viharbinger

[viharbinger]

put the daylight in your eyes (i)

roy goode x reader (18+ mdni)

You're a young mother of two in New Mexico, left alone as your brother-in-law hunts for the outlaw gang that left you a widow and left him brotherless. Four men on horseback ride up in the night asking for a place to stay for the evening, and you don't feel like they'll take "no" for an answer.

author's note: well haigh there. or should i say howdy. if this has any similarities to my western remmick that is because. i wrote this first and bastardized it for that fic lol. now for this fic i ask you to go with a lot. reader has two kids. was married previously. surname is redd. this is also just a lot of buildup. we are slow burning lads.

warnings: vague allusions to period-typical violence and misogyny, oral sex (fem receiving), f/m sex

The four men look out at the ridge to see a mid-sized ranch that seems fairly empty. A small herd of cattle graze on a patch of brownish grass. Two riders on horseback corral the animals with the help of a dog. Looking longer, Roy realises one is a horse and the other is a pony, and both riders are young boys. Neither one can be any older than twelve, and the one on the pony is especially little.

“If it’s just them herdin’, prob’ly they’re the only men down there” he says out loud. 

“Might be,” Frank agrees. “You think their mama’d be kind enough to give us some shelter for the night? Maybe patch you up?”

“I’m fine.” 

“I think let’s find out,” Gatz grunts.

Your youngest son Wendell sits at the table, exhausted.

“That’s good work you done out there, boys,” you say. 

You wipe Dell’s face with a wet towel, kissing him on the head.

“Thank you, Mama,” he chirps, panting. 

“Of course, baby.” 

Your older boy Thomas cleans off his own face, and you put a cup of water in front of him. Tommy drinks it down, wiping off his mouth.

“When’s Uncle Joe comin’ back?” Dell asks, his voice dry from the dust. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” you tell him softly. “But if we really need him, we can send a telegram to Corpus Christi.”

“Okay.”

“Now, who’s gonna say grace?”

“Oh, me, me!” Dell volunteers.

You all grasp hands and hear the sound of hooves beating on the ground. 

“You think that’s him?”

“Prob’ly just people goin’ West. Go on, baby.”

“Thanks for all the food and watch over all the horses and the chickens and Mama and Uncle Joe and Tommy and Daddy in heaven-”

Tommy clears his throat and nods to the dog by the window.

“And Dusty. Amen.” 

The sound of horses gets closer, and you can feel the earth moving. Tommy jumps up to peek out the window.

“It’s four men comin’ this way,” he relays grimly.

“You think they’re Texas Rangers? Maybe they know Uncle Joe!” 

Two of the men dismount and walk up to the door. An older man and a younger one. Your heart pounds.

“You two sit now. I’ll go talk to ‘em.”

“I’m the man of the house,” Tommy insists.

“I said sit.”

You open and close the front door, looking out.

Roy thinks you look like a scared lizard, your eyes wide and blinking. Like you might dart off if they take another step forward. He expected to see a rugged Western wife, but you’re lovely. Your hair frames your sweet face, and your eyes are lit by the golden warmth of the setting sun. You’re young for a mother of two, but he won’t ask.

“Evenin’, ma’am.” 

“Evenin’. How can I help you gentlemen?”

The older man smiles at you. He’s got a short gray beard and wears a Stetson. The younger man has a wide brimmed one with a tie hanging loose under his chin. Stormy eyes look at you from under that brim, and scruffy bronze facial hair adorns his lip and chin. 

“Ma’am, I’m Frank Griffin, this here’s my son Roy. That’s Gatz, and that’s Floyd.”

Roy manages to hide his surprise at Frank using their real names. Your face didn’t change when he said it, though. Either you know already and you’re smart enough not to react, or you don’t know at all. He can see you’re frightened. You’d have to be crazy not to be. 

You squeak out your name, giving the last name your late husband gave you, Redd. 

“Your husband here, ma’am?” Frank asks. 

Your eyes flick away.

“I… I’m a widow, sir.”

“Very sorry to hear that.”

“This’s my brother-in-law’s ranch.” call me a phoenician the way im gettin phonetic up in this bitch

“He here?”

“Not presently, sir. He’s on business,” you lie. 

“Those two we seen herdin’ cattle, they yours?”

“Yes, they’re my boys,” you confirm. 

“You ‘n them ‘lil boys runnin’ this whole place alone?” 

“We manage, sir,” you say. 

You try to present an air of comfort. As though you are not terrified and your heart is not pounding at four strange men in the dark of night searching for shelter. As though you are not one lone woman with two little boys alone on a cattle ranch one hour from any other people. 

“Are you Texas Rangers?” the smaller boy shouts from the window. 

“Dell, I told you sit,” you scold them softly.

“C’mon out here, son.” 

You don’t like these men addressing your boys, but Dell scurries out to your side, his brother on the other side.

“This is Wendell and Thomas,” you introduce them, a hand on Dell’s head and Tommy’ shoulder. “Boys, this is Mr. Griffin.” 

Roy can tell you’re gripping them tight, like any one of their gang might lunge forward and snatch them up from your arms. Dell hugs your leg and stares with wide eyes, but he doesn’t look scared. Tommy scowls at them. 

“Whew. You two are some strong young men.” 

“I ain’t a man, I’m only six,” Dell says. 

“Taller ‘n I was that age,” Roy jokes.

He sees the boy grin at that, and that he’s missing a tooth on the top and bottom. 

Tommy glares at them. A dog growls from inside.

“You tell that dog to stop it now,” you chide.

Tommy whistles and the dog whimpers, then quiets. 

“How old’re you, boy?” Frank asks, an odd grin on his face.

Tommy crosses his arms.

“Nine, and I’ll be ten in April,” he answers, puffing his chest. 

“Man of the house, ain’t you?” Frank says, which makes the boy hide a grin. 

“You fellas lookin’ for some place to stay?”

Frank nods.

“That we are, Mrs. Redd. Reckon it’ll storm tonight.” 

“I got no food to spare.”

“No need,” Gatz starts.

“We got our own,” Floyd finishes.

“But I got some room in the barn- oh, Lord, are you bleedin’?”

You point to Roy’s side. You can see he’s soaked through his shirt, and the bulge of bandages wrapped beneath.

“Ain’t nothin’-”

“No, please, come in. Y’all can tie up your horses and settle up in that barn,” you tell the two other men.

“That’s very kind, ma’am, thank you,” Frank says.

Your boys sit and eat their supper as you carefully clean Roy’s bloody wound. You know this is what a fresh graze from a bullet looks like, you saw enough on your husband and his brother. 

Roy can tell you’ve dealt with an injury like this.

“Are you Rangers?” Dell asks again, a splotch of soup by his mouth.

“Eat your supper, baby. Don’t bother them.”

You look up and meet eyes with Tommy.

“Would you clean his face?” 

Tommy takes a cloth and wipes the food off of his brother’s face. 

“You pretty good on that pony, for a boy your age,” Roy tells the younger boy.

“His name is Samson, cause Uncle Joe used to have a doggy called Delilah too.”

“Young man knows his Bible.”

“Mhm! Uncle Joe taught me.”

Roy hisses when the wet cloth touches his wound.

“I’m sorry. I-I’ll try to be gentle,” you comfort him softly. 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, ma’am.” 

“Is it really just you three out here all alone?” Frank asks her.

Tommy stares at the two men. 

“Well, my brother-in-law is here, usually.”

You glance at Frank. You can tell these men are no good. Wicked men always have a silver tongue and a kind smile. But your little boys are so tired. You can’t spend another morning coaxing them out of bed and drying tears. 

“If y’all could help any with the land, I’d be inclined to let y’all stay longer.”

Your voice drops.

“Them two can’t do all this alone. And you fellas seem strong-”

“We’ll help,” Roy speaks before Frank can, gazing at you. 

Frank side-eyes him, and smiles at you. He knows Roy has a soft spot for pretty women who need help, and it’s gotten them in trouble more times than he’d like.

“Why of course, ma’am.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You tie a bandage over Roy’s cut and stand.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Wendell holds out his bowl.

“All done!”

“You ate it all? You were really hungry, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You take his bowl and kiss him on the head, wiping his mouth with your apron. 

“I’m tired, Mama,” Dell whines.

“Let’s wash up and we’ll get you and Tommy in bed.”

“I ain’t tired,” Tommy grumbles. 

“Well, wash up anyway and you can read for a little while, alright?”

“Do we hafta?” 

“Yes, we do.”

“That’s a smart lady, your mama. Hygiene is important, son,” Frank urges.

“That’s right.”

Dell reaches up and you sigh.

“You too big, sugar,” you tell him softly. You pick him up anyway, you can never say no to your sweet boy. He rests his head on your shoulder. “Say goodnight now, boys.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Griffin.”

Tommy stares at them.

“Night.”

“G’night,” Frank and Roy mumble.

“I’ll get them settled and bring you some blankets. I only have a few.”

“We’ll be appreciative of anythin’ you can spare, ma’am.”

They smoke together outside of the barn as they watch the shape of you move in the window. You tuck Dell in and kiss his head, then put out the lamp by his bed. 

“You like that filly,” Frank tells Roy.

“Maybe.”

“She’s the kind you like,” Gatz teases.

“What’s that mean?”

“You like them scared ones. The ones who need a hero.”

“I ain’t no hero.”

“We know you ain’t,” Floyd grumbles.

“I like how she is with them boys. Real gentle.”

Gatz scoffs.

“What?”

“Goode wants a mama,” he jokes to Floyd.

“Real sweet, Roy.”

“Mr. Griffin,” you call.

“Mrs. Redd.”

You walk over to them carrying a basket and a lantern.

“Some blankets for you. Some uh, extra socks too.”

“Socks?”

“Ridin’ men always need socks,” you say knowingly. 

You aren’t wrong. Roy can feel his toes touching the inside of his boots.

“Mighty thoughtful, ma’am,” Frank tells her.

“I put an extra bandage in there for you,” you say to Roy.

He feels strange under your gaze. You look at him like a wounded animal, or a spooked stallion ready to kick. 

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be up at dawn for the chickens. Boys need help with the cattle the most. The horses-”

“Our boy Roy is mighty fine with horses,” Gatz adds.

“I’ll take any help I can get,” you sigh in full honesty. “Well, goodnight. Please um… let me know tomorrow if you need anything else.”

“Night, ma’am.”

“Goodnight.”

You turn back and head to the house. They watch the light go out. Gatz and Floyd turn in, leaving Frank alone with Roy. He sighs, shaking his head.

“I think she’s hidin’ somethin’.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“She wouldn’t look you in the eye.”

“Suppose she was just scared?”

He shakes his head.

“No, this was different.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t want them botherin’ her,” Roy grits, jerks his thumb back to the barn where Gatz and Floyd sleep, “or them ‘lil boys.” 

“I’ll see to it. We best get to bed if we’re playin’ ranch hands tomorrow.”

“G’night, Frank.”

“Goodnight, son.”

The next morning the men rise with the rooster and the roadrunners. The four men make their way over to the house, dressed and ready. Frank opens the door and they see the two boys eating breakfast, bed-headed and droopy-eyed.

“I wanna go back to sleep, Mama,” Dell complains softly. 

“You don’t hafta work so hard today, baby. We got a lotta help.”

“Sirs,” Tommy greets them.

You turn around, surprised.

“I’m sorry, I would have fixed somethin’ for you, but we-”

“No need, ma’am, we had some jerky.”

“I did brew some coffee, if you’d like that.”

“That’d be very nice,” Gatz says.

Roy feels uneasy watching Gatz and Floyd play at being gentlemen. 

You pour the men coffee as they crowd around your table, only Frank sits in one of the two empty chairs.

You hand Tommy his hat and kneel to help Dell pull on his suspenders as he sniffles and rubs at his eyes.

“Oh, my big brave boy,” you coo quietly. 

You brush the hair from his face and put his hat on. You pretend to gasp, putting both hands over your heart in mock fear. 

“Why, it’s that wicked outlaw, Texas Redd!”

He cracks a smile at the game and points a finger at you, pretending it’s a gun. 

“We’re gonna get all your cows!”

“Don’t rustle up all my cattle, outlaw, I beg you,” you continue.

“Only if you make us cornbread,” his brother adds to the game, pointing his finger and thumb just the same.

“Oh, whatever will I do?” you glance at Roy with a cheeky smile.

“Cowboys cain’t help you now, lady,” Tommy says in a thicker twang. 

Dell breaks his scowl and giggles, hugging you. Roy can’t help but grin at how sweet it all is, how he longed for love like that when he was a kid.

“It’s just me and Tommy, Mama,” Dell tells you, taking off his hat. 

“Oh, I was so frightened,” you play along even more. 

You kiss his cheek and lightly push him to the door.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Mama!” 

Tommy turns and you look at him expectantly. He bristles and kisses your cheek.

“I love you, Tommy.” 

“I love you, Mama,” he mumbles, hiding under the brim of his hat, embarrassed. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles to his brother, and whistles to the dog, “let’s go, Dusty.”

The boys walk out and you watch Tommy help Dell saddle on the pony, smiling at them.

“Go with ‘em,” Frank says to Gatz and Floyd. 

They finish their coffee, joining the boys.

“Six and nine, they said?” Frank asks.

You nod.

“Tommy is my stepson, actually. His mama passed just before I met my husband, he was only a baby. So… I’m the only mama he’s ever known. Dell’s mine.”

“How long has it been since your husband passed?”

“About one year. We were livin’ with their grandmother a while, in Texas.”

You wipe at a stray tear.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Awful thing, losin’ a love,” Frank says. 

“It’s hard. Real hard, ‘specially with Joseph gone.”

You smile at your boys, watching them ride.

“But my little fella is happy as can be.”

“Does he leave often? Your brother-in-law?”

You blink, like you were in a trance.

“He comes and goes.” 

You’re lying again, your eyes on the mug of coffee in your hands.  

“We should get to work.”

The men ride circles around the boys. Eventually, Tommy rides over and slumps down by you at the bench on the porch. He takes off his hat and pats the dust off. You give him a cup of water that he guzzles down quickly. 

“You’re ridin’ that horse well, baby.” 

Tommy ignores your compliment. 

“I don’t like the way he looks at you, Mama,” he says, nodding to Roy. 

The cowboy is gazing at you as he follows your little boy around on his pony. You laugh softly at your son’s naïvety.

“That’s just how men look at women, sweetheart.” 

You know all kinds of looks, true, but the kind Roy is giving you is a strange one. 

“Uncle Joe don’t look at you like that.”

“Well, Joe sees me as his sister, seein’ as I was married to his brother.”

“I think they’re bad men, Mama.”

“I think they’re lost, Tommy.”

“What if they killed people?”

“Joe kills.” 

“That ain’t the same.” 

“How?”

“Uncle Joe’s a Ranger. He’s fightin’ for somethin’. Bad men kill for nothin’.”

You sit with it for a moment. Maybe your boy isn’t as innocent as you wished. You remember Joe telling Tommy what had happened to his father. 

Joe’s brother. Your husband. 

Your little boy took those words like a man, stoic and strong. But you know he crawled under your covers and cried on your shoulder all night long. 

“I promise we’re safe, honey.”

He nods and puts on his hat again. You pat his shoulder. 

“Get on back out there. I’m gonna go feed the horses.”

You put a scoop of feed into each horse’s bucket hung on the front door of each stall. There’s three left when Tommy rides the buckskin and Dell takes the pony. A palomino, a pinto, and a roan that Joseph calls Banjo, Fiddle, and Lady. 

“They’re good lookin’ horses,” Roy says.

You flinch and put a hand to your heart.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.”

“I’m easily frightened. Just like Lady over there.”

“She’s the only female?”

“She was a gift. I was too scared of Banjo and Fiddle, there. Tommy’s horse and Dell’s pony were, too.”

“Your brother-in-law sounds like a good man.”

“He didn’t like me at first.”

“Why’s that?”

You hesitate.

“I was… um, I was engaged when my husband met me.”

Roy’s eyebrows raise.

“He was a wicked man. Pete saved me from him.”

He nods somberly, feeling some pity as he does. He approaches the palomino, shushing it as he pets it on the muzzle. 

“So… is this Banjo or Fiddle?”

“That one’s Banjo.”

He chuckles at the name, eyes on the animal.

“He’s a real menace, that horse. He kicks hard.” 

“Aw, I bet I could handle him.”

“I’m better with people than horses.”

“Well, that’s alright. I’d say I’m the opposite.”

“I think you make fine conversation, sir.”  

Roy feels something tugging at his heartstrings. Something raw and ugly. He tugs down the brim of his hat and focuses on the horse.

“You mind if I take him out?”

“If you don’t mind gettin’ bucked.” 

“I can handle buckin’, ma’am.” 

He glances back and sees you looking away, flushed and embarrassed. Oh, hell. 

