#but this has got to be a step in the right direction

[flemingology]

drunk on you ─ alexia putellas x reader

in which: alcohol makes your girlfriend lose her inhibitions. but not her ability to make you feel so, so good

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding (dancing), language, smut (18+), strap (R receiving)

wc: 4.8k

an: save me drunk, messy and eager alexia save me. thank you for the request! hope you enjoy :)

Alexia’s at the annual end-of-season party with her teammates. The venue is a chic upscale rooftop bar overlooking the glistering city lights. It’s been rented out exclusively for the team, a night to celebrate another successful season and finally blow off some steam.

The atmosphere is vibrant, fairy lights and lanterns string across the space, casting a warm golden glow. Alexia stands by the bar with her usual calm, collected demeanor, though internally, she’s anything but. She can’t wait to get the night started, to lose some of her inhibitions that she clung to tightly during the season. She’s already had a drink, a glass of white, and is nursing a second more to keep her hands busy than anything.

She knows you’re coming. You texted her earlier saying you got held back a little at work, finishing up some meetings here and there, but ever since you texted her you were on your way, she’s been hyper aware of every moment ticking by. She missed you. She always misses you throughout the season. Not physically, of course, because you spend every moment of every day together. But Alexia always feels like her busy schedule forms a barrier between the two of you, as much as you both try your best to work around it. Now, with the prospect of a couple weeks off, and especially a fun night ahead, she can barely control herself.

When you finally arrive, the vibe shifts. Alexia noticed you the second you walk in, abandoning her conversation with Patri almost immediately, much to the dismay of the midfielder. Her gaze locks on to you, and her breath catches slightly at the sight. You’re wearing a black dress that hugs your figure just right, confidence radiating as you weave through the crowd. It’s moments like these that Alexia still has to pinch herself. You were hers, all hers, but sometimes she couldn’t quite believe that.

Her mouth quirks into a small smile, but her eyes already darken with desire. She feels her pulse quicken, and tightens her grip on the glass slightly. Internally, she’s already scheming how to get you alone, but for now, she stays composed as she watches you greet new and familiar faces before you eventually reach her.

As you make your way toward her, Alexia straightens up, setting her glass down on the bar. She doesn’t say anything at first, just takes a step closer and weaves her hands around your waist as if it’s where they’ve always belonged. “You made it.” Her voice is quiet, a mixture of relief and attention lacing her tone. Her fingers press gently into your sides as she pulls you closer, her forehead resting against yours. The world around you fades for a moment as Alexia tilts her head slightly, and her lips brush against yours in a slow and deliberate kiss. When she pulls back, her thumb lightly strokes your hip through the fabric of the dress. “How was your day?” “Better now,” you laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mine too.” She kisses you again then, a little firmer, but still unhurried. Just a silent reminder of how much she missed you throughout the day, even only after a short time apart.

It’s grounding, for Alexia. After a full day of meetings and training, her mind being pulled in different directions, having you there at the end of the day centers her. She feels the tension in her shoulders begin to fade, a warmth spreading through her chest that only you seem to bring out.

The party is in full swing, the venue feeling alive with music, laughter and the hum of conversations that ripple across the room. For a while, you and Alexia stick together, her hand occasionally finding the small of your back as you both engage with teammates, coaches and friends. You share a drink, clinking glasses with knowing smiles before being pulled into separate conversations.

At first, you keep Alexia in your peripheral vision. There’s something enticing about how she speaks animatedly to her teammates, her expressions more open and carefree than usual. Her laughter rings out above the chatter, a hearty sound that makes your heart flutter. It’s rare to see her this untroubled. During the season, she keeps herself to very strict standards, so you love seeing her thrive in environments like these. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens, you can’t help but admire the way she lets loose.

You find yourself swept into conversations of your own, chatting with familiar faces and even a few new ones. Still, there’s an undeniable magnetism between you and Alexia. Every so often, your paths cross and she’ll slip her hand around your waist, leaning in to ask if you need another drink or if you’re enjoying yourself.

“Having fun, cariño?” She asks, her breath warm against your ear as she stands close. “Not more than you, apparently,” you tease, gesturing to the drink in her hand that should’ve been her fourth or fifth. She grins, playful and unbothered, and you’d give the world to have seen it plastered on her face a little longer. “I’m celebrating. Let me live a little.”

The party has escalated into a full-blown celebration. No more polite conversations and introductions to staff, the DJ has found his rhythm and the dance floor is pulsing with energy. People are laughing louder, dancing harder and drinks keep on flowing freely. You’ve slowed down on the alcohol, because someone has to drive you two home, and Alexia, it seems, has had more than enough for the both of you. You’re leaning against the bar, nursing a soda while watching on from a distance. She’s caught in a circle of teammates, all laughing and clapping as someone attempts a questionable dance move. Mapi, probably.

Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a little tousled, and she looks radiant in a way that makes your chest ache. She glances up and catches your gaze, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she breaks away from the group and makes a beeline for you.

“You’re no fun over here,”’ she says, words slightly slurred and voice raised to compete with the music. She wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Come dance with me.” “I’m fine right here, Ale.” You laugh, placing a hand on her arm to steady her. “I need to drive us home, remember?” She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip jutting out as her fingers tug lightly at your wrist. “One dance. Just one.”

And who are you to resist her when she looks at you like that, on one of the very few nights in the year where she gets to let loose? She pulls you onto the dance floor, her hands immediately finding your hips. The beat is fast, but Alexia, too drunk to really notice, doesn’t care about keeping rhythm. She’s clumsy, her movements loose, but it’s endearing. “See? You’re having fun!” Alexia says, her lips close to your ear as her fingers dig into your waist. “You’re impossible,” you reply, but you can’t help smiling as she spins you around playfully.

The music shifts then, into something with a deep, pulsing rhythm. The dance floor grows tighter, couples dancing together while others simply lose themselves in the music. Alexia pulls you closer, her hands firm on your waist, and she turns you around so your back is flush against her chest. She rests her head on your shoulder while swaying the two of you. “Ale, seriously,” you murmur, but your voice doesn’t carry the seriousness you wished it would. “We’re not exactly alone here.” You can feel her smirk against you. “No one’s paying attention. Look around.”

You glance around briefly, and sure enough, everyone seems engrossed in their own little worlds. Her hands tighten slightly on your hips, her voice taking on a teasing edge. “I’ve barely touched you all night. Let me have this.”

You had a retort ready, really, but then her grip shifts, her strong hands guiding your hips in time with the beat, and it dies in your throat. “Ale,” you say again, but it’s weaker this time, your protest faltering as her thumbs rub small circles into your waist.

You swallow hard, your resolve crumbling. Against your better judgment, you let yourself lean back into her, the tension in your body melting as the music takes over. You start to move with her, letting her guide you, her strong frame pressed against yours. Her hands drop slightly lower, resting just above your hips, and her grip tightens as your movements grow bolder. She groans softly, the sound nearly lost in the music but still enough to make your stomach flip.

“That’s it,” she whispers, her lips delicately brushing the curve of your jaw. “Just like that.” Her hands shift again, sliding dangerously close to areas that weren’t appropriate in this setting, and you grab her wrists, stopping her before she gets too bold. “Don’t push it,” you warn, though your breath hitches as she nuzzles into the crook of your neck. She chuckles, low and teasing. “I’m just warming you up for later.” Her comment makes your stomach flip, and it takes everything inside you not to lead her out of the crowd and home now.

As the song fades into another, you slowly pull back from your girlfriend, whose arms circle around your waist tighter in response. “Don’t go, cariño”, she murmurs into your neck. “Ale, I need a break, and you look like you could use some water.” You teasingly flick the tip of her nose, before softly pecking her lips a couple times and walking away. 

The hours slip by, and the party grows louder, messier. Alexia drifts through the crowd, moving from one group of teammates to the other, seemingly always a new drink in her hand whenever you catch her gaze. You try to give her a couple disapproving looks, but she acts like she doesn’t notice, and continues on with her celebrations. It’s when you see her at the bar for the second time in five minutes, you think it’s time to intervene. Her balance is off and she leans against the counter of the bar to steady herself. The bartender is pouring her another drink, but you step in before she can take it. “Okay, Ale, I think you’ve had enough for the night, hmm?” “Huh? Por qué? I’m fine!” You hum, the way she slurs her words telling you she’s anything but. “Let’s go home, amor.” You don’t expect her to comply immediately, but she doesn’t complain when you wrap her arm around your shoulders and carefully guide her through the bar and to the parking lot. 

The quiet of the night is a sharp contrast to the chaos of the party, and as you help Alexia into the car, you can feel her start to relax against you. She’s tipsy, her movements a little clumsy, but the way she laces her fingers with yours tells you she’s already thinking about what’s to come when you get home. The ride is filled with Alexia’s warm, slightly slurred murmurs against your neck. She keeps pressing fleeting kisses to your skin, her lips soft but uncoordinated. “You smell so good… I missed you tonight.” “Missed me? I was there all night, baby.”

She pulls back just enough to give you a half-hearted glare. “Not like that… you know what I mean.” Her hand slides up your thigh at that, delicately brushing her fingers over the exposed skin where your dress had ridden up a bit. Before it gets too high, though, you catch it and put it back in her own lap. “Save it for when we’re home, Putellas.”

-

The door clicks shut behind you as Alexia practically collapses into your side, her arm draped over your shoulders. Her steps are uneven, and her weight leans heavily on you, but the soft giggle that escapes her lips tells you she’s exhilarated. “You gonna help me with my shoes, or am I just supposed to struggle?” she teases, holding onto the wall for balance as she kicks one heel halfway off, then nearly topples forward. You laugh softly, reaching out to steady her by her waist. “At this rate, you’re going to break an ankle.”

Dropping to a crouch, you gently tug her heels off, your hands brushing against her bare ankles. Alexia watches you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, her fingers resting lightly on your shoulder to keep her balance. “There,” you say as you place her shoes by the door. “Gracias, mi ángel,” she murmurs, the pet name making your stomach flip.

As you both step further inside, Alexia’s fingers brush your arm, trailing down until she’s holding your hand. She tugs you toward the living room, but her movements are uncoordinated, and she nearly trips over the edge of the rug. “Careful,” you say, catching her again. “Maybe I had more to drink than I thought,” she admits, laughing as she pulls you closer. “You don’t say.”

The walk upstairs is a challenge. She almost falls more than once, needing to steady herself on the railing more than she’d like to admit. You’ve got a hand on the small of her back from behind, slightly pushing her forward. At the top of the stairs, she stops you, her fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Wait,” she says, her voice low. You look up at her, your brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Her eyes drop to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Just… kiss me.”

It’s not a question, and before you can respond, her lips smash against yours. There’s nothing soft about it, not tender, not deliberate, it’s all tongue and teeth. She manoeuvres the two of you towards the bedroom and it’s a miracle that you reach it without her bumping you both into something. Her hands are roaming across your body hurriedly, like she wants to make up for lost time.

“Alexia,” you murmur against her lips, your hands tangling in her hair. “Tell me,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “Tell me you love me.” Your answer comes in the way you kiss her back, your fingers tugging at her shirt, desperate to feel her closer. Alexia groans softly, her lips moving to your jaw, then your neck, as she walks you backward toward the bed.

The back of your knees then hit the bed, and you sit down on the edge, Alexia pushing you further up the mattress. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this,” Alexia murmurs, her voice low and rough in your ear. Before you can respond, her hands slide under the hem of your dress, the coolness of her palms sending a shiver down your spine. She lifts the fabric slowly, deliberately, and you raise your arms to help her, the piece of clothing discarded somewhere behind her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her eyes raking over you like she’s seeing you for the first time. Her fingers trail over your bare skin, leaving goosebumps. Her lips find yours again, this kiss deeper, hungrier, her teeth catching your bottom lip before she pulls away slightly. “Let me take care of you,” she says, her voice almost a plea. You nod, your hands tugging at her shirt in return. “Only if you lose this first.”

Alexia chuckles, reaching behind her to yank the shirt over her head. The movement is hurried, and the hem gets stuck for a moment, causing her to fumble. You can’t help but laugh, but the sound dies in your throat when her toned body is revealed, the intensity in her gaze making it impossible to focus on anything else. “Something funny?” she asks, a playful smirk plastered on her face. “Nothing,” you manage, your own voice unsteady. “Just... hurry up.” She stands up quickly and her hands fumble with her belt, a huff of frustration leaving her lips at that. “You’re really not as smooth as you think right now.” “Shhh,” she replies, giggling as she finally gets it undone. “I’m still smooth enough.”

She climbs back onto the bed then, her movements not as fluid as they usually are, but her eagerness sends a wave of arousal through you. Her fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, and she pauses, looking up at you with a question in her eyes. “Can I?” You nod quickly, your breath hitching as she tugs them down, leaving you bare beneath her. “Dios mío,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re perfect.”

Her gaze catches yours as she trails her fingers down your body, and you let out a soft gasp as her digits find your clit. Although she’s clearly trying her best, her movements are a little jerky, and it’s more uncomfortable than pleasurable for you. “Alexia…” you murmur, shifting slightly beneath her. “Am I-” she starts to ask, her brow furrowing, “is this okay?” You nod but guide her hand gently, showing her the rhythm you need. Her eyes soften, and she focuses harder, biting her lip as she matches your guidance. “There,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “That’s perfect.” She teases you a little, rubbing tight circles over your clit and eventually dipping her fingers down your folds to gather some arousal. It’s not perfect, it’s definitely not as precise as she usually was, but it felt good. 

A couple moments pass when you suddenly notice her body is no longer pressed against yours. She reaches over to the bedside table, clumsily rummaging through the contents of the bottom drawer, but you know what she’s looking for. She eventually retrieves the strap, a goofy triumphant smile on her face. As Alexia stands up from the bed, you take a moment to get comfortable, moving up the bed and against the pillows. You ground yourself, taking a couple deep breaths, but you notice that Alexia is taking way longer than usual. When you open your eyes again and look over at her, you can’t help but choke out a laugh at her state. She’s fumbling with the harness of the strap, and it would be adorable if she didn’t seem so worked up about it. “Need any help over there?” “No,” she insists stubbornly, and it takes a couple more tries, but she eventually manages to get it on snugly. 

As she walks back over to the bed and climbs on top of it, you can’t help but drift your gaze down to the silicone between her legs. If there was one way that Alexia knew to make you crazy, it was with her strap. Her muscled body and athlete’s stamina often made for multiple orgasms a night, the midfielder usually only ever stopping when you had to tap out.

She spreads your legs with one hand and rubs some lube up and down the strap with the other, and you feel a jolt of arousal course through you at the sight of her hand pumping up and down the toy. “Ready, mi amor?” You bite your lip and give her a nod, eyes fixed on the way she slides the toy between your folds, your breath catching in your throat as she rubs it over your clit a couple times. “Ale,” you start, your voice desperate, “please.”

As Alexia sinks into you, her breath catches in her throat, and her hands clutch your hips with a desperation that makes your heart race. "God, you're perfect," she groans, her voice slurred but full of emotion. Her lips press against your jaw, her words tumbling out. "I missed this. Missed you." Your nails rake lightly down her back as you arch into her. "You feel so good, Alexia," you whisper, your voice trembling with pleasure. "Just like that."

Her movements are messy, her thrusts uneven, but there’s something intoxicating about the way she moans your name. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," she murmurs, her words slurred but passionate. "I can't, mi amor, I can't get enough of you." She loses her control at that, her thrusts becoming harsh as she grips your hips so tight you’re sure there’s gonna be a bruise tomorrow. You try to match her pace, guiding your hips along with her movements, but it’s to no use, as she seems to speed up inexplicably more. You try to relax and enjoy it, but it’s teetering on the edge of painful and you know she wouldn’t like it if you didn’t tell her.

You grip her shoulders, guiding her rhythm as best you can. "Slow down, baby," you murmur, your breath hitching when she adjusts. "Just take your time." Alexia nods against your neck, her lips brushing your skin. "Anything for you," she whispers hoarsely, her thrusts becoming more deliberate. "Just tell me... tell me what feels good, cariño."

When her pace steadies, a deep groan escapes her lips. "You're so tight," she mutters, her words broken and breathless. "So perfect for me." Your hands find her face, cupping her cheeks and forcing her to meet your gaze. "I love you," you say, your voice trembling as she hits the perfect spot inside of you with every thrust. Alexia’s eyes darken, and she lets out a low, guttural moan. "Say it again," she pleads, her thrusts deepening. "I love you," you repeat, your voice louder this time. "Only you."

You feel your first orgasm fast approaching, the weight of Alexia’s vulnerability combined with the way she seems to have perfected her thrusts, even in her drunken state, is pushing you to the edge far more quickly than you would’ve liked. The tension builds between the two of you, Alexia’s breathing growing heavier in your ear and you letting out moan after moan, no longer caring about who in your apartment building you’re keeping up with how loud you’re being.

Alexia's grip tightens, her lips brushing against your ear. "Come for me," she murmurs, her voice low and commanding despite her drunken haze. "Please, mi amor. I need to feel you." Her words push you over the edge, and your release triggers her own. You let out a desperate whimper of her name as she buries her face in your neck, her moans muffled but no less intense as she shudders against you. "Te amo," she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "So much, more than anything."

After a brief lull, where you’re both catching your breaths and Alexia rests her forehead against your shoulder, her warm breath tickling your skin, she stirs again. Her fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh, her touch sending little sparks through your body. "I’m not done with you," she murmurs, her voice slurred but filled with determination. You chuckle softly, still trying to recover. "Ale, you’re drunk."

“Doesn’t seem like that kept me from making you feel good just now.” You blush at her words, and you know she’s right. You hit her shoulder lightly, feigning annoyance, but the smile playing on your lips gives you away. Before you can protest, she’s shifting you onto your stomach, her hands clumsy but insistent as she guides your hips up. "Stay just like this," she says, her words breathy and almost pleading.

You lean your head down onto your forearms, waiting patiently for Alexia to adjust herself behind you, still trying to catch your breath from your first orgasm. Alexia’s hands roam your body, her touch eager. She fumbles a bit, trying to adjust herself, and lets out a frustrated groan when the strap isn’t cooperating. "Why is this so hard right now?" she mutters to herself, which makes you laugh softly. "Do you need help?" you offer, half-teasing, but there’s a fondness in your tone. "No, no," she insists, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I’ve got this. I swear."

Her hands tremble a little as she aligns the strap with your core, misjudging the movement a couple times. “Sorry, sorry, let me- wait, okay.” Finally, she aligns herself, and as she slowly pushes inside, the clumsiness fades. She lets out a low moan, gripping your hips tight. "Oh, fuck," you breathe, your voice raspy. "Fuck, that feels so good, Ale.”

