpened senses

You like to stroke his hair and he would smile at you but wakes up with you sprawled all over him lol

A/N : AND THAT'S ALL. i hope this put a smile on your face somewhere along the lines lol. Untill next time!

Tags : @luckimoon ♡

[edgeray]

MASTERLIST:

【Ｏｎｅｓｈｏｔｓ】 - longer, higher quality works of mine

LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME | Part 1| Part 2 | 2/3 Parts| Arlecchino x GN! Reader| 17k words -> synopsis - Mafia AU! a customer beguiles you with their beauty and danger. It seems like they're drawn to you as well. If indulging in them is so wrong, why does it feel so right? -> content warnings / info - usage of they/them pronouns for Arlecchino, slightly dark content, slightly suggestive, arlecchino is a little scary because they are a mafia member, reader is an exotic dancer, not a realistic portrayal of clubs or mafia, reader has an angsty backstory suggestiveness, pet names,

【Ｓｅｒｉｅｓ　Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】 - links to masterlists of my series of blurbs

ARLECCHINO IS A PERSON. | Arlecchino x GN! Reader | 5k words | 7/7 Parts | Completed -> synopsis - in which arlecchino is a person with many traits, and somehow, you surprise her by revealing something new about each one. -> content warnings / info - character death in Day 1 ("Arlecchino is a cold person.") and Day 7 ("Arlecchino is not a person.), some angst, suggestive in Day 4 ("Arlecchino is a greedy person.") ONE HELL OF A BUTLER | Arlecchino x Fem! Reader | 12k words | Parts 6/? | Ongoing -> synposis - Demon AU! in which arlecchino serves as your demon butler while you try to enact your revenge (slightly based off on the manga and anime 'black butler'). -> content warnings / info - semi-graphic violence, murder, suggestiveness, reader has an angsty backstory, grief, slow burn romance, master and servant relationship, parts are not written chronologically

【Ｂｌｕｒｂｓ】 - shorter pieces of works that aren't as high quality

VIXEN | Arlecchino x GN! Reader | 2k words -> synopsis - Hybrid AU! you come across an injured fox in the forest. little did you know the fox is more than just that -> content warnings / info - semi-graphic description of injury, suggestiveness at the end MOON, TELL ME IF I COULD | Arlecchino x Clervie | 0.3k words | -> synopsis - a songfic for the tragedy of Arlecchino and Clervie, using "My Love Mine All Mine" by Mitski -> content warnings / info - implies character death, some angst BENEATH THE MASK | Arlecchino x GN! Reader | 2.2k words -> synopsis - superhero au! you arrive injured on your nemesis' doorstep. aka, is it gay to sleep in the same bed as your enemy? -> content warnings / info - arlecchino is mean and threatens you, semi-graphic details of injuries SALTLESS EGGS AND CHEWY BACON | Arlecchino x GN! Reader | 1.6k words -> synopsis - modern au! mornings have been miserable lately, but things might look up. -> content warnings / info - some angst TO CELEBRATE A LIFE | Arlecchino x GN! Reader | 1.0k words -> synopsis - it's your husband's birthday. naturally, you and the children celebrate it. -> content warnings / info - suggestiveness in the middle, Arlecchino-centric

【Ｏｎｅｓｈｏｔｓ】 - longer, higher quality works of mine

SWEETER THAN WINE | Nico Robin x Fem! Reader | 2.1k words -> synopsis - you're in a bar. the most ravishing woman strolls in and steals your attention. -> content warnings / info - reader uses female pronouns, Robin may be OOC, Reader is also highkey downbad, alcohol drinking, pet names SWEETER THAN WINE PART 2 | Nico Robin x Fem! Reader | 2.6k words -> synopsis - you and miss all sunday basks in each other's company after an intimate night. -> content warnings / info - reader uses female pronouns, heavily implied sexual content, pet names

[arizaluca]

“… are you ready?” “You asked me that already.” “Well, this time it’s the meaning you said the first time around.” Leshy, burrowing into the blankets and startling Narinder awake at the dead of night. Leshy, snickering when Kallamar came storming into the room in a huff about the several holes he’d purposefully left behind to make Kallamar trip, just a little bit. Leshy, the youngest of the five. Leshy, with his eyes gouged from his head, screaming in pain on the floor as blood stained the green foliage that covered him, Narinder standing above him, one eye in each hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He did not explain further. The Lamb did not pry.