Roy rides out to the edge of the land, where the wire fence blocks your livestock from roaming free. He sees a lone coyote out on a ridge, and draws his gun to shoot by its feet and spook it. He thinks about how scared you and the boys would be at the sound of gunshot, and slips the weapon back to its holster. 

Roy knows who he is, knows what he is. For some reason, even with this sick soul inside of him, he wants to show you kindness. To shelter you and your boys from Frank, Gatz, Floyd, the twins, every filthy outlaw in their gang. 

Hell, even his own damn self. 

“Let’s g’on back now,” he tells Banjo, patting his side and giving him a light squeeze with his legs. 

He brings Banjo into the stable and dismounts, gently leading him to his stall.

“Why, Mr. Banjo, I had no idea you could be so friendly,” you joke, Dell at your side. He rubs his eyes, his hat in his hand.

“He alright?”

“Oh, he just needs a nap is all.”

“No! I’m not tired,” he protests

“C’mon inside, and I’ll getcha some water.”

Roy follows you and Dell drags his feet. 

“Baby, you’re gettin’ too big for me to carry you now-” 

Roy lifts the boy up, throwing him over his shoulder playfully. Dell giggles, kicking his feet. 

“It’s naptime, boy,” Roy teases. 

“No!” 

He carries Dell upstairs and lightly tosses him on the bed. He lands on his back and blinks slowly. 

Roy ducks out of the room and closes the door. 

“But I’m not tired, Mama,” the boy protests.

“I know, baby. But let’s try anyway, okay?”

A moment later, you open the door and close it. You smile at Roy.

“Thank you,” you mouth to him. 

He shrugs and gives you a grin.  

You both head downstairs and you pour him a cup of water. 

“Could I ask you a favor, Mr. Griffin?”

“I’m Goode, actually.”

“Pardon?”

“My name, ma’am. It’s Roy Goode, not Griffin.”

“Oh. Mister… Goode.” 

He raises his brow in a gesture for you to speak. You take a breath.

“I ain’t been able to stock up in town with Joe gone. I can’t leave the boys alone and we can’t leave the animals. Would you… come with me tomorrow?” 

“Of course.”

You stand in front of him as he sits. 

“I ain’t stupid, y’know. I know what y’all are.”

“Ma’am-”

“I just said I ain’t stupid.”

He feels like a little boy being scolded. 

“Don’t gotta worry about me tellin’ nobody.”

You look at him with pleading eyes.

“Are my boys safe if we leave?”

Your tone is tense, serious.

“Yes-” 

“I mean it. They’re all I got,” you insist, voice breaking. “I got a Winchester in here. I don’t know how to use it, but that won’t stop me firin’.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Roy walks over to Frank, who’s sitting with Tommy as he drinks from a canteen. 

“My daddy was six feet tall, so I reckon I’m gonna be ‘bout that.”

“That right?”

“Frank,” Roy calls.

“Hey, son.”

“Where’s Dell?” Tommy asks.

“Your mama put him down for a nap.”

The boy scoffs. 

“Dang crybaby,” he mutters, putting his hat on. “C’mon, Dusty.”

The dog follows him and Roy looks at Frank.

“Widow asked me to take her to town tomorrow morning. To stock up.”

“That’s alright. Rest of the boys should be comin’ up on us in three days or so. I think I’ll send Gatz out to find ‘em.”

“Don’t bring ‘em here,” Roy says firmly. 

“No. Not yet.” 

“I mean not at all, Frank.” 

Frank eyes him.

“You gettin’ real bold, Roy.”

“She’s a nice lady, and she’s scared enough.”

“You sure it’s a good idea to go to town? Might be wanted posters around.”

“Shit, Frank. Might as well be in Texas, this close to the border.”

Frank raises a brow. 

“I’ll wear my hat ‘n keep my head down.”

The next day you deal with more tears rousing your little ranch hands. Dell can't stand the idea of you leaving, bawling as you cradle him in your lap.

“It’s only for a little while, baby-” 

“No, Mama, d-don’t go,” he cries. “What if there’s a coyote?” 

You wipe his face with your apron and kiss his forehead.

“Mr. Goode is comin’ with me.”

“What can Mr. Goode do?” Tommy mutters, side-eyeing the outlaw. 

Roy slowly pulls out his pistol, putting it on the table. Your older boy’s eyes go wide. 

“Ain’t no coyotes gettin’ past me, boy.” 

Roy lets Dell reach out and touch it. He pulls his hand back fast like the metal is red hot, retreating into your grasp.

“I’ll be back real quick, baby. Mr. Goode is gonna keep me very, very safe.”

“You swear?” Tommy asks. 

“Cross my heart,” Roy answers, drawing an x over his chest. 

You ride into town with Roy, which is really just a small outpost with an inn, a general store, and a Western Union office. 

You tie up your horses and step into the general store.

“Mrs. Redd. Been a while,” the girl at the counter says. 

“Irene, honey. You’re gettin’ tall.”

She eyes Roy.

“Um, this is my new ranch-hand, Mr. Smith.”

Roy is impressed that you know to use a fake name, but still tilts his hat down. 

“Well, what can I get for you?”

You give her the list. Feed, oats, rice, flour, molasses, beans, and salt. Some salted pork and beef, too. Roy looks around the shop. 

“You got bullets?” he asks. 

“For huntin’ rifles ‘n shotguns, yeah. Just over there.” 

“And whatever he grabs too, Irene.”

“Sure thing.”

Roy helps you fix everything over Lady’s saddle and you head back. 

Tommy gets his horse Tambourine settled in the stall as he hears the sound of horses coming near.

You and Roy ride up, and he helps you unload. Both horses are carrying a lot, which they’re happy to be free of. Roy takes Lady to the stable and gets her in her stall, Banjo follows.

“Hey, Tommy.”

“Mister,” Tommy greets him.

“Your mama’s gettin’ supper started.”

Tommy glares at him.

“She wanted your help, I think.”

“Hmph.”

The boy treads out, his dog following. 

You wait on the porch.

“Mr. Goode,” you call as he passes.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m fixin’ supper for everyone, if you wanna tell yours to wash up ‘n join us.”

“That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll fetch ‘em.” 

You have no extra chairs, so the men eat standing, save for Frank.

“You boys were hungry, huh?” you ask as they wolf down the chili you made.

“Thank you, Mama,” Dell chirps.

“You’re welcome, baby.” 

“This is some good cooking, ma’am.”

Gatz and Floyd nod and hum in agreement. 

“This is so damn good,” Roy groans, his mouth full.

You blink in surprise and Tommy shoots Roy a look.

“You ain’t ‘posed to swear ‘round ladies,” the boy says, no doubt repeating your words. 

“Not ‘posed to talk with your mouth full neither!” Dell adds. 

“Boys,” you chide them softly.

“Sorry, ma’am.” 

“Oh, I’m just glad you like it,” you say softly, unable to meet his eye.

“You’re raisin’ up two fine young men, Mrs. Redd.” 

“Thank you.”

You carry Dell on your hip as supper finishes up. He rests his head against your shoulder, drifting off.

“Say goodnight, now.”

“Goodnight!”

The men mutter their own goodnights, and Tommy nods to them quietly. 

“Night, Mama.” “Goodnight, baby,” you tell him, kissing his head. He goes upstairs. 

The men collect their things and leave slowly. Roy takes his sweet time, wanting to linger in your presence just a bit longer. 

“Mama, can I have a story?” Dell asks. 

“Yeah, baby. Which one?”

Dell whispers in your ear and your eyebrows raise as your eyes flick to Roy.

“Mr. Goode?”

“Ma’am?”

“Would you… mind readin’ Wendell a story before you turn in?” 

Roy knows he can’t read, but he’s sure Frank has told him enough Bible stories that he could repeat one. He smiles at the boy.

“Sure, kid.”

You tuck in Dell and sit on his bed, brushing the hair from his face. Roy watches your careful fingers flip through a well-loved, leather-bound Bible. The pages are crinkled and a few of the corners folded in. Roy’s eyes pass over the words, though he doesn’t know what they say.

“Which story do you want, baby?”

“I want Mr. Goode to tell one…”

“He’s gonna read it.” 

“No, I want him to tell a story.” 

“Oh.”

You glance at Roy, with that sweet embarrassed look on your face.

“You don’t have to, Mr. G-”

“Hey, that’s alright. Lemme think’a one.” 

Your little boy claps his hands together. 

Roy leans back in the chair, thinking of a story. You can’t help but shift at the way his legs are spread wide and the stance he takes, hands rubbing up and down his thighs in thought. He points at Dell, clicking his tongue.

“Now, I’ll tell you this story, boy. But you gotta promise me you’ll never do what I did.”

Dell nods, grinning. 

Roy spins a yarn, intriguing both you and your son. It’s tense and even a little spooky, making the boy hide under his blankets. Roy leans forward, an elbow on his knee. Your heart aches watching your baby drift off to the outlaw’s voice, remembering when Peter used to tell Tommy about his adventures around Texas. 

“And that’s that,” Roy finishes in a soft voice, Dell curled up on his side.

“Goodnight, baby,” you murmurs, kissing his forehead and smoothing a hand over his hair.

You both exit the room, closing his door quietly.

“Thank you, Mr. Goode,” you say as you descend the stairs. 

“Anytime.”

You linger for a moment, looking at each other in the low light of your kitchen. It feels like each of you is waiting for the other to speak as you stand there.

“He likes you,” you finally break the silence, and the eye contact.

“He’s a good kid, they both are. And you’re a good mama.”  

“I do my best.”

“I was an orphan. And if anyone loved me as much as you love those boys?” 

He sucks his teeth.

“Shit, I’d be a different man.” 

“I had no kin when Peter met me, I just got too much love to give, I suppose.”

You look up at him and kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Mr. Goode”

You pull back and he grabs your wrist, meeting your eyes.

“You can call me Roy.” 

He feels your warm breath puff against his chin.

You tell him to call you by your name, your voice faint. 

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“G’night.” 

He speaks your name softly, right against your skin. 

“Goodnight, Roy,” you breathe.

The next day is more of the same. The men mutter to each other as they work and drink your coffee. You hope it isn’t laced with the acrid taste of your fear. You feel something terrible coming, a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that danger is lurking just over that hill.

That evening, you sit up at night, looking out at the empty corral from the bench on your porch.

“You up mighty late,” Roy says softly.

“Roy.”

“Mind if I join you?” 

“Please.”

He steps up to join you on the porch. 

“I can’t sleep,” you tell him.

He sighs and leans on the wall next to you. You hesitate.

“Sit with me,” you urge him softly.

He takes a seat on the bench. 

“I was sixteen when I met that man, the one who I was gonna marry,” you start. “Now I got no kin, so… I think I’ll be a nun, so I’m on my way to a church in Illinois, but I meet a man called Rip Carter at the train station. He takes me in. Not like a daddy. He wants me too much to make it like that. Six months later, I’m in a nice new dress in a ginhouse in Texas and I’m there to make men spend money on… blackjack, faro, craps. Nobody lays a hand on me- because Rip would put a bullet through ‘em if they did, I just talk sweet and bring them to the tables.”

Roy shifts in place. 

“Rip says he’s gonna marry me. He just keeps sayin’ it for a few years, but he don’t do it. And then a man called Peter Redd comes in… and everythin’ is just different about him. He’s older than me, big ‘n tall. ‘Bout six feet. The sorta man that could really hurt me if he wanted. But he’s kind. He don’t look at me like I’m supper. And I want him to take me upstairs, I really do. And he whisks me to his hotel room across the street, and he… he’s so gentle with me. So tender. ‘Course… he’s extra gentle cause his wife has just passed, and his mother is with his new baby boy. And this big man, this Texas Ranger, he just breaks down ‘n cries. I know he’s gonna be my husband that night.”

Roy moves closer to you, leaning forward.

“And I tell him so in the morning. I say, ‘sir, I think I’m meant to be your wife’. And he laughs. But he thinks about it, he really does. I tell him… I’ll be a mama for that baby, and you ain’t lived till you tasted my chili.”

Roy chuckles.

“I know that’s right.”

“And he says yes. Now Rip don’t like that none, seein’ as I’m makin’ him two hundred dollars in a week.”

Two hundred. Holy shit, Roy thinks.

“Course I don’t really get any of it. Rip keeps most of it, gives me a few dollars when I ask for it. He tries to make a fuss and Pete socks him in the face. And he takes me away to Lubbock the next day. We’re married in a week, and next thing I know I’m swaddlin’ Tommy and I’m fallin’ asleep in Pete’s arms.”

Roy puts a hand over yours. 

“Sounds like you need someone to take care of you,” he murmurs. 

You look at him for a moment and nod thoughtfully.

“Joe tries. He even asked if I wanted to get married, just so… I wouldn’t be alone, so the boys would have a daddy. But he’s like a brother, and he ain’t nothin’ but an uncle. He’s kind, though.” 

Roy’s never been particularly kind to anyone since he joined up with Frank. He doesn’t care for whoring like the other men, but he likes a good woman now and again. He can’t say he’s any kind to them either. 

“I… I’d like to take care of you,” he tells you cautiously, eyes on your lips.

They sit in a soft pout as you look at him.

“Just… for tonight? Please?” he asks, voice just above a whisper.

He would never let the other men hear him talk to a woman like this. He’s just too proud.

You touch his face, your thumb swiping over his cheek.

“The boys are upstairs,” you whisper. 

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” he insists, an inch from your lips.

You take his hand and tug him. He follows gladly as you make their way to your bedroom.

It’s modest and simple. When he sees a bed big enough for two people, he realises this must be Joseph’s room. The door closes and he holds your face, finally kissing you. You lean into it, your breath hitching when he puts his hands on your hips. He holds you tight, one hand pressing on the small of your back.

“Be gentle with me,” you plead softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pushes down his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt, tossing it on the floor. He pulls up his undershirt and you hesitate before unbuttoning your dress. He helps you, undoing the ties underneath and leaving you bare in front of him.

“Siddown, darlin’,” Roy husks.

You could melt at the sweet name, sitting on the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of you and parts your legs.

“Roy,” you squeak out.

“Just lemme look atcha.”

He groans, seeing your glistening, wet cunt.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs. “You’re soakin’.” 

You squirm in place and he licks his lips.

“She ever been licked?” he husks. 

You hide your face and shake your head.

He groans at the thought of being the first man to service you like this.

“Lemme do my damndest then.” 

You pant, hands planted on the bed. He moves closer on his knees, hooking his hands below your thighs to bring you to the edge of the bed.

“Now you just put these legs up here on my shoulders like so,” he explains, kissing your inner thigh. “And don’t be afraid to grab my hair.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you-”

He looks up at you.

“That ain’t gonna hurt me.”

He leans in, parting you with his fingers. He presses a soft kiss to your clit, making you jolt. You cover your mouth.

“Oh!”

He licks a stripe upward, swirling his tongue around your clit. He pushes in a finger and curls it up.

“God, that f-feels so go-od,” you moans out, praising him. 

His hand grips your thigh tighter as his tongue slips inside of you, making you gasp and card your fingers through his hair. You grab a handful of his bronze curls and your grip tightens as he licks at your clit again. 

“Oh, Roy… yes, honey, right there. Oh… y-yes…” 

Your pitch changes as he adds another finger, pressing around for that soft spot that makes ladies go wild. 

He curls his fingers and you yank on his hair, clapping a hand over your mouth. 

He moans against you and you feel faint. You slowly lay back and buck your hips against his face.

“Please, darlin’, I gotta taste you cummin’ on my tongue,” he urges, his tongue pushing inside of you. 

You twitch and twist your upper body, gasping. 

“Don’t stop, Roy, right there,” you pant as quietly as you can. 

He won’t stop, not until he’s drunk up every drop he can get. He feels like he’s been walking through the desert for years and he’s finally tasting water. 

“Give it to me, c’mon,” he begs you, panting against your bare skin. 

His hips rock in place as he searches for some kind of friction. Your thighs squeeze the sides of his head. He’d take dying here like this over a hangman any day. 

“Yes, honey… oh, you- shit, Roy, yes!” 

You grab your pillow, muffling yourself with fabric and feathers. He feels you bucking against his face and holds your hips to the bed, kissing your center softly as you pant, coming down. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he murmurs against your thigh. “Fuck, thank you.” 

He looks up at you with eager eyes that make you laugh hoarsely. You sit up and wince, and look down at him.

“Ain’t you handsome like that?” you say softly, cupping his face with one cheek. He pushes into your touch. He needs you to touch him all over, to talk to him in that sweet voice. 

You point to the rag in the wash basin on the chest of drawers. 

“Clean your face off so I can kiss you.”

He darts over, wiping off his mouth and chin so he can crawl on the bed and kiss you again. You lay back, arms open and waiting for him. 

“C’mere,” you urge him.

He stops between your legs, still panting. Your delicate hands undo his britches and pull them down. He looks away. It’s too gentle. 

