#stealing reckless's tag

[humanjarvis]

blushing bandit: part 2

synopsis: when you caught caleb stealing your panties, you'd told him to ask you for the real thing next time. he disobeys.

tags: sub!caleb, dependent caleb, caleb steals your panties again, begging, facesitting, cunnilingus, handjob with used panties, mean reader, dirty talk, sexual condescension, caleb comes untouched (and then touched), overstimulation, slight aftercare, actions/positions may be anatomically challenged idk how any of that works irl pairing: caleb x reader word count: 2.3k

PART 1

a/n: so much love on the last one. i hope i did y'all justice

You’re not sure why your eyes flutter open in the dead of night until you hear the soft groans echoing down the hallway. 

As you come to your senses, a spark of anger dissolves your lethargy. It’s 2 a.m., you’d had a long day, and you really don’t feel like leaving the comfort of your bed to investigate. Whatever he’s getting up to, he can whimper his way through it alone, you think, nestling deeper into your sheets. 

That is, until you hear the faint grunt of your name float through the air, luring you in with the promise of punishment. 

With a grunt of your own, you swing off the mattress and pad down the hall, shivering from the chilled air prickling through your camisole and shorts. Great, and it’s freezing in here. Another grievance to add to the list.

Braving the cold, you come to a stop a few steps from his room, refusing to be caught in the soft light spilling from the cracked doorway. Two days before, Caleb had been reckless—he’d been moving so hastily to catch a glimpse of you touching yourself that you could’ve spotted his shadow with your eyes closed. 

No, you wouldn’t be so careless. This was your grand entrance to make, after all. You’d bide your time, make him wonder if you’d been serious about your request from earlier—if you cared enough to correct his misbehavior. 

Gingerly, you slink to the opposite wall, deftly avoiding the gleam of his floor lamp as you cross to the other side of the doorframe. 

As you peer through the gap in the doorway, holding your breath in anticipation, you expect to see Caleb disobeying the order you’d given him: to come to you for help, to ask you for the real thing. Check.

You expect to see a pair of your panties pressed against his face as he desperately fucks into his hand. Check.

You expect them to be the pair you’d so graciously gifted him two days prior, when you’d made him admit his thefts. But you’d underestimated him, it seems. No check here. 

Because pressed against Caleb’s nose are the lavender panties you’d worn during your trip to the mall this afternoon. He must’ve stolen them from your hamper while you were in the shower. With a quiet scoff, you slip into the room, your footfalls muted by his crescendoing moans and the soft rubs of skin on skin. 

Leaning against the wall in front of him, you take in his writhing form: his trembling hand molding your panties to his face, his muscled chest heaving through inhales, his swollen cock bobbing with his movements. His scrunched-closed eyes blocking the one view that might be able to get him off.

It’s when he huffs in frustration, clearly no longer able to find release without you present, that Caleb opens his eyes. Annoyed, he squints at the ceiling, then at his lamp, before finally spotting you in his periphery. 

You wear a blank expression as he meets your eyes, and flickers of alarm, then relief, then anticipation cross his face. 

Slowly, haughtily, you uncross your arms and push off the wall, stalking toward his bedside to tower over him with a sneer. As your eyes travel down his body, his length throbs under your gaze, and he moves to reach out to you before thinking better of it. With an unimpressed look that you hope masks your arousal, you quirk an eyebrow. “All that effort to disobey me and you couldn’t even come, huh?” 

His cheeks flush, and he looks down at his chest to escape your scrutiny. “I was almost about to—”

“You were almost about to give up and go to sleep with a leaking cock,” you say plainly, earning a garbled choke from the man beneath you. 

Sighing, you climb onto the mattress. “I distinctly remember telling you,” you start, crawling up his body, “the next time you want to get off, you ask me. You come to me.” 

When you reach his waist, you settle your hips onto his abdomen, resting your palms flat on his chest. “And not only do you choose your hand over my help, you also steal from me again. What do I say to that? What should I do with you?”

He feigns contemplation for a moment before smiling up at you, a coy softness in his gaze. “You could show me,” he whispers, circling his thumb on your hip. “Show me why I should come to you. What I've been missing.” 

You snort. 

“Right, of course,” you humor him, rolling your hips into the hard panes of his waist. “I should punish you by giving you a reward. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His hands, which had come up to grip your ass as you moved, flex in response to your teasing. “No,” he corrects, his breathy voice dropping an octave, “you should punish me by using me. Takin’ all your anger out on my face. I stole from you—woke you up, didn’t listen to you, right? Shouldn’t you use me? Put me in my place?”

You know what he’s doing. You fully know what he’s doing, but his display of docility has made you too wet to care. You’re sure he can feel it seeping through your shorts and onto his abs—that’s probably why his pupils push the purple from his eyes, his breaths coming out in soft pants. 

Lightly digging your nails into his pecs, you lean toward him, your cleavage hanging just before his chin. “Okay, Caleb. I’ll use you.” 

Shifting your weight, you inch further up his body, coming to kneel with your legs on either side of his head. Bracing one hand on the headboard, you start lowering yourself toward him, savoring the way he licks his lips in anticipation. 

But it can’t be that easy. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it your way. 

Halfway to his mouth, you pause, suddenly, casting an exaggerated frown down at his eager face. 

“I’m not sure I really should, though—use you, I mean. You were so ready to disobey me, I’m just not convinced. Maybe I should let you keep licking my panties and rutting into your hand—you seemed happy enough doing it earlier. What do you say?” you taunt, moving to lift off him. 

“No,” Caleb whines, bold hands coming to hold you in place above him.

You still in acquiescence—hell, you weren’t going anywhere, anyway—and tut down at him. “No?” you repeat, a mocking lilt in your voice. “Do you deserve it, then?”

You see the impish glint in his eye the moment he thinks of pulling you down himself, but you challenge him with a much less playful glint of your own. In an instant, his mischief fizzles, and his throat bobs in time with the blush blooming on his cheeks. “I deserve it,” he mumbles, his breath fanning your cunt. “Deserve to be used. By you.”

“Mm, you do? Then why don’t you say ‘please,’ Caleb?”

It’s a beautiful moment, the seconds where he almost breaks in desperation. The man who never asks for anything, suddenly forced to beg for everything. But before he can crumble, his faltering, scarlet face twitching from impatience, he schools his expression, returning to the simpering, pliable version of him that only you could bring out.

“…Use me. Let me have the real thing. Please,” he whispers hoarsely, pressing a light kiss to your inner thigh. 

With a fond, appeased smile, you finally sink down on him, aligning his nose with your clit and lips with your sticky heat. When you press flush against his face, he freezes momentarily, his fingers tightening around your hips as deep inhales flutter across your cunt. 

Recovering, he gives you a reverent, chaste kiss before flicking his tongue out, and as the tang of your flavor—right from the source—spreads across his mouth, an impulse to eat consumes his thoughts. In an instant, he parts your folds with a decisive lick, swirling his tongue to taste every part of you he can reach. 

As he explores you in warm, dutiful strokes, you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging up to bump his nose against your clit. When he feels the twitching bud, he pauses to give it an open-mouthed kiss before diving back between your folds. 

“Aw, look at you,” you giggle. “Isn’t this so much better? Imagine how much time we could’ve saved if you’d come to me earlier.” 

At your words, his lips release you with a lewd smack before latching back on with fervor. 

Emboldened by his encouragement, you tighten your hold on his hair and pull him to you, rolling your cunt against his face in a steady grind. Moaning into you at the friction, he bucks his hips involuntarily, and you grin down at him. “This fits you, don’t you think? Being used?” 

Humming against you in agreement, he burrows deeper between your legs, eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Eyes on me,” you order, stilling your movements to catch his attention. After a moment, his hazy violet gaze finds yours, and all the confusion he’s capable of mustering is evident on his face. “There he is,” you coo. “You didn’t want to come up, did you? Too shy to look at me?”

He shakes his head ardently, squishing your cunt harder against his lips. 

“No? What was it, then?” 

Conflicted, he whines at your prodding, clearly wanting to answer but unwilling to part from your core long enough to do so.

You laugh softly at his stubbornness before throwing your head back and resuming your earlier pace, dragging your slit up and down his ready mouth. “What, you wanna stay down there forever? Wake up under me, breathe me, live off my cum?”

As the suggestion rings through the air, a few things happen at once. Caleb’s lips detach from you with a wet pop, seemingly against his will, as his eyes roll back and he grips your hips so tightly you think they’ll bruise. 

It’s then that you feel something splatter against your spine, and you look back to catch his engorged, twitching cock spurting thick ropes of cum. As the heavy breaths that punctuate his whimpers fan into you, you conceal the smirk on your face and look down at him with a pout. 

“Already?” you whine playfully. “I haven’t even done what I wanted yet. You won’t wait for me?” 

Still recovering from his high, Caleb can only press a light kiss to your clit—a sign that it’s okay to continue. 

“I guess I’ll have to give you another,” you decide. “I’m feeling generous tonight, in spite of it all.” 

With a wink, you extend an arm to where your panties lay discarded and loop them through your fingers, wearing them like a glove. Threading your other hand in Caleb’s hair to stabilize yourself, you reach back and clasp his pulsing cock, the fabric in your fingers meeting his skin with devastating friction. 

Giving him only a moment to gasp into you, you slide your hand down his length, collecting his seed as you go and ruining yet another pair of your underwear. Once the material is coated with his cum, you repeat your movements—up and down, up and down in time with your thrusts against his face. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, he grinds you into him, imprinting his head into the plush pillow beneath. With nowhere left to go and everything left to give, he frantically probes at your entrance, fumbling slightly before finally breaching your hole with his tongue. You gasp at the intrusion, instinctively clamping your legs around his head in defense, which only sucks him further inside. 

Wanton moans falling from your lips, you rock your swollen clit against the bridge of his nose, claiming every part of him as you chase your release. When his flicks and swishes between your walls become too much to bear, you clench around his tongue with a breathy cry and gush into his waiting mouth. As your movements stutter from the pleasure, your hand slips from its place on his cock, and the lace border of your panties snags on his tip. The dual sensations have him coming again, painting his chest and your lower back a milky, translucent white.

In the silence that follows, the only noises in the room your intermixed, shuddering breaths, Caleb laps at your release in continued reverence. When those laps turn to suckles, you clamber off of him before he can start again.

Supporting yourself with your elbows, your feet planted on the bed, you take in his flushed face, drenched with your essence and a mix of your sweat. Between heavy pants, he fixes his imploring gaze on you and reaches out with a whimper, to which you quickly oblige. Crawling to the headboard, you lean your back against it and wrap your arms around his spent body, pressing a long kiss to his damp hair. 

He folds himself into your chest, nuzzling against you, and the decelerating beat of your heart steadies his. Running a hand through his soft strands, you give his scalp a brief massage before asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment his moans disrupted your sleep. “Caleb?” you murmur into his ear. “You wanted me to hear you, didn’t you?” 

Sluggish, he looks up at you with a blissed-out smile, his unfocused eyes settling on your knowing expression. Wordlessly, he presses one kiss to your wrist, another to the valley of your chest, before nestling back down, his large hand resting on your still-leaking heat.

taglist: @mcdepressed290 @imiqz @silviex

[sixeyesonathiel]

love comes in small sizes ✦ series masterlist

pairing – ex situationship gojo x fem reader

synopsis : you and gojo satoru have always been a thing—never defined, never simple. he’s reckless with his wounds (and your heart), you’re the only one who can patch him up, and neither of you will admit what you really want. but when life tears you apart, the universe sends a tiny, glitter-covered reminder that some bonds can’t stay broken forever. or : a story about healing, second chances, and the world’s most dramatic five-year-old.

status : ongoing (3/5 chapters, 24k word count) ✦ tags –> canon divergence au, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, unlabeled relationship, grovelling satoru, secret child trope, reunions, miscommunications, second chances, happy ending for my own sanity, satoru is trying his best, reader is petty for a valid reason

colletion m.list | gen. m.list

— chapter index

01 – fatherhood dlc unlocked!

gojo satoru has spent years perfecting the art of not dealing with his feelings—whether it's letting you heal his suspiciously convenient injuries, stealing your scarf, or pretending your departure from the jujutsu society and his life didn't made him miserable every single day. but when a chance reunion throws him face-to-face with a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace who looks exactly like him, he learns some things can't be ignored.

02 – sugar, spice and sass

a routine school event turns into a high-stakes charade when a certain sorcerer gets strong-armed into playing a role he was never prepared for—least of all by the tiny mastermind who already owns his ego. meanwhile, someone remains blissfully unaware their quiet life is about to implode.

03 – glitter never really comes off (and neither do regrets)

babysitting duties don’t come with a manual, especially not when the kid in question has a sparkly backpack, a sharp tongue, and a secret grip on your heart. satoru finds himself thrown into unfamiliar territory—navigating food courts, toy aisles, and the crushing weight of five missed years—with nothing but a wallet full of guilt and a smile that keeps slipping. but the thing about glitter is that it sticks, and by the end of the day, he’s covered in more than he bargained for.

more to come.

tag list: @funicidals @coffeeluvr96 @wolywolymoley @ineednanami @luv3nti @nikilig @linaaeatsfamilies @nariminsstuff @cherryredkissez @lolightrealm @myahfig4 @kaged-kitty @s4ikooo1 @buni-bunnydoll @ssetsuka @susususukanana @mintcheery @starsyoongi @sorilyae @mashtura @enhasrii @kunisnaomi @seikamuzu @asahinasstuff @venusss-ss @satoruxsc @emochosoluvr @sleepykittyenergy @moncher-ire @byakuya61085 @ayumilk @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron-blog @balsalmic-vinegar @altgojo @esotericsorrow @44ina @jkslvsnella @reihimbo @flowerpot113 @kxgumi @emryb @yukinemaroop @nonamebbsblog @1uv4jiya @bibisaur @juujujs @kanekisheart @katsukiseyebrows @alygator77

[odilesgrimoire]

I Can’t Sleep Unless You’re Here

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Tags: fluff, dramatic boyfriend behavior, clingy Gojo, soft cuddles, established relationship, long-distance (but only for one night)

Summary: Gojo Satoru has survived cursed spirits, assassins, and political meetings—but Gojo Satoru has known suffering.

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

He has faced cursed spirits the size of buildings. Watched friends die. Carried the weight of the strongest on his shoulders since he was fifteen.

But nothing could have prepared him for the bone-deep agony of spending a night without you.

9 hours and 36 minutes. That’s how long it’s been since he left for Kyoto.

His hotel room is too quiet. Too sterile. The sheets smell like laundry detergent instead of you. The thermostat is set to the perfect temperature, and yet he’s freezing. Inside.

He lay spread-eagled on the bed, silk robe, damp hair, sunglasses on. The shower hadn’t helped

The group chat with Nanami and Shoko is left on read. He’s already called you twice. You said you were going to sleep. You sounded tired. You sounded adorable.

He replays your voice in his head like a junkie going through withdrawal.

“I miss your dumb face.”

He clutches his chest.

“You better be resting and not seducing the entire Kyoto branch.”

He lets out a soft whimper.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

He rolled over and screamed into the pillow

12 hours in. He can’t do this.

He sends you a photo of himself dramatically laying across the bed, captioned:

“Empty. Like my heart.”

No response.

He texts again:

“If I die tonight, know that I loved you with all the passion of a thousand suns and the recklessness of a man who’s seen your thighs in shorts.”

Still nothing.

He leaves a voice message.

“Hey… it’s me. Again.”

“I just… I tried. I really did. I fluffed the pillow. I cuddled the hotel robe. I even sprayed your perfume on a towel and slept beside it… like some lovesick stalker. Nothing worked.”

“It’s not the bed. It’s not the blanket. It’s you.”

“I can’t sleep unless you’re here. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“The worst part is that I did sleep. For five minutes. And I dreamed you were holding someone else’s hand. And when I woke up, I cried. Real tears. I saw a bellboy. He looked concerned.”

“I think I’m unraveling. Come back. Or let me come home. I swear I’ll behave. I’ll even stop stealing your chocolate… Even the fancy ones you hide behind the cereal box.”

He stares at the message, debating whether to delete it.

He doesn’t.

You blink awake in the dark, glance at your phone, and roll your eyes. He’s lost it. Fully lost it. You set the phone back down—and smile.

God, you love that idiot.

18 hours.

He cracks. He packs his things in a flurry. Leaves a note for Nanami:

“Tell them I had a curse emergency. (The curse was my loneliness.)”

Nanami will kill him.

He doesn’t care.

He books the earliest train, dressed in your hoodie and yesterday’s sweatpants, looking like a sad anime protagonist halfway through his redemption arc.

4:36 AM.

You open the door to find a very tired, very clingy Gojo Satoru standing in your hallway with a suitcase and a 7-Eleven bag of snacks.

He stares at you like you’re salvation. Like you’re sunlight. Like he’s been through a war zone made entirely of cold pillows and too much silence.

You blink. “Satoru…”

“I came back,” he says. His voice cracks. Cracks.

“You… left the summit?”

“I almost died,” he says solemnly. “I was slipping into madness. I heard voices. One of the hotel pillows whispered your name.”

“…Are you on drugs?”

“Only the drug of love.”

You drag him inside.

He throws himself into your arms like a soldier returning from war. Clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Smushes his face into your chest and lets out the most pitiful groan you’ve ever heard from a grown man.

“I’m never leaving again,” he mutters. “Not unless you come with me. Not even to the convenience store. We’re attached at the hip now. Fused. Merged.”

“Satoru, it was one night.”

“A lifetime. In heartache years.”

You collapse into bed, and he’s on you in an instant—arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, his entire 6’3 frame practically melted into your body like a clingy marshmallow.

You run a hand through his hair.

He lets out a breath. “See? That’s it. That’s what I needed. Your fingers in my hair. Your breath on my neck. Your weird little sleep grumbles. That’s home.”

You smile, soft and sleepy. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m your drama queen.”

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ───

The next morning, your phone buzzes.

Shoko

“Tell Gojo the elders are putting together a formal complaint. And Nanami wants to punch him.”

You glance over at your boyfriend—passed out, hugging you like a body pillow, one sock missing, face buried in your shoulder.

You text back:

“He says it was worth it.”

And then he rolled over and said he dreamed of me holding his hand at our wedding.

So. Worth it.

₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[i2sunric]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (l.hs)

pairing: reckless!heeseung x reader (f)

summary: everyone knows you have a strong character and are a smart woman, and nobody can explain how you ended up with someone like lee heeseung. he makes you want to rip his hair out and kiss him until he drops to his knees at the same time— because however reckless and foolish his decisions are, they’re always made for you.

warnings: crack (and angst if u squint?), mentions of jail, breaking the law. smut! (i put a warning so you can skip if uncomfortable), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), fingering, dirty talking, p in v, doggystyle, pussy eating, sidefuck, mentions of fighting and alcohol consumption. pet names (angel, baby), heeseung isn’t very rich, starring enha hyung line & itzy’s chaeryeong, mentions of songs i like… cause why not?, heeseung is silly, not so nice comments towards reader, for the sake of the plot reader has an ass that jiggles. NOT PROOFREAD.

wc: 8.5k

published: 23rd June 2024

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @seunghancore @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries (oneshot) @cherlv @sl33pyrin @kookify @heeslut4life @heeshlove @tibamrayg @enhalxvr @heelee-01 @crimnalseung @oopshee @deobitifull @jjklvr9 @starfallia @eneiyri @artisticbirb @tinyteezer @jakesbbygirl @heartheejake @mitmit01 @p-d1ddy @IIvrhee @jakehooni @minseongsworld @samouryed @ramenoil @blockbusterhee @laurradoesloveu @koralira-kira @kireidattes @yunhoswrldddd @nyamiyan @wonxlvr @kgneptun @camprock101 @trizdoniki @cloud-lyy @rayofsunshineeee @qtnights BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

now playing: Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

a/n: i honestly don’t really like how it turned out but i didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer. the smut sucks, so sorry but lmk your thoughts! and please LiIKE & REBLOG. also, the songs i mentioned in the fic are related to the scenes so i suggest you to search the lyric on google!

Standing outside the prison, just like the way you got stood up the same morning, you rested your back against your vintage car, tapping your foot impatiently.

You weren’t even surprised when you received Jay’s phone call, informing that the reason why your boyfriend didn’t show up on your date was because he ended up in jail. Again.

You watched as his red-wine hair appeared from the back door, an officer guiding him to the exit until he left his wrists, leaving him free for moving around.

His smirk was smug again, full of fake innocence. Heeseung approached you and said in a sweet voice “Hi, baby.”

He placed his hands on your side, resting them on the dashboard of the car, trapping against the vehicle.

You rolled your eyes, pulling your sunglasses up in a makeshift headband. Chewing on your gum, you asked “What got you in?”

“Speeding,” He answered before joking to lighten up your mood “But the officer put me behind bars for stealing his heart.”

You sighed at his joke, rolling your eyes to look over his shoulder and not gaze into his bambi eyes, knowing they were your weakness.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Heeseung asked, lifting one of his hands to tap your chin. He turned your head so you were now looking at him again, a small pout on his lips.

You pushed his chest “Get in the car before I close your head in the door and get sent to jail myself.” You mumbled.

Before you could do it yourself, Heeseung rushed in front of you and opened the driver seat for you. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t drive since they removed his driver licence.

He’d be out for at least two months— that only made you wonder how fast he was actually going.

‘Everytime’ by Ariana Grande started playing from your self-made CD’s and Heeseung smiled softly as he took in the lyric.

“Come on, baby.” He said as you pulled out of the prison and started driving back to his apartment “I know you’re mad—“

“Mad?” You scoffed “I’m infuriated.” You said, and your harsh tone emphasised your range.

Heeseung let out a small sigh, “Baby…” He placed his hand on your thigh, and you shoved it away.

Still, like an annoying mosquito, Heeseung placed his palm back on your thigh “Don’t be mad at me, mh?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it was to get yet another call from Jay that told me he got you bailed out of jail?” You said, looking at him as you reached a stoplight.

“I don’t like it that you make your friend spend so much money for your stupidity.”

He ran a hand through his hair “It was for a good cause.” You rolled your eyes “Sure it was.” You focused back on the road when the light turned green.

“And I don’t know how embarrassed you were— Jay’s loaded anyways, let him use his money on me.” He pinched your thigh, only earning a worse pinch on his own.

“Ouch.” He massaged the flesh you pinched, probably spotting two half moons from your nails “Feisty I see.”

The drive continued silently, just him trying to lighten your obvious bad mood and you purposely ignoring his remarks.

You pulled on the side of the road, letting Heeseung get out of our vehicle. He rounded the car and was about to open your door when you locked it.

He frowned and knocked on the window “Angel?” He asked, leaning forward when you rolled down the window, smiling ever so innocently.

“Yes?” You said, putting your sunglasses back on your face “What is it?”

“You’ll park and come over, right?” He laughed, something that turned awkward after being met with your serious face.

“Y/N?” He asked again and you sucked on your middle finger, flicked him off before pulling away into the road, driving away from him.

Heeseung tried to jog towards you but your foot on the accelerator was pressed down enough that you left the tire’s sign on the ground.

“What the hell.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged, knowing well that you needed time to cool off.

Sometimes, you wondered if your pressure wasn’t too high from how much mood swings he made you feel in such a short time span.

The same evening, Heeseung chose to fill his stomach with just some chips he found in his cupboard, trying not to choke himself by drinking a coke.

Not very healthy, but low cost. — not really since even some cans of coke started costing a lot, damn inflation —

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled his best friend’s number, waiting for him to pick up.

“Heeseung?” As his cheerful voice with a thick Australian accent was heard, Heeseung started “Bro, I’m in the doghouse again.”

Jake fought not to laugh at his tragedies and said “What the hell did you do this time?”

“Do not judge.” He balanced the phone on his shoulder and moved to place his very nutritious dinner on the small table in the living room. “But I may have gone to jail again.”

Jake let out a sigh, “You’re a fucking idiot.” He muttered “Why did you go in?”

“Speeding.” Heeseung answered, sitting on the sofa with a loud thud.

“Jesus.” Jake sighed “I suppose Y/N’s all pissed now, uh?”

He flicked on the tv and munched his chips “She’s infuriated, and that’s an understatement.”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose “You’re in a whole lotta trouble.” He then questioned “What was so important you had to speed so much?”

“Her, bro.” Heeseung answered, “I was late for our date, like, a huge fucking amount late and let’s say I didn’t think before pressing the accelerator.”

“You’re screwed.” Jake commented, “Had I been her, I would’ve broken up with you a long time ago.”

Heeseung frowned, “Don't say that.” He changed channels, not very useful since his TV only had two working channels, blaming the aerial on the rooftop that got damaged after a bad storm.

“It’s the third time you’ve been a ent to jail.” Jake pointed out “For foolish mistakes.”

“I know, I know.” Heeseung sighed “But speeding isn't even a crime if I don’t run over anyone!”

The boy on the other line laughed at how he tried to defend himself "It’s still a crime." Jake pointed out.

"But yeah, you didn't run anyone over, and for that the city should be grateful." He said, before chuckling. “But your girl definitely isn't."

Heeseung rubbed his jaw and took another bunch of chips “Apart from admitting I am a fucking douchebag, what do I do to amend myself?”

Jake thought for a moment before replying “Well, girls usually like gifts. You know, something cliché, roses or chocolates, that kind of stuff.”

“Roses are expensive.” Heeseung thought, “And so is chocolate.”

