#I actually don’t know but I think I can
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୨୧ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
───── IN WHICH your ex boyfriend attempts to win you back with multiple case scenarios!
(🐰) ⟡ 𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 — ex! 𝓈unghoon & 𝑓! reader .. fluff exes 2 lovers ♡ ◞ wc 1.4K 𓂅 warnings : profanities, kissing.
𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
BREAKING UP WITH PARK SUNGHOON WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A POWER MOVE.
you were the girl everyone wanted to be—class president, head cheerleader, the girl who never seemed to have a bad hair day.
dating sunghoon, the captain of the school’s ice hockey team, had been the ultimate match.
you were quite literally the golden couple, with his icy, cold demeanor balanced by your warm, bubbly personality. on the outside, you two were perfect.
but on the inside? that was another story.
the breakup took place two weeks ago, and the sheer memory of it still made you grit your teeth. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!
“why do you even want to be with me, hoon?” you’d finally snapped after one of his annoyed, cold and distant replies during an argument. you were frustrated to say the least, tired of feeling like your relationship was more about image than anything real.
“do you actually care about me? or do you just care about being the ‘perfect couple’? or the way we look together?”
sunghoon had stood there, frozen as if he were one of the ice sculptures at his hockey matches, completely silent. that had been the last and final straw for you.
“you know what?” you said grabbing your bag aggressively, holding back tears. “forget it. i don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t care enough to fight for me.”
and that was that—you left.
you expected sunghoon to move on quickly, thinking the longest he’d mourn your relationship for would be a few weeks maximum.
he didn’t seem like the type to get hung up on anything, let alone an ex girlfriend. but much to your surprise, that’s not what happened.
ACT 01:
the first time you realized park sunghoon wasn’t going to let you go so easily was during a typical school week hockey game.
it was a friday night, and the rink was packed with everyone on campus—and the rival teams supporters.
you had gone to support your best friend yujins’ boyfriend, one of the players on the same team as sunghoon, and you were trying your best to ignore the way your heart clenched every time you caught a glimpse of sunghoon skating oh-so ethereally across the ice.
he looked as composed as ever—as if the breakup didn’t phase him in any way whatsoever.
his jaw was clenched in determination, his movements were calculated and precise—but when the puck slid toward him in the third period of the game, he completely missed it.
“whoa, that’s not normal..is sunghoon okay?” yujin whispered, leaning closer to you.
you frowned. “i don’t know. that’s not like him.”
what happened next made your jaw drop. instead of chasing after the puck, sunghoon skated straight to where you were sitting in the stands.
“what is he—”
before you could finish, he stopped in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm, and called out:
“y/n!”
the crowd fell silent, all eyes darting onto you. your cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“what?” you hissed.
“can we talk?” he said, his voice echoing through the rink.
you stood up, shocked to the core and glaring at him with bewilderment. “are you serious right now? you’re literally in the middle of a game!”
“of course i’m serious—i’m serious about you,” he shot back, his face completely straight and blank as if his words held no weight whatsoever.
someone in the crowd whistled, and in this very moment you wish the ground would swallow you whole.
“you’re fucking insane,” you muttered before storming off with embarrassment.
ACT 02:
sunghoon’s next attempt came the following monday during lunch break—you were sitting at your usual table with yujin and a few of the other cheerleaders when he walked in, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder.
“uh oh…” yujin whispered, elbowing you. “ice boy at six o’clock.”
you turned just as sunghoon approached your table.
“y/n,” he said, his tone as pleading as ever, “can we talk please?”
“i’m eating,” you replied, not looking up from your tray—although most of it was gone already. “no problem. then i’ll talk,” he said, pulling a chair over to sit next to you.
“can’t he take a hint…” yujin mumbled beside you in amusement.
your friends were staring, barely concealing their grins and squeals as sunghoon reached into his bag and pulled out a carefully folded piece of lined paper. he cleared his throat, unfolding it.
you raised an eyebrow. “what’s that?”
“a list,” he said, holding it up with a proud and confident grin. “of reasons why we’re the perfect match.”
you groaned, burying your face in your hands with a whine. “sunghoon, no.”
“reason one,” he began, shushing you. “you love iced americanos. i hate iced americanos. opposites attract.”
your friends started giggling, and you shot them a warning look.
“reason two,” he continued, “you’re loud, and i’m quiet. we balance.”
“sunghoon—”
“reason three,” he said, his voice softening as he shyly rubbed the nape of his neck, “you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like… i don’t know—like i’m more than just the hockey guy.”
well—that caught you off guard. for a moment, you couldn’t think of a reply.
but of course, he then he ruined it by adding: “reason four, we look really good in pictures together.”
you glared at him, standing up and grabbing your tray. “yeah, no. i can’t do this right now.”
ACT 03: THE FINAL ATTEMPT
you had gone up to the schools rooftop during your free period, expecting to have a quiet break to yourself.
instead to your dismay, you found sunghoon sitting on the edge of the railing, holding a thermos and looking out at the freshly coated snowy campus.
“what are you doing here, sunghoon?” you asked, crossing your arms in exhaustion at the similar game of cat and mouse.
he turned, his expression unreadable to you. “i’m sorry..i just— i wanted to see you.”
you sighed, sitting down a few feet away from him. “you’ve seen me plenty. what do you want this time?”
“i want you to know that i’m truly sorry,” he said, his voice quiet as he played with his fingers nervously.
you looked at him, shocked and pleasantly surprised by the vulnerability in his tone.
“i’m know i’m not good at… talking about my feelings,” he admitted, fidgeting with the thermos. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t feel them.”
your chest tightened. “sunghoon—”
“i know i made you feel like you didn’t matter, and didn’t show you love,” he said, cutting you off.
“like i cared more about how we looked than how we felt. but that’s not true. you’ve always been more to me than..than the ‘perfect couple’ thing.”
you stared at him, the frustration and hurt you’d been grasping onto so tightly beginning to melt away.
“i don’t care if we’re a perfect couple,” you said softly. “i just need to know you care—i need to know if you truly care for me.”
he hesitated for a moment, then held out the thermos.
“i made hot chocolate,” he said. “because you always said you wanted someone to bring you hot chocolate on a cold day.”
you blinked, startled by the gesture. to a strangers eye—it was small. but to you, it was sunghoon telling you that he did in fact care.
“okay,” you said, taking the thermos.
“okay?” he repeated, hope flickering in his eyes.
you nodded, smiling and feeling a heavy weight off your shoulders for the first time in weeks. “okay.”
NO MORE ACTS.
by the next hockey game, the joy around school was back.
everyone was talking about how the ‘it’ couple was “official” again, and while you normally hated the childish gossip, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest every time someone mentioned it.
after the game, sunghoon skated over to your section, his helmet under his arm.
“hot chocolate after this?” he asked, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
“sure,” you said, grinning.
as he turned to leave, he stopped and glanced back at you, his expression softer as his cheeks flushed pink. “can i get a kiss?”
you snorted. “no.”
“pleaseee?” he said, dragging out the word dramatically.
“no.”
“babe,” he whined, stepping closer to the railing. “please, please, please?”
you rolled your eyes, fighting off the grin making its way onto your face as you leaned over slightly. “fine, just one.”
the kiss was short and quick, barely more than a brush of your lips against his—but when you pulled back, the sight of his smile was so bright that you couldn’t help but laugh in adoration.
“you’re so stupid,” you said, shaking your head.
“and you love it,” he replied, skating away with a hand blown kiss.
you couldn’t deny that.
© FAIRQVES 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.
NOTE. new layout WOOHOO !! semester two has been violently kicking my ass and it’s only been 2 days… idk anymore guys i’m severely unhappy and have 818282 mental breakdowns a day but oh well 😞✊
୨୧ TAGLIST ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.
#࣪ ︵ֺ︵ ㅤlu’s : writes ㅤ𝜚 ۪ ⠀ ⪩⪨#𝑘 ── ✉️#k films#svnet#enhablr#enhypen imagines#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen x reader#enhypen fanfic#enhypen drabbles#enha imagines#enha x reader#enha fanfic#park sunghoon imagines#sunghoon fics#sunghoon texts#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon fanfic#park sunghoon smau#park sunghoon fanfic#park sunghoon imagine#park sunghoon x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen imagine#enhypen scenarios#enhypen fics#enha fluff#sunghoon scenarios
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HOTTEST COUPLE IN THE ROOM ───JB⁹
⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k
⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested! -> "Joe x Dallas cowboy cheerleader reader"
⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | reader is kinda perceived as bitchy, and not a cookie-cutter dcc. lots of a banter, leads to relationship.
⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | my new fav thing EVER
The bass shakes the floor beneath your heels, the scent of top-shelf liquor and expensive cologne thick in the air. The postgame party is exactly what you expected—too many people, too much noise, and a lingering sense of competition that doesn’t quite fade even after the game’s final whistle. Cowboys and Bengals players mix like oil and water, good-natured jabs tossed between sips of whiskey, the occasional laugh laced with something sharper.
You don’t want to be here.
But when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders make an appearance, it’s not optional. It’s PR. It’s “team camaraderie.” It’s smiling through gritted teeth while some dude in a suit with more money than personality tells you how impressive it is that you can do a perfect high kick in full glam.
You adjust the hem of your dress, shifting against the leather couch tucked in the VIP section. It’s not that you’re bad at playing the part. You just don’t fit the mold the way you’re supposed to. The other girls—prim, polished, always camera-ready—glide through the room like they were born for this. You, on the other hand, are already toeing the line of “too much.” Too opinionated, too unpredictable, too unwilling to be anything other than exactly who you are.
And yet, you’re still here. Because when you dance, they shut up about the rest.
“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” a voice drawls beside you, cutting through the music.
Your gaze shifts, locking onto the last person you expected to seek you out tonight. Joe Burrow.
His suit jacket is slung over his arm, the sleeves of his crisp white button-down rolled up just enough to give him that effortlessly put-together look. He’s got that half-smirk that’s made him a social media obsession, and yet there’s something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Amusement.
You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you knew who I was.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing in them. “Hard to miss the cheerleader who doesn’t play by the rules.”
You tilt your head, feigning offense. “I play by the rules.”
Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t. You just make it look like you do.”
And there it is. The first crack in the game, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a drawn line in the sand.
It should be nothing.
But somehow, it doesn’t feel like nothing.
You lean back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other toying with the rim of the drink you don’t actually want. The ice clinks softly as you swirl it, eyes flicking back to Joe, unimpressed but not entirely disinterested.
“Wow,” you deadpan. “Joe Burrow knows my reputation. I guess I can retire now.”
Joe huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that barely shakes his shoulders. “Just saying, you don’t blend in.”
You lift a brow. “Neither do you.”
His smirk deepens, just a little. “Difference is, I’m supposed to stand out.”
You roll your eyes. “God, you’re worse than I thought.”
Joe blinks, feigning offense. “Worse?”
“Yeah.” You tilt your head, taking him in. “I figured you’d at least let me get a word in before pulling the ‘I’m Joe Burrow’ card.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The smirk on his face falters just a fraction, like he’s recalculating his approach. He came over here thinking he’d charm you with minimal effort, just like he probably does with every other girl in this room. You can’t blame him. You’re used to guys like him—ones who assume that a few smooth lines and a good jawline will be enough to win you over. It’s exhausting, really.
Joe, to his credit, seems to pick up on it quickly. He shifts his stance, dropping the easy arrogance just a notch, watching you like he’s trying to figure out a new play mid-game.
“So, you don’t like football players,” he guesses.
“I never said that.”
“You don’t seem impressed.”
“I’m just not easily impressed.”
Joe clicks his tongue, shaking his head like he’s been personally challenged. “Tough crowd.”
You let out a short laugh, finally taking a sip of your drink. The warmth spreads through you, smoothing the edges of your already sharp tongue. “Look, I get it. You’re Joe Cool, media darling, golden boy, future Hall of Famer, blah, blah, blah. But none of that tells me who you actually are.”
Joe’s quiet for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut through the bullshit so quickly. Most people don’t.
He studies you. “You wanna know who I am?”
“I wanna know if you can hold a conversation that doesn’t involve your highlight reel.”
Joe grins, shaking his head like you’re more trouble than he bargained for—but not the kind he wants to walk away from.
“Alright,” he says, leaning in slightly. “Let’s make it fair. Since you’re so uninterested in my career, how about I ask about yours?”
You narrow your eyes. “Go for it.”
He tilts his head. “You always wanted to be a cheerleader?”
You pause for a fraction of a second. It’s not a bad question, but it’s not the usual small talk either. It’s got an edge to it, like he’s actually curious.
“No,” you admit. “I wanted to be an astronaut.”
Joe snorts. “Serious?”
“As a heart attack.” You smirk. “But apparently, NASA frowns upon people who talk back to their instructors.”
Joe laughs now, really laughs, and it does something to his face—makes it lighter, less perfectly put-together. It’s a nice look on him.
“So, you settled for the next most intense program?” he asks.
“Something like that.” You glance around the room, at the Cowboys players, the other cheerleaders, the high-profile guests all schmoozing and clinking glasses. “DCC is its own version of NASA. Just with more hairspray and stricter calorie counts.”
Joe hums, considering that. “And yet, you don’t seem the type to take orders.”
You shrug. “I don’t. But I’m really, really good at what I do.”
His gaze lingers for half a second too long. “Yeah,” he says, low and thoughtful. “I bet you are.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes your breath catch for just a second—not because you’re flustered, but because it feels like he actually sees you, past the sequins and forced smiles and PR obligations.
You tap your nails against your glass, breaking whatever was starting to settle between you. “Well, congrats,” you say, all light and teasing again. “You managed to hold a conversation without bringing up your own stats.”
Joe grins, lazy and triumphant. “And?”
You take a slow sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. “You’re not completely insufferable.”
Joe laughs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll take it.”
The first date wasn’t supposed to happen.
At least, not in your mind.
But Joe had this way of slipping through the cracks of your carefully built walls, catching you off guard in a way that wasn’t annoying, but intriguing. So, when he had looked at you across that crowded party and said, “One drink. No football talk,” you had rolled your eyes, but ultimately, you had agreed.
One drink turned into three. A post-midnight drive through downtown. A completely ridiculous bet over who could name more obscure 90s songs (you won, obviously). And then, somehow, a second date.
And that was the real surprise.
Because by then, you figured you had him pegged. Star quarterback, smooth operator, probably used to women falling over themselves to impress him. But the Joe you saw away from the cameras, when it was just the two of you in a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bar or sprawled out on his couch, eating takeout straight from the boxes, was different. He was easy in a way that felt familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard in years but still knew all the words to.
And he got you.