In which the Lamb visits Ratau for a game of Knucklebones, before departing on a crusade with Narinder to defeat Leshy again. Narinder and the Lamb find a strange totem in the woods, as well as an oddly familiar graveyard.

They converse about the Lamb's family a little bit.

They fight Leshy.

There is an argument over him.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Eye gore mention (fairly non-graphic), semi-graphic-ish descriptions of injuries and death.

[of-solitude-past-and-present]

Hidden in the Sands (Yandere!Naga!Kunikuzushi)

Warnings: Character Death (not reader, not kuni), Some Gore (description of a corpse), Injury (of reader), Monster AU, implied semi-cannibalism (he isn't human but close enough), some blood (mostly not reader's, a little is kuni's), biting, venom, graphic description of venom effects (used on reader non-lethally), kuni-typical insults, venom effects are made up, kuni tries to kill you (at first but doesn't follow through), reader has a semi-near-death experience, threats, kidnapping, imprisonment, nonconsensual touching (SFW ofc), general yandere themes, kunibaby is Not Nice but it's okay because he's hot, reader goes through the wringer... if you prefer soft yandere, this is probably not for you. loosely based on a rp I did with a friend.

Sorry I lied about the rook and sebek HCs. I have Sebek's pretty much done I think, but Rook remains an enigma. Might post them separately, idk.

Kuni's appearance is inspired by the desert horned viper. If the formatting seems a little weird at any point, it's because tumblr messed it up when I copy/pasted it here. Might fix it later.

6.5k words or so.

The Desert of Hadramaveth.

You haven't been here before. You thought the rest of the desert was bad, between the heat which was "enough to melt a mist flower but not really" (paraphrased from a certain fox friend) and the unforgiving terrain.

This was worse, with its near-constant sandstorms. This was the second one today, and you had only just left the Tanit camp. In other areas of the desert, you were begging for a reprieve from the sun, but here, you were almost begging for it back if it meant you didn't have to worry about getting sand in your eyes and throat. It was almost, almost enough to make you consider turning around and dropping the commission.

"Do you want to hear a dry joke?"

If it weren't for your friend here, you probably would. Unfortunately, you can't turn back now that you've gotten his hopes up. The most you can do is slump your shoulders and sigh, suffocating under the endless heat, what little you could see of the sun, and what you knew was coming next.

"Sure, I'll bite."

A large, beaming grin spread across Sanad's face, and you braced yourself.

"A desert."

"That's terrible."

"Oh, come on! It's funny and you know it!"

"Does that even count as a proper j-"

You paused, looking up at the sky. In the distance, you could see a large, beige cloud. Again?

"We need to find shelter. There's a sandstorm coming."

"Well, looks like we're in luck. Where isn't shelter?" he responded.

It was true. You and Sanad were somewhere just north of the Tanit Camps, near Wadi Al-Majuj. Ahead of the both of you was the entrance to a deep canyon, lined with ancient ruins. According to the map, it was called Pairidaeza Canyon. Behind you, there was another entrance to a different canyon, and according to your map, if you went back a ways and to the right, there'd be a third one.

"Come on, let's go! I need to look through these for my thesis!" He rushed, running ahead of you.

"Careful!" you called out. "There might be bandits down there."

He immediately slowed to a stop, sheepishly turning around to move back to his place next to you.

"On second thought, take your time. Just make sure there's nobody else in there."

You chuckle, already starting a reasonable pace down the steep slope into the canyon. "Thought so. Just a reminder, we're leaving immediately once the sandstorm ends, unless we find who or what we're looking for."

Right. What you were looking for. Recently, small groups of travelers and even large caravans were being attacked. Most of the attacks occurred between the Tanit Camp and around the Passage of Ghouls. A few supplies were usually stolen, but that wasn't the worst part.

A few days later, the rotting corpse of one of the travelers or nomads would be found, half-eaten and with a twin set of puncture marks in their throat. Any useful supplies would be missing, but oddly enough, the mora was almost never taken.

Normally, you'd assume that maybe it was just a deranged serial killer, and either the bodies were eaten by wild animals or the culprit was worse than you thought. But it was strange. What serial killer had fangs like that? And if it was a wild animal, what use would they have for supplies like bedrolls and first aid kits?