“How much money do you even have?” Jake sighed “Not a lot, oh—“ He stopped himself “I also have to phone Jay and thank him for bailing me out. Again.”

“Jay is too good to you.” The Australian chuckled “Back to your crappy plan, what are you gonna give her?”

Heeseung took a sip of coke and let out a small burp, at which Jake commented with a quiet ‘Disgusting’, “I’ll steal some flowers on the way.”

“Dude, your gee ef is already pissed off, do you really think giving her stolen flowers is going to win her heart back?” He asked.

“Just go buy them like a normal person, don't steal them, you're gonna dig yourself into an even deeper hole."

Heeseung let out a distressed sigh “Alright, If I still have money after buying those expensive flowers, should I take her out on dinner too?”

Jake chuckled at his best friend’s struggle “Yes. You totally should.”

Heeseung nodded, staring at the old cartoon displayed on the Television. The main character, with long, red hair put in two braids seemed oddly familiar.

Seriously, he had already seen her, and not only in her cartoon whose title he didn’t remember.

And then, something clicked inside his head “Oh my god!” He exclaimed, almost making Jake go deaf.

“You’re the smartest person on earth, thank you man, kisses to your sexy brain.” And then he hung up.

Uh uh baby. Mission ‘Win Y/N’s heart back in full classy with a sprinkle of glitter’ activated.

♡.

“Hi, baby.” Was the first thing that met your hearing when you opened the door.

There stood your boyfriend, you debated whether to let him in or shut the door in his face, but as your eyes scanned his body you noticed he was dressed rather nicely— Was his button up even ironed? Unexpected.

“These are for you.” He cut in, showing a bouquet — actually, there were only three — of tulips.

“What did you do there?” You asked as you noticed some bad scratches on his hands, dried blood on them.

He handed you the flowers, which were nicely put together with pink paper, matching the colour of the petals, and stepped into your apartment.

Your house wasn’t that fancy, you weren’t the wealthiest person in town either, but it was a big contrast with his lapsing one.

It was nicely tidied, everything had its place and nobody would’ve dared to break its order. Not even Heeseung’s clumsy hands.

“I wanted to get you your favourite flowers,” Heeseung smiled, turning toward you when you closed the door behind your back and smelled the tiny bouquet.

“But tulips have become so expensive nowadays, so I had to steal some from my neighbour,” He sighed “Her pussy cat gashed me when I put my hand near the vase.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his story, carefully placing the flowers on the table and taking his wounded hand, examining it.

“Let me treat it.” You said, walking to the cupboard where you kept your first aid kit “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even—“

At the side eye you shot him, Heeseung knew better than arguing further and just shut his mouth “Yes ma’am.” He said, sitting down on the chair.

You began to gently treat the scratches on his hands, teasing him by adding more pressure than you should. A little payback for how he angered you.

“Why are you here, by the way?” You questioned, tip toeing to reach the cupboard and put back the first aid kit.

Heeseung’s figure hovered behind as his hand softly reached for yours, taking the aid and placing it on the higher shelf.

Fucker, that way you’d either have to ask him to take it down or climb the counter. Knowing how prideful you were, you’d stick with the latter.

“To take you out for dinner.” He replied, the warmth of his body replaced by emptiness as he stepped away “As an apology for standing you up yesterday.”

You crossed your arms on your chest “I’m still mad at you.” Heeseung nodded “Fair, you have all the rights.”

He sighed “But please, let me take you out.” He walked closer and placed a tentative hand on your arm, when he saw you didn’t budge, he let his hands caress your sides “Grab your bestest dress and let’s have a night out, mh?”

“Bestest isn’t even a word.” You rolled your eyes. “Only children use it.”

“It is when I use it to say that you’re the bestest thing in my life.” Heeseung beamed and you cursed yourself for being so weak for him.

Playing hard to get wasn’t a choice, because no matter how stubborn you were or how clumsy he was, he always found the right words to make you fall head over heels for him.

“I have to take a shower and get dressed, and also do my hair and make up.” You murmured and Heeseung smiled, “I’m a patient man.”

You raised a brow at his very much uncorrect statement “Alright, maybe you should start right now.” He gently turned you around and pushed you toward the bathroom.

You sighed and walked in, locking the door when you heard his voice from the other side “Oh and baby? You need to drive, they took my licence, remember?”

♡.

When Heeseung entered your car and heard ‘Fake As Hell’ by All Time Low and Avril Lavigne, he knew he was in deep trouble.

You had this strange habit of listening to songs that matched your mood of the day, usually chilly and sad when it rained and upbeat when the sun shone.

And, well, punk when you had a storm going inside.

It was a habit he found cute, one he learnt from observing you and your behaviour and probably the only one aware of it.

Like how you scrunch your nose and grimace when he says something you don’t like, or how you tend to throw your head back when someone — preferably him — makes you laugh.

Heeseung knew all your little details that you probably didn’t even notice yourself.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the clear side glances you gave him, he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Did you change something in your makeup, angel?” He asked, even if angel wasn’t really the pet name to match your feisty attitude.

He was also glad that you let him inside your car and kindly drove the both of us, because if you wanted, you would’ve made him walk to the date location.

Your gaze softened a little as you focused on the road ahead of you “Yes.” You stated, surprised that he even noticed “I changed the lip combo.”

“You look good with this combination as well.” Heeseung said, careful with his phrasing “Even if I’m foreseeing it’ll get smudged by the end of the evening.” He added with a wink.

You tsked, “I don’t think you deserve to be the one to smudge it.”

His gaze darkened slightly. “I really hope no one else will get to do that.”

You smirked, “Where are you taking me?” You asked even if you were the one driving.

“Wendy’s.” Heeseung smiled, “I know, not fancy or worth enough for such a beautiful person like you, but affordable for a bad person like me.” He added, “And I know you like it.”

You didn’t think he knew that it didn’t matter where you went as long as he was present, where you could have him in sight and check if he did something wrong.

How unhealthy it was, you had grown anxious whenever he wasn’t with you, blaming the fact that he always ends up in trouble without supervision.

“Alright, stud.” You smiled back, speeding just enough to reach the nearest fast food chain “Let’s have our long awaited date.”

The ride was filled with small talks and funny conversations, mostly initiated by your boyfriend, and in the blink of an eye, you reached Wendy’s parking lot.

The side of town wasn’t that famous, just a couple of people stood outside, smoking cigarettes while in the nearby motorbikes parking lot were some old bikers, sipping what you thought was coke.

You didn’t mind them, even if they didn’t give you nice vibes. Heeseung grew confident enough that you wouldn’t reject his touch and wrapped one arm around your waist, tugging you closer.

The dress you chose hugged your curves ever so sweetly, the contrast between black and red making you more seductive.

When you showed up out of the bathroom, you half expected him to call you off and tell you to change; instead, he said you could wear whatever you wanted because he could fight— and that was what worried you.

You smirked and wrapped an arm around his waist as well before slipping it inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Heeseung chuckled “Trying to cop a feel, angel?” He asked, a smile plastered on his face when he finally had you in his arms.

“Yes, baby.” You playfully squeezed his butt through the fabric “Best cake ever.”

“I like this cake better.” Heeseung said as he leaned slightly back to lightly smack your ass.

“Hey!” You walked forward from the impact, laughing “No, how can I blame you.”

“Gosh, I’m starving.” You said, turning around to walk backward, trusting him enough to know that he’d tell you if you were to walk over something or someone.

“Let’s fill our tummies with burgers!” Heeseung exclaimed, beaming down at you, the sound of your heels echoing as you reached the entrance that was close to the motorbikes parking lot.

“Oi, look at how it jiggles.” Heeseung’s neck almost snapped as he heard the comment from a nearby voice. He saw how those creepy as hell bikers were ogling at you, their eyes trailed on your exposed legs. One of them even licked their lips “Bet it bounces so well.”

“You got a problem, buddy?” His voice was dark and he looked past you, his nose up, being territorial.

Oh no. You knew that gaze so well, it was the one he had when he failed to control his pent-up anger.

“Hee—“ You tried to say but he had already walked past you, standing in front of one of their bikes “Nah, no problem.” One laughed “Just thought we’d compliment your lady there.”

Heeseung's eyes narrowed, his irritation growing.

He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger under control. "You better watch your mouth.” He warned.

One, a little younger than them, chuckled, clearly unfazed by Heeseung’s threads “Not our fault she’s hot,” His smile was smug “Just thought we’d appreciate her from afar.”

He then eyed you up and down, making you shiver under his gaze. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

He took a step closer to the bikers, fists still clenched. "I'm not going to tell you again," He growled, "Keep your comments to yourself, or you're going to end up with a black eye."

“Heeseung,” you took his wrist in your small hand, rubbing your thumb on his knuckles in an attempt to sooth him “You promised you’d behave, remember?” Your voice was ever so gentle.

At your words, his gaze softened and he looked behind his back “Yeah.” He whispered, “But baby, they said—“

“I know what they said.” You were quick to interrupt him “But I don’t care, can we just ignore them and enter the building? We’ll be fine.”

He stayed silent a few seconds, clearly trying to calm himself down. His clenched fits slowly relaxed and he nodded “Alright, let’s do that.”

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing you behind his back, as if to protect you.

Your gaze made the enormous mistake of meeting the biker that complimented your jiggly backside and he made a slapping gesture in the air.

A gesture that wasn’t, at all, ignored by your boyfriend who quickly charged at him “Alright fucker, you searched for it.”

His fist connected with the biker’s jaw, twisting his face to the side. He shook his hand, knuckles bruising from the impact.

The other bikers lunged at him, their fists flying.

Heeseung managed to duck and weave, dodging most of the blows. But eventually, one of them was able to land a punch to his stomach, causing him to double over in pain. And another hit connected on his face.

You gasped at the sight, “Stop!” You cried out, not knowing how to intervene “Please, stop it!”

Despite the pain, Heeseung straightened up and lunged at the biker who had punched him, tackling him to the ground.

He wasn't prepared for the sudden attack and fell hard, the wind knocked out of him.

You knew that darkened gaze, it was the one he had when his brain completely shut off and only left room for his angry, ranged feelings.

“No, Heeseung!” You gasped “Get off him.” You tried to get close but just the sight of the bikers around your boyfriend, all ready to attack made you flinch.

Heeseung gave the biker a set of hooks and punches, connecting with his jaw and nose. You heard a vague crack sound and silently prayed that he did not just break his nose.

Your chest heavied up and down, breath troubled from the panic.

You turned around just to see that some people began to gather by the entrance of the hallway, phones in their hands as they filmed the scene in front of them.

Your eyes widened and you quickly approached Heeseung, ignoring any other angry men around you “Let’s go.” You said, taking a hold of the hand he was about to use to punch the biker underneath him.

Heeseung blinked faintly, looking confused but allowing you to make him get up and leading him into one of the hidden hallways behind Wendy’s.

“Hey! Where do ya think you’re doing?” One of them shouted, probably jogging behind you but your feet never faltered.

“Run faster.” Heeseung gasped, taking your hand in his, taking the lead and finally ducking behind a bin.

You both squat down, panting as you tried your best not to make any sound.

You looked at your side, Heeseung’s cheekbone was bruised and his eyebrow bleeding from a minor cut.

Your gaze was full of worry and disappointment. “I can’t believe you started a fight.”

Heeseung grimaced as he touched his cheek “I didn’t start it, they searched for it by making such remarks on you.”

“You threw the first punch.” You frowned “That means starting it.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know, I just saw red and acted on impulse.”

You looked away and silence filled the air between you two. Waiting some minutes for things to calm down, and you took a sigh of relief when you heard stretches of bikes, driving away.

“Let’s go home.” You said, getting up from the floor, needing to support your weight with the wall.

“What about dinner?” He asked, getting up as well “You don’t want to enter?”

You whispered “I’m not hungry.” and made your way to the parking lot, where you left your car.

Heeseung understood that the situation was critical when, as you entered the car, you turned off the music, leaving only the sound of the tires on the road and the ticketing of turn signals.

Feeling a pang of guilt in his chest at the way up he had upset you so much you didn’t even want him to feed you, he reached for the small drawer where you kept all the CDs.

He took the one full of songs he liked and that you kept there, in case he wanted to listen to them whenever he used your car.

He put it in the console and shuffled the song until the right one came, he leaned back against the seat, gulping down nervously.

You heard the notes of ‘LIPS’ by jxdn playing and your breath hitched when you focused on the lyric.

Heeseung was playing the same little game you’d done since you started dating, or even before, when you tried to give him signals through the lyrics of your favourite songs.

You noticed him sneakily glancing at you, trying to take in your reaction.

He placed a hand on the one you had on the shift gear, and relaxed when he saw you weren’t going to reject his touch.

Because even if your brain screamed to leave him, your body seeked his comfort.

♡.

As soon as you got to your apartment, you rushed to take the first aid kit which was, obviously, on the highest shelf in the cupboard.

Heeseung, silently approached you and took it down for you, offering you a warm smile you did not reciprocate. Not like he thought you would.

You walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was already past eight PM and the room’s only source of light was the moonlight coming from the window.

Not wanting to get up from the bed to turn on the light, you just waited for Heeseung to join you.

He sat beside you, not too close but also not too far, enough for you to be able to clean his wounds freely.

You took a cotton stick and the disinfectant out, gently pouring it on the cotton and then placing one finger under his chin to guide his head.

The single touch sent shivers down Heeseung’s spine, glancing to your face as you treated him ever so sweetly.

It was in moments like those that he saw just how wonderful you were. You cared for him, so deeply you would do anything to have him by your side.

Even if it meant ignoring the red flags shooting up.

Then, once again. It was the turn to treat his hands. His knuckles were bruised, dried blood you didn’t think belonged to him coated his skin.

With a small sigh, you ignored the wince that left his lips as you tried to clean it the best without water.

Heeseung studied your face, disappointment written all over, frown knitting your brows.

His heart was as heavy as the air surrounding the pair of you, making it harder for him to talk.

Not long after, you were done and closed the first aid kit, throwing inside the dirty cotton sticks.

Gulping down, he whispered “Baby.” The pet name was enough to make your skin fill with goosebumps “Talk to me.”

His hands twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. And it physically hurt him.

“I get why you did it, I really do.” You explained, “And I’m glad that you tried to defend me, ” You sighed softly “I don’t want you to get in trouble or fight because of me.”

“It’s never ‘because of you’, baby.” He murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“I know you asked me to behave and I shouldn’t have used my fists.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “But I couldn’t let them talk about my girl like that.”

His thumb traced lazy circles on your stomach, trying to relax your stiff body. “You don’t deserve to hear such things said to you, ever.”

“It hurts, you know?” Your voice was merely a whisper “Having to stand and watch you do all these foolish things.”

Heeseung slowly pressed your back flush against his chest, his lips placing small kisses behind your ear lob. Trying to take your mind off it.

“Heeseung.” You said, voice a little like a thread “Mh?” He hummed, ever so innocently.

One hand trailed down your stomach until the hem of your dress that had rode up your thighs when you sat down.

“Come on, angel.” He purred, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You didn’t even have time to let him off because his lips started placing open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, knowing how sensitive you were there.

He shifted so that you were sitting between his legs, you could feel his heartbeat on your back. It matched yours, pounding fast.

SMUT WARNING

Heeseung slowly pried your legs open, enough to make your dress lift and your panties to show.

His attention shifted from your neck to your clothed mound, his fingers teasing you.

You scoffed, “I don’t want to see you.” You stated, trying to do your best to show him that you weren’t enjoying what he was doing.

Shame on you, he knew your body language more than how a book lover knew all the characters of his favourite book.

“You don’t need to see me for me to make you feel good.” He whispered in your ear “Are you seeing me now?” Heeseung asked, his fingers tracing lazy rubs on your clit.

Your body jerked slightly, making him sneak one arm around your waist to keep you steady.

“Answer me, baby.” He purred and you bit your bottom lip, determined not to give him.

Heeseung chuckled darkly and slipped your panties to the side, taking your slickness in his fingers, already dripping wet. Still, you made no sound.

Not satisfied and wanting you to let him do what he does best. Heeseung pushed one finger inside of you, making you gasp out.

“That’s what I thought.” He whispered, his finger moving in and out of you, occasionally rubbing against your g-spot.

“Mh..” You hummed softly, the sound sending heat to Heeseung’s cock that you could feel him press against your arse.

He left wet, kitten kisses down your jawline when you rested your head back on his shoulder, the feeling of him too pleasurable to keep acting like a brat.

“My baby.” He cooed, adding a second digit into your wetness, filthy sounds echoing through the room’s walls.

You moaned and gripped his forearm, trying to steady yourself as your body jerked on its own.

“Mh? There?” Heeseung asked, his finger brushing against a certain spot that had you moaning out loud.

“Uh uh.” He chuckled, “Found it.” He kept brushing and curling his fingers to stimulate your sweet spot until you clenched.

Heeseung slowly rutted his hips on your back, his pants now too strained and tight, beyond uncomfortable.

You felt him, his length so evident and hot even under the lays of clothing.

“Please, Hee.” You mumbled, head fizzy “Fuck me.” His movements faltered. His plan for the night was to just pleasure you, even if he could use a hand at that moment.

“Are you sure?” He asked, “I just want to make you feel good.”

You grew impatient, your mood already pissed from his previous behaviour “And I want you to fuck me, hard, can you do that?”

Heeseung let out a breath, almost pained as he tried to think straight.

“Do you still not want to see me?” He asked, his voice quiet and husky. Dangerous even.

You nodded, despite the sweet feeling he was providing you, you feared that seeing his cocky grin would make you put another bruise on his face.

“Got it.” He removed his fingers from your pussy, licked them clean and manhandled you.

He turned you so your chest was pressed against the mattress. He knew better than to make you wait, so he unzipped your dress, letting it fall open.

He helped you out of it, making you stay on all fours on the bed “Still don’t want to see me?” He asked and you groaned, shaking your head.

“Too bad.” Heeseung murmured, unclasping your bra “I won’t get to see your pretty face when I shove my cock deep inside of you.”

His words had you shiver, slickness pooling on your panties.

Heeseung smirked and threw your bra on the floor before doing the same with his own clothes.

His fingers pushed your panties to the side “You like it, mh?” He murmured, slowly pressing the tip of his already hard cock between your slick folds “You like it when I fuck you?”

With his hard length pressing against you, your head was clouded with desire and primal urges, so strong only when you were with him.

“Yes, Hee.” You whispered, arching your back to make his cock grind against your pussy “Like it. Need it.”

“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out, pulsing for you, trying his hardest not to lose control.

In one swift thrust, he had already put half of himself inside of you, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure.

“So good.” He breathed out “Always feel so good.”

Your back arched as he slowly pushed all of his cock, filling you to the brim. His mushroom tip hit your cervix with each thrust, making your legs shake.

Your hand reached behind to spread your pussy even more, trying to take him all, needing to feel him inside of you.

It wasn’t the sweetest of sex, but having him taking you made you feel a deep connection. It was something you shared only with him, an intimacy between the two of you.

Heeseung pushed your back by your ass, slowly thrusting, trying to make you adjust to the intrusion.

When the hand that was stretching you went to grasp his waist, trying to get him to move faster, Heeseung was happy to comply.

You wished you could see his muscular body, the way his jaw ticked and his chest clenched tight when he rutted his cock, shoved into your deepest part.

You let out soft moans, your head falling on the bed as the constant hit of your sweet spot made your eyes roll.

“S-so fucking tight.” He groaned, slapping your ass-cheek “Aren’t you baby?” You moaned in return.

He gripped your hips, grip bruising as he thrusted inside of you at a desperate speed “Feels good?”

You grasped the sheets underneath you “So good.” Your voice came out broken.

Heeseung hummed in response, his hips never slowing down as he tried to provide you pleasure and chase his high at the same time. But he didn’t want it to end so soon.

He wanted— no, he needed to have you unravel underneath him, make your legs shake and have you screaming his name.

He wanted to take you hard enough to make you forget all the pain he brought you.

When he felt himself twitch inside of you, dangerously close to his release, he pulled out, earning a complaining moan from you.

Heeseung’s smug grin was still plastered on his face as he dove back between your thighs. He gripped your ass-cheeks, spreading your wet folds and licked a long stripe.

Your body arched into his touch, hum rolling down your tongue.

He licked again, then another time, teasing your clit until you were a whimpering mess.

“Still don’t want to see me, angel?” Heeseung asked, briefly thrusting his tongue in your pussy.

Not answering, you pulled away from his grasp and laid down on the bed sideway, finally taking a glimpse of his face.

The moonlight shone from the window, illuminating his bruised and slightly-puffed face. Heeseung’s chest was heaving up and down, matching yours, his cheeks flushed and his gaze so soft. Enamoured over again, even.

You smiled gently at him and held your hand out for him to take. He quickly complied and took your hand as he laid beside you, his chest flush against your chest once more.

Ignoring the painful stretch of your neck, you turned your face to look at him and he was quick to pull you into a heated kiss.

Guiding his leaking cock into your entrance, he gently entered you, making you gasp.

Taking advantage of your parted lips, his tongue slid past your lips, moving slowly against yours, savouring the taste of you.

His hands roamed over your body, one of them moving to tangle in your hair while the other squeezed your breast, teased your nipple.

His pace was steady, sending waves of pleasure to your body. Your own fingers went to draw lazy circles on your clit, making you clench around him.

“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out on your lips, twitching inside of you “Stop clenching like that.”

You hummed, biting gently on his bottom lip as the sweet sensation of both his cock and your rubbing sent you close to the edge.

Heeseung could feel it, how you clenched around his length and how your moans got louder.

“I’m gonna cum too.” He whispered, his nose brushing against your cheek “Just a little bit longer.”

Your free hand went to cup your boob as he kept pinching your nipple, making you arch your back.

“Hee.” You breathed out, “S’close.”

“I know, angel.” He hurried his thrusts, the sound of the bed creaking filling the night air “Shit— pussy so warm.”

“Where do you want it?” He wasn’t one to normally ask, but given the circumstances and the previous small ‘argument’, he thought he owed you that question.

“You can come inside.” You stated quietly “I need it— Need you to fill me up.”

“Fuck. Y/N.” He panted, both his hands grasping your body as he rutted his hips against yours, hitting your cervix with each snap.

Heeseung continued that pace until he felt his release approach, he slapped your hand away and began to forcefully rub your sensitive bud, wanting you to come at the same time.

You jerked and squirmed beside him, the feeling too good for your own body “Hee—“ You tried to warn but the knot in your stomach snapped, making you milk his cock.

“Cumming, I’m cumming.” Heeseung panted, hips faltering as he emptied his load inside of you.

Both your breaths were heavy, exhaustion washing over the both of you.

Heeseung waited for you to ride down off your high before pulling out his softened cock, reaching for the nightstand to take a tissue and clean you up.

END WARNING

You let him do what he needed, watching him through tired eyes.

Heeseung smiled softly at you, placing a tender kiss on your forehead “Sore?” He questioned.

You shook your head, taking his hand in yours. Heeseung’s thumb traced lazy circles on your knuckles.

“Stay?” You asked quietly, and his heart sank at your vulnerable state.

Nodding, he shifted back so he could hold you, cuddle you against his chest.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed your ear, breath fanning your skin.

“Good night, stud.” You whispered tiredly, your eyes already heavy.

Heeseung smiled, tugging you closer “Good night, angel.”

♡.

It didn’t take a genius to realise that Heeseung had, in fact, messed up. Quite a lot, actually.

Not only had the video of him beating the shit out of the biker gone viral, now all over Twitter (he refused to call it like the letter that made him cry during maths class, the fucker that always needed to be found) and Instagram.

But also, staring at the naked body laying on the bed beside him, sheets around you, looking like a perfect angel on earth to save him, he came to the conclusion that he had poor communication skills.

He always seemed to resolve your arguments using his fingers and dick, and he hated how you just gave in to him.

Heeseung didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve your comprehension, your forgiveness neither.

He wanted to make things right, to be worthy of you. However, all his efforts seemed to just bring more chaos into your relationship.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of your face “I can’t even put it into words.”

You stirred, making him retract his hand. Fortunately, you weren’t awake, your eyes were still closed and your face relaxed in the innocence of sleeping.

He needed to find a solution, one that didn’t require the cliché of a night out at a nice restaurant or flowers.

Heeseung needed to find something to win your heart back; one that would demonstrate to you that he, indeed, took you seriously.

Because Heeseung did not want a future if you weren’t in it. If you weren’t the one he chose rings for, if you weren’t their recipient.

He didn’t want a life where you weren’t the one to walk down the aisle, the one to bear his children, the one to build a family with him.

And even if you didn’t want to get married or have a mini-you around the house, growing old alongside you was already the greatest honour he could ask for.

♡.

When you woke up that morning, the last thing you expected to see was a note from Heeseung, telling you that he’d be right back at you and that there was some burnt toast in the kitchen from the failed breakfast he tried to make.

Trying to take your mind off the clumsy man who occupied it all the time, you decided to hang out with your best friend, Chaeryeong.

Sitting at a nice café and taking aesthetic pictures to post was a great distraction and therapy.

And, of course, you found comfort in your best friend, telling all the things she wasn’t aware of and that happened since you two last saw each other— which unfortunately was a long time ago.

“Did he really punch them?” Chaeryeong’s mouth fell open as she took in all the information “Like… he tried to fight a whole gang of old hags that were ogling at you?”

You nodded, pinching the bridge of your nose “Some fuckers even took a video and it spread all over internet.”

“No way.” She said, shocked “Let me see.”