Most guys would tense up when you made some sarcastic comment, unsure if they should be amused or offended. Joe just smirked and shot one right back, quick and sharp like one of his passes. The banter was effortless, the chemistry undeniable, but it never felt forced.
It felt like you’d known him forever.
Which was dangerous.
Because you weren’t supposed to like him this much.
But a few months flew by before you could think too hard about it.
One minute, you were rolling your eyes at him in a Dallas bar. The next, you were sneaking glances at your phone in the middle of DCC rehearsals, trying not to smile at whatever nonsense he had just texted you.
Then came the flights.
You found yourself booking tickets to Cincinnati more often than you’d ever expected, trading in your Texas sunsets for the sharp chill of Ohio air, showing up in his city like you belonged there. And the crazy part? It never felt inconvenient. You had never been the type to rearrange your schedule for a guy, but with Joe, it was different. He made the effort too—catching flights to see you between games, showing up unannounced just to grab dinner, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It should’ve been overwhelming, but it wasn’t.
Because nothing about Joe was ever boring.
You’d expected the excitement in the beginning—the flirty back-and-forth, the teasing, the lingering looks that stretched longer than they should. But what you hadn’t expected was the way he made everything feel lighter. How he made you laugh when you were dead on your feet after an exhausting game day. How he somehow always knew when you needed to talk and when you just needed to sit in comfortable silence.
And yeah, the tension was there. Always.
You weren’t blind, and Joe sure as hell wasn’t either. There were moments—when his hand lingered on your lower back a second too long, when you caught him watching you with that unreadable expression, when he pulled you into a hug that felt like it meant something more.
But neither of you pushed it. Not yet.
For now, it was enough to just exist in whatever this was.
And, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t in any rush to define it.
The New York City skyline stretched high above the venue, lights twinkling like they were in on the secret that tonight was something different.
Joe didn’t hide you.
He hadn’t from the start, really, but there was a difference between showing up for each other in private and standing next to him now, his hand resting low on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress like he wanted everyone to see exactly where you belonged.
And you?
You looked good enough to ruin a man’s career.
Your dress was the kind that turned heads—sleek, with just enough edge to remind people that you weren’t the typical quarterback’s girlfriend. Joe wasn’t intimidated by it, wasn’t the type to shrink when his girl demanded attention. No, if anything, he was thriving on it. Walking into the party with you on his arm, chin high, like he knew for a fact that you were the hottest couple in the room.
And you were.
It didn’t matter that the place was full of some of the most famous athletes in the league, that models and influencers and A-listers milled around with expensive drinks in hand—no one looked as good as the two of you together.
Joe left you only once, leaning down to murmur, “Gonna get us a drink, don’t go too far.”
You weren’t worried about being left alone. You’d been in these rooms before, could handle yourself just fine.
But apparently, someone didn’t get the memo.
The moment Joe was out of earshot, a presence settled beside you—too close, too confident.
“Damn, haven’t seen you in a minute.”
You already knew you were going to hate him before you even looked.
And sure enough, when you turned, there he was. A Cowboys player, one you’d interacted with just enough to know he was exactly the type you had no patience for. Cocky in a way that wasn’t charming, self-important in a way that made your skin itch.
You barely had time to open your mouth before he bulldozed on.
“So, what, you finally got tired of playing in the kiddie pool and upgraded?” He grinned, not even waiting for you to respond. “Figured it was only a matter of time. The whole ‘untouchable cheerleader’ thing was getting old.”
You smiled. Smirked, really. Because this? This was amusing.
He thought you were flustered. Thought you were scrambling for a way out.
Like you hadn’t been shutting down men like him since the first time you ever put on that DCC uniform.
“Oh, yeah,” you said, voice smooth as silk. “Joe’s an upgrade, alright.” You tilted your head, eyes dragging over him in an exaggerated once-over. “But considering what I was working with before, it really didn’t take much.”
His smile flickered, but he was too stubborn to let it go. “C’mon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you, remember? Back when you were just another Dallas girl trying to play hard to get?”
You actually laughed at that.
Not a fake, polite one. A real one. Because this was just sad.
“Wow,” you mused. “I’ve gotta give it to you, you commit to the bit. Most guys would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You’re still going. That’s dedication.”
His jaw tensed just slightly. “I’m just saying, no need to act all high and mighty. We both know you used to—”
“Used to what?”
Your voice was still sweet, still playful, but the underlying steel was there. And when you took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim, it was clear you were letting him dig his own grave.
Before he could figure out how to claw his way out, a shadow loomed beside you.
Joe.
But not in the swooping, Oh no! My girl is in distress! way.
No, he was calm. Casual. Like he had all the time in the world. His presence alone was enough to shift the energy in the conversation, but you didn’t even acknowledge him yet. You wanted to see just how long it would take for the guy in front of you to realize he’d lost.
Turns out, not long.
Joe didn’t say anything, just leaned slightly against the bar, watching with mild interest. But the weight of his presence alone did something to your uninvited guest—made him shift uncomfortably, made his easy confidence crack just a little.
And that? That was satisfying.
“I was just catching up with your girl,” the Cowboy muttered, backtracking so fast you almost wanted to laugh.
Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” He glanced at you, finally acknowledging you with a knowing smirk. “You having fun?”
You took another sip, grinning. “Oh, loads.”
The guy beside you tensed. “I was just—”
“Leaving?” you supplied helpfully.
His mouth opened. Closed. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Joe chuckled, finally handing you the drink he had left to get. “You were having way too much fun with that.”
You shrugged, taking a sip. “Can you blame me?”
He shook his head, draping an arm lazily around your waist, pulling you in just slightly. “Guess not.”
And the night went on.
Just you and Joe. The hottest couple in the room.
#joe burrow#joe burrow bengals#joey b#joe burrow fan fic#joe burrow smut#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow x reader#nfl imagine#joe burrow x y/n#joe burrow x oc#joe burrow x you
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YOUR FRUIT BAT READER HAS MY WHOLE HEART 😩😭🫶🏻 any more thoughts to spare… no pressure tho i absolutely adore your writing <333
- @beloveds-embrace
For @beloveds-embrace. Some not the most appropriate thoughts about Price and Reader for you, friend
I’m thinking about fruit bat!Reader x Komodo Dragon!Price whom it takes some time to get to their core.
Price who’s uncharacteristically careful, feeling like a right twat after realising he doesn’t know much about their new addition to his team. New addition to his boys.
Price returns to your file and starts noting what can he do to do better. It’s not proper for a leader to know this little about their subordinate. It’s not proper for the leader of the pack not to welcome you like he should’ve.
Price who starts taking fruits during breakfast just to pawn them off to you a minute later, rumbling that he forgot he can’t eat this much.
(The man does it every bloody morning, does he think he’s actually sneaky with that?)
But no one says anything and he hums in satisfaction when you gobble down an orange or an apple he gives to you. Lizard part of his brain pleased to see you fed and happy with his offering.
Lizard part of his brain has already switched to proper courting without him catching up on it up until he finds himself massaging the nape of your neck.
Fingers digging into tense muscle, fingers sliding lower to the base of your wings, to the additional back muscles only you and Kyle have. He knows these are the places you can hardly reach yourself.
He knows that it’s usually reserved for pack to touch there — too vulnerable of a place, too easy for someone of his size to tear out the tender thin wing off your back.
But you don’t move away, deliberately not looking at him. Like if you pretend he’s not there you won’t need to explain why you are letting him this close.
Price hums massaging your back, warm palms sending shivers all over your body, your ears burning when he leans forward, beard tickling your neck.
He’s close enough to bite down. Close enough to close his jaws around inviting slope of your neck, to force you down.
But he doesn’t. There is no need for this.
You are not growling Simon, you are not cheeky stubborn Soap, you aren’t even Kyle with his habit to test waters until John pulls him under it.
You are you.
John presses small, soft kiss behind your ear, fingers tracing the skin of your wings, fingers melting you into nothing.
“Tha’ okay, love?”, he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your neck, his smile wide wicked thing full of teeth when you give him a shaky nod.
“Can’t hear you, sweetheart”, John is not used to this but he finds he rather likes to have a pretty bat like you being this good for him. Such a sweet little soldier, making his mind hazy with want to lick all over you.
Leaving saliva and his scent, marking you proper. Not right that you don’t smell like them yet.
John pulls you in, cradling in his hands, eyes warm and heavy. Komodo dragons fight to prove they are worthy of being at the top. Komodo dragons need to know that they deserve what they have.
John knows that for now he didn’t prove that he deserves you, your trust, your bond.
That’s alright. Just means he will need to put in some much needed hard work.
John presses his face to your neck and breathes in, smiling when your wings give him a small flutter. Sensitive little thing.
“Come on, love. Think I saw some mangoes dropped in with re-supply . Gonna have a feast today”, he grumbles, eyes crinkling with pleasure when your eyes light up.
Yeah, both of you will feast alright.
#call of duty#cod mw2#girl.snippets#fruit bat au#task force x reader#task force 141#john price x y/n#captain john price x you#john price x you#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#captain john price#price x reader#price cod#john price#captain price
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soft!mattheo riddle headcannons ⭑.ᐟ
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who throws punches like he doesn’t care if his knuckles bleed but wipes his busted lip with the back of his hand and grins when you scold him. “what? you worried about me, angel?”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who smells like smoke and expensive cologne, who always has a cigarette tucked behind his ear but never lights it when you're around because he knows you don’t like the smell
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who gets into trouble just to make you roll your eyes at him, just so he can tilt his head and say, “c’mon, don’t act like you don’t love me like this.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who always has an arm draped over the back of your chair, who pulls you onto his lap at parties like it’s second nature, who lets everyone know, without a single word, that you’re his
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who will teach you how to throw a punch but won’t let you actually get into a fight—“nah, angel, that’s my job. you just stand there and look pretty.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who lets you braid his hair, sitting between your legs with his head tilted back against your stomach, eyes closed, a lazy grin on his lips when you call him pretty
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who steals your hair tie to wear on his wrist, even though it doesn’t match his whole ‘i don’t care about anything’ aesthetic, but he keeps it there anyway—just because it’s yours
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who teaches you how to drive his motorcycle, watching with amusement as you struggle, but when you get the hang of it, he just grins and says, “that’s my girl.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who keeps a picture of you tucked into his wallet, folded and worn at the edges, but if anyone ever points it out, he just scoffs and shoves it deeper into his pocket, pretending it’s not a big deal
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ soft!mattheo who acts all tough, all ‘i don’t do romance,’ but still waits up for you when you’re out late, still makes you coffee in the morning (even if it’s terrible), still presses his lips to your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep
© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.
#divider by anitalenia#divider creds : bambicito#ivy writes ⋆.˚#soft!mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle headcanon#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#mattheo riddle hcs#headcanon#slytherin boys headcanons
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boyz in luv !
✎ᝰ — dc boys as romance tropes
♡⃕ — bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, wally west, kaldur’ahm x reader
♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff & jason is slight ooc cause I didn’t feel like writing moody child jason sawry
♡⃕ — a/n: woooo mia writes once again. yall peepin my consistency ?
꒰ BRUCE WAYNE ꒱
Ꮺ second chance ! — bruce is a man who excels in many things and one can say he has lived different lives, depending on who you’re asking. one thing he wished to excel in is romance, he has tried time and time again to be the perfect lover for someone yet that energy was never reciprocated back, unless for a hookup. not only that, his heart was never much into it when it came to all his previous lovers and he could never understand why. was something wrong with him? however, when it came to you, he felt that he gave his all, he felt himself pour more into you than he usually would with others. thus, the two of you ending things led to bruce feeling so much heartache to the point where he couldn’t handle it any longer. he needed to find a solution, a medication, something, anything to ease this pain in his chest. to think, the bruce wayne, aka batman, could feel emotional pain, who would’ve thought?
that pain led to longing, aching times of writing you letters, stopping by your job to see how you’re doing, looking through photographic memories, begging at your front door at one random night to ask what can he do to be back with you? he can no longer live a life without you and he genuinely doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱
Ꮺ you fell first, he fell harder — to grayson, you were of quite importance. you two grew up in the same neighborhood until his parents was killed, you two attended the same school, and you two were always at each other’s side. if people were to find dick, they could find you next to him or somewhere near him. as years pass, and your friendship becomes deeper, dick finds himself growing feelings. as a young man, he couldn’t shake off these feelings that sprouted when you were around him. actually, neither of you could.
feelings always arose inside both of you when you two were in contact with one another, whether it be on the phone or him taking you out to a nice dinner. when you spoke, he could find himself dazed as he laid his eyes all over your beautiful features. when you lay your hand anywhere on him, as simple as the touch would be, the hairs on his body stick up, and finds himself getting hot as the touch lays on there.
the same would happen with you except the effects of his touch or his presence wouldn’t be as down bad as dick is with you. the potential crush that grew inside the both of you had made the simplest conversation become a rousing feeling to your beating hearts. except dick feels like his heart is close to exploding when he’s near you.
꒰ JASON TODD ꒱
Ꮺ childhood friends to frenemies to lovers — jason was sweet, jason was loving, jason was determined to be the brave boy just like his father. he was everything you dreamed and wanted from in a boy, since grade school you dreamed of jason todd being your dream boy. maybe it’s the crush, maybe it’s the crazy promise to each other that you’ll live together by the age of thirty if neither of you gets married. you don’t know what it is but it gave you the idea that you and jason will be stuck like glue till death do you part. a great idea for two grade schoolers but not for someone like you who was startled by jason’s behavior after being “missing” all these years.
either way, he was not the jason you’ve known and grown up with. this jason was coldhearted, brute, and didn’t have much care to be in your life, unlike younger jason. he came off with a cold shoulder and you came to the point that your friendship has gone away from his memories, you didn’t matter to him as much he mattered to you. at least, that’s what he wanted you to think.
throughout you dealing with and not wanting to accept this new jason, he was fighting with himself on whether he should make the best of your burned-out friendship to keep you from all danger or be selfish and keep your love with him, no matter the consequence you may both have to face. protect y/n and live with long-term yearning or protect your own heart and live in bliss with y/n? choose wisely jason, choose wisely.
꒰ WALLY WEST ꒱
Ꮺ unrequited love — the young man with so much to love but sometimes oh so clueless. he was intelligent and knew how to act in certain situations, making him quick-minded. however, he hasn't caught on when it came to catching hints of you flirting with him. which is strange for a man who likes to flirt with almost every woman in sight. then again, it’s the same for you when he tries to flirt with you and you just think of it as casual flirting. you don’t think anything of it since wally is a flirt, you usually just play on till you can’t anymore.
even when people assumed that you and wally have something going on, you would laugh it off and deny it. even if it does sting a bit to fake it and say that you and wally are friends, while you internally want something more. it’s not better on wally’s side either; his usual cheery and chill attitude dampers just slightly when he hears you say that the two of you are friends.
the situation of unrecognized unrequited love has both of you two’s hearts aching for one another. You don’t how long you can last by being “just friends” with wally and wally doesn’t know how long he’ll last by pretending that this crush isn’t eating him alive. as for now, friends till one confesses.
