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luvendiary · 18 days ago

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aftermath / f. weasley

fred weasley x reader

summary: after the battle of hogwarts, st. mungos is left in chaos. you -amongst your other duties- are tasked with taking care and rehabilitating your former classmate, fred weasley. a/n: i got carried away with this one. i'm sorry. i cornered my med-friends, and made them tell me everyhting about how their internships work. this might be the last fic out for a short while. idk. also, for the sake of any misunderstandings, i want to say clearly that there is in fact no beauty in war. the beauty is found in the humanity regular civilians show with each other (and not the polititians who do not care about the people). warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 11k words.

There was no beauty in war.

Most people could agree on that.

You however, found that, whilst this was true, there was a twisted sort of beauty in how it pushed people to be better.

Better for the sake of others.

You found it ironic how in such desperate times, St. Mungos was flooded with speeding healers. Not to get out, but to get to the people that need them.

You felt it in the air, amidst all the despair and sadness. Something full of light, heavy and somehow the lightest thing emerging from all of this. A sort of energy that propelled you forward.

To keep on giving even when you thought you were empty yourself.

No one gives what they don’t have, you had to remind yourself as you rushed through the halls of the hospital to attend to the newly ingressed patient.

After the attack on Hogwarts, St. Mungos had become a center for chaos. Injured people were being rushed in like ants to a nest. Rooms were at double their capacity, and some of the halls had been closed off so that the healers could work on the patients lying on makeshift stretchbeds.

You were not a healer, not by any means. You had been studying to become a healer for barely two years, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

No one can give what they don’t have.

It was like a mantra, repeating in your head over and over again. You would keep giving, until you were physically unable to. You gave what you could. Your hands. Your focus. Your body, moving even when your mind lagged a half-step behind.

“Room 9,” your supervisor barked beside you, brisk and commanding in that no-nonsense tone she had adopted since the war began. “Critical injury. Blunt force trauma, internal bleeding, possible paralysis. Triage reports loss of consciousness, delayed pulse. You assist, I lead.”

You nodded once, not trusting your voice.

As you reached the double doors, you could already hear it — the noise.

Voices. Too many. A sharp argument. A stifled sob. Shuffling feet. Someone swearing softly under their breath.

You pushed into the room and stopped dead.

Red hair.

Everywhere.

A sea of it.

Some standing, others pressed tightly together in the corner — pacing, holding hands, murmuring prayers. One woman, pale with grief, clutched the arm of a man whose eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. A girl with hair the color of flame had blood on her shirt. A boy with wide shoulders and a trembling jaw stood guard at the door like he couldn’t move if he tried.

Your stomach dropped.

You recognized them.

The Weasleys.

Your supervisor didn’t falter. She pushed through the gathered crowd like a current, cutting straight to the center of the room where a stretcher floated — and on it, barely conscious and covered in dust and blood, lay Fred Weasley.

You froze. Just for a second.

The air around him buzzed with unstable spellwork — holding charms layered clumsily by field medics trying to keep him together until someone more experienced could take over. His shirt was soaked dark at the ribs. His legs hung limply. Blood trailed from his temple into his ear.

He looked nothing like the boy you remembered from Hogwarts.

And yet, it was him.

Fred.

You could still hear the echo of his laugh from the back of Charms class. Still remember how he used to lean back in his chair until Flitwick told him off. Still remember him and George — always George — like a matched set.

George.

Your eyes searched the crowd — and landed on him.

He was standing near the stretcher, face pale beneath the grime, a hand braced on the edge of the bed as if holding his twin there by force of will.

And as soon as he saw you, he stilled.

Recognition flickered behind his eyes.

You hadn’t spoken much at Hogwarts — but enough. Enough to know you were in the same year. Enough to know what Fred’s absence would do to him.

And George must have known you were here to work, because his eyes widened and he mouthed one word:

Please.

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. Then turned to your supervisor.

“I’ll clear the family.”

“Do it fast,” she replied, already lighting the tip of her wand and muttering diagnostic spells. “He’s bleeding into his abdomen. If we’re lucky, the lung’s only partially collapsed. We need space.”

You moved quickly. Efficiently. Gently laying a hand on Molly Weasley’s shoulder. She flinched, eyes wet and wild.

“I need you all to step into the hallway,” you said, your voice low and firm. “We’re going to take care of him. I promise.”

Arthur helped his wife up. Ginny followed, reluctantly. Bill put a hand on Ron’s shoulder to guide him out. You murmured reassurances, not lies, but not quite truths either.

George didn’t move.

“George,” you said firmly, stepping close. Your eyes said everything your mouth didn't have time to.

We’ll do everything we can.

His jaw clenched.

“You need to let us work.”

His gaze flickered to Fred. Then to you.

You didn’t say anything else — you just looked at him, steady and calm and holding your fear back because he couldn’t bear yours too.

Finally, he exhaled shakily and let go of the stretcher.

And as he walked out, his fingers brushed your wrist. A silent plea.

Then the door shut behind him.

And you turned back toward the stretcher.

Fred lay deathly still, face slack, breath shallow.

Your supervisor was already working, wand moving in tight, efficient arcs.

“Hold this,” she ordered, conjuring a steadying brace over Fred’s side.

You moved forward — and didn’t hesitate.

Fred Weasley was bleeding.

And you were going to make sure he didn’t die.

The days that followed the battle blurred together like smoke.

St. Mungo’s never truly slept anymore. The halls remained full, even as the chaos started to ebb. Some patients were discharged. Others were moved to long-term wards. The air still buzzed with grief, and those who worked there, yourself included, were stretched thinner than a helping flashcard for a final exam.

Healers walked like ghosts between rooms. Some hadn’t changed robes in days. Others wept silently into their sleeves when no one was watching.

You didn’t cry. Not because you weren’t exhausted. Not because you weren’t grieving. But because you couldn’t. There was no time.

After the surgery — after the bleeding was stopped and the enchantments sealed his ribs — he had been placed in a shared ward, but eventually moved to a private recovery room. Too many people knew him. Too many stared.

It became your job to monitor his potions. His pain levels. His progress.

And his silence.

He hadn’t woken up in the first three days.

His vitals were stable, but his body was worn down — more than you’d realized at first glance. When you changed the bandages across his chest, you saw the bruising from the wall that had collapsed. You saw the way his legs twitched when touched, like the nerves weren’t quite reconnecting properly.

You wrote down everything. Monitored spells. Adjusted doses. You were careful. Steady.

You also started talking to him.

Soft, pointless things. How the tea was always too bitter in the staff lounge. How the lift on the east wing kept jolting between floors. How the portraits in the hallway outside his room complained about the groaning at night.

You weren’t sure why you did it.

Maybe because silence made the wounds feel bigger. As if they hadn’t closed yet.

You were also the one who received the Weasleys when they came to visit. You kept them informed. Made sure they had water. Chairs. Tissues.

Molly Weasley cried every time she saw him. Arthur held her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him. The others came in shifts. Bill brought books and read aloud. Ron sat with his head in his hands. George never stayed long.

He lingered outside the room more than inside it. Sometimes you’d pass him in the hallway. He’d look at you — hollow-eyed — and nod. Not with familiarity. Not even with trust. Just… desperation translated into hope. The silent plea that you wouldn’t let him die.

And you hadn’t.

Fred Weasley didn’t wake on the fourth day either.

You checked his legs for movement, gently rolling the damaged joints. You administered Skele-Gro and Stabilizing Draughts. You wiped the sweat from his brow and replaced the charm on his sheets to keep them cool.

You didn’t expect the change when it happened.

It was early morning. You were doing your rounds, charting his numbers on a clipboard. Your fingers were halfway through counting his pulse when you saw his eyes flutter open.

Just a sliver. A twitch.

Then more.

He blinked blearily up at the ceiling.

You froze — your breath caught somewhere between shock and relief — before leaning forward immediately.

“Fred?”

He blinked again. Swallowed. His voice rasped like it had clawed its way out of gravel.

“...Great,” he said with effort. “An angel.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, your hand pressing lightly to your chest as your heart knocked against your ribs.

“You’re awake,” you said softly, as if saying it too loud might undo it.

“Only halfway,” he croaked, squinting up at you. “The ceiling’s still spinning.”

“It’s your brain. And the concussion.” You smiled in spite of yourself, voice tight as you checked the charm readings again. “Don’t try to flirt.

He closed his eyes, a pained crease forming between his brows. “Shame.”

That was enough to do it.

You turned your face away, biting down on the sudden stinging in your eyes. It wasn’t the flirting — not really — it was the life behind it. The voice you hadn’t heard in days. The tone that meant he was there, even if battered.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you said quickly, the words leaving you in a rush as you turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You heard him mutter something along the lines of “funny”.

You didn’t make it far. Just to the alcove near the nurse’s station — barely out of sight. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, breathing through it. You gave yourself sixty seconds. No more.

And then you wiped your face, straightened your robes, and floo-called the family.

When you stepped back into Fred’s room a few minutes later, he was still awake — barely — and trying very hard to sit up with a determined frown on his face.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, sweeping forward to place a firm hand on his shoulder. “If you strain the spellwork on your spine, I’m going to put your bed on a permanent incline.”

You noted the tension immediately — the way his fingers twitched against the blanket, the way his head turned slightly, looking for you. Like he was trying to catch his bearings through a fog. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m doing my work,” you replied.

Fred narrowed one eye at you, already slipping lower on the mattress. “You always this bossy?”

“Only with idiots who have the patience of a tea kettle.”

You could tell he was trying to suppress a smile as he turned his head away from you.

“You got a name, or should I keep calling you ‘angel’?” he said after a while.

You raised an eyebrow despite yourself and moved to the side of the bed.

“You should try resting instead of flirting,” you said, voice neutral but not unkind. “The nerve damage in your lower back was extensive. You’re straining already.”

His smirk cracked for just a second. You saw the flicker of pain behind his eyes before he blinked it away.

“So angel it is?”

You didn’t answer, instead you checked his vitals in the silence and gently charmed his pillow higher so he could lie at a better angle.

That’s when the yelling started down the hall.

You didn’t need to look.

You met them in the hall before they could burst through the door. Loud. Red-haired. And utterly frantic.

“Is he—? Can we—?” Molly Weasley’s words tangled together.

You held up a hand gently, but firmly.

“He’s awake. Talking. A little weak, but aware.”

The hallway seemed to exhale.

You continued quickly, before the relief turned into assumptions. “But—he’s not ready to go home. The impact did extensive damage to the lower part of his spine. He… can’t feel or move his legs right now.”

Silence.

You gave them a moment, then said gently, “He’ll need extensive rehabilitation. Magical therapy, possibly nerve regeneration. It’s going to be a long process.”

Arthur nodded, face pale but steady. Molly clutched at his sleeve.

You looked toward George last.

He stared at you. Jaw set, unreadable.

“Is he in pain?”

“No. We’re managing that.” You paused, then added, “He’s in good spirits.”

George swallowed. Then gave the smallest, sharpest nod you’d seen all day.

You turned to the door and opened it, stepping aside so the family could filter in.

And for the first time in days, the room wasn’t quiet.

It was full — of laughter, of tears, of hands touching shoulders and kisses to foreheads and Fred’s voice muttering, “Bloody hell, stop fussing, I’m not dead.”

You stepped back into the hall and let them have their moment.

But even as you turned away, you felt eyes on you.

And when you glanced back, Fred was looking straight at you over the shoulder of his mother.

He smiled.

You didn’t smile back.

But the tears still came.

You waited until his bruising had faded.

Until the swelling in his ribs had gone down and he could sit up without gritting his teeth. You waited until the bandages were gone, until the spells holding his bones in place no longer hummed faintly beneath his skin. Until his vitals held steady even when he laughed too hard at something George said.

And only then did you bring up the next step.

“So,” you said one morning, casually flipping through his chart. “I had a chat with your attending healer. We’re ready to begin rehabilitation. If you’re up for it.”

Fred, who had just finished muttering something rude about the texture of his breakfast porridge, perked up immediately.

“Rehab?” His eyes lit. “As in — out of this bed rehab?”

You nodded, lips twitching. “That’s part of it, yes.”

He beamed like you’d just told him the Canons were naming a stadium after him.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?”

You took a small step back as he hastily shoved aside his blanket like he was about to sprint a marathon. Of course, his legs remained stubbornly still beneath him.

He caught the look on your face and sobered slightly. “Right. Okay. Bit overconfident. But still—anything’s better than being trapped in here.”

You hesitated.

“It won’t be easy,” you said carefully, gently. “The spell damage to your spine was severe. The initial stages may not feel like progress.”

Fred gave you that same lopsided grin he’d been perfecting since he was fifteen. “I’m stubborn by genetic design.”

You arched a brow. “That’s not a medical trait.”

He winked. “It’s about to be.”

The first few days were surprisingly smooth.

He cracked jokes through the posture tests. Mocked the magical resistance bands. Named the spell-laced chair that helped him sit upright (Bertha).

You helped guide his hands when his grip shook. Stabilized his torso when he swayed too far to the left. Every time the faintest spark of sensation returned to his feet, you both looked at each other like you'd just seen magic for the first time.

