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notafunkiller · 5 months

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Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

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livingemkayde · 10 months

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waterfront

neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: Rated 18+. CONSIDER THIS YOUR FUCKING COMMUNITY LABEL LOL. Minors please dni. Smut. unprotected p in v. age gap. Pet names. Dirty talk. Dom!joel. Oblivious ass reader's dad. Not proof read one bit (per usual).

a/n: thank you so much for the recent love. you guys are honestly so funny - COMMENT ASK REQUEST PLEASE INTERACT WITH ME IM SO LONELY ON HERE. this lil mini series has really pushed me to write despite some…things (and by things—i actually have been getting a shit ton of hate on my din fic for some weird reason?? so im really happy this dbf corner of tumblr is very accepting cuz that was really making me feel…SAD LMFAO). also do you guys picture joel in this fic as game joel or hbo joel - i wanna know. please enjoy this token of my gratitude as always.

wc: 4.5k

this is apart of my small dbf!joel mini series, read the previous parts here:

part i part ii

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars. “That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.”

“Sweetie? Have you seen the sunblock?”

“Yeah dad, in the back bathroom!” you yell back from your room.

It’s honestly unbelievable.

Packing.

You’re packing.

For a weekend getaway at some beach house property one of Joel’s client’s offered him for the weekend.

Joel’s client.

Joel Miller.

Who got down on his knees for you at your graduation barbecue. Who fingered you in the front seat of his pick-up truck when your dad was looking for you.

Who refused to talk to you after that. Not like you were trying anyways. This had to stop. Especially since you and Liam have been talking more and he’s…nice. Boring—sure. But he’s what’s good for you.

He even got you a job at some hardware store on the other side of town.

Liam was keeping you company—no—keeping you busy. But not enough to stop the incessant thoughts of your middle aged neighbor who is—even worse—probably your dad’s only close friend.

You tried to keep your distance. For your sake and Joel’s. You don’t want to know what’s going on in his mind anymore. All you know is he continually runs laps around yours.

You can’t shake how he looked at the barbecue. How the sea of people parted for him like he was Moses, greeting him with strong handshakes and acrylic nails wrapping around his bicep. But even worse, you can’t stop thinking about how through all those people—he found your eyes first.

You tried to convince yourself that maybe Joel was thinking the same thing you were. That this—whatever it is—was actually fucking ridiculous and had to stop.

Because it did have to stop. But it never felt ridiculous to you, as much as you will yourself to believe.

You tried to convince yourself that much when your hand was down your pants in the middle of the night. Something sounding a lot like Joel’s name on the tip of your tongue as you made yourself come.

You aren’t sure if your dad has seen much of him either—saying something about how he was booked through the fourth of July weekend with a huge project he was working on with his brother.

That’s why you were shocked when your dad came up to your room with a grin explaining he counted you in on the weekend getaway with Joel, Sarah, and the two of you.

You were excited to see more of Sarah — she had really grown up in the time you were away. But with Sarah comes Joel, and you aren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or anticipation at that thought.

A half a day after your dad told you to get packing, you’re in the backseat of Joel’s truck, Sarah at your side, while she talks everyone's ear off about something. You aren’t really paying attention because Joel can’t stop stealing glances at you in the rear view mirror—and let's be honest. You can’t stop either.

“—so then she said to me that it was my fault. I mean can you believe that?” Sarah slaps your arm gently while finishing her story.

She looks around the car for approval and the dads just shrug their shoulders. You give her a sympathetic look.

“Sorry Sarah, sounds crazy,” you say, grabbing her hand. You—honest to god—tried to pay attention but there were so many names thrown out you couldn’t keep up. It didn’t help that the man in the driver's seat kept you up at night—almost every night—since the barbecue.

“I know! But then Jackson was like okay with it so whatever,” she gives you a knowing look, finishing her story—don’t say anything else because my dad’s here.

“Boys,” your dad murmurs to Joel under his breath, but you catch it.

You also catch Joel shaking his head in response, letting out a huff and a—

“Tell me ‘bout it.”

You meet his eye through the rear view mirror and drop his gaze quickly. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

You think you’re almost off the hook and maybe can get some rest but Sarah lets out the first of many—

“Are we almost there yet?”

Four more of those and you arrive at a secluded beach house on the coast. Joel pulls up to the back of the house, you can see the deck which leads down to the beach. Sarah and your dad hop out of the truck hastily—excited to see the house, and enter through the back door. It leaves you and Joel in the car together. Alone, for a few uncomfortable seconds until he finally speaks.

“You alright?”

It throws you for a loop. Joel Miller asking if you’re okay? You must be dying. You look at him through the mirror, an eyebrow raising.

“‘M fine,” you reply back, monotone.

“Do you wanna talk?”

Another surprise.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You made that clear,” you huff, putting an emphasis on you so maybe he can start to feel an ounce of what you do.

He gets out of the car but you don’t move from your position. Your dad and Sarah have disappeared into the house, undoubtedly claiming the best bedrooms and rifling through the owner’s things.

He opens your door, his hand hanging off the top of it while his other braces himself on the car near your head. He dips his head closer to you, taking up the entirety of the door frame.

“You gonna be a brat this whole trip?” His drawl, rich and velvety, almost tricks you into leaning up to kiss him, but you snap out of it from his words. The name shouldn’t make you clench your thighs together like it does. You opt for anger over letting him see what he does to you.

“I’m the brat?” You bite back. He’s not going to do this again. If it’s your last dying wish, Joel Miller will learn a lesson this trip. For leaving you high and dry. For being a fucking asshole, just like you told him at the barbecue a couple days ago.

“You think parading that lil boy ‘round here s’okay?”

“Again with Liam? It’s not any of your business.”

You look at him. Really look at him—and there’s a certain emotion behind his eyes you can’t place. Like he’s biting his tongue, and you know he is.

“What, Joel? God,” you say, exasperated.

“Nothin’—I—” he pauses like he’s trying to collect his thoughts before speaking. Then he says something that surprises you—like maybe he really does care about you and what happened in his truck.

“He make you laugh?”

You stare at him, shocked, and you can’t help but soften your gaze. You feel like bursting into a puddle of tears—but what’s even worse—you feel like running into his arms.

“He doesn’t make me cry.”

He looks down at that. Like he’s defeated.

“I told you I care,” he throws his words back in your face. From when he had his tongue buried inside you.

You roll your eyes.

“What? You think I want it like this?” He continues when you don’t respond.

“I have no fucking idea what you want.”

“I want to not be sneaking around behind my friend’s back. Your dad’s back.”

“Didn’t stop you before.”

He pushes off the car at that, putting his hands on his hips while scoffing to himself. You think you catch him mumbling something and before you can bite your tongue you urge him to speak up.

“Insane,” he grunts.

“Sorry?”

“I said you drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You pause at that. Partially because his tone suggests it’s not the typical insane but like he can’t stay away from you. Like you drive him up the walls. Like he can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe even the kind of insane he makes you feel. Maybe it's the same thing he does to you. And you didn’t know you did…anything to Joel.

“That’s my job,” you reply sarcastically instead of saying something stupid—or something you regret.

You break his gaze—looking down to unlatch your seatbelt. When your hand goes to click the button, you stay fiddling with it; the latch fails to come out of the buckle.

“‘S jammed. Need to get a repair,” he reaches over you to unlatch it himself.

But you don’t get your hand out of the way quick enough and your fingers meet over the button.

He pauses, you both do. The contact makes your head spin.

You think he’s going to pull away. An apology is already braced on your tongue but instead of moving or retracting, he tentatively rubs your hand with his thumb instead, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature.

He’s in your space, and he smells like Joel, and you don’t think the two of you have ever shared a more intimate moment. Not even when his mouth was between your legs.

You look up at him, hesitant, because you aren’t sure what’s going to be looking back. But he stares at you, his eyes soft. Joel looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes. His brow twitches a bit. You let out soft pants—the peaks of your breasts threaten to ghost against his chest.

He looks at your lips again and inches closer, starting to duck his head.

“‘M sorry,” he grumbles in a low, dangerous drawl that shoots right up your spine.

You don’t think it’s a phrase he says often. You’ve never heard it. It sounds foreign on his lips, especially when they’re inching closer to yours.

“For what?” You squeak out, a breath cutting through your words.

“Everythin’.”

Your eyes urge him to continue.

“Thought I could stay away f’m you.”

He gets closer.

“Thought it was the right thing.”

You shake your head.

“But I don’t think I can stay away.”

“Don’t stay away. Don’t go,” you plead with him and shake your head. All of your plans to make him pay have honestly gone out the window. But when he says things like that and he really—honest to god—means them? You know you’re fucked.

“'M here.”

You close your eyes at his words and will your tears back when they close. All you can smell is Joel and all you can feel is his hand coming up to loosely wrap around your throat, the curve of his palm hugging your collar bone.

“Look at me.” In a blink, you do.

He’s closer, if possible.

And he kisses you. It’s the first time he’s ever kissed you. It’s not tentative, or aggressive.

This kiss feels like the real apology. Not him on his knees for you and then ignoring you after. He kisses like he’s willing you to forgive him. You know he’s not good with words—that’s why this kiss feels like the heartbreak that had settled in your chest is scattering. It feels like your old fantasies and butterflies breaching the surface are making you moan into his mouth.

He kisses you like a man starved, but also like he’s scared of messing up again.

It feels fucking good—he feels fucking good.

His hand on your throat lengthens your neck to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his bicep and squeeze the life out of him.

His other hand pulls at the hem of your shirt and almost ghosts the skin of your stomach but the sound of a door slamming snaps you both out of it. Joel turns to see Sarah pushing out of the patio door with her back turned towards you, carrying towels and a cooler. He quickly unbuckles your seatbelt with dexterous fingers, helping you out of the car.

You act like you were helping him unload the flatbed when Sarah turns around—a big smile cast on her face.

“Get your bikini on! Let’s go!” She looks at you and nods towards the ocean over her stack of beach supplies.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.”

You hustle into the house with a duffle slung over your shoulder. You can see your dad in the kitchen rifling through the pantry—the cooler for drinks and food abandoned on the floor near the fridge.

You find a bathroom and change into your swimsuit quickly. You don’t miss the wet spot on your panties. From a kiss nonetheless. You’re beginning to think you’re way more fucked than either you or Joel like to believe.

You rush out onto the patio. Sarah is probably shoulder deep in the water and it’s way too fucking hot to be sitting under the sun without taking a dip. You haven’t been to a nice beach like this in a really long time. You don’t remember the last time you went on vacation.

This is nice.

Joel is being way too…nice.

You pass him on the way to the beach where you see Sarah jumping through the water. He looks at you, subtly. Out of the corner of his eye. You try to avoid his gaze and hide your blush but you can feel his burning eyes shift to the back of your head as you give him a small smile in passing.

“Dad! C’mon let's go!” Sarah yells from the water. You look to see Joel staring back at you—you drop his eye when your dad busts through the door.

“‘N a minute!” Joel grumbles as he throws his duffle over his shoulder, carting in a crate of barbecue things for the weekend.

Your flip flops splat on the deck as you break into a small jog down to where Sarah is. She smiles at you as you run into the water. The two of you playing in the salty spring like teenagers—well she is—you aren’t.

You can see your dad and Joel settle on beach chairs some yards away from the shoreline. They sport a couple beers and talk amongst themselves while watching you and Sarah play in the water.

You catch Joel’s eye a couple times. He even comes down and throws around a football with your dad. He splashes and teases you all day.

When the sun finally extends down to the horizon and the water turns orange from its light, Sarah tells you she’s beat and basically hobbles back over to the dads on the beach chairs. She slumps down onto the one next to Joel, you move towards them as well, trying not to blush because you know Joel is looking at you before you meet his eyes.

“Tired?” Joel asks, not to you or Sarah in particular, but it falls on you—Sarah already asleep on the beach chair.

“Exhausted.” You plop down on the chair beside your dad, taking a towel and drying your hair off before moving to the rest of your body.

“Want dinner? I’ll make my burgers,” your dad inquires, beginning to stand and take the beers with him.

“Sounds good dad.” You stand and wrap the towel around your body. “Need a shower.”

You try to wake Sarah up gently, she grumbles and stalks off to the house, you, trailing behind her. She kicks her flip flops off at the entrance and moves to the couch in the living room. She’s back asleep before you get the chance to enter the door.

Your dad moves to the kitchen, you don’t know where Joel went. Maybe you left him back on the beach. You move to take a cold shower, the small tug in your stomach grew to be quite big when you caught him staring at your exposed skin on the beach.

When you get upstairs, you enter your designated bedroom. You smile when you realize it has a bathroom attached to it. You strip off your bathing suit, putting it in the sink of your bathroom.

You wrap a towel around your body and go to twist the knob of your shower. When you tug it towards hot it comes off the shower wall with a chink and you curse to yourself, the water coming out in a leak rather than a stream.

You huff. This is not what you need right now.

“Dad!” You call from the doorway of your bedroom—not wanting to venture further in just a towel.

You turn away from the door—moving into the bathroom, trying to chance figuring out how to fix it instead, when a pair of footsteps fall by your bedroom door.

“You okay?” A voice calls from your bedroom, but it’s not your dads.

You jump at the sound of a honey rich southern drawl echoing your name as Joel pushes through the bathroom door to find you in your towel, holding the shower handle.

“Jesus—” he looks away with a cough, you can tell he’s shocked to see you in just a towel. But when he sees you holding the handle he does a double take.

“What the hell did y’do?” He flips between giving you privacy and moving toward you with an outstretched hand, taking the shower handle into his own.

“I just tried to turn it on and it snapped off,” you try to reason with him, a flush coming to your cheeks when he comes into the bathroom.

“Move,” he grumbles, sneaking by you. In the brief moment you come chest to chest, you look up at him and he lets out a groan. His hand snakes by your waist. He looks down at you—a dangerous look in his eyes.

Joel breaks first, moving towards the shower.

“I’m gonna—yeah—just…uh thanks,” you gesture to your towel and shut the door to the bathroom behind you. Leaving Joel in there alone.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt and underwear before he comes out, sans shower handle.

“Thanks,” you mumble, suddenly self conscious you didn’t have time to put on pants. You aren’t sure why. Joel’s seen…a lot already.

“‘Course,” he says, but doesn’t leave like you anticipated.

“You havin’ fun?” He asks. There’s something in his tone that suggests he doesn’t actually care.

“Yeah,” you reply, breathless, “Thanks for inviting us.”

“sorry—I—” he points to the bathroom, “thought you were in trouble or somethin’.”

“‘S’okay.”

He looks at you, and down to your bare legs, your underwear just peeking out from beneath your shirt’s hem.

The way Joel looks at you—like you’re the only one who matters—stokes the fire growing in your stomach. The look in his eyes tells you he’s still wrestling with his moral compass. Like he needs to stay away for his own good, but like he said in the car—he just can’t.

Joel nods, and steps back like he’s turning to leave. You don’t want him to. You need him. When you take a tentative step toward him, he suddenly breaks into stride in your direction. The dam of fleeting touches and wandering eyes for half a day breaks. He grabs your face in his hands, kissing you hard. His tongue slips to run over your bottom lip and you whine into his mouth.

Your hands come up to rest on his chest. His, wrapping around your waist while he dips his head to start kissing your neck.