“Oh, wow,” you gasp quietly.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me no lady never told you it’s big.”

He hides a grin and you swat his bare thigh, making him twitch.

“Don’t be prideful now.”

He moves closed and you grip him at the base to line him up. You're so wet, your thighs sticky and shiny with your own slick. He groans, his eyes shutting. He thrusts to find purchase and you both gasp when he does. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. 

He pushes in and out, rocking slightly as he pushes in further.

“You takin’ it s-so good,” he stammers, overwhelmed by the feeling.

He wants to play the suave outlaw and have you begging for him. Gatz’ words bounce around in his head. Goode wants a mama.

You rest your palms on his chest as he slides in, skin to skin, flush against each other. 

“You so tight, darlin’,” he mumbles. 

He lets out a quiet wince, looking at the place you connect. 

You sigh contentedly, giving him a soft kiss. He huffs, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“You got me filled right up, cowboy,” you murmur. 

He nods silently. You hold him as he rocks into you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“Y’so damn pretty,” he breathes, kissing your neck and collarbone.

“Y-you just keep on like that,” you encourage him, pressing your hands to his chest. 

He lifts your hips into his lap, planting his arms on either side of you. You bite your lip, looking at his bicep. He pushes a little noise out of you every time he leans in again, peppering your face with kisses as he does. You giggle, a light, soft sound. One that reminds him you’re around the same age.

He feels your fingers touch the scar on his side. He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, burying himself in you once again. You lead his hand between your legs and he brushes at your clit, making you buck up and grab his arm.

“Oh, Roy… oh, y-you’re doin’ so good, honey,” you praise him.

He can’t help the whimper that leaves him when you hold his face and look at him so sweetly. His hips stutter and he roughly circles your clit as he chases his release.

“Cum for me, honey, please,” he begs you, face against your chest. “Please, I-I gotta feel you ‘round me ‘fore I pull out, please…” 

“Shit,” you hiss. You dig your nails into his shoulder, holding him tight as you tense up.

Your cunt throbs, milking his cock tightly, gushing on him. He kisses you and swallows down your moans and the squeaky whine you make when he grinds against you, filling you up all the way.

“‘S too much, ‘s too much, I-I gotta- fuck,” he babbles, pushing back to pull himself out. He grunts, spilling on your bare thigh. 

You're shaking and sweating, panting as you look up at him. 

“Damn,” you sigh, laughing.

You both wash up with the cloth and basin. You admire his bare body and how carefully he cleans himself.

You kiss his cheek as you pull your nightgown on.

You share the bed together, tucked into his side. You're sweet like this. Like you finally get a moment to be free, to be taken care of. He could play daddy if he tried hard enough, he thinks. 

He thinks he’d do just about anything for you now. 

“Mama?” Dell’s voice sounds from outside your door.

“Shit. Go out the window,” you whisper. 

He opens the window and climbs out, pulling on his shirt as he does. You lean out and give him a kiss before turning around. He waits under the window, listening. 

You open the door and see Dell clutching the little quilt his grandmother made when he was born. You kneel down. 

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yeah,” he pouts, nodding. 

You kiss his head.

“I dreamed I got bit by a rattlesnake and it hurt, Mama,” he cries. 

“Oh, baby. You want to sleep with me tonight?”

“Mhm…” 

Roy sleeps in the barn, hat over his eyes. He dreams about you, your hands, your sweet voice.

In his dreams, he’s teaching your boys to ride proper. He’s tending the ranch with you and the boys. At night you share supper, and Wendell sits on his knee as he tells stories. There’s no Frank, no gang, just you and him and these boys. Your belly, round with his baby, and your pretty face being the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees in the morning. 

Roy never imagined himself as a father, but he could be. Just maybe.

[viharbinger]

Imma need you guys to keep pumping these Jack O'Connell fics because I NEED them like i need WATER

PLEASE🥀

[viharbinger]

Remmick x reader who is blind, she traces his face with her hands learning him in the only way she can. And Remmick nearly breaks. It’s the first time in what feels like forever that someone has touched him with love, not fear. It becomes their quiet ritual a language spoken only between their hands and silence.

AHHH AHHHH AHHH AHHH AHHH AHH.

Yeah. I screamed in my car while reading this ITS SO SWEET AHHHH SAVE ME SAVE ME.

Also I was gonna make something else for the 200 follower special but this is really nice, so here you go!! Thank you so so so so much for the support, I love all of you!!

Warnings: no smut. Hahahah. Uh.. terrible writing of an Irish accent, I watched a few YouTube videos of it but I’m literally SHIT at writing accents.. especially Irish or British like it’s sad. So.. sorry. Just really soft stuff.. mentions of teeth and claws but nothing crazy. I ain’t a Remmick apologist.. matter of fact I want him to suffer.. however, I do find this idea very interesting. Reader is nice to him for once that’s all I’m saying.Also they are blind. It says in the fucking ask so ur blind in this. Remmick is also lowkey ooc.. he’s never THIS nice.

He’s been showing up for months now. Before, when the silence was still loud and jarring, when the lingering of a cold body was still confusing, he would watch from outside. Didn’t say anything, didn’t approach, just watched.

Watched as you would trail through your home, eyes open but unfocused.

Easy prey. That’s what it was at first.

He didn’t feel the need to plan his attack, not like he had done in the past. A sweet accent, a few kind words.. he’ll have you under his thumb easily.

That couldn’t be further from what actually occurred.

You caught onto his bullshit easily. Didn’t allow him in at all despite how nice he sounded, or how kind he was, it was still a stranger at night. Someone who could easily cause danger to you, and you weren’t stupid. Maybe vulnerable, maybe, but not stupid.

So you kept him out, but that didn’t mean you were any less kind. He came under the front of needing some help with the area, that he didn’t quite know where he was.

“North Carolina,” that’s where he said he was from. Deep in there alone, but he had to travel out to see some family. But how he said it, how he explained his whole situation and dynamic with said family.. just felt wrong. Detached. His tone was more dead, like it was from a script. Just speaking to speak.

It scared you. So, you sent him on his way, told him exactly where everything would be based entirely on your own experience with the travel, from memory.

He later checked, after you had closed the door and went off to bed, he walked the same directions you gave. Everything was to the T, just as you said.

Hell.. he knew your town like the back of his hand from your directions alone.

So he watched you some more. How you just knew the home, knew where everything was, and if something was out of place you would simply go around it or fix it quickly. Not entirely phased, the world wasn’t going to accommodate for you, so you worked around it.

Even outside your home, though it was always late out and you weren’t exactly going far just a few feet, you would still trek around like you knew everything.

Like the roots, dirt, leaves, wind and trees were one with you. Things you’ve come to long understand and form mutual respect with. Like they lead and you only followed.

Eventually, he grew antsy with the space, with the distance that lied between the two of you. It became less of mindless stalking and more obsessive, more curious.

He found himself jealous of inanimate objects. Jealous of the fact they could feel the soft traces of your touch, the care you put into everything. How you feel everything to remember it, understand it.

He wanted to be remembered.

Understood.

So he would find a way in. Find a way to break that barrier and to get you to welcome him into your space. Into your life.

Found a way under your nails and beneath your touch. And he fucking thrived under it.

Thrived under how soft you were, how kind you were.

You touched him with so much emotion, so much energy. Fingers threading through hair, breath against his back as you would help him out of his jacket, or the edge of your nail as you lightly scratch shapes into his arms.

He found that you were just as curious as he was. Not just for who he is, but for what he was. He would tell whole stories about his past life, stringing in some from his current one— about how he once had a dog, or that he sucked the blood from a lamb once and it became a vampire. He would explain all of this while you trace your fingers along his claws, tapping the pointed ends of cold skin wrapped around solid bone.

You would eventually come to share your own stories, about anything and everything. Explain that no, blind people don’t magically have impeccable hearing just because they can’t see while your thumb would be tapping the edge of his fangs, other hand busy sliding against his golden chain.

His fangs were another thing, something he was certain would frighten you to death upon first feeling them. And they did, sorta. Of course, not to death, but enough to flinch before ripping your hand away.

“The fuck are those.”

He closes his mouth, quiet for only a second before muttering, “my teeth.”

Your nose twitches, face scrunching in confusion, “they always like that?”

“No., only when I want them to be.”

He slowly grabs back your hand, doesn’t guide it back towards his mouth but just holds it. He can’t go too long without your touch or he feels himself slowly dying

(He isn’t.. but he far too nervous and weird to really care whether he’s going to actually die or not. He thinks he is, and that’s all that matters.)

“Don’t gotta touch them if you don’t wanna, won’t hurt me.” It will, actually, if you don’t fully accept this bit of him. But he doesn’t add that.

You don’t say anything in return, don’t need to. Just slowly reach out your hand again, tap it against his face to get him to open up. Your nail lightly scratches against the sharp tip of one is his jagged teeth, the sound unsettling but not quite unwelcomed.

His teeth later become your most favourite thing to trace on him.

His whole face is, really.

Your fingers are always so so soft, they trace up and down his features, soothing soft patterns into his skin. His flesh isn’t warm, it hasn’t been for centuries.. but for tonight, now, it seems to heat in a way that is only coaxed out through your touch.

He shivers each time, has yet to get use to this. The softness, the gentle hands and the gentle voice. It almost makes him sleepy, another thing found impossible since he’s been dead. He softly rocks you two back and forth, his arms wrapped tight around your waist as you both stand in the middle of your room.

It’s quiet, save for a few steady breathes and the occasional whisp of the breeze against the leaves outside. The floor boards creak under your shared weight as you sway slowly, a silent dance.

You trace your fingers over the ridge of his nose, feel the cartilage underneath, nails lightly scratching against his flesh. Not that it bothers him, nothing could. Not from you.

You give a small hm, puzzled. He isn’t sure, his eyes flickering open to look at you, though your eyes remained closed. As if you’re focused.

He mimics you, giving a small hum in response.

“Broke your nose?” You ask, whispered. Quiet.

Your breath tingles against his skin, curls its way around his skin and beard. Smells like peppermint and sugar.

“Aye, few times,” here, he speaks in his usual accent. Thick with unspoken Gaelic, words jumbled into traces of an olden tongue, long clipped from his people.

You only nod, continuing your admiration further down, over to his lips that luckily aren’t chapped. Haven’t been for a while now. You’ve mentioned it before, the first time.

When you traced your fingers over his skin, pointer softly tapping against his lips, you muttered, “rough skin.. you should drink more water.”

He only gave a small frown then, tongue darting out to give some moisture to his otherwise cracked skin. He didn’t drink any water, but he kept a chapstick on him from there out, one he would use anytime he needed to visit you.

From there, your fingers work down to his chin, the rough stubble of determined hair scratchy at you a tiny bit.

A small smile tugs at your lips, teeth faintly shining against the light of the oil lamp. His eyes stick to it, mouth slowly falling agape. Adoration written all over his face, so bold and loud, one would feel the same adoration from his expression alone. As if the sight of your smile alone can melt even the strongest of men.

He thinks it could.

“Gonna’ shave?”

He shakes his head. You smile wider, “Good, don’t. Feels nice.”

He plans to never shave his beard again.

[viharbinger]

—License and registration, please.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Did you pass the speed limit? No. Did Jun-ho pull you over anyways to steal a few moments (and kisses) with you? Yes.

Content: fluff, shared kisses, a girl flirting with him but Jun-ho being very loyal, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

The air was cool that afternoon, sunlight glinting off the windshields of passing cars. Traffic duty wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was steady, and after everything Jun-ho had endured chasing shadows and secrets, it wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind the transfer. It gave him time to breathe. To be with you.

A motorcycle driving into sight caught his eyes, bringing him out of his thoughts. A man carrying a girl on the back, helmet-less.

Jun-ho approached the two as the motorcycle came to a stop, his partner—a younger, less experienced officer trailed after him.

“You’re not wearing a helmet. Your license, please.” he took out a small tablet as the man cursed, eyes full of impatience and annoyance.

“Isn’t this entrapment? Hiding to catch people is shady. You want to squeeze money out of broke citizens?” the man scoffed.

“Your license, please.” Jun-ho ignored him and extended a hand out, waiting.

The man handed over his license begrudgingly as the girl sitting behind him on the motorcycle hopped down, giving the man a reassuring pat as if saying, “I’ve got this,” before coming closer to Jun-ho.

“Look, can’t you just let us go? I’m wearing one.” she gestured to her own helmet, giving it a steady pat.

“No, ma’am.”

The girl frowned, but took a second look at him and her eyes sparkled, peering at him. “Hey, you’re really handsome!” her voice tuned into a higher pitch at her excitement, as if she found some treasure.

“I could charge you with obstruction.” Jun-ho said dryly, checking the information on the small tablet in his hand.

“You’re a tough cookie,” the girl smiled wider, taking out her phone. She snapped a few pictures, striking different poses as Jun-ho tried to avoid the camera, his head ducked low as he scanned over the information shown on the tablet. The man on the motorcycle narrowed his eyes at the sight.

As the ticket printed out from a machine strapped to Jun-ho’s vest, the girl patted his shoulder. “Come on, get in here!” she leaned closer, but he stepped away to maintain a good distance, before walking over to the man.

Jun-ho handed the ticket to the guy. “The fine for not wearing a helmet is 20,000 won. Pay it on time.”

The man snatched the ticket away as the girl continued fawning.

“What’s your number? Are you single?” she squealed.

Jun-ho blinked, momentarily taken aback, before he smirked softly and raised his hand, the band on his finger glinting in the sunlight. “Happily married,” he said simply, his voice warm.

The girl’s excitement evaporated, replaced by a pout. “Seriously? Who’s the lucky woman?”

Jun-ho didn’t answer, instead he walked back to the squad car.

The man drove off on his motorcycle, a bitterness clinging onto him. The girl was startled and chased after the guy, shouting and exclaiming and throwing her helmet at him but missing while trying to catch up, her loud curses disappearing into the distance along with the motorcycle.

Jun-ho watched the scene unfold with an amused smile, shaking his head before getting back into the squad car. His rookie partner shot him a bewildered look. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“More than you’d think. Just ignore them,” Jun-ho replied, settling back into his seat, looking down at the band on his ring finger as his eyes softened, already missing you.

They were driving back toward their usual patrol route when Jun-ho caught sight of a familiar car in the distance. It was yours, the unmistakable silhouette of the vehicle and the way it handled the road bringing an instant smile to his face.

“Pulling over for a second,” he told his rookie partner.

“What? Why?”

Without explanation, Jun-ho sped up slightly, falling into step behind your car before flicking on the lights. You weren’t speeding—you rarely did—but you pulled your car to the side of the road obediently anyway, your indicator blinking calmly, putting the car in park.

Jun-ho stepped out of the patrol car, smoothing his uniform. His partner stayed inside, fiddling with the radio.

He walked up to your window, tapping lightly on the glass, then gestured for you to roll it down. When you turned to look at him, he saw the way your eyes flickered in recognition and affectionate annoyance. He could already feel his heart melting.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along as you pressed the button and lowered the window.

“Officer,” you said, your voice laced with playful suspicion. “What’s the problem?”

Jun-ho leaned against the frame, speaking in a serious way, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “License and registration, please.”

You scoffed. “I wasn’t speeding. You know I wasn’t speeding.”

“You were driving suspiciously… within the speed limit,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Very suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Am I really getting a ticket for obeying the law?”

“Yes,” he said, dipping his head closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But you can pay in kisses.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in through the open window, his lips brushing yours in a tender, stolen kiss. It was soft, warm, and lingering—the kind of kiss that reminded you just how much he adored you. When he pulled back, he waited for just a moment before stealing another kiss. And then another.

“Jun-ho,” you mumbled, your voice half-scolding but mostly filled with affection.

“One more,” he murmured, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the window.

You gave in, letting him kiss you again.

“That’ll cover it,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled back, his eyes lingering on yours.

Just as he straightened, the passenger door of the squad car opened, and his rookie partner stepped out, looking thoroughly confused. “Uh… everything okay?”

Jun-ho let out a sigh, his expression shifting back to something more professional, though you could still see the softness in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute, go wait in the car.”

The officer hesitated but nodded, retreating back to the patrol car, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jun-ho said, his voice softening as he looked at you.

You smiled warmly. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Sharp.”

With one last lingering look, Jun-ho stepped back, letting you drive off. He stood there for a moment, watching your car disappear down the road, his heart full.

As he returned to the squad car, his rookie partner gave him a questioning look, but Jun-ho didn’t offer an explanation. Some things were just for him to cherish.

[viharbinger]

Omfg

Across the Threshold

one-shot

remmick x fem!reader

summary: you've never let him in. Not once. And still, every night without fail, he comes crawling back to your doorstep. Thirteen centuries old and rotting with want, Remmick worships you from the porch, drooling thick onto the floorboards, begging for permission to taste. And you? You watch. You love the power. Love the ache in him. Love the way he weeps when you deny him again and again.