꒰ KALDUR’AHM ꒱
Ꮺ everyone sees it but them — oh kaldur, the handsome blonde man with facial features that’ll make the angels sing and a personality that could make anyone want to marry him. he’s extremely kind, soft-hearted, caring, has great leadership skills, and has everything that just screams he needs to be in your life. well, he is, as your friend, a close friend.
you two grew up together training in the young justice league and became close after one mission that almost cost you your life. he was there, by your side taking care of you and keeping watch until you completely healed. ever since then, you two has been stuck to the hip, unintentionally, and neither of you seems to mind. even when your teammates make lil comments, “look at the lovely couple” “aww when’s the wedding?” “there goes couple of the year”. you usually roll your eyes at the comments and go about your day with kaldur.
however, maybe the comments meant something; seeing as the way kaldur’s smile grows when you’re explaining something, your laughter that brings a sort of bliss to your ears. it also doesn’t help that konnor and wally notices the way kaldur lets his hand linger on yours until they’re intertwined, or the way your cheeks are so prominent when kaldur is around, and the loving expression that is present. your cheeks rise, a smile displayed, and your eyes tie it all into your facial expression potentially screaming, “I’m in love.”
but of course, the signals that everyone around notices, you two seem oblivious to notice. even when they try to point it out to either of you, you just use the excuse, “so, we’re friends. do friends not do that?” friends…right right, of course, friends!
♡⃕ technically, i had something similar for these hcs from the song “another life” by sza. but they didn’t come out how i wanted so we’re just gonna stick with these !
♡⃕ okay but the way I’ve been actually feeding yall likeeee 🤭
𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: isaiah 41:13
© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟧 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽
#⁎˚ ໒ 🎧🫧 ( a piece from mia ) ˚ ⁎#dc comics fluff#dc comics headcanons#bruce wayne fluff#bruce wayne headcanon#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne x y/n#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson headcanons#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x y/n#jason todd fluff#jason todd headcanon#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#wally west fluff#wally west headcanons#wally west x reader#wally west x you#wally west x y/n#kaldur’ahm fluff#kaldur’ahm x you#kaldur’ahm x reader#aqualad fluff#aqualad x reader#aqualad X you#aqualad x y/n
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How about some silliness.....reader/you is superrr drunk from a night out with friends or high from anesthesia and the guys are trying to take care of them and we are all like "get your hands off me or my husband will kick you ass!" Or "omg you're so hot are you single??"...and they are just dying laughing like "I am your husband!"
I just watched one too many tik toks of this 😂🤣
Oh, I love this. I don't think I've actually seen these videos before (at least on TT) but I do know what you're talking about. Maybe I've seen it more in other media? Like movies and television? Anyway, I understand what you're asking for, so I hope you enjoy what I've cooked up!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, established relationship, fluff, mild alcohol use, shenanigans due to drunkenness & anesthesia
Word Count: 800
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
John stands beside you on the passenger side of the car. The car door is open, and all you need to do is slide inside. Instead, you’re arguing with him, insisting that you can get in yourself, and that you don’t need help.
“You just had surgery,” chides John.
“Minor surgery,” you correct.
“It’s still surgery.” John sighs, and then places his hand on your back. “Let me help you.”
“Hands off, sir. You’re not my husband.”
John does not move his hand. “I don’t remember us getting a divorce, love.”
You wave him off and John snorts. “He’ll kick your ass,” you insist. “Punch you right in the nose.”
John’s stern demeanor cracks, dissolving into a wide smile and a soft chuckle. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m your bloody husband. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”
“I’m serious,” you say. Turning, you attempt to jab him in the chest with your finger. Everything tilts, and you only hit air.
John sighs, exasperated. “Get in the car, love.”
“No,” you groan, pushing at his chest. You surrender to him, allowing John to help you into the front passenger seat.
“I hope you remember this after the drugs wear off.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
You’ve been out with your friends all evening, and you have no idea what times it is. It’s dark, and you didn’t leave until the bar closed, forcing you to make an exit. Someone called for a car, and you all piled in, dropping each of off one by one.
As you enter the dark bedroom, you kick off your shoes, slightly stumbling to turn on the bedside light. You turn it on, and immediately wince. Vision swimming, you rub at your eyes, and then notice the massive lump in your bed.
“Turn off the bloody light, will you?” mumbles Johnny.
A devious plan forms in your head.
You climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. Noticing, Johnny turns toward you, eyes dreary with sleep.
“What?” he asks just before you flop your entire body onto him.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he deadpans.
You wiggle over him, pressing the tip of your nose against his. “You seeing anyone, handsome?”
Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something? I am your husband.”
“Lucky me.”
Johnny blows raspberries. With one good shove, he flips you onto your back on your side of the bed.
“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Your liquor-addled brain tells you to do it.
Across the bar is danger, the kind you want to play with—to sink your teeth into. Why resist temptation when it’s clear that the masked man across the bar can’t seem to take his eyes off you? Every time you glance in his direction, his gaze is focused and intense, daring you to approach him.
Which is exactly what you do.
He follows your every step, even if there is a slight sway in the way you walk. As you approach, he leans back in his chair, legs widening as if in welcome. It’s easy to reach out, to place your hand on his shoulder, to straddle his thighs, and stare into his eyes.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you slur. “Plan on going home with anyone?”
“I am,” the masked man replies.
“And who might that be?”
“My wife.”
You turn in his lap, looking around at all the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t see her.”
“Course you don’t,” he chuckles. “Because she’s sitting in my lap.”
You blink. “Is she?”
“You’re my wife,” he whispers.
“I am…aren’t I?”
He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
The alcohol is an enabler. You shouldn’t have had as many drinks as you did, but this is a party, and you’re not the one driving.
Why not have a bit of fun?
“Hi.”
Kyle arches an eyebrow. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the greeting in slight confusion.
You cozy up next to him, shoulder brushing against shoulder.
“So,” you begin, head tilting toward him like you’re about to whisper all your secrets. “I’m going to be a bit bold…”
“Go on.”
“But I think you’re cute. Wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”
Kyle’s single raised eyebrow becomes two. There’s a long pause, so long that you notice the absence of conversation.
Kyle’s confusion cracks, becoming a wide smile, followed by his adorable, familiar laughter. “You’re taking the piss, love.”
“I’m not joking.”
He laughs harder, clutching his chest like he can’t breathe.
“I’m your husband,” he manages to say between wheezing breaths.
“I know,” you reply. “Just checking to make sure you’re still loyal.”
He waves his hand in the air before him. “You’ve had enough. Give me that.” He plucks your beverage right out of your hands.
“Excuse me,” you protest, but Kyle is already downing it.
taglist:
@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath
@fern-reads @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus
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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen
#task force 141#task force 141 imagine#task force 141 x reader#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#simon ghost riley#simon riley#john soap mactavish#john price#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#soap cod#soap call of duty#price cod#captain price cod#price call of duty#gaz cod#gaz call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john price x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon riley x you#simon riley fanfic
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earlyseasons!spencer making you squirt.
cw: doesn’t mean sub!spencer, it’s more like eager Spencer experimenting on reader, written mostly for funsies.
Every since you and Spencer have been messing — fucking — around, you’ve noticed that he’s been a little shy, at least at first, his touch has been gentle but also… experimental, the way he looks at you when you’re under him and pushes you just a little harder almost makes you feel like like he’s studying you, testing something on you. But he’s a profiler, he’s learned that you don’t mind, so when he comes with the proposition of trying to make you squirt, you’re doubtful, specially as he pushes you down on your bed — already naked.
“Spencer, you don’t really need to do this, I —“ you try to speak but he’s quick to interrupt you, his hands running down your thighs.
“I know, I just.. I just want to try something new, just for a bit,” he hushes, eyes looking up to you for approval as he puts away his glasses and when Spencer says ‘just for a bit’ he is indeed just… lying, lying to your face.
His tongue licks a fat strip up your folds, it’s bold, something that he’d at first would hesitate to do, gently circling your clit before he attaches his lips onto it, gently sucks and his fingers go up to spread you further.
Spencer’s tongue feels good, but by now, you know that he would’ve already tried to stick a finger or two in you, but he doesn’t, it almost seems like he’s trying to reach this personal goal of his all with his mouth, and he’s doing a good job at it, because his tongue prods at your entrance and you arch your back, softly moaning, head throwing back and meeting your pillow.
“How does that feel?” He questions as if you need to answer for him to know it.
But still, you nod again, “Good,” you whisper, hand going down to grab at the sheets.
“Yeah, I can tell.” He grins, cocky, before his mouth latches onto your cunt again.
He devours you, nose bumping into your clit as his tongue precisely chooses where to run through, your breath being taken from your lungs when it caresses your insides one more time, the warm tip of the muscle moving within you.
“Spence,” you whimper, your knees struggling to keep themselves in place as he pulls back and pays attention to your swollen pearl one more time.
“Close?” He asks, tongue licking up a few more times through your folds, trying to get all up in there.
“Mh — Mhm,” you moan, a pleased sigh following suit.
“Did you know that —“ he pauses, “statistically, only thirty-five to fifty percent of women have experienced squirting mid sex—“ he presses an open mouthed kiss to your cunt. “But it depends on the method, I’ve read about it, we can try and see if this will be the one for you.”
And for someone who’s so used to talking, Spencer finally goes to quiet after a while and focus on your pussy, paying extra attention to what you like, guiding himself with your moans and gentle curses.
“Spence—“ with that, he thinks this really might be his chance of getting you to do it the first try, so his lips wrap around your clit one last time, only letting go when he hears a hushed cry of his name escape your lips— “Spencer!” A stream of fluid expels from you, and he watches in awe, slightly tilting his head as your body shivers and writhes right before him.
His hands gently caress your thighs, fingers letting go of your folds, his eyes finally meeting yours when you take a breath and before you can speak, he notes;
“Let’s do it again, maybe you’ll do it quicker if I actually use my fingers…”
#𝜗𝜚: spencer reid#webbluvrsugar#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid angst#spencer reid icons#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid moodboard#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid x plus size reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x fem!readr#mgg x y/n#matthew gray gubbler x reader#matthew gray gubler#mgg fluff#mgg x reader#mgg smut#mgg fanfiction#mgg#criminal minds smut#criminal minds#mgg x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x you
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(genuine question sorry if it comes across as spam or trolling) is porn addiction not actually a thing? and how is it connected to terf stuff (again genuinely want to know so I don’t repeat the retoric)
No worries anon, I do not get enough asks for things to come across as spam or trolling.
But yeah no, porn addiction is not a thing. Over two decades of research has not proven a goddamn thing; rather, it's proven that it doesn't exist. [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] *note, some of these are more accessible than others and some are more specific
While those who believe in it will present what seems to be a mountain of evidence for it, their evidence is often unscientific or unreliable or uses flawed measures or uses incredibly small sample sizes, including a sample of 1 in some cases.
The actual scientific consensus is that while excessive watching of porn can be a bad habit and can negatively impact your life, you can't become addicted to it the way that you can with things like alcohol. Things like alcohol addiction or tobacco addiction are related to a significant change in the neuronal transmission in your brain. Like certain drugs mimic certain neurotransmitters and impact the neuro-receptors on either side of a synapse.
Porn doesn't do that. Or moreso, porn is not unique in how it can change your brain chemistry. Someone who spends twelve hours a day seven days a week watching reality TV doesn't have a habit inherently different to someone who spends the same amount of time watching porn.
Often excessive watching of porn is a symptom of a larger issue such as depression. Many of those who self-report as porn addicts match the primary diagnosis of depression.
Also, within research, it is often found that those who self-report a porn addiction watch the same amount of or less of porn as someone who doesn't report it, mostly because a lot of it is related to shame and guilt and not addictive behaviour.
Porn addiction as an idea is most often rooted in religiosity and not science.
It can also be rooted in terfism. Because terfs hate porn.
Their arguments against porn boil down to the idea that women cannot and should not have sexual autonomy. They dress it up obviously, but if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a misogynist.
Almost any argument against porn they make can be easily countered by the fact that all their criticisms occur in every industry that exists currently, especially so in creative industries.
The porn industry is not uniquely exploitative. If people's labour is involved, it's probably being exploited or it has the potential to be exploited. Not knowing if the person on screen was treated well on set is not unique to porn, you know how many movies I can list that included actors being treated like shit? The porn industry does not have an issue with human trafficking that is unique to any other industry; it's a massive issue in industries with manual labour. etc.
Point is, it is not inherently evil. Terfs want you to think it is though because A) they hate women and B)
To them, porn equals predatory men (they include trans women in this) exploiting poor innocent women who cannot possibly consent.
The idea of women who actively partake in sex work and enjoy doing so is mind breaking for them; they often rationalise it as the women being mentally ill and being indoctrinated by porn. The idea of porn addiction suits them well because they believe porn is inherently evil like men are.
Terfs can't perceive any situation where women are not being actively victimised by men. They are always the victims and they always need protection from men who are inherently evil and inherently predatory.
They're misogynists and idiots (and very often very racist though that's not currently relevant).
I don't know how coherent this is. It is approaching the time I go to sleep so it might be very rambly. I hope it was helpful anyway. Feel free to ask for clarification that I'll reply to in the morning.
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Headcanon that bludhaven hates heroes with a flaming passion bc theyre just cops in tights but love Nightwing and therefore vehemently deny his hero status to anyone and everyone.
Like there is no official Nightwing merch bc he’s a criminal he’s committing a crime okay vigilante justice is in fact not legal and he’s not TECHNICALLY on the justice league and he’s NOT TECHNICALLY the leader of the titans anymore. But there are about 400 different Etsy stores that make hoodies, crop tops, joggers, sweats, sunglasses, bracelets, t shirts with nightwings logo or some art of him on them.
Like they love this guy and will get into beef with any Gotham national who tries to claim Nightwing is THEIR hero.
