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DJO Pomona, CA — April 15, 2025

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Chapter 4

The hotel room was quiet, save for the hum of the city below. The energy of the night still buzzed in Y/N’s chest—Jeff’s words echoing over and over like a steady drumbeat:

“I’m already chasing you… I just move slow.”

She hadn’t planned to see him again that night. She thought she’d go straight to her room, shower off the arena’s sweat and lights, and sleep it off.

But there was a soft knock at her door.

When she opened it, Jeff stood there—hair damp, a hoodie half-zipped, gym shorts clinging to his hips like he hadn’t even tried to change out of his ring gear. He looked tired, but his eyes were alert—focused. On her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

Y/N stepped aside without saying a word.

Jeff walked in slowly, looking around her room like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there. She shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed.

“You said you were chasing me,” she said finally, “but you never said why.”

Jeff turned to face her, and for once, he didn’t answer right away with metaphor or mystery. He just looked at her—really looked.

“Because you’re the only person backstage who looks me in the eye and sees me. Not the daredevil. Not the legend. Just me.”

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest, slow and hard.

“I watch everyone else treat you like you’re made of smoke and spectacle,” she said quietly, “but you’re not. You’re solid. You feel real to me.”

Jeff took a step closer. “So why do you keep running from this?”

“Because I’ve been here before,” she whispered. “Feelings that burn fast and disappear just as quick. I’m not interested in being a phase in someone’s chaos.”

Jeff’s expression softened. He closed the space between them, gently, as if he were testing to see if she’d let him.

“You’re not chaos to me,” he said. “You’re quiet. Steady. Like gravity. You keep me grounded, Y/N.”

Her breath caught.

And then—like the moment had been winding up for too long—they were kissing.

It wasn’t wild, not at first. It was slow and intentional, like two people afraid to wake something they couldn’t put back to sleep. His hand came up to her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin like he’d memorized the curve of her face in a dream.

She kissed him back—fully, fiercely—like she’d been holding it in since the first time he smirked backstage and made her chest flutter.

When they pulled apart, both of them breathless, Jeff rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want to be just another part of your job,” he murmured. “I want to be part of your peace.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. “Then stay.”

And he did.

He stayed through the night. Not as a storm, not as a distraction—but as something steady, something real.

[ilovetulipsblog]

🤭

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GUYS MY FICS ARE NOT ACCURATE IT DOESN’T MATTER

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Chapter 3

The arena was electric.

The roar of the crowd pulsed through the floor beneath Y/N’s boots as she stood just off-camera, mic in hand, waiting for her cue. Lights blazed down from above, and the titantron flashed match graphics, music, promos—chaos packaged as entertainment.

It was just another live event.

But nothing about tonight felt ordinary.

Jeff was scheduled to face Damian Priest in the main event. The energy backstage had been tense all night, but when Jeff walked past her earlier—eyes locked, no words exchanged—Y/N felt a shiver race up her spine.

And now, as she waited to interview one of the newer superstars, she tried not to let her eyes drift toward the monitor showing the ring. But she failed.

He was there. Jeff. Standing on the top rope, arms spread wide like wings, soaking in the crowd like it gave him life.

And damn it—he looked good.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Jace Carter—a rookie, cocky as hell, with a too-perfect smile and arms he was a little too proud of—walking toward her.

“Hey,” she said politely, professional as always.

“You free after the show?” Jace leaned a little closer than necessary. “There’s a spot down the street. Drinks, maybe a little dancing…”

Y/N offered a tight smile. “Appreciate the invite, but I’ve got plans.”

Jace smirked, undeterred. “Plans can change.”

Before she could reply, a shadow fell across them both.

Jeff.

He was fresh from the match—sweaty, breathing hard, adrenaline still bleeding from his skin. His paint had smeared slightly, making him look even more untamed than usual.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but cool. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Jace looked between them and gave a mock salute. “Another time then.”

Y/N followed Jeff a few steps down the hallway, pulse quickening. She wasn’t sure what this was about. Until he stopped and turned to face her.

His jaw was tense.

“Is he bothering you?” Jeff asked, eyes sharp now, nothing soft about them.

Y/N blinked. “Jace? He’s just being… Jace.”

Jeff didn’t look satisfied with that. “You didn’t look comfortable.”

“I can handle myself,” she said firmly, but not unkindly. “You don’t have to step in like some kind of—”

“Some kind of what?” he cut in, eyes narrowing slightly.

She hesitated. Then sighed. “Like someone who’s… jealous.”

That hung in the air between them, unspoken no longer.

Jeff stepped closer, and this time, it was different. Not playful. Not poetic. Just raw.

“I don’t like the way he talks to you. I don’t like the way he looks at you like you’re just something he can chase.”

Y/N’s throat felt dry. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m already chasing you,” he said, voice low, intense. “I just move slow.”

Her breath caught, caught in that place between want and wariness.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, softer now. “But I want to be the one standing beside you anyway.”

They stood there for a long beat—heat, tension, something unspoken crackling between them like static.

