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ellswritings · 7 days ago

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In My Corner

(Part 10), Part 11, (Part 12)

CM Punk/Phil Brooks x reader

Seth Rollins/Colby Lopez x reader

TW: Colby and Y/N have their first couple-esque fight 😭. Other than that just regular wrestling violence.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @scream4mami , @mandmilovehim, @dummylovewp, @insomnia-bookworm, @mill7531

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The Georgia morning air was still thick with the smell of last night’s bonfire, mingled with the faint sweetness of syrup and leftover pancakes. Y/N zipped up her hoodie as she stepped out onto the porch, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Colby followed behind her, dragging his suitcase down the steps with a grunt that sounded more dramatic than necessary.

“You’re not lifting the thing, you’re rolling it,” Y/N said, smirking over her shoulder.

Colby shot her a look. “Let me have my moment, woman. It’s early.”

Cody appeared at the front door in socks, balancing a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand and a mug in the other. “Aww, y’all really leavin’?” he asked with a half-hearted pout.

“I unfortunately have a job that requires me to be present every Friday,” Y/N said, stepping forward to give him a quick side hug. “The world needs me.”

He snorted. “The world needs you to yell at me more during game night, apparently.”

“I was coaching you,” she said with mock offense. “Like a good teammate.”

Colby raised his brows. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Brandi leaned in the doorway, smiling as she held Liberty—who was still in her unicorn pajamas and clinging to a stuffed dinosaur. “You guys be safe. Text when you land.”

“I will,” Y/N promised, stepping over to kiss Liberty on the head. “Later, little monster.”

Liberty yawned against her mom’s shoulder, barely awake but still murmured, “Bye Auntie Y/N… tell wrestling I said hi…”

Colby chuckled. “That’s going on a shirt.”

They waved one last time as they walked to the car. It was quiet for a minute, just the soft thrum of tires on asphalt and the occasional birdsong. Colby glanced over as he started the engine, reaching for the aux cord. “Airport playlist or ‘let’s pretend we’re in a moody indie film’ silence?”

Y/N smiled. “Dealer’s choice.”

He chose silence. The two of them watch as the scenery passes by. It’s still rather early so Colby punched in an address to a random coffee shop, swinging by so they could get a bit of a pick me up before sitting on the plane for a few hours.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen when they placed their orders. It didn’t take the barista long to make their orders. Before they knew it, they were sitting back in the car. Y/N leaned her head against the window, hoodie pulled tight, nursing a coffee Colby insisted was too sweet for a grown adult.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered as he turned onto the freeway, “if you order your coffee with that much syrup, it’s not coffee anymore. It’s dessert in a cup.”

Y/N didn’t even look at him. “Let me enjoy things.”

“You’re drinking a cupcake.”

“You’re complaining about it like you didn’t finish half of it when we were in line.”

“That was a taste test. For science.”

She cracked a sleepy smile and finally turned toward him. “You moaned, Colby.”

“I don’t remember that,” he said, deadpan. “Fake news.”

She snorted, turning her attention back to the road ahead, her fingers curling around the warm paper cup. “Your toxic trait is acting like you're not dramatic when you’re literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.”

His lips quirked into a smug little grin. “That’s slander. And deeply hurtful.”

They slid back into silence for a bit — comfortable, easy. Y/N checked a few emails on her phone while Colby hummed along to whatever playlist he had running. The airport was only a half hour out, but the warmth in the car made everything feel slower, sleepier.

By the time they made it through security and boarded, Colby was already acting like he owned the window seat despite very clearly not claiming it earlier.

“I swear to god,” Y/N muttered, trying to shove her backpack into the footwell, “you are a child.”

“Correction,” he said, already buckling his seatbelt, “I’m a national treasure. Let me have the window. You can sleep on my shoulder.”

Y/N paused. “Fine. But if you drool on me again, I’m telling Joe.”

He smirked. “Joe already knows I’m the better travel buddy.”

“He once threatened to duct tape your mouth shut on a bus.”

“Allegedly.”

Y/N settled in beside him, bumping his leg with hers just to annoy him, and finally opened her phone again as the plane began to taxi. Her notifications were nothing special — a few Instagram tags, a message from Brandi, and then…

A text from Phil.

Phil:

He says he wants to meet you. Sick of just hearing about you all the time.

Y/N blinked.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary. It was a good picture — a little blurry, very Phil — and the message was short, but… it hit her somewhere strange. Not in a bad way. Just unexpected.

She didn’t even realize she was smiling until Colby spoke. “What’s that look?” His tone was casual, but not careless. He was looking at her now, one brow raised, like he was trying not to read too much into it — but already was.

Y/N hesitated. Her thumb locked the screen. She didn’t owe him an explanation, not really… but the last few days had shifted something between them. They weren’t lying to each other anymore. So she looked at him and said, “Phil sent a photo of his dog Larry.”

Colby didn’t respond immediately. His jaw ticked once, like he was physically forcing himself to stay neutral.

She continued gently, “I’ve never met him. Larry.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Colby leaned his head back against the seat and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Right.”

She could see it in the way his arms crossed — not tight, but guarded. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something deeper. Protective. Careful. Y/N reached out without thinking, hand finding his under the small blanket folded on her lap. Her fingers laced through his. Squeezed once. He didn’t pull away. She said quietly, “I didn’t flirt back, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Colby glanced sideways at her. “Was it flirty?”

“Not… not exactly. It was just a comment.” She paused. “But it made me smile. That’s the truth.”

He was quiet again. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low. “I’m not mad. I just—”

“You don’t trust him.”

“I don’t like him,” he corrected sharply, then sighed. “But I trust you. Just… don’t let him back in enough to hurt you again.”

Y/N stared at him for a second. Then, softly: “I won’t.”

Colby turned his hand over so hers was resting in his palm. He traced a thumb gently along her wrist, like it calmed him down. “I know what it’s like to get sucked back in,” he said, so quiet it barely made it over the engine noise. “Just… remember how far you’ve come.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Hard to forget,” she murmured.

He kissed her hair once, then pulled his hoodie over his face dramatically. “Wake me when we land.”

Y/N smiled — tired, fond — and whispered, “You’re the worst.”

“I’m adorable.”

“Go to sleep.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The hum of backstage activity hit them the second they stepped through the arena doors—crates being rolled, radios squawking, and the quiet thud of boots over concrete. Y/N didn’t hesitate. She adjusted the strap of her bag and strode forward like she owned the place, Colby trailing close behind her.

But when he reached for her hand, she slowed. “Seriously?” she asked, arching a brow at him.

Colby shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a spark behind his eyes. “Just makin’ sure everyone knows you’re still the star around here.”

His fingers threaded with hers like he’d been doing it for years. Y/N glanced down at their hands, then back up. “Fine. Just don’t be weird.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

They rounded a corner, and it didn’t take long for the whispers to start. Two production assistants by Gorilla stopped mid-conversation to stare outright. One of them whispered behind her water bottle, “Is that… is she holding hands with Seth Rollins?”

Behind them, a familiar voice muttered, “Well damn, took long enough.”

Y/N turned to find Bianca walking past, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. “Thought y’all were gonna keep pretending for another year.”

Colby winked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A few steps later, Grayson Waller leaned against a production crate with Theory and let out a low whistle. “I knew there was something there. No one argues on TV that much unless they’re screwing.”

Y/N didn’t even dignify that with a response. She just flipped him off over her shoulder as Colby chuckled beside her.

“She’s classy, that one,” Theory quipped.

“She’s spicy,” Waller grinned. “I respect it.”

Further down the hall, Pam passed them, eyebrows climbing as she looked between their joined hands and Y/N’s expression. “Well well,” she teased. “About damn time. Everyone backstage owes me fifty bucks.”

Colby chuckled, but his jaw ticked slightly at that one. The chatter, the glances—he could feel the eyes on them like stage lights. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way they looked at her. She was in her zone—smirking, brushing off the comments, walking like nothing could touch her. But Colby knew her. He knew every tiny breath she took when she was just a little overwhelmed. And he couldn’t help it. He slid his hand from hers and let it trail along her lower back—low enough to toe the line, firm enough to make her pause mid-step. “Colby,” she warned, barely under her breath.

“What?” he murmured close to her ear, lips brushing her cheek. “You’re mine. Let ’em look.”

She tried to glare, but it wobbled when he dipped in closer, breath hot against her neck. “Gonna start doing this more often if it keeps getting under everyone’s skin.”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

He grinned. “And you love it.”

Before she could argue, they stopped in front of the Bloodline locker room. She paused, adjusting the strap of her duffel on her shoulder. “You sure you want to hang around here all night?” she asked, a little softer now. “You don’t have to play watchdog, you know.”

Colby tilted his head, giving her that dry half-smile. “You’re always backstage at Raw, cheering me on, breaking up potential homicides—least I can do is watch you cause a little chaos here.”

Her smile warmed, despite herself. “You’re not gonna get in trouble, are you?”

“I thrive on trouble,” he deadpanned. “Besides. Who’s gonna stop me? Paul?”

She laughed, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll find you after.”

“I’ll be lurking.”

With a small wave, Y/N pushed the door open—and didn’t even get one foot inside before the teasing started. “Well damn,” Jon grinned from the bench, halfway into his gear. “You showin’ up with Monday Night arm candy now?”

Joseph didn’t look up from his phone. “Guess we know why she’s been dodging our texts all week.”

Y/N shut the door behind her, rolling her eyes. “You two are so predictable.”

Jon widened his eyes. “I’m just sayin’. You looked real cozy in that hallway.”

“He flew in with me. That’s it.”

“Y/N,” Joseph said flatly, finally glancing up. “He was holding your hand. We’re not blind.”

Jon added with a dramatic gasp, “You kiss him too?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

Jon smirked. “You so kissed him.”

Y/N sat down and began pulling her boots out of her bag. “I hate you both. Deeply.”

Joseph leaned forward. “Does Joe know he’s here?”

“Nope. And he’s not getting involved. He’s just here to support.”

“That’s brave,” Jon muttered. “Considering last time he got within two feet of Roman, he got folded like laundry.”

Y/N snorted. “He’s aware.”

There was a pause, then Joseph said, “So what’s the deal tonight? Us against Orton, Knight, and Styles?”

Jon groaned. “Yup. Joe’s out. Paul says we’re playing it off as strategy, but really we’re just short a body.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s a three-on-two.”

“Thanks, math wizard.”

“You need a third?”

Jon lifted his chin. “You volunteering?”

She hesitated—then smirked. “Maybe. I technically wasn’t supposed to fight tonight, but I’ve always got my gear ready.”

Joseph nodded slowly. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened this week. Besides, Aldis loves you. Not like he’ll say no.”

Jon grinned. “Just sayin’—if you wanna show off for your man out there, we won’t stop you.”

Y/N threw a wrist tape roll at his head.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The backstage halls of the arena buzzed with the kind of organized chaos Y/N had grown used to over the years—light rigs being adjusted, clipboards being waved in frantic directions, and a low undercurrent of crowd noise bleeding through the concrete walls.

She looked good. She felt good. Her entrance gear was draped over her arm, makeup sharp, hair already done and out of her face. She walked like she owned the place—not out of arrogance, but because walking with purpose made people get out of your way. That, and it was fun to make the production crew flinch when they realized she was headed straight at them.

She rounded a corner just as someone stepped in her path. Y/N stopped short, raising an eyebrow.

Kevin Owens just stared at her with a vaguely unimpressed expression, one brow twitching as he took a loud bite of his apple. "You're out here stomping around like you're late for a title defense," he said, voice dry as the arena air. "Relax, boss. Catering’s not going anywhere."

Y/N tilted her head, not missing a beat. “Didn’t realize I was blocking the road to your emotional support carbs.”

Kevin chewed slowly, then pointed his apple at her. “That's cute. Cody teach you that one?”

“Nope. That one’s all me.” She grinned, brushing past him just enough to bump his shoulder. “Don’t act like you didn’t miss me.”

“I see you all the time.” He turned to follow her pace. “You and Cody both. I swear, one more group chat notification from the two of you and I’m throwing my phone into the Gulf.”

Y/N smirked. “You’re in the group chat by choice.”

“Barely. I tried leaving once. Cody added me back with a GIF of his own entrance.”

She snorted, then glanced over. “Well? How do I look?”

Kevin gave her a once-over, unimpressed on purpose. “Like you’re about to demand a spotlight and an unnecessarily long intro package.”

“Perfect.”

“...And like you might punch someone in Gorilla if your theme doesn’t hit on time.”

“Also fair.”

They kept walking, weaving through crew and gear cases. It was easy with him—Kevin didn’t do small talk just to fill space. He said what he meant, didn’t sugarcoat it, and respected the silence when it came. Y/N appreciated that.

“You doing commentary tonight, right?” he asked after a beat.

“For Bayley and Bianca,” she said. “I’ll try not to get kicked off the headset again.”

“Just don’t throw shade at Graves for breathing too loud this time.”

“No promises.”

They reached catering, and Kevin snagged another apple from the table like he owned the place. He took a bite, leaned a hip against the table, and eyed her sideways.

“You nervous about anything?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been pacing around like you’re waiting for something to go sideways.”

She sighed through her nose. “Nah. Just… there’s a lot going on. New stuff. Weird energy lately.”

Kevin gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’ve felt it too. Everyone’s trying to pretend it’s all normal, but it’s not.”

Y/N studied him for a second, then offered a half-smile. “Thanks for saying that. Everyone else just keeps asking me if I’ve slept.”

“Yeah, well, your eyebags were louder than your entrance theme last week, so.”

She laughed, bumped his arm again. “You’re such a dick.”

“Mm. And yet you keep talking to me.”

“Because you remind me not to take this place too seriously.”

He shrugged. “It’s wrestling. None of us should.”

Another moment of silence passed, easy and comfortable.

Then he nudged her gently with his elbow. “Hey. You got this.”

Y/N looked over. “Yeah?”

Kevin nodded, a rare flicker of sincerity in his eyes. “You always do.”

She gave him a genuine smile then, warm and appreciative. “I’ll try not to hit anyone.”

“Please do. It keeps the place interesting.”

They both laughed. And with that, she gave him a playful salute and turned to head toward Gorilla, boots clicking confidently against the floor.