You took your phone out of your pocket and started searching for the video on X. You handed her your phone and waited for her reply.

“Damn baby.” She smiled, “That right hook was strong.”

You widened your eyes “Chaeryeong.” You said, sternly, “I’m being serious here.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She gave you your phone back “Honestly, if my man ain’t like that, I don’t want him.”

You gave her a side eye and Chaeryeong chuckled “Y/N, he defended you from those bikers, he wasn’t afraid to stand up for you.”

“I know.” You looked down at your half-empty cup of coffee “I really appreciated that. But I also don’t want him to get into any more trouble.”

“Yeah, well.” Chaeryeong grimaced “He isn’t a saint, but his actions are clear, as messed up as they are, they’re all for you.”

“I’m just…” You closed your eyes “So confused and so tired.”

She pouted and took your hand in his “I’m so sorry.” She said, sincerity lacing her words “I don’t really know how to help you.”

You just gave her a reassuring smile and stared at your coffee to block out your unhappy thoughts.

“Listen, girl.” Chaeryeong said after a few minutes of silence “Why don’t we go to your favourite pub tonight? The vintage one.” She suggested.

“Let’s wear a pretty dress, order some strong liquor and just shut off anything else.” She raised a hoping brow.

You debated whether to rot in your bed and try to figure your feelings out or ignore them for a while and think about them later.

“Alright, yeah.” You nodded, smiling at her “Let’s do that.”

However, you failed to notice the message she received before asking you to hang out and the cunning grin on her lips.

♡.

Chaeryeong was right, you really needed a girls’ night.

You missed getting ready with her, just listening to music and helping each other doing your makeup.

You just missed her.

Though, you missed a certain wine-haired boy more.

You hadn’t seen him since the night before, where he cuddled you to sleep only to make you wake up in an empty bed.

And even if you didn’t want to admit it, it hurt. Fairly.

Suppressing any thought of him in the deepest part of your mind, you took Chaeryeong’s arm and went into the pub.

Well, it wasn’t a normal pub. There were no blinding lights nor loud music.

It was calm, collected and people’s chattering was quiet, just enjoying the atmosphere and the antique music.

You took place at an empty table where Chaeryeong led you, in front of the small stage.

Ordering a Martini and feeling content, you just talked about anything with your best friend.

Everything was going smoothly until the lights suddenly turned off, leaving only the stage’s ones on.

“Is there a special stage today?” You whispered to Chaeryeong who just shrugged, even if, once again, you failed to see the smile on her face.

A man walked up to the stage, he put down his suitcase and removed his jacket.

The man walked to the centre of the stage where the microphone was and the light showed him.

A man— No. Your man.

Heeseung stood there, red wine hair perfectly styled, grey jacket with a white shirt and equally grey pants you knew he couldn’t afford.

Your eyes widened at the realisation and you heard a soft chuckle beside you.

Oh, that was why Chaeryeong wanted to hang out “Just keep watching.” She incited.

So you did, your eyes finding Heeseung like they always did.

Gentle music started playing and his voice was amplified by the microphone. You knew that song, it was one of your favourites, ‘this is what falling in love feels like’ by JVKE— He remembered.

Heeseung removed his jacket, his voice was as sweet as honey, matching his usual scent.

He walked around the stage and did silly gestures, always maintaining eye contact with you.

Unconsciously, you smiled back at him, proud of how he was singing in front of such a crowd.

Usually, he’d be so shy of his singing, only doing it under the shower or to lull you when you had trouble sleeping.

You sighed softly, a pang in your heart at the feeling of loss. It hurt, even just being angry at him hurt.

The music slowly stopped and he threw a rose on the small table, which you caught and smelled it.

It was fake, making you chuckle softly and you swear you saw Heeseung’s whole demeanour relax.

All the people there to enjoy his small stage clapped and whistled, clearly mesmerised by his sweet voice.

“Alright, thank you.” Heeseung chuckles softly, the smallest shade of blush colouring his cheeks.

He takes the microphone in his hands “Honestly, dressing like my grandpa, shout-out to him,” He gave two small punches to his chest and then pointed at the crowd, where his grandfather clearly wasn’t “Wasn’t in my plans for the night.”

The small crowd laughed “But I happen to know a girl, this girl loves these places, full of old and dusty things.” He looked around and then his gaze settled on you, a small smirk on his lips.

He paced around the stage “And, thanking whoever is to thank, she also happens to love me.” The crowd raised a choir of ‘woo’s.

“Or so, I hope.” He paced on the other side “Because, you should know that I have this thing for f— messing things up.” He winked at a kid sitting near the stage “Keeping it PG rated.”

The crowd and his parents giggled, and so Heeseung continued walking, stopping in the middle of the stage and settling his microphone back to its place.

“I am no perfect man, alright? I know I have so many flaws, but the one I hate the most is the tendency to break her heart.” ‘Boo’s echoed in the whole room.

“Deserved it.” He placed a hand on his heart and continued his speech, under your still-shocked gaze.

Heeseung wasn’t an extrovert, he preferred not to talk to people who weren’t his close friends— but seeing him talk so freely about you on the stage with at least twenty foreign eyes on him, made your heart melt.

He bit his bottom lip nervously “I have no idea how she saved me. How she saw some good in such a wrecked person, because that’s what I am.” His eyes were full of vulnerability when he locked them with yours.

“In our two years of relationship, I felt so many emotions I didn’t even know existed!” Heeseung smiled softly “I started being less selfish, and think more about her.”

“I still remember that time when she wanted to dance.” His eyes lit up at the memory “In the middle of the night, but my place isn’t big, so I moved the furniture, trying to make enough room for me to swing her around.”

You giggled, recalling the moment and Heeseung gave you a knowing look “The person who lives in the house down mine came to complain and I also got a slipper on my head— but, hey! My girl wanted to dance.”

His girl. It was wonderful how just two words could ignite a fire in you.

“Y/N.” Your name resonated in the whole pub “I don’t want to be the reason of your tears, I want to dry them,” His bambi eyes were serious, boring into yours with so much unspoken affection “I want to be the person you go to when you’re sad, not the one you try to avoid.”

Heeseung took a deep breath and you swore you saw his hands tremble “I’ll be a better man, someone you can be proud of. Someone worthy of you.”

Oh dear. He looked just like a little boy searching for his parents’ approval. “Can I get a last chance to prove myself?” He asked, pointing at you.

Everyone in the room turned to look, eyes fixed on your figure.

You shrugged “Nah.” And a general gasp filled the room. Heeseung’s face fell, hope dissipating from his body.

Deciding that you had toyed with him enough, you got up from your chair and jogged to the stage.

Heeseung widened his eyes and he let go of the microphone to catch you as you threw yourself at him. Your arms around his neck, his hands holding your waist, confusion still written all over his expression.

“Silly.” You smiled up at him “Of course, I’ll give you one chance.” You pointed a threatening finger in his chest “But it’s the last one, you act like an asshole one more time and we’re done, you got it?”

“Thank you.” His voice was filled with gratefulness “Thank you, thank you!” Heeseung exclaimed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, spinning you in the air.

You giggled happily, “Stop.” You laughed when you felt butterflies in your stomach.

All the people at the table, comprehending Chaeryeong and the little boy, erupted in a choir of ‘Kiss’.

Heeseung put your feet back on the ground, his eyes moving from your own to your lips.

You nodded slowly, giving him the consent he needed. He crashed your lips together in a gentle kiss, sparks flying and your hearts connecting once again.

You pulled away “How did you do this?” Your fingers grazed the grey blazer “And where did you get this?”

Heeseung chuckled, licking his lips that lingered with the taste of you and your lipstick “We have to thank Jay for this.” He looked around the stage “And, well, my grandpa for his nice and dusty clothes.”

You chuckled and threw your head back and lord, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound Heeseung had ever heard.

“I love you.” You said, stunning him “Still?”

“Always.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and tip-toeing to reach his lips once more.

“Breaking news, angel.” He smiled on your lips “I happen to love you so much too.”

You squealed happily and kissed him, feeling the fire of passion igniting your body, burning your bones, dooming you to the pain and suffering called love.

But it was in that moment that you realised you would gratefully accept such pain if it came from Heeseung. Because, however reckless he acted, all of his dummy decisions that got him into trouble were made for you.

“I’ll find a better job.” He murmured, licking your bottom lip, “I’ll make money, buy a nicer house where we can live together.” One hand went to tangle your hair in his fingers “And then I’ll buy you a ring.”

“With a diamond?” You joked, making Heeseung chuckle “With whatever you want.”

Feeling as if the air was being taken out of your lungs, your heart pounding so fast and chest heaving up and down, you swore you’d stay by his side with another kiss.

Ignoring the crowd’s cheers, you tilted your head to deepen the kiss and Heeseung’s tongue slipped inside your mouth.

And that was the clue to close the curtains.

THE END.

© I2SUNRIC | DON’T STEAL OR CLAIM AS YOURS.

[delilahsturniolo]

ᝰ.ᐟ NEW CLASSIFIED MISSION FILE . . .

★ secretagent!chris x secretagent!reader

⋆˚࿔ PLAY YOUR PART

in which . . . you and chris have to pretend to be a couple for a mission

contains . . . kissing, drinking, tiny bit of angst but really nothing.

HEAVILY inspired by this c.ai bot, idk if this person is on tumblr or not but if they are lmk so i can tag!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

view more of this au here!

the dress is too tight, the heels are too high, and your fake diamond bracelet itches like hell. you stand at the edge of the ballroom, drink in hand, scanning the room for your target. you don’t see him yet, the man selling classified intel to the highest bidder, but you do see the problem approaching from the other side of the room.

problem: chris sturniolo.

he’s wearing a black tux, smug smirk already in place, and somehow looks like he walked out of a magazine ad for expensive cologne and bad decisions. he’s also late. “you’re twenty minutes behind schedule,” you mutter as he sidles up next to you like he owns the place. or worse, like he owns you. “you’re welcome for showing up at all,” he replies smoothly, taking a sip of your drink without asking. “wasn’t sure if i wanted to deal with your charming personality tonight.”

“believe me, the feeling’s mutual.” his lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “aw. did you miss me?”

“like i miss bullet wounds.”

you’re about to walk away, maybe shove him off the balcony, depends on your mood, when he grabs your wrist. gentle, but firm, and leans into your ear. “don’t look now, but our mark’s here. eleven o’clock. and he’s watching.” you glance quickly. and yep, the intel dealer is sipping champagne and staring right at the two of you like he’s waiting to see if the couple in front of him is legit.

chris leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “if you make a scene about dancing with me, it’ll blow the whole cover.”

“i’m not making a scene,” you grit out.

“good. because we’re dancing. now.”

before you can argue, his hand slides around your waist and he’s pulling you onto the dance floor. the ballroom is too bright. the music’s too soft. and your hand is now in his, which feels like some kind of personal hell. you glare at him. “if you step on my foot, i’m going to break yours.”

“if you weren’t so tense, i wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“tense? i’m literally trying not to stab you with a butter knife right now.”

he laughs, like this is fun for him. like he isn’t the most annoying, smug, infuriating person alive. you hate how easy he moves, how he spins you with practiced fingers and a cocky little smile like he’s been dancing with you forever. “relax,” he says, low in your ear. “we’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

“i’d rather fake being dead.”

“careful,” he murmurs. “you say that too convincingly. starting to worry i’m not your type.” you lean in just enough to smile sweetly. “oh, you’re not. my type has impulse control.”

he laughs again, this time softer, like you surprised him. and then, for a second, something shifts. his eyes flicker to your mouth. your breath catches. and just like that, the room disappears. you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s him. maybe it’s the fact that your cover story involves being madly in love, and right now, the tension between you feels like it could burn the place down.

but one second you’re glaring, and the next, his mouth is on yours. it’s not gentle. it’s messy, hot, and completely reckless. he kisses like he fights, with full commitment and zero hesitation. his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you closer. your fingers twist in his jacket, holding on like you forgot how to stand still.

you should stop. you should definitely stop. you don’t, because somewhere between mission briefs and bruised egos, he got under your skin, and right now, with his lips moving against yours like he’s starving, it doesn’t feel like an act.

it feels like a confession. when you finally pull apart, you’re both breathing hard. his forehead rests against yours, eyes flickering with something you don’t want to name. “…well,” he says finally, voice a little rough. “if that didn’t convince them, nothing will.”

“you’re an idiot,” you whisper. “you kissed me back, sunshine.” he whispers back. you shove him lightly in the chest. “you kissed me first.” he grins, the kind of grin that should be illegal in at least seven countries. “and you didn’t mind.”

you roll your eyes and step back, heart pounding too loud in your chest. the music fades. the mark turns away, satisfied. and chris? chris is still watching you like he just learned something important. you pretend not to notice. but you know. you both know. the mission just got a whole lot more complicated.

© delilahsturniolo

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Salt in her lungs

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 : ᴅʀᴀɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴏʀᴇ

ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 5.7ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Age gap, Mermaids, Pirates, Fantasy world, set in 1600s, blood mentioned

A/N : another fic that has been collecting dust in my docs

Summary : A curious mermaid princess saves a drowning pirate, breaking centuries of secrecy between their worlds. Sevika can't forget the girl beneath the waves, haunted by her even in someone else’s arms. Now, both are searching for each other—drawn by a connection neither fully understands.

Long ago, before salt crusted the corners of maps and before ships carved paths across the sea, the oceans were ruled by song.

Mermaids—known to themselves as the Thalassari—were not the glittering fairy tales whispered to human children. They were warriors, mystics, daughters of tide and storm. Born with sharp teeth and sharper tongues, they shaped the ocean’s mood with their voices: lullabies that calmed tempests, laments that mourned lost ships, and siren-songs that could drag a fleet to the bottom of the world. They lived deep in the trenches, in palaces carved from coral and whale bone, protected by magic older than the moon.

But once—centuries ago—humans and merfolk did meet.

The stories say a fisherman’s net tore through the kelp curtain guarding a mermaid nursery. Curious, the humans came closer. They captured one. Dissected her. What they didn’t understand, they feared. What they feared, they destroyed.

A war followed. Not one of armies or flags, but of quiet ruin. Ships lost with no trace. Islands swallowed by sudden tides. Harbors cursed with empty nets and dead water. In retaliation, humans built stories—legends to bury the truth. Mermaids were dismissed as sailor myths, drunken mirages, hallucinations brought on by thirst and madness. A convenient lie. Over time, belief faded like a tide pulling back. Mermaids became fantasy.

Below the surface, the Thalassari wove their own stories. Humans, they said, were extinct—burned out by their own fires, vanished into the sky. “Surface ghosts,” they were called, used to frighten little mermaids into obedience. Don’t swim too close to the shore, or the ghosts will steal your voice.

Generations passed. The sea kept its secrets.

Until now.

Until you.

You, the youngest daughter of the Sea King—mouthy, reckless, and far too curious for your own good. You’ve always wanted to see what was beyond. Not just the reef wall or the border tides, but the world above.

You weren’t supposed to be awake this late.

The reef pulsed with sleepy biolight, soft and dim, like the whole sea was breathing slow around you. Your sisters had long since curled into their shell beds, and even the guards stationed at the edge of the inner currents had grown lazy—hovering with half-lidded eyes, tridents drifting just slightly out of reach.

Perfect.

You moved silently through your chambers, brushing past strands of sea-silk and coral trinkets. Your father had filled the place with gifts. A necklace of blood-pearls. A singing conch from the Mariana Trench. A polished mirror carved from obsidian that always reflected you looking smaller than you felt. They were all meant to distract you. Soften you.

But none of it mattered when your heart was pulling toward something outside.

You ran your fingers through your hair. Tugged on your travel wrap—lightweight kelp-thread woven for speed, not elegance. No crown. No sign of royalty. Just you. Just the water.

You moved to the back wall of your chamber, where a curtain of kelp swayed lazily over the outcrop. It looked like just another patch of rock, but if you pushed it just right—there—the shimmerline faltered.

Just a flicker.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a rhythm too fast for deep sea calm.

One look over your shoulder.

Empty room.

You exhaled.

Then you slipped through the crack in the reef—outside Sanctum for the first time in your life.

And the sea felt different out here.

Colder. Wilder.

Free.

“You call that a tie-down? That knot wouldn’t hold a drunk mermaid’s panties, let alone a cannon!”

The deck of The Harpy’s Grin was chaos—ropes whipping in the wind, gulls screeching overhead, crewmen scrambling like wet rats as the sails snapped angrily above. The storm had passed hours ago, but its temper still echoed in the waves. And Sevika, captain of this barely-floating beast, was not in the mood.

She stalked across the creaking boards with heavy boots, the scent of brine and old smoke clinging to her coat. The sun caught the steel of her mechanical arm as she grabbed a dangling line and yanked it tight with a grunt, shooting a deadly glare at the nearest crewman.

“Reefbreak’s balls, if you lot can’t manage a basic lash, I’ll start tossing you overboard one by one and see who floats best!”

“Cap’n, the wind changed too fast—” one of them started, eyes wide and voice shaking.

“And the wind’ll break your jaw next time you whine instead of workin’.” Her voice was rough as gravel, but cold. Controlled. She didn’t raise her voice unless she meant it.

The man shut up real fast.

Sevika took a slow drag off the half-chewed cigar clenched between her teeth, squinting out at the horizon. The water stretched out, glittering like spilled coin under the sun. Endless. Boring. Predictable.

God, she hated calm days.

“Where’s the chart?” she barked, already heading for the helm.

“Below deck, Cap’n!”

“Well get it! I’m not lettin’ this damn ship drift like a tavern whore waiting for a kiss.”

She took the wheel in one hand, metal fingers tapping restlessly on the polished wood. Her jaw worked against the cigar, tension in her shoulders she couldn’t seem to shake. Not from the storm. Not from the crew.

From the feeling. That gnawing itch behind her ribs like something was coming. Something that didn’t belong on the sea.

She spat overboard.

“Fuckin’ sirens,” she muttered.

Except she didn’t believe in sirens.

Not really.

Sevika barked one last order and turned back toward the wheel, the wind catching her coat as she narrowed her eyes at the far edge of the water. Something shimmered there—a ripple too smooth for open sea, a flicker of color where none should be.

Probably nothing.

But her gut said different.

And Sevika had learned long ago to trust her gut more than gods, ghosts, or gossiping crewmen.

She took another drag from her cigar and growled, “Bring up the scopes. I want eyes on the wreck fields.”

A crewmember scrambled up beside her, already raising the scope to his eye. He adjusted the focus, then stiffened. “There’s... something in the water, Cap’n.”

“‘Something’?” she snapped. “That’s real fuckin’ specific.”

“Not a fish. Too big. Looks like... maybe someone fell overboard?”

Her cigar twitched at the corner of her mouth.

“Lower the rowboat,” she ordered, voice flat. “Two men. Careful hands.”

Oren hesitated. “You think it’s a survivor?”

“I think I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said, turning on her heel.

But as she walked away, she muttered under her breath, just quiet enough not to be heard:

“Or a goddamn lure.”

You’d gone too far.

You knew it the second the light changed—the way it bled through the water in slanted, unnatural beams, not the warm shimmer of Sanctum’s safe magic but the sharp, raw glare of the surface world. The current had tugged you past familiar coral shelves and singing stones. Now, the water was colder. Still. Heavy with silence.

And wreckage.

You kicked gently through the murk, weaving past twisted metal and splintered wood, ghost-ships swallowed by barnacles and age. Sails shredded like jellyfish skin. Harpoons rusted and bent. A graveyard.

Your brows furrowed as you muttered, “Why would there be so many here...?”

You’d always been told humans were myths—surface ghosts that vanished long ago, burned away by their own greed. Old stories. Scare tactics. Tales told to mares to keep them close to the reef. No one you knew had ever seen one.

But the wreckage told a different story.

You drifted lower, nearly brushing your belly against the ocean floor as you approached a strange shadow ahead—huge, looming, far too intact to be part of the graveyard. Not a reef. Not a creature.

And then you saw it.

Half out of the water above: a massive dark shape, long and wide like a sleeping leviathan. Wooden skin. Metal teeth. Some kind of strange… hump-backed whale?

Right next to it, floating just beside the beast, was a smaller one. Sleek. Smoother. Almost cute, in a crooked kind of way.

You froze, breath catching in your throat.

“...What are those?”

You stayed low, heart thudding as you pressed into the sand, eyes wide and glittering with curiosity. Whatever they were, they hadn’t moved yet. Maybe they were just strange surface creatures. Maybe they were whales. Maybe this was why your father forbade you from leaving.

But gods help you—you had to know.

The rowboat rocked gently beside the ruins of the old wreck, creaking as it drifted in the lazy current. Sevika stood near the bow, one boot up on the edge, arms crossed, cigar tucked behind her ear. She was squinting into the water, watching the way it shimmered around the rotted timbers below.

“See anything yet?” she muttered.

“Hold on,” one of her men called back, leaning farther over the edge. His fingers gripped the railing as he tried to peer past the sun glare. “I thought I saw—wait, yeah—somethin’ shiny. Looked like—”

The glint was gone before he finished the sentence.

A plink broke the stillness.

They all froze.

The man’s hand went to his bare chest like he’d been stabbed. His face twisted. “No—shit! No!”

“What now?” Sevika asked, already annoyed.

“My necklace—!” he barked, voice cracking. “It—it was my late wife’s—shit!”

And then he jumped.

Straight off the side.

“Godsdammit!” Sevika cursed as water splashed over the side.

“Man overboard!” the second crewman yelled, standing and nearly tipping the whole boat in his panic.

Shouts rang out from the main ship—sails snapping above, boots pounding on the upper deck. Sevika didn’t wait. She tore off her coat and dove in.

The water swallowed her whole.

She cut through it like a knife, teeth clenched against the cold. The man was below her, flailing, reaching toward the shimmer of silver glinting just above the ocean floor—lodged between sharp black rocks. Stupid, reckless bastard.

He grabbed it, fingers closing around the chain.

But then he panicked.

His chest heaved. His eyes went wide.

Sevika reached him, shoving him upward with both hands. Her grip was strong, steady. “Go!” she yelled, voice lost in a stream of bubbles. “Get up!”

He kicked off, disappearing toward the surface.

She turned to follow—and pain lanced up her leg.

Her boot had caught.

She yanked, hard. The rocks didn’t budge.

The pressure was already building behind her eyes. Her lungs were screaming.

She kicked again, twisting, trying to slip free—

Still stuck.

Still sinking.

The decision wasn’t a decision at all. It was instinct.

One moment, you were crouched in the sand, hidden beneath a ledge of coral and bone, eyes wide as the strange surface woman thrashed against the rocks. The next—you were moving.

Your tail snapped once, twice, and you shot forward through the murk.

Her foot was caught tight between two slabs of stone. You yanked on them, fingers digging into the crevices, but they wouldn’t budge. Too sharp. Too strong. The woman’s dark eyes locked onto yours—wild with confusion and quickly clouding. Her mouth parted, a stream of bubbles escaping.

And still—she fought.

But something else moved behind you.

A shadow.

The shark.

You felt it before you saw it—the ripple through the current, the low thrum of hunger. It circled from far off, but closing fast, drawn by the shimmer of your scales.

You cursed under your breath.

Too shiny, stupid tail, stupid.

You twisted, diving down just as it cut through the water in a flash of grey muscle and hunger. Sevika flinched as it passed—still trapped. Still vulnerable.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your fingers found the knife strapped to her thigh—slick and cold, the leather sheath wrapped in thick cords. You yanked it free, spun, and darted directly toward the open mouth of the predator.

It came at you fast.

You were faster.

With a sharp flick of your tail, you spun to the side and drove the blade into the beast’s eye with all your strength.

A hiss of blood spiraled through the water. The shark jerked, convulsing, and fled into the gloom.

You turned back, breathing hard. Sevika was struggling against the rock again—and with a final wrench, she broke free. You caught her as she kicked off the bottom, her strength already faltering.

She was slipping.

You could see it in the way her limbs moved—slower, heavier, like her body was made of stone. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to stay conscious.

You grabbed her hand.

Your fingers locked around hers as you pulled, kicking hard toward the surface, dragging her up through the light and salt and silence.

When her head broke the surface, she gasped—choking and sputtering—but you were already gone.

Back beneath the waves.

A shadow disappearing in the blood-tinged blue.

Rough hands pulled her from the sea.

“Got her! Cap’n—breathe! Come on—damn it—”

Water spilled from her mouth as she coughed, hacking and heaving onto the wood of the little rowboat. Her chest burned. Her lungs felt like they were made of rust. Her limbs, heavy and half-numb, barely moved as someone braced her shoulders.

“Is she bit?” someone asked. “Shit, there was blood—a lot of it.”

Sevika blinked, vision blurry with salt and sun. Her throat felt like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.

“Wasn’t mine,” she rasped, voice like gravel dragged across stone.

The two crewmen looked at each other. “You sure? Looked like a fuckin’ massacre from the top deck.”

Sevika coughed again, this time spitting over the side. She sat up slowly, her shirt soaked and clinging to her, the weight of the sea still wrapped around her shoulders like a ghost.

“I said it wasn’t mine,” she muttered, jaw tight. “Shark came in. Got chased off.”

“Chased off?” one of them echoed, brows lifting. “By what, a fuckin’ miracle?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t have one.

There’d been something in the water. No—someone. She remembered flashes. A face. A grip on her arm. Eyes wide and unafraid. No legs. Shimmering skin. A tail.

And then—nothing.