But then came the harder days.

The ones where nothing changed. Where the spells didn’t tingle. Where the potions tasted metallic and useless. The days where Bertha wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he strained.

By the second week, the shine had dulled.

“Is it supposed to feel like this?” he snapped once, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as he flung the charm-assisted brace to the side. “Like I’m trying to move a mountain with my bloody eyelids?”

You didn’t flinch. But you didn’t reach for the brace, either.

You just said calmly, “Yes. That means you're doing it right.”

He exhaled hard, head falling back against the cushion. “Then why does it feel like I’m going nowhere?”

He didn’t look at you when he asked. That was new. He always looked at you.

You watched him closely. The sweat on his brow. The tension in his jaw. The way his hands — the parts of him that still worked — kept curling into frustrated fists.

“You’re not going nowhere,” you said softly. “You’re moving. It’s just slower than you want.”

“That’s rich,” he muttered. “You try sitting still for sixteen hours a day while your body forgets how to function.”

Your mouth opened — then closed again. You didn’t say anything. Not about your own long shifts. Not about the way your legs shook sometimes after standing too long in surgery. Not about the ache in your own spine from sleepless nights bent over charts.

Because that wasn’t what this was about.

This was about him.

So instead, you bent down, picked up the brace, and set it gently back on the table.

“I’ll come back in an hour,” you said, voice neutral. “We can try again. Or not. Your call.”

You turned to leave, hand on the doorknob.

Before you stepped out, his voice caught you — a little hoarse, a little small.

“I’m trying,” he said.

You looked back.

“I know,” you replied.

The next few days were measured in breaths he didn’t want to take.

Fred was trying — he was — but trying meant facing failure every morning and calling it progress. It meant forcing himself to smile through clenched teeth. It meant hearing his own voice crack when another spell failed to stimulate the nerves in his legs. It meant pretending it didn’t matter when it did. So much.

You never pushed. Not once.

You offered, instructed, encouraged — and when he got short with you, snapped at his own body like it had betrayed him, you simply nodded.

You were kind.

That made it worse.

He would’ve rather you yelled. Got mad. Shoved it back in his face that he was being impossible.

But you never did.

One afternoon, he threw the cane you’d helped him balance with across the room. It hit the far wall with a clatter and dented the plaster. He didn’t say anything after. Just stared at the space where it had landed, jaw locked, chest heaving.

You crossed the room silently, picked up the cane, and leaned it against the table.

Then you walked out.

Not angrily. Not in defeat. But like you knew — finally — he needed a moment where his failure wasn’t seen.

He hated it.

He hated how empty the room felt when you were gone. How quiet everything became. Not the good kind of quiet. Not peace.

Absence.

When you came back twenty minutes later, he didn’t look at you right away. Just muttered, “Sorry.”

You paused at the door.

“I know you are.”

That was all.

You didn’t ask anything of him. Not even an explanation.

He didn’t mean to say it — he really didn’t — but it broke loose before he could swallow it back.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Your eyes lifted, surprised, but you didn’t come closer.

He leaned back against the padded chair, exhausted and sweaty from a session that had ended in nothing but anger.

“I know I’m being… hard to work with,” he muttered, lips twisting bitterly. “And you shouldn’t have to put up with it. But you being here—” He broke off, swallowed. “It’s the best part of my day. The only part that makes me forget I can’t bloody walk.”

Silence.

He had never been a fan of silence, but he hated it now.

You walked over — not with pity, never with pity — and knelt in front of him. Carefully, deliberately. Not looking away even when he did.

“I’m not leaving.”

He looked at you then.

“I was never going to,” you said. “But I’ll give you space if you need it. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to feel this.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt. Relief. Something close to breaking.

You reached for his hand — not in sympathy, but as an anchor.

“I’ll stay,” you said. “If you keep trying.”

His fingers curled around yours, slow and tight.

“I will.”

You smiled.

“Deal.”

It changed after that.

Not all at once. Not with any dramatic shift.

You started staying longer.

Not just for rehabilitation sessions or medical charts. Not just for leg stimulations or potion rounds. You came by in the late afternoons too — when the ward had quieted and the other healers were in the break room, feet up and heads back. When the sun filtered through the windows, making Fred’s bed feel less like a sickbed and more like a quiet place to sit. To talk.

Sometimes you brought your lunch and sat cross-legged at the end of his bed. He made a game of guessing what you’d packed.

“Leftovers,” he’d say without even glancing. “Smells like disappointment and cold peas.”

You’d laugh, show him the curry your father had made the night before.

“Wrong. Smells like love and spices. Try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow I’m bribing someone in the kitchens to sneak me biscuits. I can’t keep living like this, angel.”

Once, you caught him staring at your sandwich until you tore it in half and offered him a piece.

“I don’t need charity,” he said, but took it anyway. “But I will need your father’s recipe.”

“Don’t push it, Weasley.”

Some days you’d come in later, after shifts, just to sit for a few minutes while the potions settled in his system. He noticed the lines under your eyes then. The way you stood like your spine was one wrong move away from collapsing. The way your fingers ached as you rubbed your temples.

“You’re working too hard.”

“Says the man who got crushed by a castle.”

He didn’t laugh — not right away. But his eyes crinkled. The corner of his mouth pulled.

Touché.

You told him once that your parents were worried. That your mum had written three letters in one week, asking if you were eating, sleeping, “seeing anyone — not romantically, just to talk to.” You rolled your eyes and said you were fine.

Fred looked at you for a long moment.

“You can sit with me,” he said eventually. “Whenever you need to not talk.”

You blinked.

“I mean, I’ll probably still talk,” he added, teasing again. “But you can ignore me if it helps.”

You didn’t ignore him. Not once.

He started keeping track of things. Not medically — emotionally. Like how many cups of tea you’d had that day (he scolded you if it was more than four), or what color robes you wore most often (he claimed blue made you look intimidating, “but in a hot, terrifying way”).

You began bringing small things to help pass the time.

A deck of cards. A soft, squishy ball you could toss back and forth. He caught it with both hands at first, awkward and slow, but determined.

He missed often.

You didn’t laugh. Just tossed it again.

After a few days, he got faster. Grinned when he caught it one-handed and tossed it right back with a bit of flair.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Some dignity.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

He started calling it your game. Insisted no one else was allowed to play it with him.

“It’s catch Fred. I’m pretty sure everyone has played it at one time or another.”

“When I get out, I’ll patent it and it’ll be our game.”

You showed him how to roll his shoulders without straining the rest of his torso. Sometimes, while you were talking, you’d adjust the pillow behind his back or check his leg splints mid-conversation — like it was second nature now. He’d murmur thanks, barely even noticing.

Sometimes he did notice. Like when your hands lingered a second longer than usual, or your eyes lingered on the way his freckles crept over his collarbone.

He’d glance at you.

You’d pretend not to see.

Once, during one of your evening check-ins, you found him asleep. The ball you’d brought rested at his feet. Your book — the one you’d been reading aloud on breaks — lay open beside him. His head lolled slightly toward the light, mouth parted just slightly.

You didn’t wake him.

Instead, you sat beside him in the darkened room and read aloud anyway. Just a page or two. Quiet and slow.

When you marked the spot and stood to leave, his voice broke the stillness.

“Keep reading.”

You froze.

Turned.

He didn’t open his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I sleep better when I hear your voice.”

You sat back down.

You kept reading.

And slowly, day by day, the ward stopped feeling like a ward.

It became a halfway place. A sort of purgatory between what he’d lost and what he was still learning to become.

You were part of that, now. The part that tethered him when nothing else did.

“I think if I ever walk out of here,” he said one rainy evening, as you were playing chess, “you’ll have to come with me. I would have left a part of me here if not.”

You didn’t answer right away.

He turned his head then, eyes meeting yours.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze unwavering.

“Check, Weasley,” you said finally.

He grinned, staring at you through squinted eyes.

George came by more often, now.

Not regularly. Not in any predictable rhythm. But he would appear — sometimes at dusk, sometimes midmorning, sometimes at the tail end of visiting hours — like he was still trying to get used to the idea that his brother was here. Alive. Whole in ways that defied all logic, and broken in others that logic couldn’t mend.

You always tried to give them space when he came.

You’d tidy up, pretend to be busy reorganizing potions or updating charts that didn’t need updating. Sometimes you’d quietly excuse yourself — “I’ll just step out,” — but Fred would shake his head lightly.

“You don’t have to,” he’d say.

But for George, you did.

At least at first.

The first few visits were painfully quiet. George would sit by the window, arms crossed tight across his chest, as if keeping something inside from shattering. Fred would make a comment here or there — light jokes, like pulling thread through scar tissue — and George would answer in monosyllables.

Once, when Fred made a joke about his potions tasting like troll sweat, George huffed a laugh.

It startled both of them.

Later that week, you came in to find George already sitting at the edge of the bed, one foot bouncing, staring at the game ball in his hands.

You opened your mouth to quietly leave, but Fred’s voice cut through.

“Angel,” he said simply. “Stay. Don’t ruin my progress.”

George looked up at you then. There was something almost unreadable in his expression. Like he was trying to figure out what you were to Fred, and what Fred had become since he last saw him whole.

You offered a small nod and sat in the chair across the room. Didn’t say anything. Just watched.

They talked.

It was light, and strained at times, but better. George complained about the shop. About how everything felt wrong now — too quiet, too easy, too hard, all at once.

Fred asked if he’d replaced him yet.

George rolled his eyes. “You’re irreplaceable,” he muttered. “Unfortunately.”

Fred grinned.

You looked away after that. Not because it hurt — but because it felt like something sacred.

But George noticed. He turned toward you after a pause, his voice low.

“He talks about you a lot,” he said, almost like it was nothing. “Says your tea’s awful. But you make up for it with good aim.”

Fred scoffed. “Don’t let her ego inflate. She already thinks she’s smarter than me.”

“I am smarter than you.”

George chuckled — a sound more whole than the last.

He came back more after that.

He started bringing things from the outside — magazines, Honeydukes bags, ideas for their next invention written on scraps of parchment…

You still gave them space. But less now.

Sometimes, George would stay while you worked on Fred’s stretches. You’d press on tight muscles while Fred tried not to flinch, as George recounted his day at the joke shop whilst bouncing the foam ball against the wall.

You always stayed a bit later after his visits. Not because Fred had asked you too. He wouldn’t, not knowing how thinly you were spread. But you knew he needed it. He never said anything, but the way he looked after you was confirmation enough. Eyes tired but steady.

“Thanks for staying.”

You shrugged, not looking up from the chart. “He’s your brother.”

“He’s half of me,” Fred said, and the weight of those words settled in the room.

You looked up then. You nodded, once.

George started talking to you more.

It was subtle at first — a nod that lasted a little longer, a quip aimed your way instead of just Fred. He didn’t speak to many people at the hospital, and you knew why. The weight of everything sat on his shoulders in a way that no one else could truly understand.

But he spoke to you.

“You always come back,” he said once, catching you outside the room as you wiped your hands on your robes after a shift.

You glanced up, startled. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”

George tilted his head, thoughtful. “No. I just… don’t know how you do it.”

You offered a tired smile. “I ask myself that every day.”

His eyes flicked over your face — searching again, the way he always did — before nodding once, as if satisfied.

“Fred’s different with you.”

Your stomach fluttered, unsure of how to respond.

“I mean that in a good way,” George added, shifting on his feet. “He’s... lighter. You’re good for him.”

“I don’t know if I’m good for anyone lately.”

“Tell that to the guy in there who throws a fit when you’re ten minutes late with his lunch.”

You snorted. “He’s dramatic.”

“He’s a Weasley.”

Fair enough.

After that, George started sitting closer when he visited. Sometimes he’d bring two coffees instead of one — and hand you one without comment. Other times, he’d walk with you partway through the ward when he was leaving.

You never spoke about Fred directly. But it was understood between you.

Then one day, you walked into Fred’s room late.

Only by fifteen minutes. But late nonetheless.

You looked like a wreck.

Hair half-pulled back, smudges beneath your eyes, and your usually straight posture had curled in on itself like a wilted stem. You didn’t even try to smile when you walked in — you just dropped the chart on the side table, rubbed your face with both hands, and sank into the chair by the window.

Fred watched you from the bed, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Rough day?” he asked gently.

You made a sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan.

“My mentor snapped at me in front of the full staff. One of my patients yelled because the bandages were too tight. Another cried because they didn’t want to do another round of physio. And my parents floo-called to tell me they think I should take a break. For my ‘sanity.’” You mimed air quotes. “And then I spilled pepper-up potion on my sleeve, so now I’m itchy and jittery.”

Fred raised a brow. “That’s it?”

You let out a shaky breath, a helpless smile threatening your mouth. “That’s all before lunch.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Fred reached to the side of his bed, fiddled with something out of sight — and produced the little foam ball you two used for catching practice.

He lobbed it gently toward you. You caught it on instinct.

“Ten points to the decaying healer.”

You looked up at him — half annoyed, half charmed. “You’re a menace.”

He shrugged. “Your words. Personally, I think I’m a delight.”

