A big, warm DILF that stares at you with an obsessive glint in his eyes while you're incapacitated, alone in his presence as he holds you close.
The cause of the incapacitation can be anything. Perhaps you got drunk, perhaps you got sick, maybe you're on your period, perhaps you're just tired...
Either way, he grips your jaw softly while he tells you that you'll be alright, caresses your hair while telling you he's there for you, and you're doing so good, pressing shaky, borderline hungry kisses to your pliant, weak face and/or body.
Firewhiskey promises: Chapter 3 â The Cracks in the Glass
Fred weasley x female!feader
warnings: MDNI explicit scenes described
Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4
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Keeping your romance quiet had been thrilling at first. Stolen kisses in shadowed corridors, whispered promises after curfew, Fredâs hand brushing yours under the table in the Great Hall when nobody was looking. But the longer it went on, the more the outside world crept in.
Whispers of war were everywhere. Dumbledoreâs secret meetings. Hushed talk of You-Know-Whoâs followers growing bolder. And Fred â reckless, brilliant, infuriating Fred â seemed determined to laugh it all off.
Until tonight.
âYou canât just go picking fights with Slytherins in the middle of the corridor!â you snapped, dragging him into an unused classroom before Filch could catch him. âDo you want to get expelled?â
Fred leaned against a desk, arms folded, grin infuriatingly casual. âThey started it.â
âMerlin, Fred, youâre not invincible,â you hissed, heart racing from more than just the close call. âOne day youâre going to get yourself hurt andââ
âAnd what?â His grin faltered, eyes searching yours. âYouâll miss me?â
The words stuck in your throat. Anger and fear tangled, burning hot in your chest. âOf course Iâd miss you! You think this is some joke? You think losing you would justâjust be funny?â
The silence stretched. His eyes softened, all bravado slipping away. He stepped closer, voice low. âI donât joke about that, love.â
You swallowed, heat prickling your eyes. âThen stop acting like youâre untouchable.â
For a moment he just stared at you, jaw tense. Then his hands cupped your face, rough thumbs brushing your cheeks. His kiss crashed into yours before you could say another word, fierce and desperate, swallowing your anger whole.
Your back hit the wall as he pressed closer, the kiss deepening until your knees nearly gave out. His hands roamed â your waist, your back, tugging you flush against him.
âFredââ you breathed against his lips, but he hushed you with another kiss, hungrier this time.
âI canât stand it,â he whispered, mouth trailing to your throat. âThe thought of you worrying, of losing this⊠losing us.â His teeth grazed your skin, and you gasped, clutching at his hair.
His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, and before you realized it heâd hoisted you onto the desk behind you. The wood creaked as he stepped between your legs, pulling you impossibly close.
âYou drive me mad, Y/N,â he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and uneven. âMad enough I donât know where I end and you begin.â
You shivered as his lips found yours again, slower now, but deeper â claiming. His fingers toyed at the hem of your shirt, slipping just beneath to touch bare skin, and the warmth of his palm left you dizzy.
Your own hands roamed up his chest, feeling the strong lines of muscle beneath his robes. He groaned low when your fingers tugged at his tie, the sound sparking heat through your veins.
The world outside didnât exist. There was only Fred â his mouth, his hands, the raw ache of wanting more, needing more.
When you finally pulled back, panting, his smile was crooked, hair mussed from your fingers.
âStill angry with me?â he teased, though his voice was hoarse, eyes dark with something heavier.
You managed a shaky laugh. âAlways.â
He kissed you again, softer this time, sealing the words.
And in that quiet, heated classroom, you realized the truth: Fred Weasley might break your heart one day. But Merlin, you werenât strong enough to let him go.
The sun was barely up when you padded into the kitchen, hair messy, Tommyâs old T-shirt hanging off your body like a second skin. You rubbed sleep from your eyes, expecting silence and maybe coffee if you were lucky.
Instead, you found him â standing at the stove shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips, cooking scrambled eggs like some kind of cowboy domestic fantasy.
You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. âThat shirtless chef comes with the house?â
He turned his head just enough to flash you that crooked smirk. âNah, sweetheart. Just somethinâ special for you.â
His drawl was extra thick in the mornings, all gravel and slow sugar. It hit you somewhere low, dangerous.
You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his warm torso, pressing your cheek to the space between his shoulder blades.
âI could get used to this,â you murmured.
Tommy set the spatula down, turned in your arms. âYou better. I ainât goinâ anywhere.â
His hands slid under the hem of the T-shirt â his T-shirt â fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist. His eyes dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, slow and deliberate.
âYou wearinâ anything under this?â he asked, voice all husk and heat.
You raised an eyebrow, teasing. âWhy donât you check?â
He groaned, hands tightening. âYou tryinâ to distract me from breakfast?â
âMaybe,â you whispered against his jaw. âOr maybe I just want mine served a little differently.â
The eggs were forgotten.
He lifted you onto the counter like it was nothing, like your body was a part of his daily routine. His kisses were slow, claiming, but his handsâGod, his handsâknew exactly what they wanted.
And when he leaned in, whispering âMine,â into your skin like a vow?
You believed him. Every word. Every touch.
Later, when the eggs were cold and your T-shirt was nowhere to be found, he wrapped you up in a blanket on the couch and tucked your legs into his lap like you were his whole world.
âYou really ainât tired of me yet?â you teased.
Tommy kissed your forehead, rough fingers gentle against your cheek.
âDarlinâ, Iâll never get enough of you. Not in this life. Not in any.â
the lack of jamie campbell bower fics sicken me. and i mean like fics for the actual actor not the character henry or 001 â insanely hot btw. but gosh i just want some controversial age gap fics with jamie campbell bower, smth like that would feed my daddy issues. and before y'all come at me with "oh so write it yourself", i will babe, i will write sexy and funny fics once i stop fighting for my life with writer's block
I would LOVE another one like your one with Jamie x actress y/n literally anything to do with this pairing it was amazing youâre so talented!!
Coming Soon: Girl crush!
pairing: Jamie Campbell bower x fem!younger actress reader
twelve times were you openly admitted to having a crush on your stranger things co star Jamie Campbell bower and the one time where he does something about it
Jamie Campbell bower is a magnet, the fans know it, the cast know it, you know it.
There's just something about him: the voice, the bone structure, the way he can make eye contact feel like a full-body experience. As one of the younger members of the cast you at the bright age of twenty-four never imagined Jamie Campbell bower might actually be interested in you. So what was the harm in a few harmless comments during interviews? A wink here, a flirty aside there. A playful "I mean, have you seen him?" when asked about your castmates.
You still have time. Time to change your wardrobe. Time to get divorced and married again. Time to change majors. Time to learn a trade from scratch. Time to pay off debts. Time to travel. Time to love and be loved. You still have your whole life ahead. Whether you're 19 or 66. You still have so much time. But you have to take it.
