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reignpage · 18 hours ago

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Moon's light

Summary: in which alien!reader gets hurt and Gojo's left with more questions than answers about who you are Word Count: 3k Warnings: angsty, cursing, fem alien!readersome sexual language and references, not proofread and highkey made in a rush >_< Previous Parts: Finders Keepers + Lights Show + Movie Night + Bubble Bubble

Day 32

“Oh no.” He surges forward, falling to his knees. “No no no, E. What happened?”

Satoru had just finished a mission. Excited, he teleported back into his apartment, hoping to see you all cute, sweet and offering some cuddles so he can relax after a long five minutes of serious adulting. What he wasn’t hoping to see, however, was you holding a large knife and bleeding on the kitchen floor.

Wrapping a tea towel around your hand, he cradles your body to his. You’re not crying. You’re not even wincing. Instead, you’re just looking at the blue, gloopy liquid oozing out of the deep wound on your palm. Do aliens of your kind not feel pain?

No, that can’t be the case; you winced when he scissors his fingers inside your pussy. Forcing a calm voice, he queries, “What happened, E? What did you do?”

You reply, “I hold wrong.”

His head slumps back against the cabinet. This is his fault. He should have taught you better, shouldn’t have shielded you from the kitchen. He should have been here. At home. With you.

When you fell from the night sky, there wasn’t a single scratch on your body, not even a bruise. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he assumed you were invincible, but now, as his hands shake and he gulps down the tight knot of guilt and shame building in his throat, he thinks, maybe it was just wishful thinking.

It’s been a month since he met you and you’ve progressed so much. You shower on your own, understand plots of movies without much assistance, you read books, albeit children’s and with pictures but soon you’ll be getting up his level, he’s sure, and even help him clean the house. No longer does he worry about his things having teeth marks from your oral exploration or being randomly flashed because you don’t understand the concept of modesty. The routine has been great.

Maybe it’s this bliss in the routine that led him to a foolish sense of complacency.

“E, you don’t have special healing powers, do you? Like me? With my reverse curse technique.” Satoru’s been slowly trying to teach you about his abilities and the reality of his world but it hasn’t been his priority, what with him being distracted by your hips grinding down on his cock almost 24/7. So, when you shake your head, a little confused, he isn’t surprised. “But you do heal, right?”

You shrug.

The blue blood continues to drip from you, steadily. Inspecting the wound, he wonders what to do. He can’t take you to the hospital; they’ll question your blue blood. And there’s no alien expert to turn to – you don’t even seem to know much about yourself. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

Well, there is one person he could take you to, but there’s no guarantee they’ll be of any help. Maybe they’ll even call the authorities on you.

This could go very wrong.

But what choice does he have?

He can’t leave you like this. He can’t just hope your wound will fix itself. And what if you get an infection? Can aliens get infected? Fuck. What if you’re already infected?

If you are, then he’ll, like, suck the infection out of you so you two can die together. Alright. Don’t get too ahead of yourself, he tells himself. Death is not on the cards. Not for you. Never. Not while he can help it.

Satoru has no idea what he’s doing. Truthfully, he’s just relieved your blood isn’t acidic and burning a hole through his skin and the floor.

There’s nothing to do but to hope for the best with the only choice he has. Pressing a kiss to your head, he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. Just trust Toru, alright?”

And in a flash, he’s in a dimly lit room, which smells of alcohol and death. He never wanted to bring you here – it’s a dark side to what he does and if he could have helped it, you would have never seen this. Being a place he doesn’t frequent often, the white-haired man inspects the place reflexively; no danger, no change, and just one unimpressed looking woman.

“So, the moron’s finally decided to grace my workspace,” she drawls. “How flattering.”

Usually, he’d grin and try to go in for a hug, only to be lovingly punched in the gut and thrown across the room, but at the moment, he doesn’t have it in him to smile and he already feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “Hey, Shoko. I need your help.”

Her dull eyes fall on the figure cuddled up to his side, dripping blue onto her floor. She places her pen down and leans back in her swivel chair, not at all put off to see him here.

Sleeve tugged, he looks down. “Say hi, E. She’s a friend. She’s going to take care of you.”

“Help fix my hand?” When Satoru nods, you frown, mulling something over for a second before your eyes meet Shoko’s. “Hi. Fix my hand now.”

He clears his throat. “Sorry, Sho. I haven’t really taught her about please and thank yous.”

“I’m sure you haven’t, since, y’know, you’re not the biggest advocator of those words yourself.” The man can’t rebut that. “So, are you going to explain what you’re doing here or are you just going to let her stain my floors blue?”

Right. Where to begin?

Moments later, once he’s run through a long spiel, explaining the last month of his life, he presents you to the doctor. Confused, though happy to be here, you just smile at the stranger. Said stranger tilts her head and looks at Satoru.

“An alien. Really?” She drawls.

“Yeah, I know. It’s weird and unbelievable but true! And she’s not dangerous, I promise. Please, Shoko. When I first met her, she was durable. Like, not even a single scratch. How many people do you know who can fall from space, land on a van and not have a bruise? And now? She’s cut herself and she’s bleeding but it’s blue and I’m totally freaking out, okay?”

Shoko sighs. She does that a lot these days. For a second, he thinks she might wave them away or reach for her phone. None can blame her, he supposes. Harbouring an extraterritorial is a crime, he assumes at least. And it’s not as if she’s doing nothing in her time – she’s even more busy than he is. Shouldering the repairs of jujutsu society can’t be an easy job and there’s probably something to be said about the direction their friendship has taken over the years, though there’s not enough time to get into it. He couldn’t and wouldn’t fault her if she wanted nothing to do with his most recent shenanigans.

But, if she had decided to make a stand, to get the authorities involved, to dare snatch you away, then Satoru will not hesitate to snuff her where she stands.

Thankfully it doesn’t get to that because Shoko, the amazing, wonderful friend that she is, beckons you over.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t get your hopes up; I was never taught about alien anatomy.”

You sit on a stool, being examined professionally like you didn’t come from the stars, like you don’t have blue blood, and a bioluminescent body. Pride blooming in his chest, he smiles. There was a fear tickling the back of his neck that maybe you wouldn’t be so…receptive to strangers. Yet, you’re following instructions well and not chomping at his friend’s fingers for going near your wound. Oh, he’s going to smother you in kisses later.

No step is overlooked. Your blood pressure is taken. So is a blood sample. She tests your reflexes, temperature and dental hygiene. Shoko asks questions — some you can answer with no trouble and others, Satoru has to step in and provide a response.

Leaning against a cold, metal slab, he says, “Her body’s pretty similar to ours, I think. Apart from a few surprises like glowing lights and the blue blood, things seem normal. She does run a little hot inside but I think that’s not too weird.”

Slowly, Shoko turns her head and cocks an extremely judgemental eyebrow. “You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s ears heat up. “No! No, we haven’t…done that.”

“Right. So, you’ve gone through the trouble of inspecting her insides for me, is that it?”

“Don’t say it like that, Sho.” He groans. “I wasn’t perving on her or anything. We have a connection.”

Dragging the word out, she clarifies, “A connection.”

“Yeah! A connection. We get along well.”

“That’s so very inte–woah!”

You’ve bitten Shoko’s arm through her lab coat. She shakes you off. You don’t latch off. Satoru lunges forward and urges your jaw to loosen. Guess you’ve been feeling left out or jealous. He can’t say he’s not slightly happy about the possessiveness. It’s quite nice, actually. Wait. No. He should be discouraging this, reassuring you, and defending his friend. Right. Yep. “Okay, okay. It’s alright, E. She’s a friend, remember, baby? Just a friend. Don’t hurt her please. Toru’ll be really upset with you.”

An apologetic look is sent to the woman. Complemented with a nuzzle at Satoru’s comforting palm.

Painfully, he can smell the judgement oozing from Shoko’s pores. Even when she steps back and rubs her sore arm, the doctor eyes the two of them, watching as he brushes your cheek and whispers something soothing against your lips.

There’s no telling what’s running through her head and he doesn’t have it in him to ask. So, he keeps an arm around your body and queries instead, “Got any idea what’s happening?”

A moment passes.

One could quite literally cut the tension in half, or however the saying goes.

Then, she sighs. Why does she keep sighing?

“I only have a theory.” Leaning against the wall, she crosses her arm and drawls out, completely bored, like whatever scathing thought she had about Satoru has washed away, along with all the many scathing thoughts she’s had about the sorcerer, “Her skin is hardened at parts and soft in others. I had trouble penetrating her skin to get to her veins, which aren’t placed where they are in the human body, with the needle. She’s cold in certain patches of her skin and her pulse is irregular.”

Taking note as best as he can, he lets you play with his fingers absentmindedly. You’re not at all interested in anything anyone other than him has to say.

“I believe there’s been an inconsistent spread of something she’s missing in her day-to-day or diet. You hiding her away so you can grope her hasn’t done her any good.” Satoru automatically tries to argue but a sharp glare has him shutting it up just as soon as it opens. “If my theory is correct, then she needs something like moonlight — let it be known that this theory of mine only comes from the movies we used to watch as teens so don’t hold me to that — the longer she goes without this missing thing, the more her body will weaken until her entire skin is soft and susceptible to more cuts.”

He sighs. Oh, great, it’s contagious. “Moonlight? That’s it? She’s a nocturnal plant? Okay, great. That’s easy.”

“Yeah, well it’s only a theory, like I said. If I’m wrong, there’s not really anything else I can do. She didn’t know what the healthy bpm is for her kind or how she got here to begin with; there’s only so much I can do with what you’ve provided me. Normally, I’d run more tests but it’s unclear, and risky, to make her undergo any kind of testing before we know her compatibility with our immune system so try the moonlight thing first and let me know if it works.”

Satoru nods, already tuning her out and excited to begin your healing journey. There’s a new movie he promised to watch with you and he can’t wait for much longer. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“She seems to have memory loss. I don’t see any signs of trauma to her head, but there must be something to explain her lack of understanding and knowledge of her own existence and essence. I’m not sure how communicative she is, but if I were you, I’d start asking questions about where she’s from, why she’s here, and when she’s going.”

Satoru frowns.

“Thanks for your help. I got it from here.”

And, as quick as he arrived, he leaves.

“Not home, Toru?”

He shakes his head.

Taking the doctor’s advice, he teleported straight to the rooftop terrace and not into your shared home. If more moonlight is what you need, then more moonlight is what you’ll get. In fact, if he could, he’d give you all the moonlight in the world. He sits down onto a lawn chair and pulls you into his lap. You’re wearing jogging pants and a big shirt – his shirt. Both are pulled off your body, leaving you in just your underwear; maximising the surface area would lead to optimal moonlight absorption and the more you absorb, the faster you’ll heal, right?

It’s a good thing, he supposes, that the moon is full and the sky is clear tonight. He wonders how often he’d need to do this with you. Best to do it frequently probably. Just in case.

In silence, you two sit there, alone and feeling like things are going right once more. You’re nuzzled into his hold whilst Satoru ponders about the last bits of advice Shoko gave. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. Who was she to assume he hadn’t been asking questions?

Because, of course, he has!

Duh.

His curiosity about you is never ending but he can’t rush you. You’re learning so much so fast and overloading you would be the last thing he’d want.

And how dare she talk about you like that?

Like you’re a stray he picked up. You’re a person. His person. It’s not as if you’re an idiot or a child – you’ve got so much emotional maturity and you can take apart his microwave and put it back together. How many people can do that?

And ‘when you’re going’, seriously?

That’s an insane thought.

You’re not going anywhere. This is your home now. Sure, he’d love to know more about your home planet and its customs, but that’s as much of that as he cares to know about. There’s no return date on you. You’re not a toy on loan. You haven’t been left in his care for babysitting. How silly to suggest otherwise.

“Toru, you okay?”

Snapping out of his torrential thoughts, he gazes down at you through his blindfold. Gentle fingers pull it off his face and when his dazzling eyes meet yours, bare and direct, he smiles tenderly. “Yeah, E. I’m okay. Can I see your hand?”

The cut is healing. That was quick. Shoko was right. Already, it’s closing up. The blood has stopped dripping and soon it’ll be gone, hopefully without a scar to remind either of you two how he’s failed you.

Kissing the top of your head, he whispers against your hair, “You didn’t know about this moonlight thing?”

You shake your head.

“Do you remember anything from your past? From out there?” The great beyond, of which he’s gesturing to, seems so much bigger now. Very rarely did he ever look up there, but these days, it seems like that’s all he does.

“Not much. Only little. Home looks like Earth too. People look like me. And you. But no monsters.”

He chuckles. “Lucky you.”

“You worry about what your friend say? When I’m leaving?”

Satoru’s chest tightens. Tense and treading carefully, he asks, “Are you leaving? Is anyone waiting for you?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t the answer he wanted. He’d been hoping you’d deny it, say there’s no one else, that you’re not going anywhere and you two can be together forever. Is that too naive? Too hopeful? Too selfish? “I don’t remember. Very blur-ree.”

He can’t push. Won’t. Whether for your good or his, who’s to say?

Squeezing parts of your bare body for comfort, he thanks the heavens, and Shoko (he’ll have to send her a fruit basket or a new corpse to experiment with or something), that you’re healing and he’s learnt a little more about you.

Moonlight and food and a proper education on how to handle sharp objects. The list of things you need is growing and so must his ability to provide all those things for you.

He’ll do anything and everything he can to keep you safe and satisfied. Then there’ll be no reason for you to go anywhere or for anyone to take you. You’re staying here. With him. He’ll kill to make that happen.

Satoru pinches your chin. Your lips part to receive his. The taste of you, the softness, the warmth – it’s all you and all his.

Nothing could take this away.

This is your home.

And you are his.

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk fic #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo fic #jjk series #gojo series #gojo angst #jjk angst

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7-deadly-cats · 2 days ago

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killing me softly | 20

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive themes and implications, sexual jokes, pic of reader not depicting her appearance just the vibes, rafe ovulating again, jealous!rafe, kinda angsty but mostly fluff and giggles, honestly this doesn't really push the plot forward so it's just them being them, description of bruise, reader drinking a little

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ during a cozy moment with rafe where you both felt close and comfortable, he suddenly left without explanation after someone spammed his phone. you didn’t know who it was, which sent you into a huge spiral. 30 minutes later, kie joined you bc she saw rafe leave the venue, explained her childhood history with rafe and sarah, warned you about his behavior, but also said he’s probably into you. after the movie, you rejoined the group. while talking with the girls, topper called you over to talk about cara, but rafe came back coked up, got mad at topper, and even punched him. security got involved, and he stormed off again. you followed him to the parking lot where you two had a big fight. he lashed out, hit your insecurities, and you stood up for yourself. as you left, he called after you, apologized, admitted he has anger issues he can't control, and finally told you ruthie was blackmailing him with a video of him doing coke at kelce's party, trying to force him to convince his dad to accept her dad’s joint venture deal. you told him you’d handle it together and wanted him to be honest with you and communicate his issues in the future. you then went back inside, even closer than before.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 7k + max use of images

✿ A / N ✿ // don't get confused, this was originally an extra but i decided to make it part of the main series bc it's just too essential for the plot and their dynamic

original A / N: well, i guess this actually counts as a chapter bc it's basically just a continuation of the main story and long af for an extra, but, yeah, no, actually no clue why i called this an extra lmao. also i kinda rushed the ending but guess it will do. ok, talking too much again, so, ANYWAY, enjoy, and lmk what you think <33

++ don't get confused pls, rafe refers to cara as hall aka her surname

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // S U N D A Y 9 : 5 5 P M

“Kinda toxic,” you said with a chuckle as you watched Rafe switch off your phone and place it on the little side-shelf on his side of the lounge bed.

Rafe let out an amused scoff as he turned back to you, catching the teasing glint in your eyes. “These rats? Yeah. Being nosy as fuck, spamming your phone.”

Like, seriously. He’d only caught a glimpse of your screen—something about someone shrieking (which, yeah, someone actually had)—and then freaking Kie dared to ask if you were okay?

What the fuck.

Did they think he’d beat you up in the parking lot or some shit? Especially Kie saying that, of all people. Like, come on. She should know best, he at least could keep his damn hands in check during arguments.

Fuck her. Especially for sending that dumbass chicken or whatever-the-fuck creature pic directed at him that looked like one of yours. (Which, others using those pics with you? Yeah, nah. That didn’t sit right with him at all.)

Anyway. Fuck those other clucking little nosy rats too. Fucking great that those were your friends now. And dragging Molly, the only tolerable girl after you, into Sarah’s shitty-ass group? Shit was getting worse by the day.

“They’re just worried,” you said, amused, a small smile tugging at your perfectly shaped lips. “Pretty sure also about you.”

Shit. Rafe was staring again.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, and he rolled them with a small nod. “Yeah, sure. The only thing they care about is squeezing some gossip out of you. Bet all the previous messages were about me.”

Just imagining how they'd probably flood you with questions later: Why Rafe had left. What you two had talked about. Why he'd punched Topper. Blah blah blah.

Typical nosy girl bullshit.

And Rafe swore to God, he really hoped none of those stupid little mind-minions of yours were buying into that crap. He didn’t need anyone knowing what kind of shit he was caught up in now. Especially not Princess Sarah.

Fuck. If she found out, she’d go straight to Dad and—

“Probably, yeah,” you chuckled, and Rafe felt a crease forming between his brows. “But I’m not gonna share anything you don’t want me to.”

Huh.

He hadn’t expected that. He was used to girls rushing to their friends the second they had a crumb of “tea to spill” or whatever the hell you girls called it. But you claiming not do so...

He raised a brow, fingers absently twisting the little key charm on your bracelet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, sounding genuine. “I mean, personally, if it were me, I’d probably at least tell Topper and Kelce. They are your best friends after all, and they both know Ruthie better than either of us. Plus, I’d say they’d definitely want to help you out with this mess.”

You pressed your lips together for a moment before continuing. “But I totally get it if that's something you’d rather keep to yourself. And obviously I’m gonna respect that.”

Rafe grimaced.

Tell Topper and Kelce? Sure, he’d probably rant to Kelce about this fucked-up situation—Kelce always listened, and when it came down to it, the dude knew how to shut the fuck up when asked. But Topper?

It was bad enough he’d agreed to tell that fucker he didn’t deserve the punch in the face (even though, let’s be honest, clean hit), and now he was supposed to reward him with some kind of answer?

Hell no. Topper had been hanging out with that bitch Ruthie way too much lately. Couldn’t be trusted even if he claimed he didn’t know what was going on.

“You don’t agree.” Your soft voice pulled him back and he stopped fidgeting with the bracelet.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing his jaw. “Topper’s a backstabber. Don’t give a shit if he’s involved or not. He still hung out with that bitch.”

He almost laughed at your frown. You looked like an angry cat.

You tapped his chest lightly, shifting upward and—Fuck.

He could feel your boobs pressing into his side now.

Shitshitshitshit. Please just say what you wanna say and move back.

“He probably just didn’t wanna be alone tonight,” you said (Jesus Christ, Rafe wasn’t even sure he had the brainpower to follow you right now). “Cara stuck with JJ, Kelce with Molly, and well,” You gave him a sheepish smile. “You with me.”

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement, but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“What I’m trying to say is,” you continued, sounding a little awkward, “I can’t really blame him for wanting to be with someone tonight. Yeah, sure, Ruthie wouldn’t have been my first choice, but—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Rafe cut you off with a tight nod, nudging you back with two fingers to your forehead. Because holy fuck, he could feel his blood heading straight to the wrong places again. “Enough talk about those two.”

You blinked at him, surprised, and shifted your upper body slightly away. Rafe had to fight the strongest damn urge not to glance at the view the movement of the blanket offered him in that moment of the shape of your boobs in that sweet little dress of yours.

Shit.

He could see the little minions in your brain scrambling, trying to figure out what was wrong. And then he saw the exact second one of them got it.

“Shit, relax,” he said, half amused at your reaction and half irritated at his own almost-reaction. “I just—”

"You know, if you need a minute in the toilet stalls, just say so," you said, dry amusement clinging to your voice.

YO, WHAT.

That—shit, what??? Had Rafe just missed something or had you actually just offered him the chance for a quickie?

"For yourself!" you added, almost panicked, eyes wide, and Rafe could practically feel the heat radiating off your face.

Shit was hilarious.

And yeah, of course you hadn’t meant it the way he’d first thought. Besides the fact that you'd made it very clear you weren’t interested in him like that (why the fuck, though???), no way you'd want your first time to happen in some filthy toilet stall where any random loser could listen if they wanted to.

Nah, Rafe had decency. He wouldn't have let that happen. Even if you’d insisted. Okay, maybe he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist if you'd actually wanted to go through with it, but he’d have at least had the patience to wait until you two had a room.

“Sure.” Rafe raised his brows, a slow grin tugging at his lips. And then, fuck it, he let his right hand wander—just a little, just a tiny inch—from your waist toward your hip. Surely that wouldn’t—

Shit.

Okay, never mind. He moved it back to its original spot because he could basically hear your minions screaming inside your head, sprinting around in full panic mode and about to throw themselves down a deep, shitty spiral. He definitely didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or worse, have you bolt.

Or even worse, end up in another long-ass conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he muttered with a tight chuckle, already questioning his own self-control. Still, he couldn’t help being a little disappointed by the way you’d looked at him like a deer about to get shot.

And then—he almost thought he misheard it. A tiny “No, it’s okay,” slipped past your lips, soft enough to make his heart straight-up skip a beat. Big eyes locked on his, full of uncertainty and… something else.

Now Rafe was fucking confused. Because what?

What.

You'd claimed he was sending mixed signals, but you? Shit, you were a traffic light flashing both red and green at the same time.

At least Rafe had had the balls to tell you he was attracted to you. But you? You only ever admitted to enjoying hanging out with him. Nothing more. Okay, sure, you’d complimented his looks—like, twice—but only after he’d done so first. So that was probably just some polite etiquette bullshit.

Fuck, Rafe couldn’t make sense of you. And it kinda made him feel like a joke that the one time he felt this insane pull toward a girl, she didn’t feel the same.

Shit felt fucking unfair.

Whatever you’d meant with that little sentence, though, Rafe forced himself to keep his hand in the appropriate zone. No point pushing his luck. Also, he’d probably misheard it anyway, ears still ringing from leftover coke in his system. Last thing he wanted was for you to think he couldn’t control himself.

That would just be pathetic.

So he shook his head, lips tugging downward. “Nah, don’t wanna wake one of your fuckass minions.”

Not waiting for your reply, his hand slid up to your shoulder, gently nudging you back against his chest. Better play it safe than risk chasing you off with one stupid impulsive move. (Which—he, not taking a risk? Might as well accept he was going completely nuts.)

Thank God, you did lean back into him, a chuckle slipping from your lips. But Rafe didn’t miss the twitch of your brows or that almost disappointed glint in your eyes just before.

Shit, you were confusing the fuck out of him, but somehow that only made the pull toward you worse. There was something thrilling about it. Almost like a shot of adrenaline—having to play with a new set of rules with you. The fact he didn't even know if there was a playground to begin with.

But that only made you more interesting. Because with you, he had no choice but to hold back. Flirt a little, sure. But anything more? He had to keep his fucking cock in check unless he wanted to ruin whatever this weird little friendship was.

And well, he guessed actual friends didn’t let their hands wander like that. Shit, no—just the thought of doing something like that with Kelce or—

NAH. Fuck that. Eugh.

Okay, at least that image helped kill the very real problem in his pants threatening to rise again.

Shiiiit. Right!

He just had to start viewing you like one of the guys. A very cute, girly-looking guy who happened to look way too good in that dress, whose boobs had been pressed against his chest a minute ago and had threatened to make him hard again for the second fucking time tonight.

Fucking hell, you weren’t making it easy for Rafe.

Fuck it. Maybe he should look for another girl to hook up with on the side. Just to relieve this stupid pressure he seemed to feel because of you. Shit was starting to make even him uncomfortable. And the last thing he wanted was to ruin this friendship thingy with you just because some other part of him had other plans.

Huh. Nah.

What the fuck. What was wrong with him?

The idea of getting a side chick just to stay sane around you??? What was he, some horny fucking dog? Shit. Fuck. What the hell. Besides, he was done with girls like that anyway. He had way bigger problems than this suddenly raging sex drive.