But the night you finally say come in—he breaks.

Now that he’s inside, he’s never leaving. Not quietly. Not gently. And not until he crawls all the way inside you and makes a cathedral of your skin.

wc: 5.4k

a/n: based off this prompt that blew up!! It's been exactly one month since I released my first Remmick fic Mercy Made Flesh so it felt fitting to release something today, as a thank you for the tidal wave of love and support I've received since!! Seriously it's insane!! So, as a further thank you, I'm hosting a giveaway for followers here if you're interested, as a way to give back to all of you <333 thanks to @ddlydevotion for finding the photo refs for the banner!! and thanks to Liz @fuckoffbard for once again beta reading for me!! credit to Diana @hyoscyxmine for the photo of Remmick she initially edited <333

warnings: vampirism, blood kink, obsessive behavior, feral begging, oral (f! receiving), sub!remmick, somno-adjacent sleepiness, religious undertones, predator/prey dynamics, begging kink, worship kink, voice kink, monsterfucking, marking, blood drinking during sex, degradation, dark romance, possessive partner, crawling kink, aftercare, bite kink, creampie, power imbalance, bodily fluids (drool, blood, etc), control kink, manipulation by omission, mildly blasphemous themes

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!

Masterlist

You've never let him in. Not once.

And still, every night without fail, he shows up like clockwork—barefoot and bloodstained, wife beater stained and torn, revealing a sliver of lean muscle beneath, reeking of smoke and obsession.

Slouched on your porch like a dying dog, scratching at the threshold with dirt-caked nails, mouth open and drooling thick, almost foamy, like hunger’s rotted him from the inside out. His voice is raw from begging. But tonight? Tonight he’s feral.

You've got one leg draped over the door frame, robe hitched up just enough to taunt, a cool glass of iced tea sweating in your hand while he writhes just inches from your feet.

“You cruel little thing,” he rasps, drawl dragging slow and syrupy, his tongue catching on the words like they hurt.

“Y’gon’ make me crawl again, huh? ‘Cause I will. I’ll fuckin’—I’ll get on my belly like a damn animal, just for a taste. Just for a breath of you, sugar.”

His jaw’s slack, saliva roping down his chin, staining the porch dark beneath him as he grips the floorboards hard enough they creak.

“Let me in,” he whimpers, voice cracked and desperate, eyes blown wide.

“Please, I—I cain’t stand it no more. I cain’t fuckin’ breathe without you. Let me in. I’ll behave. I’ll worship you. I’ll—I’ll starve if you don’t.”

Your just watch him, tilt your glass.

“You've lived thirteen centuries, and you're on your knees for a girl in a nightgown?”

He nods, drooling harder, trembling.

“Yes ma’am. I’d beg for thirteen more if it meant you’d finally say the word.”

You don’t answer him at first.

Just lift your drink—slow, lazy, like the heat has made you sun-warmed and lethargic—and watch the ice swirl against the cylindrical sides. Your lips part only enough for a sip, sharp and cold on your tongue, as his voice frays at the threshold like an unraveling thread.

The porch groans under his weight when he shifts, mouth still hanging open, chin wet with the thick rope of saliva that’s already puddled beneath him. He doesn’t even wipe it away anymore. Doesn’t flinch at the indignity. If anything, he leans into it. As if the sloppier he gets, the more beastly and broken, the closer he’ll be to what you want.

Not human. Not civilized. Just yours.

Your bare toes flex against the doorframe—propped up, exposed, painted peach—and his breath stutters when he sees them. His jaw works open wider like he might sink his teeth into the wood instead, like he’s fighting the animal thing in him that wants to bite something until it bleeds.

“You gone quiet, sugar,” he drawls, voice like gravel scraped against wood. “You plannin’ to kill me out here?”

You hum. Just a little. Low in your throat.

Then finally, finally, you lean forward just a bit, letting the hem of your robe fall loose from your thigh, letting him see the curve of it where the porchlight catches golden on your skin. You know what you’re doing. You always know.

“You look like shit, Remmick.”

He moans—moans—like the insult made him hard.

“I—I know, baby. I know,” he gasps, crawling an inch closer on his knees, voice choked with some terrible, trembling reverence. “I’d tear out my fuckin’ ribs if it meant you’d give me one more breath. Just one. I’m—I’m so close to bein’ bones out here.”

His hands drag slow across the floorboards, smearing blood and spit as he chases your shadow like it might feed him. His claws are cracked and dirty, black at the edges, clacking like dull knives as he reaches for you.

But he won’t cross the threshold. Can’t.

Not unless you say the word.

You drag one foot down, let it press lightly against his chest, the ball of it nestling into the place where his heart doesn’t beat. You feel the way he flinches at the touch like it hurts him, like your skin is too holy for his body to bear. He makes a sound deep in his chest—part growl, part sob—and his head drops forward.

He presses his forehead to your ankle. Worships it.

“You’re a goddamn sickness,” you whisper, soft and cruel.

“I am, baby,” he breathes. “You made me sick. Ruined me good, didn’t you?”

And oh, how he sounds ruined.

You tilt your glass again, watch the last ice cube swirl and crack, watch his tongue dart out as if he could taste it from the air. His pupils are blown, wide and dark and endless, and his mouth keeps trying to form the word please like it’s the only one he remembers anymore.

A breeze rolls over the porch, stirring the trees, carrying the scent of you—hibiscus lotion, clean skin, cool linen and blood beneath it all—and Remmick shudders like a dying thing. His hips roll into the floor like he’s fucking the air, like scent alone could push him to the edge.

“Let me in,” he begs again, softer now. “Let me in before I do somethin’ wicked.”

You lean closer, dragging your foot up his chest and under his chin, tilting his face up toward you like a command.

“You already are wicked.”

He smiles, wild and ruined.

“Yes ma’am. And I’d be worse for you.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch.

Then you pull your foot away and stand, letting the robe slip an inch lower on your hips as you do. He tracks the movement like an animal locked on prey, hands gripping the wood, teeth bared like he might bite the air between you.

But you say nothing.

You turn, walk back into the house, and the door swings shut with a slow, echoing click.

And Remmick?

He stays there on the porch, slack-jawed, drooling, whispering your name like a prayer he wasn’t meant to know, his muscles flexing as his arms come up over his head in desperation, thick and defined, his face pinched in pain, fractals of dying light dancing off the worn gold of his chain, off the sweaty creases highlighting his biceps.

| six months ago |

You didn’t move here expecting silence.

You expected a little mold, sure. Some creaky floorboards, maybe a wasp’s nest under the porch or a possum in the crawlspace. You expected the gnats. You expected the heat. You expected the isolation.

But not the silence.

Not this bone-deep, split-the-world-open kind of silence. The kind that settles between your ribs and listens to your heartbeat like it’s trying to time its own.

The house—your house now, left to you by some long-dead aunt you don’t remember—is old and sagging at the edges. It leans a little to the right. The paint is peeled and sun-faded, the porch boards bow like a tired back, and the front screen door barely stays shut unless you wedge a rock into it.

But the bones are good. The land is wild and wide and humming with secrets.

And the silence? You’ve started to like it.

Until one night, it breaks.

It’s not thunder. Not a tree branch. Not the slam of a car door or the high bark of a neighbor’s dog. It’s slower than that. Heavier. Like footsteps made of velvet and grave dirt, deliberate and soft, but too certain to be harmless.

You hear it just past dusk, when the sky is soaked in pinks and bruised purples, and the porch light buzzes weakly behind you. You’re sitting on the front step, knees up, the sweat from your lemonade collecting in droplets between your thighs. Your robe’s open at the chest. The heat has stuck it to the small of your back. You haven’t seen a soul all week.

And then—

“Evenin’, darlin’.”

You look up.

There’s a man standing just past the gate. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like a memory from somewhere you’ve never lived—boots slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a face that looks like it’s been carved from heartbreak.

You can smell weathered leather. Wet pennies. Something faintly intoxicating.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

He’s handsome, you think, in a way that feels off. Like he walked out of a photograph too old to be yours. His hair is a mess, dark and sweat-matted at the temples. There’s a thin scar along his throat. He looks...starved. But not in the way that makes you pity him.

In the way that makes you want to keep your distance.

Still, you don’t get up. You don’t speak. The air between you thickens, trembles.

He tips his head slightly, a crooked smile cutting across his face.

“You look like you could use some company.”

You don’t invite him in.

You don’t say much at all.

Just glance toward the horizon, murmur something about supper, and let the screen door slam behind you before he can take a step forward. You watch through the curtains as he lingers at the gate, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to look harmless.

But you saw the way his eyes followed your legs. You saw how he noticed the sweat beading at your neck. How he inhaled when you passed him.

You lock the door that night. And the next. But he keeps coming.

First, it’s flowers.

Not from a store. Not anything wrapped in plastic or tied with ribbon. Just a bundle of wildflowers laid gently on your porch, still dusted with dew. You find them in the morning, no note, no explanation.

Then it’s peaches. Sun-warm and soft, their fuzz still clinging with bits of leaf and dirt. You bite into one and taste sweet nectar.

Then it’s a knife. Clean. Sharp. Ornate.

Then a book of poetry. Tattered, spine cracked, pages dog-eared with a name you don’t recognize scribbled inside the cover.

Then the sound of humming—just past the treeline. Low. Gentle. Almost...worshipful.

You don’t see him again for a week.

And when he returns, he stands on the bottom step like he’s been summoned.

You sit in the doorway this time, robe slipping off one shoulder. You’re not afraid. Not curious, either. Just...ready.

Ripe.

He keeps his eyes low. His voice is softer.

“You ain’t said my name yet.”

“I don’t know it,” you say.

He smiles like that hurts him.

“You don’t need it,” he says. “You already own me without it.”

It’s hot enough to peel the paint from the porch railing.

The air hums with crickets, thick as syrup, the kind of Southern heat that presses down on you like hands. Nothing moves. Not the trees. Not the wind. Not even the birds. The silence is alive—dense and waiting, like the breath before a confession.

And there he is. Again.

You hear him before you see him: the soft scrape of skin on wood, the faintest creak of a loose board under bare feet, the hitch in his breath when your scent hits him like perfume and punishment all at once. You left the door open tonight—not all the way, just ajar—and the porch light off. A single candle burns on the windowsill.

He doesn’t knock.

He never does anymore.

Just leans his weight into the frame, like even that much closeness is enough to tide him over for another day. But it’s not. You know it’s not. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch. In the way he shifts his hips. In the way the wood creaks beneath his knees when he starts to lower himself.

You don’t speak.

You just watch.

The hem of your robe rides high on your thighs, your legs bare and smooth against the old floorboards, one knee bent, one foot outstretched. You could shut the door. You don’t. You could invite him in—but that’s not the game.

You’ve seen how he suffers.

And you love the way he suffers.

He’s filthy tonight. Shirtless and sweaty, streaked with soot and dry blood that canaled in the defined avenues of his abs, a bruise blooming along one side of his ribcage. His hair’s a mess. His eyes look hollow. His lips are parted, pink and trembling, like he’s been mouthing your name into the dirt all night long.

When he drops to his knees, it’s not a performance. Not anymore. There’s no seduction in it. Just ache. Just need.

He whispers something you don’t quite catch—your name, maybe, or the shape of a prayer that lost its way. You hear him drag his nails against the porch, slow and rhythmic, like he’s trying to carve your initials into the floor.

“I dreamed of you again,” he rasps.

His voice is shredded. Used up.

“You were wearin’ that white thing. The one with the lace at the top. You smelled like vanilla and thunder. You called me darlin’ and I almost cried.”

You breathe through your nose, slow and even, but your thighs shift. You don’t think he notices, but he does.

His eyes flick to the motion and he moans—soft and low, broken at the edges. He presses his forehead to the floor like it’s consecrated ground. Like maybe if he can just touch it long enough, you’ll take pity.

“Please.”

The word is wet in his mouth. He says it again.

“Please, I—I don’t care what you do to me. Don’t even have to let me in. Just talk to me, sugar. Just say somethin’. Let me hear your voice. Let me see you.”

You shift in the doorway.

Then you speak—finally—voice quiet and even, your glass catching the candlelight as you raise it to your lips.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

He whimpers.

“‘Cause I cain’t not. ‘Cause you’ve got me chained up in here—” He presses a palm to his chest, hard enough you can hear the bones creak. “—and I like it. I fuckin’ like it, baby. Ain’t that sick?”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you lean forward just enough to let your fingers curl over the frame of the door, letting your robe fall slightly open at the neck. His mouth opens wider. His pupils blow black like a hungry shark.

“You want to come in?” you murmur.

His breath catches.

Then he nods. Frantic. Wild.

“Yes. Yes ma’am. Please.”

You tilt your head.

“Why?”

He blinks. He’s confused by the question. Then hurt. Then desperate.

“Because I—I need you. Need what’s inside. I cain’t smell nothin’ else but you. You’re in my fuckin’ blood, sweetheart, and I ain’t never tasted you but it’s killin’ me just knowin’ you’re behind that door.”

He leans forward, mouth brushing the frame. His tongue darts out—not quite licking it, but close—and you see the briefest flick of the forked tip, glistening and trembling with restraint. He pulls it back like he’s ashamed of it, like he wasn’t supposed to let you see that part of him.

Your stomach flips.

You almost say it. Almost.

But then you pull back.

And he breaks.

He wasn’t always like this.

You remember that. You remind yourself of it often—because it makes this part better. Sweeter. Sicker.

Because once upon a time, he tried to play it cool. Casual. Almost charming. Leaned against your gate with that low, lopsided smile, said things like ma’am and pleasure to meet you and you sure keep to yourself, don’t you, sugar?

Now?

He’s a wreck.

On all fours.

Spit roping from his lips in long, trembling strands as he drags himself toward your feet like a dog that’s been kicked too many times but still comes running. His pupils bleed red, eclipsing the black. His shirt is gone. His nails are cracked and black at the edges, scrabbling over the porch boards in slow, shivering motions that match the tremble in his voice.

His mouth hangs open. Tongue wet. Forked.

You can see the way it splits when he pants—like he can’t decide whether to speak or taste or crawl inside you and live there forever.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and it’s not seductive.

It’s pleading.

Pathetic.

Eyes wide and glossy, like something half-feral and half-forgotten, a kicked-puppy expression clinging to him even as he drools down his chin. He’s shaking. His knees have long since gone raw from dragging over your porch, and he presses his forehead to the step just beneath you.

You tilt your glass. Take a sip.

He moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Buckling at the sound.

“God, please,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and slurred like he’s drunk on the smell of you. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take it no more, baby. You’re killin’ me. Killin’ me soft and slow and I fuckin’ love it.”

You shift, just enough for your robe to slide up one thigh.

His hands curl into fists. He bites down on a sob.

“I’ll be so good to you,” he whimpers, dragging himself another inch forward. “You don’t—you don’t know what I could give you. What I wanna give you. What I think about every night with my hand on my cock, prayin’ for a dream of your fuckin’ voice.”

You raise an eyebrow. But you don’t stop him. And that’s all the permission he needs.

“I’d eat it for hours,” he blurts, voice breaking. “I’d keep my tongue on you till you forgot your own name. I’d fuckin’ cry for the chance, darlin’. You don’t know what I’d do just to smell you on my face. Let me clean you up with my mouth. Let me keep you sweet.”

He pants like a sinner, sweating through the knees of his jeans, forked tongue slipping past his lips as he mouths at the space near your ankle. Never quite touching. Never daring.

“I’d make it good for you,” he groans. “Better than anyone. I’d hold you down or let you ride. Whatever you wanted. However you wanted. I’d tear my fuckin’ throat out if it made you wet.”

You stay silent.

Let him spiral.

Let him beg.

Let him drown in everything you’ll never give him.

His jaw hangs slack again, saliva pouring freely now, staining the porch with slick, twitching need. He doesn’t even seem to notice. His hips rock forward once—pathetically—like he’s rutting against the air just from being this close.

Then—

“Say it,” he croaks, wrecked and delirious. “Say the word. Just the once. Just once and I’ll die happy. I’ll let you ruin me every night. Let you bleed me dry, fuck me dumb, use me up ‘til I’m nothing but bones and thank you for it. I’ll be your thing. Your pet. Your meal. Just say it. Say it and let me in.”

You watch him twitch.

You don’t speak.

And that silence?

It undoes him.

He presses his face into the porch and sobs—one sharp, cracked sound that makes your thighs clench—and you think, maybe next time.

Maybe.

But not tonight.

It’s late.

Later than you usually sit up for him.

The air outside smells like wet bark and heat lightning. You’ve just bathed—skin still damp, robe clean, lips glossy with something sweet and sticky you let melt over your tongue before you opened the door.

The floorboards are still slick from the storm earlier, and the moon’s a thin thing, half-ash and half-bone. Somewhere in the trees, something howls.

But he’s louder.

