#High Flying Fred

[escapingpurgatory]

justice for peanut and fred! fly high, babies 🕊

[crimsoncubesheep]

nothing else happened and their both happy and okay and together!

[tristantzara]

i should have been at the buffalo institute of art somewhere between october 9 and december 20 2020 😢 i'm kind of distraught quite honestly.

well let's all go here <-it's inaccurate but idc it's jokes

[imagineweasley]

Bludgering to You

fred weasley x reader

summary: during a quidditch match, fred gets a bit too competitive and crashes into you. he didn't believe in all the clichés about love at first sight before, but as soon as he lays his eyes on you, all that changes.

y/n: your name

y/h: your house

word count: 1.7k

submit requests here! | masterlist

The crowd roared as Fred punted the bludger away from Angelina, mere inches from hitting her straight in the face and knocking her off her broom. She jerked in the air, startled, but quickly regained her composure and sped off to score yet another ten points for Gryffindor.

"And he does it again! Fred Weasley saves the team captain from the Slytherin team!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed throughout the stadium as Gryffindors cheered and Slytherins scowled. Fred waved his bat above his head in victory as Lee continued, "Really impressive she didn’t fall off considering I almost fell off this podium when I saw Goyle's toad-face --" The microphone screeched and Lee's voice disappeared as Professor Mcgonagall snatched the microphone from his hand and scolded him. Lee merely grinned at her.

Goyle's face did look particularly toadlike today, and his already ruddy face was slowly turning into a darker shade of scarlet.

Fred waggled his fingers at Goyle who was now speeding off, "Sorry mate, better luck next time!" He allowed himself one more celebratory loop in the air before he caught George's eye from a few hundred feet away. He was waving his arms in the air at his brother and yelling something Fred could not quite understand.

"What? George, I can't hear you!"

Fred weaved through the players and realized George was pointing. When he got close enough, George yelled again, "DOUBLE BLUDGER!" He jabbed his fingers at Fred's right and left sides, and Fred whipped his head around just in time to see a bludger flying at him.

He managed to drop a few feet in the air and avoid having his skull smashed in. The two bludgers crashed in the air above him; Crabbe and Goyle had teamed up to take Fred out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Goyle racing away. Fred yelled after them, "OI, YOU TROLL, do you even know how Quidditch works!" They high-fived each other and sniggered, triggering a burst of anger in his chest.

Fred narrowed his eyes at the them in the distance. Suddenly, George was at his side.

"Mate, don't pay attention to them, you have to focus! We can test a puking pastille on them later, I promise!"

Fred nodded curtly, but his mind had not shifted. As he flew away, he saw a one bludger flying towards Harry, another flying towards Katie Bell.

He alerted George but he had already seen it and was speeding towards Katie. Fred turned midair to fly towards and unaware Harry, who was concentrating on finding his tiny gold target. Maybe the anger served as fuel, because he arrived at Harry's side long before he could be hit and smacked the heavy ball away.

Harry called over his shoulder, "Thanks mate!" Before returning to his search for the snitch.

Fred was still breathing heavily, but not from the exhilaration of the match. His eyes were still trained on the opposing team's beaters.

"Don't you dare, Weasley!" Angelina's keen eye had caught the look in his eyes and she called out, "Save that for after the match! Not right now, we can't afford to lose!" But Fred didn't hear her.

He caught hold of a bludger and sped off towards his first target: Goyle.

"YOU IDIOT!!" Angelina screamed in anger as he left her behind.

"Take THIS!" He hurled the bludger at Goyle, whose reaction time was too slow, and it knocked his left arm enough to send him toppling in the air. Fred observed, satisfied, as the smirk was wiped off his pimply face. He caught another bludger and prepared to strike again, but Goyle was less cocky and more alert this time and was able to fly off before Fred could act.

Fred had expected this though, so he was at the ready for the chase. Goyle bobbed and weaved through the players, but as he was a much less talented flier than Fred, he couldn't escape. Fred managed to strike again, this time in the shoulder. He purposefully did not throw hard enough to seriously injure him or put the team in trouble; years of playing Quidditch had honed his ability to control the force at which he threw the bludgers.

Suddenly, Fred saw Goyle reach into his robe. He watched it happen in slow motion: Goyle whipped out a wand and pointed behind him, straight at Fred. Having never seen a wand on the field, as they were prohibited in Quidditch, he moved too slowly to escape Goyle's attack.

"NO!" Fred lunged at the wand but Goyle was too far away, and the spell hit him straight in the chest.

The crowd collectively gasped as it sent him reeling through the air. He could not gain control of his broom for the life of him, and he spun around and around, the only thing he could do was grip the handle as hard as he could. After a few moments, he managed to slow the spinning, but too late; with a loud CRASH, he crashed into the y/h stands.

Students screamed as he crashed into the benches, which splintered and sent wood flying in all directions. Most of them had been able to run out of the way, but there were a few who were knocked off their bench by the force of his crash.

"FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN! FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN!" Lee was jumping up and down and screaming into his microphone, "For those who missed it, Goyle hexed Fred Weasley, THAT HIDEOUS COCKROACH! SOMEONE GO DO SOMETHING!"

Fred's head was still spinning so he could barely hear the crowd. As he gained his senses, he realized that he had crashed directly into a person and was laying on top of them. He quickly pushed himself off of the poor student.

"Are you alright?" He immediately grabbed the student's hand and hoisted them onto their feet.

"I think so? I think I'm okay." Y/n looked down at herself and assessed for any injuries, but miraculously, she did not have a scratch on her.

Y/n looked up at Fred and their eyes met. As quickly as he crashed into her, Fred lost his senses.

He had heard of people describe the moment they met their partners in a magical, fantastical way that he was always skeptical of, and he even made fun of them. They would talk about how time slowed and fireworks went off in their minds, and they just knew this person was the one, but he had never believed it. Love makes people fools, he would say.

But now, he was being proven wrong.

As he gazed into her eyes, time did, in fact, slow, and fireworks exploded through his entire body, the way people had always described. His mind filled with music that wasn't actually there, and every time he recounted this moment to her or their friends or even strangers for years and years after, he would swear he felt a zing! (Y/n would roll her eyes every time, but with a big smile on her face).

"Um... hello?" He was brought back to life when y/n waved her hand in front of his face. He didn't realize that his jaw had been hanging open and that he was still holding the other hand he had hoisted her up with. Amusement danced in her eyes and when she smiled at him, he almost toppled over.

He managed to stumble out, "I'm -- 'm so sorr- didn't mean to--" He didn't know what was happening to him -- usually he was so smooth around girls. Y/n found it endearing though, and laughed in response.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and replied, "That's alright, I'm okay! You gotta do what you gotta do right?"

In a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't a fool, Fred managed to gather himself enough to gasp out, "PrettiestgirlI'veeverbeenbludgeredinto--" before he was interrupted.

"--AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, YOU LOOK LIKE AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, FREDDIE! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH or A BIRD'S GONNA FLY IN--" Lee's cackle was cut off, and Mcgonagall's voice now boomed, "MR. WEASLEY, GET BACK OUT THERE NOW!"

Fred blushed a deep pink and dropped y/n's hand as if it had burned him. As she laughed, he stammered out some sort of sheepish apology before hopping back on his broom and flying back out.

Thankfully, some people had still been paying attention to the game, and the second Fred flew back in, Harry caught the snitch and the game was over.

Fred flew down, still feeling lightheaded from his encounter with y/n. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Angelina was storming over to him.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, WEASLEY!" Steam was practically pouring out of her ears, "DID I OR DID I NOT TELL YOU TO DROP IT? HUH, WEASLEY? WHAT DID I TELL YOU TO DO!" Professor Mcgonagall was following close behind Angelina and was scolding Fred over her, "-- could have injured yourself or a student, for Merlin's sake, or worse, gotten yourself banned--"

Meanwhile, Harry, who had been too focused on the snitch and missed the hubbub, was jogging alongside the rest of the team and asking, "What was that? What happened? Someone tell me what happened, for the LOVE of--" With a voice tight with suppressed laughter, George shrugged and said, "Can't save you this time, mate."

The team members were giggling and talking over each other, Angelina and Professor Mcgonagall were still scolding him, and Harry was tugging at his robes, still trying to figure out what had happened, but Fred couldn't hear any of it. He had caught y/n's eye again, all the way across the stadium from the ground, and she was smiling sympathetically right at him. He was hopelessly lost in her smile, and he timidly held up his hand and waved. She scrunched her nose in an adorable way and gave him a thumbs up of encouragement. A grin spread across Fred's face.

This brought on another bout of yelling and threats from Angelina as well as more laughter from the team, and still, Fred barely heard her. It was all noise to him.

Professor Mcgonagall caught his far-off look and followed his gaze to see that he was staring right at you. She maintained a stern look, but on the inside, couldn't help but soften. She knew that look. She had seen it countless times before.

And even as Fred was being dragged away by a furious Angelina, he was still smiling and managed to memorize every part of y/n's face, vowing to find her after what surely would be a long post-game meeting.

[yasministration]

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone - Sirius Black

"Hey I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone."

warnings: smut, age gap 1.2k wc

Sirius hadn't been the one to make the first move. That was his excuse for all the disapproving glances Remus shot his way. Young, and high enough of authority to encourage Fred and George's antics in a way that was discouraged by the other adults in the house, everyone saw you as a trouble maker seductress who would only cause turmoil in Sirius's life. But despite this, Sirius was a goner the instant you sent him a flirtatious smile, cornering him in the kitchen of his own house.

Being one of the youngest high ranking aurors at the ministry of magic, your name had quickly been brought up in a meeting at the order of the phoenix, the team desperately needing an inside link. Chasing you down wasn't difficult, and nor was recruiting you. You'd shared all the beliefs order members had, and were attending meetings from the very start, providing the others with information that was impressive for an agent in her early 20's.

The first time you'd spoken to Sirius alone, you were inevitably nervous, accidentally hitting your hip against the corner of the table as you went to put your mug in the sink. He had amusedly asked if you were okay, a hand coming up to rest on the small of your back. That made you panic even more, eyes scanning the close proximity between you, and you nodded, scratching the nape of your neck shyly. "I'm Sirius, by the way." You'd shaken the hand he offered, introducing yourself to the man. And apparently, after that interaction you hadn't found him nearly as scary, waiting for meetings to be over so you could speak to the older man, catching up with him about life.

You realised after a while that you always had so much more to say about your day, having come straight to the manor from work, still wearing your heels and uncomfortably tight blouse that always had the top button open, but made you look absolutely incredible. Meanwhile, Sirius will have been at the manor all day, only interacting with people who came in and out of the house, otherwise spending his days alone. He knew he should have turned down your offer. The chance of him getting caught was just too high, but you insisted. "It's not a far walk from here, and your animagus form can disguise you perfectly."

It was the first breath of fresh air Sirius had gotten since he escaped, and he felt himself look at you in admiration the whole way to your apartment. He wondered how you walked in those heels. Marvelled at how you weren't cold in those thin tights and skirt that was just a tad bit too short to wear to work but long enough for you to get away with. When you finally turned the key into the entrance door of your building, letting Sirius into the apartment complex, he was able to see the mischievous smile on your face. He didn't what what overtook him, but he was aimlessly following you up to your apartment, and accepting the glass of wine you offered him.

"To your first adventure as a free man, Sirius Black." His gaze stuck to you, staring as you took a sip from your glass. Time slowed as a drop of wine slipped between your lips and the glass, landing on your crisp white blouse. His jaw went slack when you gasped, fingers immediately flying to unbutton your blouse, revealing your chest to him for a quick second before you were rushing to your kitchen sink and ridding your top from its red stain. Sirius downed his glass of wine before putting it down, taking three long strides to stand by you at the sink. You sighed, spinning around to face him, a wild glint in your eyes when you saw him struggle to keep his eyes levelled with yours. You pulled him closer to you by his sweater, letting him stumble closer to you. Leaning forward, your lips found his in a kiss, which was quickly sped up by Sirius, hands finding your hips to press your body against his. His beard scratched your chin lightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue battling with yours over dominance which he effortlessly won over.

Almost fourteen years without kissing someone does something to a man, you thought, when he had you pressed tightly against your mattress, thrusting into you from the back so harshly that you were sure the bed would break. Your moans serenaded him, encouraging him to quicken his pace until he physically couldn't hold himself back anymore. His orgasm hitting him faster than he would have liked, Sirius laid back on the bed next to you, apologising profusely. "It's been so long." He cried, accepting the kisses you pressed onto his jaw, an arm wrapped around your waist, as though to keep you from leaving him. But with the way you threw a leg over his thighs, pulling your body on top of his, it was clear you weren't done with him yet.

Sirius groped your tits, nipples grazing his chest while you continued to suck hickeys onto his neck, one hand stroking his cock for him to get hard again. When you felt him hardening, you were quick to sink down onto him, bouncing on top of him whilst he cursed, eyes glued to your figure. You put your hands on his chest to support you, caressing his tatted skin while he began regaining his senses, a hand coming up to touch your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. You moaned, thighs beginning to burn as you resorted to grinding down onto Sirius's cock instead of bouncing. "I got you, sweetheart." He mumbled, bucking his hips up to help roll you over, making your cry out at the sudden pain from his harsh thrust.

Sirius began thrusting into you again with a steady pace, one hand playing with your clit as he leaned over you, catching your lips in another kiss. His chains dangled over your chest, jingling with each thrust Sirius pushed into you, panting into the kiss. He switched to press kisses to your neck instead, his pace slowing when you wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing his cock deeper into you. You whined, pushing your chest up into his as you threw your head back, nails dragging down his back in pleasure. "Please" You muttered, making Sirius press harder against your clit as his thrusts slowed down, not wanting to disappoint you again. He felt your cunt clamp down around his cock as you came, moaning loudly.

Sirius's thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, not wanting to overstimulate you. "Shit!" He cried when your hand chased his cock, wrapping around it to jerk him off, making him cum for the second time that night. He slumped against the bed, inhaling your scent mixed with the smell of sex, and shut his eyes for the night. Next time, you're not even going to have to invite him over before he'll be pouncing on you, fingers crossing to not get caught bending you over in the living room at Grimmauld pace.

[filmsmakkari]

your highness

fred weasley x slytherin!reader

Summary: When Slytherin beats Gryffindor in the final quidditch match of the season, Fred Weasley decides to give the Slytherin princess a little reward

CW: NSFW, semi public sex(?), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praising.

Author's Note- As usual, I had a black reader in mind, so (Y/N) is described as having braids, but that's the only physical description. Anyone can imagine themselves in this fic. Also emmm I have never written smut in my life saurrr... I hope this makes you horny and I'm sorry if it doesn't!

To say that (Y/N) (L/N) hated Fred Weasley would be an understatement.

The Princess of Slytherin was in the prefect’s restroom, trying to wash the red and gold dye out of her hair. The last quidditch game of the autumn term was the next day, and Fred fucking Weasley thought it would be funny to make a mockery of the Slytherin team captain by having Peeves throw ink at her as she tried to run down the moving staircases. 

“That bloody…” she muttered as she roughly scrubbed her scalp. She’d been at it for what felt like hours when the dye finally washed away, and the raven-winged color of her long braids was finally visible again. 