But he also didn’t wanna waste another second thinking about that psycho bitch Ruthie either. She’d already ruined this little “bonding moment” of yours (still kinda cute that you called it that). Rafe had zero desire to keep stewing in that mess. He couldn’t change anything about this fucked up situation right now anyway. No point wasting more energy on that bullshit.

Jesus Christ—no, for real now—what the fuck was in your goddamn perfume?

And when your head tilted up again, eyes moving from the shitty-ass robot car movie to his face, Rafe could feel the way his nerves lit up.

He fully expected you to question what that little move of his had been about, ask why he'd said he wanted to be friends but then acted like that (which, honestly, he didn’t fucking know either lol), but thank God you didn’t.

“So, just to be safe,” you said with a sheepish smile, “if they ask about what happened, which I’m 99 percent sure they will—Cara at the very least—what do you want me to say?”

Somehow, the fact that you asked him how he wanted the situation to be handled, without pushing your own opinion on him, without instantly running off to your annoying friends to spill everything…

Shit made a very weird feeling rise in his chest.

Besides Kelce and maybe Wheezie, no one ever talked to Rafe about things without just going ahead and act on their own. No one ever bothered to involve him or ask for his opinion. Even his dad—Rafe always came up with solid ideas and plans that could actually push Cameron Development forward in the long run, but he never listened.

No one ever fucking listened to what Rafe had to say, and he was so fucking sick of it.

All of them acted purely out of self-interest without a second thought, doing dumb shit that could’ve easily been avoided if they just fucking used their brains.

But you... every second Rafe spent around you, every time you said something or did something or revealed more of yourself, it felt like he’d finally found someone who got him. Someone who just knew. Someone who—

“Rafe?”

He blinked.

Shit. You’d caught him so off guard, he’d just stared at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, letting out a startled little laugh, his thumb brushing over the soft skin on your wrist for a second before he realized what the fuck he was doing and let his fingers drop beside your hand again. “I—sorry, what?”

Shit, what the fuck was up with him? He still had some leftover coke in his system, and he still acted like this.

Your brows twitched for a moment, and he thought you’d back off now, but instead you just chuckled, that mix of embarrassment and amusement so sweet in your tone.

“What do you want me to say if someone asks what happened?” you repeated. “I mean, they know you left because someone texted you.”

So you had spilled a few details to your new shitty-ass friends earlier, but Rafe guessed he could live with that.

In hindsight, he did feel kinda bad for not telling you why he'd left. If you had pulled that shit, he probably would’ve gone after you and demanded to know what the fuck that had been about. And, well, in the end, you did chase after him and snapped at him, but as soon as he'd explained the problem, you immediately switched.

Straight into solution-mode. Proactive.

Shit, that’s what Rafe needed. Someone who offered him ways out of this fucked-up mess. Someone who showed him what to do next, how to tackle something, not some whiny bitch crying about how sorry they were for him.

He knew the situation was fucked up already.

“Dunno.” Rafe scratched his jaw, brows furrowed. “It’s none of their business. So probably that.”

“Uh, yeah, no, pretty sure that’s not gonna satisfy them,” you said with dry amusement, twisting his polo fabric between your fingers.

Rafe slapped your hand lightly, frowning. “Stop that. You’re creasing it.”

You let out an amused chuckle and stopped fidgeting. “They won’t be happy to hear you used violence against me.”

Ha. Ha.

Rafe scoffed but then his expression dropped almost instantly when he remembered how harshly he’d grabbed your wrist earlier when you'd stepped to his side as soon as the security guards arrived. He’d expected stupid Kelce or Topper but then saw your big scaredy eyes and it felt like someone had smashed a fucking sledgehammer against his face.

“I was joking,” you said softly now, those same big eyes on him, only this time without the fear from earlier.

Rafe’s chest clenched. “Yeah, no, I know, I just…” He furrowed his brows, glancing at your wrist, looking for any kind of bruise. “Earlier, when I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

For a moment, you just looked at him. Almost stunned. Then you shook your head with a soft smile, and somehow Rafe knew things were okay.

“It’s alright,” you said gently. A chuckle escaped your lips. “I mean, you do have a firm grip, but you didn’t actually hurt me. And I know you didn’t mean to.”

Rafe didn’t even— Jesus Christ, somehow your understanding made him feel worse than if you’d actually guilt-tripped him.

This sudden urge to apologize arose in him. To say he was sorry for leaving you behind, for keeping you in the dark, for yelling at you, for being sorry about every shitty thing he’d done this week that might’ve made you feel like you were anything less than you actually were.

Because the truth was, as crazy and messed up as you were, you were still better than him.

You were sweet and gentle, polite and kind, and you had this way of handling him so effortlessly (when your little minions weren’t going wild, at least), it felt like he could breathe around you. He didn’t feel like he had to prove anything to you.

And the words were sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he’d mess it up. He didn’t know how to actually say what he meant, how to express how much he appreciated you still sticking around. He’d just stumble over himself and end up sounding pathetic.

So all he did was nod, eyes fixed on the heart charm on your bracelet he was currently fidgeting with, and said, “Still, I’m sorry.” His gaze met yours again. “About everything.”

Fuck, he was so bad at this shit, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just say what he meant. How the fuck did you always know exactly what to say?

To his surprise, you just nodded—no big speech, no dramatic nonsense, just a soft smile on your lips as you gently smoothed out the wrinkle you’d made in his polo. And all you said was, “Apology accepted.”

Again. How the fuck did you always manage to say exactly what Rafe needed to hear? Seriously. Shit was crazy.

“Now I kinda wanna watch that movie you claim is so terrible,” you added with a teasing glint in your eyes, and shit—Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what that playful little spark of yours would look like in the bedroom.

He grimaced—both because yeah, the movie was garbage, and also because he couldn’t go five fucking minutes without one of those images popping into his head.

“Shit, it is,” he said. “Barbie was better than whatever this crap is. Fucking robot cars from space. Like, who the fuck came up with this shit? One of your fuckass minions?”

You raised a brow. “Funny, coming from the guy who missed half the Barbie movie.”

Oh you—

“Sorry,” you giggled, the sound vibrating softly against his ribs. “I mean, you’re right. Barbie did have way more important things to say than whatever the hell Optimus Prime is talking about right now.”

Rafe snorted. “Aight, I think you better stop talking now before this bonding moment turns into a breakup moment.”

“Hah. That’d be the record for the shortest friendship I’ve ever had,” you replied with soft amusement, tapping once on his chest. “Thirty-two hours.”

Dude.

"You for real right now?" No fucking way you counted the actual hours.

You just stared at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Rafe's lips parted in disbelief, because what the fuck.

"Just kidding," you chuckled.

"No the fuck you weren't."

“No, I wasn’t.” You shifted slightly, turning your upper body toward him, brows raised with a cheeky smile. "Okay, listen, there's this tracker app—"

"Aw, shit, no," Rafe laughed, absolutely baffled, his voice cracking halfway through, as he playfully nudged your head off his chest. "You're fucking crazy."

You (not so gently) slapped his hand away with a scoff. "I do the same with Cara. It's cool knowing the exact day we became best friends."

Jesus Christ. What the fuck had he gotten himself into here?

Rafe’s face twisted into whatever emotion existed between being weirded out and somehow enjoying the fact you tracked your new friendship.

He let out a heavy breath and nodded. "Shit, I guess. I hope you know this is insane, though."

"Okay," you mock-sighed with a shrug. He felt his nerves buzz when you shifted back onto his chest, eyes back on the shitty-ass movie. "Guess I’ll go ahead and delete our entry then."

Huh? What. No!

Rafe frowned, staring at the back of your head, hating himself for what he was about to say. "What’s this fuckass app called?"

He felt your chest rumble against his as you chuckled again. Without even glancing his way, you said, "TrackerBuddies."

Aw, hell no. Fuck that.

Kelce had begged him to download that shit back in like 8th grade or so. Rafe hadn’t thought much of it and then he had to listen to Kelce whining for weeks about why Rafe never watered their digital plant that was apparently supposed to symbolize their friendship or some bullshit. Honestly, what the fuck.

Deleted that app immediately.

"Nah," Rafe said. "Kelce uses it. If he sees me on there again, he’s gonna start bitching about why I haven’t added him back."

Rafe already knew the second you tilted your head back to meet his gaze that he wasn’t gonna like whatever you were about to say.

"I know", you said with a smug smile. "I saw your sad, dried-up little plant in his friends' library. Didn’t even make it to level 3."

Shit. What.

"You two are friends on there?" he asked, staring at you blankly, his voice way drier than intended.

Your lips twitched into a downward smile. "Well, yeah. We kinda ended up talking about it in History on Friday and then I added him."

Hah. Funny. Fucking hilarious.

Not only had you and Kelce become friends before you and Rafe—apparently in real life and on this fuckass app—but you had added Kelce willingly.

A deep, ugly feeling spread in Rafe’s chest, his brows twitching in confusion. "And which level are you two fuckers on?"

"Five."

FIVE? In three fucking days? How— What—

"You’re bullshitting."

You laughed. "What?"

"Yeah," Rafe said, brows furrowed. "That’s impossible."

"Well, we got an early friendship boost for watering Willy for three days. Lots of XP."

Willy? You named the fuckass plant you shared with Kelce Willy?

Rafe just blinked at you, a deep scowl forming on his face that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. That awful feeling in his chest only got worse.

"Fuck that," he finally muttered, pulling his right hand away from your waist to fish his phone out of his pocket. "What’s your friend code?"

You giggled as you shifted position, hugging your side of the blanket to your chest as you sat upright next to him. "You really wanna add me or do you just wanna beat Kelce’s level?"

Rafe nodded, frowning, eyes glued to the App Store as he re-downloaded this stupid-ass app. "Yes."

"Alright," you chuckled, leaning against his shoulder to peek at his screen. "I think you just need to click on Kelce’s profile—yeah, there—and then in his friend library—yes, that’s my profile."

Rafe’s frown deepened when he saw your whole friends list on this cursed app. Your crazy-ass best friend, of course. Shitface Kelce, obviously. Molly. Fucking Topper, who probably only downloaded it to follow the trend. Even pogue rat John B, what the actual fuck, and that Heyward boy.

And worst of all: Sarah.

Seriously, he couldn’t even describe how much this pissed him off. Every idiot in the damn universe seemed to be on your friends list—except him.

But the funny thing? He didn’t see any of those fuckers’ bracelets on your wrist.

What a fucking joke.

"Give me my phone," you said, amused. "Then I can add you back."

Rafe wasted no time. But apparently your shitty phone did, taking forever to boot back up after he’d turned it off earlier.

"Jesus," you muttered with a laugh as Rafe hovered over your shoulder to make sure you actually added him back.

He shifted back just as his phone vibrated with a notification from that fuckass app. Rafe’s heart skipped a beat (fuck, what) as he read the message:

yourusername just added you as a friend [+50 XP]

And then another:

yourusername promoted you to their Best Buddy [+100 XP]

Rafe’s head snapped up, meeting your amused grin with a baffled look. Shouldn’t that title go to—

"Cara doesn’t take this as seriously as I do," you said, chuckling sweetly and nodding toward his phone. "So you better prove yourself worthy."

Oh, you could bet your sweet little ass he would.

Rafe couldn’t even stop the smile from creeping onto his face. Just the fact that you were now officially friends—Best Buddies, even—on this dumb fucking app honestly excited him almost as much as the fact that you were wearing his bracelet around your wrist.

I’m fucking losing it, dude.

"Also, I assume your account’s pretty old," you said, face twisting into an amused grimace.

Rafe narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as you looked at your screen. "DarthDude."

Shit.

He scowled.

Yeah, fuck. He’d kinda forgotten about the username he’d made in 8th grade. Had some cringe-ass Star Wars phase back then because of Kelce. Eugh. He had the full package—lightsaber, posters, even a couple helmets in his room.

Embarrassing as hell.

Though he had kept two of the red lightsabers above his bedframe since it made a pretty cool LED for when some girl came over.

Anyway, no chance in hell he was addressing that. Way beneath him.

So he just shook his head with a frown, grabbed both your phones despite your protests, set them aside on his end, and leaned back against the bed frame, his right hand finding your waist again.

“Enough of this shit now,” he muttered and scowled as your body seemed to resist when he tried nudging you back onto his chest. “What? Gonna miss the second shitty-ass movie thanks to you.”

You just chuckled, murmuring a quiet “Drama queen” as you thankfully settled back against him.

Rafe exhaled.

Peace settled back into him with you curled up on his chest again, your perfume lingering in the air.

As much as this movie sucked, he was already dreading its end. Because that would mean the end of this. And then he’d have to face a swarm of annoying-ass people again, all ready to bombard both of you with questions and stupid jokes (honestly, he was still surprised Kelce hadn’t gotten up from his lounge bed to go check on Rafe).

The only good thing about all that?

You’d be there, too. And Rafe would damn well make sure not to leave your side again.

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"Shiiit, you half-blind now or what?" Rafe asked, chuckling as he eyed Topper's bloodshot left eye.

Fucker looked busted. Left cheekbone red, already hinting at a nasty bruise forming. Looked worse than Rafe’s own, and he hadn’t even hit Top that hard.

After that not-so-shitty-movie had ended, Kelce and Molly had immediately jumped from their lounge bed over to the one Rafe had shared with you, grinning at you two like a pair of fucking idiots.

Thank fuck they'd held back on questions about earlier. Just a few comments about you and Rafe cuddling, and Kelce asking if Rafe was alright. That was it.

That was actually one of the few things Rafe appreciated about Kelce. No whiny, unnecessary bullshit.

Shortly after, you’d called Hall to ask where she was, and you all met at the bar on the side of the venue, now sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables. Rafe had immediately taken the seat to your right on one of the benches, Kelce scooting in right after (did he seriously rather sit next to Rafe than his new girlfriend, dude, what the fuck).

And the first thing Rafe had noticed as the other three sat down across from you: Topper’s sorry-ass condition.

Shit sure as hell wasn’t that bad, and Rafe figured the fucker was just playing it up to get some sympathy from your best friend. Apparently, it worked because they’d spent the second movie together in the first aid tent.

Great. Another annoying couple.

“Seriously?” Cara said before Topper could even start complaining. “I’d say 100% blind, considering he believed Ruthie to be good company.”

A baffled laugh escaped Rafe’s lips (shit, maybe your friend wasn’t all that bad). He could even see you out of the corner of his eye suppressing a chuckle beside him.

Idiot Topper sulked, raising the cool pad back to his cheek. “She asked me to go join them, so I did. Would you guys have preferred I cuddled up to one of you?”

“Fuck no,” Rafe shot back in sharp disbelief, only to glance at you as you kicked him gently under the table. Your eyes said something along the lines of “Remember what we talked about.”

Aw, shit. Right. He’d promised you earlier he’d show some remorse toward Topper (why the hell had he agreed to that again?).

Eugh. Rafe didn’t wanna do that shit. Saying anything remotely apologetic out loud would mean he’d be submitting to fucking Topper of all people. That guy was a whiny little bitch, and Rafe had no intention of giving him any kind of satisfaction. Especially since there was still a chance he’d been involved in that Ruthie bullshit.

But for you? Rafe would do it. He owed you that much.

So before Kelce could open his mouth to say some shit like Could’ve squeezed in between me and Molly, blah blah she’s wonderful, blah blah, Rafe gathered all his strength and willpower, ffurrowed his brows, and said, “But you could’ve joined some other chick in the front rows. Would’ve spared you that unfortunate bruise.”

What?

He’d said what you asked of him, but everyone still looked at him like he was speaking in riddles. Especially Topper—squinting like he couldn’t make sense of Rafe’s words. The fuck.

“I think he’s trying to say he would’ve rather not hit you,” you said with a smile.

Hah. See. You always knew what to say. Why even make Rafe do it?

Then came another kick to his leg, followed by you giving him that way-too-sweet smile and raised eyebrows. “Right?”

Not just a Crazyhead, but a stubborn one too. Alright.

Rafe didn’t wanna drag this unnecessary topic out any longer, so he just nodded, reluctant as hell. “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure.”

That's all Topper was getting. And thank god, that idiot just responded with a slight smile and a nod. “Maybe next time, though, let me know what’s wrong before going all in.”

Rafe almost laughed out loud. If he’d gone all in, Topper would be in the hospital right now. But sure, let this idiot believe whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Yeeaahhh,” Hall said, curling her lips and raising her brows directly at Rafe. “I meaaaan, what did happen?”

Oh, you’d been right about this one too. Your nosy friend being nosy. Fucking great.

Funny enough, Molly shot her an uncharacteristically sharp side-eye. Aight, those chicks had definitely been chatting behind Rafe’s back, and he was willing to bet their whole convo was sitting in that stupid little girlie group chat he’d caught a glimpse of earlier.

Rafe rubbed his jaw in annoyance and leaned back against the cushioned backrest, his left arm resting behind your shoulders. “Some fucker decided to annoy me mid-movie and I had to take care of a few things. Shit’s solved now.”

Kelce raised his brows. “Who—”

“Ruthie?” your best friend blurted out.

Shit, what. How had she— what the fuck. How had both of you caught on that fast?

Rafe furrowed his brows, scratching at the label on his flask. For some reason, he felt the sudden urge to play with your bracelet, but he resisted. Instead, he said, “Yeah, but like I said, I took care of it.”

No point denying what everyone already seemed to know. Not that they needed to know he was knee-deep in that shit.

“So that’s why she left,” Topper muttered, looking like some sulky crybaby. “Just giggled to Gracie and Samantha and then dipped. Didn’t think she’d talk to you.”

Just drop this shit already, Jesus Christ. Hadn’t Rafe literally just said it was dealt with?

Kelce nodded. “Must’ve been something bad, the way you stormed off your seat.”

Shit, him too now?

Rafe could feel how this was making you uncomfortable, the way you quietly fidgeted with the straw in your drink. Your brain probably spiraling again over the whole fact of Rafe leaving you behind.

Alright, fuck that. You two didn’t come here for some kind of interrogation.

“I said it’s been handled,” Rafe repeated, sharper now. “So quit pissing me off. Had enough of this shit tonight.”

Luckily for them, everyone shut the hell up. Otherwise, Rafe might’ve actually crashed the fuck out.

“O-kayyy,” Hall said with a tight smile, blinking as she clasped her hands. “Sooo, how did everyone like the movies?”

Great. Female Kelce, apparently.

At least that finally shifted the convo to something that didn’t involve Rafe, Ruthie, or Rafe and Ruthie.

And since he was done talking for the night, Rafe just relaxed in his seat, took a sip of this cheap-ass pogue beer, and listened to whatever the idiots at this table—and you—were chatting about. Occasionally, he’d throw in a comment.

Whenever you giggled at something, he soaked it all the way up, letting himself smile along when you started rambling about which Barbie movie was your favorite as a kid (fucking Kelce joining in for some reason).

And when Rafe caught himself absentmindedly toying with the fabric of your dress near your shoulder—somehow calming to his brain—he cursed himself for doing that in public. But he didn’t stop. You didn’t seem to mind.

As a matter of fact, you didn’t even pull away when Rafe rested his knee against yours—just needed to scoot closer after Kelce decided to manspread for no goddamn reason (though Rafe was pretty sure that grin Kelce shot him was confirmation he did that on purpose).

Fuckass.

Annoying as hell, but Kelce always knew how to be the best wingman when Rafe needed it (not that he needed it with you as he had no intention of using you for a hookup, okay!). Maybe that dumbass really was the closest thing Rafe had to a best friend (god, what were you doing to him, making him think in cringe-ass terms like that).

“…and when Ryan Gosling showed his abs I was like—” your friend babbled, stopping mid-sentence when her phone rang with the loudest, most annoying ringtone ever (some Nicki Minaj song). “Oh wait, Sarah’s calling.”

Fuck no. Absolutely not. Rafe already knew what she wanted.

“We’re literally at the bar,” Hall said, looking around. “Girl, you stupid? Yeah, wait, no—turn the other way. No, not—there. Pope spotted us.” She waved, then blinked at whatever Sarah said next, glancing at Rafe for a second. “Uh, yeah.” Then to him: “Can they come over or are you gonna kill them?”

Rafe’s whole body tensed at the idea of Sarah and her shitty pogue rats joining their table. Hell no. Now she wanted to infiltrate his friend group too? That was the last straw.

“I’m sure they’ll find another table,” he said dryly, earning a few blinks in return and a “Come on, dude” from Kelce.

Cara turned back to her call, babbling on, but Rafe’s focus shifted the moment you turned to him. His expression softened instantly when he saw your almost disappointed face.

You tilted your head slightly and said quietly, “They’re not as bad as you think.”

“What, you want them here?” Rafe scoffed, irritation bubbling. The way you were getting close with Sarah and her fuckass friends really didn’t sit right with him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you replied softly, making Rafe frown while Hall continued loudly yapping in the background.

Oh hell no, he didn’t—

“But if I’m honest,” you continued, voice still quiet, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips, “I also wouldn’t mind if we dipped.”

Rafe blinked, twisting the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “You wanna leave?”

“No, I mean—yeah,” you said with an awkward chuckle. “This whole night’s been kinda a lot and I could use some desocializing.”

Oh. So you wanted to go home.

A sinking feeling spread in Rafe’s stomach almost instantly, disappointment settling deep in his bones. He didn’t want to leave. Or go home. Or say goodbye to you. Not yet.

The frown came naturally. “And how exactly do you plan on getting home? We all came with Topper’s—”

“No, no,” you cut in with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I don’t mean home-home. I actually thought we could, you know… I mean I liked our little drive-around last night. Thought maybe we could repeat that or something.”

So desocializing only meant ditching the annoying idiots—not him.

Ha.

Rafe grinned. “Same question. How you planning to get away from here? Unless you feel like stealing a car.”

That made your face light up, and something warm and electric bloomed in Rafe’s chest.

“There’s this app called Uber,” you said, laughing.

Rafe wrinkled his nose. “Oh fuck that, I don’t—”

“I think you can go ahead and call them over, Cara,” Kelce announced from Rafe’s right, making both of you snap your heads around. “Looks like these two are making space.”

Fucker had been eavesdropping.

Cara blinked, Molly giggled, and Topper gave you a raised brow. Then your friend’s face twisted into the biggest grin like she’d just won Miss America.

“Okii,” she chimed, turning back to her phone. “Come over, babes.”

Alright, that was enough. If Rafe had to sit through more of this bullshit—or see Sarah and her little pogue crew crowding into his space—he was gonna lose it.

So before he had to deal with his nosy-ass sister and her swamp rats, he nudged your shoulder with a quiet “Let’s go,” urging you to move.

Which, thankfully, you did, with an awkward chuckle and your bag slung over your shoulder. Rafe grabbed your jacket off the hook at the table and turned to the four grinning idiots now watching the two of you.

“Have fun,” Molly said first with a soft smile, shifting over to sit next to Kelce.

That idiot’s grin deepened as he threw an arm around her and waved. “Don’t go too crazy though.”

Shut the fuck up.

Topper only nodded with a “See you tomorrow,” while your friend hopped up to hug you goodbye like a buzzing hamster.

“Have fun, remember what JJ said yesterday, and love you,” she said as she pulled away, making Rafe wonder what the fuck that pogue rat had told you.

You just nodded, a little overwhelmed. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Love you too, C.” Then turned to the others. “You guys enjoy the rest of the night. See you at school.”

And before another round of cringe goodbyes could start, Rafe placed his hand on your lower back and nudged you toward the exit, turning around one last time. “Yeah, yeah. Hope you all have the time of your lives hanging out with fuckass swamp rats.”

“Hey, you better shut up,” your friend replied with the least intimidating glare Rafe had ever seen. “Or else we’ll be having a nice little chat about how to behave properly around women.”

Now Rafe got why her and Barry got along so well apparently. Throwing threats around like confetti.

Whatever.

He just grimaced at her, and finally, you started moving, clutching your bag and laughing under your breath.

Once you’d made it out of the venue, Rafe helped you into your jacket, even took your purse because despite what that loudmouthed boxer-friend had said, Rafe knew how to be a gentleman when he wanted to.