He’s already there when you pull the door open, sprawled out like roadkill—on his side, one cheek pressed against the porch wood, arms limp at his sides, knees bent in. Like he dragged himself here and died at the edge of your mercy.

But when he hears the door creak, he moves.

Head jerks. Eyes flash. His nostrils flare, and he moans—low and open-mouthed, like he’s just caught your scent for the first time all over again.

“Sweetheart,” he gasps, trying to sit up and immediately wobbling, weak from hunger or lust or both. “Sweetheart, I—I dreamed you were gonna open it tonight.”

You say nothing.

He drags himself upright, kneeling again, hands in his lap like a penitent priest waiting for permission to sin. His thighs are slick with drool and sweat and something darker—something old. You don’t ask. He’s trembling.

You step forward.

And he growls.

Low. Feral. Possessive. His shoulders hunch, his nails dig into the wood, his tongue flashes out—forked, twitching—and he presses his forehead to the threshold like it burns him.

“You smell like soap,” he whimpers. “Like you’re clean and warm and wantin’. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You always do.”

You kneel in front of him, robe gaping where the sash has gone loose.

He chokes.

You brush a knuckle down his cheek. He shudders so violently you think he might break apart at the seams.

And then you whisper it.

Soft. Small.

The word.

“Come in.”

He doesn’t believe you at first.

His body goes very still. Breath caught. Eyes searching your face for the trick. His mouth parts around a sob so sharp it cuts his throat on the way out.

“Wh-what?” he croaks.

“You heard me,” you say, voice low. “You can come in.”

And that’s all it takes.

He lunges.

Not with violence. Not with fury. But with such pure, starved need it knocks the breath out of your lungs. He collapses forward into the doorway like a beast finally slipping its leash, dragging himself across the threshold like it hurts—but in a way he wants.

He weeps.

On his knees again. Hands clutching your thighs. Mouth open and dripping against your bare skin as he repeats your name over and over, shaking, whispering thanks like a dying man kissing dirt.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, fuck—thank you—”

His tongue presses to your thigh.

You twitch.

And he wails—the sound muffled against your flesh, trembling like a man who’s tasted Heaven and is terrified he’ll be dragged back to Hell. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you down with him, until your knees hit the floor and you’re seated right there in the doorway with him cradled between your legs like a body in prayer.

“I’ll be so gentle,” he babbles, licking a stripe up your inner thigh. “I’ll be good. I’ll be sweet, sugar, I swear it—I won’t bite unless you ask. I’ll eat and eat ‘til you shake and sob and soak my chin and then I’ll fuckin’ beg for seconds.”

You let your head fall back, lips parted, robe slipping.

He sees it.

And loses what’s left of his composure.

He goes slow at first—painfully, reverently slow.

Tongue pressed flat to your cunt, hands gripping your thighs like lifelines, the tip of that sinful, split tongue tracing soft, teasing figure-eights just to feel you tremble.

And you do.

Every flick, every moan, every whimper he pulls from your throat drives him deeper into madness. He cries as he eats you. Cries. Big, open-mouthed sobs against your pussy as he whispers nonsense:

“So sweet—so sweet, fuck—never tasted anything like you—please, let me die here—let me drown—let me be your floorboard, your shadow, your fuckin’ leash, baby, I’ll be anything—”

You come on his tongue once, and he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even pause.

Just whimpers like your pleasure is sustenance, like your slick is water and he’s been crawling the desert for years.

You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tug. He moans into you. Grinds his hips to the floor.

“Can I fuck you?” he begs against your cunt. “Please, can I? I’ll go slow. I’ll go soft. I’ll make you feel worshipped. You want it rough? I’ll give you rough. Want it sweet? I’ll make you sob. I’ll bite your throat open and make you scream my name ‘til the walls crack.”

He looks up at you, face wet, chin slick, forked tongue flicking out like a serpent sensing the heat of your body. His eyes are glassy. Wild.

“Tell me I can fuck you.”

You nod.

He breaks again.

And then—

He crawls forward, palms flat on the floor, reverent and quiet. His cock is hard, flushed and weeping, twitching against his stomach. You see the way his hands shake as he guides himself to you. The way he groans—choked and low and obscene—when the head of it brushes against your entrance.

He looks up at you, panting. Lips parted.

“You sure?” he whispers. Like he’s asking permission to live.

You nod again.

“Then hold on to me, sugar,” he says, voice raw and trembling. “I ain't never comin’ back from this.”

And he pushes in—

Slow. So slow. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish beneath him. Like your heat is swallowing him whole. Like the walls of your body were carved centuries ago to hold only him.

He moans into your neck, hips stilling halfway through.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, voice shattered. “You feel like—like you were made for me. I’m—I’m not gonna last. I ain’t—please don’t let go of me.”

You clutch his shoulders.

He bottoms out with a sob, every inch of him buried in you, shaking like a man who’s finally come home. His forehead presses to yours. His hips roll once, reverent, like worship.

He doesn’t move at first.

Just stays buried to the hilt, mouth slack against your throat, breathing like a dying animal in your ear. You feel him twitch inside you—thick, hot, leaking—and for a moment you think he might cry again.

Then he growls.

Low. Deep. Possessive.

And moves.

One slow pull out—almost all the way—followed by a brutal thrust that slams your back against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the doorframe. You gasp. He moans. Loud. Open-mouthed. Obscene.

“Fuck,” he chokes, already shaking. “Oh, sugar. Oh, baby, you—you don’t know what you’ve done. What you let loose.”

He doesn’t wait for permission anymore. Doesn’t need it. You gave it the second you said come in.

Now he’s fucking like it’s all he knows how to do.

His hips snap forward over and over, wet slaps echoing through the open doorway, sweat dripping from his brow, tongue lolling out as he pants like a rabid thing. He braces one hand beside your head and the other beneath your thigh, holding you open, dragging you into every thrust like he wants to feel himself hit the back of you.

You’re soaked. Wrecked. Clawing at his back and gasping his name over and over like it’s the only prayer you’ve got.

“You wanted me like this, didn’t you?” he snarls, his drawl thick and guttural now. “Wanted to see me come undone. Wanted to see the monster in me. Well, here he is, sugar. Here I fuckin’ am.”

He grinds down. Deep. You cry out.

He smirks, wild and broken and high off the sound.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your mouth. “That’s me in you. Deep as I can go. You’ll feel me for days. I’ll make sure of it.”

And he does.

He fucks you until your legs tremble, until your voice is raw, until the only sounds are slick, messy, filthy. He presses his chest to yours, forehead to your jaw, panting through clenched teeth as he drives into you like he can’t stop. Like if he slows down, he’ll die.

You feel the sharp tips of his fangs graze your throat. His voice is wrecked.

“Let me taste you,” he begs. “Let me drink while I’m inside you. Let me be full, sugar. Let me be whole.”

You nod.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

His mouth opens wide and you feel the bite—sharp, electric, perfect—right where your neck meets your shoulder, and suddenly his hips are slamming into you harder, messier, feral, rutting through your orgasm as he drinks, drinks, drinks.

It hits you all at once. Heat. Pain. Pleasure so sharp it blinds you.

You come hard, clenching around him, and he sobs into your throat like it’s sacred, like he’s breaking apart inside your body.

You feel him twitch. His breath goes ragged.

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice slurred, tongue lapping at your skin between frantic, messy thrusts. “Gonna—fuck, sugar, I’m gonna fill you—gonna mark you—make you mine—mine—mine—”

And he does.

Hot and thick and endless.

He spills inside you with a guttural cry, hips stuttering, teeth still buried in your skin. You feel it pulse into you—claiming you, over and over, like his body doesn’t know how to stop. Like his need has no end.

He finally stills, trembling.

Still buried inside you. Still panting. Still moaning your name into the crook of your neck like he’s worshipping it.

And then—

He kisses the bite.

Soft.

Gentle.

His hands cradle your face like you’re glass, and for the first time all night, his voice goes quiet.

“You saved me,” he breathes.

And for once, you don’t correct him.

You don’t know how long you lie there.

Could be minutes. Could be hours. The air has gone still, heavy with sweat and sex and iron and him. The storm’s long gone, but you can still smell the rain—sweet and earthy, mixing with the blood drying at your throat.

You feel it when he finally starts to move.

Just a shift.

The slow drag of his hand up your thigh, fingertips curling into the dip of your waist like he’s reminding himself you’re real. His body is still flush against yours, cock soft now but still inside you, holding you open. Keeping you full. Like he’s afraid pulling out will make the whole night unravel.

You reach up, bury a hand in his tangled hair.

He makes a sound—small, shattered—and curls tighter against you.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of something too heavy to name. “Don’t make me leave. Not after that. I’ll—I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

Your fingers stay in his hair, stroking gently. His body softens against yours.

There’s blood smeared across your neck, your chest, down your ribs. His bite still stings, the skin pulsing, raw—but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It burns. Like a seal. Like a signature.

You glance down.

He’s watching you.

Eyes half-lidded. Glazed. Glowing, almost—faint and strange, like he’s lit from within. There’s a little blood on his mouth. More on his chin. But he doesn’t wipe it away.

You wonder if he’s ever looked more peaceful.

“You taste like sunlight,” he murmurs, dream-drunk. “Like nectar. Like the end of the world.”

You huff a laugh, quiet and breathless.

“Don’t get poetic on me now.”

“I ain’t,” he slurs, eyes fluttering. “Just honest.”

He nuzzles into your collarbone, forked tongue flicking lazily against your skin like he’s still trying to memorize it. His hands roam—slow, aimless, like he doesn’t know how to stop touching. One settles on your hip. The other slides beneath your spine and pulls you closer.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go,” he mumbles. “Not after this. You said it. You let me in.”

You nod. You did.

And you meant it.

He presses his nose to your pulse point, breath fogging across your skin. His lips ghost over the bite. He presses a kiss there, reverent.

“I’ll be good,” he repeats, softer now. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. You want a house? I’ll build it. You want blood? I’ll bring you the whole fuckin’ town. You want me to rot on the floor again? I will. Long as I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

And he moans.

Like the words filled him with something he’s never had in thirteen centuries.

You feel him soften completely then, sinking into your body like sleep. One leg slung over yours, one arm anchoring you to his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet noise that makes him groan as you shudder. Your body aches, raw and sore and claimed, but you don’t move.

Neither does he.

Eventually, he sleeps.

You know because the grip he has on you loosens—but only a little. He still breathes you in. Still holds you like something holy and fragile and violently his.

And you?

You stay awake a while longer, staring at the door still cracked open, the threshold now crossed, the air inside heavy with what you both became tonight.

The blood on your neck has dried.

The slick between your thighs has cooled.

But his body stays warm against you.

And outside, the sky hasn’t yet begun to lighten.

No birds. No blue.

Just that inky pre-dawn blackness pressing soft against the windows, holding the night still around you like a secret.

Because he can’t survive the sun.

And tonight, for once, you don’t want the morning to come either.

[viharbinger]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 25000 likes!

[viharbinger]

Harry Potter Masterlist

[last updated 8/1/2025] Other Masterlists

Fred Weasley

Fred with a muggle!reader

Fred with a Slytherin!reader

Marriage and Fred

Hermione Granger

Hermione with a Slytherin!reader

a/n: My favourite character is Fred if you can't tell. I'm also taking fantastic beasts requests 👀 newt and theseus requests please!!

[viharbinger]

💍 Romance And Weddings (Fred Weasley x fem!reader)

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Wife!Reader (I'm fuckign tweaking)

Warnings: Fred not dead 🤫🥰, pregnancy, marriage, reader is female, usage of pet names (love and darling), this is set shortly after the second wizarding war

a/n: I have exams tomorrow and I'm writing Fred Weasley x wife reader fic??? I think I need the mental hospital

You and Fred started dating in your first year of Hogwarts. It was a small parchment of paper passed to you, asking, 'do you want to be my girlfriend? Circle yes or no' I mean you both were eleven, without a worry in the world and there wasn't any harm in dating. And when the school years went by, it seems like it wasn't just a silly childhood crush after all because you've both become accustomed to calling each other your boyfriend and girlfriend and hanging out together everywhere.

You've had your awkward first kiss, reluctant hand holding, and even broken up a couple of times during your time in Hogwarts. But what surprised you the most is why you said yes to his marriage proposal! I mean, it's common knowledge that most highschool relationships just don't work out. But now, you have officially been dating for a little over 6 or more years, if you don't count the times you've broken up over silly arguments— you've even moved in with him and George!

Even when you were dating, Fred would always teasingly flirt with you, it had you turning red all the time. And you'd also do it back at him, making him turn equally red. Soon enough, those awkward first kisses became natural and a daily occurrence for the both of you and you got more comfortable with each other.

So it was just a little after Fred and George had opened up their shop and the Wizarding community was starting to divide into two sides. Business was booming, Fred and George were making more than enough galleons to fit into their pockets and were looking to treat themselves.

They've bought themselves the dragon-skin suits, gifted their family presents and started living comfortably. But Fred had a thought. You've both dated basically throughout your most important years— and been with him the whole time! He wants to treat you to something but what he didn't think he would get was an engagement ring.

He just happened to come by a jewellery store when he saw it... A ring that would look so beautiful if it sat on your finger. He bought it without a second thought but decided not to propose just then, because you never know, right?

He kept the ring in his jacket pocket at all times, and even made sure you never washed the jacket yourself to prevent you from accidentally seeing it. He was gonna keep it for a momentous occasion, and... Maybe the momentous occasion was when you and Fred were in the middle of a fight against Death Eaters in Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do this earlier, love!" He shouts through all the noise happening in the school. "You're an idiot!" You snapped, hitting one final blow to a death eater, and then clutching Fred's arm to pull him away to safety, your finger glistening with the ring he just proposed.

"You couldn't have done this in a worser time?" You breathed, quickly blocking an attack at another Death Eater, and Fred fires at him. Teamwork makes the dreamwork. "Yeah, but you said yes, didn't you?" He laughs amidst the battle, now pulling you to where the rest of the survivors are also fighting.

When the fight was finally over, you were cuddled up against him with your head on his shoulder sitting on one of the dining chairs in the great hall. You finally had the time to admire the ring on your finger, and this action doesn't go unnoticed by Fred. "Once we're out of here, I promise I'll give you the best life possible. Anything for my darling wife." He cheekily grins, caressing the hand that you held up to look at.

"You're crazy, you know that?" You blush, hiding your face in his neck. And the news doesn't go unheard in less than a week. He's sent owls to his family, yours, friends and acquaintances all about your engagement and that a wedding date is to be announced.

"Fred, where are all these owls coming from?" The replies came around the same time, and he was just smiling cheekily. He pressed a long affectionate kiss to your temple as you opened the letters with furrowed eyebrows. "You told... Everyone? Already?!"

Every week without marrying you keeps Fred so antsy to marry you, it's adorable. Before he's even married you, he's already calling you 'Mrs. Weasley' or referred you as his wife in every conversation. When you're shopping with him too, he's insufferable. He's constantly making suggestions for the wedding, "I think this napkin would look nice on the guest tables, what's say you?" or "That dress would look lovely on you for the reception, love. Just suggesting."

And the first week back to the Burrow after your engagement was celebratory. Molly was ecstatic and welcomes you into her family warmly, not like you weren't ever part of it.

Finally came to the wedding, it would be big with a lot of friends and families. Being one of the Weasley twins, there would be fireworks setting off after your I do's and it would just be magical. Seeing you walk down the aisle for the first time, his eyes would burn trying to hold his tears. He thinks you're so beautiful, he couldn't help speaking it out loud, earning some laughter from the audience.

During the wedding reception, he couldn't help stare at you everytime, either. He also gets so drunk off of firewhiskey with his family, he starts calling for you if you leave him for longer than 3 minutes. He'd slur your name, and be so tired he would just lay his head on your shoulder for a short nap, ruining your perfect outfit with his drool.

And not even a few months had passed since your wedding when you find out you're pregnant with Fred's baby. Not surprising of course, being a wife of a Weasley basically meant you're gonna have a broody husband. You had no fear in telling him, because it was his idea after all. Well, he'd try to pretend it's your idea by planting it in your head.

He'd purposefully take care of Teddy Lupin to show how much of a good father he would be in front of you. Or he'd somehow shift the conversation to be about how he loves how cute babies are. "I know what you're playing at, Freddie." You jab a finger at his chest, and he catches it the second jab and presses a kiss to your hand. "Don't know what you're talking about, love."

When you finally agreed to the idea of getting pregnant, he literally wasted no time. He's already running his hands all over your body, kissing you breathlessly and pulling you to the bed... And the rest is history. But the first baby is just a start, he says. Like I said, he's broody and even jokes about wanting to have a 'full quidditch team' which you swat him for.

<3 pleaz reblog and like

[viharbinger]

I loved your hermione hc so much, it was amazing :) 🐠

🥰thank youu I think I couldve done better though. maybe next time I get a Hermione request

[viharbinger]

can i request a fred weasley x slytherin (maybe someone from black family) reader? thank u so much!!