The survivors usually all said the same thing; they were caught out in the middle of a sandstorm, and all they heard was a scream or shout before one of their friends disappeared. When the body was found, some key survival supplies would be missing as well. When a caravan was attacked, some supplies (and occasionally people) would even be snatched right off the backs of the desert sumpter beasts.

Hence why you and your friend Sanad were out here to crack this strange case. Mostly you, though, since Sanad only wanted to take a gander at the desert ruins for some Akademiya thing. You'd probably have gone alone (or at least tried to, before you decided the mora wasn't worth it) but when he heard that you were going to this section of the desert, he insisted on coming for his thesis or something like that. He helped pay for the trip, and he was paying you personally, so you had no reason to refuse. He was your friend, and good company to boot, even if he was a little bit skittish.

"Well, that might be possible... but you said you didn't even know if the culprit was a person, didn't you?" he inquired, as the both of you passed the first of the ruins in the canyon.

You sighed. "Yeah, I told you all about that already."

A glimmer of excitement appeared in his eyes. "Well, I've been thinking since then, and I remembered this old desert legend! Have you heard of nagas?"

"Nagas?" you parroted.

"Yes, nagas!" He nodded his head. "They're an ancient race of ferocious half-human half-snake people that supposedly existed during the reign of King Deshret. Apparently they were equal parts revered and feared, as wise and strong beings."

You raised a somewhat skeptical brow. "I thought you didn't believe in legends?"

He laughed. "The Akademiya has declared them to be just baseless nonsense, so of course I don't think they actually exist. I just think it's very interesting, and it technically matches what we know..." He trails off, looking around in awe.

"If you want to look around, you can. Tell me if you see or hear anything."

You didn't need to tell him twice. With a rushed "thanks!" and a wave, he was practically bouncing up what probably used to be a set of stairs to a higher level within the ruins, off to your left. In the meantime, you'll look around, see if you can find anything interesting.

You looked up and around, spinning on your heels. From what you've seen of the canyon so far, it's just a straight corridor with partially collapsed stone ruins on both sides, and a fallen wooden bridge that once connected them. You can see several ways to climb up higher and explore the ancient stone buildings, including the way up that Sanad went.

You and Sanad are pretty deep into the canyon at this point, and you have to crane your head just to see the top. As you do this, you notice just how many floors there are in the ruins. Some have crumbled so much they seem almost completely inaccessible. They're so high up, you can't see anything on them from your angle at the bottom.

There's just so many places to hide. The realization makes you tense up a little. Maybe you should have gone up with him.

It's so strange though. The complicated ruins, numerous hiding places, and the nearby water would make this place an ideal camping spot for bandits and thieves. But so far, you haven't seen hide or hair of anyone else. Not even an abandoned camp.

Until somewhere in the ruins, you hear an odd sound. It's hard to make out, and it sounds so much like the normal shifting sand that you almost brush it off as a natural sound in the canyon. But you hear stone crumbling and rocks falling, and you look up, seeing something move on the side of a ledge too far above you to check. It's close enough that some of the rocks hit the ground next to you. You squint, watching the ledge, waiting for whatever it was to move again, but the sound stops. The hair on your neck stands on end–from what, you aren't sure. Sanad is even closer to the source of the sound than you are, but not far away at all. Just out of sight. Was it from him? Or someone watching him?

Or are they watching you?

You're not sure, and you'll check just in case. Sanad doesn't have anything to defend himself with except for a dagger. Without another thought, you surge up the stone steps, hand subconsciously finding its place on the pommel of your sword. When you get up there, you see him standing with a hand on his chin, studying some old glowing contraption you've never seen before.

"Did you hear that?" you ask, breathing just a little heavier than normal.

He turns to you somewhat incredulously, just as fine as ever. "Hear what? I haven't heard anything. Are you alright?"

You calm down a little bit, letting your hand fall from your sword. "I'm fine. I was just worried about you. Didn't you hear that noise? I saw something move up there." You look up at the ledge the rocks came from. You don't see any way to get up there that's safe.

The sand is starting to pour in harder through the massive gap in the canyon ceiling, and the wind is beginning to howl. You and Sanad are slowly being dusted in sand.