Hell, he even called the fuckass Uber himself, held the door open for you as you slipped inside, and tipped that old lady driving well enough that she could probably take three days off next week.

And when you’d arrived at your place, Rafe held the fucking door open for you again—of course—and even took charge of driving your dad’s shiny white Corvette (fucking hell of a beauty, by the way), because there was no way in hell he was gonna let you drive, especially not after you’d had a drink.

You did protest, since he’d done coke earlier (and half a beer), but that shit had already been processed by his system and Rafe could drive a car blindfolded if he wanted to.

“Okay, Leclerc,” you said with dry amusement as you handed him the keys. “But just know my dad’s gonna kill you if you put even the tiniest scratch on his car.”

Honestly, that did make Rafe’s nerves spark for a second, but more than that, it snapped him more sober. So, a win.

And as the two of you climbed into the car (after Rafe had held the door open for you again, obviously), he let out an excited chuckle as the Corvette’s engine rumbled through the garage, sounding almost as beautiful as your laugh.

“So,” he said with a crooked grin as he pulled out of the driveway, “where do you wanna go and desocialize?” (Rafe hadn't even known that fucking term existed)

Oh no. That cheeky smile of yours did not mean anything good.

“Kinda feeling like a McFlurry right now.”

Rafe almost cried out loud at the thought of having to steer your dad’s precious Corvette through the tiny-ass McDonald’s drive-thru.

But he wasn’t fucking whiny Topper, so he just forced a smile and said in a mockingly polite tone, “Sure. Whatever the lady desires.”

And the sweet laugh that escaped your lips after that made it almost worth the risk of scratching your dad’s goddamn Corvette in a shitty-ass McDonald's drive-thru.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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ohlawdthevoices · 3 days ago

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PLS PLS PLS MAKE A MEETING SHOTOS FAMILY FIC I NEVER SEE ANY OF THEM 🙏

I literally love the way u write Shoto

him ->🧍

Meeting Shoto’s family | prohero!shoto x gn!reader

tags : pro hero shoto x gn!reader, mostly fuyumi and natsuo, fluff, shoto is very aloof but we love that, new years dinner, not proof read

word count : 1.8k

a.n : i had fun with this one lol so thank you so much for your request !!

shoto didn’t want to make his relationship public, so except his closest of friends, no one really knew you or even knew he had a partner.

that was sure annoying at times since shoto doesn’t get a hint when someone is flirting with him and usually doesn’t end the conversation, but you knew he did that for your own safety from all the medias.

so it was only when he took a very awkward selfie of the two of you— an almost constipated expression on his face, holding his phone with both hands like a father taking a picture, and sent it to his sister asking if you could join on their new year’s celebration— that his family finally learned about your existence.

shoto’s phone was blowing up the next 40 minutes or so, mostly his sister asking about you, your favorite food and dessert… you were nervous, sure, but fuyumi’s enthusiasm was definitely helping, you knew the rest of his family wasn’t like that but you still hoped somehow endeavor would be secretly chill.

still, when the day finally came and you were standing in front of the todoroki household—gift bag in hand, dressed in something that screamed “respectable but please still like me”—you couldn’t help the nerves climbing up your spine.

“last chance to pretend you forgot me at home,” you whispered. shoto glanced down at you, completely unfazed. “too late. fuyumi’s watching from the window.”

he wasn’t wrong. the door opened before either of you could even knock.

“YOU MUST BE Y/N!!” fuyumi beamed, launching forward to engulf you in a hug so sudden it nearly knocked the gift bag out of your hands. “i’m so glad you came! oh my god. you’re real. you know for a second a thought shoto photoshopped you in the picture.”

“why would i do that” he furrowed his brows,stepping into his home and taking his shoes off. you followed his actions a bit overwhelmed but still trying to keep up the polite and respectful act.

te house smelled like grilled meat and expensive furniture. it was quiet, warm, and intimidating in a subtle, rich-people way.

you barely had time to take your shoes off before someone else appeared around the corner—tall, broad-shouldered, and immediately recognizable.

endeavor.

your body tensed involuntarily, like your survival instincts kicked in. he nodded stiffly.

“welcome.” shoto didn’t say anything, just stepped a little closer behind you, like his presence would shield you from any lingering tension in the room.

“hi… thank you for having me,” you managed politely, though you weren’t totally sure your voice came out.

endeavor nodded again. the silence that followed was suffocating. you could feel Shoto regretting everything.

“anyway!” fuyumi saved the moment with a clapping gesture. “dinner’s almost ready, you can go sit in the dining room !”

dinner was… surprisingly normal. since his father left due to a work related emergency, the discussion seemed to be much more open.

at one point, fuyumi leaned over with a warm smile and asked how you two met. you blinked and said, “oh, at a coffee shop actually.”

“she yelled at me,” shoto added, like he was just stating the weather. “i did not yell at you,” you said immediately, glaring at him with no real heat.

natsuo raised an eyebrow. “this sounds promising.”

“she cut the line,” shoto continued, between two bites. you turned to him, raising your eyebrows “okay, wow. no that wasn’t it” he looked at you, calm as ever.

“there was a clear order. you broke it.”

“i was literally just going to grab a straw.”

“you had intent in your posture.” natsuo laughed while his sister clapped her hands like this was the best dinner she’d ever seen.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “anyway, he accused me of cutting, i told him to mind his business, and then five minutes later he offered to pay for my drink because he ‘felt bad about the misunderstanding.’”

“i did,” shoto said, already sipping his tea like none of this was unusual. “you were wearing a shirt that said ‘caffeine and violence.’”

“…and?”

“i was scared.” he went back to eating as if he didn’t just admit that.

after dinner, you all insisted everyone help clean up, which turned into shoto getting kicked out of the kitchen for trying to load the dishwasher wrong.

“how do you even mess it up that bad?” natsuo muttered, yanking a plate out. “you put a bowl in the plate rack.”

“It fit,” shoto replied simply, as if that were the only criteria.

you were drying dishes nearby, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. honestly, it was endearing. shoto could calculate the trajectory of an ice attack down to the centimeter but apparently couldn’t grasp modern appliances.

eventually, you were shooed into the living room with a mug of tea, tucked beside shoto on the couch while fuyumi and natsuo bickered over whether or not anyone wanted dessert.

the tv was on in the background playing some new year’s countdown show, all loud music and glittery stage lights. you leaned into Shoto a little, warm and full and weirdly at peace for being in the house of japan’s most emotionally complex family.

“they like you,” he whispered, you turned to him. “yeah?”he nodded “i can tell. fuyumi didn’t start stress-cleaning, and natsuo only insulted me twice.”

you laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I like them too, they’re nice.”

there was a pause.

“…did you really tell fuyumi my favorite food?”

shoto didn’t answer right away. then: “i made a powerpoint.” you blinked. “you what?”

“for her,” he added casually,his eyes on the tv. “so she’d be prepared. she asked for a list of things you like, so I made one. it had slides.”

you stared at him. “you powerpointed me.” he nodded, entirely calm. “It had transitions.”

youwould’ve teased him, but honestly, your chest just swelled with affection so fast it kind of short-circuited your brain.

the countdown on the tv hit ten. fuyumi ran back into the room, waving sparkling cider and glasses, while natsuo complained about missing the remote.

everyone gathered around for the final countdown, and when it hit midnight, the room filled with cheers, clinks of glass, and confetti from god knows where (you suspected fuyumi).

shoto turned to you, eyes soft, and asked—completely monotone—“would it be appropriate to kiss now?”

“let’s not do that here yeah ?” you smiled at him as he nodded not really trying to understand why but he accepted it.

#my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #shoto fluff #shoto x you #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki #mha shoto #todoroki x reader #enji todoroki #todoroki family

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urfavfakeblonde · 3 days ago

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Cₒcₖwₐᵣₘᵢₙg ₘₒb Bₒₛₛ!Bᵤcₖy

Bucky's a mob boss...and there are some incompetent men in his presence that don't seem to understand the importance of what he owns. Luckily, the sweet girl sitting on him can help him calm down.

Warnings: cockwarming, fingering fem!rec, implied violence, public!sex

I timidly enter the room, swallowing hard as I make eye contact with Bucky. He had this stern look on his face, like he was just about to single-handedly kill every man sitting around the table. I nervously bite my lip as he waves me over, continuing his conversation. "Look, Mr. Barnes, we can get you the money by next week. Someone robbed the storage unit last night, so we are short $500,000. If you could just give us more time-" the man was cut short as the door slammed shut. Everyone jumped in their seats, nervously straightening their ties. My breath shakes as I slowly walk over to Bucky, standing just off to the side of his chair. I hold out an envelope to him, biting my tongue. He lets out a deep sigh, staring down at the man currently twitching in his seat. "Where is this... perpetrator?" He asks, taking the envelope from my shaky hands. He glances up at my face as I dart my eyes towards the ground. His eyes drink in my appearance, clearing his throat before opening the paper. He reads while the man tries to explain himself on the matter, ultimately getting dragged away by one of the henchmen. Bucky sighs as he closes the paper, setting it on the table. He brings his attention to the other men who sit at the table, beads of sweat forming on each of their brows. "Anybody want to explain why your company has failed to return my money?" He asks, clicking his teeth. It's quiet for a moment as they all look at each other, clutching their hands tightly together.

Suddenly, he pats his lap, catching my attention. My face heats up as I swallow, nervously playing with my fingers. "Sit, sweetheart," he says cooly, glancing at the men before him, "since our guests are having difficulty finding words." I suck in a breath, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Look, we really don't have all day to discuss this, Mr. Barnes," another man says. However, Bucky continues to look at me, a smirk growing on his face. Slowly, he brings his hand to his belt as the man continues. My eyes grow wide at the actions, glancing at the man talking to distract myself. The man continues, completely oblivious that Bucky has taken his cock out of his trousers. "We can get you the money by next week, unless we find the man who stole from us. You, I mean." Bucky pats his lap again, tilting his head at me. I close the distance, scooting in front of him to sit. Bucky is quick to reach under my dress, moving my panties to the side as he sits me on his cock. I let out a gasp, gripping the edge of the table. I bite my lip as the men at the table nervously look down at the table. To them, it seemed that I was terrified of being so close to the mob boss. If only they knew how close I really was. Bucky lets out a satisfied sigh, letting a mocking smile form on his lips. "You know what this paper told me here?" He asks, leaning forward to pick up the envelope. This position pushed him in even further, pinning me to the table. I let out a shaky breath as to not let out a moan, knuckles white against the table's edge. "It says that you, Bruce, took out $500,000 from your company just last night. Interesting, isn't it?" The man at the end of the table stops breathing for a moment, eyes going wide as his co-workers look at him with shocked expressions. "T-that's not true, why would I do that?" He asks nervously, glancing at the broad-shouldered man guarding the door.

Bucky's grip on my waist tightens as my pussy unknowingly clenches around him, my focus faltering by the minute when he's just so deep. "You tell me. However, I'm sure you're very busy, so let's discuss this at a later time. Give you some time to remember," he says cooly, glancing at the henchmen guarding the door. He is quick to grab the man, dragging him out of his chair and out the door. The other men got up in a hurry, leaving the room as fast as possible. I gulp as I look over my shoulder at the man who has been inside me, unmoving, for the past 10 minutes. "Please," I whisper, cheeks heating up. He simply kisses my neck, letting his arms wrap around my torso to pull me into his chest. I let my head fall back against his shoulder, gasping as his cool hand pushes up my dress past my hips to rub small circles on my sensitive clit. I clench around him, tears brimming in my lash line. My hands grip the sides of the chair, heavy breaths spilling from my plump lips. Through all of it, all I could hear was the screams of the businessmen as I came around his cock.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing me softly.

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rose24207 · 3 days ago

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I think he loves you more than me now

Summary: When Suho asks his sweet, introverted girlfriend who works in women’s clothing for her employee discount to help his friend Sieun, the unexpected kindness she shows earns her not just gratitude—but Sieun’s rare and heartfelt approval as someone truly good for Suho.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part one

A/N: y’all someone jinxed me. I was almost fired today for no reason help. I think it’s the authors curse. It’s finally out to get me help

Navigation

You’re still working on the first floor of the department store—women’s clothing, where nothing stays hung for more than ten minutes, and every compliment about the mess sounds more like a personal attack.

“Wow,” one lady muttered today, crinkling her nose at a blouse someone else had thrown on the floor. “You’d think someone worked here.”

You just smiled politely, the same way you always do. You’ve learned it’s not worth correcting them. Instead, you hang the blouse back up, smooth its sleeves, and continue folding shirts in the same gentle rhythm.

You’ve changed a little since Suho came into your life—well, not changed, more like grown into yourself. You’re still quiet, still introverted, still way too shy to make small talk unless it’s with someone over the age of sixty or a mannequin. But you’ve also learned to hold your head a little higher. You still hide behind your bangs sometimes, but now your lips twitch into a smile every time you remember Suho holding your hand behind the store and whispering:

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You’d nearly combusted.

This afternoon, Suho comes into the store looking stressed, his dark brows pinched and his school bag barely hanging onto one shoulder.

He weaves through the perfume counters, then the purses, skips the escalator, and takes the stairs two at a time.

You spot him before he even notices you, and you straighten the display quickly so it looks like you weren’t just admiring his walk.

He finally finds you near the cardigans.

“Babe,” he breathes, all flustered. “Do you… do you have your discount card on you?”

You blink, confused. “Uh, yeah? It’s in my pouch—why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward for the first time since he met you. “It’s for Sieun. His shirt got ripped yesterday.”

Your eyes widen. “Ripped?”

“Bullies,” Suho mutters. “Some jerks at school. He didn’t want to tell me, but I saw the tear. Got it out of him. Then I told him we’re coming here, ‘cause you work here and you have that magic card of wonders.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s not magic, it’s a 30% employee discount.”

“Same thing,” he says with a smirk. Then, quieter: “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. For you? For your friend? Anytime.”

He grins and kisses your forehead before dashing back upstairs. You watch him go, warmth curling in your chest.

A few minutes later, you spot them. Suho’s voice, animated and teasing, echoes down from the second floor. He’s pointing at something in the men’s section while another boy—shorter, quieter—stands with crossed arms, clearly unimpressed.

That must be Sieun.

You’ve never met him before, but Suho’s mentioned him lots of times.

"He doesn’t talk much."

"He’s insanely smart."

"He sees through everyone, like he’s reading your mind."

Also: "He never likes my girlfriends. But he will like you. I know it."

Sieun looks like someone who keeps his guard up by default. His expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line. His uniform shirt is neatly ironed despite the tear Suho mentioned. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who asks for help.

But when they come down the escalator—with a couple of neatly folded shirts and a plain navy hoodie draped over his arm—you offer them your softest smile.

“Found everything?” you ask gently.

Suho nods and waves Sieun forward. “Go on.”

Sieun hesitates, then steps up and places the items on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet but sincere. “I… appreciate this.”

You shake your head lightly. “No need to thank me. Suho told me what happened. I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

Sieun’s eyes flicker up to yours. You expect him to shut down, but instead, something in his expression softens. Maybe it’s the way you’re not making a big deal out of it.

Maybe it’s how your voice is calm, not pitiful. He watches you ring everything up, nimble fingers tapping on the register, checking tags and scanning like second nature.

“You’re fast,” he says suddenly.

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

“At this,” he says, nodding to the register. “You’re good at your job.”

It’s not flattery. It’s an observation. You smile a little, flustered. “Thank you.”

You hand him the final price—with your discount applied, of course—and bag the clothes neatly while Suho chats beside you about school, complaining about math. You catch Sieun watching you carefully, thoughtfully. Not in a creepy way, but more like… analyzing.

Later, after they leave, Suho texts you from the bus.

Suho 🤺: he likes u Suho 🤺: he literally said “she’s not fake” Suho 🤺: THATS A BIG DEAL Suho 🤺: i think ur in the circle of trust now

You laugh so hard you nearly drop a stack of scarves.

A few days later, Sieun comes back. Alone. No Suho.

You spot him wandering the second floor and wave at him from across the balcony. He seems a little unsure of himself but eventually makes his way down.

“Suho had work,” he says as you approach. “But I needed another shirt. I didn’t want to go to another store.” I didn’t trust another worker with my cloths.

You smile at him, motioning for him to show you. “Want help finding it?”

He nods slowly. “If it’s not a bother.”

You lead him upstairs and help him check the racks. He’s surprisingly polite, following behind you like a quiet shadow.

You’re not sure what it is—maybe it’s his silence, or the way he watches things like he’s constantly solving a puzzle—but you find yourself talking a little more than usual.

“This one’s the same cut as the one you liked, but in black,” you say, holding a hanger up to the light. “I can check in the system to see if they still have the beige one, though.”

He nods, studying the shirt. “Black is fine. I trust your taste.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that to be weird,” he adds quickly. “Just that Suho’s style is… chaotic. Yours is calm. Balanced.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a little all over the place.”

Sieun looks at you, and for the first time, you see the hint of a smile tug at his lips. “But it works for him. He’s happier now.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “He’s calmer. He jokes more. He used to get into fights all the time, not just with other kids, but with himself. Like he didn’t know where to put all the emotion. But ever since you… it’s like he found an anchor.”

Your throat tightens slightly. You weren’t expecting that.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you murmur.

“You did,” Sieun says, voice steady. “You’re kind. And consistent. He needed that.”

There’s a silence between you two—but it’s not awkward. It’s peaceful.

When you finish ringing up his items, he takes the bag with a short bow. “Thank you again.”

You smile softly. “Anytime, Sieun-ssi.”

As he turns to leave, he pauses. Then, without looking back, he adds, “For the record, I never liked any of his past girlfriends. But you…” He hesitates, then nods. “You’re different.”

Your cheeks burn with warmth as he disappears into the crowd.

That evening, Suho bursts into your messages again.

Suho 🤺: SIEUN TOLD ME WHAT HE SAID Suho 🤺: do you know how BIG that is Suho 🤺: he called you “consistent” 😭😭😭 Suho 🤺: I think he loves you more than me now

Wifey 🛍️: I just gave him a discount and helped him find shirts 💀 Wifey 🛍️: It’s not that deep

But deep down… it feels kind of amazing.

A week later, Sieun comes back again—this time with Suho. Suho‘s goofing off, nearly pushing Sieun into a rack near the escalator, but Suho stops to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“My girl,” he says proudly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You ready to discount us into fashion icons again?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile says everything.

Sieun shakes his head but smiles softly. “Honestly, I only come here now for the service.”

And you know, without question, you’re not just Suho’s girlfriend anymore. You’re part of the circle. Fully, finally, warmly in.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

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twola · 2 days ago

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Firewater - Chapter 9

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

Dinner and a date? How unlike the two of you.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch @thedilfdiaries, @heron-feathers,@nalitali, @whiskeyskin, @globetrotter28

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You hadn’t expected him to follow through.

Not really.

But there you were, walking into the saloon in town beside Arthur Morgan—clean-shaven and wearing his least-dirty shirt, looking like a man about to meet his girl’s daddy for supper.

You raised an eyebrow as you glanced at him. “Did you bathe for this?”

He shot you a sideways look. “Figured if I was takin’ a lady to dinner, I ought to at least smell like soap instead of sweat.”

You smirked. “Not sure you’re a gentleman yet, but I’ll give you points for tryin’.”

Inside, the place smelled of tobacco, whiskey, and something vaguely fried. Not exactly fine dining, but the little corner table Arthur led you to was surprisingly clean. A single candle flickered in a cloudy glass holder.

He pulled out your chair with a smirk, gesturing for you to sit.

“Arthur Morgan,” you said, amused, “are you courting me?”

“Depends,” he said, sitting opposite you, the candlelight catching the gold flecks in his eyes. “Would it work?”

You tilted your head. “If I said yes, would that mean you’d stop tryin’ to get under my skirt every ten minutes?”

Arthur leaned back, grin lazy and dangerous. “Oh no, I’d still try. I’d just buy you dinner first.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

A waitress brought over two steaming plates of stew, and Arthur ordered whiskey for both of you. You dug in with a contented sigh.

He watched you eat for a moment. “You gonna marry that spoon or what?”

You licked your lips slowly. “I might, if it kept makin’ me feel like this.”

Arthur choked on his drink.

You shrugged. “What? Ain’t my fault the stew was good.”

“Reckon I should’ve picked somethin’ less sensual than stew,” he muttered, half to himself.

You leaned forward on your elbows and nibbled on the spoon in a way most folks would find inappropriate in public.

Arthur raised his brows, smirking. “You tryin’ to make me ruin this table?”

You chuckled, sipping your whiskey in reply.

As the bottle emptied, so did your inhibitions. Banter turned to flirting, flirting to heat.

Arthur licked his thumb clean after a bite of bread, and you stared far too long.

“You good?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” you said. “Just picturin’ that mouth somewhere else.”

He exhaled sharply, clutching his glass like it might steady him. “You say that kinda thing, and you expect me to behave myself?”

You swirled your drink and gave him an innocent look. “I said you had to take me to dinner. Didn’t say nothin’ about how we’d end the night.”

Arthur’s gaze darkened.

“’Cause if we’re bein’ honest,” you continued, voice low and silken, “the food’s nice, but I’ve had better.”

Arthur pushed back his chair with sudden purpose. “Come on.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was rough, amused, hungry. “I paid for a room. Got the key. Let’s go before I do somethin’ improper at this damn table.”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you stared at him, then stood.

The walk through the saloon crackled with electricity.

Every inch between you felt like fire. You didn’t touch, but his hand hovered near the small of your back, and the moment the upstairs hallway door clicked shut behind you, you moved.

He backed you gently into the wall, lips ghosting over yours.

“You sure?” he murmured.

You slid your hands into his collar, tugging him closer. “Shut up and kiss me.”

The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single oil lamp. Somewhere outside, the piano clinked out a sloppy tune, muffled by thick walls and heavier breathing.

Your dress hung halfway down your arms, Arthur’s hands resting at your waist like he was still deciding whether to kiss you or drop to his knees. He looked… almost reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

You broke the silence first.

“If you stare at me like that much longer, Morgan, I might start gettin’ self-conscious.”

He blinked, mouth twitching into a grin. “Sorry. Just didn’t expect heaven to have tits like this. Don’t know why it took me so long to get you naked.”

You snorted, tugging the rest of the fabric off and letting it fall. “Flattery’s cute. Get your damn shirt off.”

He obeyed with a grunt, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. When your eyes swept over him—broad chest, old scars, the trail of hair down his stomach—you bit your lip.

“You are a big bastard,” you said, half-laughing. “No wonder my back still ached from last time.”

Arthur chuckled, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take my time breakin’ you in proper.”

You arched a brow, and pushed your dress down to the floor along with your drawers. “You’re talkative tonight.”

“Whiskey,” he replied. “And you walkin’ around lookin’ like temptation itself.”

When his hands touched your bare hips, everything slowed. He looked down at you, thumb brushing your side, the pads of his fingers callused but warm. He looked you up and down—from your breasts down your waist to that apex of your thighs he’d recently visited so often, where dark hair covered your most sensitive skin.

“I ever tell you how pretty you are?” he murmured as he dragged his thumb under your belly button.

You rolled your eyes. “Once, I think. Right after you had your head between my legs.”

He gave a short laugh. “Well. That still counts.”

You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft at first, then deeper.

Before long, he was walking you backwards toward the bed, the last bits of his clothing tossed aside between kisses, gasps, and muttered swears. And when you were both finally bare, standing at the edge of the bed, the mood shifted—just for a heartbeat. The two of you stood, completely nude to each other for the first time.

Arthur stared at you like he’d been shot clean through. His hand reached up, brushing lightly over your ribs, then lower, his fingers parted that thatch of hair to slide between your folds, already finding you aroused.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re…”

“Don’t you dare say beautiful,” you cut in, smirking as your fingers encircled his cock, squeezing gently.

“Was gonna say dangerous.” He grunted, watching your movements intently.

You smiled. “Damn right.”

He kissed you then, slower now. Deeper. The heat was still there, but something else had crept in, like he was memorizing you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you nudged him back toward the mattress. Arthur wasn’t expecting to be pushed.

Not hard—but firmly enough that his back hit the mattress with a soft grunt, his arms instinctively catching him before he leaned all the way back.