๋࣭ ⭑ The Lion and the Snake

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Reader

plotline: reader is a Slytherin with a death eater family. You're kinda disconnected from them and gives valuable information to the order of the phoenix, letting you stay at Grimmauld Place— where the notorious troublemaker Fred Weasley is. not to mention his giant crush on you.

A/n: I would like to do Fred x reader from the black family but I can't because I think it's kinda weird I'm sorrey 😭

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence and also it's a bit rushed sorry I was writing until 5am and didn't even sleep plus it's a school night😭💔

Grimmauld Place was where you and Fred Weasley met each other for the first time. Surely as fellow Hogwarts students, you've met each other before once or twice, right? Nope! You were part of the Slytherin house and he was in Gryffindor and shared only one class together.

But you've definitely seen him before for sure, whenever he and his identical twin were getting detention or losing house points very loudly in class. Even when you've been ushered out of the library when it was starting to get late at night, you'd notice the twins sneaking off somewhere from their tower.

They'd never taken the initiative to talk to you, though, as they never really needed to. But Fred does notice the way you've been targeted for your family name. Even Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson might try to talk with you to join forces but you just ignore them everytime, earning some foul expressions in return.

Yet he can't seem to ignore the fact that you're breathtaking. He can't believe it himself that he's thinking of you in such a way.. And he definitely lingered his eyes on you a little too long one time during the Yule Ball. Eventually, he started asking people around what you're like, what you're up to if you left the class abruptly or who you went to the Yule Ball with— which was weeks ago.

He could never catch you alone though. You would somehow always blend into the crowd and disappear or just be too busy with something else to be talking to anyone.

Fast forward, you spent the last few months sharing information with your favourite teacher, Professor Lupin on some information about the death eaters' plans you heard from your family which granted you a spot in Grimmauld Place. Your family isn't exactly the kindest folk and will likely not even notice you gone for a whole summer.

Everything Fred's ever thought about you became old and he could learn everything about you all over again— properly.

"Fred, right?" That was probably the first time he's ever heard your voice. Well, the first time he's ever heard it clearly because he'd only ever hear you softly whisper questions to the teachers privately about upcoming tests. And he wouldn't lie... He liked your voice. He liked the way you said his name.

"The one and only." He jests, sticking a hand out for you to shake. You beamed up at him and proudly shake his hand. He had an eruption of butterflies all over his stomach there, but painfully ignored it.

"How come I've never met you in Hogwarts?" He questions, even though he perfectly knows why. The question colors your face into a darker hue, "Well, I just didn't really like talking to people." You shrugged.

"Not even me? I'm sure me and my brother have been quite the topic is every conversation these days." He boasts, to which you laugh at. "No.. I've just been a little busy with my own studies is all." A little busy? He's been trying to catch you at every opportunity! "Are you sure you're a Slytherin? Seems like you're an overachieving Ravenclaw to me." He teases, peering over the books you held up to your chest.

"I plan to do something big in the future." You smiled before walking off. That's definitely the most he's ever heard you say in one sitting. Has something changed you over the summer or what? Not that he doesn't like it of course.

Despite your efforts in telling the Order some truths and details, Molly wouldn't let you in on the meetings because you were too young. Like Harry, Fred and the rest of the group, they were frustrated about it!

๋࣭ ⭑

After a quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy couldn't keep it in himself to make fun of the Weasleys. He got a little too far and started insulting Molly and the aftermath of it wasn't pretty at all. Draco got beat up by George and Harry, Fred had to be restrained by his teammates, and Umbridge started being unfair again.

She took away Fred, George and Harry's brooms and positions in their quidditch team permanently. This earned a foul mood from Fred the entire week, which even got you concerned.

You finally got him to alone one day outside the Gryffindor tower when you were on your way down to the library. "Hello, Fred. Fancy a study with me at the library?" All of a sudden, his bad mood seemed to falter. But he hates the idea of studying now that he's realised his dreams, honestly— which was to open up the joke shop with George. Not to mention he was planning to cook up some more products to ruin Umbridge's day at the moment. But this was the first time you've ever invited him somewhere and he wasn't going to say no!

At the library, you sat side by side sharing a book, awfully close to each other. "I've heard you lost your broom and can't play for Gryffindor anymore. I'm sorry about that." You whispered, not looking up from the book. "Sorry for what? It just gives me more reason to need to ruin Umbridge's life." He grinned, completely forgetting about the book in front of him.

"I saw you earlier, you looked like you were throwing daggers behind Malfoy's head—" You were about to say but was cut off by his words. "Let's not talk about that right now. I want to know more about you." He says suddenly, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

"What do you want to know?" You eyed him carefully, earning a nervous feeling from him. "I just wanna know what my favourite Slytherin is up to these days." He shrugged casually. "I've been busy reading up on the syllabus lately and decided to watch your game a few days ago." You start off.

"Fred, you've got to do something about her! She's driving me mad! I could barely take enough from the other Slytherins, let alone her!" You suddenly exclaim before he could form up a response to the first thing you said. He's never heard you be so worked up over something, earning a sharp glare from Madame Pince the librarian.

"Okay, okay. I was planning to anyway. Just hold on, because me and George are gonna give her hell." He whispers to you, earning a lovely smile on your face which he wants permanently etched onto his mind. "Promise me that. I don't want to see Ron get his broom taken away either." You held up your pinky to him.

Ignoring the temperature rising in his face, he hooks his pinky around yours. "I'll do it for your sake so you don't end up in Azkaban for something worse." He jokes so you wouldn't notice how giddy that childish pinky promise got to him.

๋࣭ ⭑

Weeks go by and the school was taken over by Umbridge. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were giving you a hard time everyday for some reason. One day, you spoke out of turn with Pansy when she started probing you on why you never talk to anyone, earning a hard slap on the face.

Then, came the blood out your nose. No amount of tissues could help you out then. As onlookers go by, Fred was walking around with George when he notices your never ending nose bleed. He ushers George away before you could look up at them, earning a smug look from the other twin.

"What happened? You alright there?" He immediately sits by you, patting your back. "Pansy." You grunted, keeping the tissues over your nose. "That slithering...!" He was about to stand up but you pulled him down.

"Shut up and help me. I know you can fix this, that's why you're here, right?" You glared at him, your innocent and shy facade seemed to be replaced by a true Slytherin at the moment.

"Oh. Right." He quickly pulls out a purple coloured sweet from his pockets and hands it over to you. A few seconds went by and the iron taste in your tongue and blood were finally fading. "Perhaps I didn't take care of myself properly these days to be bleeding this much over a slap..." You muttered, fidgeting the wrapper and tissues in your fingers.

"Maybe you should put down the books for a change. I know our exams are coming up but you could use a little relaxation." He smoothly slides his arm over your shoulder, inching closer to you. "Your product really worked! You must be really clever to be able to pull this off. Is this what your mum gets so worked up about at Grimmauld?" You exclaim, examining the wrapper closely.

Perhaps the praises he was getting from you was making his stomach do flips. He was up close and personal with you now, to tell you something over the noise of the students walking by.

"Well... Okay, I'll let you in on a little secret. I—" He was cut off by a magical force that pulled you and Fred apart. "Remember the rules, children!" Umbridge tuts with her wand out, and walks past you both with her loud heels echoing in the hallway.

That interaction certainly made you both blush a dark hue, even though you weren't about to do anything... Were you? "I'll be seeing you then. Thank you for... This." You stood up to clear the tension, waving the wrapper to show what you meant. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it." He plays it off as you walked away.

He sighs and brushes his hair and mentally curses that god awful Umbridge. Why did she have to come by just then?

๋࣭ ⭑

Fred and George just played the craziest prank on Umbridge. They disrupted the O.W.Ls with their charmed fireworks- beautiful fireworks. They have always said they wanted to do something outside of their academics, so they wouldn't really care if they were expelled.

Their act of bravery became legend, they were now even conversation expressions. Students were now pulling pranks on Umbridge as well and saying "I'm about to pull a Weasley!" It was really funny. But you never got to see the twins after that because you were still stuck in school with your nose in books, dreadfully waiting for the next holiday break to see them.

The most dreadful day for the Order came. Sirius Black passed away from the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. And the announcement of Voldemort returning for good was grim. Everyone was dreadful and sad for weeks.

However, the opening of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes brought smiles upon faces and yours too. You've finally got the chance to meet your favourite Weasley twin.

"Thought I'd never see you come by, L/n." Fred says, puffing out his chest to show off his new outfit. "Fred, this store is amazing! And you're looking dapper." You gasp, looking him up and down.

"Oh, you make me blush." He plays it off. "Can we have a chat? I think George can handle himself for a little bit, no?" You tugged on his sleeve, slowly pulling him towards the entrance. "You mean I can get away from him? Don't mind If I do." He laughs, looking at George for a moment before following you outside.

The outside of the store was depressing. Not many shops were open and the mood was different compared to the inside. Ever since the attacks from the death eaters and Voldemort, everyone's been too scared to be outside.

You hugged Fred tightly the moment you got him out. "I missed you. Why couldn't you wait to get expelled till it was our exams?" You whined, swaying him back and forth.

"If I knew you'd miss me this much, I wouldn't have done it." He pats your back, dropping his head onto yours. "I loved those fireworks you did, it was brilliant! Smart! And your store... I can't believe you're really making it out there." You gush, looking at the store.

"Yeah, well... Me and George just thought people needed a laugh these days." He shrugs it off like as if his insides aren't fluttering right now. Has the weeks that had gone by while he was gone made you even more gorgeous?

"I think you're amazing with what you do, Fred." You lowered your voice. Was it just him, or was the street getting really quiet, too? The proximity between the two of you was getting closer. "I just did what I thought was right." He pretends to not notice the warmth from your body being so close to him.

"I'm sorry but would you mind if we... Kissed?" He quickly says, clearly frustrated by how painful the tension was. "Not at all." You replied, your face just inches from his. And the gap closed.

You were kissing... You and Fred were kissing! You couldn't believe it yourself. You reckon it was the quiet street driving you mad to start kissing this troublemaker. Your left hand were clenching his hair, the other on his cheek. His was on either side of face, like as if you'll run away if he lets go. The kiss was so soft and sweet, he wanted more. But you had to let go when George called out for Fred to come back.

"I'm not done with you, yeah? I know you've graduated, so you can certainly come back here anytime. So.... Come back here, soon?" He looks at your eyes with so much love. "Why are you talking to me like I'm not already dating you?Of course I will." You joked, beaming up at him before slowly letting go of him.

For the rest of the day, Fred was buzzing with excitement and excitedly promoted products to his customers with even more enthusiasm. George thought he's lost his mind.

© This is my works please don't steal or copy.

Like and reblog to help a girl out!

[viharbinger]

No way I'm shadowbanned when I spent like 5 hours writing that fic...

[viharbinger]

Whahatats testing testing

[viharbinger]

can i request a fred weasley x slytherin (maybe someone from black family) reader? thank u so much!!

๋࣭ ⭑ The Lion and the Snake

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Reader

plotline: reader is a Slytherin with a death eater family. You're kinda disconnected from them and gives valuable information to the order of the phoenix, letting you stay at Grimmauld Place— where the notorious troublemaker Fred Weasley is. not to mention his giant crush on you.

A/n: I would like to do Fred x reader from the black family but I can't because I think it's kinda weird I'm sorrey 😭

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence and also it's a bit rushed sorry I was writing until 5am and didn't even sleep plus it's a school night😭💔

Grimmauld Place was where you and Fred Weasley met each other for the first time. Surely as fellow Hogwarts students, you've met each other before once or twice, right? Nope! You were part of the Slytherin house and he was in Gryffindor and shared only one class together.

But you've definitely seen him before for sure, whenever he and his identical twin were getting detention or losing house points very loudly in class. Even when you've been ushered out of the library when it was starting to get late at night, you'd notice the twins sneaking off somewhere from their tower.

They'd never taken the initiative to talk to you, though, as they never really needed to. But Fred does notice the way you've been targeted for your family name. Even Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson might try to talk with you to join forces but you just ignore them everytime, earning some foul expressions in return.

Yet he can't seem to ignore the fact that you're breathtaking. He can't believe it himself that he's thinking of you in such a way.. And he definitely lingered his eyes on you a little too long one time during the Yule Ball. Eventually, he started asking people around what you're like, what you're up to if you left the class abruptly or who you went to the Yule Ball with— which was weeks ago.

He could never catch you alone though. You would somehow always blend into the crowd and disappear or just be too busy with something else to be talking to anyone.

Fast forward, you spent the last few months sharing information with your favourite teacher, Professor Lupin on some information about the death eaters' plans you heard from your family which granted you a spot in Grimmauld Place. Your family isn't exactly the kindest folk and will likely not even notice you gone for a whole summer.

Everything Fred's ever thought about you became old and he could learn everything about you all over again— properly.

"Fred, right?" That was probably the first time he's ever heard your voice. Well, the first time he's ever heard it clearly because he'd only ever hear you softly whisper questions to the teachers privately about upcoming tests. And he wouldn't lie... He liked your voice. He liked the way you said his name.

"The one and only." He jests, sticking a hand out for you to shake. You beamed up at him and proudly shake his hand. He had an eruption of butterflies all over his stomach there, but painfully ignored it.

"How come I've never met you in Hogwarts?" He questions, even though he perfectly knows why. The question colors your face into a darker hue, "Well, I just didn't really like talking to people." You shrugged.

"Not even me? I'm sure me and my brother have been quite the topic is every conversation these days." He boasts, to which you laugh at. "No.. I've just been a little busy with my own studies is all." A little busy? He's been trying to catch you at every opportunity! "Are you sure you're a Slytherin? Seems like you're an overachieving Ravenclaw to me." He teases, peering over the books you held up to your chest.

"I plan to do something big in the future." You smiled before walking off. That's definitely the most he's ever heard you say in one sitting. Has something changed you over the summer or what? Not that he doesn't like it of course.

Despite your efforts in telling the Order some truths and details, Molly wouldn't let you in on the meetings because you were too young. Like Harry, Fred and the rest of the group, they were frustrated about it!

๋࣭ ⭑

After a quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy couldn't keep it in himself to make fun of the Weasleys. He got a little too far and started insulting Molly and the aftermath of it wasn't pretty at all. Draco got beat up by George and Harry, Fred had to be restrained by his teammates, and Umbridge started being unfair again.

She took away Fred, George and Harry's brooms and positions in their quidditch team permanently. This earned a foul mood from Fred the entire week, which even got you concerned.

You finally got him to alone one day outside the Gryffindor tower when you were on your way down to the library. "Hello, Fred. Fancy a study with me at the library?" All of a sudden, his bad mood seemed to falter. But he hates the idea of studying now that he's realised his dreams, honestly— which was to open up the joke shop with George. Not to mention he was planning to cook up some more products to ruin Umbridge's day at the moment. But this was the first time you've ever invited him somewhere and he wasn't going to say no!

At the library, you sat side by side sharing a book, awfully close to each other. "I've heard you lost your broom and can't play for Gryffindor anymore. I'm sorry about that." You whispered, not looking up from the book. "Sorry for what? It just gives me more reason to need to ruin Umbridge's life." He grinned, completely forgetting about the book in front of him.

"I saw you earlier, you looked like you were throwing daggers behind Malfoy's head—" You were about to say but was cut off by his words. "Let's not talk about that right now. I want to know more about you." He says suddenly, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

"What do you want to know?" You eyed him carefully, earning a nervous feeling from him. "I just wanna know what my favourite Slytherin is up to these days." He shrugged casually. "I've been busy reading up on the syllabus lately and decided to watch your game a few days ago." You start off.

"Fred, you've got to do something about her! She's driving me mad! I could barely take enough from the other Slytherins, let alone her!" You suddenly exclaim before he could form up a response to the first thing you said. He's never heard you be so worked up over something, earning a sharp glare from Madame Pince the librarian.

"Okay, okay. I was planning to anyway. Just hold on, because me and George are gonna give her hell." He whispers to you, earning a lovely smile on your face which he wants permanently etched onto his mind. "Promise me that. I don't want to see Ron get his broom taken away either." You held up your pinky to him.

Ignoring the temperature rising in his face, he hooks his pinky around yours. "I'll do it for your sake so you don't end up in Azkaban for something worse." He jokes so you wouldn't notice how giddy that childish pinky promise got to him.

๋࣭ ⭑

Weeks go by and the school was taken over by Umbridge. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were giving you a hard time everyday for some reason. One day, you spoke out of turn with Pansy when she started probing you on why you never talk to anyone, earning a hard slap on the face.

Then, came the blood out your nose. No amount of tissues could help you out then. As onlookers go by, Fred was walking around with George when he notices your never ending nose bleed. He ushers George away before you could look up at them, earning a smug look from the other twin.

