#ambrose x reader

[povofjustme]

CAOS

Both Prudence blackwood and Ambrose Spellman wanting you

You being a witch

I would like to think Prudence and Ambrose would already be together

You had been at the school most of your life but they never noticed you

You had some class with Prudence but she never once looked your way

Maybe you were in a different group of friends or you was just shy

They both were the type to be outgoing and live in the moment

Which to you, was just trying to finish the academy in one piece

Never go out and party

Or do the same exact curricula in the magic school

Now this is how the 3 of you met

You had just got done with exams and your friend Elapeth wanted to celebrate. There was a party happening at the school and she wanted you to go with her

You didn’t want to go. Party’s are not your thing

But she convinced you to go, talking about how she was going to be lonely and it was going to be a one-time thing

So you agreed, not thinking you were going to be doing what you did

Elapeth got out an outfit that she knows you was going to look good it. And make you look hot as

At first, you were just watching your friend have fun. Dancing with everyone around her. You stayed at the bar and watch

Dorian saw you, asking if you wanted a drink. At first you said no but the more he was talking about a drink that he thinking you would like. The more you wanted it.

It started with one drink but it was so good that you had about 6 of them

You didn’t know what he up in them but it made you feel good. Made you wanna dance

So you did just that, first dancing with Elapeth and the others around you

Everyone was pretty much on top of each other but you were paying know mind.

Just dance your little heart out

You could feel eyes on you

But like who wouldn’t, you are FINE ASF)

There was someone behind you, holding on to your hips and moving to the music

You put your head back to whoever it was

Surprise, surprise

It was Prudences

She gave you a devil's smile

You never seen her so close before

But the music was moving your body too much to care

She started to whisper in your ear

“I never knew you could dance like this. You even got Ambrose mesmerized”

You looked straight across to see the famous Ambrose

He had a drink in his hand, arm spread out above the couch. Man spreading

The look in his eyes didn’t make you want to look away

You can tell he was looking at your body, prudence was placing her hands

On satan’s life, you never thought this would happen to you

The next song was slow and desirable

You close your eyes for a second and then he is there

Ambrose was in front of you

You were in the middle with them, doing things you never thought would happen to you

Prudence kissing your neck while Ambrose was sucking the soul out of you

( I mean kissing 😏)

And then they switch positions

The whole night it was just the 3

At one point in time, they shared a look

Pulling you away from it all

(Let me know, I will add more details for a different story )

*

You woke up at a house you had never been to before

You looked under the covers to see that all your clothes were missing

You didn’t know what Dorian did you those drinks - you didn’t know if it was a good things or a bad thing

But all of a sudden you could feel someone shifting onto your side, laying an arm across your stomach

You look to see it to be the one and only Ambrose in your right

Your eyes widen out

He was still sound asleep

You look the other way to see Prudence facing the wall to your left

Your first thought was that you had to get it out of there

Slowly, quickly, and quickly as you can, put your clothes on. Walked out to the hallway so you didn’t wake them

And teleported yourself back to the Academy

Taking a shower and looking into the mirror

Hickeys !!! All over

You had to put on a black fitted turtleneck shirt on 

You thought that they weren’t going to remember you. That you was just a one night stand

You knew you could

So you walked down the hallways of the school hung out but walked like nothing happened

But heaven you were wrong

Remember the class you have with her now

You walked in and sat in your normal spot, next to Melvin

You were behind the two other weird sisters (Dorcas & Agatha)

Prudence counted a glimpse of you and walked over

Once again you didn’t think largely of it but not until you saw Melvin packing his things and walking to a different place

But you didn’t care, you led on the cold table

But didn’t say a word to you in the lesson

Waking out of the class, it was time for lunch

You sat in your regular seat, you sitting on the outside while Elapeth sat on the inside

Just talking about upcoming words for some classic

Out of nowhere, you had Ambrose on your right side and Prudence on your left

Just like the night before

Now you thought you didn’t get people's attention

YOU DO NOW!!

Prudence moved closer to you

“You thought you were going to get away that easy?” - prudence

“What are you talking about?” - you

“Last night, you made quite that show” - Ambrose

You got up from the table to get away from the eyes

“Where do you think you going little dancer?” - Ambrose

“Away from you both, I don’t know what happened last night but it was a mistake” - you

“Oh no it wasn’t, we had a taste of you. And won’t stop until we can have all of you “ - Ambrose

“You belong to us now. And everyone will know it!” Prudence

“For satan's sake, what are you talking about!”- you

“Look at your neck, arms, back and inner thigh. It says otherwise” - Prudence

You better pray to satan that you are dreaming this all

[fanfics4all]

Overstimulation

Request: Yes / No Kinktober Day 10!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Sub!Ambrose Spellman x Dom!Fem!Reader 

Word count: 614

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: You're a Mistress and your favorite client continues to return. He's your toy for the night and you're taking full advantage of that.

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I had one client that always seemed to come back no matter what. His name was Ambrose and he seemed to love being my little slave more than others. I watched as his arms wiggled in the bounds above his head, he was holding back a grin. 

I dropped my panties to the ground and straddled him. My smooth thighs were pushed against his hairy legs. I could tell I was driving him crazy. 

“You want inside?” I asked sweetly. He didn’t respond, simply humping his hips. I chuckled at his desperation. 

“Hey!” I smacked his outer thigh, hard. A yelp left his throat and I smirked. 

“You stupid boy, can you only think with your dick? I asked you a question. Do. You. Want. In.” I asked again, each pause was followed by a smack, leaving marks. 

“Yes!” He shouted. 

“Yes, what?” I asked, my voice teasing. I smacked him again. 

“Say yes Mistress.” I said in a mocking tone. 

“Say I want inside, Mistress.” I added. He stuttered until I reached down and twisted his nipple. 

“I want inside, Mistress!” He practically sobbed. I gripped the back of his hair and lowered myself so I was inches from his face, my eyes burning into his. 

“Say, I want inside your cunt.” I growled, grinding down on his shaft. 

“I want inside your cunt!” He said, finally breaking. I lined myself up with him and sunk onto his cock. His head hit the headboard once I gently started thrusting. It didn’t matter if it was enough to make him cum, he was here to be used for my pleasure. He is my toy. 

“That’s it, my good little toy.” I said, looking down at his lust-filled face. I reached down and gently grazed his lip with my thumb. He instantly took it into his mouth and moaned as I sped up just a bit.

Both our sounds filled the room as I rode him. My breasts bounced as my wetness coated his cock. I came, screaming in pleasure. His body started to shake as he exploded inside me. 

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing his head back. I didn’t stop as he came down from his high. 

“Okay, I came, stop!” He said as if I didn’t know. I shook my head and smirked, pulling out a little remote that I had hidden under the covers. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as I turned on the vibrating cock ring. He whimpered incoherently, twisting and writhing under the vibration that was stimulating both of us. 

“Aww, what’s wrong baby? I thought.. Mmmm… I thought you alwa- uh… always wanted this?” I cooed between moans. I laughed as I fucked him into the bed, using him like my personal little sex toy. 

He attempted to wiggle his wrists, but there was no escape as I rode him. I could tell the overstimulation was becoming too much. He was shaking and stuttering, begging me to stop. He knew he’d just have to use his safe-word and everything would stop, so I kept going. I could tell he was trying to hold back and I rode him a little harder. 

“Oh no, you’re not holding back on me.” I moaned, my hands planted firmly on his chest. 

“You’re gonna take all of it.” I growled. He threw his head back again as his cum flooded my pussy. Even if he wanted to escape the cuffs, I could tell he was weak from the orgasms wracking his body. 

I fucked him hard, pounding both of us to bliss again and again. He was my toy and I would use him until I decided I’d had enough.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @dippedintarot

[allmyn1ghts]

Shield's First Lady ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The Shield x Fem!Reader (platonically)

Synopsis: just a little hc about being the first and only lady of shield!!

Warnings: fluff and some angst

a/n: missing my boys and 2013-15 real bad yall!!

you absolutely loved your boys

at first, you were really iffy about the idea Triple H presented

"I want you to be Shield's First Lady! I think you being with the guys would be a perfect fit."

you didn't really want to be in a group or associated with one. But you decided to go ahead with the idea

You barely talked to Roman before but Seth and Dean were foreign to you.

"It's so nice to meet you all, I'm sure this is gonna be super fun for all of us!" 

The three men were nothing but sweetheart to you. always polite, making sure you were good

from that moment, you knew you had made the right choice

your role was pretty simple, the fearless badass of the group 

you would stand ringside for almost every match whether it be singles, tag, or all three of them. sometimes distract the ref so they can pull an illegal move ;)

every backstage segment had all four of you in it chilling in your custom locker room, getting ready for a match, etc...

promos always had you on the mic

"Shield is taking over the WWE. We have the Tag Team titles, the United States Championship, the Divas championship, My boys and I are unstoppable"

the fans absolutely loved Shield (you were the fan favorite)

yall had become a little family!

the four of you always went out after shows, having a blast

when the boys would get into stupid little arguments, you were the mediator

"C'mon guys enough! We're family. act like it!" 

when you got loud, oh they listened for sure. They knew not to piss you off

don't be fooled though, they loved you more

What you did for them ringside, they did for you.

Every time you won, they would slide into the ring and hold you up on their shoulders.

they always made you laugh at their silly side convos 

Everything was good

until it wasn't

The day Seth betrayed you all, was the day your heart broke

"Seth what are you doing?! How could you do this to us?! We're family!"

You looked him in his eyes, slapping him across the face. He had nothing to say but a smirk on his face. 

Seth not only betrayed you but his brothers too, his family.

Shield was never the same for any of you after that day. 

hope yall enjoyed this lil hc! comment and reblog pls and thank u <33

request - masterlist - about me - who I write for

[deansdelicate]

we might just get away with it

dean ambrose x fem!reader

word count: [4.7k]

warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing & sexual innuendos, in ring action (reader is a female superstar), overall two idiots being fluffy and in love <3

summary: the four times you and dean thought you were doing a good job at keeping your relationship under wraps + the one time you both ended up getting away with it.

The camera crew found themselves huddled in the narrow corridor of the arena, a likely place for them to be seeing as though The Authority loved to handle business backstage—but of course not without protection from the forces none other than The Shield.

The three men were already inside on their marks, probably talking amongst themselves with Steph and Hunter while you waited outside, preparing for your cue.

“We’re on in 30 seconds!” a stage hand announced, meticulously checking the stop watch and monitors, ensuring the cameras were in position and ready to roll once commercial break ended.

You bounced from foot to foot, getting yourself ready as time winded down. Glancing over at the crew who gave you a thumbs up, mouthing the final 10 seconds until the show was back on air.

“Action!”

Your fist came in contact with the door, pausing for a couple of seconds before hearing a voice say “come in” from the other side. The cameras followed as you twisted the handle, stepping into the ‘office’ and bringing the boys and bosses into the audience’s view.

The boys kept to themselves on the opposite end of the room, hardened gazes glued to their faces as they stared you down.

You rose your brows at the slightly, portraying your repulsion for the faction and their allegiance to the overbearing bosses. After a brief moment, you turned your attention to Stephanie and Hunter.

“Is there something we can do for you today?” Stephanie looked up from her laptop, shutting it with a sharp slap that made you flinch just a tad.

You shook it off, taking a deep breath before you spoke with the most confidence you could muster.

“I want a shot at the championship.”

Upon hearing your demand, Triple H even looked up from his own laptop, staring at you intently before turning to his wife. The two of them letting out strings of condescending laughter that had you furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“I love the confidence sweetheart, but I think you’ve forgotten how it works around here.” He smirked, bringing his clasped hands up to rest on the wooden desk.

“You can’t just barge into our office and demand a match for the title,” Steph started with a shake of her head.

“We’ve got bigger things to handle and maybe when you start acting like champion material then we can have a talk about a title opportunity.”

She wore that signature evil smirk, your jaw clenching as your rigid hands formed into fists at your sides.

“You bitc—”

Before you could swing, a set of hands wrapped around your waist and another grabbed your wrists, stopping them from crossing the distance to Steph’s cheek. You could feel them behind you, the three of them swarming in too close, making the already cramped room feel claustrophobic.

“Let’s not do anything rash, sweet thing.”

A voice spoke low, breath fanning down your neck sending shivers up your spine, leaving you frozen.

Yet you remained cool, your game face still on as Hunter stood up, shielding his shaken up wife.

“Get her out of here,” He demanded, pointing the boys to the door and scowling at you.

“I’m gonna get my match one way or another!”

You struggled and jerked in their holds, needing to be practically dragged across the room to where Roman held the door wide open.

Seth’s hold on your wrists retracted, pushing you out into the halls, but the pair of hands on your waist that belonged to none other than Dean Ambrose remained, not daring to let you go just yet.