You were already on him, one knee sliding up the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of his chest, a smirk playing at your lips.

“Well,” he drawled, voice low. “This is new.”

You gave him a slow once-over, admiring the long, broad stretch of him beneath you—shirtless, pants long gone, the lamp’s golden glow casting soft shadows across every muscle and scar.

“Figured it was my turn,” you said, shifting to straddle his pelvis. You settled down on his cock, your folds parted as his length settled against your most sensitive skin.

His hands found your hips like they always did, fingers twitching with the urge to squeeze. “Not complainin’. Just surprised you didn’t do this sooner.”

“I like lettin’ you think you’re in charge,” you said sweetly, beginning to rock back and forth over him. “Keeps you well-behaved.”

Arthur chuckled, head tilting back against the pillow. “You ain’t ever known me to be well-behaved.”

You leaned forward until your mouth was just shy of his, hands flat on his chest. “Maybe I like it better when you don’t behave.”

He caught your waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath your ribs. His eyes burned, but he let you lead. For now.

You leaned down and kissed him slowly and deliberately, like you were daring him to pull control back. He didn’t. He kissed you back just as deeply, groaning low in his throat when your teeth grazed his bottom lip. Your hips moved slowly over him, the head of his cock pressed hard against your clit, deliciously.

“You’re drivin’ me insane,” he muttered against your mouth.

“That’s the point.”

You shifted again, watching his jaw clench as your hips rocked forward, just a little, enough to make his breath stutter. His hands tightened on your waist, but he didn’t flip you over, didn’t pin you down.

Not yet.

“You always so good at takin’ your time?” he asked, voice rough.

You dragged your lips along his throat, up to his jaw, speaking just beneath his ear.

“Only when I know the man under me’s about to lose his damn mind.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh—but it broke halfway through when you moved again. His fingers dug in now, trying and failing to stay still.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

“I think I do.”

His head dropped back again, voice low, almost reverent. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed along the lines of his chest now, every inch you touched making him twitch beneath you. He gritted his teeth when you bit down lightly near his collarbone.

“You gonna let me have my way?” you asked, feigning innocence.

Arthur looked down at you, eyes dark and amused and strained all at once. “For now.”

You sat back upright, trailing your hands down his stomach, slow and warm. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Ain’t no threat,” he said. “Just a promise.”

You leaned down one more time, your hair falling like a curtain between you.

“Then you better make sure I remember it.”

He growled low—half frustration, half praise—and let you take your time doing just that.

When you took him in your hand and then sank onto him, the noise he made wasn’t even a word. Just a desperate, throaty groan that made heat bloom low in your belly.

He gripped your hips hard, not guiding you—just holding on. His head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as you moved, fast and rough, all tension and no rhythm, like you were both trying to chase something you couldn’t quite name.

“Goddamn, girl…” he rasped, fingers flexing on your waist. “You tryna kill me?”

You grinned through your gasp. “You could’ve had worse ways to go.”

The tempo shifted, rougher, deeper. He met your thrusts now, matching you beat for beat, until the air between you turned to fire. Nothing but sweat and breath and soft curses under your breath as your pace turned frantic.

His hands gripped your thighs now, arms tight, body straining.

“I ain’t gonna last,” he warned, voice tight, voice wrecked.

You were barely listening.

“D-don’t you dare come—”

You ground down hard on his pelvis, his hands crushing into the meat of your rear with bruising force.

“I—fuck, woman… I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, not yet, Jesus—please—” you whined, rolling your hips on him the fastest and hardest you’d ever done, chasing that precipice you seemed so close to. Your clit pressed hard against his pubic bone, and you sloppily rode his throbbing cock. “I need to come, I need—”

Arthur’s head fell back against the pillow as he gritted his teeth, hands leaving your hips to dig into the mattress.

“Let me come, let me—Arthur—”

He was beyond words as you gyrated above him, grunting and panting as he screwed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to give into the pleasure. You bore down on him, throwing your hips hard against his, chasing that feeling that seemed just out of reach.

You were so close. You could almost taste it. The friction of the curls at the base of his cock against the sensitive skin of that nub of your pleasure—that, that’s what did you in.

“Jesus fuck—” he grunted, the sheen of sweat on his brow glistening as you ground down on him, your hips jerking with a sense of finality.

You stuttered unintelligible words in a high-pitched gasp as your whole body tensed over him, muscles clutching, cunt squeezing. His eyes shot open and he lost the fight.

“Shit—!” He gritted, and nigh uncontrollably, his hips thrust upward and he came, all of his energy seeming to be pulled out of his body through his cock, spattering pulse after pulse of spend into your warm depths.

Your hands pulsed on his abdomen as you whined, panting as you came down from your own high.

“Shit.” He grunted as he watched you climb off him, a trail of milky fluid slowly making its way down your thigh.

“It’ll—it’ll be okay… I’m about to bleed. I’m sure it won’t take.” You panted, grabbing a handkerchief from the bedside table and wiping the moisture from your skin. You tossed the wet handkerchief at Arthur’s face, and he sputtered in disgust, throwing it back at you.

By the time he grabbed you and dragged you back into bed, the drying spend on your thighs was forgotten.

#twolafic #firewater #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan

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emeraldserenade · 1 day ago

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Hi, coming straight from the hook up fic!!!!! (Loved it!!!) We definitely need more and a longer version of lazy morning sex with Joaquin !!!! Thank you in advance <33

Lazy Sunday ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You and Joaquín enjoy your morning at home

tw: fem!reader, filthy, smut, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi!! Here's the longer version of lazy morning sex with Joaquín. It's a longer drabble but I feel like it's a drabble nonetheless. I got carried away, oops 🫣

➽──────────────❥

You were looking forward to your Sunday, Sam guaranteed that there would be no last minutes meetings for missions. You had Joaquín for the whole day without you two worrying about him being called in for any reason.

You woke up turned on, your dreams were filled to the brim of Joaquín and what happened the night before. Joaquín was awake when you woke up and when you looked over your shoulder at him, he had a smirk on his face. "Seemed like you were having some good dreams," Joaquín teased, his smiling widening so you could see the nice points of his canines.

"Great dreams," you told him, pushing your hips back against him. A light gasp left your lips when you realized how hard Joaquín actually was.

"Thought so," he whispered before his lips landed on your shoulder. "You were saying my name, letting out little sounds. Tell me, baby, what were you dreaming about?" Joaquín's hand slid around you to lazily rub circles on your clit.

"You," you gasped as he rolled his hips into you. "How good you made me feel last night," you admitted, looking over your shoulder to kiss Joaquín. You felt his tip catch at your entrance and moaned at the feeling. You pushed your hips back just a little more and Joaquín bottomed out.

There was a slow roll hips, lazy and messy kisses exchanged over shoulders, and the continuous circles drawn on your clit. Joaquín would occasionally bite down on your neck or shoulder, sucking after to leave a mark. It was all too much and not enough at the same time. "I wanna," your words broke in a moan. "I wanna see you, please," you begged lightly and Joaquín let you have what you wanted. He slipped out just long enough to flip you to your other side so you were facing him, slipping back into you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Your pleasure was drawn out. Every time you seemed to get to the brink of your orgasm, Joaquín would slow his hips to an almost stop and stop the circles on your clit. You would whine and plead but he would let you calm down just enough to draw it out some more. By the time Joaquín finally let you succumb to your orgasm, you were panting and had small tears in your eyes. "Oh, miel, don't cry," Joaquín kissed your tears away as your pleasure washed over you.

"Just feels so good," you told him, your breath coming out in short and fast gasps. You hips were pushing against Joaquín as you slowly came down. You gasped when the pleasure turned into overstimulation, "Too much," you slurred.

"Come on, baby. You can give me one more, I know you can," Joaquín mumbled, his own orgasm almost happening. You gasped and moaned as he sped up his ministrations on your clit and you fell over the edge once again, your orgasm mixing with Joaquín's.

"I love you," you sighed as you came down fully, Joaquín slowly slipping his softening cock out of you.

"I love you more," Joaquín said, pushing you on your back and kissing down your chest and stomach.

"Honey, what are you doing?" You questioned, hands finding their way to his hair when he kissed your hipbone. You jumped slightly when Joaquín bit down on your hip, smoothing the sting with a kiss and a brush of his tongue.

"I'm going to clean you up, miel," Joaquín mumbled against your thigh before biting it. Joaquín gently kissed your clit causing your hips to jump up and you to grip his hair tighter. You heard his small chuckle before he dived him, his tongue entering you. You felt and heard the groan he let out at the combined taste of the two of you. Joaquín ate you out messily and slowly, enjoying the way you would moan and move beneath him. He held onto your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them as he dove deeper. He went from fucking you with his tongue to kissing, sucking, and circling your clit.

"Baby, I'm gonna cum," you muttered, your hips trying to slant towards him some more. You could feel him pull away just slightly before speaking.

"Cum more me, miel," Joaquín said before diving back in, you looked down and saw how his eyes were closed. The sight of him completely enjoying himself, eyes closed and messily eating you out like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, was enough to make you come undone. You let go with a shout of his name and you arched your back. Joaquín kept his actions going through it, letting you ride your high before pulling away with one last kiss to your abused clit. "You did so good, baby," Joaquín kissed you as he laid back down next to you, pulling you into his chest. "My perfect girl," he added on, rubbing your side.

"Can we shower?" You asked, pressing a kiss to Joaquín's bare chest.

"Yeah, we can," Joaquín nodded, moving to get up to start the shower.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #marvel mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader

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mckitterick · 3 days ago

Text

She Won. They Didn't Just Change the Machines. They Rewired the Election. How Leonard Leo's 2021 sale of an electronics firm enabled tech giants to subvert the 2024 election.

Everyone knows how the Republicans interfered in the 2024 US elections through voter interference and voter-roll manipulation, which in itself could have changed the outcomes of the elections. What's coming to light now reveals that indeed those occupying the White House, at least, are not those who won the election.

Here's how they did it.

(full story is replicated here below the read-more: X)

She Won

The missing votes uncovered in Smart Elections’ legal case in Rockland County, New York, are just the tip of the iceberg—an iceberg that extends across the swing states and into Texas.

On Monday, an investigator’s story finally hit the news cycle: Pro V&V, one of only two federally accredited testing labs, approved sweeping last-minute updates to ES&S voting machines in the months leading up to the 2024 election—without independent testing, public disclosure, or full certification review.

These changes were labeled “de minimis”—a term meant for trivial tweaks. But they touched ballot scanners, altered reporting software, and modified audit files—yet were all rubber-stamped with no oversight.

That revelation is a shock to the public.

But for those who’ve been digging into the bizarre election data since November, this isn’t the headline—it’s the final piece to the puzzle. While Pro V&V was quietly updating equipment in plain sight, a parallel operation was unfolding behind the curtain—between tech giants and Donald Trump.

And it started with a long forgotten sale.

A Power Cord Becomes a Backdoor

In March 2021, Leonard Leo—the judicial kingmaker behind the modern conservative legal machine—sold a quiet Chicago company by the name of Tripp Lite for $1.65 billion. The buyer: Eaton Corporation, a global power infrastructure conglomerate that just happened to have a partnership with Peter Thiel’s Palantir.

To most, Tripp Lite was just a hardware brand—battery backups, surge protectors, power strips. But in America’s elections, Tripp Lite devices were something else entirely.

They are physically connected to ES&S central tabulators and Electionware servers, and Dominion tabulators and central servers across the country. And they aren’t dumb devices. They are smart UPS units—programmable, updatable, and capable of communicating directly with the election system via USB, serial port, or Ethernet.

ES&S systems, including central tabulators and Electionware servers, rely on Tripp Lite UPS devices. ES&S’s Electionware suite runs on Windows OS, which automatically trusts connected UPS hardware.

If Eaton pushed an update to those UPS units, it could have gained root-level access to the host tabulation environment—without ever modifying certified election software.

In Dominion’s Democracy Suite 5.17, the drivers for these UPS units are listed as “optional”—meaning they can be updated remotely without triggering certification requirements or oversight. Optional means unregulated. Unregulated means invisible. And invisible means perfect for infiltration.

Enter the ballot scrubbing platform BallotProof. Co-created by Ethan Shaotran, a longtime employee of Elon Musk and current DOGE employee, BallotProof was pitched as a transparency solution—an app to “verify” scanned ballot images and support election integrity.

With Palantir's AI controlling the backend, and BallotProof cleaning the front, only one thing was missing: the signal to go live.

September 2024: Eaton and Musk Make It Official

Then came the final public breadcrumb:In September 2024, Eaton formally partnered with Elon Musk.

The stated purpose? A vague, forward-looking collaboration focused on “grid resilience” and “next-generation communications.”

But buried in the partnership documents was this line:

“Exploring integration with Starlink's emerging low-orbit DTC infrastructure for secure operational continuity.”

The Activation: Starlink Goes Direct-to-Cell

That signal came on October 30, 2024—just days before the election, Musk activated 265 brand new low Earth orbit (LEO) V2 Mini satellites, each equipped with Direct-to-Cell (DTC) technology capable of processing, routing, and manipulating real-time data, including voting data, through his satellite network.

DTC doesn’t require routers, towers, or a traditional SIM. It connects directly from satellite to any compatible device—including embedded modems in “air-gapped” voting systems, smart UPS units, or unsecured auxiliary hardware.

From that moment on:

Commands could be sent from orbit

Patch delivery became invisible to domestic monitors

Compromised devices could be triggered remotely

This groundbreaking project that should have taken two-plus years to build, was completed in just under ten months.

Elon Musk boasts endlessly about everything he’s launching, building, buying—or even just thinking about—whether it’s real or not. But he pulls off one of the largest and fastest technological feats in modern day history… and says nothing? One might think that was kind of… “weird.”

According to New York Times reporting, on October 5—just before Starlink’s DTC activation—Musk texted a confidant:

“I’m feeling more optimistic after tonight. Tomorrow we unleash the anomaly in the matrix.”

Then, an hour later:

“This isn’t something on the chessboard, so they’ll be quite surprised. ‘Lasers’ from space.”

It read like a riddle. In hindsight, it was a blueprint.

The Outcome

Data that makes no statistical sense. A clean sweep in all seven swing states.

The fall of the Blue Wall. Eighty-eight counties flipped red—not one flipped blue.

Every victory landed just under the threshold that would trigger an automatic recount. Donald Trump outperformed expectations in down-ballot races with margins never before seen—while Kamala Harris simultaneously underperformed in those exact same areas.

If one were to accept these results at face value—Donald Trump, a 34-count convicted felon, supposedly outperformed Ronald Reagan. According to the co-founder of the Election Truth Alliance:

“These anomalies didn’t happen nationwide. They didn’t even happen across all voting methods—this just doesn’t reflect human voting behavior.”

They were concentrated.

Targeted.

Specific to swing states and Texas—and specific to Election Day voting.

And the supposed explanation? “Her policies were unpopular.” Let’s think this through logically. We’re supposed to believe that in all the battleground states, Democratic voters were so disillusioned by Vice President Harris’s platform that they voted blue down ballot—but flipped to Trump at the top of the ticket?

Not in early voting.

Not by mail.

With exception to Nevada, only on Election Day.

And only after a certain threshold of ballots had been cast—where VP Harris’s numbers begin to diverge from her own party, and Trump’s suddenly begin to surge. As President Biden would say, “C’mon, man.”

In the world of election data analysis, there’s a term for that: vote-flipping algorithm.

And of course, Donald Trump himself:

He spent a year telling his followers he didn’t need their votes—at one point stating,

“…in four years, you don't have to vote again. We'll have it fixed so good, you're not gonna have to vote.”

____

They almost got away with the coup. The fact that they still occupy the White House and control most of the US government will make removing them and replacing them with the rightful President Harris a very difficult task.

But for this nation to survive, and for the world to not fall further into chaos due to this "administration," we must rid ourselves of the pretender and his minions and controllers once and for all.

#musk-trump regime #election interference #election integrity #election 2024 #election fraud #coups

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tayrock · 1 day ago

Text

Stay

Bakugo x fem!Reader

Content warnings: angst, mentions of injury/blood, fluff, mentions of loss

The frenzied bodies flying across the battlefield blurred Katsuki’s vision. A new villain making his first debut had attacked the city, drawing the attention of multiple hero agencies, including Dynamites and yours.

His ear piece buzzed, the signal between him and his sidekicks being cut off long ago. His ears rung as he let off explosion after explosion, trying to defend himself and his comrades.

“Has anybody heard from y/n?” He yelled, watching as the villain retreated, injured. The police showed up, taking him in. He crouched, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders, waiting for somebody to answer him.

His answer came eventually, as he heard sirens begin to approach the area. He looked around frantically, trying to locate you. Standing up, he rushed toward the noise.

“What’s going on?” His heart raced frantically as he continued his search for his girlfriend, taking his gauntlets off and setting them on the ground. He noted the looks of pity on his coworkers’ faces, heart sinking as he realized the truth.

Glancing at the ambulance he saw a familiar array of colors dripping with blood. Shoving people out of the way he found you laying on a gurney, unconscious with a large pole sticking through your abdomen. He blanched, becoming dizzy at the sight of you laying there. Ears ringing, he rushed forward, grabbing your hand and feeling his eyes grow wet.

“Sir? We need you to step back,” an EMT told him, gently pushing him out of the way. He seethed, anger and regret coursing through his veins. His blood boiled as he watched them ship you off to the hospital. He felt something he hasn’t felt in years. Useless.

He shoved past the crowd forming, grabbing his gauntlets as he made his way back to the agency. His sidekicks trailing behind as they whispered about you, watching careful at Dynamight’s reaction.

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

Katsuki sat in his office chair, head in his hands and he thought. Crackles of thunder interrupting the silence of his office every few minutes. The rain was hitting the roof of his agency so hard it reverberated through the building, emphasizing the unrest throughout his staff.

Many lingered around the door, watching through the small window for Bakugo to move, but he remained still, which was a stark contrast to his usual personality.

He had received a call just a few hours after your injury, being informed that you were being wheeled off to surgery and it was 50/50 if you’d survive the trauma of removing the massive pole lodged between your stomach and small intestine. He asked when he’d be able to visit and they informed him that the surgery was too dangerous to determine the length.

Now, he sits at his black leather chair, staring down at his phone and waiting for the call that you’d be alright, doubt gnawing at his brain.

He couldn’t waste time crying, but his skin crawled for a release.

Getting up abruptly, he grabbed his bag and shoved his phone inside, deciding he couldn’t sit around and wait forever.

“Dynamight-San! Are you leaving the office?” His secretary chirped, ready to clock him out. He shot her a look, shaking his head and sticking his thumb out to the gym. She nodded, bidding him farewell as he entered the doors, which slammed behind him and echoed throughout the room. Sighing, he placed his bag down in the locker room, changing into his workout clothes.

That’s when he got the call. A nurse had called your emergency contact, which was him. He slammed the door as he ran out to his car, driving to the hospital as fast as he could (legally) go. He barged through the door, barking your name and flying up the stairs as he found your room.

Standing outside, his heart raced, he had no idea what he would see behind the closed door. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat working as he gently opened the door.

Rain slammed against the hospital windows, a dull roar that couldn’t drown out the chaos in Bakugo’s chest.

He stood by the bed like a statue—arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed—but anyone who knew him would see past the scowl. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped his biceps. He didn’t dare sit, not while you were lying there unconscious, wrapped in white gauze and hooked up to machines that beeped too slowly for his liking.

“You’re such a damn idiot,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse. His eyes, finally, becoming watery. He sighed, grabbing one of the ugly green chairs and pulling it up to the bed you lay in.

Rubbing your hand with his thumb, he glances at the machines, helping you live. The soft beeping and rhythmic hiss of oxygen haunt his every breath, each sound a reminder that he wasn’t fast enough. Not strong enough. Not there.

His jaw clenches, sharp red eyes tracking the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the hospital blanket. “Damn it,” he mutters, voice raw and vulnerable. “You weren’t supposed to get hit. That was my job.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes and laying his head down on the edge of the bed, taking in your features as you sleep peacefully.

He had never loved anybody this much, he always felt vulnerable around you, like somebody had ripped out his heart and rinsed it out, leaving only enough room for you to fill. His chest ached as he thought about how his world would change without you, if you didn’t make it through this. His head swam with thoughts like; if only I had been faster, if only she was there, I wish it was me.

He looked at you then, really looked — pale, still, breathing shallowly under all the wires and tubes. The fire in his chest that usually raged with anger or determination felt different now — hollow and desperate. His fingers brushed yours on top of the blanket, and he held your hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do without you,” he said, barely audible. “I always thought I’d be the one to die first. I’ve lived my whole damn life like I didn’t care. But then you showed up and ruined everything.”

He finally let his tears fall, sobbing into your hand as he kissed it. He felt so raw, so vulnerable. His usually witty and beautiful girlfriend lie in the cold hospital bed next to him, pale, and unresponsive. He prayed to whatever God he believed in, begged to bring you back to him.

“Baby please,” he begged, feeling as if he was the one being ripped open. He waited for something, anything, as he watched your chest rise and fall with the assistance of the intubation stuck down your mouth.

Suddenly, a choking gargled sound left your mouth and you began to cough. Your eyes shot open as you grasped for his hand and he laughed in relief. A nurse came rushing in, removing the tube sticking down your throat. You sighed, falling back on your pillows and smiling at Katsuki, eyes flickering shut as you cleared your throat.

“Hi,” you rasped, watching his face, tears fell down his cheeks as he stared at you with his wide, vermillion eyes. You grasped his hand tightly, bringing it to your chest. “Do you feel that?” You asked, “I’m still here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. He closed his eyes in relief as he felt the steady thrum of your heartbeat under his fingers. He let his shoulders slump as he continued to cry.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice low as he felt your warmth. He sighed shakily. “You can’t do that to me, I’m supposed to be there for you, I’m supposed to keep you safe y/n, it’s my job to protect you.”

Your heart stuttered, his confession leaving you without words. You open your arms as an invitation, and he readily crawls into them, placing his head right above your heart as to hear it beating.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes, feeling him sink into like it was a normal day at home. His eyes fluttered as he looked into yours, staring into them with a seriousness you only see when he’s regarding a villain.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I love you so much, so much it makes me feel like I can’t breathe when you’re not around. I love you so fucking much that it makes me feel like I’m drowning. Don’t you ever apologize for almost dying, let me apologize for being a shitty hero and not protecting you when you needed it most.”

“Kats-“ he didn’t let you finish, kissing you like you were gone for years and he was going through withdrawals. He grabbed your face and kissed you everywhere his lips would reach, his face still went from the tears he shed.

“Tell me when you need help, never feel like you can’t ask. I know you can handle yourself but I need to know my baby is safe. You’re the love of my life and I can’t lose you.”

You smile, holding him close as he becomes docile, his anger and regret dying as he held you close, listening to the sound of your heart and feeling your chest move with breath. “You’re such a dumbass. Please stay.”

“I love you too you big softie,” you kiss the top of his head, falling asleep under his warmth.

I’ve never written anything like this before so if you want more lmk!

#mha bakugou #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader fluff #bakugou katsuki #fluff #mha x reader

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 days ago

Note

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

54 for 🪷:

---

Bobby smiles. “He is?”

Eddie nods. “Joined the academy as soon as he legally could.”

“Is he at the 118?” Bobby asks, excited at the thought. What a nice thing to imagine. His team looking after Harry all these years. If Chim was captain… He knows Chim would do anything for Harry, given everything. That he would take that job very seriously.

“Not anymore,” Eddie explains. “He started there, moved with Buck.”

Bobby blinks. “With Buck? Where’s Buck?”

The thought of Buck leaving the 118 makes him feel a little sick.

“He didn’t tell you?” Eddie looks surprised. “I thought he would have bragged about that right away. Wow.”

“Bragged about what?” Bobby asks.

“Captain of the 114 B Shift,” Eddie says.

“No way,” Bobby smiles. “That’s incredible.”

Eddie nods. “For just over a year now. Harry, the little traitor, asked to transfer with him. Chim’s still giving him crap for it, but we all saw it coming.”

That strikes Bobby as interesting.