Kevin watched her go for a second, then muttered to himself, “...She’s gonna hit someone.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The first notes of Bayley’s entrance theme blasted through the arena with all the subtlety of a pipe bomb. The crowd responded immediately — part recognition, part rebellion — as the self-proclaimed Role Model burst through the curtain. She didn’t dance. She didn’t smirk. Not tonight.

Bayley stomped down the ramp like it had insulted her family. Her jaw clenched tight, arms pumping with purpose, and the rest of Damage CTRL trailing behind her like storm clouds. Iyo Sky, Dakota Kai, and Kairi Sane walked in formation — calm, confident, cold. Their presence alone drew a few boos from the crowd, but Bayley didn’t flinch. She rolled into the ring, paced like a caged animal, then stopped center-ring and stared down the entrance ramp.

The camera zoomed in. Her lips didn’t move, but the fire in her eyes made her intentions clear: I’m coming for that title.

The crowd’s rhythm changed as Bianca Belair’s theme music hit. The “EST” of WWE made her entrance with her signature strut — slow at first, measured. That long braid swayed behind her like a pendulum of purpose. The crowd erupted for her, chanting, whistling, rallying behind her with full force.

Bianca didn’t even glance at the fans tonight. Her eyes were locked on Bayley. She did one hard bounce on the balls of her feet, cracked her neck to one side, and then sprinted down the ramp. No flips, no frills — all business. She rolled into the ring, stood tall, and didn’t break eye contact.

If Bayley was fire, Bianca was ice. And somewhere, between them, stood gold. The crowd buzzed, the air thick with anticipation. The referee called for the bell —

But it never rang.

The lights flickered, and an unfamiliar beat dropped into the arena like a low boom of thunder. Kevin Patrick’s voice cracked through the sound system from commentary: “Wait… What’s this?”

Corey Graves leaned forward, confused. “That’s not Bayley’s music. Not Bianca’s either—”

Then the crowd exploded. Y/N stepped through the curtain with all the grace of a woman who wasn’t just walking into the show — she was the show.

WWE Women’s Champion. No introduction needed.

She didn’t raise the title above her head. Didn’t need to. She simply walked. Slow. Steady. One foot in front of the other down the ramp, dressed in black leather pants, a crisp blazer, headset already in hand. Bayley stared, fuming. Bianca blinked twice, then scoffed and turned her back. The crowd surged with cheers as Y/N circled the ring without a word.

She passed Damage CTRL at ringside — Iyo’s eyes followed her, stone cold. And then Y/N slid behind the commentary table and took her seat between Kevin and Corey like she had always belonged there. Kevin was still reeling. “Well… okay, folks, a huge surprise tonight — the champion herself, Y/N, joining us on commentary.”

“Did she even tell anyone she was coming?” Corey asked, adjusting his headset. “Is this legal?”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N said coolly, slipping on her headset. “I’m not out here to interfere. Just figured I’d sit real close while the two people trying to take my title beat the hell out of each other. You know. Supportive.”

Corey raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound threatening at all.”

Y/N smirked. “Good. It wasn’t supposed to.”

Then the bell rings and the match begins. Bayley wasted no time, charging Bianca with a low running shoulder that drove her into the corner. She threw wild punches — fast and vicious — trying to take the EST down early. Bianca shoved her off and immediately countered with a dropkick so fast Bayley had no time to react.

The crowd roared.

Y/N’s voice was casual but sharp. “Bayley always starts fast when she’s insecure. She’s like a chihuahua on espresso.”

Corey chuckled. “You say that like you’ve fought her before.”

“I have. And she bites.”

In the ring, Bianca followed up with a powerful vertical suplex that held Bayley suspended in the air for a solid five seconds before slamming her to the mat. Kevin spoke over the noise. “You’ve got to admire the strength of Bianca Belair.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Y/N said. “She’s strong, smart, and insanely athletic. But she’s still not champion. Let’s not forget that part.”

Bianca went for a handspring back elbow — Bayley ducked under and yanked her face-first into the second turnbuckle.

Kevin winced. “That could shift the momentum.”

Bayley grinned, taunting the crowd now. “SHE’S NOTHING!” she screamed, pointing toward Bianca, then toward Y/N.

The camera cut to Y/N — she didn’t even blink. “Someone’s doing a lot of talking for someone who can’t win without backup,” she murmured.

Corey tried to stir the pot. “You know, this whole thing reminds me — you used to do commentary with a certain someone back in the day. One particular time I remember was the infamous Raw walkout. Cena vs. Sheamus. Just you and—”

Y/N raised a brow, dry. “Corey.”

He hesitated.

Y/N let it breathe a moment. Then, finally, she said quietly, “Yeah. That night was something else. I remember how quiet it got after the bell rang… and how he made me laugh right when I was trying to act like I wasn’t panicking.”

Even Kevin looked surprised.

“He said we were a ‘broadcast dream team.’ Then he left me holding the headset alone. Typical." There’s a short pause after her subtle dig. Then her eyes soften along with her tone. "But… I won’t lie, he made that night bearable. Even made me laugh."

Corey blinks, "...I thought you two hated each other right now?"

Y/N shrugs with a short exhale as she relaxes into her chair, "Hatred’s exhausting. I’ve got a title to worry about."

Corey tilts his head in quiet shock. “Didn’t expect that.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Neither did I.”

Back in the ring, Bianca ducked a clothesline and nailed Bayley with a handspring moonsault — perfect execution. She covered. One. Two. Kickout.

Iyo pounded the mat from the outside but didn’t interfere. Bianca pulled Bayley up by the hair, but Bayley countered with a brutal neckbreaker. She crawled over and hooked the leg. One. Two. Kickout.

Y/N leaned back in her seat. “They’re pushing each other hard tonight. That’s good. I’d hate to have to defend this title against someone who couldn’t survive ten minutes of cardio.”

Corey laughed. “You really have no love for either of them, huh?”

“I don’t have the luxury of love,” Y/N replied coolly. “I’m the champion. Love gets you blindsided.”

After a few more minutes of attempted covers, the match began to reach a fever pitch. Bayley tried to expose the turnbuckle pad, but the ref caught her and stopped her. While the official was distracted, Bianca used the moment to land a thunderous spinebuster.

The crowd exploded. Y/N sat up slightly, eyes narrowing. “Here we go,” Kevin said.

Bianca hoisted Bayley up — and with a roar, dropped her with the KOD. One. Two. Three.

The bell rang, and the crowd erupted. Bianca rolled off, chest heaving, arm raised. The EST stood tall — victorious. Y/N took off her headset slowly. “Well,” she said dryly, “that was cute.”

Kevin laughed nervously. “What now for Bianca? That was a statement.”

Corey smirked. “I think Y/N’s about to give her an answer.”

But before Y/N could stand—

CRACK!

A steel chair slammed across Bianca’s back. The crowd screamed in shock as Bayley — no longer concerned with wins or losses — swung again, viciously, cracking the chair into Bianca’s ribs.

Y/N was already halfway into the ring. She sprinted toward them, slid under the bottom rope, and tackled Bayley with a flying forearm that sent the chair flying. The crowd exploded as Y/N mounted Bayley, hammering her with fists. Bayley fought back, pulling at Y/N’s hair, but the champion was unrelenting. She shoved Bayley off and drove a hard roundhouse kick to the ribs that sent the former champion tumbling out of the ring.

Iyo and Damage CTRL rushed to Bayley’s side, dragging her away from the chaos as the ref shouted for order. Bianca clutched her back in pain, watching through pained breaths as Y/N stood in the center of the ring, fists clenched.

Her music hit. The crowd was deafening. Y/N didn’t raise the title. She didn’t speak. She just looked down at Bianca, then up the ramp at Bayley — and made it clear: “This is mine. And none of you are taking it.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The backstage hallway buzzed with its usual post-segment energy — the hum of production crews tearing down, the crackle of walkie-talkies, and the steady rhythm of boots on concrete. Y/N weaved through it all like a breeze, chest still light with adrenaline from the match. Her body ached in the best way. Chair shots, commentary, crowd reactions — all of it had played out exactly how she wanted. There was a faint sting in her forearm from where she’d clotheslined Bayley, but it didn’t bother her. If anything, it grounded her. Reminded her that the chaos was real. That she was real.

But as soon as she rounded the corner past catering, her steps slowed.

Colby was standing against the wall, arms folded across his chest, head tilted slightly down like he was lost in thought. His brows were knit, and his jaw was clenched — barely, but enough for her to notice. The bun at the back of his head was half-loose, a few stray curls falling over his ears, and he hadn’t even bothered to straighten his jacket.

That wasn’t nothing.

Y/N’s brows drew together as she approached. “Hey.”

He looked up quickly and gave a smile. It was subtle. Small. His usual grin — the one that started at the corners of his mouth and made his eyes crinkle like he was trying not to laugh at an inside joke — was nowhere to be found. This one was… polite. Almost cautious.

Colby stepped forward and kissed the side of her head. “You crushed it. Out there. Nailed it.”

She blinked. “Thanks…” And then she stared at him. Hard. “Okay,” she said after a moment, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little too fast.

Y/N tilted her head, voice flat. “Colby.”

He shifted. Didn’t look her in the eyes. “I’m fine,” he said casually. “Just waiting for you.”

“You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re pretending you didn’t just chew through the inside of your cheek for five minutes.”

Colby snorted, glancing away like he could laugh this off. “Y/N, seriously. I'm good.”

Her eyes narrowed. She leaned her shoulder against the wall next to him, folding her arms across her chest. “You barely looked at me when I walked up.”

“I looked at you.”

“You smiled like a dad at a PTA meeting.” That got a flicker of amusement from him, but it was short-lived. She studied him quietly for a second more, then sighed. “Is it about what Corey said?”

Colby didn’t answer. She waited. He scratched at his beard, then finally muttered, “It’s dumb.”

Y/N’s brows rose. “It’s not dumb if it’s messing with you.”

He hesitated, then sighed like it physically pained him to admit it. “Yeah. Okay. It got under my skin a little.”

There it was. She straightened, her arms dropping. “I knew it.”

“Y/N—”

“I knew something was off the second I saw your face.”

“I didn’t say anything out loud,” he said, defensive now. “I didn’t storm off or sulk or—”

“I never said you did.” Her voice was even, but there was an edge creeping in. “But we just talked about this.”

“I’m aware.”

“You said you were gonna try not to spiral every time his name came up.”

“I am trying,” he shot back, a little more force in his tone now. “But Corey freaking Graves bringing up your tag-team commentary legacy with CM Punk while I’m standing right there backstage like a damn afterthought? It didn’t exactly feel good to hear.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden spike in his voice. Colby immediately ran a hand down his face. “I’m not mad at you, okay?”

“You’re sure acting like you are.”

“I’m mad at the situation.”

She stared at him. “Then say that.”

He sighed and took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I’m trying, Y/N. I am. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch everyone hold onto the highlight reel version of you two like it’s still relevant.”

“Because it was relevant, Colby.” Her voice cracked slightly, not with emotion, but frustration. “We were a part of this company’s history together. That doesn’t just vanish because he left and I stayed.”

“I know,” he said, gentler now. “I know. And that’s what drives me nuts.”

“Why?”

“Because half the damn locker room still associates you with him. And it doesn’t matter how close we get, how much we talk, or how long we’ve been circling each other… He still lives in your rearview.”

That hit harder than she expected. And maybe it was true. Maybe she hadn’t fully put Phil in the past yet. Maybe a part of her was still stuck there — but not because she wanted to be. Because healing wasn’t a straight line. Because history didn’t erase itself the moment someone new walked in.

You promised me,” she cut in. “You promised you’d try not to act like this. That you would let me get the closure I needed. That you were okay with me figuring things out. But now you’re back to shutting down the second his name comes up.”

Colby looked at her then, sharp and defensive. “Well, sorry for not jumping for joy when my girlfriend’s ex gets a nostalgic shoutout on national television.”

She stared at him. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

The words hung there, loud and electric. Colby’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “And maybe,” she added, softer now, but no less firm, “that’s for a reason.” She stepped back. Her chest was tight, but her eyes were dry. No breakdown. No dramatics. Just anger.

“You don’t get to be mad every time someone brings him up,” she said. “You don’t get to say you trust me, and then flinch the second he’s in the picture. You either believe I’m here, with you, or you don’t.”

Colby clenched his jaw. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” she snapped. “You’re just making it harder than it has to be.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to apologize, but something in her expression shut him down. Y/N finally shook her head, the anger thinning into disappointment. “I’m going to get changed,” she said quietly. “Then I’m gonna find Jon and Joseph.”

He reached for her arm, just briefly, but she was already turning. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she said over her shoulder, not looking back. And just like that, she disappeared down the hallway, her boots echoing against the floor again — only this time, the buzz in her chest had nothing to do with adrenaline.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The backstage corridors of SmackDown always buzzed with electricity—camera crews weaving through the maze of road cases, production staff clutching headsets, lighting techs adjusting rigging in the shadows. But Y/N had long since learned how to move through it all like it was second nature. She walked with practiced ease, still glowing from the adrenaline of commentary, her boots clicking confidently against the polished floor. But as she turned a corner near the production desk, her stride slowed. Paul Heyman stood there, near a stack of monitors, his phone gripped in one hand, the other hand bracing against his temple like he was seconds from an aneurysm. His lips moved, muttering to himself—likely some combination of panic and prayer.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and walked up without hesitation. “You look like you just got hit with a cease and desist from God himself.”

Paul flinched slightly at her voice, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “If only it were that simple.”

She folded her arms, eyeing him. “What’s got you looking like a busted pressure cooker?”

Heyman didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked up to her, and for a long second, he didn’t say a word. Just studied her, as if seeing something he wasn’t sure he liked—or maybe something he liked too much. Finally, he murmured, “Your timing, as always, is both impeccable… and wildly inconvenient.”

“Charming,” she deadpanned. “Spill it.”

Paul inhaled slowly, voice lowering to that familiar calculating drawl. “Joe isn’t here. We all know why. And now I’m two hours out from a main event Bloodline match without a third.”

Y/N blinked, her brows rising. “You’re telling me you still haven’t found someone?”

“I’ve made calls, talked to different talent here,” he said, not-so-convincingly. “Nothing has… manifested. I have no faith in mercenaries. And I have no time for sentimentality.”

“Then maybe,” she said, glancing casually over her shoulder, “you need someone who’s already here. Ready. Familiar.”