You tossed the ball back at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to hit you harder.”

“I’m lucky you come here at all,” he said, quieter this time.

And something in your chest pulled tight at that.

Fred watched you for another second, then patted the bed beside him.

“Come on,” he said, “five throws each. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to admit I’m objectively better looking than Lockhart.”

You snorted. “I’d rather be hexed.”

But you joined him anyway — perching at the foot of the bed, legs dangling, tossing the ball lightly back and forth. The rhythm settled something in you. Predictable. Easy. Safe.

After a while, your shoulders started to loosen.

You didn’t win the game — mostly because he cheated with a well-timed distraction — but you didn’t care. Not really.

And later, as you leaned back in the chair with your eyes half-closed, Fred watched you.

You didn’t see the way his expression softened. How his smile dropped into something quiet and sincere. How his thumb absently traced the edge of the ball in his lap, like he was holding something fragile.

He didn’t say it yet.

But he was starting to fall for you.

Perhaps he had been falling for a while now.

Hard.

Rehab had been brutal.

Fred had tried to put on a brave face. Had thrown out his usual snark when the mediwitch asked him to try the support bars again. But he’d barely lasted a minute before the tremble in his arms turned into a full collapse, knees buckling beneath him as his legs gave way.

You’d caught him before he hit the floor — arms tight around his waist, easing him back into the chair. But it had taken everything in you not to show what it felt like to watch him fall.

He didn’t say anything as you helped guide the chair back into the room.

Didn’t look at you when you adjusted the angle of his brace.

Didn’t thank you when you handed him water.

So, you gave him space.

You finished the notes in silence. Asked if he needed anything. When he shook his head, you stepped out — quietly, gently — and told yourself it was what he wanted.

You didn’t expect him to knock on the ward’s glass an hour later.

It was late. Past curfew. Most patients were asleep, and the halls had gone still.

You looked up from the chart you were reading and blinked in surprise.

Fred was sitting in the wheelchair at the door to the staff wing. Alone. Slouched slightly, with a blanket thrown haphazardly across his lap. He looked tired.

“I told the nurse I had to pee,” he said when you opened the door. “Then I bribed her with a Honeyduke’s chocolate bar from my drawer.”

You stared at him. “Fred—”

“I know. But I needed air.” His eyes flicked up to yours. “I needed you.”

The breath caught in your throat.

You stepped out into the hall.

The light was dim. The usually fluorescent lights, now a bit softer on the eyes.

You sat on the floor across the halfway, knees pressed up to your chest. He wheeled his way next to you.

He rested his forearms on the armrests, silent for a long beat.

“I’m not angry at you,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “I didn’t think you were.”

“I wanted to be. When you stepped out earlier.” His jaw flexed. “It’s easier to be angry at someone than it is to admit I’m… failing.”

You shook your head. “Fred—”

“I know. I know it takes time. I know I’m lucky to be alive. I know it could be worse. But sometimes I sit in that bed and I feel like… like my life has been cut in half and I’m meant to smile through it.”

He swallowed hard. His hands were clenched tight in his lap.

“And then you walk in and ask me what kind of soup I want, or throw a bloody ball at my head, and for a few minutes, I forget how broken I feel.”

You didn’t say anything. Just watched him.

“I don’t want you to go when it gets hard,” he continued. “I know I’ve been an arse. And I’ll probably keep being one. But if you stay... I’ll try. Even when I want to quit.”

You moved then — slowly — standing from your chair and walking the short distance to him. You crouched beside the wheelchair, resting your hand lightly on his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly.

His hand turned beneath yours, fingers curling around your wrist.

You stayed like that for a moment — quiet and steady — before you stood up and opened the door to the healer’s ward once again.

“Tea?” you offered with a small smile.

Fred snorted. “You’re an angel.”

You didn’t feel like it, not with the heavy bags beneath your eyes. “Your words, not mine.”

He drank. You did too.

And when you finally escorted him back to his room, he didn’t ask for help to the bed. He shifted himself, slowly but determined, and gave you a look that made your chest feel too full.

“Sleep well,” you said at the door.

“Only if you promise to come back tomorrow.”

“When have I not?”

You hadn’t slept much.

The night before replayed in your mind on a loop — the words he said, the way his voice had cracked just slightly, like he’d been holding that weight in his chest for too long. The way he’d looked at you like you were something steady. Something safe.

It haunted you, in the best and worst ways.

You’d turned it over again and again in your head — what he needed, what he wanted, what might help even if it didn’t feel like help at first.

By the time morning came, you’d made up your mind.

You found your senior healer in the apothecary wing, elbow-deep in the delicate task of rebalancing nerve-healing draughts. You waited until she was done pouring and cleared your throat softly.

“I think Fred Weasley might be ready to go home,” you said, voice quiet but certain.

She looked at you over her spectacles. “You think so?”

“He’s physically ready. The wounds are closed, and he’s managing his pain. The paralysis won’t change overnight, but he’s stable. Emotionally…” You hesitated. “He needs to be around his people. Somewhere familiar. I think it’s the next step in his recovery.”

She was silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Bring it up. If the family agrees and we can organize home support, I’ll sign off.”

And just like that, the idea was real.

You had no idea how Fred would take it.

He’d said he wanted you to stay. That he didn’t want to face the hard parts without you. And yet… you couldn’t ignore the spark that lit in his eyes whenever George showed up. Or the fact that no matter how steady you were, there were things family could give that you couldn’t.

So, you walked back through the familiar halls, ready to talk to him.

You didn’t expect the smell of burning toast.

The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sound became — clattering, muffled curses, and something that suspiciously resembled a pan hitting the floor.

You paused in the doorway.

Fred was sitting in his chair, grinning like a madman, a lopsided apron tied around his waist. George was by the counter in the little kitchenette of the room, waving a dishrag like a flag and coughing dramatically.

“I said keep an eye on the toast, not burn it!” Fred barked, laughing.

“I was multitasking!” George wheezed.

There was a bowl of eggs that had definitely once been scrambled, but were now a strange rubbery texture which you were sure was not edible to anything with a pulse. A pan full of what may have once been tomatoes sizzled on the stovetop, and there were suspicious splashes of something orange on the wall.

You couldn’t help it — you burst out laughing.

Fred looked over and caught you in the doorway. His eyes brightened immediately.

“Just in time for breakfast!”

“Did you set something on fire?” you asked, stepping in and surveying the kitchen.

“Technically no,” Fred said. “Everything was contained. There was a brief emotional fire when George forgot the salt—”

“Emotional fire?” George scoffed. “You threw a spoon at me!”

You were still laughing as you shook your head, brushing a stray curl back from your face.

“I was actually coming to talk to you about something,” you said, glancing toward Fred as you moved to open the window and let some of the smoke out.

Fred turned toward you, wiping his hands on the apron. “This sounds serious.”

“It’s not bad.” You leaned against the windowsill. “I think you might be ready to go home.”

George froze, halfway through peeling a very sad-looking banana.

Fred’s smile faded. Not immediately, but gradually, like sunlight slipping behind a cloud. “Home?”

You nodded, keeping your voice steady. “You’re strong enough. We’d set up home care, rehab would continue with a specialist visiting daily. Your family’s willing. It’d… be a change of pace. Maybe help.”

Fred was quiet.

You could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“I thought you said you weren’t going anywhere,” he said, not unkindly.

Your throat tightened, but you managed a small smile. “I’m not. You are. And I think it'll help you. You need a familiar space. A burnt breakfast every morning if that’s what it takes.”

He looked down at his hands.

You didn’t press.

Instead, you gave them a soft nod. “I’ll let you two talk. Take your time. I’ll check back in later.”

You stepped back, gently shutting the door behind you.

You didn’t go far — just outside the room, where you leaned against the wall and tried not to feel like the rug had been tugged from beneath you. It had been your idea. You knew it was right. And yet… it ached.

Inside, you could hear their voices, lower now, more serious.

You couldn’t make out the words, but you could imagine.

And still, even through the ache, a small part of you smiled.

Because for all the setbacks and scars and late-nights… Fred was alive.

And he was loved.

And you had helped him get here.

That, you reminded yourself, was more than enough

The last night in the ward was a quiet one.

Too quiet.

You had made your rounds as usual, marking notes on your clipboard, double-checking potion times, restocking bandages. Most of the long-term patients were asleep or sedated. Those who weren’t were staring blankly at the ceiling, or out the windows, waiting for morning.

Waiting for something to change.

Fred was scheduled to go home just after breakfast. You were told the Weasleys would be arriving early. Arthur had insisted on it, claiming Molly wouldn’t sleep a wink until they had him under their roof. George had promised pancakes. Ginny had apparently insisted on bringing tea from her personal stash.

You’d smiled when you heard all of that.

You weren’t smiling now.

You stood outside Fred’s room with your hand on the door for a good thirty seconds before you pushed it open.

He was already awake.

Sitting in bed, propped up on one elbow, staring down at his lap. His hair was slightly damp from a recent wash. The tray of food you’d left earlier sat untouched on the small rolling table near his side.

The air felt strange. Still, but tense. Like a storm brewing in reverse.

You tried to keep your voice light. “That porridge must be particularly bad today for it to be untouched.”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped in, setting your clipboard down gently. “Mind if I do your check-up now?”

He just shrugged. A single shoulder, lifted without effort or interest.

You moved quietly. Checked his vitals. His pulse. Asked if he’d been feeling lightheaded, any sharp pain, nausea. He gave one-word answers or nodded. Didn’t meet your eyes once.

You tried again, a little smile tugging at your lips. “Tomorrow, first thing, you get to breathe real air. Try not to miss the smell of antiseptic too much.”

Still nothing.

You exhaled softly. “Alright. I’ll just—”

“I’m angry.”

The words came suddenly — not snapped, but solid. Firm.

Your hands stilled over the cuff you’d just fastened around his arm. You looked up, heart slipping sideways.

“I can tell,” you said quietly.

Fred’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“I talked to my senior. I had to—”

“I didn’t say ask her. I said me.”

The silence stretched.

You straightened slowly, lowering your hand and giving him your full attention. “My work is to take care of you. To do what’s in your best interest. You’ve been needing this — your family.”

He finally looked at you. There was no humor in his eyes now. Just something sharp and tired and burning underneath.

“I meant what I said,” he told you. “About not walking out of here whole.”

You tried to diffuse it with a small smile. “Technically, you're not walking anywhere. Not yet, anyway.”

But the moment the joke left your mouth, you wished you hadn’t said it.

Fred didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk.

Instead, he turned his face away. “You always do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Make it easier for you. Easier for me. Like if we don’t say it out loud, it won’t hurt as much.”

There was a long, full pause.

You crossed your arms, pressing your lips together for a moment. Then said quietly, “I am sorry you’re angry. But I’m not sorry for doing what was best for you. That’s my job, Fred.”

He let out a humorless breath. “I don’t need a specialist. I don’t need more strangers in white coats. I need you.”

You looked down at your hands. “I can’t be with you all the time.”

“I’m not asking for all the time,” he said, frustrated now. “I just don’t want it to be work for you. Because it sure as hell was not just rehabilitation for me. ”

You felt your chest tighten.

“I don’t want to go back to waking up without anyone to talk to,” he went on, voice quieter now. “Or being told how to feel about everything. You… you just sat with me. Even when I was a mess. Especially when I was a mess.”

“I only did what anyone would’ve done—”

“No, you didn’t.”

The words cracked like a whip.

You looked up. His eyes were glassy, but there were no tears. Just weight.

“No one stayed the way you did,” he said. “George tries, and I love him for it, but he’s grieving too. My mum walks in and sees me as a boy again. The rest of the world looks at me and sees someone who should be dead.”

His hand clenched on the blanket. “But you… you looked at me like I was still me. Even when I wasn’t sure I was.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t. You stepped closer, sat gently on the edge of the bed.

“I’m scared,” he said after a moment, the anger softening into something quieter. “And I don’t want to be scared alone.”

You reached out and, for the first time that night, let your hand rest on his.

“I’ll visit,” you said. “I’ll owl before I come. I’ll check in. I’ll bring that ridiculous throwing ball if you want me to.”

Fred sniffed. “I hate that ball.”

You gave a small smile. “I thought it was supposed to be our game.”

He chuckled. “Alright,” he said. “But I’m holding you to it. You’ll come by.”

“Regularly.”

“And you won’t make it weird.”

“When have I ever?” you replied, though you avoided his eyes as you smiled.

Fred laughed again, for real this time.

You sat there in the soft glow of the moonlight slipping in through the high window, your fingers still resting against his knuckles.

You’d get up in a moment. You’d finish your rounds. He’d leave in the morning.

But just for a moment longer, you both let yourselves sit with the anger. With the ache. With whatever was happening between you two. With this thing that didn’t demand answers, just presence.

It took you two weeks to go.

Not for lack of invitation. Fred had owled the day after he left St. Mungo’s — his handwriting barely legible, the ink smudged in spots like he’d pressed too hard. He said the house was loud, chaotic, smelled like cinnamon and broom polish. Said George had already stolen his pillow and Ginny threatened to hex his tea if he kept bossing people around.