“They’re close then?” Bobby asks. “Buck and Harry?”

Eddie smiles fondly. “They’ve become pretty close. Like brothers.”

Good. That’s good. Unexpected, but good.

“The rest of you are still there, though?” Bobby asks.

Eddie nods. “Been on the ambulance now longer than I was ever in the other role.”

Wow.

“Hen’s thinking about moving to the academy though,” Eddie says. “Brass wants her as an educator. Won’t blame her if she goes, but not looking forward to getting a new partner.”

Hen and Chim… They must be his age. God. Yeah, the demands of the job don’t get any easier with age, he’ll say that much. Hen would be good in the academy, but she’s invaluable on the field. That’s a tough choice.

Buck walks back into the room before they can continue the conversation.

“He’s on his way over,” Buck explains. “Should be less than twenty minutes.”

#daisies and briars writes #resurrection fic

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trans-sveta · 3 days ago

Text

“There were two people I was talking to. Forget their names. One’s really forgettable and the other’s obscure.”

“Foil and Parian,” I said.

“Yes. Right, yeah. I was talking to them, and we had a lot in common, and then they went from warm to ice cold in a flash. Couldn’t understand why.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t sound like either of them.”

“They didn’t really say anything. They just talked about going somewhere, and I asked if I could come, and they looked at me like I had three heads.”

“They probably wanted to be alone,” I said.

“Yeah. I get that,” Canary said.

“Alone alone,” Imp responded. “End of the world, making every minute count? Nudge, nudge, wink wink?”

Imp held her mask in one hand, using it to nudge Canary twice, then tipping it to the side as she winked, keeping time with the four words.

Canary’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh!”

“Dudette, with all the hugging and reassuring they were doing, how was this even in question?”

“I don’t follow the cape scene. I don’t know how close teammates get. I just figured, shitty situation, life and death, maybe you cling tighter to any buoy in a storm… oh god. I asked if I could come with them.”

Imp nodded sagely. “I can see where you’d get confused. We’re very close, here, after all.”

Canary was blushing, humiliated, the pink of her skin contrasting her yellow hair.

Imp continued, “After all, Skitter… Weaver and I… well…”

She tried to make bedroom eyes at me, holding her hands in front of her, twisting her arms as she drew her shoulders forward, the very picture of a lovestruck schoolgirl.

Canary’s face reddened further as Imp continued to poke fun.

Imp, for her part, gave it up after only two or three seconds. “Fuck. Can’t do it. Weaver here has diddled my brother, and it just feels squick and incestuous.”

“That’s the reason we haven’t ever done the relationship thing,” I said, my voice flat. “It’d be weird in an almost incestuous way.”

Imp cackled. One of very few people I knew who could cackle. She was enjoying herself. This was her medium. One of them. “You’d do better with Tattletale, or Rachel.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I injected a little more sarcasm into my voice, “for the mental pictures that evokes.”

She cackled again.

I know this scene gets discussed a lot but there’s just so much good stuff here. “Forgettable and obscure” “On you mean Foil and Parian”. Paige having the worlds worst gaydar and accidentally offering a threesome, then getting turned down even though it’s literally the apocalypse. “You’d do better with Rachel”. I’m cackling along with Aisha.

#taylor hebert #aisha laborn #worm reread

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ruebossanova · 13 hours ago

Text

her watch: the series - part 9: a quiet yes

bodyguard!abby x female!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: SLOWBURN, olderlabby x younger!reader, reader is spoiled & bratty but sweet, nyc rich socialite vibe (think gossip girl)

summary: the heartbreak lingers as school days feel dull and heavy, with abby distant and professional under the father’s rules. the reader’s mom finally sees how broken she is and steps in to talk to her dad. together, the parents bring abby and the reader for a serious talk, setting rules for their relationship to continue. abby’s walls start to soften, and slowly, they begin to rebuild trust and hope for what’s next.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

————————————————————————————

school days blurred together in grays and muted tones. you moved through them like a ghost, going through the motions — waking, dressing, showing up. your smile was a flicker at best, your laugh long gone. even the bright spring sun filtering through the windows felt too loud, too mocking in its warmth.

you sat in class, pen between your fingers but never moving. notes sprawled across your page, half-finished. sentences broken. like your focus. like your heart. the teacher's voice echoed in your ears, but none of it landed. not really. you watched the minute hand on the clock crawl forward, your mind elsewhere — always elsewhere.

abby was still there.

in the background, always near. her footsteps down the hallway. her figure by the car when school let out. her voice over the comm in your earpiece — short, clipped, professional. a stranger’s voice. but worse than her absence was her presence. she was still around, still doing everything right. keeping you safe. following orders. but the version of her who brushed hair from your eyes, who held your hand in the dark, who kissed you beneath italian skies — she was gone.

she didn’t look at you anymore. not the way she used to.

no more smirking eyes across the kitchen. no warmth in her voice when she asked how your day had gone. she drove you to school in silence now, hands tight on the steering wheel, her body held like armor.

“you don’t have to ignore me,” you said one afternoon, voice so soft it nearly disappeared between the purr of the car and the hum of the city. she didn’t look at you. didn’t even blink. “i’m not ignoring you,” she replied. cool. impersonal. like you were just another task to complete.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat. “you haven’t said a full sentence to me in three days.” “i’m doing my job.” your voice cracked. “and that’s all i am now? a job?”

silence.

you turned your face toward the window, watching the trees whip past in a blur of green and gray. she pulled up to the house. you opened the door and stepped out, but before you slammed it shut, you said — not looking back, not even daring to hope — “i miss you, abby.”

the door clicked shut.

inside, everything felt hollow. you sat on your bed that night staring at your closet, where her hoodie still hung. your fingers reached for it before you even realized. you pulled it over your head and curled into yourself, burying your face in the collar.

it still smelled like her. leather and cedar and something soft beneath it. you fell asleep like that. wrapped in memory. wrapped in absence.

⸻

the next morning, your mom poked her head into your room and frowned when she saw you still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, backpack untouched on the floor.

“you okay, sweetheart?” you sat up slowly, blinking the sleep away. “just tired.” “you’ve been saying that for a week.” she stepped inside, quiet footsteps, her hand reaching out to brush your hair from your cheek.

“do you want to talk about it?” you hesitated, but your throat was already tightening, tears threatening. “i just… i don’t feel like myself.”

she sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “i noticed.”

and that simple sentence — full of love, of recognition — made something in you break. your face crumpled as the sob escaped, quiet and sharp. she pulled you in, held you while you cried. you didn’t say her name. you didn’t need to.

everything reminded you of abby. the way your jacket still smelled faintly like her — from that night in amalfi when she’d draped it over your shoulders. the untouched jar of lemon marmalade on your desk — a souvenir from a trip that now felt like a dream. even the songs that used to make you feel like sunshine and adventure — they now played like ghost stories.

"you don’t have to say anything right now,” your mom whispered, fingers stroking your back gently. “but when you’re ready… i’m here. okay?”

you nodded into her shoulder, too full of ache to speak. and later, when you were alone again, curled beneath your sheets with a lump in your throat and the weight of everything pressing on your chest — you whispered into the dark,

“i still love you, abby.”

and the silence that followed was louder than any answer.

⸻

you tried to study.

you stared at the pages of your textbook until the words bled together, black ink swimming across the paper. none of it stuck. not the formulas, not the historical dates, not the vocabulary words that used to be so easy for you. your grades, once pristine, had started to slip. nothing drastic — not yet — but enough for your teachers to start leaving concerned comments in the margins.

“See me after class.” “You’re not yourself lately — is everything okay?” “Talk to me if you need support.”

you didn’t answer. not them. not your friends. not yourself.

you tried to sleep.

but your bed felt too big now. too cold. your body curled in on itself each night, seeking out a phantom warmth that never came. and when you did sleep, your dreams betrayed you — always full of abby. of her voice. her scent. the way she whispered your name like a secret and a promise all in one.

you woke in the early hours, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, clutching the edge of her old hoodie to your chest like a life raft. the ache in your chest never dulled. it just settled there — constant. quiet. sharp.

you tried to forget.

but your body still remembered her hands. the way she held your face like you were breakable and holy. the way her touch had lit you up from the inside. the way she looked at you like you were hers, even when she never said it aloud.

abby hadn’t looked at you the same since that night your father came home.

her gaze now was cooler. controlled. she stood straighter when she was near you, more alert, more tense — not like a lover trying to resist, but like a soldier pretending the battlefield didn’t hurt.

you still saw her every day.

in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you poured yourself coffee. in the car, hand steady on the wheel, eyes trained forward like you were invisible. at school, watching from a distance, always aware, always alert — but never close. never warm.

sometimes you caught it — that flicker of something soft in her eyes. a breath. a shift. a memory.

but it disappeared almost as soon as it came, smothered by guilt. or duty. or fear.

“do you need anything else?” she’d ask in the evenings. always the same words. always the same even tone.

you’d look at her from across the room. hair tucked behind her ear. lips slightly parted like she had so much she wasn’t saying. “no,” you always said.

you wished she’d just break the rules. just once. reach out. take your hand. press you against the door like she used to. kiss you like it mattered. like it still mattered. say something. anything.

but she never did.

⸻

one evening, you broke.

it had been a long day. school was brutal — a math test you forgot was happening, a pop quiz in chemistry, and a group project where your friends kept asking why you were so quiet lately. “you’re not like… depressed, right?” one of them asked, half-joking. you’d laughed it off. but your chest had tightened like a vice.

by the time you made it home, your hands were shaking. you dropped your bag by the stairs and walked straight into the kitchen, where abby stood at the stove.

sautéing something. her sleeves were rolled up. hair pulled back. expression unreadable.

she didn’t look up. “you’re home early.”

“i got out of class early.” your voice was rougher than you intended.

“good.” she stirred the pan once. “your dad’ll be home soon.”

you stood there in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “you don’t have to do that.”

“do what?”

“pretend like everything’s fine.” your voice cracked on the last word. you hated how small it made you sound.

abby’s jaw tightened. “i’m not pretending. i’m just doing what i’m supposed to.”

“and what about what we were supposed to be?” you asked, stepping into the kitchen. “was that just… nothing to you?”

she finally looked at you.

for a moment, her eyes were filled with everything — longing, pain, guilt, fear. but then the shutters came down again. her voice hardened.

“you know this isn’t about what i want.”

“but it is, abby. it always has been.” you took another step toward her. “and you want me. you’re just too scared to fight for it.”

silence.

she stared at you like she wanted to say something. but instead, she turned back to the stove.

“your dad trusts me. i won’t break that.”

you stood there for a moment, the words burning in your throat. but she wouldn’t look at you again.

you turned and walked away, blinking back tears as you reached the stairs.

and abby?

abby stood in the kitchen, hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight her knuckles turned white.

she didn’t chase after you.

not yet.

⸻

she hears your footsteps retreating up the stairs, each one like a nail in the coffin she’s built around her own heart.

don’t go.

she doesn’t say it. can’t say it.

her hands are still on the counter, gripping the edge like it might anchor her to this version of herself — the version that’s cold, distant, disciplined. the one your father demanded she be.

you looked at me like i’d broken you.

and maybe she has.

you were the best thing that had happened to her in… god, she didn’t even know how long. maybe ever. and she ruined it with silence. with obedience. with fear.

you don’t understand what it took to pull away. to let go of your hand in that kitchen. to pretend it didn’t destroy me.

she wanted to say yes. to everything. to you. yes, she missed you. yes, she wanted to touch you, kiss you, hold you again like the world hadn’t changed. but your dad’s words still echoed in her head every time she so much as breathed near you.

"you were hired to protect her, not love her."

like love was something she could turn off.

you’re eighteen. you’re smart. bright. meant for everything. and abby… she’s a bodyguard with blood on her hands and a past she never talks about. you deserve someone who isn’t made of walls and guilt and rules. someone who can give you softness without consequences.

but god, she wanted to be selfish.

just once.

just once, she wanted to follow you upstairs. say everything she hasn’t said since that night. take you into her arms and feel you melt against her, like maybe the world would disappear if she just held you tight enough.

but she doesn’t.

she picks up the wooden spoon again, stirring the pan like her heart isn’t breaking. like she isn’t counting the seconds until she hears your door shut upstairs.

and when it finally does, she lets her head fall forward.

i miss you too.

but the words never leave her mouth.

⸻

you broke down in your room one afternoon, sometime between school and nowhere. the weight had built slowly over the past week, pressing into your chest like something invisible but heavy, relentless. it wasn’t just abby — it was the loss of color, the silence, the ache of pretending like none of it mattered.

you didn’t even remember sitting down on the floor.

you just found yourself there — curled inward, knees pressed to your chest, fists trembling as they gripped your sweater like it might keep your ribs from cracking open. tears spilled silently at first, then faster, soaking into the rug, your breathing short and shallow as your body shook under the pressure.

you barely registered the sound of footsteps down the hallway. or the soft knock on your door.

but then it creaked open anyway.

“sweetheart?” your mom’s voice was tentative at first. but the second she saw you — the crumpled version of her daughter, broken open on the bedroom floor — something in her shifted. “oh, honey…”

she dropped to her knees beside you without hesitation, one hand brushing the hair away from your damp, flushed cheeks, the other resting gently on your arm. her touch was warm. familiar. safe.

you couldn’t speak.

you couldn’t even look at her.

but the words came anyway. cracked, shaky, barely-there.

“i can’t… i can’t do this anymore.”

your voice broke around the edges, thick with grief.

“baby, talk to me,” she said softly. “please.”

and for once — you did.

maybe it was the softness in her tone. maybe it was the exhaustion. or maybe you just didn’t have the strength to hold it in anymore.

“we fell in love,” you whispered, the words hitching on your sob. “me and abby.”

your mom froze — not in judgment, not in horror — just surprise. real, silent surprise. but her hand never left your arm.

“in italy?” she asked gently.

you nodded, pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes. “the whole trip… it was like — like nothing else existed. we laughed. we kissed. she held me like she meant it.”

your voice cracked again.

“and then when dad came home early and saw us in the kitchen… everything changed.”

your mom let out a quiet sigh, but it wasn’t angry — it sounded tired. maybe even regretful.

“he made her stop. he made her go cold. and she listens because she has to, and now she’s still here, but she’s not… she’s not here. not really. and i miss her so much it physically hurts.”

you choked on the last word, and your mother pulled you against her chest, wrapping her arms around you tight like she could shield you from all of it — from heartbreak, from confusion, from rules that didn’t make sense anymore.

“he thinks it’s wrong,” you mumbled into her shoulder, voice hoarse. “but it’s not. we didn’t plan it. i didn’t just… pick her out and fall for her. it just happened. i didn’t want to lose her, but i think i already have.”

your mom was quiet for a long time, her hand rubbing slow circles on your back as you cried into the fabric of her shirt.

“i’ve never seen you like this,” she finally said, voice low. “not even when you were little and scraped your knees bloody. not when friends hurt you. not even when you thought you failed your chem midterm.”

you gave a small, sad laugh — or something close to it — muffled by tears.

“you’re not a dramatic kid,” she continued. “you’ve always been the one who thinks before you leap. but this… this is different.”

you nodded into her chest. “because she’s different.”

your mom pulled back just far enough to look at you, her hand cupping your cheek.

“i may not fully understand it,” she admitted. “and your dad — well, he definitely doesn’t. but what i do understand is that you’re hurting. and if this person means this much to you, we need to talk to him. together.”

your brows knit. “he won’t listen to me. he already said—”

“he might not listen to you,” she interrupted softly, “but he’ll listen to me. trust me, sweetheart — he loves you more than anything. even if he’s going about it in the wrong way.”

you blinked at her, tears still heavy in your lashes. “so… you’re not mad?”

“i’m a little surprised,” she smiled gently. “but love isn’t something you get to schedule or control. and who you love? that’s not a mistake. it’s a truth.”

you wrapped your arms around her again, tighter this time. maybe for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest eased — not fully, but enough to breathe.

enough to hope.

⸻

it was past midnight when you woke, your throat dry and heart already beating too fast in your chest — not from a dream, but from that now-familiar ache that settled deep in your ribs.

you padded quietly down the hall, intending only to get a glass of water, but you paused on the landing.

light spilled from the kitchen, and voices floated up through the stillness. your mother’s, first — soft but unwavering. and then your father’s, lower, defensive.

you froze.

“she’s falling apart, alan,” your mom said, quiet but firm. “i can barely get her to eat, let alone smile.”

“she’s too young,” your dad replied, his voice tired. “too young to be involved in something like this. with someone like abby.”

“someone like abby?” your mom repeated, incredulous. “you mean someone who’s protected her, who’s watched over her day and night, who—”

“who’s supposed to be a professional,” he snapped. “someone we hired and trusted.”

there was a beat of silence.

you stayed perfectly still at the top of the stairs, heart thudding like a war drum.

your mother exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding it in all day. “and you think what they feel for each other somehow erases that trust? alan, have you even looked at her lately? our daughter?”

your dad didn’t respond right away. but you heard the scrape of a chair leg against the tile floor.

“i see her,” he said, but the words were low. “she’s quiet. she’s… not herself.”

“no, she’s not. because the person she loves won’t look at her anymore. and the people who are supposed to love her unconditionally made her feel like that love is wrong.”

“she’s eighteen, claire.”

“and you were nineteen when you proposed to me,” she said sharply, voice cutting through the kitchen like a crack of lightning. “were you too young to know what love was?”

another silence — thicker this time.

“this isn’t about whether or not it’s real,” he said after a moment. “it’s about boundaries. it’s about what’s appropriate.”

“and this is about what’s human,” your mother countered. “you keep painting abby as the problem because that’s easier than admitting we were blind to what was happening right in front of us.”

your father sighed — long, heavy, tired.

“she crossed a line—”

“she’s not the only one,” your mom interrupted, softer now. “we did too. by not seeing our daughter. by not listening to her. by forgetting that love doesn’t always wait until it’s convenient or clean or on a timeline that makes sense to us.”

her voice dropped lower, steadier, aching with truth.

“she’s not reckless, alan. you know that. she’s thoughtful. careful. she feels deeply. and this—” she paused. “this isn’t a crush. it’s not some impulsive teenage rebellion. this is someone who held her heart gently in the palm of her hand and didn’t let it fall.”

he didn’t say anything.

your mother pressed on.

“abby is good at her job. more than that, she’s been good for her. she makes her feel safe. she makes her laugh. she makes her feel seen.” her voice caught a little. “i don’t know about you, but i’d rather our daughter be loved by someone who treats her like she matters than be surrounded by people who pretend they know better.”

your dad’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “it’s not that simple.”

“no,” she said. “it’s not. but maybe it’s time we stop making it harder.”

there was a long pause. just the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your pulse in your ears.

then — quietly:

“abby said she’d step back. she said she’d keep her distance, be strictly professional from now on.”

“and she has,” your mom confirmed. “but it’s killing both of them. you see it. i know you do.”

silence again.

“so what do you want me to do?” your dad finally asked, voice hoarse.

“i want you to talk to them. to give them a chance,” she said. “i want you to let go of the fear, and try trusting our daughter. trusting them. just… see them, alan. not the roles. not the age. just the people.”

you stood in the hallway, frozen. eyes wet. breath shallow.

because for the first time in weeks — you felt seen.

and maybe, just maybe…

hope flickered.

⸻

on sunday, the late morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting soft gold across the hardwood floors. you padded down the hallway, still in your pajama pants and a hoodie that hung too loose on your frame. your eyes were bleary, your body heavy — you hadn’t even fully registered your mom calling your name until she said it a second time.

you stepped into the living room and stopped short.

abby was already there.

she stood near the fireplace, posture rigid, hands clasped behind her back in a stance that was all soldier, no softness. but her eyes — they betrayed her. the second they landed on you, something flickered beneath them. something raw. something like longing.

your parents were seated across from her on the couch. your mom gave you a small, steady nod.

“sit, sweetheart,” she said gently.

your heartbeat doubled. what was this?

you moved slowly toward the armchair beside them, curling your knees up under you like a shield. abby remained standing — her jaw tense, her shoulders stiff. the distance between you felt unbearable.

your dad cleared his throat, folding his hands in front of him. “we’ve… talked,” he began. His voice was cautious, measured. “and we may have handled things poorly. especially me.”

your eyebrows drew together, mouth parting just slightly.

your mom reached over and laid a hand on your father’s arm, as if grounding him there. “we know this situation isn’t what we ever expected,” she said gently, “and it isn’t simple. but after a lot of conversation… and reflection… we’re trying to see it through your eyes.”

your father shifted forward, elbows on his knees. “i can’t pretend i’m thrilled,” he admitted, eyes steady on yours. “but what i can say is this — if abby can continue to do her job with the same level of professionalism and care, and if both of you are willing to be honest with us — no sneaking around, no hiding — then…”

he hesitated, letting the weight of his next words land before he said them.

“then we’re willing to allow this.”

you stared at them — stunned — and then your gaze snapped to abby. she was still standing, still frozen, but her eyes widened. hope bloomed slow and hesitant behind them.

“you’re… you’re serious?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

your mother nodded. “we are.”

“don’t make me regret it,” your dad added quietly, and though his tone was firm, there was no bite to it. “i’m trusting you. both of you.”

your throat tightened, the rush of emotion nearly too much. you looked back to abby, who finally — slowly — sank into the armchair beside you.

her eyes didn’t leave yours.

“i—” she paused, her voice quiet, low. “i never meant to… cross any lines. it just… happened. and once it did, i couldn’t imagine going back to pretending it didn’t.”

your mom glanced between the two of you, eyes soft. “it’s clear you care about each other. but just because we’re giving you space… doesn’t mean there won’t be expectations.”

“of course,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “we’ll be careful. we’ll be respectful.”

“and we’ll keep it professional in public,” abby added, her voice more certain now. “no boundaries crossed under your roof.”

your father gave a single nod. “that’s all we ask.”

a silence settled — but it wasn’t the kind you’d grown used to. it wasn’t heavy or suffocating. it felt… calm. tentative. like a door had finally cracked open, letting air into a room that had been locked shut for weeks.

you glanced at abby again, and this time, there was the ghost of a smile there. not full. not free. but there.

you knew it would take time.

but this?

this was the first real breath you’d taken in days.

⸻

even with the green light, things didn’t snap back into place.

there were no fireworks, no breathless reunions, no rushing back into each other’s arms. instead, it was like walking across thin ice — careful, slow, uncertain. and it wasn’t because the feelings were gone. they weren’t. if anything, they pulsed stronger beneath the surface. but that only made abby more cautious. more distant.

she still kept a careful distance, her touches rare, like they cost her something. even when the space was technically safe — your room, your home, quiet moments away from your parents — she held back.

like she didn’t quite believe it was real.

like she was still bracing to lose you.

that night, you sat on opposite ends of the couch. the TV flickered with a muted romcom you hadn’t really been watching. a blanket was draped over both your legs, a silent truce to the closeness you missed. but her body angled away slightly, her arm resting stiffly along the back of the couch. her fingers fidgeted every few seconds — with the edge of a cushion, with the hem of her hoodie, with the dog tag she wore tucked beneath her shirt.

you finally spoke, your voice gentle. “you okay?”

abby’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the TV. “yeah.”

you waited.

she sighed, shifting in her seat. “i just… don’t want to mess this up.”

you moved closer by a few inches — not enough to scare her off, but enough that she’d feel it. the warmth of your thigh just barely brushing hers under the blanket.

“abby,” you said softly. “you’re not going to.”

her jaw tensed, but she didn’t pull away.

“i think i already did,” she murmured after a moment, voice raw around the edges. “i should’ve fought harder. i should’ve said something sooner. instead i just—shut down. like a coward.”

“you weren’t a coward,” you said, eyes locked on her. “you were scared.”

“same thing, isn’t it?”

“no,” you whispered. “not when it comes to you. you’ve carried more than anyone ever should. it’s okay to protect yourself. but abby, you don’t have to protect yourself from me.”

she finally looked at you, really looked — her eyes tired and full and so full of love it nearly knocked the wind from your lungs.

“i just kept thinking,” she said slowly, “if i touch you, if i even look at you the wrong way… it’ll all go away. your dad will pull the plug. and i’ll lose you all over again.”

your heart cracked a little at the way her voice trembled on that last part.

you reached out, this time without hesitation, and took her hand in yours. her fingers were rough, familiar, trembling slightly as they threaded through yours.