1) hes not a hero he’s a criminal fuck you
2) you have a hero and just bc he’s shit at his job and needs our guy (who is NOT a hero) to help him sometimes doesn’t MEAN SHIT
people are walking around with tiny v shaped blue tattoos or embroidered on clothing but again NOT A HERO BLUDHAVEN DOESNT DO HEROS
There are coffee shops with bad nightwing pun names nightbird, beanwing, nightwinging it and so on
Every third piece of graffiti is this man’s logo
Every sandwich place or fast food chain has a ‘secret menu item’ that’s not actually secret bc everyone orders it and it’s just one of their normal items dyed blue (sodas, desserts, burger buns, condiments so on) some places will sell wings fried in blue panko bread crumbs and call them them ‘nightwings’ ofc these are ALL off the menu you can’t see these items and if you try to order them out of the city you get weird looks.
Superman goes on tv and says Nightwing is one of his favorite hero’s and bludhaven riots. wtf nightwing is your favorite hero you fuckin poser
1) nightwing isn’t a hero he’s a criminal so back off
2) he’s ours you and your frou frou fancy city that hasn’t been nuked by a sentient pile of radiation can fuck RIGHT off
Naturally the only person in bludhaven who is unaware of this is Dick Grayson bc tbh this man is too busy to give a fuck about what his city thinks of him. They trust him to get shit done. Good that’s all he needs okay he has 22 reports he needs to log he’s busy.
Tim Drake professional nightwing fanboy however is fucking furious about this because.
A) dick was a GOTHAM hero FIRST and bludhaven can suck it
B) fuck you nightwing isn’t just a a hero he’s THE HERO and the BEST hero and don’t be rude bc you have a complex
C) all of the cool nightwing merch only ships around bludhaven so has to get it ordered there and it’s just a hassle and he’d pay double he swears just let him get it delivered to where he is please Everytime he stops by bludhaven he leaves with 10 new pieces of nightwing merch and bc he has so much. Damian doesn’t think he notices when some of his doubles mysteriously go missing. He does.
D) since they are anti hero they are firmly unhelpful whenever he or Steph show up bc a case has lead them to the city
The one plus side was watching Jason Todd having a mental breakdown bc apparently in bludhaven redhood counts as a hero and is therefore hated.
“Yous worked with the bat yous a hero thems the rules”
“I KILL PEOPLE”
“Yeah so do cops and people always call them heroes”
“Okay but I kill people to protect the general public I put down scum”
“Cops say they do that too”
“I- okay you know what I’m a hero fine okay. Why isn’t nightwing a hero”
“Vigilante justice is a crime”
“I’m documentably worse than a vigilante”
“But you have worked with the bat”
“For money yeah”
“See you even get paid, face it you’re a hero which means you suck”
“You realize Nightwing has worked with the bat right like way more than I have”
“Listen that ain’t his fault okay, the bats incompetent and so are the rest to you idiots. He’s a nice guy and a good neighbor don’t mean he’s a hero”
“I- what the fuck is in this cities water”
“I don’t fuckin know but it’s prolly better than whatever gothams got in its harbor”
“I- yeah you’re probably right”
#dick grayson#nightwing#batman#jason todd#batfam#tim drake#bruce wayne#comics#damian wayne#batfamily#Tim fanboy Drake despairs#dick and jason#fanon#dc fanon#firmly believe they will bring up the kill order and say it makes sense while rocking a Nightwing hoodie#like yeah he’s a criminal beating people up ofc there would be a kill order out on him#a bludhaven native would say while sipping on their Nightwing blue smoothie in a nightwing hoodie#with headphones painted with the Nightwing logo#knowing full well#they’d stash him in their house in a millisecond#nightwing acrylic nail set freshly done#Jason Todd is not a cop#the folks in bludhaven just have weird ideas about life
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MAKE IT TO THE MORNING ; JACK HUGHES
PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader
SUMMARY being jack hughes’ girlfriend comes with a lot of hardships— but in the mornings, you realize it is all worth it.
WARNINGS unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), rough sex, p slapping, cockwarming, dirty talk, jack is lowkey a little shit, reader loves him tho, inspired by the song “make it to the morning” by partynextdoor. freaky af!!!
WORD COUNT 2,3k
FROM ME TO YOU a little late (literally, it’s like 3am for me), but this is my thank you gift for you guys because today i woke up with 700 of you!! i’m still too in shock to say anything besides thank you so much. i was celebrating 600 followers like a month ago and now this. i’ll keep working hard to give you guys good content <3 ily and pls enjoy
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don't scream or shout, i'm workin' my way down
girl, you gettin' loud, now put it in yo' mouth
THE SOUND of your heels clicking against the marble floor were enough to piss anyone off. It was annoying, repetitive and even you were starting to get tired of the little tec tec sound, but you couldn’t stop.
Dating Jack Rowden Hughes was not for the weak. And you knew that, more than anyone else. Being his girlfriend of three years— the longest time he has ever been in a relationship, mind you—, you knew that the prize was good, but the job of keeping it was tiring.
You stared at him across the room, talking to some random fans who definitely didn’t know what being a fan was, since they were all over him, with their hands on his arms and shoulders.
He eyed you from time to time, blue eyes making it hard for you to stay one hundred percent mad at him— truthfully, you knew that all it would take for you to forgive him for his playboy behaviour would be a single kiss and an aggressive make out session.
“It isn’t so fun watching from here, huh?” Quinn’s new fling, or whatever the girl standing beside you was, said, approaching you quietly. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”
You hummed, not engaging with her. You knew Jack wouldn’t actually do anything, but still, it didn’t feel nice to get painted as the dumb girlfriend who has to watch her famous boyfriend laugh and take pictures with hundreds of girls while she stands in the back.
“I’m lucky my Quinn isn’t as nearly as talkative as he is,” she continues, despite your silence. “But you know, Jack is everyone’s favorite.”
You turned your head to the side, watching the girl next to you eye Jack the same way she eyed Quinn, hungry and suggestive, and that was enough for you.
“Sorry,” you interrupted, putting your wine glass down— it had been empty for at least ten minutes— and smiling apologetically. “I have a terrible headache, so I think it’s time for me to head out.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” she pouts, and you can feel your eyes twitch. “It is pretty late too, so you must be tired.”
“Mhm.” You nod, looking at your phone. 3:46a.m.
“Do you want me to call Jacky?” She asks, expectantly, and the way she says his name makes you want to smash her face against the crumbles of cake sitting on the buffet table.
“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you play dumb. “It was nice seeing you…”
You forgot her name. It was probably something like Olivia or Madeline, but still. You didn’t remember.
“It was nice seeing you, too!” She says, apparently clueless to your lack of memory— and interest. “I’ll text you later so we can talk more.”
“Sure thing, yeah.” You walk towards Jack with long, careful steps. “Hey, babe.”
His eyes are on you immediately, his hair moving around with his abrupt move. He smiles, stepping out of the little circle the girls had made around him to wrap his arms around you.
“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” he says. “Hi, baby.”
You can feel the girls’ eyes on you, burning your skin like the fictional fairies’ whenever they touch iron. It is a feeling you are used to already, but you feel yourself shivering either way.
“Can we go?” You ask, bluntly ignoring the other women there. “It’s late.”
“Yeah, we can,” he nods, turning his head back to his little girl group before smiling at them. “See ya, ladies.”
See ya, ladies?
“Bye, Jack.”
“You’re the best!”
“See ya next time!”
You can’t hide your pout on your way home— you don’t even try to. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest as you sit in the front seat of Jack’s absurdly expensive car, listening to the quiet hum of his air conditioner and the annoying noise whenever he turns on the turn signal.
“You’re not mad… are you?”
His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s scared of asking the question.
“Are you kidding me? You spent half of that ridiculous party talking to women. Tell me I can’t be mad about that.” You hiss back, not looking at him. You know there are high chances of you folding bad if you do.
“Baby, I already told you, it’s all business,” he says, once again, because he has, indeed, told you that several times before. “I can’t have them saying I’m a rude guy, can I?”
“Sometimes I can’t believe the shit you say,” you scoff. “You literally told a reporter to fuck himself last week, on live. Talk about being a nice guy now, Jack.”
“Come on, you’re not being fair!” He exclaims, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “He talked shit about you. He was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.”
You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to hide your smile.
Little does Jack know you jumped out of the couch when you saw the transmission and giggled while you sent texts to your best friend about how you would have to be the mother of his children.
You stayed silent, looking at the dark streets, briefly forgetting about your anger to notice how beautiful your city is. There weren't many people in the streets at that hour— it was summer, yes, but it was almost four a.m and it was still Monday, and a lot of people were still working.
When you got to your and Jack’s apartment— a two bedroom penthouse with plenty of space and a kitchen you still fell in love with every time you looked at it— you didn’t waste time before heading to the guest bathroom shower, a clear sign that you didn’t want Jack to join you, which you knew pissed him off.
You were quick even though you weren’t sleepy, washing the soap off your body under the lukewarm water; happy because it was your favorite scent.
You got out of the stall, opening the bathroom door after you wrapped the towel around your body, deciding to change inside your bedroom.
Or at least that’s what you thought you would do.
“Y/n.” Jack calls you, sitting on top of the bed.
“Fuck, Jack,” you grunt. “You scared me.”
“I can’t have you mad at me, baby,” he says, getting up and walking towards you, only stopping when your covered chest is touching his. “You know those women mean nothing.”
“Jack,” you sigh. “We’ve been here before. You can’t just say that every time you flirt with other women.”
“I wasn’t—” he starts, but interrupts himself mid sentence. “You’re making shit up.”
“Am I?” You ask, holding the towel tighter. “You damn well I’m not.”
“Listen,” he says. “I’m not proud with the way I acted but I already told you—”
“It’s all business. I know, you know, we all know.” You roll your eyes, stepping back and moving forward so you can leave the room. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, locking you in place. “Jack—”
“You’re so full of complaints, baby,” he whispers. “Every time we go out you complain about something.”
“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me reasons to.”
He clicks his tongue, running his fingers over your naked arms. You shiver slightly, hoping he doesn’t see it. “You want more?”
“More what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.
“More reasons to complain,” he continues, chuckling as he lowers his head and hides it in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Real reasons to complain.”
“Wha—”
“Because I’ll give them to you, if you want to,” he licks your skin, and you can feel yourself start to malfunction. He’s a little shit, you think, as you slowly start to give in. He’s a little shit and I’m in love with him. “Or I can keep your mouth full so you can’t complain anymore.”
He stands up straight again, staring at you while his fingers move to where you were holding your towel.
“What’s your pick, baby?” He whispers, removing your grip from the soft fabric around your body, letting it fall on the floor, like a puddle of water on your feet.
You’re fully naked, and he can’t even pretend he’s not looking— he is. He always is.
Jack kisses you with hungry, tender lips. He holds your neck while he licks your lips with his tongue, hot and messy. He tastes like beer and you hate it, but you cannot get enough.
You wrap your own arms around his neck, holding him so close to you you could feel his heartbeat. Kissing him never got old, and if you were to write down your top ten favorite things about Jack Hughes, his kiss would definitely be number one.
You breathe in his scent, your favorite ever since you met him, and you can feel your legs start to give in, just like the rest of your body. It’s late at night, almost morning, your body can’t keep up with your mind and you want to tell Jack to fuck off.
Yet.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips, as he guides you to the bed, laying you down with your hips on the edge of it. “Let me give you something to make noise about.”
That’s the only warning you get before he gets his knees on the floor and separates your legs, leaving you open and exposed. You feel his fingers spreading your lips open, and when his tongue finds its way to your clit, all of your previous complaints are gone.
You close your legs around his neck, holding him in place, while he puts on a show for you, his fingers tracing the wetness pouring out of you.
You let out a soft moan, holding his hair with your hands, not bothering to be gentle. His tongue found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, circular motions.
“Jack.”
You trash under him as he flicked your sensitive nub with his mouth, the wet noises making you want to disappear. Jack always seemed pleased to go down on you, but you still aren’t used to this fact about him.
“So sweet, baby,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sending shivers down your spine, as he dives in again.
He has you curling your toes and arching your back, moaning his name loud and proud, but still, he doesn’t stop. He slides his arms under your thighs, holding you in place by gripping your waist, hard.
He has you coming in under five minutes— it’s a shame it’s over so soon, but what can you do, really. He looks up at you between your thighs, and the sight alone has you moaning, desperate for something else.
You pull his hair, gently, signaling to him that you wanted him up, closer to you, and so he does. He kisses you again, and you get to taste yourself on his lips, moaning loudly inside his mouth when you feel his dick trapped between his body and yours.
“Jack,” you whisper again, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. “I need you.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” He says, chuckling as he gets off you and removes the rest of his clothes.
He slides inside you with no hesitation or whatsoever, knowing too well that your inside’s have his print all over it. You both moan loudly, louder than you should be moaning at four something in the morning, but you can deal with the complaint letter later.
He holds your legs together, pressing them against your chest, almost folding you in half. He is being rough, something you absolutely want to kill him for, but you let yourself enjoy the roughness for a moment; you can scold him later.
You can feel him deeper now, as your body gets dragged up and down against the mattress, making you want to scream.
“You’re wet,” he says through his teeth and you can tell he’s also giving in. “Y/n, fuck.”
You’re clenching around his length as he strokes your G spot, dragging his dick against your walls, once again making sure you can take everything he gives you.
“Harder.” You hear someone ask, probably yourself, and you also hear his low chuckle. “Not enough.”
“Still complaining?” He asks, but doesn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he removes his right hand from your waist and does the one thing he knows it will have you drooling and begging under him.
He slaps your pussy. The wet, loud sound that fills the room makes you squirm, unconsciously trying to remove yourself from his hold. But he’s stronger, always has been.
“Take it, baby.”
He then slaps you again, and again, and so many times you stop counting. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, and his rough slaps against your clit is enough to make you come, leaving you almost lifeless under him.
“Good girl, Y/n,” he says, kissing your lips, briefly. “I’m gonna come, fuck.”
“Inside, please,” you hear yourself mumbling, and you’re not even sure if Jack hears it.
“What was that, baby?” He asks, his thrusts getting sloppy.
“Inside?”
“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m—”
He cums inside you, the familiar feeling making you sigh with bliss. You are both panting, the room smells of sweat, alcohol and sex, and you swear you can see the sun start to rise through the bedroom’s floor to ceiling windows.
You’re just about to tell Jack you want to go to sleep when you feel him start to pull out, which has you protesting, immediately.
“No, I— sleep inside, please?”
His blue eyes are staring down at you, and now, there’s a hint of a smile plastered on his face. He nods once, manhandling you around until you’re under the sheets, with your back glued to his chest, and his length still nestled inside you.
“Well, if you’re still mad at me,” he whispers. “At least we made it to the morning, huh?”
“Shut up,” you whisper back, barely hiding your smile. “If you keep talking, there won’t be any other morning.”
He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Very well, then.”