His head snapped toward her. “Don’t.”

Y/N smirked. Paul stared at her for a long, tense beat. “You are not Roman Reigns. You are not a Tribal Chief. You’re not even technically allowed to fight in this match since there’s no woman on the opposing side.”

“Paul, you know what I’m capable of. Everyone in the ring tonight is a complete professional. I can handle it. Besides, I’m the champion. That only adds to the caliber of the main event.” Her tone was flat, final. “Besides, what’s one more line blurred?”

Heyman tilted his head, regarding her with something approaching… reverence? It made her stomach tighten. “You,” he murmured, voice suddenly quieter, “are dangerous.”

She laughed softly. “So you’ve told me.”

“No,” Paul continued, shaking his head, gaze narrowing. “Not in the ring. Not with fists or fire. You’re dangerous because you don’t need anyone. You thrive within factions but you are not built for them.”

She furrowed her brows slightly, but before she could respond, he added, “You’re a main event unto yourself. Even now. You walk through backstage and half the roster forgets who the actual champion is. I’ve only ever seen that happen once before.”

Y/N went still, sensing the weight behind his words. Paul didn’t say the name. He didn’t need to. Instead, she exhaled and nodded toward the hallway. “So. You gonna keep waiting for a miracle? Or are we gonna go talk to Aldis?”

Paul blinked, startled. “You’re serious.”

“Dead,” she said simply. “I’ve tagged in worse situations with worse people.”

He blinked once, then a grin curled onto his face. It was slow, unsettling—and satisfied. “I’ll escort you.”

It doesn’t take long to arrive at the General Manager’s office. Nick Aldis’s office was cleaner than any other backstage space. The lighting was warm. The leather chairs polished. But the man himself looked bone-tired, pacing slowly near his desk, an iPad tucked under one arm, Bluetooth headset still stuck in one ear.

He turned as the door opened. “Paul,” he said, already on edge. “Please tell me you have a name.”

Paul simply stepped aside and let Y/N saunter in.

Aldis blinked. “No.”

Y/N tilted her head, smirking. “Not even gonna hear me out?”

Nick let out a soft breath, then looked at Paul. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I assure you,” Paul said, “this is very real.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “You’ve got five men scheduled to main event, three of which would rather take a chair to my ribs than let me walk past them. You’re worried about me being out of place?”

Nick sighed, running a hand over his beard. “It’s not about that. I know what you’re capable of. But you’ve already done commentary tonight. You just came off the road. And frankly, I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Well, I am.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Joe’s out. You need someone. I’ve got history with all three men they’re going against. I’m an integral part of the Bloodline, and a champion. It makes sense for me to be out there. You want eyes on the product? This is how you do it.”

Paul stepped forward. “Nick. You saw the ratings spike when her commentary segment aired. Imagine what happens when she steps back into the ring tonight against three of the biggest names in the company.”

Aldis looked between them.

Y/N added, “It’s not my first mixed tag. I’ve worked with Jon in the ring before. Joseph, too. And I don’t know if you remember but I had a pretty iconic run with the Voice of the Voiceless. I know the rhythm. I won’t be a weak link.”

There was a long beat. Aldis sighed again, then nodded once. “Alright.” Paul grinned. Y/N just arched a brow. “But,” Aldis added, “you’re on your own if this turns into chaos. I’m not covering your ass if you piss off creative for getting involved.”

Y/N smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

As they turned to leave, Nick’s voice stopped her. “Y/N?” She looked back. “Be careful tonight.”

Something in his tone made her pause. But then she just smiled. “Always.” And with that, she walked out—her fingers already twitching with adrenaline.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The lights were hot and blinding, the way only WWE could deliver them. The main event loomed, and the crowd in Lincoln, Nebraska had no idea what was about to hit them. They thought they were getting a six-man tag match. They didn’t know that one of the six wouldn’t even make it to the ring before chaos erupted.

The thunder of Randy Orton’s music exploded from the speakers, and the crowd immediately rose to its feet. The Viper was back in his element, cool and calculated, walking slowly onto the stage. He paused to take in the reaction, that same chilling composure in his shoulders, when—BAM! Out of nowhere, Solo Sikoa and Jimmy Uso struck like shadows out of the dark. Jimmy hit first, driving his forearm into the side of Orton’s skull. Orton barely had time to react before Solo followed with a running splash that sent him flying into the LED wall.

The crowd erupted in boos. Some gasped. Some chanted “BULLSH*T.” All were stunned. Orton collapsed to the metal stage, holding his ribs. Backstage, Y/N stood in front of the monitor. Her jaw tensed. She’d been waiting all night for her moment — and she knew now it was coming.

The match began anyway. LA Knight’s music hit, and the crowd roared as the Megastar burst from the back. He didn’t wait. No posing. No catchphrases. Just a full sprint to the ring, fury in every step. He slid under the ropes, threw off his jacket, and cracked his knuckles like he wanted blood.

AJ Styles came out next — not much different. No theatrics. Just eyes narrowed and fists clenched. The bell rang — officially a 2-on-2 match until Orton could return. Jimmy and Solo stood in their corner, smug and composed. Jimmy was mouthing off about “finishing the job.” Solo just stared — silent, still, dangerous.

Knight opened for the babyface side, launching himself at Jimmy. The two locked up, trading fists and chops. Jimmy tried a clothesline — Knight ducked — and countered with a running neckbreaker. Tag to Styles. Styles came in hot, connecting with a dropkick and then a sliding forearm. Solo tagged in for the other side and immediately slowed the pace, catching Styles in a clutch and delivering a punishing Samoan Drop. The arena shuddered with every slam.

The heels gained momentum. Quick tags between Jimmy and Solo — a combo of hip attacks, uppercuts, and ground holds. Knight tried to rally the crowd, clapping on the apron, calling to AJ who was being crushed under Solo’s weight.

Then—Randy Orton’s music hit again. The crowd lost its mind. Orton limped from the back, one arm braced around his midsection. The Viper was bruised, battered, but far from broken. His walk was slower now, pained, but purposeful. The kind that made men afraid.

Then, as the crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch, a new sound shattered the atmosphere. Y/N’s music.

A hush fell over the crowd, followed by stunned disbelief and then a rising wave of cheers. Y/N exploded through the curtain, every step a statement of power and intent. Her eyes locked on the ring where Jimmy and Solo awaited. The Bloodline was whole again.

The moment Y/N slid into the ring, the energy shifted palpably. Jimmy tagged her in without hesitation. Y/N’s boots hit the canvas, and with lightning speed, she launched herself into the fray. Knight staggered back, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught. Y/N struck with a snap knee to the midsection that buckled him, then flowed fluidly into a tilt-a-whirl headlock takedown, spinning him with dizzying force before slamming him down with controlled brutality.

The crowd was on its feet, caught in the tide of her momentum. Then came the moment they’d been waiting for. Jimmy tagged back in, but Y/N didn’t step out. Instead, she locked eyes with LA Knight, who was struggling to his feet. With a nod and a grin, she and Jimmy readied themselves for a move that had once been a secret weapon between her and Punk—now reborn and elevated.

Jimmy positioned himself near the ropes, beckoning Knight forward. Knight stumbled towards them, wary. Y/N darted to the ropes and sprang high, twisting midair into a corkscrew spin that seemed to defy gravity. Jimmy timed his move perfectly, catching Knight’s shoulders as Y/N spun toward him, her body coiling like a spring. In a breathtaking moment of synchronicity, Y/N’s hands locked around Knight’s neck as Jimmy propelled his torso forward. With a sharp, crisp snap, Y/N pulled Knight’s head backward while rotating her body, driving him face-first into the mat with the force of a hurricane.

The impact echoed throughout the arena. The crowd’s roar reached a deafening crescendo. The move was flawless—fluid, powerful, and stunning to witness. Corey Graves almost lost his voice. “That… that’s the corkscrew neckbreaker! The one she and Punk used to do! And she just made it look like a supernova!” he yelled into the microphone, disbelief cracking his voice. Kevin Patrick chimed in, his excitement palpable. “They haven’t seen that in years! And now she’s taken it to another level. Unbelievable.” Y/N’s chest heaved as she rose, eyes sharp, barely acknowledging the momentary flash of nostalgia.

The match roared back to life. Solo took the fight to Styles with a punishing Samoan Drop. Knight retaliated with a leaping DDT on Jimmy. Y/N came in again, unloading a leg-trap powerbomb on Styles that shook the ring. The crowd was electric, caught between shock and awe.

As the match neared its climax, Styles, Knight, and Orton unleashed a coordinated assault. Orton planted Solo with a snap powerslam, then hoisted him into a hanging DDT. Styles and Knight worked over Jimmy. The finale approached with the tension of a coiled spring. Orton caught Solo in mid-charge, delivering a devastating RKO. Knight launched Jimmy into the air and caught him with a BFT. Styles executed a perfect Phenomenal Forearm on Solo. The three men hoisted Solo high above their heads and drove him through the announce table in a shattering crash.

The bell rang. Winners: Orton, Styles, Knight. Breathless, Y/N stood in the ring, the champion’s fire burning bright. Knight swaggered over, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in close, voice low but loud enough for the crowd to catch, “Well, darling… didn’t know you packed that punch.” His hand lingered briefly on her waist—a teasing, possessive touch.

The crowd erupted instantly, a cacophony of cheers and boos. Those who loved the idea of Y/N and Knight as a duo screamed their approval, while the loyalists who shipped her with Seth Rollins let loose a chorus of boos.

Y/N’s eyes flicked toward Knight, a slow, knowing smirk curling her lips. She shoved him back with a playful but firm shove, her gaze sharp and unapologetic. “Dream on, cowboy.”

Knight chuckled, stepping back, hands raised in mock surrender as he soaked in the divided reaction. “I like stirring the pot,” he said with a wink, eyes sparkling with mischief as the crowd’s roar swelled around them.

Y/N turned away, walking toward Solo’s side, ready to help her teammate. The camera caught her confident stride—unfazed, unbreakable.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Backstage buzzed with static energy, the kind that lingered long after the match ended. Every crew member they passed gave Y/N nods, a few clapped her on the shoulder. She was still high off the performance — the rhythm of the match in her blood, the crowd’s roar echoing in her ears.

Jimmy was bouncing beside her like a kid on a sugar high. “I’m serious! That move was INSANE. Bro, I thought we were gonna mess it up — I almost forgot the timing, but you snapped.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “We literally practiced that once. Once.”

“Yeah, and you still made it look like some next-level Avengers tag-team finisher. Jimmy and Y/N: Civil War!”

Solo raised an eyebrow from where he leaned against a wall. “Don’t hype her up. She’s already cocky.”

“Please,” Y/N smirked. “I was born cocky.”

They all shared a laugh, the kind only earned after surviving something together. That shared ring silence, that heartbeat between each spot. It wasn’t just family. It was war comrades. The boys disappeared into the locker room, still chirping at each other, leaving Y/N outside. She paused, rubbing her neck, her chest still tight with the afterburn of adrenaline.

That’s when she saw Colby. He leaned against a wall just around the corner, arms folded over his chest, dark curls damp and tousled from his earlier match. His gear was half-peeled off, revealing the black tank beneath. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between sheepish and stubborn. Y/N slowed her steps, expression flat. He didn’t speak at first. Just pushed off the wall and approached carefully. “You okay?”

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” she replied coolly.

Colby gave a light nod. “That’s a start.” There was a silence between them again. Thicker this time. Not from anger — not anymore. From tension. From things unsaid.

“You were great,” he said finally.

Y/N shrugged. “I know.”

Colby smirked at that, just a little. “Still humble, huh?”

“Humble’s overrated,” she said. “Especially when the whole world saw me land that spot.”

His smirk faded into something softer. “Yeah. That move…”

“I know,” she interrupted, her tone sharp but uncertain. “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t clock it.”

“I’m not pretending.”

There was a long pause. “Did it bother you?” she asked, her voice low, a little raw. “Seeing me use it?”

Colby looked at her, really looked at her. And for once, no sarcasm, no bravado. Just honesty. “No. It didn’t bother me.” He stepped forward, eyes steady. “It’s a cool move. Always was. You were the one who made it pop even back then.”

Y/N blinked. That wasn’t what she expected.

“You elevated it,” he continued. “Tonight? You owned it. I’m just proud you landed it.”

She studied him for a second, guarded.

“About what was said earlier…” he added. “About Punk. About us.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “You were outta line.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just— It’s hard sometimes, knowing how close you two were. And how far I’ve… not gotten. With you.”

Her expression softened, just barely. “You really think this is a competition?”

“With him?” Colby laughed once. “Always felt like it.”

Y/N shook her head. “Then you’ve been playing a game I never signed up for.”

They stared at each other again — so much history in the space between them. So many broken pieces neither of them had cleaned up yet. Colby let out a long breath. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded once. Then, after a beat, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him in. He folded into the hug, arms tight around her, forehead brushing the top of her head. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But it was real.

She pulled back and muttered, “We’re not okay.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Y/N let out a breath, eyes flicking toward the hallway. “Shit,” she suddenly muttered. “I left my phone and protein bar at catering.”

Colby raised a brow. “That really an emergency?”

“Yes, it is. I’m starving and I’m not going through three more interviews without it.”

He chuckled. “Want me to come?”

“Nah. I’ll be quick. Go ahead and start the rental or… whatever it is you do when you brood in corners.”

He gave her a look. “Funny.”

She grinned as she jogged off. The catering area was mostly cleared out, aside from a few stragglers and an exhausted road agent nursing his third Diet Coke. Y/N beelined for her duffel, muttering under her breath about leaving it under a damn table. Just as she crouched down and yanked it out, her phone buzzed violently against her thigh.

Incoming Call: PHIL

She stared at the screen. Her lips twitched — uninvited. It was too soon to feel this familiar. Too soon to smile. She answered. “What do you want, old man?”

“Damn,” came Phil’s voice, dry and amused, that unmistakable rasp curling through the receiver. “Didn’t even get a ‘hello’ after buying you coffee?”

“I gave you a what do you want. That’s basically affection in my language.”

He chuckled — deep, low, and a little too fond. “You’re such a sweetheart. Always were.”

“Yeah, well,” she stood up, letting the strap of her bag slide over her shoulder, “don’t let the glitter fool you. I bite.”

“That explains the main event.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed softly, still breathless from the match. “You watched?”