The rowboat bumped against the side of The Harpy’s Grin, ropes lowered to haul her up. Voices crowded her ears—more concern, more confusion—but she didn’t register a word.

She stumbled onto the deck with help, boots squelching against the boards. Her mind was still half-drowned.

“You hit your head, Cap’n?” someone asked. “You’re out of it.”

“Fine,” she growled, brushing off a hand from her shoulder. “Fine.”

But she wasn’t.

Because when she looked down, just before the crew peeled her soaked coat away, she saw something wrapped around her wrist—delicate, green, and glinting like sea glass.

A strand of kelp, knotted into a perfect little braid.

And Sevika never tied things pretty.

You didn’t realize it until you were almost back—until the shimmerline came into view, flickering faintly around the outer reef like a curtain of moonlight.

The knife was still in your hand.

Your breath caught. You paused in the current, tail curling beneath you, the knife suddenly heavy in your grip. You turned it over, saltwater glinting along the blade’s edge.

It wasn’t just any weapon.

The handle was worn but beautiful—wrapped in aged leather, darkened by years of salt and heat. Carved into the metal beneath were delicate engravings: waves, stars, a compass rose. On one side, stamped into the base near the hilt, was a name in old surface script:

Sevika Vexley.

You mouthed it soundlessly, letting the letters roll through your mind.

That woman—she wasn’t like the stories. She wasn’t shriveled or monstrous or cursed with fire-skin. She was strong. Broad-shouldered and wild-eyed, all sharp angles and tension, even as she drowned. And... gods. She was attractive. In a terrifying, deeply unfair way.

You shook your head, cheeks heating. This was not the time.

And yet—your fingers didn’t let go.

You could’ve returned the knife. Left it near the surface. Let it sink back into her world. But a part of you didn’t want to. A part of you needed to keep it. Not just as proof that it happened—but because it meant something. She had a name. A face. A voice. A life.

Humans aren’t real, you’d been told. And if they were, they’re long gone. Dangerous. Violent.

But she didn’t feel like a ghost.

She felt realer than anything you’d ever touched.

You sighed, slipping the knife carefully into the folds of your kelpwrap and turning back toward the shimmerline. You passed through the magic, your tail tingling as you crossed the barrier and reentered Sanctum.

Guards drifted lazily nearby, none of them noticing you.

You exhaled in relief. No one saw. No one knew.

And no one would believe you anyway.

Your chamber was dim and still when you slipped back in—just as you left it, though your heart was hammering like you’d been gone for days instead of hours.

You crossed quickly to the corner near your bed, where the coral flooring dipped slightly beneath your vanity shell. With a careful glance over your shoulder, you knelt and pried up a loose tile of polished shellstone. It had cracked months ago, but no one had bothered to fix it. Lucky you.

The knife slid in perfectly.

You let your fingers linger on the handle—just for a second—before pressing the tile back into place and smoothing the sand around it. You exhaled. Safe. Hidden.

But before you could rise—

“Where were you?”

You froze.

His voice filled the room like a wave crashing against the reef—deep, commanding, too calm to be harmless.

Your father hovered just inside the entrance, broad-shouldered and impossibly regal even without his crown. The water shimmered faintly around him, a sign of his rising temper.

“I asked you a question,” he said, slower now. “Where. Were. You.”

You turned, schooling your face into neutrality. “Nowhere.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “I just... went for a swim. I stayed within the boundary.”

“Don’t insult me,” he growled, his tone sharp now, dangerous. “Your scent is soaked in brine and blood. You reek of the outer currents.”

You stiffened. “I’m not a child.”

“No, but you are my daughter,” he barked, surging forward. “And I did not build this sanctum just for you to go wandering into cursed waters where things that shouldn’t exist still might.”

Your jaw tightened, hands curling at your sides. “So I’m supposed to spend my whole life locked in a cage of pearl? Singing at court? Smiling for foreign envoys? That’s not living.”

His face twisted. “That is safety.”

You held his gaze, unflinching. “Then maybe I don’t want to be safe.”

The water between you crackled with tension. Silence hung, thick and bitter.

His voice, when it finally came, was low. “One day out there will get you killed.”

You turned your back on him.

“One day here will kill me slower,” you muttered.

You didn’t look as he left. You couldn’t.

Because your hands were still shaking.

The reef was asleep again.

Soft glows pulsed through the coral towers like slow heartbeats, and the palace was quiet save for the faint echo of guards’ tridents tapping stone. You lay still in your bed until their patrol passed your chamber door—then you moved.

You slipped from the silkweed sheets, every motion careful, quiet. The room was still dim, only the bioluminescent drift-lamps casting gentle light across your floor. You knelt by the vanity again, fingers brushing over the loose tile. It popped free with practiced ease.

The knife was still there.

You pulled it out slowly, cradling the handle in your palm. The engravings were cool under your fingers, familiar now. You traced the name again.

Sevika Vexley.

There was no going back. Not really. Not after today. Not after her.

You needed to know more. You needed to see her again. Ask what she was. What the surface was. What the truth was.

You slid the knife into the belt of your kelpwrap, letting the folds hide it from sight. You glanced once more toward your door. Still quiet.

You slipped out.

Through shadowed halls and gently swaying curtains of sea lace, past the silver fountains that never ran dry. Past your sisters’ chambers. Past the court’s main hall. You moved like a shadow, like a whisper. Like you weren’t the king’s youngest daughter.

Like you weren’t royalty at all.

Except—you forgot.

The moment you passed the final shimmerline, leaving Sanctum behind, you felt the cool rush of wild sea against your skin—and a gentle tug at your temples.

Your crown.

You hadn’t even realized you were still wearing it—so familiar, so constant it felt like a part of your body. The delicate chains brushed your cheeks as you swam, gold glinting faintly in the dark, seashells and crystal pieces catching what little light filtered from above.

The teardrop gem gleamed like a beacon.

If someone saw you—

You swallowed hard, but didn’t stop.

The knife was secure at your hip. The water was cold again.

And somewhere out there, above the wrecks and waves, was a woman who should not exist.

And you were going to find her.

The dock buzzed with noise as The Harpy’s Grin pulled into its usual berth, ropes thrown and sails furled with practiced speed. Salt clung to the air, and the wood of the pier creaked beneath hurried boots as the crew began unloading barrels, crates, and whatever scrap was worth selling from the old wrecks.

Sevika stood at the gangplank, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the chaos below. Her coat was back on, sleeves damp, and the braid of kelp that had been wrapped around her wrist was gone—tucked somewhere deep in her quarters where no one could see it.

She didn’t say a word as her crew barked and grunted, lugging gear onto the docks.

“Hey!”

A familiar voice cut through the noise.

Sevika looked up just in time to see Vi weaving through the crowd, her usual cocky smirk in place and a gleam in her eye. The crowd parted for her. It usually did.

“Finally,” Vi said, coming to stand beside her. “Took your sweet time.”

“Storm slowed us down,” Sevika muttered, voice low. “Got caught in a wreck field.”

Vi looked her over, brow twitching. “You good?”

There was a pause.

Sevika scratched the back of her neck, eyes flicking toward the crates being hauled off her ship. “...Fell overboard.”

Vi blinked.

“You what?”

“I said I fell overboard.”

Vi stared for a beat—then barked out a laugh, loud and obnoxious, smacking Sevika on the shoulder. “You idiot! I told you to stop standing so close to the damn edge when you’re brooding like a cliché.”

“I wasn’t brooding,” Sevika grumbled.

“You were,” Vi grinned. “You always are. Gods, you're lucky you didn’t drown. I’d be stuck drinking alone, and you know no one else can keep up with me.”

Sevika huffed a soft laugh through her nose, shaking her head.

“So?” Vi raised a brow, already turning toward the street. “We doin’ our usual, or what? I got us a table at the tavern.”

Sevika didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze drifted over her shoulder, back to the sea. The waves looked calm now—unbothered. Innocent.

But she could still feel the ghost of fingers wrapped around her wrist, dragging her toward the surface.

Not human. Not a dream.

Her jaw tightened. “...Yeah. Sure.”

She turned and followed Vi into the crowd.

But her mind stayed on the water.

The tavern was warm and loud—clanking mugs, the low thrum of music from the back corner, sailors laughing too hard over nothing. It was the kind of noise that usually helped Sevika drown out her thoughts.

Not tonight.

She sat at the booth, half-drunk cider sweating in front of her, boots kicked out under the table. Vi was mid-story—something about a guy trying to barter with a dead jellyfish and calling it “enchanted”—but Sevika wasn’t really hearing it.

Her eyes had drifted to the far wall, where a faded mural stretched across the plaster. It was chipped in places, water-stained at the corners, but still vivid enough to make her pause.

A mermaid. Painted in swirling blues and silver, hair flowing like seaweed, mouth slightly open in song. A fairytale. A warning. A joke.

Except it didn’t feel like one anymore.

“—and then the guy actually licked it, I swear on my—wait—”

Vi snapped her fingers.

“Hello? Not talkin’ to myself over here.”

Sevika blinked. Her gaze flicked to Vi, then back to the mural, then back again. She shifted in her seat, leaning back with a quiet sigh.

“Sorry.”

Vi raised a brow. “You good? You’ve been weird all night.”

There was a long pause.

Then Sevika just said it.

“Do you believe in mermaids?” she asked, voice low. “Or… sirens?”

Vi snorted a laugh, lifting her drink. “What, like the fish-girls with seashell tits and magic songs? That kind of mermaid?”

But Sevika didn’t smile. She didn’t even blink.

Vi’s smirk faded slowly. She lowered her mug and leaned in a bit, watching her friend’s face.

“…Did you see something?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away.

Vi scooted closer across the bench. “Sev. What happened out there?”

Sevika stared into her drink, fingers drumming once against the side of the mug. Her jaw worked like she was chewing on the words, deciding whether to spit them out or swallow them whole.

“I saw something,” she finally said, voice quiet enough that Vi had to lean in more to catch it.

Vi’s brows knit. “Like… what kind of something?”

Sevika hesitated.

“Something in the water,” she said. “When I was stuck. Thought I was gonna black out. Then she was there.”

Vi blinked. “She?”

“...I don’t know what she was,” Sevika muttered. “Had no legs. Fast as hell. Got me loose. Dragged me up. Then gone.”

Vi sat back slowly, mug forgotten. “You’re serious.”

Sevika nodded once, slow and deliberate. Her eyes flicked to the mural again.

Vi followed her gaze, then let out a low breath. “And you think—what? Mermaid? Siren? Sea spirit?”

“I don’t know,” Sevika repeated. “But she wasn’t a hallucination. She had weight. Heat. A face.”

Vi was quiet for a moment, chewing on her lip. Then she scoffed softly. “Well, damn. I thought I had a good story tonight.”

That finally earned her a ghost of a smile from Sevika.

“You still do,” Sevika said, lifting her drink. “Just not as weird as mine.”

Vi shook her head and grinned, clinking her mug against Sevika’s.

“You’re buying the next round,” she said. “And if this ends with you falling in love with a sea creature, I better be the best man at the wedding.”

The water was darker here. Colder.

You'd been swimming in circles for what felt like hours, trying to retrace the path from earlier. The wrecks weren’t where you remembered. The currents were different, pulling wrong, whispering strange things around your ears.

But you had to find it. Find her.

You darted around a cluster of sunken crates, eyes sharp, heart thudding with a mix of urgency and hope. You couldn’t stop now—not after what you saw. Not after what you felt.

Then the current shifted. Cold. Heavy. Familiar.

Your blood ran colder than the sea around you.

You turned slowly, and there it was. The shark.

The same one from before, its wounded eye now scarred and clouded with rage. It hovered just a few body-lengths away, tail swaying in slow, predatory rhythm. It had followed your trail.

Of course it had.

You backed away, body tense, hand reaching for the knife at your hip—but you knew you couldn’t outswim it in open water. You were fast, but not that fast. Its nostrils flared. It inched closer. Closer.

It opened its jaws.

And then—

“Tch. That’s enough, fish-breath.”

The voice came from behind you. Smooth. Teasing. Dangerous.

The shark froze mid-lunge.

Its entire body trembled before it spun, darting off into the gloom with a ripple of panic you could feel in the water.

You turned.

Floating just a few feet away was a woman.

A mermaid, but not like anyone from Sanctum.

Her hair was long—long—a brilliant, electric blue that shimmered even in the low light, trailing all the way down to where her deep indigo tail began. She was tall, lean, and wore a grin like she knew every secret the sea had ever whispered. Sharp teeth glinted behind her smile.

She cocked her head at you.

“Hey, kid,” she said, voice curling around you like silk. “Wanna turn into a human?”

Your eyes went wide.

The tavern was even louder now.

The music had swelled into a full reel, all frantic strings and stomping boots, and the crowd had doubled since sunset. Lanterns glowed low and golden above the bar, casting warm light over sweat-damp necks and flushed cheeks. The air was thick with the scent of spiced rum, woodsmoke, and something fried and probably burnt.

Sevika was drunk. Very drunk.

She was slouched in a chair near the back, one boot kicked up on a barrel, her coat half-falling off her shoulder. The smoke from her cigar curled lazily above her head, ignored entirely as her attention was focused on the woman seated across from her.

She had a voice like honey, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other idly playing with the end of Sevika’s collar. She laughed too loudly at something Sevika said—and Sevika smirked, leaning in, words low and slurred just enough to soften her usual edge.

From a distance, she looked like any other pirate relaxing after a haul—flushed cheeks, hooded eyes, the swagger of someone used to getting what she wanted.

But if anyone looked close enough, really close, they’d see the difference. The way Sevika’s gaze flicked—not quite focused on the girl in front of her, but through her.

Because the girl wasn’t her.

Not her.

The girl was close, sure—dark hair, delicate mouth, a laugh that danced in the air—but her eyes were too pale, her chin too sharp. Her hands were wrong.

Still, Sevika played the part. She leaned in, voice rough and low. “You always drink like that, or are you tryin’ to impress me?”

The girl grinned, tipping her mug. “Maybe a bit of both.”

Sevika laughed, mouth curling around the cigar, smoke exhaled through her nose as she tilted her head. “Dangerous game.”

“And you’re the warning label?” the girl teased, inching closer, eyes glinting. “Please.”

Sevika took a slow sip of her drink. It sloshed slightly as she set it down, the amber liquid nearly gone. Her elbow hit the table harder than intended. She blinked a little too slow.

“Just sayin’,” she muttered, “You got no idea what I’ve seen. What I’ve touched.”

She didn’t mean to say it like that, but the words slipped out anyway, thick with drink and memory.

The girl’s brows rose, but she was still smiling, amused, leaning in close enough that her perfume—citrus and sweat—brushed Sevika’s senses. “Then maybe you should show me.”

A smirk ghosted across Sevika’s mouth. Her hand drifted forward, fingers brushing against the girl’s wrist. Her touch was practiced, steady, but her eyes…

Her eyes were miles away.

The other woman leaned in like she was expecting a kiss.

But Sevika didn’t move.

Not yet.

Because all she could see, in the flicker of candlelight on this stranger’s face, was another face—wide-eyed, glinting with seawater and moonlight. That tail. That mouth when it opened in shock. The shimmer of scales, the cut of a jaw that didn’t belong to any myth she knew.

Sevika blinked again.

The illusion cracked.

“You alright?” the girl asked softly, drawing back just an inch.

Sevika rolled her jaw, wiped a hand down her face, and laughed—low and hollow.

“Fine,” she muttered, tossing back the last of her drink. “Just thinkin’ about someone who ain’t here.”

The tavern blurred as the night deepened—faces blending into laughter, music thickening into static, the hum of drink and desire drowning out all reason. Sevika didn’t remember leaving exactly. Just the heat of the girl’s mouth on her neck, her fingers tangled in Sevika’s shirt, and the way the air outside felt cold against her flushed skin as they stumbled down the uneven cobbled streets toward her place.

They barely made it inside.

The door slammed shut behind them, the girl giggling as Sevika backed her into the wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding up her thigh. Their mouths met—hot and hungry, the taste of rum and desperation between them.

It didn’t matter that her name was wrong. That her voice was wrong. That the curve of her back didn’t fit Sevika’s palm quite the way she wanted it to.

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to.

Didn’t let herself.

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the moonlight bleeding in through the thin curtain. Clothes came off. Hands roamed. The girl made all the right sounds, said all the right things, wrapped herself around Sevika like she meant it.

And Sevika gave in to the rhythm—fast, rough, breathless.

She chased the high, moving harder, deeper, fingers gripping, mouth biting, needing something to burn out the feeling gnawing at her ribs.

But just as she tipped over the edge—

Just as her breath caught, her eyes squeezed shut—

She saw her.

Not the girl beneath her. Not the one gasping and moaning and clawing at her back.

Her.

The girl from the water. From the wreck. From somewhere else entirely.

Except—this wasn’t a memory.

It was an invention. A split-second fantasy.

The mermaid—you—laid out beneath her, body slick and glistening like she’d just surfaced, hair tangled in seawater, eyes wide and dark with pleasure. Your mouth open, lips parted around Sevika’s name—not Captain, not help, but Sevika, like it belonged to her.

Her expression was soft. Overwhelmed. Beautiful.

It wrecked her.

Sevika came hard, breath torn from her chest, muscles tensing as the world went silent except for that imagined sound—the voice of someone she didn’t even know, someone she couldn’t possibly forget.

And when it was over—

When the girl curled up beside her, pressing kisses to her shoulder, sighing into her skin like she meant it—

Sevika just stared at the ceiling.

Eyes open.

Jaw clenched.

Haunted by a fantasy she hadn’t meant to have

comment to be added to the taglist!

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[joelsgoldrush]

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this. 

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?” 

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends. 

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

 “Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—” 

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does. 

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you. 

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.” 

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

 “That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzsche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[piroulinewafers]

Is there any way we can possibly pretty please get some more dad Caleb 🥲

Im seriously obsessed with how you write him .

𝐚/𝐧: i personally think caleb would be quite the boy-dad... i also think most of his kids would end up being carbon copies of him but maybe that's just me hehe.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: none. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the morning sunlight poured through the curtains in soft streaks, slanting over the floor and catching in golden strands on the kitchen tile. she stood barefoot in front of the stove, her sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, spatula in hand and stray strands of hair splayed over her forehead. all the while, she balanced her squirmy toddler on one hip.

“don’t touch that,” she muttered to the small boy, who had made it his mission to poke everything within reach, including her cheek, the spatula and the edge of the frying pan. “it’s hot. that means ‘ow’. you say ‘ow’, remember?”

the boy blinked up at her, then cheerfully repeated, “ow!” before grabbing at the hem of her shirt instead. 

“great,” she sighed fondly. 

behind them, caleb’s voice rumbled from the table as he leaned forward in his chair, one arm draped over the back.”i told you he’s like me. reckless and charming.”

she turned just enough to shoot him a sleepy-eyed glare. “that is not the compliment you think it is.”

caleb grinned. their son, now squirming free from her hip and toddling unevenly toward his father, was a little carbon copy— tousled chestnut hair, same thick lashes, stubborn chin and a faint smattered of freckles at the apples of his cheeks. 

but those wide, curious eyes? all hers. all hers, warm and thoughtful and a little too observant for a child his age.

“he looks just like you,” she mumbled, going back to flipping pancakes. “my genes didn’t even put up a fight. i carried him, fed him, didn’t sleep for a year, and all i get is my eyes.”

“best part of him,” caleb said, completely serious, scooping the boy up onto his lap. their son immediately began fiddling with caleb’s dog tags, like he always did. 

“he’s gonna swallow those one day, caleb, be careful.”

“he won’t. he’s got a mouth too small for trouble. for now.” caleb looked down at the boy. “ain’t that right, buddy?”

the boy gave a gummy grin, and immediately tried to shove a tag in his mouth.

she pointed a spatula like a warning. “told you.”

“alright, alright.” caleb gently pried the tag free and sighed dramatically. “your mama’s always right, huh?”

caleb watched them like he always did when he got the chance— quietly, like it was a view he didn’t dare blink and miss. the sunlight caught in the flyaway strands of her hair, the ones she always grumbled about but never bothered to pin down this early in the morning. her shirt hung off one shoulder and she’d yet to fix it, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone and the tiny bruise he had left last night.

his throat tightened a little at the sight.

she sdidn’t even know, didn’t realize, just how much she softened everything. even the dull hum of the ship, the sleepless nights, the bone-deep weariness. she didn’t know that just standing there, barefoot in the kitchen, fussing about pancakes and hot pans, that she had already built something out of all the things he thought he’d never have. 

family.

their son, tucked against caleb’s chest now, made a triumphant sound as he yanked the dog tags again and gave them a hard shake after they’d moved to stand at the kitchen island counter.

“hey, gentle,” caleb murmured, smiling as he gently plucked them from tiny hands and tucked them back under his shirt. “those aren’t toys.”

the boy blinked up at him, then gave a wiggly grin , and reached for a pancake on caleb’s plate. 

“you’re just like your mama,” caleb said under his breath, balancing the toddler with one arm before setting him into his high chair as he broke up a small piece of fluffy pancake with the other. “always tryin’ to steal my food.”

he fed him slowly, careful to blow on each piece. the kid chewed with the exaggerated gusto of someone who thought every bite might be his last, syrup smudging his chin. caleb used his thumb to wipe it off, then kissed his cheek, ignoring the sticky mess. 

the freckles there would darken in the sun, just like his had when he was little. 

but those eyes… god. those were her’s through and through. when the boy stared up at him— steady and sweet and searching— it was like looking into the part of his life he never thought he deserved. 

he glanced up. she was humming under her breath now, flipping the last pancake with a satisfied hum. the light hit her face in that soft way again and her heart swelled too big for his chest. 

this— this was everything.

“hey,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t startle her, “we ever talk about givin’ him a little sibling?”

she froze mid-hum, spatula hovering over the pan.

their son chose the exact moment to mash pancake into caleb’s collarbone. 

caleb didn’t even flinch, just smiled, eyes fixed on her. “i mean, c’mon. you’ve got strong genes, maybe they’ll fight back this time.”

she turned slowly, staring at him like she didn’t know whether to laugh or launch the spatula at his head. 

“you’re asking me that,” she said, “while our son is making a mess of his breakfast on your clavicle?” 

caleb glanced down at the syrup-slick mess on his collarbone and shrugged, entirely unfazed. “what can i say? he’s passionate.”

she sighed, setting the spatula own with a quiet clink and crossing the kitchen toward him. her steps were soft, but there was a familiar look on her face— an exhausted fondness buried beneath a view of exasperation. 

“you’re lucky i love you,” she murmured out, grabbing a wet wipe from underneath the sink and gently wiping at the mess on his skin. she was precise about it, but her touch was soft, almost unconsciously careful. 

“i know i am,” he murmured, watching her intently. he reached out with his free hand and caught her wrist. “but i mean it, you know. ‘doesn’t have to be now. or soon. but someday… i think we’d be good at it. again.”

she stilled for a moment, her fingers flexing slightly in his grasp.

“i don’t know if i’m ready for more sleepless nights,” she said quietly, eyes drifting to the toddler now making a mess of his pancakes like nothing mattered. “he’d already so much. and i’m tired. and scared i’d mess it up. twice.”

caleb let go of her wrist just to gently curl his fingers around her hand. “you didn’t mess up once,” he said, voice low and serious. “look at him. he’s happy, he’s bright. he’s got your heart, and he’s safe. that’s all you.”

she didn’t answer for a moment, just let out a soft, trembling sigh and leaned her forehead into the side of his. their son wriggled in his chair with a syrup stick squeal and she gave a small laugh in spire of herself. 

caleb kissed her temple. “no rush,” he said again. ‘we’ve got time. right now, i just want pancakes and you. in that order only because i already started eatin’.” 

“you’re lucky you’re cute, she mumbled, reaching up to his cheek to gently wipe some syrup from his face. 

their son picked up a  bit of pancake, falling apart in his little fist, and offered it to her as a little gift. she blinked, then took it with a little, “thank you” and a peck to his forehead.

caleb smiled, watching them both— his whole world, in syrup and sun and sleepy smiles— and thought, maybe, just maybe, he’d already gotten everything he ever wanted.

but still, he wouldn’t mind another set of those eyes, someday. 

[hcneymooners]

⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. ii )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for jinx, sevika, & ambessa. writing for jinx was actually my favorite portion (ambessa, please forgive me.) suggestive content. notes: i love them so bad. you can find part one here. i didn't include the intro since i did it in the first one! i love you.

jinx : the "bad influence." 

୨୧ the two of you met mid-sprint, fleeing a party broken up by the police. it was one of those raw, electric moments where adrenaline surges and strangers become allies in chaos.

୨୧ in the frenzied escape, she tripped, her knees hitting the pavement hard. without hesitation, you yanked her up, kicking away an overzealous officer with surprising precision.

୨୧ all you caught were glimpses: two impossibly long blue braids swinging like a pendulum and wide, heavily-lashed pink eyes that lingered on yours, a strange curiosity etched into their neon stare.

୨୧ your fingers found hers without thinking, and together you ran—your heeled feet stumbling across glitter-streaked concrete littered with shattered glass and discarded red cups.

୨୧ the chase ended in a hole-in-the-wall thai spot, rain pouring in sheets outside. bundled in your oversized vintage fur coat, dark brown and impossibly warm, you glanced at her—soaked, shivering, and unapologetically smug.

୨୧ against every instinct, you shifted, lifting the bulk of your coat to drape over her smaller frame. pressed close, you felt the cold bite of her skin and the cherry tang of her perfume, thick and sharp. her stomach—toned, pale, and adorned with vibrant tattoos—drew your attention as it flexed when she flagged down the waitress.