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NHL MASTERLIST. JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST
#jack hughes#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes x you#jack hughes au#jack hughes fic#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes smut#jack hughes imagine#new jersey devils x you#new jersey devils x reader#new jersey devils fic#new jersey devils#jh86
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Pratchett had some words about this:
O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?
Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.
O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.
P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.
O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.
P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.
Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.
(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.
my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.
I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).
and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.
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oh having thoughts today about the way that some psych survivors and tbh the disabled community in general distance themselves from the label of “drug seeking patient.” cause it’s like—I think it’s totally okay to be drug seeking, actually, and I wish it was easier to just go up to doctors and ask for the drugs you need and then just get them. I wish that there was easy access to a safe supply of a whole lot of drugs and there’s nothing morally wrong with trying to seek that through the medical system.
and i very much do understand how having that label plastered on your medical record can be incredibly harmful in terms of preventing access to care, I know very deeply how destructive medical records can be on our lives, especially when we’re already marginalized. I know that sometimes we need to fight to have our medical records represent a certain narrative so that we are able to keep accessing the care we need. And I support doing whatever you need to do in the medical system to get the care you need, including lying to doctors, trying to get stuff taken off your medical record, saying things about your drug use to your doctor that isn’t the way you talk about it the rest of the time, cause this shit is impossible to navigate. I’m never going to attack someone for being upset that this shit gets put into their record—I know how destructive and violating it can feel to have the things that professionals say about you dictate all your access to lifesaving care after that.
I guess I’m just saying that regardless of whatever pragmatic steps we need to take when it comes to navigating our own medical records and care, I don’t want us to lose sight of the bigger picture of solidarity with people who use drugs and that we focus our anger on the root of the problem, which is that no one should be denied access to treatment and medication, including controlled substances and Adderall and opiates, regardless of what labels are applied to us, regardless if we’re using drugs for “recreational” or “medical” use (like the two can even be neatly separated in the first place lmfao). And that we keep an eye out for propaganda that encourages us to throw people who use drugs under the bus, that blames us for (artificially created) medication shortages or bullshit DEA policies that create all these restrictions in the first place. the disabled community cannot discard the many people who use drugs, criminalized or otherwise, from our community.
#personal#psych abolition#harm reduction#harm redux#disability#bc it’s like. okay so you’ve got the label of drug seeking added to your file and that sucks#but we cannot go around acting like ‘oh this is bad bc it shouldn’t be applied to me#like no. it’s really fucked up that doctors are treating anyone like this. regardless of what drugs their taking or seeking#post inspired after talking with someone this week who was telling me all the really#horrific shit doctors were doing st the emergency room cause he’s a heroin user. and it’s like idk it pisses me off#to see ppl publicly distancing themselves from drug users in their communities.#instead of recognizing this as a moment of solidarity where it’s like wow it’s so fucked up#doctors have the power for any of this in the first place#antipsych
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Practice makes perfect
Agatha makes you build up your stamina until she actually lets you fuck her
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: g!p reader, virgin!reader, sex, age gap, fleshlight, degradation, humiliation kink, Agatha is MEAN and reader very much gets off on it, premature ejaculation, masturbation, reader is a walking HR violation, cumming in pants
When Agatha Harkness finds out you’re a virgin, she actually laughs.
You’re a junior in college interning at your dad’s multi-billion dollar company over the summer, a nepo-baby at its finest, and so what if you have the hots for the general counsel? So what if you get hard every single time she even looks in your direction?
You try to flirt with her, you’re as bold as you can be without her going straight to HR, and yet she barely even gives you the time of day. Deep down, you can tell she likes you though. She humors you and doesn’t tell you to shut up whenever you start to talk, so that must mean something. The two of you have formed quite the relationship since the summer started, with you saying the filthiest things to her and her brushing them off as if they were casual anecdotes.
“I’d make you feel so good, Agatha,” you tell her one day. “I’ll fill you up so nicely.”
It might be pushing the limits — it’s your third pathetic attempt this day at getting her to reciprocate, but she’s used to it by now; it hardly even fazes her. Everyone in the office knows that their boss’s daughter has a cock, and they also know that their boss’s daughter has a filthy mouth, always saying something vulgar and sarcastic. No one takes anything that comes from your lips as serious. You’ve been called a spoiled, entitled, rich bitch, told that you’re heartless for not giving a damn about anything, expelled from three high schools for the explicit jokes that you make.
But your “jokes” to Agatha are the only thing you’re serious about.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes; at twenty-five years your senior, she has had plenty of experience with girls that promise her the world and barely deliver on any said promises made. “I’m not some quick college lay that lets you rub my upper thigh and pretends that you’ve found my clit, you know.”
It’s your turn to scowl. “Who do you think I am?” you ask and she fixes you with a pointed glare from behind her desk. “I know where the clit is.”
“How many women have you actually satisfied?” she asks and your cheeks heat up. You figured it would come up eventually, but now you don’t actually want to answer. You duck your head and Agatha makes a noise, not exactly surprised, but almost disappointed. “You think I’m going to let a virgin fuck me? You probably wouldn’t even last two seconds inside me.”
“Hey, I’d last longer than that,” you snap, your head shooting back up to look at her incredulously. You can feel a slight stirring in your lower stomach at the thought of blowing your load the instant she gets inside you and how she would most definitely mock you for it.
Agatha raises an eyebrow and chuckles cruelly. “Honey, please. Go back to your desk and get your work done. I’m definitely not having sex with someone who can’t finish reading over a simple contract.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan, and she makes a face at you before you get up out of the chair in front of her desk you were lounging in. “Might have to go to the bathroom real quick and jerk one off though.”
She crinkles her nose and waves her hand at you dismissively and you think that you’ve just blown all your chances with her. She’s definitely not going to want to fuck you now. There is some speculation floating around about your lack of experience and that’s why you overcompensate with the explicit things you say — libel you tell them, but deep down it’s accurate — and if Agatha, who has certainly had her fair share of partners, knows it’s real, then she for sure won’t waste her time with you.
So you go back to your desk and begrudgingly get all your work done, emailing Agatha your thoughts about the contracts when you’re all done. She sends back a Very good job, y/n and you hate to admit that it gets you hard. You’d like nothing more than to go fuck yourself in the restroom but you stay at your cubicle until Agatha walks by so you can see her before she leaves for the day.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you call after her as she breezes by your desk without saying a word. It’s the last day of the third fiscal quarter today, and as a reward, tomorrow your dad is bringing his executive staff to your beach house in The Hamptons for a week. Because you’re part of the family, you get to attend, but none of the other interns do.
It’s been this way since you were little, but only recently did you start to notice how attractive Agatha was. The way she takes absolutely no shit from anyone, even from your dad. The way she coolly holds her ground in the face of IRS audits, FBI raids, and anything else that got thrown at her. The way she raises an eyebrow at you when you say something stupid and it makes your cock hard in seconds. Everything about her drives you fucking wild.
Agatha lifts a hand up in response, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at you, and your pants tighten almost uncomfortably.
The second you get back to your apartment, you undo your belt and unzip your pants, reaching inside to take out your hard and leaking cock. Your hips thrust forward at the warmth from your hand and you gasp, the pleasure already dizzying. You think about Agatha on her knees in front of you, looking up at you through her glasses, telling you that you’re just a pathetic slut who will never be able to make her feel good.
It takes three strokes of your hand before you grunt and your cock pumps out three long spurts of cum all over the kitchen counter. You grab a paper towel, dampen it, and then wipe up your mess before going to take a shower.
You might have a serious problem.
And it’s only going to get worse this week. An entire seven days where you’re going to be around her. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re going to be hard for most of it. Is there a record for the most times a person has cum in a day? Because you think you might break it.
That night, you have a dream about Agatha, as many of your dreams are. She’s sitting in a chair right by the bed, legs outstretched and open and her feet are resting on the duvet. You’re laying stomach-down, cock hard between your body and the covers, mouth watering. Agatha is completely naked, her cunt glistening, and the dream is so realistic that you can smell her. She laughs when you groan pitifully.
Then she buries two fingers inside her and your hips lurch against the bed, gasping at the stimulation on your cock.
“Look at you, humping the bed like a bitch in heat,” she snarls and your rhythm stutters. You garble out something incoherently and she laughs before rubbing her clit with her other hand. “Can’t even fuck me right, so I have to do it myself.”
You moan loudly, grinding against the bed furiously, and she picks up her thrusts to match your face. “I can, please, I want to,” you beg before she cums all over her fingers. She pulls them out of her and then slides them into your mouth and you cum all over the bed and your stomach.
When you jerk awake right after that, the first thing you notice is how sticky you are. You must have cum in your underwear from just your dream and it’s just further evidence of how completely fucked you are for the next week.
There will certainly be no swimming for you because you don’t need the entire executive board and your father knowing that you’re getting hard for the forty-six year old general counsel.
But fuck, Agatha in a swim suit —
You cut yourself off from the thought because you don’t have enough time to get worked up again.
Good thing too, because by the time you do get yourself all cleaned up from your little nighttime accident, you have to leave to get to the helicopters.
There’s no sign of Agatha yet so you make awkward small talk with Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, because you have nothing better to do. She’s new and attractive, but no one gets your cock stirring like Agatha. You wonder if it’s the fact that she’s older and it taps into your mommy issues, or the fact that she can cut you down with a simple sentence and you’ve found that you have a huge thing for degradation, or the fact that she’s never going to let you touch her no matter how hard you beg.
She drives you crazy and you fucking need her.
Finally, Agatha pulls up in a company car and gets out, wearing a gray pantsuit, and you already feel your face heating up. She gets into one of the two helicopters without even looking at you and you make a beeline for it before your dad stops you and pulls you into the other one. You can’t exactly tell him that you want to be next to his general counsel, so you grumble to yourself before agreeing.
It takes only about forty-five minutes to get to the house and the next hour is full of unpacking and the wait staff running around, trying to get everyone everything they need.
Lunch is served and everyone gathers in the dining room except for Agatha, so you excuse yourself and try to go find her.
You’re just “happening” to be walking by her room when she opens the door to step out, almost bumping into you.
“Your quick solo session take a bit too long?” you ask crassly, delighting in the way her eyes roll exasperatedly. “Next time, give me a call and I’ll get you there quickly.”
She starts walking to the dining room, leaving you behind so you have to speed to catch up. “If I ever want someone to cum after three pumps inside me and leave me even more unsatisfied than I was before, I’ll make sure to let you know.”
“Hey, I’d lay you badly, but I’d lay you gladly,” you say as seductively as possible and she snorts. “Come on, you gotta admit you’ve at least thought about it.”
Agatha spares you a glance. “When I’m trying not to cum. It’s a real turn-off for me personally.”
You also love how she gives as good as she gets. “Please?” you ask, whine, beg. “I’ll be so good for you — I’ll make you feel so good.”
She sniffs and rakes her eyes over your body, pausing at the outline of your cock through your pants. Before you even realize what’s happening, she’s pushed you against the wall and her hand cups your cock and you gasp while bucking into her touch.
“Really?” Agatha chuckles. You make a muffled sound and try to grind up and she rubs her palm against you, making you throb. “You think you could make me feel good with your cock that’s already about to cum for me?”
“Yes,” you choke out and she squeezes harder. You’re panting open-mouthed now, trying so hard to hold back from your release.
She is completely unaffected as she leans in to whisper, “You’re so fucking pathetic,” into your ear and you whimper, your stomach twists, and your cock pulses before pumping loads of cum into your pants. You chant swears under your breath while you cling to her arms for dear life and she watches amusedly as a stain spreads on your pants.
You’ve never been more of a mess in your life and she just smirks smugly before giving your cock a patronizing pat.
“I’ll tell your dad you’ll be a little late to lunch.” And then she walks away, leaving you completely agape against the wall, cock still twitching in your pants.
It’s hard to make eye contact with her the rest of the day without heat flushing through your cheeks and the memory of what she did to you making your cock stir.
The second you can escape after dinner, you do. You fully intend on spending the rest of the night fucking yourself silly and trying to rid your brain of Agatha.
But around ten, there’s a knock on your door and you swing it open to find Agatha standing there in silk, navy pajamas and black glasses. Your jaw drops open and she brushes right past you to walk into your room and tosses something on the bed.
A fleshlight.
“What—” you start to say, but you can’t even finish your question because all the blood in your brain has rushed down to your cock in record time.
Agatha turns to face you, hands on her hips, lips pursed. “Show me that you can last five minutes with it—” nods at the toy, “—and we’ll see about me letting your cock anywhere close to me.”
Your breaths come out staggered and you stumble over to the bed, head spinning. There’s no way this is actually happening. You shove down your sweatpants and boxers and your cock bobs up, rigid and hard and leaking copious amounts of precum.
“God, already?” she snorts and your cock twitches. “You’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you?”
A muffled whimper escapes your lips and you give yourself a quick stroke. “Fuck.” You reach for the fleshlight, heat completely overwhelming your body, but she stops you first.
“Spit on yourself,” she orders and you watch her with wide and pleading eyes as a strand of saliva drops from your mouth onto your cock. You feel like you’re in a trance as you spread it out along your length, the wetness of your spit and precum coating your cock and making it glisten in no time. “Fucking pathetic.”
Her jeers only make you harder and this time, she doesn’t object when you grab the toy. You think you can hear her sharply inhale when you drag your cock against the fake pussy lips and you already know there’s no fucking way you’re going to last one minute, let alone five.
“Wanna fuck you like this,” you babble before pushing your tip in and instantly freezing at the silicone ridges squeezing around you. You sigh heavily before your breathing quickens and you’re practically panting by the time you get your entire cock inside the fleshlight.
Agatha’s face is unreadable. “I’m impressed you made it in,” she says, coldly and completely dry, and it makes you thrust into it. It feels so good, even though it’s just a cold, plastic toy and you can only imagine how the real thing would feel. “Well, get on with it. Chop chop, honey. I haven’t got all night to watch your sorry attempt at proving you can fuck me.”
You grunt and start moving your cock in and out of the toy, whines falling out of you, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on not cumming too soon. You want to last — you need to last for her, because she might actually let you touch her if you.
“Ah ah,” she tuts and your cock throbs. “Open your eyes.”
You obey, and the moment you see her, see the slight redness of her cheeks, you know you fucked up.
With a loud grunt, you cum in the toy, filling it with so much of your seed that it spills out of the fake cunt and drips onto the floor as you continue snapping your hips up.
Agatha laughs and walks straight to the door. “Not even thirty seconds. Maybe next time.”
You are absolutely fucked.