“I might be a bit older than what you remember but I don’t go to bed before the show airs. And I’ve got eyes. Of course I watched.”

“You stalking me now?”

“I prefer ‘monitoring.’ Sounds more CIA.”

“Oh, so you’ve upgraded from ‘washed-up cult leader’ to government spook. Nice.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said smoothly. “But yeah. I saw your commentary too.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Reminded me of the old days,” he said, quieter now. “When we used to sit at that godawful desk on Raw and roast everyone like we ran the place.”

Y/N smirked. “We did run the place.”

“Damn right we did.”

There was a beat — long enough for something unspoken to stretch between them. “And the move…” he said finally. “You really broke that out tonight, huh?”

“Didn’t think you’d miss it,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light — but her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the catering table.

“Of course I didn’t,” Phil said. “It was ours. You just… upgraded it.”

She smiled faintly, shifting the phone against her cheek. “Well, Jimmy’s not you, but he sells a hell of a launch.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.”

“You should be flattered.”

“Oh, I am. It looked sick as hell. Like, actual rewind-worthy.”

Y/N let the compliment hang for a second longer than necessary. It meant something — more than she wanted it to. “Nice to know I can still get your attention,” she teased.

“You always had it,” he said. Then added, because he was Phil and couldn’t help himself: “Even when you were yelling at me on live TV.”

“You earned that,” she shot back. “You disappeared.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

That stopped her. “Look,” he continued, voice quieter, but steadier. “I know I burned it all down. I left. I shut the door. I didn’t call, I didn’t write—hell, I didn’t even text a happy birthday. You were my best friend and I treated you like you didn’t exist. I can’t fix that overnight. I’m not even sure I can fix it. But I’m trying.”

Y/N closed her eyes for a second, pressing her fingers to her temple. “You’ve said that before.”

“I know. And maybe I didn’t mean it enough then. Maybe I didn’t know how much damage I’d done until I saw your face again on commentary—saw you talking trash like nothing had changed and everything had changed.”

She didn’t respond.

“And tonight…” he continued. “Tonight, you reminded me who the hell you are.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And who’s that?”

“The woman who made me look good for years,” he said. “Who carried half our tag matches without breaking a sweat. Who called spots on the fly better than I ever did. The woman who—no offense to your current crew—still outworks the entire locker room.”

Y/N sighed, half-smiling. “You’re trying really hard to butter me up.”

“I’m not buttering,” he said. “I’m being honest.”

That was the problem. He was.

“You know what the hardest part was?” he added after a beat. “Coming back and realizing you had every right to hate me.”

“I did hate you,” she said, and her voice was sharper now. “For a long time. You left without a word, like I was just collateral damage in your big ‘fuck you’ to the system.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said.

“Well, guess what? You weren’t.”

Silence.

“I know that now,” he said, quietly. “I should’ve stayed. Or at least told you why I couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Phil hesitated. “Because you were my voice of reason. The only person who could make me change my beliefs. If I heard your voice… I would’ve stayed for the wrong reasons.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She hated how much that admission cracked something in her. How easily he could still reach that part of her she’d buried a decade ago.

“I’ve worked too hard to be where I am.” She finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m finally… happy. With myself. With what I’ve built.”

“I know,” Phil said. “And I’m not trying to mess that up.”

There was a pause. “I just—” he exhaled, the tension crackling gently in his voice. “I miss knowing what makes you laugh.” That stopped her. Before she could react, he added lightly, “Also kind of miss being the reason you roll your eyes so hard you nearly fall over.”

She smirked. “That’s still possible. You’re halfway there already.”

“See?” he said, dry and warm. “Still got it.”

Y/N leaned against the catering table, shaking her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re looking for a reaction.”

“Nah,” he replied, faux innocence bleeding through. “Just reminiscing. Pure nostalgia. Very wholesome.”

“Phil.”

“What?” he said, sounding wounded. “I can’t be nostalgic for the days when you’d threaten to superkick me under the desk and then smile at the camera like America’s sweetheart?”

“That was your fault for making fart jokes during serious segments.”

“I was setting the tone,” he countered. “Lightening the mood.”

“Sabotaging me.”

“Flirting with you.”

He said it quickly, casually — so fast she almost missed it. A beat passed. “Except,” he corrected, voice lower, “I wasn’t allowed to call it that back then. Not in the beginning at least. Had to pretend I didn’t care.”

Y/N was quiet. Not stunned — not flattered — just watchful. “You still pretending?” she asked.

Phil didn’t answer immediately. Then— “Depends. You still mad at me?”

“…Sometimes.”

“Then maybe I am. For now.”

Another silence. But it wasn’t awkward — it pulsed with something unresolved and decades deep. “You’re a mess,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” he replied easily. “But I was always your mess, remember?”

She exhaled slowly, lips parted. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said, standing upright again, throat tight. “Because I might remember what it felt like. And I can’t afford to do that.”

Phil was quiet, the air between them feeling fuller somehow. “Okay,” he said at last. “Then I’ll stop.”

But the words hung too softly in the air to be believed. There was a beat between them before he spoke up again, voice curious. “You gonna be on Raw?” he asked.

Y/N raised a brow. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“Tell me.”

“I just think you should come.”

“Are you planning something?”

“Me?” he said, mock innocence lacing his voice. “Never.”

She shook her head. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet…?”

“I still picked up,” she finished, sighing.

He smiled into the phone. “Old habits.”

She paused. “Yeah,�� she said. “They die hard.”

101 notes · View notes

angelofsmalldeaath · 1 year ago

Text

i'm starving, darling, let me put my lips to something — a.h.b.

cw: this is just...smut — semi-public sex, choking... minors dni i am so serious

“here?” i gasp, burning, panting. the rock solid wall digs into my back, exhilaration courses through my veins.

“here,” he smiles, wicked and delightful in the faint light of the streetlamp.

it’s a shitty alley for christ’s sake—in fact, i’m sure i saw a rat scurrying past us just a few seconds ago—but right now, in this moment when i feel his fingers trailing up my thigh, everything else simply fades away.

“do you want this?” he breathes, lips attached to my neck, shivering when i touch him.

i nod instantly. “you? always.”

“no,” he laughs. it’s a low, deep sound that echoes around in my skull, “us, here. anyone can walk in, you know?”

“that’s half the thrill,” i tease, begging him to kiss me again.

“yeah?” he challenges, teeth grazing my neck, just a smidge of pressure on my pulse point until it’s wild and thunderous and echoing throughout my entire body.

i slap his chest lightly, “tease!”

and he laughs when i have to stand on the very tips of my toes and hold onto him just so i won’t lose my balance. it doesn’t take him much longer though, just when i’m about to stumble, he grabs my face, keeping me still so he can kiss me properly—the kind that knocks the breath out of my chest when he grazes my bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has me leaning against him entirely for balance when my knees almost buck under me.

the kind that makes me moan in his mouth, until he’s pulling my leg up, my thigh pressed against his waist and his hands under my ass.

“when did you get so dirty, darling?” he teases, digs his fingers into my skin, and i squirm, wishing he’d get rid of all the layers between us. wishing he’d fuck me till all i remember is his name.

till i suddenly find god in the alley behind the bar.

i grind my hips into his, gasping when i feel him against me, “saw how you looked at me in there. couldn’t stop the thoughts after that…”

“is that right?” he whispers, hands reaching into my hair until his fingers are tangled in the tresses. i hiss when the sting comes, when he tugs on my hair to tilt my face up, and i have no choice but to look right at him, at his almost-black, hungry eyes that look ready to devour me.

he looks ready to devour me, like a man starving.

“touch me,” i whimper, grab his hand and move it up my thigh until his finger is hooked in the waistband of my underwear. he stills, and looks at me with a grin.

“beg for it.”

“wha—”

“got a filthy mouth on you, haven’t you?” he whispers right into my ear, nips my earlobe while he’s at it and i moan just from that. “tell me your thoughts. tell me everything you thought about me in there.”

i whimper, thumb the zipper of his jeans until it’s half open. “everything?”

“everything. i won’t do it until you ask for it. until you beg for it.”

“thought about your hands,” i breathe, pull down his zipper the rest of the way and hook my fingers in his belt buckle. “saw your hand around the glass and wondered how it would look around my neck…”

“like this?” he asks, voice almost a growl, and wraps a hand around my neck. it’s warm, i feel every bit of callused skin on me, feel his fingers pressing down on the sides of my neck until the air thins.

i choke out a yes, trying and failing to focus on his belt-buckle, utterly dizzy from everything—the lack of air, his body against mine. him.

“what else?” he prompts.

heat coils in my belly when i think of the rest. “t-thought about your fingers too, on me, in me, everywhere.”

if he speaks, the words don’t register. they don’t even fall on my ears. all i feel is his fingers, snaking their way inside my underwear—moving, touching, teasing, anywhere but where i want to feel him. “like this?” he tsks, laughs when i whine in protest.

“you know it’s not.”

“ooh, feisty.”

this time when i kiss him, i make sure to bite. he hisses in my mouth, enjoying the sting a little too much, and i take advantage of his distraction. “like that,” i moan in his mouth and grab his hand, pushing a finger inside me and slipping my own finger in right after. i hold his hand in place and look him right in the eyes.

they look pitch black, blown out wide and so dark, it sends a thrill down my spine.

he presses on my neck again, more and more and more until i’m close to a blackout and grinding on his hand. my finger slips out of me, he instantly pushes in another to replace it, to stretch me out more.

“please d-don’t stop,” i beg, moving my hips faster and faster, matching the thrust of his fingers, “i’ll die if you stop.”

my voice is raspy and rough, like i’ve been screaming his name for hours. and maybe i have been; he certainly looks like i have been—fucked out and utterly undone.

“won’t” he promises, and moves his hand faster, thumb circling my clit, “you’ve been so good, darling, so fucking perfect!”

“ohgodohgodohgod,” i chant like a blind devotee, drunk on him, pathetic and desperate.

“that’s it,” he groans when i clench around his fingers, “that’s it baby, give me all you got. look at me,” he says. no…it’s almost an order, “look at me when you cum.”

instinctually, i open my eyes, look right at him. he loosens his hold around my throat, and just like that the air is flooding into my lungs all at once—too much, too much, overwhelming until i cry out his name and cum all over his hand.

our pants echo in my ear, barely even audible over the rushing blood.

“fuck—” he chokes, utterly speechless. i feel no different.

instead, when he pulls his hand out, i take a hold of it, place it in my mouth. he makes a sound at the back of his throat—a choked moan like he can’t take it anymore. the moan frees itself when i swirl my tongue around his fingers, licking every inch of them, sucking them clean.

“you’ll be the death of me,” he groans, “fuck darling.”

only when i let go of his fingers do i smile at him—the same wicked smile he’d shown me before, the same devilish grin.

“your turn now,” i kiss him, make sure he tastes me on my tongue. “tell me what you want. beg for it.”

and in the alley behind the bar, i get on my knees.

a/n: idk why i feel the need to explain myself but i do — this was so much harder to write dear god, lets all collectively agree to ignore this if this is bad. anyway back to sappy fluff from now on (for a while at least)(unless inspiration strikes idfk)

#you do not know how many times i contemplated pressing ctrl a delete 🥲#hozier x reader #hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier smut #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #no minors #minors do not interact #minors dni

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catscidr · 1 year ago

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// dottore nsfw alphabet ft. the segments! //

i. note — (੭ ᐛ ) hehe.....so...... i have the worst writer’s block rn (its probably burnout because i straight up can't bring myself to do anything but o well) nd i thought filling this out would help. spoiler alert it did a little because i actually finished it.... i have like two Almost Finished wips collecting dust in my docs but i just cant get them done ueue. i write for thirty minutes n then close my laptop. i have a problem but WHATEVER!! THROWS DOTTORE NSFW ALPHABET LIKE A GRENADE AND RUNS!!!

ii. includes — dottore, the clones, gn!reader

iii. cw — nsfw under the cut! mentions of overstimulation, bondage, orgasm control, power imbalance, smidge of dubcon, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, one mention of syringes n needles, implied established relationship

A -> Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

— He’s not one to outright pamper you, but he does clean you up and makes sure that the bruises he left won’t be too sore in the morning; but if you beg hard enough, he’ll begrudgingly kiss them better. Just use his words against him and tease him a little n he’ll reward you with some smooches! ez

B -> Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

— He’s indifferent to his body. On you, though, he goes crazy for your neck. Archons, the things he can do to it are endless. He loves covering it in bitemarks, wrapping his hands around it to feel your rapid pulse, sucking hickeys into the sensitive skin... and we can’t forget how much he loves watching you tilt your head to the side so he can inject whatever liquid is inside his syringe. Call it a mix of sensual and morbid fascination the way he’s obsessed with your neck

C -> Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

— Dottore’s cum is opaque and on the thicker side, but its bitter and not particularly pleasant to swallow. You can’t really blame him; he’s a busy man and he neglects his health regularly. If you ask him nicely, he’ll try to, at least, sip on some pineapple or orange juice during the day so you don’t rush to spit out the cum that lands in your mouth. He also cums a lot, thanks to his involuntary abstinence in his younger years.........

D -> Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

— Has thought about fucking you in front of his segments multiple times (not fucking you with them, just having them watch you two go at it. big difference here). It’s usually fueled by irritation or jealousy from seeing you spend time with them, but sometimes he’ll get this random urge to just completely and utterly claim you in front of them to get under their skin. Also to overwhelm you. yk. just a bit ˙ᵕ˙

E -> Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

— Wasn’t very experienced before he met you. Had one or two awkward hookups during his Akademiya days, but he really had more knowledge about sex than actual experience (getting a bad blowjob doesn’t really count for experience)

F -> Favorite position

— You somehow always end up in the prone bone position if you’re on a flat surface. He loves restraining you, but doing so with his whole body takes the cake. He’ll have one hand wrapped around your throat with his elbow on the bed to hold him up (so he doesn’t completely crush you), and the other hand will be holding your hip with a bruising grip to angle your pelvis so he can thrust into you over n over again without mercy

— .....but having you ride him when he’s tired is worthy of being an honorable mention. Don’t think you’re in control though, because as soon as you start to get too cocky he’ll grab your waist n thrust up sharply to knock that smile off your face (affectionately)

G -> Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

— Very serious, he’ll go as far as to punish you for even trying to crack a joke or giggle at something he said or did (but it’s a dub whenever you’re in a bratty mood so it’s fiiiine). Same goes for his older segments. His younger clones are less uptight about it though, and sometimes they’ll let out a laugh when a funny noise happens, but they won’t necessarily make jokes during it

H -> Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

— Trims it when he remembers to, when it gets annoying, or when you point it out. He’s not a fan of being clean-shaven, but if you really want him to be he’ll do it. His pubic hair is a darker shade than his hair, and the first time you saw it you promptly said “so you don’t dye your hair!” (he immediately flicked your forehead)

I -> Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

— Dottore isn’t romantic, full stop. But on a scale of 1 through 10 he would be around a 6; could charm you and sweep you off your feet if he wanted to, but he finds more enjoyment in teasing you than being a gentleman.