Enraged, (Y/N) stomped out of the bathroom, envisioning ways to get her revenge. In her anger and fantasies of all the means of torture she could inflict upon the irritating prankster, she was barely aware of her feet carrying her down to the ever-calming bioluminescence of the  Slytherin common room. She waved her wand violently, blowing around a stack of papers and knocking over a desk, catching the attention of Blaise Zabini. 

The boy seemed slightly frightened as he said, “Hey (Y/N/N), you alright?”

(Y/N) huffed with irritation. “Oh, I’m more than alright. I’m ready to knock Weasley off his bloody broom.”

-

The Great Hall was alive with conversation. Some students excitedly cast charms, creating fireworks with their house colors and animals, while others feasted on fruits and vegetables in preparation for the big match. Slytherin vs. Gryffindor games were always the most anticipated. The extreme disdain between the two teams brought out the absolute best in them as players. Even if it was occasionally violent, it made for a great game. 

Fred and George Weasley sauntered into the hall with the typical swagger of Gryffindors, scanning the tables and admiring the displays from the students. As Fred eyed the Slytherin table, his gaze fell upon her. There in her quidditch sweater, brown knee-high boots, and a horribly tempting skirt, the Slytherin Princess, who’d earned her title by getting the best grades in her house, being captain of the quidditch team, and being so ridiculously beautiful that even the proudest Gryffindors tried their luck with her, was sitting on the table, locked in conversation with Blaise Zabini and Emma Vanity- the Slytherin chasers.

“Discussing a new and improved strategy for the pitch?” Fred asked, approaching her. “I might as well tell you now, you’re wasting your time.”

(Y/N) turned to him with an eye roll.  “Keep taunting me, Weasel. It’s the most satisfaction you’ll get today.”

“Keep dreaming. Tell me, how’d you like my little gift yesterday?” Fred asked, resting his hands on the table and leaning close to her face.

(Y/N) hummed. “To be honest I’d expected more from you, beater. You couldn’t even do the job yourself. That scared of little old me?” 

“You wish. You’ll see out there today. Tell you what. If you win, which you won’t, I’ll reward you,” Fred smirked.

“Please, what could you possibly have that I want?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Too bad you’ll never find out.” Fred winked and walked over to the Gryffindor table, filling (Y/N) with so much irritation that it made her face hot.

-

Fred Weasley was eating his words.

The match was over before it began, the Slytherin players flying like bullets, (Y/N) ’s strategy working to absolute perfection, giving (Y/N) the perfect opportunity to catch the snitch without hesitation, winning the last game of the season.

The after-party was a blur of green and silver, fireworks, and cheering. One second (Y/N) was being hoisted up in the air by her teammates while they chanted her name; the next, she was playing games with giggle juice and fire whisky with her classmates. The snake lair was on fire with passion and excitement. While (Y/N) was reveling in it all, she had another celebration in mind. While her friends chanted so loud that the paintings were all forced to cover their ears, (Y/N) quickly slipped out of the common room and skipped happily up the stairs with a clear destination in mind.

As the sleeping form of the fat lady came into view, (Y/N) suddenly realized she had no actual plan. She couldn’t get into the Gryffindor common room, and even if she could, what would she do? Find Weasley in his dorm room and slap him? Cast a spell turning all the furniture silver and green to boast Slytherin pride? Steal Fred’s clothes while he was in the shower and- oh. Somewhat embarrassed at how eager she’d been to go to the Gryffindor common room and at how her thoughts kept wandering back to Fred, (Y/N) quickly turned around and began to go back to her dorm but was quickly stopped in her tracks.

Standing before her was the very person who’d been nagging at her thoughts all night. There was Fred Weasley, with dripping wet red hair and no shirt, looking down on her with irritation and amusement.

“Well well,” he said tauntingly, stepping closer and closer to her until her back was pressed against the wall. “Just what is the snake princess doing so close to the lion’s den? Came here to gloat?” Heat was radiating off of him. He was angry about the match.

(Y/N) swallowed, suddenly nervous, her usual Slytherin pride and confidence nowhere to be found. “As a matter of fact, Weaselbee, I’m here to see you. I told you I’d win, I’m here to claim my reward.”

Fred raised an eyebrow at this. He walked over to the fat lady, knocking on the portrait softly. The fat lady awoke with a jump, giving Fred a frustrated glare.  “Sorry about this,” said Fred. “Iced Mice.” The fat lady hesitated. “And just what are you doing bringing her in here?”

(Y/N)’ s bite finally returned as she spoke, “I can show you better than I can tell you. How about a charm for taking the tongues of bad singers?” Fred chuckled at that.

“Why, I never!” said the fat lady as she finally swung open the door.

Fred took hold of (Y/N) ’s hand as he walked in, dragging her behind him.

(Y/N)’ s words were full of venom as she whisper-shouted, “Just what do you think you’re doing, you slimy-”

“Just be quiet for once, princess.”

Indignation swelled in (Y/N) ’s chest, but she obeyed. Though she toothlessly fought back, attempting every now and then to snatch her arm away from him, deep down, she wanted to see where this would go.

Fred dragged her to a dark corner, taking her by her hips and lifting her onto a desk. 

“What the hell are you doing?” (Y/N) asked with a furious look, but there was no bite behind the glare. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was afraid he’d hear it. 

“You came for your reward, didn’t you? You were so desperate for it that you were willing to cheat during the match,” he said, moving her hair and leaning into her ear.

(Y/N) shuddered at the closeness before pushing him away. “I didn’t cheat, Weasley, the hell are you talking about?”

Fred hummed, smoking at her and placing his arms on either side of her, caging her in.

(Y/N) scoffed. “This is ridiculous, I can’t believe I wasted my time coming here. Have a nice life carrot top.”

(Y/N) pushed him again, hopping off the desk and starting to walk away from him, but Fred quickly grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back into him and placing a wet, passionate kiss on her lips. (Y/N)’ s eyes widened in shock as Fred Weasley, the person she hated most since first year, slipped his tongue into her mouth and lifted her back onto the desk. Shocked and confused, she pushed him away a third time.

Fred looked deeply into her eyes, a tendril of red hair hanging over his eyes, making him impossibly more attractive. “Oh c’mon, love, don’t act like you don’t want it too. Like you haven’t wanted it since fourth year when you walked in on me showering after the quidditch cup.”

(Y/N)’s face got hot at the memory. “I hate you. You hate me. I’m the “princess of Slytherin,” remember?”

“Well then, your highness, allow me to serve you,” said Fred, dropping to his knees.

“What are you doing?” (Y/N) asked, her voice shaking as Fred ran his hands up and down her thighs, barely past her skirt. The tight little green dress and those white knee-high socks she was wearing had been driving him crazy since he first saw them, and he wanted nothing more than to see what was hidden underneath them.

“I’m rewarding you, even if you did cheat like a naughty little serpent, somehow I feel like this will be just as much as a reward for me.” He spread her legs wide, getting in between them and slowly peeling back her skirt.

(Y/N) breathed in sharply. “You have tormented me for six years, and now you expect me to let you use me to get off?’ 

“‘M sorry,” said Fred, kissing her thigh softly. (Y/N) shuddered. Fred kissed his way up to her sopping wet heat, muttering “I’m sorries” between every kiss. He finally made his way to her lacy undergarment, placing a soft kiss there. “You’re so wet, darling,” he said, popping his head out and looking at her, “It seems like you’ve already forgiven me.”

“In your bloody dreams, Weasley,” (Y/N) said with an unconvincing scoff. “I’ll hate you until the day I die.”

Fred hummed before quickly dipping his head back between her thighs, sliding her panties to the side, and licking a long stripe through her slick.

(Y/N) let out a throaty moan at the sensation, gripping the desk tightly. 

Fred chuckled against her, the vibrations making her breathe in deeply. “What was that about you hating me, love?” he asked.

“Shut up and get on with my reward, asshole.”

Fred smirked. “As you wish, your grace.”

Fred grabbed her thighs tightly and went to work, taking her clit into his mouth and sucking it like a starving man. (Y/N) moaned loudly before placing her hand over her mouth. Fred looked up at her, his sudden pause making her whimper. “No, no, no, darling. Don’t hide the noises.” He slowly pushed a single long finger inside her. “Let the whole school know.” Another finger. He looked into her eyes with a wicked smile. “Let them all hear how the snake princess let a lion make her scream.” He added two fingers that time and rapidly pumped in and out. And, just as he said she would, (Y/N) screamed. She went to cover her mouth again, but with his free hand, he took both of her wrists and held them in front of her. It burned, but it felt so good. (Y/N) began to move her hips slightly to increase the sensation, making Fred smile. “That’s it, beautiful, good girl. Good girl.” Fred spoke in a way that was almost patronizing. If she weren’t so close to the edge, she probably would have made some snarky remark, but (Y/N) couldn’t think straight as the pressure in her stomach was building up, and the Weasley boy was making her see stars. She let out another loud moan, throwing her head back as the pressure became unbearable. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” (Y/N) screamed as Fred’s fingers slammed into her g-spot, and she finally couldn’t take it anymore. (Y/N) let out a scream as she came, barely aware of anything around her. Her vision went blurry as the hot juices spilled out of her. Fred wasted no time re-attaching his mouth to her drenched cunt, licking up her juices until she was clean. “Mmm, sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Surprising for such a nasty girl,” Fred said, slapping her thigh, sliding her panties back over, and standing up.

He placed his arms on either side of her, staring at her intensely, his hair disheveled and her cum around his mouth. (Y/N) matched his gaze with equal intensity, her heart pounding, a million questions running through her head. After a few beats of silence, she finally spoke. 

“I still hate you.”

Fred actually laughed at that, shaking his head before looking back at her. “Beat me again, princess, and I’ll give you a better reward then my fingers and my  mouth,” he rasped into her ear before walking off to his dorm room, leaving her with her legs spread on a table of the Gryffindor common room.

“We’ll see how much you hate me then!”

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin; —send me a driver + prompt/dialogue starter and i'll write a tiny musing for you

loosen up charles leclerc x you —18+ (sex, mature themes, coarse language) —requested by @tlhd7 (absolute gem) and lovely anon 💖

you knew you were done the second you saw ferrari’s usgp liverly on instagram. the little slither of black peeking out of the collar of charles’ suit already conjuring up wild, wild thoughts. none of them holy. charles looked good in black, that was a well known fact — whether he was wearing a tuxedo or even lounging around in a simple black shirt he looked hot. and although he exuded sunshine energy most of the time, there was a darkness that you enjoyed about him. vexed and flustered charles turned you on.

once you had confirmation from your boyfriend that they were indeed wearing black fireproofs this weekend, the decision was final. you were flying out to texas because nothing was going to stop you from indulging in your greatest fantasy — jet lag who? and nobody was going to stop you from slinking into charles’ drivers room while he prepped for practice. absolutely nobody.

“knock knock…” you playfully greeted, causing charles to glance over from where he was perched on his physio bed. 

“well hello, mon ange… who let you in?” he teased back with a smirk and placed his phone on the table beside him.

“andrea did because i’m actually here to do your warm up massage… fred thought it was really important to get a professional in to make you feel good.” 

charles' soft smile dropped into a devilish smirk, eyes narrowing with desire as soon as his mind registered what you were saying. he liked to roleplay a little, especially on the road when everything felt so serious and tiresome — he loved a sprinkle of spiciness added to the mix and who better to bring it than the woman of his dreams.

“oh well don’t let me stop you, ma’am,” he rushed before laying back down on his front, smiling from ear to ear and giggling into the face hole.

“thank you, sir — i’ll get started on your back first… making sure all those hard knots are worked out before your race,” you stated, brushing your hands down the expanse of his clothed back. the black mesh felt smooth against your palms as you moved them up and down in long strokes, "how's that pressure?”

“incredible but you can be harder if you like,” charles mumbled, his eyes closed while he enjoyed the feeling of your touch. 

“oh, it’s gonna be hard, mr. leclerc — please be patient.” 

you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh into your shoulder — every time you played a character, you struggled to keep it together but eventually the insecurity of it all slowly dissipated as you focused back in. 

you thumbed the hem of his fireproof top and dragged it gently up his back, exposing the tanned skin that beautifully complimented the black fabric, all taut and soft and sprinkled with freckles. each muscle danced under your fingertips as you carefully traced the marks you’d left the night before — the remnants of your reunion making every nerve in your body tingle from the memory. the frenzied fingernail tracks were red, but fading and you could tell charles liked the feeling of your cool palms grazing them by the soft, nearly inaudible moan that slipped from his pursed lips.

“feel good?” you asked, smirking to yourself.

“amazing.” he practically groaned in response. 

“i’ll get you to turn over now so we can shift focus to your front.”

it didn't take long for charles to scurry up and flip over onto his back. he looked like a kid entering a candy store, all wired and wide eyed from what was on offer, and the promise of a sweet treat at the end. you rubbed your hands together and pushed his shirt up a little further before working your hands across his tight abdomen and over his chest, spending a little extra time on the perked nipples that always got his engine revving. to balance out the moans of pleasure, you ghosted your fingertips down his ribs, causing a high pitched giggle to erupt from the man below, immediately cutting the tension bubbling up.

“very ticklish there, ma’am — go lower please…” 

“oh, do you feel tight down here?” you asked innocently while unzipping his suit a little further down his hips.

“very tight - bit lower than that… lower… lower,” charles’ voice grew quieter the closer you got to where he ached until your hand gently grasped his hard cock, “ah, yes - right there,” he sighed. 

you stroked him through the black fireproof trousers, the fabric bunching as your hand worked him over, “ah, i see… very stiff in this area — try to relax for me, charles.” 

the sound of his name falling sultrily from your mouth as you worked him in your hand had him moaning into his arm that had instinctively come up to cover his mouth. the walls of his drivers room were thin, so thin that you’d been told more than once to keep it down. it never stopped you — in fact, maybe it even encouraged the exhibitionist streak you two had. 

through the soft moans, charles eventually grasped consciousness and came up for air - he loved watching you get him off, almost as much as he enjoyed returning the favour. everything about you set him alight — your eyes, your voice and the way you studied every little twitch on his face while you made him feel good.

slowing slightly, you pensively looked down at your hand and tutted, “i think i may need to use some kind of lubrication to really get these stiff knots out…” 

charles eagerly nodded, “do whatever you need to do.”

“as long as you’re sure…” you stated cautiously, peeling down his fireproofs and underwear in one foul swoop, “is it okay if i use my mouth? i think it could really help.” 

a gutteral moan vibrated in charles’ throat as his head lulled back in disbelief, “fuck… i mean, yes- yes, yes, yes, yes.” 

it never took long to have him exactly where you wanted him — you always started with a tiny kitten lick to his tip, your tongue would travel down to the base and back up before taking him fully in your warm mouth. before too long, he was sitting upright and pulsating down the back of your throat with his fingers loosely grasping the back of your head for dear life, needing something, anything to hold onto while you had him seeing stars. his other hand was pressed so hard to his mouth that when you stood up and wiped your lips, you could see a red hand print left in its wake. 

“are you feeling looser now, mr. leclerc?” you teased and massaged his shoulders once more with a smirk lining your swollen lips. 