“Joel–” you start, but the feeling of his lips on the sensitive parts of your collarbone punches your breath.

He only hums at that sentiment.

“Where are we going?” you manage to get out, when he’s tugging you into the bathroom by your wrist, shutting the door behind him.

“Need to fuck you,” he groans into your ear as he spins you around, so your hips press into the bathroom counter. You can look into the mirror and see your reflection. You look entirely too fucked out from a couple kisses and he looks stone cold.

“J-Joel—ah—jesus,” you moan when his hand dips to your front and catches your clit through cotton.

“Say please,” he groans into the skin of your neck. You turn your head to catch his lips in a chaste kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, but you don’t mind either way. He’s close, he’s here and he’s kissing you.

You break away from the kiss just enough to whine out a small, “Please–fuck–”

You don’t really know what you’re asking for, but you know if that’s what he wants—you’d give him anything in this particular moment.

“Nicer.”

You whine, the pad of his finger catches your clit just right.

“Please, Joel,” you cut out through bated breath.

He huffs, you can hear the sound of clinking and shuffling behind you—the tell tale sign of his belt coming undone.

“Alright, baby, c’mon,” he pushes you down, folds you in half, your breasts pressed against marble. It's cold, and his hot hands on your waist, snaking down to slot his fingers in your underwear makes you dizzy.

“You’re a tease,” he groans when he eases your underwear to the side, the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Joel—p—fuck—” His cock catches at your entrance. You both pause for a second, reveling in the feeling. One of his hands grips your waist so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises by dinnertime. The other pushes your face down—fingers tangling in your hair.

“Look in the mirror,” he growls, lifting your head up by your hair, just enough so you can watch his face as his tip slips past your entrance.

He stretches you out just from that, you muffle down a scream in your throat.

Joel’s mouth goes slack but he doesn’t react much with his face. He just looks down at your bodies connecting and pants while he slowly slides home.

“‘S big Joel. Feel so good—oh my god—” he breaks you open and splits you in two. His breath cuts somewhere behind your head—your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling.

He buries himself to the hilt, you curse and mutter inconsistencies into the bathroom. His iron grip on your body goes tighter if possible.

“Eyes open,” he growls behind you. “You can take it baby, c’mon.”

You will open your eyes, focusing on him in the mirror. He has a sheen of sweat already casing his forehead, his shirt is half unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Relax, angel,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me — could barely get it in,”

He settles there, you try to relax but the stretch makes you squirm underneath him. He lets you adjust to his length, cursing every time you clench around him. It’s filthy. Obscene. He’s pushing your head up — lifting you by your hair, so you can see him spear into you with no remorse. He’s filthy, and so are you.

“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars.

“That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.”

“More please,” you whine, meeting his eye in the mirror. The air is thick in the bathroom now, the potpourri on the sill of the window doesn’t really mask much of anything.

He complies—surprisingly. Moving faster and harder, each push of his hips knocks you into the counter. The grip on your waist gets impossibly tight. The hand pulling at your hair finally lets you rest back down on the counter, pushing hair out of your face when you look back at him. It rests on the back of your neck.

“Feel so good baby,” he groans.

“Joel—I’m—I can’t, I’m gonna—”

“C’mon angel, come for me,” he says, you take another peak at him through the mirror. He looks wrecked. But you look even worse.

You get impossibly tight around him while he mutters things you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears. You think you hear him toss out a small that’s right when you finally spill over the edge.

He fucks you through it, his pace doesn’t let up, the coldness of the counter brings you back to reality. Where his breaths are becoming groans and pants and he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“‘Nother,” is all he says when your tight walls finally relax, molding to him and only him.

“I–I can’t—” you say, slumped against the counter. You sound cock drunk. It’s halfway true though. No one else has ever made you come twice in one night. You were starting to think it might be a myth.

“Know you can, pretty girl,” he goes slow at that, angling down so the tip of his cock catches something inside you that lights the fire again. “There we go. ‘S okay, can feel it already.”

He pushes you towards another orgasm, it washes over your entire body and you slump against the counter. Maybe it’s some sort of weird trance he has you in. Or maybe you were right and this — whatever it is — is getting bad. Fast. You’re threatening to fall. But he’s there, and he picks you up and holds you down.

“Jesus. Fuck, baby,” he curses into your skin when your release coats his cock and lets him sink deeper, thrust faster, push harder.

“Joel—fuck. Fuck.” Maybe the overstimulation should be getting to you, but you stay there like that, as he speeds up and his thrusts become more frantic. He chases after his own orgasm.

“Turn over,” he says, hastily. His hands move at your body before you can process his words. He flips you around and slots himself in between your legs—sliding back in deep, grinding into you while folding over so his head is in the crook of your neck.

“Please,” you whimper. You both know what you’re asking for. But he pulls out, ripping your shirt up and spilling all over your stomach and breasts. It coats you, the liquid hot and he dips his head to watch it coat your body. He lets out a strangled string of curses, bracing himself on the counter as he comes.

He kisses you. Really kisses you. You grab his face and moan into it. Like you’re willing him to stay there, in between your legs forever.

But he breaks first, moving to grab a towel out of the cabinet above the toilet. He cleans you up gently, wetting the towel with warm water before it touches your skin. The sentiment could make you cry.

When he’s done cleaning you up, he kisses your forehead. Joel wraps his arms around you as you sling yours over his shoulders. He holds you there, his hand coming to cup the back of your head, stroking your hair and breathing hot kisses into your crown. You smile, lazily.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. You know you still look wrecked and are in desperate need of a shower—he looks perfect by contrast, completely untouched and definitely unbothered.

“Dangerous,” he mutters when you look at him through your lashes.

You kiss him instead of responding.

You know Joel's right—this is dangerous.

But it feels way too good to stop.

part iv

taglist! (comment or message me if you would like to be added) kisses to you all:

@nostalxgic @iluvurfather

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rad-batson · 1 year

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Here’s some more about the game :D for your reading pleasure @portal-to-oblivion (Based on this post)

Freestyle Checkers: A Tim and Damian Special OR “How can we make talking to people a competition?”

They are sneaky. They are underhanded. They will do anything to win.

Originally, this was a ploy to get Bruce to ban them from the galas. Over the coming months, however, they begin to enjoy attending. A little too much.

Tim starts a conga line and convinces everyone on his team to join before marching them to Damian’s side.

Damian subtly moves the tables just an inch or two to the right all night until the whole room has switched seating arrangements.

After a particularly eventful game, Bruce now requires them both to empty their pockets and walk through a metal detector before entering the ballroom.

Tim uses his role as company heir to befriend everyone on his team and then introduce them to one another. He accidentally started a coup once.

Damian uses his puppy eyes to woo the guests into doing his bidding and avoid punishment.

He also sets fire to the curtains.

They are repeatedly caught giving death glares to each other from across the ballroom…but that’s normal. What’s not normal is the two giving death glares to a seemingly random guest at the same time. (She was only going to say hello to Maxine. Why does she feel like she’s in mortal danger?)

Tim spikes the punch with a hint of laxatives so everybody sticks to the bathrooms on Damian’s side.

Several games in, Damian finds a loophole in the rules. Even if the pieces can’t know they’re in a game, that doesn’t mean others can’t. He pays several catering staff to form a physical barrier between certain guests and places. Tim is livid and demands the loophole be written out.

Damian, after stealing a woman’s expensive watch: “Oh, I think I saw it at table seven! Here, let me take you there :)”

Tim makes a kid cry at table 20 so everyone will avoid that side of the room.

Tim: “To the left now, y’all! Left again! Right foot two stomps! Keep going left!”

Every other batfamily member has joined the game at least once, both as a piece AND as a player. On a particularly boring night, it was Tim v. Damian v. Steph v. Jason v. Duke. Every attendee was an unwilling participant. Including Bruce.

Damian is the reason death threats are no longer allowed for the game.

Tim: “Oh, you don’t want to talk to Nicole. Did you hear what she said about Leandra last night? The drama!”

Damian, tugging a guest’s arm: “Hey, is your blue Mercedes parked outside?” Guest: “Oh, hi sweetie :) Yes, why do you ask?” Damian: “It exploded.”

Damian studies the attendance sheet, makes a mental list of who eats what kind of dessert according to previous galas, then chooses all the guests who he knows like chocolate. Suddenly, there’s a surprise chocolate fountain on Tim’s side!

Tim studies the attendance sheet then figures out their addresses, hacks into their Facebook, stalks their Friends list, makes a chart of who is on good and bad terms, then chooses his team based on that.

Both of the above methods listed fail spectacularly

Damian: “So…I win.” Tim: “Damian, this is a hostage situation.” Damian: “But they’re lined up on your side. I win.” Tim: You know, I’m starting to think you set this up.”

He did.

During one particular night, a Wayne benefactor figures out what’s going on and tries to expose them so they team up, completely ruin his public reputation, and get him banned from all future galas to preserve the game.

No matter how hard he tries, Bruce cannot stop them from playing.

#batfamily #tim drake #damian wayne #batbros #batfam #bruce wayne #batman #incorrect batfamily quotes #dc #dc robin #red robin #robin damian #dc universe #damian al ghul

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1d1195 · 6 days

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Ding - Round 3

Read Ding here | ~6.5k words

Warnings: scummy man appearance, angst involving the frustration/grief/sadness of the last part regarding her shitty experience with said scummy man, fluff

Summary: Harry wants to know what happened to Cupcake. She really isn't sure she wants to tell him. Until she has to.

From me: NEW DIVIDER BY @babegoals THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR CREATIVITY AND SUPPORT AND JUST EXISTING 💕

Harry was mad.

Fuming. He had thought about nothing else but seeing her for the last two months and now that he had seen her, he was pissed to see her at his self-defense class. He asked her the same question about ten times throughout the instruction. He was furious and irritated that everyone else needed his help (even though it was literally what he was being paid for) when all he wanted was to talk to her.

He was all for helping women feel empowered. But he was mad she needed it. He knew she was feisty. The fact that she was there said a lot in its own right. The way she bantered with him until three in the morning texting him the other night made him smile more than he could describe. It was flirty and sweet. But always had him guessing if she would suddenly stop messaging for one reason or another.

Someone like her needed someone—maybe even someone like Harry—to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her. And he knew. He knew why women went to self-defense classes. He had been teaching these classes since before he owned his own gym.

He knew.

"Why are y’here, Cupcake?" He asked gruffly. The other women nearby were all but forgotten. One was mid-sentence, asking to clarify something Louis had said. Harry was practically rude to just ignore her question in favor of his own.

“Umm... for self-defense,” she muttered trying to focus on Louis’ answer.

Harry didn’t want her banter right now. (As cute as it was to him, despite his irritation.) “Right. But usually everyone has a story that... convinces themselves t’sign up. So what’s your story?” He repeated.

He watched the way her cheeks warmed at his assessment, and she folded her arms protectively in front of her. Guarding herself. “That’s kind of personal, Harry.”

Once Harry’s anger took hold, it was hard to backtrack. “Listen,” he shook his head. The annoyance that clouded his eyes and covered his face was so obvious, she felt the slightest bit bad about interrupting his lesson with her own issues. “M’not good at this kind of thing, Cupcake. Being subtle. I punch people for a minimal living and work the rest of m’time here, teaching people how t’punch.”

Part of her wanted to break down and tell him. Because as much as she was willing to do this on her own, she was so scared. That nervousness made her feel even weaker, and she wanted to tell Harry, she realized. She wanted someone to know and to help her because this wasn’t something she wanted to deal with on her own—it was too much.

But she couldn’t do it right in the middle of a self-defense lesson, surrounded by strangers. “I’m here to learn how to punch,” her voice was even and final.

His nostrils flared and he stalked back to the front of the room, a trail of anger coming off him as he did. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with her.

The remainder of the lesson went by without incident on Harry’s part. He watched her the entire time. The way she flinched when they practiced moves made him nauseous. But he couldn’t help but notice how good her stances were. Almost natural. “Hey, love,” Louis smiled at her kindly as he geared up to practice more tactile moves. “You liked his match so much you wanted to try on your own?” He asked.

She smiled, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes. “Something like that.”

“It’s good skills to have,” he assured her gently, because even though Harry’s infatuation annoyed him at the time, he knew Harry liked her. A lot. Knew just as well as Harry did why women signed up for a self-defense class. “You have a very natural stance,” he noted. “We should get you in the ring,” he winked at her.

She laughed lightly. “I don’t even know how to make a fist,” she snorted.

Louis chuckled giving her a gentle shoulder squeeze and moved onto the next person.

Harry moved in front of her next and he looked at her footing. Aligned near perfectly and practiced as if she had been doing it her whole life. He was still steaming with anger. It rolled off him and demanded to be felt—and she felt every bit of it. “S’like you’ve done this before,” he muttered.

“I haven’t,” she answered. “I’m just good at following directions. Like a recipe, you know?”

He was staring at her feet and trailed up to her hand where he carefully took hold of her delicate fingers. Instantly, it felt like her whole arm was made of jelly. Her heart took off about the speed of an airplane and she was lucky she could hear anything over the sound of it. Harry touching her skin made her feel faint. Carefully, he bent her fingers and tucked her thumb below the flat of her knuckles. It felt so intimate it seemed wrong to be doing this in a class put on for the public. Holding her wrist, he brought her fist to his cheek and tapped it against his skin a few times. “Like that,” he murmured.

She wanted to be cute and smile. Say something like, I’ll keep that in mind for strangers in dark parking lots when I ding their car. But instead, she was overcome with gratitude for the knowledge and a bit of awe. She was speechless without meaning to be. He released her wrist, and she wanted nothing more than to grab his hand again and never let go. “Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded sullenly.

Harry felt defeated—something he didn’t enjoy at all. Rarely did he feel it, but he wished he felt defeated after a match more so than he did right then. All he could do was walk away from her and finish the lesson without chatting with her again.

In hindsight, confronting her in the middle of a self-defense lesson wasn’t his wisest choice. The following morning, he had a renewed spirit and was once more determined to chat with her and figure out what made her join a self-defense class.

What he hadn’t anticipated was how stubborn she could be. He should have known but he was willing to dig his heels in as long as she was. Harry went to the bakery morning, noon, and night—literally—trying to figure out her schedule. “Again?” The girl behind the counter asked suspiciously when they returned at four in the afternoon on the third day of waiting. She had been there all day and hadn’t said anything up until their third arrival.

Niall shook his head and sighed. “Sorry, darling. He’s being super creepy, yeah?” Niall elbowed him with irritation. They sat at a table as they had the last few days. They didn’t stay long, only fifteen minutes to half an hour. (And they only stayed half an hour once because Niall had to get one of the cronuts that he had been pining for since he saw them.)

Harry was looking at their text message thread. The last message was from him. Are you working now? C’mon, Cupcake, you’re killing me here :(

It went unanswered since yesterday afternoon.

“He’s trying to talk to Miss Cupcake,” Niall rolled his eyes. He missed the back and forth between the girl behind the counter. “But I think he’s being a bit ridiculous.”

“Oh, were you her bad date?” She frowned.

Harry was still looking at his phone, checking his schedules, and making sure he didn’t miss anything in his email or messages from his mum or sister. But the moment the girl behind the counter spoke, his head snapped up to meet her gaze.

“What bad date?” He asked, his voice low, menacing.