J -> Jack off (masturbation hc)

— He forgets that’s even an option when he’s in Snezhnaya. Whenever he gets hard he’ll have you take care of it, whether it’s in the form of a quickie or completely ditching his work to fuck you. So he only really masturbates like... once a week, twice at most if you’re not in the mood to help him with his hard on.

— But when he has to go out to other regions for work and won't be with you for long periods of time? He gets off more often than he’d like to admit.

K -> Kink(s)

— Big fan of dacryphilia, spit/messy sex, overstimulation, any kind of restraints, edging, breathplay, power imbalance, biting, dirty talk, brat taming, double penetration and anything that tests your limits.

— Medium fan of sex under the influence of either alcohol or aphrodisiacs, somnophilia, exhibitionism, temperature play, slightly dangerous things like knife and gun play, and group sex (with his segments specifically, no one else. he’s possessive of you)

— Honorable mention: roleplay, to some extent. Mans loves to do a “medical checkup” on you every once in a while. And he’s more of a dom than a sub, too. His older segments have pretty much the same kinks as he does (ofc), but the younger ones tend to lean more towards being switchy than just. dom

L -> Location (favorite place to do the do)

— Has a bias for taking you in his office. Loves the idea that any of his segments could overhear the both of you going at it and all they can do is rub one out somewhere quiet. He’s so mean to them, using you like that.........

M -> Motivation (what turns them on)

— When you act like a brat, purposely teasing him n pushing his buttons..... makes his blood rush down to his cock. Can’t help thinking of the many ways he’ll put you in your place later

N -> No (immediate turn offs)

— Anything that has to do with his kid/youngest segments and his coworkers, the other Harbingers.

O -> Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

— Would rather receive than give, but won’t shy away from the opportunity to overstimulate you with his fingers/hands and tongue. Isn’t the best at giving head but will gladly take the time to learn what makes you cum the fastest if you want him to

P -> Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

— Dottore’s usually fast n rough, but he’ll have his moments where he wants to dote on you hard. His lack of affection catches up to him n he just wants to trace every curve of your body while languidly driving his cock inside of you sometimes, what can ya do

Q -> Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

— Prefers taking his time to tease you by a mile, but he loves quickies too (since he can very well tease you by having a quickie)

R -> Risk (are they game to experiment?) the irony of this wording isn’t lost on me

— He's game to experiment. If you’re on board, he’s always willing to try something at least once

S -> Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

— His younger segments tire out easily (virgins....... /affectionate) but his older ones, himself included, can go on and on and on. Him being a hermit n staying in his lab for multiple days at a time is extremely misleading, don’t be fooled!! He’ll overstimulate you to prove a point if you try to even poke fun at him n imply that he’ll get tired because he doesn’t “exercise” much (you’re his exercise, anyways)

T -> Toys (do they have any?)

— Dottore does have some (and has dabbled in making some, too), namely (big and small) vibrators, dildos, and restraints but most of the time he prefers doing without them than with. Usually. When he does use them, he’ll make the whole “session” about them.

— Controlling the rate in which a machine fucks you while he lazily jerks off in front of you, just out of your reach so you can’t touch him.... slowing down the silicone dildo’s pace when you start to get frustrated, making you even more frustrated..... yeah

U -> Unfair (how much they like to tease)

— He’s the WORST. The worst!!! You never know if he’ll overstimulate you, edge you, ruin your orgasm or just rile you up just to not do anything about it. Loves teasing you just as much as he loves to bury himself in his research (which is, obviously, a lot. good luck soldier)

V -> Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

— Definitely on the quieter side (and it’s totally not so he can hear you more clearly, nuh uh). Lets out grunts/growls and heavy puffs of air more than actual moans, but it just makes the times whenever you do manage to draw out a pretty boy moan even sweeter <3

W -> Wild card (a random hc)

— Il Dottore, the Second Harbinger, outcast of the Akademiya, is incredibly touchy. He’ll place his hand on your waist when he walks past you, he’ll keep a hand on your thigh when you’re accompanying him during a meeting. He needs to have a hand on you at all times /whenever it’s possible/, including when you’re having sex. Can’t go a single second without touching you, he would probably actually bite you without any remorse if you tried to tie his hands so he can’t touch you

X -> X-ray (what’s going on under those clothes ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ )

— Bigger than most, but more of a grower than a shower. 3.8 inches soft and stands at a proud 7.4 inches when hard, with a 4.7 girth . Circumcised (don’t ask how), his skin is light (#FFEBCF) but his cock fades into a slightly darker color (#F7D4BC) while the head is more of a pretty n peachy tone (#F1A491). Has some light scarring in his pelvis area and a defined vein from the bottom of his shaft that stops shy of his glans. Also curves to the right just a bit.......

— His pubes r a dull-ish blue (#88B5D3)— while the hair on his head is a lighter, more teal blue for reference (#B6E0E0). Has a slight happy trail, too

Y -> Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

— He used to have a very low sex drive. In the beginning of your relationship, it wouldn't be uncommon for you two to go weeks without any action. As time went on though, he’s come to develop a higher sex drive and now has a mid to high libido. It’s your fault for being so tempting, really

Z -> Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

— Has the freakish ability to go right back to work as if nothing ever happened when you’re both finished, no matter how much you both cum...... makes him the perfect man to provide aftercare though. He’ll stay by your side while you drift off and then he’ll go back and do whatever he has to do— unless you cling onto him n pull him back to stay in bed. If that does happen, he’ll just sit in bed and read a book while you snooze away.

#the color html shit took so long good lord my fingers r cramping from doing ctrl c ctrl + v help me #dont come for me for describing his weewee in detail..........#i hope this doesnt flop #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin x you #dottore x you #dottore x gn reader #dottore smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #cw dubcon #cw knife play #cw gun play #୧ ‧₊˚cat's work!

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 year ago

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'Dreamers' A quiet evening

Solas x Lavellan, available as print here.

Mixed media on paper

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ctrlkenma · 3 months ago

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• — 𝐍𝐈𝐀 ! , 7TEEN, 𝐏𝐀𝐊! • ☆ fem. kenma's one and only★

𝐢. ★ masterlist. 𝐢𝐢. ☆ reqs. 𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𖤐 rules.

#★ nia #ctrl #kenma #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

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kairilov3 · 9 months ago

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Chaotic Storyline

Liv, Rhea x Reader ft. Damage CTRL x Reader , (Raquel and Domimik)

What could possibly be so chaotic? Oh, this relationship.

The arena buzzed with excitement, the atmosphere electric as the reader and Iyo Sky prepared for their tag team championship match against Bianca Belair and Jade Cargill. The stakes were high, and the pressure was palpable. Yet, the reader’s mind was clouded, haunted by the recent turmoil between former allies.

Once upon a time, you had stood shoulder to shoulder with Liv Morgan and Rhea Ripley, a powerful trio united in their fight for dominance. Until that incident where Real betrays both Liv and you, causing the team to break up and each person goes their own way. You join Damage CTRL, Rhea join The Judgment Day, and Liv seeks revenge on Rhea.

After suffering an injury, Liv returned to WWE and quickly ascended to the top of the women's division, capturing the Women's World Championship and take everything that Rhea love; Her friends, her champion, her place, her team, even Dominik(don't even know why) after she injured Rhea so Rhea have to take some action off for 3 months. All that was on Liv Morgan Revenge Tour.

And now Rhea came back wanting to get back her Championship, which she claimed she never really lost. But all of that have nothing to do with you.. because you on your own now... right?

___

As you stepped into the ring, they exchanged determined glances with Iyo. Yet, a sense of unease lingered. Memories of camaraderie were tainted with betrayal, and you felt the weight of your fractured friendships bearing down on you.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. Iyo took the lead, showcasing her agility against Bianca. The crowd roared with approval as she executed a flawless maneuver. But your attention wavered, fixating on the ringside where Liv stood, her expression a mix of excitement and expectation.

“Come on, Y/N! You got this!” Liv shouted, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. Instead of encouragement, you felt a wave of confusion wash over you. Why is she here?

Just as Iyo gained momentum, Rhea’s music hit, made the crowd went crazy. Rhea strode down the ramp, her eyes burning with intensity. She had her sights set on Liv, the tension thickening in the air.

“Liv! you think you can get away from me?” Rhea shouted, a venomous edge to her tone. "Come back here!"

Liv’s expression hardened. “You’re the last person I’d listen to! You're so annoying!”

With Rhea at ringside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. You felt the tension snap as Rhea’s focus turned entirely to Liv. In a moment of impulsiveness, the reader jumped off the ring, unable to hold back their frustration.

“Enough!” you shouted, stepping between the two rivals. “Get out of my match! Both of you!”

But before you could defuse the situation, Rhea shoved you aside, causing you to stumble. The moment you get pushed, the referee immediately calls the match no content. Liv took the opportunity to leap at Rhea, igniting a brawl at ringside. Fists flew, and chaos erupted, as Bianca and Jade watched, momentarily stunned.

In the midst of the chaos, Iyo stood at the rope, dazed and irritated by the disturbances of both Rhea and Liv.

As the dust settled, you found yourself standing in the ring, breathing heavily, anger simmering beneath the surface. Liv stood at ringside, a mix of satisfaction and defiance on her face. You couldn’t shake off the irritation coursing through yourself. Why can’t she just stay out of this?

Rhea glared at Liv, her indifference piercing. “You think you can just take what’s mine?” she taunted, her voice icy.

You stepped forward, frustration boiling over. “Both of you need to grow up! If you guys want to fight, go fight somewhere else that's not in my match!” you were caught in the crossfire, torn between the two women who had once meant so much to you. But now just pain in the ass

Liv turned to you, her eyes pleading. “I just wanted to cheer you! But look at what Rhea did! What a BITCH !"

Rhea scoffed, her tone laced with contempt. “First of all, I'm sorry for the match, And secondly, Liv, I'm just gonna take back what I never lost, that championship."

You can feel the frustration bubbling up inside you towards both of them.

The following weeks were filled with confrontations and verbal jabs. You found themselves embroiled in the chaos as Liv and Rhea fought for dominance, each trying to sway you to their side.

___

THREE-WAY MATCH

After weeks of getting involve to the storyline, you finally find yourself in a three-way Macth with Liv and Rhea.

The arena pulsed with energy as the reader prepared for a highly anticipated three-way match against Liv Morgan and Rhea Ripley. Kairi Sane and Iyo Sky stood at ringside, their cheers and support palpable, while Liv had Raquel Rodriguez and Dominik Mysterio by her side. The tension was thick, and you felt a mix of excitement and irritable about facing two former allies.

As the bell rang, Liv immediately approached you with a determined look. “We need to take down Rhea first. We can do this together!” she urged, a hint of desperation in her voice.

You hesitated, torn between the memories of their former bond with Liv and the irritation that had brewed over time. You nodded, deciding to play along for the moment, but tou had your own agenda.

Liv and you teamed up, delivering a series of strikes that sent Rhea staggering. The crowd roared as they coordinated their attacks, momentarily forgetting the fractures that had divided them. Rhea hit the mat, and for a brief moment, hope surged through the you. Maybe you could put the past behind you.

As Rhea lay on the mat, Liv turned to you with a triumphant grin. “See? We’re unstoppable together! Just like old times!” She moved in for a hug, but in a surprising twist, you pulled her close, delivering a DDT that sent Liv crashing to the canvas. The crowd gasped, caught off guard by the sudden action.

You dropped down to pin Liv, determined to capitalize on the moment. “One! Two!” the referee counted, but just before he could reach three, Rhea surged up, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you out of the ring.

The match quickly devolved into chaos. Rhea unleashed a flurry of strikes on you, her eyes blazing with anger. The crowd cheered wildly as the momentum swung back and forth. Iyo and Kairi shouted encouragement from ringside, their voices rising above the chaos.

Liv recovered and re-entered the fray, targeting you with renewed focus. “come on, Y/N! You have to join me! You know who caused all this!" she called, trying to persuade you as you and Rhea exchanged blows.

The match continued fiercely, and tensions soared as alliances shifted. Raquel, growing impatient at the ring side, decided to intervene. As Rhea attempted to regain control, Raquel dragged her out of the ring, launching a brutal assault that led to the referee calling for the bell, declaring the match a disqualification. The audience erupted in disbelief as the chaos intensified.

Frustrated with how things had unfolded, you charged at Raquel, ready to retaliate. But Raquel swiftly countered, hit you with Tejana bomb into the commentator's table, which sent a jarring impact through the arena.

Seeing the chaos unfold, Iyo climbed the turnbuckle, eyes blazing with determination. “look who you mess with, you idiots!” she shouted, preparing to jump down onto everyone involved in the brawl with cross body sent everyone to the floor. But before she could leap, Kairi rushed to you, helping you to your feet. “come on! Get out of here!” she urged, pulling you away as Iyo get up and followed.

As the dust began to settle, you and Kairi managed to escape, avoiding the fray and regrouping just outside the chaos.

Backstage

Later, in the dimly lit backstage on Damge CTRL locker room, you leaned against a wall, trying to process what had just transpired. The match had ended in a chaotic flurry, but the ramifications of the night were just beginning.

Liv approached, her expression softening as she took a deep breath. “I know things got out of hand, but we can still work together. You know what Rhea is like. And another thing, we don't have any bad feelings towards each other, right, Y/N?” she said, her tone earnest but without the anger that had characterized you earlier exchanges.

You crossed you arms, feeling the weight of Liv's words. “I'm done with the games you guys play. You think that I'm a pawn to be picked up?" You replied, irritation creeping into your voice.