“we already survived the worst of it,” you said, your thumb brushing across her knuckles. “we’ll figure out the rest.”

abby closed her eyes for a second, like she was holding those words close to her chest, letting them settle in all the hollow places she'd been guarding.

“you really think we can?” she asked, and her voice was so small, so unlike her usual steadiness, that it made your throat tighten.

you nodded. “i do.”

she didn’t answer right away, but she squeezed your hand — once, firm, like a silent promise.

you leaned your head onto her shoulder, careful and soft. and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t tense.

she let you rest there.

she let herself rest, too.

not all the way. not yet. but enough.

and in that quiet moment — no grand declarations, no sweeping gestures — you started to come back to each other.

inch by inch.

heartbeat by heartbeat.

⸻

slowly, abby began to come back to you.

it wasn’t sudden. it wasn’t loud. it was in the way her eyes lingered a little longer when you passed her in the hallway. in the way her hand would rest against your lower back just a beat longer than necessary when you walked through a door together. in the quiet, careful brush of her fingers down your arm when no one else was looking — not even your parents.

her smiles came back, too. hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be happy around you again. but they were real. they reached her eyes sometimes, crinkling at the corners when you said something stupid, or when you mumbled your way through a story about school, or when you made a joke just to get one — just one — soft laugh out of her.

it was slow, fragile progress. like the two of you were rebuilding something precious with your bare hands, stone by stone.

and then, one night — after dinner, after dishes, after your parents had gone upstairs — you were both in the living room. the TV buzzed softly with the tail end of some old movie neither of you were really watching. the light was low, warm and amber, wrapping the room in a sleepy glow.

you were curled up at one end of the couch with your knees to your chest, absently flipping through something on your phone. abby sat nearby, one arm draped along the back of the couch, head tilted like she was thinking too hard.

you glanced at her, then set your phone down.

“what’s going on in that big head of yours?”

she gave a faint smirk — just a twitch at the corner of her mouth — but didn’t look at you.

“nothing,” she said softly. Then, after a pause: “everything.”

you waited.

she took a breath, like it hurt a little to say it.

“i missed you,” she said, still not looking at you. “every day. every damn day. even when i was pretending not to.”

you felt your chest squeeze, throat thickening as your heart threatened to shatter again — this time from the sheer weight of how much you’d missed her, too.

“abby,” you whispered, moving closer.

she finally turned to face you, her expression bare, no walls, no armor. just her. and her eyes — god, her eyes — they looked so tired, but so open.

she leaned in, slowly, like she didn’t want to spook you, and pressed her forehead gently to yours.

you closed your eyes.

her voice was low, barely audible between you. “you have no idea how hard it was not to reach for you. every time you looked at me like… like you still loved me. i wanted to break.”

your fingers reached up to touch her jaw, the skin warm beneath your hand.

“i never stopped loving you,” you whispered. “not for a second.”

abby let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut.

and then — finally — you kissed her.

not like you had something to prove. not like it was the last time.

you kissed her like it was the first time. slow. soft. reverent.

like you were rediscovering the taste of her. like you were promising her, without a single word, that this — you — was still hers.

her hands found your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt like they’d forgotten how to be bold, but not how to be gentle. you sighed into her mouth, your fingers threading through the short hair at the back of her neck.

when you pulled away, you stayed close, noses brushing.

“you still smell like sunscreen and salt,” you murmured.

she huffed a soft laugh. “you still drive me crazy.”

you smiled. “we’re even, then.”

and this time, when she kissed you again, it was with the certainty of someone who knew they were home.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #wlw #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #tlou #abby tlou #the last of us #tlou smut #abby anderson x you

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ellswritings · 1 day ago

Text

You Never Noticed Pt. 2

Drew McIntyre (Andrew Galloway) x reader

TW: Regular wrestling violence and angst. That’s all <3

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @mightypocketcow, @mortimertheduck, @mimisweetz, @lilywitchcollective

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

They say time heals all wounds, but Y/N wasn’t sure that was the only reason why things healed. If she had left it all to time, she would still be wallowing in the fact that she lost the love of her life. That she had to walk away from a life she worked so hard to build with a man she loved more than anything in the world. But she refused to be some sad story. She refused to let people look at her like a victim from a sad romance movie.

So while time has helped ease the ache, her determination to be better for herself, to continue moving forward also helped start repairing the gaping hole Cody left in her heart.

Y/N smooths over her royal blue pantsuit, just a sliver of her stomach showing from where her shirt and pants split. Her heels are silver, only about three inches tall so she didn’t risk breaking her ankle. She felt good, put together. They had a show in a few hours here in Chicago and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. With the Royal Rumble and Elimination Chamber coming up, she had to make sure everything was in order. That storylines were ready, qualifying matches went smoothly, and that confrontations got the necessary pop needed to bring more ratings to the show.

A knock at her office door pulls her attention. She barely glances up, gathering papers and checking something off her clipboard. “Come in.”

A small creak as Andrew steps in with a bouquet of dark dahlias and different assortments of darker flowers to accompany them. Y/N stops what she’s doing, a small smile taking over her face as he walks in. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She asks, rounding her desk to give him her undivided attention. “You’ve got at least forty-five minutes before call time.”

“I know,” Drew nods, his own smile forming. She looks good. The iconic SmackDown blue looked absolutely stunning on her. He could finally feel the warmth she always emanated coming back to her. She might not be fully at ease, but something definitely changed, and it was for the better. “But I figured I could come in a bit early and drop these off,” he gestures to the flowers in his hands. “I saw them and they reminded me of you.”

Drew holds out the bouquet and watches as Y/N’s eyes soften, the tension in her shoulders melting like ice under sunlight. She takes the flowers delicately from his big hands, lifting them to her nose to inhale the subtle, dark sweetness.

“These are beautiful, Drew. Dark dahlias?” she asks, voice bright with surprise. “You know those are my favorites, right?”

“Aye,” he says, a little smug, a lot fond. “I pay attention, lass. Not like some people.”

She lets out a real laugh at that, the kind that lights up her whole face — the kind Drew has been trying to coax out of her more often lately.

“Thank you. Really. They’re perfect.” She glances around her office — a pop of vibrant blue and black flowers now cradled against her crisp white shirt — and Drew follows her gaze.

His eyes catch on the trash can tucked behind her desk. He tilts his head, peering inside. A handful of other bouquets are stuffed down there, petals bruised, stems bent, satin ribbons half-crushed.

“Christ…” he mutters, flicking his eyes back up to her with a teasing glare. “You openin’ a funeral home I dinnae know about?”

Y/N huffs out an exasperated laugh, rolling her eyes as she carefully sets his flowers on her desk. “Yeah, I wish. Wanna guess who they’re from?”

Drew doesn’t need to guess. He’s heard enough voicemails and seen enough desperate texts flash across her screen during flights to know exactly who keeps trying to buy his way back in.

“Right,” he growls, his smile thinning. He crosses his arms, filling the room with protective heat. “One day he’ll learn you can’t fix a shattered heart with overpriced roses, eh?”

She watches him — the faint glint of possessiveness in his eyes, the stormy edge he only ever shows when he talks about Cody. It makes her stomach flutter in a way she’s still learning to trust again.

“Don’t worry,” she says, voice softer now. “I won’t let him manipulate me with pretty things. Not anymore.”

Before he can answer, there’s another knock. A young production assistant sheepishly pushes open the door, balancing yet another bouquet — white lilies this time, with a gold ribbon.

“Ms. L/N, um, delivery for you. Again.”

Y/N raises her brows, but Drew’s jaw ticks so hard she swears she hears his teeth grind.

“Just — here, give it,” she sighs, taking the arrangement with more annoyance than emotion. She marches it right past Drew, lifts the lid of her trash can, and drops the whole thing in without ceremony. The assistant stares wide-eyed. Drew just shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his clenched fists.

“You’re a menace, lass.”

“I’m resourceful,” she corrects, smug. She turns back to him, plucking his bouquet from her desk and carefully arranging it in a clear vase she keeps for exactly this reason. “Yours stay. The rest? Garbage. I hate wasting pretty flowers — but I hate wasting myself more.”

Something flickers in Drew’s eyes then — respect, warmth, a fierce promise she knows he’ll keep whether she asks or not.

She places the vase next to her computer, the deep, inky blossoms standing proud and lovely against the mess of scripts and call sheets. It makes her office feel softer. Safer.

“There,” she declares, brushing her hands off like a job well done. “Now I can actually enjoy the ones that matter.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice so it wraps around her like a secret. “You deserve more than flowers, Y/N.”

She tilts her head at him, heart tripping a little at how sincere he looks. “You think so, huh?”

“Aye,” he says, his accent thicker now, eyes bright but steady. “Deserve more than what he gave ye. More than the scraps he left behind. Deserve someone who sees you. All of you.”

She swallows hard, her throat tight with something that feels dangerously like hope.

“Drew—”

But he breaks the moment with a boyish grin, his big hand coming to rest warm and wide on her hip — just for a heartbeat. “But we’ll save that talk for another day, aye? For now — come see me kick some arse kicked, will ye?”

She laughs, grateful for the tease. For the way he never pushes, never demands. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did you get new gear?”

He puffs out his chest dramatically. “Custom made. Might show off a wee bit of thigh, just for you.”

“Oh, please,” she teases, rolling her eyes as her smile tugs wide and genuine. “Chicago’s not ready for that much pale Scottish leg.”

He laughs, rich and warm, and leans in just enough to press a feather-light kiss to her temple. It’s the kind of touch that asks nothing, but says everything.

Just then, another knock — but this time, a production hand calling for final checks.

Drew squeezes her hand once, rough thumb brushing her knuckles before letting go. “I’ll see you out there, (e/c) eyes.”

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N feels something like excitement in her chest instead of dread.

Flowers or not — she’s blooming again.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Y/N walked through the halls of the backstage area with a newfound confidence in her step. She stopped, answering questions people had for her, telling people where they needed to be, sending her assistants to run out the freshly printed call sheets and scripts so the Superstars had enough time to adjust to the last minute changes.

“Ms. L/N, did you approve the pyro changes for Solo’s entrance?” one tech asked.

“Already done. Check your email. If it’s not there, come find me in Gorilla in ten,” she said, patting his arm before moving on.

Her assistant jogged up, slightly out of breath, handing her a fresh stack of call sheets hot off the press. Y/N flipped through them, making sure every name was where it should be, every cue tight.

“Go. Hand these to catering and props first. Then go track down creative in the truck — tell them I’ll sign off on the last run-through myself,” she instructed.

“Look at you, boss lady,” Tiffany teased, holding out one of the cups. “Vanilla sweet cream cold brew, extra shot — because I know you’ve been up since five.”

Y/N chuckled, taking it gratefully and letting the cold cup press into her palm. “You’re a lifesaver.”

They fell in step together as Y/N took a sip, her clipboard tucked under her arm and her fingers already shuffling through the new scripts Tiffany had spotted. She squints at all the papers, “More rewrites? Seriously?”

“Just minor stuff. Timing tweaks for Cody and Solo’s face-off, a promo change for Madeline,” Y/N said lightly, almost too breezy — the only hint she wasn’t as untouched as she pretended. “I want to deliver these myself.”

They turned the corner — and the warm ease in Y/N’s face flickered for a split second before snapping back into place.

There he was. Cody. Hood up, hunched forward on a production crate like he’d forgotten how to sit up straight. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks — haunted eyes rimmed red, a fading bruise on his cheek from Monday’s brawl still dark under the lighting. Next to him, perched so close she was practically breathing for him, Madeline leaned in, her voice syrupy and useless.

“Cody, so I was saying if we shift my entrance pyro it’ll—”

But he didn’t hear her. He only saw her — Y/N, bright and commanding, Tiffany laughing at her side, life and light he hadn’t touched in months. His heart stumbled in his chest at the easy warmth of her smile — even if it wasn’t for him anymore.

“Y/N—” He stood too fast, scripts nearly toppling from his lap.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. She stepped up, business-like but somehow painfully gentle — the softness that used to be just for him now cool and distant.

“Script updates,” she said, voice smooth as glass. She handed Madeline’s first, careful not to look at her longer than necessary, then turned to Cody — and this close, he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes. Not tears. Not anger. Just gone. The last tether between them, cut clean and professional.

“Kevin’s cue moved up by forty seconds. You’re hitting the final spot alone. Make sure you’re clear on your marks. Got it?”

He swallowed, trying to find words. “Y/N… can we—”

But she was already shifting away. “Don’t be late for your cue, Cody. We’re tight tonight.”

Her hand brushed his knuckles as she passed the paper to him, and for a heartbeat, he almost begged her — right there in the hallway — to forgive him. To despise him. To come home. Anything but this polite distance.

But she was gone, drifting back to Tiffany’s side. And before she and Tiffany could take two steps, Drew emerged from catering, all confident shoulders and that easy grin that used to be Cody’s trademark.

“Hey, lass,” Drew rumbled, the affectionate lilt just for her. He bent his head to greet her, the warm hush of his brogue low and private as Y/N’s smile bloomed wide — wider than the polite one she’d just given Cody.

He watched her lean into Drew’s side without thinking. Watched her tension dissolve, her laugh bubble up unguarded and real.

And it shredded him.

Beside him, Madeline tsked under her breath. “Pathetic. Look at her with him. Did you really think she’d sit around waiting for you to crawl back? She’s not stupid, Cody. Drew’s been there every second you weren’t.”

He shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Shut up, Madeline.”

But she just lifted her chin, vicious in her hurt. “No, you shut up. You want to hate me, fine. But I didn’t make you ignore her. I didn’t make you chase ‘understanding’ when you had a woman who would’ve given her life to see you happy. She’s his now — maybe not officially, but soon. And guess what? He deserves her more than you ever did.”

He barely heard the rest. His eyes stayed locked on Y/N, laughing up at Drew, her clipboard forgotten as she gently swatted Tiffany for making some teasing comment. For a heartbeat, her head tilted back the way she used to with him — that soft, unguarded trust that once made him feel like a king.

His throat closed up. His hands shook around the script he suddenly didn’t care about.

He’d given that up for the cheap thrill of being understood by a girl who didn’t matter. And now he was a ghost at the edge of the warmth he once called home.

Madeline’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and final. “You’re gonna watch him win, Cody. And you won’t even be able to blame anyone but yourself.”

And for the first time, he didn’t argue. He just watched Y/N walk away with Drew — and understood that maybe losing her forever was the price for never seeing what he had right in front of him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The show was going well so far. They were about thirty minutes in and all of the changes have gone over smoothly. Y/N stands in Gorilla, closely watching one of the monitors as The Motor City Machine Guns finish their confrontation with DIY for the tag titles.

Y/N smiles at how well the promo is going, setting them up for their match at the rumble in a few weeks. The Machine Guns music hits and then they move to a quick commercial break.

The Machine Guns and DIY duck out of Gorilla, clapping each other on the back and thanking Y/N before heading off to peel off their tape and grab water. She watches them go, pride swelling in her chest as the next segment’s countdown pops onto the monitor.

“Alright, people, let’s tighten up!” she calls to the headset crew, shifting her clipboard under her arm. “Melo and Jimmy, you’re up next — five minutes to curtain, you hear me?”

A voice crackles back in her earpiece, “Copy that, boss lady.”

She grins at the nickname, jotting a quick note on her copy of the call sheet. She barely has time to check the next camera feed before a junior production runner — Justin, fresh out of Full Sail — jogs up beside her, slightly breathless and clutching a freshly printed call sheet that looks like it’s been triple-checked.

“Uh, Y/N? Can I…? Sorry—” he pants, then holds up the paper between them. “Am I losing my mind, or did the main event change? Because Kevin and Cody’s confrontation is showing up for the second hour, not the final segment. And then it says you’re… you’re closing the show? And that you’ll also be interrupting Madeline’s promo?”

Y/N lifts her brows innocently, the edge of her mouth twitching with mischief as she flips through her clipboard to her own master script. “Everything’s correct, Justin. Kevin and Cody are getting their thunder earlier tonight — they’ll still set up the Rumble spot. But I had something better in mind for the last twenty minutes.”

Justin squints at the new music cues highlighted near the bottom. Y/N L/N — entrance theme. His eyes flick between the paper and her, mouth falling open a little.

“But… you? Are you doing a promo? Or—”

She just shrugged, grin lazy but eyes sharp, cutting to the monitor where Madeline was in makeup getting final touches for her big moment.

“You’ll just have to wait and see with everyone else,” she said, brushing past him with a conspiratorial pat to his shoulder.

The crew member stared after her, slack-jawed, as she strode off — a woman on a mission. If only they knew:

She’d trained every sunrise, stayed late every night, took every test and pushed every boundary. She’d traded tears and blood and her own fear of stepping back into that ring — all for tonight.

Because tonight wasn’t just about running the show. Tonight, she was the show.

And Madeline had no idea what storm was about to hit her.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Gorilla was buzzing with producers and road agents trying to keep the show tight, but Y/N hardly noticed any of it.

All she could see was him — Drew McIntyre — tearing the roof off the building with Damian Priest in the ring. The crowd roared with every power move, every lariat that rattled Damian halfway across the mat. Y/N didn’t even realize how close she was leaning to the monitor, lips parted in quiet awe.

Somewhere behind her headset, Jess murmured, “You’re drooling,” but Y/N just shushed her, never taking her eyes off the screen.

She adored watching him like this — untamed and commanding, every inch the Scottish warrior they built him to be but somehow still hers in the stolen moments between the chaos.

In the ring, Priest hit him with a South of Heaven chokeslam — only for Drew to kick out at two and a half. The entire arena popped as Drew rose, face storm-dark with resolve. Y/N bit back a grin when he hit the ropes, Claymore out of nowhere, nearly decapitating Damian clean.

The ref counted — one, two, three. The bell rang. The crowd lost its mind.

Backstage, Y/N let out the breath she’d been holding, her hands resting on her hips, a giddy laugh spilling out before she could help it. Drew’s music thundered through the monitors as he stood on the turnbuckle, roaring back at the fans, every bit the king they deserved.

Minutes later, the curtain parted — and there he was: sweaty, breathless, championship weight replaced by pure pride. He barely glanced at anyone else, ignoring the stagehands congratulating him as his eyes found only her.

She crossed her arms, trying to hide how she was beaming. “Took you long enough. I was about two seconds from getting in there myself.”

Drew wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with his wrist tape. “Oh, aye? That what you’d call it? A rescue mission?”

She cocked a brow. “Someone has to make sure you don’t embarrass us on live TV.”

His laugh rumbled out, warm and sharp as he crowded her space just a little — enough to make her pulse skip. “Darlin’, if you’re planning to wrestle again, at least warn me first. I’ll get you new gear. Something with my name on it.”

She smacked his arm, fighting a smile. “Yeah, because that’s the biggest problem with me jumping back in — the wardrobe.”

Drew didn’t flinch; he just looked at her with that impossible fondness that made her stomach do a foolish flip. “For what it’s worth, you’d look lethal in black and blue.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her cheeks warmed betrayed her. “Stop. You did amazing out there. Seriously. You make this look easy.”

He dipped his head, voice softer now, just for her. “Means more coming from you than anybody else out there.”

Her breath caught, and she hated how easy it was — how easily he got under her skin, how easily she wanted him to. Before she could answer, a voice cut through:

“Yo, Drew! Interview in five!”

Drew held up a hand without tearing his eyes off her. “One sec!” Then, to her — “I’ll see you after?”

She nodded, fighting the grin tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Go do your thing, superstar.”

He leaned in like he might kiss her temple — then seemed to think better of it, brushing a knuckle along her jaw instead. “Try not to fall for anyone else while I’m gone, eh?”

She gave him a pointed look, stepping back with a laugh. “You wish you were that irreplaceable.”

He only chuckled, shaking his head as he jogged off toward his next segment — leaving her behind with warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Meanwhile, behind a stack of flight cases, Cody watched it unravel — the easy way she leaned in, the mischief in her grin, the way Drew looked at her like she was something precious. Something worth fighting for.

Once, that was him. And now he’d give anything to feel it again.

It wasn’t long before Madeline’s music hit. Her segment was next and Y/N couldn’t hide the small smirk that covered her face. She quickly hid it before anyone noticed as the newbie finished her journey to the ring.

Madeline strutted lazy circles in the middle of the canvas, her smug grin practically trademarked by now. The audience buzzed with a sour mix of jeers and half-hearted claps — the rookie’s arrogance had become a weekly irritation fans loved to hate.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, mic propped under her chin, soaking in the cheap heat like it fueled her.

“Y’know what I love about SmackDown?” she purred, pacing closer to the ropes. “It’s my show now. I am the hottest thing to happen to this division since ever. And don’t get me wrong — Tiffany Stratton is cute. Blonde, marketable, all that. But we all know she’s not in my league. No one is. Not on Raw. Not on SmackDown. No woman in this company could even come close to my level of greatness.”

Corey Graves rolls his eyes, “Someone cut her mic, please. For my sanity.”

A few fans booed louder. Madeline mocked a pout, then flicked her wrist dismissively. “Aw, hush. You’ll thank me when I save you from another glittery promo about how ‘prettiest gets the belt’ or whatever. Unlike some people around here—” she paused dramatically, smirking toward the hard cam, “—I don’t hide in an office pretending to still be relevant.”

Michael Cole tenses along with the rest of the crowd, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “Ohhh, she better watch herself now…”

Madeline leaned over the top rope, sneering at the front row. “Face it — this entire locker room is soft. The so-called ‘queen’ of SmackDown? Paper crown. No guts, no hustle, just riding old stories and bigger names to keep her paycheck fat. If she had any backbone left, she’d be standing right here with me—”

Graves shakes his head so aggressively that even the live audience who can’t hear what he’s saying know how much he disapproves. “Don’t say it, rookie. Don’t poke that bear.”

“—but we all know she doesn’t have the guts to lace up and do this anymore.”

The booing got loud enough she had to raise her voice. “So get comfy, people — because when I take that title off Tiffany? You’re gonna see what a real champ looks—”

BOOM!

The speakers cracked like thunder as the opening riff of “Welcome to the Jungle” ripped through the arena — a low, dangerous guitar that made spines straighten and the roof nearly fly off.

The tron flashed: Y/N — The Boss.

“OH MY GOD— WAIT A MINUTE— IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?!” Michael Cole practically leaps out of his seat, professionalism be damned.

The crowd erupted. Grown men leapt over each other for a glimpse as Y/N strode onto the stage — not in a business suit, but in her custom gear, hair down, eyes locked on Madeline like she’d found her next meal.

Corey stares on, jaw slack, “No way— no way. Nobody said she was cleared! She hasn’t wrestled in years!”

Y/N didn’t hurry. She high-fived fans along the ramp, pointed at a sign that read ‘Y/N RUNS THIS HOUSE’, and smirked when the camera caught the absolute chaos her mere presence caused.

Madeline’s eyes were saucers, all color draining from her face.

Cole’s chuckles manage to make their way to Y/N’s ears “Madeline just realized she booked herself a one-way ticket to hell.”

Y/N circled the ring once, savoring every second of the roar, then slid under the ropes and sprang to her feet like she’d never missed a day.

A stagehand tossed her a mic — she caught it midair without even glancing. She stepped close, so close Madeline flinched backward.

Her tone was soft, lethal:

“Hi, Maddie.”

Madeline swallowed, voice squeaking: “Wh-what are you doing? This isn’t your—”

Y/N leaned in, grin sharper than any blade: “Shhh. Let the grown-ups handle this.”

“I’m getting chills, Cole. Absolute chills.”

Y/N circled her prey, slow and deliberate, her words crisp enough to hush every seat in the arena. “You’ve spent weeks barking from this ring about what this roster lacks. How you’re its savior. How there’s nobody left with enough fire to put you in your place.”

She paused, tilting her head, eyes bright with mischief and venom both. “Well, princess — surprise. You ran your mouth so loud you woke up the one bitch who built the house that you’ve been stomping through like you own it.”

Madeline tried to cut in — Y/N flicked her hand dismissively, the crowd popping.