The girl behind the counter blanched. Feeling bad she revealed something she obviously wasn’t supposed to and quite honestly, if he was her bad date, that was a horrible thing to announce. It was a reflex. “I don’t know, actually,” she tried to backtrack. “I don’t know why I said that out loud.”

“We won’t tell, darling,” Niall assured her. “Do you know when Miss Cupcake works, it would save Harry—and you—a lot of trouble.”

“OH!” She shook her head and went around to the front of the counter. Her eyes widened. “You’re Harry. Context clues, I didn’t recognize you without gloves,” she smiled excitedly. “Thank goodness, I almost closed this place down.”

Harry turned to the girl again feeling a warmth pass over him at the idea that she talked about him to her friend. “Oh brother, so she does like Harry?” Niall grumbled.

“I’m Maeve,” she announced.

“Maeve,” Harry stood up and held his hand out to her. “Nice to meet you.”

“You have a very cute niece.”

Now Harry really couldn’t help but smile because that little girl was practically his own pride and joy. And she was very cute. Plus, it meant she really was talking about Harry to her friend and that had to mean something. “Thank you, she’s perfect,” he agreed. But then he refocused on why he was haunting the bakery. “Does she not work during the day?”

“She pops in,” Maeve shrugged and fiddled with the cupcake display. He noted there was a raspberry filled one on the top tier. He recognized that cake and frosting pair anywhere. “But she’s been mostly coming in after close,” she admitted. “She’s been a little...stingy with details about everything. She gets like this sometimes. Compartmentalizes things so she can deal with it when she needs to,” Maeve bit her lip. “She’s visiting her dad right now.”

Harry realized there was very little he really knew about her. Most of their chatting had surrounded the bakery, boxing, and Harry’s niece. There was a little bit of information about their education and some books and hobbies they liked. But there wasn’t a huge depth of knowledge of her family.

“Oh,” Harry felt defeated again. “Uh... I guess we’ll go then,” he mumbled. “Try later.”

Maeve sighed. “She really likes you, Harry. Really,” she promised with a sad smile. “She’s just...a little stubborn and careful with her heart.”

Harry nodded. “Got it,” he could handle that.

She parked as close as she could to the bakery in the parking lot. Thinking about all the steps and stances that Louis and Harry had told her during her class. She took a deep breath and opened her car door. As she went to the back of her car to grab supplies from her trunk, she noticed a plethora of other cars parked in the lot—most people were probably at the restaurant near the waterfront. But there was no way she could miss the car she had accidentally dinged with her door just a few spaces down and across the row from her.

Once more, her gaze met the intense green gaze in the driver’s seat. She sighed knowing there was no escaping this talk anymore. Harry put a bookmark in the novel he was reading while waiting and set it on the passenger seat beside him. He locked his car and hurried to her side, taking the heavy bags of flour and sugar she bought to tide her over until the delivery came to the bakery in the morning. He didn’t speak to her as they walked to the storefront. She was overwhelmingly aware, once more, how safe she felt with Harry beside her in the nearly deserted parking lot. She unlocked the front and held the door open for Harry to enter. “Were you waiting long?” She asked.

He shrugged, putting the supplies on his now regular table while she fiddled with the display case and cupcake display once more. The raspberry one was missing from the top and she went behind the counter to get another. Harry closed the door and locked it, so she was safe inside. It was dark, the only light was a low soft glow coming from the case of treats. It had the glow of a candle, and he wondered if there was a way to keep it that way during the day because it was so warm it made him want one of everything that was in the display. “Yes,” he nodded. “S’okay.”

That felt worse. If he was willing to admit it, it meant he was there a while.

“I’m sorry,” her cheeks felt warm. “I should have just told you when I was working,” she was willing to admit when she was wrong. Harry watched in fascination as she placed the raspberry filled cupcake on top. He wondered if it had always been the one she put on top. He would have imagined the chocolate ganache one was a fan favorite, or the vanilla sprinkles one with the little toothpick and label of A Pinch of Sprinkles on it.

He shrugged again, nearly indifferent. “S’okay,” he repeated. “Read most of my book.”

“Is it a good read?” She asked and grabbed the bag of flour Harry had settled on the table and started for the back. He grabbed the bag of sugar and followed behind her.

He nodded. “Yeah...it’s,” he sighed. “S’a little darker than I expected,” he shrugged. “Was hoping for something lighter.”

“I only read rom-coms in book form,” she smiled. “It’s very light reading, but probably not what you want.”

“Rom-coms?” He repeated. She nodded. “Y’don’t strike me as a rom-com kind of girl.”

“No?”

“Y’seem more like a film noir or suspense.”

“I’ve had enough suspense for a while,” she muttered and turned to her ovens to preheat. Harry placed the sugar beside the flour bag and sat in the same chair he sat in when he fell asleep a couple months prior. He watched her in the same way he had before as she flittered around the kitchen, humming to herself as she worked. “How’s the baby?” She asked.

They were ignoring the elephant in the room, it seemed. But it was the first time he’d seen her since the self-defense lesson. In between his visits to the bakery (his stalking grounds, as Niall was calling it) he had been splitting his time between training, teaching, and ensuring Driven, his gym, was working as expected. He had to call an electrician because the lights in the men’s bathroom kept going out despite the fact, he had already replaced the circuit and lightbulbs a handful of times. But he had gone to see Gemma and his niece two days prior to get his fix of the sweet little girl who made him feel so much better about all the frustration he felt about his favorite Cupcake.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Perfect.”

She grinned back and nodded. “Good, and your sister?”

“Good, thanks for asking,” he thought that was polite of her—he always noticed when people asked about his sister. It wasn’t often. Once the baby was there, it was like they forgot about the mum.

“Does your mom live nearby?” She asked.

“Yeah, especially with the baby. Mum sold her house the moment she found out Gem was pregnant.”

She laughed. “That’s sweet. You’re all close?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Mum’s m’hero,” his voice was filled with admiration so thick it made her feel wobbly on her feet. She wished she had that kind of admiration for her mother. “How ‘bout you? Maeve said y’were visiting your dad? He lives nearby?”

She nodded, guarded. “I feel the way about my dad, the way you feel about your mom,” she explained. There was a pause in conversation that seemed to stretch farther than it needed to. Maybe he was trying to get her to break first. Perhaps she did. “You talked to Maeve?”

He looked at her, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. “Didn’t leave me many options, Cupcake,” he reminded her.

She swallowed thickly, nodded. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you please tell me?”

She shook her head. Harry felt so agitated, so defeated. “Not yet,” the bit of hope creeped back in. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat and turned away from him. “Sorry,” she sniffled. His heart broke. Quickly, he realized it wasn’t her wanting to hide it from him. It was painful to watch that frustration fall on her face.

“Oh, kitten,” he frowned. He stood quickly and made it to her side. He put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly not wanting to touch more than she wanted or needed in that moment. His imagination could only guess what went wrong on her date and it was painful to think about for him. He wanted to comfort her, but it had to be at her pace.

At once she melted into his touch. She turned quickly, almost reflexively into his embrace. Her face pressed against his shoulder, her arms wrapped up around his back, and she inhaled shakily. It felt awful to see her sad, feel the anxiety coming off her in waves. But Harry was grateful to hold her so close to him. “M’here, Cupcake,” he promised. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, nodded against him.

Harry could live with ‘not yet.’ For now.

Over the next week, they went back to texting throughout the day and chatting well beyond bedtime on the nights she wasn’t at the bakery. Additionally, Harry walked beside her from her car to the bakery when she arrived and back through the dark parking lot. Not once did he ask her what went wrong with her date even though it was killing him. She wasn’t budging. She knew Harry was waiting for more details, but she couldn’t. It hurt and she didn’t want to think about it—even if she actually did want to tell him. It was overwhelmingly kind that Harry appeared beside her car—especially at night.

“I’m still really sorry about Clay,” she frowned. Harry didn’t park far away from her like he did the other night. But she was very mindful of her opening the door and not bumping into his car.

“S’okay,” he smiled and rubbed his fingers on the little indent. “Reminds me of you,” he winked at her.

Her heart fluttered and she looked away briefly before smiling back at him. “Like you need more reminders of me,” she murmured.

“Can never have enough, Cupcake,” he assured her. “Can I kiss y’goodnight?” He asked on the third night he walked her though the dark parking lot. Her heart literally skipped a beat. Speechless. He tapped his cheek. “Jus’ the cheek, kitten. Need a proper date before I really kiss you,” he acknowledged and smiled shyly at her. That boyish grin that made her weak in the knees. Breathlessly she nodded. His lips swept across her cheek. It was brief and soft. Like a piece of her hair had brushed over her face and tickled her skin. “Thank you,” he grinned. “Been dying t’do that,” he admitted and once more tucked her safely in her car.

Harry mentioned it only twice more. He never pressed or demanded she reveal the facts of her bad date. It was more of—what he hoped was—a gentle reminder. He was waiting for more information. All he wanted was to assuage her worries and fears. She attended the second class for her self-defense lessons (dropping off a box of blueberry scones at the front desk had everyone in the class asking if they could go after the lesson to pick out their own sweet treats). Harry continued to boil with anger just thinking about her using the moves he and Louis taught her. But it was obvious he was much less angry than the previous week. More so, his anger didn’t extend to her. He was mad, but he understood her choice to keep it to herself.

Louis was going over demonstrations using Harry as the attacker. Everyone watched with rapt attention. “Your goal is to get away,” it was repeated about a hundred times and Harry had the hardest time watching her every time it was repeated. Each time it was said, she flinched. He wasn’t sure she knew it or not—it was a reflex. But she did get away. It terrified her still.

Harry couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t pushing him away. Every night, she thanked him profusely for coming to the bakery and walking her to and from the car. She could see his anger growing beneath the surface. He wanted to know. She was trying so hard to brush it off. It wasn’t a big deal. Now she had two classes under her belt, and she promised herself she would never be in such a vulnerable position again.

“Can I watch you at work?” She asked randomly. It was a morning shift this time. She was covered in flour, and she had frosting streaked in her hair leftover from when she put it up after icing four dozen cupcakes. Harry didn’t think she could look cuter if she tried.

“Watch me?” He repeated.

“Not this again,” she smirked.

He chuckled. “Y’want to watch me train?” He repeated anyway.

She shrugged. “You always watch me bake and stuff.”

“You’ve attended the class, Cupcake. S’pretty much the same thing,” he reminded her.

He noted her cheeks turned pink. “Um...if you don’t want me to hang around then—”

Harry nearly gasped. “Oh, no. No way, kitten. I want y’around. I promise,” he assured her. “Jus’ don’t want you t’be bored.”

“I won’t be,” she shook her head.

That was how she ended up sitting beside the ring, Louis padded and guarded while Harry punched and punched and punched for over an hour. His breath was heaving, and his body was slick with sweat. She watched intently examining his form and his moves like she would one day repeat them.

When he came for water at the end of his training session, he was heavy breathing and smiling at her. He struggled to get the towel he had from his bag beside her with his gloves on. “Bored?” He asked.

“Not even a little,” she assured him, grabbing the little towel and swiping it across his forehead. It felt intimate and made Harry feel warm all throughout his body. “Can I try?” She asked with an impish smile.

He chuckled and nodded. “Come on,” he held the ropes open for her to enter the ring. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes or equipment. Louis rolled his eyes discreetly at Harry and held the pads out for her to hit. “Make the fist I showed you,” she did for both hands. “S’all the balance in your legs,” he promised. “No balance, no punch, no follow-through. Punch through the pad,” he explained and guided her hand to the pad slowly so she could see how it would look and feel to go through it.

“Pretend it’s Harry,” Louis suggested. “That’s what I do.”

She giggled. “I don’t think I could throw a punch if I thought it was Harry,” she admitted and gave her best attempt. It was honestly exhausting. She only threw a dozen or so punches and was breathless as she answered Louis.

“You’ll get there,” he assured her.

Harry scowled at him. “Take the pads off.”

“No, you lunatic.”

“Coward.”

She giggled, thanked Louis, and twisted herself out of the ring again. “That was fun,” she told him. “I can see why you like it. Plus, you’re really good at it.”

Harry was staring at her, the way that sent all the butterflies in the world directly to her stomach and began to flutter as if they were trying to escape. His gaze was firm but gentle, his eyes almost glowing somehow as he looked her over. “Please tell me, Cupcake. I want t’help,” his voice was quiet, begging ever so gently.

She looked at the floor, their shoes were nearly toe-to-toe. “I can’t,” she whispered back.

He nodded, defeat did not come easy to him, and she knew that. “I have t’shower, do some office stuff. Get ready for some lessons and classes,” he told her, his voice the slightest bit disappointed.

“Want me to watch you in the shower too?” She asked hoping to alleviate the mood. It worked, his smile returned to his pretty lips, and he chuckled.

“Hell yes, Cupcake,” he shook his head at her cuteness. “Maybe next time. Not here,” he winked.

Even though it was her that was forward it still made her blush. Plus, joke or not, she agreed here was not a good idea. “I have to do some errands anyway,” she admitted.

“I’ll walk you t’your car,” but she knew he would. It was like a safety blanket being wrapped around her.

She really liked it.

After her third self-defense lesson she was feeling more confident. She even showed Maeve some of her moves in the back kitchen. Shadowboxing the same way that she saw Harry do to Louis the night she met him. “I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to give the Queen of Sugar boxing lessons,” Maeve rolled her eyes.

Honestly, she was feeling better. More confident. Plus, she was enjoying her not-so-date-dates with Harry. There was one night when Harry wasn’t around, and she realized she missed him so much. Not only because the dark parking lot seemed more foreboding but because his presence made her happy. Happier than she had been in a really long time. It felt undeserving to be so happy but it wasn’t something she thought about when he was actually there. I missed you.

Oh? 😍

Sorry, I know that’s...

A lot...

I miss you all the time, Cupcake. Think about you all day.

The message made her warm and she wished she could explain how simple it seemed to just have Harry fit in her life. They were busy people, but he always managed to come by and see her. She enjoyed watching him train or sitting with Sarah at the front desk and chatting while he taught classes and lessons. Maeve teased her every time he arrived and she wasn’t there. Can’t you just give him your schedule? The poor guy is going to have to train twice as hard to get rid of the extra cupcake weight.

I like to keep him guessing a little 😉

Today, she was up front on her own—one of her employees called out sick and she didn’t mind in the slightest. Working up front was one of her favorite tasks. Interacting with customers and sharing her gift was something she enjoyed thoroughly. Her other coworker was out back, working on inventory and prepping the bagels for her monthly bagel sale.

Ding.

The bell attached to the front door signaled whenever customers arrived or departed. It was a busy morning. So busy that it took her a minute to realize Harry was sitting with Niall at one of the tables. Niall gave her a wave as she finally got caught in his gaze. She waved back, smiling brightly and paused the customers that were at the counter while she ran to the back and then to the table as quickly as she could. She pecked Harry on the cheek without thinking and deposited a raspberry filled cupcake and a personal sized loaf of Irish soda bread.

Harry felt as gooey as the filling on the inside of his cupcake. Her soft little kiss made him crazier for her. Watching her made him happy. Being around her made him happy. Happier than the little kid that was bullied could have dreamed.

Niall was making noises that would have embarrassed the porn industry while eating his bread. Harry snorted at him, tried to steal a piece, only for Niall to slap his hand away. “Eat your cupcake,” he nearly snarled.