“oh my god stop or you’ll make me hard again,” charles groaned and pulled you into a passionate kiss, “you will be the death of me eventually, sweet girl.”

a/n— please don't ask me to define "tiny" because this is over 1k words lol i got carried away because i haven't written for charles in a loooong time and these two requests were way too good not to combine! i have no chill. shop the sale event here !!

[writing-mlm]

Nothing stays buried

Summary: People and secrets are never really gone when it comes to this family, aren’t they? Pairing: Jason Todd x Martian!Male!Reader Word Count: 6.5k Tags/Warning: Bruce is bad at parenting, talks and mentions of parents dying, talks and mentions of Jason’s death, sexual themes A/n: i probably missed a couple of tags but it’s 5am as I’m writing this

He remembers that night vividly. Jason felt on top of the world, he’d passed his math test and he’d just helped B take down the Penguin before his bedtime. Not that he had a bedtime, of course. It’s just Alfred gets worried if he’s not back at a certain time. 

Back on track. 

He was on a rooftop, well, he was making his way to the ledge to practice his Batman impression. For future references, y’know, as a Robin does. When he saw a strange little creature sitting on the edge, trying to talk to the gargoyle. His green tail swished back and forth, the red hairs on the end puffing up when a bird landed on the gargoyle. 

“Excuse me!” Jason called and the creature turned around, standing to his full height. 

“Hello,” The alien chirped. Jason almost laughed, but Alfred would’ve told him that was a rude thing to do. But in his defense, the alien reminded him of a cat. The chirp was strange, a hello broken into a he-llo, with a chirp akin to a very friendly cat but mixed with a very high-pitched voice. “Lost.” The alien chirped again, standing up. He almost laughs as the young alien is only half his height and he’s not very tall himself— Bruce says he’ll get taller when he’s older, though.

“I can help,” Jason extended his gloved hand and smiled. The alien looked at the hand and tilted their head before grabbing it. Jason counted five fingers and short fingernails before he properly grasped their hand. “I’m going to take you to my friend, okay?” The alien nodded, their pitch black eyes reflecting the little light around them in an oddly comforting manner. 

“Fr-end,” He chirped. 

“Mmhmm, I’m Robin. What’s your name?”

“(Y/n)!” 

—

“Jason?” You call into the empty cave. A whole week later after the rooftop and Bruce only let you go so far— with or without supervision. It’s only been the cave and something called a lab. “Jay-son!” Your voice chirps as you’re walking around, your tail flicking side to side. You don’t know how to leave the cave, the door is confusing and Bruce won’t tell you how to use it. Jason is sworn to keep it from you, too. He says it’s best that you don’t make Bruce upset, so you don’t. But he always seems angry at you, so you tend to avoid him altogether. 

“Jason?” You’re now dragging yourself along, bored in the cold, damp, and dark cave without any type of entertainment. Flying up, you scan over the cave and find no one but the bats hanging upside down on the dripstone. Huffing, you land on your feet and cross your arms, the end of your tail puffed up as you grow more annoyed. 

“He’s at school,” Alfred explains as he walks up from behind you. You spin around and grin up at the older man. He’s without Bruce and holding a silver platter. He’s always fun to be around when he’s not with Bruce. 

“Al-fred!” He smiles at the chirp and guides you to your little living area. It has a bed, a table and three chairs. “I go… school?” You ask, sitting across from him as he sets the sandwich down in front of you. Whatever this school is, you think you should be able to attend as well. 

“I’m afraid not,” He frowns and you mimic the action while he tries to find the best way to break it to a child that he’s considered a threat. “Master Bruce is still running tests and making sure you’re… not in danger.” He settles on saying. 

“No in danger!” You tell him through a mouthful of the sandwich. “Only in cave,”

“Yes, you are in the cave. But he wants to make sure you’re safe,” Alfred continues and you hum. You’d been taught that word. 

“Safe.” Pointing to yourself, he smiles and nods. “Safe.” You point to him and he nods again, his smile growing a bit wider. “B not safe?” That almost makes him laugh; the nickname Jason had given Bruce clearly rubbed off on you. 

“Master Bruce is safe,” Alfred corrects. “He’s making sure you are extra safe.” He hands you a napkin and you stare at it, a little unsure of what to do with the paper. 

“Oh,” You hum and your face twists as you try and find the right words. “So… we safe?” Alfred hums and motions to wipe your face with the napkin. 

“We are safe, yes.” He corrects as you harshly rub your face free of any crumbs. He cringes and takes the napkin, dabbing it on his tongue before wiping them away. 

“We are safe,” You correct yourself. “But I still here,” Pointing to the cave. “If safe, why cave?” He sighs, still not knowing how to explain to a child that he’s considered a danger— an unknown danger that Bruce doesn’t trust to be in the public; he barely trusts you alone in the cave as it is. This was easier with Dick and Jason, they weren’t aliens who needed to be under lock and key all day. They also didn’t have powers that made things all the more difficult. 

“Soon.” He nods. “You’re meeting Master Bruce’s friends tomorrow, remember?” Alfred asks and you nod, beaming at the idea of meeting more people. 

“I know,” 

—

Jason was happy to take you out of the cave, he’d even packed you a lunchbox just like Alfred packs his for school. He doesn’t eat them anymore because he’s twelve and doesn’t use lunch boxes anymore. Totally. Just don’t check his bag. Maybe he does, but Alfred has killer cooking and he can’t resist it. No one can. 

Moving along now, please. 

You’re in the Watch Tower, staring at the large TV screen that has a bunch of stuff on it, along with a picture of you. You don’t understand much, the words Bruce uses aren’t ones you’ve learned yet and you don’t know how to break them down or use the proper context clues to understand them. It makes your head hurt. But everyone is very nice so you don’t mind. The man in the red suit has given you some weird block to play with. 

It clicks!

“Genetically, he’s half Green Martian,” Bruce explains to the members sitting at the table as Dick tries to bring your attention back to the meeting and Jason is sneaking you slices of various fruits. Your favorite is the lemon slices, they burn and make your tongue feel funny. And purple. “And half unknown. For now.” He shows some diagrams of the genetic makeup he was able to piece together from his mini experiments, taking your DNA and cross-referencing it with everything he had on file. There’s something that links you to Martian Manhunter’s picture and you find his face at the table. He looks… familiar. He looks like home. 

“I am him?” You whisper to Jason and he looks over at J’onn, then you. 

“No,” He shakes his head and glances at Dick to try and help him but he suddenly becomes engrossed in what Bruce is talking about. Looks like it’s up to him to explain genetics. He’s glad he paid attention during science last week. “You know how I am human and Barry is human?” Nodding, you glance at Barry while he continues. “Well, you are half Martian and he is Martian.” Looking at him, you soak in what he’s saying and look down at your pencil. 

“Why only half?” You frown. “Am I less than him?” Looking at him, Jason panics a little. 

“No-no,” He waved his hands. “Half means one of your parents was a Green Martian.” He holds up two fingers and then takes one away. “J’onn has both Green Martian parents,” He adds a finger back. 

“We all— we were all green,” You explain, fumbling over the proper sentence structure. “My mom— my eyes.” Pointing to your eyes, Jason hums. “My dad— his eyes,” Pointing to J’onn, you see the Justice League is watching you. When did they start listening to the conversation? Maybe you had said the wrong thing. You hug your tail, playing with the red hairs on it. 

“Do you remember your father's name?” J’onn tentatively asks. “Maybe I remember him.” You smile and enthusiastically nod. J’onn smiles back, his eyebrow line deepening. 

“His name is Ma'alefa'ak,” For some reason, the room goes silent. Oh no, you definitely said the wrong thing. Sinking into your seat, you look down at your shoes while Bruce types that in and the others share glances. 

“Like the supervillain?” Oliver whispers, covering his mouth so you don’t see. Supervillain, Bruce had taught you that one. That was a bad person, the type of person who hurts people for fun. You look at Jason and then at Bruce. 

“My dad is bad?” You ask him and he only gives you a small nod, a frown deepening on his face. He doesn’t want to lie to you, even though everything in his body is telling him to. 

“But your uncle is J’onn! Yay!” Jason turns your attention back to him. 

“Yay,” You try and be as happy as he seems but you can’t lie nearly as good as he does and he rubs your back, offering to take you exploring around the Watchtower while the others continue their conversation. 

—

Turns out, Green Martian puberty happens a bit later when you’re mixed with a different species. You’d turned fourteen recently and a week later you sprouted like a beanstalk. The height also came with more powers. Better powers. 

“Yes, you hear me speaking? I know all of the words, ever created,” You grin at Jason, holding your hand to your green ear while he rolls his eyes. He’s had to deal with this for two weeks now. Although, he only pretends to be annoyed. He’s mostly upset he doesn’t need his flashcards anymore or that he can’t help you by reading his ‘old people’ books. 

Today he’s in your apartment, the one you’ve shared with J’onn since the whole Jerry Springer episode back at the Watch Tower. He’s not happy about that, but you can fly fast and the distance isn’t too far. Plus, you both know how to use a phone— now more than ever since your brain doubled in size. 

Your bedroom is nice, it’s plain all things considered. A bed, a dresser and some decorations here and there. It’s things J’onn thought most teenagers would enjoy. But Jason knows you. He knows you’d like your room with a canopy bed, a clear case filled with random trinkets you’d found across the globe. 

“That big ole head of yours remembered to get lunch?” He asks, grabbing your tail and playing with it. It flicks, moving on its own accord. You purse your lips and reach behind you, your arm phasing through your bedroom wall and into the fridge. 

“J’onn bought ten Lunchables earlier this week in preparation. Do you want the sandwich or the nachos?” Grabbing both, you present them to him and he takes the sandwich box. You don’t mind the nachos, they’re your favorite. The sandwiches get all crumbly and there’s never enough to fill you. 

“Oh, and so have got to teach you how to be a kid. You sound like your uncle,” He laughs, stabbing the juice pouch. 

“Please, bestow your wisdom upon me, Jason.” 

— 

“Look, Jay!” You rush into his room, phasing through several walls until you reach the right one. “Finally figured out telepathy!” Motioning to your mouth to emphasize that it’s not moving, Jason raises an eyebrow as if to say okay? “Aw, c'mon dude! At least act like it’s the first time someone’s been in your head.” You frown, giving him a thumbs down. Ever the theater kid, he jumps up from the bed and rushes over to you, grasping your shoulders and shaking you. 

“Wow! Oh my god, (Y/n), however are you doing that?” He fake gasps, holding his head. You blink at him and flick his forehead, dead between his eyebrows. 

“Ruined it,” Flopping on the bed, you grab the book he had been reading and hold it up in the air. “Yknow, J’onn doesn’t have any books in his apartment?” Looking over at the cover you wonder how many times he’s read through Jane Austen’s book collection. 

 “Sounds horrible,” Taking his book back, Jason lies on his stomach and slides his bookmark into place before setting it down. “Do you think he knows how to read?” He snickers, looking over at you. 

“He has to, right?” You laugh. “He’s like a genius and whatnot, I’m pretty sure he can read.” 

“Why aren’t you a genius?” He knocks your shoulder and you grab his cup of water from his nightstand. 

“I can’t be totally awesome, you still need to have something I'm not good at.” Sitting up, you take a sip before handing him the glass. 

 “Ha-ha, real funny,” He rolls his eyes, holding the cup in his hands. 

“But B thinks it’s something about being only half, I don’t get everything a full Martian would. J’onn thinks it’ll kick in later, like a second puberty. Or something, I dunno.” Lying back down, you watch as he takes a sip of water before returning to his book, holding the cup to you. 

“Makes sense,” He shrugs. “But did your mom have any powers?” He never really asks about your family, you can probably count on one hand how many times he’s asked you over the course of four years. Which you appreciate. 

“Yeah,” The glass cup hits the nightstand and you scoot up on his bed, lying on his pillow. “She could breathe underwater and touch lava,”

“Cool,” 

“Very,” Closing your eyes, you listen to the sounds of him breathing and flipping pages until he eventually gets up to put the book down and lies next to you. “I didn’t get much time with her, so I don’t remember all of her powers.” You quietly admit. 

“I miss your accent,” He admits and you crack an eye open, looking at him as he stares at the ceiling. 

“I still have it,” You laugh, closing your eyes again. Jason smiles as he hears the chirpy voice he’s almost forgotten about. “J’onn and B want me to develop a standard American accent, help me fit in.” 

“Fuck that,” He scoffs. “They’re hating on your sick ass voice.” He flips his body so he’s looking at you, and you follow suit. 

“You’re the only one who thinks that, y’know?” You quietly admit, looking down at the small space between the two of you. “Everyone else, like… I dunno, they get weird about it.”

“'Cause they’re fuckin’ jealous,” He insists. “It’s cute.”

“I’m a grown man, my voice isn’t cute,” You grumble and he laughs. 

“You haven’t even grown a mustache yet!” He gently shoves you. 

“Neither have you!” You shove him back but he grabs your hand and pulls you closer. Neither of you says anything, rather his eyes flicker down and yours follow. It’s natural, how your noses brush against each other. 

“Jason, (Y/n), lunch!” Dick shouts as he bangs on the door. The two of you jump apart and Jason shouts something back while you stare at the side of his face. 

—

“Jay-son!” You chirp, trying to find him in the large manor. He hasn’t called you back in two whole days and you figured he wanted to see you in person. “Jay!” You call again, climbing up the stairs. “Dude, are you sick or something?” At the top of the stairs, you see a red-eyed Bruce, desperately wiping his face. He looks… different. Wearing an old shirt that’s probably been sitting in the back of his closet for at least a decade and stained sweatpants that don’t seem to really fit him. His nose is red and his face is stained with similar red lines going from his eyes down to his

jawline. Which hasn’t been shaved, the stubble is growing in awkwardly and he’s gotten that five o’clock beard you’ve been trying to grow in but martians don’t grow hair so it sort of cancels out a lot of your mother's hair gene. 

“Hey, B…” You pause, unsure of yourself. “Are you okay?” He sniffs and nods, bringing a hand to your shoulder then pulls you in for a tight hug. You look at it, confused by his sudden touch— this is the man who has never even given you a high five! 

“I’m sorry,” His voice is hoarse and he can’t fully meet your eyes when you pull away while you’re desperately trying to see his eyes. You don’t know why, it’s really just this gut feeling but you really need to see Jason. 

Right now. 

“Where’s— Where’s Jason?” You stutter, about to move past him. “Yknow… um… it’s just he hasn’t answered my calls and— yknow… uh,” You shake your head and swallow and give a half-hearted chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll go find him!” Giving him a grin, you try and squeeze past him but he sighs and follows you for two paces. 

“(Y/n).” He stops you but you shake your head brushing him off, tears are starting to pool in your eyes and you don’t seem to know why. 

“Don’t worry, B! You rest, we won’t make too much noise!” You reassure, wiping your face. God, why are you crying?

“He’s dead.” He finally croaks out. 

“What?” You let out a humorless laugh, turning back to face him. “That’s a really weird thing to joke about, B.” Wiping your face again, Bruce takes a deep breath and shakes his head. Once again pulling you close but you phase through him. 

“He got into a car crash on Sunday,” He whispers. “He didn’t make it.” You stare up at him, the tears building in your eyes before they start to free fall. Your chin quivers and you can’t breathe. This feeling isn't new and yet it feels so foreign that it's crushing you. 