His fingertips dug into the dough of your hips, curbing your fight and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Next time you pull some crap like that, we won’t be so nice.” He murmured lowly, the two of you boring right through each other.

You scoffed, tongue running across your teeth before tilting your head at him, not making any move to remove his hands from your skin.

“That so? What are you gonna do about it? Power bomb me through a table? C’mon…hit me.” You dared, jutting your chin out though he retract.

Seth and Roman let out guffaws not phased at all, and Dean joined them a few seconds later, shaking their heads at how you managed to be standing in their presence without facing retaliation.

“The Authority and The Shield stand for the same thing: Justice. And whoever defies justice, man or woman, will get what’s coming to them sooner or later.” Seth declared.

You shifted your eyes up to his, “You mean The Authority made The Shield their bitch and now they do their dirty work for them?” You snapped back harshly, watching their faces fall with rage.

Roman grunted something under his breath, shooing you off. “Run along, you don’t want problems with The Shield.”

Dean laughed, squeezing your hips again, though the cameras didn’t catch it, your eyes drifting to meet his.

“What’re you gonna do? Send a little boy toy to get your justice for you?” He mocked.

You rolled your eyes before a small smirk came onto your face. Your eyes looking down between you both an innuendo that all the fans in the building laughed and hooted at.

“Trust me, you and I both know the boys I like are far from little.”

You roughly shoved his arms off of you and walked out of view while the camera panned to the boys peering down your path.

“Cut!” The stage hand called out, already getting the crew out of the tiny space in order to head to the next segment.

You waited patiently off to the side, passing each of the crew members a smile and ‘thank you’ before you skipped back over to the office where the boys stuck around.

“You idiot!” You screeched, drawing a weak fist to Dean’s chest as he snickered and wrapped his arms around your back, drawing you into him.

“I couldn’t help myself,” He shrugged, placing a chaste peck onto your lips, letting you kiss him despite some more not caring about the obvious lipstick marks left behind.

“Off script? Really, you two?” Steph crept up from behind, letting out a laugh despite trying to be serious because even she and her husband were notorious for doing the same back in the day.

Roman shook his head, light heartedly at you two. “I really thought I missed a line in the script.” He admitted, while everyone shared a laugh.

“Is that even PG?” Seth speculated, knowing Vince would have their heads on platters because you and Dean couldn’t help yourselves with a little sexual repartee.

Hunter snorted shifting his palm side to side knowing at the very least it could get flagged with a warning from the network, but it would definitely serve some entertainment from the fans and social media.

“You know one day the fans are going to catch on that this is really a thing.” He gestured between you and Dean’s bodies, the two of you still clinging to each other closely.

You rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with a glint in your eyes that he returned just as passionately.

“We might just get away with it.”

Meet and greets were one of the more relaxing sides to the job and it was even better that you got to do it with your boyfriend sitting just a few chairs down.

Many fans, ranging of all ages took their time, greeting you with smiles, hugs, and funny stories, wishing you luck for a title match and you secretly knew was in the works.

A little girl approached you, her parents waving at you excitedly while they trailed behind her with a camera in hand making sure to document the moment their daughter got to meet her favorite wrestler. She sported your merch, alongside a title belt across her waist—the same one you were gunning after.

“You should’ve slapped Dean for not getting his hands off you!” she quipped instantly, hands on her hips, clearly disapproving of Dean’s behavior.

You bursted into a fit of laughter as did the other superstars around you, who high-fived the young gal, applauding her about the lesson Dean Ambrose needed to learn for messing with you. Being a baby face meant kids were especially protective of their favorites, and not wanting them to be tormented by ruthless heels.

“I really should have done that! I’ll remember for next time, okay?” You promised with a giggle, bending down to give her a warm hug.

She undid the belt around her waist, flipping it over so you could sign it. The two of you exchanging small talk before a familiar voice snuck in from behind you, prompting you both to shift your attention to the man himself.

“Hey! You planning on slapping me?” Dean declared, arms crossed over his chest defensively as Seth and Roman remained at his sides.

“Yeah! Don’t touch her again or else she’s going to slap you!”

The girl stood her ground, standing up straighter and glaring harshly at your boyfriend who played along, patting his cheek with a smirk.

“I don’t think she’d risk beating up a pretty face like mine,” he teased, looking over at you with a knowing smile that only you two could read into.

You grinned through the blush covering your cheeks, shaking your head, before pointing at the fan.

“I mean I couldn’t possibly ruin a pretty face like his, but maybe you could?” You suggested, watching as her jaw dropped.

“You mean I slap Dean?” She whispered in your ear, looking at you with hesitation.

You nodded assuringly, rubbing her shoulders like you were getting her pumped up for a fight.

“Yeah c’mon show him that no one messes with the future women’s champion.”

You hyped her up and soon all the superstars joined in chanting “slap him! slap him!”

Dean did his best to hold back a smile, getting down on his knees so that the girl could reach him. His arms spread wide, nodding and egging her on.

“You won’t hit me. Come on, I know you won’t—Oww!”

The slap was tame, even for a child, just a tap with a little force behind it. Instantly the girl cowered back, wrapping her arms around your frame hugging you closely as all the superstars and awaiting fans cheered her on for standing up for you.

“Way to go!” you praised, giving her a high-five and telling her how much she’d be a great wrestler in the future, maybe even the one to take the championship from you.

Eventually Dean slightly broke kayfabe, fist-bumping the girl and pinky promising that he wouldn’t put his hands on you again. All three men posed for a picture with her, frightened and panicky expressions on their faces as the girl held up a mighty fist.

She even got you and Dean to smile for a picture with her—and somehow no one noticed the dainty “D” initial that hung from the chain around your neck.

You sat in catering, joined by Naomi and Brie, the three of you catching up on life while tuning in to the match that played over the television. It was Seth versus Daniel, with Roman and Dean who got the chance to sit in on commentary for the night.

“I saw that interaction you and Dean had with that cute fan. You guys totally made her day.” Naomi grinned, noting how the little stunt you and Dean pulled was circulating around social media.

It was met with mostly positive lighthearted reactions that somehow didn’t revolve around the rumors that you were together in real life.

“Oh, she was adorable! I just wished she slapped Dean a little harder.” You shrieked, making the girls laugh thinking of how much fun this girl must have had.

Michael Cole’s voice drew your attention back to the TV.

“Dean last week you and the boys got into some stuff backstage with a certain female superstar. I suppose The Authority has you all on high alert after Steph nearly got attacked on your watch.”

The camera panned slightly to the commentators’ desk, where Dean’s fingertips tapped against his collarbones, seemingly forgetting the match in front of him at the mention of you.

“We’re used to threats of all kinds, but usually they aren’t this pretty or alluring. And she’s feisty, I’ll tell you that much, but I doubt she’ll want to mess with The Authority as long as The Shield is around,” he replied smugly, glancing over at Roman who nodded in agreement.

“She’s also got quite the smile, if you ask me! She’s drop-dead gorgeous,” The King, Jerry Lawler, jumped into the conversation, adding a whistle for good measure.

Dean’s face twisted in distaste as he shook his head at the legend, “Jeez, relax, would you, King? I’m sure she’s into the younger, more charming kinda guys—you know, piercing blue eyes, killer body, top-notch sense of humor?”

“Are you insinuating that—”

“What Dean means is that we’re not letting her distract us. In fact, she’s history from here on out.” Roman cut in.

Interrupting Cole from finishing his sentence that was sure to get Dean in hot water for making the entire match about his in real-life girlfriend whom he was irrevocably in love with.

The girls beside you whistled and giggled like middle-schoolers, knocking their elbows into your shoulders, knowing your boyfriend couldn’t help but get a little jealous even if it was just all for fun—what could you say? Your boyfriend was more than a little protective.

“Oh, he’s obsessed with you!” Brie teased, while you hung your head low, masking your blush behind your hair.

“What he is going to be is fired if he keeps it up.” You groaned half-jokingly, raising your head when you heard the bell ring and their theme song hit.

Roman and Dean slid into the ring, lifting their brother’s arm up in victory and celebrating together before retreating backstage through the crowd. But of course Dean couldn’t miss a poster with your name written across it, smirking at the fan who wore your merch and giving his nod of approval for support.

You quickly said goodbye to the girls, tossing your plate of food into the bins and heading towards the corridor where you knew they would be coming in from. When you arrived, they just so happened to get through the doors, arena security guards shaking their hands and posing for a quick picture and then heading off.

“Really? You know being on commentary means you comment on the match in front of you? Not your girlfriend.”

You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning against the walls as you gawked feigning exasperation.

Roman and Seth snickered, swinging their heads and heading off towards the carts to recuperate, letting you and Dean have your usual banter that turned into a love fest all too fast.

“Is there something going on between you and Jerry? Because I might just put him out of retirement.” He made his way towards you, lifting a speculating brow.

You let your arms fall across his waist, a cheeky smile seeping on to your features at the thought of him truly being jealous over Jerry Lawler, of all people. Yet you didn’t hesitate to iron out his worries, staring up at him fondly.

“It’s an honor to be one of his favorite female superstars, but I can assure you it’s all one sided. My sights are strictly set on a more younger, charming guy with piercing blue eyes and an impeccable sense of humor.”

You chided, poking at his cheek, watching the dimples form when he tried to hold back his smile.

“Some might even say good with the ladies?” He added with a wiggle of his brows while you threw your head back and laughed, pushing at his chest.

“Yeah, right. I’m the only lady he’s good with.”

He nodded in agreement, pulling you closer and placing a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get out of here before I do something else that gets me in trouble.”

You linked your fingers with his, the two of you strolling back towards the main area of the arena out of the public space.

As you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, a few fans who were taking bathroom and concession stand breaks caught sight of your backs. However, they didn’t recognize you out of your wrestling attire—curiously wondering who was the mystery lady was.

Dean watched the monitors intently, his knee bouncing up and down anxiously from where he was sitting in gorilla position tuning into your championship contender match against Nikki. The final minutes were winding down, and Brie had already been ejected, sent backstage after the ref caught her trying to aid her twin in the match.

“That’s my girl!” he clapped loud, standing up as you hit your finisher and got the pin—the rest of gorilla cheering for you, knowing it was a long time coming.

You hadn’t told him the outcome of the match, and no matter how hard he tried to get it out of you, it was all worth it seeing you celebrate and get one step closer to your first championship run. When you made it up the ramp and back through the curtain, you were instantly lifted off your feet, your arms clinging around his frame before being smothered in congratulatory kisses.

“I knew you were gonna win it.” He told you, setting you down and tucking strands of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I deserve a celebration tonight, don’t you?” You whispered secretly just for the two of you to hear, both of you sharing grins before he nodded, and placed a kiss on your lips.

“I say we get our segment over with, then get out of here?” He proposed, already hearing the stage hand calling out for the two of you to get into positions backstage.

“I’d like that a lot.” You agreed, taking his hand to where a stagehand was guiding you through the short segment.

Seth, Roman and Steph were already on their marks, greeting you with hugs and salutes before needing to step out of view while the cameras set up. They would be close behind Steph, acting as her personal security personnel for when she confronted you about your match on Sunday.

“Action!”

“Well, well, well,” Stephanie clapped her hands slowly, approaching you where you sat on the carts, icing your shoulder, “Congratulations on being the number one contender for the women’s championship, I guess you are champion material after all.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, grimacing at the strain in your shoulder before standing up to face her.

“Save it, Stephanie, and cut to the chase. What’s the catch? I know you wouldn’t make it this easy for me to get what I want.”

She frowned deceptively, “Do you really think I’m that cruel?” she glanced behind her, questioning the boys, “Can you guys believe that?”

They sneered at you, shaking their heads before Steph turned her attention back to you with a heavy sigh that always meant bad news.

“I’ll have you know that I always knew that you could do it, you just needed someone to light that fire underneath you. And I’m sure you’ll get the job done this Sunday. But just to be very sure, I think The Shield wouldn’t mind a front-row seat at your championship match.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at her, “I don’t need them causing distractions.”

Dean snorted, gesturing to himself in a self-absorbed manner, “I’m flattered sweetheart, I really am, but your attention really should be on winning.”

You turned your nose up at him, looking the other way “Oh please, don’t let it get to your head Ambrose, you disgust me on many levels.”

Steph clapped her hands, looking at the faction, then back at you.

“Well, it’s settled. The Shield will be ringside for your championship match on Sunday. And I’ll be tuning in…champ.”

With that, she strutted away, leaving you and the boys behind with the camera still focused on you four.

“Stay out of my way,” you growled, eyeing each one of them down threateningly, not wanting your one championship opportunity to be at risk.

“Don’t worry about us.” Roman shook his head, walking off first.

“Wouldn’t want to let that championship slip from right under you.” Seth cackled manically, rubbing his hands together and following suit.