“She could make more, m’sure.”

Niall shook his head stuffing his face of the treat made specially for him.

Harry liked watching her. He wondered if it was the same way she felt when she watched him. People obviously fell in love with her the moment they spoke to her. Unironically, she was so sweet. Of course she was. It was like she was a sprinkles-fairy. This ethereal being that passed out sweet treats to everyone.

Ding.

With her back turned to get another bag, she didn’t notice the influx of new customers. When she turned back, her heart leapt to her throat. She was lucky she didn’t drop the dozen cookies she was packaging.

“Shit,” she whispered mostly to herself. He hadn’t seen her yet. Fortunately, it was crowded enough to hide behind her wall of customers. All the progress she had made, the classes thus far, all seemed for naught at that moment. Her gaze darted to Harry and Niall. They were unaware of the turmoil she was facing while she packaged treats for the next customer. Her stomach churned uneasily.

If Harry just looked at her, she knew he would know. “Hey Lexi!” She called toward the back room. But Harry was chatting with Niall. Niall was focused on his soda bread. Neither of them noticed the anxiety that swept over her. Lexi doesn’t answer at first. Making her more anxious and scared. It shouldn’t be that way. He shouldn’t ruin the one place she loved most.

Niall now had crumbs on his cheeks, but his head tilted curiously in the direction of her main display. “Harry, something’s wrong,” Niall’s voice was quiet.

Harry’s gaze snapped up defensively. Sure enough, her whole demeanor had changed. Harry could see it. Her smile was tight, and her eyes darted toward the door and the customer in front of her more times in ten seconds than Harry could ever begin to count. Harry wanted to kick himself. How long had she looked like that?

After an eternity, Lexi finally appeared. She mumbled something to her employee and headed to the back kitchen. Not even a glance in Harry’s direction. Without fanfare, without permission, Harry marched his way into the back almost as soon as she left his view.

“Excuse me,” Lexi said. “Hey, that’s employee—”

“He’s fine, Lexi,” she answered quietly.

Harry found her in the kitchen, hand clutching the front collar of her shirt, her eyes lit with anxiety while she paced back and forth. “Is he here?” He asked lowly, while she moved quickly across the kitchen.

She tried to remember the last time she felt safe. It was her dad, right? Her dad before...before everything. Before she moved her shop here. Before she uprooted her life.

But there were those brief moments where she was overcome with how safe she felt in Harry’s presence. Walking to his fight for the first time. Each time he walked her to her car. How his hand felt when he pressed her fingers into a fist.

She nodded, her eyes watering.

He spun almost immediately to do who knows what. He didn’t know and she certainly didn’t know.

“No, don’t leave me!” She practically shouted before he could hardly take a step further. She started to follow him but he stopped at the sound of despair in her voice.

Harry groaned lowly; it came out nearly as a growl. He turned back to her immediately as if it pained him. “M’never leaving you,” his eyes were so dark and desperate—her whole body felt heavy at the seriousness of his words. Breathless again. “Please don’t ask me that,” his eyes darted back toward the front of the bakery.

“Harry, please,” she whispered.

His hands were already balled into fists. He shook his head. “Cupcake,” he grumbled. It was such an oxymoron in itself. Harry was calling her one of the sweetest things in the world and it sounded downright terrifying.

“Please, Harry,” she begged, grabbing one of his closed fists. “I need you,” she whispered.

Groaning again, he rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Fine,” he snapped.

She felt bad making him stay. She knew she was forcing his hand, but she was scared. To soften the blow, she threw herself at him. Arms around his neck, face buried in his shirt. She sighed with relief with the feel of him: solid, warm, protective against her body. Harry was safe. He proved that already and she still hardly knew him. It wasn’t hard. It shouldn’t have been hard for her date to make her feel safe.

Harry was momentarily shocked before he returned the hug, one arm looped around her back, the other cupping the back of her head. It was like the antidote to an disease she didn’t know she had. Another loud sigh escaped her. Like the feeling of Harry was cause for another wave of relief.

“What did he do?” He mumbled into her hair. She ignored him and scrunched her eyes shut. “Please, Cupcake,” he begged. She realized she wanted to tell Harry.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered. “I don’t even know why I went out with him...I had met you and—”

“Doesn’t matter, kitten,” he shook his head. “He doesn’t get t’make y’feel unsafe,” he reminded her.

“It was such bad judgment.”

He shook his head again. “No, Cupcake. He doesn’t get t’make y’feel that way. S’not you. S’not asking a lot t’feel safe on a date. S’not even the bare minimum. Y’don’t have poor judgment. Your judgment got y’out of there that night. S’why y’signed up for classes and—”

It poured out of her at that moment. She told him everything. In the middle of the story, she tried to downplay it sensing the way his body tightened around her with every word. Explained why she signed up for the self-defense class. Every detail and emotion she felt for the last few weeks. How scared she was that very night. Why she requested Harry and chatted with him until three in the morning. How he made her feel better when she didn’t think she could. How safe she felt around him in general.

At the end, Harry pulled away from her.

Her heart felt heavy. Now he wouldn’t like her. She was broken and hurt. Harry didn’t want to be a bodyguard, nor should he have to be. “I need t’go to the gym,” he started toward the front, and she thought that was it. It was the last she would see of him. He was too overwhelmed with how stupid she was. This wasn’t what he wanted. Someone who couldn’t defend herself or be smart enough to see the signs earlier.

“Harry, I’m sorry—” She managed to croak with tears thick in her voice and vision. Right as he reached the threshold back to the front of the bakery. He was shaking. Every inch of him. She wondered how he wasn’t a blur from how much he shook. In the moment it took for the apology to form in her mouth, he was back in front of her.

He grabbed her firmly but still softly by the chin, held her sweet face between his palms. Gazed into her eyes and shook his head slowly. His eye contact was overwhelming but still felt so good. “You are to never. Ever. Apologize.” Her eyes welled with more tears. She couldn’t do anything but nod at him. Her heart felt so heavy and broken. But Harry was looking at her. Taking in every inch of her face and he sighed. “M’sorry, Cupcake; m'angry. But s'not something you need t'apologize for. Y'didn't do anything wrong. M'jus' mad I wasn't there for you,” he whispered and brought her back in to hold her against him once more. Her body felt relieved it was ridiculous for him to feel bad--he didn't even know she was going on a date. She didn't want him to feel bad.

"It's not your fault either," she whispered. Harry sighed with relief and he kissed the top of her hair.

She lost track of how long they stood there. It could have been two minutes or two hours. All she felt was Harry’s warm body against hers and reveled in how good it felt. “Call me a half hour before you’re ready to leave here. I’ll come walk you t’your car.”

She smiled softly, hoping to alleviate the tension now that a significant portion of time had passed. “Even if it’s in the middle of the night and—”

He didn’t think her joke was funny at all. “If y’call,” he repeated, interrupting her, his eyes were hard and serious. No room for joking at all. “I’ll be here.”

He was rapidly making her fall in love with him.

“Hey Dad,” she smiled softly sitting across from him at the dinner table. He grinned at her.

“Hey sweetie. How was your day?”

“Good! Did you see the game?” She asked. He nodded.

“Your guy did well, don’t you think?”

She laughed, shaking her head and blushed a bit. “Max Kepler is not my guy, Dad.”

“I didn’t say his name, honey,” he reminded her with a chuckle.

She rolled her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. “I think I met a guy, actually,” she rushed out quickly.

“Oh?” He looked at her curiously, tilted his head ever so slightly and smiled. “That’s nice, sweetie. You haven’t had a boyfriend in a while. You need someone to...chat with, depend on,” he said knowingly. “I want to know you’re taken care of.”

“Dad, that is so 1950s of you. I don’t need a guy to take care of me.”

“Oh honey, I know you don’t. But I want you to have someone,” his voice was gentle.

For a moment she just looked at him. Thought long about all the things that had happened since she met Harry almost three months prior. It was a big deal to tell her dad about Harry. She wanted to make sure it was the right move especially after she was feeling poorly about her gut feeling. But she thought of Harry, the reassurance he gave her that it wasn’t her poor judgment that caused her bad date.

“His name is Harry. He’s a boxer,” she shrugged. “The raspberry filled cupcakes are his favorite.”

“Well, then he’s perfect. Right?”

She laughed, nodded, then bit her lip. “I mean...he’s...” she sighed forgoing all the details about how she was insane to let him steer her to his boxing match. How he helped her with self-defense classes. And why she was taking self-defense classes. No. She would tell him how they met another day. When Harry and she defined more of what their relationship was... if there was a relationship to be had. “I like him,” she admitted. “Then that’s all that really matters, honey,” he assured her. It felt like a blessing.

She couldn't wait to see Harry.

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f1version · 1 year

Text

SHAMELESS ★ PG10

pairing: jealous!pierre gasly x girlfriend!reader (she/her)

summary: Pierre is convinced his best friend is flirting with you, his girlfriend, and cannot stand it any longer.

Or this request

warnings: +18 MINORS DNI, slight smut (it’s my first one and english is not my native language please bare with me), fingering — female receiving, oral — female receiving, explicit language, swearing.

word count: 1.46k

note: doing this request was so much fun ! i hope y’all enjoy this little thing :)

Pierre's thoughts were a mess, he couldn't process what he was watching properly. He felt sick, something bitter spreading across every muscle of his body, making him think in ways he usually didn't. He tried organizing his thoughts:

One: He's an idiot.

Or that's what he has been calling himself over and over for the last 20 minutes, because he shouldn't feel like this. He shouldn't feel as if there was a reason to be worried about this.

Two: He's madly in love with you.

It had taken time, getting into a relationship with you, being long-time friends didn't make it easier, being best friends only made it harder, it was a risk he didn't want to take. Now, he's glad he did, but in this particular moment, he didn't know what to think about his other friendships.

Three: He is about to punch one of his best friends in the face.

Here's the thing: It's Charles's birthday, Pierre loves Charles, he is his best friend. Charles and you have been friends for as long as you and Pierre have, and that’s why the three of you are in a beautiful hotel venue, celebrating Charles' birthday with another hundred people. This is nothing out of his comfort zone.

Nevertheless, what he is witnessing is making him feel absurdly desperate and uncomfortable.

You and Charles have been talking for 43 minutes and counting —He doesn't even know why he is counting them— but that shouldn't be a problem because you are friends, right?

Well, friends don't look at other's girlfriend like that.

Charles is flirting with you, Pierre is one hundred percent sure of it. He's leaning in, telling you things that make you laugh, he talks and talks but when you do is like there's only you in this world.

Pierre is going to kill him.

But who could blame him? It wasn't Charles by himself that bother him, but the fact that the Monegasque knew you as well as he did. Not in the same way, but it was still triggering some thoughts.

Pierre was so focused looking at you, but he could feel someone calling him, whom he believes is Lando. It must be.

"Jesus, this man... Pierre!" Lando yells and the Frenchman jumps in shock. "What's wrong with you? Did you drink too much?"

Pierre didn't drink when he was thinking uncontrollably, overthinking was one of his biggest enemies. Lando knew this, but Pierre just shook his head. "Uh no, leave me alone"

"Mate" Lando called out "You are about to murder Charles out of jealousy, and you want me to leave you alone?"

"Jealousy? I'm not jealous. J'suis bon!"

"Sure," the Brit says with a smile, sarcastically.

"Shut up, Lando"

Lando grins, then sighs.

"She loves you, Pierre, she's not going to leave you. And if she is, it's not going to be for Charles, she wouldn't do that to either of you"

"That's not the problem, the problem is that my best friend is in love with her!"

Lando snorts, laughing "Oh mate, you are definitely drunk. Or you are seeing things" Pierre looks at him, deadpan. "You know I'm right, there is literally no in-love in Charlie's eyes"

He doesn't answer, he knows Lando is right, but he better be dead, cheated on, or betrayed than saying it.

"Just leave"

Lando rolls his eyes "Whatever, keep being stupid" He knows his friend is far too deep in his delusion. "I don't even know why I'm getting into this."

You could feel him. His stare, his anger, his jealousy.

It’s funny, your boyfriend being jealous of Charles Leclerc, his best friend. And yes, some would be right about this but you loved Pierre, he was the most gorgeous man in the world for you. Besides, Charles wasn't flirting with you —which Pierre certainly thought he was— he was drunk-talking, and you were his current victim.

You had no problem listening to Charles say the most stupid things, in the end, it was his birthday. But after half an hour, you felt the necessity to go drink something, dance a bit with Pierre, and maybe leave to have some fun with the Frenchman.

That's when the search begins, you try to hook other people into the conversation, yet everyone knows they won't be able to leave. Until Max appears.

Perfect. He was just as drunk, and he loved talking—Maxsplaining.

"Max!" You called and saw Pierre frowning from afar. "Party boy has a question for you!"

Max automatically walks to you two, smiling and looking wasted. "Really? What’s your question, Charles?"

"He just doesn't remember restart procedures!" You say with a little laugh.

"Holy shit. Okay, so you know when..." And he is far gone.

You wait at least five minutes before leaving, making sure none of the two men cares enough to hold you back from their shenanigans.

When you turn around, you see Pierre leaning on a wall. You notice how his face turns just before you look at him. This man.

You approach Pierre, he goes tense at your presence. You know he's holding back, holding emotions he doesn't want to let you know he's feeling; little does he know, you already have him figured out.

"Do you have to be so shameless about it?" you ask tilting your head a bit, more curious about his reaction than his actual response.

"I don't know what you're talking about" the Frenchman answered carelessly, not looking at you. His arms are crossed, and he looks frustrated. You shrug, a grin showing on your face.

Pierre couldn't think straight, he doesn't recall ever feeling like this. This jealous. And when he looked at you, he almost lost it. You didn’t only look gorgeous under the red and blue lights, but you looked so confident, he understood then that you had read him perfectly.

"You know, darlin'," you say while Pierre's eyes shamelessly touched your body. "You look hot when you're jealous."

But now Pierre looks exasperated. "I'm not jealous, I would never be jealous"

"Sure. Just make me a favor and don't become a toxic prick." You say, "Charlie had no intention to bed me, he was just drunk-talking"

Hearing the nickname, that's the exact moment when Pierre lost it. He grabs your hand and makes you sprint through the hotel, leaving the venue, and getting to the elevator.

You giggle.

"Oh, now you're laughing? After you fuck around like that?" He bursts, cocking his head to the side, eyes deep and challenging. You know the only thing behind him was desire.

"Yes," you reply innocently, moving your hands so they rest around his neck. "Is there a problem with that?"

"You are unbelievable. You got me all worked up and for what, your enjoyment?" Pierre rolls his eyes, holding you by your waist, tightly. He moves closer when he whispers into your ear, "I'll give you something to fucking enjoy, mon ange"

And then he kisses you.

It's harsh and hot, his hands are everywhere for a moment before he settles them on your thighs.

"Jump" he demands, and you can only comply, wrapping your legs around his torso, praying all gods that no one wishes to use the elevator right at this moment.

Pierre licks into your mouth, dragging his teeth over your skin, biting your lip, and suddenly it seems as if he's never going to be close enough, even when your bodies feel each other's warmth through the clothes.