The next night, you’re almost to two minutes while desperately trying to think of anything else other than Agatha standing right there. She’s watching intently, like she’s studying your technique and critiquing it in her head, and you’re doing really well — you think you might actually have a chance to get to five. The secret is thinking about all the boring contracts you had to read this summer to keep your mind off the overwhelming pleasure you’re getting from the toy.
But then Agatha steps closer to you, runs a finger over your lips and down to cup your breast, and says, “God, you really are just a baby, aren’t you?” so sickly sweet.
It makes you curse before filling the toy up again, your body completely betraying you.
“That wasn’t fucking fair,” you try to argue.
She sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Oh, honey,” she coos and it’s so fucking condescending. Your cock twitches inside the toy. “It’s not my fault you’re so pathetic you can’t control yourself.”
“Yes, it is,” you whine and she rolls her eyes.
“We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe you should cum before I get here so you might have a chance at lasting for five minutes,” she taunts and you’re too embarrassed to tell her that you already got off before she came tonight. Clearly it did not work.
You figure that maybe you just need to cum more throughout the day to build up some stamina. You fuck yourself with the fleshlight in the morning after you wake up with morning wood because surprise, surprise: you had another dream about Agatha. When she takes a sip of her orange juice at breakfast, eyes flicking up to meet yours as she sucks on the straw, you have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and it only takes you about six strokes before you’re cumming all over your hand. It’s a long day of lounging around the pool and hushed conversations, and the moment Agatha steps out onto the desk in a sensible one-piece, you have to wrap a towel around your waist so no one sees your erection through your swim trunks to run back to your room, hastily saying that you forgot sunscreen. You cum into the fleshlight in about three minutes.
And about thirty minutes before she shows up to your room at 10 pm on the dot, you have another quick session with your hand.
You are absolutely determined tonight.
When she strolls in through the door, the air is different. She’s carrying a glass of Scotch and you snatch it as she walks past you, downing the rest in one sip.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asks, eyebrow raised and giving you a once over.
You laugh sarcastically before setting the cup down on the nightstand and tearing your shirt off over your head, not missing the way her gaze flicks down to your nipples. Usually, you just take your boxers off, but tonight, you want her to see all of you.
“A little arrogant, hm?”
Nodding your head, you spit onto your cock and stroke it to full hardness. This is also the first time you haven’t had a raging erection the second she arrived. Before she can say anything, you’ve grabbed the fleshlight and started thrusting your cock into it. It feels good, but you’ve become so desensitized to it, just from today, that you’re feeling more confident than ever.
Agatha realizes this, sees it on your face. “Wow, look at my slut,” she croones. “She finally learned how to fuck herself. Doesn’t mean you can fuck someone else though. I bet the moment you get inside me, you’ll cum because you’re too fucking pathetic to actually make me feel good.”
The degradation goes straight to your cock and you grunt, pausing for a second before resuming. The smirk on her face is as frustrating as it is hot and only makes it harder to think clearly.
“You’re just a worthless little whore, aren’t you?” she snarls and your breaths become shallow and your thrusts become more like quick ruts into the toy.
“Yes, fuck,” you moan quietly, tightly, and god she’s not playing fair at all. The toy is squeezing you so hard and it’s becoming tougher to keep fucking it, but the prize of getting to be inside Agatha is so close if you can just hang on.
She scoffs sharply but you can see the heat on her face. Fuck. She likes this. “How are you not absolutely humiliated by yourself and how desperate you are?” she says, getting meaner, and precum is leaking out of the toy each time you drive your cock back into the toy. If you weren’t actively using all of your effort to keep from cumming, you think you would’ve filled up the fleshlight at least three times by now. Agatha is trying so hard to break you, but you refuse.
The most excruciating five minutes of your life finally end, and you are so fucking triumphant. “We had a deal,” you remind her hoarsely.
“Stop acting like lasting five minutes is an accomplishment,” she scorns and you have to pull the toy off your aching erection or you actually might cum. Your cock bobs up and down, trails of precum dripping onto the floor and down your length. You’ve made such a mess. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and your heart stops.
You lay on the duvet, resting your back against the pillows, and watch with bated breath as Agatha slowly unbuttons her pajama shirt. You whine when you can see her tits, round and perky, and you need to get her rosy nipples in your mouth immediately. She takes off her shorts and you can’t help but hump the air, your cock engorged and neglected.
“Please,” you sob. “It hurts so fucking bad.”
She mockingly coos and then climbs onto the bed with her underwear still on, straddles your hips, and she slowly grinds against your cock. A loud, high-pitched keen tears itself out of your mouth and you buck up into her, but she tsks and hovers above you. “Patience, pet,” she says and there are literal tears in your eyes from how hard you are.
Agatha reaches down and pulls her panties to the side and rubs her clit for a moment.
“Can I—”
“—touch me? No. There’s no way you’d make it inside me then,” she sneers and you hate to admit that she’s right.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your cock jumping when she slides two fingers in herself. Your head is spinning, completely drunk with need for her.
She takes pity on you and grabs your cock, angling it at her entrance. “It’s okay, honey. You’re just a little baby. My little, pathetic, desperate baby.”
And then she slides down on your cock in one slick motion and your hands scramble to dig into the bedsheets and a loud, strangled moan comes out of your mouth, and you cum instantly, the feeling of her warm, wet walls around you too much to bear.
To her credit, she doesn’t laugh as you rut into her frantically. She just waits for you to finally calm down before squeezing her cunt around you. It makes you gasp. “I knew you couldn’t last,” she says, slowly starting to bounce up and down your cock.
“Too sensitive,” you whine and she clucks her tongue.
“Well, you promised that you were going to fuck me, didn’t you?”
Your cock has softened inside her, your cum starting to leak out of her pussy, and she collects it with her fingers and starts to rub her clit. Her walls spasm around you and you twitch. You nod your head and bite your lip — she is everything you’ve ever wanted.
It takes a few minutes of Agatha clenching around you to bring you back to full hardness, a speedy recovery even by your standards, and she starts to ride you for real.
“Good thing you’re the poster child for instant gratification,” she grunts, lifting herself up and then back down. There’s such a mess between the two of you that there’s squelching sounds each time she moves on you. You’re practically frozen beneath her and all you can do is watch as she fucks herself on you. “Just need to make you cum before actually being able to use you. I’ll train you so well, make you nothing into more than a cock for me to fuck.”
You finally regain the ability to think and start desperately thrusting up into her, needing more than anything to make her moan, to make her cum. She’s riding you faster and harder and her chest is becoming flushed and you think she might actually be getting somewhere.
But she squeezes around you again and fucking groans and you never stood a chance. “Fuck, fuck, fuck — Agatha, I’m gonna — fuck!” you cry and erupt inside her again, painting her walls white once again. You’re not even sure if you made it five minutes inside her.
Agatha slows down on top of you and you wince at the overstimulation of her still wrapped around you.
“Did you?” It’s a stupid question, one you already know the answer to, but you’re hoping that maybe you got it wrong.
Her laugh tells you that you did not and she slides off you, your cock flopping against your stomach in a sticky puddle, and she grabs the edge of the blanket on your bed to wipe the globs of cum oozing out of her. Fuck. You’ll never be able to use that blanket without getting hard again and you know that you’ll be fucking the fabric every single day for the rest of your life.
She flops down next to you and you wonder if it would be foolish to ask her to stay. “It’s not that easy to make me cum, pet. But don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”
@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights
#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha x reader#agatha x you#agatha harkness x you#agatha harkness smut#agatha smut
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Hiii, I would love some lando!smau with imagine inspired by 2hands by tate mcrae, oc could be the singer?
2 hands Lando Norris smau
imagine linked here
summary: you’re a world famous singer dating Lando Norris
pairing: f! singer reader x Lando Norris
warning: slightly suggestive content
disclaimer: all photos are from Instagram and/or Pinterest I take no credit for them
a/n: I’ve seen so many people do their takes on 2 hands so hopefully you babes enjoy!!!
yourusername
liked by lando, oliviarodrigo and 1, 793, 903 others
yourusername tour has sped by so fast 💫💓
view 1, 702 comments
yourdancer1 I don’t want it to endddd😩
↳ yourusername will the divas survive the end of tour😨
charli_xcx baby’s first world tour
addisonraee mommy
yourfan01 gonna need this tour imprinted in my brain asap
fanofyours0404 what are we supposed to do when this ends
internettroll65 who tf is buying tickets to listen to this mediocre music. she doesn’t even sing
↳ yndefender11 are you ill? she sings hella good and dances better than half of singers these days do
lando
liked by mclaren, yourdancer2 and 2, 893, 193 others
lando summer break around the world 🌍
view 1, 903 comments
mclaren out here doing side quests
maxfewtrell hmm what you taking a pic of there?
↳ lando the world may never know
danielricciardo lan wear a shirt correctly challenge, level impossible
↳ carlossainz55 🤣🤣🤣🤣
↳ lando damn 🥲
papayababyyy fuck he knows he’s hot
yourusername
liked by 01ynfan, ynhq and 1, 737 others
yourusername let em all know or whatever
view 992 comments
oliviarodrigo 🤤🤤🤤
larsenthompson so obsessed w you
ynhq let her cook🗣️
ryantedder or whatever 🤣
mclaren cute car
↳ papayagirlie04 help what does this mean
↳ princessofthepaddock what do they know that we don’t
ynfan09 mother back in the studioooo
ynluvr22 whose hands are those
↳ motorsportfan44 I’m starting to think Lando’s esp now that mclaren commented
lando
liked by yourusername, cota_official and 2, 703, 903 others
lando just having a look around
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texaslonghorns reppin bevo 🤘
mclaren switchin things up for the weekend!!
maxfewtrell man finally put a shirt on
lnfour btw the varsity jacket is on sale, this weekend only!👀
ln4babe he looks like such a frat boy but I fear it’s working 😩
l4ndofan4 is this not basically the same car in yn’s post??
↳ formulagirlie omg wait I think you’re right
yourusername
liked by sabrinacarpenter, lnfour and 1, 789, 993 others
yourusername buckle up, new music out next month ✨
view 2,883 comments
lando nice car
↳ yourusername thanks
↳ landoloverrr bro was early asf
ynhq I don’t think you guys are ready for this!!!
mclaren hmm fourth pic looks oddly familiar 🤔
ynfan001 my worlds are colliding eeeek
francisca.cgomes suddenly I’m free that day
↳ yourusername as you should be 🤭
yourdancer2 I’m satttt
sabrinacarpenter finalllllyyyyy
formulawagtea i swear if she’s dating Lando I’ll be so pissed
↳ pitstopbaby actually go touch some grass
lando
liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 2, 780, 223 others
lando buckled up and ready to go
view 1, 999 comments
oscarpiastri 🤜🤛
mclaren our guys🧡
quadrant wishing for a win this wknd
martingarrix quick ab flex there
↳ lando thought i was slick
lnfour helmet design 🔛🔝
landobabeee okay are we all thinking it’s yn in that pic?
↳ waggossipf1 she’s been pretty quiet on social media lately… 👀
mclrnfan81 lando in his soft launch era
norrisfan01 can he fight????
↳ ynlover56 I was thinking the same 😭
yourusername
liked by ynhq, lilymhe and 2, 993, 783 others
yourusername 2 hands out now!!!!🧡💛 thx @/lando for the inspiration
view 2, 774 comments
ynhq available on all platforms!!!!!!!
lando happy to be of service
↳ yourusername 😽😽😽
heidiberger_ absolutely in awe of your talent
mclaren catch us listening to this on repeat
addisonraee actually ate and left no crumbs
ynfan11 asdfghjkl is this their hard launch?!!????
papayafan04810 the caption?????? omg?????
pietra.pilao hottest song ever 🔥
↳ yourusername yk it ;)
yourusername on Twitter
lando
liked by maxverstappen1, quadrant and 3, 783,221
lando hey siri play 2 hands 🎧
view 3, 803 comments
yourusername meant every word of the song btw
↳ landodiva04 oh I know she gets it every night
↳ papayaluvr idk who’s luckier, her or him
mclaren our champ❤️🔥
justaninchident16 so obsessed w this couple
oscarpiastri he’s had this song on repeat all day, no joke
lnfourfan if I were her I too would write a song just about his hands 🤤
F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist
taglist: @bernelflo @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @r0nnsblog
#triplefrontierbabef1#triplefrontierbaberequest#lando norris x reader#lando norris#lando norris smau#f1 x reader#f1 smau#f1 imagine#mclaren
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drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭
They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.
He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment
Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.
How dare he show up?!
It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.
she had every right to be
“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.
She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.
“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”
“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”
Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”
He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.
She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.
The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.
“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.
“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”
“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used
He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”
Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.
“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.
Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”
She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”
He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.
Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”
Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.
“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”
Drew blinked, startled. “What?”
“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.
Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.
He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”
Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”
Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile
Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times
He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.
“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.
© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓
#works!⟡࿔*:・゚#bambi!reader✦ •ִ ᜔.#drew starkey#aesthetic#drew starkey imagine#rafe#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#drew starkey x female reader#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey blurb#drew starkey x reader#drew x reader
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The Bet// F.W x Reader
authors note at end.
summary: Fred Weasley and y/n make a bet: whoever gets a date to the Yule Ball first wins. But what starts as harmless competition devolves into full-blown war.
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word count: 6.2k
The Yule Ball had been the only thing anyone could talk about for the past few hours. Every conversation in the common room seemed to circle back to it, who was going to ask who, what everyone would wear, and, most importantly, who would end up going alone.
Y/n sat curled up in one of the cushy armchairs by the fire, pretending to be absorbed in her book. The flames flickered, casting a warm glow over the common room, but she wasn’t really reading, she was listening.
Fred and George were sprawled across the couch nearby, talking in the way they always did: half-serious, half-dramatic, and entirely too loud.
"Everyone’s gonna be in a frenzy tomorrow morning," Fred said, stretching his arms behind his head.
George frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. "How do you mean?"
Fred waved a hand around vaguely. "You know," he said, searching for the right words, "like... everyone’s gonna be scrambling to get a date before all the good ones are taken."
At that, y/n finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they be scrambling?" she asked, feigning ignorance even though she already knew the answer.
Fred let out a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because no one wants to be the last one left without a date," he said, like it was some kind of universal truth. "Gotta snatch up the best options before they’re all gone."
Y/n scoffed, closing her book and resting it on her lap. "Define ‘good ones.’"
Her voice had that familiar teasing edge to it, and she narrowed her eyes just slightly, watching as Fred hesitated for a second too long. He always got flustered when she turned her full attention on him, and she found no small amount of amusement in that.
George, of course, was thoroughly entertained, smirking as he watched Fred try to think of a response.
"You know," Fred said eventually, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Fun ones. People you can actually stand being around for an entire night."