"You're a little on edge. Relax! A sandstorm is starting and the wind and sand probably just knocked a few rocks into the canyon or something. It happens all the time." He flashed you a reassuring smile, turning back to... whatever those were on the wall. They're shaped somewhat like bowls, and as sand pours into them, sand also pours out a hole in the side into another one of them. You're not the researcher here, so you ignore it.

You let go of some of the tension in your shoulders, letting out a held breath. "Alright, sorry for bothering you then. Just so you know, if the sandstorm gets any worse, we'll be moving deeper into the canyon to get out of the sand."

He turns back to you, somewhat pleading. "But can't I stay? I'm not the one looking for the guy, so you don't need me to come with you, right?"

You expected this, just as you expect that he'll be the one choosing to come with you after what you say next. "Yeah, you could, but if something happens I probably won't be able to hear it if I'm down there."

He freezes, grimacing a bit. "Alright, alright. Let me know when you move on."

As expected.

You chuckle at him with a lopsided smile, turning back to go down the ramp. He was probably right. It seemed like such a silly thing to panic over. Of course sand and rocks would shift and fall in the desert during a sandstorm. That's probably all you saw. You're glad you brought Sanad along and not some other stuck-up researcher who would have made fun of you for it.

When you reach the bottom again, you turn your attention to the ground. Aside from the sounds of the howling wind and pouring sand, you can hear water dripping as it coalesces into the wide but shallow puddle in front of you. That's not what interests you, though.

There's a long indentation in the sand, about as wide as you are, as if something had been dragged through. It extends further into the cave, where the ground becomes rockier and the track disappears.

You crouch down to inspect them further. Chances are, it's probably a large haul of supplies that was too big to properly carry. This place is the perfect hideout for thieves and bandits, so it would be worthwhile to investigate. If you're lucky, it might be the bandit you're looking for.

The canyon starts to darken, so much so that you now have trouble making out the edges of the track. Most of the sunlight that filtered in through the top has disappeared behind a haze. The sound of howling wind grows louder, and the hiss of pouring sand all around you is almost deafening. You've had quite enough of the sand raining on and around you, so you call out for Sanad to come back. It doesn't take him long to come rushing back down the way he came.

"We're heading deeper in to wait out the rest of it," you explain.

He sends a longing look back at where he had come from. "Alright... I see," he concedes, with a dejected slump of his shoulders.

You'll humor him. "Did you find anything interesting?"

He instantly brightens up, excited to talk about whatever he found. "Yes! It's this interesting mechanism that fills with sand. I read about it in a textbook once! It can be opened and closed, but I couldn't figure out how to. I've heard if you can fill them as they were intended to be, you can get treasure from them!"

You two begin moving deeper into the canyon, and you send him a teasing smile. "With the way you're talking, I'd almost think you're the adventurer here."

He shudders. "I could never. At least, not as a full time job. You encounter monsters all the time, don't you?"

"They're not so difficult to deal with, once you're used to seeing them."

"That is not at all reassuring!" He stops to let out a breath. "No, I just want the free mora. Trips like these are expensive."

You sigh. "Well, if you want to, we can at least take a crack at it together on the way out of here."

His eyes light up again. "That's wonderful! We can even split the rewards if we manage to solve it!"

"No more than an hour, though," you warn. "With all the sandstorms, we don't have the time to waste."

"Aww, fair enough." A moment of silence passes, and he turns back to you. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you! Did you find anything interesting?"

You think back, and the only thing that comes to mind are the tracks.

"Well, a little bit behind us, I found these drag marks. Like someone had dragged a big bag or something, I couldn't tell what."

"Drag marks? Oh, so maybe it really is a naga after all."

You turn to him in exasperation. "Didn't you just say you didn't believe in them? Besides, why'd you even tell me about them if you don't think they exist?"

He laughs. "I'm kidding! I only told you mostly because I wanted to. But I have a more realistic theory too!"

"Really now?" You raised a skeptical brow.

He turns to you, faking a gasp in faux offense. "Why are you looking at me like that? Of course I do! I don't study at the Akademiya for nothing!"

You chuckle. "Oh, go on then. Don't keep me waiting."