The Frenchman felt a hundred thousand different things, he was hot, wanting, and mad, but also wanted to be gentle and remind you how good he was for you. How no one could come closer to this. He needed you to feel all the things he was, he needed to feel you around him, near him.

The elevator door opened, and you felt him shift. One hand moved across your ass to hold you with it alone, his other hand going for the room's key. When he opened, you cursed Charles for assigning them such a spacious suite.

Pierre seemed to be more stressed by it because he didn't bother to walk to the bedroom. Instead, he walked you to the counter in the middle of the kitchen, sitting you down, deepening the kiss while holding your face.

"This is what we're gonna do, mon chéri," he said into your mouth, "you are going to sit down here, be a good girl and I'll fuck this pussy with my fingers and mouth. Got it?"

You let out a whimper thinking about it and nodded, you needed to feel something, to feel him.

"Use your words, my love"

You struggle, especially because you feel how Pierre's mouth hovers over your neck, hot breath sending chills down your spine. "Yes, god, Pierre, I need you"

He doesn't waste more time, bunching up your shirt and pulling down the dark blue dress pants you had on. His eyes turn mischievous and dark —blue eyes turned black— as he sees your loose control.

"All night with him," Pierre says, tracing his finger over your core. Softly, teasing. "Just to become this beautiful wet mess with me." He emphasizes the last word by pressing onto your clit.

Your mouth parts, a loud moan leaving your lips. You can barely keep your eyes open, trying to focus on him, on his words, but the pleasure of the small friction is enough to distract you.

"You're so naughty," he says, grinning. "I love all these little sounds"

You try to stay composed, breathing deeply before saying, "You were so jealous, it was kind of pathetic, Gasly"

He whimpers, you knew exactly what to say to make him hard, in this case, harder. "That is not fair," he complains. "He looked so into you, and you seemed into his bullshit"

"If his bullshit is going to get me here all the time, then fucking be it."

Pierre huffs, his knee moving forward to press onto your core, making you whine. You slide your hand through his hair, just as his hands go down and his fingers shove your panties aside to slowly start playing with your dripping folds.

You hear his breath hitch, his eyes never leaving yours. He kisses you, careless of how needy he may seem. You love it. "Pierre—"

His fingers find your clit, a soft cry leaves your mouth, shocked at how sensitive you were. It was dizzying, feeling him smirk into the kiss, knowing exactly where, how, and when to touch. His pace was slow and steady, but the way he kissed you told you he was ready to fuck you stupid.

"Pierre, do something, fuck." you plead when he didn't move his fingers, when he just kisses your neck, sucking and biting, teasing until you're begging for him to start doing something. "Please, please"

"Please what, ange?"

"Please fuck me, please— your fingers." And he palms hardly your clit, adrenaline overpowering him. His fingers start moving in small circles, and your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"Oh my god, merde"

"Hmm, just like that, don't stop your beautiful noises," He says smirking, twirling his fingers just right. "Does that feel good, love?"

"Feels so so good." You say as his fingers speed, your desperate noises ricocheting down the walls.

He stops kissing you, looking at how you squirm below him. His eyes shout hunger, he is only a man whose desire asks him to give, give and give until you are fully satisfied.

Pierre stops teasing your clit, moving his hands to take off your underwear. The friction makes you cry.

A hand on your thigh spreads your legs a little wider, and he gives you a soft kiss before sinking onto his knees. You swear you've never seen him as hungry.

Your back arches the moment his mouth opens to lick your slit, your hands find his hair, and you pull him closer.

"Fuck. Y/n, ange, let me hear you" he asks, eyes closed and mouth pressed to your pussy, you obey, moaning and begging for more. He follows with the same obscene sounds, sending a rough vibration to your folds, enchanted with you.

"Pierre—" You whispered, his tongue curled around your clit. He loved when you called out his name. "Holy shit, I–"

"Yes, baby, yes" He moves to go for air, he wishes he shouldn't. "Tell me who makes you feel like this. Who's making you feel this good?"

Your thighs clench around him, your hand trying to hold onto him. "You" There's a gasp, loud and bold, "You, Pierre, it's only you"

He smiles in satisfaction, changing his mouth for fingers so he can kiss you for a moment.

And you can still feel the kiss when his mouth moves back to your pussy, making you jump in surprise, slightly closing your thighs around his head. He lets out a laugh, opening you again.

He moves a finger into the depth of your core, mouth still sucking and licking your clit. You loved when he did this, he knew it. He knew you too well.

"Pierre, m-merde" You could only whimper and scream his name, it was just Pierre. Pierre Pierre Pierre. Over and over again, until it was the only thing you could ever think about.

His tongue lapped against you, finger simultaneously curling into you. "F-fuck. Almost t-there, baby, I"

"I know, love, I know," He says, stopping for a second.

"Don't stop, don't fucking stop now" you whine, his tongue moving faster—a second finger entering you.

"C'mon, come for me. All for me" Pierre couldn't stop thinking about you, about making you feel so good you forgot everybody else in the world. "You're mine, aren't you? Tout à moi"

You could only moan in return, with desperate pleas—your body feeling the shock of the orgasm, white-hot and dense. Pierre's name was like a mantra stuck in your head, this was followed by yes yes yes, your answer would always be yes when asked that.

He stands up to kiss you sloppily; You feel your breaths slowing, synchronizing, your legs wrap around his waist, bringing him closer.

He smiles, watching you with adoration, the biggest heart-eyes you've ever seen. He was so dumb.

"Fuck your gorgeous face," you protested. "You really thought I would let Charles flirt with me? Better question, why would you think that Leclerc is flirting with me?"

"I was jealous, okay?" He rolls his eyes playfully, his hair a mess. "And y'know what? What if we forget that and finish this in bed?"

You laugh, of course you want more. You always more if it's with Pierre. "Lead the way"

translation (sorry anything is left out!)

ange angel

tout à moi all mine

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queenofspades6 · 1 year

Text

Not an investment - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: You try to forget Kaz with a man from the Crow Club. Kaz isn’t pleased at all. He finds a way to get rid of the guy, but you caught him. Kaz finally touches you for the first time.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Jealous Kaz.

A/N: I first wrote a draft of this when the first season of Shadow & Bone launched, i finally finished it, and wanted to share! I am so obsessed with Kaz! I might meet Freddy Carter on May, can’t wait but I am so scared at the same time!

———

You and the Crows had just accomplished another successful mission, earning each of you considerable money. The Crows had decided to throw a party to celebrate. Even Kaz had agreed to come. When Jesper asked him to join them, Kaz nodded, and Jesper cheered loudly, earning Kaz a grin.

Kaz Brekker had spent the last hour sitting with his arm on the bar, sipping a drink, and keeping an eye on the improvised dance floor. When the party began, Nina was already dancing, earning curious glances from both women and men. Jesper joined her after getting a few drinks. He tried to convince Inej to go dancing with him and Nina.

”You don’t want to go with them?“ You asked Inej, frowning.

”I do, but don’t tell them. Let them try to convince me.”

You nodded and asked the bartender for a strong drink. ”Make it two,” Inej said.

You watched her before glancing at the bartender.

”Tough night?” Inej asked.

You nodded again.

Inej didn’t bother to pry much; she knew each of you had your past. She knew how it felt to live with it, to live with the memories still there, haunting at night and even during the day... She knew better than to ask you about it.

The bartender arrived with both of your drinks. You thanked him and looked at Kaz, who was sitting at the other end of the bar, staring at people dancing and drinking in the Crow Club.

A man approached you. You didn’t see him coming; you were too caught up in stealing glances at Dirtyhands. The man took the seat next to you, and with a charming smile, he said:

“I didn’t take the infamous Ghost of Ketterdam for a drinker.”

You turned toward him, with a serious and almost warning look.

After all, you were the Ghost. If someone had a job to do, you were here. Looking for someone who disappeared? Easy. Stealing? As if you were a beginner. Taking revenge? Already done. Killing? Done. The Ghost was a shadow in Ketterdam. The kind of story that makes kids stay up all night. Rumors were you had no law, no faith and no humanity left. Oh, how wrong were they. If only they knew...

“What if I am?” You replied to the man.

”Even better.”

You grinned at him and decided to play the game.

“What about I offer you a drink?” He questioned, glancing at your body.

“I already have one, but go on.”

The man asked for another round of drinks, and the bartender complied.

”I didn’t think the Ghost was a beautiful woman like you.” He started, his eyes looking at his next prey.

Before, you would have punched that man hard in the face, but tonight, you didn’t care. You just wanted to have fun, and maybe it could involve him.

“Oh yeah? “

”Yes. Do you know how much people would pay to have you in their bed?”

You laughed and crossed eyes with Kaz. He was staring at you curiously. You thought it was a coincidence, but Kaz had been watching the whole time.

“I know.”

”Quite modest, I see.”

“I can be and do many things, you know?” You flirted, your head already spinning.

A little flirt was harmless, right? It wasn’t like it would change something. You stole another glance at Kaz, still sipping his drink in deadly silence. You knew there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, which you both probably wanted, but that was just impossible. Something that couldn’t be. So why not have fun with this silly man, you thought?

”I can only imagine.“ The man replied, his right hand stroking yours on the counter and his other hand on your knee.

”Let’s dance first.“

The man took your hand and complied, bringing you to the dance floor. The man danced with you, sometimes brushing your body. You didn’t care. Alcohol gave you confidence and relief. You danced closer to the man. And even closer. You both moved simultaneously, feeling the loud music and the alcohol in your veins. You could already feel the man’s arousal. But you didn’t care. You were trying to forget. Forget him and his stupid blue eyes. His silly cane. His silly waistcoats. Him. You just wanted to forget.

What you didn’t know was that Kaz Brekker couldn’t look away. His eyes were glued to your form and this man. This Dreg. Oh, Kaz hated the man at this moment. His hand tightened around his cane.

The man touched you even more intimately, placing his hand on your thigh. Kaz was watching it all; his hand clenched in a fist. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He knew you had a few drinks and hated the idea of the man taking advantage of you. Or worse... Maybe you let him...

Dirtyhands whispered something to the bartender, and then a servant rushed anxiously towards you.

The servant asked for ‘Jake’ something and then told him that someone was waiting outside for him.

He nodded.

“Sweetheart, I need to take care of something, and then I am coming back for you. We’ll finish what we started.”He said, a smirk forming on his lips.

You consented, not understanding what was happening.

The man walked toward the backdoor leading to the streets. You took a deep breath and went back towards your seat. You finished your drink quickly and began to think.

‘What was I doing? Seriously? This man? I am the Ghost, for Saint’s sake, I deserve better.’

Feeling shameful, you wanted some fresh air to think clearly. Or maybe you just needed to flee. You rushed toward the door of the Crow Club and opened it.

There was ‘Jake’, his face bloody and bruised, held by the arms of two men taller than him.

What was going on?

That’s when you saw Kaz punching Jake in the face. The man spit blood, and Dirtyhands held his head in his gloved hand.

”If you dare touch her again, you are dead.”

Kaz was going to hit Jake with his cane, but your screaming interrupted him.

”What’s going on?“

Kaz nodded, and his men let Jake go. He didn’t think twice. Without looking at you once, the man flew in as he had arrived.

The men stared at Dirtyhands, waiting for his approval to leave. Kaz gestured, and they left.

”What’s going on? I won’t ask it again.“

“This stupid... man touched you.” He declared calmly, removing the blood from his sleeve.

”Yes, and?”

“He didn’t ask.”

”Because I let him. Do you genuinely think he would have touched me if I hadn’t allowed it? You know what I do and who I am.” You murmured.

Kaz’s blue eyes were avoiding your gaze, looking at the street and holding tightly onto his cane. He frowned.

”Why?“He questioned.

“Why? You dare ask why? You know damn well, Brekker.“

”Enlighten me with what I am supposed to know ‘damn well’.

He clenched his teeth, and you approached him dangerously. You plunged your eyes into his, almost begging him not to let you speak.

”I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction?” He questioned, wonder in his eyes.

“But we succeeded in the mission. We won thousands of kruge, Y/N.”

”I know.”

”Is it not enough for you? What do you need more? What do you need more than what thousands of Kruge can offer you?”

You repressed your tears. You were the Ghost after all, you couldn’t cry even if you wanted to.

“Thousands of Kruge can’t buy me you.” You whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

“Me?”

“Your name is Kaz Brekker, no? Or should I say Dirtyhands?“

A small smile escaped his lips, quickly replaced by sadness. He was staring at his gloved hands. What was he supposed to do? Tell you he felt the same, and offer you what exactly? He couldn’t even touch you.

“I was trying to forget you with this man, to forget the times you looked at me like I was an investment, when I came back from a mission hurt badly and you just said ‘good job’.

“What do I have that you might want?” He asked, his voice almost trembling.

Memories of Jordie flooded his mind. The times when they were happy, or at least tried to because they were together.

You didn’t reply, just watched him, the man you love.

“I can’t offer you anything, Y/N.” Kaz declared, approaching you with the most sincere look you’ve ever seen him with.

”I can’t offer you a crown, a throne, or even a palace. I can’t provide you the most precious jewels in the world. I can’t make you my queen, Y/N.”

”How romantic.” You finally spoke, crossing your arms.

”At least I have the decency not to lie to you.” He replied.

”I think I would have preferred you to lie.” You declared, trying to repress your tears again.

”What did you want me to say? That I would make you a Queen even though we live in Ketterdam, and would cover you with the most expensive jewels when we loot every day to survive? You would have wanted me to tell you that I cannot live without you, although touching you is unbearable to me? You would have liked me to tell you that I love you, right Y/N?

Eyes misted with tears, Y/N dared to meet his gaze. When Kaz saw that Y/N’s eyes were shining, he realized the magnitude of his words. He had always thought that by being cruel, he could push people away, keep them away, to avoid doing harm and, above all, be hurt. Things had gone wrong the last time he had loved someone, so how could he really trust his heart anymore?

Jordie.

His name echoed in his head when he looked at Y/N. He wanted to apologize, hug her, and kiss her lips, but he couldn’t.

He tried to take a step towards her to try to comfort her, but when his hand approached her bare arm, he resigned himself to it. He was shaking. Touching someone seemed impossible so how could he ask Y/N to stay? What could he offer her? A life of hidden gazes, impossible caresses, abstinence... Y/N deserved better. She could have had better. Nikolai Lantsov had always wanted her. All she had to do was say yes, and she would become the first Grisha Queen. Kaz had to admit Y/N would make an exquisite Queen. She was fair, and she only hurt when necessary. Y/N deserved a better life than a life in danger in Ketterdam. And if Pekka Rollins learned that Dirtyhands cared about her, he would seek to get rid of her by any means possible.

Y/N gazed at Kaz one last time before turning to the door. She was about to grab the handle when she felt pressure on her arm. Kaz was touching her.

“Don’t leave, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is it a command, Boss? You asked, annoyed.

“It’s not.”

You observed Kaz’s face. For someone who didn’t know him, Kaz was emotionless. But at that moment, you knew he was vulnerable. His features were different. He seemed fragile. The bastard of the barrel seemed weak! You laughed in your head.

“Stay, please.” He begged you, the silence in his head unbearable.

You made a small move to get out of his grip. His hand fell against his body. And suddenly, he grabbed your hand. You stared at your hand in his gloved ones. Seeing your reluctance, he pulled his hand away and took off his gloves. Trying to calm his trembling, he reached for your delicate hand. His fingers brushed your skin, knuckles, and wrist, sending shivers down your whole body. Kaz was trying to memorize your hand, the veins in your wrists, your knuckles, to make it familiar, so that he wouldn’t be scared anymore.