He signed it simply: "Still waiting for that visit. Don’t make me throw the ball at myself."

You had smiled, reread it three times, then folded it neatly and tucked it into your coat pocket like it was something fragile.

But still, it took you a week.

Because seeing someone in a sterile room under white sheets was different from seeing them home.

Because something about crossing that threshold — stepping into his world instead of him being tucked away in yours — felt… enormous.

But you went.

The walk up to the Burrow was just as strange and crooked as you remembered from childhood stories. Smoke curling from the chimney. Gnomes scampering under hedges. Someone laughing somewhere near the garden.

The front door was already open when you reached it.

You raised your hand to knock anyway.

“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you again.”

Fred’s voice floated from the sitting room.

You turned, startled, and there he was — wheeling into view from the corner, dressed in a soft jumper, his hair slightly mussed like he’d been trying to fix it and given up halfway. He looked better. Healthier. Not completely healed. His movements were still stiff, one hand resting over his leg like it didn’t quite belong to him, but the color in his face was warmer. There was light in his eyes again.

“Still dramatic, I see,” you said.

He smirked. “Only on Mondays.”

“It’s Thursday.”

“Then you’re lucky.”

You stepped inside slowly, blinking at how the house seemed to breathe. It wasn’t just lived in — it was loved in. Blankets strewn on couches. Socks tucked half under the coffee table. A plant hanging sideways from a bent curtain rod.

You smiled. “It looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“It almost has. Several times,” Fred said cheerfully. “Mum says if the magic ever gives out, we’re going down with it.”

He motioned to a chair. You sat, smoothing your coat. He watched you carefully, without saying anything for a minute too long.

Then, “You look tired, angel.”

“Work didn’t stop when you left.”

“I’d like to think I was more than work.”

You smiled, then looked away, your fingers curling together in your lap. “I wasn’t sure if I should come. I didn’t want to… overstep.”

Fred tilted his head. “Why would you think that?”

“I’ve seen people leave St. Mungo’s and never want to look back. Sometimes they don’t want reminders. Or… witnesses.”

Fred’s expression softened.

“You’re not a witness,” he said. “You’re a person I want around.”

Your throat tightened slightly.

Before you could answer, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs.

George appeared, hair damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He paused when he saw you, one brow raising like he wasn’t expecting you so soon.

You waved. “Hi, George.”

He gave a nod that wasn’t unfriendly, just slightly cautious. “Hey.”

Then he looked at Fred. “Mum’s finishing lunch. You want to come into the kitchen?”

Fred glanced at you, then back to his brother. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

George didn’t say anything for a second, but then he nodded again and turned to go.

“See? I’m a reminder.”

“He’s just figuring you out,” Fred said. “You scare people. In a good way.”

You huffed. “I’d say the ward lights wash me out. Make me look sick rather than scary.”

“Intimidating,” he deadpanned. “Truly terrifying.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, softer: “I missed you.”

You looked up, your throat suddenly thick again. “It’s only been two weeks.”

“I know.” Fred gave a small shrug, his fingers picking absently at a loose thread on the arm of his chair. “Still felt too long.”

The moment hovered before you offered a soft smile, one he returned, a little lopsided, a little shy. For all his wit, for all his easy humor, Fred could still be earnest in a way that tugged at something deep beneath your ribs.

You leaned back in your seat. “The owl helped.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “I kept it. It’s still in my coat pocket.”

Fred leaned back on his chair. “I knew I would grow on you eventually.”

“Hard not to, Weasley.”

There was a pause, but this one was comfortable — filled with the low hum of magic in the walls, distant clinking from the kitchen, and the occasional thump of someone moving overhead. You watched as Fred’s gaze drifted to the window beside him. Sunlight spilled in, catching the faint auburn in his hair and warming the pale skin of his cheek. He looked peaceful, or as close to it as you’d ever seen him.

You opened your mouth to speak — maybe to ask how he’d really been sleeping, maybe to admit how strange it was to be here and feel like you’d never left — when George’s voice rang out again.

“Oi, you staying for lunch?”

You startled slightly, blinking as you registered the words.

Fred looked smug.

“I was getting to it,” he called back.

There was a muffled snort, followed by the unmistakable clatter of a spoon hitting the floor. Someone — possibly Ron — swore loudly in the background. You could just barely hear Molly’s exasperated “Language!” echoing from the kitchen.

Fred turned back to you. “So? Are you staying?”

It was a loaded question, as if there was more on the table than just food. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Fred’s eyes didn’t waver.

“You know you’re not.”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where you could still hear soft chatter and the scrape of chairs.

“I didn’t bring anything,” you said, a little lamely. “Not even dessert.”

The Burrow became a second home before you ever realized it.

At first, you had thought your visits would taper off — that Fred would settle into his recovery and you’d fall back into your usual rotations, long days at St. Mungo’s, long nights collapsing into bed. But somehow, your feet always found their way to the crooked path leading to the Weasleys’ door.

The first time you arrived uninvited — with an old book under your arm and half a plan to read it in Fred’s room while he ignored the pages and made sarcastic commentary — no one batted an eye. Molly had handed you a mug of tea, murmured, “You’re in time for supper,” and Arthur had already started setting another place at the table.

From then on, it just… kept happening.

You were there for Ginny’s birthday in August. She roped you into a backyard Quidditch match you had absolutely no business participating in, and you nearly tripped over a garden gnome during takeoff. Fred hadn’t stopped laughing about it for a week. You threw cake at him in retaliation. George joined in for the second round.

You were there when Bill brought his daughter to visit and introduced her to the whole family for the first time. Fleur had insisted on brushing her hair while you held her, and Fred had whispered, “You’d be terrifying with one of your own.”

You’d arched a brow. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

He’d shrugged, trying not to smile. “Blame the baby. They bring out my softer side.”

And then there was the summer afternoon that stuck in your mind long after it ended.

It was late July, the sky a pale, hazy blue, and the garden buzzing with lazy bees and bursts of laughter. Someone — likely Percy — had enchanted the radio to play soft jazz, and you were lying on a blanket in the grass with your shoes off and your head tipped back to soak in the sun. Fred sat a few feet away, sketching patterns in the dirt with his wand and occasionally flicking it toward unsuspecting gnomes. His legs were stretched out in front of him, slightly stiff but stronger — the kind of stronger that came from months of stubbornness and sheer grit.

“Reckon I could walk to the shed,” he mused aloud.

You turned your head toward him. “That shed is a death trap. Pick a different goal.”

He looked over at you. “Fine. Walk to you, then.”

You raised a brow, amusement curling in your chest. “That the new benchmark?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, then grinned. “It’s always been the benchmark.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

That was the summer you started leaving a toothbrush at the Burrow.

You stopped knocking when you came in. Molly started calling your name when she needed help peeling potatoes. Ginny nicked your nail polish. Arthur grinned every time you brought up something Muggle-related just to watch his eyes light up with curiosity.

And Fred… Fred started asking if you’d be there tomorrow before you’d even said goodbye for the night.

By autumn, your jumper was hanging on a hook by the kitchen door. Halloween arrived with carved pumpkins bobbing in the orchard and enchanted skeletons that chased Ron around the kitchen. You helped Molly string bewitched cobwebs over the windows while Fred supervised from just outside the kitchen, providing you with the most useless kind of commentary. George charmed every apple in the bobbing barrel to shriek like banshees, and you caught Fred watching you laugh.

Somewhere, as the weather became colder, the space you took up in the house shifted— from guest to something else entirely. Not official or labeled. But known. When Fred was too sore to come down for breakfast, you were the one Molly handed the tray to without being asked.

When Christmas came, you received a handmade jumper with your initial stitched in gold thread.

When New Year’s arrived, they asked you to bring your family.

You hadn’t expected it, honestly. You’d mentioned your parents once or twice, but never in detail. Still, the invitation came in the form of a cheerful note from Molly, complete with a floo address, a time, and a subtle but unmistakable, “We’d love to meet the people who raised you.”

Your parents came. It was awkward at first, your mother clutching a tin of biscuits like a peace offering, your father blinking at the enchanted cookware, but quickly swept into the warmth of the Burrow like they belonged there. Arthur cornered your dad to discuss plug sockets. Your mum helped Ginny in the kitchen and was thoroughly impressed by her wandwork with icing.

And you?

You found Fred near the edge of the living room, watching the chaos unfold with a fond sort of exasperation.

“You made it,” he said, straightening when he saw you.

“Of course I did,” you said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He was standing — with a fair bit of effort — but standing nevertheless. He leaned slightly against the frame of the door, a cane in one hand and something careful in the way he held himself.

You blinked at him, taking it in. “Fred…”

“It’s New Year’s,” he said casually. “Figured I’d start it standing.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you crossed the room slowly, until you reached him. Your hands snaked around his waist, steadying him without making it obvious.

He glanced down at you, expression unreadable for a moment, before a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you said softly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

“Hi.” His voice was warm. Steady, despite the cane in one hand and the slight tremor in his knee.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could hear George laughing behind you, the low thrum of the wireless switching into something slow and familiar. Fred’s fingers twitched at his side, his eyes flicking briefly toward the center of the room where Arthur had just pulled Molly into a waltz that was more affection than grace.

“Dance with me?” he asked.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

He tilted his head, mock-offended. “Are you saying no?”

“I’m saying your Healer’s going to be very cross with you if you faceplant into the soup.”

Fred snorted. “Good thing she’s off-duty tonight.” His voice dropped just a little. “And mine, apparently.”

You stared at him for a second longer, then held out your hand.

He took it without hesitation.

You helped him into the center of the room. His free hand found your waist with surprising familiarity, and your arm curled lightly around his shoulder, careful of the still-healing muscle beneath his jumper.

The music was slow. A string-heavy tune that didn’t require any real movement, just soft swaying and shared breath.

Fred leaned in slightly. “You’ll have to do most of the work.��

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you murmured.

That earned you a grin.

You swayed together, the world narrowing a little. Not in a dizzying way, but rather in a peaceful one. Like all the noise of the Burrow, all the flying candles and floating paper stars and loud Weasley laughter, had dropped to a quiet hum.

“This is nice,” Fred said eventually, his chin brushing your temple.

“It is.”

“Mum’s probably getting suspicious.”

You blinked, drawing back just enough to see his face. “Suspicious of what?”

He smirked. “That you’re not just performing healer duties anymore.”

You laughed, quick and involuntary, your forehead pressing briefly to his chest. “You think?.”

He hummed.

“What makes you say that?”

“You keep showing up for one,” he whispered back.

You laughed and carefully ran your fingers through his hair. You decided against reminding him how he would owl you every time you went more than two days without visiting.

“I think the way you kept making mistletoe appear under every door during Christmas and kissing me, might have tipped her off as well.”

He grinned down at you.

You bit back a smile. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Fred pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I know.”

The music faded, replaced by a more upbeat tune, and someone behind you — George, by the sound of it — whooped loudly and dragged Percy into a clumsy two-step.

You started to step away, but Fred’s hand held firm at your waist.

“Don’t let go just yet,” he said.

“So you like me too,” you teased, but didn’t pull away.

Fred gave you a look, one of those crooked, lopsided half-smiles that always seemed to undo you a little. Mischief around the eyes, affection under the surface.

“I’ve been told it’s fairly obvious.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? By whom?”

“Mum. George. Ginny. That one weird mirror upstairs that whispers truths when you walk past it too fast—”

You snorted. “That thing’s cursed.”

“Cursed and correct,” he said, grinning.

Your heart tugged, just a little, at the ease of it all. The comfort. The slow, stubborn way he folded you into his life and refused to let you back out.

“And here I thought you were just using me for my medical expertise,” you said lightly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Fred said, mock-serious. “The way you check my bandages? Riveting. Can’t get enough.”

You stayed there with him in the middle of the room, just swaying a little to music that no longer matched your pace, his cane braced lightly against the side of your foot, your arms looped around each other like muscle memory.

And then, with the timing of someone who’d clearly been lurking and waiting for it, George called from across the room: “Oi! Should we start planning the wedding now, or are you still pretending this is about physical therapy?”

Fred didn’t miss a beat. “It’s intensive therapy, George. Leave us be.”

You giggled, pressing a hand against Fred’s chest and helping him reach for his cane.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” you murmured.

“I do,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

Fred took the cane from you with practiced ease, but didn’t move right away. His hand lingered at your waist, thumb brushing a small, absent pattern against your side.

“C’mon,” he said at last, nodding toward the doorway. “Let’s go before George ropes Percy into a conga line again.”

You smiled and moved with him, matching your steps to his pace without thinking. You’d long since stopped counting it as effort.

Just as you reached the edge of the room, he paused, fingers still laced loosely with yours.

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

“Thanks for showing up,” he said.

You tilted your head, sneaking your arms around his waist once again. This time, stepping on your tippy-toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“When have I not?”

That made him smile. He pulled you closer by the waist and pressed a kiss on your jaw, which tickled you.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

You didn’t say anything back. Not because you didn’t have a thousand things you could’ve said, but because in that moment, none of them needed saying.