“You think I’ve been hiding? No. I’ve been working. Healing. Getting ready. And tonight? I’m not your boss. I’m not your headline. I’m not your cautionary tale. I’m your main event.”

The crowd exploded. Chants of “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” rattled the barricades.

Y/N stepped in close again, lowering her voice just enough to make every front-row fan lean in: “You want respect? You want my spot? Earn it. Because for one night only, doctor’s orders be damned — I’m cleared. And I’m gonna remind every single person here what happens when you mistake kindness for weakness.”

She flicked her mic to the mat with a satisfying clunk, never taking her eyes off Madeline’s horrified face.

“Main event. Me. You. And when I’m done? You’ll remember exactly who made this ring worth stepping into.”

Cole’s fist shoots in the air as he celebrates along with the crowd. “SHE SAID IT! Y/N IS FIGHTING TONIGHT! THE BOSS IS BACK, BABY!”

Y/N backed up, arms wide, a cocky grin blazing as she basked in the roar — then turned her back on Madeline with absolute, deliberate disrespect. She paused at the ropes just long enough to mouth to the nearest camera:

“Watch this.”

She dropped to the floor and strode up the ramp as Madeline scrambled to pick her jaw off the mat, the arena chanting her name like gospel.

The second Y/N stepped back through Gorilla, the world seemed to slam to a standstill.

Producers, camera crew, stagehands—everyone turned in a ripple of stunned silence, part disbelief, part raw, unfiltered awe. She didn’t pause to drink it in; she just handed off her mic to a frazzled assistant, gave a tight nod to a flustered producer whispering “Holy shit, you’re actually cleared?”, and kept moving down the hall like she’d just clocked out of a board meeting, not turned the main event upside down.

A familiar voice thundered down the corridor before she even rounded the next corner:

“Y/N! Lass—what the hell did ye just do?!”

Drew appeared out of nowhere, boots scuffing the floor as he skidded to a halt in front of her. He still had his match tape on one wrist, a half-crushed water bottle forgotten in his other hand. His eyes flicked wildly from her face to her ring gear to the crew peeking over crates behind her.

“Oh my God, Drew, breathe,” she teased, but the laughter in her chest trembled under the residual adrenaline.

“Breathe? Breathe?” He spluttered, voice thick with his rolling burr as he herded her a few steps out of earshot. “Woman, ye told me ye were doin’ segments tonight—segments, not headline brawls in front o’ fifteen thousand rabid maniacs screamin’ yer bloody name!”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle that slipped through anyway. “I mean… surprise?”

He gaped at her—then dragged a hand down his face, huffing a half-laugh half-growl. “Aye, surprise. Ye nearly gave me a heart attack, ye know that?”

He glanced around them, lowering his voice, eyes locked to hers with that earnest concern only he could pull off in a hallway full of chaos. “Y/N… ye can’t pretend this is nothin’. This is big, lass. It’s… it’s personal, aye? And that worries me.”

She softened, her fingertips brushing over the edge of his jaw, just enough to ground him. “Drew. It is personal. But it’s not reckless. I needed this. I needed this—me. Not for him. Not for anyone. Just to remind myself that I can still do this, that I’m not some sad story stuck behind a desk forever.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated exhale, but his hand came up, covering hers on his cheek. “I know. God, I know, darlin’. I just… ye know I hate seein’ ye hurt. And if I thought—”

She cut him off with a soft, crooked smile, leaning in to press her forehead gently against his chest. Her voice muffled against the cotton stretched over his solid heartbeat. “If you thought I was still tangled up in old ghosts? Drew… look at me.”

She tipped her head back up, catching the storm behind his eyes. Then she rose on her toes and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek—just shy of his lips, deliberate, soft enough to steal his next breath.

“It’s you who makes me feel safe enough to do this,” she murmured. “It’s you I want waiting for me when I come back through Gorilla. Understand?”

His throat worked around her words; his free hand found the curve of her waist, big palm splayed wide like he could shield her from the whole damn world.

“Aye. I understand. Just… promise me ye come back in one piece, aye? So I don’t have to climb in there after ye and break every rule that was ever wrote.”

She barked out a laugh, high and bright, the tension crackling between them as warm as it was charged. “Deal, Big Man.”

He didn’t move when she started to step away—his hand lingered at her hip, thumb rubbing a quiet circle that made her heart squeeze in a way she hadn’t felt in too long.

Then, over his shoulder, she caught a flicker of movement: Cody Rhodes, half-hidden behind a curtain of crates, eyes locked to hers and Drew’s hands on her body. Regret carved into every exhausted line of his face.

She met Cody’s stare for half a heartbeat—then turned her back on him without another thought, her focus already on Drew again.

“Go on, then,” Drew rumbled, a wicked gleam returning to his eyes. “Go show the wee gremlin what happens when ye poke a lioness.”

She winked, curling her fingers around his wrist for one last squeeze, and as her good friend Liv Morgan always says, “Watch me.”

And she slipped away, her grin sharp and sure, leaving a smitten Scottish giant watching her like she’d hung the stars herself—while a man who’d once held her heart realized he’d lost far more than he could ever win back.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The arena lights dipped low as Madeline’s theme hit — glittery pop with an edge, echoing her cocky rookie swagger.

But tonight, something was off. She stepped out onto the stage with her usual smirk, soaking in the half-boos, half-hyped reactions... but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her nerves.

She’d read the updated run sheet — MAIN EVENT: MADELINE vs. ??? — but not even in her wildest nightmares had she pictured this.

Her eyes darted toward the ring crew, the commentary desk, anywhere but the curtain behind her. She jogged down the ramp anyway, tossing her hair, climbing into the ring with a forced flick of confidence.

She perched herself on the second rope, rolling her wrists, her pretty mask of smug confidence pulled too tight to hide the jitter in her eyes. She glanced once more at the ramp as the ref checked her boots — but no amount of pep talk could steady the quiver in her gut. The rumors said Y/N hadn’t wrestled since she broke her back all those years ago. There was no way she’d risk it for her. Right?

Then the arena lights dropped to a simmering hush — a single beat of silence before the familiar guitar riff hits the speakers like a thunderclap.

Thousands of people lost their minds at once.

Y/N walked out through the blinding spotlight, a storm wrapped in gear she’d sworn she’d never wear again. No one in that building — no producer, no script, no roster sheet — had this on their rundown. Only she did. And it was hers alone to give.

Michael Cole’s voice rose above the thunder of the fans: “Corey, this is happening — the boss, the heartbeat of SmackDown, is stepping back in the ring after so many years on the shelf—”

Corey Graves could barely be heard over the roar. “And with a broken back in her history, Cole! This is insane. This is reckless. This is... God, this is perfect!”

Y/N didn’t jog or grandstand. She stalked to the apron with a single-minded focus, pausing only to slap palms with fans pressed against the barricade, one little girl bursting into tears when Y/N bent low to ruffle her hair. She hit the apron, locked eyes with Madeline, and vaulted over the ropes so smooth you’d think gravity liked her best.

Madeline’s mouth moved around a curse, but the bell rang before she could find words.

They circled. Slowly at first — an unspoken dare between two women who couldn’t be more different: one all bluster and borrowed status, the other forged in agony and years of lost time.

Madeline lunged first, predictable and sloppy. Y/N side-stepped, spun on her heel, and whipped her into an arm drag so clean it drew cheers all by itself. Madeline popped up only to catch a stiff forearm to the jaw — then another. Y/N forced her into the corner and lit her up with a machine gun flurry: elbow, elbow, backfist, snap kick to the gut.

Corey barked through a grin, “Look at her move, Cole! There’s absolutely no ring rust in sight! No hesitation — she’s calling every second in real time!”

Madeline, in a flash of desperation, raked her eyes. The crowd booed viciously as she yanked Y/N into a DDT attempt — but Y/N twisted free, rebounded off the ropes, ducked under a wild clothesline and slammed a running knee flush against Madeline’s cheekbone. The rookie crumpled to her back, dazed.

Cole nearly wheezed into his mic. “This is a masterclass — years out, and she’s teaching the kid what it means to fight for your life!”

Backstage, Drew McIntyre stood stone still beside the curtain, arms folded so tight his knuckles blanched. There was a tremble in the corner of his mouth — equal parts pride and pure dread. Not far away, alone in the shadows, Cody Rhodes leaned against a crate, hollow-eyed, watching the woman he’d once called home carve her legacy back open without him.

Madeline crawled for the ropes, desperate to bail. Y/N was on her before she could think — grabbing a handful of hair, whispering something venom-soft against her ear that turned the girl’s face to stone. Then she hurled her halfway across the ring with a snap suplex, the canvas rattling under the impact.

Madeline tried to swing wildly again, panic in every twitch. Y/N ducked, scooped her up across her shoulders in one smooth deadlift. The crowd rose to their feet as realization spread like fire.

Corey’s voice cracked. “She won’t— that’s her spine, Cole—”

She did.

Y/N planted her boots, hoisted Madeline’s dead weight, and spun into a rolling Death Valley Driver so clean the front row physically recoiled. Madeline bounced off her shoulder, hit the mat hard, and flopped to her stomach.

Cole could barely be heard: “She said she wanted closure — this is surgical, Corey. This is personal.”

The arena rumbled with the pulse of thirty thousand stomping feet, chanting her name like gospel.

Y/N didn’t waste time. She hauled Madeline up by her wrist — no wasted words, no mercy. She spun her in tight, hooked both arms behind her back in a butterfly clutch, then lifted and twisted, driving her into the mat with a vicious corkscrew sit-out driver that rattled the ring ropes.

Corey all but screamed: “EULOGY DRIVER! THE EULOGY DRIVER! COVER HER, Y/N—”

She did.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang so sharp it sounded like a starter pistol, but no one moved except Y/N. She stayed sitting for a heartbeat, chest heaving, hair damp and sticking to her neck — staring at her own hands like she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to feel them do this again.

The ref grabbed her wrist and hoisted it high, but she was already rising, climbing the second rope and bracing one boot on the turnbuckle. She scanned the ocean of faces and pointed at her heart — once, twice — then out at them.

Drew backstage pounds his palm against the wall and laughing through gritted teeth, relief and awe tangled on his face.

Cody sank down against the crate he’d been leaning on, hands buried in his hair, a man watching every ounce of warmth he’d thrown away return stronger without him.

Back in the ring, Y/N stood on the ropes, a storm in human form, a lesson in survival and rebirth — living proof you don’t bury a woman like her.

Not while she still breathes.

She could still hear the final three-count echoing in her bones. Madeline had crawled out of the ring minutes ago, battered and shell-shocked, escorted by medics who barely bothered to hide their smirks.

But Y/N didn’t see any of it anymore.

She stood alone under the blinding white of the spotlight, chest rising and falling, strands of hair sticking to her sweat-slicked cheeks. The ref pressed her championship mic into her palm — the house lights dimmed except for one golden beam that followed her as she stepped to the center of the ring.

The noise was deafening, but somehow she found a hush in her chest big enough to fit every word she’d carried for years.

She brought the mic to her lips, voice still rough from grit and adrenaline.

"I know what some of you are thinking," she began, pacing a slow, deliberate circle so the whole building felt her eyes on them. "Why risk everything for this? Why fight tonight, when the doctors told me I'd never walk right again, let alone run these ropes?"

The crowd roared — YOU STILL GOT IT! chants bouncing off the rafters like thunder. She cracked the smallest grin, eyes glassy, soaking it in.

"I spent years telling myself the same things you told me: that I was better off behind a desk. Safer. Smarter. That this — this ring, this life — was something I could just bury under paperwork and fancy suits."

Her voice caught for a heartbeat, just enough to draw the entire arena closer.

"But the truth? The truth is... I was scared."

A ripple of silence fell, so heavy it almost hurt to stand in it.

"I was scared I wasn’t enough anymore. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not worth enough." She laughed, bitter but free, as if she couldn’t believe she’d ever been so small in her own mind. "I let people decide what I deserved. I let one person make me forget who I was — not just in here, but out there too. And I won’t do that again."

Drew backstage was frozen mid-breath, eyes shining in a way no man that big should ever let people see. Somewhere off to the side, Cody buried his face in his hands, shouldering the truth in front of millions.

Back in the ring, Y/N planted her boots firm against the canvas, lifted her chin, and looked straight down the lens like she was staring right at every person who’d ever lost themselves.

"So hear me when I say this — whether you love me, hate me, or don’t know my damn name: Never let anyone decide your worth. Not your boss. Not your family. Not the person you share a bed with. Because the second you do, you forget how to stand alone."

She jabbed a finger into her own chest, voice rising above the roar.

"I broke my back. I lost everything I thought made me… me. And tonight? I took it all back — not for them. Not for him. For me."

The audience was on their feet now, stomping, screaming, some wiping tears they’d never admit to.

She lifted her free hand, palm open, showing the hard lines and faint tremble of a fighter reborn.

"This is proof. Proof you can fall apart, and build yourself back better. Proof you can lose yourself, and find a version so unstoppable, they’ll wish they’d buried you deeper."

Her grin sharpened, that old spark back like a wildfire behind her eyes.

"I’m not your victim. I’m not your boss tonight. I’m not your heartbreak or your pity story. I’m the woman who survived the worst days of her life— and walked back in here on her own two feet to remind you that you can too."

She paused, let the storm of cheers crash over her, then added one last promise, quiet but razor-sharp.

"And if you ever forget it—" She smirked, a dare in her teeth. "You know where to find me. I’ll remind you every damn time."

She dropped the mic at her feet, the final thud swallowed by the roar of her people — their people. She threw her arms wide to the sky, every vein alive with the ache and the triumph of being enough.

Somewhere just beyond the barricade, a kid lifted a hand-painted sign that read simply: “She’s Still Here.”

And she was.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Backstage felt like a living heartbeat the second she stepped through the curtain.

Crew members clapped her on the shoulder as she passed, a few newer recruits beaming like kids who’d just met their favorite superhero. A veteran ref barked, “Hell of a return, boss — didn’t think you had that left in ya!”

Y/N just laughed, breathless, raw in the best way. She let them slap her back, let them tell her she hadn’t lost her edge — and deep down, for the first time in years, she actually believed it.

Her eyes found Drew first. He stood just beyond the crowd, arms crossed, looking equal parts awed and ready to wrap her up in bubble wrap forever. But beside him, half-shadowed near a stack of flight cases, was Cody.

He looked out of place, older than he’d looked an hour ago. His hoodie was still up, but it couldn’t hide the bare grief on his face. The second her eyes met his, something old and splintered twisted in her chest — but it didn’t drag her down this time.

She knew what she had to do.

She offered Drew an apologetic smile, soft and fleeting, before she angled toward the man she’d once thought she’d grow old with.

Cody straightened, like he’d been bracing for this moment and failing miserably all the same. His lips parted, no words ready.

She beat him to it, voice gentle but firm. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His throat bobbed. “You— you were incredible out there. You always are.”

She huffed a small laugh, tired and tender. “Thanks.”

A beat. His hands flexed helplessly at his sides. “I… I’ve been trying to find the words for weeks. I don’t even know where to start. I—”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t mean to cut him off so gently, but her heart wouldn’t let her do it cruelly. Not to him. Not after everything.

“I do, though,” he insisted, eyes pleading, rimmed red. “I messed up, Y/N. God, I messed up so bad. I thought… I thought you’d always be there. I thought what I felt for you couldn’t fade — but I forgot how to show you. And now—”

She stepped in, close enough to smell the same shampoo she’d bought for him, back when they were a home and not strangers.

“Cody…” Her voice cracked but didn’t break. “A part of me will always belong with you. You know that, right? I thought you and me… we were it. The forever kind.”

A breath caught in his chest — agony and hope tangled together.

“But…” She swallowed, forced herself to say it. “I can’t do forever with someone I don’t trust. I can’t give you everything when I know deep down I’d never believe I was enough again. I’d question every smile. Every late flight. Every new face. And you don’t deserve that, Cody. Neither of us do.”

His mouth opened but nothing came out. So she kept going — she had to.

“You want me to believe you’d never stop loving me again. But I can’t. Because I know now you can. And I can’t spend the rest of my life bracing for when it happens next.”

A flicker of defiance flared in his eyes. “You think he won’t screw up? That he’s perfect? He’ll let you down too—”

She laughed, low and sad, cutting him off with a shake of her head. “Drew’s not perfect. God knows he drives me insane. But he listens. He notices. He doesn’t flinch when I break apart. And he never makes me question if I’m enough. Even when he’s angry, I feel safe with him. When’s the last time I felt safe with you, Cody?”

He had no answer. His jaw worked silently before he rasped, “So that’s it? He wins?”

She stepped closer, voice gentle but unyielding. “No. I win. Because I chose myself for once. He didn’t win me — I’m not some prize. He’s just… here. Steady. If he stays, he stays. If he goes, I’ll still be whole.”

He followed her gaze over her shoulder. Drew waited, pretending not to stare but failing miserably — protective and patient, a stone fortress with soft eyes only for her.

And for Cody, it all clicked. The way she stood taller now. The way she smiled more. The way she didn’t shrink from her own worth anymore.

He swiped at his tired eyes. “You deserve that. All of that. I should’ve… God, I should’ve seen you before I lost you.”

A ghost of that old warmth passed over her face. “A part of me will always wish you had. But I’m done building homes in people who don’t know how to hold them. I hope you find peace, Cody. Real peace. Not just someone to fill the silence.”

He laughed, a broken exhale. “And him? He’ll give you that?”

She looked at Drew again, really looked. “I hope so… but if he doesn’t… I’ll be fine. Because now, I know I can stand on my own.”

Cody’s eyes glistened with defeat and reluctant gratitude. He laid a palm over his heart like he could hold her ghost there forever. “Tell him… tell him thank you. For taking care of you the way I should have.”

She squeezed his arm once, soft but final. “Tell him yourself someday. I think you two could stand to be friends again.”

And then she stepped back, leaving Cody to his ghosts and regrets — and walked toward the man who’d been her soft place to land when everything else burned.

Drew didn’t ask what was said. He just opened his arms and let her melt against his chest, his voice rumbling in her hair: “You good, sweetheart?”

She smiled, eyes misty but sure. “Yeah. For the first time in a long time… I really am.”

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The hotel lobby hummed with the usual late-night shuffle of staff and a few bleary-eyed travelers dragging luggage, but for Y/N, Drew, and Jess, it felt like walking through a bubble — safe, glowing, almost dreamlike after the adrenaline of the show.

Y/N’s hoodie was zipped to her chin, hiding the ring gear still peeking out at her hips. Her hair was damp from the quickest post-match shower of her life, and she looked fresh-faced and tired all at once — but alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Jess kept glancing between her and Drew like she was watching the final scene of her favorite slow-burn movie. She nudged Y/N’s shoulder, unable to hold back her grin.

“Seriously, I’m never gonna shut up about tonight,” Jess said, hugging the catering coffee cup she’d snagged on the way out. “Seeing you in the ring like that… it was everything. I used to sit on my bedroom floor in my mom’s old T-shirts pretending I was you.”

Y/N laughed, nudging her back. “Well, now you get to see the chaos up close, so be careful what you wish for.”

Drew barked a laugh beside them. “Chaos? Nay. That was art. Ye made her look like a fool and kept yer back intact. If I wasn’t already terrified of ye, I’d be now.”

Jess snorted. “Speak for yourself, Highlander. I’m still scared of her.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “You’re scared of spiders, Jess.”

They reached the elevator, waiting as it hummed down. Jess peeked at the glowing floor numbers and sighed dramatically. “Ugh, my room’s like five floors up from you two. Who did the booking this week, Satan?”

“Blame the travel office,” Y/N deadpanned, then she hugged Jess, squeezing tight enough to feel the younger woman’s giggle against her shoulder. “Go sleep, you menace. And hey — thank you. For everything tonight. You’re a pain in my ass but you’re my pain in the ass.”

Jess smirked, eyeing Drew pointedly over Y/N’s head. “You take care of her tonight, okay, big man? She’s got a bad habit of bottling things up and pretending she’s titanium.”

Drew, without missing a beat, rumbled, “She’s no titanium. She’s diamond. But aye — I’ll mind her. Off ye pop.”

Jess made an exaggerated “aww” face, then waved them off as the elevator dinged open, carrying her to her own floor and leaving the two of them alone in the hush of the hallway.

The walk to their rooms was slow, both dragging their feet like neither wanted to reach the inevitable parting. Drew carried her overnight bag even though she’d protested twice.

“You know you don’t have to baby me, right?” Y/N teased as they turned the corner toward the quieter wing of the hotel.

Drew glanced down at her, amused. “Oh, lass, I’ve seen ye suplex a woman half yer age. I ken ye don’t need me tae carry yer bag. But let me, aye? Humor me. Makes me feel useful.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re more than useful. You’re… you’re too good to me sometimes.”

Drew glances at her, his eyes softening as they met hers. “Ye say that like ye don’t deserve it. Like it’s a favor, treatin’ ye well.”

Y/N didn’t respond, just a small smile being painted across her lips. They ended up pausing at a vending machine; Drew eyed the options like he was solving an ancient riddle.

“You know you’re not actually hungry,” she teased, folding her arms.

“Aye, but I like pretendin’ I am. Stalls the moment I have tae say goodnight.”

She laughed softly, nudging his hip with hers. “You’re a sap.”

“And you love it,” he fired back, eyes sparkling as he finally gave up on the vending machine entirely. He shouldered her bag again without asking and resumed the slow stroll down the quiet hallway.

Y/N caught herself studying the veins in his forearms, the gentle slope of his nose, the little cut near his eyebrow still taped from tonight’s match. It made her chest ache, sweet and sharp at the same time.

“You were brilliant tonight,” Drew murmured, breaking her quiet inspection. “At Gorilla, I kept thinkin’… ‘That’s her. That’s the woman I’ve always seen — even when she couldn’t see it herself.’”

Her steps faltered; her throat worked around a knot. “Drew…”

“Nay, lemme say it. Ye were more than brilliant. You were fearless. Brave. And I don’t mean just in the ring — though, you nearly gave me a heart attack with that suplex— but afterwards. The way you spoke, the way you owned what was yers. I can’t tell ye what that did tae me.”

She smiled shyly, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “You’re making me blush, Galloway.”

He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “Good. Ye should. You deserve to feel worshipped a bit more often.”

The warmth in her gut tangled with something like fear — fear of messing this up, of leaning on someone again, of letting herself need him too much too soon. She caught his hand, squeezing it as she pressed it to her cheek.

“Drew… I just– I need you to know that I don’t want to run from one thing straight into another. I gave everything to someone who… who didn’t know what to do with it. I can’t do that again — not to you, not to me.”

His thumb traced her temple, tender. “Then don’t. I’ll wait. I’ll be whatever ye need me tae be. Friend, shoulder, bodyguard. Hell, I’ll carry yer bags forever if it means I get tae walk beside ye like this.”

Her breath hitched — a tiny, startled sound she barely managed to muffle with a quiet laugh. “How are you real?”

He shrugged one shoulder, playful, but his eyes were earnest. “Not real, love. Just yours. Whenever ye want me.”

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, feeling his heartbeat under her palm where it pressed against his chest. The hallway was so quiet she could hear their breaths mingling.

Then, a whisper: “I do want you. More than you know. Just… let me want you slow. Let me get this right.”

His mouth curved into a promise and his hand slid to cradle the back of her neck, reverent. “Aye. Slow. Careful. No rush. But right now—” His voice dropped, warm and husky as the edge of dawn. “Right now, I need tae kiss ye, lass. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”

She opened her eyes, let him see all the gratitude, the fear, the hope glimmering behind them. She didn’t say no.

Instead, she pushed up on her toes and found his mouth with hers — soft, searching at first, then deeper, her fingers twisting in the collar of his hoodie as if she could memorize the feel of him this way. Drew sighed into it, a low rumble that made her whole body lean closer.

When they parted, breathless, their foreheads stayed pressed together. She giggled, cheeks flushed, voice raw but happy.

“Okay. So much for slow, huh?”

His grin was boyish and so heartbreakingly gentle. “Ach, we’ll pace ourselves tomorrow. Tonight… tonight I just wanted tae know how ye taste when ye choose me.”