“Can I?” He asked you.

You nodded, astonished to see Kaz Brekker asking for permission. He wasn’t one to ask. He always took and took. Never saying please. Never asking for permission. And here he was. All vulnerable in front of you.

He took your hand in his with hesitation and still trembling. Dirtyhands was trying his best to hide his fear in front of you. He was the bastard of the barrel. Everybody feared him, and yet he could not take your bare hand in his. He felt pathetic. He stared at your intertwined fingers for some time.

“What more can I offer you than what you already have?”

Your attention, your time, your love, your skin (maybe not), everything, you wanted to scream but you couldn’t. He was Kaz Krekker after all.

“I can’t make you happy, Y/N. You should go with Nikolai, he’ll know what to do. I can’t even kiss you, Y/N. I can’t, it’s pure torture. I can’t.”

One tear was slowly running across your cheek.

“I don’t want wealth or power. I don’t care about Saints.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Your love.“ You spitted.

Your hands were still intertwined, and that’s when Kaz noticed that while you were talking, he forgot about your hand in his, and for once, it had not disturbed him. It was brief, but he had felt your skin against his, the feeling of coldness and an almost delicate hand. He was staring at your hands with intensity, not knowing where his began and yours finished. The contact with your skin burned him, it was like caressing fire, feeling the unbearable heat against his fingers, against his palm, and yet he didn’t want to remove his hand from your painful skin.

“Kaz, look at me.”

You knew he was fighting his own demons, and it was not easy to hold your hand, and much less for a few minutes.

“Focus on my voice.”

He complied, and you dared take his hand and bring it to your face.

“I am here for you. Since the beginning, I have been here. Since the first day we looked at each other in this street, I knew everything would be different.”

While talking, you held his index finger in your tiny fingers compared to his. It was reaching dangerously for your cheek.

“Do you remember, Brekker, the first day we met?”

Kaz was trying his best to focus on your eyes, lips, on everything other than his fear to feel. It was finally this fear of hurting that made every touch burn. And you knew, you understood.

“I was pulling a dagger from my bleeding shoulder, sitting alone on the street, when you came. And do you remember what you said to me?”

You finally put his index finger delicately on your cheek. Step by step. You knew it would take time. Months and years, probably. But you were never a quitter after all.

Kaz chuckled, remembering this particular day when he thought that the Ghost everybody was scared of was just a little girl. Today, he knew he was wrong.

“You first said to me “Work for me, Ghost, and you’ll never have to pull out any dagger of your shoulders.”

Dirtyhands grinned, and with his index finger on your cheek, he explored your skin, still burning him. You removed your hand and laughed.

“You know, the day I met you, I knew you wanted me to work for you because I was taking all your contracts.”

He laughed again, and a second finger was caressing your cheek.

“I couldn’t let you take all the money.” Kaz replied, with this smirk you loved.”And you said ‘yes’ if I recall.”

“That I did. Though I did pull out many other daggers from my shoulder.” You spoke softly.

Another laugh, and he put a third finger on your face, stroking and trying to control his trembling. Still, he never dared remove his gaze from you.

“I know. I was planning a meeting with you for weeks, trying to find something to make you work for me. But you had no weakness, no secret that I knew of. I didn’t know what you were looking for.”

The tips of his three fingers were still on your skin, learning every wrinkle you would have, every scar, everything, even if it burned.

“That’s what made me so good, back then I had nothing to look for and nothing to lose.”

“And now?”

“Now, I have a goal, something to fight for, that’s what makes me fearsome.” You muttered and smiled at your words because you meant them.

Kaz smirked. He knew there were two kinds of people to fear: those who had nothing left to lose, and the ones who had everything to lose.

With sudden confidence, Kaz reached with one finger for your lips, trying to touch, and caress them. His trembling finger found your lip, he felt it, his deep blue eyes on yours. You were watching him with pride.

Maybe too greedy, Kaz wanted to feel your face with his hand, he tried to place all his fingers against your skin, but the burning was too powerful. Suddenly, he removed his hand, shivering.

“I-I am sorry.”He said, his armor falling back in place.

He saw Jordie’s face again. And he felt the skin of other corpses on his. It was warm. Too warm. It was burning him up. He was screaming, and nobody came.

“Kaz. Kaz! Look at me.”

He heard your voice calling in this ocean of corpses.

You didn’t touch him, but called his name.

“Kaz. You are with me. You are not there. Not anymore. Breathe. You are safe.”

He finally saw your eyes and where he was. In the middle of the street with you. He got up, dusted off his coat, and stared at you.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

He put back on his gloves and resumed leaning on his cane.

He was not only Kaz Brekker at this moment, but also Dirtyhands, and the bastard of the barrel. You smiled and glanced at his form as it left the room.

“The answer is this.”

The Bastard of the barrel turned to you and looked at your face, eyes full of silent interrogation.

“This is what I want, Kaz Brekker, and this is what you can offer me.”

You swore you could see a smirk escaping his lips. And this was the moment you knew you were not just an investment for Kaz Brekker.

———

If you loved this story, don’t forget to like, reblog and comment! I’d love to write more Kaz x reader with the OC “The Ghost” if there is enough interest, I’ll write more for Kaz!

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ziggyzolch · 30 days

Text

Headache II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: Finally waking up from your forced nap, you have a discussion with the rest of the team. Warnings: Swearing and general tomfoolery Previous Part

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

❅❅❅

You can hear two, maybe three voices in the same room as you. From what you've gathered, you're in some kind of hotel room, and have been asleep for at least an hour. Peaking open one eye, you see a man with silver highlights in his hair, and the same woman that kidnapped you. An idea sparks in your mind.

They had been facing you for the 5 minutes you've been awake, but after painstakingly waiting 2 more minutes and almost falling back asleep, they turn away from you. You have no idea when they're gonna turn back, so you quickly walk up behind them. The man turns first.

"I think we could convince her to stay- What the fuck!" at his girly scream, Wanda turns and punches you in the nose. Doubled down clutching your nose and laughing your ass off, you point at the man, "You scream like a girl!" Before you could fall back down in laughter, Wanda picks you up by your shirt collar and pushes you against the bedroom door.

"Is it impossible for you to just. Be. Normal." she grits out.

"Yup. More importantly though, you are so strong." You reach out to touch her bicep, but she slaps your hand away.

"I can't wait till you're out of here, fucker."

"Yeah yeah. I get it, you love me." You say while flashing her a big goofy smile.

She rolls her eyes and opens the door, dragging you out to god knows where. Looking around the place, mainly for new prank setups, you notice the same silver haired man following you and Wanda. She turns a corner, and a huge living room reveals itself, with even more, probably rapey, people.

You turn to Wanda, "So is this like a weird university where your lessons are focused on kidnapping and trafficking." She looks down at you, opening her mouth to respond when a man interrupts. "Finally up?" He asks while standing up from the sofa he was sitting on, three more people standing up after him. You make eye contact with an intimidating redhead. "Tony, when you listed out her crimes, I expected her to be a 13 year old boy not..." She looks you up and down, "A 19 year old girl."

"Are you discriminating? Can girls not be assholes too?" You ask, faking an offended look.

Wanda interrupts, "She has superspeed or something, makes it easier for her to be a douchebag."

You puff up your chest in pride, "Yeah, it does."

"Alright." Wanda rolls her eyes and pulls you further into the room.

The man who you now know as Tony starts talking, "So, speedster," Both you and the silver-haired man respond, making you raise an eyebrow at him, "You have two options: Join us, or let us escort you to prison." Your eyes widen, "What the hell! What do you mean join you; I don't even know who you are or where I am," They all give confused looks to each other, "For all I know, you guys are gonna make me help you traffic innocent young girls such as myself." Wanda huffs out a laugh at the last part. After securing you to the couch (standing behind you and holding your shoulders down) Wanda looks down at you in question, "You've never heard of the Avengers?"

You attempt to turn only for her to keep you in your place, "I have more important things to worry about than a group of rapists."

"Okay seriously, why does she keep calling us that?" Tony looks to Wanda for answers, only getting a shrug in response.

"Well," A dirty blonde man approaches you, "The Avengers are-"

"Oh my God! I know you!" You start bouncing up and down, while Wanda attempts to hold you in place, "You're Captain America!"

Steve scratches the back of his neck, laughing bashfully. Tony chimes in angrily, "You're telling me you know this fossil but not the Avengers? Or even me!" You raise an eyebrow and turn to Wanda, "Did I trigger him?" Wanda rolls her eyes for the millionth time today, but this time she had a little smile appear on her face. You opt not to bring it up and move on.

"Oh wait, are you the guys that beat that alien?" You ask, "That alien was my brother!" A massive god-like man makes himself known. "I mean he wasn't from this planet was he," You attempt to joke, receiving exasperated sighs and eye rolls. The Norse God pulls you up by your shirt collar, "Jeez! Okay I won't make anymore jokes," He reluctantly puts you down when the unnamed redhead grabs his shoulder, "Tough crowd." You murmur.

Tony claps his hands, "Anyways, you have until tomorrow to make your choice. If you do decide to join, we'll provide details then. Otherwise you're going to prison, which, in all honesty, sounds like it might do you some good," You flip him off, "Hey!-"

Steve interrupts, "Where will she be staying?" Tony pauses in thought for a moment, then turns to Wanda with a wicked smile, "With her."

Objections start flying out of you and Wanda, and maybe some insults from you. Tony sighs, "Enough! Wanda you're the only one that can subdue her before she can even start running, and you," He points a finger directly in your face, "Don't have a choice."

You stare at his finger. Then bite down on it.

"What the- Wanda get her out of here!" Tony yells while clutching his finger.

While getting dragged up to what you assume to be the witch's room, you turn to shout, "It wasn't even that bad, pussy!" Wanda slaps the back of your head in warning.

She reaches the door before you stop moving. "Wait, I have one request." You turn to her and ask, in the most serious face you could muster. She actually stops, thinking that this may be important.

"Can I please get my stuff from my dorm? I have homework-" She groans and pushes you further into the room. You hear the door lock while you're exploring. You forgo telling her you could probably pick the lock. "You can make yourself comfortable on the floor," She says while putting away the key.

"What! You have a sofa right there!"

"Think of this as a punishment."

"Aren't you supposed to be convincing me to join your Powerpuff squad?"

"I don't have to do anything. Also, for being so ungrateful right now, you're not getting a blanket either."

You open your mouth to argue but the glare she sends you shuts you up, opting to just quietly fumfer out insults while attempting to get comfortable on the floor.

❅❅❅

Wanda exits the bathroom after finishing up her night-time routine, and finds you dead asleep like you weren't lying on a hardwood floor. She gets closer and notices your lips turning blue. She probably should've turned off the air conditioning, in hindsight.

Walking to her bed, she pauses. Groaning, she turns back around and walks to her closet, finding a spare blanket and putting it over you before stomping back to her bed.

She can't wait for you to get your own room.

❅❅❅

Next Part

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wlw #reader #x reader #sapphic #fanfiction #fanfic

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frenziedfireworks · 9 months

Text

Party Nights

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary : Reader goes to extreme lengths to ensure Fred's party is a success.

CW : Fem!Reader, making out, hints towards sex, alcohol & partying

If there was one thing the Weasley Twins knew how to do it was party. Their little celebrations had always been the talk whenever holidays or Quidditch were in season. Getting an invitation was also quite the hot commodity and people would go out of their way to be in line of sight of the twins - much to your dismay.

“George! Fred! Great to see you!” A hufflepuff girl passed by, winking and fluttering her eyes. You felt yourself want to gag.

“Well, aren't people so nice.” Fred snorted as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you along. You just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah because she’s just going out of her way to be nice. You don’t even know her name.”

“Wow! Someone is jealous! It’s okay Y/N you’re still my favorite girl.” Fred’s words made your stomach do a flip, quickly shaking it off. He was first and foremost your best friend. You never wanted your silly crush to ruin what you had with either of the twins.

“Well it’s a good thing you’re his favorite because you’re definitely not mine!” George grinned as you smacked his chest. He was always teasing the two of you.

“Yeah well you’re not my favorite either, George. Quite the opposite actually. I think I’d prefer Percy to you.” You snapped back and Fred’s laughter filled the halls.

“Percy?!” George mocked offense, hand flying to act as if he had fainted.

“Yeah you heard me.”

“I wish I hadn’t.” George and Fred continued making jokes as you followed to wherever they were going. It wasn’t long before all three of you stood in front of an old classroom door. Both boys had wicked smirks adorning their faces and mischief gleaming in their eyes.

“One of you want to fill me in? What are we doing staring at a raggedy old door?” Your questions fell on deaf ears as they looped their arms around your frame and yanked you in. The old room had been turned into something different altogether. One of the ancient desks held cups and a punch bowl. A dance floor lit up the dank stone walls and streamers littered from the ceiling. There was a small table filled with Weasley ‘delicacies’ that you knew would end up spreading like wildfire. After all, your boys were more genius than anyone ever gave them credit for.

“This looks nice!” You turned to find the boys staring at each other, supposedly deep in thought.

“Yes it does but something is missing.”

“Exactly what I was thinking Fred.”

“What could possibly be missing?” You sighed, knowing all too well you were about to be put to the test.

“Music.” Fred’s face contorted into a sad puppy, his eyes pleading.

“Merlin’s beard. What do you want me to do?”

“I knew you were my favorite for a reason! I really need you to go ask Hermione for her music player - please? I’ll do anything.”

Now you were intrigued. Fred had rarely made promises where he allowed for anything, knowing full well the trouble it could lead him into. It couldn’t possibly be hard to get Hermione’s music player - right?

—

Wrong. You were incredibly wrong and suddenly knew why Fred had promised anything. Trying to coax Hermione into letting you borrow the stereo was like watching paint dry. Incredibly tedious and her answer would not change.

“Mione-”

“Y/N I love you but I said no! I know you’re going to give it to the twins and I promised myself that I would not indulge their parties! You know exams are around the corner!”

You groaned and felt like pulling out your hair. Fred was relying and trusting you with a big part of his plans and if you failed you would feel like shit. You somehow had to convince Hermione to give you the stereo.

“Please. I’ll do anything!” You found yourself thinking back to only an hour ago when the same words left Fred’s mouth. You knew that Hermione also would’ve had a harsher consequence for Fred than she would for you. No wonder he had begged you to do it. Hermione shut her book and raised an eyebrow.

“Anything?” She questioned and you nodded aggressively.

“Anything! I promise.” You grabbed at her hands practically pleading.

“Fine. Let me go grab it and tell you what I want.” Hermione was quick on her feet and ran off. You were glad you were able to convince her within such a quick time. To be honest you were worried she wouldn’t have anything she needed.

“Here.” Hermione handed over the stereo and you happily took it. It was big and bulky but you could manage to get it back to the old classroom in time.

“So what do you want me to do? Steal some potion items or something?”

Hermione snorted and gave you a little grin. You had never seen her look so devious.

“No. I want you to tell Fred that you like him tonight.”