"What happened? You alright there?" He immediately sits by you, patting your back. "Pansy." You grunted, keeping the tissues over your nose. "That slithering...!" He was about to stand up but you pulled him down.

"Shut up and help me. I know you can fix this, that's why you're here, right?" You glared at him, your innocent and shy facade seemed to be replaced by a true Slytherin at the moment.

"Oh. Right." He quickly pulls out a purple coloured sweet from his pockets and hands it over to you. A few seconds went by and the iron taste in your tongue and blood were finally fading. "Perhaps I didn't take care of myself properly these days to be bleeding this much over a slap..." You muttered, fidgeting the wrapper and tissues in your fingers.

"Maybe you should put down the books for a change. I know our exams are coming up but you could use a little relaxation." He smoothly slides his arm over your shoulder, inching closer to you. "Your product really worked! You must be really clever to be able to pull this off. Is this what your mum gets so worked up about at Grimmauld?" You exclaim, examining the wrapper closely.

Perhaps the praises he was getting from you was making his stomach do flips. He was up close and personal with you now, to tell you something over the noise of the students walking by.

"Well... Okay, I'll let you in on a little secret. I—" He was cut off by a magical force that pulled you and Fred apart. "Remember the rules, children!" Umbridge tuts with her wand out, and walks past you both with her loud heels echoing in the hallway.

That interaction certainly made you both blush a dark hue, even though you weren't about to do anything... Were you? "I'll be seeing you then. Thank you for... This." You stood up to clear the tension, waving the wrapper to show what you meant. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it." He plays it off as you walked away.

He sighs and brushes his hair and mentally curses that god awful Umbridge. Why did she have to come by just then?

๋࣭ ⭑

Fred and George just played the craziest prank on Umbridge. They disrupted the O.W.Ls with their charmed fireworks- beautiful fireworks. They have always said they wanted to do something outside of their academics, so they wouldn't really care if they were expelled.

Their act of bravery became legend, they were now even conversation expressions. Students were now pulling pranks on Umbridge as well and saying "I'm about to pull a Weasley!" It was really funny. But you never got to see the twins after that because you were still stuck in school with your nose in books, dreadfully waiting for the next holiday break to see them.

The most dreadful day for the Order came. Sirius Black passed away from the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. And the announcement of Voldemort returning for good was grim. Everyone was dreadful and sad for weeks.

However, the opening of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes brought smiles upon faces and yours too. You've finally got the chance to meet your favourite Weasley twin.

"Thought I'd never see you come by, L/n." Fred says, puffing out his chest to show off his new outfit. "Fred, this store is amazing! And you're looking dapper." You gasp, looking him up and down.

"Oh, you make me blush." He plays it off. "Can we have a chat? I think George can handle himself for a little bit, no?" You tugged on his sleeve, slowly pulling him towards the entrance. "You mean I can get away from him? Don't mind If I do." He laughs, looking at George for a moment before following you outside.

The outside of the store was depressing. Not many shops were open and the mood was different compared to the inside. Ever since the attacks from the death eaters and Voldemort, everyone's been too scared to be outside.

You hugged Fred tightly the moment you got him out. "I missed you. Why couldn't you wait to get expelled till it was our exams?" You whined, swaying him back and forth.

"If I knew you'd miss me this much, I wouldn't have done it." He pats your back, dropping his head onto yours. "I loved those fireworks you did, it was brilliant! Smart! And your store... I can't believe you're really making it out there." You gush, looking at the store.

"Yeah, well... Me and George just thought people needed a laugh these days." He shrugs it off like as if his insides aren't fluttering right now. Has the weeks that had gone by while he was gone made you even more gorgeous?

"I think you're amazing with what you do, Fred." You lowered your voice. Was it just him, or was the street getting really quiet, too? The proximity between the two of you was getting closer. "I just did what I thought was right." He pretends to not notice the warmth from your body being so close to him.

"I'm sorry but would you mind if we... Kissed?" He quickly says, clearly frustrated by how painful the tension was. "Not at all." You replied, your face just inches from his. And the gap closed.

You were kissing... You and Fred were kissing! You couldn't believe it yourself. You reckon it was the quiet street driving you mad to start kissing this troublemaker. Your left hand were clenching his hair, the other on his cheek. His was on either side of face, like as if you'll run away if he lets go. The kiss was so soft and sweet, he wanted more. But you had to let go when George called out for Fred to come back.

"I'm not done with you, yeah? I know you've graduated, so you can certainly come back here anytime. So.... Come back here, soon?" He looks at your eyes with so much love. "Why are you talking to me like I'm not already dating you?Of course I will." You joked, beaming up at him before slowly letting go of him.

For the rest of the day, Fred was buzzing with excitement and excitedly promoted products to his customers with even more enthusiasm. George thought he's lost his mind.

© This is my works please don't steal or copy.

Like and reblog to help a girl out!

[viharbinger]

Can you do maybe a Hermione x Slytherin! reader (gender neutral please)

Thank you 🐠

๋࣭ ⭑ How Hermione Dating a Slytherin!Reader Would Be Like...

Pairings: Hermione Granger x Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: none 😇 also I accidentally just made this a general dating Hermione headcannons so erm I tried to mention Slytherin as much as I could

a/n: hi guys I have an exam next week and suddenly I'm having the urge to write

Hermione keeps her head in her books and hardly notices anyone besides her two best friends unless it's something academic related. She'd probably started noticing you when you took the time out of your day to ask her out to Hogsmeade, or even beat Viktor to asking her to the Yule Ball!

At first she didn't even notice you're from Slytherin, she's too busy getting to know other things from you first. In the middle of a conversation, she'll finally realise it and was like "Oh! Oh..." But then shook off the feeling and tried to ask you questions about what your house was like or what it's like being a Slytherin. And if you ask her questions back, she'll like it too!

Nevermind your house, she's likely to not care as much where one comes from as long as they're a good person. And that you are. Ron and Harry would definitely be prejudiced about it a little, though. Overtime, Ron managed to get used to seeing you around Hermione. And Harry just goes along with anything despite his views. He'll start liking you too, once he learns that you're not so bad after all.

If your family are pureblood supremacists she'd definitely be wary a bit with you. Don't blame her, she's a muggle-born after all! She'll comfort you if things were ever bad at home.

When it came to asking Hermione to officially date, she'd be ecstatic. There's no doubt she likes it when her partner takes the initiative first. However, of course, she'd love to get to know you first on a deeper level. And she'll see past your family's history, pureblood supremacists or not— she kind of likes a little thrill in her life after all!

She would defend you if any of her friends make fun of her for liking you. "But they're a-a... Slytherin!" And she'd give them a million reasons why you're not like the other pureblood mania Slytherins.

If you play for the quidditch Slytherin team, she's going to be so conflicted whether to cheer for you or her own house... Her own two best friends are in the Gryffindor quidditch team! But alas, the Gryffindor team is always unbeatable against Slytherin— so who would mind if she cheered for the opposite team just a little bit?

If you're the type to break rules in school, she'd probably scold you a lot. As a prefect, she's bound to catch you on skipping class or walking around the corridors at night. She's let you off the hook one too many times and won't be afraid of taking points off your house. I mean, it's her responsibility!

Lastly... She's the good gift giver. Well... If you liked a homework planner or history book as a present. If you simply asked for her hand knitted socks or hats, she'd be really pleased to do so. She'll make it in your house colors— a bit tacky looking, but that's because she's practicing! It means to say, she loves to do new things just for you.

[viharbinger]

Ur a ho

cunt 😡

[viharbinger]

✨ How Fred Weasley Would Be Dating A Muggle HCs

Pairings: Fred Weasley x muggle!reader

Warnings: just a load of fluff and also Freds alive !!! No mentions of the Wizarding war

Once holiday break, Fred is away from the WWW and everything to do with magic. He wants to experience something new, maybe he was with his father somewhere for awhile exploring the customs of muggles.

From there, he meets you. He's so taken aback by your first impression, he wants to meet you again. But he doesn't exactly have a phone or computer to contact you. So, you took it upon yourself to teach him how to use public postal services.

You find it a bit weird how he has absolutely no clue how to do these types of things, or even have a phone in this day and age. Fred would love to learn everything about muggles from you— discreetly of course. It would actually be really silly why someone would be so fascinated by telephone booths and airplanes but he'd cover it up by saying he lives in a remote village or something.

Finally, he's taken the initiative to ask you on a date. He asked you in person, of course. He'd end up at your doorstep or workplace conveniently on time one day and casually suggested you two go out. And then he arrives at your doorstep... Conveniently. Everytime. It's almost like he teleports! You never question how he's so punctual, you just assume he has a knack for that.

Just before your date, he would be self conscious of his appearance before he knocks. He would check his reflection on a window that had the curtains on, sweep his hair back, check his breath, and charm up a bouquet of flowers out of nowhere like a magician. This is someone he really likes, he's not going to mess it up!

He'd probably go crazy whenever you want to do something that could have been easily done with magic like folding clothes or washing the dishes. But seeing as you're a muggle, he has to keep the urge to take out his wand because with just a flick and simple incantation, it would be done.

Overtime, it's endearing to him watching you do what you do— when he could do it all with his wand, because he's not quite used to the muggle lifestyle after all.

He finds muggle toys absolutely boring compared to his joke products back in the Wizarding World. But if you have little siblings, he'd take the time out of his day to exchange his galleons and sickles for some muggle money to buy them gifts.

But of course, making up excuses why you can't visit his joke shop is extremely difficult. He'd probably be fed up having to keep this big of a secret from you and just tell you everything if you simply kept asking— luckily you didn't.

One day, when you're both deep into the relationship, he'll eventually let you in on his secret. And he loves the expression on your face contorting from a confused one to adoration. He loves if you ask him to do some tricks or charms, how a simple spell a first year student at Hogwarts could do would easily excite you makes him really proud.

Now all your questions are answered and everything makes so much sense. How he managed to hide this whole world from you is crazy for sure. But I guess your relationship would always be unexpected. Not to mention, he's the best at gift giving now that you know he's a wizard! You're allowed to own magical products now that you're registered into the ministry of magic to be allowed to see and hear things about magic.

Oh, he loves you. A few weeks after telling you the truth about him, he'd wanna marry you for sure. He's not letting someone as brilliant as you just slip away from his hands. He'll make sure you meet and get to know his family, especially his twin brother.

You've heard all sorts of stories about his family and twin brother, and now seeing them and meeting them for real was an experience. The Burrow had an overwhelming presence of magic you'd definitely never seen before from the self washing dishes and self knitting jumpers. Fred would be really proud to have you so excited to be at his home, even though it's not the best home in all of Britain.

[viharbinger]

FRED WEASLEY AND ALL TOO WELL😭🫶 pleasee

All Too Well | F.W.

summary: your daughter gets curious about all the different parchment you had stored away.

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

includes: reader’s last name is Lupin, mainly fluff and angst, kissing, playful teasing, pregnancy, death, crying (this fic is practically as long as the song)

a/n: first fic of the 2k celebration! also, i cried everytime i came back to write this 😭 i miss him so much

It had been exactly eleven years since your beautiful baby girl Charlotte was born, Molly and Arthur Weasley's first grandchild. Born a pureblood, she would be going to Hogwarts this September and you couldn't be more proud. From all the stories Charlotte heard about your time at Hogwarts, she knew she would have the time of her life. Especially since all the stories were about you, her father, and her uncles. You would tell her all the stories of how the twins and Lee would set up pranks only to be scolded by McGonagall. Sometimes you had to scold them too.

You missed the days where you had no care in life except for your studies. You missed spending every single day with your favorite people and seeing them everyday. You missed everything Hogwarts had to offer before the war began.

But even after all the chaos it brought, your sweet girl was born. The only righteous matter to come out of the war.

"Mum, what's that?" Charlotte sat beside you on the couch and perched her head on your shoulder as she looked inside the box you brought out, beautiful red hair draping over your body.

Her gaze was drawn to the different sized parchment, each one having different drawings and dates. Charlotte picked one up and read the name, eyes widening at the signatures signed at the bottom. They were her father's and there were so many of them. "Whoa."

"What're you doing, creeper?" You laugh softly and pull her to sit in front of you, kissing the top of her head when she put the note back inside the box.

"What are all of those?” She gestured to the box and looked at you with curious eyes, fingers moving to touch the gold ring around your left hand; A habit she picked up from you whenever you felt the need to fidget. “Did dad send you all of those?”

You nod and clasp your hand around hers, feeling her pulse. "Yeah, he uhm,” You cleared your throat and blinked fast, ridding yourself of the tears that wanted to spill over. "He would write me one from the day we met until he… Your dad would even write me notes when I was just sitting next to him in class."

You pursed your lips and looked down, mind going through years and years of memories. Every time you received a new note, you wrote down the date to keep track of how long he had been doing it.

"There's so many..." Charlotte looked in awe and made out some of the dates, many of them dating back to when you were eleven. “He must have loved you a lot, mum. Especially since you kept all of them.”

You let out a chuckle, your hand reaching up to hold the gold ring adorning your necklace, thumb feeling the lettering inside. “Well, your dad was head over heels for me, Char.” You watched her pick up different parchment and smiled softly at how intrigued she was.

“Here, pick a couple and I'll tell you the stories behind them.” You hand her the box and watch her eyes light up before closing them and plucking out five pieces of parchment, handing them to you with glee.

Charlotte folded her arms over her knees, cheek resting against her arm. She watched your eyes water again at the notes she picked, making her bite her bottom lip. She didn’t want you to cry. She hated seeing you cry. Especially when it was over her father.

“Do you…” She started and met your eyes again, giving you a small smile in hopes of getting you to smile again. “Do you remember how you got all of them?”

"Of course, I do." You sent her a short grin and tucked pieces of her hair behind her ear, her brown eyes and red hair oh-so familiar to you. "I remember it all too well."

10/09/1993

“Weasley, you’re late to your own date.” You wave the parchment in his face and bite back a smile when he rolls his eyes and takes the note from you. “You said to meet you in the courtyard at exactly 3PM.”

Everyone had already left for Hogsmeade and you were left standing in the courtyard with the handmade scarf Mrs. Weasley made for you, the wind blowing it around. You weren’t actually upset with Fred, this happened more than once already, but he had time to serve with Filch whenever he pulled a stunt worse than usual.

“No, it says 3:30PM.” He tapped his wand on the parchment and sent you a lopsided grin, this time making you roll your eyes. “You look, Lupin.”

You took the note from his hands and read it out loud, giving him an exasperated look. He pulled you close by the waist, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. He loved the height difference you had with him, being a whole head shorter than him gave him lots of pun material.

“Wow, it says 3:30PM all of a sudden.” You tuck the parchment into your pocket and strain your neck to look at him. He still wore that smile you loved, making you push up on your toes to kiss him properly.

He grinned into the kiss and pressed his lips against yours multiple times until he was satisfied, adjusting the scarf you wore when he separated from you. You sigh softly and push locks of his red hair away from his eyes, meeting the beautiful brown eyes that you adored.

“Now did you actually leave on time? Or did you leave when Filch wasn’t looking?” You question him as you began the descent away from Hogwarts, careful to walk around the rocky terrain.

“I’m offended! Who do you think I am?” Fred laced his hand with yours and guided you safely around the trail to Hogsmeade, looking over yours clothes to insure you were dressed properly for the fall weather in Scotland. “Of course I left when Filch wasn’t looking.”

You smack his chest with the back of your hand and shake your head, not even a little surprised with the stunt he pulled. “Frederick Gideon Weasley.”

“What? I promised a date to the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.” He squeezed your hand before pulling you closer to him, looking around the area in confusion. “Speaking off, have you seen here? We were supposed to meet up at 3PM back at the courtyard.”

“I knew we were supposed to meet up a three, you prat!” You exclaim and smack him once more, making him laugh. He crookedly smiled, loving how you completely ignored his short jab to defend yourself about the right time you were supposed to meet.

Fred leaned down and pressed another kiss to your lips, effectively shutting you up. You let out a small noise before indulging him, placing a hand on his cheek before pulling away.

“That’s not fair.” You whisper to him, lips grazing his when you spoke. You peered down at his lips before back up to his eyes, smiling when you knew you got caught.

“Nothing’s ever fair, Lupin.” He murmured and smiled back at you, thumb softly tracing his initials into your covered hip.

You felt so much love from Fred — although it did take you years to finally agree to go on a date with him. Maybe it was to spite your dad when he began teaching at Hogwarts, but you truly loved Fred. You had known his family for far too long to ignore the heart that only beats for him.

12/25/1994

“Why is it we learned how to ballroom dance together only to ditch and sneak off to the kitchens?” You ask in a low voice, not wanting to break the calmness that fell over the both of you as you moved further and further away from the bustling Great Hall.