Liv stepped closer, concern etching her features. “No, I don't see you as a pawn, but as a friend. Just think about all the things Rhea has done to you, to me, to us,” she urged, her eyes pleading.

Rhea stormed into the room, her expression cold as she glanced between them. “Oh look, now you're trying to get her on your side? You don't even dare to face me on your own, Liv.” she sneered, arms crossed defiantly.

You felt caught in the middle, torn between the two women. “I don't care about your games, I have my own path.” you stated firmly, trying to assert their independence.

Liv's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Just think about it,” she said, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, the tension palpable.

As Rhea turned to leave, she shot one last glare at Liv. “You won't live happily ever after, Liv. I’ll reclaim what I never lost, and mind your own business, Y/N. For your own good.” she spat before walking away, leaving Liv and the you in the silence of the backstage area.

With Rhea gone, you sighed, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. “I guess this won't end easily, huh?” you asked, looking at Liv, who shook her head.

“No, it’s just beginning. But I’ll be here, ready when you are,” Liv replied, determination in her voice as she moved to leave.

As Liv walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling of being pulled in multiple directions. You had choices to make, and as the echoes of the night played in their mind, one thing was certain: you would forge you own path, no matter how tangled the alliances became.

"Who the hell do they think they are? Hasn't anyone ever told them not to mess with other teams?" Iyo's voice complained from behind you. She had been sitting there listening to the whole conversation, along with Kairi, who nodded in agreement with Iyo. "But just so you know, no matter which way you choose, we will support you." Iyo added. "But really, someone should tell them to stop coming into our room like that."

Kairi added, "And don't worry about the tag team championship, Iyo and I will handle that. So you can focus on that." She always has that smile on her face and gives you support.

"thank you." You gave both of them a bright smile before sitting down next to them and chatting happily as usual with laughter echoing within the Damage CTRL locker room.

That's really long, isn't it? I hope you guys like and enjoy it!

#wwe #wwe x reader #wwe x you #liv morgan x reader #liv morgan #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #raquel rodriguez #dominik mysterio #damage ctrl x reader #iyo sky x reader #iyo sky #kairi sane x reader #kairi sane

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lumiy-a · 8 months ago

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Ink and Blood and its too many characters

I spent way too much time on this (again) but hey here’s an updated reference sheet including all the new faces

Special shout out to Freckles - I made him last minute when I realized he effectively has more page time than the Guardians...

If you're interested in reading more about these characters, you can have a look at this article on Wordpress, and if you want to know more about any of them you can send me an ask!

#the oc situation is so out of control that for some i had to use ctrl+f to look for their description in the fics #w.i.t.c.h.#ink and blood #own art #lord cedric #orube #cedric x orube #prince phobos #phobos escanor #elyon escanor #elyon brown #will vandom #irma lair #taranee cook #hay lin #cornelia hale #my ocs #original characters

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emilydorp · 4 months ago

Note

Do you think GTOP was just for the fan service?

Oh, what an interesting question. I shall try my best to answer this as completely as possible, so bear with me. Not sure if you want a speech (lol) but I am a certified chatterbox (and have a tinfoil hat.. that I shall be keeping at home.. unless you want me to whip it out). Lowkey wish I could just dm this cuz I am gonna take my time and be very messy plus can't easily SHOW you everything, especially because I have reblogged about a THOUSAND different (and sometimes same cuz some posts are just iconic like that) posts about gtop's relationship, have receipts that I haven't posted on Tumblr (I think, I mean I haven't) and am stupid so I didn't use tags. Feel free to ask more specific questions! IDK if I should mention which blog inspired my GTOP journey the most, since they aren't active, but if you know me personally you know how much I love that blog. Even tho this person is asking why they're not fanservice rather than why they're dating: if you ship them platonically and are NOT looking for evidence to change your mind, move along.. Unless that was your question, anon, in which case I am sorry for misinterpreting. Lez go :)).

I really, really, REALLY don't want to bring this up, but since Tumblr feels like a safe space for rpf without having consequences on the daily lives of the individuals and your question concerns fanservice.. so.. here's a special Mnet made about GTOP that was most likely released on December 11, 2012 and was shown on NATIONAL TV. (https://youtu.be/uGHwO_uuPVY?feature=shared). In the intro of TOP whispering into GD's ear, they didn't know they were being filmed. Neither did they know that when they were at the airport and TOP pulled GD to sit down next to him. GTOP isn't the only pairing they did, but it was the only pairing they used such personal moments and evidence for. It feels like an expose, even tho this isn't even 1% of the GTOP evidence we had atp. A LOT of things happened after this was released, and some need a tinfoil hat. But I shall be saying all basic observations and obvious things: -Jiko rumors, which Seunghyun himself was so ready to disprove, suddenly popped up and popped OFF. GD's old strategy of denying it like his life depended on it was gone and he instead was more.. coy? And no, this isn't because he started dating Kiko, at least in the beginning of 2012 he wasn't involved with her (after that point I can see potential) and in fact the Jiko relationship is FAR from this long term important relationship in GD's life (for which I could write a second speech). -GTOP died. Suddenly. Like someone had shot them down. From 2012-2014 people even thought they weren't friends anymore, but that is wrong because we have more than enough evidence to prove that they stayed close behind the cameras (despite the fact that there were two break ups in this period.. another speech can be held on that). And no, this isn't a normal response to being such a popular coupling. Other couples that were covered in the SAME special, (I believe 5 male x male, as they called it, couples were covered in this special) they went CRAZY when it came to fan service after their specials, because back in that era of kpop such fan service was the norm (and highly requested). And BB has done some insane fan service too.. but that insane fan service was NEVER GTOP.

Predebut GTOP and just debuted GTOP was very.. interesting. They did a lot of playful talking on Cyworld (totally how you'd text your crush.. from GD's side since we never got to see TOP's messages) and took a lot of selcas together. GD often playfully called Top “oppa” (which is a term girls use for an older brother/older male friend/or boyfriend). None of that is fan service, because this was before they truly had fans (although GD did have a few because he technically had debuted at age 12). GD would often say stuff like "Oh I'd date Taeyang if I was a girl" and he'd say it in the most DEADPAN way possible.. but once it comes to TOP he'd GUSH and get shy and describe his feelings and it's just so CUTE to hear him talk about TOP. But yeah, okay, let's ignore how obviously GD likes TOP.. There was even a radio show S*ungri was on (I pray to every God in the sky I reblogged it cuz I didn't appreciate it during my first listen and for that I will always be mad) and he said "Whenever I'm with GD, he'll start talking about TOP. He'd tell me, 'Ah, $*ungri, guess what TOP did today, he's so amusing, oh he's driving me insane', stuff like that." Now my question is; why would HE do GTOP fanservice? And this was in the early days, before he got involved in his shady dealings, his crimes, so he wasn't doing it to get brownie points and popularity, like he does later on. There are many fan accounts (one of them is VERY iconic and lives rent-free in my mind.. gosh when I find all those again.. here's one I saved cuz I loved it so damn much: https://web.archive.org/web/20240627183223/http://www.twitlonger.com/show/j8gci1) that report the two of them together without other members or friends, report GD playfully being "jealous" of others getting closer to TOP and/or report GD & TOP being so close that people believed they were dating because of how close they were (they weren't dating yet btw, just being flirty af). There are interesting stories about Nuthang (which is their friend circle). It was always commonly said that you saw GD with Top at night and Taeyang during the day. You only saw Top with GD, out of the members. Daesung was never seen much, other than at church or if he went out with the other members. Seungri was seen out partying, sometimes at the same place with GTOP but not necessarily with them. This was the consensus in the VIP fandom for the longest time, and people only started denying it later on. Unfortunately, a lot of GTOP stuff is no longer floating around, and K-VIPs also held a lot of stuff back from 2011-2012 onward, to 'protect' GD. There is one very clear instant of this protectiveness of GD, but that isn't your question soooooo.. ALSO NEVER FORGET THAT THEY MET IN MIDDLE SCHOOOOL.

Not even gonna try and explain this moment, just read this: https://www.tumblr.com/kwonaventure/172401662709/gtop-whispers-in-the-ntv7-malaysia-interview?source=share

Those subtle gestures in their body language, their laughs and smiles, their way of speaking to each other in such soft, caring, free and casual ways, and also, like, those ~obvious~ loving glances Jiyong has towards Seunghyun and Seunghyun's own ones for GD lmao. Just SOME, some of the moments I can recall of the top of my head, some of the things they do, like GD not shutting up about TOP in the Starcast call and not letting others speak to TOP during that call, the 2015 Welcoming Collection DVD, their entire body language and sneaky glaces during Night After Night (not to mention GD literally wearing the fur hat TOP gave him (GD confirmed this himself btw)), GD looking at Seunghyun, then looking at Seunghyun's lips, then looking at Seunghyun at their comeback special stage in 2015, their Insta behaviour and, ofc, the WAY he looked at TOP in 'Happy Together'.. these moments and their chemistry, their heavenly chemistry, is just too good and too disruptive to be fan service (only). There was a very VERY specific gtop moment of GD taking a selfie and TOP didn't know the camera was on while talking to GD (so he was just staring at him and said something lowkey flirty like "Are you shy?" lmao) and GD had to go all "The camera is on! :((" to chase TOP away, which is certified proof of them not being fan service but I CAN'T find itttt.

With GTOP, there are many times that the two of them were together that we’d never see. TOP is notorious for being present and just not appearing in any pictures, especially (and after awhile ONLY) when it came to GD. After all, there are at least a few instagram photos that GD has posted that Top didn’t appear in that were determined to be from a time he and GD were together. And it isn't like GD wants to not share pictures of his friends, he was very freely sharing pictures he has with everyone except TOP. There are a handful of examples I can think of where TOP was just out of sight? Ofc those are just the times we were lucky enough to realize. If they were all about fanservice, wouldn't they post selcas about hanging out, like TOP did with Daesung, the person he did most of his fan service with?

THEIR COUPLE WEAR AND OTHER INSTA BEHAVIOUR FROM THROUGHOUT THEIR CAREERS. I WISH I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAY IT IS INSANE. INSANE. Not even gonna TRY and summerize, GD is obsessed with matching Seunghyun. There is no reason for them to do that for fan service. I just can't see it.

Listen, I can go on for YEARS (cuz that's how long they've been together lmao). There's a REASON I have reblogged a thousand posts (seriously what is wrong with me and gtop? This is insane...). All I can say is.. ask more specific questions lol. And also, if you disagree, feel free to do your own research :))). HOPE THIS POST WASN'T TOO MESSY!!

#gtop #If you don't think they're a couple.. good for you. Don't come for me.#little rant: I wrote this entire thing down and was ready to post..but then I accidentally pressed Ctrl X too many times. I was heartbroken #anon

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gildedsilk · 15 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 chapter 1. who tf is kit butler ៹

9 screenshots + 2k+ words

Huening Kai did not want to be here.

That was the first thought in his mind as the elevator doors slid open with an ominous ding, revealing a pristine white hallway that smelled like money and a faint trace of citrus-scented air freshener. The building was tall — taller than anything he’d been in recently — and terrifyingly modern. Glass walls, expensive lighting, floors so polished they reflected his scuffed sneakers.

He glanced down at them again. Yup. Still scuffed.

This was a mistake.

But it was too late now. He was already on the top floor of the Solstice HQ, awkwardly clutching a wrinkled hoodie over one arm, wearing the only decent outfit his friends had helped him throw together: plain black jeans and a white tee under an oversized beige button-up that Beomgyu called “quietly artistic.” It was also, according to Soobin, the only thing Kai owned that didn’t scream “gamer.”

His legs carried him forward, and with every step, he regretted it a little more.

What was he even doing here? Modeling? On a runway? He streamed horror games and made dumb reaction edits on Twitter. He hadn’t been online in two months. His entire life was in shambles, and now he was about to be judged by a group of intimidatingly attractive strangers who probably wouldn’t even believe he was the replacement.

As if summoned by that thought, the door at the end of the hallway opened.

And there stood Jay.

Kai had never met him, but he recognized the name from Beomgyu’s panicked messages. Jay, the manager of the Solstice model team. Jay, who was apparently always stressed, had no time for bullshit, and didn’t suffer fools — or unprofessional diarrhea-related cancellations.

He was tall, sharp, and dressed like someone who knew what color season he was. Head to toe black, phone in one hand, iced Americano in the other.

He stopped when he saw Kai.

His eyes flicked from Kai’s face, to his shoes, to the faint hoodie crease across his shirt, then back up. No smile. Just an unreadable expression and a single eyebrow raised slightly.

Kai swallowed hard.

“Uh. Hi. I’m Kai,” he said, trying not to sound like a sixth grader introducing himself on the first day of school. “I think Beomgyu told you I was—”

“You’re the replacement,” Jay said flatly.

Not a question. A statement.

“Yeah,” Kai said, shifting on his feet. “Kind of… last minute.”

Jay looked him over again. His gaze wasn’t cruel, but it was clinical. Calculating. Like he was trying to decide whether Kai was a project worth salvaging or a complete waste of his already chaotic day.

Kai resisted the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt. “I know I’m not, like, trained or anything. But Beomgyu said you just needed someone to wear the clothes and not fall.”

Jay sipped his coffee slowly. “That’s a very low bar, Kai.”

Kai blinked. “So… I’m hired?”

Jay didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped aside and motioned for Kai to enter the open room behind him.

“Let’s see if you can walk first.”

The room was enormous — part open studio, part showroom, part backstage chaos. Clothing racks lined the walls, stylists moved like bees in coordinated black, and a few models lounged on couches with iPads or iced lattes. There were mirrors everywhere, some with handwritten notes taped to the corners. “DO NOT SIT IN LOOK #3” and “Fix Yuqi’s heel strap BEFORE rehearsal” scrawled in thick black marker.

All heads turned when Kai walked in.

He tried not to shrink under their gazes, but he felt it — the shift in atmosphere. Curious eyes. Raised brows. Whispers behind well-manicured hands.

One girl with straight dark hair and a sharp blazer leaned over to another and muttered something that ended with “…streamer??”

Jay ignored all of them. He turned to a stylist and snapped his fingers. “Get him in the charcoal suit. Set him up for a test walk.”

Kai followed the stylist numbly, letting himself be pushed into a dressing area. Within five minutes, he was standing in front of a long hallway lined with mirrors, wearing the most expensive outfit he’d ever touched. His fingers kept twitching at the cuffs.