It was as if you had been punched in the chest. Out of any of your close friends that knew about your crush the least expected one to betray you was Hermione. Well, not betray, but more so force you into the unknown and risk losing your dear twins. You wanted to be mad but you knew better considering you had promised her anything. She was always pushing you to tell Fred but it was quite hypocritical considering her and Ron - not that you would mention that. You never wanted to be on the bad side of Hermione Granger.

“Fine. I’ll uh.. Let you know how it goes tomorrow.” You whispered and went on your way. Somehow you had to manage getting the stereo back to the boys, get dressed and sneak out to the party, and admit to Fred your absolute obsession with him.

—

“Y/N! Here let me have that.” George greeted and took the stereo off your hands. You were glad for that considering it felt like you had been walking around with a sack of rocks tied to your arms.

“Your girl got it! Can’t believe my eyes!” George yelled out to Fred who came out of an old cupboard. His face was covered in soot and his clothes looked like he had just enjoyed a mud bath.

“Don’t you look lovely. I’m off to get dressed too. Is the theme crawling in the chimney?” You laughed as Fred dusted himself off, cheeks going red from your comment.

“No but it can be if you want to match. I think we’d be sexy chimney sweepers.”

There was that charm that he somehow always knew how to use. You didn’t know how he somehow made a chimney sweeper sound so.. Romantic? Whatever. You had bigger worries to think about.

“Yeah, whatever you say. I’m going to change now. Bye!”

—

You had gotten back to your room without a hitch and stared at your closet. You had to choose something memorable if tonight was the last night you would ever see the Weasley Twins. Finally deciding on an outfit that was a little risqué you left your room. You casted the disillusionment charm and headed back down to the old classroom you had been in not an hour before.

Opening the door you were hit with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Everyone was pushing against eachother and cheering. Music played loud from the stereo and the twins were at the front near their kiosk.

“Y/N! Lovely to see you!” Angelina smiled and pulled you in for a quick hug. You could tell she was already drunk off whatever the twins had supplied.

“Lovely to see you too Angie! Having fun?” You questioned and she just nodded.

“Yeah! I hope to see you out on the dance floor!” She winked and made her way through the room. You had hoped she would spend a few more minutes with you because that was more time to drain instead of thinking about telling Fred. There was no way in hell you were going to do this completely sober either.

You made your way through the bustling crowd and fought with quite a few people before you were able to fill your cup. The punch was sweet and barely tasted alcoholic - dangerous. You knew if you drank too much before it hit you would be shitfaced by the end of the night.

“It’s super good, right?” You almost had a heart attack as you heard Ron right behind you. You glanced up at him and sighed.

“Way to scare the shit out of me! And yes it’s pretty good. Enjoying yourself without your girlfriend?” You teased the boy, watching as his freckled face lit up red.

“Could say the same about you. Having a few drinks before you go kiss up on dearest Freddie?” Ron raised an eyebrow as you let out a defeated sigh. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him about everything…

“It’s going to be a shit night Ronald.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Ron was surprisingly kind when you were serious with him and opened up. Maybe he was a bit inept with feelings but he really tried his best.

“Well.. Fred made me get the stereo from Hermione. To be able to get it I promised her to do anything and well.. She told me that I had to tell Fred..” You mumbled off. Ron’s eyes widened a minuscule bit and chuckled.

“Brutal isn’t she? If you need any help getting out you always have Harry and I.” Ron gave you a heartwarming pat and began to wander off. So much for moral support..

—

“And do tell what my best girl is doing here all alone being ditched by my little brother?” Fred’s form engulfed you from behind. His lips dusted against the shell of your ear and sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

“Looking for you actually.” You decided to get it over with. There’s no better time than the present. You turned in his hold and met his gorgeous face. The usual smirk adorned it and within the strobe lights his eyes seemed to glow like lanterns.

“What can I do for you then? Offer you another drink or cure your boredom?” You could only wish that could be your answer. It would be much easier to drink the night away with him than heartbroken without him.

“Uh no. Not yet at least. I really need to tell you something. Can we go someplace a bit more quiet?” Fred bobbed his head and dragged you along. Before you knew it you were shuffling into a broom closet. Fred was way more close for comfort than you would’ve wished and it only added to your nervousness. How the hell did you get this far?!

“So…” Fred started.

“So…”

The two of you sat in awkward silence for a few seconds before laughter struck.

“What in the world did you pull me into a broom closet to tell me?” Fred choked out and you groaned. It was time to finally rip the bandaid off.

“Well you see.. I have had this feeling for you for a while now.” You grumbled out and stared at your feet. If the proximity didn’t kill you then his glance definitely would.

“Right. A bad feeling or good feeling? Because I usually cause a lot of those.” Fred joked and you smacked at his arm. You couldn’t believe his sarcastic ass.

“Good! Very good actually. I- Oh fuck me. I really like you.” Now it was all out in the open and you wanted to shrink away. There wasn’t any going back and you could only hope he would have some mercy on your soul.

“Y/N, I've been flirting with you for like two years. I obviously like you too.” Fred’s hand rubbed against the flesh of your arm creating goosebumps all over.

“What?” You spluttered out still confused. There was no way he had been flirting for that long. You would have to be as daft as Ronald!

“I call you my favorite girl and you think that’s me being kind?” Fred’s hand rubbed against your cheek, finger dragging ever so slowly against your lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Your fantasies were finally fulfilled as his warm lips met yours. Fred was an impatient man and yet he took his sweet time to work you into the kiss, hands pushing you against the stone wall. His tongue lapped at your lips for permission and you relented. He tasted of chocolate and alcohol - fitting and tantalizing. His tongue prodded yours making the moment even more intimate.

“This is all I’ve been wanting for so long.” Fred’s voice was deep and you could barely think.

“Me too.” You whispered and yanked at his shirt for more. He laughed into the kiss, hands running up and down your sides. He separated from your lips much sooner than you had wished and pecked at your forehead.

“As much as I would love to take you in a closet I was thinking maybe something more romantic? I also have a party I am hosting right now.. Maybe we can go kiss in there for a while?”

You pretended to think for a while as you adjusted your clothes and hair before nodding.

“I suppose I can go back with you. But I think you owe me later after the whole stereo fiasco..” Your fingers trailed his bare arm and you could feel him shake.

“My ever so generous girlfriend I would be delighted to do whatever you wish.” Fred shot you a wink that set butterflies aflame in your stomach. You linked arms with your newfound boyfriend and set off back to the party.

You definitely had to thank Hermione in the morning.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #fred weasley x you #weasley twin imagines

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littlexscarletxwitch · 3 months

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Hi, would you be able to do a mutual pining yelena x avenger!reader kinda thing where yelena has been ignoring reader because she doesn’t know to how to deal with her feelings and when reader confronts her, yelena admits that she likes her? Mainly angst with fluff at the end if possible. Love your fics!!

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂

paring: yelena belova x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, some angst, mutual pinning, nat being the big sis

warning(s): yel having a hard time admitting her feelings, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 1.8k

note: Soooooo sorry it took me soooo long to post this. I FUCKING LOVED THIS REQUEST btw. Also guys, it's taking me so long to post fic because a) my laptop is just a bitch and won't work, and b) I guess I'm going through a writer's block and it's kinda hard to find the motivation to write. But I'll try my best. Lots of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Your legs were sore, you couldn't feel your arms anymore and you were gasping for air, but it wasn’t over until one of you was down.

“Can’t we take a break?” you whined out as you tried dodging Yelena’s fist but still made contact with your body and you groaned out in pain.

“Focus, Y/n,” Steve called out, before Yelena would punch again.

You knew she was holding back, measuring her strength, she always would when training with you. And you didn’t know if you found that reassuring or mocking. You kicked her in the stomach, but it still did not affect her, it was quite the opposite really.

“That’s all you got?”

“Why? Wanna try something else?” you teasingly said while winking at her.

You got her off guard, she wasn’t expecting your cocky self to show up while training, and seized the moment to swift her off her feet and got on top of her.

“Was this what you had in mind?”

Your hands quickly found her wrists while your body pressed into her abdomen pushing her down so she wouldn’t get out of your hold.

“Okay, I think it’s enough,” Steve called out, sensing you had gone off track.

Both you and Yelena knew that she could easily get out of your hold, but still it took her two minutes to do so. You didn’t want to let her go that easily, you felt your whole body burning just by the thought of her skin against yours, still you stood up and got on moving before the two of you could have a say on what just had happened.

That was how it always went with Yelena, one moment you had the courage to openly flirt with her and a second later you would run back to your dorm second guessing the whole interaction. You wanted to do more, each and every time, but she was so nonchalant about you flirting with her that you convinced yourself that it was just that, a flirty friendship.

And most of the time you were okay with it, playing dumb about your own feelings. But then shit like that would happen, you would brush her skin, or would make her laugh, or just look at her, and the thought of a friendship would fly out of your mind. That was why you would lock up in your room, trying to calm and persuade yourself to not let your stupid feelings get in the way.

And the same stupid thing would happen to Yelena, which you didn’t know about.

“You want to talk about it?” Yelena heard her sister's voice as she watched you heading out the training room.

“I wasn’t holding back, I swear.”

“Not about your punching,” she raised her brow at her little sister.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yelena shrugged it off as she grabbed her bottle of water and took a big sip.

“Lena, I know you,” Natasha took advantage of the fact that her sister was chugging down water. “I know we don’t do feelings, we don’t trust people. But that was the old us, that was the red room. We have to put that shitty part of our lives behind us for good.”

“And I have,” Yelena scoffed.

“Then why haven't you done something about it?” Yelena knew her sister meant you, she didn’t have to clarify. “At least, give it a go,” Natasha sighed. “If not for you, then for her.”

“She doesn’t—.”

“You never know, Lena. Neither will she, if you don’t tell her,” and with that Natasha left her sister to her own thoughts.

“Suka,” she mumbled under her breath, because Natasha was right. She was always right about everything, it was the power that came with being a big sister—her big sister—, and she hated it when she was right.

She knew she had to do something about it, about you. But the fear of rejection, of feeling unwanted felt too much to bear. She wasn’t going to open up her heart just for someone else to crush it. But maybe, just maybe she could trust you not to crush it.

[...]

Still, it was easier said than done. It took her a full week to finally come to the conclusion that she was, actually, madly in love with you. A week full of stress and anxiety because deep down she felt like she didn’t deserve to have these feelings towards you.

And now that she knew exactly how she felt about you, it fucking terrified her. So she did what she thought was best and put some space in between the two of you. The thought of you clouded her brain and it was starting to affect her line of work, and she couldn’t have that. Being part of the avengers gave her life meaning, and she was not going to let her stupid feelings ruin that for her. Even though she wanted to be close to you, and just melt into your arms.

Of course, her coldness didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were confused, though. It wasn’t like Yelena to just shut you out. Even though you wanted more than just a friendship out of her, you wanted to consider yourself a friend of hers and it hurt that she was just avoiding you.

You didn’t know what was going on, she just felt out of your reach. You asked her sister about it, she just told you to give her space and she would be okay, before muttering something under her breath and went on with her day. You asked Kate and she just completely avoided the topic and changed the subject.

The more she didn’t talk to you, not even glance at your direction, the more you felt like you had done something wrong, maybe she had found out about your feelings and now she was avoiding you because of them. She probably felt uncomfortable about them, she probably wanted nothing to do with you. And who were you to decide otherwise?

You talked to Steve, making sure to not have more training lessons with her, only to find out she had already asked the same thing. You knew it was stupid to feel as if your heart was breaking since you wanted the same thing, but it did feel like shattering to pieces. You just nodded, a tight smile finding its way to your lips and went to your room before shedding any tears.

This whole thing was bullshit. Yes, maybe she didn’t feel the same way you did about her. But the both of you were full grown-ups, you should be professional about it and act like nothing had happened. Because in reality it didn’t, not that you were aware of it. So you decided that you were going to give her a piece of your mind.

You searched for her throughout the entire building and finally found her in the training room. Of course she was there, you should have thought of coming there earlier.

For a trained assassin she didn’t notice your presence, too caught up in her own mind, focusing on her breathing and throwing punches at the boxing bag.

You cleared your throat. “Got a minute?”

She looked over her shoulder, finally acknowledging you there, and you swore you watched as her whole body just tensed up by the sound of your voice.

“I’m kinda busy right now,” she mumbled before throwing two more punches.

“It won’t take long,” you insisted, wanting to get this over with.

“Look, I really need to—.”

You cut her off. “I don’t know who told you or how you found out, but yes, it’s true, okay?” you finally got her attention. “I just thought you would be professional enough to not let this get in the way and pretend like nothing happened. Which is what I also wish for.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You avoiding me,” you quickly mumbled, a tint of concussion in your tone. “I get it, but let’s just put this behind us and act like propper adults.”

“No, I’m aware of that part,” she scoffed, embarrassed to admit to you what she had been up to. “What I mean is, what have I found out?”

Your brows furrowed. “About my… me… and you,” you gave yourself a second to think her words through. “Hold on a second, you don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?”

“You don’t,” you finally added two plus two and realised that Yelena had no recollection whatsoever about your feelings, but still something was off. “Why have you been avoiding me then?”

You watched her as her mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words.

“What did I ever do to you for you to completely avoid me, huh?”

“You did nothing, I just…”

“You just what?” you scoffed, now anger filling your tone. “You just decided it was fun to ignore me?”

“No! God, no.”

“Then what is it?!” the two of you were pretty much screaming at each other.

“Because I like you, damn it!” she finally confessed. “Is it so hard to see?”

Your eyes winded. “You like me? You have been avoiding me because you like me?”

“I know, not my brightest moment. But it's just that you… you just…” she gestured to her brain. “You’re just stuck here, and I can’t get you out. At first I was scared to admit my own feelings to myself,” she took a deep breath. “But then Tasha said something and it made me realise that there’s nothing wrong with having feelings. But then I had to admit to myself that I really fucking like you. And I just… I just got scared because you might not feel the same way, and you might just push me away,” another deep breath. “And I decided that I would push you away first… and so I did.”

“So you like me.”

“Yes,” her brows furrowed. “Was that all you got?”

“I mean… it’s the part that matters most,” you grinned at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I really fucking like you too,” you said cupping her cheeks. “I thought you knew and that was why you were avoiding me. But now I get it, I make you nervous,” you said teasingly.

“I wouldn’t use that word…” you rolled your eyes before shutting her off with your lips, finally giving in and kissing her.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” you whispered over her lips as you deepened the kiss.

Her lips were soft and rough, and they had some saltiness to them due to her being all sweaty. But you didn’t mind at all, in fact you really like it.

“Remember last time we were here?” you whispered in her ear, trailing a path of kiss down her jaw and neck.

“You mean… that time we last trained?” she sounded breathlessly and it sent a shiver down your whole body.

“If I remember correctly, which I know I do…” you gently bit her skin earning a hiss out of her lips. “You were on the grown and I was on top of you, remember?”

“Yes…” she said as her fingers ran through your hair.

“Want to pick up where we left it off?”