Only you and Dean remained, but this time instead of words being spoken aloud for everyone else to hear, his hands came up to cup around your ear, whispering words only two would ever know.

“I’ll be cheering you on. You know I always am. And you looked sexy out there, by the way.”

He backed off with a wink, leaving you flushed despite trying to play it off as hatred.

The crowd could only wonder what Dean had said to you, and it seemed like Cole and Jerry were just as curious, speaking over commentary about some ideas. Shortly after, the cameras cut, and once again, you were lifted off your feet, Dean hoisting you up a few inches off the ground to give you a proper hug after being rushed in gorilla.

“Congrats again, and don’t forget to go over the script changes!” Stephanie reminded, smiling as she waved goodbye to you and Dean, knowing you two would be pleasantly happy with creative’s turn on the storyline.

Dean raised an eyebrow, calling out to her “Script changes?”

Stephanie grinned, looking over her shoulder towards the both of you. “Just a little tweak for the next show. You’ll like it a lot.”

As she walked away, you and Dean exchanged curious glances not knowing what the script change could be on such short notice.

“Guess we better check those out,” you shrugged tossing the melted ice pack into a nearby trash bin.

He nodded, his hand finding yours again running his fingertips across your knuckles, leaning down to murmur against your lips.

“Yeah, but first, let’s get out of here and celebrate your win. And I meant what I said earlier…you look pretty damn sexy.”

“Lead the way, baby.” You leaned in, letting your lips brush his gingerly, a lingering kiss remaining until you were left to worship the rest of it in privacy.

“Get up, AJ!” you screamed, yanking her up by the hair and throwing her down into one of the corners of the ring.

Your boot met her midsection repeatedly until the ref pulled you back, giving her a moment to catch her breath while you and the official exchanged some words in the meantime.

The Shield boys kept to themselves, spread out on all three sides of the ring, keeping an eye on the entire match and most importantly, you.

To be quite honest, it was hard for Dean to hold back on his excitement, his tongue practically bruised from biting down on it, trying not to break out of character and into smiles or cheers when you got the upper hand in the match.

They were anxiously waiting for their cue; you picking AJ back up and throwing her towards the center of the ring, ready to go for your finisher. That’s when they got into positions, teetering up on the apron grabbing onto the ropes as if they were stalking their way in.

“What the hell is The Shield doing, Cole?” Jerry questioned, his voice filled with concern.

“I have no clue, but it can’t be good. We have to assume, ladies and gentleman, that Stephanie McMahon put them up to this,” Cole proposed.

You took notice of the men involving themselves in the biggest match of your life, brows pulled together in anger and frustration.

“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you guys?” You shouted, turning your attention to the boys who were now standing on the apron, sights set on you.

You walked towards Dean, and the ref headed towards Roman and Seth signaling for them to get down.

“Leave me the hell alone” You seethed, coming face to face with Dean. The only thing separating the both of you were the ring ropes.

“I know you like it.” He gloated, arms held wide, earning boos from the crowd.

You shook your head, turning away slightly only for the palm of your hand to meet his cheek with a harsh slap a few seconds later.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Dean pinched his eyes shut, shaking off the sting in his skin, putting on a cocky sneer that quickly had you angered again. You kept an eye on the titantron in front of you, aware that AJ would be coming in any second to catch you off guard, which was all a part of the finish.

Seth and Roman hopped back down onto the floor, while Dean took notice of AJ sprinting behind you. His arms shoving you out harm’s way in order to take the hit. Her legs knocking him to the floor, while she fell to the mat, unaware that you had backed into one of the corners, shocked at Dean’s sacrifice, but none the less not wasting time.

You quickly got to your feet, delivering a super-kick to her jaw before lifting her body into position for your finisher and hitting it in the center of the ring. You hurried into the pin, locking her legs and arm as the ref counted.

“1, 2, 3…ring the bell!”

Surprise and shock covered your features, your hands covering your face as you tried to hold back tears for backstage while the ref walked over to retrieve your title. AJ rolled out of the ring, giving you your moment to savor as the championship was placed in your arms and your theme song blasted through the sold-out arena.

You forced yourself off your knees, thrusting the championship high up in the air, gaining cheers and applauses from the audience who were on their feet. You swore you could jump into your boyfriend’s arms right then and there without a care in the world about scripts and keeping up the act—but you knew it’d all be worth it.

Seth, Roman, and Dean hopped back onto the apron, this time not faltering on letting themselves through the ropes, stalking their way towards you as your theme song suddenly got cut and the ref scrambled out towards safety.

“Uh oh, is The Shield going to spoil the best night of her WWE career?” Cole speculated.

“I hope not. The last thing we need is the new WWE women’s champ being put out of action all because of these three men.” Jerry added.

You swallowed thickly, clutching the championship to your chest, looking left and right for a way out that was impossible at this point. There was nowhere left for you to go, the crowd anxiously awaiting to see what was going to happen next.

Dean’s fingertips hovered over your face, clutching your skin delicately and forcing you to meet his orbs. You looked stunned, about to break in terror until suddenly a wide smile emerged across your features.

“Oh, my god! What the hell is going on?” The commentators cried out disturbingly.

Seth and Roman stepped back with laugher rumbling in their chests, clapping and pointing at the both of you as if they had known the real story all along.

Meanwhile, Dean closed the space between your lips, pulling you into a fervent kiss taking everyone aback. Your lips moved together in tandem, like they always did behind the scenes where no one had a clue you were flying right under their noses.

You both pulled away, smiling widely at each other, before he gestured towards you, reaching to grab your wrists and lifting it high up in the air, your theme song hitting once more, this time the crowd torn between cheers and boos.

Dean held you close, his pride evident in his eyes letting everything around him turning into white noise.

“My girl. My champ.” he whispered, speaking to you like you were the only ones in the world in that very moment.

You looked up at him, closing your eyes in bliss, before mouthing the words.

“We got away with it.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: hi everyone!!! this is my first imagine/one-shot here on tumblr and im excited to be getting back into my wwe era. it's always fun revisiting my loves (aka: dean, roman, and seth), and i can't wait to mesh some stories with my fave taylor tracks. this one is loosely based off false god hehehe.

[luxthestrange]

TWST Incorrect quotes#676 Yuu wins

Can you guys imagine that Both Ambrose & Crowley are trying to see who can teach you best how to tame help your classmates...Ambrose with positive reinforcement & compliments and Crowley with fear and money...they see neither works properly in excess with Trein as the third party to take the score

Ambrose: We may never know conclusively which way works better, But I do know this when we first started the seminar, I hoped to be able to engage you in the process* Shows paper saying that exactly"* And by that measure, I succeeded!~

Crowl: And I predicted that I would learn nothing from this process*Shows a paper saying "Nothing learned"*Mission accomplished~

Ambrose: What did Yuu write?

Trein*Blinks and sees Yuu isn't around in the office*Where is Yuu?

The Older men find you sitting on a bench happily sharing a pizza with the first years and grim in your lap, Trein finds your letter and reads it aloud

Trein:..."I will pit Ambrose and Crowley against each other, They'll argue about dumb stuff...that doesn't matter, and I will bail, Then I'll steal $20 from Crowley's wallet and buy pizza with my boys!~

Crow*Eyes widen, takes out his wallet... it's empty*!!!

Trein: "Oh, and I'll also steal Ambrose's watch, just for fun"

Ambrose*Blinks and sees Yuu smirking at them holding his watch in hand*!!!

Crowl*Sniffing with a hankerchief, Lowkey proud*I think Yuu could be fine Headmage!~

Ambrose*Smilling just as proud*..I agree

Outside in the courtyard with the guys after you told them what you did

Yuu*Looking at with a smirk*it's my favorite kind of battle~, Two men enter,one me leaves!

GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THEIR VACAY!!!! DID YOU ALL MISS ME?~

[multiversalfandomwriter222]

hiiii can you write alex volkov!dom x reader smut please😓😓 I actually love ur writing style and i’ve been scrolling thru ur blog for so long

Of course! Sorry I haven't been getting to requests, I'm actually writing a book of my own!

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, P in V, Fem! Reader, Not exact Alex behavior

You're really Big.

"A-Alex!" You moan as he pushes in more of his length in your hole. The stretch was hurting you-not too bad, but enough to make you squirm away. "What is it baby?" Alex smirks down at you. "Y-You're-Oh god-" You whimper as he pushes more into you, making you arch your back into Alex's chest.

"I didn't catch that sweetheart. What did you say?" He tilts his head at you as you pant. He wipes the tears falling from your eyes and smirks down at you. "Y-You're really big!" You gasp and he pushes half his length into you. He gives you a pout. "Aww, I'm sorry sweetheart."

Your pussy clenches around him and the both of you groan. Alex chuckles and he leans down to kiss your forehead. "You're doing so good for me sweetheart. So, so good baby." He murmurs. "But do you want to know something baby?" You whimper in reply.

"I don't care if it takes the whole night. You are going to be taking this whole cock."

[eringobragh420]

This list is open for ALL the wrestlers on the list of who I write for, which can be found here. If you want someone not listed, go ahead and send an ask because I might have just forgot them. REQUESTS CLOSED. ❎ already requested KINKS UNDER THE CUT

🎀 ANAL 🎀 STRAP ON 🎀 CNC (consensual nonconsensual) 🎀 PREGNANCY 🎀 A/B/O DYNAMICS 🎀 SLAVERY (willing) ❎ DADDY KINK (Bron Breakker x f!Reader) 🎀 COCK WORSHIP 🎀 BITING 🎀 STRIPTEASE ❎ CHEATING (Roman Reigns x f!Reader) 💎 MUSCLE WORSHIP (Gunther x f!Reader 18+) ❎ BEGGING (Jon Moxley x f!Reader) 🎀 SPANKING 🎀 HIGH/DRUNK SEX ❎ DACRYPHILIA (Jon Moxley x f!Reader - author pick) 🎀 CAR SEX 🎀 VIRGINITY 🎀 VOYEURISM 🎀 TATTOOS ❎ BRAT-TAMING (Jey Uso x plus size!f!Reader) 🎀 TIED-UP/RESTRAINED 🎀 POWER IMBALANCE 🎀 DEGRADATION 🎀 SPITTING 🎀 PRAISE 🎀 IMPACT PLAY ❎ DUMBIFICATION (dom!Rhea Ripley x sub!Tiffany Stratton) 🎀 KEEPING QUIET 🎀 CUCKOLDING 🎀 SIZE KINK 🎀 FACE-SITTING 🎀 ON SOMEONE ELSE'S BED 🎀 FINGERING/HANDJOB AT FAMILY GATHERING ❎ CHURCH (Jey Uso x f!Reader) 🎀 BDSM 🎀 SIR KINK 🎀 FACIALS 🎀 FIGHT SEX 🎀 BLACKMAIL 🎀 AGE GAP/PLAY (always over 18, probably over 21) 🎀 HAIR-PULLING ❎ ACAROPHILIA (Seth Rollins x f!Reader) 💎 PANTY-SNIFFING (Dexter Lumis x f!Reader 18+) 🎀 PARTNER SWAP 🎀 VICARPHILIA (arousal from someone else's experience) 🎀 PET PLAY 🎀 TITTY-FUCK 🎀 CORRUPTION ❎ REQUESTER'S CHOICE (brat-taming Damian Priest x f!Reader)

[xbriexx]

The asylum I’ll forever live in 🫢🩶

[kiame-sama]

I also have another question for you. You know that pet birds can turn into pluckers when they're neglected, right? Is this also a problem for Harpies and sirens, too?

Warnings; yandere, yandere harpies, bird-behavior in monster men, plucking, mentions of anxiety and stress, Harpies and Sirens galore, self destructive behavior,

The simple answer is 'yes' they do begin to over-preen and pluck their own feathers in frustration.

In the case of Vil, he is doing it because he believes that his feathers must somehow not be impressive enough to draw the attention of the Human that he adores so much. He is trying to grow newer shinier feathers to draw their eye and is getting upset that it isn't working. He will begin to self-destruct thinking he is somehow too ugly or not good enough for the Human to even give the time of day. Rook- noticing this behavior from Vil- will immediately step in and do everything he can to prevent his boon companion from ruining his follicles by plucking his feathers. This does mean Rook will be seeking out the Human and encouraging the Human to help Vil preen pin feathers or even just touch the Harpy's feathers to calm him down enough to stop this behavior from the peacock Harpy.

In the case of Neige, he is plucking himself because he wants to give the feathers to the Human and is willing to destroy his own follicles to keep supplying as many feathers as possible to the Human. Ambrose- who is a very good guardian to all his students- will pick up quickly on the behavior exhibited by Neige and will approach Crowley on the matter to see if they can't get the Human to get Neige to stop this destructive behavior. It is bad enough the two older harpies agree to a kind of visitation to NRC or RSA to allow Neige time with the Human to keep him from harming himself with this behavior.