#x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred gideon weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #harry potter x reader #george weasley #hogwarts x reader #golden trio era

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sxorpiomooon · 5 months ago

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What do people from your professional setting/career think of you?

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Pile 1-

OOO very mysterious yet magnetic. Someone who's very reserved yet people constantly want to be close to you or be able to understand you I keep hearing "get a piece of you" haunted by beyonce is playing in my head. People might also feel like you are someone who hides alot or has alot of secrets and might always want a piece with it however this somehow just makes them respect you even more. Alot of people have their noses in your business and might evesdrope. Moon might be prominent in your S10 chart I'm seeing 1h or 8h cancer asc? Sun rahu grahan yog in some manner. I also think you don't talk much and are reserved however people naturally seem to look up to you perhaps this is due to your magnetic presence. People in your professional setting might also not have any idea of what or how you are like in your personal spaces? It's something that's very hard for them to imagine I'm seeing. They might see you as someone who's to the point and is only there to get their job done. Mostly focused on themselves and the job that they're supposed to do and indifferent to everyone and everything else.

Pile 2-

the first thing I got was virgo and then what my cards say is that people might misunderstand you alot at first not because of you but because of them? Like I just see that they will fear you already when you meet them therefore causing misinterpretations or confusions. They think of you as someone who's very quick to get things done you might be very excellent at tackling positions I'm seeing mars exalted or mars in 6h? You guys might be good in management positions as well I just see you guys storming in and getting everything done. Very quick do you guys wear heels alot or is it a metaphor. Someone who's constantly doing something or achieving something I'm constantly seeing moments "jesus does she ever chill" is what I heard. You will have alot of people working under you in the future if not now. Someone who's always on the feet sort of like if there's a problem everyone will just stare at you because they known you'll get it done.

Pile 3-

People have alot of thoughts about you I can tell even before you are there however people might be too quick to judge you or might not take you seriously at first? This might be because of your age or like you being the only woman in the workplace there is some sort of inequality that you guys might have to face and you might have people taking advantage of you because of that but it's because you'll achieve alot at a young age? This pile also has alot of people that really don't want to work? You guys should travel this is random but currently this pile should just live I'm genuinely not getting anything about a job I just feel like this pile will have a turn in their life where they might give up on these things and just learn to have fun. This pile has some cool ass people tho I see you guys travelling alot in the future and making alot of friends also self employed.

Pile 4-

The outsmarter, the mastermind, the one who wins above everything and everyone. It's like you win in the end and you manage to find your way in situations people wouldn't even survive in. You are also someone who is able to just find a way? I see people just being so impressed by you. This pile might only rarely receive compliments and it's not because you don't do good work but because you literally leave people stunned. There is alot of jealousy too like people see what you do and they are just stunned because it never occurred to them to do that. Your mind works in ways they cannot even comprehend of. This pile is filled with leaders that are visionaries and are always able to see the bigger picture. Alot of times people might also feel like you are betraying them or harming them in some way? Like you are too clever but cmon manipulation is also intelligence. You are also someone who has been through alot yet has managed to secure this position. Sun rahu conjunction in a water sign in 1h.

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puppetmaster13u · 2 years ago

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Prompt 102

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. In for ten seconds, out for eight. Alright. Okay. “Let me get this straight,” he didn’t motion to the three teens- or not teens even if two apparently looked like they were- but it was a close thing. “You-”

Phantom perked up, white hair flickering with what he was pretty sure were stars as they turned away from the window looking out into space. “-are two years old.” The fae-esque being who looked more like a fourteen year old gave a half-distracted nod. Which, for a toddler, they were paying attention pretty well.

“You-” Klarion looked up from where he was fiddling with the cuffs that had been on him, cat sprawled on his shoulder now that it was out of the carrier. “-are six?” Another distracted nod, the apparently-child seemingly enamored with the sounds the cuffs made when they clinked together.

“And you-” He turned towards Marvel, who shrank back before seemingly steeling themself. “-are in fact ten.” The… well they had thought demigod but apparently all three were some sort of realms-being, which had apparently made Constantine pale and start cursing before stomping out of the Watchtower. Another nod and shaky thumbs up.

Alright. Okay. They had in fact let a ten-year old join the league, which wouldn’t have been so bad if they had known. Especially the fact that apparently Marvel was only half-human, which suddenly explained so much about how he didn’t know so many things about a human life. Which-

“You,” he turned towards Phantom again to make sure he was listening before returning his attention to Marvel. “And you have both lived at least a year in the human realm with human companions, but your-” He turned his gaze towards the ravenette in the center. The six year old apparently. “-experience with the human realm is literally just with the Light.”

Yet another distracted nod. Okay. Bruce was tempted to scream in a room for the entire situation that had cropped up from the single action of taking Klarion’s familiar and then the boy himself into custody. Then again, it was honestly a much better thing they had apparently caught this.

“Alright,” he sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. “To make sure I have all of this correct-” Because it was already a shitshow and the amount of shouting had absolutely spooked the child. To the point he’d- according to Marvel- made what was apparently some sort of very distressed noise that had made both him and Phantom running. Or rather flying and portaling.

“-in the realms, people there make friends through fighting,” Bruce pauses to make sure he got that part correct. The origin of this entire misunderstanding with the chaos-lord. Lordling?

All three nodded, Klarion losing interest in the cuffs and starting to pet his cat. Familiar. Everyone had referred to it as a familiar and Marvel had appeared utterly horrified that they had taken said familiar away. Somehow he was the one the trio were currently trusting and weren’t doing the same towards any of the other league members.

“And you have been trying to make friends with the Jr team, which they have been taking as an attack due to this miscommunication.” Honestly they should have gotten more information, though he couldn’t exactly blame any of the teens, what with everything they were currently dealing with.

“... is there any sort of guardian or something you might have, that can be contacted? Or anyone that could help prevent a situation like this from happening again?” All three avoided his eyes, suddenly finding things like the table and walls very interesting.

Oh. Hm. This could be a problem.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #Bruce is so done #Danny: I would have a guardian but the observants locked him up in his clocktower 'cause he used to date the king #Marvel: Does Tawny count?? Like he's a tiger but he also talks and is sapient...#Klarion: Mother Chaos is busy so dropped me off in this world to play #Bruce: Oh no #Bruce already filling out temporary custody papers: Oh No #Bruce: Do any of you know how to do human things #Danny: Oh my human caretakers were mad scientists-#Bruce: OH NO #Marvel: Oh when I'm smaller the street kids help me out #Bruce grabbing a blanket: OH NO #Klarion: I am doing good at being human a completely normal thing to want a good grade in #Bruce already bundling them up: OH NO #They all have familiars lmao #Klarion has Teekl the cat #Danny has Cujo the dog #Billy has Tawny the tiger #JL in the other room having a breakdown or five #Why yes they were fighting a literal child #And yes apparently they did let in another child and literal toddler #Danny: Hold on can I at least get my sister before we go anywhere #Bruce: Hnnnn #His kids are going to laugh at him for bringing home 4 kids

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cazshmere · 10 months ago

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12th House Synastry and the Blockages Faced in the Relationship (Planet Overlays)

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER‼️: This explanation is mainly from the perspective of the planet person, but the feelings and experiences described might also resonate with the house person. Both sides may find some relevance in these observations. Please note that this focus is solely on the negative outcomes of these synastry placements. There are undoubtedly beautiful and positive elements that can arise from these connections as well so take these with a grain of salt. These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!!

Sun ☀️ : With this synastry, the Sun person feels that their true personality is restricted or blocked. They don’t understand why or how the house person perceives them in a way that is far from who they actually are. Sensing the house person’s apprehension towards them, they might try “switching personalities” to appeal to or be accepted by the house person, driven by a need to please them. The Sun person feels misunderstood and is unsure why the house person doesn’t see them the way they want to be seen. The sun person could also be some sort of enemy disguised as a friend to the house person.

Moon 🌙 : With this synastry, the Moon person’s true feelings and intentions may seem hidden or concealed for various reasons. The Moon person might feel the need to put up a front to appeal to the house person and gain their acceptance. This can also manifest as the Moon person harboring negative feelings towards the house person but pretending to enjoy their company, reflecting the restriction of their true emotions. This dynamic can lead to a lack of genuine emotional connection and increase misunderstandings. A lot of jealousy also comes into play with this synastry

Mercury 🗣️ : As I'm focusing more on the negative side of this synastry, I have to point out that this is a major red flag placement 💀💀. Communication, which is crucial in any relationship, is significantly blocked here. The Mercury person might withhold their thoughts and intentions due to fear of how the house person will react. This could also involve the Mercury person bad-mouthing the house person or even snitching on them, while putting up a front and pretending to be all buddy-buddy with them. With communication being a barrier, this can also manifest as a language barrier or misunderstandings between the two, leading to further communication problems.

Venus 🩵 : Ahh, the planet of love being in the 12th house 😭—very iffy. With this placement, love is literally blocked in this synastry due to unfortunate circumstances. This could mean that the Venus person doesn't know how to be lovey-dovey with the house person and ends up being rude, though in a more playful way, as Venus tends to be gentler. The Venus person might feel that the house person won’t accept their love and as a result starts “teasing” or “playfully bullying” them as a subtler way of expressing themselves. Since the Venus person can’t externally express their love, they turn these feelings inward, leading to the creation of fake scenarios. In these scenarios, they are genuinely expressing their love for the house person, and what plays out in these fake scenarios is what they actually want to portray in real life but are somehow unable to. The venus person also feels that the house person might not understand the way they love and that’s why they end up not expressing themselves openly and that’s where unrequited feelings and love occurs. You will never know unless you try right?

Mars ❤️‍🔥 : Lmao, this one is the most interesting! As we know, Mars is the planet of initiation and motivation. When Mars falls in the 12th house, it blocks any chance for progression - be it physically, mentally or emotionally. Mars is a very instinctual planet, and being placed in the 12th house can lead to confusion about their true instincts. The Mars person might doubt themselves and try to pull back to avoid overstepping any “boundaries”but the mars person often takes the idea of "overstepping boundaries" a bit too literally and ends up not making any move at all. Contact is blocked. This has to be one of the worst synastries because if contact itself is blocked, how can a relationship even be formed? It blocks all the areas such as the development of love, feelings, communication, etc.

Jupiter 🧿 : This placement is comparatively easygoing, but as we focus on the hindrances in this synastry, it can present some challenges. Jupiter represents expansion and abundance, but when it falls into the 12th house, it amplifies themes related to spirituality, mysticism, spirituality, etc. While one of Jupiter’s natural traits is the art of bringing joy and luck into wherever it lands, this can manifest as the Jupiter person bringing immense joy and luck to the house person. However, the Jupiter person might come across as excessively optimistic, which the house person may find confusing or overwhelming. This difference in outlook can leave the Jupiter person feeling let down because the house person doesn’t share their perspective or beliefs. As a result, the Jupiter person might hold back their optimism and viewpoints to better ‘connect’ with the house person on a higher level.

Saturn 🪐 : With this synastry, discipline and structure are blocked. The Saturn person may feel off balance and unstable when they’re with the house person. The house person might have a very fluid and mutable way of living, which is probably something the Saturn person struggles with or entirely opposes. However, with 12th house synastry, there is often a need for pleasing and acceptance from both parties. As a result, the Saturn person might bend their own rules and try to go with the house person's “flow,” but they won’t feel comfortable doing so because it creates a sense of imbalance in their life.

Neptune 🧜🏼‍♀️ : This placement is quite tricky and can be confusing. Neptune, the planet of dreams and illusions, falls in the 12th house, which can block a clear sense of reality. The Neptune person might find their ability to perceive the house person’s true nature clouded, leading to misunderstandings or unrealistic expectations. The house person may feel like their true self is hidden or misunderstood, and the Neptune person could struggle with setting clear boundaries or distinguishing between fantasy and reality. This can create a foggy dynamic where both parties have a hard time grasping the other’s true intentions and feelings.

Pluto ⚡️: This placement can be intense and transformative, but it also comes with its hurdles. Pluto is all about transformation and power, and in the 12th house, it blocks the ability to fully experience or enact personal change. The Pluto person may find it difficult to navigate deep transformations within the relationship, leading to feelings of being stuck or unable to evolve. This can manifest as unresolved issues or hidden power struggles. The house person might struggle to understand or support the Pluto person's need for transformation, leading to a dynamic where growth feels obstructed and hidden tensions simmer beneath the surface.

Uranus 🛸 : This placement brings a unique set of challenges. Uranus represents uniqueness and innovation, but when it falls in the 12th house, it blocks the ability to fully express or embrace individuality. The Uranus person might feel stifled or unable to showcase their unique qualities in the relationship, leading to feelings of frustration or alienation. They might struggle with feeling accepted for who they truly are, and their innovative ideas or unconventional traits could be suppressed. This can cause the Uranus person to feel disconnected from the house person, who may not fully appreciate or understand their uniqueness.

banner/pic credit : @/crisscreen and @/only-ranpo

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x--sinner--x · 2 months ago

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"Sir, I have never been fucked. Like I am sort of scared of physical intimacy. I am not fat or anything and I actually have a good body. I want to have sex and when I read your posts I just want to have sex even more. I wish you could write something for a virgin inexperienced reader. Like being taught about stuff. And I know for a fact that I am very submissive. Reading your posts makes me want to be tied up and be underneath someone, where he is just exploring my body eating my pussy and nipples."