Jay stood at the far end, arms crossed, flanked by two models Kai vaguely recognized from Instagram — Yeonjun and Miyeon, he thought. Maybe.

“Okay, Kai,” Jay said. “Walk toward me. Natural pace. Don’t try to be cool. Just… walk.”

Kai nodded. Took a breath.

And walked.

He didn’t fall. His shoulders were stiff and his arms didn’t know where to go and he was pretty sure he looked like he was walking to a dentist appointment, but he didn’t fall.

He reached the end. Stopped.

Jay tilted his head. “Again.”

Kai turned. Walked back.

This time, Yeonjun leaned sideways and stage-whispered, “He walks like he just loaded into a cutscene.”

Jay didn’t crack a smile. But Miyeon did — a small one.

“He looks like a lost puppy,” she said.

Kai stopped at the end of the mirror again and gave a small, resigned shrug. “I warned you I wasn’t a model.”

Jay exhaled through his nose. “You’re lucky you’re photogenic.”

Kai blinked. “So I’m… good?”

“No,” Jay said. “But you’re not terrible. We’ll work with it.”

Then, after a pause:

“You’ve got the face. And people like the underdog story. Just don’t embarrass me.”

Kai didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified. Maybe both.

Behind him, Miyeon offered a gentle pat on the back. “Don’t worry. If you trip, we’ll pretend it was a statement.”

Yeonjun added, “And if you cry, we’ll tell everyone it was for the art.”

Kai sighed. “I really miss my PC.”

You arrive late on purpose.

Not too late — just late enough that Jay’s already storming around with a tablet and someone’s already being scolded. It’s a tactic you’ve perfected after three years in the industry. If you walk in too early, you’ll get dragged into planning chaos and makeup testing. Too late, and Jay will dock you with a guilt trip. Just right? You enter with power. A dramatic arrival. Always on brand.

You push the glass door open with one hand, coffee in the other, oversized sunglasses halfway down your nose. The room smells like steaming fabric, hairspray, and whatever sugar-free lavender nightmare Miyeon’s been obsessed with lately.

And sure enough — Jay’s already mid-spiral.

“No, no, no,” he’s saying, pacing in front of the practice mirror like a man possessed. “Not like that. Do you know what a neutral walk looks like? Do you know how many dollars that suit costs? You look like a teenager being forced into a family photo.”

You glance toward his unfortunate target — and pause.

He’s tall, for one. Slender, but not in the way most models are. His frame is softer, built from awkward limbs and collarbones that haven’t learned how to pose yet. His hair’s a little messy. His shirt’s too crisp. And he looks like he hasn’t blinked in at least five minutes.

You lower your sunglasses.

“Oh,” you say under your breath. “So that’s the streamer.”

Miyeon appears at your side, all glossy lips and smug smile.

“You’re late,” she says, without judgment.

“I’m exactly on time,” you reply, eyes still on the scene in front of you.

Kai — you remember now, his name is Kai — stands frozen in front of the mirrors as Jay circles him like a stressed-out shark. He’s in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit that hangs just right on his shoulders, but he’s clutching the cuffs like they’re a safety blanket.

“I told you to relax,” Jay says sharply, gesturing at the stylist. “You’re not being sacrificed. You’re walking. One foot. In front of the other. Like a person.”

Yeonjun’s laughter rings out from the couch behind you. “Be honest,” he says, “did you pull him off the sidewalk? Because this is giving taxidermy.”

Kai’s ears turn pink.

You sip your coffee.

“He’s cute, though,” Miyeon murmurs beside you.

“Mm,” you hum. “Like a stray dog.”

Jay finally notices you and exhales dramatically, like your presence is the only good thing that’s happened to him today.

“YN. Thank god. Can you please talk to him before I throw myself out a window?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t even know him.”

“He’s your new runway partner.”

That stops you.

You blink. “What?”

Jay thrusts his tablet toward you — a blurry PDF lineup, and right there, in all caps:

LOOK 4: YN / HUENING KAI

You stare at the name for a second. Then at the boy still stiffly standing in the mirror, trying to follow the stylist’s instructions without falling over. His legs are too long for the step spacing. He’s trying so hard it’s painful.

Yeonjun fans himself with a makeup palette. “This is gonna be fun.”

Miyeon’s already grinning. “You’re gonna break him.”

You walk forward before you think twice.

“Relax your shoulders,” you say, stopping next to him.

Kai turns like he wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to him directly. Up close, he’s even prettier — long lashes, full lips, warm eyes that can’t quite hold eye contact. He’s startled, not scared. Like a deer in headlights, not a man in danger.

“Oh,” he says. “Hi. You’re… you’re YN.”

You nod. “And you’re the one trying to disassociate through the floor.”

He blinks. “…Yeah. That’s me.”

You step closer. “Lift your chin. You’re walking with me, not hiding from a tax audit.”

“I don’t usually wear suits,” he admits.

“I can tell,” you say, but not unkindly. You adjust the lapel of his jacket slightly, smoothing it into place.

He freezes.

You feel his breath hitch, just a little, and ignore it.

“Here’s the trick,” you say. “You don’t have to look like a model. You just have to look like you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” he says immediately.

You smile. “Fake it.”

He stares at you like you’ve said something profound.

Behind you, Jay claps once, sharply. “Thank you. YN, please fix him.”

Kai mutters under his breath. “That seems like a two-person job.”

You pretend not to hear him — mostly because it makes you smile.

After a few practice walks, he gets marginally better. He stops flinching every time Yeonjun snorts from the corner, and he even manages to keep pace with you without stepping on your foot.

Jay still looks like he wants to burst a blood vessel, but he hasn’t screamed in five minutes, so that’s progress.

“Again,” Jay says, waving his hand. “This time with less… hesitation. More confidence. You’re walking next to a top model. Don’t look like you’re being punished for it.”

Kai glances at you, and you catch him doing it.

Then he looks away, adjusting his stance.

You fall into step beside him. One, two, three — it’s not perfect, but it’s improving. He walks like someone who doesn’t know he’s being watched. Like someone who wants to belong here but isn’t sure how.

And you?

You start to wonder what it would look like if he did.

Masterlist | General Masterlist | Next

𝜗𝜚 silkies ៹ @sumzysworld @0sunshinecryptid0

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wenumsmol · 1 year ago

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Alpha!Choso x Omega!Fem!Reader. A/B/O AU. No Jujutsu Sorcery. No cursed energy. TW: Depression, PTSD, Agoraphobia, Panic Attack, Drug use (reader), reader has a drug dependency, implied past abuse, stalking(?). 4.9k wc. Minors do not interact.

00C Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Data Drop: Unanticipated

You sit in the corner of the dimly lit internet cafe, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the worn-out keyboard. The soft glow of the monitor casts a faint light on your face, highlighting the heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick that have become your armor against the world. Oversized flannel drapes over your frame, offering a semblance of comfort. The cafe is buzzing with low conversations and the hum of computers, a backdrop to your spiraling thoughts. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and the faint whiff of something burnt—an unmistakable aroma that clings to the cracked vinyl seats and sticky tables.

Today is one of those days when just getting out of bed felt like a monumental effort. Depression is a bitch with the way it’s got your mind in a constant fog, making it so much harder to function on the most basic of levels. Being an omega without a pack has been taking its toll on you for quite some time. Posing as a beta is even harder since you’re more sensitive to pheromones than other omegas you’ve met. It makes it harder to get an ordinary job, and blending in is a nightmare. Working from home is the only option for you if you want to stay out of sight and out of mind. So you stay holed up in your apartment doing freelance work online and staying away from people as much as possible. And for the most part, it works.

In your mind, being alone gives you more freedom. No one to tell you what to do, no one to answer to. But it’s lonely, too. The ache in your chest never quite goes away, and you’re constantly on edge, hyper aware of your vulnerability as a single omega. Add that to the shitty self esteem issues and general feelings of worthlessness that come along with having been rejected by your previous pack, and you’ve got yourself quite a combination.

You’re used to it, though, and you’ve got your coping mechanisms. Whether they’re healthy or not is beside the point because surviving is surviving. ‘This is the way,’ you think, mocking the Mandalorian mantra as you sift through your emails. It’s a mundane task but it helps keep the worst of your thoughts at bay, among all the other shit you get up to on the internet. When a message from Naoya catches your eye—a reminder of the package that should have been delivered today, your eyes temporarily widen. It’s about fucking time you heard something from the bastard. You click open the message:

Naoya: got a present on the way. keep ur eyes peeled.

Your fingers hover over the keys before you reply:

You: ain't home right now.

Naoya: what u mean? where r u?

You: out.

Naoya: get your ass home then. this shits important

Naoya is a drug dealer. Yes... your drug dealer to be exact. You’ve been getting your supply from him for a few months now. Something to keep the edge off when your anxiety attacks become too much of a problem. It’s not like you can go to a doctor for it obviously. They’d sus out your omega status instantly, then you’d get an ankle monitor and regular visits from government employees who would dictate your lifestyle down to the most minute detail until an alpha selects you from a registry. Something you’ve been trying to avoid because you had enough of being someone’s property.

The whole process is gross and incredibly outdated, treating omegas as if they’re children needing guidance and protection. You’ve had firsthand experience with the kind of arrangement that could go horribly wrong, thanks to your parents — the very source of your traumatic past. Being in a pack is supposed to be a positive experience, but you couldn’t be more disgusted with the way Alphas take advantage of their authority over omegas, using them for sex, breeding, and other vile acts. You refuse to be trapped in a hell like that.

Out of desperation, you turned to the dark web and found an information broker, Dakusuta. They were a useful contact as they had connected you with a drug dealer who delivered with minimal social interaction. You preferred it that way–no reason to leave the comfort of your home. You paid, they provided. It had been going on for months, with you gradually stockpiling your supply and taking doses as needed. It was a convenient service, albeit morally questionable. But hey, what else would you do without it?

Naoya’s insistence strikes you as odd, though. What is he? Your fucking parole officer? If you miss a delivery, it’s usually no skin off his nose. You’ll get it when you get it. But today, he’s adamant. ‘Something’s up his ass.’ The thought nags at you, but you push it aside, focusing instead on the flickering screen in front of you.

This internet cafe is a couple blocks from home and it took you a lot of mental prep to step outside your door earlier. It took almost two hours of pacing in your genkan and staring at the doorknob before you could actually make it outside. It’s a necessity really. The social media brain rot helps to fight the parasites in you that tell you to do a cartwheel off a tall ledge every moment free of stimulation. Your dumpster posting combined with your regular work is the perfect distraction to keep your nerves in check while you tolerate being in a public space for as long as you can. Thanks to your WiFi being out, you didn’t have the option to stay inside your depression cave if you wanted access to the internet. Coping… All there is is coping.

Music thrums through your cheap noise-canceling headphones that help drown out any chatter of your public surroundings. The soundwaves of Twilight by bôa keep you calm, the soft tunes filling your ears and seeping out at a quiet volume beyond your personal session. “Your word and my word and her word is...Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” You sing under your breath, nodding your head and bobbing it back and forth to the beat of the music.

As you open a new browser window to visit a message board and skim through recent posts you miss the way the guy sitting a distance away from you looks in your direction. He stares for minutes on end before he stands up, stretching his arms lazily, and he makes his way over to your table.

Your fingers move on their own accord, tapping out your feelings in a new post. Your only method of purging rather than confiding in someone who truly knows you. ‘Everyone’s fake anyway. It doesn’t matter,’ you always think, continuing to type away.

He’s a blur in your peripheral vision as he casually invades your carefully constructed bubble, taking a seat right next to you. The only way you sense his presence is a subtle shift in the air around you from his movements, the noise canceling on your headphones doing its job a little too well right now. Awareness makes your fingers fumble over the keys, a momentary pause in your activities.

It takes a few seconds for your brain to register the movement in your peripheral vision, and the sudden intrusion startles you. Your eyes flicker towards the stranger, brows pinched. You don’t remember seeing him sit down and you didn’t smell him coming, so he must be wearing scent blockers because he’s definitely not a beta. He’s far too big for that.

As much as you want to ignore him and stick to your decision to not interact with anyone on your outing, it’s not looking like a possibility. He’s an alpha after all and your damn omega instincts won’t just allow you to disobey any command for attention. Be it intentional or not, you can feel the pull of his alpha telling you “Look at me, Omega.”

‘Did he sniff me out?’

You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off but you can only see negative outcomes from that path of action; for one, any pushback could trigger him to assert dominance over you. It might not necessarily be the most likely thing to happen because you don’t know him or what kind of alpha he is but the truth remains that you know alphas well enough. Your best bet is to play it safe and not cause a scene.

You glance up at him, a non-committal question mark on your face, and he’s looking over at you expectantly. His lips are pursed like he’s waiting for some response from you, and you realize a little belatedly he said something to you. Your brow furrows ever-so-slightly in confusion while you hesitate for a second or two. When you finally pull your headphones off, he repeats his question.

“bôa, huh? Not bad…” He leans back in his chair, fingers twiddling the metal piece on his hoodie string. His eyes are trained on yours, noting the subtle tension in your body, the hesitation in your movements. He speaks slowly, words deliberate, giving you time to process them and respond. There is no aggression in his tone, and yet your defenses go up automatically.

“You like that kind of music?” he asks, gesturing towards the earphones now hanging around your neck.

“What?” you ask, dumbly, eyes blinking rapidly. Your heart rate picks up speed and you’re not sure if he’s too close or if it’s just your anxiety fucking with your depth perception. Heat rushes your skin and you feel the need to push back your chair to gain a little personal space. It screeches across the floor, and you wonder how long he’s been sitting there. How long has he been staring at you? ‘Is he…stalking…’ Your thoughts fragment, once focused and now reduced to a lag with jitters that feel like a thousand needles pricking your skin everywhere, all at once.

“Twilight, right? ‘Your feelings and mine are all holy and you give me an inner sanctity,’” he quotes the song playing faintly from your headphones, “My brother used to play that one a lot when we were kids.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he breaks eye contact to glance around the cafe. His nonchalant demeanor contrasts with the obvious tension radiating from you. You don’t like his confidence. It makes you feel that much more unsure of your next moves.