Crowley and Ambrose will occasionally pluck their own feathers in stress from simply having to deal with their respective schools. Ambrose is actually a half-fae Snowy Owl harpy who is 1/4 Human, his other half being part Human, part regular Owl Harpy. Both Crowley and Ambrose find themselves plucking far less when in the presence of the Human as there is a kind of soothing effect the Human has on their anxious minds that allows them to calm down enough to recognize their own destructive behaviors. They even take comfort in being around one another because of Ambrose's 1/4th Human genetics. despite the fact Snowy Owls and Crows are natural enemies. They take that natural behavior as more competition than actual violence between them. The presence of the Human while they are stressed allows them to return to a peaceful mindset and work through things productively.

Many Harpies and Sirens would similarly pluck themselves when ignored by their mates or overly stressed from outside factors.

[dilatorywriting]

The Prince & The Pauper Prefect

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: 'Dear Ramshackle Prefect, you are cordially invited to tour the Royal Sword Academy at your leisure. We hope our libraries may have something of use to aid in your journey home. And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’ Clearly, nothing about this could go wrong at all.

A/N: A commission for the very lovely @thefiasco-onyourblock. I'm having so much fun with all y'alls ideas, and this is one of the few that was asked to be public, so I'm happy you all get to see it! It was a lot of fun to dive back into this himbo~

You’d just stumbled your way back onto Ramshackle’s sagging porch after your second third fourth foray into this wonderful new world of Near-Death Experiences when the letter arrived.  It popped into existence in a pleasant burst of bubbles and sparks—a scroll of soft, cream, paper stamped with a shimmering wax seal that looked like it could have been melted down out of literal gold. You waved a hand under it, over it, all around the thing in grand loop-de-loop. The letter just kept hovering in place, occasionally spitting out another bout of multicolored sparkles.

“Hello?” you tried, cautious, and the thing crinkled at the corners. Like it was trying to wave back at you.

You glared up at the grey sky for a moment, daring whatever higher power existed in this stupid world to try fucking with you yet again, before reaching out to grab the ridiculous, magic, note.

It unrolled at your touch, like a cat stretching when you scratched along its spine. And instead of some horrible prank or wayward contract, you were greeted with an opportunity.

.

.

“POACHERS!” Crowley howled.

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “So can I go?”

“INTERLOPERS!” he forged onwards, waving the letter back and forth like a parent raging over a bad report card. “Who do they think they are?! Trying to swipe my most precious intern—student! My most precious and beloved of students!—out from under my nose?! As if I wouldn’t be able to see through something so—so—ACK!”

“I mean,” you grumbled miserably under your breath, “it is a pretty long nose. Could hide a lot under there.”

He turned on you with a gasp, like you’d just insulted his mother. Or… whatever the Headmaster’s no doubt vaguely evil and eldritch equivalent would be. 

“It’s a mask! A mask!”

He crumpled the letter petulantly between his clawed fingers and went to hurl it to the ground, but the paper smoothed itself out with another one of those magical ‘pops!’ and floated up on an artificial breeze to land neatly in your lap. Crowley sneered at the thing like he was planning to light it on fire, and honestly, with how strange and ethereal this little letter was, you sort of wanted to see him try.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opportunity,” Professor Trein shrugged, unbothered by his superior’s usual nonsense.

“It’s not as if the Royal Sword Academy is known for their treachery,” Professor Crewel added, sounding a bit like the acknowledgement had to be yanked out of his mouth with a pair of pliers. He glanced your way for a moment with those narrowed, steely, eyes of his before turning that glare back on the old crow. “And in comparison, I don’t think any of us can truthfully claim that Night Raven has provided a particularly safe learning environment for the Prefect.”

Crowley sniffed, indignant. “A sprinkling of danger is all part of the educational experience!”

Trein sighed and Crewel pinched at his brow like he was fighting the start of a migraine.

“They’re just offering to let me look through their library archives for more information on how I could find a way home,” you tried, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which would mean less work for you, you know.”

For a moment you could see the calculations whirling behind those glowing, yellow, eyes—the promise of entirely unearned vacation time and accolades for tasks he’d had absolutely bupkis to do with. But then the sharp line of his mouth hardened in determination and he turned away from you with a huff.

“We’ll discuss this betrayal of yours later—when my poor, old, heart has had some time to stitch itself back together!” he harumphed and you sighed miserably. Then he snapped his fingers with a little ‘ah!’ and turned on you with a perfectly sunny smile. “And of course there’s the VDC to plan for! Do get on that, my favorite, little, busy bee!”

Afterwards you stood in the little alcove outside of Crowley’s office, the golden letter clutched tightly in your fists. The soft edges of the scroll lifted to curl around your knuckles, like a gentle reassurance. Before you could work yourself up into getting too upset about the unfairness of it all, Professor Crewel placed a hand on your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll drop you off Monday morning.”

You fought the tremble that was doing its best to turn your mouth into a wobbling mess, and turned to launch yourself into his furs with a crushing hug. The alchemist patted your back with a great deal of aggrieved grumbling, but he didn’t bother to push you away either, so he probably didn’t mind you creasing his coat as much as he said he did.

.

.

Your assurance that this was just a jaunt through the RSA’s library had been… mostly a fib. Or at least, deceptive in the same way that the sweeping, cursive, missive was also sort of sneaky. You’d dealt with enough genuine schemers at this point to recognize subtle promises woven into the words of the well-meaning.

‘And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’

You sighed and tucked the letter into your bag. It felt a bit wrong to be ducking away from your friends and your hovel of a home like a thief absconding in the night. But this was just… You were just looking. Spending a day away from the cloying, tarry, taste of pooling blot, and the endless runaround of all your little duties, and Crowley was not nearly the same as flipping your new friends the bird and fucking off into the sunset.

You repeated this to yourself ad nauseum as you pulled on your cleanest uniform, and then again throughout the entirety of the drive down the coast, and then more when Crewel waved you out of his car with a pointed look, leaving you at the RSA’s doorstep with a little shoo shoo gesture to get you moving.

Everything was so white. And not the gentle sort of lightness that came with nice things like fluffy sheep or foam off rolling ocean waves. It was sterile—so sharply bright in the morning light that it was nearly blue. The brick path beneath your feet was white, the guardrails lining the walkways were white, the walls of the looming castle, the impressive archways, the fluttering flags bearing the school’s regal coat of arms—all bone-bleached beneath the sun and shimmering like the architecture itself had literally been polished to a gleam. The only variation to be seen amidst the sea of monochromatic brilliance was the occasional pop of a cerulean spire—like some sort of awful party hat to top off the whole mess of it.

Say what you might about Night Raven’s gothic chic and whole ‘I mean, of course the cobwebs in the halls are Intentional’ aesthetic, but at least walking around the drab buildings there didn’t leave you feeling like someone had just set off a camera flash in your face. You felt like you were dirtying the roads by just existing near them. How did anything ever get done here without everyone having to constantly stop just to sweep up their footprints behind them?!

But such was the way of this dumb world apparently. Everything had to operate in extremes—nothing could just be normal. Real. It was all some fairytale recreation, varying only in if it fell hard on one side of the spectrum or the other.

You pulled out the letter with a sigh, and began roving over the contents yet again to see where exactly you were supposed to be headed. This whole fieldtrip turning into a miserable confirmation of your unintended loyalty to Night Raven or otherwise, at least you might be able to get some information out of these promised libraries.

You managed to cross a sweeping stone bridge, descend three separate flights of stairs, and follow nearly half a dozen signs with little, circled, stars on them before realizing you were probably only making things worse for yourself. You were still on one of those glistening, pearlescent, pathways, but now there were trees everywhere. It was a far cry from the twisting, black, forests smattered throughout Night Raven’s estate. Light filtered down pleasantly through the lush trees and the air was so nicely scented with flowers and pine that it was almost like someone had gone through with a bottle of Perfume de Forest and personally spritzed each and every plant. Which—ugh. Even the birds seemed to singing in tempo to some pre-orchestrated song. It was trippy.

But speaking of trippy—

You were so busy glaring suspiciously at a tree with a literal smiley face twisted into its bark that you didn’t notice the drop-off until it was too late. To be fair, it was still all very lovely—an overhang leading to a crystalline lake that bubbled gently under the roar of nearby waterfall. No jagged rocks at the bottom or anything. You probably wouldn’t even have to tumble all the way into the water, just into the little ditch about ten feet down. But of course, all that didn’t stop you from ‘eeping’ inelegantly in a panic as you stepped over the edge and started to fall.

And then you jerked back with a wheeze when something caught you around the collar of your uniform and tugged. You flailed wildly as you were hauled back up and into the air, and something behind you made a high-pitched, nervous, whinnying noise.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy! Easy! You’re going to send all three of us over, you big baby!”

The huffing, angry, noises just got worse and you were dropped unceremoniously back on the pathway you’d wandered off from just in time to see a pair of hooves come crashing down precariously close to where you’d been dumped. You scurried back in a hurry, because you’d survived too much nonsense at this point to get taken out from something as mundane as a kick to the head.

The horse eventually got its singular braincell working well enough to realize it had to back away from the ledge, and you were finally able to look upon your savior without being too worried about taking a hoof to the face.  

He was clearly an RSA student, what with the garishly bleached uniform and impeccably put together everything. There was a crimson cloak tossed over one of his shoulders though, which did more to break the monotony of colorless brightness than any other architecture in the entire campus, so well done him you supposed. There was a sort of effortless attractiveness to everyone in this stupid world, but your new acquaintance in particular seemed to fall hard into that ‘windswept, accidental model’ sort of look, with loose brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, and wide, warm, hazel eyes. He looked a bit like the sort of person that a school might slather on all their recruitment posters to be like ‘see! We have jocks that know how to shower and brush their hair! Look how put together we are!’

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you with a canted head—curious. “You don’t look a student here.”

“I’m not,” you sighed, making your way to your feet with a sore grumble. “I have an invitation. I’m just trying to find the Headmaster’s Office,” you said, holding out the letter like a hall pass.

“Oh!” He chirped, brightening. “I can show you the way,” He offered. “Not that I’m in trouble enough to know the way there by heart or anything, but I guess just enough that there isn’t too much of a chance that I’ll get the both of us lost,” he winked and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Normally this sort of overly familiar banter meant you were about to get dragged into all sorts of Shenanigans.

Before you could decide whether to take the chance or politely decline, his stupid, too big, horse reared its head back with a frustrated huff. Mister Red Cloak took the mini-tantrum in stride, despite the fact that the thing had nearly just clocked him right in the face with a head that looked as solid as a boulder.

“Oh, come now,” he sighed, patting the beast’s neck. “We can finish the course later. Don’t be a baby.”

The horse made some sort of unpleasant shrieking noise like some nightmare creature from just beyond the gates of Hell that had you flinching back to avoid being Murdered, but its rider simply rolled his eyes and tugged sharply at the reins.

“What do you think, huh? Just this once?” he asked, leaning forward over the withers to talk to the raging horse in its face. Like a lunatic. “For an extra bucket of oats? And maybe, just a few—” cue an absolutely horrendous eyebrow waggle, “carrots?”

And then the horse tossed its head back with a whinny that should absolutely not have sounded anything like a ‘hell yeah! Whatever you say, dude!’ before turning and prancing around you in tight, bouncy, circles. You scrunched in on yourself, because the thing was still probably a thousand pounds of muscle and flailing limbs. Even if it wasn’t actively huffing at you anymore, now it was just getting closer faster.

“You really don’t have to,” you tried. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way.”

“Nonsense!” he chirped, dropping down from the saddle to land before you in the grass with a heavy thud. He brushed at his trousers, as if he wasn’t expecting his hands to come back completely clean. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on him. “What sort of savior would I be if I let you get lost in the wild and wonderful woods of this grand institution?”

“I can see the castle,” you griped, pointing to the blue peaks over the trees.

“Last I checked, you can see it from the entrance too,” he smiled and gestured to the forested path around you, chuffing a bit like he was laughing under his breath. “Must’ve been quite a turnaround, to wind up here anyways.”

Instantly you felt your hackles rising and a familiar, prickly, heat work its way up into your cheeks.

“Thank you, for your concern,” you grit out and swiveled on your heel. “But I guess even I should be able to find my way eventually.”

The pleasantly amused expression on the brunette’s face instantly fell and he darted back in front of you with a grimace.

“Sorry—that was. Sorry. I guess I put my foot in my mouth,” he rushed out. A gloved hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You snorted and glared off into the trees.

“Now you really have to let me show you the way,” he laughed, stilted and bordering on too polite. “For making an ass out of myself like that. It’s the least I can do.”

You glared at him sourly for a moment before sighing and glancing back at the looming Andalusian still prancing along the tree line. “Will… that be coming with us?”