Her thrusts aren’t as rushed this time, but she’s struggling to find a steady rhythm. She goes with deep, slow thrusts at first, but then speeds up a bit, and when you’ve finally adjusted, she slows down again. It feels good, but it’s not steady enough to be entirely pleasurable. “Babe,” you begin, your voice strained as you try to talk through the pleasure. “What? Did I hurt you?” Alexia speaks up before you can form your sentence, her thrusts slowing to a complete stop now. You look at her over your shoulder, your heart warming at the little frown that was etched across her forehead. “No, you’re not hurting me, baby. You’re just a little… off. Just try and be steady, yeah? I’ll guide my hips along.”

Her frown melts into a sheepish grin, and she nods, leaning forward to press a kiss against your cheek. “Sorry, cariño,” she murmurs against your skin. “I’ll do better.” This time, when her hips roll forward, the sensation draws a soft gasp from your lips, your head falling forward on your forearms. “Like this?” she asks, her voice low and slightly slurred but full of intent, her gaze locked on your face. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Like that.”

A smug grin spreads across her face, her earlier clumsiness replaced with a determination to make up for it. “Told you I’m smooth with it,” she teases, her voice tinged with playful arrogance. “Shut up and keep going,” you reply, your words coming out in a breathless laugh.

She chuckles, her lips trailing down the back of your neck as her hands tighten on your hips, anchoring you against her as she moves with more purpose. The heat between you builds quickly now, every thrust deliberate, every press of her lips against your body filled with an urgency that leaves you both gasping for air.

“You feel so good,” she murmurs, her voice thick with pleasure. “So do you,” you reply, your voice trembling as her movements drive you closer and closer to the edge. “Better now?” she asks, her tone playful but earnest, her lips brushing against your shoulder. “Much better,” you manage to say, your voice breaking into a soft moan as her rhythm deepens, her body pressing into yours with just the right amount of pressure. You know she won’t come again, usually only being able to come from the friction once, but you know she’s enjoying it just as much as you are. 

Her arm slips around your body after a while, two of her fingers finding your clit as she draws quick circles, firm around the bundle of nerves, a desperate moan leaving your lips at the added pleasure. “God, Ale-”, you start, your voice breathy, “fuck, baby, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop, please.”

You lose yourself in your pleasure, your back arching for her and moan after moan spilling from your lips as she brings you closer and closer to your release. She leans down, her body flush against yours and brings her lips to your ear. “Let go for me,” she whispers, her voice tender but full of intent. 

Her words and her movements are all you need, and when the release finally washes over you, it’s overwhelming, leaving your entire body trembling beneath her. She doesn’t stop, her touch soft and soothing as she helps you ride it out, her lips pressing lazy kisses to your skin.

When you finally come down, she collapses beside you, pulling you into her arms as you both catch your breath. “Better?” she asks again, her tone teasing but warm as she presses a kiss to your temple. “Perfect,” you reply, snuggling into her chest, your body still buzzing from the aftershocks.

Her fingers trace gentle patterns on your back as she mumbles, “I love you. Even if I’m a little drunk and clumsy sometimes.” You laugh softly, lifting your head to meet her gaze. “I love you too. Even if you’re a mess.” “Hey,” she protests lightly, her lips curving into a grin. “Shut up and kiss me,” you say, pulling her down into another kiss, her laughter muffled against your lips.

After cleaning each other up with a quick shower, Alexia is completely sobered up and you share the rest of your evening together, tangled in the sheets, whispering affirmations of your love and adoration for the other in the quiet of the night. 

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

If you would like to get notified every time I post a story, feel free to follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don't miss out. 💜

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @riteofpassage77

@deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @suckitands33

@kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @trashmoutth

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @tayl0rfanatic

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @everything-is-all-clear

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @sixxteenbullets

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

[vanteguccir]

Hi! I love your fics and I was wondering if you could maybe do a dad!matt oneshot where they are like at a store and a creep like keeps staring at his daughter and he gets protective?

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

dad!matt sturniolo x mom!reader x daughter

matt is protective over your daughter when a creep guy keeps staring at her at target

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The fluorescent lights of Target buzzed faintly as Matt, Y/N, and Stella strolled through the craft supplies aisle. Stella's face was lit with excitement as she combed through the colorful rows of markers, foam boards, and glue sticks.

"Do you think blue or green will look better for the background, mom?" Stella asked, holding up two sheets of poster board for Y/N to examine.

Y/N smiled warmly, tilting her head to consider.

"Green, maybe? It’ll make the other colors pop more. What do you think, Matt?"

Matt was standing a few feet away, scanning a shelf of decorative stickers.

"Green." He called over his shoulder, grabbing a pack of sparkly stars. "But you need these too. Every good mockup has stars."

Stella giggled, shaking her head in her mom's direction.

"Dad, I don’t think stars go with a science project."

"They go with everything. Your uncle says that all the time." Matt said, grinning as he tossed the stickers that Nick - and Stella - loved so much into the cart.

As he turned back to the shelf, something prickled at the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched - one that he had a big knowledge of, working for the internet for around 15 years. A sense of unease settled over him, and he instinctively glanced down the aisle, thinking that it could be just a fan.

But it wasn't.

His stomach tightened. A man stood at the far end, his gaze locked on Stella. The creep wasn’t even pretending to browse, his eyes were fixed in a way that made Matt's protective instincts kick in.

He moved closer to Y/N and Stella, subtly placing himself in front of his daughter. He grabbed a few random items off the shelf to look busy, all the while keeping an eye on the man. But when he glanced back, the guy was still staring.

"Y/N." Matt called quietly, his voice low but steady. He placed a hand on her waist and leaned in. "Take Stella to the next aisle."

Y/N’s brow furrowed, sensing the tension in his voice.

"What’s wrong?" She asked softly, already clutching Stella’s arm protectively, trying to look around but being stopped by Matt shaking his head.

"Just go." Matt said, his jaw tightening. "I’ll be right behind you."

Y/N didn’t argue, she knew that when her husband acted like that, something serious was happening. She nodded, her grip on Stella firm as she gently guided her toward the end of the aisle.

"Come on, sweetheart, let’s check out the paint pens."

"But I already-" Stella began, confused, but Y/N’s reassuring smile quieted her.

Matt watched them leave, his chest tightening with both relief and anger. He turned back toward the man, who was now looking at him with a startled expression, as if realizing he’d been caught. Matt didn’t hesitate. He strode down the aisle, his boots squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

When Matt stopped just a few feet away, his glare was sharp enough to cut steel. His voice was calm, but the fury simmering beneath the surface was very much there.

"Is there a reason you’re staring at my daughter?"

The man blinked, caught off guard by the confrontation.

"What? No, I wasn’t-"

"Don’t even try." Matt interrupted, his tone dropping dangerously low. He took a step closer, his broad shoulders and tall frame imposing. "You’ve been staring at her since we got here, and I don’t appreciate it."

The man stammered, his confidence visibly faltering.

"I-I wasn’t doing anything. Just looking around... For my-"

"Looking around?" Matt echoed, sarcastically glancing at his empty basket, his voice laced with disdain. "Then look somewhere else. She’s thirteen. You understand me? Thirteen, you sick son of a bitch."

The man shifted uncomfortably, muttering something incoherent before backing away. Matt’s gaze didn’t waver, tracking him until he turned and disappeared down another aisle. Only then did Matt let out a slow breath, his hands still clenched into fists.

He returned to find Y/N and Stella by the markers, Stella innocently looking at all her options, but Y/N’s expression tight with concern.

She placed a hand on his biceps as he approached, feeling the tension there.

"Is everything okay?"

Matt nodded, his jaw still set.

"It’s fine now."

Y/N squeezed his covered skin, understanding without needing details. She knew Matt would do anything to protect their family.

"Dad?" Stella piped up, holding out a pack of metallic pens. "Do you think these will match the green poster?"

Matt’s face softened instantly, and he crouched down to her level, brushing a stray strand of brown hair from her face.

"They’ll look perfect, Stell. Just like everything you do."

She beamed, and thankfully, the tension lifted. Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers against Matt’s, intertwining them before caressing his knuckles with her thumb.

As they moved toward the checkout line, Matt kept a watchful eye on the store, his posture still on high alert.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

It’s My Job

Summary: The reader’s having a rough night but the stranger at the bar decides to offer some assistance when she has nowhere to go...

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, tiny bit of violence

A/N: Enjoy!

______________

Someday you’d have to thank that boy in seventh grade that taught you how to throw a punch. 

Don’t put your thumb inside your fist unless you want to break it. Do a small twist of your wrist right before impact to deliver more momentum. Throw your body weight behind it to make it hurt more. That’s what you got for being lab partners with the class bad boy but at least you had a chance because of him. 

He neglected to tell you your knuckles would ache, your skin would scrape open and bleed, or even that the adrenaline would make you so jumpy you’d nearly trip on your own feet when you sprinted the hell out of there.

It was eleven at night, your feet taking you to the nearest open door, a bar from the looks of it. You took a deep breath when you got inside, nearly groaning when you saw how dead it was.

“We’re closing up. Tuesday is an early night,” said the bartender, the lone man at the bar swigging down the last of his drink, slapping a few bills down and spinning in his seat to stand.

“No, you don’t under-”

“Out,” said the bartender, your head shaking. “Or I call the cops. I’ve had enough shit for one night.”

“No, I need the cops, I-”

“Out,” said the bartender, shooing you out after the man, the door closing up tight behind.

“No, I...” you said, turning your head to catch sight of the man from the alley hanging out by a wall about three stores down.

“Hey,” said the man nearby, scratching his head, the expression not matching his sour face. “Can you pretend to give me directions while you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“What?” you said, glancing behind him, the guy’s face in a snarl.

“Don’t look at him,” said the man, making shoulder shrugs like he was confused. “You said you need cops and your hand is messed up so I’m guessing douchebag down there did something?”

“W-Was walking and he grabbed me but I hit him and ran...” you said, remembering what he said, fake pointing to an area behind him, wearing a forced smile.

“I see. There’s a black muscle car just up the street behind you. You walk that way and I’ll deal with the asshole back there,” said the man, a dark smile on his face. 

“But-”

“Trust me, kind of my job, sweetheart,” he said, pretending to make a thank you expression, spinning around and walking down the street. You tried to do what he said, not taking too many steps before you heard a thump on the ground, your head turning to find the man shaking out his hand over the out cold alley guy. “He went down like a lightweight. A little proper training and you probably would have gotten him out yourself.”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, the guy pulling his belt from the loops, tying it around the alley guy’s wrists.

“That’ll keep him until the cops show,” said the man, pulling out his phone, giving it a few presses. “Hey Derek...Yeah, it’s Dean. You on duty tonight? Got a pervy assclown down near Chuck’s that could use with an ambulance and an assault charge...he went after some chick in the alley nearby. She got away, bumped into me...yeah, I’ll be sure to tell her what a lucky night she’s having...see you in a few buddy,” he said hanging up the phone. “Cops will be here soon.”

“Thanks...Dean,” you said, the man chuckling.

“You’re very welcome whoever you are,” he said with a smile, squinting his eyes. “You seem super familiar, like extremely familiar. We didn’t go to the same school or something, did we?”

“I’m...I’m in a movie that just came out,” you said, glancing down. “I didn’t realize...”

“Ah, I’ve seen that trailer a thousand times. They won’t stop playing it,” he said, glancing back at the alley guy. “Scumbag like him probably doesn’t give a shit if you’re famous or not. You might want to think about some protection though...maybe a self-defense class at the very least.”

“Maybe...maybe I’ll do that,” you said, nodding your head. “Thank you.”

“I don’t wanna,” you groaned a few weeks later, sitting in a conference room at a protection agency, your manager rolling her eyes at you.

“Okay, your knight in shining armor had a point, Y/N. We were headed down this road anyways,” she said.

“But I took the class. I can kick someone’s ass now,” you said, earning a small laugh from her. “You did too! Anybody messes with us, we got this.”

“Alright Rambo,” she said with a giggle. “Maybe you don’t need one all the time but for events and stuff. Besides, maybe you’ll find a cute bodyguard? Find the Costner to your Houston.”

“I ain’t no damsel,” you said, crossing your arms as the door opened.

“Oh, well that’ll make my job...” said the man in a suit, blinking his eyes at you. 

“Dean?” you said, standing up. “What are...”

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “When I said to get some protection, I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on that let alone pick my agency.”

“He’s cuter than you said he was,” said your manager, giving Dean a little wave.

“Sara,” you growled, Dean smirking down at you.

“Would you like to start the interview, Ms. Y/L/N?” asked Dean, nodding to the chairs.

“This may seem entirely unprofessional but why were you drinking at a bar by yourself late at night?” you asked, Dean raising an eyebrow.

“I was supposed to go on a blind date that night but got stood up. I was somewhat pissed off so I had a drink or two,” he said. “You should give her a call and thank her.”

“You think I didn’t have the situation handled myself?” you asked, Dean shrugging his shoulders.

“Maybe, maybe not. I took the guess work out of it for you though. That’s my job. You don’t have to wonder if I’ll kick the guy’s ass. You know I will,” he said.

“You’re kinda cocky,” you said.

“You’re kinda stubborn,” he said.

“You’re hired,” you said.

“Already knew I was,” he said, looking you up and down. “My manager will provide you both with a full work history on myself as well as work with Ms. Saxley over there to determine your needs more specifically.”

“That’s it?” you asked, Dean smiling but all business.

“No, you and I are just getting started. Let’s get a coffee down the street and see how well you can follow a few rules to start with.”

_____________

[care666bear]

[mimiiis]

Must Be Love Pt.1 — Regency Au! Price x Fem! Reader

summary: A general looking to marry for duty and a girl looking for a love match, what could go wrong?

warnings: n/a

work count: 5.9k

a/n: this was low-key supposed to be a small series of blurbs but I couldn't help myself, full on fic/series !! hope you guys enjoy </3

I’ve been rewatching Bridgerton and got to thinking…Regency!Price.

General John Price, who has come back to London during the marriage season to find himself a wife after deciding it was about time for him to do so. It just so happens to be that you are a new debutante, foisted out onto the marriage market and ready to be wed. 😚🤭

☆☆☆

The General had just recently returned to London, ready to marry and not hesitant to announce his intentions on what brought him back into the city. It was not long until everyone got the word that he was looking for a bride. Respectable men were not entirely few and far in the ton, but to find a truly accomplished man who came from a respected family was almost rare. Where most men were seen coming in and out of brothels almost daily , John Price was hardly seen indulging in such…pleasures. But in fairness, he was away from the watchful eyes of society for many periods of time, and no one knew much about him. With his return and new step into the marriage market, it is the first ball of the season that changed everything in his life. 

The first ball was always so exciting, uncertainty of what the night may bring lurked at every corner of the room. Ladies practically flocked to him, their mamas right behind them as he struggled to fill out each dance card he was presented with. The general was more than polite, making his intentions clear and being his usually charming self. The ladies giggled and flirted, trying to impress him with their many accomplishments and the status of their families. He would simply nod and listen to them ramble with each passing dance. Though as the night drew on longer, the more he began to worry. 

He hadn’t truly realized how hard it would be to properly court a woman in his position. He knew that as general he would not be with his wife for long, that he would be away longer than he would ever be with her. He saw no point in growing an attachment, inevitable heartbreak and hate would follow if he did. Every young lady he talked to seemed too eager, practically begging to be loved and adored. He knew he would have to find a wife willing to accept the conditions that awaited, someone he can establish a decent, or even good, relationship with. It did not hurt him to turn down several young ladies, he knew it was for the better. Yet somewhere, deep inside of his heart, he ached for the same kind of fondness they did. 

☆☆☆

The ballroom erupted in a wave of applause and laughter as the dance finished, your chest heaving after performing the lively routine. The young lord you had entertained left with a bow, kissing your hand before leaving to go grab himself a cup of punch. You smiled at him, bidding him a good night before walking to your mama. Droplets of sweat formed at the corners of your hair, slowly falling down your skin as you tried to hide away behind your mother. She stood at the corner of the room, hidden away by a crowd of people who rushed by.��

“What did you think of him? Lord Langley?” She asks you, handing you her fan as you plant your back against the wall. You quickly take it, opening it and blowing air in your direction as you finally took what felt like your first breath in hours. Your cheeks burned as your feet ached from dancing for so long. You could feel the boning of the corset digging into your skin as you slouched over slightly. 

“He is kind. Rather handsy. Not an exact fit.” You breathe out, still winded as your mother placed a handkerchief against your forehead. “None of them will be, my dearest, if you keep holding them up to such an impossible standard.” She states, grabbing you by your shoulders as straightening your posture. You groan, letting her smooth out your crinkled skirts out and continue to wipe off the sweat from your brow. 

“I know what I want and I will not hesitate to find it.” You argue back, pushing her hands away from you. You step back a few paces, giving yourself more room to breathe. You hadn’t considered how stuffy a ballroom might feel with more than half of the ton packed into a tight space. It almost made your head spin, a slight ache creeping up at the back of your head. Dread began to fill you at the impending headache, but you shook your head in an attempt to ignore it. 

“You will spend a lifetime searching if you do not let it come naturally.” She tells you, shaking her head. You eye her, considering her words before you catch sight of a footman walking by. Your mother watches you reach for a glass of champagne from his tray, slapping your hands away the second you move them. You gasp, glaring at her as she dismisses the man away. 

“That is not fair-“

“You can drink to your heart's content when you are married.” She argues, locking her arm in yours as she begins to pull you back into the eyes of society. So much for a few minutes to hide away. “You really must consider and think about a second plan. What will happen if you cannot find the love match you so desperately desire, hm? What then?”

You groan once more, embarrassment heating heating your cheeks. Her speech and the way she still talked to you as if you were a child sent a wave of shame over you. You wanted to crawl back into the corner of the room, to get away from her at any cost as she continued to scold you for having “such impossible standards.” But you cannot, not after you spent so long convincing her to even allow you to have a say in who you married. She gives you an inch, might as well take a mile. 

“There is no second plan. I will get what I want, no matter how long it takes me.” You stubbornly reply, voice in a hushed whisper as you politely smile at other young ladies passing by. “What is so hard about finding a love match anyways? Is it simply not the process of meeting someone and just knowing? That is how you described what happened to you with father, I will not settle for anything less.” 