Training Session

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I was hoping for a fresh start when I moved to this town and got my job as a professor at this prestigious university. Everything was normal, I was enjoying my life with my wife and 2 kids.

But then, like any normal household, arguments creeped in. I was constantly arguing with my wife and found myself in the university overtime, hoping to get some peace. I didn't think it would take a turn for the worse sooner or later.

I have to admit, the arguments with my wife wasn't new to me. It used to happen even before I got here, but those were minor misunderstandings, and I solved it using sex. I am a very sexual person and it kind of worked out in my favour. But since I moved here, the arguments weren't misunderstanding, but more serious (about money, kids, and other random things), and the sex didn't help. Slowly it had got to the point we were ignoring each other and sleeping in separate beds, acting like good parents to our kids who were dependent on us.

It all started when I was doing my routine term end paper grading (yes overtime at the university), and one paper caught my eye. This girl knew the answers to the questions, but had somehow given the wrong answers. Her wrong answers were not due to misremembering things or even being confused. It was an deliberate attempt to fail. I was the professor who doesn't want anyone to fail, so I usually give some grace marks to give them a passing grade. I did the same here, but I made a note of her name to have a word with her later.

The next morning, during my lecture I would catch her being inattentive and constantly fiddling with her stuff. My throat was giving out when the bell rang, and all students rushed out of the classroom. I caught her trying to sneak past me sandwiched between other students, and asked her to meet me at my cabin later.

Let's fast forward a little later in the day, when I heard a knock on the door. And it was her. I ushered her in and made her get comfortable before I broke out the harsh truth. I started with some small talk, asking her how she was feeling etc. and she was co-operating to my questions. I then brought out her paper and asked her why she would purposefully try to fail.

But that's when I noticed it. The glint in her eyes as he looked at me from the corner of her eye. A captivating gaze, which she would immediately hide, coming back to her reality as I continue to be professional. She tried to convince me that she was trying her best, but she turned up blanks, but I know that to be lies. So I had to be the big man here. She wasn't going to own up to her mistakes. I offered to tutor her personally after class. Help her find her footing. I thought it was the right thing to do. After all if my student's grade went up, it would make me happy.

Let's fast forward another month and she started showing up to my cabin (or even my house sometimes) for her training sessions. It was all going smoothly, but all hell broke loose when she had to witness me and my wife fighting one day. It was not good. I tried to keep a happy face, but she saw right through me. And it seems like she overheard the conversation too. Ever since then, her activities only worsened.

A girl who was always on time for her training sessions up until now, had now started to take her own sweet time. Her clothing sense had changed. It was now more brazen, showing off more skin and to add to the coincidence my wife was never around when she did show up to my house. I saw a slump in her motivation too, often taking breaks and would offer to make me something (like coffee) for my efforts, in my wife's absence. I think it was her attempt to say sorry after overhearing the fight earlier.

Day by day, I was feeling conflicted. My student's affection has made my wife a distant memory, and at the same time it is frustrating me that she isn't doing her best to learn anymore. It was as if it was all a ruse. I started noticing every action, every word, every touch and that would have an effect on me. I felt important again. I felt like I was seen and loved. It pushed me into a moment of weakness, and I snapped.

I bent her over my lap and told her, "I don't think you wanted to learn about getting betting grades," and proceeded to spank her ass hard. "I'm gonna teach you something different."

I asked her to stay put and went away, only to return a moment later with all the required essentials: some cotton rope, a blindfold and a paddle.

First I had her face the wall as I quickly discarded her off her clothes, which was easy considering she didn't have too much clothes on her anyway. I got her on her knees and blindfolded her tightly so that she couldn't see anything. Then, I used the cotton rope to bind her hands together and raised her hands up over her head, tying it to a hook a few metres above her head.

I knelt down in front of her, taking in her scent and the curves of her body, her lips needy and desperate. I cupped her chin in my hand and gave her a needy kiss to prepare her for what's to come. She was so beautiful underneath her clothes, and I just wanted to let myself loose. But I'm but a professor, hence my urge to teach overcame my feral senses.

I cupped one of her breasts in my hand, rubbing my thumb over her nipples, using it like a controller joystick. "Do you know why your nipples perk up like this, babygirl?" I whisper into her ears. "This is what happens when you are horny and desperate. Your blood flows... right here," I say motioning to her nipples, "making them erect." I bend down and suck on her nipples, alternating between both sides while she can only let out a slow moan.

Her moans continue to come out of her mouth as I trail kisses down her pristine body after teaching her about her nipple erection. The blindfold has her anticipating my next move while keeping her intoxicated, surrendering herself completely to my control, as I proceed with my next lesson.

I place my hand on her pussy, its wetness permeating on either side of her thighs. I use the paddle to hit her thighs to make her flinch. I go around her body, imprinting the shape of the paddle at random places of her body to satisfy my own sadistic urges. But she takes it with a smile, and I sense an eagerness from her to learn more. "Do you know what causes this wetness?" I take her own juices onto my fingers and bring it to her mouth for her to suck on. I took some spit on my fingers once she finished sucking my fingers, and rubbed it all over her opening. "You see your vagina, or 'pussy' naturally prepares yourself for a man's cock. It secretes this wetness that can lubricate this precious part, making it easier for me, your professor, to put my cock in."

I lie down on the cold floor, placing my head between her legs and looking up at her juicy parts. I lift my head up, holding on to your thighs as I lick your pussy, tasting your wetness as I go, getting more intoxicated from it. I even insert my fingers into your pussy, feeling how tight it is and how you flinch as a natural response. I slowly introduce a second finger and start moving it up and down, which in turn excites her core. My fingers find her most sensual part, the 'G-spot' located directly above her pelvic bone. The stimulation and the repetitive motion of my fingers drives her towards the edge, and I quickly move away as she squirts, making a mess of the floor below. "This is called squirting honey. You got so turned on from your professor hitting your most sensual spot, that you came undone for me. Look down at the mess you made. Too bad, because you are blindfolded, baby."

Once I made her squirt and she made a mess of the floor, I wanted to make a mess of her face. I ordered her to open her mouth wide, and I immediately unzipped my cock and thrust it inside her throat. Her mouth was so warm, and every thrust felt really good. I kept my hands on her chin and kept guiding her on how best to pleasure me. Whenever I gave pressure on her chin, she would close her mouth around my cock and I would whisper "No teeth. Hold your jaw, roll your tongue, and take my cock deep," into her ears. "Mmm that's it. You are doing so good, keep it up." I kept up with my thrusts as her throat felt so good, I could feel myself towards an orgasm, which I hadn't felt in forever. With one final thrust, all of the pent up cum shot down her throat, and she was stunned. "I hope you like how it tastes. This is my semen. This is what's gonna get you pregnant. Do you want me to show you how that's done? Well I'm sure you do."

(I'm so glad that you like my blog. I also hope you like the above story too. I hope that you do get to experience this one day.)

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lvmimis · 5 months ago

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cw: platonic!sanji x reader, luffy x reader. fluff. food mentioned.

“Sanji, can I ask you a silly question?’

Sanji’s hands a flurry of motion - it’s an entire spectacle and a half to watch him cook, even when he’s not meant to have an audience. And you’re not an audience still, rather you’re just an aide and also have your own separate task, mixing a concoction of a homemade electrolyte solution that you’ll ensure the more banged up members of the crew will drink - namely Luffy and Zoro given your most recent escapades - in addition to Sanji’s heavenly cooking.

He does hear you over the sizzle of onions and garlic, even if he doesn’t do more than shoot you a glance, the very end of a cigarette between his lips.

“Shoot,” he offers, with a flip of the pan. His other hand is now in his pocket, and it almost upsets you that he manages to look cool while making a hearty porridge. Everything about him is cool.

All the Straw Hat Pirates are cool perhaps, even if you might be the newest and least so.

Your eyes focus on the browning food in the pan before you look towards Sanji, your cheeks warming a moment as you consider what you’re about to say. You hope he doesn’t misunderstand, but it’s something that’s crossed your mind since a month after you joined the group.

Sanji doesn’t flirt with you anymore.

He’s gentlemanly, he’s polite, he is just as gracious to you as he is with Robin and Nami, but the kindness he affords you is not romantic in the same way, and it’s occurred to you more than once, that even if things may have been different within the first couple of weeks of you joining the Thousand Sunny, he would have absolutely accepted any if not all of your romantic attention, you’re almost certain that if you tried to flirt with him now, it would have the sexual appeal of an elderly woman calling her grandson a handsome young man.

“Am I…” you pause, and this gets Sanji to look in your direction with a polite interest. His eyebrows raise, and you’re sheepish even saying it out loud, but you push through anyway.

“Unattractive?”

Sanji freezes for a moment, turns about face, and practically does a spit-take in his laughter. Then looking back at you, realizing you’re not joking at all, but rather have turned stiff with a stony downcast expression.

“Oh shit, you’re serious.”

Your face nearly burns as hot as the stovetop.

“You know what, fucking forget it.” You turn to storm off, but Sanji calls after you.

“What on earth would make you think that?” he asks.

There’s no way to explain to a notorious skirt-chaser that his diminished interest in chasing your particular skirt concerns you, particularly when you are neither craving of this particular attention really, nor interested in him in that way. But rather, you wonder if it portends some … suboptimal quality in you, something that makes it such that the true object of your affections will similarly lose interest… if they develop any in the first place.

You wonder if you should bother responding at all, but insist on ignoring your misgivings. The power of this crew is its ability to trust, whether the issue is big or small.

“Okay, well you treat me differently from Robin and Nami.”

Sanji pauses for a moment and blinks. His head tilts for a moment, and you find yourself looking away, gritting your teeth. How embarrassing.

“Well, you are different.” Sanji replies simply.

Lead sinks into your belly. You shouldn’t have asked.

“Right.”

Your throat suddenly dry, you go ahead and grab your pitcher of electrolyte solution and pour out glasses for the crew, considering that maybe you should down it instead.

It’s the equivalent of making a pass at him, but that’s not it, is it?

Sanji somehow manages to pick up on it too.

“Maybe you aren’t that different from them, a flower of your own unique sort just like Nami and Robin-”

“You don’t have to-”

Sanji laughs.

“Well, Luffy thinks that you’re different.”

You pause for a moment, then pivot.

“So Luffy is the one who’s convinced you I’m not worth flirting with?” It’s meant as a joke but Sanji stuns you with his next words.

“No, rather, I suspect Luffy wants you all to himself.”

To that, your heart skips a beat, and Sanji clearly catches it, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“He won’t say it, probably hasn’t realized it yet, but I can tell. And of course, realistically it doesn’t stop me from appreciating you.” The statement is accented with a chuckle. “But I’m just trying to be considerate.”

Your mouth opens then closes, then you quickly change the subject.

“The food’s burning.”

Sanji doesn’t even turn to look.

“Fat chance.”

Sanji doesn’t mess up meals. You stick your tongue out at him instead, gather up your pitcher and leave the room, and he starts to whistle, as he finishes the rest of the meal and you contend with your own confusing feelings.

#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #platonic!sanji x reader #daydreams: op #lumimi #mimi's notes

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wangxianficfinder · 1 month ago

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Fic Finder

May 12th

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1. Hey .

So I just can’t find this fic anymore no matter how much I have tried . It’s abo where omega we’d is expecting . Sort of a 5 + 1 format where people around him know he’s expecting even before he does. There’s one scene with lqr where he says something offensive and makes wwx cry . And lqr says that’s the exact look his sister in law gave him when she was expecting lw. Is there any lead on which this fic is ?

Thaaanks in advance :)

FOUND? What to Expect When You’re Unexpectedly Expecting (and you don’t know it) by gamayuglagay (gracon_bacon) (M, 1k, WangXian , Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Modern AU, Mpreg, Fluff, Humor, Comedy, Misunderstandings)

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2. I’m looking for a fic I remember reading ages ago I think was called my monster or something like that? I’m pretty sure it followed mo xuanyu when he was first brought to the Jin sect and was him having issues but finding a secretly captured and tortured wwx in the dungeons. He calls him his monster because of his broken body and eventually tells the lans somehow? Lqr thinks he calls him a monster because of the demonic cultivation and is shocked to hear no it’s because of how jacked up wwx is? Thanks for any help finding this!! @preciouscommoditybears

FOUND! i’ll take a secondhand monster by Stratisphyre (T, 24k, MXY & WWX, MXY & JGY, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Bullying, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic, Minor canonical character death, Injured WWX, Earn Your Happy Ending)

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3. Hi! I am looking for a series of short fics. The base premise is that Yiling Laozu Wei Wuxian is trialed and sentenced by the clans to be hunted. Everyone presumes Wei Wuxian will die in the hunt, but he manages to kill the 1000 Jin hunters and he survives the hunt. If I remember correctly the series never actually tells what happened during the hunt: the various fics cover what happens in the aftermath. Thank you for your help!