“Helios?” he asked, like you had any concept of what a ‘Helios’ was supposed to be. Probably the horse. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, waving you off. “He can find his way back to the stables on his own. Right, boy?”

The horse made another one of those high-pitched, blustery, noises and you forcefully reminded yourself that you had faced inky goop monsters that were personifications of your classmates’ literal demons, and also kidnapping plots involving another of said classmates diving into your brain to rewire it like you were his own personal puppet. And in comparison to all those trials, Sentient Animals should not be creepy.

“Fine,” you huffed. “It’s fine. Just—let’s just get going.”

“Right!” he beamed, instantly bouncing back to his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

You offered your own name in return, if only to be polite, and he smiled like the fact that you’d managed to grit out those familiar syllables was a gift in and of itself and not just, you know, generic introduction protocol.

“You have a lovely name,” he chirped, falling into step at your side.

You snorted, still a bit too bitter and sore. “You don’t have to try so hard to be nice, you know. To make up for saying something you feel bad about, I mean. It’s fine.”

His blinked his wide, hazel, eyes at you in way that looked a bit like you’d managed to surprise him. His eyelashes were long and soft, and they brushed against his cheeks with each shutter. Never trust people with nice eyelashes, you thought a bit petulantly. You’d known you were right to be cautious.

“You think I’m just saying that because I feel guilty?” he asked, not sounding particularly incredulous or insulted so much as genuinely curious. He tilted his head at you and some of his fringe slipped in front of his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Do people normally do that?”

You didn’t quite frown at him, but it was a close thing. You could feel your brow pinch.

“…I guess,” you huffed after a long moment, turning to stare back at the path ahead.

“Huh,” he mused, thoughtful. “Well, I really did mean it. And it’s a lot better than my name by far. I mean, really, Stefan? A bit on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Crown?’ Come on. Couldn’t my parents have been anymore original?”

You glanced over at him, a bit lost. “What does that mean?”

“Stefan?” he repeated with another one of those eyelash-sweeping blinks. “It means ‘crown.’”

“No,” you sighed, long suffering. “As in, how is that unoriginal? It’s a nice name.”

“Well, it’s because I—” he trailed off, gaze lingering in open astonishment. After a long moment of gaping at you like he’d just been clobbered across the back of the head with a baseball bat, he finally cleared his throat and looked back off into the trees with a tight shrug. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything I guess. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on that train of thought for a moment or two longer before turning back to face you with a wide grin that was just on the right side of smug. “You think it’s a nice name?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, cheeks starting to heat with something other than bitter chagrin. “Just please get me out of this forest before I fall over another cliff.”

.

.

Headmaster Ambrose the 63rd (the sixty-third! What in the nepo-nonsense was that?!) looked like a wizard straight out of some homey after-school-special, with silver spectacles perched on his rounded nose and a soft, pointed, cap atop his head that flopped endearingly at the tip. He was an antithesis to Crowley in every sense of the word—flowing robes replacing tight vests and formal wear, faded white accents rather than sharp black, and not a single bit of Sparkling Flair to be seen. Like everything else, as nice as he seemed, it was such a stark jump into the opposite direction that it had your hackles raised in caution.

“Our libraries are some of the most extensive in the country,” he smiled, warm and fond. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle behind the rims of his glasses. “I hope you’ll be able to find something that may be of some help to your situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, fighting the insane storybook urge to do something like curtsy.

He waved you off with a gentle shake of the head. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. You’re a guest a here! I hope my students have been treating you well?”

Stefan rubbed at the back of his neck and shot his headmaster a sheepish smile that was entirely, unfairly, handsome.

“Doing my best, sir.”

“Good lad,” he hummed, something nearly mischievous sparking in those blue-grey eyes of his. But you were hesitant to label it anything of the sort now that you’d seen what real sneaky nonsense looked like. This was more like… Children’s Program Mischief. That kind that usually involved an adult thinking themselves very clever for being able to sneak some vegetables into an afternoon snack. He turned back on you with that shining smile. “Allow me to find you an escort for the afternoon, and then we can get off to the library.”

“I’d be happy to show them around!” Stefan piped in.

“Is that so,” Ambrose mused, that same little grin playing over his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be in Equestrian Studies at the moment, hmm?”

“Well, I mean,” he spluttered, before collecting his argument and squaring his shoulders with another one of those blindingly bright smiles, “how could I possibly have left someone in need to fend for themselves, sir? I would have brought shame down on this entire institution! Heroes are meant to be made not born, after all!” He boomed, like someone cheering a school’s motto at a sports game.

All of this sounded like the largest crock of self-aggrandizing bullshit you’d ever heard, and by the time you’d had a whole internal debate with yourself over the merits of NRC’s outright nastiness versus this… whatever it was supposed to be, Ambrose was gesturing between the pair of you and saying something that you probably ought to be being paying attention to.

“Thank you, sir!” Stefan grinned, and Ambrose waved him off in that same pleasant way he had you earlier.

“You’re in excellent hands, Prefect,” the Headmaster assured as you were rushed out the door by the guy who was clearly going to be your newest Problem. “Take care! And please let me know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”

And then you were back out in the hallway, with Stefan already steering you towards who knew what. The archives, you hoped. But knowing your luck, probably not.

“You must be hungry, right?” he asked, perfectly polite. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria before we head over to the library?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as your stomach gurgled a very loud complaint. You patted at your traitor of an abdomen in a silent reprimand and sighed, “You can just show me the way. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me the whole day.”

“Nonsense,” he beamed, intertwining his arm with yours and tugging you off down another hallway before you could protest. He was so tall, and it should have been hard to keep up with his longer stride, but it wasn’t. “I like spending time with you.”

“What?” you blinked, thrown. Because maybe you’d hit your head or something, but you were pretty sure the last half hour had consisted of very little other than you being grumpy and unpleasant.

He canted his head to look down at you and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“You’re nice to talk to,” he said. “Honest, I think. Would be the best way I could describe it. Genuine.” His hazel eyes went a bit distant, wistful. “There aren’t many people here like that. It’s different. Good different,” he promised, the corners of his smile tugging into something a bit teasing.

Your gaze tracked down to the brilliantly blue carpet beneath your feet and then around to the perfectly white walls. Other students filtered by in their starched uniforms and shiny, black, dress shoes—all impeccably groomed and all chattering idle nothings about the weather, about classes, exams. You could see the muddy imprints from your boots trailing along the floor and a few errant bits of grass fell in clumps from where they were still tangled up in your shoelaces. Something tight in you eased a bit at the mess, and you turned back to your companion with a sigh that was bordering far too close on ‘begrudgingly fond’ rather than the properly ‘put upon’ you were aiming for.

“If you say so.”

You hadn’t thought it was possible for the guy’s smile to get brighter, but somehow he managed. You squinted into the warmth of it with a strange, squirmy, feeling in your stomach that you didn’t think had much to do with being hungry.

“Come on then!” he beamed, tugging you along. “We don’t want to miss the Feast!”

“Feast?” you echoed, incredulous.

“With dancing silverware and everything,” he mock-whispered, like a secret just for the two of you.

“What the fuck,” you gaped, brain immediately latching onto the most ridiculous aspect of all of it. “How do you eat anything if it’s dancing?”

Stefan threw his head back with a roaring laugh that had you wanting to sink into your collar with your shoulders hunched up to your ears. But no one stopped to stare, or point, or snicker into their palms at his open enthusiasm. There were a few curious peepers, but once they seemed to identify the source of the noise, they all went back to wandering the halls in their perfectly pressed uniforms with nary a sly comment or sneer to be seen.

“See?” he beamed, tilting sideways to knock his shoulder against yours. “Honest. Now come on—we don’t want to miss out on all the grey stuff. It tastes way better than it sounds, promise.”

.

.

The pair of you entered the cafeteria right at the start of things, with dishes and forks just beginning to fly overhead in waves of strange, blinking, lights and motes of golden sparks. More than a few people waved at Stefan as he walked in, and he returned the greetings with polite, buoyant, ones of his own before herding you to an empty table off to the side.

“You don’t want to sit with your friends?” you asked, brow pinching in confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a spoonful of something already shoved in his mouth. There wasn’t any kind of plate in front of him, so he must have snatched it right out of the air. He swallowed and reached up to grab another. “Oh, no. That’s fine. Here! Try this!”

You leaned away from the spoon he held up to your lips with a huff and some obligatory complaints about how ‘you could feed yourself just fine, thank you very much.’ You plucked the bit of silverware from his fingers with a wary frown and very tactfully ignored that lingering, fluttering, warmth in your gut that you still hadn’t managed to completely snuff out.

“Is this… grey stuff?”

“Right on the money,” he winked, leaning forward to snatch up another flying fork. “My family’s not usually a fan of more ‘modern’ cuisine, so it’s always a treat to be able to try all the different foods at the Feasts here.”

You looked hesitantly at the goopy mess of monochromatic paste smeared across the spoon, and then back up at Stefan who was casually digging into his own floating mountain of toxic waste with an absolutely enraptured hum of satisfaction.

“Remind me to buy you a grilled cheese or something…” you muttered under your breath, before bravely swallowing the entire spoonful of sludge. And—huh. That was actually… pretty delicious. How weird.

You spent the rest of the luncheon event picking at random bits of floating foods as they danced by. Occasionally Stefan would lean forward to point out his favorites and give recommendations. He was surprisingly observant, despite whatever initial impressions his jock’s jawline and guileless grins may have led you to believe otherwise—taking easy note of the things you pushed aside and the ones you nibbled at more enthusiastically.

“Oh—you missed the desserts,” he lamented as the last remnants of a picked apart pie flew over your head.

“That’s fine,” you said, but he only shook his head and began to drag you off again with another of those brilliant grins.

And so began a weird sort of pseudo treasure hunt, where Stefan would take your hand and haul you off to some random corner of the castle with promises of whatever seemed to strike his fancy, or more accurately you supposed, whatever he seemed to think you might fancy.

“No one really uses this vending machine anymore, but somehow it always restocks and it has the best ice cream bars I’ve ever had. It’s wild! I’m sure you’ll love it!—“

“Oh, it is pretty cold down here, right? I didn’t even think about that. But… hmm… Here! I know the best place to grab a hot chocolate! It’s just over this way a bit—“

“These walls are kind of a drab view, yeah? Here! If we go down this way there’s a great little area to sit where you can see the whole bay—“

By the end of things, somehow you ended up back at the stables with that terror of a horse of his. And despite the runaround and the vaguely exhausting fact that Stefan’s social battery never seemed to wear itself out ever, it wasn’t… it wasn’t that bad, actually. Sometimes people would wave him down to talk, and he always introduced you and left the proverbial door open for you to join the conversation, but never asked you to participate, which was nice. You’d taken to just sort of slouching against his side in a food coma like a lizard on a rock as he answered whatever mundane questions all the other students asked of him. But otherwise, it was just the pair of you bopping around all over the campus.

Helios saw his master and whinnied merrily, and Stefan made an odd sort of chuffing noise in return that had you laughing into your palm.

“What?” He complained good-naturedly. “You’ve never barked at a dog before? It’s the same thing!”

“Of course it is,” you droned, lips twitching up at the corners.

The next destination was someplace on the coast that he was insisting was the absolute best place in the world to sit and think. Which if you wanted to do research, naturally you needed to get your head together about where to start, right? The only problem was that it was a solid hour hike away, but Stefan assured you that on horseback it was a much shorter journey.

You leaned forward on your tiptoes to get a look down the sprawling corridor of stalls, each larger and grander than the last. And each of their occupants following that exact same trend. There even looked like there was a horse with wings, which was—ah. Not helping the intimidation factor, to say the least.

“You can ride with me,” he offered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I mean. Sometimes it helps to feel like there’s someone more adept at the reins.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily. But then then you focused on the rest of that offer and you and the horse shared a Look. And wasn’t that a trippy thing to notice. You immediately forced yourself not to think about it.

“I don’t know if that’s fair to Helios,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense!” Stefan waved you off, and Helios pinned his ears indignantly. “He’s an Andalusian. They’re war horses, you know? Built to be as sturdy and strong as any horse can be.” He said the last part with a sickly-sweet uptick to his voice, and leaned up against the beast’s flank like they were sharing an inside joke. “They say Prince Phillip’s legendary steed was an Andalusian, and they rode into battle against a dragon together.”

Helios’s grey muzzle twitched prissily and eventually the horse lowered his great head to thump against Stefan’s side with a gusty ‘harumph’ that had the man stumbling forward with a pleasant laugh.

“There you are, you big baby. I knew you had it in you.”

After giving the horse a firm pat pat on his rump, Stefan turned and offered you a hand.

“It’s easier if I help you up first,” he explained.