“It is…much more than just that.” She repeats the same words she always has, never elaborating further. For the woman meant to help you through the marriage season, she was certainly not helpful. You glance at her for a second, the usual disappointment filling you. You start to search the dance floor for a man to sweep you back up into the crowd. Anything to get away from her right now. You watch as all the lords and men you had previously danced with talk and laugh amongst themselves or other young ladies, your own friends being taken up with suitors or being pulled to one by their mamas. It was a never ending sea of controlled chaos, dresses swishing and feet stomping as the sea of dancing color passed you.

“Where is Johnny?” Your mother suddenly asks. The arm she had locked with your slips away and rises to your shoulder, helping her balance as she begins to stand on her tiptoes, looking over the crowd around you two. “Shall he really miss your first ball?” Her brows furrow, scanning every corner of the room before falling back onto her heels. You shake your shoulder, brushing her hand off of you as the topic of your brother sours your mood. “I do not think Jonny cares about the affairs of young ladies.”

“Do not be so negative, he is your brother-“

“And he still does not care.” You say with a bite in your tone, making your mother furrow her brows, but you only continue you scan the room for a way out of her grasp.

It took a few seconds, but you finally caught sight of a man one of your friends said was serious about his courtship this year. “Besides, he need not bother himself with my business unless a suitor is asking for my hand, yes?” You flash her a faux smile as you slowly begin to pull away from her side. “I am going to get a glass of punch, I will be back.” You told her before hurriedly walking and escaping between the cracks of the surrounding crowd to get away from her. You walked as fast as you could without raising any alarm to others, her shouts and protests falling on deaf ears as you managed a good distance between the two of you. You were able to get across the dance floor and near the table of desserts, not stopping until you found a rather hidden corner to further disappear into. 

You sigh and giggle to yourself as you look back, making sure she was not following and in fact far from you. A smile creeps up onto your lips as you watch her try to carefully push through the crowd. She excuses herself, getting stopped by other Ladies and Mamas on her way towards you. Frustrating builds on her face, eyes glancing every second back to you as she is forced to make small talk. A giggle leaves your lips as you watch the aftermath of your small victory. You straighten your shoulders and hold your head high as you walk backwards, keeping an eye and planning on disappearing from her view when she looks away once more. But the moment is short lived as you suddenly bump into someone. 

Your back crashes into an elbow, the bone hitting between your shoulder blades and causing you to groan at the sudden pain, back going stiff and straight as a slight ache begins to spread throughout. You yelp, whipping your body around and groaning at the discomfort the swift movement caused. You begin to stutter out apologies, explaining how you didn’t know where you were, how you weren’t looking and all sorts of nonsense without even looking at who you were speaking to. The words jumbled together into a string of incoherent mumbles, but your mouth stops when you finally look up. Your body freezes, mouth falling into a small ‘o’ as you look at the man before you. It's strange, you would assume to find a frown and displeased face looking at you. But to your surprise, the man seems to give you the kindest smile, and breathes out the softest of laughs. 

Your eyes meet his, and you can't recall ever having seen someone look at you so… fondly? He was tall, a strong and fit body, shoulders stiff and broad as the deep red of his suit makes him look all the more alluring. His hair was brushed back though it still appeared as a soft mess when paired with the beard he sported. You had never put much thought into what you would think a real man would be like, but good god, if he was not it. You continue to study him, practically entranced by the way he looks, until you see his lips begin to part in question and quickly snap out your thoughts, shaking your head and closing your still slightly agape mouth. “Apologies, Sir, I truly did not see you.” You bow your head slightly and part your eyes from his. 

He smiles and replies, “It is quite alright, Miss.” His voice was deep and gruff, the sound made your knees want to buckle. “Are you hurt? I myself must apologize for not having seen you either,” he looks at you with worry, remembering how harshly you bumped into him. “Ah!” You exclaim, suddenly feeling a slight discomfort between your shoulders but quickly dismissing it. “I’m simply a bit shaken, that’s all. Though I must ask if I did not hurt you either, my lord..?” Your voice drifts off in question, waiting for the man to introduce himself. 

The sound of the title has him letting out a small huff of a laugh,“I am not a lord, Miss, but a general. General John Price, Miss. Mr.Price would do just fine if you do not mind,” He replies with a small shake of his head and a hint of amusement in his voice. Embarrassment immediately fills you as his words process in your head. Your cheeks heat and eyes widen and the urge to crawl into the deepest hole you can find consumes you as more apologies spill from your lips. “I-I’m sorry I didn't mean to-! It is just that so many of the men present here are lords and the title has become a natural response to say to any man I speak to that I-agh!” You stutter and ramble on again, but soon stop yourself from further embarrassment by placing a hand on your awfully loud mouth. “I must stop.” Your eyes look away from what you expect to be a judgemental or annoyed gaze this time, but when you glance back up, it is still neither of those.

“I must admit I had grown rather tired of not being able to get away from you young ladies this evening, but out of all I have spoken to today, you seem to be the most amusing.” He jokes, that laugh of his loud and brighter than before. The sound makes you relax and a sense of comfort washes over you. The rest of the world seems to drown in the sound and sight of him. A man with a large presence and contagious energy, how had you not seen him?  You watch the way his chest rises and falls in his chuckles and how he slightly throws his head back with each “hah”. Before you know it, your hand is falling from your mouth.

“Oh, is that so? I must say the same for the men, you all are at every corner and yet I haven’t found a single one worthy of a good conversation.” You joke back, a playful smirk making its way onto your lips. His smile widens at your comment and the same spark of mischief in your eye ignites in his.

“Truly? Have they all been so boring?”

“Terribly so, I could not even last a minute speaking to them.”

“I must apologize for my fellow men then, for they do not seem up to the challenge of courtship.” 

You giggle at his words, he chuckles in return. “Of that you are right, Sir. In fact, I do not think I’ve ever wished for interesting company to arrive so much as now.” You jest. 

“It seems we are both in luck then. For here I am with you. And you, with me.” The humorous tone of his voice drifts into one of sincerity, flirtatiousness. The hair at the back of your neck rises and your back straightens at the shift in mood. You gulp, feeling his eyes on you, looking at you– truly looking at you now. “Here we are.” 

Your eyes meet once more, only neither of you look away or speak this time. You’ve had to look into the eyes of many men this evening, and you’ve found the saying of the eyes being windows to a person's soul to be true. You could tell when a man only wanted a marriage for money or influence, how they felt about the young lady they were dancing with, who they truly wanted and set their sights on even with a glance. And the way he looked at you, oh it scared you. You can’t recall someone ever looking at you like this. It made your breath catch, heart race, and wonder if the truth in his eyes was not a lie. There was a glint of light in the blue of his eyes, and you realize the look he’s giving you. Almost as if you amuse him, as if he likes you. And you find yourself feeling the same.

It’s as if the realization dawned on both of you at the same time, the mutual attraction, for a comfortable silence soon followed. You both continue to stare, smiling as the two of you seem to breathe in time together. Waiting…Waiting to ask or be asked the same question. Will you dance with me? 

You wanted this to happen, it is what you were looking for. To feel that click, the instant gravitation to one person in a sea of people, and it was here. Standing right in front of you– only you were not prepared for how it would feel. You wanted to revel in it, shout at the top of your lungs ‘I told you I could!’ to your mother and friends who said you that what you wanted was impossible. Here, in front of you, the moment you’ve waited for. All that was left was for either of you to seal it, to grab each other's hand and spend the night talking, to form a proper and real courtship. The possibility made your heart flutter, though only off of a feeling and small conversation, you think you found what you were looking for. But you could only have peace for so long. A hand suddenly wraps itself around your arm and pulls your attention away from the man in front of you. Your damned mother. “General Price, how nice it is to see you!” The woman exclaims in surprise, her arm yanking your body behind her and away from him. ‘You were being improper’ she would later say. The General’s eyes widen at the sudden interruption, but he is quick to compose himself with a smile and nod of his head. “My lady,” he greets her.

“I see you have met my daughter, I do hope she has not been bothersome, she has a rather… colorful personality!” Your mother snides, a false laugh falling from her lips as you roll your eyes. 

“Of course not, she and I were having a rather enjoyable conversation.” He replies, eyes drifting to yours. You let out a weary smile, facial expression screaming “I am sorry!” as best as you could. His gaze softens at you in understanding before in looking back to your mother and further exchanging formalities with her. How are you, where have you been, and other such things they discuss before it is cut to a quick end by the woman. 

“It has been a pleasure to see you again, good Sir, but I am afraid it is time for my daughter and I to retire. I do hope we will see you again.” She smiles, looking your way to give you a stern look, ‘let’s go’ she seems to say. You nod lightly, watching as they exchange goodbyes before your mother leaves to fetch the carriage.

You watch her go and before long the two of you are alone again, standing in a rather awkward air after your mother had interrupted your previous conversation. Neither you say anything, trying to find the words as your feet shuffle in tune with that of the music. You play with your fingers, pulling and twisting at them, unsure of what to say before seeing the man open his mouth. 

“For how short it was, I did enjoy our talk.” He says sincerely. 

You grin, cheeks heating at the simple words. “I do hope you choose to call.” You nod your head politely, watching him do the same before walking away. Butterflies swirl in your stomach, eyes widening in shock the second your back is turned to him. Your first day, your first night and ball as a debutant, and you think you may have found a man you would like to marry. Foolish wishing, others would tell you if they knew you thought this. So you never shared it. You would not whisper it to a soul, but keep it inside a pocket of your heart only to be spoken until the wish comes true. 

It is not long until you are on your way back home, sitting across from your mother in your carriage. The street lights illuminate the carriage as you pass through town, the fabric of your dress shining as you play the flimsy material along your thighs. You yawn, sleeping creeping and taking over you from the change of chaos to quiet tranquility. You’re slouching forward, the ache in your back growing and not letting you sit straight. 

 Your mother scolded you, but laughed, when you told her why it hurt to do so. You rolled your eyes before looking out the window and thinking of Mr. Price. You wanted to ask your mother how they knew each other, why she pulled you away so quickly, what she thought of him. But you spoke not, shaking the thoughts out of your head and happy enough with the idea that you will see him again tomorrow. A love match to be made.

☆☆

General John Price tiredly makes his way to the far end of White’s furnished bar. The club had a signature smell of tobacco and thick wood polish, smoke and cups of brandy filled his vision in a stark contrast to the flowery and bright ballroom he had just made his way from. To be fair, he did not want to come here so late in the night, but an old friend invited him and the man was not one to break a promise. He approached a group of men at a far back table, all talking over a game of cards with several cups half full and empty scattered across the table. John made his way towards the chair on the farthest end, giving the man who sat in it a good strong pat. 

“Johnny boy!” He greets. The man in the chair looks back, jumping in surprise before a wide smile appears as he realizes who is in front of him. 

“Price! I dinnae think you’d come, old man.” The man, Johnny, exclaims before standing to properly shake and give the General a hug. They share a laugh and exchange pleasantries before Johnny introduces him to the other Lords who he was previously talking to. Price recognized a few from the ball, he had wondered where they had wandered off so early. 

“I assume yer awfully tired from havin’ many young girls stepping on yer toes tonight, aye?” Johnny jokes, leading Price away from the group and to the bar. He orders them a whiskey each, the glasses clinking as they share a toast to the older man’s coming back to town. Price shakes his head lightly, “I will admit that I underestimated just how…draining this prospect would be.” John sighs, downing the glass in front of him with one gulp. He plays with the rim of his glass and watches the remaining drops swirl in the dim light of the room, he thinks of how many young ladies there were and it was only the first night. Each was as pretty and delicate as a flower, bright smiles and rosy cheeks but altogether, desperate and grasping onto any man who looked their way. Though he could not blame them, it was what they were born and raised to do, it was all they knew to do.

“Exactly why I haven’t taken on the task myself. Yer stronger than I’ll ever be Cap’in,” Johnny chuckles, taking a sip from his own glass. “Did you meet a lass you might set your sights on?”  The younger man grins, nudging the elder as he notices his eyes drifting down in thought at the question. 

“I found a Miss I am to call on tomorrow. She seems agreeable, timid but with a sense of humour and not as” he pauses to find the right word, “eager as the other ladies. Though her mother stepped in before I could invite her for a dance. Does not matter, we have a whole season to talk and dance and do what people do in courtship. If all goes well, I may have a wife soon.” Price says, going back to fidgeting with his glass. As he looks at it though, he can't help but think about the girl. From the way they met, to her mannerisms, she truly did intrigue him. Only now that he looked back on their interactions does he feel as if he forgot something. He moves the glass back and forth, watching the light seep through and glimmer– trying to remember something important he has forgotten but cannot seem to place. 

“A Mrs.Price, at last!” Johnny exclaims, Price rolls his eyes. “And do tell, my dear friend, what is her name?” 

John freezes at the words. His eyes widened and head rising in a swift motion. He stares at Johnny, shock and realization written all over. That’s what he forgot. Johnny catches on immediately, eyes widening with his friends. 

“Dinnae tell me…” 

“I did not catch it.” 

The men look at each other a second longer before Johnny begins to shake his head. “Now how in the hell do ye forget to ask a lass her name, John? You’re the general, for christ sakes, aren’t ye supposed to have a strategic battle plan for everything ye do?” He lets out a dramatic sigh, brows furrowing and going to rub his temples in disappointment. Price slouches and rubs his eyes with his palms, trying to wipe away the fog of his mind. 

“I figured I did not need to ask as I knew her mother, she was an old family friend. It has just occurred to me I never knew who she married. The girl and I met in a rather odd situation as well, I didn't even have time to ask her.” 

Johnny slowly chuckles in disbelief at his words, “That poor girl is going to be truly devastated when you don’t show up tomorrow morning.”

“Mactavish,” John says his name sternly, eyeing the younger man in warning. 

Johnny holds his hands up in surrender, before grabbing his unfinished glass of whiskey and downing the remaining contents. The men sit together in silence, waiting and thinking for a kind of solution to help with the unfortunate circumstance. 

“I tell ye what,” Johnny interrupts after a few moments, “My sister, she’s in her first year as a debutante and friends with almost half of the lassies in Mayfair. Come over in the morning, and I believe we can ask for her help identifying your bonnie, aye?” 

The proposal interested John enough to consider it, to think of how it would play out. “She would not mind?” 

“Nay, all I’ve got to do is tell her yer a friend, that’ll put you off as a potential suitor and help yer little predicament.” Johnny grins, with teeth, for having thought of the idea. In all fairness, it was not the best or brightest plan, but who is John Price, a General of the British Armies to say no to a friend simply trying to help him. 

☆☆☆

You awake at the crack of dawn, a giddy and anxious feeling bubbling in the pit of your belly from the second you opened your eyes. It was with you the whole morning– as your maid helped you dress, as you ate breakfast, as you talked to your mother and brother of what bachelors you predict may come to call. 

“Lord Harding was quite taken with you last night, my dear. As well as Lord Langley and even Mr. Anderson, their mothers and I spoke of what a handsome match you would be with either of them. They are agreeable men, are they not Johnny?” Your mother says, sitting across from you on a plush settee and drinking a cup of tea. Johnny, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the window and farthest from you replies with a nod. “Aye, though Anderson’s got a taste for losing a pretty sum every time he’s at the club.” He comments, looking out the window as if waiting for something. Your mother lets out a small ‘ah’ and nods her head at the information. You roll your eyes and manage to bite your tongue. It was too exciting of a day to waste your energy bickering with him. 

“I talked to another gentleman as well last night.” You share instead. Johnny turns his head toward you, slightly tilted in questions.  

“Aye, did ye?” Johnny questions you, doubt in his voice. He looks back out the window when the noise of a carriage passes by– not even bothering to hear your answer. “Yes, I did. He was kind, kinder than the other men I talked to all night.” You reply, brows furrowing and staring daggers at him. “Oh please, darling, I hardly doubt he’d come today. You did not share a dance, or even speak for that long.” Your mother says, making you slightly frown and look to her. 

“Perhaps after your next meeting he shall come to see you. And does he not seem a bit older to you? Would you not prefer a younger man, closer to your age? Remember, we have the whole of the season to find you a match, my love. Try not to think of him and focus on the men who do come today, yes?” You sigh, fighting your frown from deepening at her words. You try to slouch in your corset (which was pulled tighter today) to help the still aching injury on your back. Your mother catches you and lets out a ‘tsk’, a reminder that she is watching your every move. You almost start to argue with her, already upset and bothered. Your mouth opens and brows furrow but are interrupted before you can get any words out. 

‘Excuse me,” Johnny suddenly coughs. “But it appears as if we already have guests.” He slowly stands from his chair and makes his way to sit next to your mother. They would be your chaperones for the evening and any other event for the season. You know that he would rather not be here, but your mother had to remind him of his duty. To you, and to the family.

“How exciting! Now remember,” Your mother exclaims before assessing you with her eyes, “smile, be kind, and do not push too hard on the whole…love match aspect. We want our guests to feel welcome and to get to know them, yes?” You nod obediently, not minding her words. Such control, the woman wanted. From your hair to your shoes and dress, she tried her best to dress and present you as a pretty doll. “Yes, mother.” You nod once more, your lip forming into a thin line of a smile as you manage to sit up straight and mentally ready yourself. 

Many suitors came to call, the room filling with men and the sound of laughter as the day went on. They brought you flowers, boxes of chocolate, and some even went as far as bringing you a pair of earrings with your favorite jewels. The room was filled with gifts and men by noon, the energy and rushing making you grow weary by the third gentleman caller. It was strange, having so many eyes on you and being the center of attention. To have men try to entertain you with their small talk and aspirations in marriage and life, hoping you’d pick and entertain them back. 

Through it all, you kept thinking of Mr.Price. In the few minutes you spoke together, it did not feel like this at all. You wondered if it would be the same in your next meeting, if you would be tense or if he would be as welcoming as before. Every time a suitor left or came, you looked toward the door for any sight of him. You wanted to sight in disappointment each time you did not see him. The ache in your back only reminded you of him furthermore which each movement you made, his presence there even if he wasn’t. 

The whole of the morning felt so unnatural. Saying all the practiced and calculated responses your mother taught you, not like you at all. Even watching her speak to the callers, seeing her smile and compliment you so kindly felt like you were a part of some grand facade and did not know your role in it. As exciting as it was, it was also quite terrifying. The mountain of expectations was a weight you could not shake off of your shoulders.

It was strange to think, but to find any kind of normality throughout it all, you looked to Johnny. He sat at the window seat again, glancing over to watch you and your mother every few seconds, just as before. His presence grounded you, even if distant. While your mother put on an act, he was still himself. Your distant, kind but irritating, brother. 