Your hands were laced behind your back as you walked beside Fred, letting the silence overtake after an overstimulating two hours at the Yule Ball. You weren’t even planning to go because you knew your social battery wouldn't be able to handle so many people in one room, but Fred convinced you to go with a simple heart-shaped piece of parchment.

“'Cause you needed a breather. I could see it in your eyes.” He nudged your shoulder gently before slipping his arm around your waist, letting you rest your head on his shoulder; The smell of lemon ginger cookies and firecrackers filling your senses from the suit jacket he wrapped around you earlier.

You smiled softly at his actions as he led you down toward the kitchens. He was everything you never knew you needed and it made your heart swell with so much love. You never wanted to leave his side.

Fred came to the conclusion that the elves loved you a lot more than him when you dismissed them with a bright smile. Whenever he and George visited during the midnight runs, they would always greet them. When you were with him and George, the elves would do anything you asked them to without any hesitation.

While you moved around the space to make a quick snack for the both of you, Fred simply admired you. He admired how beautiful you looked doing such a mundane task or how you would always click your heel whenever you were counting something. He was so in love that watching you just stand and cross your arms when the stove wasn't cooperating made he grin stupidly.

Before he realized what exactly he was doing, you sent him a confused look. "You haven't spoke in like—" You looked over to the wall clock, raising your brows in surprise. "Ten minutes. Are you okay?"

Fred hummed and pulled you to stand in front of him, his hands coming down to rest at the curve of your waist. “Can’t I admire how beautiful you look, Lupin?”

You squint your eyes at him and meet the brown eyes that have been staring at you for quite some time. Although he was bold most times, you saw how raw and genuine his words were."

“I mean, even without trying you just look,” Fred laced his hand with yours and slowly spun you around, breath catching when you faced him once more. He was so enamored with you — no spell was strong enough to break the enchantment. "Absolutely stunning."

You try hiding a smile that made its way onto your face, only settling into it when he moved to kiss your neck. You grasp the back of his shoulders and sigh softly, shutting your eyes briefly before he parted and smirked at your breathless look.

"I wanna marry you." Fred murmurs and thumbs your bottom lip, catching you give him your golden smile. "The only thing I want to do before I die is marry you."

You hum and rest your hands on his chest, fingers playing with his lapels. You wanted nothing more to marry the man in front of you. Every little thing he did was like painting a perfect picture, and you wanted to frame it forever and ever. He would be the only oath you were willing to take.

“Let’s dance for a little while.” He suggested as the muffled music coming from the Great Hall wandered into the kitchens, a slow song coming on at a perfect time. “There’s music and the candle light by the fridge.”

“Just us?" You ask almost like you needed the reassurance, watching him bow and take your hand like any waltz started. He clasped his hand with yours and began to take the calculated steps he learned only a few weeks ago.

“Just us.” He reassured you and snuck a kiss to your lips, earning an eye roll and lopsided grin.

Yeah, this was it for the both of you.

05/26/1996

Fred knew that you would be upset if you found out that him and George were planning on leaving Hogwarts without graduating. Especially since you were so keen on helping the both of them study for their N.E.W.T.S. He knew you wanted to graduate with him by your side, but what good would graduating from Hogwarts be if he and George had a plan that could be set in motion right now?

He was going to tell you a couple weeks ago, but you got so busy with studying for N.E.W.T.S. and ensuring you would get 'outstanding' in all subjects. So he decided to wait. Well, until you found the note he was planning to give you.

You were absolutely heartbroken. The entire day you wanted nothing to do with him, even sitting beside Angelina during potions just to avoid him. But he eventually found you sitting at the top of the astronomy tower, head resting on your knees and fingers playing with the gold necklace he got you the year before.

Guilt was eating Fred up from the inside out. Starting with his heart.

“Are you really leaving without graduating?” You murmured when you felt his body heat approach you, head still staring forward toward the forbidden forest.

Fred sighed and sat beside you, running his fingers through his hair. “The system isn’t working for us right now and—" Then he heard the sound that absolutely crushed him. He heard the hiccup that would soon become sobbing. "Lovey, what’s wrong?”

You were quick to bury your head in your arms. You knew Fred could read you like a book and anything you did now would trigger his different responses. When you sniffled, you knew it was game over.

“Okay, lovey, you're crying.” He pulled you around so that you were sitting in front of him and gently moved your arms away from your face, his own face falling at the way you look at him.

Your eyes were wet with tears, your lip was quivering, and it pained him to know he caused it. You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but if you tried to speak, you would completely fall apart. Everything was stressing you out and the note just pushed you over the edge.

“You know I'll be at the station when you get back.” Fred murmured and tucked your hair behind your ears, listening to your uneven breaths. "I won't leave you forever."

You hiccup and turn your head, biting your bottom lip to help stabilize yourself. "I-I just thought we would have more t-time together before everything got s-so serious outside of Hogwarts."

Fred tilted his head and tried his best to meet your eyes, "But you know that's not the case, lovey. You'll be living with Georgie and I, and you know were aren't exactly the most serious people."

You let out a wet laugh and look down, fingers coming up to play with the infinity symbol on you necklace. Fred smiled softly at your laugh. At least he knew you weren't too terribly upset over the predicament.

“If I do w-well on my N.E.W.T.S, I'll be t-training full time as a h-healer.” You hiccup and trace the symbol over itself, still trying to calm down as best as you could. “And I know you two will run your business together most of the time. So I don't—”

“Lovey, look at me." Fred pleaded and lightly cupped your cheek, tilting your head so he could face you properly. "Nothing will ever come between you and me. You were in my past, currently living in my present, and you are indefinitely my future. You are my everything and I refuse to leave this spot until you give me that golden smile I love."

Your laugh softly and give him that golden smile, "I love you, Fred Weasley."

08/14/1997

Fred proposed to you a couple of months ago. It wasn’t anything too extravagant or crazy, but you definitely cried like a baby when he got down on one knee and revealed a gorgeous gold ring you swore cost more than how much the twins made a month. Flash forward, you were having a wedding at the Burrow surrounded by family and loved ones.

After vows were said and the most passionate kiss was exchanged, you and Fred were immediately separated. He was pulled to talk to family he didn't even know were family while you were stuck plastering a fake smile to Sirius and Remus who kept going on and on about how happy they were for you.

Eventually the both of you were able to get away, running away from your own reception like you would if you were still in Hogwarts. You laughed as you both made it to the edge of the forest, resting your head on his shoulder. Although you were both only nineteen, you knew that this would be forever.

“Do you think they'll realize the bride and groom are missing from their own wedding?” You let your laughter subside and following him wherever he was guiding you. Was it such a guide idea to follow him blindly? Not really, but you trusted Fred. "Where are we going?"

“You’ll see.” He moved a hand to cover your eyes and helped you maneuver through the foliage.

It felt like an hour of just walking and constantly trying to peek through his hands until he stopped abruptly, causing you to stumble over your own heeled feet. He helped stabilize you before removing his hand, letting you look at the sight in front of you.

“Tada!”

The sight was drop dead gorgeous. Almost every single note he had ever wrote to you was floating around a cleared part of the forest, small wisps of light acting as your guide to each and every date. Your eyes were filled with tears as you went up to one of the earliest notes, the date going back to the first week of your first year at Hogwarts.

“When did you ever have the time to do this?” You murmured and looked around, hand coming up to play with your golden necklace, the same one he got you forever ago.

“I have six siblings, I can get them to do my bidding.” Fred shrugged and flicked his wand, the song from the Yule Ball playing in the background. From where you would never know. “Shall we dance, Mrs. Weasley?”

"We shall." You smile brightly and clasp your hands in his, letting him guide you through the same waltz. You squealed when he spun you around and fell into his arms, both of your gold rings flashing from the light. The rings that were a promise of love and happiness.

“Thank you.” You look up at him with so much love and sigh. He was now yours forever, bound by the vows you cried to.

He looked between your eyes and tilted his head, "For what, lovey?"

"Just for being yourself. Everything that you do is just..." You find no other way to express what the feeling was, racking your brain for a word but unable to fine the proper wording. You push up on your toes and kiss him silly, pulling away just as fast. "That's what it feels like."

Fred felt warmth coat his cheeks and neck, lowering his head so he was mere millimeters away from your face. “You love me.”

“I love you, yes.” You look down at his lips before looking back up to the brown eyes you fell in love with so many years ago. "That's why I married you, dummy."

"Good thing you did too, your dad was going to kill me if I just wasted all your time. You know how hard it was to convince your dad I actually love you?" Fred complained as he dipped you, smirking when you gasped at the sudden movement. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling you back up.

You furrow your brow before breaking out in laughter as you remember the memories of him trying to get the Remus Lupin to like him. “He’s not that hard to charm, Fred!”

“Considering it took me months to even get him on board of the idea of you marrying me, I don’t believe it.” Fred kept you close, swaying to the music that was now coming to an end.

“Whatever.” You press a kiss to his jaw. “I love you either way.”

04/25/1998

The entire day you've been a wreck. The note you held in your hands felt like a weight, and you wanted to toss it to Fred as fast as possible. Your nerves were killing you, slowly making you twitchy at every movement. You weren't sure how Fred would react to the news, but when you found out, you threw up. Well, you weren't sure if that was because you were scared or if it was morning sickness.

“Georgie, has Fred gone on break yet?” You wander down into the store and pick at your nails, narrowly avoiding two kids chasing each other throughout the store.

“Ah, not yet. He’s dealing with a particularly tough customer. I’ll send him up for you once he’s done though.” George sent you a sympathetic smile and flicked his wand, watching the stairs turn to help the kids return back to their parents.

His smile soon fell into a frown when he noticed how sick you were looking. He knew that you were pregnant, but it was well past the morning and you were sitting upstairs merely working on papers.

“What’s wrong?” He asked and put an arm around your shoulder, guiding you away from the crowds so there were no stragglers to listen in on the conversation.

You purse your lips and spin the golden ring adorning your left hand, head reeling at the thought of telling Fred about the pregnancy. “I’m telling him today.”

“Oo, yeah. Can’t wait to see the look on that wanker’s face.” George chuckled and earned a punch to the arm from you, causing him to recoil and glare.

“Hey!” You scold and place a hand over the lower half of your stomach. “You can’t say that anymore, there’s a child present!”

“Aw, you’re no fun anymore now that you’re married and becoming a mother.” George stuck his tongue out at you before sending you a reassuring smile and giving you a thumbs up. “Congratulations, you can do it."

You nodded and made your way back up to the flat above the store, pacing back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. The nerves were getting worse. The note soon became overly crinkled and you swore your socks were getting tarnished by how many times you frustratedly spun around on your heel.

By the time you thought your nerves were finally settling, Fred walked in with the smile you loved. Your emotions sky rocketed and you ran into his arms, burying your head in his neck while he supported you up by the back of your thighs.

"Did you miss me already?" He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your cheek, earning a quiet 'yes' from you. "Aw, lovey."

After a few seconds of practically gluing yourself to him, you finally pulled away and pressed a proper kiss to his lips. He smiled and thumbed the skin available to him. You hum and direct him toward the couch, pulling away only to giggle when he chased your lips. He sent you a joking pout, ready to protest when you shoved the note into his hands.

"What is this?" He unfolded the paper and stared at you with so much love you felt a cavity coming in. "Turning the tables on me? I— Fucking hell."

"Fred!" You smacked his chest before meeting his brown eyes, unsure of the emotion behind them. "So?"

"So what?" His grinned and tackled you onto the couch, peppering your face in kisses. "You're pregnant! I'll be a father!"

You laugh at the feeling of his kisses, "You're not mad?"

"Godric, how could I be mad at you? You're having my child!" Fred kissed you senselessly, free hand coming down to rest on your stomach. "We're going to be parents!"

"We're going to be parents." You say to him and cup his face, letting your stored tears free fall from joy. "You and me."

"Just us." Fred wiped away your tears and sighed, resting his forehead on yours. "Us and the little one."

05/02/1998

You promised Fred you would stay home today. You promised him. But he never promised he would return home to you, causing you to rush over to the Hogwarts as soon as possible. When you arrived, the war was already won, but you didn't care. You wanted to see your husband.

“Where is he?” You ask the first person you find, sighing in relief when you see the youngest Weasley. You excused yourself and ran over to her, grasping Ginny’s arm before seeing her solemn expression, making you internally panic. “Ginny, where is your brother?”

Although you never specified, she knew exactly who you were asking for. She bit her lip and pointed to where George was kneeling, burying her head in your shoulder. You felt your heart constrict as you held her closely, breath catching at the sight in front of you. Molly was wiping her own tears when she saw you, pulling her daughter away from you so you could see Fred yourself.

“No no no no no no.” You fall to your knees and catch your breath, looking at Fred through wet eyes. A sob threatened to escape your throat when you felt for his hand, the warmth of his hand now gone and replaced with cold. You choked on tears and let yourself cry, hiding your face in his shoulder.

You begged the universe for this to be a horrible joke that everyone was in on. That Fred was okay and well, only pretending to be dead.

"Freddie, please." You cry and clutch his hand tighter, feeling for the gold band that represented your everlasting love. "I need you to wake up, Weasley. I-I can't do this without you. How am I s-supposed to—" You choked on your words, sobbing once more. You couldn't even finish your sentences.

When you felt a pair of arms pull you away from Fred, reality hit you like a train wreck. You stumbled over your feet as you stared at his dead body. Fred Weasley was really gone.

"What happened?" You whisper and stare at Fred, tears still falling. You felt so helpless. You were a healer and there was nothing you could do. When no one answered you, you whipped around and stared at whoever carried you away, another sob threatening to spill over when you saw George. "What happened, George?"

“There was an explosion.” He whispered and pulled you into a hug, letting you cry for a second. He had his last moment with Fred, but you hadn't seen him in hours.

You sobbed and collapsed in his arms, cries ringing out into the Great Hall. The pain you felt was nothing like you ever experienced before. You did everything you could do try and deny it, but no matter what you thought of, the sight of his dead body seemed to appear.

“George, why are we at Hogwarts?” You huff and follow him into a restricted room.

You weren't even supposed to be at Hogwarts and somehow you were standing on the very grounds your heart shattered. Your daughter just started a few weeks ago, but George somehow convinced you to return and dragged you to a room you've never seen before.

George glanced down at you, noticing your distant gaze, like you weren't safe inside the building anymore. “Have you been to Hogwarts since the war?”

“No.” You purse your lips and push the thought of the war away, brows creasing when you see how clean and furbished the room was. “Why? I need to get going soon. My shift—"

“Just look.” He pointed toward one side of the room, revealing the little contents of the room.

You frowned when you looked over. There was nothing of interest. “I can see the Mirror of Erised and a covered portrait.”

“Pull the bloody cover off.” George rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, shaking his head when you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Okay, but I’m not looking at the mirror.” You sighed and covered your eyes when passing the mirror. When you stood in front of the portrait, you pulled the cover off and gave George an annoyed smile. “I don’t understand—" When he gestured for you to look back over, you rolled your eyes before gasping, dropping the cloth without realizing a piece of parchment was attached to the front of it. "Oh my, Fred Weasley.”

“Hi, lovey.” Fred winked at you, wearing that smirk you haven't seen in years. When he saw tears falling from your face, he frowned and seemingly reached out to you. “Why are you crying? Did George upset you?”

“No, in fact he made me happy.” You spoke through tears and wiped your tears, smiling sadly. “I get to see you again.”

Fred grinned again and clapped his hands. “It’s been forever since I saw you last, Lupin. Where were you?”

You furrow your brows and look at George in confusion. “Does he—?” George shook his head and handed you the parchment that fell. You quickly peeled it open and wiped your tears once more as you read the contents. "He made it for a prank he never committed to." You huff and shake your head before responding to Fred. “I’ve been out and about, Weasley.”

He tilted his head and scanned your figure up and down, confusion written all over his face. “It seems as if we have a predicament here.”

“And what is that?” You murmur and step closer to the portrait, not realizing George had left you alone to have a moment with Fred.

“I want to hug you, but the best I can do is talk.” Fred sent you a lopsided grin and blew a kiss at you, making you laugh.

“Seems like a big problem.” You nod in agreement and sigh, wrapping your arms around your midsection. “I’ll understand what you mean.”

“In that case, I’m giving you the biggest hug right now.” Fred spread his arms wide and pretended to give you a hug before his eyes caught the gold ring around your left hand. “Where’d you get the ring, lovey?”

“Uhm…” You look down and spin the ring, smiling down at the piece of jewelry. “I got it from you a bit ago.”

Fred beamed in joy before he flattened again, looking around like he could see past the frame. “Where am I?”

“Home.” You muster a smile and wipe a tear that managed to escape, hands shaking. “You’re at home with your mum and dad. Don’t worry though, they wanted to actually hang out with you.”

Fred scoffed and shook his head, “Still rude as ever, Lupin.”

“Not as bad as you, Weasley.” You laugh softly and hold back anymore tears, hands finding Fred’s adjacent ring hanging around your neck. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

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