“Isn’t there like… a ladder, or something?” You tried, and Stefan grinned sneakily before ducking behind you and hauling you up on Helios’s back all in one go. You absolutely, positively, did not squeak, or anything else ridiculous like that. It was a—a squawk! The most indignant and put upon of noises!

Stefan laughed and waved off whatever terrible sounds you were making with a bemused ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ that was the absolute least apologetic thing you’d ever heard. And then he was swinging himself up near effortlessly into the saddle behind you and looping an arm around your waist.

“Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with,” he explained in your ear, like your brain hadn’t just absolutely Blue Screened at the new weight along your hips. “Like ripping off a bandaid. I know it can all be sort of intimidating for people who aren’t used to being around horses.”

When you didn’t respond, because you were still trying to sort cognizant thoughts of the mess of ‘!!!’ that was hard at work blotting out the rest of your brain, you felt him start to shift a bit behind you. His hands flexed a bit tighter, as if the idea of you not being secure enough in the saddle was in anyway the problem here. After another moment of your continued silence, Stefan leaned forward carefully to hook his chin over your shoulder and spoke in that same carefully polite way he had when he’d worried he’d insulted you all those hours ago in the forest.

“If you’re still uncomfortable I can get you down if you want,” he offered, voice dipping low in something that sounded like hesitance. “I know I—I mean, you don’t have to go riding with me, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be…” He cleared his throat, and you must have been going delirious because out of the corner of your eyes you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I can… I can just take you to the library now, if you want,” he said. “I know I’ve already been pretty selfish with your time today.”

Helios shifted to stamp his feet and you twisted your fingers nervously into his mane. You really didn’t feel entirely great about being so high, on something so wild and big. And honestly, you had wasted a lot of time sightseeing with your impromptu tour guide. If you were being in anyway rational, you should demand Stefan dismount and take you to the library like he promised. But all the same… Today had been—all of it had been…

“Just don’t let me fall,” you huffed, fighting the urge to duck your chin down into your collar to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

“Of course not!” Stefan beamed, straightening himself back up so suddenly that he nearly tipped the both of you from the saddle. You sent him a glare over your shoulder and he laughed, loud and boisterous. “Sorry, sorry. From here out starts the ‘of course not.’ That was just a test run.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, letting him maneuver your hands to better hold the reins alongside his.

Naturally, by the time you got halfway to the beach, Stefan remembered that the library closed early on Mondays, and that you’d well and truly missed your opportunity as you’d been off gallivanting with him and his ridiculousness all day.

But you know what? It was fine. You’d just come back tomorrow. And maybe the next day too.

.

.

[issdisgrace]

I don’t have an obsession with this man or anything

[graveyardhorror]

⭐️MEET THE SUPERSTARS⭐️

WWE/AEW PREFERENCES & HEADCANONS MASTERLIST

>MASTERPOST >WATTPAD LINK

preferences:

>HOW YOU MET

>YOUR WWE/AEW JOB

>HOW HE CONFESSES

>HOW HE DESCRIBES YOU IN 3 WORDS

>HOW HE SHOWS HIS LOVE FOR YOU

>YOUR FAVORITE SEASON & HOLIDAY

>YOUR MATCHING TATTOOS

>YOUR FAVORITE BANDS

>WHAT HE DOES ON YOUR PHONE

>HIS NICKNAMES FOR YOU

>HIS CONTACT NAME

>YOUR CONTACT NAME

>WHERE HE TAKES YOU ON VACATION

>THE SONG YOU HATE BUT HE LOVES

>THE SONG HE HATES BUT YOU LOVE

>HOW YOU SLEEP

>DATE NIGHT

>WHAT YOU DO ON YOUR DAYS OFF

>WHERE HE LIKES TO KISS YOU

>HOW HE PROPOSES

>YOUR WEDDING

>YOUR HONEYMOON

>HOW MANY KIDS YOU HAVE

>YOUR WWE/AEW BESTFRIENDS

>YOUR FAVORITE WWE ERA

>WHAT YOU DO THAT TURNS HIM ON

>WHAT HE DOES THAT TURNS YOU ON

>YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO VACATION

>YOUR CELEBRITY BESTFRIENDS

>YOUR WWE/AEW COUPLE BESTFRIENDS

>YOUR WWE EX

>HIS FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOU

>YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT HIM

>PDA; PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION

>YOUR TALENTS

>HOW HE PROTECTS YOU

>THE SONG HE DEDICATES TO YOU

>THE BUSINESS YOU OWN TOGETHER

>WHAT IT’S LIKE DATING HIM

>HIS WEDDING VOWS

>YOUR HALLOWEEN COUPLES COSTUME

>YOUR ICONIC COUPLES COSTUME

>WHAT YOU DO IN OCTOBER

>YOUR HALLOWEEN PUMPKINS

>YOUR HALLOWEEN DATE

>HIS LOVE LANGUAGE

headcanons:

>DATING HEADCANONS

>DEAN AMBROSE/JON MOXLEY DATING HEADCANONS

>ROMAN REIGNS DATING HEADCANONS

>SETH ROLLINS DATING HEADCANONS

>RANDY ORTON DATING HEADCANONS

>FINN BALOR DATING HEADCANONS

>NEVILLE/PAC DATING HEADCANONS

>DEAN AMBROSE/JON MOXLEY BFF HEADCANONS

>ROMAN REIGNS BFF HEADCANONS

>SETH ROLLINS BFF HEADCANONS

>RANDY ORTON BFF HEADCANONS

>FINN BALOR BFF HEADCANONS

>NEVILLE/PAC BFF HEADCANONS

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Wild Thing

Jon Moxley x fem reader

A young Jon Moxley meets Y/n somewhere in CZW in 2009 (inspired by Mox’s book)

Mentions: of blood, drug use, swearing, fighting, kidnapping

Main Masterlist

Tonight was my first match in CZW’s Tournament of Death. I stood pacing back and forth in the locker room mentally preparing myself for the events that would occur when I could hear Eddie Kingston yelling at someone in the hallway. He sounded mad. The other men in the locker room exchanged looks and oos before one of them said “She sure is a feisty one isn’t she” to which the men all began to laugh. ‘Who is this she?’ I thought to myself. Eddie then stormed into the room and slammed the door behind him, preventing whoever was behind him from entering the room. He leaned against the door and I could hear angry knocking from the other side. “What does she want now?” said Danny Havoc. (But I just call him Grant) .“She wants to be in TOD, Jon won’t let her” Eddie explained. I didn’t know who this girl they were referring to was but she seemed pretty badass to me. A female wanting to participate in the tournament of death?! “Of course she does! Let me talk to her” said Grant with his thick Jersey accent. Eddie then opened the door to reveal a tall blonde in a Juicy Couture tracksuit. I was not expecting that. 

The gorgeous blond stormed into the room before running into the arms of Grant. “Tell Jon Zandig that I should be in TOD!” she yelled “Now doll, why do you want to be a part of TOD? You know I love ya but you’re too pretty to be doing this kind of shit,” he told her. 

“I want to prove that I can do the same thing you guys can do. Why is it that there are never any women wrestling in these shows? You know I can wrestle! I train my ass off and what do I get back? Nothing, because no one wants to hire a girl. They only want female wrestlers for swimsuit contests and dog food fights. I’m sick of doing that shit! I want to go out there and taste my own blood. TOD or not I want to show these people that I know how to wrestle!” The room was silent. I felt like an outcast, everyone seemed to know about this situation but me. 

Eddie was the first to break the silence. “Let me talk to Jon again. You know he likes you Y/n. I’m sure if you promise not to do anything stupid he will put you in the opener without TOD stipulations” 

Sure enough, Y/n got her match. I watched the match backstage with Grant, both of us hypnotized by what we were seeing. “Who is she?” I asked him, he almost looked shocked that I didn’t know of Y/n. “That’s Y/n, she’s the most badass bitch I have ever met. They call her the Hardcore Barbie because she looks like a Barbie doll and lives off death match wrestling. She’s really nice if you don’t piss her off. She also has good weed.” he told me 

I was so fascinated with her. I needed to know more about her. “Anything else I should know about her? She seems young?” I asked Grant. “Well, she started wrestling when she was 16 and she just turned 20. I know what you’re thinking, she won’t sleep with you, everyone here has tried. It’s so funny that these freaks think she would get with them. She travels with Kingston and me, so don’t you dare try nothing. I will kill you with my bare hands” 

Grant and I watched the rest of the match. I had never seen such a beautiful match. Y/n did in fact know how to wrestle. The man she stood across the ring from was twice her weight yet she picked him up with such ease. The fans loved seeing a pretty girl like herself beat up a sweaty dude. Y/n had beat the man to a pulp, she pinned him 1..2..3 and it was over. I thought it was funny how Grant watched on as a proud parent, that was his girl. I thought about what he said, how she rode with him and Kingston. Why did Eddie never mention Y/n before?

After the show, Y/n officially introduced herself to me. I felt like I was hypnotized by her beauty. She noticed how nervous I was around her and she used it to her advantage, inviting me to hang out after the show with Grant and Eddie. I had to accept, how could you not? 

Eddie explained to me why he hadn’t introduced me to Y/n before. He told me she was known for using her looks to her advantage. “So like she sleeps with people for matches?” I asked him “That’s gross, she would never do that. She mentally fucks you. If you look her too long in the eye you’ll fall right into her trance. She hypnotizes you and manipulates you. She looks all sweet but trust me she has a bad attitude” “So why do you hang out with her then?” I asked him 

“Because she’s fucken wild. She’s so fun to hang out with and she always has weed. Someone needs to look out for her. There are creeps out there man. For god sake she’s a skinny tall blond who lives in Juicy Couture, what do you think will happen?” he told me. Eddie had a good point. 

That night Y/n and I became good friends. Eddie was right when she said she was wild. Once she had a few drinks in her and some of the good shit she was the life of the party. I didn’t understand why Eddie kept Y/n a secret, sure you could tell that she had a few screws loose but don’t we all? For fucks sake if someone willingly wants to participate in TOD you know there’s some form of mental issues going on.

Just then a man approached Kingston and me. He had a fresh buzz cut, was covered in tattoos, had what seemed like a freshly broken nose and looked like the kind of guy who would have women chained up in his basement. “Where is she?” he spat, in a thick Russian accent. I could tell that he and Kingston knew each other, the tension was thick in the air. “Where is who?” Eddie spat back, his New York accent being more noticeable when he was mad. “You know who, stop playing dumb, bum” he responded. “You’re a real fucking idiot, Sasha, she left hours ago. I have no idea where she went but even if I did there’s no way I would tell you” Kingston spat. The men stood chest to chest, eyeing the other down. I did nothing, even I knew not to get involved in whatever this is. Now I didn’t know who the ‘She’ was that they were referring to but by now I think I had an idea. Then Grant came into the mix yelling “I told you if you ever showed your face here again I would fucking kill you” Just then an all-out brawl began. The two men began beating Sasha to a pulp. That’s when I noticed Y/n had vanished into thin air.

I let Kingston and Grant take care of Sasha and went looking for Y/n. In the distance, I heard the sound of broken glass. I followed the sound and found Y/n smashing the windows of a beat-up junk car with a baseball bat. She was mad, she looked evil. Now I knew why Eddie had warned me. “Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on here? What are you doing Y/n?” She turned to face me and I made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Her once bright green eyes had turned a deep forest colour, the whites of her eyes now red. Her makeup was smudged and her cheeks were stained with fresh tears. I was scared. I felt like she was staring into my soul, being able to read my every thought, know all my secrets. “What do you want, Mox?” she said through gritted teeth. “I just want to know what’s going on here. Why are Grant and Eddie beating the snot out of a guy named Sasha?” Her face dropped at the name, that told me what I needed to know.

Just then I heard someone yelling and honking a horn in the background. I turned to find Grant and Eddie yelling at us to get in the car! Y/n and I jumped in the car and sped off. The car was deathly silent. No one dared to say a word. I looked at Grant’s hands that gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were bloody and bruised, that’s when I noticed the blood on Eddie. The silence was broken when Y/n began to laugh, Grant and Eddie began laughing as well. “What the fuck happened back there?” I asked with genuine concern in my voice. “That jackass back there Sasha, I broke his nose after he followed me home after the show last week. I don’t even want to think about what his intentions were, "she said. “Not to mention 'someone' stole $500 out of my purse at the show today” “If he ever showed his face around here again I said I would kill him” Grant responded. “I smashed his windows because that’s what he gets for trying to kidnap me and stealing my $500” I was honestly speechless. “ I found a bunch of money in his car so it’s only fair I split the reward with all of you,” Y/n said. I watched her pull the fat wad of hundreds out of her pocket and began counting it. “$500 for Grant, $500 for Eddie, $500 for Mox and $1,500 for me. Thank you, Sasha” “Thank you Sasha the rest of us chimed in” From that moment I knew Y/n and I would be best friends. 