"What if the culprit keeps a snake around? Think about it, at the price of a little food, they'd get an unlimited supply of p–Hey! Don't laugh at me! It's not as ridiculous as it sounds!"

Apparently you weren't as good at hiding your snickers as you thought. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you. I was just imagining it in my head. From what I heard, it would have to be a pretty big one based on the size of the puncture wounds and the distance between the fangs."

He crossed his arms, looking away. Guess he didn't quite believe you. "It's not THAT unbelievable, especially in comparison to the naga theory... Haven't you seen the street performers with the snakes in Port Ormos?"

You hold your hands out in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, you're right, I'm sorry. But your theory doesn't explain everything–what about the half-eaten bodies part? And they almost never take mora either... besides, the street performers use nonvenomous snakes."

"I guess it would be risky, but in theory, venomous snakes can be trained too! Desert dwellers tend to be... fearless. Though..." He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation, looking down. "I'm not quite sure about that other part either. Though it's not as if cannibalism was ever off the table, there's always the chance it was just wild animals that found the body after. As for mora... maybe it's someone who never gets the chance to spend it anyway?"

"Like, a recluse or something?" you pipe up.

"Yeah, exactly! Someone who's completely self-sufficient, who doesn't need to deal with other people to survive. Makes enough sense. They probably get everything they need from the people they're attacking."

At this point, the both of you are up to your ankles in water. The canyon is fairly wide at the bottom and grows so much narrower towards the top that very little sand makes it through, so you take the liberty of brushing as much of it off of you as possible. The both of you pass the last of the stone ruins. Up ahead is just bare, mostly untouched canyon. It's damp enough to support an amount of greenery that seemed a little out of place in the desert. You can still hear the wind howl, but it's a bit quieter here.

You and Sanad pass an opening in the wall to your right, leading to a dead end with a fairly deep pool and what looked to be a crumbled stone bridge.

"Your theory is a little... out there, but some of it definitely makes a good deal of sense."

"It's an early hypothesis! We'll revise it as we find more evidence."

You roll your eyes a bit. "It's alright, I'm not judging you."

You look around again. There's plenty of dry places to stop and rest without worrying about sand, so this should be an adequate place to wait it out.

"Why don't we stop here?"

"Not yet!" Sanad points further into the cave, where it opens up some more, with a rock jutting out of the center of the room, surrounded on one side by a shallow stream of water. "I can see more ruins in there! You can stop there and I can keep looking around."

You sigh, for what felt like the hundredth time. As much as you wanted to rest, it wasn't far away at all. "Alright. But we're still going back to that mechanism immediately once the sandstorm is over."

"I know, I kn–"

From an entrance to another path to your right came a blur, barreling right at Sanad. You have barely enough time to shove him behind you and out of its way before it stops in front of you both, dark claws bared.

Now that you can get a look at it, you realize it's a scarred, shirtless man with a dark head of hair, sharp indigo eyes, and... two pale, straight horns? Looking down, he doesn't have a pair of legs, but a sand-colored snakelike tail with rough scales. Even without the rest of his tail, which was hidden behind him, he's quite literally twice your size.

A naga?

He sneers at your sword as you pull it from your sheath, showing off a long pair of fangs. "A little short, isn't it?" He hisses. "Good luck with that."

"Sanad, get back!" You cry, holding your sword out in front of you threateningly. The naga seemed more amused than anything, simply starting to circle. Watching.

While you backed up to keep the naga from getting between you and Sanad, he hurriedly ran far back the way the both of you came, staying just close enough to watch the both of you.

Without warning, the naga lunged forward, one claw-tipped hand reaching out to swipe at you. You swung your sword at his arm, but missed, just barely grazing his side. Still, it was enough to force him back. He brushed over the superficial wound with one hand, smearing what little blood came from it, taking a look.

You stand there, adrenaline pumping through your veins, unsure of what to do. His reach was almost as long as yours, even though you were the one with the sword. This has to be who you're looking for, but you're beginning to think that you should've brought more people.

When he looks back at you, that cruel sneer is still set in his face, but a glint of annoyance is now present in his eyes.

"Lucky hit. Don't count on it happening again."

He doesn't hesitate, rushing forward immediately. You swing again, but it's too early, and he barely has to slow down before he's coming at you again. He's so close now that he grabs your shoulder, claws digging in hard enough to draw blood, shoving you down. In a blind panic, you're forced to adjust your grip on your sword so that you can bring your arm back and stab into his tail.