You were in the middle of speaking to your mother's preferred suitor, Lord Harding, when you saw Johnny rise from his seat and excuse himself from the room. Your eyes follow him, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment and sadness watching him go. Of course he wouldn’t stay. You thought to yourself, but quickly shake the thought from your head and continue your conversation with the man beside you. 

“The gardens in my family home are quite beautiful, each rose bush having been planted and cared for since the start of my family's lineage. My mother hopes to host a ball near the end of the season, I hope I am able to show them to you soon.” The man says to you, his voice sincere and kind.The gentleman was kind and respectful, young and handsome with a sort of boyish charm that made talking to him a bit easier than the other callers. “I would be most delighted to.” You reply with a smile, ready to ask him more about his family home when you see your brother walk back into the room from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t expected him to come back, much less with a guest. You move your body slightly, turning to see who it was he came back with. 

What you saw next, you did not expect.The sight shocks you. Your eyes widen, a gasp leaves you, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you realize who was with your brother. Your mother, who has been sitting across from you, follows your line of sight. Her eyes widen slightly as well, before a sigh leaves her lips. 

Johnny’s guest locked eyes on you the second he stepped in the room.

“Mr.Price.” The name leaves your mouth before you can even think. 

“Miss…Mactavish.” He looks just as shocked as you were. His eyes widen, but the same soft smile from last night makes its way upon his lips.

“What?” Johnny cuts in. You both look towards him the second he speaks. Confused, and almost upset, Johnny's eyes meet yours. You open your mouth, ready to explain, but he only looks back to the man at the door. 

Now, you have seen him upset a handful of times, but in those times you knew what to do. Knew what to say, knew when to walk away.  But looking at him look at Price, all you could do was hold your breath. 

Oh hell. 

Thank you for reading </3!! Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly!!

A/n: This chapter was meant to be a bit silly, but im not sure if i was able to do it that well🥲 Also my first time writing a Scottish accent for Johnny! Apologies if i got anything wrong. More to come soon and I hope you all enjoyed 🩵💖!!

[sixtsposts]

Bully bullied - James Potter

TW: female!reader, cursing, threatening bullying, Snevillus, Mulciber, harrassment, angry James, reader, physical bullying, kinda bully!James, bully!Severus and bully!Mulciber, mention of Mary's assault, choking, use of pet names (pretty, darling)

You were walking down the hallway of Hogwarts, your books in your arms as your steps echos in the empty hallway. You put a strand of your hair behind your ear, internally cursing yourself for being late for class once again. But what can you say? You're not an early bird at all.

You sigh through your nose and start to walk faster, hoping the classroom won't be closed. Maybe you'll be able to sneak in without Professor Slughorn seeing you? At least it's not McGonagall, because she would have change you into a timepiece or an alarm clock-

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear students chanting something in the hallway opposite to your direction. When your curiosity push you to glance toward the noises you realize there's a crowd assembled around something. You decide without an hesitation that good old Horace could wait a little bit, you wanted to know what was going on.

"Snevillus, Snevillus, Snevillus!" The students chant as you approach and sneak into the crowd of students, it doesn't take long for you to understand the scene in front of your eyes. The Marauders have once again pulled a prank, on no one alse but Severus Snape. The Slytherin boy was glaring deathly at Sirius Black and James Potter, his hair turned completly green.

"What's the matter buddy? Don't like your house color?" Sirius tease his ennemy with a smirk as he rest an arm around Remus Lupin's shoulders. James behind them huffed a laugh, "Yeah, we can see that you're very committed to your house, Snevillus," he snorted with a mocking tone and bump Peter Pettigrew in the shoulder, making him giggle too.

You can't help yourself when you let out a laugh, putting your hand in front of your mouth. You're not at all supporting the four guys' pranks, that's bullying. However, to be fair you need to admit that Snape is an awful person. You think he's loathsome at every point from what you've experienced.

And the Marauders looks, although, nice. They're in the year above yours and have always been nice to you and all the person you know. You know them from Pandora, Alice and Frank, you are not the closest but you hang out a bit. So you would rather not take part in the matter.

Though, it seems like you did the moment you let out a laugh because Severus glared at you, his dark eyes sending dread shiver down your spine. You shake the feeling and push yourself against the nearest wall, trying to make yourself small. You probably imagine him looking at you, he was surely looking at someone behind you. Right?

Few seconds later the four Griffindor friends decided to left the place before getting caught by one of the prefects. They make their way into the crowd of cheering students - mostly Griffindors. As they pass just next to you, James sends a wink at you above his glasses, his bright and confident smile making your heart beat faster. You probably imagined that too, he was surely winking at the... wall behind you. Right?

You shake all these thoughts out of your head. As the crowd slowly fades around you, the fact that you are late for class hits you again. And now you are, like, really late. You press your books to your chest tightly and start to run as fast as you can to your class. As you enter the classroom, the class has already started and you got lectured by Slughorn. Great.

Thankfully the rest of the day happens without any further incidents. You goes to every class and try to concentrate as much as you can. But it's hard since your mind always go back to what happened this morning, how James had winked at you with his sparkling brown eyes. But also, how Snape had glare at you with this threatening expression. You're still tense when you think of it, you feel bad for laughing too. You shouldn't have done that.

Luckily, you're not in class with any of James or Snape given you're in 6th year and they are in 7th. As the school bells rings, meaning the end of the day, you grab your notebooks and start to head toward the Great Hall. You walk quikly, the hunger being audible in your stomach.

Though, one of your book fall on the floor in your rush. "Shit," you curse silently and crouch down to pick it up. When you stand up again, there's no student left in the hallway. They're all in the Great Hall and you were about to join them when a voice stops you in your track.

"Fucking damn mudbloods," a dark voice spits with venom. You turn around to recognizing Snape with one of his friends Bruce Mulciber. Ew. Severus' hair got back to normal, you notice. Probably thanks to Mulciber. If there is one person you hate more than Severus it is for sure Bruce. You don't quite know why but some creepy aura float around this guy. You tighten your grip on your books instinctively.

"It's always you, huh?" You frown at Snape's words. What was he talking about? "Listen Severus, if you're angry because of this morning, I'm really sorry I laughed-" but he doesn't let you finish as he approach you quikly, this frightening look back in his dark eyes. "You're sorry? Oh, she's sorry," he mock you as he glances at Mulciber behind him, who laughs and stare at you.

"What d'you want Snape?" You ask defensively as you take steps back from him. You don't want to stay close to him, he is slightly scaring you. "Oh look at her Sev, she's shaking like a leaf," you hear Mulciber's deep mocking voice in your back, it makes you jump and releasing all your books, that falls on the floor loudly. How did he moved so fast? you wonder as you look between Severus in front of you and Bruce in your back. They circle you and you feel like a prey around starving lions.

"Mudbloods, always so scared and defenseless," Severus smirks meanly and his wicked words makes you nauseous. You frown at him, wondering if you should stand your ground or shut your mouth. Both are risked right now. Though, you don't have further time to think about it when you feel a cold and strong hand wrapping itself tightly around your throat. Your eyes widen as you realize Snape is trying to actually choke you. "You think you can laugh at me..." his grip is brutal and his eyes show no mercy.

"And get out of it safe?" You struggle in his grip, your hands holding tightly into his forearm as he slightly lift you off the ground. You can feel your face turn red from the lack of air, making it impossible for you to scream. You can hear Bruce's laugh in your back, his tone arrogant and merciless, you can feel them enjoy the show you're putting on.

"You little bitch, you're gonna pay for your four friends," you feel quikly tears prickling into your eyes because of the fear and pain his hold on your throat is causing you. Your hands are gripping at his forearm harshly, your nails scratching his skin. Though he doesn't react, like he didn't even notice your action. His dark eyes are locked on yours and you can see in them all the weight of his hatred, the humiliation of this morning fueling the fire in his heart.

As you almost thought that he was going to kill, now and there, Mulciber's body is suddenly propelled against the nearest wall. This catch Snape's attention, his eyes roaming over the dark hallway in search of the coming threat. Then, as his gaze locked on something behind you, his eyes widen and you can notice fear in them. However, before he can say anything, his own body is quikly projected against the wall next to both of you.

Though, he doesn't let go of you and brings you in his movement, making your head hit harshly the cold stone of Hogwarts' walls. You gasp because of the shoke and fall back on your bottom, wincing slightly at the sound of Severus body falling brutally on the floor at few feet away from you.

Your hand goes immediatly to your head where it hitted the wall, inspecting if everything was fine while your eyes scan the hallway to find who's here with you. You don't take long to recognize the familiar dark messy hair and round glasses when James ran to you, a worried expression on his features. "You okay?" He asks quikly and kneeled down next to you, "I didn't mean to hit you, darling," he explains with a frown on his face as his hands analyse your head.

"James?," you ask confuse but a little breathless. A wave of relief hit you as you realize James just saved you from a very shitty position. "I noticed you weren't in the Great Hall and I- I had a bad feeling," he explains as his hands goes to your cheek and he examine your face for any bruise, "Guess my guts were right.

That makes you chuckle softly, but your laugh quikly turns into a loud and hoarse caught. At this action, James' eyes goes down to your throat. You can see his brown eyes turning dark and you immediately understand that you must have a bruise on your neck. Instinctively, your hand goes to your throat and touch it softly.

"I'm gonna kill them," he mutters slightly, his jaw clearly clenched. You frown, concerned as he gets up, you've never seen him like that. You don't know him that well, but you do know for sure that James is not one to return match. Except on the Quidditch field. "You're not like them James," you try to resonate him with a genuine tone.

James look back down at your frail form on the cold floor, "How could someone want to hurt you?" He mumbles and it seems like he's asking the question to himself. You don't reply anything before Snape shifts on the floor. Yours and James' eyes turns directly to him as he weakly gets up.

"You," without thinking twice you see James throw himself at Severus, grabbing his collar harshly and pinning him against the wall next to you. You don't do any movement to stop what is happening as you stay still on the floor and look up at the scene. "This mugblood bitch mocked me, she deserved it," spit Severus without even looking down at you.

"You're lucky I don't kill you tonight Snevillus, you tacky piss of shit," he mutters lowly, his face close to the other boy like he was spitting venom. Behind his glasses there is fire in James' eyes, a fire you didn't know he had in him. Apprently, Snape didn't knew either since all the color have been drained from his face.

"Of course you'd have helped her," he mumbles, more like a realization then an accusation. "Of course," James hemphasize with a scoff his tone, "If you got a problem, next time come and attack those responsible, coward," he adds, pushing him more against the wall.

"If she crosses our way again, be sure this time we won't miss her," you hear a third voice, it's strained and heavy. It's Mulciber. James immediately let Snape sore body fall on the floor and turn to Bruce. "Levicorpus," and with a quick motion of his wand, Mulciber's body starts to fly above the floor as he gasps in distress.

"Say that again," James' voice is cold but you can hear a smirk in it as he make his way toward Bruce's flying figure. "Say that again to my face," he snaps now with anger and from your spot on the floor your can see James' face close to Mulcibers. Suddenly the tension in this dark and empty hallway feels thicker.

You can hear Mulciber struggling in James' spell, "If this little bitch of yours crosses our way again she'll regret it," he spits then, his voice is full of venom and hatred. James let out what sounds like a low curse under his breath. Quikly, his wand in under Burce's chin in a threatening way. James is a good wizard, not as good as Lily Evans, but good enough that he could hurt Mulciber and Snape really bad if he wanted to.

You just hope he doesn't want to.

Before James have the time to respond anything Mulciber adds something. "By the way, how is your little friend Mary?" Mulciber's voice is amused and teasing and beside you you can hear Snape snarking. And it's the last straw for James. The Griffondor lift his wand and all can you see is a white lightening before you see Mulciber's body on the floor few feet away.

There is no sound for few seconds before you break the silence, "S'he dead?" You ask with a little voice. James turns to you a little with a little frown on his face, "No," he mutters as he shoulders relax slightly, "Even if he'd have deserved it," he adds.

He turns to Snape after that, walking to him and grabbing his collar brutally, "I got a message for you and your little boyfriend: if you or him touches ever again one of my friend you can be sure you'll be hunted by more than just me. Am I clear enough for your shit brain?" He says darkly and all the Slytherin boy can do is nodding. James just let go of his collar, letting him fall back down on the floor.

Then he walks up to you, putting his wand back in his pocket. He gather your books before gently helping you up, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and his other hand holding your stuff.

"You okay?" He mumbles softly worriedly, his face close to yours and all you can do is staring in his blue eyes and nodding like an idiot. There is just too much that has been going on that you don't know what to do or say anymore, except "Thank you James."

The boy chuckles softly at your expression before his lips form a soft and warm smile, "You're welcome, pretty," he replies and your little smile turn a bit shy. That makes James giggle again as he begans to lead you down the hall, "C'mon, we should head back to the Great Hall. You must be hungry, huh?" He says as if nothing had happened and you are grateful to him for that. "A little yeah..."

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 26. Stepping Up

Summary: The final part of Squad Battles is here, but an obstacle has been thrown their way. Can Third Squad step up and deliver the win they need?

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

The calm before the storm. Within the hour, this place would descend into chaos as we prepared to defend this temporary outpost from Garrick and his squad. I had no doubt they’d throw everything they had at us. And I wanted them to, because we were ready to do the same.

The calm doesn’t last, Bodhi bursting out of the tent he’s sharing with Xaden, a piece of parchment clutched tightly in his hand. He starts towards the tent I’m allocated to, but he stops as his head pivots to the side he see’s me perched on the barrel I’d climbed onto. He rushes over to me, holding out the parchment to me.

”We’re alone.” He tells me as he rushes over.

”What do you mean alone?” I ask, taking the parchment he holds out to me.

*A change of plans.

Your leadership are gone, and so are your dragons.

Have fun.*

Of course they would throw us a curveball last minute. No leadership and no dragons meant we all had to rely on working together, using our strengths to our advantage. They probably want us to scramble and panic, see which squads fall apart without their leadership. I’m relieved when I reach out, still feeling the pull of power from Proth. But there’s a very solid shield I am unable to break through and communicate to him through. Seems he was fully on board with taking part in the Squad Battle.

”Go get everyone up.” I tell Bodhi, folding up the parchment as I hand it back to him.

He doesn’t even blink an eye as he pockets the parchment, nodding before running off to get everyone up. I turn back and scan the forest and horizon, unable to see anyone on foot or a dragon in the sky. Hopefully the attacking squads were also suffering the same disadvantage as us. And with no dragons on the horizon and probably less than an hour till they were on us, I felt confident we would all be on level ground.

Within minutes everyone is awake and standing in the centre of the outpost, everyone geared up and ready to go.

”So what’s the plan Dahlia?” Bodhi asks, smiling at me with a cheeky grin.

”Me? We have plenty of third years.” I say as I gesture to the third year standing across from me, all of which smirk and shake their heads at me.

”You’re an Aetos.” A third year called Han says as he steps forward.

”That doesn’t mean anything.” I tell him sternly with a pointed gaze.

He shrugs. “You might think it doesn’t but we’ve all seen you fight and fly, and you always know the right questions and things to say in Battle Brief. Hell you school half us third years in that class.”

”He’s right.” Liz says, smiling up at me. “You were made for this. You’ve been trained for this your whole life.”

If only they knew. I only got half the training that Dain did. Yes I still had teaching and training my father provided, but I know Dain got a great deal more than me. The rest I taught myself.

”So what’s the plan?” Austin says with a smirk, ganging up on me with the others who all nod their head in agreement.

”We stick to the plan we made last night. It’s good and solid if we all work together. We might have lost our dragons but we can still get some height advantage to see when they’re coming. One of you on each corner in a tree should do the job.” I tell them, gesturing to the four corners of the outpost. It wasn’t very big, so we should be able to see where they were coming from. My best guess would be the direction Basgiath was in.

”What about the flag?” Bodhi asks, nodding to the flag that was mounted in the middle of the clearing we were in.

On top of defending the outpost, once a horn was heard we had to take the flag to our designated spot to call for aid. Our outpost without a dragon was a good half hour run from here. I knew it had seemed too close yesterday when we had scouted the area. Should have been my first clue that they were going to spring something on us. I scan the group, trying to remember all our signets. There was a few I wasn’t sure on, but as my eyes land on Han, a third year in our squad, and I know exactly what we need to do.

”When the time comes, I need you to meet me at the flag.” I say pointing to Han who nods back at me. “For now go get something to eat and take your spots. We won’t have long.”

Everyone nods before rushing to grab something to eat and prepare for the fight ahead. If Second Squad had Garrick we would be at a disadvantage. We’d only just gotten on better terms, but it was clear he was skilled when it came to warfare. And if Xaden was anything to go off last night, we were going to have our work cut out for us.

”We’ve got this, right?” Bodhi asks as he scans the horizon I’d been watching earlier.

I nod. “If we stay calm, stick to the plan, we can do this.”

”And what if they have dragons and leadership?” He questions, knowing as well as I that if they do we have no chance.

”They won’t have dragons. Too much of an advantage and too much risk of death. They’d wipe out half the Quadrant in a matter of hours.” Which he seems to agree with as he nods again.

”That doesn’t rule out leadership though. You’re good, but Garrick is another level. If he’s here and he knows we don’t have Xaden-”

”Then we don’t let him know. We act as if he is here.” I tell him, cutting him off.

Bodhi looks at me like he’s not convinced, but it’s the only plan we’ve got. And I would do anything to make sure we get that win.

Around me grunts and cries carry around the outpost. So far we’d defended our outpost perfectly. Luckily we had the foresight last night to lay a few traps and obstacles on the ground around the outpost. Either Xaden already knew what was happening, or he just prepared for everything. Either way we were thankful for the idea. It had done wonders at keeping them away. Because just like us they didn’t have their dragons, and there was no sign of any leadership for their Squad. But that didn’t mean they weren’t here, watching and waiting.

But I knew Garrick, if he was here he would be in the thick of it. He’d be down there in the middle of the fight that was taking place between the majority of our squads. In the distance the horn sounds, meaning we now needed to move our flag. I launch my last arrow, knocking someone in the shoulder, sending them stumbling back.

“Go, I’ve got this.” Bodhi calls out as he rushes over to me spot.

I nod before turning and rushing over to the flag, Han rushing over to the point with another third year I think is called Lee. I rarely saw one without the other.

”So what’s the plan?” Han asks excitedly.

”You can turn invisible right?” I ask him, Han nodding in response as he furrows his brow.

I reach up, taking down the flag and passing it to him. ”Ok, now I have no idea what you’re planning.” Han says, looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.