FOUND! the wild hunt series by antebunny (G, 18k, WangXian, JYL & JL, WWX & JL, WWX & JC, LXC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon-Typical Violence, JL and his many many uncles, JGY is morally ambiguous but okay, BAMF WWX, WWX is innocent of literally everything for plot purposes, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, what is fanfiction but 10k of reunions, Found Family, Fluff, they’re soft your honor, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending)

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4. A )Hello, I am looking for a fic I read awhile ago. All I remember is that after the first siege, Wei ying take a-yuan away and runs away from the world. Lan zhan goes to find them and finds them in a cabin miles away from the cultivation world with a-yuan having a fever. They go see a doctor and i think Yanli was still alive and trying to find a way to bring wwx back home.

B) I am also looking for one I saw was ask, but couldn't find if it was found: it was a time travel, JC got back and found kid!WWC in Yiling, and somehow left him at BM. Then WQ, who also got back (JC doesn’t know that yet) takes him to her parents, and I think he grows up as a Wen. They both visit him through the years, and I think even LWJ shows up at some point.

Hopefully you can find them.

Thank you so mucb in advance @mariallia

4A)

FOUND? something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad WWX, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics)

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5. Hello! I lost a fic series I read here in Tumblr, please help me find either the fic or the author!

What I remember is;

• Imperial!Lan. Prince Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian(of Jiang Family) have an arrange marriage.

• Wei Wuxian is already in love with Prince Wangji and tries to be the best consort possible, but Prince Wangji doesn't quite like him (yet)

•There was a war. LWJ had to go fight, and WWX secretly went after him (as an archer, he watched LWJ's back)

• LWJ fell in love with WWX through the course of the war

• After their victory, on their way back home, there was an assassination and WWX shielded LWJ from sword/arrow. There were 2 possible ending...

• Happily Ever After! WWX survived his wounds and they got married and had Ayuan afterwards.

• Tragic Ending! WWX died, entered the city in coffin lauded as a hero. Jiang Cheng got mad at LWJ and went to his house to kill him. JC found out that LWJ went crazy and still thinks and acts as if WWX is alive.

I really like this series and was so heartbroken when I couldn't find it anymore. I remember the other works of this author is also good reads, highly recommended 👌

FOUND? rebuttable presumption by sarah-yyy

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6. Looking for a Wangxian modern AU office meet-cute involving double-mistaken identity hijinks & shenanigans @olimlacus

Does WWX call LWJ mistakenly thinking he is the IT guy ? (LWJ is actually the head of the IT department. WWX is a downtrodden graphic designer for the same company)

FOUND? 🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

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7. Hello,

thank you for your great work. 💖

I'm not sure which tag would fit my search because I only remember few things.

WX or LZ has the idea that Gusu and the Cloud Recesses are big enough that nobody would realize when the Wen remnants would resettle there. I think some become farmers, other new members of the Lan clan and WX + A-Yuan move in with LZ.

I think there is also a scene with LX who is basically 😳🤯 because LZ told him nothing about his new family and so he still believes the Lin rumours.

I have no idea if it is an one-shot or a longer story. My ideas to search for it on Ao3 were too bad so I hope you can help. 😌

Thank you in advance for your work and help. 🌸🦋🐇 @dream-about-dancing

FOUND! 🔒💖 (💙) Paths untaken by apathyinreverie (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, canon divergence, fix-it, fluff, not cultivation world friendly, smitten LWJ)

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8. Hi! I am looking for a fic where everyone thinks Wei Wuxian died, but he actually didn’t. He tries to hide away, thinking it is for the best that everyone move past him, but he can’t help feeling awful when he sees Lan Zhan’s grief. So WWX pretends to be a water spirit ghost, and he pops up in lakes and streams near Lan Zhan so that the two can talk. They meet here and there when Lan Zhan goes out for night hunts or conventions and the like. Eventually Lan Zhan begins spending all his time at the shore so that he can stay with Wei Wuxian's "ghost", and Lan Xichen thinks his brother has gone insane with grief. I would love love love to read this again if anyone can point me in the right direction! Thank you for your help!!

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9. Hi!! Im looking for a fic where wanxian was betrothed at a young age, and there was also a curse or a prophecy that prevented wwx from showing his face to anyone (he wore a silver mask - the summary talked about this i think). anyways, once wanxian got married, for a mysterious reason (had not been revealed in the fic yet), lwj completely ignores wwx, wont let him take off his mask, and works with wq on some project. however, everyone thought wq/lwj were having an illicit affair. wwx is hurt by the unfaithfulness and the coldness of the family he married into. i think he either leaves or gets himself banished (dont remember) and lives with someone (jiang yanli maybe, she was definitely there, but there might have been an oc character - dont remember) in an isolated manor for a while, until the wens attack. then he defends the area he lives in (probably yiling tbh), and is called back to the lans so that he might be honored. he didnt want to go though due to his previous humiliation at their hands, but has no choice in the end.

i think that is where the fic "ended" for me, as it was unfinished. i also remember one distinct scene, which is wen qing coming to see wwx in his banishment(?), and has lwj's headband with her, which upsets wwx. furthermore, there were hints in the plot that lwj was being controlled by something (vines, maybe) and is having wq (doctor) treat him. jiang yanli also shows up a good amount.

the fic was >500 kudos, >100000 words, and unfinished (both might have increased since i read it, however, and the fic mightve been completed. The kudos and wc are also estimates in my memory). it was a lot of hurt, little comfort, heavy angst. if it is still unfinished and unupdated it would have been probably last updated in 2021/2022. if you know of it, it would be great help! Thank you in advance! @eviichee

FOUND! Should be the deleted "A Price To Pay" by wangxianist. It's not on the Wayback Machine, but it is in this Google Drive Folder

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10. Hello! I couldn't find this so this is where it starts, it's lan wangji going bat shit insane after wei wuxian dies and I remember he ruled the cultivation world and he killed Jiang Cheng and meng yao, also nie huisang was the one who summoned wei wuxian because he wants lan wangji either to continue to rule or be happy, I remember wei wuxian going to the cloud recesses confused because everyone was talking about lan wangji.

FOUND? A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 41k, wangxian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, LWJ goes crazy, Manipulation, Grooming, Except LWJ and WWX are physically the same age, but LWJ kept his 30 year old mind, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Conditioning, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Anal Fingering, WWX is a Lan, Minor Character Death, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiangs, Abusive Jiang Family, Jiang Family Bashing, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Horny WangXian, Qingheng-jun Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Lanling Jin Sect Bashing, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, BAMF NHS, Burial Mounds Lore, Sentient Burial Mounds, Married WangXian, Adopted LSZ, Breathplay, Dark WWX, Yandere LWJ, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat) I am not sure and I don't remember Jiang Cheng's death, but the description sounds similar

FOUND? 💖 demons run when a good man goes to war by Miranda_Aurelia (T, 20k, WangXian, LWJ & NHS, JYL/JZX, Happy Ending, Angst, Canon Divergence, NHS and LWJ being bros, Probably not JGY friendly, Don't Mess with NHS's brother, Dark LWJ, NHS doesn't believe in letting ethics get in the way of results, Revenge, (presumed) major character death, also not really LXC friendly) Hi, the May 12 fic finder #12 is definitely not A Matter of Time. I didn’t send the ask but while the beginning is similar, it’s a time travel fic with everyone being dead needed in order for Lan Zhan to go back in time. Wei Ying is technically never summoned in the fic. Lan Zhan goes back to change everything after taking Wei Ying home after the rattle drum scene - Sorry I think I sent my message without finishing. It was for #10 of May 12 fic finder. I was saying it might be a few different fics or a mixed memory of them. Like there was one where Lan Zhan ended up killing Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling to get back in Time. Demons run when a good man goes to war has Lan Zhan becoming kind of like the emperor of the cultivation war I think and Wei Ying shows up at the end alive. I’m too invested in this now whoops

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11. Hi! For the fic finder, I am trying to find a fic where after nightless city, WWX is captured rather than killed, and he ends up being imprisoned, I think by the Nie, eventually? I do remember that no one feeds wwx because they assume he can keep himself alive with his golden core (they might have did something to his mouth to keep him from whistling?) and that he nearly dies. Thank you in advance!

FOUND? 🔒❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YLLZ WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

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12. Hii, I'm looking for a fic I read a while ago that I thought I saved but that was not the case so now it's lost and I can't find it😭. It's a modern Au fic in Wich if I'm not wrong Lz and wxx meet in an airport because they're flies got cancelled , I think they were going to different places but anyway. I don't recall why they ended up in a hotel that night, more specifically in the same room, the thing is that they discovered they were fated mates so that kind of triggered their heats, they fucked like 3 days straight or something like that and were all in love with each other, they bonded I think, although I'm not pretty sure. The end of the fic is they go separate ways to do what they were supposed to do and then it shows they got married and Wxx is either pregnant or with a baby or toddler A-yuan.

If you can help me find this fic I would appreciate it very much, thanks!♥️ @anonimtak

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13. hiiiii im looking for this greek mythology au where lwj is the god of flowers (persephone) and wwx is the god of the underworld (hades) and i dont remember much but i know lwj kissed him while he wore a blindfold and it was also quite smutty @ashxi-wx

FOUND? Flowers Blooming in the Dark by TheLegendOfChel (T, 64k, WangXian, Gods & Goddesses, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, but it’s still in a xianxia/wuxia setting, Pining, Mutual Pining, Courtship, Forbidden Love, Hades and Persephone AU, Kidnapping, Kind Of, Smitten LWJ, Smitten WWX, Fluff, Courting Rituals, Secret Relationship, Minor XuanLi, Minor ChengSang, references to wwx’s canonical kinks, Child LSZ, Tooth-Rotting Fluff)

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14. Excuse me, but could you please help me find a Post-Canon Wangxian fic? One where they go into the desert and fight against mummies? Possibly inspired by the Ben Frasier Mummy movies? Please and thank you. Have a good day. 👍 @kaitou-cure-prism12

FOUND! Bitter Plants Bearing Sweet Fruit by Kryal (M, 83k, WangXian, graphic depictions of violence, canon-typical horror elements, Worldbuilding, Desert, Misuse of Historic Setting, Original Character Death(s), Case Fic, aftermath of canon, ridiculously long author notes, Established Relationship, Nothing Explicit But Shameless Innuendo)

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15. Hi! I've been scouring the blog and ao3 alike but I can't seem to find a really specific wangxian fic and I was hoping ya'll could help me out. It was essentially a horror, demon (or spirit) possession fic where Lan Zhan gets possessed. I think it was established relationship but I'm not sure, but it definitely ends with smut. It was pretty creepy and I'd love to read it again. Thanks a bunch! @just-some-person-with-a-blog

FOUND? 🔒 Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, those two are so in love it hurts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, badass LXC, Canon-Typical Violence, topLWJ, Bottom LWJ) but Wei Ying returns to Cloud Recesses post-canon in the hopes of starting a relationship with Lan Zhan (they're not in an established relationship to begin with).

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16. so i want to find a fic. all i remembered wass that lwj (hgj) married the yllz. this fic is a shifter AU so dragon lwj and huli jing yllz, at the time they married, wwx shift to a woman and always wear his veil. but a night bc he thought that lwj cant see him in the dark (it was explained that drgaons has a night sight so he can see in the dark) he took off his veil and sleep beside lwj, he also shift back to become a man (this is a probaility, i dont remember that much). In the end, bc lwj already know it's wei ying he confronted him, and they live happily ever after. it was either arranged or of convinient bc wwx is yllz ok, so he is like a war prize ig. thank you for your hardwork bb!

FOUND? 💖 Paths of Light and Darkness Converge by ataratah (E, 30k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Animal Transformation, gender non-conforming mythological creature, Non-Human Genitalia, Secret Identity, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Angst, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives, Fox WWX, Dragon LWJ, Genderfluid Character, WWX can change gender, but uses masculine pronouns, Double Penetration in One Hole, LWJ & WWX's canonical pregnancy kink, discussion of planned future pregancy, no actual pregnancy or mpreg, Supportive LQR, Canon-Typical Violence)

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17. Hello! A request for a Fic Finder. I suddenly remembered, i am quite sure, a short twt thread where there was a comparison between Wangxian and the Sun and the Moon, but not the more common one.

Lan Zhan was compared to the Sun, radiant to the point of being blindning, grandiose and impossible to look at for a long time, steady and always here for those looking for warmth and protection, the first to wake up at the dawn and the first to go to sleep at the same time in the night.

Wei Ying was compared to the Moon - also shining, but possible to always seek out and stare at, lightning the way for everyone in the dark of the night, always fluttering around the Sun (his Lan Zhan) on its orbit and always following it (him) around.