“No,” Shaking your head, you turn away from him and start down the hallway. “You’re lying!” Bruce watches as you run down the hallway, throwing his bedroom door open and then every single door in the manor opens. He stands there, listening to your shouts for his dead son, the aches returning to his body and guilt building in his stomach. 

He watches from the window as you fly down to his family's cemeteries before collapsing on Jason’s freshly laid grave. Clawing at the dirt and begging him to come back. You shout and you cry, your body shaking with the pain and he walks away, hardly able to contain himself for more than one reason. 

He just prays that you don’t find out the truth. Ever. 

—

When Jason comes back, no one tells you a single thing. No one seeks you out, no one even thinks about it in your presence, no one wants to tell you. You’ve spent most of your time since his death in space, avoiding anything that reminded you of him and that included Earth. You’d go on month-long missions, spend most of your free time in the tower, and only ever visit Earth for Jason’s birthday. 

It’s strange, since you left space following the death of your parents. Finding solace on Earth but mainly in Jason. Now you just felt lost, mostly angry if you were being honest. First it was your dad, then your mother, and you thought, finally, with Jason he wouldn’t have their same fate. You worried about what would happen to J’onn if you stayed, so, you left. 

Just enough not to get close but close enough you were reachable in case they ever truly needed you. Any yearn for camaraderie or things alike had died with Jason. 

This year he was turning twenty-five, ten whole years had passed since his death and you weren’t doing good. Far from it, honestly. You’d woken up with a tight face, stained from crying and just knew what type of birthday it was going to be. 

You must’ve sat at the edge of your bed for two hours, staring at the floor as your alarm beeped and beeped. The only sign that time was still moving and this was really happening. It’s really been a decade. 

“You’re awake, good.” Diana opens the door to the room you’d converted into a bedroom in the tower. “Come, there’s a meeting.” She watches as you slam your fist to the alarm, silencing it before standing up and staring at her. That’s another thing about you that’s changed since his death, you don’t talk as much as you used to. At least not out loud. 

“Can I shower first?” You ask, already grabbing some new clothes. She watches as you enter the bathroom before leaving the room and heading to the meeting room. Bruce and all of his kids are there, Clark and his family— basically all of the JLA and their family; although Jason looks a bit… uninterested in the situation. But Bruce knows his son is nervous, he had been since he caught wind of the plan for the day. Doesn’t mean he likes the stupid party hats that Barry had forced him to wear or the birthday boy's sash Lois had gifted him. (He took the nearest marker and added undead to the sash before wearing it.) 

“I don’t know why I’m needed for this meeting,” Your voice cuts into everyone’s head and Jason’s stomach drops. He didn’t realize just how much he missed you, how much he actually needed you around. He blinks and sits up impossibly straight, his fingers tapping on the metal table. “I’m going to visit some planets in an hour, so Bruce better not go on another five hour long meeting rant about whatever the fuck he does.” Your voice is only getting louder— closer and his heart is hammering. He thinks he’s about to pass out. 

“It won’t.” Bruce calls from behind him and the doors open. His breath hitches as he sees you— and shit, you’ve gotten tall. You’re in your human form and he wants so desperately to see you, not the you that Bruce and J’onn had concocted over the years. 

You walk across the room, not even bothering to look around the room. Everyone waits as you pour yourself a cup of coffee, waiting for you to see him. 

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Bart calls, suddenly next to Jason. “Can you look at this real quick?” You hum and turn to look at him. Your eyes quickly flicker over everyone before they settle on Jason. The mug clatters back down to the table when you recognize him. It doesn’t take long, you know it’s him. Despite his height, his build, and that white streak in his hair you know Jason. 

“Jason,” You softly call and he watches as you subconsciously change into your actual form. Everyone notices how you actually spoke, your mouth moving and there’s actually a sound coming from you. Your tail flicks from side to side as you rush over to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Jay-son!” You chirp into his neck, hardly aware that your tail wraps around his leg. 

“Hey, Greenie,” He laughs, holding you just as tight. Feeling his breath against your neck, your lip quivers and you try to bury your face deeper into his skin. He feels it and runs his hand over the top of your head, the other clutching the length of your back to keep you as close as possible. 

Everyone else filters out as the two of you continue to hug. They hadn’t really understood the gravity of the situation, how this should be a moment shared between the two of you and no one else until they saw the way you lit up. They hadn’t seen that spark since Jason had died. Bruce had feared it was gone for good. 

“Happy birthday,” You sniff into his neck before pulling away, he watches as your eyes scan over his face; just taking in his new appearance. Last time you didn’t get to do this, parts of him faded from your memory and he was slowly becoming just words and feelings. No person behind them. But now the puzzle was together again and you can recall each feature he’s grown into, new scars that he’s trying to hide with his clothes, and the new air to him. 

You’re silent for a while, just softly smiling and looking at him and he waits. He doesn’t move until your eyes meet his again and even then he waits a couple of seconds. He gulps, his jaw tightening as several emotions rush through him and he can’t pick one to settle on. 

“Yknow,” You grin, your head cocked to the side. “I did learn mind reading while you were gone and unless I’m hearing you wrong—“ Fuck it, he decides. If you can hear his thoughts then to hell with waiting, to hell with letting another day slip by. Before you can even hear those thoughts, his lips crash onto yours. It’s as if years of yearning and cliffhanger chapters finally having a proper closure finally came to a halt. 

Everything in that moment was perfect, it was just… it’s what you needed, honestly. Both of you. It wasn’t about the kiss, it was about the feeling of having Jason there again. The fact that Jason felt safe in your arms again, the fact that despite how he’s changed, you’re still there. Without judgments or disgust at his new body. His new— him. 

There’s little parting in the kiss, between the hands rapidly moving along each other's body and the constant switch on who’s leading, you settle on holding him close and letting him lead. It is his birthday, after all. 

His hands settle on the waistband of your pants, keeping you as close as possible while also making it easy to move away if you wanted to. He’s comfortable like that, the kiss transforming from one born of desire and need into one that was clearly one of many, one that meant there was no rush. A promise that a repeat of the last ten years was never going to happen again. 

“Still human,” He pants as he pulls away, his face red from the lack of air and his lips wet. He gulps down as much air as possible while you watch him, slowly running along his back to coax more air into his lungs. “Fuck, one sec.” He holds a hand up and tosses his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing and his chest heaving one final, stretched-out inhale before his breathing levels out again. His other hand, the one still attached to you, squeezes the flesh of your hip and you’re sure your knees buckled just an inch more you would’ve fallen on your ass. 

“Again?” You ask and he laughs. Your head dips as you smile, your tongue dancing across your bottom lip just to get a reminder of his close he was. 

“I missed you, too,” He says instead. Gently, he places a hand on your face and watches as you instinctively nuzzle towards it. His hands are so rough now, so worn. The hardened pads trace across your new features, sharper features that whisper ghosts of the ones he’d last seen. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call.” He whispers and you shake your head. 

“It’s okay,” Your voice shakes while he blinks, one stray tear slipping past his attempts to hide them. “You’re here now.” 

—

He has your shirt pulled a little more than halfway up your chest, resting just above your nipples as he holds you. His fingers dig into your ribcage and the flesh of your hips as he kisses the exposed flesh. It’s nothing if not tender, the feeling of his lips brushing against you, him not wanting to pull away so bad that his nose drags down your chest. 

About a year into Jason coming back, the two of you are hanging around in the manor in his room. Normally you’d be at one of his safe houses but Alfred had requested everyone’s presence for the night. He was laying on the bed, rereading Jane Austen's Emma while you had found your time being filled by using a crochet machine. You say you’re making a scarf but really you just like watching the yarn loop and spin around. But that’s on the back burner for now.

“Jay,” You whisper, staring down at him. He hums, lips vibrating on your stomach. “Nevermind. Keep going,” He laughs and continues until he reaches the hand of your boxers. Jason stops there, resting his head on the same spot and watches you. Staring down at him, you run your fingers through his hair, settling on the crown of his head while your thumb rubs against his hairline. Slowly, his eyes close and you return back to making your scarf with one hand. 

Not that he would ever admit it, but Jason snores. It’s nothing major, but if you’re quiet enough and pay enough attention you can hear the small snores leaving him. He also moves a lot in his sleep, only if he’s sleeping alone, though. Whenever you’re cuddling he’s holding tightly onto you. He wakes up when you have to use the bathroom and is pointedly upset that you’d taken longer than two minutes. 

“Big baby,” You tease as you climb back into his bed. He grumbles, wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you onto him. You don’t protest, wrapping your tail around his leg and simply scrolling through your phone. He grabs a new book from the pile, Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark. 

“You notice how weird B gets when we’re in a room?” Jason asks after about an hour of the two of you laying like that. It's true, if you and Jason are in the same room as Bruce, he gets this odd look on his face that isn’t there if it’s just one of you. Only when it’s the two of you. 

“He’s alienphobic and you’re his undead son dating an alien,” You shrug and he flicks your tail. “I’m just being honest. It’s either that or he can’t handle his son moaning my name.” You grin over at him and he huffs, peering at you from behind his book. 

“You should read his mind,” He sits up and sets his book down, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “They’re having their movie night or whatever the fuck it is.” He adds, stopping you from continuing to sorting objects into piles.

“I don’t read people’s minds without permission, hun,” Going back to the game, Jason huffs loudly and flips the two of you over. He lies his body along yours, trying to make you uncomfortable enough to stand up. It doesn’t work, despite his large frame. 

“I’m your totally awesome boyfriend asking you to do this one, tiny thing for me.” He reminds you, peppering kisses down your neck when trying to push you doesn’t work. 

“Not working,” You hum but he sees how you stretch your neck out for him. He grins and kisses in spots longer and a little harder, seeing the green skin turning a soft shade of brown. 

“Don’t you wanna know what he’s thinking, baby?” He whispers, his eyes shifting from your neck to your face as you cradle the back of his head. Your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. 

“Still not working, come up with a better reason,” You strain, moving him into your lap. “Or y'know… say please.” You grin, rubbing your hands along his thighs, squeezing the plump flesh every so often. His eyes narrow, looking between your eyes before he grunts and begrudgingly agrees. 

“Please read Bruce’s mind this one time.” He drags out. 

“If I must,” You grin and tap his thigh, asking him to get up. 

The two of you head down to the family room, although Jason has half the mind to have the whole idea thrown out the window when he sees you shift into your human form. It’s not that it’s ugly, your human self is quite handsome but he’s fond of the green skin and the tail— namely the tail. 

The two of you enter the room, expecting to see some shitty movie playing while everyone tries to enjoy it but find everyone sitting around on the floor, having a very intense game of Clue. Spotting Bruce holding some cards, you flip a metaphorical switch in your head and perverse in his mind for only a second before exiting. 

Not the library. He thinks as his eyes scan over the board. The kitchen, then. He shuffles through his cards and settles on a card but doesn’t look at it. 

“Good!” Tim says when he sees the two of you. “Jason, lay on the ground and die!” Bruce looks at the two of you and his mind flashes a panic shade of red. And looks back down at his cards. 

Crowbar. He thinks over and over, you see flashes of a snowy building exploding before Bruce refocuses and sees you, staring at him. You see yourself crying and trying to dig into Jason’s grave with your bare hands. Don’t. He tells himself and you see yourself as Bruce, holding a beaten and bloody Robin. Jason’s Robin. Everything around the two of them is destroyed, like a bomb had gone off. 

You blink and push further into his mind, going back eleven years for that day he died. You watch hours in a single second, seeing no, Jason didn’t die in a fucking car crash. How The Joker had killed him, how Bruce had to pretend as if he had died in a car crash to the press. How Bruce swore to the JLA to never tell you the truth. The boys never told you because it was an unspoken agreement that you knew and just never brought it up. That his death was too painful, too raw. Not even to joke about it around you.

“It wasn’t a car crash.” You say, exiting his mind. The talking around you stops and you see Jason about to lay on the ground, happily pretending to be dead. Everyone looks at you, a confused expression on their face. But your eyes are locked on Bruce. 

“Car crash isn’t even one of the methods, alien.” Damian squints, looking at the paper used to take notes. You ignore Damian, blinking as your mind replays his memories. 

“You told me it was a fucking car crash, Bruce.” You glare at him. In all honesty, you don’t know how to feel. You’re feeling so many emotions at once, there’s so much hurt, so much anger, and all those feelings from his death are resurfacing again. 

“What was?” Dick asks, looking between the two of you. It takes a moment but his face drops; his eyes settle on Bruce and he has this disappointed stare clear on his face. “B… you didn’t.” He shakes his head, setting his cards face down. 

“I had to.” Bruce shakes his head, never looking away from you. “You weren’t in the right place to handle the truth.” He continued and it clicked for Tim. It hasn’t clicked for Jason, he assumes you already know. Sure, the topic of his death has come up but he doesn’t like getting into the actual details with you, everyone’s warned him not to for one reason or another. Not to mention, between the death of your parents and then Jason, the topic of death is a touchy subject with you. 

“When would I?” You utter, anger bubbling in your stomach. “When was the right time to tell me, Bruce? On your deathbed? When someone slipped up? When?” Now, you’re not shouting. You’ve never really been one to shout, and you know it’s easier to argue with Bruce when your tone isn’t raising. But you can’t. You can’t not shout, you can’t help how the anger is consuming you. 

“Father, what is the alien talking about?” Damian asks with a glare. 

“He has a name.” Jason flicks a crowbar at Damian who catches it without looking. 

“So I’ve been told,” The little shit has only been the manor for two months so you don’t expect much from him. The name-calling is whatever, honestly. As long as he didn’t try to set you on fire again. 

“I had to,” Bruce says again and you shake your head. “The truth was too much for you to bear!”

“Was it easier to lie, then?” You ask. “To watch me leave? I trusted you! I- I thought I was some fucking bad omen!” 

“(Y/n), baby,” Jason stands up and holds your shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Your eyes snap to his and you falter, holding his hand that’s touching you. Inhaling, you shift your stance and mess with the lines on his hand. 

“Bruce told me that you died in a car crash,” You gently tell him. “That’s why he’s so weird around us.”

“Fuckin�� hell,” He breathes, his head turning to give Bruce a sharp glare. “Can’t do shit right, can you?” There’s no argument, there’s nothing to be said. They’ve spent ages repairing their relationship and in two minutes it’s gone to shit. Jason doesn’t have the energy to fight, he doesn’t want to fight with Bruce. At least in front of you. 

He leaves the room and you follow after him, struggling to keep your mind on one focused topic. 

Ten fucking years, a decade where literally everyone you knew kept this giant secret from you. All under the guise of protecting you, telling themselves it was better than you didn’t learn the truth. It felt like you just found out, piecing together the scars and the touchy subjects you never quite grasped since Jason came back to you. 

And Jason, fuck, Jason was a mess waiting to snap. He’d been healing, he understood Bruce to an extent on why Joker wasn’t dead because, in truth, Bruce had tried. He nearly killed the Joker for Jason but Clark had stopped him, reminded him that for Bruce, murder was a slippery slope he wouldn’t come back from. He’d grown to accept what happened to him, grown to move past it but it was like he was right back to begging Bruce, demanding reasons for the Joker still breathing. 