”You are going to use your signet to turn invisible while you follow me up to the tower.” I tell him as I pull out a piece of a tent I’d cut out while everyone was preparing earlier. It was a slightly different white to the flag Han was holding, but from a distance I was sure no one would question it.

”You’re going to be the decoy.” Lee says with a knowing smirk, slowly nodding in approval.

”Exactly. We have no confirmation they are without leadership right now. They could be playing into the fact they know we don’t and are using it to mess with us. For all we know they’re waiting just outside the perimeter to surprise us.”

”Great plan, but the entire forest is covered in leaves and debris. They’re bound to hear me once they catch you.” Han states, gesturing to the leaf ridden ground.

”That’s where Kai comes in.” I say, looking over my shoulder as Kai runs over.

”Ready Dahlia?” He asks, holding out his hand to me.

Lee and Han look at me confused as I take his hand in mine, feeling my signet take his in. My signet was classified, but Kai had been smart enough to figure it out. Kai had a sound signet. To most, it wouldn’t seem incredibly useful. But for situations like this it was perfect. Not only could he make you hear things that weren’t there, but he could also muffle or disguise sounds.

Han shakes his head and laughs, the pieces clicking together in his head. “And you didn’t think you were ready for this.”

”Believing in myself doesn’t come easily. Now lets go, we have a Squad Battle to win."

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01

[yunimayie]

primal play with chuuya would be so hot

cws. n. chuuya x fem!reader, suggestive content, primal play, reader getting chased and outsmarted, pet names, teasing, he's a bit of an ass, not edited.

wk. 512 (short lil drabble)

ᰔ love, may. no you're absolutely right about this. he would LOVE the thrill of it since he's more action paced. this doesn't necessarily have nsfw in it so im not gonna tag it as such. btw i made this star divider do u guys like it💀.

“pace yourself,” said your boyfriend with a lit cig, “ten minutes.”

the small acres of warehouses line up similarly to the suburbs. under the poorly lit up path, you ran on command, looking behind to see chuuya walking in a different direction. you didn't know where exactly he was going or what his plans were, but you didn't let that thought distract you for much longer.

prying eyes follow your body language—it told him you were brittle, anxiously waiting for the time to run up. his cigarette long abandoned in the ashes of mist. “seven!” you hear him shout, the fog limiting your vision greatly. shit, you didn't know where to look. every alley, narrow or wide, served a purpose for chuuya, and an indisputable amount of junk covering his back.

the rustle of air leaves you stranded in your place, the cold giving you a blanket for the foreseeable future. forcing your legs to function, you knew that being found in a maze of clutter and perfectly aligned buildings was akin to zero—for a normal person. chuuya nakahara was not a normal person, in mafia territory. “six,” he resumed, “clock's ticking sweetheart.”

again, with the yelling! “i k-know!” you stammered, cursing in your head for your fumbling composure. the five minute mark was near and you're already losing. “baaabe!” chuuya sniggered, “don’t run! oh no, honey, ‘lemme catch up!” a laugh echoes through the isolation, footsteps mingling with yours in the white abyss—closer—that's it, you ran. without looking back, shoes cackle the pavement below.

his closeness had you thinking, wasn't he supposed to wait ten minutes before starting his chase? asking right now was a big leap of faith considering you're the prey. “fouuur!” he sang from afar. taking your chances you halt, heart pounding as loud as his steps that trail after the path you winded. “moving is crucial, doll.” his face finally catches up to his voice. even through the gloom, white couldn't water away the colors painted on the canvas.

picture perfect bitch.

your shoulders were hunched, backing away step by step as he redrew every erasure with his black leather shoes, the ink messy and spattered compared to your light and neat lines. “is it three now?” you were keen in your crumbled resolve, questioning things now did you no good, but chuuya always liked to be challenged. he tapped his chin, arms crossed like a curious child, “hmmm, i'd saaay closer to... two.”

great. so it was still three—“why aren't you waiting at the car then?” you popped your tongue, biting the flesh after you blurted out your ah-ha! thought. he doesn't answer, alternatively showing a tight-knit smile that got you into his bed in the first place. a quick turnaround would've shown you that was the end. no more running.

it took you approximately ten minutes to reach the fence that cuts off a cliff from the sea crushing rock. ten minutes for you to corner yourself, and fall in line to your beloveds’ predictions. his lips move, too slowly for your comfort, “one.”

@ yunimayie—everything is owned by may, she doesn't appreciate copyright breaches | navi.

hihihaye!! may here, got another one of my wips up and actively being written atm 🙏‼️ if u wanna be tagged js lemme know 🤭 fyi, the censoring is my little note.

[morganas-pendragons]

Jealousy Is Unbecoming | Celebrimbor

I got denied from my choice grad school AND I am sick. Here you go, have another fic! I have been out of it for a while. Hopefully I can start my OC fic soon.

***

“Celebrimbor? Why have you been avoiding me?” You call teasingly.

“I haven’t been doing anything of the sort. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, then why don’t I go ask Márdan then?” You call over your shoulder, turning back towards the main doors of the forge. You are not very far in to courting. You however, are not naive, and have been around him long enough to know when he’s hiding something.

“You may do whatever you like.” Celebrimbor grumbled. “Márdan certainly won’t have any answers for you.”

Oh. That’s what’s what the problem is. He’s jealous of you spending time with the other Ellon that you’ve come to know from the Gwaith-I-Mírdain.

You cross the room to come stand in front of him, teasing fingers curling around his wrist. “I have a question that only you can answer. Would you like to hear it?”

He looked down at his wrist where your fingers touched him, then back up at you, bewildered. “What?” He asked.

You lean inward to whisper lowly in his ear. “How long was it going to take for you to admit you are jealous?”

Celebrimbor’s eyes widen as his cheeks redden. “What are you-I am not!”

“Márdan has been helping me with education about the forge. Things I need to know if I want to be able to craft with you and beside you.” You hummed softly and laced your fingers together. ‘’Besides, I think I’ve made one thing abundantly clear by now.”

“I am not just some young buck that I am so easily made jealous by another,” He muttered, face red.

“I don’t want some young buck.” You argued. You lean forward, ever so slowly, and touch your foreheads together. “I want you. You don’t have to worry about my eyes ever wandering to anyone else. Especially that young Ellon. He has nowhere the strength you do.” Always teasing, always gentle.

Celebrimbor stared at you, thoughts and insecurities and what ifs whirling around in his mind. After a few moments, he seemed to have calmed his thoughts and sighed. “I have been unfair to you.” He said.

“How?”

You took his hands and pressed them to your face, earnest eyes not once parting from his own.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I have a tendency to be…. Temperamental at times.”

“Only towards the ones you care about. It’s usually me as I’ve seen so far, but..” Realization crossed your face. “Oh. Is there a specific reason why it’s usually directed at me?”

Celebrimbor sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which at this point has become a tad disheveled. “You do not deserve it - These moods that come over me. Forgive the irrational fears of an old elf. I saw intent where there was none.”

“Celebrimbor,” You shake your head and stepped closer so you could lean into him, head resting in the crook of his neck. “Your age is of no concern to me. Do you wish to know what it was that drew me to you, and not to any of the other Gwaíth when you brought me into your care?”

“Please.”

His voice is hoarser than he’d care to admit.

“Your kindness,” You said. “Your gentleness, your capacity to love a stranger. I wasn’t drawn to Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion and greatest of the Elven Smiths. I was drawn to you. You,” She rested her hand against his chest. “Are all I want.”

He lets you stay there nestled against him for a long moment before he pulled away to cradle your face in his hands, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “I do not deserve you,” Before you can protest, he continued. “Valar take me, but I do not know what I did to deserve one as precious as you are.”

They’ll find out later that you were prophesied over for him, saved for him by Nienna herself. That will come. Right now you have this.

“You saved me,” You whispered. “That was enough. Do you believe me now that there is nothing to worry about?” She twisted your head to kiss Celebrimbor’s jaw. “Or do you need me to-“ And then his cheek. “Convinced you further?”

Celebrimbor took one of your hands into his and kissed the back of it, maintaining eye contact with you for the entire time. There is a playful glint to his eyes now, as if the demons have been chased away for the time being. “I might be interested in hearing more,” He murmured. “Perhaps over dinner?”

“In the gardens?” Your hair swept over your shoulder as you beamed at him. “That is our favorite spot in the city.”

“Wherever you wish it, my dear.”

[visionsofyouandme]

𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Something lurks in the woods, ravenous and feared. Joel finds solace in a cabin, and in the belly of the beast herself.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 6.1k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: DDDNE. Joel Miller x afab!Reader. Post Outbreak. No Ellie. Dark!Reader. Spooky vibes. No use of ‘y/n’. Reader has no physical descriptions but has she/her pronouns. Age gap. fear of monsters in the woods. Blood. +18 MNDI DubCon (Joel is “under the influence”). Somnophilia? Smut. Dry humping. Unprotected P in v sex. Swapping bodily fluids as a ritual (you’ll see👀).

𝙰/𝙽: Soooo idk how this even came in my brain but god when I started I couldn’t stop. I wrote this for my own self indulgence and decided to share it, cause I know there’s some twisted MFers just like me out there LOL. So, if you’re sick like me and love this shit, I hope you enjoy<3 Alright. Let’s get down to it.

Here on AO3!

“Be careful in ‘them woods. A monster hunts there, worse than Infected. Get somewhere safe before dark.”

Joel wanted to scoff, but still heeded the old man’s warning. Having just left the safety of the old man’s cabin and into the Appalachian wilderness, Joel made his way through dense trees and stepped over protruding roots. He didn’t know exactly where he was until the old man had produced a map, showing Joel that he was still going in the right direction of Wyoming. Being somewhere in Tennessee, he got instructions from the old man to stay near the road, and it would lead him to a small, desolate community that was abandoned some time after the outbreak. He told Joel to not stop until he got to that little community, and to find a house to stay in. Shut the doors, let minimal light out of the house, and stay quiet.

Joel had strayed from the road in fear of roaming raiders and Infected. He was losing light fast, and tried to find his way back to the road, but felt sufficiently lost. This didn’t completely worry him, as he still headed in the direction the old man had given him. He did want to find somewhere to lay for the night, and the man’s words lingered in the back of his mind as Joel threw a look over his shoulder every so often. 

He finally set his sights on a small cabin, and after watching, saw no signs of life. Jogging to the safety of the porch, he nudged the door open with his rifle raised. Doing a quick sweep, he saw no signs that anyone or anything had been in there. There was still furniture standing- a kitchen table with chairs, a couch and armchair, what used to be a media console was now bare and dusted. He lowered his gun and did a better sweep of the house- looking in the pantry, in hallway closets, opening the closet doors in the upper bedrooms. He found clothes, bedding, blankets thicker than he had seen in a minute. In the pantry, he found canned food and figured he would finally have something other than sardines for once. 

Whoever was here before left a hell of a treasure trove. 

He made himself at home as best he could- stoking a fire in the fireplace, laying out blankets and pillows on the worn-out couch, setting his rifle in arms’ reach. He found a pot and cleaned it out to the best of his ability, putting one of the cans in there to heat up food and actually have a somewhat hearty meal for once. 

He set the small bowl aside, wiping his face. The solitude was not foreign to him, and he really didn’t mind it these days. Being on the road all alone kind of forced you to be content with yourself. 

Shifting his eyes to the open window, he stood up and walked to it, looking out. He remembered what the man said, and closed the curtains, even though night had fallen hours ago.

He found a book and struggled to read it in the dim light, but felt something make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Outside had gone quiet. Too quiet. No birds, no crickets, no rustling of wind in the trees. Until, he heard the softest cry.

“Open the door! Please, god- open the door!”

Distinctly female, Joel jumped to his feet and grabbed his rifle. He shifted the curtains and couldn’t see anything but darkness, and the voice that seemed to be drawing near. He ripped the door open, rifle raised until he saw a shape appear from the treeline.

“Stop!” he called, and the figure came to a screeching halt, nearly doubling over. Definitely human. Not Infected.

“Sir, please- there’s-” she said, and swiveled her head around behind her, but Joel heard nothing. A million thoughts flew through his mind, and he gave a strangled huff and lowered the gun, nodding at her viciously to come inside. She shot out like a bullet, and as she drew nearer, he could see her features grow more clear. When she barreled inside, he shut the door tightly and looked out the window into the night.

“What was it? Infected? Raiders?” he said, and turned his head to the panting mess of a woman behind him, who cowered by the couch. She looked at him, eyes wide with fear, and shook her head minutely. 

“N-no. Not- I don’t know.” she said, her voice small, trembling. He huffed, and looked outside, and quickly shut the curtains even tighter. 

Shut the doors, let minimal light out of the house, and stay quiet.

“Are you hurt?” he whispered, and she shook her head again. They stood on opposite ends of the room, assessing one another. Joel’s eyes cast down her- ratty clothes, gaunt features, bags under her eyes. She looked young and old at the same time- hard to pinpoint when you look like you’ve been to hell and back. He’s sure he looked similar.

“Who are you?” he questioned, his voice still low. Deep, sallow eyes watched him, and she whispered her name like it was a breeze. He nodded, offering up his own. 

“Joel,” she repeated, nodding like she was confirming it to herself. He nodded, and finally set his rifle down, raising his eyebrows and sighed heavily, the years suddenly tumbling onto his shoulders.

“Want something to eat?”

She was reluctant at first to eat, but he coaxed her into at least a can of chicken noodle soup. Even then, she didn’t eat much, her eyes moving between his like a frightened animal. He wondered if she regretted coming to the cabin for safety. 

He wasn’t much of a talker. He took the armchair, letting her stay on the couch. He looked at the fire as she pushed around the soup in the can, and he then looked at her a bit more closely in the firelight. She had bloodstains on her sleeves, her shirt. It didn’t look new, and he wondered how long she had been wandering with blood coating her thin shirt and jacket. 

“You… ya sure you’re not hurt?” he questioned, and she set the can down, looking over at him. 

“It’s not mine.” she said, regarding the blood, and Joel nodded. He leaned back in the chair, sighing with a bit of sympathy in his chest. In a world like this, everyone has lost someone. He just hated that someone like her- so delicate and fragile- had to be wrapped up in it, too.

“Where are you going?” she questioned, and Joel looked towards the fire. Did he really want to implicate himself in this? He didn’t owe her anything. But, he felt bad, sitting in silence. He cleared his throat, and shrugged, deciding to keep things vague.

“West. Hear there’s some people survivin’ out there.” he said, and she nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. The air was chilly, even with the fire, like life was being sucked right out of it. Joel stood up and put another log on the fire, twisting things this way and that to bring it to life again. When he sat back down, he could see her gaze still on him. Unwavering, cautious.

“Where are you from?” she questioned. Curious thing she is, he thought. No use in hiding, though. 

“Well, born and raised in Texas. After the world went to hell… well. That’s where things get blurry.” he said, and shook his head like it would erase the memory of life at the QZ. She nodded, and he felt a little uneasy under her gaze. He refused to give in to her, though, and kept his gaze on the fire. 

“What about you? Where ya going?” he questioned, trying to shift the course of the conversation away from him. 

“Was supposed to be going north. Canada.” she said, and he nodded, sighing deeply. He didn’t know shit about the situation up there, but he knew it couldn’t be much better than here in the states. 

“You lost your people on the way?” he questioned, and glanced at her at that moment. Surprisingly, her gaze was locked on the fire, the flames castng eerie shadows on her features. His eyebrows furrowed, and he could see something move over her face. Regret, maybe? Fear?

Giving Joel a slight nod, his suspicions were confirmed, but also put him at ease. She was alone. Good. Meant that there wasn’t much for stragglers, or worry that someone was waiting to ambush him. He nodded in response, and looked her over again.

“I have a spare shirt, if you wanna get out of that.” he said, nodding to her attire. She looked at him, a bit of gratefulness in her eyes and nodded. The exchange was quick- she left to the bathroom and emerged with his (very faded) navy blue shirt and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Settling back onto the couch, she looked at Joel and mumbled a thanks. He nodded, waving his hand dismissively. But, it felt nice to have someone to take care of again. After losing Tess, he felt pretty lost, the only hope driving him was that he may see his brother again. Or die trying to get to him. 

He heard her shift and saw her back turned to him as she lay on the couch. He sighed, his rifle next to his leg and he felt himself slowly succumbing to sleep, despite his best efforts to stay vigilant and keep watch.

When he awoke, it was dark.

Not just dark- but pitch black.

The fire had apparently gone out, and all Joel could see that offered light was the last dying embers of the fire. He began to sit up, his back groaning in protest, but he suddenly felt a heaviness on his chest. Not from anxiety, but like a light pressure trying to keep him down. He grunted, but felt a warm breeze fan his face, the scent sweet but tangy. 

“It’s okay, Joel,” a voice cooed softly. Warmth pressed against his face, and he turned to it out of pure instinct. A hand that was warm and soft like velvet brushed against his skin. Comforting. 

“Rest. It’s going to be just fine.” The voice was encouraging, soft and sweet and utterly enticing. His thoughts strayed to her, and wondered if it was she who was speaking to him now. Why was she so close? Why did she move from the couch? How was she making it so easy for him to… Fall… Back…. Asleep……..

When he awoke, he was covered in a blanket, the curtains drawn back, and the fire roaring steadily in front of him. He frowned, shifting in the armchair and looked around. His gun still sat at his side, and his eyes scanned the room for the girl. But, she wasn’t on the couch. In fact, it was her blanket that was draped over him. 

He called out her name, and sat up, rubbing his chest where he thought he could still feel warmth pressed there. Had he imagined all of that? Had it been a dream? It felt like one, but at the same time, could have been mistaken for an experience teetering on the edge of dream and reality. 

He grabbed his rifle, but heard a voice-

“Oh! You’re awake.” 

He turned to see her standing in the hallway, and she looked a bit better in the daytime. When she stepped out of the darkness of the hallway and to the living room, he could see she was definitely looking better- not as sallow, cheeks a bit more rosy, eyes a bit more relaxed. She still wore his shirt, and he nodded, wincing at the pain that shot through his neck. He reached up and rubbed it carefully, like he slept on it wrong. She frowned,

“Are you alright?” she questioned, and Joel nodded, and pushed the blanket off of him to stand but suddenly became lightheaded, the floor coming to meet him rather quickly. He heard her cry out his name as he fell. and felt her warm touch on his arm, pulling him onto his back. He blinked, looking up at the ceiling, and then her face that hovered over him. She was mumbling something, hands tracing over his chest like she was trying to find something wrong.

Warmth. Hands. Pressure.