୨୧ she was so deeply beautiful and so fucking close to you and you’re shivering and wet together.

୨୧ silence settled between you as she grew overly familiar, stealing bites from your plate and feeding you egg rolls with a crooked grin. her nails scraped against your bottom lip, and she laughed when you blinked, stunned, swallowing more than just food.

୨୧ at some point, she leaned in, stealing a sip from your drink, her lips lingering on the rim.

୨୧ you paid.

୨୧ "thanks, ice princess," she murmured as you left. only then did it hit you—she knew you. you must’ve crossed paths on campus, and yet, she felt like a stranger from a different world.

୨୧ she pressed a glossy pink kiss to your cheek, saluted with mock reverence, and vanished into the seedy underbelly of the city.

୨୧ you thought about her for weeks.

୨୧ you didn’t expect to see her again. but days later, there she was on campus, leaning against the vending machine in your dorm building like she belonged there.

୨୧ “ice princess,” she greeted, that crooked grin pulling at her lips. “guess we’re neighbors.”

୨୧ you didn’t know what to say. it was one thing to pull a stranger out of trouble and share a meal in some forgotten corner of the city. it was another to see her here, part of your world, like she’d been there all along.

୨୧ she started showing up more often after that—slipping into your study sessions at the library, tagging along when you grabbed coffee. she was loud and reckless, her laughter echoing off the quiet walls, drawing stares that you pretended not to notice.

୨୧ it wasn’t long before she started pushing you out of your comfort zone. sneaking you into underground parties, dragging you to rooftop hangouts where the city stretched out beneath you, glittering and endless.

୨୧ she made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.

୨୧ you couldn’t stop staring at her tattoos, the colorful, intricate designs that covered her stomach and arms. one night, without thinking, you reached out to trace a line along her skin.

୨୧ she caught your hand before you could pull back, her fingers curling around yours. “you like ‘em, huh, mama?” she said, her voice low and teasing. your cheeks burned, and you stammered something incoherent, but she only laughed, pressing your palm flat against her stomach. “gonna get one just for you. we can match.”

୨୧ she had a habit of being overly familiar—feeding you bites of her food, letting her fingers linger against your lips as you swallowed. one time, her thumb brushed your bottom lip, and you caught her smirk as she let her teeth graze her fork, slow and deliberate.

୨୧ you knew you were falling for her. it was impossible not to. the way she leaned in close when she talked, her perfume sweet and enticing, her lips always just a little too close. the way she made you feel like the only person in the room, even in a crowd.

୨୧ not everyone saw her the way you did. when someone from your social circle made a snide comment about her, you didn’t hesitate to defend her. “she’s smarter than all of you combined,” you snapped, your voice colder than ice. “and she’s got more heart than you’ll ever understand.”

୨୧ it was after that that she started pulling away. her laughter came less easily, her touch less frequent.

୨୧ “you don’t get it,” she told you one night, her voice brittle. “i’m… broken. you shouldn’t—”

୨୧ “jinx,” you interrupted, your tone firm but gentle. “i’m from a legacy family. and, according to my family, i "choose" to like girls. i’m definitely fucked up. so how could i judge you?”

୨୧ she stared at you for a long moment, her eyes softening, and for the first time, she was at a loss for words.

୨୧ your first kiss wasn’t rushed or reckless. it was quiet, heavy with the weight of everything building between you. 

୨୧ you were sitting together on the roof of her sister’s apartment, the city lights stretching out below, and she was looking at you like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

୨୧ “you’re staring,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

୨୧ “yeah,” she said, her grin softer than you’d ever seen it. “so what?”

୨୧ before you could answer, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours like a question. when you didn’t pull away, she kissed you deeper, her hand cupping your jaw, her thumb tracing your cheekbone.

୨୧ she tasted like strawberry chapstick and danger, and you never wanted to let her go. when she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, she smiled.

୨୧ “told you,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm. “you’re stuck with me now.”

୨୧ you smiled back, cheeks aching. "i'm not stuck. i'm right where i want to be." ୨୧ she leaned back, dragging you into her lap. a slender finger dipped into your skirt's waistband and fingered the lace dip of your panties. your breath hitched, and she kissed your throat. "c'mon. lemme hear you, mama."

୨୧ from that moment on, you were hers—completely, irrevocably hers.

p.s you say fuck it, choose her over your fuck ass homophobic family, get disowned, get married, start a million dollar engineering empire, & have isha. 

sevika: the older student.

୨୧ you first noticed her in your advanced biochem lab—all sharp angles and calculated movements, her mechanical arm gleaming under fluorescent lights as she measured solutions with military precision. 

୨୧ sevika was notorious among grad students: brilliant, ruthless, and absolutely not interested in working with undergrads. which made it particularly unfortunate when professor silco paired you together for the semester's research project.

୨୧ she was older than most students—whispers said she dropped out years ago and came back after “handling some things.” no one was brave enough to ask what that meant, but her reputation kept most people at arm’s length.

୨୧ her expression when your name was called could have curdled milk. you lifted your chin, met her gaze steadily, and pretended your heart wasn't racing. 

୨୧ sevika didn’t bother to introduce herself. she just crossed her arms over her broad chest and grumbled, “you’re doing the talking.” her voice was low, almost lazy.

୨୧ "i'm not carrying dead weight," she said at your first session. you noticed a scar bisecting her left eye, the way her jaw clenched when she spoke. "if we're doing this, we do it my way." “thought you said i’d be talking,” you snapped back.

୨୧ 'her way' meant late nights in the lab, your designer clothes traded for practical cotton, hair pulled back from your face. she worked you relentlessly, expecting perfection in every measurement, every calculation. but beneath her harsh exterior, you caught glimpses of something else—the way she'd correct your form without mockery, how she'd appear with coffee when your hands started shaking from exhaustion.

୨୧ it was after one of these late sessions that it happened. you were walking back to your dorm, mind fuzzy with fatigue and feet stumbling, when rough hands grabbed you from behind. before you could scream, a low voice cut through the darkness: "let her go, or i remove your hands permanently."

୨୧ sevika stood there, golden eyes burning in the streetlight, her mechanical arm whirring softly. the would-be mugger took one look at her and ran. you stayed frozen, heart thundering in your chest, until she clicked her tongue in disapproval. “get it together, princess. come on."

୨୧ she led you to an alcove and watched you flutter with delayed panic like a bird, mouth twisted with an unreadable expression. "you need to learn to defend yourself," she said finally. it wasn't a suggestion. you opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off. “gym. tomorrow. six am. wear something you can actually move in."

୨୧ that's how you found yourself spending your mornings with sevika, learning to throw punches and break holds. she was a harsh teacher, but her hands were surprisingly gentle when correcting your stance. "again," she'd say, and you'd try to ignore how your skin tingled where she touched.

୨୧ soon enough, she started showing up wherever you were—whether it was a coffee shop, the library, or your favorite bench on campus. “just passing through,” she claimed. still, the way she always ended up sitting beside you said otherwise. she knew you were anxious, your body tensing whenever someone passed by. your airpods haven’t been in noise cancellation mode for three weeks.

୨୧ her mechanical arm fascinated you. one day, you asked about it, your curiosity outweighing your hesitation. she shrugged, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile when you told her you thought it was beautiful.

୨୧ the project evolved, and so did whatever was growing between you. she started letting you help maintain her arm, teaching you the intricate mechanisms. your fingers would brush as you worked, and sometimes she'd let them linger. "careful," she'd murmur, but you were never sure if she meant with the machinery or with her.

୨୧ in these moments, she had a way of looking at you that made your stomach flip—like she was sizing you up, deciding if you’re worth her time. 

୨୧ you began to seek her out. the first time you loitered in the parking lot of her condo, fingers twitching nervously as you texted that you stopped by. she opened the door and lounged against the doorway, thick thighs bared by her boxers and skin gleaming from a recent workout. she laughed as you gasped and turned away.

୨୧ “what the fuck, sevika!” “princess, we have the same parts. they probably would feel real nice pushed togeth—“ “SEVIKA.”

୨୧ she pushed you out of your comfort zone in quiet, deliberate ways. you’re dragged to the campus bar, taught how to play pool (and lose), and laughing when you scratch on the break. “you’re hopeless, princess,” she teased, her smirk revealing her perfect gap teeth.

୨୧ her teasing was relentless, and she always called you “princess” and sometimes “baby girl” like it was on your birth certificate. you flushed every time, which only encouraged her.

୨୧ the first time you successfully pinned her during a self-defense session, she actually laughed—a rich, surprised sound that made your heart stutter. "not bad, baby girl,” she said, still beneath you, her organic hand warm on your hip. you became acutely aware of your position, of how close her face was to yours. neither of you moved for a long moment.

୨୧ if you’re becoming way too possessive of her, sue you. you’re the only undergrad who’s smuggled yourself under her wing and you’d like to keep it that way, goddamnit. you were never good at sharing anyway.

୨୧ it came to a head at an afterparty, your eye twitching as you watched some bitch (sorry!) trace her talons across sevika’s waist, which was framed admirably by a dark pair of jeans that were practically painted on.

୨୧ it only took a few seconds for you to stomp across the room and root a hand around her neck, drawing her into a searing kiss. you kissed her like you were trying to draw juice from her lips, moaning as she tugged you in closer.

୨୧ she kissed like she fought—precise, demanding, taking no prisoners. she backed you against the counter, knocking over a bottle of malibu, mechanical hand cool against your hips. “didn’t know you had it in you,” she laughed. “shut up, sevika. my god.” you grabbed her collar, reeled her back in.

୨୧ "you're my special girl,” she'd tell you later, tracing patterns on your skin with metal fingers. “the only one i give a fuck about. no competition.” her voice was bleeding with affection, and you curled into her side. she pressed kisses to your hair and leaned over to set an alarm for the both you—one for her, four for you.

୨୧ it worked, somehow—your refined, gilded edges against her sharp ones. you learned to throw a punch; she learned that you would lock her out if she didn’t allow you to spoil her relentlessly. “princess, i already have a bike.” “keep talking, honey, and i’ll purchase the whole dealership.” “now—“

୨୧ "you're trying to kill me slowly,” she grumbled, watching you charm your way through department gatherings. but she'd be there anyway, a solid presence at your back, her mechanical hand resting possessively at your waist. and when you'd lean into her touch, she'd hide her smile in your hair.

୨୧ if anyone found it strange to see the ice princess curled up in the lap of the most feared grad student on campus, well, one look from sevika's narrowed eyes was enough to silence any commentary.

୨୧ you were a fucking princess, both in real life and in her bed, but fuck you were hers. and sevika protected what was hers.

ambessa medarda : the professor. 

୨୧ you first saw her across a dimly lit hotel bar. you were three drinks in, mascara smeared from crying after the worst fight yet with your mother. "disappointing," she'd called you. "ungrateful." all because you refused to date the son of her country club friends.

୨୧ “mommy, please,” you’d sobbed. “i’m not ungrateful. i just don’t love him.” she’d left you with the dial tone.

୨୧ you rubbed a fist across your face like a child, attempting to gather yourself. your phonecall was denied again, and you winced at the tinny voice of your mother’s voicemail, setting it down and turning it off. god, this was the worst thing to happen to you in a long time. 

୨୧ with a sigh, you glanced up at the mirror behind the bar. she was looking right back. 

୨୧ the woman was striking—white locs swept into an elegant updo, wearing a low-cut red dress that hugged her body tightly. she moved like a lioness, back flexing as she hunkered down over the glossy wood. her golden eyes met yours, and your stomach began to spin. you knew this was the beginning of a dangerous game.

୨୧ after a minute she walked over, hands bearing water instead of another drink. "crying in bars rarely solves anything, little one," she said, her accent rich and heady. when you tried to argue, she simply raised an eyebrow, and you found yourself downing the glass in its entirety. 

୨୧ you kept eye contact as you swallowed, tongue peeking out to lap at the remnants along your lips.

୨୧ you don't remember who moved first. but you remember her hands—strong, calloused—gripping your thighs. remember her voice, rough with want, whispering against your neck. remember the way she claimed you, leaving mottled marks you'd find days later.

୨୧ you remember waking up alone in her hotel room, a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand. no note. just the lingering scent of her perfume—spiced and earthy—on the sheets.

୨୧ you tried to forget her. tried to forget how she'd called you “sweet girl” when you'd bitten her shoulder, how she'd laughed darkly and pinned your hands above your head, called you “easy” when you sobbed out pitiful demands for her to go harder and faster, do destroy you from the inside out.

୨୧ then came the first day of advanced military history.

୨୧ "good morning, class. i'm professor medarda."

୨୧ your blood ran cold. there she stood—your favorite fantasy, your most well-spent drunken night—looking devastatingly beautiful in a tailored suit. her eyes found yours immediately, and you saw the recognition flash in them, followed by something darker, more primal.

୨୧ you tried to drop the class. she denied your request personally.

୨୧ "running away?" she asked during mandatory office hours, pouring tea from an ornate set. "that's not the fierce girl i remember. you scratched me all up.”

୨୧ your cheeks burned. "professor—"

୨୧ "ambessa," she corrected, sliding the tea across her desk. “i think we’re past the formalities.”

୨୧ you couldn't avoid her. she called on you in class, her voice caressing your name. kept you after lectures to "discuss your work." you told yourself the tension would fade.

୨୧ it didn't.

୨୧ "i need a teaching assistant," she announced one evening, when you'd stayed too late reviewing your paper. "someone sharp. strategic. devoted.” her fingers brushed yours as she took your empty teacup. "interested?"

୨୧ you should have said no. you should have viewed her wolfish grin as a red flag, grabbed your shit, and hauled ass. instead, you heard yourself say, “of course.”

୨୧ being her TA meant late nights in her office, her perfume making you dizzy with memories. meant watching her command rooms full of students while remembering how she'd commanded your body. it meant pretending you couldn't feel her eyes on you, hungry and possessive.

୨୧ "we should establish some boundaries,” you said finally, after weeks of delicious torture.

୨୧ "should we?" she moved like a predator, backing you against her desk. "or should we discuss how you keep shivering when i get too close?"

୨୧ your breath caught. "this is inappropriate."

୨୧ “mmm, entirely," she agreed, one hand sliding into your hair, the other around your neck. “now, tell me to stop."

୨୧ you didn’t. 

୨୧ “little minx,” she murmured and you kissed her, surging forward and into her lap.

୨୧ it became your secret—stolen moments in her office after hours, weekends at her apartment where she'd cook elaborate dishes and tear your papers to shreds, nights where she'd make you forget your own name and squeal hers.

୨୧ “good girl” she'd murmur against your skin, switching to noxian when you drove her too far. she ordained you with names that meant something far more possessive and crude in her native tongue.

୨୧ the whole thing made you feel deliciously stained and you sought her out to purify you time and time again. you kept it hidden until graduation. until you had your degree in hand and nothing left to lose.

୨୧ the scandal was delicious—respected professor medarda and her former student, now openly living together. your mother was horrified. society whispered.

୨୧ "regrets?" ambessa asked one morning, watching you sip the spiced coffee you'd grown to love.

୨୧ you thought of that night at the bar, of all the paths that led you here. "never."  it turned out some mistakes are worth making twice.

© hcneymooners.

[eraenaa]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends. 

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.” 

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe. 

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you. 

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.  

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face. 

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin. 

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down. 

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him. 

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. 

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him. 

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face. 

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice. 

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away. 

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet. 

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you. 

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

[prisvvner]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　 ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇʙᴀʀꜱ & ʜᴇʟʟꜰɪʀᴇ　.　　　✦　

.  ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ x ᴍᴇᴄʜᴀɴɪᴄ!ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ˚　.

　.   　　˚ O U T N O W   ˚ 　.

　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

part one ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part two ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part three ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part four ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part five tba.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᴏɴᴇ ɢᴀʀᴀɢᴇ, ᴏɴᴇ ɢᴏᴅᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ & ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴄʜʀᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ | ʟᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 18+ ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ | ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ʜᴜʀᴛ & ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ᴛʙᴀ

　　　.   　 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

"ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ, ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ? ꜱᴀʏ ʏᴇꜱ."

You own the grimiest, most kick-ass mechanic shop in downtown Tokyo — the kind of place where grease stains are badges of honor and sarcasm is the default language. Your hands don’t just fix bikes, they command them, transforming scrap heaps into street kings.

When Sukuna — infamous, dangerous, and loud enough to rattle bones — rolls up on his busted Suzuki, word on the street says you’re the only one who can save his ride. You don’t do favors, and you don’t suffer fools. His cocky attitude clashes with your sharp tongue, but beneath that snarling exterior is something... raw. Something that hums in sync with your own adrenaline-fueled pulse.

Together, you’re a secret storm, tearing through Tokyo’s underground racing scene. You’re the quiet genius behind the unbeatable mods; he’s the reckless speed demon chasing dominance.

Your garage? It’s his rare safe place — where the noise fades and the world’s edge dulls to the purr of engines and the scent of burning rubber. You don’t talk much, but when you do, it cuts deep — just like him.

And maybe that’s the problem.

I’m unreasonably excited to unleash this disasterpiece. It’s hot. It’s messy. It might emotionally ruin you in between makeout scenes on a Suzuki.

Dropping late June. If you want to be on the tag list, comment or slide into my inbox like Sukuna slides into your garage at 2 a.m. 😌

Minors? Out. Everyone else? Buckle up.

tag-list:

@dahliadaenerys @greenday-bingus @w31rd0s7mblur

@blublublubby @ehcilhc @katthekat1234

@donwalkers-henchman @clp-84 @homeslices

✧･ﾟwritten by @prisvvner ⊹ dividers by @/enchanthings  ⛓️ do NOT repost, steal, translate, or claim as your own. 🖤 reblogs are love — theft is not. 🏍respect the grease and the grind.

[ellswritings]

Hiii I was wondering if you could do a Cody Rhodes x reader with the backstory being that reader was like the only female member of shield. And her and Cody Rhodes had a flirty storyline together and the rest of the shield are kinda “protective” over here. and it evolves into something more outside of work please. If you want to add smut that is perfectly fine with me. Please and thank you 💜

My Favorite Plot Twist

Cody Rhodes (Runnels) x reader

TW: Reader is a bit prickly. Damien Sandow says something derogatory about reader. The Shield boys are literally guard dogs. Also, I’m sorry this took me twenty years to write

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Y/N sits in the Shields designated locker room, wrapping her hands tightly as she prepares for her match later that night. The boys were running late, as expected. She got used to arriving first out of the four of them. Being the only girl in the faction is pretty much the equivalent to being the keeper of the group. She booked the hotel for them, she found the places to eat, made sure they were up at a reasonable time, but the only thing she couldn’t manage to do was make them on time.

Sweat clung to her collarbone despite the AC humming somewhere above. It was the usual quiet before the storm — or, in her case, before three oversized brothers came barreling in like a stampede. She barely had time to flex her taped knuckles before the door banged open. Colby Lopez — Seth Rollins to everyone else — swaggered in like he owned the building, duffel bouncing off his hip, hair still damp from the shower.

“Well, well, Captain, I’m officially ready to carry our asses for the night.” He plopped down next to her, too close, as always. He peered at her wrap job and clicked his tongue. “Too tight. Gimme your hand.”

She rolled her eyes, half-shoving him. “Back off, Lopez. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I know you do — that’s what terrifies me.” He winked, then reached anyway, redoing the final loop on her thumb.

The next in was Joe — Roman Reigns — phone in hand, earbuds dangling from around his neck. He took one look at the two and snorted, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “You two married yet, or what?”

Seth fired back, deadpan: “She couldn’t handle all this full-time.”

Y/N elbowed him so hard in the ribs he nearly toppled off the bench. Joe let out a deep, amused laugh — his version of a belly laugh — then set down his bag with a controlled thud. “Ambrose?” he asked, glancing around.

“Probably yelling at someone for stealing his rental spot again.” Y/N took a swig of water, eyeing the door like it owed her money.

Right on cue, it banged open a second time — Jonathan Good, half-dressed as Dean Ambrose, sweat dripping off him, eyes lit up with that reckless glint that meant trouble. “Hey, sweetheart.” He pressed a cold bottle of water to her cheek, ignoring her annoyed squeal. “You miss me?”

“I miss my sanity. Put on a damn shirt, Jon.”

He shrugged, ruffling her hair with a grin. “Don’t hold your breath.”

The four of them finished getting ready, their segment being one of the earlier ones for the night. They walked out of the locker room, stuck in their own little world with one another. The four of them moved as they always did: tight formation, quiet murmurs under the hum of rolling crates and distant crowd noise. Seth needled Jon about last night’s bar tab. Joe half-listened, mostly keeping one big arm ready in case his brothers started throwing hands early. Y/N stayed tucked between them — not because she needed protecting, but because it shut up the creeps who stared too long when she walked alone. As they rounded a bend near Gorilla, they almost ran straight into Cody Rhodes and Damien Sandow, who were deep in conversation. Cody caught her eyes first — a flicker of something old and cocky danced there.

Sandow sneered the second his eyes flicked to her. He raised a mocking brow. “Well, if it isn’t The Shield and their little— what’s the word— mascot.”

Colby bristled. Joe’s jaw flexed. Jon outright stopped dead, turning his full body toward Sandow.

“Come again?” Jon’s tone dropped so low, even a camera guy passing by paused mid-step.

Sandow crossed his arms, smug. “You heard me. Thought the big boys liked to fight their own battles, but maybe they just need a pretty distraction to stay relevant.”

Y/N’s spine snapped straight. She opened her mouth— but Jon was faster. He lunged so quick that Cody had to shove Sandow back to avoid getting clocked too. “Hey— HEY!” Cody stepped between Jon and Sandow, shoving his hand at Jon’s chest. “Easy, Good. He’s a mouthy bastard but you know the suits’ll fine you if you smash his face in back here.”

Jon snarled back, “Fine me then. I’ll pay in cash, right now—”

Joe grabbed Jon’s collar, Seth crowded closer to Cody, and in the middle of the swirl stood Y/N, hands braced on Jon’s shoulder trying to keep him from murder. Cody leaned closer to her while the guys postured. His voice dropped, almost gentle, that faint grin curving his mouth. “You really oughta leash your watchdogs, sweetheart. One of these days they’re gonna bite the wrong throat.”

She snapped her eyes to him, voice low but slicing. “Careful, Rhodes. Might start with yours.”

Something in his grin tightened — a flash of heat, of amusement, something she didn’t have time to read because Sandow piped up behind him, “She talks tough for a mascot—”

This time Colby didn’t wait for Jon. He shoved Sandow so hard into a stack of road cases it rattled. Cody shoved Seth back — Jon lunged again — Joe barked a sharp ENOUGH that rattled the pipes overhead. Security spilled in seconds later, a chorus of “Break it up! Back it up!” filling the corridor. Cody still hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

“See you out there, Shield Girl,” he murmured, backing off with Sandow under an arm, his grin all trouble and promise and something else she wouldn’t name yet.

She wiped sweat from her brow and glared after him. Colby snorted beside her. “Someone’s got a crush on you.”

She flipped him off. “Shut up before I crush you.”

“I don’t think dirty talk is supposed to be that violent, Y/N/N,” Colby grins childishly.

Y/N moves to lunge at him but Jon grabs her and places her in between him and Joe. She might be considered the mature one in the friendship they’ve created, but that doesn’t mean she’s levelheaded on all fronts. Joe chuckles and nudges her shoulder. “C’mon, troublemaker. Let’s go remind ‘em why they don’t screw with The Shield.”

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The Shield’s heavy boots thudded on the plush carpet as they filed in — Jon first, shoulders rolled back like he might tackle the CEO himself; Colby trailing with a smirk he didn’t bother hiding; Joe looming behind them like an annoyed wall of muscle. Y/N drifted in last, arms folded tight over her chest, jaw set hard enough to crack.

Behind a huge oak desk sat Vince McMahon, in a pinstripe suit that probably cost more than her car. He didn’t look up right away — just scribbled something on a paper with more force than necessary. The air crackled, the boys shifting on their feet like guilty teenagers. Finally, Vince’s head snapped up, eyes locking on them with the force of a hurricane. “Do any of you have a clue how many sponsors I had to reassure tonight?” He slapped the desk for punctuation. “Do you?!”

Jon tilted his head, half-cocked grin already brewing. “I dunno, boss — how many do we have left after last time?”

Joe’s elbow discreetly slammed into his ribs. Jon grunted but stayed grinning. Vince pointed at him like an executioner. “You— zip it. All of you — overgrown dogs with no leash, tearing up my backstage like it’s a damned dive bar in Cincinnati—” He jabbed a finger at Colby. “And you! Egging him on!”

Colby shrugged, completely unbothered. “To be fair, Sandow asked for it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh for god’s sake, Vince—”

Vince’s voice boomed right over hers: “And you!” His eyes narrowed at her, but not with the same raw anger he leveled at the boys — more like a caged grin trying not to break through. “The little brain behind this group, I suppose you’re innocent in all this chaos?”

Y/N’s lips twitched. She clicked her tongue, feigning sweetness. “I tried to break it up. Blame your golden boy and his Shakespeare reject sidekick for running their mouths.”

Jon barked a laugh. “She’s not wrong.”

Vince slapped the desk again. “Shut up, Good!” He inhaled through his nose like he might burst a blood vessel, then exhaled slow — an old wolf reining in his bite.