He doesn’t know if his pit rage is real, if it ever was, but he knows that feeling is coming back. He knows he can’t do this with Bruce anymore. He packs his things, his favorite items he always left behind when he and Bruce fought because he knew deep down they’d make up but this was a line Jason wasn’t sure Bruce could come back from. He’s tired of Bruce’s paranoid behavior, tired of having to sweep it under the rug, and tired of being the bad guy for pointing out the bullshit Bruce puts everyone through. 

The two of you leave the manor without a word, you’re flying beside him as he rides his motorcycle. 

“Where are we going?” You finally ask while he refuels his ride at a gas station well outside of Gotham. 

“The Outlaws.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Readers reaction to George losing his ear?

A/n: MY BABY

The shriek of splitting air and the crack of curses tore through the night like thunderclaps. Your heart raced as you gripped your broom tightly, the wind whipping against your face. The sky was a chaotic blur of green and red as the Order fought valiantly to protect Harry. Death Eaters swarmed like shadows, their laughter carrying through the night as spells illuminated the air.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, it was hard to see anything in the chaos, in the darkness. You had been flying alongside Hagrid and Harry moments before they were ambushed, but now the formations were scattered.

Your broom twisted sharply as you dodged a jet of green light, your chest tightening at the near miss. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind was elsewhere. George. You needed to find him.

The eerie glow of a Killing Curse illuminated the figure of a Death Eater hurtling toward her. You clenched your wand. “Stupefy!” You shouted, the spell striking true and sending the figure spiraling downward.

“Y/n!”

You whipped your head around at the sound of your name, spotting Fred a few meters away. Relief flooded your chest—until you noticed the grim look on his face.

“Fred! Where’s George?!” she yelled, steering her broom closer.

Fred’s lips moved, but his words were lost in the howling wind. Before you could ask again, you saw it: a limp figure slumped over the handle of their broom, blood streaking their face.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Fred pointed downward, signaling a retreat, and you followed through the barrier. The ground was an unsteady blur as they hurtled toward the Burrow.

When they landed, You stumbled off your broom, her legs shaky. George was being supported by Arthur, his arm draped over his father's shoulder, but something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

“George?” Your voice cracked as you rushed toward them.

Fred gently eased George onto a makeshift cot in the sitting room. Mrs. Weasley was already there, her hands trembling as she tried to clean the blood pouring from the side of George’s head.

“He—he’s lost his ear,” Fred choked out, his usual bravado replaced with raw fear.

The words didn’t register at first. Your gaze was fixed on George, his pale face slick with blood, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a grimace of pain. Your knees buckled, and you fell to the floor beside him.

“George, no—no, no, no,” you murmured, your hands hovering over him as though afraid to touch him.

George’s good eye flickered open, and a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Blimey, Y/n, you’re acting like I’ve lost my head, not my ear.”

“Don’t joke!” You snapped, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You—you nearly—”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands, unable to say the word.

George winced as Mrs. Weasley pressed a cloth to his wound. “Oi, don’t cry, love,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll be alright. Just a bit… lopsided.”

Fred let out a shaky laugh, though his eyes were rimmed with unshed tears. “Yeah, Georgie, you’ve got to admit it’s a good look. Makes you stand out from the rest of us boring folk.”

“Not now, Fred!” You snapped, your voice trembling as you turned back to George, your hands gripping his uninjured arm. “Why didn’t you dodge it? Why didn’t you—” You didn't mean to snap at Fred, you were just so scared, so scared to lose someone you love so much.

Fred didn't mind of course, he knew how stressed everyone was, how high tensions were.

“I didn’t exactly have time to stop and think, Y/n,” George said, his tone still light, though his breathing was labored. “Death Eaters don’t wait for you to draw up a battle plan.”

Your lips quivered, and you shook your head. “You’re so reckless. You always have been. What if—what if it had been worse? What if—”

Your words were cut off by a gentle squeeze of your hand. George’s bloodied fingers entwined with yours, grounding you in the moment.

“But it wasn’t,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. Despite the pain etched across his face, there was a flicker of warmth in his gaze. “I’m here, Y/n. I’m still here.”

The room fell silent except for Mrs. Weasley’s quiet sniffles and the crackle of the fire. Your fingers tightened around George’s as you struggled to steady your breathing.

“You scared me,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking.

George smiled faintly. “Didn’t mean to. Promise I’ll try not to lose any more body parts.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, let’s keep it at one ear, alright? You’re no Van Gogh.”

Despite herself, you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. You leant forward, pressing your forehead to George’s. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

“Takes one to love one,” he teased, his grin widening.

You huffed, but her your quirked upward. “You’re lucky I love you, George Weasley. Otherwise, I’d knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“Love you too,” George murmured, his voice softening as exhaustion overtook him.

As George drifted into a restless sleep, you stayed by his side, your hand never leaving his. Fred sat nearby, watching over his twin with a quiet intensity, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around, trying to keep herself busy.

For the rest of the night, you didn’t move. You kept your gaze fixed on George, your heart aching with relief and fear.He had survived, but the reality of war had never felt so close.

And you wasn’t sure how many more times your heart could take it but right now, as your hand held his as you vowed to keep himself,nothing will take George from you.

[formulafanfics13]

HIII I was wondering is you could do something where either Fernando or Lewis have a daughter that is in f1 with her dad like I’m taking racing for one of the teams. Like she made history for it. Well I was wondering if you can do something where the kid got her first podium or win and just how the dad responded to it and also how the other drivers do to.

The Legacy Girl

masterlist

Summary At nineteen years old, Lewis Hamilton’s daughter becomes the first woman in history to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix. Soaked in champagne, shaking with disbelief, she’s met at the finish line by Lewis himself — sprinting, sobbing, lifting her into his arms. The whole paddock explodes in pride and emotion, from Max and Charles to Toto and Seb. Legacy shifts in real time, and the world watches history unfold as the youngest Grand Prix winner in history says the words that seal her future: I’m just getting started.

Warnings emotional intensity, generational legacy, father-daughter vulnerability, crowd reactions, media frenzy, extreme public attention, mentions of tears and sobbing, idol worship, racing euphoria, sport-related catharsis.

No one could have written it better. Not Spielberg. Not Sorkin. Not the world’s most elaborate PR machine. Because this wasn’t a story. This wasn’t spin. This wasn’t hype or heritage or legacy.

It was a girl. A nineteen-year-old girl. Standing on the top step of the podium, soaked in champagne and tears, engine oil in her veins, helmet still in her hands.

The first woman to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix. And she was Lewis Hamilton’s daughter.

The crowd was already screaming when she crossed the line, but no one screamed louder than her own father. Not Bono on the radio. Not Toto on the pit wall. Not even her race engineer, who fumbled her final sector split through full-body sobs.

Lewis was already running. Sprinting down the pit lane like his legs didn’t matter, tears flying, arms outstretched. She barely had time to remove her gloves before she was wrapped in his arms, helmet knocking against his chest as he squeezed her, kissed her, lifted her clear off the fucking ground.

“You did it,” he choked. “You did it, baby. Oh my god, you did it-”

She was crying now too. Laughing and shaking and gasping, because none of it felt real. Her first win. Her first full season. The youngest Grand Prix winner in history. Ever.

“You made history,” Lewis whispered, forehead to hers, gripping her face with trembling hands. “Do you know that? You made history.”

She shook her head, dazed, and buried her face in his neck. “We did.”

The reaction across the paddock was instant and deafening. Toto Wolff’s headset hit the floor the second she crossed the line, and his jaw was tight with emotion. He’d always believed. He’d told every journalist who dared question her that she wasn’t here to fill a seat, she was here to win. And now?

Now he was climbing over the pit wall, eyes shining, clapping Lewis on the shoulder and hugging her like she was his blood.

Christian Horner was already texting Geri: “Hamilton’s daughter just made F1 history. Astonishing.”

Fred Vasseur clapped loudly from Ferrari’s garage, muttering, “She’s a real driver. Brave. Clean. We saw it coming.” Carlos and Charles were screaming behind him like they’d just won the constructors' title themselves.

Zak Brown was smiling from the McLaren pit wall, one hand over his heart, and the other on Lando’s shoulder as the younger Brit swore under his breath, half-laughing, half-tearing up. “That’s insane, man. Fucking insane.”

Oscar Piastri watched in stunned silence for a moment before breaking into a grin and yelling toward the Mercedes garage. “Go on, baby Hamilton! You absolute legend!”

George Russell was speechless, his face buried in Carmen’s shoulder as she wept openly, whispering, “She did it. She actually did it.”

Alex Albon and Logan Sargeant were jumping like kids, high-fiving, with Lily Z watching from the sidelines, beaming, recording it all on her phone. “That’s my girl,” she said proudly, as if the Hamilton girl belonged to all of them now.

In the Ferrari motorhome, Charles stood beside Alexandra Saint Mleux, hand gripping hers tightly as they both watched the replays on loop.

“She’s brilliant,” Alexandra said, softly. “It’s not just talent. It’s joy. Like... she loves this.”

Charles nodded, still stunned. “It’s in her blood.”

“She has your number saved as ‘Uncle Charlie’.”

Charles smiled, eyes glassy. “I’m honoured.”

In the Aston Martin garage, Fernando Alonso, now the sport’s veteran king, retired and revered, clapped slowly, reverently, like he was watching a torch pass in real time. He looked over to where his old friend Sebastian Vettel stood with his arms crossed and pride written all over his face.

Sebastian nodded. “A Hamilton on the top step. Again. Just like old times.”

“And better,” Fernando added. “Much, much better.”

Meanwhile, inside the Mercedes garage, Lewis couldn’t let go.

He was still in his race suit, holding her, still whispering in her ear, even as the cameras flashed and the crowd roared and the champagne was passed out. His voice cracked over and over. “I’m so proud of you. You’re everything I ever dreamed of. You’re the future. You’re... you’re my greatest legacy.”

She sobbed harder. “I wanted to make you proud.”

“You did. A thousand times over.”

When the podium ceremony began, the noise hit new heights.

Her name. Her country. Her anthem. Her face beaming on every screen. Her soaked suit, her shaking hands, the trophy nearly dropped in disbelief.

And down below, every team principal stood and clapped. Toto. Fred. Zak. Andrea. Christian. Laurent. James. Alessandro. Mike. Even Flavio, who muttered, “Well, fuck me, she can drive.”

When she descended the steps, Lewis was there again. Alongside Bono, who was crying harder than he did during any of Lewis’s own championships.

The entire grid rushed her. Max was first, pulling her into a tight hug with a low, “That was the cleanest pass I’ve ever seen. You’re terrifying.”

Lando lifted her off the ground. “I’m in love with you. Like, fully in love. I don’t care if your dad kills me.”

George shouted, “Told you you’d win one before me!” before pulling her into a crushing bear hug with Carmen right behind him, sobbing again.

Oscar squeezed her hand, whispering, “You’ve changed the sport. Don’t ever forget it.”

Alex Albon kissed her on the cheek. “The whole world’s in love with you now. Not just us.”

Carlos hugged her like a brother. “You’ve got your father’s heart. And your mother’s stubbornness.”

Charles held her hand and murmured, “I’ve never been prouder of anyone outside my own blood. You’re family. Always.”

Arthur Leclerc grinned from behind the camera lenses. “Can I get that photo on my wall? You know. Before Ferrari tries to poach you?”

In the WAG section, the women stood together, Carmen, Alexandra, Lily Z, Lily MH, Rebecca, all teary-eyed, mascara smudged, hoarse from screaming. They held hands, took pictures, filmed her every move.

“She’s one of us now,” Lily MH whispered. “Not just a driver. A fucking icon.”

“She’s gonna inspire a generation,” Rebecca added. “Little girls everywhere.”

“And she’s only nineteen,” Alexandra said, shaking her head. “Jesus.”

By the time the press caught up, Lewis and his daughter were sitting side-by-side at the post-race conference, still giddy, still floating.

“She made me cry,” Lewis confessed to the cameras, voice thick. “I didn’t cry for my own first win. But this? This was... this was my heart out there. My baby.”

The room melted. And her? She smiled into the mic and said, “I’m just getting started.”

[ilovekittycats2]

Please, please, please, I would LOVE to read a part 2 to High Maintenance!!!! It's so great and they are so sweet together!!!!! And your writing is so fantastic!!!!! Thank you for sharing it with us!!!!

omg thank you guys so much for the love on these blurbs!! they are so fun to make lol... thank you for the req anon!

Lingering

Pairing: j. seresin x mechanic!f!reader

Jake “Hangman” Seresin’s reckless flying and cocky demeanor push the limits of both his jet and his relationship with his mechanic (Y/n), as the tension between them grows harder to ignore, blurring the line between professional and personal.

A/N: once again thank you for the love!! i cant tell if i like this blurb or not but lmk! send reqs love u

WC: 1.3k

In which,

Hangman seems to linger after the close call.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t the type to linger. He preferred quick victories and clean exits, leaving no room for complication or doubt. But ever since that close call—the one where his F/A-18 limped back to base on sheer skill and sheer luck—lingering seemed to be his new pastime.

It started innocently enough. He spent more time in the hangar, leaning against workbenches and “supervising” as you poured over engine diagnostics and maintenance logs. At first, you assumed it was part of his usual act—a chance to annoy you or crack a few smug jokes at your expense. But the jokes were softer now, and the sharp edge to his cockiness seemed dulled.

“You know,” he said one afternoon, watching you disassemble a faulty compressor, “I’ve never seen anyone care about these jets the way you do.” You snorted, not looking up. “Because I have to fix them when you break them.”

Jake didn’t take the bait, which was unusual. Instead, he stayed quiet for a beat too long, his gaze steady. When you glanced at him, his expression wasn’t his usual smirk—it was something softer, something almost vulnerable.

Moments like that kept piling up, until it became impossible to ignore the shift between you. The banter was still there, but the sting had faded. In its place was something warmer, more cautious, as if both of you were testing the waters of this unfamiliar dynamic.

The rest of the squadron noticed the change before you were ready to admit it yourself. Fred, one of the older mechanics, caught on first. One morning, Jake brought you coffee—a gesture so out of character it felt like the world had tilted on its axis. Fred raised an eyebrow as Jake set the cup on your workbench with a casual, “Thought you could use this.” Jake's eyes lingered on your own for a moment too long. The tension between the two of you was palpable. You dipped your head towards Jake and flashed him a small smile. Jake turned to leave. “Didn’t know pilots were running coffee deliveries now,” Fred teased once Jake had sauntered off.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, flushing under the scrutiny. “He’s just trying to make sure I don’t sabotage his jet,” you said, more to convince yourself than Fred. But Fred wasn’t the only one who noticed. The other pilots started making comments too, especially after Jake began volunteering to test flights for the jets you worked on. “Looks like Seresin’s got himself a favorite mechanic,” one of them joked after Jake had gone out of his way to defend you in a briefing.

“Guess he knows quality work when he sees it,” you shot back, refusing to rise to the bait. But inside, you couldn’t shake the warmth that lingered whenever Jake’s loyalty came into question—and he always answered without hesitation.