That dream was starting to feel a little more real.

“Joel? Can you hear me?” she questioned worriedly, and he coughed to clear his throat that felt like it was closing up.

“Y-Yeah. Can you- help me up.” he said, his question turning to a soft demand, and she put her arm under his own and helped him to a sitting position. She broke away and handed him his canteen that he swiftly downed, the room finally stopped spinning.

Guess that canned food wasn’t as good as he thought.

He looked at her and could see worry etched across her features, and he smiled gently.

“S’alright. Must have had some bad food last night.” he said, and she nodded, though the concern didn’t leave her face. 

“Come on. Let’s get you to the couch.” she said, and helped him to his feet. He was thankful he didn’t have to walk far, and nearly collapsed onto the couch had it not been for her strong hold on him. He blinked, and looked at her, suddenly feeling exposed. Raw. Open.

He couldn’t afford to be sick with someone new in his sights. What if others showed up? What if she tried to rob him of his things and leave? He shouldn’t have ever fallen asleep. He should have stayed awake, and tried to have kept watch. Something. Anything.

“Here, I'll heat you up something.” she said quickly, and stood up to pick up the can of chicken noodle soup she had barely touched last night. Joel was too tired to care or worry if she had done anything to it, and she returned what seemed like hours later with the can and the spoon. She helped him sit up and he took it gingerly, beginning to shovel it into his mouth. She watched him warily, and tilted her chin down to study him more. 

“Whatever it is, you need to rest. You won’t survive out there without being able to stand.” she said quietly, and he nodded, hating he had to agree with her. He needed time to recover from whatever the hell it was that had a hold on him, whether he liked it or not.

Fuck, he thought. He gave the woman a passing glance. He didn’t know if he could trust her entirely, but he didn’t have a choice.

He was stuck with her whether he liked it or not.

He felt better over the course of the day. He was able to walk outside with her, and she pointed out a stream nearby where they collected water and boiled it to refill their canteens. Joel had eventually taken off his boots and laid up on the couch. He felt lazy, and was disgusted with himself. He had never taken a day off in the 20 years since the outbreak. Even if he got sick in the QZ he’d pop a pill or two and sleep it off, getting up the next day and going back to work.

This “break” felt forced. He hated it.

But her, on the other hand… he was somewhat grateful for someone to talk to for once. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, and couldn’t concentrate on reading, he focused on her. Asking her questions, keeping things light. She kept things vague, and he couldn’t blame her. When she questioned him, he did the same. They were guarded, watching each other, trying to see if the other was trustworthy. 

And by the way she diligently took care of him, even if he was a stranger to her, he was starting to believe she was just a fellow human desperate for human connection. 

She sat on the armchair that he had vacated early that morning as he sat up on the couch. With water and some food in his system, he felt better. She entertained him with a story about her former party- something about a friend formulating a new game to entertain children with as they traveled. When he heard that, his heart fell into his stomach. She had been around a decent group then, and a family at that- he was jealous. But also deeply, deeply sad for her. She talked about them fondly, and he could see a sad glint in her eyes. He felt a pull to reach out and comfort her. 

That distracted him for a moment. Why was he so… caring for her? He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy. Never one to encourage physical touch, or any kind of intimate moment. His days of softness were long gone, so this surprised him. 

“I hope they’re okay, wherever they are.” she said at the closing of her story, pulling at the frayed edge of the blanket that lay next to her on the armchair. He nodded, knowing the feeling all too well. Hoping that whatever kind of peaceful afterlife there was, that all of those people he loved and cherished were there.

Nightfall came, and Joel knelt next to the fire, shifting the sticks to make the fire burn a bit brighter. She had somehow found some firewood, probably by former inhabitants, and they were using that to heat up the cabin living room. 

“Here, i’ll take the chair-” Joel said gruffly, turning to stand and he saw her looking at him with a hard expression. She cocked an eyebrow, and he did the same.

“Joel,” she said sternly like a mother disciplining their child. “You need to actually rest, okay? I know that’s a tough notion to wrap your head around, but still.”

“We can alternate, then.” he said, trying to figure out a compromise. Another first for him- compromising was not in his blood. But, he wanted to appease both of them. “You can take the couch, and I’ll take the armchair. Tomorrow-”

“Joel, take the damn couch.” she said, her tone not unkind but softly demanding. Like the wind had been knocked out from underneath him, he sat down onto it with a grunt. He shook his head, and she smiled. In the dim firelight, her teeth looked oddly white and straight. This was probably the first genuine smile he had seen from her, and it was radiant. 

He sighed, trying to show his disdain for giving in, and she shook her head with that same smile, looking towards the fire. He looked to the window where the curtains had been drawn again, and he could hear the sounds of the night beyond them. He sighed, sliding his boots off and threw his body onto the couch. He pulled the blanket halfway over him, his hand over his stomach. He could barely get the words out to bid her goodnight as his eyes fell shut and he floated away from reality. 

He must have been dreaming. There couldn’t be any other explanation.

He felt the warm heaviness on him again. This time it felt like it was straddling his waist, the same warm hands on his chest. Arousal twisted in his stomach, and his hips shifted involuntarily, meeting something solid and warm.

He hadn’t had a sex dream in a long while, hell, probably years-

He opened his eyes, the ceiling dark but discernible in the dying firelight. The warm heaviness covered him, and his neck felt sore again. His hand reached up, and found a warm, clothed waist.

Sensing movement from the corner of his eye, a head lifted. It was her, and she looked surprised. Her mouth was covered in some kind of dark substance, hard to tell in the light that was barely there, her lips dark with it as it trailed down her chin. Her hand smoothed over his chest, and she smiled sweetly, noticing the smallest bit of teeth exposed from under her upper lip. 

“You’re okay,” she cooed quietly, and he felt warm fingertips brush his lips. Feeling a soft roll of her hips, he groaned softly. Whatever this dream was, it was both thrilling and terrifying. “It’s okay, Joel. Go back to sleep, I’ve got you,” and her head moved back down from his view, and he felt the ghost of warm lips on his neck.

With no other choice and no strength to fight it, his hand dropped from her waist and complete darkness overtook him again.

When he awoke, the sun was barely peeking through the curtains, and he felt heavy, his head spinning like he was drunk. He shifted, trying to bring feeling into his limbs again, and he smelled something oddly appealing. 

Meat.

He slowly sat himself up right and saw the fire was still going steadily, more firewood sitting next to the fireplace. He heard movement behind him and turned to look back but winced, rubbing his neck, feeling like the muscle was spasming. He pulled his legs off the couch, and rubbed his eyes. When they cleared, he looked to the kitchen to see her at the kitchen table, canteens sitting and a plate of food waiting. She was pouring over a book, and he stood up slowly, his joints cracking lightly and making him wince.

She looked up at the sound and smiled, closing her book. 

“Made you something,” she said cheerily. He nodded, craning his neck to see what was on the table. “Got a squirrel this morning, hope you don’t mind I used your rifle. I don’t know how to set traps, so…” she said, and he walked over to the kitchen table slowly, settling in the seat. Shooting her a look, he wondered how the hell he slept through the shot. Was he really that tired?

He could see some vegetables from a can that were steaming next to the seared meat. His stomach grumbled, and he quickly took the (somehow clean?) fork and dug in. He realized he probably looked like an animal, and slowed down, his eyes raising to her. She grinned, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Good, isn’t it?” She laughed, and he nodded, swallowing.

“Sorry.” He murmured, a bit ashamed of his lack of manners. She laughed, and shook her head,

“No, it’s okay. I had some food myself before you woke up. You should have seen me… Probably looked like a monster or an animal or something.” She laughed, and he grunted in response, continuing to eat. Feeling like life was literally coming back to him, he sat up and back. He regarded her with a guarded expression, trying to piece together what his dream meant. He could still feel the impression of hands on him, and he rubbed his chest absentmindedly.

“How are you feeling?” she questioned, and he shrugged, looking out the kitchen window that showed the sun was high in the sky. How long had he been asleep?

“Fine.” he said, rubbing his face and letting it fall into his lap. She nodded, and picked up the plate and fork, walking over and setting it in the sink like she was a dutiful housewife performing tasks. He half expected her to turn on the water and wash it. But, she turned and faced him, smiling lightly.

“You look better.” she noted, nodding to him. He scoffed, and shook his head, wincing at his neck pain again.

“Wish I felt as good as I look, then.” he said, rubbing his neck absentmindedly. She watched him, tilting her head to the side. She pushed off the counter, and walked over to him. She gestured to him, like she was asking permission to help. He looked at her and frowned,

“I don’t need- I’m fine. It’s alright.” he said, waving her off and she rolled her eyes, scoffing.

“Don’t be such a man. It’s okay to accept help every once in a while.” she said, and walked behind him. He shifted uneasily, and then felt her hands on his shoulders. Light, careful… warm.

He tensed when she began to rub, and she laughed lightly,

“Joel, if you don’t relax, you won’t help yourself.” she said, and he frowned down into his lap, and willed himself to relax. But, he just couldn’t. The thought of someone being so near, and a woman at that- he was just a man, after all. She worked at a particular knot in his shoulder and he flinched. He felt her shift behind him, and as she leaned forward, he could feel her face nearly against his ear.

“Relax.” she breathed quietly, and like a switch had flipped, he sunk into the chair. It felt like he was weightless- floating in the ocean, carried wherever the tide took him. Not a care in the world. Nothing mattered in the moment- not the Infected that roamed outside, the threat of raiders, the overall state of the world- nothing. Just bliss.

He let out a soft sigh, his head lolling forward as she continued to rub at his shoulders, her lithe hands moving to his neck. He sighed as the warmth enveloped him, feeling almost hot at this point- but the heat soothed his neck, making him even more lax. 

“Does that feel good?” she murmured, and he lifted his head slightly, mumbling a “yeah.” He could feel her hands working at his neck delicately, like she wasn’t massaging anymore but just… feeling. He really had been deprived of human connection, human touch, that he let out a soft moan.

His eyes opened gently, and he saw her kneeling in front of him, her eyebrows knitted in concern. She was calling his name, back down from the cloud he had been floating on. He blinked, and she put a hand on his knee.

“I think you dozed off.” she laughed lightly, and he looked at her, then the hand on his knee. He cleared his throat, sitting up straight but couldn’t tear his eyes away from her hand. She didn’t move it, even as he tried to regain composure.

“Yeah, uh… you must have magic hands.” he said, and she grinned. If he thought her teeth were bright and straight last night, it was even more so apparent today. And her lips were a deeper shade, like she had been putting on lipstick or receiving too many kisses. He swallowed.

She stood up slowly, and he watched her with soft brown eyes. He felt rooted in the chair, caught in her orbit. She nudged his knees apart gently, and he spread them dutifully, leaning back in the chair with a heavy stare. She tilted her head to the side, her hand moving out to touch his chest. He raised his hand, placing it over hers as it pressed over his steadily beating heart. She smiled, and he felt utterly entranced. Every movement was slow, graceful. He didn’t even notice when she settled into his lap, her other hand moving to the back of his neck. 

His free hand moved to her waist, where it held her gently. She was silent as the grave, but her body language and gaze spoke volumes. He could see this look in her eyes- soft, sultry, and maybe a bit pitiful. He raised his hand from his chest to her face, where he cupped her cheek gently. He leaned up slowly, like he was trying to emulate her easy movements, and she bent her head to meet him halfway, joining their lips in a kiss. 

The hand that rested on the back of his neck became firm, her hand curling up and holding his hair at the base of his neck. She leaned into the kiss and he sucked in a breath through his nose, feeling a hunger come over him. His hand on her waist became possessive, grabbing her and pulling her close and he heard her gasp softly against his lips. 

“What do you want?” he whispered against her lips as he went between kissing them and hovering over them. His jeans grew tight in his lap, and he could feel her smirk against his lips, giving her hips a roll. He groaned, his eyebrows furrowing and he pulled her down to guide her movements. 

“You,” she murmured, moving to kiss his cheek, his cheekbone, then jaw. He sighed, his eyes falling shut at her warm lips pressing against him. “I want all of you.”

When she moved to his neck, she lay a few careful kisses on the skin, moving to his pulse point. He grit his teeth, bringing her pelvis down to his to grind against him, his cock harder than it had been in years. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, taking her face back in his hand and crashing his lips against hers. She leaned into him, moving her hips in a way that made him moan. His hands found their way under her thighs and in a moment of sheer strength and lust, he lifted her up and carried her to the couch.

He lay her back on it and she huffed, looking up at him with glassy eyes and a smirk on those pretty lips. Her eyes moved down his chest, and he began to undo the buttons of his flannel, not even needing her to ask. She pushed herself up as he let it slide off his shoulders, pulling his undershirt off not too long after. She raised a hand, pressing against his stomach, up to his sternum, then chest. He leaned down to her and her hand snaked around his neck, pulling him towards her. He crawled over top of her, and she smiled, kissing his lips deeply. 

He sighed into her mouth, and ground his hips against hers. Hand moving up her side, under her shirt, he reveled in her warmth. She pulled away to pull her shirt off, and he was surprised to see nothing underneath. Fine by him, since he dove in and took a nipple into his mouth, giving it a hard suck. She whined, her hand curling in his hair again. He grunted in response to her flexing against his hair, and he bit down on it with just enough pressure to make her gasp, her hips lifting to his.

“Joel…” she whispered, her voice sounding familiar. Comforting.

He moved to her other breast, his hand moving up to fondle the other that he had abandoned. He laved against her skin, tasting her sweetness and soft, supple body. Everything about her seemed magical, other worldly- like she was an angel coming down to please him and him only.

He breathed her name into her skin, trailing kisses up her breast, her chest, her neck, her jaw. She whined in response again, and it only made the hardness in his jeans a bit more unbearable. He felt a tug at his waistband, and he undid her jeans, sliding them down and he stood to rid himself of his own pants. When his cock sprung free, hard and red and weeping with precome, she looked like she could salivate on the spot.

With their bodies now fully exposed, Joel settled between her legs, his hips grinding against hers. His cock brushed her slick core, and her body twitched in response. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped him, just thinking that she was just so wet. And all for him? He was a lucky man.

He felt her hand move down his side, then to his front where it wrapped around his cock. He sucked in a breath, feeling stiff and like he needed a release as quickly as possible. She dragged his cock over her pussy, and he shuddered. She looked up at him, pulling him up to meet her gaze.

“You want this,” she asked, but it ended up sounding more like a statement. He looked at her with a pleading expression, nodding gently, and she smiled like she had won the lottery. She kissed him deeply, and lined him up against her core. Without much more encouragement, he slipped inside her. 

Their chorus of moans echoed around the room, and Joel’s hips began to move as if on their own accord. He was completely out of this world by now- he didn’t feel like he was in control of his body. He felt like he was just sitting inside, feeling, and watching it happen. 

But god, was it not all so fucking good. Every sense was afire, his skin feeling as hot as the surface as the sun. He even began to collect sweat on his forehead, and down his spine.

He moved his hips against hers, dipping his head into the curve of her neck, laying soft kisses there. She tensed beneath him, and it caused his hips to falter just a bit, his cock twitching within her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and was able to take him deeper. He felt like his arms would give out from holding himself up with the way she twitched and moved her hips against his. The way his tip hit her cervix was making him tense. He felt her lips on his neck again, and he gripped the blanket beneath them so much his knuckles turned white with pressure. 

“God- goddamn.” he huffed against her skin, and he could feel her grin against his skin, laying a soft kiss on the side of his neck.

“God has nothing to do with us.” she said quietly, and he nodded, feeling like he was going to combust. His movements got more erratic, more frantic, the couch shifting beneath them as Joel continued his assault on her body. 

“I’m gonna- fuck-” he choked out, and she kept her legs tightly around him, feeling her heels dig into his ass. 

“It’s okay, baby. Let go.” she whispered, and he could feel the pressure rising in his lower stomach, and then suddenly it was as if a dam had burst. His hot spend began to release in her womb, and he then felt a pinch on his neck, lightheadedness coming over him. 

“It’s alright,” she cooed, and he somehow managed to keep thrusting into her through his high, panting into her neck. He felt warmth run down his shoulder, and her hand moved to his back to keep him against her. Her hand that lay on his neck curled in, keeping him locked in place. 

He didn’t know what came over him, but he turned his face to her neck and bit down. Hard.

She cried out, her body spasming around him and he almost came again, tasting something bitter and of iron on his tongue. Her body convulsed around him, and his hips were slowing down. Her head stayed pressed against his neck, that pain he felt turning into a dull throb. She laid her head back down, and he pulled away to see blood drip onto her chest from his lips. 

He panted, looking down at her as she looked up at him with stars in her eyes, her lips tinged with red that dripped from the corners of her mouth. He leaned down and kissed her there, licking up the liquid and hearing her sigh against him softly. He pulled out of her at last, his spend dripping out of her weeping hole. He collapsed on top of her, but managed to keep one arm up to keep looking at her. Her hand moved to his parted red lips and swiped the blood from his lower lip gently. 

She raised her finger in her mouth and licked, smiling up at him. Her hand moved to touch his cheek, bringing his forehead against hers as he panted, trying so hard to not pass out.

“I have been waiting for you.” she whispered, and he could only look at her in awe. She really was beautiful- exquisite. Ethereal. Divine. Like she didn’t belong amongst unremarkable, average humans.

He wouldn’t know this now, but when the next day would break, things would be different. Very, very different. Almost alarmingly so. 

But for now, he leaned his head into the crook of her neck that still seeped crimson, and pressed his lips there. He sighed, relaxed, and his eyes fell closed with the feeling of her hand moving steadily through his dark curls threaded with silver. 