Y/n hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the cover of her book. "So what, if you wait too long, you’re stuck with someone unbearable?"
Fred opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing too late that anything he said now could get him into trouble. George chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying watching his twin dig himself into a hole.
"That’s not what I meant," Fred tried to backtrack. "Just" He sighed, shaking his head. "You’re twisting my words."
Y/n grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Am I?"
Fred rolled his eyes, but there was no real frustration behind it. It was just how their dynamic worked, Fred talked too much, and y/n made it her mission to make him regret it.
"So," George cut in, glancing between them. "You’ve got a plan, then? Gonna ask someone first thing in the morning?"
Y/n snorted. "Please. I don’t even know who I’d ask."
Fred raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. "You’re kidding."
"Dead serious," y/n said, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Haven’t really thought about it."
George let out a low whistle. "Risky move. Someone might snatch up all the ‘good ones’ before you get the chance."
Y/n rolled her eyes but smirked. "Guess I’ll just have to settle for one of you two, then."
Fred and George exchanged a look before Fred gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Merlin’s beard, George, we’re her last resort!"
George sighed, shaking his head. "Tragic, really."
Y/n laughed, nudging Fred’s foot with her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like either of you have dates yet, either."
Fred opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "Alright, fair point."
George grinned. "Maybe we should be scrambling."
Y/n stretched her arms over her head before smirking at the twins, her book long forgotten in her lap. "I won’t be scrambling," she said breezily. "I basically have to beat the guys away with a stick."
Fred scoffed loudly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. "As if." He shot her a challenging grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet I can get a date before you can even say ‘Yule Ball.’"
Y/n sat up a little straighter, the flicker of competition sparking in her chest. She knew that look, Fred Weasley never backed down from a challenge, and honestly? Neither did she.
"Oh yeah?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna shake on it?"
Fred’s grin widened, his head tilting slightly. "What are the stakes?"
Y/n paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she considered. It had to be something good, something that would really make losing painful.
"Whoever loses has to be the winner’s personal assistant for a week," she finally declared, a smug smile creeping onto her lips. "Anything they need; carrying books, fetching snacks, covering for them when they’re late to class."
George let out a low whistle. "That’s dangerous," he mused, glancing between them with amusement. "I like it."
Fred, however, didn’t even hesitate. He barely took a second to think before sticking his hand out toward her. "You’re on."
Y/n grinned as she clasped his hand firmly, shaking it once. The deal was set.
As she leaned back in her chair, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t just about getting a date anymore, this was about winning. And if there was one thing she loved just as much as messing with Fred Weasley, it was beating him at his own game.
—
The next morning, y/n was up before the sun had fully risen, determination settling deep in her chest.
She was going to win this bet.
She was going to win this bet and rub it in Fred’s stupid, smug face.
Her uniform was neat, her tie perfectly knotted, and her shoes freshly shined as she practically bounced down the stairs toward the Great Hall. The air was crisp, and the halls were still relatively empty, most students weren’t quite awake yet, dragging themselves toward breakfast like they were being led to execution.
Not her, though. She had a plan.
Sliding into her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, she ate with purpose, shoveling food into her mouth while her mind worked through her options. She started categorizing potential dates, ranking them from most to least likely to say yes.
She briefly considered asking George, he’d say yes in a heartbeat, if only to reap the benefits of her inevitable victory, but she scrapped the idea just as quickly. Where was the fun in that? No, she wanted to win properly.
By the time the Great Hall had started filling up with groggy students, she had made her decision.
Daniel Scott, a Hufflepuff in her year, was her best shot. It was no secret he fancied her, and she had a feeling he’d jump at the opportunity to go with her.
Easy.
Just as she was about to finalize her approach, a familiar presence slid into the seat beside her.
Fred.
He was as casual as ever, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, his tie half done like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly. He snatched up her half-full glass of orange juice, finishing it off with a satisfied sigh before turning to her with that lazy, infuriatingly confident smile.
"Are you preparing yourself for defeat?" he asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "I take my tea with extra milk, by the way, since you’ll be fetching it for me all next week."
Y/n rolled her eyes. "You’re awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t even secured a date yet."
Fred just grinned wider, leaning in slightly. "Neither have you."
She shot him a smirk, picking up a piece of toast as she stood from the table. "Give it ten minutes."
With that, she sauntered off, feeling Fred’s gaze follow her as she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table.
Game on.
Daniel," y/n said, her voice sweet as honey as she shot the boy a dazzling smile.
He froze, mid-bite into his toast, eyes widening like a deer caught in wandlight.
This was going to be easy.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, letting just the right amount of charm seep into her voice.
Daniel gulped, his fingers tightening around his fork. His eyes darted around the table, as if searching for an escape.
"I—uh, well—" His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he suddenly found great interest in the surface of the table.
Y/n frowned, confused by his hesitation. This was Daniel Scott. The same Daniel Scott who had stammered through at least three separate compliments about her hair just last week. The same Daniel Scott who could barely meet her eyes without turning pink. There was absolutely no reason he wouldn’t say yes.
Unless
Her stomach dropped as Daniel cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I, um, I heard from—uh, someone that you—er—only asked me because you lost a bet."
Y/n blinked, her head jerking back slightly. "What?"
"I just—I mean, it’s fine if you did," Daniel rushed to say, still avoiding her gaze. "I just—Fred Weasley mentioned something about it before breakfast, and—uh—I just don’t want to be anyone’s backup plan."
Her entire body went still.
Fred.
That absolute menace.
Y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling deeply through her nose before forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I see. Well, thanks anyway, Daniel."
Before he could stammer out another apology, she turned on her heel and marched straight back to the Gryffindor table.
Fred was right where she left him, lounging in his seat like he hadn’t just completely sabotaged her. He was halfway through a piece of toast when he caught sight of her storming toward him.
"You," she hissed, planting her hands on the table as she loomed over him. "Sabotage? Really?"
Fred grinned, entirely unbothered as he leaned back. "Oh, come on, love. You didn’t seriously think I’d play fair, did you?"
She narrowed her eyes, fuming. "That was a dirty play, Weasley."
He shrugged. "It was never off the table."
Y/n exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she reevaluated everything. Clearly, she had underestimated just how far Fred was willing to go to win this bet.
Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, she’d just have to get creative.
And she would win.
—
The Great Hall had been cleared of its usual long tables, the enchanted ceiling above a dull gray as a storm brewed outside. The Gryffindor students, fourth years and above, stood in two separate lines, girls on one side, boys on the other. The air buzzed with hushed conversations, a mix of excitement and dread hanging between them.
Professor McGonagall was saying something about lions and swans, but y/n wasn’t listening.
She was too busy plotting.
Fred’s little stunt with Daniel still had her seething, and if he thought she was just going to take the loss quietly, he had severely underestimated her.
Fred had made his move first, and now it was her turn.
She spotted him cutting across the floor toward Angelina, steps sure and confident. Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.
Without hesitation, she swooped in, looping her arms around him and settling his hands on her waist before he could protest.
Fred blinked in surprise before narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"
Y/n smiled up at him. "Playing the game."
His fingers twitched against her waist. "And what exactly is your next move?"
She shrugged, shifting slightly as the music picked up. "Haven’t decided yet. But I figured a little sabotage was in order."
Fred let out a huff, his lips quirking. "So, your grand retaliation is stealing me as a dance partner? That’s weak, y/l/n."
"Not stealing," she corrected smugly. "Intercepting."
He chuckled. "Ah, I see. Is that what you were doing with Daniel earlier? Intercepting?"
Her smile tightened as she shot him a glare. "Oh, you mean the boy you so graciously warned about my ulterior motives?"
Fred smirked. "Oh, did I do that? Hm. Must’ve slipped out."
"Sabotage wasn’t part of the deal, Weasley."
"Wasn’t excluded either."
Y/n exhaled sharply, shaking her head as they spun in time with the music. "You really don’t fight fair, do you?"
"Absolutely not," he admitted easily. "And neither should you, if you want to win."
Y/n hummed, as if considering. "Noted."
Fred tilted his head slightly. "So what’s next, then? Surely you didn’t just drag me away from Angelina to lecture me on fair play."
She smiled, slow and deliberate. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Fred eyed her, lips twitching. "Oh, I would."
They moved across the floor smoothly, the space between them filled with unspoken challenges. Y/n glanced at his tie, still barely holding itself together, as if he had done it in a hurry that morning. Typical.
With a smirk, she reached up, fingers deftly undoing the sloppy knot and tightening it properly.
Fred stilled slightly, brow furrowing. "What are you—"
"Fixing it," she muttered, patting his chest once satisfied. "Honestly, Fred, do you even try?"
"Not when I have someone to do it for me," he quipped, grinning.
Y/n rolled her eyes, stepping back as the music faded. "Enjoy the dance, Weasley. I’ve got work to do."
She turned on her heel and strode off, already formulating her next move.
Fred watched her go, adjusting the tie she had just fixed. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, already anticipating whatever chaos she had planned next.
—-
Fred was feeling good about Amelia Roberts.
Smart, sharp-witted, and completely unaware of his ongoing war with y/n.
She was laughing at something he’d said, her blue eyes twinkling under the candlelight of the courtyard lanterns. Progress.
Fred leaned against the stone railing, flashing his signature smirk. "So, what do you say, Roberts? Yule Ball with me? Best decision you’ll make all year."
Amelia smiled, tilting her head in consideration.
And then
Two warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Fred stiffened.
"Oh, there you are, sweetheart!"
His stomach dropped.
No.
Absolutely not.
Y/n practically melted into his side, resting her head against his shoulder with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
Fred didn’t even have time to react before she turned her sweetest, most innocent smile toward Amelia.
"Oh, Amelia!" y/n gushed, gripping Fred’s arm like he was the love of her life. "I love that you and Freddie are such good friends! Ever since we started secretly dating, I was so worried that people would suspect, but you—" she clasped a hand over her heart, voice dripping with sincerity, "you have been so supportive!"
Fred choked. "What—NO—"
Amelia’s entire expression changed in an instant.
Her smile vanished, replaced with suspicion. "Secretly dating?"
Fred tried to pull away from y/n, but she only tightened her grip, shooting him a warning glance that said if you move, I will make this worse.
Her head tilted slightly as she turned to him, eyes suddenly filled with mock devastation.
"Freddie," she whispered, voice breaking just a little. "Are you ashamed of us?"
Fred froze.
Oh.
Oh, this was bad.
He looked back at Amelia, who now had her arms firmly crossed, her gaze icy.
"No," Fred said quickly, "no, I am absolutely NOT dating her—"
"Freddie!" y/n gasped, turning every single pair of eyes in the courtyard onto them. "I cannot believe you would deny me like this! After all we’ve been through?"
Fred was actually speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again—but nothing came out.
Y/n sighed dramatically, looking to Amelia as if she were the only one who could understand her pain.
"You have to forgive him," y/n said solemnly. "It’s just… so difficult for him. The constant attention, the pressure of keeping this a secret… He wanted to tell people" she sniffled, "really, he did"
"Yeah, I don’t do cheaters," Amelia muttered, already stepping away.
Fred’s entire body jerked forward in panic. "Wait—no, I—"
But Amelia had already turned on her heel and walked away.
Fred stood there, still partially trapped in y/n’s grasp, his brain short-circuiting from what had just happened.
Slowly, his head turned toward her.
Y/n beamed up at him, looking immensely pleased with herself.
She patted his shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Oops."
Fred exhaled deeply. "I hate you."
"No, you don’t," y/n said, sing-songing as she walked away.
Fred groaned, slumping against the railing.
He needed a new plan. Immediately.
—
Y/n had spent the entire morning planning her approach. She’d decided that Thomas Greaves, a quiet but friendly Ravenclaw, would be her best shot. He wasn’t the type to make a huge fuss, and she figured she had a pretty solid chance at getting a yes.
She spotted him just outside the Great Hall, standing near the entrance, looking over a rolled-up parchment, probably last-minute homework. Perfect.
Straightening her tie and putting on her most charming smile, she strode toward him with confidence.
"Hey, Thomas!" she greeted brightly, tucking her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. "Got a second?"
Thomas looked up, blinking behind his glasses. "Oh—uh, yeah. What’s up?"
Y/n grinned, already sensing victory. "So, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"
Before Thomas could even process what she was saying, a familiar arm slung itself over his shoulder.
"Oi, Tommy boy!"
Y/n’s stomach dropped.
Fred.
Of course it was Fred.
"Mate, I haven’t seen you all morning," Fred said, giving Thomas a heavy pat on the back, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Are you feeling alright?"
Thomas frowned. "Uh—yeah? I think so?"
Fred gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, thank Merlin! When I heard about your—" he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "condition, I thought you’d still be in the hospital wing!"
Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Fred, don’t you have somewhere else to be?"
Fred ignored her, turning back to Thomas with a solemn nod. "Bravest bloke I know," he said. "I mean, most people wouldn’t even show their face after spotted wandrot."
Thomas froze. "Spotted what?"
Fred sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, mate, no need to be embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey said she’d never seen a case spread so quickly. And to think, you’re walking around like nothing happened." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Inspiring, really."
Y/n clenched her jaw. "Fred—"
"Though, of course," Fred continued thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "it is highly contagious. Wouldn’t want to pass that on, right?"
Thomas visibly paled.
"Wait—what? I—I don’t have—"
Fred gasped. "Oh no! Did Pomfrey not tell you? I thought she was supposed to give you the full debrief." He turned to y/n, shaking his head. "You’d think they’d at least warn the poor guy before sending him off to infect the whole school."
Thomas took a full step away from both of them, his expression stricken. "I—I have to go—"
Before y/n could stop him, Thomas bolted into the Great Hall like a man fleeing for his life.
She stood there in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.
Then she turned, eyes blazing, to Fred, who stood beside her looking utterly pleased with himself.
"You," she seethed. "Are the worst."
Fred smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Better luck next time, love."
And with that, he sauntered off, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving y/n fuming on the steps of the Great Hall.
–
Fred had been extra careful this time. He had barely spoken about his next move to anyone, not even George, not even Lee. He was playing this one quietly, which, for him, was practically impossible.
But he wasn’t about to let y/n get the better of him again.
That’s why he’d chosen Lily Carter, a friendly and straightforward ravenclaw who, as far as he could tell, had zero history with y/n and no reason to get caught in the crossfire.
It was the perfect setup.
They sat next to each other in Charms, and just as Flitwick turned his back to demonstrate a wand movement, Fred pulled out a small slip of parchment and wrote, in his best and least-sarcastic handwriting:
Oi, Lily, fancy going to the Ball with me?