[flipped-crypt]

I just made this one 🥹 i see y’all fw the last one

[deansdelicate]

I CAN SEE YOU

CHAPTER I: YOU BRUSH PAST ME IN THE HALLWAY

seth rollins x fem!writer+producer reader

word count: [5.3K]

warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing, talks of anxiety, overall feel good chapter with some slight flirting.

🎧 the soundtrack

summary: Your first day on the main roster wasn't something you ever saw coming, but taking risks is the exact reason why you were there. Still, like walking on new grounds, you find yourself on edge, it a miracle that an encounter with a certain someone leaves you feeling a little at ease with the new beginnings ahead.

The pep in your step felt a little different, and so did the air that belonged to a city you’ve never stepped foot in before—but all of that culminated into nothing when you were thrown in with the sharks not knowing what exactly you were getting yourself into.

The corridors were far more confined than you remembered them being when you were a little kid, and the stares you got were almost gawking. So much different from the admiration that used to fill their orbs when you were a little girl running up and down similar hallways in a different state, different city, different night.

But it’s because you knew they didn’t look at you like that little girl anymore. Nowadays, your entire being was shaped by who your mother and father were, plus the prestigious family name you possessed and the legacy you were expected to carry on.

All of it is foreign, like figuring out how to walk again and this time it’s in a world full of larger-than-life characters that even you cannot seem to fathom quite yet. You grew up around all of it, but you never imagined walking in the shoes of those before you and paving your own way.

A way towards what could be the downfall of your family name or the rise of a new era that started with you.

“The evolution of this company lies within the palm of my hand and—shoot!”

Your footsteps came to an abrupt halt, your body meeting a stiff chest that nearly knocked you to your feet if it weren’t for the quick hands keeping you up by the waistline.

The loose paper scripts fell from your hands, cascading across the concrete floors, losing their orderly place from where you were practicing for what felt like the millionth time.

“Shit! Let me help you, I’m sorry.” A deep voice spoke apologetically, making sure you were standing upright before letting up on his grasp.

The man immediately beat you to it, bending down to gather all the papers, trying his best not to mix them up even more than he already did. Tapping them against the ground to get them in a crisp stack, he rose up and met your eyes.

“Thanks…sorry, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” You apologized, taking the stack of papers he handed to you.

He shook his head smiling assuringly, “I should’ve been more careful,” he paused for a brief moment, tilting his head at you as if he was trying to place you in his memory.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

You nodded, smiling widely, trying your best to wash away the first day jitters, “Today’s my first day, actually.”

His lips parted in silent surprise before speaking once more.

“Welcome to the team, my names Seth by the way.” He held out his hand, offering it to you politely.

“Nice to meet you, Seth.” You shook his with a grin on your face.

All of him suddenly hitting you like a ton of bricks, realizing that you should’ve known him the second you two caught eyes.

You had been studying the program closely as a part of your preparation for the venture. Your father making sure you knew every face and every name, not just out of respect but to understand the importance of storytelling—something you were about to be a part of in mere hours as the clocked ticked on.

So you were familiar with Seth Rollins. The mastermind behind the toughest faction of all time, the architect behind his success, the very person who was able to redesign, rebuild, and reclaim it, and most recently the Monday Night Rollins that was taking the world by storm.

You introduced yourself to him, leaving out a very crucial part before you felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket. Quickly you released his hand, apologizing under your breath, pulling it out—the screen flashing with messages from your father wondering where you were.

You looked up at him, tucking your phone away.

“I gotta run. Hope to catch you around, Rollins!” You called out, passing him a simple wave before heading off to where you needed to be.

Seth shrugged, continuing on his way to catering not thinking anything much of the encounter. He was versed around the crew. Camera men, mic operators, stage hands, creative personnel, security—the list went on.

After years of being on the road with the same company, he was acquainted with almost everyone. Granted, he got some names confused here and there, but for the most part he knew the faces that were always around.

You happened to be one of the new ones—a pretty one at that. It wasn’t every day that the company expanded their crew, too accustomed to the people who were well seasoned with the type of show they were producing and the talent they needed to get it out to the fans. But he knew if you were here, then you surely knew what you were doing.

“There you are Mr. Monday Night,” Kofi whistled with a smirk, catching the sight of Seth walking through catering wearing a big ‘ole smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off, going to make himself a plate of food to get himself energized before the show, “You gonna call me that every time I enter the room?” He barked playfully, tossing a little bit of everything on his plate.

Kofi hummed, pulling out a chair for his friend to sit, “What’s the sense of you naming yourself Monday Night Rollins if I don’t seize the opportunity for a nickname?”

“We could always call you Triple R? Redesign, Rebuild, Reclaim?” Charlotte quipped and everyone shook their heads.

“Paul would have a field day with that one,” Dean snorted with a grunt.

Catering was one of the many communal spaces in every arena. Superstars mingling with others before and in between matches, and a lot of them traveling with others to make work feel more like play outside the ring. While the routine may seemed hectic for some, for people like Seth who had been doing it long before WWE, it was second nature, only this time nicer rental cars and occasional business class flights made it less stressful.

The catering door swung open, a stagehand who looked rather frantic eyed the room.

“Have any of you seen Ms. Levesque?”

Seth furrowed his brows, confused as he and the rest of the room answered ‘no’ while the stagehand sighed, communicating into their earpiece and then disappearing.

Stephanie had stepped down from her co-CEO position months ago after her husband Paul took over and while it wasn’t odd for her to pop in every once in a while, it was even odder that a stagehand of all people was out looking for her.

“Since when did Steph drop the Mrs?” He wondered, looking around at his friends who shrugged carelessly, not paying it any mind.

You raced through the hallways, reading aloud every plaque that hung from the doors until you finally came across the one you had been searching for amidst all the twists and turns of the arena. You turned the knob, pushing your way inside to be greeted with your dad looking up from his laptop and rising from his desk with a smile on his face.

“There you are,” He greeted, walking around to greet you with a hug.

“Hey,” You closed your eyes peacefully, holding him tightly before releasing, “Sorry I got caught up with TJ and Dave.”

You waved the still jumbled scripts in your hand, and he chuckled, nodding his head knowing that’s exactly where you should’ve been after he sent some stage hands to search for you. He could feel your anxiety and he could certainly read it in your face—no matter how much he tried to prepare you and let you process it on your own, he knew it was the normal nerves coming out to play.

“Relax kid, don’t get too in your head over this,” He encouraged you, gently nudging your side with his elbow. “The moment you get out there it’s going to come like second nature.”

You rolled your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you really trying to work in a Ric Flair reference right now?”

He laughed out loud, ruffling the top of your head with a grunt.

“You’re lucky you're my daughter you know that?”

“Oh trust me, I’m aware.”

You hung out in his office, getting the scripts placed back into the correct order, reading it over while your dad typed away responding to important emails he didn’t want to bore you with. It was his duty as a father to not stress you with unnecessary business on your very first day, but sooner than later he’d show you the ropes on what he knew you’d take on flawlessly.

After some time passed, a knock was heard on the door. You and your dad looking up in the direction and he called out a reply summoning them in.

It was Samantha, one of the few people you had met prior to your first day. She was the head of social media, running almost every WWE outlet on the internet. She gladly welcomed you, expressing her excitement for the day she got to make a post about you officially joining the company.

“Hey you, it’s your big day!” She congratulated with an embrace that you were incredibly grateful for.

“I’m so nervous. Promise me you won’t post my promo if I botch it?” You said half jokingly, but the fear was still obvious behind your eyes.

“You’re not going to botch it, trust me. Your dad told me you’ve been rehearsing it like every day.” She insisted, waving off your self doubts.

Paul rose his hands in defense, catching your half hearted glare you shot him.

“You know it by heart, but you also know how to make it feel natural and real, which is the most important part.”

Sam nodded her head in agreement, rubbing your arm up and down encouragingly before you plopped back down on the couch. She made her way towards your dad, holding out the reserved social media phone, linked to all of Triple H’s platforms, and displayed the post for one of their social media uploads.

“Speaking of important, I’m going to send out the tweet about the special announcement from your twitter account then I’ll retweet and quote from the company’s main account,” She explained, watching Paul scan through the text before giving an approving nod.

“Send it out.” He gave his approval and Sam promptly hit post, checking out the numbers already begin to fly through the notification tab just a few seconds later.

She looked over at you, shooting you a thumbs up, “You’re going to break the internet tonight, for all good reasons.”

You said your goodbyes to her, checking the time on your phone realizing that doors would open any minute now and time would surely pass faster than you’d like before it was showtime. Your hair and makeup was already done, needing just a little more of hairspray and a reapplication of lip-gloss.

“I should probably get changed, right?” You looked up at your dad who nodded and did some typing on his phone before standing up and strolling over to where you tried to relax your nerves.

“Go get changed and shake out your bones. I’ll meet you out in the ring, okay?” He spoke gingerly, slinging his arm across your shoulders, giving you a loving shake—the same one he always gave you when you needed the push.

“You sure you don’t want to go over it again?” You stared up at him, eyes wide with fret.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“I don’t want you to psych yourself out. You know it well and how to make it yours…that’s more than enough.”

He sent you on your way, but of course not without a request for your ‘personal assistant’ to follow you along. In actuality, it was his personal assistant, a sweet guy named Eddie who you had met times before—sometimes even the one picking up your phone calls to your dad when he was busy in meetings and talent relation.

“Ms. Levesque, your dress has been pressed and ironed. Would you like to change into it now?”

Eddie spoke with an exaggerated English accent, making you crack a laugh, shaking your head and taking the garment from where he held it out to you.

“The English would throw scones at you, you know?” You looked over at him, unzipping the plastic covering to inspect the dress you had picked out for the occasion.

You went simple, but something that still felt like you. A black sleeveless mock neck fitted dress that fell mid-thigh which you were going to pair with a red heels to signify your debut on Raw. Your mother had helped you pick it out a few weeks back and even left a special note strung around the hanger reading:

“Good luck on your first day, sweetie! Kill it and make her-story! - With love, mom”

Eddie snickered, easing up in your presence thankful that you weren’t so intimidating like your father. But Paul wasn’t all that bad. If anything he was the most decent employer he’d ever had, there just were a lot of expectations when it came to making sure the guy wasn’t under too much stress after his heart surgery.

“The dress totally breaks dress code, by the way. If this were any other company, you’d get a warning for indecency.” Eddie shook his head with a faux unimpressed frown on his face.

“Well by all means, let the slut shaming begin.” You giggled, wiggling your shoulders with a shimmy.

He scoffed begrudgingly, opening the bathroom door for you to head inside while he waited outside the door watching for any onlookers.

Fans had already begun finding their way to their seats while the crew finished setting up all the hard cameras and getting the visual prepped for the new graphics that would be displayed when your theme song hit.

Not only were the fans curious of Triple H’s special announcement, but so were the superstars who were caught off guard when producers went around letting everyone know that they would be up on stage for the broadcast.

Seth finished up in catering, making his way towards the nearest bathroom in order to douse his hair with some water prior to changing into his gear for the night. To his surprise, Triple H’s personal assistant Eddie was standing watch outside the door, prompting him to stop just a few feet away.

“Occupado?” Seth sought, to which Eddie nodded with a tight smile. “A quick outfit change,” He informed the superstar.

Seth assumed it was Paul, getting ready ahead of the big announcement. Lately the company had been on fire with him now in charge, giving all the superstars the work environment and creative freedom that they had been dying for. If it was something as big as a surprise that left talent in the dark, then it must have been legit.

The door pulled open from the inside and you fluffed your hair, striking a silly pose as you leaned against the doorframe. The two men turned their attention to you—Eddie bursting out into laughter, while Seth attempted to stifle his own.

“How do I look—oh! sorry, were you waiting long?” You immediately moved out of the way, an embarrassed red flush coming over your cheeks.

Seth shook his head and smiled, looking you up and down, “Nah, you’re fine. You look good by the way.”

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly, glancing over at Eddie who rose his brow at you, holding his arms out to take your folded clothing you once wore.

“Ready to go?” He asked, and you nodded, smoothing out your dress.

“Ready as ever.” You took a deep breath.

You timidly waved bye to Seth, keeping close to Eddie’s side trying to stay out of everyone’s way who were rushing through the halls trying to get ready for the show. Seth chuckled to himself, still wondering what your role was—editor? personal assistant? Surely, he’d find out soon enough.

“You’re going to do great, sucker-punch,” The country twang belonged to none other than Shawn Michaels who reassured you through the loud crowd roaring past the concrete walls.

He was your godfather and one of your dad’s bestest friends in the entire world who had come all the way to watch your big debut. He had been a constant in your life since you were a baby, and it was nice to have another father figure you could look up to, let alone work with down at NXT before your dad thought you were finally ready for the big leagues.