“Listen to me, all of you: if you start one more brawl backstage — especially over petty, juvenile insults — I’ll have you each working dark matches in Des Moines for the rest of the year. Understood?”

Joe answered first, curt: “Understood, sir.”

Colby threw up two mocking thumbs. Jon just winked at Y/N like he was proud of her, and she smothered a laugh behind her hand. Vince glared at them all before jerking a thumb toward the door. “Out. All of you. Except her.”

The three heads snapped toward her in perfect unison. She shrugged at them, equally confused, but Jon leaned in to hiss dramatically, “If he tries to kiss ya, scream twice.”

“Get out, now!” Vince thundered, and Jon scuttled backward, cackling all the way out.

The door clicked shut and now Y/N stands alone.

Vince leaned back, hands folding over his chest, eyes settling on her with that predator’s glint he reserved for moments of genius — or trouble. “Sit.”

She perched on the edge of a chair, crossing one leg over the other, brows lifted. “What, you wanna lecture me solo now? Promise I’ll behave next time—”

He cut her off, voice lower now, conspiratorial. “You know, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know when lightning strikes twice in one corridor.”

She frowned. “...What are you talking about?”

Vince tapped a folder on his desk, pushing it slightly toward her. “I saw the security footage. You and Rhodes.”

Y/N’s entire spine stiffened, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh hell no. If you’re about to pitch me some damsel crap—”

He chuckled — genuinely amused. “Quite the opposite. I’m pitching you something fresh. Fiery. Improvised. You’re interrupting Cody’s promo tonight. No one knows it but you and I — not him, not your boys, not creative.”

She scoffed, half rising from her seat. “Vince— no. I’m not babysitting Dusty’s spoiled son because Sandow can’t keep his teeth behind his lips. I’ve got my own match tonight—”

He raised a hand. The room went deathly still. “You do this — you get your match schedule as normal. You don’t…” He paused for effect, a shark’s grin creeping in. “You stand at ringside for the Shield. For a year. No matches. No singles push. No spotlight except the scraps those three give you.”

Y/N felt her pulse hammering at her temples. Her tongue was halfway to a retort she knew she couldn’t afford. Instead, she exhaled through her nose, the fight simmering to a cold, resigned flicker. “Fine,” she ground out. “I’ll interrupt his precious promo. But if he so much as winks at me—”

Vince barked a laugh, utterly pleased. “Good girl. Now get out there and make us a fortune.”

She stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled. “Yeah, yeah. But you owe me a main event after this, old man.” She slammed the door behind her so hard the security guard flinched.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Y/N stormed down the narrow hallway, the concrete echoing with each slam of her boots. Just ahead, Gorilla loomed — and through the thin curtain, she could already hear the opening swell of Cody Rhodes’ theme song pulsing through the arena. The crowd’s roar matched the pounding in her skull.

Behind her, a chorus of familiar voices rose like a thundercloud. “Hey — Y/N!” Colby’s voice cracked through the noise first, footsteps pounding as he sprinted to catch up. “Hold up a damn second!”

She didn’t break stride, just tightened her grip on the headset in her hand, knuckles whitening. Jon’s laugh — sharp and disbelieving — cut in next as he and Joe caught up, flanking her on either side like personal bodyguards ready to tear someone’s spine out. “You got that look — who do I have to knock out this time?”

Joe’s rumble was quieter but twice as dangerous. “Y/N. Talk. Now.”

She let out a tight, humorless snort, eyes locked dead ahead. “You three wanna know? Vince called us in. Read us the riot act for your genius little bar brawl. And now — surprise, surprise — guess who’s the lucky golden goose that gets a storyline with that smug prick out there?” She stabbed her thumb back toward Gorilla, where Cody’s voice was dripping over the live feed.

Colby nearly tripped over his own boots, eyes wide. “Rhodes?! You gotta be shitting me—”

Jon scoffed, voice climbing an octave. “No. Nah, hell no. Not him. Anyone but him. We’ll go back in right now — we’ll fix it. I’ll threaten Sandow’s neck again if I gotta—”

Joe leaned in, voice low, trying reason where Jon barked chaos. “What’s the angle? Romance? A match? What’s Vince pushing?”

She barked out a bitter laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth mockingly. “Oh, I don’t know, Joe — maybe Vince liked the brawl footage so much he thought, hey, let’s stir up some scandal — Shield girl versus the pretty boy! It’s bait for cheap headlines. And guess what — if I don’t do it? No matches. I’m just eye candy at ringside for the next year.”

Colby grabbed her elbow, tugging her to a sudden halt so hard Jon nearly slammed into her back. “Y/N. Listen to me. We know what he’s like. You’ve seen it. He’s a snake with a fancy smile and a shiny suit — he’ll twist this storyline, he’ll—”

She yanked her arm free, eyes blazing as she whirled on all three of them. They braced as if she might swing first. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see right through him? I do. Better than you ever will. But I also know I’m not about to sit on my ass for a year just because you three can’t keep your testosterone in check!”

Joe rumbled, slow and deliberate: “If he so much as looks at you wrong—”

She cut him off with a sharp laugh, jabbing her finger at his chest. “I’ll break his nose before you even blink, big man. And you—” she turned to Jon, eyes narrowing, “—keep your fists to yourself for one night. One. I swear, Jon, you throw a punch tonight, I’m gonna deck you myself.”

Jon just glared, defiant but cornered. “I don’t trust him around you.”

Colby added, voice strained but pleading, “We’re not trying to run your life, Y/N— but he’s not like us. He’s… him. And you’re—” He gestured at her gear, at her badge. “You’re ours.”

She softened for half a heartbeat — just enough for the truth to flicker through the fight. “Yeah. I know. But I’m not just yours. I’m mine. And this—” she jerked her chin toward Gorilla, Cody’s promo still rolling smooth as honey, “—this is what I’ve busted my ass for. Let me handle it my way.”

Y/N could hear his music ending, his cocky voice filling the arena. She rolls her eyes, bracing herself for about of confused questions from the stagehands. She turned back to her boys, braced her fists on her hips, and said with finality: “Stay back. Let me handle him. I promise you — he tries anything? I’ll remind him real quick why I’m the meanest damn dog in the yard.”

Colby raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting between Joe and Jon, resigned but proud in that big-brother way. Jon just muttered under his breath, “Break his pretty teeth if you gotta…”

Joe didn’t say a word — just pulled her into a bone-crushing hug so quick she nearly squeaked, then shoved her forward with a gruff, “Go show ‘em who he’s messing with.”

She grinned at them, a flash of steel and mischief. “Watch and learn, boys.”

Cody Rhodes prowled the center of the ring like it was a throne room built just for him. The lights caught every glint of gold on his new tights, bouncing off the smug curve of his smirk. The microphone danced in his fingertips — a king playing with his crown. “You know, there comes a time,” he purred into the sea of noise, pacing slow circles, voice dripping that old-school bravado that got under people’s skin and stayed there, “when talent alone won’t get you noticed — when being the best-looking man in this building just ain’t enough.”

He stopped dead center, peering into the hard camera with eyes that dared anyone to step up.“But brains? Brains, ladies and gentlemen… get you everything. That’s why, unlike some people around here, I don’t need to hide behind a pack of dogs in riot gear. I stand here alone— because I’m better alone. And there isn’t a soul backstage with the guts to prove me wrong.”

He flicked his tongue over his teeth, mocking. “You hear that, boys in black? Send whoever you want. I’ll still—”

The arena practically exploded. The sudden thunder of Y/N’s entrance theme shook the rafters, drowning out Cody’s next word. For a split second — one heartbeat — the confident mask slipped. His eyes cut hard to the stage, his tongue stilled behind his teeth.

Michael Cole, trying to yell over 15,000 screaming fans: “WHAT?! IT’S Y/N — THE SHIELD’S ENFORCER — SHE LOOKS LIKE SHES ON A MISSION!”

“Or here to kill someone,” Jerry Lawler adds.

JBL stares on, a grin in his voice: “Rhodes might wanna wipe that smirk off his face. Look at her eyes. She’s about to rewrite his entire monologue.”

Y/N hit the top of the ramp like a bullet in human form. Her boots ate up the steel grating; her eyes locked on Cody with a predator’s promise. There was no Shield theme tonight — no flanking hounds behind her. Just her, the lights, and that smile that said she’d never been more dangerous alone. She slid under the bottom rope in one clean motion, rising slow, nose to nose with Cody before the echo of her music even faded. Cody recovered his smirk — barely — the mic raising back to his lips, though his pupils were blown wide with something that wasn’t fear.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of Riot Gear herself…” He drew it out like velvet, eyes dragging from her boots to her mouth and back again. He circled her, slow, close enough to brush her shoulder with his bicep — testing her patience like a man poking a lion in a cage. “Tell me — your boyfriends too scared to fight me themselves? Sent their little mascot out instead?”

Y/N’s jaw ticked at the mention of the insult used by Sandow earlier on in the evening. She lifted her mic without blinking. Her voice dripped poison, each word razor-sharp but calm enough to scare him more than yelling ever could. “No. I came out here to remind the world you’re still the same cheap suit who spent three years telling everyone how dashing you were — until someone finally told you to shut up.”

The fans roared so loud the front row spilled beer. Cody barked a laugh, stepping close enough their chests almost brushed. “Oh, sweetheart— trust me. You want me to shut up?” He dropped his voice, all fake sweetness. “You might have to find another way to keep my mouth busy.”

A collective gasp from the front rows. Wolf whistles. A drumbeat chant of “KISS! KISS! KISS!” that made the back of Y/N’s neck flush hot, despite herself.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to his mouth for a dangerous half-second — then she smiled, all teeth, and shoved a finger into his chest. “Careful, Rhodes. I’m not one of your bimbos backstage. You try that on me and I’ll break your jaw so fast you’ll need Sandow to feed you soup for a month.”

The crowd howled — half laughing, half chanting her name like a heartbeat. She didn’t back up. Didn’t flinch. She smiled — slow, wolfish — then jammed her finger right in the middle of his chest, shoving him back a single defiant step. “You think you’re special because you’re pretty? Newsflash: I’ve seen prettier faces, better men — and you’re not half as dangerous as you like to pretend.” She stepped in again, the mic right up to her lips, daring him to close that inch of space back up.

“You want my attention so bad? Earn it. Or shut the hell up before I do it for you.”

The arena detonated — chants mixing with laughter and a few die-hard Shield loyalists barking “BREAK HIS JAW!”

Cody’s grin didn’t fade — if anything, it softened, just around the eyes. For a flicker of a moment, something raw passed between them: a promise, an insult, a dare neither one fully understood yet. He opened his mouth, words brewing, but she was already stepping back. She dropped her mic with a clatter, the sound punctuating her exit like a gunshot. She climbed a corner turnbuckle, one boot planted on the ropes, and threw her arms wide — soaking in the roar of a crowd that had just tasted the beginning of something very new.

Michael Cole, practically squeaking: “I don’t think Rhodes knows what he just started — that’s The Shield’s wild card! And tonight she didn’t come out here on a leash.”

JBL smirks, low laughter under his breath: “Careful what you wish for, Cody. Because she’s not just gonna ruin your promo — she might just ruin your whole life.”

Cody watched her from the center of the ring, that same half-smirk stitched on his mouth — but now it was a mask for the way his eyes tracked her every move like he couldn’t look away if he tried.

And the fans knew it. They all knew it. This wasn’t the end — it was the spark. And they were going to burn each other down before it was over.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Backstage was chaos in motion — production assistants dodged camera cables, a ring crew hustled to tear down a set piece, and somewhere down the hall, an intern nearly got steamrolled by Roman Reigns storming through with murder in his eyes.

Y/N hadn’t even made it ten feet past Gorilla before Jon’s hand clamped around her wrist. He spun her to face him so fast she nearly elbowed him on instinct. “You think that was funny?” Jon snarled, voice low but sharp enough to draw side-eyes from the stagehands pretending not to listen. “Letting him talk to you like that out there? Flirting with him for the crowd?!”

Before she could answer, Colby wedged in, eyebrows halfway up his forehead, pure disbelief etched on every line of his face. “Did you hear the things he said, Y/N? ‘Keep his mouth busy?’ He said that with kids in the damn front row! You shoulda punched him—”

Roman caught up last, more collected but no less thunderous. He crossed his arms, glaring down at her like a disappointed dad. “What did we say about guys like him? Huh? He’s still that same ‘dashing’ asshole— just with a shinier coat of paint. You don’t deserve to be part of his cheap little ego trip.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She loved them — loved them more than anything — but god, sometimes they made her feel like she was twelve. “Boys—” she started.

“Don’t ‘boys’ us—” Colby snapped.

She snapped her eyes open, voice slicing through them like steel. “ENOUGH! Listen to me — I didn’t pick this, alright? Vince shoved it in my lap because you three started a fight next to the catering table, and now the only way I get ring time is if I play nice with Mr. Rhodes. So you know what? I’ll flirt, I’ll spit venom, I’ll let him run his mouth — and then I’ll shut it for him in the ring. End of story.”

Her chest heaved with the force of it. All three Shield brothers stared, caught between guilt and frustration. Before Jon could grumble out his apology, a headset-wearing production runner jogged up. “Y/N— Vince wants you. Now.”

She exhaled through her teeth. “Perfect.”

She huffs, her boots echoing on the concrete floor as she takes the route to Vince’s office. She swears she’s in that man’s office more often than she’s in the locker room. It’s either for something she did, or making sure the boys don’t get themselves fired. This feels like a mix between both.

When she reaches the room, she slams the office door behind her so hard the cheap gold nameplate rattled half off its screws. Vince didn’t even flinch — didn’t even lift his head, just flicked a glance up over the rim of his reading glasses, eyes sharp as ever. “You wanted to see me? Or am I getting fired because the promo wasn’t exactly what you wanted?” Y/N snapped, crossing her arms tight enough to bruise.

Vince’s mouth twitched — never quite a smile, more a wolf showing teeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A dramatic exit, a big ‘screw you’ on the way out.”

She threw her hands out. “Oh, believe me, I’d like a lot of things right now. Getting shipped off to be Cody Rhodes’ personal prop isn’t exactly at the top of the list.”

Vince set his pen down with agonizing calm, folding his hands across the desk. “Sit.”

She didn’t move. Her silence said everything. He sighed — more annoyance than exasperation — and leaned back in his leather chair. “Fine. Stand there and pout like a teenager, then. I’ll be quick. You’re not traveling with The Shield for the next few months.”

The words hit her like a punch to the ribs. Her jaw clenched so hard she thought her molars might crack. “You’re kidding.”

“Does this look like a face that jokes?” He spread his hands, voice calm but brimming with iron. “Starting next week, you’re with Rhodes. Hotels. Rental cars. Media appearances. Charity gigs. The works.”

She shook her head once, twice, like that could shake the words out of her ears. “No. No, Vince. You can’t— they need me. Have you seen those idiots? They lose their passports every other week. They forget flight times. They can’t even—”

He cut her off with a quiet snarl, enough to chill her blood. “I don’t give a damn if they wander into the wrong airport and end up in Paraguay. You saw what happened out there tonight — you two light up an arena. You made people care. About him. About you. About what happens next. Do you know how rare that is?”

She clenched her fists until her nails dug half-moons into her palm. “So you punish me for your bottom line? Rip me away from my family so I can play girlfriend to a self-obsessed pretty boy?”

He cocked his head. “I’m not punishing you, Y/N. I’m promoting you. Do you think people chant his name like they chant yours? You’re a star, kid. And stars make sacrifices.”

She laughed — brittle, sharp, a sound with no humor left in it. “Right. And if I say no?”

His eyes went flinty, the grin evaporating like smoke. “Then you remember the arrangement. You say no — you stand ringside. Cheerleading. Not a single match booked. You watch your boys break their backs while you smile for the camera and clap when they win.”

She flinched — just a flicker — but Vince saw it. He always did. He leaned forward, voice dropping into that deceptively soft gravel that could command a stadium or crush a dream in the same breath. “You’re a Shield member. But you’re mine first. And you don’t get to decide when you’re too good for the business that made you. So, you want your matches? You want the spotlight you bled for? Then you give me this story. You and Rhodes. Real tension. Real heat. Maybe more, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. People will believe it because you two make them believe it.”

She looked away, chest heaving. Her eyes burned but she refused to blink — she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crack. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with the weight of it all. “You don’t care if it tears up the only thing I have left, do you? My friends? The only people I consider family.”

Vince didn’t soften. He never did. “They’ll manage. They’re big boys. And you? You’re the biggest draw I’ve got right now. So do your job, Y/N. Make ‘em believe. Or stand ringside and wave pretty.”

She swallowed hard. The heat behind her eyes turned to salt down her throat. She forced her hands to uncurl, forced her shoulders to square, forced herself to remember who the hell she was. “Fine,” she ground out. “But when this blows up in your face — when he tries to turn this into something it’s not — you remember you built that bomb, not me.”

Vince’s grin returned — shark teeth in a grandfather’s face. “Atta girl.”

She didn’t trust herself to answer. She spun on her heel, yanked the door so hard it slammed into the wall with a satisfying crack — and this time, she didn’t look back. Y/N didn’t get far. Thirty feet down the hallway, she ducked behind a stack of battered flight cases — and snapped.

Her fist smashed into the cold metal once. Twice. A third time, knuckles flaring with pain she barely felt over the roar in her head. She kicked a rolling cart so hard it rattled halfway down the hall, squeaking pathetically before crashing against a wall. But it wasn’t enough — not nearly enough.

Her breath came ragged, shoulders jerking as she braced both palms on the crate’s edge and bowed her head, forehead nearly touching steel. The tears came next. Hot, silent, furious. They dripped off her nose, splattering the black road case below. Behind her, boots pounded the concrete. Voices — hers. Always hers.

“Hey— hey— Y/N—” Jon’s rough rasp, usually all bite and sarcasm, now gentle as a bruise. He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her before she could flinch, pulling her tight against his chest like he could muscle the world back into place for her. She didn’t fight him. Just sank into the familiar scent of leather and sweat and brotherhood. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his vest, anchoring herself there while the ugly, broken sobs punched out of her one by one.

Colby and Joe closed in like a shield made flesh. Colby’s hand slid to her back, palm moving slow and steady over her spine, grounding her. Joe’s big arm caged around them all, his chin brushing the crown of her head. “Hey— look at me.” Joe’s voice, low thunder that somehow sounded kind. “Breathe. You gotta breathe, yeah?”

She dragged her face from Jon’s chest, the tears streaking black under her eyes. Her lip trembled, rage and heartbreak making her chest squeeze tight. “He— he’s— he’s sending me with Rhodes. On the road. Away from you guys. All because I opened my mouth and you started a damn fight—!”

Jon flinched like she’d slapped him. “Y/N—”

“He wants me to fall for him. Wants it to look real. Wants me to be some— some soap opera side piece so people tune in for his precious ratings.” She swiped at her face, but the tears kept coming. “And if I don’t play along, if I fight him on it, I’m back to ringside. Stupid fucking Sandow would be proven right. I’d be your mascot, clapping while you three run the whole show without me.”

Colby’s hand stilled on her back, fist curling in the fabric of her vest. “I’ll kill him. I’ll actually—”

“Same,” Joe rumbled, forehead resting against hers now, voice so soft it cracked her all over again. “No man does this to you. I don’t care what he’s worth to Vince. You’re worth more.”

She let out a watery laugh, the sound sharp and exhausted. “You three can’t even remember what town we’re in half the time. You lose your wallets, your gear, your entire hotel keys— how are you gonna save me from this?”

Jon barked a humorless chuckle, but his eyes burned like coals. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “Because we’re The Shield, sweetheart. And The Shield doesn’t abandon its own. Ever. He might share your rental car, but he doesn’t get you. Not really.”

Colby grinned through the storm, leaning his forehead against hers so their eyes locked. “He can have your time on the road. He’ll never have your back in the ring. That’s ours.”

A fresh tear spilled, but this one carved through the smallest, fiercest smile. “God, you idiots. You make it so hard to hate you.”

Joe chuckled low, pressing a careful kiss to her temple like sealing a promise. “Good. Now breathe, sister. You go do this dumb angle. You get your paycheck. You keep your place at the top. We’ll be right behind you — whether they write us in or not.”

She sniffed, dragging her wrist under her nose, trying for a brave face. “Promise me you won’t try to jump him next week.”

Jon snorted, voice dripping dry venom. “No promises. But we’ll aim for backstage, not on camera. Better for ratings.”

That pulled a half-laugh from her chest — small, real, enough to make the ache bearable for now. She huffed out a breath and let them hold her a few seconds more, safe in the fortress of riot gear and reckless love. She was being shipped off to fight an angle she never asked for — but as long as these three shadows stayed behind her, she’d never really be alone.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The rumble of Cody’s rental car idled in front of the hotel. He leaned one elbow on the open window, sunglasses on despite the overcast morning, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to some classic rock station humming low through the speakers. When the back door slammed open, he straightened just in time to see her stalk out dragging her gear bag behind her like it owed her money. He couldn’t help it — the smirk slid right into place. “There she is. My favorite Shield member.”

She shot him a glare so sharp it might’ve cracked his windshield. She didn’t break stride, tossing her bag in the back seat before yanking open the driver’s door. “Out.”

Cody blinked behind his shades. “Uh — beg your pardon?”

She jerked her chin at him, brows arched with lethal calm. “Out. Of. My. Seat.”

He gave a mock laugh, glancing around the empty lot like maybe she was pranking him. “You’re serious?”

She planted one palm on the roof and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “You really think I trust you driving me through two states? Get your pretty boy ass in the passenger seat. Now.”

A laugh cracked from his throat despite himself. “God, you’re a piece of work.” But he got out, sidestepping her with a playful twirl of his keys before tossing them back.

“Try not to hit anything. Insurance doesn’t cover bruised egos.”

She snatched the keys mid-air, hip-checking him toward the other side. “Buckle up, Rhodes. I drive fast.”

The first hour on the interstate was exactly what he’d expected: tense silence, punctuated by her death grip on the wheel and the occasional murder glare when he so much as adjusted the air vent.

He tried anyway. Of course he did. “So… Y/N, right? Short for anything?”

“Nope.”

“You always this chatty?”

“Only when idiots are talking at me.”

“Ouch.” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “You know, most women would kill for alone time with me.”

She snorted, eyes locked on the road. “Congrats on being delusional. Must be peaceful in that head of yours.”

He chuckled low, leaning back in his seat. He watched her hands more than the highway — the way her fingers flexed and adjusted around the wheel, the faint white line of an old scar near her knuckle. Little pieces of her that the Shield boys kept the world from ever seeing. She caught him staring and snapped, “Eyes on your side, Romeo. I know where I’m going.”

“Relax. I’m just appreciating the view.” He wiggled his brows. “Gotta make this road trip worth the trauma, sweetheart.”

“Touch me and I swear to God I’ll break your nose.”

“Promises, promises.”

They bickered about gas stations first. Cody pointed at a bright neon sign for a big chain stop half a mile ahead, practically bouncing in his seat. “Take that next exit. That place has Starbucks. And a bathroom that doesn’t double as a crime scene.”

Y/N didn’t even glance at the sign — she veered off at the very next random exit without slowing down. “We’re stopping here. I want real coffee. Not overpriced hipster sludge.”

He squinted out the window as she coasted into a cracked lot behind a battered old gas station. The ‘OPEN’ sign flickered like it might give up at any moment. “Real coffee?” he repeated, deadpan. “This place looks like a horror movie. If I get tetanus, you’re paying my hospital bill.”

She popped the door open with a pointed smile. “Don’t be dramatic, Rhodes. One rat tail in your latte builds character.”

Inside, she stalked straight to the dusty snack aisle while Cody hovered suspiciously near a leaking soda machine. She plucked bags of jerky, two Red Bulls, and a suspicious-looking muffin from a basket near the register. He trailed behind her, dropping an armful of candy and chocolate on top of her pile. She narrowed her eyes. “We are not buying your sugar stash. Put it back.”

He feigned innocence. “Protein and carbs, sweetheart. You need fuel if you’re gonna keep threatening to kill me every five miles.”

She swatted his gummy bears back at him — he lobbed a chocolate bar at her head in retaliation. She caught it one-handed and whipped it back into his chest. The old man behind the counter watched them with mild horror.

Back on the road, it was only a matter of time before the radio battle started. Y/N cranked Metallica up so loud it rattled the passenger door. Cody grimaced, fingers stabbing at the dash controls until he managed to cut it off mid-guitar solo. “Jesus — my ears are bleeding. My playlist, my rules.” He plugged in his phone, Taylor Swift crooning an upbeat chorus a second later.

Y/N threw him a look so lethal it should’ve stopped the car. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He grinned, drumming his knuckles on the armrest in time with the chorus. “You need to lighten up, princess. Consider this an education in actual music.”

“I will launch that phone into the next state.”

“Try it. I’ll file a complaint with HR for harassment.”

She barked a laugh, but it was all teeth. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, legs stretched obnoxiously wide. “No, everyone thinks I’m cute. Big difference.”

She bit back a scoff, switching back to Metallica with a vengeful stab at the dash. “It must be exhausting to be this cocky ”

His smile dropped for a heartbeat. “You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone who doesn’t actually know me.”

“Don’t need to know you. I’ve heard enough.” She shrugged, eyes on the road. “The boys keep plenty of receipts.”

He let out a low whistle, voice softer but sharper somehow. “Ah. So that’s what this is. Jon’s bedtime horror stories about how I once big-timed him for catering. Colby swearing I was sniffing around places I don’t belong. Joe acting like I’m a stray mutt with rabies.”

“Maybe don’t act like a mutt then,” she shot back. But her grip on the wheel tightened, betraying the edge under her words.

Cody studied her in the flickering lights of passing trucks, the playful spark in his eyes tempered by something real now. “Newsflash, sweetheart: I might be a pain in the ass, but I don’t need your boys to like me. I do need you to maybe think for yourself, though.”

That made her laugh — but it cracked at the end. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rhodes. I think just fine. And trust me — if you were worth the benefit of the doubt, I’d have given it.”

A tense silence settled in. Metallica growled low in the background, the road yawning endless ahead. He turned away first, looking out his window with a grudging smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then I guess I’ll just have to prove ‘em wrong, huh?”

She didn’t answer, but the way her jaw unclenched told him enough to know he’d landed a hit.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

By the time they’d been on the road four hours, dusk spilled across the highway in bruised streaks of purple and gold. The cab of the car felt like a tiny universe — half Metallica riffs, half the low hum of the engine, all crackling tension that had somehow shifted from barbed to something almost… bearable.

Cody saw it first: the telltale drift of her eyelids at a long red light. The way her hand, clenched white-knuckle on the wheel for hours, now flexed limply between shifts.

He cut the volume down with a flick of his thumb, voice softer but sharp enough to slice through the tired fog she’d wrapped herself in. “Hey. Pull over.”

Her scowl was automatic, almost sluggish. “Shut up.”

“You’re exhausted, sweetheart. I can see you blinking in slow motion.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” She scrubbed a palm over her face, fighting the sleep dragging at her bones. “And I’m fine. Stop mothering me—”

“Fine?” He barked a humorless laugh, drumming his fingers on the console. “You just missed a sign for the highway you’ve been ranting about for an hour.”

She squinted at the road signs ahead, jaw tightening when she realized he wasn’t wrong. “Eat shit, Rhodes.”

“Pull. Over.” His tone dropped — not cruel, just immovable. The same stubborn steel that got under her skin and, she’d grudgingly admit, kept her awake better than the Red Bull rolling around at her feet.

She sucked in a breath, teeth sinking into her lip as if she could bite back the exhaustion by sheer force of will. “I don’t need—”

“You do,” he cut in, voice low but calm now. “You do. Just this once — drop the act, princess. Everyone’s human. Even you.”

Her hands clenched tighter on the wheel. She hated how that landed — gentle, exasperated, annoyingly real. She hated that he saw her cracking and didn’t make a joke of it.

With a muttered curse, she yanked the car onto the shoulder, tires crunching over gravel. She slammed it into park so violently the whole car rocked. “Touch my seat or mirror settings and I swear—”

Cody popped his door open with a smirk, leaning in close enough their noses nearly brushed.“Relax,” he murmured, voice dipping warm and taunting at once. “I can handle the beast of your preferred car settings. You just handle the snoring.”

She blinked at him, thrown for a heartbeat by how sincere that sounded under the teasing edge. He chuckled at her silence, brushing past her to slide behind the wheel. She stalked around the hood, muttering, “I hate you.”

He shot back without missing a beat, “And yet you look at me like you almost trust me right now. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your guard dogs.”

That shut her up. She climbed into the passenger seat with a glare that couldn’t quite hide the flicker of something softer beneath it. Minutes later, her head drifted toward the cool window, lashes fluttering once, twice — then gone, sleep tugging her under faster than she could fight it.

Cody gripped the wheel, knuckles whitening as he risked a glance at her.

God, she looked different like this. The hurricane armor was gone: no clipped insults, no eyes sparking hellfire. Just a stubborn girl who carried three grown men on her shoulders and wouldn’t admit she was tired until she damn near crashed. He caught himself staring too long at a green light — had to clear his throat, dragging his gaze back to the endless ribbon of asphalt.

Yeah. This was gonna be a problem. She was gonna be a problem.

And the worst part? For once in his life, Cody Rhodes wasn’t entirely sure he minded one damn bit.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The next show felt like stepping into the same storm — only now, for Y/N, the wind was blowing from two directions at once. She’d barely dumped her duffel in the Shield’s locker room when the door swung open like it owed Jon money.

“There she is,” Jon announced, boots thudding across the concrete. “The runaway bride herself. How was the romantic road trip with Golden Boy?”

Joe ducked under the doorframe behind him, tossing a water bottle back and forth between his hands. “Yeah. How many times’d he beg you to marry him? Or did you murder him and bury him behind a Waffle House?”

Colby, always the quieter hammer, planted himself on the bench beside her bag, smirk sharp as a blade. “Well? Did he make you wanna leap from a moving car or what?”

Y/N braced her elbows on her knees, taping her wrists slower than usual. She opened her mouth — ready to fire off some trademark venom — but the words stuck. Instead, her mind traitorously flicked back to the dark road. To him telling her to pull over. To his stupid warm voice saying to pull over. To the fact that when she woke up hours later, she felt like someone had cared.

She cleared her throat, voice too casual. “He’s still alive, so... I guess that’s a disappointment for all of us.”

Colby frowned, catching the way her teeth sank into her cheek. “You didn’t answer the question.”

She forced a lopsided grin, flicking her eyes up at him. “Oh, yeah — I was this close to gouging my eyes out. He wouldn’t shut up. Played Taylor Swift, for god’s sake.”

Jon barked a laugh, satisfied — but Joe tilted his head, suspicious. “Huh. And you let him live?”

Y/N shrugged, tugging her tape tighter than necessary. “I was too tired to fight him and the radio.” Her voice dropped softer than she meant. “He just... drove. So I could sleep.”

Colby’s eyebrows shot up — but before he could probe that, a sharp knock rattled the door. A stagehand peeked in, headset crooked, shuffling a paper in his hand like it burned. “Uh— hey, sorry — Ms. Y/N. Vince wanted me to give you this. There’s been an adjustment tonight.”

Y/N took the paper, eyes scanning the fresh ink. Her stomach did a flip she refused to show on her face.

Mixed Tag Match: Y/N & Cody Rhodes vs. The Miz & Eve Torres

Of course. Perfect. Vince was doubling down on the fireworks.

Jon snatched the paper from her hands, reading it like it was a threat. “Nope. Not happening. No way you’re getting thrown into a soap opera match with him now, too—”

Joe growled low in his chest. “We already said we’d handle it if he gets handsy—”

She cut through their fury, voice calm but distracted. “Guys. It’s fine.” She lifted her chin at them. “It’s business. And it’s Miz and Eve — not a bloodbath. I can handle it.”

Colby’s eyes narrowed, studying the subtle shift in her — the fight in her tone replaced by something quiet, almost... uncertain. “You sure about this? You don’t look like you wanna break his face anymore.”

She threw him a sharp look. “Don’t push it. It’s a match. That’s it. And I’m still running your segment later — I’ll be ringside, barking orders at you idiots as usual.”

The stagehand coughed into his headset. “Uh— sorry — there’s more. Vince wants The Shield out there during her match, too. As ‘support.’” He made finger quotes, face apologetic. “He said — and I quote — ‘Their snarling makes her look tougher.’”

Jon huffed, but it morphed into a savage grin. “Damn right it does. Fine. He wants us ringside? He’s gonna get the Shield ringside.”

Joe clapped a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just shy of bone-crushing. “You call the shots. He gets cute — you say the word, we break his teeth.”

Y/N blew out a breath, fighting the tiny traitorous curl in her chest that she refused to name.

“Relax, you big guard dogs. It’s a match. And when it’s over... we’ll still be us.”

And in her chest, for the first time, the thought whispered back — But maybe not just us, anymore.

The arena pulsed with the bass of Cody Rhodes’ theme — sharp, confident, just cocky enough to drag a tidal wave of boos and squeals in equal measure. He emerged under the arch of lights, arms spread, that smug half-grin firmly back where it belonged. He took his time on the ramp, soaking it up like a sunbeam, glancing at the hard cam with that signature Rhodes wink.

When he reached ringside, he leaned back on the ropes, chin tilted toward the entrance — waiting.

And then—

“SIERRA. HOTEL. INDIA. ECHO. LIMA. DELTA… SHIELD.”

The roar hit like a bomb. Black-tactical storm pouring through the crowd — Jon leading the charge, Joe a stone wall beside him, Colby stalking in his wake. But behind them, a fourth figure stepped out under the lights — all sleek riot gear and lethal confidence — and the pop hit another level.

Y/N stalked ahead of the boys at the barricade, eyes locked on Cody like a heat-seeking missile. She didn’t so much as glance at the fans screaming her name — her whole focus was the man leaning cockily against the ropes, waiting for her.

The boys took up guard at ringside, pacing like wolves with too-short leashes as she climbed the steps and slipped between the ropes — stopping nose-to-nose with Rhodes. He mouthed something the cameras didn’t catch. She answered with a smirk and a shove that made the front row lose their minds.

DING DING DING!

The Miz tagged in first, smirk plastered on his face as he circled Cody — but the crowd knew the heat was in the corners. Cody and Miz traded holds, quick and clean, until Miz tagged Eve with a flourish.

Y/N launched herself over the ropes before Eve’s foot even hit the mat. They locked up hard, Eve trash-talking something fierce until Y/N snapped off a perfect arm drag that made the crowd roar. A stiff dropkick followed, then a running knee that cracked Eve flat.

Outside, Jon punched the barricade, howling with pride. “That’s my girl—!”

But the momentum shifted. Eve ducked a clothesline, tagged Miz back in, forcing Cody’s return. Cody didn’t miss a beat — sliding in smooth, catching Miz with a beautiful standing dropkick that echoed. It was fast — crisp — but the magic hit when Miz ducked, caught Cody in a front headlock, and Y/N slammed her palm on Cody’s shoulder. Blind tag.

She vaulted the top rope while Cody launched Miz backward — she flipped, caught Miz mid-rotation with a flying neckbreaker, and the arena exploded.

Colby’s jaw dropped. Joe slapped his chest, wild with disbelief. “You seeing this shit?!”

Miz scrambled, tagged Eve again, but Eve looked hesitant now. Y/N baited her in, feinted left, then whipped her across the ring. She caught Eve with a spine-shaking backbreaker and pointed at Cody — challenging.

He read her in an instant — no cue cards, no missed beat. She sprinted to the corner, Cody braced low, and she ran straight up his cupped hands — springboarded clean onto the top rope, spun mid-air and crashed down on Eve with a flawless corkscrew crossbody.

The crowd lost their minds.

Jon was practically climbing the barricade now, half furious, half shocked out of his skull. “WHAT THE HELL DID WE TEACH HER?!”

Colby shouted over him, “SHE’S NEVER TRUSTED ANYONE TO BASE FOR THAT—”

In the ring, Cody stalked over as Miz lunged back in to break the pin — but Cody met him halfway, hooking him into Cross Rhodes and driving him straight into the mat.

Three seconds later: 1… 2… 3!

The bell. The roar. Y/N on her knees, panting over Eve’s defeated form, Cody towering above her with a cocky grin that almost looked proud. He grabbed her wrist, tugging her to her feet, then lifted her arm high. For a heartbeat, she glared at him. For another, she let the grin crack through — small, unguarded, just for him.

Then he stepped in — no script, no camera cue — and pulled her in tight.

The Shield boys went ballistic on the floor, barking curses and pacing like caged tigers. The crowd, meanwhile, practically shook the rafters off the building:

“THIS IS AWESOME! THIS IS AWESOME!”

Cody didn’t let go until he felt her stiffen — not in rejection but in realization. He lingered just one second more than he should have, then eased back, brushing a stray hair off her cheek before she could slap his hand away.

The boys climbed the apron, snarls barely restrained. But Y/N barely noticed them — her pulse was thunder, her eyes locked on Cody’s mouth as he leaned in close, voice low enough for only her to hear:

“Hell of a team, huh, sweetheart?”

And this time — for once — she didn’t have a comeback ready.

Backstage was a frenzy of movement and noise — but all of it blurred at the edges for the Shield the moment they cornered Y/N just past Gorilla. Jon planted himself directly in her path, eyes narrowed, voice low enough to cut glass. “What. The hell. Was that out there?”

She yanked at her wrist tape like it offended her, not looking at any of them. “A match, Jon. That thing we get paid to do.”

Colby crossed his arms, stepping closer until they boxed her in. “Don’t get smart. You know what he means. You pulled the corkscrew. With him. You won’t even let us catch you on that one.”

Joe’s broad shoulders tensed. He jabbed a finger at her chest, frustration barely contained. “And the hug? The crowd was eating it up — and so was he. You didn’t shove him off. You didn’t even flinch.”

She snapped her gaze up at that, fire flaring for a heartbeat. “I was working, okay? The fans want tension? I’ll give them tension. I’m not gonna tank the damn chemistry just because you three can’t stand him breathing the same air as me.”

Jon barked a mirthless laugh. “Chemistry? That’s one word for it. He’s got your head spinning so fast you didn’t even see the way he looked at you when you hit Gorilla. Like he owns the ring and you with it.”

She bristled — about to fire back — but her eyes flicked across the hall, drawn like iron to a magnet. There he was. Cody Rhodes. Standing a few feet away near a row of crates, Sandow at his side yammering about god-knows-what — but Cody’s attention wasn’t on Sandow.

It was locked on her.

Not cocky or mocking this time. Just… intent. There was a softness there she hadn’t signed up for, wrapped up in that maddening smirk. He lifted his chin at her, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth — a silent question: You feel that too, don’t you?

She hated that her chest squeezed at the sight. Hated that she almost smiled back.

Colby followed her gaze, and his exasperated groan snapped her out of it. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Don’t tell me he’s already gotten under your skin—”

She tore her eyes away, rolling her shoulders like she could shake him off her skin. “Don’t flatter him. He’s nothing. It’s business. Vince wants sparks, I’m giving him fireworks. That’s all.”

Joe frowned, reading the lie in the tight lines around her eyes. “You sure about that?”

She didn’t answer. Just flicked her wrist, tossing the shredded tape into a bin. Cody, still across the way, tilted his head — a dare in his eyes now. Her pulse stuttered.

Jon rapped his knuckles on the back of her shoulder, snapping her back to the present. “Hey. You coming? We gotta prep for our segment.”

She sucked in a breath, tearing her gaze from Cody’s. That stupid grin was still there, softer than it had any right to be. She hated how it made something warm coil low in her stomach. She forced her feet to move, brushing past Jon and Colby with a muttered, “Yeah. I’m coming.”

As she walked away, she could feel Cody’s eyes burning into her spine the whole way down the hall — and for the first time, she couldn’t tell if she hated it… or wanted him to look harder.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The ride back to the hotel should’ve been easy — ten minutes of asphalt and white noise — but instead it was suffocating. Cody could feel every word they weren’t saying pressing against the windows like fog. He didn’t dare break it. Not yet.

By the time the car rolled into the lot and they trudged up to their room, both were wired and bone-tired all at once. Two queen beds, identical duvets — neutral, forgettable, safe. But the air between them felt anything but.

Cody dropped his duffel by the far bed, eyes flicking to her as she tossed hers onto the nearer one. She sat immediately, elbows braced on her knees, shoulders hunched like she was physically bracing for a fight.

He drew a breath, slow. He hated dancing around things — it was why people liked him on the mic. So he didn’t bother with small talk. “You absolutely killed it tonight. You know that, right?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “We did what Vince paid us to do.”

He pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, considering. “Yeah, well, we did it better than anyone else could’ve. Commentators loved it. Even your three angry watch dogs probably loved it — even if they wanna punt me off a bridge about it.”

That got the faintest tug at the corner of her mouth, but it didn’t stick. She picked at a loose string on her sleeve, nails worrying at it until it frayed. “Doesn’t matter. To them, I’m still too reckless. Too naive. Too trusting for my own good. It’s always been that way.”

Her voice cracked just barely at the end. Cody’s ears pricked — the real her was peeking through, whether she wanted it to or not. He sat on his bed, leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees so he was eye level with her. “Hey. You’re gonna have to explain that. Because from where I’m standing, you’re the least naive person in the locker room. You’ve got more spine than half the roster put together.”

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh. It scraped her throat raw. “Yeah, well… wasn’t always true. Before the Shield, before WWE even looked my way, I worked indie shows no one remembers. Barns, fairgrounds — you name it. Promoters loved me because I was marketable. ‘Look, a girl who can take a bump — let’s put her in a bra and toss her through a table.’ Didn’t matter if I bled for it. Didn’t matter if I could run the ropes better than the guy they were pushing. I was just the sideshow. ‘Bring her out when the crowd gets bored.’”

She didn’t mean to keep going — but it poured out, unstoppable now that she’d cracked the seal.“Got so used to doing it alone. Proving I wasn’t just a body in shorts. Then I met Jon. He was at one of my shows, thought I had something. He was in NXT at the time. So he vouched for me to Hunter. He and Joe and Colby — they treated me like I mattered. Not as a prop. As a soldier. An equal. So yeah — they’re overprotective assholes. But… without them, I probably wouldn’t even be here.”

The room buzzed with the soft hum of the AC unit. Cody didn’t dare interrupt. He just watched her — her throat working around words she hated giving away, her hands trembling just slightly. When she finally glanced at him, there was a flash of embarrassment there, like she’d suddenly realized just how much she’d revealed to him of all people. “Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, more bite than strength in her tone. “I don’t do the sob story thing. I hate it.”

But Cody didn’t smirk this time. Didn’t tease. His eyes stayed steady, quiet. “Not looking at you like anything. I’m listening. Maybe you don’t get enough of that.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then barked a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Great. Now I get to add ‘pity’ to the list of reasons I can’t stand you.”

He leaned back with a huff of amusement, but the warmth stayed in his eyes. “No pity. Just respect. And maybe a little regret that I didn’t see it sooner. You’re hell on wheels in the ring, but outside? I get it now. Why you guard your heart like that.”

She stayed silent, teeth worrying her bottom lip until it hurt. A second passed — then another — before she broke it with a muttered curse. “God, I don’t even know why I told you that. I never tell anyone that. They’d laugh. They’d say I’m soft now.”

Cody shook his head immediately. “Not soft. Never soft. Just tired of fighting alone.”

He let the words hang there like an offering. And for once, she didn’t swing back with a snarl. She just watched him, eyes searching his face for whatever trap she was sure he’d laid — but there was none.

He stood then, scrubbing a hand through his hair like he needed to burn off the sudden rawness.“Anyway. I’m gonna grab a shower before I get too philosophical and ruin my reputation.”

She cracked a dry grin, voice almost fond despite herself. “Wouldn’t want the big bad Rhodes to go soft, huh?”

His answering smirk was softer than it should’ve been, but it made her stomach flip all the same. “Careful, sweetheart — keep talking like that and I might think you don’t hate me anymore.”

Before she could throw a pillow at his head, he ducked into the bathroom, leaving her alone with the echo of her own heartbeat and the terrifying realization: For the first time in forever… she didn’t feel alone. And that scared her more than anything.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The next few months turned out to be nothing like she’d expected. At first, Y/N braced herself for misery: a long stretch of awkward silences and cheap, infuriating digs from Cody Rhodes every time they had to share a car, a locker room, or an arena hallway. She’d even packed extra headphones just so she wouldn’t have to listen to his smug voice on long drives.

But somewhere between midnight gas station raids and adrenaline crashes in half-lit hotel parking lots, something subtle shifted.

They still bickered — God, they bickered — about everything. Over whether to take the interstate or the backroads, which podcast was less insufferable, who got the last handful of trail mix. She told him he had the emotional depth of a garden rake; he told her she was all sharp tongue and no follow-through.

Yet, under all that static, something warm had begun to flicker.

She learned he never drank energy drinks after sunset because he hated lying awake. He learned exactly how she liked her coffee — black, but with a shot of cheap hazelnut syrup she’d never admit to buying. He started bringing her an extra cup when he knew she’d pretend she didn’t want it but would steal his anyway.

She noticed the way he always checked that the hotel door latched twice before he’d let himself relax. He noticed how she curled her fingers around the seatbelt when she fell asleep in the passenger seat — as if bracing for some old nightmare.

Sometimes, he made her laugh so hard she’d have to bite her knuckle to muffle it. Not the polite chuckle she gave the boys to keep them from asking too many questions — real laughter, the kind that cracked open something she’d welded shut years ago.

And the ring? Together they were chaos on tap. Audiences ate it up: the Shield’s lone wolf and the golden prince side by side, crackling with tension that blurred so perfectly between storyline and reality that half the locker room started taking bets on when they’d drop the act — or if it was ever an act at all.

They were so good that Vince began building entire nights around them. She was still the Shield’s bullet in a flak vest, but with Cody at her side, she got to show a sharper edge — more cunning, more poison, more reckless risk that made the crowd chant her name until the rafters shook.

And off-screen? Well. Off-screen, she was still telling herself it meant nothing. That it was just business. That the way she sometimes caught him watching her when he thought she wouldn’t see was just part of the job.

But late at night, when they’d stumble into some cheap hotel room after a match and collapse on opposite beds, there were moments when she wondered if the line had disappeared altogether.

One night, somewhere between Omaha and Des Moines, it bled out louder than usual. She was leaning against a rental car, hair still damp from the shower she’d rushed through at the arena. Cody stood opposite her, passing a cheap sandwich back and forth because the only diner for miles had closed at midnight.

“—I swear to God, Rhodes, if you tell the boys I ate a gas station BLT, I will smother you in your sleep.”

He barked out a laugh, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth with the back of his finger. The touch was so easy now she didn’t even flinch.“Oh, so now you’re worried about your image? After you German-suplexed Ziggler through a barricade tonight?”

She shoved his chest lightly, but she didn’t move away. “Dolph had it coming. And shut up, you loved it.”

Cody tilted his head, that grin softening into something that felt too dangerous in the moonlight. “You know what I loved? Watching you trust me to catch you again tonight. No hesitation this time.”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice went quiet at the edges. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just business.”

He didn’t look away. “Yeah. Sure. Just business.”

For half a second, they were frozen — the cool night air buzzing around them, a radio muttering static in the car. She could smell his shampoo, feel the warmth radiating off him. She should have stepped back. Should have thrown another jab. Instead she muttered, almost to herself, “You’re not as awful as I thought you’d be, you know that?”

He caught it. Of course he did. His mouth curved, slow and victorious. “Careful, Y/N. Don’t want anyone to think we’re friends now do we?”

She laughed — real and reckless — and shoved him harder this time. “In your dreams, Rhodes.”

But later, dozing off against the window as the Iowa highway hummed under the tires, she caught herself replaying that moment on loop.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Tonight was more of the same chaos — except tonight it felt different, heavier, like a fuse burning toward a powder keg. Y/N had gotten ready faster than usual — gear laced up, hair braided back tight, eyeliner sharper than any blade Colby owned — and slipped out before the boys even realized she’d vanished. She needed a breath of quiet before the noise that always came with them.

They didn’t notice until Jon asked if she’d seen his gloves. Then Joe checked for her in the hallway. Then Colby asked where the hell his phone charger went and realized she’d been gone ten whole minutes.

It took them thirty seconds to split up and sniff her out like a pack of guard dogs.

They found her tucked by a stack of crates down a shadowed hall. But what stopped them cold wasn’t the hidden corner — it was the sound: her laugh, warm and open, like she didn’t know they were listening. Cody Rhodes stood so close to her their boots nearly touched. One hand braced on the crate by her head, the other absently playing with a loose end of her braid. It was casual, almost intimate — too damn familiar for Colby’s eyes.

They caught enough of the hushed conversation to light Jon’s fuse.

“—told you I’d never drop you,” Cody was saying, voice low, almost soft. He tugged her braid playfully. “You never trust me until you have to. Starting to think you just like the thrill.”

She smirked, smacking his wrist away but didn’t move an inch from his chest. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy. You’ve caught me so far. Try it again tonight and maybe I’ll start believing you’re not completely full of shit.”

He leaned closer, breath ghosting her cheek. “I’ll catch you every damn time. Promise.”

That’s when Colby snapped. Boots pounding the concrete, voice a snarl. “Hey! Rhodes — BACK THE HELL UP.”

Cody didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at him first. His eyes stayed on her another heartbeat before flicking lazily over Colby’s shoulder. His grin was infuriating. “Evening, Colby. We were just talking—”

Colby slammed a palm into Cody’s chest, driving him back a step. “I said back up. Or I’ll put you through that wall.”

Y/N jolted, eyes wide. “Colby, what the hell—!”

Cody laughed, low and mean, pushing back into Colby’s space. Their chests bumped, tension humming electric. “Look at you. Alpha dog routine still working? Or you worried she might finally want something you can’t scare off?”

Jon and Joe skidded up just in time to see Colby rear back and swing first — a full haymaker that cracked against Cody’s jaw so hard it echoed.

“Colby, STOP!” Y/N’s scream barely registered as Cody stumbled, then lunged back, fists swinging. The crates behind them rattled as they crashed into them, locked in a vicious snarl of fists, elbows, curses.

Jon grabbed Colby’s arm but got shoved for his trouble. Joe caught Cody’s shoulder, dragging him back only to get an elbow in the ribs. “Always hiding behind your stupid charm, huh Rhodes?!” Colby spat, teeth bared. “Can’t get her unless we let you, right?!”

Cody’s lip split, blood slick over his teeth — but his grin was feral, a promise of more. “You think you own her? She’s not your damn property, Lopez—”

Y/N shoved between them so hard she nearly fell. “ENOUGH! All of you — STOP!”