Despite the noise around you, it feels like you and the alpha are in your own domain, the other patrons fading into the background. “I don’t know many people who listen to that kind of stuff these days,” he continues, looking at you once more. “It’s good, though. Nostalgic, even.” It’s a beat before he speaks again, but his dark eyes remain fixed on you, assessing, measuring your reaction. “You seem a bit tense…”

You swallow thickly, trying to fight the rising panic in your chest. “Sorry, I just...I’m—”

“Waitin’ for a package?” He cuts you off, glancing down at your phone that lies face up on the table between you. The screen still shows the DM chain you had been looking at. His tone is casual, almost friendly with a hint of amusement in his voice when he adds, “Must be somethin’ real important if you’re checkin’ your messages every five minutes, huh?”

Your eyes follow his line of sight, your anxiety momentarily forgotten. “How’d you...?” You sputter out a few half-formed sentences before trailing off. The ‘who, what, when, where and how’ of the matter are a whirlwind of thoughts assaulting your brain as you shake your head slightly. Your palms sweat at the idea that he might be a cop. ‘This… is bad.’

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your eyes dart around the cafe, trying to see if anyone else is watching you. No one seems to be paying any attention to you two, but you can’t be too careful. ‘If he’s a cop then he’s probably not alone.’ No one seems to stand out but what the fuck do you know? This isn’t your area of expertise. If anything, nevermind not being the big fish to catch in any drug operation or whatever shady people call it. You’re a tadpole in the mix. No, you’re algae. It’s not your world and you’re just on the outside looking in. You’re just self medicating, not involved in the business.

For the first time since he sat down next to you, you take a good look at him. Eyes scanning over his black acid wash jeans and a black hoodie with the words ‘Truth. In. Every. Byte.’ written in bold green lettering across the front. A black leather jacket and a crossbody messenger bag complete his attire. He doesn’t look like what you assume a narc would fucking look like. Nothing like an undercover cop you’d seen on TV. Your eyes find their way back up to his face, taking in a stunning combination of soft and angular features: a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a striking black line slashing across his nose which could either be makeup or a tattoo. His lengthy black hair is gathered into two messy buns, with unruly strands spiking out every which way and middle parted bangs tucked behind his ears. The sight of his sly smile on his lips steals your attention, the hint of a canine pricking their plushness.

‘Oh, that’s dangerous.’ You think, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The alpha is attractive. That much you can tell. It’s not like you to get caught up in the attractiveness of random strangers, but then again, you’re not usually subjected to such intense scrutiny. Let alone an alpha aura like his. Encounters aren’t that common an occurrence either and for good reason.

He notices the way your eyes rake over him, his smile widening faintly at the attention. Most omegas don’t pay him a second look—the piercings, the tattoos, the unconventional fashion sense—but you’re different. Your gaze is different. There’s curiosity there, a flicker of attraction in your eyes, but also something else. Fear. It’s subtle, but he catches it all the same. He likes that a little bit. It makes for a good chase.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I ain’t here to cause you any trouble,” the alpha says, noticing the way you tense up even further when he calls you that pet name.

Your reaction to his endearment doesn’t surprise him. He can see the way your body stiffens, your muscles bunching up under your oversized clothes. He takes it all in, filing it away for later. “Relax,” he tells you, his expression a picture of calm. “I’m not gonna bite.” His eyes then roll to the side as he scoffs at his own choice of words and you don’t know if it’s self depreciation or arrogance at play.

‘Like hell he’s not gonna bite,’ you panic internally at the notion. Time dilates, each moment stretching out like taffy letting your anxiety build. Tremors rush through your body, graduating from a subtle shake to an intense quaking. The world around you blurs with a suffocating weight bearing down—

He watches you as you spiral internally. It’s like watching a trainwreck in motion, unable to look away. Despite your trembling frame, you’re holding yourself together surprisingly well. Your teeth beginning to chatter is the only giveaway of the turmoil going on inside your head. Anxiety, he guesses, recognizing the symptoms. He’s seen it before, in himself even. And he only waits, hoping that just like you seemed to contain yourself for as long as you could, you’d recover the same way.

“Hey, hey. Calm down,” he tries, his voice just above a whisper. He notices that you're bordering on a panicked state, and he’s quick to try and ease you out of it, not wanting you to suddenly drop on him.. He extends a hand towards you, slowly and carefully, intending to touch your shoulder but stopping just short of actually making contact.

He lets out a soft sigh. “You need to calm down.” He says, his voice firm and authoritative as he leans in close, his eyes locking on yours. “Breathe.”

And you feel the gentle alpha command deep within your chest, right next to what always feels like a bundle of bees wreaking havoc on your nervous system. His proximity to you is overwhelming, the smell of Oakmoss and violet from his leather jacket filling your nostrils. His eyes bore into yours, demanding your attention. ‘Breathe,’ he said, and you try to, you really do.

You desperately try to inhale, needing more of his alpha scent, but your breath keeps catching in your throat because of how faint it is. The rising panic overwhelms its effects, making you exhale raggedly while your lungs work overtime. A numbness spreads through your lips and you wish he would remove the scent blocking patches from his neck.

After a moment of no change, he swiftly retrieves a small tin from your bag and gives it a shake, confirming the sound of pills clinking inside. Then, he grabs a water bottle from his own bag to set on the table before popping open the tin. With gentle precision, he carefully fingers a small tablet and brings it to your lips. “Open,” another command, his voice soft but firm.

You blink, too focused on your labored breathing to register what he’s doing until you feel the cool surface of the pill against your lips. Confusion and a hint of fear flash through your eyes as you stare at him, but he doesn’t look away. ‘Open,’ he said, and your mouth parts almost involuntarily, the pill sliding in. Your throat feels dry as sandpaper, and swallowing is difficult. He notices that too, and within seconds, a water bottle is uncapped.

With a steady grip, he holds the water bottle against your parted lips. His eyes dart from your face to the bottle, watching you take small sips. “Now, swallow,” he says, a hint of approval seeping through his voice. “Good girl.”

The cool and soothing water slides down your parched throat, but it does little to ease the tightness in your chest. He’s still there, still hovering close to you, his dark gaze never wavering. The whole thing feels oddly intimate, his presence fighting against the wave of anxiety threatening to drown you. It’s a support that you’ve never had before and you cling to it.

The alpha lowers the water bottle, his hand resting firmly against your trembling arm. His thumb brushes gentle reassuring circles against your skin with unexpected tenderness. “Better?” he asks, his voice still quiet and smooth. Soothing.

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. You’re acutely aware of his touch, of the way his fingers feel against your skin. You reflexively swallow, trying to clear the lump that’s lodged in your throat. As your mind clears you consider the variables. This alpha approached you knowing things about you that he shouldn’t; The package arriving at your place soon and the tin of pills stashed in your bag. He’s not a cop because if he was then why would he give you a dose and not arrest you?

“Who are you?” You ask, your voice barely above a raspy whisper. Your dilated eyes bore into his. Curiosity fights with caution in your expression as you wait for his answer.

He smiles faintly, responding slowly. “Names are just words,” he murmurs, his low voice deep and resonant. Delivering his words with a sense of resignation, as if he's simply stating facts rather than engaging with the conversation.

‘Fuck you.’

“Don’t Bullshit me,” you reply immediately, your voice stronger than before. Starting to feel better after his intervention has some of your usual confidence—long absent due to your depressive state— returning. “I want to know who you are and what you want from me.” The drug is kicking in, making your mind move slowly but it’s helping you focus your faster than usual thought process to a decipherable speed. Yeah this fucker’s stalking you for sure. And it could be paranoia. It very well could be, but nobody knows about your little habit. There’s no one that could know..

He looks at you with a playful smirk and says, “Careful now. That’s not how you say ‘thank you,’ is it?” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s a hint of a warning in there too. He lifts one of his pierced brows, giving you a sarcastic look.

You falter slightly at his comment, realizing he’s right. You do owe him a thank you, but you’re not in a place to offer it, so you keep your mouth shut.

He shakes his head with a low chuckle, sensing your turmoil. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” He releases the grip on your arm and leans back, the chair creaking under his weight.

“I’m just someone who’s lookin’ out for you. Whether you realize it or not, I’m not here to hurt you,” he continues. “There is someone closer to you that does want to hurt you though. Your fairy godfather Naoya’s got you tangled up in some shit that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But…” he pauses, his thumb worrying his lower lip. “I’m here to offer you a little help…if you want it. You’ll have to follow my lead, though. Do exactly as I say, when I say it. Got it?”

Some goddamn nerve. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s this about Naoya?” you demand, trying to keep your voice steady. You’re aware that you’re pushing your luck with the way you’re speaking to him but you can’t stop yourself. You don’t like being kept in the dark.

He shrugs, unphased by your hostility. If anything, he finds it amusing. He doesn’t mind that you seem to be a bit of a spitfire. In fact, he finds it kind of cute. Even more so because it reminds him of himself. He sighs softly, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion.

Your eyes narrow as you observe him. ‘I set aside being a chickenshit to come out here. I came out of hiding for some fucking WiFi of all things.’ You’re berating yourself internally. You glance toward the tin of magic in your bag, fingers itching to reach for it. The cafe’s din recedes into the background, and all you hear is the echo of your own ragged breathing. ‘One more… Maybe one more.’

He notices your eyes flick toward your stash and snatches it from your bag, moving it out of your reach. His movements are so quick that they're almost a blur, and the tin disappears into his pocket before you can even protest.

“Oh, none of that shit, focus,” he warns, his voice low and sharp as he snaps his dexterous fingers twice for your attention. The daring look on his face, a silent reprimand for your attempt to seek solace in a pill. He knows that look you give him in return. He’s seen it before. The temptation to bury reality in a haze of oblivion. He knows how easy it is to slip down that rabbit hole and how treacherous the climb back up is.

His face darkens, slight frustration carving deep lines into his features. His words are an insistent prod reminding you that you’re not sitting here alone. “Anyway, Naoya’s pure shit up an infant’s back on a hot day, if you know what I mean. Been keeping tabs on him, and guess what? He’s been skimming off the top of his family’s shipments and using your address for his little drop-offs—not that you’d notice. He’s slick about it, too—someone else picks up his shit and leaves yours outside for you to find, so you’re none the wiser. Delivery confirmed. And now, he’s cooking up a scheme to throw you under the bus, while he waltzes away scot-free. That Xanax order you placed? Forget about it, it’s not happenin’—Don’t look so fuckin’ sad about it. He’s swapped it for a heap of something stronger, alright? It’s about to land on your doorstep with someone else’s name slapped on it. When Zenin’s men come knocking about their missing product, you'll be the one they find. Not Naoya. You’re just a pawn in this, sweetie. Sorry to tell ya.” He punctuates his revelation with a bitter laugh.

Your breath hitches, taking everything in and feeling sick to your stomach. You don’t even have a personal relationship with this man. It was all business and nothing more than that yet he chose to set you up. ‘Does he know I’m an omega—that I can’t do anything to stop this?’ The Zenins are a widely known criminal Organization here in Japan. You’ve seen them on the news time and time again with headlines and coverage about drug trafficking, omega trafficking, gambling, extortion, loan-sharking, and protection rackets. You name it and they’ve done it. These people are the real deal and if they get their hands on you, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out which of those crimes will be applied. That’s if they don’t kill you. But who’d let an untouched omega go to waste? It’s like your life turned into a True Crime podcast overnight and you’re being forced to listen on the sidelines. “No… No I—”

The alpha’s eyes widen briefly when he sees the color drain from your face.

“I think I’m... gonna go home now.” If he couldn’t read lips he’d have no fucking idea what you just said because although your lips were moving, no sound was coming out. Not a peep.

His gaze sharpens as he sizes you up, clocking the tremors racking your body and the panic returning to your voice. “Nah, you’re not going anywhere,” he declares with finality, shaking his head.

“What’s the point?” you mumble.

“Not happenin’,” he snaps, his voice slicing through your haze of despair. “You’re in no state to handle this alone.” He breathes out through his nose, gaze softening slightly. A flicker of genuine concern breaks through his tough exterior. It’s clear that you’re overwhelmed and on the verge of shutting down. Having you out in the fray on your own is a no-go. His alpha won’t have it.

“Why do you even care?”

“Because from the looks of it, someone needs to care,” he retorts, his irritation tinged with a hint of desperation. “You’re not thinking straight, and you’re as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane. Trust me, going home isn’t gonna fix shit. Haven’t you been listenin’ baby girl?”

“Then what’s the alternative?” you ask, a touch of defiance sparking in your eyes.

His pupils constrict as he leans in close, his hand cupping your face with a grip that borders on possessive. His fingers splay wide, holding you in place as if he’s determined to imprint his words. “You’re not giving up,” his voice low, urgent. “And you’re damn sure not going anywhere alone. You’re coming with me.”

Your breathing picks up, a warmth swirling in your chest again from the magnetism of his alpha aura. Your omega whines at the back of your conscience, wanting, needing to go with him. You feel a flash of vulnerability that you've been keeping tightly locked away these past few years come to the surface. Your heart threatens to beat in a forbidden rhythm over this interaction and you hate it. You hate that you left your home. You hate Naoya and the info broker that set you up with that bastard in the first place. You hate that you like how his hand feels against your touch starved skin and his intense words you can’t make sense of. That barely there Oakmoss and violet blended scent hanging in the air between you.He’s being tender with you. Why? What is the actual fucking reason? It’s burning you up on the inside. You hate it and you love it and you want to go home.

“You stick with me. You do what I say. And, ideally, you stop popping pills like they’re goddamn breath mints,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something else there instead… longing? No, that’s bullshit.

“Why?” you challenge, meeting his gaze with fire in your eyes.

“Because I said so, Y/n,” he replies, his tone authoritative, concern etched into every line of his face.

You want to question the tone he’s taking with you further but all that is pushed aside at the mention of your name. Your eyebrows shoot up at the sound of it. “Who the FUCK are you?” you blurt out, voice cracking with disbelief. You’ve never seen this guy a day in your life and somehow he knows your name, your extracurriculars and the true crime clusterfuck you’re caught in.

His smirk fades into a serious expression, the lines around his mouth tightening. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says, his voice low and steady, trying to bridge the gap between the unknown and your growing panic. “But you need to trust me right now. There’s no time for any more explanations. We gotta get a move on.” His eyes dart around the cafe in quick assessment. “For the sake of your comfort, my name is Choso. But you might know me better as 'Dakusuta’.”

00C Masterlist

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