It wasn’t just his presence that changed. Jake, the squadron’s golden boy, was no longer the untouchable, unflappable pilot everyone thought they knew. One night, long after everyone else had left, he found you still working in the hangar. You barely registered his arrival until he set a container of food on the workbench.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said simply, pulling up a stool. “And yet, the work isn’t done,” you replied without looking up. “Take a break, sweetheart,” he said, but the nickname lacked its usual bite. You sighed, finally putting down your tools. “Why are you still here, Jake?” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “Didn’t feel right leaving.”

Something in his tone made you look at him more closely. He wasn’t smirking. His shoulders were tense, his eyes uncharacteristically serious. “What’s really going on?” you asked, softening.

Jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t slept much since... that day,” he admitted. “I keep thinking about what could’ve happened. What I could’ve lost.”

The words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the hangar lights. “You’re not the only one who’s lost sleep,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. Jake’s gaze snapped to yours, his usual bravado replaced by something raw and unguarded. “I trust you,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “With my life. And I don’t take that lightly.”

Your heart stuttered at the sincerity in his tone. “I’m just doing my job,” you replied, but the words felt hollow even as you said them. Jake leaned forward, closing the distance between you just enough to make your pulse race. “It’s more than that,” he said. “You know it is.” 

The weight of Jake’s words stayed with you, echoing in your mind even after the hangar fell silent. The hum of the lights, the smell of grease, the faint clatter of tools—it was all familiar, grounding. But nothing could steady the way your chest tightened when you thought of him.

Jake Seresin wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. He was a pilot, the kind that walked into a room with swagger and left it with everyone’s attention. He was insufferable, arrogant, too charming for his own good. And yet, the Jake who lingered in the shadows of the hangar, who brought coffee and stayed late, who admitted to fear and trust in the same breath—that Jake was unraveling everything you thought you knew.

In the days that followed, his presence became a constant. If you were working on a jet, Jake wasn’t far behind. He didn’t make excuses anymore. When you asked why he was there, he’d shrug and say, “Just keeping an eye on my girl,” though you weren’t sure if he meant the jet or you.

One afternoon, as you were tightening bolts on a stabilizer, Jake leaned against the fuselage, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You ever think about flying?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. “What?” Your eyes met his. “Flying,” he repeated. “Getting up there. Seeing what it’s like.” You hesitated, wiping your hands on a grease-streaked rag. “I’ve thought about it,” you admitted, the words coming slower than you expected. “But fixing these birds makes sense to me. Flying them... I don’t know. It feels like a different world.”

Jake tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’d be good at it,” he said, his voice softer than usual. The compliment shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you turned back to your work, trying to ignore the way his words made your chest ache.

“What about you?” you asked, trying to shift the focus. “Why’d you start flying?” Jake was quiet for a moment, his usual bravado giving way to something deeper. “Because it’s the one place I feel like I’m in control,” he said finally. “Up there, it’s just me and the jet. No one to answer to, no expectations. Just... freedom.”

The honesty in his voice took you by surprise. You paused, glancing at him. For the first time, Jake didn’t look like the cocky pilot who never missed an opportunity to drive you crazy. He looked human—vulnerable in a way that made your heart twist.

“Well,” you said, breaking the moment before it could grow too heavy, “if you’re so free up there, maybe stop breaking your jet so I can get a break down here.” Jake laughed, the sound lighter than you’d heard in weeks. “Fair enough,” he said, the smirk tugging at his lips again. But this time, it wasn’t mocking or arrogant. It was warm, genuine—like he was letting you in on some private joke.

The lines between you and Jake were blurring in ways you weren’t sure you could handle. Every moment spent together felt like stepping closer to an edge, the tension between you building like the charge before a storm. And yet, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to pull back. Because the Jake Seresin standing in front of you wasn’t the insufferable pilot you’d known. He was something else entirely.

And maybe—just maybe—you wanted to find out what that meant.

series masterlist

[fanficwritinggirl]

So High School...

“Harriet… Harriet are you listening to me?” her eyes widened as she snapped out of her daze. “Did you hear anything that I just said?” Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched together as she looked confusedly at her friend. Harriets eyebrows raised as she stumbled on her words.

“Uhm, no sorry, I’m still half asleep,” it was a lie, she had a cup of coffee that morning and two cups of tea so tired was the last thing she was. No, her attention had been to drawn to that of Oliver Wood, star quidditch player and literally the most attractive boy that she had ever laid on especially when he was sitting further down the Gryffindor table with that annoyingly attractive smile on his face, his head rolling back every once in a while as he laughed at whatever his friend were saying.

“I’ll get you another coffee. We have a long day ahead of us. With classes and studying for end of term exams. And we have still have the quidditch game later on,” Harriet smiles at this. It was Gryffindor vs Slytherin today, the most important game to date, it was all that everyone had been talking about for months.

“Well, we are going to crush Slytherins arses, can’t have Malfoy or any of the other sleezy snakes bragging,” Hermione rolls her eyes at the thought.

“Oh imagine. They would never let us forget it. But with Harry on the team we won’t lose,” Harriet raises an eyebrow at this.

“Alright Mione, you do know there are other players on the team,” Ron comes up behind them, planting himself next to Harriet, his plate filled to the brim with sausages.

“Thanks for the confidence Mione,” Harry thanks into Hermione’s ear as he sits down next to her. Hermione smirks shaking her head.

“I’m just saying, Harry is the seeker. It’s one of the most important positions in the game.”

“And the seeker needs help from everyone else on the team, they all have their own roles to play. I mean look at Oliver, he’s our keeper, who would defend the goals without him. And I mean Fred and George are beaters, who would attack the other team,” Ron’s rant makes Harriet laugh to herself. Ron and Hermione really did bicker like an old married couple.

“Well, my statement still stands,” Hermione’s statement ends the conversation, causing them all to fall into a silence as they eat their breakfast.

Screeching and the flapping of wings come over head as owls start flying in dropping mail. Banging comes as they hit the hard wooden tables causing Harriet to jump. “Could they do it more gently,” she grumbles. A letter falls in front of both Hermione and Ron, unsurprisingly the pair usually got letters unlike herself and Harry who never received anything.

Turning back to her food, she passes no attention to the mail falling around her until a large, wrapped gift falls in front of her. Hermione looks up from her own letter, confusion on her own face.

“Who is that for?” she asks, standing up and leaning across to lift the tab on it. A smile paints her friend face.

“Harriet, its for you,” shock washes over her. Who on earth sent her something. Standing up herself, she takes the tab out of Hermione hand, seeing her name written plain as day, HARRIET MATTHEWS.

“Well go on then open it,” Harry tells her, both he and Ron were now standing. Hesitantly, she pulls at the lilac, fabric ribbon that was tied around the thin, white rectangular box. As the ribbon falls, she curls her fingers under the lid, pulling it upwards. Her heart jumps as she investigates the box, wrapped carefully was a bouquet of flowers.

“Wow, they’re…” she cuts off Hermione.

“Hyacinths. My favourite flower,” Ron raises his eyebrows and laughs.

“Well, you clearly have caught the eye of someone,” Harry nods.

“Yeah, but who?” carefully Harriet lifts the bouquet out, Harry and Hermione looking between the box and the ribbon that was tied around the stems of the flowers.

“Doesn’t say,” Hermione says as she leans up, looking at the flowers. “Do you have any idea who it could have been?” Harriet lost for words, shakes her head.

“No… no idea.”

“Well, he has to tell you soon, I mean he must like you enough to give you a big gesture like this,” Ron says as she sits down next to him, flowers still gripped in her hands.

“Yeah, maybe…” her voice trails off.

Harriet loved the quiet of the hallways as she strolled down them, rarely were they empty, no loud, chatting teens filling them, now it was just the occasional echo of frantic footsteps as students run because they are late to class. As she walks towards the girl’s bathroom a hand wraps around her forearm pulling her into a nook in the wall causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Shhh… its just me,” her body relaxes when she hears his voice.

“Oliver,” she groans in frustration, causing Oliver to smirk at her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she huffs, looking up him with a pout on her face. Oliver sighs leaning forward. “God, I’ve missed you,” before his lips are on hers. Harriet smiles into the kiss, wrapping her arms around her neck, his hands trailing down to her waist, gripping slightly. He pushes her further into the wall, causing her to groan, her hands moving to grab a handful of his hair giving it a slight tug, his mouth leaving hers as he groans at the sensation. “You are perfect,” he whispers. Harriet smirks, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Mr anonymous,” Oliver huffs at the nickname before moving his head into the crook of her neck, his lips meeting the skin. A gasp leaves her mouth as he sucks. “Hyacinths? How did you know they were my favourite,” he pulls back looking at her with a smirk.

“You took a few back with you after our date a while back. Have been meaning to get you a bunch sooner just haven’t had time,” she smiles at this, a hand falls from his neck to caress one of his cheeks.

“And having them delivered in the mail? I thought we were keeping this between us for now,” Olivers hold on her loosens as he takes a step back from her, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I know that’s what we agreed on, its just…” he trails on, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “I want people to know about us,” that statement causes her to freeze.

“Oh,” is all she can say, her head falling to look at her feet. Oliver looks at the girl before him and he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to keep things private because of everything that happened with that ex of yours but…” leaning forward he takes her chin in between his fingers, pulling it so that her eyes meet his. “Sometimes when I am with you, I can’t believe how lucky I am to call you mine and I just… want to shout it from the rooftops,” Harriet giggles at this, a smile painting her face. “You are the most amazing person Harriet Matthews, I’m not like Peter, whatever that arses last name is,” Harriets head falls back as she laughs, her arms wrapping around his neck once again. “Unlike him, I don’t want to hide this, and as long as you are okay, I want to be able to hold your hand as we walk down the hallways, and kiss you whenever I want without the fear of someone catching us,” Harriet lifts an eyebrow, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Well… we might have to practice more PG type kissing, I don’t think everyone is going to want to see a lot of the stuff we do,” Oliver chuckles.

“So… are we done hiding?” Harriet looks into his eyes and her heart can’t help but melt. Oliver wasn’t ashamed of her, not like Peter, and it causes her to feel giddy.

“Yeah, we’re done hiding,” his lips meet her frantically, giggles leaving both of them as they move their hands around each other.

“You know, I would say that I have about 10 more minutes until McGonagall really starts to question where I am,” he chuckles.

“10 minutes… I can do a lot in that time,” his hands run up her thighs, trailing under her skirt causing her to moan.

“I know you can, so do it. Fuck me,” and who was he to argue with her.

“Look at them, its like they have already won,” Hermione looks over across at the Slytherins who all are standing, grinning like they have just found a pot of gold.

“Hermione they are Slytherins, what else do you expect,” Hermione nods her head.

“True. Well, I just mean that it will be all the more satisfying when we beat, they’re arses,” Harriet and Hermione look at each other and laugh.

“God, I love quidditch,” just then the trumpets start, and everyone starts standing up cheering. Hermione and Harriet grin standing up and cheering alongside them. One by one the teams start flying out, the cheers getting louder and louder.

“Also where were you earlier?” Hermione asks causing Harriet to lift her eyebrows.

“When?”

“Earlier on, you asked professor McGonagall to go to the loo, you must have been gone for 15 minutes,” Harriets heart stops as she remembers, Oliver saying that he wants to tell people, his fingers trailing down her, being inside of her and then his penis, how they used their mouth to muffle their cries of pleasure. Harriet feels herself warm up.

“Are you alright, you’ve gone really red,” Harriet clears her throat, loosening her scarf.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just got really hot there for second, think its just with everyone being around.”

“Do you need a minute, we can leave if you want,” Harriet shakes her head.

“No, I’ll be fine,” with that they’re attention turned to the game.

 They crushed them, absolutely crushed them, the Gryffindor’s were going absolutely mad, drowning out the boos of the Slytherins who all were giving out, being the sore losers that they were. Hermione and Harriet had massive grins on their faces as they run down to the teams changing room. “Oh, that was amazing, did you see the Slytherins faces. Oh, they were so mad,” Harriet bursts out laughing.

“Hermione I’m starting to think you are a bit of an evil minx,” they reach the Gryffindor tent, members pilling out, their faces euphoric. Harry and Ron come barrelling out spotting the girl, walking over.

“That was some game,” Ron says, taking off his hat.

“You can say that again, I didn’t know if they were trying to win or go for our blood that time,” Harry says shaking his head.

“They are Slytherins. They are always going out for our blood,” Harriet says causing the trio to nod, chuckling to themselves.

“Did you see how Oliver defended that goal, it was insane.”

“If he hadn’t stopped that from scoring, we would have lost.” Harry replies causing Ron to nod.

“Thank you, Oliver Wood,” Harriet smiles at that. Over Rons shoulder she sees Oliver coming out of the tent, they’re eyes meet. Oliver smiles at her, picking up pace and jogging towards her. Harriet grins, pushing past Ron. Harriet walks forward meeting Oliver who lifts her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as they hold onto each other, laughter coming from both of them.

“You did so good. That was the most amazing thing that I have ever seen,” Oliver laughs at that, bring her face before his.

“That I know is not true,” Harriet shakes her head, grinning.

“Top five,” she offers.

“Top ten,” Oliver offers causing Harriet to sigh.

“God you are insufferable,” she brings his lips to hers, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly bringing him as close as possible.

“Do you know…” Oliver mutters as they pull back. “I love you Harriet Matthews,” her heart explodes.

“And I love you Oliver Wood,” they couple kiss again. Letting the world around them fade away.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” well almost fade away.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi love! If it's not too much to ask, could you maybe do a Fred fic with a bit of an insecure reader? As in, she hears some people say nasty things about her (mainly about appearance like weight) and her relationship with Fred, and she distances herself from him until one day she really can't handle staying away from him anymore? Sweet sweet fluff with a bit of making out by the end, maybe?

Hi Anon, I’m sorry this took so long! I tried to write it as if it was an insecure monologue, a little jumpy and janky like how the reader’s thought process would be. I hope you like it! 🖤

Warnings: Insecure reader, self-deprecating thoughts, bullying, verbal abuse, taunting, talks of breakups, appearance and other issues, negative mentions of weight. Kissing, implied sexual references. Happy ending I promise!

Word count: 2.7k

Fire and Ice

It wasn't easy being Fred Weasley's girlfriend.

Being with Fred, falling in love with him- that part was easy; but having such an extroverted, popular joker for a boyfriend was at times, not so easy.

You were quieter by nature, a little more introverted and a lot more insecure than Fred but you seemed to balance each other out well most of the time, ying and yang, fire and ice. Fred was always quick to silence your hateful internal monologue whenever it presented itself, reminding you that you were beautiful, important, loved- all the things he wanted you to feel, the way that he saw you. But sometimes the insecurities were too much, the voices in your head too loud that you began to believe them again.

Fred had been busy, the tri-wizard tournament had been announced and him and George were trying everything they could to work around the age restriction but upon the application. They’d been virtually locked in their dorm for days researching different ideas and brewing potions that would age them up, though you doubted it would work, they always surprised you in the end.

Their reclusion could not have come at a worse time for you, though of course you would never mention anything. You’d been stood in front of Fred when the students had gathered to watch the regal, horse-drawn carriage fly over the tips of the trees in the forbidden forest and across the Great Lake led by the majestic white winged horses that made it look effortless and well, magical. You’d stood with pure excitement as you watched the magnificent ship emerge from underneath the water and sail towards the bank until you’d all be called away for the feast.