Comment, like, reblog, anything is appreciated! Divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

(Request)

Headcannons for:

Going over to the Cullens’ house for the first time:

Carlisle Cullen:

Firstly, he would absolutely be making sure everyone is acting right

Secondly, he had that house cleaned spotless

I think he would trust you to find your way there, but he did offer to pick you up

He would make sure that everything would keep you comfortable; the heater is on, blankets are out, he got food, etc etc

He would probably show you around but then have the two of you sit in the living room as he made the rest of his family introduce themselves and talk with the two of you

I think he would be someone who genuinely has so much pride in the people he’s around, so he would probably brag about/explain all his family’s achievements even if it’s something simple and silly

The pride goes for you, too, and he’s for sure talking about your achievements and accomplishments in a way that makes his family relate to them so there’s more conversation

I think he would also probably show you around outside, and he’d probably tell stories about certain things like the trails or why there’s this or that in the house

I don’t think he would talk about vampirism that much unless you asked, but he would be explaining things around it if you didn’t know or he thought you would want to

Esme Cullen:

Being the most motherly of the Cullen-Hale family, I think that if she invited you over (as human), she would do a similar thing like in Twilight and likely try to prepare something to make you feel comfortable

Whether it’s food, TV, or games (that she forces everyone to play), I think that she would pay a lot of attention to your comfort and reactions

Whether or not you’re capable of doing things on your own, she would be there to assist you by either fetching things for you (“like a good host”) or directing you to things

She definitely pointed out where everything is as soon as you stepped inside

Definitely started telling stories about the trinkets she has around the house

“Do you see the driftwood boat I have on the wall, with the succulents? Edward threw a tree at Emmett the last time we were in town, and that’s all that was left! I keep it to remind them to be aware of their strength:))”

She would also be the sort of attentive host that would be asking you questions about yourself and relating whatever you say to her family, so that you can make conversation later

She would also be very careful about talking about the vampire stuff, so they don’t sound even more weird to you

Made sure everyone ate before you came over

Edward Cullen:

He’s driving with you, and he’s monitoring everyone’s thoughts so they don’t make you uncomfortable

He would begrudgingly let Esme talk to you about your life, but like in the actual series, I think he would quickly get you away from the rest of his family

Most likely, the two of you would be hanging out in his room and he would talk about the things in there

He’s very proud of his music collection, and I think he probably would have put something on that he thinks you would like

Definitely thought to keep the house warm for you, because the rest of his family isn’t bothered by the temperatures and the house is usually cold asf

He would probably be trying to read you/watch you closely for any signs that you need something

I think he’d be like Esme or Rosalie in this regard, and make sure that you are provided anything you need while over there

If, like in the actual saga, you two go out, he wouldn’t be opposed to showing off. Definitely would pull you around to show off his speed or strength, but I think he would also be overly conscious that he’s actually freezing

Would make sure to meet your parents before actually taking you over to his house, since he does try to be a gentleman (he also wants to make sure they get a good impression of him)

Also made everyone sweat to act normal

Rosalie Hale:

(She’s my favorite, I love her)

If she invites you over to her house, be honored because even if she did like you, I think she would keep you away because she wants to pretend to be normal for a while

Getting her to invite you over was like pulling teeth for Alice and Esme

She also would pick you up, and I think she would probably warn you about her family and apologize in advance

When you get to the house, she definitely tried to hustle you into her room but Alice and Esme stopped her to introduce themselves and such

She would likely keep the two of you in her room the most, but I think she would allow others to be in there with you for brief periods of time also, as long as they swore to her not to be weird or rude

She would be another one that would be mostly worried about running you off, so she would probably not talk about the vampire stuff unless you asked really nicely

She was born in the early twentieth century, so I think she would be a really good host since it was a really big part of the culture on the time

She probably cleaned her room very well, laid out some blankets or a robe nicely across the bed (she has one, idc if she doesn’t sleep), got some flowers for the desk, etc

She also probably fends off Esme and her questions, but is later bullied into answering for you if you didn’t get the chance

Jasper Hale:

Like Rosalie, I think he would also be borderline unwilling to invite you over (for different reasons though)

I think that while he has pride in his family, and trusts them greatly, he would be more afraid of something happening and him reacting to it (like Bella’s birthday party)

When he does eventually invite you over, he probably has you drive yourself but waits for you outside so he can open your door for you

He’s also from a time period where manners were extremely important, especially in the way women were treated and how you presented yourself, so I think he would probably have his spaces very tidy and everyone in good moods

He would probably be glad that Esme and Carlisle were engaging you in conversations, so I think he would be happy to sit with them in the living room and talk

Probably is also worried about you being uncomfortable, so he would make sure to pay attention to any of your cues or mood shifts

Probably wouldn’t take you anywhere that it would be only you two, at least not at first, because he does have a fear of hurting you (in a similar way that Edward does in the series, but they go about it very differently)

Would probably like to sit outside with you and talk

Emmett Cullen:

I think he would pick you up, but not in a car

He’s running

I think that he wouldn’t be bothered showing off his vampiric qualities since you already know, but he wouldn’t probably keep it on the more minimal (for him) side because he doesn’t want to actually scare you

If had medical equipment that he couldn’t run with, he would instead take his Jeep and have all the windows down to feel like he’s running still

He would probably show you around the house (per Esme’s instruction), but tell you any embarrassing story behind anything

“That corner’s where Jasper ate shit because he didn’t see a table! Put his head through the wall and everything!”

Probably would not have thought to bring food for you, but Esme took care of it when he said you were coming over

Isn’t bothered by anyone’s bad attitude, but also doesn’t let it come that close

Shows you his room and explains all the stuff he has in there, like trophies or trinkets

He definitely collects things like a crow, so there’s a lot of interesting things

Tbh his room would have no cohesion to it but he did pick it up so it looked nice for you

Probably would also gift you something if you liked it enough (you’re leaving with a license plate he stole from Edward thirty years ago that got Edward arrested)

Alice Cullen:

She had a vision about you coming over, so when she asked it was more of a statement

She also knew almost anything you would need, so she went to the store for snacks (and blankets, and house shoes, and pajamas. It was really just an excuse to get you things and to spend her money)

I think she would pick you up from your house and drive to hers, but I also think she would probably take the most scenic route there to talk to you

She probably saw how her family reacted, and explained their personalities to you (if you weren’t all that close to them) and threatened them to play nice (if they weren’t on their best behavior in her vision)

She for sure would drag you around the house and explain any stories

Would definitely tell you something embarrassing as shit about Edward (which she knows he hears)

Would probably not take you to hang out in her room, but instead somewhere like the roof, or the porch

Would probably tell you about any visitors she’s had (but only the light hearted ones, because she really doesn’t want to frighten you)

Would also probably show you all the clothes she’s accumulated and gift you anything she’s seen you like or bought to give you

Over all, you’re leaving with stuff she’s given you and if you try not to take it, it ends up in your house somewhere, somehow

————

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it 💕

[marlenemckinn]

First Time Meeting The Family- January 3rd - 917 words - @wolfstarmicrofic

Humming to himself, Sirius glides into the fiber arts store Reggie recently started working at. He’s thrilled his baby brother is working somewhere he’s able to enjoy something that he loves, so Sirius is dropping off lunch even though he knows Regulus will be embarrassed. It’s a gorgeous shop, and Reggie said that the owner and other workers are all so kind. Sirius even grabbed a little box of cookies for the rest of the staff at the place he had stopped for Regulus’ lunch.

When he steps past the threshold into the colorful, warm shop. The place is filled with walls of yarn and tools Sirius knew nothing of, but he had seen Reggie with all sorts of things. There is a long dark wood table in the back with mismatched stools all around it where a few older women are chatting as they were knitting (Sirius knows it’s not crochet because Sirius was once nearly stabbed with a knitting needle over the mistake). Behind that is a hallway where Sirius suspects they have another room or two for the classes Regulus has told him about.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” Regulus hisses from behind the cash wrap.

Grinning, Sirius bounces over to his brother. Reggie’s cheeks are pink and he’s holding on to the edge of the counter. Next to him is a person with the most beautiful microbraids, all woven with different colors. “Oh, is this your sibling?” The person asks.

“Yes, I’m Sirius. I’ve come bearing cookies,” He sets the box down and slides it over to the person. “Those are for everyone. And Reg, I got you your favorite wrap with the good crisps and one of those fancy sodas.” With another grin he hands Regulus the paper bag.

Before Regulus answers he hears a very familiar voice coming closer. “I know mum. I’ll make sure to get it looked at.”

Sirius’ eyes widen, his gaze snapping in the direction of Remus’ voice. They had been seeing one another for just over a month now. Yes, Sirius is dating a farmer, which James seems to find hilarious.

“Can you leave before my boss comes out here?”

Remus comes around the corner, his brow furrowing in confusion when he sees Sirius. Before either of them can properly greet one another, the older woman he’s walking with – his mother – gasps when she sees him. “You’re Regulus’ brother, aren’t you? Spitting images, you’re right, dear.”

Sirius glances at Remus again then Regulus. He’s not really sure how to handle this because he’s not been dating Remus very long. It seems a bit early to meet the parents, but it also seems weird to not acknowledge one another. “Yeah! Regulus’ brother.”

“Yes, I’m Sirius. Nice t–”

The woman smacks Remus on the arm then hustles over. “Sirius! No, you’re seeing my son.”

“Oh my god.” Remus shakes his head as his mother hugs Sirius. “I’m so sorry, Sirius, I didn’t realize your brother was working here til I just came by with some wool.” 

“Hi, yes. I am. I’m also Reggie’s brother too.”

“This is wonderful. It’s fate, isn’t it? You both were meant to meet, I think.” She pulls back smiling.

“Mum, we’ve been dating for a month, please relax.” Remus stepped closer.

She waves a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, darling.”

“You too, ma’am.”

“No, no, it’s Hope.” She shakes her head. “It’s very sweet of you coming by to see your brother, don’t hesitate to stop by anytime.”

Sirius can see Reggie flipping him off over Hope’s shoulder. “Oh, I’ll be dropping by often. I also came with cookies.”

Letting out a soft laugh, Remus . “I have to get going.”

“I’ll walk with you!” Sirius says quickly. “I’m sure Reggie wants me out of his hair and I hate to disturb.”

“You’re no bother. You’re welcome anytime and when Remus and you are… going steady or whatever people say nowadays I’d love to have you for dinner.” She smiles as her son’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red.

“Okay, okay. Bye, love you.” Hugging her, Remus kisses her on the cheek before looking to Sirius. “Shall we?”

“Yeah. Nice meeting you, Hope. Bye Regulus!”

Without much more conversation, Sirius and Remus head for the door. Neither of them exchange a word of even a look until they’re at Remus’ truck just down the way. Sirius leans back against the driver’s side door and raises an eyebrow Remus and they both burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry!” Remus shakes his head. “I saw Regulus when I went through with a delivery. I was going to text you on my way out asking if your brother was working here.”

“It’s really okay. I wasn’t expecting to meet your mother today or anytime soon, but she seems lovely.”

“She is.” Remus grimaces as he shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out his keys.

“Your shoulder still bothering you?”

“Yes, I’ve just been lectured on it.” He rolls his eyes.

“Ah, I like your mum, you need a mother hen because I think you’d cut your hand off and pretend you were fine.” Sirius holds out his hand to Remus.

Slipping his free hand into Sirius’ he steps closer, sort of crowding Sirius against the truck. “I’m fine. I’ll see a doctor.”

“Good.” Sirius beams then gives him a peck. “Are we still doing dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then dinner with your parents on Sunday.” The question comes with a little grin.

“Ha-ha.”

[niallerspayno]

Fire and Ice - Part 1

Masterlist

Being One Direction’s opening act is the opportunity of a lifetime, and you step into it with your signature confidence and charm. Bold, flirty, and unapologetically fiery, you’re everything Zayn Malik isn’t—and he can’t stand you for it. But as the tour rolls on and the sparks of your heated clashes fly, the line between animosity and something more begins to blur. Will you stay locked in your battle of wills, or will your fiery feud ignite a very different kind of flame?

Tags: Zayn x reader, enemies to lovers

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

…

You stride into the rehearsal space with purpose, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. It’s a sound that commands attention, and sure enough, the noise and laughter inside the room fade as five pairs of eyes turn to you.

This is it. The moment. You’ve worked too hard to let nerves creep in now. You square your shoulders, letting your trademark confidence take center stage, and offer a slow, deliberate smile.

The band—One Direction—is sitting in a loose circle, mid-conversation. They look every bit like the superstars you’ve seen plastered across billboards and magazine covers, yet something about them feels real. Maybe it’s the way Harry’s lounging with his feet propped on a chair, or the fact that Niall has a guitar resting on his lap, strumming absentmindedly.

You take a second to collect your thoughts, reminding yourself of why you’re here. You’re not just some filler act plucked from obscurity; you’re a breakout indie artist who’s spent the last year grinding her way onto the charts. Critics love your raw, unapologetic sound. Fans love your fiery stage presence. And now, they—the biggest boyband in the world—have decided to bring you along for the ride.

Paul, the tour manager, steps forward, opening his mouth to make introductions, but you beat him to it. “I think the heels said hello first,” you quip, your voice carrying just the right mix of humor and bravado.

Louis is the first to react, his head tilting as a sly grin spreads across his face. “Oh, she’s got jokes,” he says, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of approval. “I think I’m gonna like this one.”

You flash him a grin. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Niall chuckles, his accent soft but unmistakable. “You’re off to a good start. Welcome to the madhouse.” He gestures broadly at the room, his easygoing warmth making you feel instantly at ease.

“I thrive in chaos,” you reply, locking eyes with him. There’s something about his boyish grin that tells you you’ll get along just fine.

Harry is next, standing to offer a handshake. His smile is wide and disarming, dimples flashing as he says, “It’s great to have you on board. Your stuff is brilliant, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, a flicker of genuine gratitude breaking through your polished exterior. You’ve been praised before, but hearing it from someone as massive as Harry Styles feels different.

Liam steps up beside Harry, his handshake firm but his expression soft. “If there’s anything you need, just let us know. We’re all here to make this easy for you.”

“Appreciate that,” you say, and you mean it. His sincerity is grounding in the best way.

It’s all so smooth, so effortless—until your eyes land on Zayn.

He’s leaning against the wall at the back of the room, arms crossed, his sharp features set in an unreadable expression. Unlike the others, he hasn’t moved an inch since you walked in. His dark eyes meet yours briefly, then flick away like he’s already decided you’re not worth his time.

It’s a blow, but you recover quickly, masking the sting with a playful smirk. You stride closer, letting your heels announce your approach, and stop just short of his bubble. “Not a fan of introductions?”

For a moment, you think he’s not going to respond. Then he shrugs, his voice low and uninterested. “Not really.”

The dismissal is obvious, but it doesn’t faze you. If anything, it makes your smile sharpen. “Good thing I’ve never needed anyone to roll out the red carpet for me.”

Louis snorts a laugh, and even Niall seems amused. But Zayn doesn’t react, his expression remaining impassive. It’s infuriating, really. Most people crack under your boldness, or at least engage with it. But he just… doesn’t.

Fine, you think, stepping back and turning your attention to the others. If he wants to be the stoic, brooding type, so be it. You’re here to perform, not win him over.

Still, as you settle into the room and the conversation picks back up, you can’t help but steal a glance in Zayn’s direction. He’s quiet, observing, his demeanor so completely opposite to your own. And yet, there’s something about his silence that feels louder than the rest of the room.

Trouble, you think to yourself. Zayn Malik is going to be trouble.

And you already know you’ll rise to the challenge.

…

Soundcheck hums with anticipation as the crew adjusts levels and instruments. You’ve already watched the boys go first, their harmonies and banter effortlessly charming. But now it’s your turn, and you’re ready to remind everyone why you’ve been picked to open for the biggest band in the world.

You sling your custom Fender over your shoulder, fingers brushing the strings like it’s second nature. Niall’s eyes light up immediately, his appreciation as obvious as the grin spreading across his face. “That’s gorgeous,” he says, gesturing at the guitar. “Custom build?”

You nod, offering a small smirk. “Had it made last year. She’s a beauty, huh?”

“More than a beauty,” Niall says, stepping closer to admire it. “Bet she’s got a wicked sound.”

“Want me to prove it?” you tease, and Niall laughs, backing off with his hands raised.

You step to the mic, letting the confidence you wear so well radiate from your stance. “Alright, let’s do ‘Reckless Hearts,’” you tell the sound engineer, a familiar flicker of adrenaline sparking in your veins.

The first chords roar through the speakers, the sound loud and untamed. It’s the kind of music that fills a space completely, demanding attention. Your voice cuts through it all—raw, vibrant, unapologetically you. It’s bold, brash, and maybe even a little showy, but that’s always been your style. You own every second of it.

When the final chord fades, there’s a stunned silence, broken first by Niall. “Bloody hell, that was unreal!” he says, clapping loudly. His grin is infectious, his excitement genuine.

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a grin before glancing at the others. Louis looks impressed, Harry nods with an approving smile, and Liam gives you a quick thumbs-up. It’s all so validating—until you catch Zayn out of the corner of your eye.

He’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, his head tilted just enough to make his disinterest clear. You think you hear him mutter something under his breath, and though you can’t catch the exact words, the flicker of amusement on his face is unmistakable.

You narrow your eyes, turning to face him fully. “Something you want to share with the class?”

The air shifts, the casual camaraderie evaporating as everyone looks between you and Zayn. His gaze meets yours, calm and steady, but there’s something sharp beneath the surface.

“Not really,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying just enough edge to make your pulse quicken. “Just thinking loud doesn’t always mean good.”

The jab lands, but instead of faltering, you step closer, your smile sharpening. “Oh, so we’re music critics now? I didn’t realize brooding came with a degree in sound engineering.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, and Louis mutters, “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” under his breath.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, his cool demeanor unwavering. “I’m just saying, sometimes it’s better to focus on what’s underneath all the noise.”

Your heart races, but you refuse to back down. “And sometimes,” you shoot back, tilting your head, “the noise is the point. You’d know that if you didn’t spend so much time trying to fade into the background.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Liam says, stepping between you with a mixture of calm authority and awkwardness. “Let’s keep it civil, yeah?”

You take a step back, but your gaze doesn’t leave Zayn’s. The room feels electric, like a storm is brewing, and you can’t tell if you’re irritated or intrigued by the way he looks so unimpressed.

Harry, ever the diplomat, gives a small laugh, his dimples flashing. “Reckless Hearts, huh? Fitting title.”

You finally tear your eyes away from Zayn to look at Harry. “What can I say? I live up to it.” You wink at him, your flirty tone breaking some of the tension in the room.

Liam sighs, shooting you both a pointed look. “Let’s try not to kill each other before the first show, yeah?”

You shrug, tossing your guitar pick onto a nearby amp with a casual flick. “No promises,” you say, but there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes as you glance at Zayn one last time.

He doesn’t say anything, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he knows you’re not done sparring yet.

And he’s absolutely right.

…

The hotel roof is quieter than you expect, the city humming far below, distant enough to feel like another world. After the chaos of the first concert, you need this—space to breathe, to let the adrenaline settle before it drags you into insomnia.

You push the heavy door open, the cool night air brushing against your flushed skin. But before you can enjoy the solitude, the faint glow of a cigarette catches your eye.

Zayn is leaning against the wall, hoodie up, smoke curling lazily around him. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence, but the slight shift of his shoulders says he’s aware of you.