“I just wanna go over it again,” you took a deep breath rubbing your hands together nervously, and he nodded letting you go through the motions with him, “When I step out I pause for a few seconds then the cameras will follow behind me until I get through gorilla position?”

“Exactly that. The hard camera down the ramp will catch the first sight of you. Pause on your mark for a few seconds and when it feels right meet your dad in the ring.”

It was about the hundredth time you asked someone for clarification on the simple segment, but in your defense you were new to all of this and no matter how much confidence you had, you surely didn’t want to screw it up.

“We’re live in a minute and thirty.” The crew called out, making their final adjustments to their equipment.

Shawn gave you a pat on the knee.

“Trust yourself, you got this.”

You flashed him a nervous smile, nodding your head before he shut the limousine door shut, walking out of camera frame to watch from the sidelines.

“Places people!” You heard the crew shout, a stagehand counting down as the limo slowly began to drive forward just in time.

The superstars were lined up on stage, a mixture of Raw and SmackDown superstars in attendance for the special program. Triple H had kicked off the show, making his entrance through the sea of talent before getting into the ring mic in hand.

“I know all of you are wondering what my special announcement is…” He began, and the fans cheered loudly, chanting “yes!”

Paul nodded his head, pacing around the ring coolly, “WWE has entered a new era. And I am flattered to say that all of you have coined it the Paul Levesque Era, though I find it to be a little unoriginal I might say.” He joked lightly, giving the fans and talent a light-hearted laugh.

“But in all seriousness, my era had begun long ago when I forged NXT and cradled it like a baby until it learned how to walk on its own and give all of you some of the most talented and athletic superstars, some of which are standing on that very stage because of their own destiny to be here.”

He slung his arms over the ropes, jutting his chin out in respect to many of the talent whom he had the honor of working with since the beginning of their careers back in NXT, when no one realized what a monumental period it would be for them.

“Which brings me to my very special announcement. You see, I didn’t get here by not taking risks, by playing it safe and going for the sure plan. No, I got here because I see potential, and I am willing to put my money and reputation on the line to carry out the potential I see and make them stars.”

His words were partly a shoot, all the talent and fans aware of the heat that he had faced in the past from wrestling outlets who scrutinized his choices for prioritizing NXT instead of the main roster at the time.

“But I’ve always seen potential when it comes to one particular person. Someone who I think is not just riskier than me, but always takes the long shot, not for praise or notoriety, but because they know in their heart and soul that they can, and when they do, they will succeed.”

“It’s the kind of trait that is rare. One that few possess in this lifetime, which is why it is imperative to me that this individual gets a shot to show it to you themselves…” He gestured up to the titantron where a camera scurried behind a stretch limousine.

You sat back against the leather, doing your best to keep down the nerves as they rolled the live cameras. The driver came to a smooth stop, placing the vehicle in park before making their way out to open your door, allowing you enough space to stick your foot out first.

There was no turning back now. Everything that you had rehearsed and played over and over again in your head was being worked out on live television for all the fans sitting in attendance to see and more startling, the million watching at home to view.

You breathed in the foreign city air, taking it all in before your heels clicked against the concrete, the feeling of the crew trailing behind your every move. The voice in your head reminded you to keep up with the strides—everything from the talk and the walk, made your character and even now when the fans didn’t know your name or face, they could still understand you meant business just by the way you portrayed yourself.

The closer you got to gorilla, the louder the fans got and the realer it all felt. There was little time for you to acknowledge the crew of producers in gorilla, too busy keeping yourself together as your fingertips swept the curtains to the side and before you know it, your music blasted through the building.

Without needing to be told, the superstars split into halves once more, making way for the mystery woman to hit center mark and there the fans finally got to see who it was. Your name lit up on the big screen — the last name alone evoking ovations that were louder than you imagined you’d ever get.

You smirked, holding back on letting the happiness seep completely through. Making your way towards the ring after pausing for the hard camera, your father walked out towards the apron, holding on a hand for you to take before opening the ropes for you to step through.

He handed you a mic, your music slowly dying giving the fans a chance to settle their cheers so you could speak.

“My, my, my, you sure do know how to make a girl feel extra special on her Raw debut,” You charmed the crowd, looking around the stadium full of fans who were on their feet.

“My father Triple H told me that you all are some of the most electrifying fans in the entire world and I can confidently say that he wasn’t kidding.” You looked over towards your dad, who grinned and clapped for you.

“Now I know my presence may come as a surprise, but I can assure you all that I do not mean to do any harm. In fact, my dad is still the big boss around here, but he did mention needing a little bit of help running the place, and I figured with my history and family name I might as well take a shot and give it a go?”

Again the crowd erupted in cheers, happy to see the legends lineage continuing with a new generation that would surely take after her father’s creative outlook.

“You see, I’ve watched this company thrive and flourish into a league of its own. But I’ve also watched it slip through the cracks and make mistakes that would have never happened under my watch. The evolution of this company lies within the palm of my hands and I will not let the slip-ups of the past come in the way of me fulfilling the prophecy of taking this company to new heights.”

You pointed to the stage, where the superstars looked rather impressed by your words.

“So please join me in ushering in the Levesque Era.” You stared into the hard camera with a broad smile, dropping the mic as your music hit once more.

Your father lifted your arm up, circling around every side of the ring, pointing at you proudly, cherishing the moment. He helped you out of the ring, hooking your arm through his as you two walked up the ramp. A few talents exchanging gracious smiles with you as you brushed past them and headed towards the back.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, finally breaking character and covering your face in elation.

Your dad immediately pulled you into a hug, giving you your first pat on your back with the company. It was safe to say he was way more emotional than you, happiness seeping out in tears of joy, while you still struggled to fathom the paradigm shift of your career.

“Now that’s how you deliver your first promo, sucker-punch.” Shawn snuck up from behind you, pulling you into a proud hug making you laugh.

Gorilla quickly began filling with the superstars, heading backstage before the first match started. A bunch of them stuck around to get a turn to meet you, or as they nicknamed you, the ‘heiress’ which you found comical.

You stuck around for a good chunk of the show, keeping your dad company where he sat at the monitors, now and then turning to you as he showed you a few of the different aspects that he handled on live shows. Surely you would eventually get a thorough rundown of future tasks, but your dad wanted you to focus on being a part of the creative team and main roster.

Towards the ending of the show, you parted ways with your dad saying goodbye to him as he would be staying a few hours after holding some meetings with the crew while you got to get some much needed rest at the hotel.

Strolling down to your office, you were stopped by a blonde woman excited to meet you. You had recognized her immediately—Renee Young who was a backstage interviewer.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You bubbled, sticking your hand out to introduce yourself.

She beamed, shaking her head at you with astonishment, “The second you came out, I knew immediately, like, ‘this has to me Paul’s daughter’ and then when you started speaking…” she paused, eyes widening as you giggled, “I was like ‘yeah, this is Paul and Steph’s daughter!’ it comes to you so naturally!”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea what that means to me,” You said thankfully opening your arms and pulling her into a small but mighty hug, “I was honestly so nervous, I’m surprised I didn’t croak out there.”

Renee shook her head, resting a warm hand on your shoulder. “You did amazing, and you’re only going to get better the more you do it.”

You and her chit-chatted for a couple of minutes before a male figure strolled up to her side, slinging his arm around her tenderly. She looked up at him, patting his chest and pointing to you.

“Nice first impression you’re sending to our future boss,” she joked, making you giggle.

He looked at you, realization crossing over his face and he swiftly stuck out a hand towards you.

“Shit, I’m Dean. Sorry m’all sweaty. Just finished a match and all.”

You shook your head, reassuring him as you shook his hand.

“Don’t worry about throwing me off. I personally think the whole wrestler's dress code thing is dumb. I’ve seen your stuff on TV a bunch before…great match by the way.”

“Oh thanks,” He nodded with a grin, happy that you weren’t on the uptight side of the company.

You learned that Dean and Renee had been together for years, tying the knot in secrecy a few years ago at their home in Nevada. Your father had worked closely with them before their debut on the main roster—Dean working in FCW before it became NXT, and Renee starting backstage at developmental before your dad requested to have her brought up to be an addition to the crew.

“Mr. Monday Night!” Renee hollered, looking past you towards the figure who was strolling down the hallway.

You turned your head over your shoulder, smiling at the man who came closer immediately taking notice of you. This time around he was dressed in gear, his match for the night already wrapped, and he was heading to the locker rooms to get changed.

“Hey you,” you grinned, sharing a knowing, playful look with Seth that Renee and Dean couldn’t decipher.

Your eyes twinkled with amusement and his face held a mischievous smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Have I seen you around before?” Seth joked, raising a brow at you suspiciously.

Your shoulders rose with a casual shrug, your hands plopping into your lap as you both burst into laugher, echoing in the halls. There was an ease to you both, the kind that made you forget all about the nervousness that you felt at the beginning of the night when scripts scattered across the same ground you both stood on.

“How was my first day?” You proposed, anticipating what he had to say.

“I’m still recovering after butchering my first encounter with the leading lady herself…” Seth admitted, rubbing at his chest sheepishly, sucking in a sharp breath, “but you killed it…you are a complete natural, Ms. Levesque.” He emphasized your last name with a playful smirk.

You nodded thankfully, before waving your hands in the air a kind of tender scolding at the formalness.

“Please, the only people who call me that are people who are afraid of my dad.”

“Ms. Levesque…”

You turned your head toward the familiar voice. Eddie who stood off to the side with your bags and luggage in hand. The three broke into laughter at his formal address towards you, aware that it was merely out of respect, but perhaps also a touch of intimidation by your father.

“We have a car out back ready to take you back to the hotel. All your belongings are here.” Eddie informed you.

You nodded, smiling gratefully at him for going out of his way to carry out a kind gesture like that. Sure, it was probably at your father’s request, but Eddie knowing you for as long as he did, knew you would refuse any kind of help if he didn’t do it himself.

“It was nice meeting you guys…and you again, Mr. Monday Night.” You twiddled your fingers in a playful wave.

“See you around soon,” Seth chuckled, giving you a warm smile that lingered as you walked away.

You took hold of your bags, Eddie rolling your luggage behind him as he lead you to the parking garage where the driver was waiting.

“You two know each other?” Dean rose his brows, looking closely at his friend.

“Barely. I just ran into her before the show and thought she was on the crew.” Seth explained, his eyes still following you as you walked further down the hall.

“She didn’t introduce herself?” Dean pressed, curiosity evident in his voice.

“She did,” Seth looked over back at the pair, “She just left out her last name.”

“Probably didn’t want to be the center of attention.” Renee suspected with a shrug, turning her attention back to Dean and their plans for the rest of the night.

Seth watched you stop a few feet down the hall to shake hands with a few of the crew and members of creative. Your smile was warm and genuine as you quickly said your thank you’s for their kind words and wished them a goodnight. Finally, you were ushered down another turn, disappearing from his view.

He could get used to having you around. He just wondered if you would get used to being the shiny new star in their world.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: if you made it this far, i hope you liked chapter one of icsy!!! i truly had the best time writing this chapter and i feel like you guys are going to love whats to come! perhaps seth and reader are masterminds to their very core huh? we'll find out soon enough!!!

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men. 

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too. 

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous. 

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman. 

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet. 

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose. 

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second. 

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?" 

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit. 

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air". 

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila. 

"you're right". 

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle". 

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow. 

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst. 

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more. 

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.  

 and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for. 

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back. 

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else. 

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war. 

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in. 

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?" 

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing". 

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here". 

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul". 

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones. 

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue. 

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle. 

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes. 

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips. 

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones. 

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really". 

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this". 

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you". 

"i'm interruptin something?" 

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak. 

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry". 

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it". 

"i think he did". 

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable. 

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine". 

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered. 

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table. 

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now. 

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same. 

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half. 

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke. 

"how would you know, you've never seen one". 

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear. 

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp. 

"trouble in paradise?" 

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give. 

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care. 

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back. 

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like. 

you hate him. 

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on". 

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end. 

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim". 

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.  

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing. 

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is". 

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him". 

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes. 

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing. 

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort. 

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?" 

"how federal of you", dean mumbles. 

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah". 

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?" 

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks. 

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy. 

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?" 

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?" 

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information". 

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?" 

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell. 

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water. 

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.   

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded. 

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool. 

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop. 

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth?  and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go. 

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?" 

"almost". 

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer". 

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them". 

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently". 

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.  

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look". 

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it". 

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?" 

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey". 

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together". 

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks. 

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin. 

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now". 

"you got somethin real to say to me then?" 

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth. 

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter". 

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care". 

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave". 

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real". 

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave. 

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me". 

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body. 

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?" 

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no". 

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas. 

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion. 

"it's mandatory huh?" 

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business". 

"something's gotta be done i guess". 

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss.