#my friends will hear about this for... oh until it comes out

[emi-ocean]

His gaze tracks down to his hands. They look frail, ragged bandages wrapped tight over worn gloves hiding the truth. He sighs, a dry sound exiting covered lips. An armored hand on his shoulder feels reassuring, and he calmly turns to face the owner.

"Are you alright, Ophinon?" The paladin asks, her voice strong but comforting. "You seem troubled."

"I am well, but I am thankful for your concern." He responds, eyes unmoving from hers. "I am just, in thought." He turns his gaze towards the woods, seeing the bandits that are searching for them.

"You, in thought? That seems to be a constant, but these thoughts are deeper than your normal pondering, aren't they?" She pries, and he nods slowly. His eyes are on the distant bandits still, seeing them fall one by one to a spell he did with no words or effects. They will not be a bother tonight.

"When you found me, I was but a wandering practitioner of medicine and holy words." His gaze lowers again to his hands. "You cared not for my appearance, nor my reasoning for hiding my visage."

"Those things are all true, yes." She answers, taking a seat on a log near him.

"You have not asked much about who I am after I expressed my, discomfort in sharing more than what is necessary."

"Yes. That is also true."

"Why?" He turns to look at her, violet orbs of unnatural light staring at her green eyes. "Do you not wish to uncover the secrets of all you know? To know those whose camp you share?"

For a moment, they stare at each other, a silence so heavy it weighs down the very air. And then, like a crack of thunder, she breaks it with a laugh. Hearty and whole, she has to catch herself from falling backwards.

"That is your concern? This is what troubles your mind? Ophinon, my friend, it is simple; we are friends! Companions! You have saved my life from death more than once. Do you remember when I had been poisoned by that foul beast from beyond our realm? I laid there in agony, for days, and yet you never left my side, doing all you could to ease my pain. You never slept, never rested until you could find the cure to cease that tortuous misery. We have traveled far and wide, seeing things I never thought possible. I have prayed to shrines of my God I never knew existed, older than I could fathom!" She smiles, a genuine look of joy and care. He looks down, almost in shame, but more pondering.

"Friends." He repeats. "I did not remember what it was like to have them." He speaks of the times when he knew that beast from beyond, a similar creature to one he summoned, eons ago. Those shrines she spoke of were ones he knew, having seen the stone cut and brought to their holy grounds. How long ago had that been? Her words once again cut through his thoughts.

"And there you go again, back into your own head. It must be lonely in there. Come." As she speaks she stands up and offers a hand to him. He looks at it, puzzled. "Oh don't be so frumpy. Thaddeus has a new song he wishes to show us. Let us, well, allow ourselves to at least hear what nonsense it may be. Spend time with your comrades, your friends. I'm sure whatever is out in those woods, be it Gods or monsters, will wait for you." Her smile remains, a radiant reminder of her never ending faith. She is the strongest of this group, at least in terms of will.

He looks at her, and then her hand. Finally, his own. In that brief moment he remembers how many he struck down, just like her. How many he brought to kneel before him. And how, after so many years of that, after an uncountable lifetime, he wished nothing more than to hear a song from the one named Thaddeus.

"Aye. I'll leave my thoughts here this evening. Let us be about, and hear what nonsense he will spout."

"You keep rhyming like that, Thaddeus will think you're trying to one up him." She takes his hand and helps him up, not caring about the unnatural cold that emanates from him. She's used to that.

A Lich Lord covered his head with rags and disguised himself as a cleric, then joined the heroes' party. His reasoning? He was bored and wanted to see the world without instilling fear.

[rainrot4me]

hey its the number 1 lj fan here! That was the most toe curling amazing fanfic of my life oh. my. god. THE LORE??? i wanna see us living with jack peacefully ilysm for this

YESS!! omg omg omg my little family

This post is based off my Laughing Jack fanfiction: It’s Just Your Imagination!

── .✦

The front door creaked open with the familiar click of Mrs. Dalton’s lock, and the scent of cinnamon and crayon wax greeted you immediately—a pleasant alternative to the constant lavender and lemon scents that had been scrubbed down these halls before. Otherwise, Oliver’s house hadn’t changed a bit.

Except now, Jack wasn’t just creeping in behind you.

He was living with you. Sleeping in your bed. Hogging your bathroom. Eating your ice cream (and laughing about it through a mouthful of sprinkles). But still…

He lingered in the doorway, his tall body pressed into the shadows like an awkward teenager trying not to knock over the coat rack with his massive shoulders and twitchy limbs. His striped legs folded like a slinky, hiding him halfway behind a lamp that definitely wasn’t big enough to cover him.

Oliver was already running to you, little socked feet pattering against the floor as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re back!”

You smiled, ruffling his hair gently. “Of course I am. You think I’d miss out on hearing about your new friend Ellie?”

Oliver beamed up at you.

Behind you, Jack’s feathers rustled. He shifted—long limbs twitching with restrained energy. You could feel his excitement barely contained. Still hiding. Still unsure if he was allowed to be part of this home again. Still a secret part of him that felt the need to hide between the shadows of these walls.

You turned over your shoulder and said gently, “Jack.”

A pause.

“…Come out. You don’t have to hide around here anymore.”

That was all it took.

FWOOOSH—

A gust of feathers exploded behind you like a dramatic stage reveal, and suddenly Jack was flying into the room, cackling with glee as he scooped Oliver right off the floor, spinning him through the air like a ragdoll.

“Ollyollyoxenfreeeee!!” Jack cried, twirling Oliver by the ankles upside down. “My favorite little human! Did you miss me?! Huh?! Did you?!”

Oliver squealed with laughter, legs flailing in the air. “Jaaaaaack!!! You’re gonna drop me!!”

“Never!” Jack gasped, scandalized, flipping him into a princess cradle instead. “I’m offended. Mortally wounded! I would never drop my favorite friend.”

You had to lean against the wall, laughing at the scene: Oliver breathless with giggles, Jack circling around like a maniac, only to drop both of them onto the living room rug in a pile of crayons, limbs, and laughter. Jack’s sharp grin softened as Oliver grabbed a marker and pointed at the coloring book already spread on the floor. “I wanna show you my new friend! Her name’s Ellie, and she’s got this sparkly unicorn backpack, and she’s funny—like you!”

“Oh?” Jack’s eyes sparkled with delight, lying on his stomach beside the boy like a noodle. “Funny like me? Does she throw glitter bombs and hide dead rats in people’s shoes?”

Oliver blinked. “…No. But she gave me her chocolate milk.”

Jack placed a long, delicate hand over his heart. “A girl after my own heart.”

You sat cross-legged beside them, content just to watch the two draw—Jack doodling an absolutely deranged unicorn with vampire teeth and six legs, while Oliver scribbled big pink hearts around it. Every so often, Jack would look up at you, eyes half-lidded and warm. His smile would soften. He’d reach out with one long arm and drag you a little closer until your knee was pressed against his hip, and he’d hum softly through his nose, feathers twitching in contentment.

This was home now. Not the physical place, of course, but in every other way. You, Jack, Oliver—and a unicorn named Ellie.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was okay.

── .✦

Headcannons!

At home…

Jack sleeps in your bed. Always. It was never even a discussion. The closet? Too dark. Under the bed? Too cramped. No, no, he’s tucked around you every night, gangly limbs wrapped tight, fluffy feathered collar like a plush cocoon. And if you move, he whines softly and pulls you tighter.

He leaves feathers everywhere. You’ll open the fridge and one flutters out. You find them in the shower drain, your boots, even your favorite mug. Jack insists it’s just his way of marking his territory.

Jack refuses to be out of touching distance. When you’re on the couch, he slinks up behind you and tugs you into his lap. When you’re cooking, he wraps his arms around your waist, humming softly into your shoulder. He is so touch-starved and now? He’s completely spoiled.

“You always smell like strawberries,” he’ll mumble, nosing along your jaw. “My favorite treat.”

He doesn’t sleep often—he just watches you. Not in a creepy way (okay… kind of creepy), but in awe. He doesn’t understand how something can be so soft and safe and his. Sometimes you wake up to find him gently brushing your hair behind your ear, studying you like he’s trying to remember every detail.

He lives for physical affection now. Laps it up like it’s air. Kisses all over. Back of your hand, your cheek, the inside of your wrist. He especially loves when you kiss him first. Makes him go all fluttery and giggly.

“Careful now, sweetheart,” he’ll purr, voice gravelly and thick with want, “I might start thinking you like me.”

At the Daltons’…

Oliver has adjusted beautifully. He’s happier, lighter, and even more talkative. Jack shows up on occasion (when he’s not being seen by everyone else, of course), perching on the roof or slithering through the walls just to peek at Oliver’s smile.

You both go visit once or twice a week. Mrs. Dalton now greets you with warm hugs and often coffee already made. She’s grateful. You saved her son and her sanity. There’s no doubt she can feel the shift in the atmosphere.

Jack pretends to be grumpy about being passed around like a family pet, but the second Oliver throws his arms around him, Jack melts like sugar.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get bigger than me?” Jack teases, picking Oliver up with ease.

“You’re still taller,” Oliver snorts, giggling.

“Only because I cheat,” Jack whispers, growing an extra inch for show.

Jack absolutely adores when Oliver calls you both “his favorites.” He’ll puff up, nuzzle into you proudly, and whisper things like: “See? He loves me and he loves you. We’re basically meant to be.”

You and Jack help Oliver with school sometimes. Jack is awful at math but makes it fun—turning subtraction into a “clown magic trick” that ends with Oliver cracking up.

Favorite traditions…

Ice Cream nights. The three of you pile onto the couch, Jack somehow always managing to spill sprinkles everywhere. He always gets some on your nose just so he can lick it off.

Bedtime Stories. Oliver insists on one from each of you. Yours are soothing and soft. Jack’s are bizarre and involve candy kingdoms, giant bugs, and chaotic heists. Oliver falls asleep happy every time.

Art Days. Jack loves when Oliver draws him. Sometimes Oliver gifts them to you, proudly declaring: “Jack told me you’re his favorite person ever. So I drew you both!”

Relationship…

Jack doesn’t get the concept of dating. He understands possession. Attachment. Obsession. But actual human relationships with communication, comfort, and mutual boundaries? Yeah… he’s gonna need help.

“Wait—you mean I can’t just crawl into your closet and live there forever? But we’re in love.”

You have to explain things like “being overwhelmed,” “just cuddling instead of trying to lick my face off,” and why you can’t always kiss when you’re trying to cook dinner and prevent the house from burning down.

Clingy. Like, dangerously so. Jack is all twisted limbs and endless affection. He doesn’t just hug you—he wraps around you like a possessive feathered python.

“I missed you,” he’ll whimper, when you’ve only been in the shower for five minutes.

Jealous and possessive to the point it’s dangerous. The poor mailman has been scared away by a horrifying face over your shoulder more times than you can count. He doesn’t understand why people linger around you for too long, he doesn’t like it. You have to explain that it’s just them being nice. He doesn’t care, he thinks only he should be able to have you.

He trails you everywhere in the house. If you’re on the couch, he’s coiled around your back like a weighted blanket. If you’re cooking, he’s behind you, chin on your shoulder, muttering compliments and licking your neck just to fluster you.

Flirting? Oh he’s a natural—when he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Jack is accidentally filthy. Like unhinged.

“Why are you making that face?” He smiles.

“You cannot say ‘you look delicious today’ while licking your lips like that.” You scowl back.

He doesn’t know what’s inappropriate and what’s seductive. You have to coach him through being soft. Teach him how to flirt without terrifying you at the same time.

Jack is so inexperienced he has to ask questions constantly. But he’s also desperate to learn. He wants to do it right. For you.

“Did I do that part right? The tongue thing. Do you like it when I do that?” Meanwhile, you’re panting so hard and your eyes are so blurry you can hardly nod your approval.

He memorizes every sound you make. Every flutter of breath. If you gasp, he’ll repeat the same movement ten more times with a grin that stretches just a little too wide.

Afterwards, he gets clingy and smug, purring like a cat. “You’re gonna let me do that again, right? Say yes. Say it now.”

Jack doesn’t understand why he feels what he feels. It confuses him. You’ll catch him sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at you with those spiraling eyes.

“I used to only care about Oliver. And candy. But now… when you leave a room, I get cold. That’s weird, right?”

You teach him how to talk about it. He learns how to say “I missed you” without getting frantic. How to kiss you on the forehead instead of shoving his tongue down your throat every time he’s touched emotionally.

But he always wants to be touching you. He’ll pull your hand into his lap just to trace your fingers and murmur, “This one’s my favorite. No reason. It just is.”

He tries to help around the house, but forgets what he’s doing halfway through. “I was gonna fold the laundry, but I saw your bra and started thinking about how it looks on the floor. Can we kiss now?”

He puts your photo on the fridge with glitter glue and googly eyes. There’s one of Oliver’s Kindergarten graduated right next to it.

And finally…

One night, after a long day of Oliver playing with his new friend, Jack curls around you in bed, chin on your shoulder. “You know,” he murmurs, voice soft and rough, “I’ve been around for a long, long time. But nothing’s ever felt quite like this.”

“Like what?” you whisper, brushing back a black lock from his cheek.

He nuzzles into your palm, eyes closing. “Like home.”

And down the hall, Oliver sleeps soundly. No monsters under the bed. No fear in the dark.

Because the monster is in your bed now—and he only has eyes for you.

꩜ .ᐟ

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Bob’s best friend

Bob Reynolds x reader

warnings: DRUGGGG ADDICTIONNNNN. i really think its so important to talk about bobs drug addiction. i do find him to be babygirl but in the "looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you" because he is really That Guy. i wouldn't be surprised if he canonically stabbed someone for meth if im being honest. also bob's abuse and such, mental illness, yk

a/n: request so entertaining to read i actually took it LMAOO sorry it took so long there were 10 requests ahead of you i had to put you in the next request slot group 😭

prompt: @ceylon-morphe: “Do you have any hcs for bob? Sweet baby bob? Precious pookie bob? Must protect and give all my love bob? Wanna smooch his sad puppy face bob? Give him a bubble bath and wrap him in my softest blankets bob? He’s innocent he did nothing wrong bob? I’ve only met bob for 2 minutes but If anything happens to him ima kill everyone in this room then myself bob? God gives his strongest battles to his most traumatized soldiers bob? Pathetic wet mess of a human being bob? Legit looks like he be a bottom in bed bob? Looks like the poster child of sad pathetic losers everywhere bob? Much thanks boo!//Apologies I forgot to add bob (from thunderbolts) relationship to reader as friends.”

you've stuck by bob for forever

despite his flaws—his many flaws—you always tried to be there for him

like when he shows up at your house at 3am slurring his words, sweating his ass off, barely standing still and you have to drag him inside and help him come down

"i didn't know where else to go" -bob

"i know" -you, wiping his face with a wet washcloth

it was a cycle for a long time, and you felt so helpless about it

you knew what he'd come from, and you were the only person he'd ever trusted with the details of his past

abuse, the car accident that got him hooked on painkillers, the spiral downwards of chasing a high, other mental health struggles

he's told you he was "getting clean" about a dozen different times, but it was always the same

you felt like you were enabling him

"shiiiitttt, no, y/n, that's not what it looks like" -bob

"really? because it looks like a bag of meth rocks to me next to...oh, look at that, your 'trusty' pipe" -you

"nooo, that's my friend's, i was holding onto it for him" -bob

"you don't have any friends" -you, tossing his things on the couch and storming off

it always broke his heart when he disappointed you

and honestly, looking at it from his point of view, he felt just as much of a failure for being a bad friend

it was a sensitive subject

you bailed him out of jail a handful of times and the last time you did, you gave him the biggest earful he'd gotten since he was a kid

"i can't keep doing this, bob! at this rate, you'll be dead in a ditch and i'm terrified of the day i get that call. i can't keep running in circles like this, you need to get your shit together" -you

"i swear, this is the last time, okay? please don't be mad" -bob

"you said that the last three times i bailed you out. no more chances." -you

bob felt like a real asshole, but trying to change was too hard for him

that's when, without any warning, he left you and went to malaysia, you didn't hear from him for a good couple of weeks

he left a note telling you he was off to go "find his purpose," which meant he was on his own and had no one to look out for him

and although you may have threatened to give up on him, it was just supposed to be a wakeup call

you called him every day, several times a day, for weeks. left voicemails every time

"hey bob. please call me back. i just want to make sure you're okay" "bob, it's me, can you give me a call back when you get this?" "bob, i'm getting really worried, can you please let me know you're alive?" "hey. i love you, man. i'm always here for you and i'm sorry for how we left things" -you

meanwhile, bob had submitted himself to human experimentation to try to "better himself" and didnt want to talk to you again until he turned his life around for you

you were listed on his "medical forms" as an emergency contact, but you were never contacted when he was believed dead

after a few weeks, his voicemail box was full and calling was futile

and bob was stuck in a box and shipped to utah to be hidden from the government and world, a failed experiment that was to be buried

you felt so guilty. it ate away at you. and no matter how many times you went over it in your head—the begging and pleading for him to get help, the betrayals, picking him up from jail, thinking he was getting better just to find a secret stash—you felt like it was all your fault.

when bob woke up from his...coma? yeah, sure. when bob woke from his coma in a death trap with 4 3 assassins, the last thing he had in his memory was you

"yeah, no, don't know how i got here? i'm bob, i just, uh, woke up. any of you know y/n?" -bob

"is he joking?" -john

"no. i just need to let y/n know i'm okay. it worries them when they don't hear from me for a while" -bob

"who is y/n to you, bob?" -yelena

"oh, y/n is my best friend. really understanding, really awesome. sometimes i forget to check in and they think i'm dead" -bob :)

"oh...well we don't know any y/n, sorry" -ava

yelena soon found his files—"sentry project"

you were listed in his records, she found it curious and a little sweet

until much later when they all escaped the incinerator and discovered bob had powers and valentina was being...protective of him

"i think we have a problem" -yelena, walking thru the desert

"oh, do we now? do tell, i'm dying to hear what other problems we have besides being stranded in the desert and hunted by valentina's soldiers" -john

"well, smartass, these are the files on bob and how he got there. his beloved y/n is in here. they're a target" -yelena

"sucks to be y/n, then" -ava

when bucky found the group of rogue assassins, yelena took it as an opportunity to save you

"bob needs us, but so does y/n. is there any way you can make sure they're okay? out of harms way" -yelena

"be careful, yelena. it's starting to sound like you have a heart" -john

"shut up, walker" -yelena and bucky

you were soon visited by captain america at your humble abode in florida

bucky called in a favor

"sorry to drop by unannounced, but it's for your protection" -sam

"my protection? what do you mean? what's going on?" -you

"your friend bob is alive, but he made some friends with some bad people" -sam

"great, more drug dealers?" -you

"the director of the CIA actually" -sam

"you're joking" -you

"for your sake, i wish i was. you need to come with me" -sam

if he'd gotten there 20 minutes later you'd have been permanently silenced by valentina's soldiers

sam couldn't be your security detail for long, not officially, but bucky asked him to bring you to new york where the "thunderbolts" would protect you and reunite you with bob

unfortunately, the situation wasn't what they had thought—but you'd seen this before

"i go by sentry now. y/n, are you proud of me? i feel so much healthier now, you were right!" -bob

"y/n, get behind me" -yelena

"i think y/n is turning on you. you might need to take care of them" -val

"no, no. y/n would never. they've always taken care of me. we can finally be happy" -bob

"well, these assassins are trying to take y/n away from you. they'd be safer with us" -val, continuing to manipulate

that started the firefight, which ended with you running for your life to the elevator and waiting for the others to follow suit

"what happened to him?! he left florida a couple weeks—maybe a month ago—he was never like this. sure, he had his issues—and the delusions of invincibility, but now he actually is invincible??" -you

"your friend was experimented on, the only survivor of these experiments. that woman—valentina—she has her nails dug deep in him, he's her weapon" -yelena "i read his file, you were in it. that's why we knew where to find you"

"emergency contact?" -you

yelena nodded

"i'm always the one he calls when he's in trouble. last time he got in trouble, i yelled at him. that was the first time i've seen him in a while" -you

"that's not your fault. he seems...troubled" -ava

"you don't know the half of it" -you

yelena then started yelling at the whole team in front of avengers tower and you tried to wander off, soon stopped by the void swallowing all of new york city

"is that—it can't be? bob?" -you

"you need to find cover" -john

you hid, but were soon a shadow on the wall and transported into "the void"

after reliving some of your worst memories, you found bob all by yourself. he was sitting alone in the attic of his childhood home. you'd heard this story many times when he was drunk and crying over bad memories

"hi." -bob

"been a while" -you, sitting beside him

"yeah, i'm sorry. i just thought i might be able to do something good if i was on my own for a while" -bob, looking down through the floorboards "i made everything worse"

"you know you can always count on me. i'm sorry i snapped last time we talked" -you

"well, i shouldn't have bought those pills from that undercover cop. i knew he was a cop, too. i've seen him bust other people. i just really wanted what he had" -bob

"we'll...we'll work on that. not buying drugs. especially from cops" -you

soon, the thunderbolts appeared and they had a plan to get out of the hell-filled void you got trapped in. bob felt extra bad bc he knew the things you'd been through too and it was his fault you had to relive them

he held your hand most of the trip out, and by the time you reached reality again, he was a little lost

"y/n! who are all these people?" -bob

"some friends we made!" -you, trying to stay upbeat

"is he okay? we all remember what just happened, right?" -bucky

"yeah, no, he's fine. this happens sometimes" -you

"yeah, i just get a little fuzzy. it'll come back to me" -bob, looking to you. you nodded encouragingly

this was the first time you'd seen him look healthy in a long time. good weight, no bags around his eyes, posture was better, a genuine smile, all around looking better

you and him got dragged into the "new avengers" announcement

and he needed to stay in new york due to his...abilities

"will you stay here with me? it'll be sooo cool, we can have sleepovers again like we used to!" -bob

the other "avengers" made it a stipulation for you to stay, and you were looking for a reason to move out of florida. you said yes and joined up with the new avengers—in a more civilian sense. who knows, maybe you'd become useful in ways you never thought before?

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 // @lenaelleu //

[sydwritess]

I loved how you wrote my Lewis request, thank you so much :)

I have another idea, so the reader is 28 again and they met through Max and even those two have a history Max ships them and plays matchmaker :)

Have a nice day :)

Friend of a Friend

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: You and Lewis have met once before, due to you being a big fan of F1, but what happens when your best friend Max wants you and Lewis to be more than friends.

Second Person POV

Notes: requests are open!

You and Max have been friends for a while. You recently got a job ad an photographer at F1. You have gotten a chance to meet all of the drivers, mostly through Max. But one had caught your eye in particular.

Lewis Hamilton.

You will admit, to yourself and yourself only, that you had a minor crush on him. That was until you found you this age. You were twenty-eight while he had turned forty a couple of months ago.

It was a twelve year age difference, and you knew Max was sure to say something about it. He was practically your younger-older brother. But what was wrong? Him and Kelly are nine years apart.

You were zoned in on your thoughts, snapping picture after picture as a couple of demo-cars went around the track. It was Monday, the Silverstone race was over but there were sill people racing, or doing drag races.

"How's the hard work going." A light voice says behind you. You turn slightly to see Lewis walking up behind you, leaning on the balcony railing just as you are.

"Good. Great. My just consider not quitting." You say.

"Why's that?" He asks, looking out at the track.

"This fucking camera. Just... isn't working." You say.

"How old is it?"

"A year. And I don't really have it to get a new one." You say quietly, looking out at the cars going by you.

"Have you asked Christian for reimbursement?"

"I'm waiting. It's kind of all... messed up now that he's leaving so..." You trail off.

He puts a hand through his hair slowly. "That's right. I forgot about that."

"Men will be men." You say. He looks towards you fully. You catch his gaze. "Not like that." You say.

"No I know what you meant. I just didn't expect someone to say it out loud." He says, smirking.

"Yeah, you know." You say. There was a silence between you. The gentle Silverstone breeze blowing by your.

"Honestly I don't even know if I'll have a job in a few months." You say aloud.

"Really?" He asks.

"The women on our team are taking a lot of shit for what happened. Especially online. It's like... one girl and her boss can't keep their hands off each other or... whatever, so now all of us are taking shit. Saying that we didn't actually get here by hard work." You say slowly.

"But you did. People didn't even know you and Max were close until after you got the job." He says.

"Yeah. But that's not what they want to hear. Especially-"

"The guys." He finishes for you.

"I had this like seventeen year old come up to me one day, give me a dirty look and say 'I bet you slept your way through here. Didn't you?' Like, aren't you supposed to be in school?" You say. Lewis laughs.

"The amount of times I have to hold myself back from punching people in the face... I'm surprised I haven't fucking exploded yet." You say.

"That's how I feel every day." He says.

"I know, I bet Ferrari's kicking your ass right now." You joke.

"Well, according to Alex, it's good for my bank account." He chuckles.

"Oh, I'm sure. But hey, if you ever need a place to store your money, come talk to me." You say. He gives you a small smile before you walk away.

You walk downstairs from the podium stage and out to the paddock.

You walk back towards the Red Bull garage when you see Max walking towards you.

"Hey Y/n." He smiles.

"Hey Max." You say. You stop in front of him, looking intot he garage.

"Howa he doing?" You ask looking at the new Red Bull leader.

"He's actually quite good. Knows his stuff." He says.

"Can he buy me a new camera?" You ask, holding yours up?

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Just... it's being slow."

"Buy another one."

"Yeah... if I had the money."

"Reimbursement?"

"What do you think? I've tried everything Max. I'm just to... poor." You day.

"I can give you the money."

"I'm not taking money from you."

"I- alright." He says, giving up on ideas. "Oh! I want you to meet someone." He says, putting a hand on your back to turn you around.

You see Lewis walking straight towards you.

"Lewis, this is my close friend Y/n. Y/n this is Lewis. A driver."

"No shit Sherlock. He wouldn't have that pads around his neck saying drivers pass if he wandt a driver." You say.

"Alright." Max says awkwardly.

"Good to meet you y/n." Lewis says politely, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

"It's so good to meet you to lewis." You say, shaking his hand. Max stands to the side of you, giving you a wierd look.

"Your never this polite." He says.

"Just... love meeting new people."

"Since when?" He asks quickly.

"Since now." You say, letting go of Lewis' hand.

"I- anyway, so since your both here... I've been figuring for a while now, that you two should hang out." He says.

"Hang out?" You say.

"What?" Lewis asks.

"Why... why is this getting weird." Max states.

"We already know each other." You say.

"For a couple of years now actually." Lewis says.

"Oh." Max says, looking down.

"Oh! He lost again! Prepared to have your day ruined." You say loudly.

"Oh, shut up." Max mutters, rolling his eyes. Lewis bites back a laugh.

"Okay but, you could still hang out." Max says.

"Like... a date?"

"Exaclty, but a friendly date." Max backs.

"No, sorry. " You say.

"Yeah, we're to good of friends to be going out."

"Oh come on! Please!" Max begs.

"No, I'm sorry."

"Please I swear it will change your life!" Max says.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "I will go on a friendly date if you can buy me a new camera." You say.

"Deal, deal, deal." He says.

"Tnat means spending thousands of dollars-"

"I already spend it on Kelly so please." He begs.

"You spend thousands of dollars on Kelly?" You ask.

"Yeah." He says slowly.

"How- what the fuck does she buy?"

"Jewelry. And shoes. And clothes. And baby clothes." He says, his eyes widened at you.

"Doesn't she have a fucking job?" You ask. He stays silent, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Yes."

"Right. And-"

"Not the point. Anyway, we need date ideas."

"Woah woah woah. No explanation, no date." You say.

"Fine. I'm just making her feel like the princess that she is."

"Bitch this isn't Sofia the fucking first, is it? Once you go in debt I'm not getting you out." You say, pointing at him.

"Yeah, yeah, debt whatever. So... that date."

"That date." Lewis said.

Max hummed to himself. "How about La Table d'Elise."

"Sounds fancy." You say.

"Oh it is, top tier dinning experience." Max says.

"Is that the 'top tier dinning experience' as in spending five hundred dollars there?"

"What- how do you know?"

"That day you told me to get your I.D I saw it."

"What- okay... it was for a group dinner."

"A group as in two?"

"I-"

"It says it on the receipt."

"Okay... maybe it is expensive but." He walks over to Lewis. "He ahs money."

"Wow, that didn't just make me out to sound like a gold digger."

"No no, not like that."

"I'm up for it, if you are." Lewis says. You look him in the eyes.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Perfect!" Max jumps.

You are at home getting ready for tonight. You were finishing straightening your hair when there was a knock at the door.

You get up quickly to go answer it, you see Lewis standing there.

You step to the side of the door, letting him in. "How are you?" You ask, walking back over to the kitchen table.

"Good, how are you?" He asks, standing somewhat near you.

"Good, they didn't give you any trouble in the lobby right?" You ask.

"No, they just let me walk right up."

"Okay. They're all like... protective and shit so, you know."

"I do. Have people like that at my place."

You nod your head and unplug your straightener, putting it away before grabbing your purse and keys.

You both walk out of your apartment and down to the lobby. When you get out to his car, he opens the door for you, shutting it before getting in the driver's side himself.

He starts to drive off down the road. "I figure it would be best to tell you know that we are not going to the restaurant Max told us to go to."

"To expensive?"

"Exactly, so that receipt you found was probably discounted." he said.

"I kind of figured." You say. He starts going on his phone, pulling up the restaurants menu.

He hands his phone over to you. "Look at the first thing on there."

Your eyes widen. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." He says, smirking. "But don't worry, we're going to a better place than that."

You arrive to the restaurant in no time, getting out and walking in. You both get led to a quiet spot in the restaurant, barely anyone around you.

You look at the menu while drinking you water. "This is my type of stuff right here." You point to the menu. Lewis slightly laughs.

"These prices won't give you a heart attack?" He asks.

"No." You giggle. "Honestly I'd be happy if you took me to fucking McDonalds." You joke.

"I had that feeling." He smiled. "But tonight is supposed to be special."

"With the one and only." You smile, holding up your glass. He clink's his with yours.

Your date goes by slowly, but nice. You finished your meal and sat at the table talking for a while.

"Excuse me Ms.?" The waitress says, grabbing your attention. "I was told to give this to you, no name to it." She smiled slightly and walked away.

You look at the bag that was place in front of you with a confused look. "Is this from you?" You ask Lewis.

"No." He says.

You open it slowly, and inside was a brand new camera with a bow on it. There was a note in it to:

'From Max, have fun. P.S: look inside.'

You slowly laugh. "What a fucking bitch." You pull out the box and set it on the table. Lewis starts laughing with you.

"Look inside." You repeat from the letter. You look across the table at Lewis. "Do you mind if I open it?"

"Not at all." He smiles.

You open the box up slowly and pull the camera out. You power it on, going to the gallery. As you flip through the pictures, you smile more and more. Pictures of you and Lewis of the restaurant you were now sat in.

"What's on there?" Lewis asks curiously. You hand the camera to him and he smiles shyly.

"Oh my God. Where did he have the time to take these?" He asks.

"I have no idea." You say. He hands it back over to you, and you put it back in the bag.

You both spend a couple of more minutes in the restaurant before paid and left.

"I can't believe him." Lewis laughed, driving off from the restaurant.

"He's awful." You joke. He drives back to your apartment building. The ride was quiet, your mind focused at that moment at the restaurant. You hadn't even realized you were at your building until the car came to a sharp stop.

You and Lewis get out of the car, meeting around the front. "Thanks for tonight." You say.

"It was fun." He smiled, reaching into his back pocket. "I also have this for you."

He hands you a receipt for Monaco Print, a printing company. You look at it, something was already fully paid for.

"What is this?" You ask.

"I expect you to print some pictures out by this week." He says, pointing to the paper in your hands. "Some for me to."

"Thank you." You say, hugging him.

"Your welcome." He pulls away from you, looking at you. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I'll be sure to have your pictures in hand." You smirk.

He laughs slightly. "Take care."

"You to." You say, looking back at him once before walking inside.

©sydwritess

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to the F1 tag list! Requests are open!

[concretejunglefm]

thot confession ˚˖ ࣪

I cannot get the thot of Noah (wolfcut!noah to be exact!!) being your piercer, hear me out - going to get both your nipples done and being nervous and he’s all sweet talking and flirty and constantly dancing around the line of professionalism, maybe you need to be talked through an orgasm to calm down for the piercing? 😌 and afterwards he cannot get enough of how good they look ??? idk sorry this is my brainrot and I didn’t know where to share it, I just need wolfcut Noah to slut me out 😩

Hi, anon, do you have any idea how much I love this? It has completely taken over my brain!!!

Honestly, you needed your friends to hype you up and talk you into it, because maybe you were just a teeny bit nervous, especially with how sensitive your nipples already are. Plus, you’d heard about the possibility of losing sensitivity and all that.

When you showed up, the last person you expected to see was this young guy. Not only did he have this playfully charming smile, but he was so flirty that it definitely helped put you at ease a little.

CW: fingering, light nipple play, praising, use of ‘good girl’, semi-public, kinda dirty talk(?).

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

“Come, take a seat right here.” He gestures you over, a tattooed hand patting the padded table. Surprisingly, your legs feel like jelly as you approach, nerves starting to creep back in. “First time?” he asks, brow slightly cocked.

You nod slowly. “Uh… yeah.”

“Ah, a virgin.” He grins, something cheeky in his tone, and for a second, you almost want to be offended by the remark, until he adds, “My favorite.” There’s a flicker in the way he says it that suggests he doesn’t just mean it in relation to piercings.

When you hop up onto the table and make yourself comfortable, he instructs, “Shirt off.”

You manage to find your voice, and a flicker of confidence, as you quickly quip, “What? You’re not going to help?”

That catches his attention. His gaze locks onto yours, and a faint heat rises to your cheeks. Not regret, exactly, just a hint of skepticism about whether you should’ve said that.

To your surprise, he approaches you, large hands settling on the bed on either side of your thighs. Even with the height difference, his frame manages to crowd you, keeping him just that little bit above you.

“If you think it’ll help you relax…” he murmurs, raising a brow again. There’s a small tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, and then you feel the daring brush of his hands—fingers grazing your thighs, then your hips, curling into the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you let out a breathless, “Yes.”

His fingers slide higher, grazing along your sides as he lifts your shirt slowly over your head.

“Your bra,” he says, gesturing. You nod, silently inviting him to help with that, too, and he does, his hands slipping behind you, stepping in even closer so you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

You’re tempted to reach out and touch him, especially as your eyes follow the ink trailing up his arms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt and peeking from the V at his collar. It makes you wonder how far the tattoos go.

“Now lie down for me,” he orders, and you comply without hesitation.

His hand brushes along your sternum as he continues upward, pausing at the valley between your breasts. “I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.”

“Do you make that promise to all your clients?” you ask, your tone soft and teasing.

“Only the really pretty ones.” He winks down at you, and a wave of heat stirs low in your stomach, especially as his hand hasn’t moved.

“Are you sensitive?” he asks.

You hum in response, just as his hand slides over one breast, thumb brushing faintly across your already hardened nipple. The light contact draws out the faintest moan—unintentional, but impossible to hold back.

“Oh, very sensitive,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, though the sly smirk at his lips makes it clear he’s enjoying every second. “You know,” he adds, “if you need help relaxing… I may have another solution.”

You turn your head, brow raised in silent question.

“I hear an orgasm really helps,” he says thoughtfully, his fingers still toying with your nipple—twisting, tugging gently before moving to the other, offering it the same soft attention. “I can talk you through it. Just enough to help you unwind.”

As his hand begins to lower again, gliding down your stomach and over the front of your jeans, your legs part instinctively, welcoming the idea.

“Please…?” you whisper softly, batting your lashes up at him.

You hear the soft jingle of your zipper as he tugs your jeans down. Your hips arch, wriggling just enough for him to slip his hand into the front of your panties. The moment his fingers brush over your slit, your hips buck—desperately craving the contact.

“Just tell me where it feels good,” he says, catching your gaze. His free hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading beneath your hair to hold you close as he dips a finger between your folds.

Instantly, you push against him, gasping when he finds your clit and begins to draw slow, smooth circles. The slickness gathering between your thighs makes every stroke more intense, your body already responding.

When he moves a little deeper, your breath catches. “Right there.”

The full connection against your clit sends a ripple of pleasure through you.

“Here?” he asks, pressing more firmly. You nod, biting down on your lower lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise soft and low. Your hands reach up, grasping at his arm for grounding. “Are you gonna… oh, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Just grind yourself against my fingers. Make yourself feel good.”

His voice shifts, thick with heat, as he watches you begin to roll your hips—grinding into his hand. You feel the addition of a second finger pressing to your clit, both working in tandem, coaxing you closer and closer as the tension builds low in your stomach.

You know it shouldn’t be turning you on this much, being touched like this by a complete stranger, but you can’t help it. Every part of this moment is overwhelmingly arousing. The thrill of potentially being caught. The way he charmed his way into your space, into your body. The way his eyes stay locked on you, hungry.

When you glance up at him, you catch that look of lust. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he watches you, like he wants nothing more than to devour you right then and there.

“Let me hear your moans, baby,” he urges gently.

You start to whimper, holding back with a harsh bite to your lip—hard enough to taste copper on your tongue.

“That’s it—let go for me. You know you want to cum.”

His voice is coaxing, low and encouraging as he listens to the sound of your growing moans, and god, you do. You can feel the wave rising, building higher with every second. Your hips buck faster as his fingers press harder, rubbing relentless, perfect circles.

Your nails dig into his arm, scratching along the skin as you ride his fingers to your climax. You hold on tight, shuddering around him when you finally careen over the edge. The pleasure crashes through you, overwhelming and all consuming.

He doesn’t let go. One hand strokes your scalp gently, keeping you grounded, and you barely catch the sound of his murmured praise through the buzzing in your ears.

When he finally pulls away, his fingers slip from your panties, and you watch as he brings them up to his lips. Your cum coats them, glistening. His eyes are slightly hooded as he runs his tongue along one long, slender finger, humming approvingly at the taste of you.

“You should feel nice and relaxed now,” he says with a smirk.

And he’s right. You do. You feel blissful—floaty, even, as you lie back on the bed, practically seeing hearts in your eyes and already craving more of him.

[azriona]

Trustfall, Prologue

Winter Soldier!Bucky x fem!Reader, 9 chapters plus prologue & epilogue. Explicit for sexual contact, which considering it’s the Winter Soldier should be considered vaguely dub!con within an established relationship. Updates will be Tuesdays & Thursdays until complete.

Summary:

Hydra attacks the Tower, fully intending to regain control of their Asset. But Bucky Barnes has a plan. Bucky Barnes has you.

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post by @calzone-d, but then it took a life of its own. The working title for this was “Hostage to the Winter Soldier!” (complete with exclamation point, because it’s funnier that way, and if you don’t imagine that title in one of those 1950s B-movie fonts, you’re doing it wrong), but by the time I finished writing, I had Pink’s song stuck in my head, and it’s probably a better fit.

Full notes on AO3, but please note the Trigger Warning for Dub!con above.

Prologue ~ Chapters 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ Epilogue

MCU Masterlist

“Oh come on, they’ll never hire me,” you protest, laughing. You have to shout it to be heard over the noise of the bar. “And anyway, I’m happy in the ER.”

“But it’s Avengers Tower,” groans your best friend Steph, her slightly tipsy head dropping onto the bar. “You have to—ow. Who made bars so hard? That hurt.”

You pat her shoulder. “I like the ER. It’s fast-paced, it’s exciting, I’m doing exactly what I always wanted.”

“Two words. Super. Heroes.”

“That’s one word, Steph. And come on, superheroes aren’t that interesting. They probably do their own stitches and skip their regular check-ups.”

“Is she still bothering you about the Avengers job?” asks the bartender, Chet, as he hands Steph a towel full of ice from behind the bar.

“Yes,” you groan as Steph mumbles a thank you and plops the iced towel on her head, still lying on the bar. “And it’s not an Avengers job. It’s just a job at the Tower. I probably wouldn’t even see them. I bet I’d be giving SI employees their immunizations and checking for fevers in the on-site daycare.”

“Or working with Bruce Banner?”

“There’s no guarantee of that!”

“Oh yeah? Is there a security clearance involved?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Working with Bruce Banner,” says Chet sagely. “And you know, wiping snotty noses in the daycare and chasing down superheroes for their yearly check-ups.”

“I like the ER,” you insist.

“We know you do,” says Chet. “But we like seeing you, and this is the first time you’ve been out since you got the job two years ago.”

“I miss you,” moans Steph to the bar. Well, in the direction of the bar, but presumably to you. “You’re my best friend and the only way I see you is by breaking my ankle.”

“Oh my God, Steph, tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”

“Just apply,” says Chet. “If nothing else, it’ll give you bargaining power when your contract comes up again.”

“It does have better hours. And dental.”

“Dental,” sighs Steph longingly.

*

“I got the job!”

“What?” Steph yells back. Clearly, hunting down Steph while she’s on the dance floor was a bad idea.

“I. GOT. THE. JOB!!!”

“Oh my God!” shrieks Steph, encasing you in a huge hug. “My best friend’s gonna be an Avenger!”

You burst into laughter, glad no one else can hear you over the music. “Not an Avenger, Steph. Just a nurse working in the medical bay in the Tower. I probably won’t even see them.”

Steph holds your shoulders firmly. “You are not allowed to replace me with Black Widow.”

“As if!”

Chet gives you a free drink, as do a few others nearby who overheard the part about “new job.” Only one of them actually asks where the job is.

“Stark Industries,” you say, because it’s basically true. “Probably not as exciting as the ER was, but the hours are way better and so’s the pay and benefits.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” says the man, lifting his glass in a toast. He’s got a really pleasant accent, wire-rimmed glasses, the scar on the side of his face barely noticeable in the dim light. You’d like to keep talking to him, but Steph distracts you for a moment, and when you turn back around, he’s gone.

*

Okay, so you hadn’t really lied to Steph. You don’t see the Avengers very often, but that’s only because you don’t work nights and they only ever show up in the med bay when it’s dark outside. Or seem to, anyway.

But you’ve met just about all of them for one reason or another, and so far, every encounter has shown them to be pleasant and friendly as can be.

Until one afternoon, about six months after you started working, when you overhear two very loud, very shouty voices, in the hall outside the nurse’s station.

“I DO NOT NEED STITCHES.”

“You’re worse than Clint! Get in there!”

“Come on, Stevie, they’re gonna heal up on their own in ten minutes.”

“Not if you don’t get the broken glass out first.”

Broken glass? You immediately reach for the kit with the tweezers and a pair of nitrile gloves.

“So you do it.”

“I can’t do it, I have to go brief Hill.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Yeah. For the nurse.”

“Stevie,” groans the guy. “Is this what it all comes to? Saving me from the clutches of Hydra only to make me relive my worst nightmares? You’ve seen the nurses here, Stevie, they all look like my Uncle Maurice.”

“Not true, Buck.”

“They’re cold, heartless bitches, Stevie, the lot of them.”

“Hello,” you say cheerfully, entering the room where Captain America straddles a second man, face-down on the floor and long past fighting. “I’m the attending cold heartless bitch who looks like your Uncle Maurice, I hear you’ve got some glass embedded somewhere?”

“A plate glass window attacked him,” Captain America tells you. “It was brutal.”

“You should’ve seen the window,” grumbles the man to the floor.

“I’ll be sure to send a sympathy card,” you say, setting up your tools on the tray table. “I can do this on the floor, but it’d probably be more sanitary up here.”

“Right,” says Captain America, and he gets off the floor.

The man immediately makes a break for it.

“Nope,” you say, and grab one of the conveniently-placed straps on his leather coat. He spins and stares at you in shock.

He’s cute, you think, or would be if it weren’t for the gaping wound in his forehead. It sparkles, though that’s probably the glass catching in the light.

“So that’s what the straps are for,” says Captain America, impressed, right before he grabs the guy by the ear and hauls him up on the examining table.

“OW.” The man glares at Captain America, who doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. Even though that glare’s probably the scariest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Hold still,” you tell the glare, and start removing the glass from his forehead.

It’s a nasty wound, too. You work as fast as you can, fully aware of how the man you’re treating is—despite all outward appearances—scared to death.

Not that he’d admit it, or even realize you know it. But you worked in an ER for a while. You’ve seen everything, from spaced-out junkies to suicidal octogenarians to homeless vets.

You know which this guy is most like. The way he’s not shaking or trembling, the way he’s so tense and unable to breathe. Not just not breathing, but actually, physically, unable to take a breath because he’s working so hard to keep from screaming.

“The only way out is through,” you murmur as you pull another shard of glass from his forehead.

“Hmm?” asks Captain America, but the guy watches you: wary, assessing every move, even as you telegraph them as plainly as you can.

Calm, almost, despite the now-shallow breaths.

“Nothing,” you say. “One more piece.”

You pull it out, cleaning the area again. “Now, unless I miss my guess, you’re both thinking he’s going to self-heal fairly quickly?”

“By suppertime, probably.”

You nod. “I’d still recommend a steri-stitch or two. Just to keep it clean until the healing’s done. You don’t have to return to remove them, either.”

“Perfect,” says Captain America gratefully, and after a few more minutes, they’re both gone.

But the next morning, when you come in, there’s a bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter with your name on it, and a note written in perfect copperplate handwriting.

I’m sorry I said you looked like Uncle Maurice. You’re much prettier. –JBB

The smile on your face is so big, it stays the rest of the day.

to be continued...

[ellswritings]

In My Corner

(Part 12), Part 13, Part 14

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Regular wrestling violence, some sexual-ish stuff at the end.

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

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N needed a break.

She hated the feeling of needing one, especially after having a few weeks off right before Christmas. But she couldn’t go back to work and face the two men who have managed to piss her off more than anyone in her life ever has.

She had about three days before needing to head to Atlanta, and she planned on ignoring both Colby and Phil until she couldn’t anymore. It wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but she couldn’t talk to either of them. Not right now. Especially after Phil’s confession. She needed time away. Time with a person who she didn’t see all the time and who could be impartial to her situation.

That’s what brought her to Cincinnati Ohio.

Y/N pays her uber driver before grabbing her suitcase and clambering up the familiar driveway that she hasn’t seen in person in at least two years. She didn’t really give him or his family a warning that she was coming. But they always said if she needed anywhere to go, she could come there.

Y/N inhales deeply before hitting the door with three measured knocks. She can hear the confusion behind the door. Small murmurs and shuffling around on the hardwood in the foyet. It only takes five more seconds before the front door swings open.

“Y/N?”

She shoots a small yet nervous grin, “Hey, Good… Long time no see.”

Jonathan Good. Her longtime best friend and ex-Shield member. After he left WWE and got signed with AEW, they agreed to keep in touch and visit when they could. They kept up with the keeping in touch part, but visiting became scarce with their schedules.

For a second, Jon just stared at her like she was a ghost—like his past had materialized on his porch with a suitcase and no explanation. And then, in true Jon fashion, he laughed—gruff and disbelieving—before stepping forward and pulling her into a rib-cracking hug.

“Holy shit, what the hell are you doing here?” he said, lifting her clean off the ground and spinning her once. She laughed into his shoulder, squeezing him just as tightly.

“Surprise?” she said, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“You’re damn right it’s a surprise.”

He set her down and held her at arm’s length, looking her over like he was making sure she was real. Same eyes, same smirk, same slight exhaustion tucked behind it all. “You look… tired.”

“Thanks,” she muttered. “Great to see you, too.”

He grinned. “Get your ass inside before the neighbors start thinking I’ve kidnapped a celebrity.”

She stepped in, the warmth of the house wrapping around her like a weighted blanket. The air smelled faintly of lavender and coffee, and she barely had time to register anything before another familiar voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Who was at the—” Renee Paquette’s words halted the second she stepped into view, her eyes landing on the figure beside her husband. “No way.”

Y/N turned, smiling brightly. “Hey, stranger.”

“Oh my God!” Renee squealed, immediately hurrying over to wrap her in a hug of her own. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you text? You’re lucky I don’t have rollers in.”

“I figured I’d just show up and hope you guys still like me.”

“We love you,” Renee corrected as she pulled away. “Obviously.”

Before Y/N could respond, tiny footsteps thundered from around the corner.

“Nora, slow down!” Renee called, but it was too late.

The little girl came running in, her long dark hair in a braid and her smile wide. She skidded to a stop the second she saw who was standing in the foyer.

“Auntie Y/N?”

Y/N’s face broke into a full-blown grin. “Oh my God… Look at you!”

“You came back!” Nora yelled before launching herself at her. Y/N caught her with a slight stumble, arms wrapping tightly around the girl who had grown so much since she last saw her.

“You’re huge now,” she said dramatically, setting Nora back down. “What have they been feeding you? Protein powder?”

“Pizza!” Nora shouted proudly.

Jon snorted. “That checks out.”

“I missed you,” Nora said, peeking up at her with wide eyes.

Y/N melted. “I missed you too, kid.”

Jon grabbed her suitcase with a grunt. “C’mon. We’ll put your stuff in the guest room.”

She followed him down the hallway, Nora clinging to her side, and Renee trailing behind. Once her bag was set down and she had a chance to breathe, Jon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “So,” he said. “What gives?”

Y/N flopped onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair. “I needed a break,” she said. “From everything. Everyone.”

Renee gave Jon a look. A knowing one. Then she smiled gently. “I’ll take Nora to the back. We’ll let you two catch up.”

Nora pouted. “Can’t I stay?”

Y/N ruffled her hair. “Later, kid. I promise.”

Once Renee and Nora left the room and the door clicked shut, an oddly comfortable silence settled between them. Jon stood there, arms crossed, still leaning in the doorway while Y/N sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

“Alright,” he said gently, “what’s going on, really?”

She let out a slow breath through her nose, not looking up. “It’s stupid.”

“Probably,” Jon’s voice was soft but firm. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real though.”

She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Since when did you start sounding like a therapist?”

“Since my wife started rubbing off on me.” He gave a half-smile. “Y/N… come on. You flew halfway across the damn country, unannounced, with a suitcase and that look on your face. You’re not here for pizza and pool night.”

Y/N groaned, falling backward onto the bed dramatically. “I hate that you know me this well.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. Now spill.”

There was a long pause. The ceiling suddenly became very interesting to her. “…It’s boy problems,” she finally muttered.

Jon blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

She groaned again, louder this time, covering her face with both hands. “Boy problems, Jon. Jesus, I sound like a teenager.”

“You kind of do,” he teased, coming to sit on the chair across from her again. “But if I’m assuming correctly… the two stooges who are causin’ your problems are makin’ your life more difficult than just high school crushes and dance invitations.”

She groaned, already regretting everything. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like… I blinked and somehow ended up in the middle of this emotional war zone. Like one minute I was minding my business, doing my job, and the next, I’ve got two emotionally constipated men acting like I’m the goddamn Royal Rumble trophy.”

Jon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “So… I was right? It’s Colby and Phil?”

Y/N sighed. “Yup.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded like he was watching a slow-burning explosion unfold in real time. After a second, he ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Yeah… figured something like this was gonna happen.”

That made her sit up straighter. “Wait, what?”

Jon gave her a knowing look. “Y/N, come on. I’ve known you for over a decade. And I’ve known Colby just as long. The second he stopped seeing you as just a co-worker? That was it. Dude didn’t stand a chance. I figured he’d confess eventually—just didn’t think it would take him this long.”

Her stomach twisted. “But,” Jon continued, “of course it happens to line up with Phil coming back like a damn ghost from the past, dragging all that old chemistry with him. And now you’re stuck in the crossfire of two men trying to out-alpha each other.”

Y/N dropped her face into her hands. “The fact you don’t even work for the damn company and you have it all figured out pisses me off.”

He smirked. “Yeah, it’s annoying, isn’t it?”

She looked up. “They both mean something to me. Colby… he’s good. He’s sweet. He’s constant. He doesn’t try to change me, and he sees me—really sees me. But Phil…” She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. “…Phil’s everything I told myself to stay away from. But he’s also part of me. My past, my growth, my pain, my passion. He challenges me in a way no one else ever has. And now that he’s back, I can’t pretend like it’s nothing. But I also can’t just break Colby’s heart because of old flames and confusing feelings.”

Jon nodded slowly, his eyes steady on her. “And now?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “They’re both trying to pretend like they’re not competing, but they are. One second, they’re sniping at each other like they’re twelve, and the next, they’re throwing punches. And I’m just there, trying not to scream in the middle of it.”

Jon tilted his head. “And what do you want?”

She blinked at him. “I told you. I don’t know.”

“You do know,” he said. “You just don’t want to hurt either of them.”

“…Exactly.”

Jon leaned back in the chair, cracking his knuckles. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I can tell you what to do. But you’ve got to stop treating your own heart like it’s the damn fallout zone. You’re allowed to want what you want without trying to fix everyone else’s emotions along the way.”

Y/N stared at the floor for a long beat. Then she looked back up at him. “I missed you.”

He smiled at that. “I know. You only show up here unannounced when the world’s spinning sideways.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I always keep a spare key and a fridge full of snacks just in case.” He stood, grabbing a water bottle from the desk. “Now go change. You came all the way out here to escape, but I’m not letting you wallow.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this the part where you make me do violent cardio?”

“Nope.” He tossed her the water bottle. “This is the part where I let you hit things.”

“Now that sounds like therapy.”

“You’re welcome.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The warehouse-style gym was quiet, the sound of a creaking ring rope echoing faintly across the concrete walls. Y/N took a slow breath as she rolled her wrists, watching Jon circle the mat. He was already barefoot, hoodie off, in a pair of sweats and a “Mox” tank that had seen better days. He tilted his head at her with a half-grin.

“You stretching or stalling?”

Y/N scoffed and dropped her bag on the bench. “Please. I’m just deciding whether or not I should go easy on you.”

Jon barked out a laugh, already climbing under the ropes. “Cute. That Shield ego’s still alive and well.”

Y/N stepped onto the apron and ducked inside. “You brought it out of me. I was peaceful before I was partnered with you.”

“Yeah, peaceful,” he said, smirking as they circled each other.

They locked up hard, neither holding back. She pushed into him with more force than he expected, making him stagger. He chuckled, rolling his shoulder before lunging again. They traded holds and grapples, feet skimming over the mat, and eventually Y/N spun out and caught him in a clean arm drag.

He landed with a thud and let out a surprised grunt, flipping onto his back with a slight smile. “Damn,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re more aggressive than half the guys I work with.”

She smirked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Gotta get my frustrations out somehow.”

They kept going, sweat beginning to bead along their hairlines. Jon ducked a swinging forearm and scooped her into a waistlock, lifting and planting her with a controlled takedown. She popped back up fast, knocking him with a shoulder. The two rolled and slammed, their movements sharp but trusting. No ego, just mutual respect.

After another lock-up, Jon leaned back against the ropes, catching his breath. “You ever think about switching over to AEW?”

Y/N raised a brow. “You offering me a contract, Good?”

He smirked. “Might not be a bad move. Hell, you already beat me up like you work here.”

She chuckled and wiped her forehead. “Not sure you’d know what to do with me.”

“You kidding? We’d run that locker room within two weeks.” He glanced at her more seriously. “You look good using this kind of style. Comfortable.”

There was a pause—just long enough to let her guard lower. “I needed this,” she said. “I needed you. This whole week has been—” She cut herself off with a sigh and leaned against the ropes beside him. “I just… I needed to feel like myself again.”

Jon stayed quiet, sensing the shift. She wasn’t looking at him. That meant whatever was coming next was real. He finally said, “You’re not here just to throw me around and look good doin’ it, are ya?”

“No,” she muttered. “I guess not.”

He waited.

Y/N exhaled. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t even be this wrapped up in it.”

“Try me.”

She chewed on her bottom lip before finally admitting, “It’s just– they’re both being… impossible. And I’m tired. I don’t even remember what it all started over. One second Colby and I are fine, the next it’s a full-on fight at a hotel party.”

Jon’s eyebrows raised. “Jesus.”

She laughed, humorless. “I know. It’s pathetic. I’m not even mad at one more than the other. I’m mad that they made me the damn prize. Like I’m some walking trophy they have to outdo each other over.”

“You’re not a trophy,” Jon said, voice low and steady. “You’re a damn earthquake. You shake up everything around you. They just don’t know how to deal with it.”

Y/N glanced at him. “Why do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you. May not have known you as long as Brooks, but I’ve been your friend for longer than he was gone. And I know your tells. I know when you’re spiraling. And I know when you’re holding something back.” He tilts his head, “Now i know they’re botherin’ you, but I can tell there’s more goin’ on in that head of yours. So what’s up?”

She was silent for a moment before finally sighing, “I’m bored on SmackDown.”

That surprised even her. But it felt good to say out loud. “I love my guys,” she continued. “Joe, Joseph, Jon. They’ve had my back forever. But it’s the same shit every week. Interfere. Attack. Pull someone outta the ring. I’ve done it all already. And I don’t feel like I’m growing.”

Jon nodded slowly. “So grow.”

“I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. “Monday nights feel different. There’s more room to breathe. I have people who push me.”

“You need that. You always have. You’ve never been the ‘just go with it’ type. You’re a firestarter.”

They were quiet for a moment. Y/N sat down on the edge of the ring apron and pulled out her phone, instinctively checking the screen. More missed calls. Colby, again. A couple of texts too.

And two from Phil. Short. Measured. One just said, Hope you’re good. The other? Wish we could talk.

Jon peeked over. “They still blowing you up?”

“Colby’s panicking. Phil’s… waiting.”

Jon snorted. “Figures.”

She locked the phone and dropped it beside her. “I don’t even know what to do. I care about Colby. He’s… there. Reliable. He cares about me. He always comes back, always tries. And Phil—”

“You don’t need to explain Phil,” Jon cut in gently. “We all saw how that went.”

“I just wish they’d both stop making it about each other and start giving a shit about what I want.”

Jon crouched in front of her, meeting her eyes. “Then tell ��em. And don’t forget that what you want matters just as much as their feelings. You’re not responsible for managing their egos.”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’re one of the toughest people I know,” he added. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to be tired.”

Y/N gave a watery smile, her throat tight.

“Now,” Jon said, standing up and extending a hand. “We’re gonna go again. But this time, I’m actually trying.”

“Oh, now you’re trying?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t let you leave town thinkin’ you can whoop my ass.”

She took his hand, letting him pull her up. “Too late.”

He grinned, already circling again. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I came here.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stepped through the loading dock entrance of the arena, dragging her suitcase behind her with a quiet clack against the concrete. There was a certain sharpness in her walk tonight—like she'd sharpened her edges during her time away. Mox had helped clear her head a bit, sure. But the weight she’d left behind hadn’t fully lifted. Not when she still had two unread messages from Phil and a voicemail from Colby sitting on her phone like ticking time bombs.

Still, she wasn’t going to let any of that follow her into the locker room. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, cracked her neck, and forced on a grin as she made her way through the familiar hallways of SmackDown.

When she entered the Bloodline locker room, Jon and Joseph were already inside, bickering over what sounded like the proper way to wrap wrist tape.

“Oh thank God,” Y/N said loudly as she dropped her bag near the bench. “Voices I actually want to hear.”

Jon turned first, grin spreading across his face. “Look who decided to show up.”

Joseph offered a smirk and a nod. “You look good.”

Y/N stepped in, tugging her jacket off. “I feel good.” She walked right up to Jon and nudged his shoulder. “Missed you, you annoying little shit.”

“Aw, she missed me.” Jon batted his lashes, and she shoved him harder, laughing when he stumbled backward into Solo’s arm.

Joseph chuckled under his breath and caught her in a headlock when she passed, ruffling her hair. She smacked his stomach to get him off, but it only made him laugh harder. For the first time all week, she felt… at home. Warm. Like she was still tethered to something steady.

But that sense of calm faltered the second the door creaked open.

Joe stepped inside, dressed in all black, his presence as commanding as ever. The atmosphere shifted immediately. Y/N straightened up instinctively, her smile faltering just for a beat.

Joe’s eyes found hers quickly, narrowing just slightly as if taking stock of her condition.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight,” Y/N said, voice light but guarded.

He stepped further into the room, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t think I’d be here. Plans changed.”

“Yeah… they seem to do that a lot lately,” she muttered under her breath.

Still, she didn’t shy away. She walked over and gave him a half-hug, brief and stiff, but enough. Jon and Joseph carried on like normal, making noise in the background about how the faction was finally all under one roof again. But the tension between Y/N and Joe was palpable. A few minutes passed as they joked around and caught up. The energy wasn’t perfect, but it was functional. Familiar. Y/N felt the invisible string between them tug when Joseph mentioned heading to finish up with hair and makeup.

“Y/N, you comin’?” Jon asked.

“I’ll catch up,” she said quickly, her tone casual. Too casual.

Joseph raised a brow but didn’t press. Once the two of them left, the room quieted significantly. Joe moved closer, arms crossed loosely. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or are we gonna pretend you’re fine until the roof caves in?”

Y/N glanced down, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You came in quiet,” Joe said softly. “You don’t do quiet unless something’s wrong.”

She scoffed, still not meeting his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joe took a step forward. “Means I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s off.”

Her jaw tensed. She didn’t want to do this now. Not with him. Not when she was already raw.

“Talk to me,” he said again, softer now. “Please.”

That word — please — cut through her defenses like a knife. She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to look at him. “You know what? Fine.” He blinked. Surprised by the edge in her voice. “You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m tired, Joe. I’m so damn tired,” she said, the words tumbling out too fast to stop now. “I know you’ve got your family, and your health isn’t always where it should be, and I get it. I do. But when you disappear without warning, you leave the rest of us to figure it all out.”

Joe said nothing, letting her keep going. “And I’m not your blood. I know that,” she said, her voice cracking despite her efforts. “So when I try to lead, it feels wrong. Like I’m overstepping. Like I’m trying to wear a crown that doesn’t belong to me. But when I don’t lead, we lose. They need someone. And when it’s not you, it’s supposed to be me.” She paused, blinking fast, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But I’m not the Tribal Chief. I’m not even a real member of this damn family. I’m just the girl who got dragged into all of this and somehow became the glue holding it together. And I’m so scared that if I fall apart, the whole thing will too.”

The silence stretched between them. Joe stepped forward, close enough that she had to look up at him. “You listen to me,” he said, voice low and firm. “You are family. I don’t give a damn about blood. You’ve earned your place a hundred times over.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “And if you wanna lead? You can. You’ve got my trust. More than Jimmy. More than Solo. Hell, more than some of my own blood that’s not here.”

That admission nearly knocked the breath out of her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. That’s on me. But when I’m not here, you don’t have to walk on eggshells. You call me. Anytime. You need something? You talk to me. I love you, okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back. “I love you too.”

Joe pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. She stayed there a little longer than she probably should’ve, selfishly taking the comfort she hadn’t known she needed.

After a beat, she kissed his cheek and pulled back with a sniff. “Thanks. For saying that.”

He nodded. “Anytime.”

She smiled weakly and grabbed her bag again. “I’m gonna go finish getting ready.”

“Hey,” he called before she reached the door. “Whatever’s eating you alive? Don’t let it win. You’ve got this.”

As she left for hair and makeup, guilt gnawed at her chest. She hadn’t told him the full truth. She hadn’t told him she was seriously considering switching brands. That maybe… maybe her time in the Bloodline was reaching its expiration date. But for now, she kept walking. One step at a time.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stood in the narrow hallway just behind the curtain at State Farm Arena, Atlanta. Her heart thundered in her chest like the crowd out front, but her face was calm and focused. She had taped her wrists three times, each layer a silent promise. Tonight was more than a match. It was a statement. She breathed in, brushing aside guilt over the unread messages from Colby and Phil—those worries would wait. She wasn’t here for drama. She was here for control.

Through the curtain’s bluish haze, she could see the ring below, where Kayden Carter and Katana Chance were stepping into place. The arena lights dimmed slightly, and their music hit. Kayden and Katana popped the crowd, fists raised and ready. Across the ring, The Unholy Union—Isla Dawn and Alba Fyre—arrived with that slow, cold precision that sent chills through the audience. Every detail mattered; Y/N watched carefully. This was a big match.

The camera panned to the commentary desk where Bayley had joined Kevin Patrick and Corey Graves. Bayley’s presence was electric—headset perched, eyeliner sharp, and her voice carried silk-and-steel venom. “Ohhh, will you look at Kayden and Katana,” she began, leaning over her mic, confident and superior. “They’re riding high tonight. But let's get real—they’re playing in someone else’s sandbox.”

Kevin chuckled quietly; Corey rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a point—new blood always shakes things up.”

Bayley sniffed. “Shake, sure. But they’ll forget it once Damage CTRL steps in. It’s cute watching these two think they run this place.”

Kevin Patrick smirked. “You mean the tag division?”

Bayley snorted. “Yeah. But cute doesn’t win you championships. Not on our watch.”

Corey Graves chuckled, shaking his head. “Always the tough talk from you, Bayley.”

She shot him a glare before adding, low but with venom, “Yeah, well they’re not the only ones who think they’re hot commodities around here. Let’s just say there’s someone else who thinks she owns the whole damn division. Always has to make a scene, steal the spotlight.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Someone we should know?”

Bayley shrugged, eyes locked on the ring. “You’ll hear the name soon enough. She’s been flashing around that gold on Raw and SmackDown like it’s her birthright.”

Corey rolled his eyes. “You mean Y/S/N?”

Bayley’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Yeah, that one. Thinks a couple weeks of spotlight means she runs the show. News flash—champion or not, this division belongs to those who earn respect here. And she’s still got a lot to prove.”

Kevin laughed. “Sounds like you’re not a fan.”

Bayley’s voice dipped into pure sarcasm. “Not a fan? Honey, I’m just getting started.”

The crowd hummed in anticipation as the bell rang and the match kicked off — but Bayley’s eyes never left the entrance, waiting for her moment to remind everyone who really called the shots. “I mean, she’s been spending the last few weeks bouncing between Raw and SmackDown. Poor thing is probably still trying to decide which brand makes her look better this week.”

Corey cut in, matter-of-fact: “You think she’s worried about that?”

Bayley smiled darkly. “Honestly? I don’t think she’s even thinking about this place anymore.”

The bell rang, and the match began with fierce energy. Kayden charged at Alba, hitting a crisp fallaway slam that rattled the ring. Katana soared in with a springboard crossbody, stunning Isla. The duo kept their rhythm: Kayden feinted one way, Isla ducked—only to meet a running enzuigiri. Katana scored quick with a swift spinning heel kick that staggered Alba toward the ropes.

Bayley’s voice cut through the flurry: “Fast doesn’t win championships. It just looks good on Instagram.”

Corey responded they were doing more than posting—“These girls can fight.”

Kayden bounced off the ropes and launched herself into Alba with a missile dropkick, followed instantly by Katana’s backstabber neckbreaker on Isla. The execution was seamless—precision trained to perfection. Katana climbed the top rope, collected her focus, and launched a perfect 450 splash onto Isla. One, two, three. The bell rang and Fireworks lit the ring.

Kayden and Katana embraced, soaking in their victory and the roaring crowd. Bayley’s tone shifted to controlled dismissal: “Congrats, kids. Now let’s get to what really matters—Damage CTRL’s next move.”

As they reached to lift their tag titles, Asuka and Kairi Sane materialized at ringside. They stole the belts with theatrical efficiency—Asuka raising them high as Kairi bowed mockingly. The crowd erupted in jeers.

Bayley exhaled sharply: “Diplomatic loss for these rookies, isn’t it?”

That’s when the lights dimmed. Y/N’s theme cut through the jeers like a thunderclap. Bayley screamed into her mic: “What—what’s she doing out there?!”

Kevin and Corey were equally stunned, their surprise audible. Y/N stepped out—black tights, gold trim, title slung over her hip—and headed straight for the ring. No pause. No showmanship. Just focus.

Inside the ring, she caught Kairi with a judo arm twist, flipping her over and straight across the mat. Asuka rushed in, but Y/N countered with a gutwrench scoop slam, then spun to deliver a shooting star elbow to Dakota Kai, who’d vaulted in.

Bayley rose from her seat, mic in hand, eyes wide with panic. “Stop this. Right now! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

Y/N blocked Bayley’s swing with a calm lofted forearm, then swept her forward, taking her out with an explosive snap German suplex. Bayley lay stunned as Y/N stared down into the camera lens.

“I hope you win the Rumble,” Y/N continued, turning to face Bayley directly. The tension was a cord thick enough to snap. “Because I want you at WrestleMania. I need you at WrestleMania—so I can show you how a champion stands.”

She stepped back and gestured to Kayden and Katana, now holding THEIR belts again, celebrating, their smiles genuine.

“Now,” Y/N concluded, her voice cool but full of promise, “Congratulate these two. Because they—like me—don’t need backup plans or secret alliances. We earn our spot.”

The crowd roared. Kayden and Katana, now upright and clutching their belts, ran toward Y/N, who reached back to raise both their arms in victory. The crowd erupted again—calling it mentorship, leadership, solidarity.

Bayley staggered to the ropes, face contorted with fury—and possibly pride, though neither of them would ever admit it. Y/N slipped out under the ropes as her music rose. She shot one final glance at Bayley: eyes sharp, promise heavy. She didn’t need to look back.

Corey said, amazed: “That was clinical, that was caring, that was leadership.”

Kevin added quietly: “That’s why she’s the Undisputed Women’s Champion—and a teacher to the next generation.”

Backstage, Y/N walked down the hallway with purpose. Fire burned in her chest—she’d made her mark. But questions still waited—brand, allegiance, heart. Atlanta saw the showing. Now she had to decide.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Night had already long fallen on Atlanta, but the arena lights burned bright for AJ Styles and LA Knight, locked in a battle that was anything but ordinary. Y/N stood backstage with Solo and Jimmy, tense energy coiling in her chest. They’d been waiting for their moment—tonight, they struck.

The bell rang.

Gone were polite openings. Styles darted forward with a snap forearm, but Knight answered with a fierce suplex into a gutbuster. Styles, hurt but defiant, rallied into a leapfrogging entry that morphed into a seamless flying forearm, staggering Knight.

They traded blows like chess masters—Styles planting Knight with a Phenomenal Blitz, only for Knight to land a powerslam a heartbeat later. The audience roared as Styles answered back with a step-up enzui into a rolling moonsault, barely scraping a two-count.

Suddenly, the match broke in half—not with ceremony, but with ferocious intent. Jimmy and Solo burst through the backstage curtain, storming into the arena with purpose. Y/N followed, heart pounding—but not paused. They didn’t saunter—they exploded onto the scene.

Knight staggered to his feet just as Jimmy tossed a steel chair into the ring. The referee stopped mid-count.

“Disqualification,” his whistle screamed.

Without skipping a beat, Solo dragged Styles into view and deposited him with a brutal Samoan Spike onto the steel chair—heartbreak in human form. Knight swung for Solo but found his fist met chains and belt. Jimmy joined the fray, raining kicks down on Knight and Styles alike.

But the fight didn’t end with them. Y/N slid into the ring with a predator’s grace, her eyes locked on LA Knight as he struggled to regain his footing. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and driving him hard into the mat with a thunderous snap suplex. The impact echoed through the arena, and the crowd erupted in cheers and gasps.

Before Knight could even roll away, Y/N was straddling him, one knee pinning his chest, the other braced beside him. She leaned in close, her breath barely brushing his ear as the arena held its collective breath at the electric tension crackling between them. The heat of the moment was undeniable—equal parts challenge and invitation.

Knight’s eyes flickered up, meeting hers with a knowing smirk that spoke volumes. “You always did like having me under you,” he murmured, voice low but dripping with that trademark swagger.

The audience exploded, the mix of shock, excitement, and sheer disbelief rolling through every corner of the arena like wildfire. Cameras caught every second, broadcasting the charged moment to fans everywhere.

But before anything else could happen, Jimmy Uso’s hand shot out, gripping Y/N’s arm and tugging her up with a firm but teasing yank. She shot Jimmy a quick glare, but the playful glint in her eye betrayed her amusement. As Jimmy pulled her back, the crowd roared their approval, sensing the layered history and undeniable chemistry unfolding right before them.

Solo’s voice carried clear and confident as he teased, “Two down… one to go.”

Y/N shot one last smirk at Knight before following Jimmy out of the ring, the energy between all of them crackling as the crowd buzzed from the raw intensity of the moment.

“Randy Orton! Get out here, NOW!”

Jimmy and Y/S/N linger ringside, watching as Randy Orton’s music hits and the Viper makes his way towards the ring. His expression shows he’s not here to mess around. Solo sticks his tongue out, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Despite Styles and Knight being taken out by the Bloodline, Randy doesn’t look distressed at all. In fact, he looks more determined than ever.

Randy climbs into the ring, almost analyzing Solo. Silently figuring out who he is, how he ticks. He sends a sharp flare to the Tribal Heir before jumping up in the corner of the squared circle and striking his signature pose. The audience continues cheering for him even as he steps back down. He and Solo circle each other like vultures, the referee already sensing the growing tension.

And just like that, the bell rings.

Solo doesn’t waste any time before he lunges for the Viper. However, Randy’s always been quick on his feet, so he easily blocks Solo’s strike attempt and punches the enforcer with his own powerful right hand. It doesn’t take Solo long to recover though. He shoves Randy backwards with extreme force before quickly slapping him and knocking him to the floor.

Y/N visibly winces from the crack of the slap, the sound echoing throughout the arena. Solo corners Randy before firing a few powerful punches on the dome of the legend killer. Solo takes off to the opposite corner of the ring before screaming and hitting Randy with a hip attack. The latter collapses and practically melts out of the ring from the impact.

Solo follows after him, rolling out in order to grab Randy. The referee yells at them to head back into the ring, but Solo pays no mind. He grabs Randy and moves to smash his head into the announce desk, but Randy gets his hands down just in time. He pushes himself up right before striking his opponent in the chest.

Randy maneuvers behind Solo, attempting to pick him up and slam him on the table, but Solo puts a stop to it. He elbows the back of Randy’s neck, causing the Viper to stumble. Solo takes the opportunity and finally manages to slam Randy’s head into the announce desk. He lets out another loud scream before taking Randy and running him into the steel ring stairs.

The crowd boos him loudly as he climbs atop the side of the ring. After soaking in the hate, Randy starts to make it back to his feet, prompting Solo to jump down and continue his assault. He grabs Randy by the back of the neck once more, moving to run him back into the announce table, but Randy stops him.

The tides turn here. Randy grabs Solo and slams him across the announce desk before guiding him back towards the ring. It doesn’t keep Solo down long though as he elbows Randy in the stomach to put some distance between them. Now it’s his turn to push Randy in the ring.

The crowd vocalizes their disdain for Solo and how he has the upper hand. Solo goes to head butt Randy through the ropes but the Viper side steps, kicking Solo in the dome to halt his efforts. He lunges forward, wrapping his arm around the back of his neck and dropping him into a draping DDT.

Randy drops down, the Viper coiling himself as he preps to put Solo away. But it doesn’t last long as Jimmy and Y/S/N start stalking around the ring. They don’t get very far though as LA Knight comes charging from the back and knocking Jimmy onto the floor. The crowd erupted, sensing the shift in momentum.

Suddenly, Y/N was cut off from Randy’s spotlight. Knight charged her mid‑stride—everything changed in the blink of an eye.

She spun, instinctively raising her arms in defense. But he was inside her guard before she knew it, pressing her chest against painted ramp metal. His hand snaked behind her spine. Y/N froze—simultaneously aroused and indignant. The arena lights caught the streak of steel emotion in her eyes. Fans gasped. Knight leaned in, voice low: “I’m startin’ to think you like it when I gotta handle you like this.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet but furious. “A little cocky of you, no?”

Before Knight could respond, AJ Styles barreled out from backstage—a blur of adrenaline. He charged, tackled Jimmy, and sent him flying into the wall with a gut-wrenching thud. The crowd roared. Styles wasn’t here just to fight—he was here to clean house.

At the same moment, Solo sprang toward Randy—arms out, preparing a heavy strike. But Randy’s instincts were sharper. Before Solo could connect, Orton flashed his eyes, pulled Solo’s head down—and RKO.

“1… 2… 3.”

The bell barely rang before the audience erupted in noise—Orton had done it. He didn’t celebrate; he simply held position, eyes sliding to Knight and Styles at ringside. Both men climb into the ring, standing across from Randy with steely looks in their eyes. They share a loud argument, but nobody besides them could make it out. The only thing indicating the fight is the tension seeping from each of them.

Suddenly, Knight surges forward, and sucker-punched Styles across the jaw—a single, heavy blow that sent him crumpling to the mat.

The crowd gasped. AJ wasn’t moving.

Orton turned and without hesitation, RKO’d LA Knight the second he stood up straight. Knight was flattened, and the crowd roared again.

AJ tried to push himself up, but Randy wasn’t done. The moment he was back on his feet, the Viper struck. One more RKO. Three men down.

Randy stood tall, chest rising and falling with every breath. He stared out into the sea of fans, high on adrenaline.

That’s when it happened. No music. No warning. Just a shadow sliding into the ring—

Roman Reigns.

He struck before Randy even sensed him. SUPERMAN PUNCH. Randy collapsed, sprawled across the mat. Roman stood over him, face calm, smug, in complete control.

He walked over to Nick Aldis, yanked the contract from his hands, and signed it with a flourish. He didn’t even look down at it. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he tossed the contract onto the floor next to Aldis’ feet. He barely glances at the GM before the Tribal Chief turned on his heel and exited the ring.

Y/N, Jimmy, and Solo regrouped outside—Y/N brushing her messy hair from her face, eyes still burning with adrenaline. Roman reached them, and without missing a beat, slung a confident arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The Bloodline walked up the ramp together.

The Fatal 4-Way at the Royal Rumble was official.

But it was clear—Roman wasn’t just walking in as champion. He was walking in as the problem.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Backstage was still pulsing with leftover adrenaline, the aftershock of the show rippling through the crew and the roster. Y/N strutted confidently beside her Bloodline boys — Joe on her right, Jon and Joseph on her left — all four basking in their post-show high. Their energy was loud and rowdy, shoulders bumping as they laughed and teased, each of them still fired up from the chaos they'd left in their wake.

“Tell me you saw the way I hit Styles into that barricade,” Jon said, already half-smirking.

“You mean that little love tap?” Y/N quipped, lifting an eyebrow at him.

Joe let out a short laugh while Joseph shook his head, smirking. “She’s got you there.”

“Please,” Jon scoffed. “She was too busy throwing LA Knight around like a ragdoll.”

“I was not—”

“Oh come on,” Joe cut in with a rare grin. “You practically mounted the guy.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Y/N groaned, swatting Joe’s shoulder. “He tackled me first!”

“You didn’t exactly look mad about it,” Joseph added slyly, earning himself a sharp side-eye from her.

She was about to clap back when something in the corner of her eye made her pause. A presence. Still and watchful.

There he was — Shaun. Leaning against a production crate like it was just another day at the office. Arms crossed, eyes locked on her. That telltale smirk ghosted his lips, and even under the harsh lights, there was something unreadable about the way he looked at her — calm, sure, curious.

Her steps slowed. “I’ll catch up in a sec,” she told the boys softly.

Jon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Joe simply nodded, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat as the three of them drifted further down the hallway. Y/N turned and walked toward Shaun, her eyes narrowing with practiced suspicion. “You lurking again? You got a shadow-kink or something?”

He chuckled. “Only when you’re in it.”

She rolled her eyes — but not even she could fight the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You always this annoying post-match?”

“Only when I lose,” he replied. “And only when the person who beats me looks that damn good doing it.”

She gave a playful scoff, stepping in closer. “You liked getting tossed around, huh?”

Shaun tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “I liked where I landed.”

That stopped her cold — if only for a heartbeat. Her cheeks warmed. She shoved his chest lightly, trying to deflect. “Shaun.”

“What?” he grinned. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” he murmured, stepping a little closer. “You’ve been off tonight, you know.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Not in the ring — you were on fire in there. But out here?” He paused. “You’re not as quick with your comebacks. Not as sharp. You’ve got that... faraway look in your eyes.”

She blinked up at him. That was more observant than she expected. “I notice things,” he added, a little quieter. “Especially with you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that — at least not right away. And he didn’t push her. He just reached out, brushing his fingers gently against her jaw, then her cheek. His thumb lingered there, slow and grounding. “Talk to me,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she looked down. Her arms, once crossed, dropped to her sides. He reached for one of her hands, interlacing their fingers without hesitation. That tiny bit of warmth, of connection — it was all it took.

“I feel like I’m stuck,” she admitted softly. “Like I’m a pawn in someone else’s story.”

Shaun just listened, his thumb gently stroking across her knuckles. “They’re fighting over me like I’m some... prize. Like they’ll win the war if they can hold onto me longest. And the worst part is? I don’t even know if either of them sees me anymore. Just what I represent.”

Shaun’s brows pulled together, his jaw tightening slightly. But still, he let her speak. “I try to stay focused on the work — the title, the fans, my matches — but when I go home, it’s just noise. And lately, I don’t even know what I want.”

She paused. Her voice got smaller. “What if I never did?”

Shaun didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even need to hear the names of the men she’s talking about. He knew. He stepped forward, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face before resting his palm lightly on her cheek.

“You’re not a trophy,” he said firmly. “You’re not a title belt, or a prize, or some symbol of dominance. You’re you. You’ve got the biggest damn heart in the business and a fire that half this locker room’s afraid of.”

She laughed softly, just once.

“You deserve more than high school games and backhanded confessions,” he added. “You deserve peace. And if they can’t give you that? You walk away.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to hers. She let her eyes flutter shut. Her hands curled in the fabric of his shirt without even thinking. “You ever wanna step back from all that? Just be Y/N, not the Champion, not the in-demand obsession of two idiots — I’ll still be here.”

She opened her eyes then, searching his. “You mean that?”

He smiled softly. “Course I do. Even if I also wouldn’t mind being the idiot you throw around now and then.”

That made her laugh again — lighter this time. Real. “I’ve seen you carry this division,” he said. “You’ve carried Raw. SmackDown. The damn locker room. You shouldn’t have to carry their egos too.”

It startled her — how warm this felt. How steady.

“You don’t owe them anything, darlin’,” he whispered. “And if you wanna focus on you — on your peace, your career — that’s not selfish. That’s survival.”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her arms wrapped around him without thinking, hugging him tight. And to his credit, Shaun didn’t flinch. His arms slid around her waist, holding her like he meant it.

No flirtation. No games. Just safety.

And then… they heard it. That familiar sound. A throat clearing from down the hall. Y/N tensed slightly in Shaun’s arms but didn’t turn yet. Shaun looked over her shoulder and saw Colby standing there, arms stiff at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes guarded. For a second, he didn’t move.

Shaun loosened his grip, whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

She nodded, her fingers gently trailing off his chest as he let her go. He stepped back, gave her a final look — not one of defeat, but one of patience. And when he walked past Colby, he didn’t say a word. Just offered a stiff nod — a warning, almost. The kind that said: I see you. Don’t screw this up again. Colby returned it, holding back the tension in his chest.

When he looked back at Y/N, she was standing there with her arms crossed. Not defensive. But… protecting herself.

Y/N stood stiffly in place, arms still crossed as she stared at him—Colby—like he was a ghost she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe was real. Her brows pinched slightly, mouth parted but frozen, as if she didn’t even know where to begin.

“…What are you doing here?” she asked, a little sharper than she meant, her tone laced with confusion, surprise, and something dangerously close to hope.

Colby shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair. That’s when Y/N noticed the brace on his knee. She can’t help the flicker of concern that fills her. He wasn’t wearing that at the party. Did something happen during his match with Jinder he didn’t tell her about?

His eyes flicked toward the ground, then back up to her, and despite the way he stood—back straight, chest high—he looked like a man unraveling. “I had to see you,” he said. “I didn’t care if I wasn’t supposed to be here or if you still didn’t wanna talk to me. I just… I couldn’t go one more day pretending like I was okay.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching slightly.

Colby stepped closer, his voice quieter now—less Seth Rollins, more Colby Lopez. “You ignoring me? You freezing me out?” He let out a short, joyless laugh. “It’s like the world kept moving and I couldn’t. You know how hard that is for me?” He gestured vaguely around them, the chaotic backstage that had become their second home. “This place doesn’t stop. And I usually don’t either. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Y/N didn’t say anything, not yet. He pushed a hand through his hair again and tried to smile, but it didn’t land. “I kept hearing your voice in my head. Every time I hit the ropes, every time I tried to focus on anything else. I’d picture you—how you’d look at me. How disappointed you’d be.”

Her arms dropped slowly, her expression softening with every word.

“I know I messed up,” Colby said, his voice steady but raw. “I let my jealousy—my fear—drive me into making a scene. Into hurting you. And I hate that. But not talking to you?” He shook his head, breath catching slightly. “That was worse.”

She exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest releasing a little. “Colby…”

“I haven’t said it,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “I don’t think I’ve said it out loud, not like this. But I need you. I need you, Y/N. And not in some possession, clingy, control-you way. I just…” He paused, grounding himself. “You bring me back to myself. You make everything make sense. And I’ve spent the past few days completely lost.” Y/N swallowed hard, heart stuttering. “I didn’t show up here to win you over,” he added. “I showed up because I can’t stand the thought of not trying. Of you thinking I’m not all in.”

That silenced her for a moment. And then, quietly, she said, “I forgave you a while ago.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“I’m not mad,” she continued. “I just don’t understand why it’s always like this. Why you spiral every time he even looks at me too long.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Because I don’t trust him. That’s what this is. It’s not you.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” she shot back, her voice rising. “Because it keeps becoming about me. About how I react. How I handle it. And no matter how happy we are, no matter how good we get… it’s always one wrong look or one conversation and we’re back at square one.”

“I know,” Colby said, softer now. “But I watch him—how he still plays at you. How he acts like you’re still his to save. And I know you’re trying, I do. But I can’t unsee it.”

Y/N’s arms dropped slightly, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Then learn how to look at me. Not him. Me.”

There was a silence between them.

Then she said, “If you want this to work—if you want me—then you have to trust that I want you. That Phil… is in the past.”

But he didn’t say anything right away. He just stared. And then, carefully, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Her expression cracked slightly. “What?”

“Are you sure he’s in the past?” Colby pressed. “Because I see the way you look at him sometimes. When you think no one else is watching.”

That stunned her. Her mouth opened, then shut. Her heart thudded in her chest. “I don’t—” she shook her head. “I don’t look at him like anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. Not accusing. Just waiting.

Y/N licked her lips, trying to push past the lump in her throat. “I’m trying to rebuild a friendship I thought I lost forever. That’s all it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It sounded rehearsed. It sounded like a lie. But she didn’t take it back. Colby didn’t call her on it either. He just nodded once. Still looking at her like he was trying to figure out if she even believed herself.

“You said something once,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet. “That you always feel like you’re playing catch-up with me. That you’re scared one day you’ll wake up and I’ll be gone.”

He looked down.

“And that’s how I feel,” she said, almost a whisper now. “Every time you doubt me. Every time you look at me and don’t trust me—it feels like I’m the one trying to catch up. Trying to prove I’m enough. Trying to keep us afloat.”

Colby’s jaw clenched. She’d never said something like that before. Not out loud. Not so direct. But it hit him like a wave. “I know how I’ve been acting isn’t fair to you,” he admits lowly. “I’m in my own head. But I’ve been chasing after you for years—literally. And now I have you, and it still feels like I could lose you in a blink. Like I’m never quite enough to keep you.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, emotions swirling in her chest like a storm. “I chose you,” she said firmly. “And I keep choosing you. But you have to believe that. You have to meet me there.”

“I want to,” he said. “God, I want to.”

She nodded slowly, then paused—something tugging at her from inside. A truth. Something she didn’t normally say, didn’t let herself say.

But this time, she did.

“You make me feel safe,” she said, voice quiet, but certain. “Not just physically. Not just because of who you are in the ring or what you’ve done. But emotionally. You… you make me feel seen.”

Colby’s brows lifted, stunned by the honesty.

“You always say I’m hard to pin down,” she continued. “But you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I don’t have to run. Like I don’t have to be anything other than who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy—but warm. Charged with emotion neither of them were used to letting out this freely. Colby’s eyes softened in a way she hadn’t seen in weeks. Maybe months. “Wow,” he breathed. “Usually I’m the sappy one.”

She smiled slightly. “I figured I’d steal your gimmick for once.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled her into his arms. His hand cradled the back of her head, his mouth pressing gently against her temple. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “For not hearing you sooner. For letting my fears get too loud. I’m here. For real this time.”

Y/N melted into him, letting herself rest against his chest for just a second longer than she meant to. Then she leaned back, teasing lightly, “You sure? Because I think we’ve had this talk like fifty times now.”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. But this is the one that stuck.”

She tilted her head. “Why this one?”

He leaned in, kissing her softly before murmuring, “Because this time… you let me in.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but in the back of her mind, guilt lingered—quiet, nagging, familiar. Because she still hadn’t told him about the night she ignored his apology. The night she answered Phil instead.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The hotel room was cloaked in quiet. A soft breeze whispered through the barely cracked window, and the pale gold light of the bedside lamp bathed the space in warmth. Everything was still. Serene. But her heart wasn’t. Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung loosely over her shoulder, wet strands of hair clinging to the sides of her face. The oversized Bloodline hoodie hung low over her thighs, swallowing her frame, sleeves pushed halfway up her arms. Her bare legs padded silently across the carpet, the faint scent of her lavender body wash trailing behind her like a halo of calm.

She slowed when she saw him. Colby. Asleep.

And not in the way he sometimes pretended to sleep on planes or backstage—arms folded, mouth pressed in a firm line, tension still clinging to his shoulders. No, this was something different. Something real. He was sprawled across the bed, one hand resting palm-up on his chest, the other splayed beside him like he’d meant to reach for her and forgot halfway through. His curls were messier than usual, soft and unruly across his forehead. His lashes were long, almost delicate, and his breathing was slow and even.

He looked… young like this. Not like Seth “Freakin” Rollins. Not like the larger-than-life showman who taunted crowds and soaked in spotlight. Just Colby. Raw and human and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Her eyes swept over him, pausing on the faint lines at the corner of his eyes, the hint of stubble at his jaw, the soft curve of his lips as they parted in sleep. Her chest clenched—tight, full—with something dangerously close to love. God, how did we get here? She walked to the edge of the bed slowly, carefully, and knelt beside him, brushing a wild strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingertips lingered there for a moment, the warmth of his skin grounding her. Then she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of his head, just above his temple.

“You’re always carrying everything,” she whispered into the space between them. “Even when you’re resting, you’re holding the world on your shoulders.”

He didn’t stir. Her lips brushed against his hair once more, and then she sat back, heart so full and yet so tangled she almost couldn’t breathe. That was when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound was sharp in the quiet. Familiar. She glanced at it absently… until her chest seized.

Phil.

Y/N’s stomach dropped—then fluttered. Her thumb hovered for a beat too long before she tapped it. And there it was. A photo. Not from social media. Not from a fan. This was personal. Grainy. Taken by Phil himself.

She hadn’t seen that photo in years. But he had it. Still.

The moment flashed on her screen like a memory she wasn’t ready for—Phil’s lips on hers, one hand tangled in her hair, the other curled firmly around her throat. They were both in gear, sweaty and bruised from the mixed tag match they’d stolen the show with. Her eyeliner was smeared, his lip was split, and yet they looked invincible—like war-torn gods reveling in the chaos they’d just survived together.

And underneath it, his message read:

You remember this? Good times. You still know how to grab a man when you want him.

You’ve always liked it rough, sweetheart. But it wasn’t the matches that made it feel like a high.

It was you and me.

You don’t look at him like that. You don’t look at anyone like that.

But hey… maybe I’m just living in the past.

Or maybe you’re still trying to forget how alive we were when it was just us.

Either way, I’ll keep the photo. In case you ever need reminding.

Sleep tight, champ. 🖤

——————

They stumbled through the curtain, both of them still panting, covered in sweat and adrenaline. Their chests rose and fell in near perfect sync, matching the electricity still crackling in the air around them. It had been a war out there—and they’d won. Together. Phil tugged at the tape wrapped around his wrist as they walked, his jaw ticking slightly with each step. There was a faint limp in his gait, but it didn’t stop him from slinging his towel over his shoulder like it was nothing. Typical.

Y/N trailed a step behind, peeling off the top layer of her gear, exhaling hard. “I swear if that idiot had missed one more cue, I was gonna throw him over the ropes myself.”

Phil grunted. “You should’ve. Might’ve saved me a shot to the jaw.”

She gave him a look. “Like you didn’t elbow me in the ribs two minutes in.”

“That was strategy,” he fired back with a smirk. “You fight better when you're pissed.”

“Oh, so hurting me is motivation now?”

Phil looked over his shoulder, smirking. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

He slowed just enough for her to catch up, bumping her shoulder lightly with his own. “You’re just mad because I made us look good.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “The only thing you made look good was your ass getting kicked for ten straight minutes.”

Phil’s smirk deepened. “And yet, somehow, I still got the pin.”

“Only because I softened them up.”

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep.”

They reached a quieter hallway—darkened, away from the chaos. The glow of the exit signs barely lit the space, but neither of them made any move to leave. Phil rubbed the back of his neck, winced, then cracked it like he was trying to shake off the lingering fight. She watched him for a second—his hair damp and clinging to his face, his tattoos glistening under the low light. His jaw was bruised, the corners of his mouth slightly swollen from an earlier strike. But damn… he looked good.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking at her.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “You’re literally bleeding, Phil.”

“And?”

“And your face is going to look like hamburger meat in the morning.”

He turned to her with a lazy grin. “Still better than half the roster. Plus, chicks dig the scars.”

Y/N’s jaw twitched. “Good thing you don’t need any other chicks then, huh?”

Phil blinked—slow, amused. “Oh?”

She lifted her chin. “Would be a shame if I had to start knocking out fangirls for staring too hard.”

He turned to face her completely now, stepping into her space. “Jealous, are we?”

“You wish,” she muttered, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Just saying, you’re already a handful. Don’t need some starry-eyed mark trying to tame you.”

Phil’s eyes darkened at that—slowly, completely. And without thinking, she reached out—hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trunks, yanking him toward her.

He stopped dead. The hallway was silent for a beat, like even the building knew something had just shifted. Slowly, he looked down at her hand. Then up at her. His gaze was darker now. Less playful. More deliberate. “You grab me like that,” he said, voice low, husky, dangerous, “and I’m not responsible for what happens after.”

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Then, with a soft smirk, she gave another tug. Phil exhaled through his nose like it took everything in him not to slam her into the nearest wall. Instead, he stepped forward. Close. His hand found her hip, grounding them both. And the other?

Wrapped lightly around her throat.

Just like that. Not forceful. Not hard. Just... his. Her back hit the wall. His forehead pressed to hers. “You drive me fucking insane,” he murmured.

“Good,” she whispered. “Means I’m doing it right.”

Phil’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh—but didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw, then slid back into her hair. And just before he kissed her, he pulled back—just enough to fish out his phone with one hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“Freeze,” he said with that shit-eating grin of his. “This one’s for the archive.”

Flash. The photo snapped: her against the wall, smirking through a split lip, his hand still at her throat and love in both their eyes. The intimacy of it was loud—undeniable. More them than anything posed ever could be. She laughed after, swatting at his phone. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t argue. He leaned in again, lips brushing her cheek this time—tender, almost reverent. “I’m keeping that one.”

“Of course you are,” she muttered, breath catching in her throat.

He didn’t move away. And neither did she. Because for all the chaos they created in the ring—this? This was their quiet. Their peace. Their home.

——————

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, the faint click of her phone’s camera roll echoing softly in the quiet room. Her eyes locked on the photo — that photo — bathed in the glow of the screen. The one Phil had sent just minutes ago, with a message burning just beneath it like a challenge.

“Good times. You still know how to grab a man when you want him.”

Her lip caught between her teeth, heart skipping. The memory surged — raw, intoxicating, his. Not just the image, but the signature swagger in the words: bold, teasing, flirtatious — the kind that felt like smoke curling beneath her skin.

She glanced sideways. Colby was sprawled across the bed, one arm tucked under his pillow, dark curls tousled like a storm caught in slow motion. His mouth hung slightly open, a hint of a stubble brushing the knuckles of his hand. Long lashes rested against smooth cheeks, the kind of peaceful stillness that made her breath hitch — like he was a rare quiet in a loud, spinning world. He looked so damn peaceful. She hated how much that made her ache.

Yet despite it all, her thumb hovered, restless, over the screen. The edges of the photo seemed to shimmer, tugging at something deeper — not just nostalgia, but a current she hadn’t named yet. Casting a quick, guilty glance at Colby, she slipped silently from the bed and padded back into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Her thumb hovered again — then tapped.

Two rings.

Phil’s voice crackled through, low and laced with that familiar smug edge. “Wondered how long that photo would sit unread before you caved.”

Y/N exhaled a soft smile. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Of course. But be honest — you wanted to hear my voice.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Breathing too hard over the phone isn’t a good look.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You called me.”

“Unfortunately.”

A quiet laugh, the sound vivid in her ear. “What do you want?”

“Want to know if you’re blushing right now.”

“Not happening.”

“You were in the photo.”

“That was years ago.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “you’re calling me in the middle of the night all alone. Makes a guy think that maybe your intentions aren’t so pure.”

She sucked her teeth, hiding her grin. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“Charm’s just the safety net.”

A pause.

“So... why the whispering, sweetheart?”

Y/N hesitated.

Phil caught the change instantly — his tone dropping, mischievous. “You’re not alone, are you?”

Silence.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, voice darkening. “You’re with him.”

Still quiet, but the flush in her cheeks gave her away.

Phil chuckled softly. “Man… calling me from the other guy’s bathroom? That’s cold.”

“Stop.”

“I never said I hated it. Just means I’m occupying space in your mind,” he licks his bottom lip absentmindedly. “Same way you have been for me.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the counter.

He shifted gears, voice slick with something that made her pulse jump. “You know, if I were there, I’d make sure you never needed to whisper again. That voice... it’s way too sexy to be limited to a breath.”

Her breath hitched, involuntarily.

Phil’s smile was audible. “I’m just saying… It’s the kind that makes the mind wander to dangerous places, y’know?”

A stifled laugh escaped her lips.

“I wish I could see the look on your face right now. Pretty sure you’re fighting a losing battle.”

Her cheeks burned, but the grin stayed. “You’re being rather forward.”

“I have to. Never know when I might catch a cold shoulder from you again,” he teases. “But I can tell by your voice that you’ve missed me,” he repeated, softer now. The silence stretched. “…So, since you called, does that mean I’ve been forgiven yet?” His voice softened, losing none of its edge but gaining a thread of vulnerability. “Because I’ve got a whole arsenal of memes waiting to break the ice.”

Y/N laughed, warm and genuine. She glanced back to the door. If she could forgive Colby, she could forgive him as well. It wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t. “Yeah,” she whispered finally, “you’re forgiven.”

Phil let out an exaggerated sigh. “Thank God. Holding in jokes is my cardio.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Delightfully so. And don’t worry — I won’t ruin your cozy night with Seth ‘the human lion’s mane’ Rollins. But maybe next time… you’ll call me before you disappear into some bathroom.”

Y/N shook her head, heart tugging in conflicting directions. “Goodnight, Phil.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N/N.”

The call ended. She stared into the mirror a moment, the weight of everything settling like a soft storm. Then she stepped out — back into the room, back into the quiet where Colby slept peacefully.

[separatist-apologist]

heaven and hell were words to me

no grave could hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

Summary: When Elain finds herself unexpectedly divorced, she makes a spontaneous decision to buy a run down farm house outside the city. Elain expects to find the pieces of herself among the rubble- she doesn't expect love in the form of her next door neighbor and his eight year old son.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3 | @elucienweekofficial

“This was a mistake.”

Arina looked around at the empty living room, hands on her hips. She was wildly out of place in her heels and her sundress, though pretty all the same. It was nice to see her after months of avoiding her—Elain didn’t want to hear about what an asshole Graysen was. Arina hadn’t made a secret of her hatred, and though she’d been Elain’s maid of honor, she’d never warmed up to Graysen. 

Elain was too afraid to tell Arina Gray’s last words to her. There would be no coming back, no getting back together if Arina found out. She’d never forgive him for it. Elain didn’t know how she’d managed to forgive him, either. Some small part of her was growing angry—not angry enough to stop watching his stories or dreaming about him, but angry with how he’d discarded her like trash.

He’d promised her forever. Ten years was barely anything. It frustrated her sometimes. She’d catch herself writing out long paragraphs of texts, knowing damn well he had her blocked and would never read them. He’d never really explained why— why had he fallen out of love. Elain still half expected to see a woman, revealed as his long-term girlfriend.

That would have hurt less than the reality that he just woke up one day and wanted to be single again. Arina had speculated he felt like he missed out, having married so young, and was having a mini-midlife crisis. Maybe. If he’d just told her, she would have given him the freedom to go out and travel and party, so long as he came home to her.

Was that pathetic? 

She didn’t dare ask Arina that question. 

“The bones are good,” Arina said, touching an archway that led from the living room into an empty dining room. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed. “The inspector said the foundation was good—it’s not sinking or anything. Everything else, though…”

“Well, that can be fixed. Are you hiring contractors?”

Elain nodded. “ A few. The neighbor offered to help me out a little, too, but I don’t know if he knows what he’s doing.”

That captured Arina’s attention. “Oh? You’ve been here twelve hours and the neighbor is already offering to help?”

Elain said nothing, following her friend into the dusty kitchen. The black and white tiles beneath her feet were peeling and cracked, the faucets rusty and the cabinets missing doors and hardware. She dreaded the kitchen as a project because she knew it’d be expensive—just like the bathrooms. The house was going to need new electric and plumbing, and contractors had quoted her an astronomical price. Maybe Lucien Vanserra would negotiate on her behalf, if only to bring them down by a couple grand? It felt awkward to ask a stranger to intercede on her behalf just because he was a man, and she was fairly certain she was being scammed because she was a woman.

“Is he hot?”

There it was. Elain turned to look deadpan at Arina. “Don’t.”

“That’s an objective question,” Arina complained. 

Elain sighed. “He’s good looking, yeah. He’s got a kid.”

Arina frowned. “Married?”

“I didn’t interrogate him. It was a two minute conversation,” Elain told her with exasperation. “I’m not looking for love.”

“Who said anything about love? Graysen is out there, probably contracting syphilis as we speak. Why not get under someone. A little meaningless sex never hurt anyone.”

“Until I get syphilis,” Elain grumbled.

Arina was cheerful in her response. “They make antibiotics for that—not that I have experience with it, don’t look at me like that. All I’m saying is that Gray is moving on and you should, too. It doesn’t have to be forever.”

“He’s the only man I’ve ever been with. I wouldn’t even know how to be with another man.”

“Men are forgiving,” Arina dismissed with a wave of her hand as she attempted to turn on the faucet. “You can lay there and they’re just grateful you’re letting them touch you at all.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Elain said. Maybe it was for Arina, who was so beautiful it defied belief. She’d seen men stop on the street and turn around just to try and talk to her. Arina could have modeled if she’d wanted given her tall, willowy build. She was a runner, keeping herself lean as a consequence. Elain had never been jealous—she thought she herself was quite pretty, and didn’t begrudge Arina the attention she got.

It had never gone to her friend's head, besides. 

“It is. Trust me.”

Maybe it was true for Arina, but Elain suspected men would at least want a little enthusiasm, and, if nothing else, self-confidence. As it stood, she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t start crying if someone attempted to undress her. It would feel too much like cheating. 

The pair of them stepped back out into the early morning humidity, squinting as they stared up at the house. 

“I don’t think this was a mistake,” Arina told her. “This is the kind of place you grow old in.”

“It was impulsive,” Elain admitted, though some part of her warmed beneath Arina’s words. “I always wanted a house in the countryside.”

“Think of the vegetables you could grow out here,” Arina told her with a smile. “And when the pool is up, I might just move in for the summer.”

“There are enough bedrooms—I counted five.”

“Turn the basement into a little apartment for me,” Arina said with a grin. “I can help rip up that floor, too.”

“The more we can do, the less money I have to spend,” Elain agreed. She would have said more, but at that moment, Lucien appeared over the hill. She only noticed them because the little boy, whose name she could not remember, was racing toward her.

“Is that him?” Arina whispered.

“Yeah,” Elain agreed. Lucien Vanserra had tied his long hair off his face, leaving only a few wind-swept pieces of frame a rather lovely face. She knew what Arina was thinking—that Elain was both blind and stupid. Lucien was a good looking man, with flawless golden brown skin and auburn stubble gracing his strong jaw. High cheekbones and full lips, alongside big, brown eyes framed with dark lashes certainly didn’t hurt.

And he was in good shape. Tall, broad, and built like a lumberjack, Elain had a hard time imagining him single. Surely he had a wife back home who thought him willing to help was rather sweet of him.

“Oh, wow,” Arina whispered moments before Spam came crashing into Elain’s middle. She ruffled his mop of red curls with a smile. She’d never been one for children before. It wasn’t that she disliked them—on the contrary, Elain harbored fantasies of one day being a mother. It was simply that she didn’t know how to interact with them, and their quick, sudden movements made her a little nervous.

“Hey Spam,” she said.

“Spam?” Arina asked, green eyes wide with disbelief. 

“I’ve never had Spam before,” Spam told her. “Elain let me try a piece. It was gross.”

“It was uncooked,” Elain explained. “It’s better when its warm.”

He stuck out of his tongue, little button nose wrinkled with disgust. 

“My name is Rowan,” he told Arina, though Elain intended to continue calling him Spam, if only because he seemed to like it, and she liked it too. Lucien didn’t mind, either, gaze bouncing from Elain to Arina as he arrived. 

They did quick introductions, and Elain wondered if he was as taken with her friend as everyone else was. Arina was single, currently, having ended things with her semi-long term boyfriend that Elain had disliked. Arina hadn’t looked back. She’d ended things in one five minute conversation and that was that.

Elain wished she could be more like that. 

“I came to help,” Lucien told her. “Though, I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Better than just the two of us alone,” Elain said cheerfully, beckoning him toward the groaning stairs. Lucien followed her up and into the house, taking it all in with fresh eyes.

“Just so you know, I’m blind in one eye,” he admitted, gesturing to the eye that had a couple long scars raking through it. “So if I’m little off on something, just let me know. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“Of course,” she agreed while Arina trailed behind. Neither of them asked what had happened. It looked old, but she knew wounds that seemed healed could often be fresh. 

“Which room is mine?” asked Spam when they began walking up the stairs to the second floor landing. Lucien started to protest, telling his son that none of the rooms were his, but Elain thought it might be nice if he spent the night every once and a while. Maybe they could be friends.

“Whichever one you like,” she declared. After all, he was helping, and why shouldn’t he be allowed to have a room? 

Lucien gave Elain an unreadable look—was he annoyed or grateful? She couldn’t tell.

“We should start downstairs with the floors,” he decided. “Let’s rip it up and see what’s underneath.”

“Seems a shame to rip up all that nice hardwood,” Arina murmured, following them down the steps. “Can we salvage any of it?”

“Some, maybe,” Lucien agreed. “With a really good sander from Home Depot. If you rent one, I can go through the rooms and do that for you.”

“Thank you. How much does real wood cost?” she asked, not wanting to put laminate down next to wood that was likely a century or more old.

“A lot.”

“I owe you a gift,” Arina declared, turning to face Elain. “Let me buy it.”

“I—”

“It’s my dads money. Come on,” she added in a plaintive voice. “It would piss him off so much knowing I did nothing useful with that stupid trust.”

“Flooring is pretty useful,” Lucien countered, not understanding the dynamic. Arina’s father had died a billionaire thanks to his invention of some piece of technology he sold for millions and then reinvested. Arina had inherited a small chunk of it when he died in a freak accident. She’d sold his businesses for parts, making her even wealthier, and her only goal was to spend as much of it as she could.

She’d donated a good half to various charities, and refused to ever let Elain pay for a meal when they went out together. Birthdays had become extravagant affairs, all to spite her dead father. He’d never wanted her to receive any of it but without a will in place, Arina inherited all of it, and had made it her mission to make him miserable, even in death. 

“Consider it a housewarming present. One housewarming present, anyway. I assume you’ll need a cool chandelier, too.”

Elain only sighed. “C’mon. Let’s get to work.”

LUCIEN:

He had splintered in his hands and his knees ached, but Lucien felt good. Useful, even. He had more time given it was a three day weekend, and woke up early on Sunday to return to Elain’s. Rowan was already up if the noise coming from the television down the hall was any indication. 

Rowan was already dressed in his usual style—of which he had none—in bright blue swim trunks emblazoned with neon green sharks, and a red tank top that featured a dinosaur on it. 

“Ready?” he asked as Lucien plopped onto the leather couch, shirtless and still struggling to pull himself out of sleep. His muscles ached from the day before. It was a good ache, at least, and a reminder that he was getting older. 

Maybe he ought to bring the knee pads he used when he was rollerblading with Rowan. After breakfast, Lucien did try them on in the mirror before deciding he’d just suffer. It was just…Elain and her friend Arina were stunning women, and even if he told himself it meant nothing, he still had a little pride.

He found the two of them on the front lawn talking to a contractor. Elain had asked him to help her negotiate a price—but Arina seemed more than capable. She didn’t seem to care if people liked her or thought she was polite or sweet. As Lucien came closer, he could hear that bossy tone that had dominated the previous day's work.

“Maybe this scam works on other people—”

“Lady, I can take my business elsewhere—”

“Drop the price by three thousand and you can start right now,” she said, hands on her hips. Elain stood beside her friend, eyes wide like a doe. The man blinked, sighed, and then began furious scribbling something on the paperwork attached to his clipboard. 

“Fine,” he groused.

“Thank you so much,” Elain said, offering him a smile so blindingly lovely that even Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. She turned then to face him and Lucien swore his knees wobbled a little. He needed to get himself together. Guilt and need warred within him—Elain Archeron didn’t seem like the kind of woman you took to bed for a fun night, only to never call her again. She looked like she was born to be someone’s wife.

And he already had a wife. Lucien had sworn off love, marriage, and everything else. He’d get used to it, he told himself sternly. She’d do something that put her firmly in the friend zone in his mind and he’d be able to look at her with nothing but affection. Like a sister, he decided, well aware there was no universe and no circumstances in which he wouldn’t be attracted to her. 

“Well,” Elain was saying, pulling Lucien from his slack jawed musings, “we probably shouldn’t be in the house while they’re rewiring it.”

“No!” Rowan immediately complained, his face collapsing with disappointment. “I wanted to paint today!”

“Oh, buddy, we’re a long way away from painting,” Elain told him with sympathy. “We could do something else if you want, though?”

Lucien noticed another van pulling up—one with a distinct pool logo on the side. Was that her priority? Getting the pool up and running before she ever got all the windows replaced? Why? Lucien understood the need for electricity and plumbing—it probably sucked sleeping on the floor in the house you bought and not being able to charge your phone.

“Where are you sleeping?” he interrupted just as Elain offered to take Rowan on a picnic. 

Her eyes drifted toward her car as Arina made her way to the pool guys. With a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, Elain lied and said, “I have a place back home.” If he’d known her better, he would have called her out. Niceties won the day, however, which was why Lucien said, “So. A picnic?”

It wasn’t much of a picnic given there was no food—it was more of a hike through the woods behind her property. Rowan was ecstatic, however, because he loved being outside almost as much as he loved bugs and birds. As it turned out, Elain did, too. He’d expected her to scream when Rowan put a caterpillar on her arm, but Elain had smiled, extending the limb outward so they both could admire it. 

“Sometimes dad takes me fishing,” Rowan told her, lightly stroking the insect crawling up Elain’s slim, freckled arm. “He can catch them with his bare hands!”

Elain glanced at Lucien, who felt strangely embarrassed. “If they’re really big,” he said, trying to downplay something he was genuinely proud of. 

“I’d like to see that,” she told him.

“You should come with us the next time we go!” Rowan said, clearly enamored with Elain. Maybe he had a little crush? That would explain his eagerness to spend time with her. Elain was sweet, too, without making it into a big deal. She gently put the caterpillar on a leaf—of which she knew the name of—and continued on their journey. Elain knew a lot about plants, which surprised Lucien.

If he’d had to guess, he would have thought she was more of an indoorsey type of person. She very much gave off daddy’s little princess, coddled and spoiled right up until you got to know her. Maybe she had been that, or maybe Lucien was merely projecting how he would act if he had a face half as beautiful as hers. 

When they emerged back into her yard, Arina was ordering the pool people around like some kind of formidable general. She remembered him of his eldest brother, though far more charming and likable than Eris had ever managed. She smiled and waved at them both when she saw them, brown skin glistening beneath the warm summer sun.

Inside, Elain and Lucien walked about the house, examining the holes the electricians had made in order to pull wiring through. Elain frowned. “Do you think I need someone to put walls up?” she whispered as Lucien’s son bounced ahead to pull at some peeling old floral wallpaper. Keeping one eye on Rowan, Lucien shrugged.

“How hard could patching up walls be?” he questioned. “Surely there’s a youtube video floating around somewhere.” “We’ll do all this ourselves and it’ll come crashing down on me while I sleep,” she joked, offering him a weak smile.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to say thanks,” he told her, following her from the hall into that massive living room. It would be stunning when it was finished—half circular, with large, bay windows that let in tons of natural light. They’d pulled all the floors out the day before, leaving several large gaps in the subflooring where they’d found suspicious looking stains. Arina had immediately declared it to be blood and decided the house was haunted. Lucien was pretty sure it was animal urine. Elain had merely laughed without offering her own opinion. In truth, Lucien wasn’t sure it wasn’t blood—the stain was awfully dark and lacked the kind of rotting, wet smell that came from animal urine. 

But he was a lawyer by trade, so what did he know about construction, truly? 

From where he stood, he could see the dusty cellar beneath. Elain had dreams of turning it into another gathering area with its own little bar, and for some strange reason, Lucien wished he was better at woodworking. It would be neat to make it for her. 

“Thanks for what?” Elain asked, once again pulling him from his musings. He’d spent so much time living in his head that he’d forgotten how to have a conversation with another person.

“Hanging out with Rowan. I know kids aren’t for everyone.”

“Oh, he’s sweet. Little Spam,” she added affectionately as he raced by, ruffling those ruddy curls as he went. “Honestly, I like the chaos.”

“Oh?” he questioned, trying not to pry. 

Elain didn’t offer him anything helpful. “Before I came here, I was living alone. I figured I’d be alone out here, too, so it’s nice that he feels so comfortable coming around.”

“You don’t really have to give him his own room,” Lucien told her, though some small part of him hoped she would anyway.

“Don’t be silly. There’s so much space in here, why shouldn’t he have a room or two?”

“You’ll have your own kids soon enough,” Lucien said without thinking about it. Not everyone wanted kids, and judging by the way her face fell, maybe she didn’t either. Or, maybe she couldn’t have kids and he was rubbing his fertility in, or—

“Some day,” Elain interrupted, silencing his inner turmoil. “Not soon, though.”

Lucien let it drop. He went to supervise the electricians while Elain went to the kitchen, hands on her hips as she surveyed the empty, dirty space. He offered to make her dinner before he left for the day, to which she politely declined. It didn’t seem like there were any hard feelings between them, at least, which eased some of the guilt he felt. 

“Dad, how come Elain didn’t want to eat dinner with us?” Rowan asked through a mouth full of crispy potatoes and peas. 

“Maybe she has her own dinner plans,” Lucien replied, giving Rowan the look that told his son to chew with his mouth closed.

Rowan pointedly ignored him. “Did you know she’s divorced?”

Lucien choked on his water. “No. How do you know that?”

“I heard Arina talking about it. It means Elain is single.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Thinking of asking her out, are you?”

“I would if I was older, but I’m only eight! You should ask her out.”

Lucien choked again. “Ask her out? Why would I do that?”

“You’re single,” Rowan replied, shrugging slim shoulders. He put one elbow on the wooden table and leveled a look at his dad. “You’re lonely.”

“What do you know about that?”

Rowan shrugged again. “Nothing, I guess. I like Elain.”

“You keep saying that. What about mom, though?” It was a topic Lucien had never once dared to broach with his son, partly because there had never been any reason to. However, with Rowan urging Lucien to ask out the neighbor, Lucien wondered what he thought about potentially replacing his mom.

“Do you still love mom?” Rowan questioned.

Lucien set his fork down gently. “Of course I do. I’ll always love her.”

“Even if you married someone else?” Rowan asked, eyes big and wide. He looked so much like her, it was almost as if Jess were speaking to him.

“Even then,” Lucien murmured softly. 

“Then I think you should ask out Elain,” Rowan declared, as if that settled it. Lucien dropped the subject, turning to the upcoming school year and Rowan’s friends. He let his son chatter about Charlie S. and Charlie B., two boys he saw fairly often during the summer from his class, his mind still on Elain and Jess.

Jess wouldn’t have wanted Lucien to spend the rest of his life mourning her—she’d want him to move on, just as Lucien would have wanted her to be happy rather than spend her life mourning him. But knowing what she’d want and doing it were two entirely different things. There had been a time when Lucien knew how to talk to women. 

Now, he wasn’t certain what to say. He thought about it long after Rowan had been tucked into bed and Lucien lay awake in his own bed, staring upward at the fan spinning in rapid circles. Just ask her.

He would—tomorrow.

[goodboy-connoisseur]

Wedding Night (Deuce Spade x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Post NRC, Aged up characters, Sweet loving sex that gets rough eventually, mentions of starting a family, Deuce is territorial when it comes to his wifey, Reader is not Yuu, Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns and has female parts

A/N: Starting off this series with my first favorite guy in Twisted Wonderland. That damn liongarb was what pulled me into Twst and made me like Deuce a lot.

Also! I don't really enjoy making layouts and all that stuff when writing fics. I just really.. write my fics and post them after re-reading them a few times lmao. Must be an older Tumblr user thing? (Been in this site for more than 15 years now, I think)

LASTLY, ONCE AGAIN, THIS FIC IS NSFW. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SUCH THEMES OR ARE UNDERAGED.

As the wedding afterparty finally comes to an end and you two left the reception venue, you could still hear the whooping and loud laughter of your guests. Finally, after exchanging vows and saying I do's in front of your loved ones, you and Deuce were officially husband and wife.

He whisks you away to your honeymoon suite, his heart pounding against his chest as the elevator brings you to your floor. Deuce's fingers idly play with yours as you await, a little smile on your lips present as you look at your husband. He is as happy as you are, and by saying "I do" to him, you have just made him the happiest man alive.

The room smelled like fresh citrus as you opened the door to your suite. The hotel staff truly knew their thing when it comes to setting the mood of their honeymoon suites for the couples that will occupy them.

"Finally.. Alone time at last," He tells you as he rolls his shoulders, hearing them crack a few times before he discards his suit jacket. As you took a seat at the edge of the bed, you can't help but admire your husband's physique. Despite still wearing his dress shirt and a waist coat that matched his wedding suit, they barely hid the muscles he had built over the years after practicing sports and eventually, training to become a police officer.

Unbeknownst to him, you were thinking lewd thoughts about him as he folded his suit carefully, droning on about his friends' shenanigans and speeches during the reception earlier. You squeeze your thighs as you remembered the last time you two had been intimate with each other. It was exactly a week before the wedding, and he had insisted that you don't do it until your wedding night so you'd have more things to look forward to. So you fucked as much as you can that night, sweaty bodies pressed against each other as you drew out as much orgasms as you could until you were satisfied and practically collapsed on your bed after.

Oh how you missed him and his body.

"You know what? I think you should also start getting me out of this dress," You tell him to catch his attention. Deuce immediately stops and turns to look at you, a blush on his cheeks, though the eagerness in his eyes were not unnoticeable. He comes over to where you are seated, kneeling right in front of you as you spread your legs before him. Deuce's strong arms trap you there, his gaze intense as he fixes it with yours.

"I've been dreaming of you," He admits, while his hand moves to hold your hip, feeling the shape through the fabric of your wedding dress. There was something soft about the way he says those words, despite the hungry look in his eyes.

"It's been a while. And I can't help but imagine what you would look like for me tonight." It really was cute to see him admitting all this, eyes full of need yet he was blushing as if it was your first time doing this. You lean down to press a kiss on his lips, smiling as he lets out a soft moan, giving him just enough for a preview before pulling away. He was so eager to deepen the kiss you were sharing that he chased your lips, which makes you giggle.

"Alright, come here." You tug on his tie, making him tumble down on the bed with you. He was now on top of you, staring at you with awe in his eyes. In his head, he couldn't help but think about how lucky he is to have met someone like you, and he was even luckier to know that this woman said yes when he got down on one knee and eventually, exchanged vows and said 'I do' to him.

To your surprise, he suddenly leans down to hug you tight, his face against your chest as he squeezes you (though not too hard that you would have a hard time breathing). You smiled, running your fingers through his soft hair as you felt the same happiness he was feeling right now.

He was yours, just as much as you are his.

"A little sentimental tonight, are we?" You tease him and, in response, he raises his head, eyes full of love, despite his cute little pout.

"I just really love you so much, you know?" He answers as he gets rid of his tie and unbuttons his shirt. It was your time to blush as his toned body comes to view, unable to look away even though your hands start to get busy as well as you pulled his shirt off him. Your eagerness was affecting him as he lifts you a bit to gain access to the zipper behind your dress, unzipping it enough until he's able to comfortably slip it off of your body.

Immediately, Deuce's lips attaches to your neck, gently kissing and sucking the skin as if marking you. As if the ring on your finger wasn't enough to let everyone know that you are his. You loved it when his territorial side comes out, especially during sex. A small moan slips out of your lips as he nips the skin before pulling back.

"Wrapped up so pretty for me too. I'm the luckiest guy in the world," He comments on the white lace lingerie set you wore under your dress. Seeing them only serves to rile him up as he begins to grind his crotch against your thigh, exhibiting just how much he needs you.

He captures your lips once more as he presses his body against yours, enjoying the feeling of your warmth and your curves as you pulled him tighter to you. Your nails lightly scrapes on his back, while he unclips your bra with practiced ease, and discards them to the pile of clothes at the food of the bed. Deuce bites on your bottom lip gently before giving it a lick. He takes a good look at your body as you slowly become bare for him.

He didn't miss the wet patch forming on your white panties, his thumb curiously rubbing against your clothed cunt which makes you gasp in pleasure. His eyes remain fixed on yours, as if memorizing every moan and expression you make for him. He pecks your lips, groaning against them before he kisses down your body. His fingers move your panties down your legs, calloused fingers immediately finding your wet folds. He feels you squirm against him, his free hand keeping you in place as expresses his love and appreciation for every part of your body. When he reached your breasts, he lavishes them with kisses and eagerly sucks on them, all while his fingers are busily preparing you for his cock, which was already aching and leaking and needy for you.

"D-Deuce," You call to him, repeatedly chanting it as if it's the only thing you knew. Your voice only encourages him as he slips his fingers inside of you, scissoring and rubbing your walls while his thumb also helps with rubbing you to completion. It doesn't even take long before your back is arching off the bed, screaming as you finally came for the first time tonight.

Deuce releases your nipple, but not before giving it a lewd lick as he rises. He pulls his slick fingers out, making you whine at the loss of the delicious stretch he previously filled you with. He licks them clean, making sure that you watch before he finally rids himself of his last article of clothing. You find yourself parting your legs for him, , showing your wet and ready pussy for him despite still catching your breath. He swallows thickly as he wraps his hand around his base, slowly stroking himself and groaning with how painfully hard he already is. He leans down again, lips meeting yours as he carefully lifts one of your leg and wraps it around his waist. His hand gently cups your face while he continues to memorize the taste of you, his tongue mapping every crevice of your mouth before he pulls away and stares into your eyes.

"I love you." You could feel your breaths mingle as he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, eyes intense and voice full of passion and love. Deuce nearly tears up at the thought of finally starting a wonderful life with you as his wife, spending all his mornings waking up to your face, and you being the last one he gazes upon as well before he sleeps in the evening. He swore with his heart and soul that he would always make you happy and keep you safe, along with the family you two have promised to eventually build together. He will be your shield, your protector from any harm and sadness that might come your way, and he will never leave you no matter how hard things might get.

You were his one and only, the one he would do everything for no matter what. Even after death, he will always find you in every lifetime and love you all over again.

"I love you too." Your response to his confession was a soft whisper, a wonderful melody he would never grew tired of. He loved hearing you say those precious words to him, as they serve as a reminder that the love he has is wholeheartedly reciprocated.

He pecks your lips one last time before leading his cock to your entrance, slowly slipping inside of you while you moan at the stretch of his girth. Deuce was just as loud in expressing the feeling of your walls wrapping around him, not holding back on his noises to let you know that you were making him feel good.

With your bodies joined as you consummated your marriage tonight, his half-lidded eyes remain fixed on yours as he buries himself deep within you. His hand finds yours, slipping through your fingers as he gently press them against the sheets. After another exchange of I love you's, he begins his movements. Every pull and thrust of his hips elicit loud whimpers and moans of his name and your repeated declaration of your love for him. Deuce was enjoying every moment of this and every sound you make for him, and he was greedy for more, so his movements become faster and rougher as time goes. His free hand grabs your thigh as he leans closer, the new angle making you cry even louder as he reaches deep within you. His cock throbs inside of you, his release impending and yet he holds it back until you finish first. Deuce always put you first before anything, even when it comes to his duty of pleasuring you. He would always make sure that you came before he would allow himself.

"Mmm.. I-I'm gonna cum.. Deuce!" You tell him, and he was determined to bring you to your peak as his movement continues. He reaches down to rub your clit with his thumb, speeding up the process and before you both knew it, your sweat-slicked bodies were trembling against each other as you both orgasmed nearly just at the same time. Your screams of pleasure harmonizes, like beautiful music to your ears as he fills you up to the brim. He stays in place to keep all his cum within you.

Once the aftershocks of your mind-numbing orgasm has passed, Deuce kisses you once more - deeply, lovingly, passionately - as if you would disappear from his hands if he didn't. You look at his handsome face as you finally catch your breath, smiling lovingly and whispering another I love you to him, which he eagerly returns before he lays next to you, collecting you in his arms. As you listened to the sound of his heart beat, you feel yourself slowly getting lulled to sleep, until he begins talking about having to clean up and making you go to the toilet to pee. You can't help but giggle at how doting and caring your husband is.

After finishing your post-coitus activities, you quickly snuggled back in his arms, finally falling asleep as he cuddles you while he thinks about the things you two would do and the sights you would see for the rest of your honeymoon.

[mattyriddlegf]

Starry Sky (4)

Happy Sunday release day! I am so sorry this one is late, I’ve had quite the week. I appreciate all of your support…comment to be added to the taglist! Enjoy!

(Sorry about the spacing! My lack of laptop today made it harder lol)

—————

“Two times in one day, I’m a lucky man” you hear Mattheo’s voice ring in the air. You open your eyes to see him walking up to you with the little brown notebook he’s always doodling in.

You don’t respond but rather just scoot over so he can sit down next to you, just inches away.

“Let me guess, you came up here to escape your friends?” Mattheo asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“How’d you know?” You ask emotionlessly.

“Why do you think I’m up here?” He retorts.

You close your eyes again, tilting your head back against the wall until you smell a cigarette.

You open your eyes again, looking to mattheo as he’s lighting one.

“Are you just always smoking?” You ask.

“Want one?” He responds, holding his pack up towards you.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke” you pause, “you know it’s really bad for you, right?”

“Eh, fuck it” he shrugs, exhaling smoke. The smell was overwhelming already but you don’t move away from Mattheo at all.

You point to his notebook, “what do you draw in there?”

“It’s a secret,” he says, raising his eyebrows, smirking.

“Sure it is” you laugh, “you draw in it during class. I’ll just look when you’re not paying attention”

He stares at you for a moment before speaking, “you know you’re a lot more feisty than I thought you would be” He takes another drag of his cigarette, the smell intoxicating you.

“Oh, because I’m a gryffindor?” You tilt your head.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he responds, squinting his eyes at you.

You stare at him for a moment before looking away, “I’m just a curious person”

“Yeah I know, you and your friends are quite the nosey people” he laughs.

You glance at him again quickly before looking the other way, towards the open sky. The sun was now starting to set, making the most beautiful sunset.

“So what are you going to wear for Dean on Friday? Something hot?” Mattheo teases, capturing your attention again.

“None of your business” you respond quickly.

“Oh come on, this is your first date with him right?”

“Now who’s nosey?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Alright, fine. Just know that Dean is a guy” he responds.

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’m going out with him” you laugh.

“No, I mean he’s a guy. He’s gonna try to get in your pants”

You gasp, “no he’s not! He’s actually a good guy you know.” you try to defend Dean.

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to have sex with you” he shrugs, still finishing off his cigarette.

“Is that all you think about?” you almost laugh, getting annoyed, “I mean, everyone knows you sleep around but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Then don't.” he responds quietly, avoiding your eyes, “not everything you hear is true.”

You watch him carefully. His reaction was…defensive and almost like he was affected by your accusation.

“So tell me what is true.” you respond, you gaze still fixated on him and his curly hair blowing in the slight breeze.

He looks up to you, his jaw clenched, “it’s getting late, I should go”

Without another word, he stands up and puts out his cigarette before leaving without another word. He was just gone just as fast as he had come.

A part of you wants to know more about him but another part of you is scared to know his deep, dark secrets. Mattheo Riddle was a complex person and you had always known that but now, you had a sneaking feeling that he was more complicated than you initially thought.

You walk back to the Gryffindor house, dinner having finished by the time you started to head back.

When you reach your dorm, Hermione is rifling through her dresser and Ginny is sitting on her bed, relacing her shoes.

“Hey, I made Ron save you some rolls from dinner.” Hermione says upon noticing you walk in.

“Thanks.” you smile lightly before she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, starting a shower.

Ginny looks up despite being currently occupied and watches you walks over to your chest, grabbing the 3 dinner rolls and jam they saved for you, “you were up at the astronomy tower weren’t you?”

“I just wanted some fresh air…I needed time to myself.” you try to explain to her.

“But you weren’t…” she tilts her head, “alone, I mean.”

“I-” you hesitate, “I don’t know what you mean”

“I noticed Mattheo’s seat at dinner was empty and I also happen to know that he smokes up there quite frequently.” she explains as she continues with her laces.

“Nothing happened.” you say instantly.

She looks up at you and squints her eyes for a second, “I never said anything did happen. It’s just interesting, is all.”

You nod, looking away from her. You pull off a piece of the roll and eat it before deciding to speak up, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

You hesitate, “when you were with Dean, did you guys hook up?”

She laughs, “what’s bringing this on?”

“I don’t know, I just want to be prepared and if-”

“We did…once. But Dean is the most patient guy ever, if you want to wait, he’ll wait.” she explains.

“Right.” you respond awkwardly. What Mattheo said was eating at you, what if Dean tried to sleep with you right away? What would you do? You definitely were not ready for that in the slightest.

Something else was also gnawing at the back of your brain, why would Mattheo say that unless he thought I looked…good?

There was no way he found you attractive so you settle on the fact that he is just vulgar, it was in his nature.

Still, you wanted to ask him again about what he had said. ‘not everything you hear is true.’ What did he mean by that? The entire school knew his long holding reputation.

Hermione rejoins you and Ginny in the room as the three of you settle and get ready for bed.

“How far into our first book of the year are you? I think I’ll have it finished by next week” Hermione says casually to you from across the room.

“Oh uh, I’m maybe a third into it…I haven’t had much time to read yet” you admit.

“Of course you haven’t, Snape has you doing chores” she rolls her eyes, “you have to talk to Dumbledore about this, he should know that you don’t need to waste your time on Mattheo.”

“For the last time, I’m going to do it.” you respond, “look at it this way, it's an extra opportunity for me to study, not just to help him.”

Hermione doesn’t respond initially but speaks up after a moment, “I still don’t like this…”

“Look, I’ll catch up on my reading and we’ll still have plenty of time to study together.” you shrug, “maybe I need something different this year…I’m always stuck in the same pattern.”

“But you like that pattern.” Hermione responds.

“I did…I mean I do. But it’s our last year here and I don’t want to not do anything.”

The room is silent for a moment, your statement ringing through the air.

“We trust you.” Ginny speaks up for the both of them. Your glance shifts over to Hermione to see her response.

“Just be careful, you know we won’t let anything happen to you.” she says, slightly frowning. You were never going to convince her that this whole thing was a good idea…hell you weren’t even sure of that yet but at least she would stop trying to convince you to say no to Snape.

Taglist: @nala-silent @ltristessedureratoujours @abrielleaguirre @starkeying @muu-5uvii @eneywey

[rottenerror]

A Little Dream

Harvey doesn't look at you the way he did before your wedding. Shane sees your pain before you're willing to admit it. But do his actions make things better or worse?

Shane x fem! reader 1.5k

TW: Infidelity, pregnancy, breeding kink. Not proof-read, we die like men.

Shane knows your smile is fake. It doesn’t reach your eyes, no matter how hard you’re trying.

Every Friday since your wedding, you’ve stood at the bar, Harvey’s arm around your waist, and pretended you’re happy. In every little glance towards your new husband, you’ve searched for something that’s been missing; the spark of new romance? Though the way you chew your lip, the way your hand slips lower, the way you whisper something against Harvey’s earlobe that makes him blush makes him think it’s not quite so innocent.

What he can’t figure out is what Harvey replies that makes your smile tight when you nod. You mutter something again, and Harvey nods before he turns back to Pierre to keep conversation going.

Shane watches, whether you realise or not, as you slip into the back room.

And he doubts you realise when he follows.

Your back is to him and he sees the shake in your shoulders before he hears the quiet sobs.

“Want me to get your husband?”

You freeze at his voice.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Doesn’t look fine.”

“Don’t worry, Shane”

He doesn’t get too close, but you feel him beside you before you hear him.

“What’d he say that was so bad?”

“Nosey, aren’t you?” you try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob.

“If you want, I can go ask him?” Shane turns, but stops as you grasp his sleeve.

“Look it’s just...it’s personal.”

“What? He can’t get it up for anything that isn’t hand holding?”

Another choked sob, and he is proud for making you laugh. Until he realises it isn’t a laugh this time.

“Oh shit, did he seriously..?”

“I mean...something like that,” you shake your head and wipe your tears, “I’m going to sound like the bad guy here, but fuck it.”

You lean against a barrel and when your eyes meet Shane’s, you know he’s examining the tears clinging to your eyelashes.

“We’ve been married a while, and obviously we’ve tried….things. We’ve done things. But it feels so….clinical. No pun intended. It’s going through motions, it’s like he doesn’t even want to be there! I’m trying to find what he’d like but he’d rather chat shit with Pierre than even glance at what I wore for him.”

“His loss; he’s about the only one not looking.”

You snort a laugh.

“I saw Sam about ready to bust in his pants when you walked in, his friends weren’t much better at hiding it,” you look at your feet to hide the blush that creeps into your cheeks at the idea, but Shane doesn’t stop, “Elliott too. I think he spilled his drink on himself when he saw you. Even Emily was staring.”

“And what about you?”

You don’t know what compels you to ask, maybe it’s the validation from someone who can see you now, in your most vulnerable moment.

“What about me…” he turns the question over on his tongue, and steps a little bit closer, “my first thought was ‘that lucky bastard’. Imagine having such a pretty thing on your arm, getting what the whole town’s been after. But now,” he steps closer again, his voice drops, and as slowly as honey dribbling over skin, he leans forward and places his hands at either side of you, caging you against the barrel, “now I think I’m the lucky bastard.”

There’s a beat of silence, and the words spill free without meaning once more.

“Maybe not,” you lick your lips and meet Shane’s eyes, “maybe I’m doing something wrong.”

“Oh I doubt that,” he leans closer, closer, closer, until the tip of his nose pokes at your pulse, “I’d be happy to check if you want to give me a demonstration.”

“Yeah?” the word is barely a breath but Shane hears.

Or he doesn’t and he’s a hair’s breadth from your lips regardless.

“I’ve thought about it plenty, and I fuckin’ know the real thing is miles ahead of my imagination,” he grips you and lifts, more easily than you thought he could, until your ass is perched on a barrel.

“I know that mouth would bring a man to tears,” he spreads your legs and settles between them, “and I know this,” his thumb presses against your clit, forcing a gasp from you, “will feel like fuckin’ heaven around my cock.”

If you’re asked, you’ll swear he moved first.

You drag Shane to your mouth with a fist at the neck of his jersey. The kiss is sloppy and eager and all teeth and tongue and it’s perfect. He shoves your dress up above your hips and groans.

“I thought you’d just worn nothing; crotchless panties is even better,” he disappears from view for a moment, but before you can question it, his tongue licks a thin stripe over your hole and up to your clit.

“Next time, you’re cumming on my face,” he stands as he licks the taste of you from his lips. His dick, freed from his shorts while he was between your legs, rubs against your clit and it is only then guilt spreads through you.

“Shane, maybe we shouldn’t…” it’s half hearted and he knows it as well as you.

He grips his cock and presses the blunt head to your cunt.

“Who cares?”

You gasp as he presses forward, already stretching you.

“If you didn’t want it, you’d stop me.”

He slips deeper, deep enough that the wind is knocked from you.

“He’s a fucking idiot. I can’t believe he even got out the door with you looking like that,” Shane kisses down your neck, nipping here and there.

“Does he know you wore these underneath?”

You nod; you can’t trust your voice.

“That what you told him at the bar?”

You nod again.

“Fucking idiot,” fully sheathed, Shane stretches you almost painfully. But he doesn’t stall; his rhythm is slow but with each stroke, he sinks deep into you, as if ensuring your cunt shapes to him.

“I can’t believe he didn’t fuck you right there, I woulda pulled you into my lap, slid into you right there,” he nips again, this time at your collar bone, hard enough to leave a mark.

“He’s so fucking dumb, I always thought I wanted to be smarter, y’know, but – fuck – but if it meant not seeing how fuckin’ sexy you look? I’d rather stay stupid.”

“N-not stupid.”

“I am, but doesn’t matter. I’m the one fuckin’ you while he’s 20 feet away.”

Your cheeks heat and without meaning to…

“Fu~ck, you like that? You’re squeezing me so tight, holy shit. You like me fuckin’ you raw where anyone could catch us?”

The danger hadn’t occurred to you, but now you glance towards the hallway, certain anyone could be there.

“Wouldn’t stop if anyone got close,” he purrs beside your ear before biting the lobe, “I’m not stopping until you’re dripping cum, pretty thing.”

Your back arches, and his arms wrap around your middle, as if any distance would tear you from him.

“I’m already close, see what you do to me?” he kisses you, just as sloppy as last time, “want you to cum with me, ‘kay?”

You nod, lost in the electric sensations zipping through you.

“Touch yourself, pretty thing,” his head dips back to your neck and you do as he says, though he doesn’t stop speaking. “You’re so perfect, shit, I’m not going to be able to quit you,” you turn your head to meet his gaze, and the look in his eyes gives away something more than lust.

“Tell me everything, Shane,” you run your hand though his hair and your fingertips linger on the back of his neck.

“I want this every night, oh fuck, every night. Come to Marnie’s, let me fill you every fuckin’ night, okay?”

You nod frantically as your edge creeps closer.

“Wanna fill you up until you’re pregnant – fuck – everyone will think it’s his, we’ll know,” his words trail to a whine, and that whine turns to a moan as your legs tighten around him.

“You love that? You want me to put a baby in you?”

“Shane, Shane, please,” you wet your lips and pull him close enough to kiss, “fuck Shane, put a baby in me.”

That’s his undoing.

With your tongues dancing, you cum together. You don’t even need to wonder; there’s no going back. His hips slow, but he doesn’t pull out. He rocks forward, pushing his cum deeper, desperate for it to stick.

The guilt rises in your stomach as you separate. He helps you from the barrel and wordlessly helps you fix your dress. It’s a moment of softness, maybe something more, and as you look at his pink cheeks, you can’t even regret it. You tug the sleeve of his ratty hoodie until he leans in and the kiss you part with is softer than any you’ve experienced. Your eyes flicker between his but as you turn, he pulls you backwards until his chest is pressed to your back. His hand rests above your bellybutton and his lips meet your ear.

“I meant it.”

You return to your perch beside Harvey and sip on a fruity drink Emily delivers. Shane’s cum is sticky between your thighs, and without it, you’d think you dreamed the whole thing.

A few weeks and two blue lines later, and you are certain you didn’t.

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 12

The aftermath.

i told myself i'd write until my phone died and i finished this chapter with it still having 5%!

ao3!

poly!ghoap/gn!reader

I Wanna Hear Your Voice

You cower in the bathtub for what feels like an eternity.

The shuffling of the intruder moves from the kitchen to the living room, then to the storage room. You’re sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You’re terrified, and you wish Riley were here with you instead of spending the holidays with one of her dad’s friends. You have a feeling the dog would be able to fight a person twice your size, though you doubt her dads would let her.

Then- miraculously- the door opens. 

You can’t hear footsteps, and you’re about to panic again, thinking that maybe it’s backup for the intruder, but then you hear the unmistakable sound of metal on skin, then a body dropping onto hardwood. You quiver so hard you’re sure the bathtub shakes.

You don’t have to fear for very long, however, because very soon after the bathroom door is open and Johnny is in front of you and, oh God, you’re crying, and you’re in his arms, and he picks you up and you’re just so scared you don’t hear Simon beating the intruder to a pulp. You do hear, however, Simon calling 999 from the storage room as Johnny sits on the ground with you pressed against your chest.

He wipes tears from your eyes, and he murmurs sweet things into your ear. You feel like throwing up.

The police arrive at your flat not very long after. They question you, now wrapped up in a throw blanket and shaking, while Johnny rubs your shoulders. Johnny makes sure you don’t look as they carry the intruder out on a stretcher.

Simon sits next to you and Johnny as the police evaluate what the intruder tried to steal. You’re still crying, you think. They talk, heads bowed over you, but you only catch snippets:

“…Not safe…. Really, we should-“

“-Christmas, Si! We ‘ave…”

“…Hotel, maybe, then. We’re not staying here.”

Johnny sets you to sit alone on the couch with the throw blanket over your shoulders. The adrenaline has finally gone, leaving you tired and sleepy. You hear the police leave, and you hear the boys search the storage room. The sound of them quietly talking. Johnny kisses your temple, murmurs “it’s okay to sleep, bon,” and then goes into your bedroom. You don’t care. You’re tired.

When you wake up, you’re in a hotel with Simon holding you. He’s not asleep, instead he’s watching the large window your back is facing. You shift and he does, too, looking down at you. 

“Hello, love,” he murmurs.

“Where…?”

“We left the apartment building. It’s not safe there.”

“But…”

“Christmas, we know, love. We’ll celebrate in the hotel and then worry about everything else, yeah?”

“…Yeah.” He sighs.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry we left you. Irony of the whole thing- we left t’ get you some basic home defenses.” He huffs a laugh, but you don’t hear any humor there. He pets your hair tenderly before kissing the top of your head.

“We never should’ve left you alone,” he whispers. “We… God, we thought those days were over. I’m so, so sorry.” He says, before hugging you tighter. This time, you have the impression that it’s more for him than for you. You let him, until you inevitably fall back asleep. 

You wake up when Simon’s chest rumbles from beneath your head.

“…now, careful. Don’t want two 999 calls in one day,” his gravel says.

“Och, Ah’ve got it,” comes Johnny’s timber from a different part of the hotel room. Curious, you stir against Simon. He lets you sit up and rub your eyes, and take in the hotel room.

You find a rather nice, if not borderline luxurious, room. The bed is large and the window is, too, and when you scan the room to its farthest corner, you see Johnny standing on a desk chair, arranging wrapped gifts underneath a small Christmas tree. Against your will, tears well in your eyes at the sweet gesture.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, pawing away tears.

“Canne have Christmas w’out a tree,” he says with a grin before going to bed, climbing in next to you. “Simon alr’dy told ye, bon, but we’re both so sorry.” You swallow thickly.

“It’s not your fault,” you try to reassure, but Simon just shakes his head.

“We need to talk,” he says. Your blood goes cold again for the second time that day.

You sit in a small circle, and they lay their background down for you, plain as day:

They’re ex-military. They were both some sort of special forces (“Can’t tell ye too much, bon, we might be oot of the game but ‘s still classified). They met on a task force, and they tell you Riley’s with their other two teammates who also shacked up. But they also tell you about the consequences of their line of work- obviously, nothing too detailed, but just enough where you get the gist.

They have made enemies, and though the worst of them are long gone, some of their followers have a taste for revenge. They’re retired, but safety isn’t ensured- especially not for you, a civilian. (“Maybe if we were younger,” Simon starts quietly, “we would’ve made you leave. Something like a saviour-complex. ‘You’re best off without us. ’” You balk at the idea, then immediately regret it, scared of seeming too attached. He just squeezes your hand.) The intruder was a follower of one of their greatest foes- no doubt, he’ll be facing multiple years behind bars, considering he was an accomplice to terrorism.

“So,” you say, surprising yourself with how shaky your voice is. “What… do you think he was looking for? If he wasn’t a robber, then…”

“Things on us,” Johnny says. “Somet'ing t’ use as leverage.” You shudder at the thought.

“He was planning to kidnap me,” you say quietly. 

“Yeah,” Simon whispers.

“‘S why the flats aren’t safe anym’re,” Johnny says. “We were hopin’ on delaying, but… After the holidays, we wan’ to buy a house. One ye’ll live in, too,” he says.

“Only if you want to,” Simon says quickly.

“Of course I want to,” you say without hesitation. “Sure, it might be moving quickly, but I like the way things are going.”

Johnny sighs like a weight got lifted off his shoulders, then beams at you. Simon looks relieved, too, but more as if he’s planning every bit of logistics that would ever be needed in the history of ever.

“It’s late now,” you say suddenly, looking at the electric clock sitting on a nightstand. It reads 2:34. “Where did all the time go?” Johnny kisses your forehead.

“Ye ‘ad a long day, hen,” he murmurs. “Git some rest.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” two voices echo back to you.

<- back

[ineedhjalp]

ahh. I'm so normal, so tickety-boo, so sane. I'm GOOD YEH IM FEELIN ALRIGHT BEBE IMMA HAVE THE BEST FUCKIN

GOOD OMENS 3 CONFIRMATION

of my LIFE

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To the world.

[kickbutts-singsongs]

You would not believe your eyes

If two really stupid guys

Barged into your dorm at 12:30am

[inkdrinkerworld]

Courting

Synopsis: Bucky is a man from a different time. It shows when you start ‘going steady’ and honestly, you love it. Alternatively; Bucky uses 40’s dating etiquette to woo you, and surprises you with a modern turn of phrase.

cw: it’s set in a vague timeline where it’s just before cabnw but also during fatws so no thunderbolts spoilers! Bucky is a FLIRT, reader is a little shy, anxiety representation, lots of casual getting to know you, going on a date flirting, Bucky’s serious about reader tho!

word count: 4.4k

Bucky Barnes prides himself on being able to court a woman. He really does. He knows all the rules, knows all the things to say, and it doesn’t hurt that he can flirt his way through any conversation.

You and Bucky met at the Smithsonian when Bucky was missing Steve a little too much and popped in just to get a glimpse of his best friend again.

You were by the Isaiah Bradley display, reading through before murmuring under your breath, “Those poor men.”

Bucky hadn’t meant to eavesdrop like that, but there was so much concern in your voice and he had to say something lest you think they all suffered — looking back, maybe he wasn’t the best person to break that news to you.

“We didn’t all suffer so bad.”

You had gasped when you noticed him, hand to your chest. “You’re Bucky Barnes,” you weigh your words before adding, “Steve’s best friend.”