He folded the note quickly and, with the smoothest flick of his fingers, slid it onto her desk. He kept his eyes trained on his own parchment, waiting, listening.
A pause.
Then a faint rustling as Lily unfolded it.
Fred smirked. This was too easy.
Until—
"Uh… Fred?" Lily whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "Why did you hand me a blank piece of parchment?"
Fred blinked.
He turned his head, looking down at the note in Lily’s hands.
It was completely empty.
Not a single word.
No ink. No invitation.
Nothing.
Fred sat up straighter, now fully awake. "That’s not—" He grabbed his quill, tested it on his own parchment, yep, worked perfectly fine, then squinted at the blank slip. "I—I wrote something, I swear."
Lily gave him a bemused look. "Right. Well, I appreciate the effort, I guess?"
Fred’s brain was scrambling. This wasn’t possible.
Unless—
Oh, for Merlin’s sake.
Slowly, he turned in his seat, craning his neck toward the back of the classroom.
Sure enough, y/n was there, leaning casually on her elbow, watching him with a very self-satisfied smirk.
She lifted her wand slightly, giving it the tiniest twirl.
Fred groaned.
"Y/L/N," he whispered, barely keeping himself from laughing.
Y/n raised an eyebrow as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
Fred turned back around, taking a deep breath.
—
Y/n had planned this perfectly.
She had finally found someone Fred hadn’t gotten to yet, James Dunmore, a charming and easygoing Hufflepuff who was known for being friendly with just about everyone. He was the type who wouldn’t be put off by rumors or sabotage, which made him the perfect candidate.
It was foolproof.
She caught him outside the Herbology greenhouses between classes, brushing a stray leaf off his robes. "Hey, James," she greeted casually.
He grinned. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"
She exhaled slightly, steeling herself. "So, I was wondering—"
But just as she was about to ask him, the doors of the castle slammed open.
A chorus of heavily off-key voices rang out across the courtyard.
Y/n froze.
Students turned in confusion as four overly enthusiastic first-years in matching pink suits came marching toward her, led by none other than Lee Jordan.
"FRED WEASLEY SENT US TO DELIVER A MESSAGE OF TRUE LOVE!" Lee bellowed.
James took a slow step backward.
Y/n clenched her fists.
Lee gave an exaggerated wave. "Hit it, lads!"
The first-years immediately burst into song:
"Oh, y/n, my darling true," "Your beauty shines, your wit cuts through," "Fred Weasley dreams of you all day," "So please don’t turn and run away!"
Y/n covered her face with her hands.
James looked deeply uncomfortable. "Uh—"
Fred, watching from the entrance, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had just orchestrated the greatest act of war in history.
The first-years weren’t done:
"The Yule Ball’s coming, don’t you see?" "So say yes, my love, and dance with me!" "Fred is waiting, don't delay—" "Or he’ll cry himself away!"
The entire courtyard was now watching.
James chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, y/n, this—this seems like a lot. Maybe I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely before retreating into the greenhouses at top speed.
Y/n slowly turned on her heel, rage simmering.
Fred grinned at her from across the courtyard.
"Sabotage is such an ugly word," he said smugly. "I prefer to think of this as… performance art."
Y/n narrowed her eyes.
This wasn’t over.
—
Fred was getting too close to winning.
Y/n had already lost three potential dates thanks to his sabotage, and she refused to let him have the last laugh. So, she pulled out her own bag of tricks.
She waited until dinner, when Fred was at his most comfortable, laughing loudly at something George had said while stuffing his face with mashed potatoes.
Perfect.
Sliding into the seat across from him, she leaned in, her tone light and casual. "Hey, Freddie. Have a drink, yeah?"
She pushed a goblet toward him, freshly poured pumpkin juice.
Fred raised an eyebrow. "Awfully nice of you, y/l/n," he mused. "You wouldn’t happen to be poisoning me, would you?"
Y/n rolled her eyes. "You think way too highly of yourself. Drink."
Fred smirked, not one to turn down a freebie, and took a long sip.
Y/n fought to keep her face neutral.
The effects were instantaneous.
Fred blinked once. Then twice. His smirk faltered.
"Y/n," he said slowly. "Why does my mouth feel weird?"
"Oh, no reason," she said, beaming.
George snorted. "What did you do?"
Fred sat up straighter, his hands gripping the table as if he were trying to physically hold back his next words. His expression shifted from suspicion to horror as his mouth opened against his will.
"I KISSED A MIRROR ONCE TO SEE IF I WAS A GOOD KISSER," he shouted.
The entire Gryffindor table went silent.
Fred clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wild.
Y/n grinned. "Oh, did I forget to mention? That was a Truth Potion."
Fred shook his head violently. "No. Nope. Not happening."
His hands dropped from his face, and suddenly—
"I USED TO HAVE A NIGHTMARE WHERE PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL WAS A GIANT CAT AND CHASED ME AROUND THE CASTLE."
George fell off the bench.
Fred turned to y/n, betrayed. "THIS IS EVIL."
She rested her chin on her palm, enjoying the spectacle. "You started this war, Weasley. Now, tell me, who’s your next target for the Yule Ball?"
Fred tried to fight it, he really did. His entire body tensed, his lips trembled—
"I WAS GOING TO ASK LUCY AINSLEY AFTER DINNER!"
Lucy Ainsley, sitting two seats away, immediately stood up and walked out of the Great Hall.
Fred groaned. "Oh, come on!"
Y/n popped a grape into her mouth, looking very pleased. "Well. Guess you’ll have to try again tomorrow."
Fred glared at her. "I will get you back for this."
Y/n winked. "Looking forward to it, mirror kisser."
—
Y/n was dangerously close to winning the bet.
She had dodged Fred’s last few sabotage attempts, and now she had one final shot, Clarke Roswell, a smart and charming Ravenclaw who had always been friendly toward her. He wasn’t the type to get easily spooked, and Fred hadn’t had time to get to him first.
At least, that’s what she thought.
She found Clarke in the library after dinner, sitting at one of the quieter tables near the windows, scribbling notes on a long parchment. Taking a deep breath, she sat down across from him, flashing her most confident smile.
"Hey, Clarke," she said smoothly.
He looked up, smiling back. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"
"Well, I was wondering—"
And suddenly, her mouth wouldn’t stop moving.
"WELL, CLARKE, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WANTED TO GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME BUT ALSO I USED TO SLEEP WITH A STUFFED HIPPGRIFF UNTIL THIRD YEAR AND SOMETIMES I STILL DO BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT—"
Y/n slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified.
Clarke blinked. "...What?"
Her eyes widened in terror as she realised she couldn’t stop talking.
"SORRY I THINK I’VE BEEN HEXED BUT I TOTALLY THINK YOU’RE HANDSOME AND THAT ONE TIME IN POTIONS YOU ROLLED UP YOUR SLEEVES I GOT DISTRACTED AND SPILLED MY INGREDIENTS EVERYWHERE AND PROFESSOR SNAPE GAVE ME DETENTION FOR IT—"
Clarke looked deeply alarmed. "Uh—"
"WAIT NO DON’T LEAVE, I SWEAR I’M NOT A WEIRDO, I JUST THINK YOU HAVE NICE HANDS AND I ALSO ONCE CRIED BECAUSE I DROPPED A SLICE OF PUMPKIN PASTRY ON THE FLOOR AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT SOMETIMES—"
Clarke was already backing away, his chair screeching against the floor as he practically ran out of the library.
Y/n slammed her forehead onto the table, mortified.
A slow, mocking clap echoed from behind her.
She knew who it was before she even turned around.
Fred Weasley leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"You know," he mused, "I was really hoping you’d start babbling about me, but that was almost just as good."
Y/n lifted her head just enough to glare at him. "You did this?"
Fred smirked, pulling out his wand and twirling it between his fingers. "A little Babbling Curse, just to make things interesting."
"I hate you," she hissed.
Fred grinned. "Nah, you love me. You said so, right before you mentioned that stuffed Hippogriff of yours,"
Y/n grabbed the nearest book and hurled it at his head.
Fred dodged it with ease, laughing as he ran out of the library, while y/n seethed, already plotting her next move.
—
Fred Weasley was in trouble.
It hit him like a rogue Bludger to the chest as he sat at the Gryffindor table, idly pushing peas around his plate. The Great Hall was filled with buzzing conversations, excited chatter about dress robes, last-minute dates, and who was going with whom.
And then, in a single horrifying moment, he realised.
The Yule Ball was two days away.
And he had no date.
His fork clattered against his plate as his brain kicked into overdrive.
He had spent so much time sabotaging y/n that he had completely forgotten to actually secure a date of his own. He quickly ran through his mental list of possible options.
Amelia Roberts? Gave him a withering glare every time they crossed paths after the “secret relationship” stunt.
Fiona Hayes? Still recovering from the boggart catastrophe and actively avoiding him in the hallways.
Sophia Benson? Thought he was in love with Lee Jordan, so that was a firm no.
Lucy Ainsley? Walked out of the Great Hall after his Truth Potion confession and hadn’t spoken to him since.
Clara Whitmore? Witnessed the public marriage proposal and didn’t want to be anywhere near that mess.
Fred groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. He was officially out of options.
But then
His hands froze.
His mind came to a screeching halt.
There was still one person who was available.
Y/n.
He let the thought settle, blinking rapidly.
Technically… technically, she counted.
She was still open. He was still open.
And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost poetic.
His lips curled into a slow smirk.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
He pushed his plate aside, standing abruptly. George, mid-bite into a chicken leg, raised an eyebrow. "Where are you off to?"
Fred cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders back. "I’ve got business to handle."
George snorted. "That sounds fake, but alright."
—
Y/n was pacing.
She had spent so much time playing defense against Fred that she had completely neglected to actually secure a date for herself. And now, with only two days until the Yule Ball, she was faced with a horrifying truth:
She had no options left.
Leaning against the stone railing of the Grand Staircase, she furiously ran through every possibility.
Thomas Greaves? Avoided her like she carried a deadly curse.
Noah Bell? Would rather transfer schools than interact with her again.
Liam Fletcher? No. Just—no.
Clarke Roswell? Likely in hiding.
James Dunnmore? Won’t even look at her anymore.
Her stomach twisted.
She was completely out of options.
And then, like a lightning strike, it hit her.
Fred.
Her head snapped up.
Fred was still available.
Technically, he counted.
And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost fitting.
The second she had the thought, she took off down the corridor, pushing past a few startled second-years.
She had to find him.
She sped through the Grand Staircase, dodging a confused first-year, nearly tripping over a moving step.
Where the hell is he?
This was Fred Weasley, he was always around, always loud, always in the way.
But now, when she needed to find him? Now, when it actually mattered?
Gone.
She gritted her teeth, rounding a sharp corner.
He was moving too fast.
His mind was whirling, his options were gone, he was out of time, and his only way out of this mess was y/n.
It was almost poetic.
Almost.
If he had time to dwell on it, he might have thought about how ridiculous it was that they had wasted weeks sabotaging each other, only to end up in the exact same situation.
But he didn’t have time.
Because he was running, and the second he turned the next corner—
CRASH.
It was instant.
One second, they were both charging full speed ahead.
The next
A solid impact, a tangle of limbs, a sharp oof as they collided full-force into each other.
Y/n stumbled back, slamming into the stone wall, hands gripping Fred’s arms to steady herself.
Fred nearly lost his balance, one hand bracing against the wall beside her head to keep from toppling over.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
They were close. Too close.
The impact had sent her stumbling back against the cold stone wall, and Fred, ever so slightly off balance, had caught himself by bracing a hand against the wall right next to her head.
She blinked.
He blinked.
Neither of them moved.
For a long, stretched-out second, the only sound was the distant chatter of students in the corridors, the faint flicker of torchlight casting warm shadows along Fred’s face.
Y/n swallowed. "You ran into me."
Fred exhaled sharply, amused. "I think you’ll find that you ran into me."
She raised an eyebrow. "You were the one running full speed down the hall like a lunatic—"
"You were also running full speed down the hall," he shot back, a slow smirk curling onto his lips. "Where were you headed, anyway?"
Y/n huffed, finally shifting out of his almost-trapped position. "To find you."
Fred blinked. "Oh."
A beat of silence.
Then, realisation flickered across his face.
"You were coming to—"
"You were also coming to—"
They both froze.
Understanding settled between them.
Fred let out a deep groan, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, for Merlin’s sake—"
Y/n snorted, crossing her arms. "I hate this."
"I hate this more," Fred muttered.
A charged silence hung between them.
Y/n cleared her throat. "So."
Fred glanced at her, arms still crossed over his chest. "So."
Her fingers drummed against her sleeve. "I suppose there’s really no way around it, then?"
Fred sighed dramatically, as if the very idea of what he was about to say pained him. "Unfortunately, I don’t think so."
She smirked. "Wow. You sound thrilled."
"Oh, absolutely. Overjoyed."
Another silence. This time, it wasn’t quite as combative.
Fred exhaled, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "You know…" he said, more thoughtful this time, "as much as I hate losing, and as much as I hate you thinking you won—"
Y/n grinned. "So much hate in that sentence, Weasley. Sure you don’t have something else to say?"
Fred ignored her. "I don’t think going to the Ball with you will be that bad."
Y/n raised an eyebrow, tilting her chin up slightly. "That bad?"
Fred gave her a slow, lazy smile. "Well. There’s always a chance I might enjoy myself."
Y/n huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t get your hopes up, Weasley."
"Oh, my hopes are very low, don’t worry."
A pause.
Then, Fred stuck out his hand, looking almost reluctant but also… maybe something else.
Y/n eyed him, amused. "What is this?"
"A truce," he said, though his lips twitched like he was holding back another smirk.
She considered, tapping a finger against her chin like she was actually debating it.
Then, slowly, she took his hand, shaking it once.
The moment stretched just a bit longer than it needed to.
Her palm was warm against his.
Neither of them let go right away.
Y/n arched an eyebrow. "What? Are we having a moment?"
Fred let out a loud groan, instantly pulling his hand back. "Absolutely not—"
"Sounded like a moment to me"
Fred scowled, but his ears were definitely pink. "See you at the Ball, y/l/n."
Y/n smirked, turning to walk away.
"You better dress nicely, Weasley," she called over her shoulder. "Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m dating a total disaster."
Fred scoffed. "Well, lucky for you"
He hesitated.
Y/n slowed, glancing back. "Lucky for me…?"
Fred rolled his shoulders, smirking again, but softer this time.
"Lucky for you, I look good in anything."
a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed. i am having some serious writers block at the moment im so upset :(
#harry potter#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley fanfic#weasley twins#hp fanfiction#harry potter fanfic#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n
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