I remember the thread being short and concentrated fully on this comparison. It could have an answer to another thread where Wei Ying was the Sun and Lan Zhan the Moon or had this said in the first post as the base for the thread about another opinion. Please help me find it, it was so sweet and lovely, i really hope it is still out here or maybe even turned into AO3 story ❤️🥺 @shellennium

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18. hiiiii im looking for this one modern BJ Alex au of wangxian @ashxi-wx

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19. Hello again! Thank you as always for the hard work! As usual, I checked the compilations first, but I still couldn't find what I'm looking for. It's a fic where Wei Wuxian is a merman or jiaoren, but for some reason I remember he got injured and had to stay in a lake in Caiyi where LWJ visited (or maybe guarded?) him and that's how they fell in love. I remember Su She was there and either wanted WWX or was jealous of him, and I think the fic might have been rated G or T? That's everything I remember, I think. Thank you and have a great week!

FOUND? 🔒 Secrets of Yunmeng’s Lotus Lakes by Cy_an_Blue (M, 73k, WangXian, one-sided SS/WWX, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Mermaid WWX, Cultivator LWJ, Younger WWX, Younger LWJ, teenage WWX, teenage LWJ, No War AU, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Awkwardness, Injury Recovery, Injury, Blood and Injury, accidental injury, Accidental Stabbing, Cultivation Accidents, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, waterborne abyss, Kidnapping, Non-Explicit Torture, Mentions of major injury, People are evil, people are greedy bastards, Fluff, Attempted Sexual Assault, SS being ick, Courtship, Courting Rituals)

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20. Hi, I’m looking for a fic where canon divergence after I think the Xuanwu of Slaughter Wei Wuxian gives birth to a baby boy, and gives the care over to Wen Yuans mother. He gave birth under Wen Qings care. And after the war he goes and gets both children from the labor camps and claims both children are his and Lan WangJi’s at the Jin banquet and that is how he frees the Wens.

If you could find it that would be very appreciated. @scrumptiouseclipseponyllama

FOUND? Take Responsibility by draechaeli (E, 187k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Everybody Lives, Original Children Characters, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Mpreg, Teen Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Pregnant Sex, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Fix-It, Happy Ending)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

107 notes · View notes

kaisaerinlover · 8 months ago

Text

prize - sae itoshi

tw: kinda dark but not like my other stuff kinda dubious consent i guess

why are you even here? you have no idea, you don’t even remember how you got here, you don’t even know what’s going on, all you know is you’re some possession now, how could you know what’s going on anyway? no one filled you in, you just remember being led to the dorm room of someone, someone who you don’t even know, and left to sit on the bed. unfortunately for you that someone is sae itoshi. he won you, you think, you think that’s what’s happening. are you seriously being used as some motivational prize for a bunch of soccer players? this is seriously sick. you only know his name because there’s a jersey hung up on the closet handle that says it. you’ve been left alone in the room for what seems like an eternity, yearning for someone to come in and extinguish the loneliness, but the moment you see him enter, you instantly regret that wish.

sae walks in the room with someone behind him, a manager you think, and simply looks you up and down. his face is so empty, he’s unreadable. “is this her?” he looks at the older man behind him. “yes that’s her, she’s…” you zone out after that, they’re talking about you like you aren’t even there? like you’re some pet? you can’t even listen to their words anymore, you’re so horrified at the current predicament. you’re snapped out of it when the sound of the door closing echoes ever so slightly throughout the room. when you look up, you see the redhead towering over you, looking down at you. you feel even more self conscious than before and shift awkwardly.

“do you know why you’re here?” he bluntly asks, looking disinterested. you shake your head no, because you genuinely don’t, maybe your initial assumption was wrong and it’s just a big misunderstanding and maybe- “because you’re my prize now, understand” you wished too soon. what kind of misunderstanding would this have been anyway? stupid girl. you don’t do anything in response, you can’t even bring yourself to nod because you feel so tense. what does being a prize entail anyways? prizes are usually a fancy looking trophy sitting on a shelf, or a medal wrapped around the neck of some athlete, or maybe a money prize, maybe some stuffed animal, maybe an autograph. prizes are material possession usually, so why are you labelled as such a thing now? you were a normal person before this, so why? how can you even know what to expect when this is so… so… abnormal???

“what does- what- what’s a prize- what’s going to happen to me-“ you sputter over your words in anxiety. the prodigy in front of you simply stares at you and shrugs lightly. “anything i want” that doesn’t help soothe your nerves at all, actually it just made it worse. you’re so panicked you haven’t had any coherent thoughts since meeting the stranger, you didn’t even consider you were completely at his mercy. now you’re even more stressed. he notices it of course, how could he not? he finds it cute, like you’re some small animal freaking out over a predator looming over them, a cute bunny, or mouse. he doesn’t say that out loud though, he doesn’t so much as show it, fuck, he doesn’t say anything. his silence is so… eerie. he’s a unique guy, isn’t he?

what’s this guy’s deal anyway? he hasn’t shown a single emotion except indifference since walking through that door. he’s- suddenly a hand extends, touching your head and your face, the way you would touch some doll, or some sort of pet. it’s the first time he touched you. he’s examining you, you think, you can’t know for sure, usually you can tell people’s motives or even just a fraction of their thoughts from their facial expressions, this guy is just stuck on bored expression number 4 all the time clearly. you don’t protest though, you know better somehow, despite barely knowing him. “cute” he mumbles, having pulled his arm away from you and simply looking down at you now.

he’s weird, very weird. is probably what you would have observed about him in a normal setting. unfortunately you’re here as some sick prize for performing well in football matches. you had a life before this, don’t these people consider that?! what will your friends think, or family, or employer, or teachers, or anything? well, they never really cared that much did they, sweet girl? you’re just realising that now. you were never much of anything, nothing special, but nothing too weird worthy of getting picked on. did you even have friends? you never really talked to anyone. and now you’re paying the price for it, social connections are important, who’s going to notice you’re missing now? seriously, you went through life with the punishment of being a complete loner, and now you wound up here as well. does it get any easier ever? sae’s voice snaps you out of your slowly increasing nihilistic moment of realisation. “i had a long day today” he looks at you expectantly. you’re confused, does he want something? a massage? sexual gratification? are you supposed to know? you’re looking at him, head tilted to the side, hair sitting on your shoulders ever so cutely, god, he could ravage you here. you have those big innocent eyes he loves so much, you look so so clueless. very endearing. he locks his eyes on yours again as you answer him in an ever so small voice “o-okay-“ you manage to sputter out. seriously, what can you even say?

your dumbness is cute, to sae at least. he’s not even sure you know who he is, honestly. he hopes you do, but not knowing also comes with its share of benefits. he thought you would take the hint though, isn’t it obvious? can’t you just help him destress after a long day? unfortunately to sae, empathy is not his strong suit, actually it’s nothing to him. he’s devoid of it. so naturally he doesn’t understand that after you get swooped from your regular life and left in a dorm room belonging to some weird, yet albeit, handsome man you’re not really thinking things through critically. it was cute at first but he wants relief now. he guides you off of his bed and pushes you down gently onto your knees, and takes your spot on his bed. you go to protest but you’re silenced by his long finger pressing against your plump lips. wow, they feel really good pressed against his finger, his finger alone. how are they going to be on his cock? crazy good, probably. really fucking good. he’s excited now. he’s not the type to care for women, or anything really, but he’s interested in you for sure by now. you’re looking up at him, you know what he’s about to make you do, but you try and delude yourself. that works for the brief few seconds of him simply admiring you before he starts sliding down his shorts and boxers. he looks down at you with what anyone would say is a bored expression. “open” and you do. you do exactly what the prodigy says. you open your mouth ever so meekly. you don’t even know why you were so quick to oblige, but you tell yourself it’s fear, because why would you even want to consider the possibility of it being anything remotely positive in a situation like this.

he’s gentle at first, for the most part. he has a hand situated on your pretty little head but he’s not pushing you. just massaging your head. playing with your hair. like a pet. maybe like the way a child shows affection to their baby dolls. he breathes heavily as he’s slowly playing with your mouth using his cock. it’s scary, you never did this before ever, it’s the first time, you would rather not tell him that out of fear of sounding like you’re protesting. it’s easy at first, too easy, you ease up a little bit. what a mistake that was, sweet thing. he gets so relentless after a while, so fucking relentless. he grips your hair with such strength your eyes actually sting from it and your mouth is stuffed with his cock. he’s fucking your mouth so brutally, but when you look up at him with blurry, tear filled eyes, he looks so beautiful. maybe if you didn’t have his cock fucking your mouth right now you would even blush at the sight. sae itoshi is gorgeous. but do you know how annoying it is to find the owner of the prize you are attractive in such a moment? you feel a vague sense of self disgust wash over you. you’re pulled from those thoughts as he fucks your mouth harder than what you thought was even possible. the day you lost your innocence truly came sooner than you thought. sae is in ecstasy right now, wow, he doesn’t care for girls at all, he doesn’t ever grant himself sexual gratification including women most of the time, so the warmth of your mouth and throat are so welcoming to him. he likes you, he thinks. you look so cute on the floor, mouth all stuffed like a little mouse or hamster, greeding for treats. he almost laughs at that, he shouldn’t compare such a thing whilst he’s fucking your mouth like this. you’re like a pretty little flower, he can tell you’re innocent. he has a good sense when it comes to these things. you’re a cute lily, or something, he doesn’t know much about flowers, but what he knows about you is he wants to pick the petals off of you 1 by 1 and reap your innocence. god, you’re so fucking cute. taking him so well.

both of you are relieved when he finally cums, for different reasons of course. you’re so glad it’s finally over, your jaw aches in a way you’ve never felt it hurt before. that’s truly the sensation of losing your purity, or a small part of it. you’re sure sae will take more soon, and he’s sure too. sae is relieved he came too, but wow. you look so nice down there on your knees, panting, tears streaming down your face, hair messed up in a manner that he’s not sure if it’s actually cute, or if he just finds YOU cute in general, but he doesn’t care and doesn’t dwell on it. you have a mouth full of his cum. gross, it tastes of salt, and the texture is as slimy as sae’s personality. he’s gross and this is gross. you go to spit it out, but you’re stopped by his hand. he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, panting too, out of breath as much as you are (stupid bastard, you think to yourself, you’re tired from the pleasure i gave you? please). you didn’t even notice he knelt down. his index finger pushes your chin up, you know what he wants. he’s waiting expectantly for you to give in and swallow. you’re not feisty, you’re not some charismatic, strongminded girl from a series or book. you oblige. and he looks at you, still expressionless, but his eyes are telling you he’s glad you obeyed so mindlessly. he stands up and looks down at you, “good girl” he says it so effortlessly. it sounds really nice actually. your cheeks heat up at the simple praise. ah. why do you feel this way for him?

all you did is overthink since you got here, not a single coherent thought was formed, and you just became acutely aware of the ache in your whole body. your knees hurt so much, your head is aching and your back feels stiff. on cue, the oldest itoshi extends a hand out to you. should you take it? you could be like the girls in the movies, the series, the books, all of those works of fiction you’ve read countless times, heard stories of so often, you could slap his hand away and show him you’re more than some prize, heck, you aren’t a prize, you’re an individual too. you have individuality don’t you? you’re strong too, and you don’t need him. you won’t be his mindless toy. is that why you accepted his help then? he helped you stand, you are naturally a little off balance, you kneeled for quite sometime, didn’t you little trophy? you’re like a bunny caught in the wind, a small mouse, a baby animal taking its first steps, a flower succumbing to the conditions of the fall season, harsher than what it was accustomed to in the summer. that’s how sae sees you. he doesn’t play for prizes, he doesn’t play for rewards, he’s not a greedy man. he’s not looking for anything like that. but you’re the best thing he’s gotten in a long while from playing soccer so often. what a great prize you were, he wasn’t playing to get you anyway, he didn’t care, all of the other guys went crazy over the thought of winning such a prize, having their own woman to fawn over, do whatever they wanted with and face little consequences, whilst avoiding the effort of finding one too, but he didn’t care at all. but somehow, he’s glad he’s the best. he’s glad he’s the best because it brought you to him. you’re his now. you haven’t quite fully accepted it yet, but you will. you’re only resisting because you don’t want anyone to think you’re weak. or desperate. or stupid. or anything negative. but no one will think that anyway, you’re a prize now, trophies don’t need to stress about such trivial matters. your world is sae now. you can be as mindless and carefree as you want, because you don’t have any other responsibilities any more other than being a subservient little princess for sae itoshi. he knows you’re probably having an internal conflict, but he has patience. he has patience that spans for miles and miles. he could wait a decade. he’s not an angry guy, he doesn’t care at all. he’s not an anything guy really. one thing he’s pretty sure about though is that he won’t need that patience, you’ll crack. and it won’t take long. he’s happy at that fact, but he won’t show you it.

he knows his thoughts were correct when you trusted him enough to sleep in his bed the first night. you must have been really tired, huh? tired angel. sweet girl. that’s what he’s thinking. he thinks you’re all sorts of things. all positive, but all so demeaning. you’re just a possession after all, he still won you, and you’re so easy. you took no effort at all. you’re just something to be doted on, and used, not someone with a mind of their own, you aren’t equal to him. you’re more akin to… to a doll, he supposes. it’s fitting for you. he pats your head as you sleep against his chest and strokes your hair a bit. god you’re cute. yeah, you’re really his doll. being the best has never felt as good.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #blue lock x y/n

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