That alone had won him over. You didn’t bring up the Winter Soldier, or that Bucky was as traumatised as super soldiers went. Just that he was Steve’s best friend.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “This your first time at the Smithsonian?”

You shake your head, a little heat flushing up your cheeks. “I come every couple of weeks, to see if they have any new stuff to add to your plaques. It’s kinda messed up what they did to all of you.”

Bucky smiles, shaking his head. It is messed up, he knows that. All the super soldiers besides John Walker know how messed up it was. “We came out alright, made it to the 21st century after all.”

You tilt your head to the side, “I guess that’s true.”

Bucky’s eyes light up. “Made it this far to meet pretty girls too.”

Your cheeks flame and Bucky chuckles, you chat a bit more before he gives you his number.

It takes you two days to text him. You’d been overthinking it, if you should or shouldn’t. In the end, if he ignored you at least you’d have tried.

It turns out Bucky didn’t give you his number just to be polite, because he answered your text immediately.

The first time he had used his courting experience was when he’d made it a point to establish the fact that he wanted to take you out every second Friday of the month.

He had it in his head that the effort had to be shown and then followed through the entire time and after two days, he was determined to show you that he was serious.

‘I’m free every other Friday, if that’s good with you doll.’

You had responded four minutes later after looking at your phone in shock and a little bit of bewilderment, when was the last time a man was so forward but not in a pushy way?

‘It’s perfect as long as work doesn’t bleed into my weekends’

From there Bucky had planned three of the dates meticulously, going over places and ideas in his head until he’d settled on the best three according to himself.

The first date was at a new diner near his apartment, one that Sam said did really good milkshakes and Bucky hadn’t been able to let the idea go.

“It’s nothing too fancy, but Sam said it’s a good spot.”

You’d worn a pretty skirt and blouse, and Bucky had worn a grey henley and jeans.

“You look gorgeous,” Bucky was full of compliments as you’d learn as the afternoon went on. He dished them out easily and most of the time you pretended not to hear him because he had a sort of pleased look on his face every time you stammered to keep the conversation going, and that in itself had in your stomach in knots.

He even brought you a bouquet of red tulips which had sat beside you on the sticky diner table all day.

“Oh they have milkshakes!” You say excitedly when you catch a server walking past.

Bucky’s heart sores. God bless the forties for making that a thing.

“Wanna try one?”

You look up at him, eyes brimming with hopefulness, “Will we do the cheesy sharing from the same cup?”

Bucky leans back in the booth seat, blue eyes boring into you. “And the same straw if you really want to, doll.”

He’s so fucking smooth, because you can’t do anything but nod now that his gaze is fixed on you.

Deciding what milkshake had taken nearly five minutes, back and forth between what was a classic flavor and why strawberry was definitely not good (Bucky was very offended) and then settling on a Shamrock Shake even though St. Patrick’s day had long passed.

Sharing the milkshake sitting across from each other was more intimate than you had expected it to be, (you hadn’t ended up using one straw but just the eye contact was enough to fluster you). Bucky walked you to your car after paying for dinner, very offended that you tried to pay half of the bill, and opened the door for you. When you had gotten in, he leant a little into your space, “Did you have a good time, doll?”

Your heart pounds. You had a great time, Bucky was easy to be around, even with your shyness.

“I did, thank you Bucky. Did you?”

He smiled, “Don’t see how I couldn’t with you as company.” In your sputtering for an answer Bucky’s heart beat a little faster, you were the cutest thing ever.

“Any opposition to a gala for our next date?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the biggest fan of crowds but I don’t see why it couldn’t be fun. Is it for the new Captain America thing?”

Bucky smiles, “I’ll text you the details. Drive safe, doll.”

The gala was fun even if a little anxiety inducing when you note the number of people there.

Bucky’s good though, he doesn’t give you a moment alone to feel that anxiety or have anyone come up to you to ask you a million questions.

It’s a veteran gala and Bucky didn’t want to go through that alone because he was getting another medal post Thanos; not that he really wanted it.

That night, as you sat beside him at one of the tables, it was hard to ignore the feel of his hand grasping your ankle and stroking it.

His palm is warm against your skin but you can feel the twitch in his fingers.

“We can leave early if you really don’t want to get it, Bucky.”

He turns to you with a smile, his cheeks a little warm when you meet his eyes. “No, I can handle it, doll.”

You tut, shaking your head. “Yeah but you look like you’re gonna pass out waiting for them to call your name.”

He rolls his eyes, “I do not.” He can actually feel the acid churning in his stomach.

In the end, the ‘medal’ is Bucky partially funding a veteran support group in honor of his friend Sam Wilson, who’s the new Captain America, and Steve Rogers. He much prefers that sort of medal.

It was only after Bucky had gotten you home from the gala that you noticed the slip of paper in your clutch.

It had the name of the diner you and Bucky had gone to a week and a half ago, but on the backside of the paper was his semi messy scrawl.

You looked gorgeous tonight. Purple’s definitely your colour, doll. I know it’s only the second date, but you’re all I think about most days. I wanna see you again, but I know tonight was a lot with all those people. Sleep well, doll. Dream of me if you’d like.

Yours,

James.

That had made you smile so hard your cheeks ached. He signed it with his actual name, not the cute nickname he got so many years ago, his real, government name and that was not something that went unnoticed by you.

Immediately you changed his name in your phone to James with a little heart next to it.

You’re not really sure you’re sold on Bucky’s affections towards you, till the third date when Bucky pulls up to your apartment with another bouquet of flowers, peonies this time in pretty pinks and soft yellows.

“Bucky, these are gorgeous!” You had rushed back into your house to add them to the vase with the other flowers he had dropped off for you on your doorstep last week.

You can hear him chuckling in your doorway as you flit about.

“Was there any traffic?” you asked over the sound of your tap filling the vase.

“Not too much, but it is lunchtime on a Saturday.”

You had mentioned to Bucky a little bit ago that there was a perfect spot in the park near your house for a picnic now that New York had finally warmed up, and the next text you had received was Bucky asking if you had any nut allergies.

It wasn’t your usual date day, but Bucky had pleaded and begged just a little (although he really hadn’t had to), and had even sent you a photo of the most gorgeous picnic blanket and you were agreeing faster than anything.

“I’m ready to go now.” Seeing Bucky there leaning in the archway of your kitchen makes you feel so many things that you can’t help it when you lean up and kiss just under his jaw before walking towards your door after snagging your picnic basket from on the counter.

“Coming, Bucky?”

He only shakes his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes as he follows behind you. You swear you hear him mutter, “Not a shy thing at all,” but you don’t say anything because your nerve has worn off and you actually can’t believe you really kissed his cheek.

Bucky hadn’t spared an expense on your picnic. He had gotten peaches, plums, two different cheeses, apples, grapes (black ones; your favourite) and even a bottle of sparkling wine.

You had brought sandwiches and salt and vinegar potato chips (those became Bucky’s new favourites), a sketchbook and your camera.

“Were picnics something you did a lot?” you ask Bucky as he makes you a plate - crackers, cheese, some of the fruit and half the sandwich you packets.

Bucky squints at you as he slices a wedge of the plum free from the stone. “If it was, would you be jealous, doll?”

You shake your head, some of the peach juice dribbling down your wrist. Bucky’s quick but gentle as he thumbs it away and presses his thumb to his lips. You’re so grateful that his hands aren’t on you to feel how fast your pulse hammers.

“I’m just curious what the dating customs of the 40’s looked like.” It’s a miracle your voice remains even.

Bucky nods like he doesn’t really believe you. “I think I went on one, but there was never really a good time for more.”

You wince, you had forgotten that he’d gotten drafted.

Your reaction makes Bucky laugh, “I’m glad I get to find out if I really like them now though. There’s a lot more to enjoy about picnics now without all the smog.”

His teeth snap through the wedge of the plum before he continues, “I can see my date better, which feels like an incredible plus.”

Damn Bucky’s flirting.

You spend all evening at the park, and it’s so fun because Bucky poses for some of your pictures and then takes some of you and when you pose for a few together and Bucky stares at you there’s a sort of stillness that overcomes you.

His eyes bore into yours, the blue of them stopping you where your finger is poised over the button to snap the photo.

“Take the photo doll,” he whispers, his lips hovering near yours as he reaches up and presses your finger down just before leaning all the way in, pressing your lips together.

Bucky’s quick to take the camera from your hand after, setting it on the blanket and cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss.

It’s not too long, but it’s more than a peck and when he pulls away you can barely open your eyes.

“Was that okay?” Bucky whispers, the hand still cupping your face warm where it rests.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” his laugh rocks you as you press your forehead into his shoulder. “I don’t think you were really frozen in ice all that time, James Barnes.”

Bucky cups the back of your head as his laughs die down. “Whatever you want to believe, honey.”

Bucky gets to your house just after sunset, and you let him walk you to your front door. You don’t really want the date to end, but you’re tired and you have to imagine so is he.

“I had a really nice evening, Bucky.”

He smiles, a hand on your lower back as he stands in front of you. “So did I,” you turn to open the door but he stops you.

“I’ve gotta go out of town for a little bit, so we’re gonna have to rain check next Friday’s date.”

You hold onto the sleeve of his Henley before he can step back, “Is everything alright?”

Bucky nods, “Yeah just some stuff I have to deal with.”

“Winter soldier stuff?” You nearly whisper the words, not wanting to upset Bucky. He only nods with a soft smile. “Be careful okay?”

“You don’t want to be my nurse if I get hurt, doll? That’s harsh.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bucky’s chest aches at your care for him. It’s been a long while since he’s been given that kind of affection.

“I’ll be careful, doll.”

“Good.”

Bucky leans in and presses a kiss just at the corner of your mouth, “Goodnight doll, lock your doors.” He reminds you like you’re not a woman in New York City, but it still makes you smile and your chest goes a little gooey.

Bucky doesn’t move from your doorstep till he hears your locks click into place.

-

Bucky’s been gone for a week and a half already and you can’t help but miss him.

You’ve been chatting back and forth and you’ve even started sending him songs to listen to. He’s got a very limited list of favourites that you’ve made it your mission to resolve.

You find another note in your handbag when you decided against texting Bucky and cleaned your cupboards instead.

It was in your bag from the picnic date, and you smiled when you noticed his handwriting on another receipt from the grocery where he got the cheese.

I hope you find this when I’m gone and you’re missing me; I know you are, doll, it’s okay.

I miss you too and I haven’t left yet.

When I get back I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Maybe we’ll go somewhere quiet again? Or I saw they’re reopening one of those antique places with all those retro trinkets; I could show what I used to have at home. Show you what I prefer now.

Keep locking your doors, honey. I should send you new flowers, the old ones will be dead soon.

Yours,

James.

Bucky’s very good at these, these little notes that leave you smiling and giddy like a fool.

You pull out your phone, you have to text him now.

I got your note. What was your favourite ‘trinket’?

Bucky answers only three minutes later.

My sister used to have a silver jewellery box that I had the pleasure of filling every month.

You smile at that, he’s always been a provider it seems.

Another chime comes from your phone.

We also had a gramophone that played the clearest music I’ve ever heard.

You roll your eyes.

You’re such an old man.

I’m not offended, doll. A pretty girl I’m seeing told me recently I’m not old at all.

Even miles away he’s got you grinning like an idiot with a racing pulse.

You can’t say anything to that and your thoughts take you to what a perfect gentleman he’s been to you. Bucky opens your doors, drives you home and waits till you get into your house before driving off. You think you might be falling for him, and rapidly.

He’s still gone by Monday and you’re missing him hard, only for the girls you work with to giggle before coming to find you.

“These were dropped for you,” they hand you a huge bouquet of red and white tube roses and a card.

It’s not Bucky’s handwriting but it’s from him,

Sorry I’m still not back, doll. I should just be gone for another day. Don’t miss me too much, yeah? I need a few kisses when I get back to make up for all this time away. I listened to that song you recommended, it was good. How do I make a playlist?

Yours,

James.

The note had you blushing and extremely flustered. Your coworkers noticed it immediately.

“Are you two going steady?”

You regret telling them who you’d been going out with. When they leave, you’re stuck with the realisation of how different Bucky is to the men you’ve dated before.

It’s a small thing, but you hardly think any of them got you flowers as consistently as he does, and you don’t think you’ve ever received such thoughtful bouquets.

You called Bucky when you got home, happy to hear his voice.

“Thank you for the flowers, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome, doll.”

You have the bouquet from today on your bedside table and smile when you spot it after changing into your pajamas.

“You caused quite a scene when they got delivered.”

You can hear the amusement in his words. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, the girls I work with brought them to me. They were very impressed by the size of the bouquet, Barnes.”

“I’m just concerned about what you think of me.” Was his answer and after that you couldn’t get a full sentence out of you.

He’s so open with his feelings towards you it’s scary, it makes your heart race but you also know he’s not just saying it. He means it and that makes you fall just a little more for Bucky.

“You’re sweet.” Is all you can manage, your face heated with a blush.

“Sam and I are finishing this up tonight, so I should be able to see you when we get back.”

You don’t know if you’re reading into his words, but Bucky sounds relieved at the prospect of seeing you soon.

“Isn’t it going to be a day’s long flight?”

“And I can see you right after I land, honey. So long as it’s not midnight or while you’re gonna be sleeping.”

Bucky Barnes isn’t good for your heart with the way he just wholly shows you how much he wants to spend time with you.

“Do you still need help with your playlist?”

He huffs, “Sam showed me. He’s not a good teacher though, was snippy the whole time; you’d think he’d remember I was in ice.”

You laugh, “I’ll show you when you get back, babe.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything about the pet name, but for the rest of the phone call he doesn’t respond unless you use it.

It’s two days before he’s back and Bucky drives straight over to see you.

He’s at your door a few hours after you get home from work, and when you open the door to see him, he’s there with a single rose in his hand and a tired smile on his face.

“Is it possible you got prettier while I was gone?” He leans against your doorway.

“You look dead on your feet, Bucky. Come inside.” you lead him to your sofa, watching him move with heavy but careful steps all the way through your living room.

Bucky’s movements are measured, not a single action wasted as he takes off his boots and socks and detaches his metal arm.

“I really missed you,” he sighs as he lays on your sofa, eyes shut as he takes a long breath.

“I really missed you too,” you brush back some hair from his face. “You could’ve gone home to sleep first, you know?”

Bucky opens his eyes and it takes great effort to do so, the whites of his eyes shot through with streaks of intense red.

“I wanted to see you,” he yawns. “But you’ve trapped me into laying on your sofa.”

You laugh, your fingers still knotted in his hair. “You can take a nap Bucky, or you can sleep the night here. I’m not really excited by the idea of you driving back tired.”

“I won’t doll,” he shuts his eyes again, the feel of your fingers on his scalp lulling him into a peacefulness he’s missed. “Tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I know you weren’t just counting down the days till I got back.”

You roll your eyes as you recount the last two weeks of your life, Bucky’s not even awake to hear what you did on the second day of him being gone.

You cover him up with your throw blanket and dim the lights of your living room. You make the playlist for him while he sleeps, putting all the songs you’ve sent him on the memory stick so he can leave with it.

Bucky doesn’t spend the night, but as he’s leaving he holds your cheek, “I didn’t come with an ulterior motive, just to see you. If you want, we can go have dinner tomorrow. I have something I want to ask you, doll.”

“That’s ominous,” you’re a little nervous by that phrase. No one likes being told that someone has ‘something to ask them’ in a day. There’s anxiety crawling up your chest before Bucky kisses your lips.

“It’s a good question baby, don’t overthink it. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You grab the memory stick off the table before you could forget, “Here, I put all the songs I’ve sent on here.” Bucky kisses you again.

“You’re an angel,” you steal a kiss before he pulls away. “Lock your doors.”

“Sir yes sir.”

You hear him laugh all the way to his car.

Despite Bucky’s well meaning, ‘Don’t overthink it.’ That’s all you did when you woke up and started sifting through dresses to wear.

You’re ready at six and that makes you even more anxious. There’s too much time to do nothing but sit and overthink it.

You’re working yourself up to outright calling Bucky when there’s a knock at your door.

A quick peek at the clock on your stove let’s you know you’ve been overthinking it for forty five minutes.

When you open the door, Bucky’s standing in front of you in a pretty blue shirt that makes his eyes pop, and black dress pants.

He’s not got flowers this time, but he is holding a box of what you think are chocolates.

“Oh my god,” he breathes as he takes you in. You’re in a pretty pale purple dress, white heels and your hair is down in loose curls. You hadn’t gone for heavy makeup but just enough where there’s purple glitter on your eyelids and your lips are a deep red.

“You look handsome.” You say as you fight the blush creeping up your chest at the way Bucky’ stares at you.

“You look,” he trails off like he really can’t find the right words. “Breathtaking.”

You feel as though the blush explodes in your chest and heats your entire face.

Bucky hands you the box of chocolates, “They’re all dark chocolate.” You smile as you take it; that’s another thing Bucky’s remembered you like.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

You ask as you slip the chocolates into your purse and shut your door.

Bucky smiles as he watches you lock your door before turning to him. Immediately he links his hand with yours.

“We’re going for dinner somewhere nice,” the entire ride to the car Bucky has you talking. About the last book you read, work, if you think about him every night before bed (the last one was just to make you laugh, but the truth is you do.)

“What about you Bucky? Do you think about me before bed?”

You ask as he parks and he turns to you.

“Oh yeah,” that’s all he says before coming out of the car to open your door. “Think about you more than I think about anything else, doll.”

You manage to hold back your question just before dessert, “Can you please ask me? I’m freaking out and I think my heart might explode from the anxiety.”

There’s a laugh that bubbles from you and Bucky tuts.

“Honey,” you press a hand to your chest. Your anxiety really is at an all time high. You have so many questions rattling around your head that Bucky could want to ask you and you may throw up the lovely pasta you just had if he doesn’t ask you soon.

He leans across the table and holds onto your wrist, feeling the erratic beat of your pulse.

“I’ve been torturing you, haven’t I doll?”

You nod as you try to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky’s thumb strokes short lines across your wrist. “I had it all set up to come with dessert but I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“Thanks,” you mutter and he smiles.

“I know we’re only going steady,” that gets a smile out of you. He really is an old man, “but I wanted to ask you if I could be yours? Saying boyfriend makes me feel older so I won’t say it.”

You laugh, letting your head fall on his hand where it holds yours.

“Not the other way around?” You ask and Bucky huffs.

“You’re not property, honey.”

You look up with a smile and Bucky’s smile gets a little brighter. “Yeah you can be mine.”

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin a little higher and kisses you; slow and just long enough for it not to be a full make out. “You really missed out on the whole cheesecake with chocolate drizzle writing.”

He says as he pulls away and you laugh.

“Oh, are they not bringing it anymore?”

Bucky shakes his head, mischief in his eyes. “After you just latched onto me in the middle of their establishment? I don’t know, doll.”

“You’re ridiculous.” They still bring the cheesecake and Bucky feeds you the first bite, and like the flirt and menace he is, he gets a little just to the corner of your mouth.

“Let me get it for you,” and steals another kiss, ‘cleaning it off.’

Bucky Barnes really knows how to court a woman.

[chase-solidago]

So you found a dead body in the woods

The worst thing you've worried about, going on hikes, happens. This happens often, in the grand scheme of things. It's always joggers and dogwalkers and hikers. My unlucky day came on October 24, 2022.

So what do you do when you find a dead body?

Look in the other direction and take a breath. Panic wont help you or them.

If you are comfortable, approach them and try to help. If not, it's okay. I was unwilling to approach (they looked real dead) and my 911 operator was 100% totally supportive and okay with that.

Walk a little ways away. There is no reason why you need to keep staring at them. It's okay. Seeing a dead person is really wack!

When you've caught your breath, call 911. My first thought was "Oh god, I don't want to talk to cops." and, good news, it's not cops! 911 responders are different people. They are trained to talk to you, to reassure you, and to help you. They are there for you. They understand you are freaking out. They are kind and patient.

Your new buddy, the 911 person, will help you figure out where you are, exactly. They have access to your location via cell-tower and GPS, but if, like me, you were off-trail (oops), they might need your help navigating to you. I offered to also send a photo, and he provided an email, which he received immediately. I deleted the photo I took right away.

Hang out on the phone with your dispatch friend. They're going to want to keep in touch with you as the paramedics approach. Are you freaking out by chattering too much? Are you freaking out by being dead silent? Both are okay! Apparently, my panic response is to become Super Midwestern Chatty. I was able to make him laugh, which I count as a win.

Holler to the paramedics. My paramedics came deep into the ravine-filled woods, about six men, steering a rolling bed thing. We shouted at each other until they made it to the body. It would have been funny, watching them fumble along, if it wasn't so serious.

Get out of there! The paramedics don't need anything from you. They're busy doing their job. They shooed me back to the trail and to the parking lot. I didn't have to go anywhere near the body.

Meet cops in the parking lot. In my situation, the cops didn't want anything from me. They were just picking their noses in the parking lot while the paramedics did the real work. The cops said thanks for helping, while covering their bodycams, because they're pigs.

Go eat donuts. Christ, that was a lot. Let yourself comedown and get some sugar to kickstart your system.

Feel good that you gave a family closure. Yeah, that sucked. Yeah, your therapist is going to hear about this. Yeah, next time you come to this location, you're going to need a friend with you. But you did the right thing. You'll never know their family, but know that you gave them closure.