“Figures,” you mutter, stepping onto the rooftop. “Of all the places to find you.”

He exhales a slow stream of smoke, still not looking your way. “And yet you’re here anyway.”

The irritation in his voice only fuels your boldness. “Didn’t realize the rooftop was part of your brooding territory.”

He finally turns his head, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t realize you’d follow me everywhere.”

You laugh, sharp and unapologetic. “Oh, trust me, Malik. If I wanted company, I’d pick literally anyone else.”

“Good,” he says flatly, turning back toward the skyline.

The tension crackles, thick and tangible, but you refuse to let him freeze you out. You walk closer, leaning against the wall beside him, and the faint scent of his cologne mixes with the sharp tang of smoke.

“Got a spare?” you ask, nodding at the cigarette in his hand.

“No,” he says without looking at you.

You tilt your head, feigning disappointment. “Shame. Guess I’ll have to improvise.”

Before he can react, you snatch the cigarette right out of his fingers, holding it to your lips with a cheeky grin. His head snaps toward you, his expression caught between disbelief and annoyance.

“Are you serious?” he snaps, straightening slightly.

You take a slow, deliberate drag, the burn of the smoke familiar and comforting. Exhaling, you meet his glare head-on. “Deadly.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to grab it back. Instead, he crosses his arms, watching you like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort. “You’ve got a real habit of being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You grin, flicking the ash to the side. “Aw, I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me, Malik. I’m flattered.”

He huffs a humorless laugh, finally snatching the cigarette back. His fingers brush yours, but the contact is as fleeting as it is charged. “Trust me, you’re hard to miss. You make sure of that.”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed, letting his words roll off you. “And you make sure no one notices you, huh? Is that the whole vibe? Silent and brooding, too cool for the rest of us?”

His eyes narrow, and for the first time tonight, there’s fire behind them. “At least I don’t need to scream to be heard.”

The comment hits like a punch, but you refuse to let him see it land. Instead, you smirk, tilting your head. “Says the guy who barely says two words to anyone. Tell me, Zayn, what do you do to make an impression? Besides sulk in corners and chain-smoke your feelings?”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a second, you think you might’ve actually gone too far. But instead of snapping back, he takes another drag, his gaze locking on yours.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says, voice low and almost amused.

“Not when I’m right,” you counter, your smirk unwavering.

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that you can’t catch, and it only makes you grin wider.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unresolved tension, until he flicks the cigarette over the edge of the roof and pushes off the wall.

“Good talk,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he walks past you toward the door.

You don’t move, letting him pass, but your voice follows him, playful and cutting. “Anytime, Malik. Let me know if you want another lesson in how to have a personality.”

He pauses for half a second, and you swear you catch the faintest twitch of a smile before he disappears through the door, leaving you alone with the city lights and the lingering smell of smoke.

…

The next day the arena is buzzing with activity as the crew preps for the second show. The boys are scattered across the stage, instruments and mics in hand, while you sit on one of the amp cases, tuning your guitar. The energy is lighter today, everyone still riding the high from last night’s show, but you can feel the shift whenever Zayn is within ten feet of you.

“Alright, let’s run it again,” Liam calls out, adjusting the mic stand in front of him.

The band launches into the first few bars of their opener, and you hum along absentmindedly as you tighten your strings. You’re so focused on your guitar that you almost don’t notice Louis plopping down beside you.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he says, elbowing you lightly.

You glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “What can I say? I’m a ray of sunshine.”

Louis snorts, shaking his head. “Sunshine, sure. With a side of fire and chaos.”

Before you can fire back, Niall wanders over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “She’s just excited to see Zayn, aren’t you?” he teases, his grin wicked.

You laugh, loud and unapologetic, and lean into the joke without hesitation. “Oh, you caught me,” you say dramatically, clutching your chest like you’re confessing a deep secret. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m absolutely swooning over the way he glares at me from across the room.”

The boys burst out laughing, even Harry letting out a chuckle as he adjusts his in-ear monitors. But Zayn, standing by his mic stand, freezes. His head snaps toward you, his expression stormy.

“You wish,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

The comment only fuels you further. You grin, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you stand up. “Don’t deny it, Malik. I see the way you look at me.”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Louis chimes in, grinning as he leans into his own mic. “You’re not exactly subtle, mate.”

“I’m not—” Zayn cuts himself off, exhaling sharply as he glares at Louis. “Give it a rest.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Niall says, his grin widening. “We’ve all seen it. Sparks flying, the bickering, the tension.”

“Tension?” Zayn scoffs, crossing his arms. “You’re imagining things.��

You step closer, your guitar still slung over your shoulder, and tilt your head at him. “Am I?” you ask, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been thinking about me a lot.”

His jaw tightens, and you swear you see the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “In your dreams,” he says flatly, his tone colder than usual.

You bite back a laugh, sensing you’ve hit a nerve. “Oh, Malik,” you say, your voice dropping just enough to make it sound suggestive. “If you keep denying it so much, people are going to think you’re overcompensating.”

The rest of the boys are practically howling now, and you can’t help but smile as Harry claps Zayn on the shoulder, grinning. “She’s got a point, mate.”

Zayn shrugs Harry’s hand off, his glare cutting across the stage to you. “You’re all ridiculous,” he snaps, his voice tight with frustration.

You shrug, unfazed, and strum a quick chord on your guitar. “If by ridiculous you mean charming and irresistible, then yes, I agree.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” Zayn mutters, turning back to his mic as the sound engineer waves for another run-through.

“Careful, Zayn,” you call after him, grinning. “If you keep being this grumpy, I might think you’re trying to hide your feelings.”

He doesn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tense as he adjusts his mic says enough.

“Alright, let’s focus,” Liam says, stepping in like the unofficial dad of the group. “Soundcheck’s not going to run itself.”

The teasing dies down as everyone shifts back into work mode, but you don’t miss the way Zayn pointedly avoids looking at you for the rest of the session.

And honestly? That only makes it more fun.

…

After the concert, the green room buzzes with energy. The adrenaline from the show still hangs in the air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face. Tonight went perfectly, and you know it. The crowd loved you. Hell, you loved the crowd. You’re laughing with Niall, still riding the high of the performance, when you catch Zayn across the room. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with a look on his face that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is, it’s not approval.

Louis gives you a knowing look, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Zayn’s been sulking ever since the set,” he says quietly, but with a teasing undertone. “You might’ve actually stolen the show tonight.”

You can’t help but grin. You know exactly where this is going.

“Oh, please,” you reply, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “If he wasn’t so busy glaring at me, maybe he’d have time to enjoy the crowd, too.”

Louis laughs, but before you can say anything else, Zayn’s voice cuts through the conversation like a sharp blade.

“You’re getting a little too comfortable with that spotlight, don’t you think?”

You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that almost feels like a challenge. The playful mood in the room shifts immediately. The others stop talking, sensing the tension between you two.

You don’t flinch. Instead, you push off the wall and saunter toward him, your steps deliberate, your confidence unwavering. You know exactly how to provoke him.

“What’s the matter, Zayn?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You mad that people actually want to see the opening act?”

His eyes narrow, and he steps forward, his tone colder now, each word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

“You’re not the star here. You’re the opening act.”

You don’t back down, leaning in just a little, showing him you’re not afraid. If anything, you want him to escalate it.

“I know my place,” you shoot back, your voice sharp. “Do you?”

Zayn’s jaw clenches as he takes a step closer. You can feel the anger radiating off him, but you stand your ground, not a hint of fear in your posture.

“If you want to keep this up,” he says, his words low and dangerous, “I’ll remind you just how out of place you are.”

Your heart races, but you don’t break eye contact. You smirk, daring him to push further.

“Go ahead,” you reply coolly. “I’m not afraid of you. Or your attitude.”

Zayn’s lip curls into a sneer, but it’s mixed with frustration. The room is silent now, all eyes on you both, the band waiting to see who will snap first. Harry exchanges a glance with Liam, who looks more amused than concerned.

“I don’t need your advice,” Zayn mutters, the words tight, almost like he’s forcing them out.

Before you can respond, Liam steps in, trying to smooth things over.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “We get it, you two don’t like each other. Can we just—”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave, still not looking away from Zayn.

“No, let him speak,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. “He’s been dying to get this off his chest for days.”

Zayn’s eyes flash, his temper starting to show. He moves a little closer, his body language saying everything you need to know. He’s pissed. But you don’t back down. You lean in a little, enough to make him uncomfortable, enough to show you won’t be intimidated.

“You think being loud and brash is going to get you anywhere?” he asks, his tone venomous. “People won’t remember you for that.”

You let out a short laugh, as if the idea is laughable.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

There’s a moment of tense silence. The rest of the band watches, the air thick with anticipation. It feels like the whole room is holding its breath. Zayn, his jaw tight, looks like he’s about to say something else, but before he can, Niall pipes up from the back, grinning.

“Well, if you’re gonna keep fighting like this, might as well get a room,” he says, half-joking. “We could all use some entertainment!”

Zayn shoots Niall a glare, but Niall’s not backing down. Louis chuckles, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before him.

Zayn looks back at you, his eyes burning with frustration. Without another word, he turns and storms out of the room, leaving the others in a mix of quiet amusement and uncomfortable tension.

Louis, still grinning, shakes his head. “Well, that was fun. At least we know he’s definitely paying attention.”

Niall, ever the jokester, leans back and smirks. “And you two have a lot of unresolved tension. Gonna be interesting to see where that goes.”

You chuckle darkly, watching the door where Zayn just left. You know this isn’t over, not by a long shot.

“I’m just getting started,” you say, your voice low and full of something much darker than before.

…

Back at the hotel, the band lingers in the lobby, still buzzing from the show. Your muscles ache, but it’s a good ache, a reminder of the energy you poured into your set. The boys are joking around, their laughter bouncing off the polished floors, when Paul walks over, clipboard in hand.

“Alright,” he says, his voice clipped. “We’ve got a bit of a room situation tonight. They overbooked us, so you’ll have to pair up.”

Before Paul even finishes, Louis slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Harry’s with me,” he says, grinning.

“I’ve got Nialler!” Liam declares, pointing at Niall.

Niall laughs, shooting you a look as if he’s already guessed what’s coming.

You glance around, your stomach sinking when you realize there’s only one person left. Your gaze meets Zayn’s, and his expression is unreadable—dark eyes fixed on you like he’s already annoyed.

“Guess that leaves you two,” Niall pipes up, smirking. “Told you to get a room, didn’t I?”

Louis snickers. “This is fate. Meant to be, clearly.”

Zayn mutters something under his breath, his jaw tightening, and you roll your eyes. “Relax,” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

The boys howl with laughter, and Paul sighs, rubbing his temples. “Just… try not to kill each other. Please.”

The elevator ride up is tense, the space between you and Zayn feeling impossibly small. He doesn’t look at you, and you’re not about to break the silence. When you finally reach your floor, you march to the room, shoving the keycard into the lock with a little more force than necessary.

The door swings open, and your stomach drops.

There’s one bed.

You both stand there for a moment, staring at it like it’s some cruel joke. The air grows thick with tension, and you can feel Zayn’s frustration radiating off him.

“Perfect,” you mutter sarcastically, stepping into the room and tossing your bag onto the single mattress.

“What are you doing?” Zayn’s voice is sharp, his eyes narrowing.

“Claiming my spot,” you say, not bothering to look at him as you start unpacking.

“Like hell you are,” he snaps. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

You turn to face him, crossing your arms. “Neither am I.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might actually explode. “Then figure something else out, because I’m not giving up the bed.”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Why don’t you figure something else out? Maybe you can charm the concierge into giving you a better room.”

His lips twitch like he’s about to say something cutting, but he holds back, instead running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I’m not arguing about this,” he mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed like he’s staking his claim.

You laugh bitterly, walking over to the other side. “Good. Then move over, because we’re sharing.”

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” you shoot back. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, and neither are you. So unless you’ve got a better idea, this is happening.”

He stares at you for a long moment, like he’s weighing his options, but ultimately, he doesn’t move.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You smirk, climbing onto your side of the bed with deliberate ease. “Only if you make it one.”

The silence stretches as you both stay rooted in place, backs turned to each other. But eventually, the practicality of the situation forces you to move. You push off the bed with a sigh, grabbing your bag and heading into the bathroom to change.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you pull out your silk pyjamas—a matching set of shorts and a delicate camisole, the fabric whispering over your skin as you slip them on. You don’t usually put this much thought into what you wear to bed, but knowing Zayn will see you like this? Well, it’s impossible not to enjoy the idea of throwing him off balance.

When you step back into the room, he’s rummaging through his own bag. He’s changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his dark hair messier than usual as he sits on the edge of the bed. The moment he looks up, his gaze snags on you.

You don’t miss it—the way his eyes trail over your legs, lingering on the hem of your shorts before quickly flicking back to your face. His jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his voice is low and bitter.

“Trying to make this even worse, are you?”

You arch a brow, crossing your arms casually, which only draws more attention to the soft sheen of the silk against your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands as his eyes flicker over you one more time. “Nothing. Just figured you’d try to tone it down. Guess I was wrong.”

A shiver runs through you—not from his words, but from the heat in his stare, however fleeting it was. You force yourself to roll your eyes, brushing past him to your side of the bed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Zayn,” you say, tossing your bag onto the chair. “I’m not dressing for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters, but you ignore him, slipping beneath the covers.

He turns off the lamp on his side, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint glow of the streetlights outside. The bed dips as he climbs in, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of shuffling blankets and quiet breathing.

But then his foot brushes against your calf.

“Seriously?” you snap, shifting away from him.

“You’re on my side,” he bites back, his voice sharp in the dark.

“Your side? It’s one bed, Zayn. There are no sides.”

“Then stop taking up the whole thing.”

You can’t help the grin that pulls at your lips, even as you scoot closer to the edge. “Stop being so dramatic.”

He grumbles something under his breath, and you hear the faint rustle of him turning over. But not even a minute later, his arm brushes yours, sending a jolt through you.

You bite back a laugh, enjoying the way his frustration simmers in the quiet. “This is kind of fun,” you tease softly.

“Yeah, for you,” he mutters, voice dripping with annoyance.

The tension is thick, the small bed forcing you closer than either of you wants to admit. Every shift, every brush of skin feels intentional, even when it’s not. And you? You’re savoring every second of it, relishing the fact that it’s driving him crazy.

Eventually, you let your eyes drift shut, the faint warmth of his body next to yours lulling you toward sleep. His scent—faintly smoky, with a hint of cologne—fills your senses, and it’s oddly comforting.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because as you start to drift off, the feel of him—so close, so warm—no longer feels irritating. It feels safe.

And that scares you more than anything else.

...

The soft, golden light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting long, hazy streaks across the room. You’re warm—too warm—and there’s a solid weight pressed against your back, a steady heat seeping through the thin silk of your pajamas.

For a moment, you think you’re still dreaming, caught in some cruel twist of your subconscious. But then you feel it: the slow rise and fall of someone’s chest against your shoulder blades, the gentle drag of their breath across the back of your neck.

Your eyes snap open.

Zayn.

His arm is heavy around your waist, his palm resting against your hip like it belongs there. His legs are tangled with yours, his knee brushing against bare skin, the scratch of his stubble faint but tantalizing where it ghosts near your neck.

A rush of panic and something else—something you refuse to name—shoots through you.

He shifts slightly, his fingers flexing against your hip as his breathing changes. He’s waking up.

Before he can move, you twist under his arm, turning to face him with a slow, wicked grin. “Well, good morning to you, cuddlebug.”

His lashes flutter, dark eyes blinking open in confusion before realization dawns. He freezes, his gaze flicking down to where his arm still rests against you, his entire body going rigid.

“What the—” he starts, jerking away like he’s been burned.

You burst into laughter, propping yourself up on one elbow as you watch him scramble to sit upright, his disheveled hair sticking out in every direction. He’s flushed, his ears tinged red, and you can’t help but enjoy the sight.

“You’re cuddly in your sleep,” you tease, tilting your head. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Shut up,” he growls, his voice rough with sleep, but you notice the way his hand lingers at the back of his neck, rubbing it like he’s trying to shake off the embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, Zayn,” you press, your voice sweet but sharp. “Didn’t know you were such a softie. Should I tell the others?”

His jaw tightens, and the frustration in his expression sends a thrill down your spine. But then, in one swift movement, he’s on you.

He rolls over, pinning you to the mattress, his weight pressing you down. His hands capture your wrists, pinning them above your head, the heat of his palms burning against your skin.

Your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as he leans in, his face so close that you can see the faint gold flecks in his dark eyes. His scent surrounds you—smoky and musky, with the faintest hint of cologne—and it’s intoxicating, no matter how much you want to hate it.

“Why are you always like this?” he growls, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

“Like what?” you breathe, your voice unsteady despite the smirk tugging at your lips.

“Flirty,” he spits, his eyes burning into yours. “Always pushing, always trying to get under my skin.”

You tilt your chin up, refusing to back down even as his grip tightens slightly around your wrists. “Because it works.”

His nostrils flare, his gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. You feel the warmth radiating off him, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.

“Do you think this is a game?” he demands, his voice rough, his frustration rolling off him in waves.

You hesitate, the teasing remark on the tip of your tongue faltering. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you search his face, and for just a second, the anger in his eyes softens into something else—something raw and unfamiliar.

The air feels heavy, and every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his closeness: the way his thumb brushes against the inside of your wrist, the way his knee presses into your thigh.

“Maybe,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “Or maybe you just make it too easy.”

His grip on your wrists falters slightly, his brows furrowing as if your words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you moves, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

And then he pulls back abruptly, rolling off you and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His breathing is uneven, his shoulders tense as he mutters something under his breath.

You sit up slowly, watching him with a mix of amusement and something more complicated—something you’d rather not think about.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Zayn?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, though your heart is still pounding. “Did I strike a nerve?”

He stands suddenly, his movements sharp and agitated as he grabs his bag. “Get dressed,” he snaps, not meeting your eyes. “We’re leaving soon.”

You watch him go, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence.

You lean back against the headboard, your fingers brushing your wrist where his touch still lingers, your heart refusing to slow.

This thing between you—it’s dangerous. And the worst part? You don’t hate it as much as you should.

...

Part 2

[squid-in-space]

biggest gain in seats since 1945

lowest Tory share since 1832

Reform with more seats than SNP

people are calling this the most significant election since at least 1979

This is not perfect (understatement (!)) by any stretch of the imagination and yes it's only a prediction

But

The Tories are out

happy independence day guys

[brennacedria]

John Oliver is losing his shit right now.