Before you even realize what's happened, you're on the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. The arm that had held your sword is pinned to the ground by one of his hands, the other still holding onto your shoulder. You wheeze pathetically while he leans down and slides his fangs into your throat.

Your sword had bounced off of his scales, barely even leaving a mark.

The first thing you feel in your throat is pain, followed by an overwhelming numbing sensation, only interrupted by pins and needles. He chuckles as you thrash around in his hold, your free hand trying to push him off. The sensation is spreading, from your shoulder down even to your fingertips. The only thing you can do is let out a pained groan.

The pressure, from anything, from his hands on you to your own as you push and hit him, hurts. Like everything that touches you only pushes those pins and needles deeper into your skin. It's this feeling that finally makes you go limp in his hold, giving in. It gives you the chance to look up, focus on anything but him, and see that Sanad has long since abandoned you. Lucky bastard.

You hope that he gets away, at least. Even as the half-snake thing on you pulls away to hold your face in one hand, forcing you to look at him.

"Seems your little friend didn't care for you as much as you cared for him. Don't worry. I'll do you a favor and make sure he gets what's coming to him." You manage to focus on his face, smeared with your blood and that same, ever-present sneer, but with something else behind it. Something vindictive.

You grit your teeth. It stung, even though you knew it was the only reasonable thing for Sanad to do.

It's petty, and it won't do you any favors, but you lift your arm and slap him across the face as hard as you can. The impact alone sends shocks of pain down your arm, but he barely even moves.

Instead, he laughs in your face, dark amusement flitting across his hauntingly beautiful features. "What was that? A love tap? After everything, I'm surprised you can even try." He leans in closer still, your noses almost touching.

"I'm sure you feel proud of yourself, don't you? Good job! I might just leave you for last, then."

Without another word, he dashes off to find Sanad, and all you can do is pray the snake isn't successful. After all, what's a pampered Akademiya researcher to do against a man-eating monster?

You try to stand, but a bone-deep exhaustion pulls at your limbs. You can only get halfway up before your vision starts to go dark and you collapse onto the ground in a graceless heap. The pressure still hurts, a strange buzzing sensation rising alongside the needles and numbness. All you can do to help it is curl onto your side, minimizing your contact with the ground.

You lay there for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness for who knows how long. The pain is fading slightly, but you're not sure if it only feels that way because you're getting used to it.

Maybe you're dying.

A chill goes down your spine at the thought, and you do your best to dismiss it. It isn't hard, not when your thoughts are interrupted by a terrified, blood-curdling scream cut too short to be natural.

It brings you back to your senses. You keep listening, but you can't hear any more noises over the constant sounds of the canyon. Dripping water, falling sand, and the howling wind.

If that was Sanad, then since you're already deep within the snake's den, it must be only a matter of time before he gets back...

You're pushing yourself back on your feet before you know it, another rush of adrenaline supporting you. To do what, you're not sure. If you couldn't win before, you certainly can't now. But you're already running as best you can to where you saw Sanad go, though it's more of a relatively fast half-stumble than anything else. Everything still hurts, and beneath the venom you can start to feel your muscles ache too, but if you focus on moving it isn't unbearable.

You forgot your sword. You'd turn back to get it, but even with the adrenaline your limbs feel like lead, and your sword arm is so weak you don't think you could do more than carry it anyway.

You've just reached the ruins again, and looking around at all the nooks and crannies gives you the idea to hide. As sluggish and unarmed as you are, you can't fight anyway. Maybe if you hide long enough, he'll go away. Sanad might still be alive, if you can make it to him.

You don't know how long you were laying there, but if you could hear Sanad, they couldn't have gotten far. That fact is a double-edged sword, you realize. It's been a while since you heard his scream, and if the naga was coming back then it wouldn't be long until you saw him. You don't have much time.

You stagger your way as fast as you can manage to your right. You don't see anywhere to hide down at the bottom, but there are plenty of places above. It's so much harder than walking on flat ground, but you force yourself up a wooden ramp onto a stone platform. There aren't a variety of places to hide here, either, but you don't have the energy to go up any higher.

You hear the water below you being disturbed, in a way too constant to be footsteps, and you quickly duck forward to avoid being seen. You don't dare look, instead opting to slowly move towards a large stone statue to your right, as quietly as possible. With one look back to make sure he hadn't come up to check, you hide behind the stone dais that the statue rested on.

You take a breather, listening for any more sounds. You can't hear the water being disturbed anymore, but the thought of moving alone is both terrifying and exhausting. If you wait too long and he finds you gone, he'll probably come back to look for you. On the other hand, if you leave too early and he hears you...

With this in mind, you rest a few minutes more. The wind is slowing down, and there's less sand in the air than there was when you and Sanad first came through, so the sandstorm has likely stopped. At least the naga won't have that going for him too, once you and Sanad leave.

You'd stay longer, but the anxiety eats at you. It's only a matter of time until the naga comes back, and you don't know what condition Sanad is in.

You get up on shaking legs, your body begging you to sit back down and rest more. You know better, so you force yourself forward, looking over the ledge to make sure he isn't nearby.

You stumble back down the wooden ramp, turning to continue down the path to the exit. You have to stick to the sides of the path, where the sand is highest, just to make sure nobody can hear the sounds of splashing water.

Sanad can't be too far off now. Maybe he'll be in the same state you are, and you both can return to the Tanit camp and get help. You still have your pack on you, but the only thing that might be useful soon is the small first aid kit and the knife.

You really hope you won't need the knife.

Just in case, you pull it out of your pack and put in in your pocket. You're out of the water now, but you've come to a steep hill. The only way out is up. You hope you can make it.

You grit your teeth, sweat dripping down the side of your face as you force yourself up the incline. Onward and upward, you think bitterly. The overused phrase "ad astra abyssosque" parroted endlessly by everyone else at the Adventurer's Guild comes to mind. You never thought you'd make it to the stars or abyss to begin with, but you didn't think your journey would end so soon, either.

Your muscles burn with exhaustion, and you think you can feel the numbness slowly spreading further into your legs. Still, you continue upwards, at a much slower pace, even as you almost collapse a few times.

You come up to a point where the hill flattens out for a short distance. You're panting from the exertion, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief until you see what's in front of you.

"Sanad!"

Before you know it, you've staggered forward to collapse at his side. He's lying face-down on the ground in a small pool of his own blood.

You turn him over, tears pricking at your eyes, praying his condition wasn't as bad as it seemed. His head lolled to the side, face pale and eyes empty, unmoving. The blood, on the ground and splattered all over the front of his Akademiya robes, still dripped from the massive tear in his neck. It looked like a set of claws had dug into his skin and tore off the front of his throat.

Your breath hitches, and you fall backwards, dropping his body. Tears well up in your eyes. Why hadn't he done the same to you? Why did he do so much worse to-

"So, so loyal. Like a dog running to protect its master. You're adorable, really, even if you're a little late."

You freeze, only turning your head to look over your shoulder at him. He's slowly approaching, a condescending smirk on his lips. Half-dried blood covers one of his hands.

"There's no need to mourn. He was pathetic. Did you know that he only cared enough to fight when it was his life on the line?" He looked distant for a moment, before looking at you with something almost soft in his eyes. It disappeared so fast, you'd almost think you had imagined it, the condescending smirk and mock pity sliding to cover his face once more. "You poor thing. You're better off without him. No need to thank me."

You blink away the tears, an idea coming to mind. You couldn't overpower or outrun him, so there's only one possible option for you. "You're a... you're a lying bastard! What else was he going to do?" You yelled at him, pushing yourself up on unsteady legs to face him, backing over your friend's body.

"Humans are untrustworthy," he croons, following after you. His eyes don't leave you even once. He's sizing you up, and with nothing more than a moment of contemplation, his smirk widens and a victorious glint appears in his narrowed eyes. "He was using you. Once you were no longer useful to him, he discarded you. It's pretty naive to think he left you with any other thought in mind."

You don't dignify that with a response, continuing to back up. One of your hands almost moves down to your pocket, where your knife is hidden, but you stop it before he sees.

Your heel hits the sharp incline behind you, where the hill keeps going, and you fall backwards and hit the ground. A derisive snort comes from the snake.

"I've decided what I'm going to do with you. It's much better than what I did to your friend, here. You should thank me, really." He towers over you, leaning down to your level, setting a hand down on the ground next to you. Your hand twitches for your knife.

He watches you for a moment, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving his lips at your frozen state. All you do is stare at him, shaking from the adrenaline. Finally, his other hand comes up to rest on the nape of your neck, pushing you closer to him. You can feel the sticky blood on his fingers.

His eyes glimmer with excitement, and he continues while your hand slowly drifts to your pocket. "You're just helpless. I think I'm going to keep you with me, like a little p-"

You thrust your knife at him, landing a hit on his side while he lurches away. Your blood runs cold. It should have been buried hilt-deep, but instead all you've done is leave a bleeding gash. It's not quite superficial, but it won't stop him, and you know you won't be able to land another.

His lips curl in a snarl as you scramble backwards up the hill. You turn, and start running, but adrenaline can only carry you so far. You feel almost like you're in a nightmare, fully conscious and trying to run but unable to move at any pace that could possibly save you.

It only takes a moment for a large hand to wrap around your ankle, dragging you underneath him. Your face hits the ground and your hands scrabble for purchase, but the dirt and sand only give way beneath your fingers. His other hand finds the wrist with the knife, squeezing tightly enough that you can feel the pain, even underneath the lingering numb, buzzing sensation. You can't feel your hand well enough to keep holding onto the knife. The pins and needles return, and tears prick at your eyes.

He knocks the knife far away from you and flips you over to look at him, dark eyes still burning with anger. "You're alive only because I let you live. Did you really think trying that was smart? Did you finally get it all out of your system, or do you want to try again?"

You try to speak, but the words get caught on the lump in your throat. A hand slams on the ground next to you, and you shrink in on yourself.

"Well?" A glimmer of satisfaction appeared in his eyes, even as his lip curled in a mixture of amusement and contempt. "I'm waiting."

It's all you can do to croak out a few apologies and look away, unable to stand his stare.

A deep chuckle resonates from his chest, and his other face grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him again. "Good enough," he croons. "Looks like it won't be so bad for you, then."

"What? What won't?" you whimper. His hand lets go of your face, drifting down to encircle your neck. Your hands instinctively wrap around his wrist, silently begging him not to squeeze.

That little mocking smile on his face widens. His hand tightens a little, and you panic for a second, but it doesn't go any further. Instead, his eyes grow distant, thinking.

They brighten up again, an idea coming to mind. He laughs quietly to himself, pulling his other hand off the ground and trailing it down your leg. "You can call me... Kunikuzushi. I think I know what I'm going to do with you now."

"Please don't hurt me," you plead, vision blurring with tears. He doesn't even look at you, instead watching his hand as he grabs your calf and pulls it up. "It's a little late for that," he hums, adjusting his grip to hold onto your ankle instead. His fingers are long enough to wrap fully around it and then some.

"I can't watch you all the time, and I need to buy myself enough time to get something to restrain you with... besides, you deserve this anyhow."

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, but with a distressing amount of ease, he twisted your ankle to the side hard enough that you could hear the pop. The pins and needles returned to that area full-force, the buzzing and numbing sensations right behind it. It didn't hurt that much, though. You could feel an ache beneath it all, but it didn't hurt as much as it should have. You were sure you could still walk on it.

Until you looked down, where it was still in his hand, twisted so far to the side that you weren't sure it would ever be the same again. It doesn't hurt that much, but your shoulders still shake and you still start to cry.

"There, there," he murmurs, dropping your ankle to stroke your hair. He leans down lower, a smile a little too sharp to be soft on his lips. "You'll be okay. I wouldn't get a pet if I couldn't take care of it."

You try to push him away. You know you need to do something about your ankle, but he only presses closer, resting more of his weight on you so thay you can't see it anymore. "It's a bit too late for that now, don't you think?" he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against yours, too eager and with too much teeth. You flail a bit, trying to push him off, but he only chuckles into the kiss, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. An arm wraps around your waist, pushing you closer.

It feels like an eternity, but soon he's sweeping you up and slinging you over his shoulder. He turns around to go back down into the canyon, and you watch Sanad's corpse disappear over the hill.

This time, you can feel him rumble with the force of his laugh.

"I'm going to have so much fun with you."