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x fem reader #yelena belova imagine #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 3 months

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how about poor reader asking friends for help about how to confess to their crush... only for said crush hearing them "confessing" to their nemesis (all gets fixed later I just want to laugh a bit 🙈) feel free to ignore if it's not something that speaks to you it's ok. hope you find some inspiration soon 🥰

eren jaeger overheard you ‘confessing’ to jean. he wanted to shrivel up and die but most of all, he wanted to beat the shit out of jean. he bursts in, fists clenched and you have to explain to him just what’s going on so he doesn’t kill jean.

armin arlert wants to cry when he hears you telling someone else just how much you liked them. he was sure there was something between you two. he’s confused when you do end up confessing to him, when he realized what was happening, he was flattered you had to rehearse.

mikasa ackerman’s heart crumbles when she hears you. she decides to not say anything about her feelings to you and instead tries to convince herself she doesn’t have any towards you.

jean kirstein is furious, that jaeger has ‘stolen’ something from. ‘out of all people, EREN?’ he yelled. you had to calm him down as eren laughed. jean felt super embarrassed about it, turning bright pink.

sasha braus just kind of thinks ‘oh.’ her heart sinks and she decides to go on with her day, despite how sad she was.

connie springer overhears you confessing to jean. he’s more concerned in your taste of men than he is heartbroken. he lectures you on why he’d be a better match than jean. everytime you try to tell him you like him, he just keeps talking.

reiner braun heard you admiring ymir. he’s so furious, devastated, and alone. he doesn’t understand how ymir gets all of the girls. ymir, of course, doesn’t tell him that he’s the one you actually like. she decides to keep him in the dark until you tell him.

bertholdt hoover isn’t the confrontational type. he lets it be, trusting things will work out when they’re supposed to. he’s baffled when you gave him the same speech you gave another. you tell him you were just practicing and his cheeks flush.

annie leonhardt shrugs her shoulders when she overhears you telling someone the depths of your heart. she gives you the cold shoulder until you muster up the courage to tell her but she doesn’t believe you. you really have to convince her.

ymir doesn’t fret when she hears you confessing your love for reiner. she’s not worried about him; she knows she’ll get you, one way or another. she’s not easily deterred.

historia reiss fights the tears coming to her eyes. she tries so hard to keep being her usual cheerful self but she’s so upset, you take notice. she explains to you and you laugh which causes her to punch you in the arm. then, you tell her the truth.

levi ackerman is going to straight up murder zeke. there’s no if’s, ands or buts. goodbye, zeke.

zeke jaeger knows levi is humanity’s strongest soldier but he’s not the best looking one, so he’s confused. he interrogates you head on about your ‘crush on levi’ and you want to smack him in his face for eavesdropping.

erwin smith feels deeply betrayed overhearing you confess your love to his enemy. somehow, he thinks he deserves this and that he didn’t deserve you. he’s awed when you reveal the truth and he curses himself for being so silly.

click here to read my jean fic, i promise you’ll like it

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smartycvnt · 4 months

Text

Let Her Go

Title: Let Her Go

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Prompts: "Can I have a hug?" + "Oh sweetheart, come here."

Word Count: 1330

Ash stared at the pack of cigarettes laying on the groud next to her. She had quit a long time ago, back whenever she started training seriously. There had been worse vices that Ash had fought through, but these were always the gateway back to them. Ash should have thrown them away immediately after buying them, but something had stopped her.

The past few weeks had been rough, but Ash preveiled through them. She just wasn't so sure how much longer she could do that anymore. Wrestling wasn't what it used to be for her. WWE had sucked all of the fun out of it. They had fired their old punching bags, so they made a joke of her career.

"I thought I'd find you out here," Damian said as he stepped out of the side door. Rhea, Dom, and Finn were right behind him. Ash smiled up at them, but Rhea could see that it wasn't a real smile. Things between them had been a bit strained, but Rhea still cared about Ash more than she did anybody else.

"It was crowded in there," Ash lied. She had snuck away when everybody else was busy somewhere else. She had been completely alone for the majority of the time that she'd been waiting backstage. "I didn't want to leave and miss the main event."

"Eh, it's just those bozos in a tag match," Rhea said as she sat down next to Ash. Damian and Finn huffed at the insult, but didn't argue against it.

"Why don't we go back inside boys? I think we need to strategize," Dom suggested. Damian shot Ash one last look before he followed Finn and Dom inside. Rhea watched the two of them curiously for a moment. There had always been rumors about something going on between Ash and Damian, but Rhea had always chalked it down to people being bored backstage.

"How long has that been going on?" Rhea asked. She tried to push down her own feeling of betrayal. Her two best friends being in a relationship should have been something that she knew about, but if Ash and Damian didn't want to tell Rhea, there was nothing to be done about it.

"Don't worry, it ended the same week it started. Nothing to run home crying about," Ash said.

"If it's not a breakup, then what's going on with you?" Rhea asked. She had been noticing Ash acting weird for a long time, but she didn't get it. They had finally made it like they used to fantasize about on the indies.

"In a way, it kind of is like a breakup. I used to be so excited to come to work, but they've screwed me. This feels like torture some days and I just want to run away from it all, but I can't. I know that I'm heading to the chopping block, but after that, I don't think that I want to try again," Ash confessed. Rhea's face fell as she thought about having to do this without Ash at her side.

"No, you can't quit on me!" Rhea yelled angrily. Ash flinched at the sudden outburst. Rhea was on top of the world, so Ash didn't expect her to understand where she was coming from. Rhea had never been kicked down like Ash had. Every single one of Rhea's losses had led her towards something even bigger, unlike Ash, who had been kicked to the very bottom of the food chain the second that she lost her title.

"You don't get it, but I don't expect you to. Things don't work out for me the way that they do for you, and that's okay." Ash seemed completely fine with giving everything up, and that infuriated Rhea to no end. Ash had always been the passionate one between the two of them, especially when it came to wrestling. In a lot of ways, Ash had gotten Rhea into wrestling in the first place. Rhea didn't feel right living out Ash's dream.

There didn't seem to be anything for Rhea to say that could convince Ash to stay. They started to avoid each other a little more, which didn't go unnoticed by the rest of The Judgement Day. Damian and Finn seemed to know what was going on with Ash, but Dom was in the dark. He had heard Rhea's side of things about Ash giving up and not caring anymore. Dom was confused, especially since it was very obvious that Ash was suffering the most from the separation, directly contradicting Rhea's words.

March couldn't have come fast enough for Ash, but it came far too quickly for Rhea's liking. Finn knew exactly what was coming, so he made sure to be by Ash's side when the call came in. He knew that it wasn't the same as Rhea being there, but the texts from Dom and Damian told him that Rhea was a complete mess about Ash being let go.

"It doesn't feel as freeing as I would have hoped," Ash mumbled. The tears had come fairly quickly after that. Finn hated seeing someone who he had come to care for hurting so badly. His lips pressed together in a thin line as he tried to think of a way to comfort Ash. He had never felt like he was good at that sort of thing.

"Can I get you anything?" Finn asked her.

"I know this isn't your thing, but can I have a hug?" Ash asked. She looked up at him with glassy eyes, looking like a hurt puppy. Finn nodded as he moved towards her.

"Of course," Finn said. He wrapped his arms around Ash and held her as she cried for what seemed like hours. He had seen this before in some of his other friends. People came to WWE looking to see their dreams through, but it rarely ever ended up that way. Their failures weren't always their own faults. Most of the time, it was something out of their control. For Ash, there didn't seem to be a real reasoning behind her being pushed to the very back after being on the brink of stardom.

Ash contemplated her next moves. A break from wrestling was the first step, but a part of her wanted to try again when it was all done and over with. She could rest her body for a little while before she started training for her comeback. Nobody had contacted her yet, but it was still early in her release. She wasn't exactly someone who expected the calls to start coming in immediately.

"I'll get it," Finn said as he pulled away from Ash to answer the door. The door had barely opened up a little before Rhea came barreling through the entryway.

"Can you give us a minute?" Rhea asked. Finn nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "I don't want you to leave. You're gonna go somewhere far away, and I'll never get to see you again. Please, I want you to stay here. I'm going to miss you and I don't know what to do about it."

"Oh sweetheart, come here." Ash hadn't even finished her sentence before Rhea was rushing over towards her. If it wasn't for the couch being against the wall, Ash was certain that it would have tipped from the force of Rhea coming towards her. Ash wrapped her arms around the back of Rhea's neck as tightly as she could without choking her.

"I've been an ass, but I want you around. Do you still want to be around me?" Rhea asked her.

"Always, and no matter where I go, I'll always be a phone call away," Ash said. Rhea seemed to relax a little at that, but it was obvious that she was still extremely upset over Ash leaving WWE. Ash just hoped that Rhea would accept it when the time for her to debut somewhere else came around.

#rhea ripley x reader #my writing #one shot #rhea ripley #wwe x reader #wwe

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blingblong55 · 5 months

Text

All too well- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

A/N: this is some of me in writing and why I believe romance is not for me, not now at least...so enjoy :) --- F!Reader, angst? fluff?, toxic!Ghost, age gap, older boyfriend!Ghost ----

A/N: I know Ghost wouldn't be this kind of man if he was real but I have to break my heart with him...sorry

He is older than you, years ahead of you and has more experience than you do so when you broke up with him, it was hard to let go. You at the time were 20, he was 37. People always judged and of course, you thought it was because they were jealous not because they were seriously concerned. Still, in Uni, he wanted you to make him your priority. You always said no and for some reason, he would get mad about this. At first, he was the nice guy, he was perfect and it all made you more sure that maybe there was a future with him. Your free time was spent with him because somehow, he convinced you to give all your time to him.

This all gets noticed by all your friends. Your phone, passwords and even social accounts get monitored and checked by him. It wasn't all romance anymore. It became a reward system, you gave him your free time? Maybe he would be romantic. You let him control your friendships? Maybe he would tell you more about his weekends. Soon enough, you noticed it. Simon became the villain and for good reasons. He played the perfect part all too well, but only to those questioning stares and in those moments, it was perfection.

When the stares looked away, he was the same Simon that had your heart trapped at the top of the castle. His anger and manipulative tactics become the dragon. Everywhere you went, his shadows lurked for you. When he said he wanted you to think of him every second of your waking life, he meant it. Will he approve of me talking to them? Your mind always asked that, even if the guy was just a friend, a literal friend and nothing more, Simon crept into your head.

His childhood memories, being told to you, maybe it was for sympathy or maybe it was to make you think he wasn't the cold-hearted man who made you cry on Valentine's Day. "Simon! Do you not understand how rude and mean that was?!" Your heart was stabbed by his actions on that day. "R/N, you are being dramatic!" A gift that you went out of your way for in the hands of a woman who is supposed to be a best friend of yours. Two people were lied to this day, you and the naive of your best friend. "I did it, it was for you! when I made it, my mind went to you! Gosh Simon, why can't you see how rude this was!" He walks to you, hands gripping your body. "You are acting like a goddamn child R/N!" He shook you, thinking it would make you understand better. "I'm not the one dating someone young now am I?" The anger that left your mouth, oh that sent him over the edge. "Don't you fucking dare!" he said through gritted teeth. "I'm still growing, you are a grown man who doesn't even think for a moment that your fucking girlfriend did something for you! I did that and that fucking girl thinks you did it for her!" You push him and he gives you that stare. The same one your father gave you when he was made and was ready to yell and punch walls.

Three weeks later, that is how long it took you to do it. "I'm being serious Simon, it's over." Your voice is cold and he scoffs with a low chuckle. "Aren't you too young to make the decisions here, doll?" That voice, how he gave you a condescending tone and how he approached you. "I think I'm more mature than you to know this is wrong. Me loving you is wrong and it's dead...this is over." He shakes his head and walks away furious. For weeks he called you, maybe to haunt you but every time you answered, it was the same old thing. Random numbers during class, lunch or at night called you. When they stopped, you sighed and for the first time, you smiled, a genuine one.

The day you broke up with him was still fresh on your mind. He was a strong man, that is no doubt, so if he wanted to, he could harm you so easily. Your friend theorised that he could make you disappear, all to keep the pretty little young lover near. It is true what they say, there will always be a reason men like him stay alone for long. There's a reason why they date younger ones and not women who know best. Sometime later, that best friend approaches you, unaware of what happened between you and Simon.

"He told me what happened." But he told her lies, told her that it was you that was the problem. After she gave you his truth, you gave her the real truth. "So...the...gift, it wasn't really from him-" "No, and I'm not asking for anything back, not at all. Just, be careful, he...he isn't the man he says he is and please...please for your own sake stay away." That same day, you found out he asked me to meet up. I thought he meant as friends, since well I thought I was his friend." She wouldn't do it, you thought. "And at first I was okay with it until he kept asking over and over. I felt weird about it because it didn't seem like it would be a friendly meet-up, I said no, out of respect for you." You hugged her. "I know he was asking to hook up but I can't do that, not to my best friend." she hugged back and you two soon talked more.

Simon, oh that man was a mess. He soon engaged when your young heart was still grieving him behind doors. His fiance tagged people you knew, those people, some, told you he moved on. This was a game plan. Tell the young lover what was lost and maybe, they'll come running to you. It hurt but it didn't work. You noticed how happy he was. How much more he changed and in your head, you asked why he couldn't change for you. You look at the lovers that pass by, how the guy treats his girl and for a moment, you wish that was you.

Memories come every night.

Winter. No one knew how your heart felt for him but he did. His body is close to yours as he wraps you with the blanket, he kisses your shoulder and smiles. The art of making love was something he was an expert in.

Summer. He takes you on midnight rides. Holds your hand and sings along with you. Your hair is in the wind as his lips meet your hand. Simon, the man who taught you so much now making you cry on the way home.

Autumn. Your dad heard your cries as Simon explained to you why he wouldn't go to you. A woman moans on his side of the phone, "it was the movie," he explains so easily.

Spring. Filled with arguments, tears and sex. Manipulation works its way to your body. "Fuck you!" You cry as he yet again reminds you that you are young and stupid. He degrades you this way. Reminds you that he has the upper hand for being older than you.

You later learn he had another girl while being with you. His free time is shared between you and some other girl. Your bed is drenched in tears of regret and sorrow. The headphones blasted the words your heart cried for.

For moments, he was liberty, fun, happiness and love. Now, when you look back at it, Simon Riley was the man who lived as the dragon of the castle, the one you had to fight off to regain your heart. You hated him for what he was. Your heart, body and soul kept him like a sword oath. The same one that had you overthinking. Did you ask for too much? Were you even a good girlfriend?

Get out of my head, you cry. "If we had been closer in age, maybe you would understand what I wanted." He texts you some random day. That night, your friends held you as you cried in some bar. The last time you saw him was on your twenty-first birthday. Your mum asked for something from the store, so as you walk down the busy streets, your eyes catch a glimpse of him. His gaze catches yours. It was then you learned that this would be the last time you cry over him. He is dead to you, something to be proud of.

It was then he learned you were the only good thing he had. His ex-fiance out of his life, just like you but unlike her, you were good.

"Simon!" Your laughter fills the lounge room. "I told you, doll, this is what you get for that tickle," Simon's deep laugh belonged to yours. It's a melody. The fireplace, the laughs, the kiss after and how you both panted from an intense tickle fight. It was rare but beautiful. You cup his face, "I love you," you whisper and he grins. "oooh I knew it!" he picks you up again and you laugh.

This is the end of the warm time

As you walk past the park, you think of the old times. It is bittersweet. The way things ended, the way he loved you, kissed you, it was good until it wasn't. Simon Riley is a man on many faces, one you know all too well.

Love, what a miserable thing to be a part of when you had him.

A/N: so....there's that...

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