Then, someone called for Jeff over the comms. A reminder that the show was still going on.

He didn’t move right away.

“Think about what I said,” Jeff murmured, eyes still locked on hers. “I meant all of it.”

And with that, he walked away—leaving Y/N standing alone in the buzz of the backstage chaos, her heartbeat louder than the crowd.

Guys ik my fic is so bad but it’s so fun to write sooooo im writing part 4 rn

[ilovetulipsblog]

This is my first time publishing a story so lmk if I’m doing good or not IKKKK that my like transitional sentences thingy is not very good but I’m working on it

[ilovetulipsblog]

Yall I wrote 3 chapters last night so I’m just going to post them all rn and you guys lmk if it’s good enough to continue

Chapter 2

The show was over, but the buzz still lingered in the air like leftover adrenaline. Superstars filtered in and out of the hotel bar, some laughing, some nursing bruises with ice and whiskey. The music was low, the lights dim—a soft glow painting everything in shades of amber.

Y/N stirred her drink absently, watching condensation slide down the glass. She didn’t usually hang out after shows, but tonight felt… off. Not bad. Just different.

Maybe it was the way Jeff had looked at her backstage. Like he saw something under her skin, behind her guarded words.

“You’re chill, but there’s heat in you.”

The words replayed in her mind like a loop she couldn’t shut off.

“Mind if I sit?” a voice asked, low and unmistakable.

Y/N glanced up. Jeff Hardy stood beside her, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair still slightly damp from his post-match shower. His eyes were softer now, not the intense blaze they carried in the ring. More like a quiet flicker.

“It’s a free bar,” she replied coolly, gesturing to the empty stool.

He sat, ordered a water, then turned to her. “You don’t do this often.”

“Do what?”

“Stay. After hours. You’re always in and out. Keep to yourself.”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “Maybe I’m tired of keeping to myself.”

Jeff smiled, resting his elbows on the bar. “I get that. Silence is comfortable… until it isn’t.”

They sat for a moment in companionable quiet, the kind that didn’t feel heavy. Just real.

“You ever feel like this job eats pieces of you?” she asked suddenly, voice low.

Jeff looked at her, eyes dark but honest. “Every damn day.”

Y/N chuckled softly, surprised at his answer. “Well, that’s depressing.”

He leaned in slightly, not enough to invade, just enough to feel close. “You learn how to keep something for yourself. A part the cameras don’t get.”

“What’s yours?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

Jeff paused. Then: “My art. And… moments like this.”

That skip in her chest again. Subtle, but there.

She sipped her drink to hide the smile curling at her lips. “You’re dangerously poetic, Jeff Hardy.”

He tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And you’re dangerously good at pretending you don’t like it.”

She turned to face him fully now, the barrier thinning between them.

“Maybe I do like it,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Jeff nodded slowly, as if understanding more than she said. “That’s okay. I’ve got time.”

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I know none of this is accurate like at all I just had an idea and I wrote it down🤷🏽‍♀️

Backstage Heat

Jeff Hardy x reader

The low hum of the production crew buzzed through the backstage corridors of Monday Night Raw. Bright lights flickered across crates of gear and wires that snaked the floor like restless veins. Y/n adjusted her mic, her hair swinging slightly as she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Interviewing superstars was usually routine. Ask the question, keep the energy high, dodge the drama. But tonight, she was assigned to someone different.

Jeff Hardy.

She had seen him around before—quiet, a bit chaotic in his artful, abstract way. Sometimes shirtless, sometimes body painted like a walking masterpiece. He didn’t talk much, just nodded or threw a smirk that made the air feel a few degrees warmer.

Y/n, on the other hand, kept her cool. No one flustered her. Not Roman. Not Becky when she was on a tirade. And certainly not some high-flying legend with dreamy eyes and a poetic soul.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

“There you are,” came a familiar voice. Jeff, wearing one of his vintage Hardy shirts and cargo pants, strolled into frame. His arms were folded, tattoos peeking through like stories waiting to be told.

“You ready for this?” she asked, tapping her mic with a soft grin.

He chuckled lightly. “Depends. You gonna hit me with the hard questions, or let me breathe a little?”

“Oh, I go for the jugular,” she teased, tilting her head. “But I’ll make it painless.”

He smiled, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Just stared. Her heart skipped. Not the cheesy kind. Just… a skip. Like a missed beat in a really good song.

They went through the interview—talked about his upcoming match, his mindset, the usual. But the way he looked at her… like he was listening to more than her questions. Like he was trying to read between her words.

When they wrapped, she lowered the mic. “Thanks, Jeff. That was—”

“You’ve got a calm kind of fire,” he said out of nowhere.

Y/n blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re chill,” he clarified, stepping a bit closer, “but there’s heat in you. I can feel it. It’s rare.”

She raised a brow, caught between confusion and curiosity. “You always talk like a spoken word poem, or am I special?”

That crooked smile again. “Maybe a little of both.”

And just like that, he walked off, leaving y/n standing in the hallway—speechless for the first time in a long time.