Your excitement had dwindled almost immediately when the girls of Beauxbatons glided through the door in a whimsical and captivating display, grabbing everyone’s attention for their beauty and elegance- including Fred. You’d seen Ron look flabbergasted, a fresh pink hue on his cheeks as he looked upon the girls with mouth agape and a glazed look in his eye and couldn’t help but avert your eyes slightly to see Fred looking at them in a much tamer way, but seeing his eyes fixed upon them nontheless. It pulled at every single one of your heartstrings, that familiar sinking feeling in your gut instantly making you nauseated by the food in front of you.

Their uniforms were delicate and beautiful, tailored perfectly of the finest satin in such a rich colour that it was both feminine and powerful all in one. You couldn’t help but look away from Fred, from anything and began to pick at the edge of your frumpy school cardigan, suddenly disgusted by its mere existence.

When Dumbledore announced the entrance of Durmstrang, you didn’t even look up, already too consumed by your own self-deprecating thoughts. The uniform you’d once been so proud to wear now felt like a potato sack in comparison, shapeless and bland from head to toe. You suddenly wanted to get away, to do anything you could to get out of the shapeless mess and to prove to yourself and to others around you that you weren’t just a blob of blended wool and scruffy hair that had been haphazardly thrown into a high pony ahead of your long day of travelling back to school. But there was nothing you could do, forced to sit there in a mass of unflattering garments next to your boyfriend who had been looking at much more attractive females and pretend to be fine. Thankfully the arrival of professor Moody was enough to prompt serious discussion around you and you could blend into the background without notice, eating only tiny bits and slipping away before the end of the meal.

It continued for days, the stab in your side whenever you’d see the Beauxbatons girls in their pretty uniforms looking so sweet and dainty, often followed around by drooling boys that quivered with their every move. You were jealous, but you wouldn’t admit it, choosing instead to be disgusted by it all and very much wanting it all to be over and for them to be gone. You couldn’t forget the expression on Fred’s face when they made their grand entrance and the pain that it brought when you did remember. You’d never doubted his love for you, not really, though of course you doubted why he chose you in the first place- did he now regret that decision?

It had been days since you’d seen him and the messages he’d initially sent through Lee had dwindled to none, meaning that you were so out of communication that you felt that stinging dread all over again- was he preparing to break up? Had he found someone else? Someone undoubtedly prettier in a powder blue satin uniform?

So when you finally caught sight of that gorgeous red head in the hallway, you lit up, excited to finally get the chance to talk to him. You heard his laugh and smiled to yourself, feeling relieved already- until you noticed he was laughing with one of them. She was pretty, brown hair tucked perfectly into her blue hat and her satin cape bellowing perfectly around her.

Something inside you felt out of place all of a sudden, enraged by the injustice and the inevitable ending to your relationship. You were angry at everything, most notably Fred, the Beauxbatons, the whole stupid competition. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you realised that if Fred wanted out, he could have one of the stupid French girls.

You were sat in the great hall with Hermione quietly reading when you heard a group of people moving excitedly towards the cup which broke your concentration. You watched as Cedric Diggory placed his name in the cup and his friends cheered for him, smacking him on the back in a hearty well done when he suddenly stopped upon making eye contact with you and sent you a little smile of recognition. You smiled back with a little head nod and watched as his friends dragged him away, leaving the room in relative peace once again.

That was until Fred and George came barrelling into the room, their distinctive blend of voices crying out and echoing through the hall as they high five students across the benches, proudly clutching hold of something in their hands, professing that ‘they’d done it’.

You could barely look at them, for the first time not caring in the slightest about what they had created.

“It’s not going to work,” Hermione says from beside you and immediately you are met with their bodies either side of Hermione. You feel Fred’s hand on your shoulder, a little touch that should have given you hope but actually felt repulsive to you. You didn’t even look up from your page, nor acknowledge their arrival and if Fred noticed, he didn’t say anything- though you could feel his eyes in you. The second the Triwizard cup fought back against their tricks, propelling them into the air and forcing them back into the ground with a definitive thud, you were gone. You walked back towards the common room without so much as a glance, not caring to find out the predicted result of their attempt.

“I would just die if I had to wear their uniforms!” You heard from around the corner in a thick French accent that had you rolling your eyes. The stupid little French cackles reached your ears and it was all that you could do not to petrify them on the spot as you attempted to walk straight past them.

“Oh” one of them said, spotting you emerging from around the corner. Another small fit of laughter that was hardly concealed, upon seeing someone in the exact uniform they were mocking.

“Does it feel as frumpy as it looks?” Another one said, her accent almost indecipherable. You shot daggers at the group of four witches and tried to get past but they blocked you in.

“You’re with the tall redhead yes? I’ve seen you,” the blonde one says, making your stomach lurch at her mention of Fred. “He’s cute.”

You don’t retaliate, though you can think of many choice words you wish to say to her, presuming you didn’t reach for your wand first. Their words cut into you like a knife, though you try to block out the harsher things they say about your appearance, your weight, your ugly uniform. Only when they bright up Fred again do your barricades fall, their words tearing you apart.

“It’s funny actually, that he chose you. You look more of a girl he’d want to be friends with, definitely not one to be in love with.”

The final nail in the coffin for you was the round of laughter that echoed throughout the corridor, following you in your mind straight back to the common room until the second you passed out that night, still sobbing into your pillow.

The next morning, your eyes were virtually swollen shut from all the tears shed the night before. You felt retched, all of your fears coming true as the beautiful girls laughed at you, hitting every one of your insecurities. They may as well have called you fat, ugly, all the other things you knew about yourself but never said out loud.

You didn’t go to classes that day, never even attempting to step foot out of the dormitory or even your bed until you were certain everyone had left. You looked an ungodly mess with red puffy eyes and a mass of tangled hair that felt like a limp weight on top of your head. The tears started again within seconds of reaching the bathroom mirror, silently falling down your cheeks and landing in little droplets into the sink. You sobbed for your sorry appearance, for the loss of Fred and for the unfairness in life. Why couldn’t you just be pretty?

You eventually crawled back into bed, not even bothering to sort out the disastrous mess upon your head and forced yourself to go back to sleep, pushing all thoughts of him and them out of your head.

Three days you’d been confined to your bedroom, feigning a migraine that had managed to convince even Mcgonagall and Hermione. Ginny had tried to relay multiple messages from Fred, both verbally and in writing but you’d feigned a worsening headache, nausea and other ailments and asked her politely but definitively to leave, rendering the message unheard. You’d heard all about Harry’s selection from Hermione and how he and Ron were fighting but you’d barely listened to any of it, too consumed by your own issues.

The fourth day, you made it out of bed only to remember that it was a Saturday. You considered slipping back into bed and ignoring the sun completely but your bladder disagreed with your plan vehemently. You wandered to the bathroom and for the first time in days, looked in the mirror.

You looked so sad, so broken that it made your heart constrict a little, seeing a sad little girl staring back at you. You look younger somehow, like a first year all over again. Memories flash beneath your eyes, memories of meeting Fred for the first time, of being young and falling in love, of being the girl that he fell in love with.

Ignoring the vague rumbling of your food deprived stomach, you rush into the showers and attempt to untangle your hair using every product you can find. You shave, condition, lotion up your entire body and make a start on magically fixing your puffy face. You’re on a mission to look your best, to show those petty and judgemental bitches that you were just as worthy as them and more importantly, that you were definitely someone that Fred would- and did- love.

You dried your hair and curled it using a spell you’d found in an old teen magazine that worked surprisingly well and stood back to look at the result, feeling pleased. You looked like yourself again but better, happier.

You dressed in a nicer than usual outfit that was still casual but actually highlighted your curves rather than hiding them, something you knew that Fred liked after years of compliments on your curves. You momentarily considered grabbing a cardigan incase your confidence weakened but thought against it, instead grabbing a jumper than you’d stolen from Fred a year ago. You felt feminine and pretty for the first time in ages and actually smiled when you look in the mirror one last time.

“Well don’t you look nice,” Ginny said as you stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door from where she had walked back into the dorm, realising that everyone else was now awake. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you replied honestly, smiling and nodding a little.Want to get breakfast?”

“I was going to have a shower, Fred’s down there though, he’ll go with you I bet,” Ginny says, grabbing a towel and her bathing stuff. You pursed your lips, not letting the glow fade as you nodded at her, butterflies starting to flutter about in your belly.

Walking down to the common room, your nerves were already starting to build as you scanned the room with your eyes, searching for the one person you hoped to see. The guilt of hiding from him, of pushing away was eating you up and you wanted nothing more than to just make it right. You spot George and Lee in one of the corners, Harry and Hermione on one of the sofas and a few more people dotted around but no Fred.

“Blimey,” you heard to your left but instead of seeing the boy you’d hoped to find, instead you found Ron. His mouth was slightly parted and he was looking at you with an expression he’d never looked at you with before, focusing uncomfortably on a piece of your chest never wished to have his eyes.

You flinched as you watched Ron get smacked in the back of the head unexpectedly, making him wince and rub his head but you didn’t see anymore after his initial reaction, instead focusing your attention on his assailant. Fred.

“Look at my girl like that again and I’ll transfigure every piece of furniture in your room into a spider,” he says gruffly as he walks past Ron, keeping his eyes on you and moves to stand directly in front of you, reaching for your hand.

“Are you feeling better?” He says carefully, eyeing you with slight trepidation, making you frown.

“Much better,” you reply carefully, watching his reaction.

“Good, then I won’t feel guilty for this,” he says, pulling you forcibly by the hand until you bump into his chest, his lips finding yours almost immediately as he kisses you with a fiery passion.

“You look so hot,” he mumbles against your lips, hands finding your synched waist and bordering on inappropriately low as one hand tucks into your back pocket. You kiss back with just as much passion, happy that all the doubts and the insecurity had been wiped away, though you still felt guilty for pushing him away. “You’re never hiding from me again.”

He begins to tug at your side and you realise he’s pulling you away, towards the stairs to the dorms.

“But Freddie, breakfast,” you weakly protest.

“Can wait,” he mumbles, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he barely parts from you, only enough to push you up the stairs towards his empty dorm, giving you a teasing smack on the ass as you ascend, for good luck. You never doubted his love for you again, especially not for the next hour.

[thereyouarewhereveryougo]

Trump's record on military and vets

Trump can fuck off and die, Semper Fi

Only 1 Trump in America has served in the military (Fred Trump, Don's brother, served in the Air National Guard); this spans 5 generations, and every branch of the family tree. In fact, the reason his grandfather immigrated to America was to avoid military service.

Children of deployed US troops will no longer get automatic American citizenship if born overseas during deployment. This includes US troops posted abroad for years at a time (August 28, 2019)

On August 2, 2019, Trump requisitioned military retirement funds towards border wall

On July 31, 2019, Trump ordered the Navy rescind medals to prosecutors who were prosecuting war criminals

In July 2019, Trump denied a United States Marine of 6 years entry into the United States for his scheduled citizenship interview (Reported July 17, 2019)

Trump made the U.S. Navy Blue Angels violate ethics rules by having them fly at his July 4th political campaign (July 4, 2019)

Trump demanded US military chiefs stand next to him at 4th of July parade (reported July 2, 2019)

In June, 2019, Trump sent troops to the border to paint the fence for a better "aesthetic appearance" (June 7, 2019)

Trump used his D-Day interview at a cemetery commemorating fallen US soldiers to attack a Vietnam veteran (June 6, 2019)

Trump started his D-Day commemoration speech by attacking a private citizen (Bette Midler, of all people) (reported on June 4th, 2019)

Trump made his 2nd wife, Marla Maples, sign a prenup that would have cut off all child support if Tiffany joined the military (reported on June 4th, 2019)

On May 27, 2019, Trump turned away US military from his Memorial Day speech because they were from the destroyer USS John S. McCain

Trump ordered the USS John McCain out of sight during his visit to Japan (May 15, 2019). The ship's name was subsequently covered. (May 27, 2019)

Trump pardoned war criminals (May, 2019)

Trump purged 200,000 veterans healthcare applications (due to known administrative errors within VA’s enrollment process and enrollment system) (reported on May 13, 2019)

Trump deported a spouse of fallen Army soldier killed in Afghanistan, leaving their daughter parentless (April 16, 2019)

On March 20, 2019, Trump complained that a deceased war hero didn't thank him for his funeral

He refused to sign his party's funding bill, which shut down the government, and forced a branch of the military to go without pay. This branch of military was forced to work without pay, otherwise they would be AWOL. However, his appointees got a $10,000 pay raise (Dec 22, 2018 – Jan 25, 2019)

He didn't pay the Coast Guard, forcing service members to rely on food pantries (Jan 23, 2019)

He banned service members from serving based on gender identity (Jan 22, 2019)

He denied female troops access to birth control to limit sexual activity (on-going. Published Jan 18, 2019)

He tried to deport a marine vet who is a U.S.-born citizen (Jan 16, 2019)

When a man was caught swindling veterans pensions for high-interest “cash advances," Trump's Consumer Financial Protection Bureau fined him $1. As a reminder, the Trump administration's goal was to dismantle the CFPB, installing Mick Mulvaney as the director, who publicly stated the bureau should be disbanded. (Jan 26, 2019)

He called a retired general a 'dog' with a 'big, dumb mouth' (Jan 1, 2019)

He increased privatization of the VA, leading to longer waits and higher taxpayer cost (2018)

He finally visited troops 2 years after taking office, but only after 154 vacation days at his properties (Dec 26, 2018)

He revealed a covert Seal Team 5 deployment, including names and faces, on Twitter during his visit to Iraq (Dec 26, 2018)

Trump lied to deployed troops that he gave them a 10% raise. He didn't give them a 10% raise (Dec 26, 2018). He initially tried to give the military a raise that was lower than the standard living adjustment. This was before Congress told him that idea wasn't going to work. Then after giving them the raise that Congress made him, he lied about it pretending that it was larger than Obama's. It wasn't.