She gave him a playful shove, still tucked safe inside the circle of his arms. “Spoiler alert — pretty sure I like you, Galloway. There’s nobody else I’d want to pick.”

He chuckled low in his throat, brushing his lips across her temple. “Aye. Good. Because next time? I’m not askin’ permission.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, light and mischief dancing in her own. “I can’t wait.”

In that moment — hallway, exhaustion, adrenaline and all — they both knew: whatever pace they set, they were already exactly where they were supposed to be.

#female reader #love story #drew mcintyre x reader #Drew McIntyre imagine #world wrestling entertainment #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #cody rhodes x reader #tiffany stratton

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sweetdreamslie · 2 days ago

Text

To be loved by an artist (Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader)

Pairings: Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even on a painting, and without any shading, it felt like her skin was glowing underneath the lights of his studio. His heart fluttered at the idea and he forced his eyes off of the painting and back to the phone to read comments.

Warnings: implied black reader but all can read, mentions of nudity (hyunjin is drawing reader nude), that should be all (let us know if there is anything else)

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: Hii, we are so excited to be posting for the first time! 🫧🪐

Hyunjin leans towards the camera, his lips parted slightly as he reads the comment back. “What made your first date perfect?” He smiles as he thinks about the answer, a soft hum leaving his lips before he answers.

“Just being with her was enough for it to be perfect.” His response was quiet but filled with adoration, while he turns back to the canvas in front of him. His hands carefully paint something onto the painting. It’s placed perfectly out of frame of the live, allowing stay to know hes painting something but not see what it is.

“Someone asked what I’m painting. I can’t exactly say, but it’s something that’s important to me.” He went back to painting, softly dipping the brush in a dark brown, mixing it with a pale brown to get the skin color right. Everything about her was burned into his memory, and that included the color of her skin. He moved the brush back to the canvas and gently stroked the paint onto a certain spot. Hyunjin tilted his head to get a better look at the painting in front of him before humming softly.

Even on a painting without any shading, it felt like her skin was glowing underneath the lights of his studio. His heart fluttered at the idea, and he forced his eyes off of the painting and back to the phone to read comments.

“You guys are nosey today.” He laughs quietly and dips the brush into a cup of brown water. He swirled it around before pulling it out and turning back to the camera. He continued to read comments, his eyes scanning over them as they quickly rolled in.

“I’m wondering, what is the best dates Stay has been on?” The comments move quicker, within seconds of his question, hundreds of fans replying. He smiled as he read them, someone saying star gazing, while others said a stay at home movie night. He would have to try star gazing with you.

There’s music playing in the background, Die with a smile filing the silence as he hums to softly and paints. His eyes trace over the figure he’s started to form with the different colors. It was a soft brown that reflected the lights back to him. He smiled lightly and continued with what he was doing.

After a couple of minutes of fine detailing, Hyunjin pulled his eyes up from the canvas to look at his phone, where a comment caught his eye. He leans forward to read it better, his lips parting as he reads it out loud.

“How did the rest of Stray kids react to meeting her?” He hums at the question, leaning back slightly as he thinks of what to say. He set his brush down in the glass of water and turned his body to face the phone.

“Well, she got along with Chan the quickest. They both bonded over being the leader of their groups. They also bonded over both being writers, each in their own way. She can write both songs and a full story, so they talked about that when they met.” He hums and thinks of who he could explain next. His mind drifted to Minho, and he continued to speak.

“For Lee know it was way different. They bonded over their enjoyment in teasing me. I would say annoy but we all know they aren’t annoying me. I don’t know what I would do without them both, they’ve become a part of my routine.” Especially you, is what lies unspoken as his eyes drift to the painting of you.

“Uhh, for Changbin they connected over the gym. He helped her with overcoming her nerves the gym. Especially the other people in the gym. Sometimes they go together but it isn’t very often. She says he’s to extreme for her.” He laughed slightly and moved to the task at hand.

“Introducing Han to her was easy, they’re both extremely dramatic. They also can both fall asleep anywhere. One time, shorty after I introduced her to them, we were at the studio recording for a song. When my part was over and I walked out, Han was asleep on the chair while she was asleep hanging off the couch.” He smiled at the memory, his hand gently stroking the brush onto the canvas.

“When I first introduced her to the group, I played a game with her to calm her nerves. Felix walked in and noticed the game and the two quickly bonded over their love for it. Her and Felix are definitely the closet out of everyone, with Han being a close second.” Hyunjin leaves this part out, but the memory of you winning after the three of you got competitive is fresh in his mind.

He sets the brush down in the water and reaches for another one while thinking of how you and Seungmin bonded. He dips the thinner brush in the light brown and softly paints onto the leg of the sketch.

“The day we were at the studio is when Seungmin met her. He was playing guitar in the other room when I was recording and she got curious. The two talked for a good 30 minutes about the guitar and anything about it. It was refreshing to see, I was worried they wouldn’t click as fast as the others but it worked out.” He glanced at the phone to read some of the comments.

“Last but not least is Jeongin, The two didn’t connect as quickly as the others but it wasn’t as slow as i initially thought. I can’t really explain why there was a slight hesitant between the two, but they eventually talked and learned that they’re both the middle child.” The low music filled the silence after he finished his sentence, his eyes flicking between the canvas and the phone.

20 minutes pass with soft conversation, music, and the sound of brushing. The painting was almost complete, drawn and painted from Hyunjin’s memory. His lover lay on the canvas, lying on a bed of flowers, her hands covering her bare breasts and her legs crossed to cover herself down there. It’s intimate and painted with nothing but the purest intentions.

To Hyunjin, you were nothing short of a masterpiece. Something not even he could capture properly, but he would spend the rest of his life trying his hardest to get as close as he can. And to him, this painting in front of him was pretty close.

The sound of keys jiggling, followed by your voice, cuts through the house, and Hyunjin all but perks up at the sound. He quickly, but respectfully, says goodbye to Stay before ending the live with a small smile. He stands once the live is over, setting his brush down and going to the door of his studio.

“Coming babe!”

#stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin

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wallofchynax · 20 hours ago

Text

SWEETHEART: THE FINAL CHAPTER

POSTED ON AO3 chapter one is here

Synopsis: Shawn Michaels is a legend. A Hall of Famer. A respected veteran in the wrestling industry. He’s also one breath away from a full-blown breakdown. Because somehow, despite his best efforts, he’s found himself entangled with the worst possible problem: you. You, the young, smug, utterly relentless female wrestler who has made it your personal mission to ruin his peace. Shawn knows this is a bad idea. And yet— He can’t stop.

Ships: Shawn Michaels / Bratty!Reader, Stephenie McMahon/ Triple H

Content Warnings: piv sex, oral sex, emotional shit. the final chapter

tag list: @sparkinthedarkuk, @coffincorey, @dilanmoodboards, @sultryfandoms, @vixenhatesyou, @iamfandomwasted @mygreenlights @tedem @behavior619 @thebigredmonster

if you want to be added to the tag list: comment or answer this

You didn't say it was okay because for now, it was not okay. But your fingers still stayed curled around his and in that quiet moment between the two of you, something had shifted within both of you that was hard to explain.

Shawn exhaled slowly, like a breath had been trapped in his chest for days. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, feather light. Testing. Not pushing but just remaining there steady. You didn't pull away. Even after everything, you coudln't bring it to yourself to pull away anymore, not after everything you had experienced with Shawn. Your head tipped forward, hair falling into your face, and for the first time since walking through that door, the weight of everything showed on your face; the ache behind your eyes, the exhaustion and the way your heart still continued to pull towards him even after everything he has done.

"I missed you,"

Your whisper was small, vulnerable and the truth. It made Shawn's voice crack low.

"I missed you every second,"

Something in you split right open in that moment and before you could second guess what you were doing, your hand realised his and slid up the front of his hoodie. The fabric bunched beneath your grip. You looked up at him, breathing shallow. He looked at you in a similar way, a man who was on the edge of something he couldn't step back from even if he tried.

Neither of you moved for a moment. Just the feeling of his breath on your cheek was enough for you at the minute. Then, he leaned in close, slow enough to give you a chance to move away if you wanted to stop him.

The thing was...you didn't. Not right now. Not ever.

Your lips met, soft and tentative at first but the second you felt the warmth of his mouth against yours, the feeling of his rough hand against your cheek, everythign broke open. The kiss deepened, your grip tightening as he pulled you closer, fingers trembling as he touched your face as if you would disappear.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't even rushed. This was need. Slow and deep, days, weeks of unsaid words pouring into the kiss. When you finally broke for breath, your forehead rested against his, both of your panting softly.

"You sure?" he whispered, voice horase.

"You nodded once. Firm. "I'm sure,"

That was all he needed. He didn't rush. Even after everything and the ache of these past few days, Shawn still touched you like he didn't want to break you. His palm slid across your cheek, fingers tracing down the side of your neck, along your collarbone. Slow. Reverent. Like he was relearning you. Rediscovering something precious that he had once thought he'd lost. You shivered beneath his touch, breath catching as his fingers brushed the edge of your throat.

His hand moved. Slipping under your hoodie. The warmth of his palm against your bare waist made you gasp softly, your stimach fluttering under the sudden heat of it.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, "Even when you hate me,"

You huffed out a breath, "I could never hate you,"

He moved, slowly and deliberately guiding you onto his lap, straddling. Those words hit harder than he was ready for as you settled onto him with a soft sigh, thighs at either side of his hips, your hands still tangled in his hoodie. Now, you were chest to chest.

"Tell me to stop," Shawn tipped his head up to look at you, nose brushing against yours, "Tell me to stop and I will,"

You didn't answer. You couldn't because if he stopped now, you were afraid you would stop breathing so instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, deeper this time and with a hunger that made both you and him tremble with need. It was an answer in itself and it was enough for both of you. He groaned against your mouth softly, hands sliding up under your hoodie, palms spanning the curve of your back and pulling you up and flush against him. His tongue flickered against your lower lip, teasing and coaxing, and when you opened upm the kiss turned firey, slow and sinfully deep.

Your hips shifted without much of a thought, rolling gently over the hardness that was underneath you. The low ragged sound that tore from his throat made your head spin.

"God..."

He broke the kiss just long enough to drag his lips down your neck, across your jaw, leaving a trail of open mouth kissed that left you gasping for air.

Your fingersthreaded into his hair, tugging softly when he found that stop just below your ear that made your body thrum with need.

"Missed this..." He groaned, voice rough against your skin, "Missed you,"

One hand drifted up the front of your chest, under your hoodie, and he cupped your breast through the thin fabric of the tank top underneath, circling your nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch.

You couldn't help the way you rolled into his body, and the way you felt him smile...no, smirk against the skin of your neck whle his hand teased you, alternating between soft coaxing circles and then firmer pressure.

"That's it..." he murmered before removing his hand, then reaching for the zipper of your hoodie to slowly take it down, as if he was unravelling and exciting gift, "Wanna see you..."

You swallowed hard and lifted youre arms just enough to help him, heart thudding in your chest. He slid the zipper down with agonziing slowness, eyes never leaving yourself, like he needed to be sure with every inch that this was still what you wanted in this current moment. When your hoodie slipped off, he drew back a little, gaze sweaping over you in the dim light. A flush appeared on your cheeks, the way he looked at you...

It was like he saw you...no, really saw you for the first time that evening.

"God..." he breathed, "You're gorgeous baby..."

The raw honesty in his voice made your throat tighten. You wanted to say something back...how much you loved him, how much he meant to you... how much you missed the way he touched you but before words could come, his hands were on you again. Rough palms slid up your sides, under the thin tank top, fingers splaying wide across your ribs, feeling, memorizing. He leaned in, mouth trailing hot open kisses on your collarbone, stubble scraped your skin just enough to make your breath hitch, a tremble running through you.

He lifted it off slowly, peeling it over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up, nipples already tight from the cool air, and his teasing touch. Shawn's breath caught, hands framing your ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. His gaze was heavy and completely in awe, not quite believing you were here and ready to be with him again.

"Fuck baby..." he whispered, voice breaking on the word, "You're perfect,"

He leaned in again, this time mouth finding your breast, the same one he had been teasing and wrapped his lips around your nipple, hot and wet and slow. The second his tongue flickered over you, head tipped back with a soft groan. You started gently rocking your hips, slowly grinding them on his hardening cock and it was pure torture, both of you shaking, breathless, craving more.

His free hand skimmed again, teasing the waist band of your joggers,

"Wanna touch you sweetheart..."

You swallowed and nodded, "Please..."

That was all it took. Shawn's hand slid slowly under the band with his fingers curving over your hips, thumb hooking the waistband. His eyes flickered to meet yours again, still checking and always giving you a chance to say no.

But there was no chance you would do that. Not right now.

You lifted your hips slightly, helping him as he eased the soft fabric down and over your thighs, leaving you in nothing but your panties, already damp from how wet you were. His hand slid along your thighs, fingers kneading as they travelled upward, slow, deliberate. Almost like he was making up for lost time. You gasped a little when one large hand cupped the curve of your ass, the other trailing higher, teasing along the edge of your panties, thumb slipping under to stroke the soft skin underneath. Just then you felt his touch pressing against the damp heat of your panties.

"Fuck..." He breathed, "You're fucking soaked for me, baby..."

You whimpered, hips rocking against him, needing more than his teasing tocuh was giving you. He slid the panties down your tighs in one fluid motion, baring you completely to him. His eyes were looking at your with pure, unfiltered hunger - but still soft. Still full of that tenderness only you got to see.

"So goddamn beautiful..."

One hand trailed along, fingers ghosting your slick folds with a teasing slowness, gentle. Just enough to make you whimper and arch against him. He watched you for every reaction, every twitch and gasp.

His fingers began circling your clit in slow teasing movements.

"Missed making you feel good..."

Your breath was coming on faster now, your body trembling in his lap as he stroked you, slow, steady, not rushing, not claiming, just giving everything he could to you without recklessness. Your hands tightened on his hoodie as another moan went past your lips. You needed him. By god you needed him.

Shawn leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear, low and wrecked, "You're shaking already and I've barely touched you..."

You whimpered, unable to speak and just nodded to which he smiled.

"I want to taste you..." he rasped, thumb brushing your clit with a bit more pressure than before, "Let me...please,"

That word. Please. Like he was desperate. Like he would combust if you denied him any longer...it undid you completely how much he needed you.

You were barely able to get the word out but you did when you nodded, "Yes...yes please,"

Shawn goraned low and desperate as he began easing you off of his lap with gentle yet firm hands, guiding you back onto the bed, laying you down against the pillows. The look in his eyes as he knelt between your thighs made your heart ache, he was looking at you like a sacred being. Like he didn't deserve it but he couldn't deny himself anymore. He trailed kisses down your stomach, slow and reverant as his hands coaxed your thighs apart.

"You're perfect..." he murmered, voice filled with head and wonder, "Every fucking inch of you, baby,"

You gasped when his mouth finally brushed the inside of your thigh, soft, wet kisses slow and lingering, moving higher with agonzing speed. Your fingers tandfle in the sheets, breath catching with every inch of land he covered, When his lips finally found your head, his groan vibrated through you.

"So fucking sweet..."

His mouth was on you. Tongue stroking you slowly, teasingly savouring every taste and every sound that you made underneath him. One of his hands slid up, lacing his fingers with yours, grounding you as his tongue worked deeper, circling your clit, dipping lower, worshiping you with every single moment. You couldn't stop the sounds that were leaving your mouth, soft breathless moans as your thighs trembled around his shoulders from the treatment you were recieving. His hand, grounding you, keeping you from floating too far away as his tongue stroked and circled with maddening patience.

"Shawn..."

That only seemed to fuel him more as his grip tightened and his mouth moved with even more purpose. He licked you slowly but deeply, like he had all the time in the world. Like nothing mattered but this. But you.

His tongue flattened against your clit, dragging it in long slow strokes that made you arch up from the bed, crying his name out.

"That's it..." he rasped, voice rough against your skin, "That's my girl..."

He sucked sloftly at your clit, tongue flickering in a way that he knew would make your body crave him more, as if he knew your body better than you knew it yourself. Your free hand grabbed onto him, tangling in it, hips rocking under his touch. You were getting so close now as the pressure coiled in your belly like a viper with every passing of his mouth.

"Shawn..." you whined, unable to think, "I...I can't...please,"

"Yes you can," he whispered, pulling back for a second, just to look up at you, lips slick and gazing at you like a man eating his final meal, "Let go for me...let me feel you come for me,"

And then he was back on you. Relentless now, tongue and lips working you with a slow, devastating rhythm, pusing you higher and higher until....you shatter. Your whole body arched off the bed, a cry breaking from your throat as the orgasm crashed through you, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your trembling form. Shawn groaned against you, holding you through it, mouth never leaving you, drawing it out until you were left gasping, spent and tremblign beneath him. Only then did he east up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss agasinst your thigh as you tried to catch your breath.

You barely had the strength to open your eyes when you felt him crawl up the bed, mouth brushing your ear.

"Could listen to you fall apart all night," he whispered voice rough with love and heat, "I could live between your legs all night..."

As good as that sounded, you felt him still so hard and straining against his sweats, every inch of him shaking with restrain.

Your fingers slid up to tug at his waistband, "I need you...now"

He groaned low, forehead dropping to yours, "Fuck...you sure?"

You met his gaze without hesitation, eyes wide and body aching for him, every inch of you still trembling from what, "Please... I need you inside of me,"

That was all it took. A guttural sound tore form his throat, need, reverence and relief all wrapped into one as his hands moved quickly now, showing his sweats and boxers down, not bothering to take them off but enough to free himself. You felt him, hot, thick and heavy pressing against your thigh. Your hips rolled instinctively to feel him where you needed him the most. He reached between you, guiding himself to your entrance, teasing just barely, his forehead resting against yours, both of you desperate for it.

"Gonna take it slow.."

You could only whimper in response as your legs fell open for him, hands sliding up his back, under his shirt which he shortly took off, leaving him bare on top. Your hand traced his abs as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Then, with a slow deliberate push, he sank into you. The stretch stole your breath away in a way that it hadn't before. He filled you inch by inch. Thick, hot and perfect. Like he was always meant to be there, like you were made to be his person.

"Fuck...baby..." he groaned, voice breaking as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, "So tight...so fucking perfect,"

You could barely think. You could barely breathe.

He stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust to him as he placed his forehead against yours again.

"I missed this..." he whispered hoarsely, "I missed being inside of you... missed you,"

Your heart cracked open again, emotions rising thick and fast. You felt too much and way to deep. Shawn Michaels. The man you swore you were going to marry one day was holding you and telling you... that you were perfect. You answered in the only way you could manage. You pulled him down into a kiss. Hungry, needy and full of everything that you couldn't say but wanted to desperately.

That was enough.

He began to move, slow at first but with deep rolling thrusts that made you moan into his mouth with your body arching up to meet him. His hand reached to cup your face now, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if to hold you there, to keep you with him.

"You feel so good baby," he whispered against your lips, "I could stay buried in you forever..."

Every thrust drove deeper, slow and deliverate, filling you up completely, building that heat again inside of you, spiralling higher and higher with every move of his hips. Your nails scraped down his back, your cries growing louder as pleasure surgeed through you again, body already tightening.

"Shawn...please...don't stop..."

"Never," he groaned, voice low and ruined by how good you feel, "Not letting you go...not this time,"

His hips moved deeper now, finding that perfect rhythm, slow but strong with each trust dragging another moan from your lips, another pulse of heat that built higher with every roll of his body against yours. You clung to him, nails raking gently down his back, thighs tighening around his hips, pulling him in even closer.

"Fuck... baby..." he rasped, breath hot against your mouth, "You're squeezing me so tight...you feel so good,"

The way he looked at you, open, raw and completely undone... it had your heart aching in the best way possible. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, your lips brushing against his ear as you whimpered.

"You're gonna make me come...again,"

His breath stuttered, grinding deeper and harder, enough to drive you towards putting you over the edge.

"Come for me baby..." he whispered, voice breaking, "Let me have all of you..."

It was a cue for the pressure inside of you to snap completely. The coil of head winding tigher and tighter until it finally broke, wave after wave crashing through you. Your body arched up beneath him, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as you shattered completely in his arms. Shawn groaned deep as he sounded like he was losing control from your body pulsing around him, pulling him under with you.

"Baby...I'm..." he gasped, driving in one more time, hips flush against yours as he buried himself deep and came hard, spiling inside of you with a ragged moan, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. He held you tight through it, breathless with his heart pounding against his chest.

For the longest of moments, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the room were your mingled breaths, the faint hum of the air conditioning and the thudding of your hearts that hadn't found their rhythm again.

When he finally found the strength to speak, his voice was soft and filled with emotion.

"...I love you,"

The words hung in the air. Raw, trembling and with no defence or pretense. Finally, the truth. You blinked, unaware of the tears that were forming in your eyes, feeling too much at once and reached a hand to touch his face, fearful he would disappear or this was all one big dream.

"I love you too..."

He smiled then. He looked tired but there was something soft and unspoken in his eyes, and gently he began to ease out of you, shifting to pull you insto his arms. He gathered you close, wrapping you up in his embrace, one hand stroking your hair as you curled against his chest. Shawn's hand stroked slowly through your hair, fingers combing gently and steady, grounding you and calming you. Nether of you spoke for a while. There were no more words that could be spoken. Just the warmth of his skin against yours.

But eventually, his words came out. Rough and low.

"I...thought I lost you for good," he whispered.

You shifted slightly to look up at him through heavy lashes, "You almost did," you whispered, deciding he deserved honesty and openness, "But you didn't,"

His jaw tensed faintly, like the guilt was strating to threaten that post-orgasmic glow. You reached up, fingers tracing the edge of his beard, soft and slow, "You're here now... that's what matters.

He leaned into your touch, like he needed your touch more than anything right now.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbled.

You smiled faintly, tired but sincere, "That's not your choice to make,"

A soft breathless laugh escaped him and that made your cheeks feel warm.

"I'm gonna do better," he promised quietly," "I swear baby... I'm going to give you everything..."

Your heart swelled. You could tell that he was trying to make an effort so you kissed his chest softly.

"I know..." you whispered, "We'll figure it out together..."

His arms tightened around you, protective and warm.

“You need sleep,” he murmured, stroking your back now in soothing, slow circles. “You’ve worn yourself out.”

You huffed softly. “You wore me out.”

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that made you smile.

“Guilty,” he said softly. “And proud.”

You laughed quietly against him, the sound soft and real.

Shawn pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low, thick with emotion. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And with his warmth wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, your body finally relaxed, the exhaustion pulling you under, safe in his arms at last.

For the first time in days… you slept.

EPILOGUE/BONUS SCENE

One Week Later.

You were back in the gym.

Not like you had been before. Lighter. The weight in your chest had eased, the ice around you thawed. You still had things to work through with Shawn but you were working through them. Together.

Shawn Michaels hadn't let you go since.

Not, across the gym, you caught his eyes, where he was pretending to review training notes, though you knew by now when he was sneaking glances at you.

He gave you the smallest smile. Quiet, but real.

And this time, you smiled back.

Across the room, Rhea Ripley nudged Seth Rollins in the ribs.

“See that?” she whispered, smirking. “I told you.”

Seth, sprawled on the bench beside her with his arms crossed, shot her a look. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. Congratulations, you meddling maniac.”

Rhea grinned. “Meddling genius.”

“You nearly got me murdered by Michaels,” he muttered. “Or divorced. Or both.”

“Relax,” Rhea said breezily, stretching her arms over her head. “Worked out, didn’t it?”

Seth shook his head with a sigh. “Still can’t believe he actually texted her. Thought for sure we’d have to drag him by the ears.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t hear what I said to him,” Rhea replied, smirk deepening. “Had a little chat with him that afternoon. Put some things in perspective.”

Seth’s brow shot up. “You didn’t threaten him, did you?”

She shrugged innocently. “Define threat.”

“Rhea…”

“I motivated him,” she said sweetly. “With strong, pointed truths. And maybe a few colorful metaphors. You’re welcome.”

Seth groaned, covering his face with one hand. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Rhea just laughed, watching you and Shawn with sharp, satisfied eyes.

“Not today,” she said softly. “Today’s a good day.”

And for once,for the first time in a long time, it really was.

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