He fired service members living with HIV just before the 2018 holidays (Dec 19, 2018-present)

He tried to slash disability and unemployment benefits for Veterans to $0, and eliminate the unemployability extrascheduler rating (Dec 17, 2018)

He got three Mar-a-Lago guests to run the VA (unknown start - present, made well-known in 2018)

He called troops on Thanksgiving and told them he's most thankful for himself (Thanksgiving, 2018)

He urged Florida to not count deployed military votes (Nov 12, 2018)

While in Europe commemorating the end of WWI, he didn't attend the ceremony at a US cemetery due to the rain - but other world leaders went anyway (Nov 10, 2018)

He used troops as a political prop by sending them on a phantom mission to the border and made them miss Thanksgiving with their families (Oct-Dec, 2018)

He stopped using troops as a political prop immediately after the election. However, the troops remained in muddy camps on the border (Nov 7, 2018)

Trump changed the GI Bill through his Forever GI Act, causing the VA to miss veteran benefits, including housing allowances. This caused many veterans to run out of food and rent. “You can count on us to serve, but we can’t count on the VA to make a deadline,” one veteran said. (reported October 7, 2018)

Trump doubled the rejection rate for veterans requesting family deportation protections (July 5, 2018)

Trump deported active-duty spouses (11,800 military families face this problem as of April 2018)

He forgot a fallen soldier's name (below) during a call to his pregnant widow, then attacked her the next day (Oct 23-24, 2017)

He sent commandos into an ambush due to a lack of intel, and sends contractors to pick them up, resulting in a commando being left behind, tortured, and executed. (Trump approved the mission because Bannon told him Obama didn't have the guts to do it) (Oct 4, 2017)

He blocked a veteran group on Twitter (June 2017)

He ordered the discharge of active-duty immigrant troops with good records (2017-present)

He deported veterans (2017-present)

He said he knows more about ISIS than American generals (Oct 2016)

He said vets get PTSD because they aren't strong (Oct 3, 2016) (note: yes, he said it's 'because they aren't strong.' He didn't say it's 'because they're weak.' This distinction is important because of Snopes)

Trump accepted a Purple Heart from a fan at one of his rallies and said: “I always wanted to get the Purple Heart. This was much easier.” (Aug 2, 2016)

Trump attacks Gold Star families - Myeshia Johnson--gold star widow, Khan family--gold star parents, etc. (2016-present)

Trump sent funds raised from a January 2016 veterans benefit to the Donald J Trump Foundation instead of veterans charities (the foundation has since been ordered shut because of fraud) (Jan, 2016)

Trump said "I felt that I was in the military in the true sense because I dealt with those people" because he went to a military-style academy and that he has "more training militarily than a lot of the guys that go into the military". (2015 biography)

For a decade, Trump sought to kick veterans off of Fifth Avenue because he found them unsightly nuisances outside of Trump Tower. “While disabled veterans should be given every opportunity to earn a living, is it fair to do so to the detriment of the city as a whole or its tax paying citizens and businesses?” - 1991

Trump dodged the draft 5 times by having a doctor diagnose him with bone spurs.

[samazing0831]

Just Another Match - Fred Weasley x Reader

One second you're flying high on the Quidditch pitch, adrenaline in your veins. The next, a Bludger sends you crashing to the ground - and into Fred Weasley's arms. A little pain, a lot of honesty, and one kiss later, it turns out your ribs weren't the only thing bruised beneath the surface. Maybe some wins happen off the field.

869 words

The wind tore through your hair as you zipped across the pitch, eyes locked on the Quaffle. The crowd roared in the stands - cheering, shouting, living off the thrill of the match. Your heart pounded in your chest, every muscle in your body thrumming with energy.

The, out of nowhere, a Bludger.

It slammed into your side with bone-rattling force, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pain exploded across your ribs, and before you could even think to react, you were spiraling downward - your broom veering off-course, control slipping through your fingers.

You hit the grass hard.

The world went silent. The crowed stopped cheering. You couldn't breathe.

You groaned, clutching your side. Everything ached. The sound of hurried footsteps barely registered before a familiar voice cut through the haze.

"Hey - hey, you alright?" Fred's voice, tight with concern.

His hands hovered near your ribs, trembling slightly, like he wanted to help but didn't know how to without hurting you more.

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a pained, "Ugh -"

"Don't move," he said firmly, one hand gently pressing to your shoulder. "Just breathe. Someone's getting Madame Pomfrey. You're gonna be okay."

His voice softened, cracking just slightly. "You scared the bloody life out of me, you know that?"

And then everything went black.

The next hour was a blur.

You weren't sure who carried you to the infirmary. All you knew was that when you opened your eyes again, the world was quieter - sterile, white, too still. A vase of mismatched flowers sat on the nightstand beside you. And there was Fred, slumped in a chair nearby, flipping through a book he clearly wasn't reading.

When he noticed you stirring, the book dropped with a thud.

"Hey, you're awake!" he said, rushing to your side. Relief washed over his face, though it didn't quite chase away the worry in his eyes. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "How're you feeling?"

You tried to smile, but even that pulled at your ribs.

"Weasley, it's literally my job," you mumbled. "How else are we supposed to score?"

Fred winced as you shifted. "Yeah, well, I'd rather see you score without nearly getting yourself killed in the process."

He sat back, raking a hand through his hair. "You scared me," he said again, quieter this time. "I don't think I've ever been that afraid."

You blinked at him, a little stunned by the honesty in his voice.

"When have I ever been reckless?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood, even though you both knew the answer.

Fred let out a breathy laugh. "Exactly the problem. You keep up with me and George like it's nothing - which is bloody impressive, but also bloody dangerous."

There was something behind his grin, something softer. "I need you in one piece, alright?"

He turned toward the table beside your bed, grabbing something. "Besides, I still owe you for that prank."

You raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

He smirked. "You thought you could get away with slipping itching powder into my pockets? I think I'm long overdue for some payback."

He leaned in close - too close - and whispered, "But don't worry... I'll let you off easy. For now."

Your breath caught.

"I - I thought you didn't hold grudges..."

"Not usually," he said, voice dropping a little. "But you're fun to tease."

Fred sat back again, watching you carefully. "Wasn't sure you were going to be walking out of here anytime soon after that crash."

"Did we at least win?" you groaned, the memory of the game crashing back into your mind.

He grinned. "Oh, we did. In dramatic fashion, thanks to you."

"You carried me off the field? I assume?"

Fred shrugged. "Well, someone had to. You didn't exactly look like you were walking it off."

"You... didn't have to do that," you muttered. "I would've been okay."

"Maybe," he said quietly. "But I wasn't going to take that chance."

Then, softer: "You're important to me, you know?"

The words hung in the air, heavier than anything else he'd said.

Your heart stuttered. "You're - you're important to me too, Weasley. You know that."

His gaze searched yours. Slowly, gently, he reached out to brush another stand of hair from your cheek.

"I should've said something sooner," he murmured. "I've felt this way for a long time. Just... didn't know how to tell you."

You shifted in bed, ribs aching, but the words spilling from you before you could stop them. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."

Fred's expression softened completely.

"I think I can manage the pain," you whispered. "Just shut up and kiss me. It's not like I can lean forward much more."

He laughed - soft and warm - and leaned in slowly, carefully. His hand cupped your cheek.

And then his lips met yours.

It was gentle, cautious at first - like he didn't want to hurt you - but quickly melted into something deeper. Something real. His thumb brushed along your jaw, anchoring you in the moment. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

"I'm kinda glad you got hurt," he whispered.

@xrubi-hillx

[writeforfandoms]

Mirror Mirror 4

Find the series masterlist

Reader finally hits a hard stop. Not that things around you will let you.

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack, canon typical violence, mystery, there is a reason John acts the way he does, I Have A Plan.

Word count: 1.8k

A huge… thing took up most of the far wall, with floating platforms at intervals between your path and the thing. 

You finally balked, stopping hard. 

“What the hell,” you muttered, gaze darting around nervously. 

John turned back to you, motioning you forward with a quick tip of his head. 

“Nuh uh,” you immediately refused, shoulders hiking up to your ears. “That all looks like death.” 

“Kelly.” John only spoke one word, but Kelly nodded and moved forward. At the end of the platform, she stepped into a blue light, and appeared a few yards up on another platform. “Teleporters,” she called down, stepping right up to the edge so you could all see her. 

“It's safe,” John told you, walking back over to you. 

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, full on trembling now, eyeing everything around you with open mistrust. “Your perception of danger is hilariously skewed. That is absolutely death. I am going to fall off one of those things and land in lava and die.” 

“You won't.” John put a hand on your shoulder, steady and grounding. “I won't let you fall.” 

You shook your head, aware you were being unreasonable, but unable to make yourself be rational. 

Gunfire on the other side of the door made you flinch and startle hard, a little wild-eyed.

“Move,” John ordered, his hand leaving your shoulder to grab your hand instead. 

You moved, jogging to keep up with him, breathing fast. More from panic than exertion. But John didn't let go of you, not through the first teleporter, not when he stepped across an open space between platforms and half-lifted you with him. You gasped in a breath, heart rabbiting in your chest, fingers clenched vice-tight around his. 

That one point of contact was your lifeline. Your single point of sanity. 

He held you through a few more teleportation jumps, your panic never subsiding. 

The door below opened, and John paused just after another jump, looking down. You didn't quite dare to, still shaking. 

But you did hear another voice below. 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“Fred,” John snapped, physically picking you up even as he broke into a jog. 

“No, no, no,” you chanted, trying to grab onto John, suddenly desperate to not let go. 

“Ready,” Fred answered. And then you were flying, just for a moment, before Fred caught you. You made a high-pitched noise of terror, but Fred was already moving, shifting you to a more secure hold against his front. 

Fred landed on the biggest platform yet, Kelly just ahead of him. 

Unfortunately, someone else got there too. 

“Blue Team,” the newcomer said, also clad in armor, although his looked different from Blue Team's. “Stay where you are.” 

Linda and Kelly both shifted to be a little in front of Fred. In front of you. John's boots hit the platform with a thud, and he walked over, calm as anything. 

“117, standing down,” the newcomer insisted, weapon aimed now at John. “Sir, you are absent without leave. This is your one chance to come home peacefully.” 

John regarded the other for a moment before he jerked his head at the next glowing blue teleporter. Kelly started forward first, then Fred. 

“John,” you whispered, watching him with big eyes until Fred stepped through the teleporter. 

“I have a job to do,” John said from below you, voice hard. 

“Cortana's our concern now, sir.”

Even as you heard him say the words, you knew that had been a mistake. Fred's short huff told you that he agreed with you. 

“Like hell she is,” John growled in a tone you'd never heard from him before. The sounds of fighting echoed below you, bangs and smacks and one short, sharp sound like glass breaking. 

And then you were somewhere else. Inside. Metal curved up around you, cool and dry. 

You didn't let go of Fred as he took a few steps away, gaze focused unerringly on the blue glow of the teleporter. 

You only relaxed once John appeared, striding forward as if nothing had happened. 

But you saw the crack in his visor. 

“John?” You released Fred, waiting anxiously until he put you down. 

“I'm fine,” he insisted, though he held still as you approached him. He even tipped his head down as you reached up, fingers ghosting over the crack in his visor. 

“Where are we?” Kelly asked, taking a few steps and turning in a slow circle. 

“This will take us to Cortana.” John spoke quietly but with confidence, his hand on your shoulder guiding you forward. You relaxed into his hold, letting him guide you. 

It made no real sense, but you felt better with him there. And, of course, solid ground under your feet helped a lot. 

The ground under your feet rumbled, and Blue Team all tensed. But apparently all that happened was your new ride started moving - you could feel it under your feet. 

“Any idea how long until we get where we're going?” You asked, leaning into John's hand. Now that all the excitement was over, you were starting to drag again, exhaustion weighing you down. 

“Unknown,” John said. 

“Long enough for a nap,” Fred offered, already walking around the room to poke around. Not that there was anything of note in the room - smooth metal walls rose around you in a dome, no visible doors or hallways. 

A deep note vibrated through the metal, and you tipped your head to one side as you listened. It was calibrating. Locating something. 

“Think we need to worry about that?” Linda asked, very casually. Like she didn't much care either way. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head a little. “It's just calibrating.” 

Absolute silence as all four slowly turned to look at you. 

Your heart plummeted. “You can't hear that?” You asked, quiet and a little squeaky and a little scared again. 

“No.” John looked at you as the low tone came again. 

Still calibrating. 

“Oh.” You felt a little faint at that realization, trying to breathe slowly. 

Next thing you knew, you were sitting on the floor, your butt cold. You blinked dumbly. 

The floor vibrated with another of those low tones. But this time, it had changed a little. 

“Counting down,” you repeated numbly, lifting your head just enough to look into John's visor. 

“Breathe,” he ordered you, and you finally realized he had one of your hands held in his, the material of the suit rough against your skin. 

You sucked in a breath, the vice in your chest easing a bit. Another breath helped more. 

“It's getting ready to move,” you whispered, keeping your focus on John. Your fingers clenched around his reflexively. 

John didn't move, down on one knee in front of you, letting you keep hold of his hand. “I've got you,” he promised, low and steady and even. 

And you believed him. You didn't even have to think about it, to wonder if you should or not. You simply did. So you breathed in, free hand grabbing his wrist to help. 

You felt it the moment the ship moved around you, could feel the change in the ship, though you didn't have the words to explain it more than that. 

“Well,” you croaked, attempting to smile, “that's the first panic attack I've had in front of an audience.” 

John didn't say anything, just knelt there with you, watching you. 

“You sure you're fine?” You kept your voice very quiet, daring to lift one hand to touch his visor again. The crack worried you. Somehow, you knew it was very difficult to damage the armor. 

“I'm fine,” he confirmed, though he didn't move away from you either. “Are you?”

You breathed in, considering. You no longer ached, not really, which was nice. You still felt shaky from the aftermath of the panic attack, which was less nice. And you still had far more questions than answers. 

“Not terrible,” you hedged. “I'll be better with some answers, maybe a nap.” 

“You can have one of those.” A thread of humor in his voice made you smile. 

“Who were those people chasing you?” 

“Spartans,” John answered, like it was obvious. 

You opened your mouth. Paused. Closed your mouth. Shook your head. “Not going there,” you muttered to yourself. You really needed to find some basic information on this place, because you were clearly so far out of the loop. “Why were they trying to stop you?” 

John shrugged. “We went AWOL,” he admitted. 

“To look for Cortana,” you figured, watching him carefully, even though he gave very little away. 

“Yes.” 

You nodded slowly. You already knew she was important to him, so you found you weren't entirely surprised by this. The rest of your questions would have to wait, you suspected. No one else seemed to be able to tell you how you got here. 

Not that you'd trust anyone besides John and Blue Team. 

Kelly sat down a few feet away from you, appearing to settle in. “Might as well catch some sleep while we can,” she said, very matter-of-fact and yet somehow also very pointed. 

You sighed but nodded. “Not a bad idea,” you agreed, reluctantly releasing John. You noticed his fingers twitch, as if he was resisting the urge to reach for you again. But you laid down, curling up on your side. It was far from the most comfortable place to nap, but sleep was good. You were sure you needed it, after everything. 

And a nap would help with clearing out your head, too. 

But John surprised you, shifting over to sit next to you, near your head. One hand settled slowly on the floor, palm up, fingers loose. 

You slid your hand into his, eyes half-closing at the feeling. John was like a security blanket. It made no sense, you barely knew him, and yet you already depended on him, trusted him, as you never had with anyone. 

You breathed slowly, closing your eyes, focusing on relaxing and breathing deeply. Sleep. Sleep was good. You needed it. 

You woke with a jolt when the ship stopped moving, fingers automatically clenching around John's. 

“It's alright,” he murmured, voice a little rough even under his helmet. 

You breathed in, sitting up carefully. “We stopped,” you muttered, your own voice a little hoarse. 

The other three were on their feet in moments, and John stood before helping you to your feet. You shifted to be close next to him, unsure what to expect from this new area. Clearly, John wasn't sure either, as he pulled his weapon from his back, holding it down but there, just in case. 

You swallowed hard, even as you felt the ship drift to a complete stop. Mechanisms whirred softly under and around you, the door popping open just a tiny bit before lowering like a ramp. 

Giving you all your first look at this new place.