But they didn’t. Not until Vince’s roar cracked the hallway like thunder. “HEY! ENOUGH! I SAID ENOUGH!”

Everything froze. Fists cocked, chests heaving. Vince stalked into the circle, suit jacket flaring like a cape, eyes gleaming with both rage and glee. “You boys want to kill each other so bad? Fine. New main event: Seth Rollins versus Cody Rhodes. Tonight. You want blood, do it where it makes me money. Or you’re all fined, you got it?!”

Cody wiped his mouth, eyes still locked on Colby. Colby seethed, barely held in check by Jon’s iron grip on his vest collar.

Y/N’s shoulders shook as she turned on her brothers — eyes bright, voice ragged. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You think I’m too stupid to stand here and talk to someone without you storming in like rabid animals?! You don’t trust him — fine! But do you trust me? Or is this what it’s gonna be forever?!”

Colby flinched, guilt flickering behind the rage but too proud to drop it. Jon looked like he might hit a wall just to vent the tension. Joe’s big hand hovered on her back, grounding her, but she shrugged it off, furious tears welling.

Cody watched her, eyes softer now but still burning for a fight. When she glanced at him, she hated that some part of her chest didn’t tighten in anger — it loosened instead, and she didn’t know what that meant.

Vince pointed at them like an executioner. “You three — gear up. You,” he jabbed at Cody, “get your pretty face cleaned up. Ring in twenty minutes. And you—” He rounded on Y/N, voice dropping. “Better decide whose corner you’re standing in. Because tonight, sweetheart — you don’t get to have both.”

Silence.

Then Cody, a hint of a smirk through his split lip, said just loud enough for her to hear. “Guess you gotta pick, sweetheart. Hope you trust me.”

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. Not with Colby’s glare burning a hole through her back and Jon’s wounded stare cutting deeper than any blade. Tonight, lines weren’t just blurred. They were drawn in blood. And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure which side she wanted to stand on.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The air inside the arena vibrated with a tension so sharp you could taste it. Cody’s entrance hit first, but tonight he didn’t strut — he stalked. Jaw tight, eyes locked dead ahead at the ring like it owed him blood and payback in equal measure. Fans screamed, half for him, half for the chaos they knew was brewing.

Then The Shield’s war drums rumbled out. The reaction was a thunderclap: three silhouettes emerging from the crowd, Colby leading with that murder glare etched across his sweat-slick face. Jon and Joe flanked him, bodies coiled tight with fury. Y/N walked behind them this time — not beside, not hidden — trailing just far enough to be apart, close enough to remind everyone who she was.

When they hit ringside, Jon and Joe fell naturally to Colby’s corner, arms folded over the ropes like hellhounds. Y/N hovered at the corner post, but she didn’t climb up. She stayed halfway between Cody’s side and theirs — feet planted on neutral ground no one else seemed to occupy but her alone.

The bell rang.

The first few minutes were technical, precise — two pros testing each other’s limits with crisp grapples, tight reversals, nothing wasted. But it didn’t stay professional for long.

Colby slapped Cody hard across the face during a rope break — the crack echoed all the way to the cheap seats. Cody answered with a vicious forearm that sent spit flying from Colby’s mouth.

“This is personal!” Cole hollered on commentary.

“You think?! These two are trying to kill each other for real, Michael!” JBL barked.

Y/N’s eyes darted back and forth, heart hammering. She hated how her body betrayed her — every stomp Colby landed, every elbow Cody fired back, she felt it like a phantom bruise under her ribs.

Ten minutes in, Cody caught Colby with a slick Disaster Kick out of nowhere — the crowd popped huge, but his landing was ugly. His ankle rolled awkwardly on the canvas with an audible pop and he stumbled into the ropes, teeth bared in a silent snarl of pain.

Colby smelled blood immediately. He hooked Cody under the arm, yanked him up, and dumped him back-first into the turnbuckle so hard the whole ring rattled. Cody crumpled, clutching the ankle, sweat dripping from his brow to the mat in big, sick splatters.

He’s hurt.

Y/N’s lungs squeezed tight — the world narrowed to Cody’s labored breath, the way he tried to stand but immediately buckled again, jaw clamped to stop himself from screaming. Colby stalked him like a wolf circling a deer with a broken leg. Jon barked encouragement from the apron, Joe pounding the turnbuckle.

Don’t do it, Colby. Her hands curled around the rope. Don’t—

Colby hit the ropes, rebounded at full speed — going for the stomp to the back of Cody’s skull. One decisive end to a match turned real.

Y/N didn’t think. She reacted.

She vaulted the ropes in a single fluid motion, boots pounding the mat as she lunged. The crowd shrieked, a wall of white noise as she threw herself between them — arms spread wide, her body a living shield.

Colby skidded to a stop so fast he nearly ate canvas. He stared at her, chest heaving, murder flickering behind wide eyes. “Y/N. Move.” His voice was hoarse, low, but edged in steel.

She didn’t budge. Not an inch. Her breathing was ragged, shoulders trembling under the bright lights. She didn’t dare look back at Cody, didn’t trust herself not to lose her nerve.

Jon and Joe were shouting over the ropes — confusion, betrayal, a mix so thick you could taste it. Colby stepped closer, close enough she could see the tiny tremor in his clenched jaw. Rage softened for half a heartbeat when he noticed her ribcage shuddering like she couldn’t pull in enough air.

“Y/N…” He tried again, quieter this time, a plea buried under the fury. “Please. He’s nothing. He’s—”

She cut him off, voice low and savage. “He’s hurt.”

A fresh wave of chants crashed over them — half the arena booing, half screaming her name, torn in every direction. Behind her, she felt Cody shift — a hand brushed her lower back, feather-light. No smirk this time, no quip. Just a broken rasp: “Y/N, it’s okay. Let him finish it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut — once, hard enough to burn the tears back into her skull where they belonged. Not here. Not in front of them. She swallowed every emotion on her tongue, and when she opened her eyes, they were stone again. She stepped back slowly, uncoiling herself from the blast zone, but she didn’t look at any of them. Not Colby, not Cody, not Jon or Joe.

And then she did what none of them expected — she ducked under the ropes, dropped to the floor, and just… walked away. No fanfare, no explanation. Just her shoulders rigid, boots pounding the ramp until the shadows swallowed her whole.

The commentary table was a mess of disbelief: “Y/N just… abandoned The Shield?!”

“She protected Cody Rhodes — did we see that right?!”

“What does this mean for The Shield? What does this mean for Y/N?!”

In the ring, Cody slumped to one knee, watching her go with something raw flickering behind bruised eyes. Colby didn’t move right away. The hurt on his face cut deeper than any stomp ever could. Tonight, lines weren’t just blurred. They were erased. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N wasn’t sure who she was fighting for anymore.

Y/N barely felt her boots hit the ground as she staggered through the maze of halls. Voices passed her left and right — crew, agents, security — but they were static under the deafening ringing in her ears. Her pulse drummed so loud it drowned out everything except the fire in her chest. Y/N shoved through the locker room door so hard it bounced off the cinderblock. For a second she just stood there, staring at her gear bag like it had personally betrayed her.

Then she broke.

Boots, wrist tape, shirts — she flung them across the benches. A bottle of water cracked open mid-flight, splattering the walls. She ripped a spare pair of gloves in half. Her travel hoodie got kicked so hard it slid under Jon’s bench.

She couldn’t contain herself, the panic rising in her chest. She swung blindly, her fist connecting with one of the metal lockers. She grunts out in pain, her hand instantly throbbing from the impact. Her knuckles are now bright red, no doubt a gnarly bruise getting ready to form on them.

She didn’t touch their gear though — not one thing. She couldn’t.

Her breath sawed in and out until her throat burned. And before the reality of the mess caught up to her, she bolted — pushing back through the door, down another hallway, ignoring the shocked faces of a few green rookies frozen in place.

She needed to get out. She needed space. Needed air. She had to find some sort of haven that quieted the noise in her mind. She didn’t know how her body knew where to take her, but somehow, she found her way outside the venue. The summer night slapped her in the face like ice water. She stomped past rows of rental cars and cargo trucks until she hit a back wall next to the loading dock.

Then she screamed. Raw, primal — a sound that dragged the fight out of her lungs and left her empty.

She slid down the wall, gear scraping the brick, until she sat in a heap. Hands tangled in her hair. Shoulders shaking, though she wouldn’t cry. She would not cry. She hated this. Hated feeling big feelings. Hated that it wasn’t just work anymore. Hated how alive he made her feel and how her boys — her family — looked at her like she’d stabbed them in the back for letting herself care.

Back inside, the guys were furious. Or maybe more confused. Jon was the first through the curtain, boots pounding the concrete as he practically shouldered it open. Joe shadowed him, his broad frame filling the hallway. Colby lagged just a step back — and for once, he was the quiet one. They’d been calling her name the whole way from the arena floor.

“Y/N! C’mon, sweetheart, answer us!” Jon’s voice bounced off the cinderblock walls, rougher than he meant it to be.

“Y/N, you better not be hiding just to mess with us,” Joe grumbled, but the tension in his shoulders said he didn’t believe it even as he said it.

Colby didn’t call out. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack open like glass. They hit the locker room door in near unison — Jon wrenching it open so hard the handle banged the wall. “Y/N—?”

But the word died in his throat. The room was empty — but it was anything but quiet. Her absence howled louder than any shout could have. Her gear bag lay gutted on the bench, its contents flung in wild arcs like a storm had ripped through. Wrist tape shredded into curls on the floor. A half-full water bottle leaking into a dark stain on the concrete. One boot flung so far it nearly lodged under the lockers.

Colby stood frozen in the doorway, eyes tracking the mess like he was seeing it frame by frame — an unspooling of her mind they’d never been allowed to witness.

“Jesus,” Joe whispered, bending to pick up a tangle of ring gear. It dripped water from where she’d hurled it. He squeezed the fabric, knuckles white. “She’s never… not her. She doesn’t lose it. Not like this.”

Jon turned a slow circle, breathing like he’d run a mile flat out. That’s when he notices the caved in locker. “This ain’t just mad. This is— it’s panic. It’s her head cracking open, man. We did this.”

Colby stepped inside last. His boots crushed a torn wrist wrap underfoot. He didn’t move to pick it up — just stared at it, jaw working behind clenched teeth. He finally rasped, “She doesn’t do cages. She never has. And we locked her in one, expecting her to pick sides like some damn trophy.”

Joe slammed a hand to the row of lockers, the metal clanging under his palm. “She’s on her own right now. Panicked. We promised we’d never let that happen again—”

Jon turned, stabbing a finger toward the door, voice tight with command. “Then what the hell are we waiting for? She’s ours. We find her. Now.”

Joe nodded once, hard, already halfway out the door. Colby lingered just a moment longer, eyes flicking to the chaos she’d left behind. Quietly, to himself more than the others, he muttered, “We fix this. No matter what it costs.”

Then he turned on his heel, boots echoing in step with the other two as they stormed back into the maze of hallways — calling her name into every shadow, every echo, ready to tear the whole building apart if that’s what it took to bring her home again.

Y/N’s head stayed buried in her arms, forehead pressed hard to her knees. She’d been sitting on that freezing concrete for what felt like forever, just letting the cold bite at her back and the rough wall scrape her shoulders through her shirt. She hated how stupidly dramatic she felt. She was a professional. A fighter. And here she was, choking on air because her world suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

When the arena door creaked open, she didn’t lift her head. Not at first. Heavy steps, slower than usual. A low grunt. She knew that sound by now — the subtle wince Cody tried to hide every time he had a new bruise to nurse. A soft thud beside her. He dropped down with a pained exhale, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned against the same wall. She felt the heat of him before she dared to look.

When she did, her chest squeezed painfully.

A fresh split in his brow leaked a thin line of dried blood toward his temple. His lip was purple and cracked. He was cradling a half-melted ice pack against the worst of the swelling in his jaw. But his eyes — those infuriating, stupidly kind eyes — were locked on her.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice sanded raw but careful. “You okay?”

She let out an unsteady laugh, instantly annoyed at how shaky it came out. “Rhodes, you look like a horror movie and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

He tried to smile, winced when it tugged the cut on his lip. “Well… you look like you’ve been to war. So, even trade.”

She snorted, wiped her face with her sleeve. “Shut up.”

He leaned in just a fraction, trying to read her the way he always did. “Y/N… talk to me.”

She didn’t. Instead, she yanked the ice pack from his hand, ignoring his small protest. She scooted closer, knees pressed against his thigh, and carefully pressed the ice to his bruised cheek.

“Hold still, you big baby,” she muttered.

His eyes fluttered shut under her touch. When they opened again, they dropped to her hands — to the knuckles she didn’t realize were still red and raw from where she’d smashed them into a locker.

He cursed under his breath, reached up to take her wrist in his calloused fingers. “You did this?”

She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. His thumb ghosted over the split skin, so gentle it made her throat burn. “I’m fine,” she lied, voice small.

He laughed, humorless and thick with something deeper. “You gotta stop saying that word when it’s the biggest lie you tell people.”

“Don’t—” she breathed, but he cut her off.

“I mean it. I never wanted you in the middle. I swear to God. You shouldn’t have to pick sides — not with them, not with me, not for anyone. You deserve better than that. Better than me.”

“Stop it—”

“No. I will never be the reason you break your damn hand on a locker ever again, you hear me?” His voice cracked, low but urgent. He pressed her bruised knuckles to his chest, right over the steady drum of his heart. “You’re worth so much more than this stupid shit. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to stand alone tonight.”

Her eyes stung — but she refused to let tears fall. Instead, she scoffed, trying to wrap herself back in sarcasm like armor. “Damn it, Rhodes. Why do you gotta be nice now? You were easier to hate when you were an arrogant bastard.”

His mouth twitched. “Still an arrogant bastard. Just your favorite one now, apparently.”

She huffed a tiny laugh, despite herself — and that laugh broke her guard wide open. She leaned in, her free hand drifting up to cup his battered cheek. Her thumb brushed over his eyebrow, careful not to reopen the cut. His breath hitched. And before she could stop herself — before she could talk herself out of it — she kissed him. Soft, deliberate, more honest than any word she’d spoken in weeks.

He stilled, surprise flaring bright in his eyes — then melted into her, his hand sliding to her hip, tugging her closer until there was no air left between them but the taste of bruised lips and old secrets.

When they broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing too fast. He whispered, voice hoarse but certain, “If you want me to stop... if you want me gone... just say it. I swear to you, Y/N, I’ll never be the reason you feel like this again.”

She swallowed, fingertips brushing the rough line of his jaw. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Neither of them noticed the quiet figures standing just inside the door they’d left ajar. Jon, Joe, and Colby stood frozen — guilt, relief, and something like wonder flickering in their eyes as they watched their girl wrapped up in the last man they’d ever wanted for her. But watching the way she cradled Cody’s face, the way he held her like something fragile but fierce — they finally saw it for what it was.

Joe’s voice broke the silence first, low and certain: “She doesn't need saving from him.”

Jon nodded, lips twitching in the ghost of a grin. “She just needs us to remember she’s stronger than all of us put together.”

Colby didn’t say a word. He just watched her laugh softly when Cody cracked some quiet, dumb joke. And for the first time in a long time, he realized: maybe the best way to protect her was to let her have something — someone — just for herself. And maybe, they’d finally help her smile the way she used to.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Y/N helped Cody to his feet, the two of them slowly making their way back inside. He held her hand gently, rubbing the bruised knuckles she’s sporting as softly as he could. They walk through the door together, Y/N hearing her heart pounding loudly despite having calmed down. She knew she had to talk to them. They would have found what she did to the locker room by now, and are no doubt waiting for some sort of explanation about what happened.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Cody whispers. “I’m right behind you.”

Y/N smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They reach the locker room door and she slowly pushes it open, the hinges creaking as always when she does. As she expected, Jon, Joe, and Colby are all standing there waiting for her. But what she wasn’t expecting was to see all of her stuff cleaned up.

Every piece of evidence that showed how badly she crashed out was gone. Her bag was put together nicely on the bench, all three boys looking as if they just got caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

“Hey…” Y/N says softly, Cody following behind her. He doesn’t fully step into the space, not wanting to infiltrate what they consider their safe haven. “Um, I’m assuming you saw all of…” She gestures around to the whole room, “that.”

“You mean you going all hulk smash on your stuff?” Jon says with a hint of sarcasm. “Yeah, we saw.”

“How’s your hand?” Colby asks, nodding towards the locker with an Y/N sized fist indent.

Y/N swallows thickly, shrugging. “Sore,” she answers. “It’s not as bad as when I punched you in the face though,” she nods over to Joe.

He huffs out what sounds like a laugh, “Yeah, well, a jaw of steel will do that.”

Y/N glances back at Cody briefly, trying to find the right thing to say. He sends her that small grin that has managed to worm its way into her head, despite her trying hard to keep it out. She exhales, easing her nerves before facing her family. “Listen guys, I’m–”

“If you’re gonna apologize, you can save it,” Jon cuts her off.

Y/N feels her heart drop. She knew they’d probably be mad, but she wasn’t expecting him to not even hear her out. Does this mean they’re gonna excommunicate her? Vince probably would have them wait to do it in front of a camera for drama purposes. Y/N can feel the anxieties returning as she thinks about being sent away by them. The boys could clearly see her internal struggle and they all share a similar look.

That’s when Colby steps forward, “Because if anyone should say sorry, it’s us.”

Y/N blinks, “What?”

“We put you in a bad position,” Joe says, his voice rumbling through the locker room. “You had to do all of this because we got into a fight. We shouldn’t have been surprised when you and Rhodes ended up being buddies after spending months on the road together,” he glares slightly in Cody’s direction, his protectiveness still not fading. “We shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to choose.”

Y/N’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She looked between them, eyes flicking from Colby to Jon to Joe, trying to process that they were actually apologizing. Jon cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You’ve always had our backs. Even when we didn’t deserve it. Tonight just… proved that we need to do better by you.”

Joe crossed his arms but his voice was softer than usual. “You’re our sister. Doesn’t matter what storyline Vince cooks up. Doesn’t matter what suit wants what pop. You don’t owe us your sanity to keep this family glued together.”

Colby’s jaw flexed. He was the last to look her dead in the eye, stepping a little closer. “We got so busy fighting for you, we forgot you can fight for yourself. Hell — you’ve been doing it longer than any of us.”

Y/N sniffed — and immediately scowled when Colby looked like he might say something about it. She jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her knuckles. “If you tell anyone I almost cried, I’m throwing you through the announce table next week.”

Colby cracked a tiny grin, his shoulders easing for the first time all night. “Fair deal.”

Jon pulled her into his chest first. No big speech — just a tight squeeze that knocked the breath out of her lungs for half a second. She hid her face in his shirt, muttering something about him smelling like cheap soap and bad decisions. Joe looped an arm around both of them next, pressing his forehead to hers for a second. “We clean up your messes. You clean up ours. Same as always, yeah?”

She nodded, pretending her eyes weren’t wet. “Yeah.”

Colby waited until she pulled back, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, his chin hooking over her head like he’d done a thousand times before. “We love you. Even if you have trash taste in company.” He cut his eyes at Cody, who raised an eyebrow but stayed silent — letting them have this. Finally, Colby stepped back just enough to jab a finger in Cody’s direction. “You. Hurt her? Blink wrong at her? You won’t see us coming, Rhodes.”

Jon clapped a heavy hand on Cody’s shoulder for emphasis. “We mean that in the warmest, most brotherly way possible.”

Cody smirked, even though it tugged at his split lip. He stepped forward, extending a hand to Colby first. “Fair enough. She’s worth every threat.”

Colby studied him for a beat that felt like a year, then gripped his hand hard enough to crack bones. Cody didn’t flinch — which, admittedly, earned him a flicker of respect he’d never get them to say out loud. He turned to Joe and Jon next, offering the same handshake — an unspoken promise they didn’t have to spell out in words. He’d never be the reason she felt alone again.

Y/N cleared her throat when the testosterone standoff started dragging. “Alright, enough. If we stand here any longer, someone’s gonna start chest-bumping someone and then I’m gonna have to call HR.”

She nudged Cody’s side with her elbow. “Come on, tough guy. Let’s get out of here before they decide to pull you into another three-on-one ‘lesson’ about respecting me.”

Cody chuckled, leaning down just enough so only she could hear, “If they try, I’ll just hide behind you.”

“Damn right you will.” She shoved his chest, careful of the bruises. She turned back to her boys, pointing two fingers at her own eyes, then at each of them in turn. “I’m still mad you made me punch a locker. Next time, we talk out whatever issues we have, okay?”

Jon winked. Joe gave her shoulder a squeeze. Colby only rolled his eyes. “Go before we change our minds and duct tape Rhodes to a forklift.”

She flipped them all off playfully and stepped out the door, Cody trailing a step behind her — close enough that his fingertips brushed hers once they were in the hall. They walked in silence for a few beats until she leaned into his side, voice quieter now that it was just them. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?” He glanced down, brow furrowing gently.

“For… tonight. For not making me feel stupid about… everything. For sticking by me when you didn’t have to.”

Cody stopped walking, tugged her gently until she was facing him under the dim flicker of an old hallway light. He ran his thumb over her knuckles again, soft as the breeze. “I’d stand behind you, beside you… hell, in front of you if you let me. You don’t owe me a damn thing, Y/N. But I swear to God — I’ll earn whatever piece of you you give me.”

She huffed, embarrassed by how warm her chest went at that. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah.” His grin was crooked, half-swollen. “But you like me anyway.”

She didn’t answer. She just rose up, cupped his jaw gentle as glass, and kissed him again. Slow. Sure. Hers. When she pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together, breathless but laughing softly. “You keep doing that, sweetheart, and your boys are gonna break every rib I’ve got left.”

She smirked, tapping his lips with her finger. “Then don’t piss me off and maybe I’ll protect you again.”

His laughter echoed down the hall as she tugged him forward, hand in hand — both of them a little battered, but lighter than they’d felt in months.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

13 years later…

Y/N_WWE

liked by americannightmarecody, wwerollins, romanreigns, and 54,986 others

tagged: americannightmarecody

Y/N_WWE: 13 years ago, I told myself I hated him. 8 years ago, I promised in front of a bunch of people (and one extremely judgmental priest) that I’d love him forever. Tonight, he still snores in my ear, still steals my fries, still calls me ‘sweetheart’ when he wants something — and I wouldn’t change a single second. People always ask how we’ve made it work this long in a world where nothing lasts. I think it’s simple: he lets me be exactly who I am, even when I’m a mess. And somehow, after all these years, he still looks at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him (which I am, obviously). Here’s to more late-night road trips, more stolen pizza slices, more me pretending I don’t love him when he leaves his boots in the hallway. Happy 8 years married, americannightmarecody — thank you for loving every sharp edge and soft part of me. You’re my favorite plot twist. ❤️🤍💙

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americannightmarecody: You’ll always be my favorite part of the story. Thanks for choosing me, even when I snore. Happy anniversary, sweetheart. ❤️

wwerollins: She did hate him. This is 100% true. Happy for you both though. 😂🖤

jonmoxley: Shocked you two didn’t burn the house down by now. Congrats, ya weirdos.

natbynature: Love like this makes my heart so full. Happy anniversary, you two deserve every bit of it. 🥹❤️

mikethemiz: Gross. But also adorable. Happy anniversary! 😂

trishstratuscom: Two legends. One love. Happy anniversary!

wrestlegirlie13: THEY ARE THE BLUEPRINT. 😭❤️

heelqueen4eva: This is the only real love story I trust tbh.

wwemomentsdaily: Not me crying at work, BYE 😭😭😭

indypunkprincess: The fact that y’all lasted thru all the chaos >>> #goals

y/nfanclubofficial: We been knew she was gonna marry him since 2012 😌 #powercouple

[chevxyn]

FORTUNATE MEETINGS

how you both met. ( a series of work )

/w sae, rin, isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi, reo, shidou, kurona, yukimiya, hiori, otoya, karasu, aiku, sendou, kaiser, ness, loki, charles, lorenzo. ( gn! reader )

headcanons, warnings/tags in the individual works, drabbles for each one. — this is my biggest work yet (outside c=c & cf, i think (i would say this a 1k special(?))

itoshi sae, “media’s gaze” — click here

syp; as the u-20 vs blue lock 11 game ended, you went to seek your friend— only to bump into a guy that the media came for.

itoshi rin, “reckless boy” — click here

syp; walking with your friends, you saw a guy recklessly jumped over a car to get something— worried, you came to check on him.

bachira megumi, “the lonely bee” — click here

syp; you saw the cute guy sitting alone, wondering who he is, you went to socialize with him.

chigiri hyoma, “along the lines.” — click here

syp; as a couple of soccer boys mocked him due to his acl tore, you came to protect him.

kunigami rensuke, “angel helper!” — click here

syp; his little sisters are lost after wandering to another area of the park, luckily there was a nice person that helped them get to him.

nagi seishiro, “gameboy” — click here

syp; as the boy slept on his desk, his gameboy fell down to the ground— leaning down to get it, wanting to pick it up to help him, he suddenly shot awake and thought you were stealing it.

reo mikage, “tutor guide!” — click here

syp; you’re having a hard time studying and as you got held back by your teachers due to your grades, they suggested him to tutor you.

shidou ryusei, “hard boy” — click here

syp; you caught him fighting someone over a stupid reason, being the other person’s bestfriend—you went to apologize to him.

kurona ranze, “lost pet!” — click here

syp; you saw a hedgehog coming to you— seeing how cute it is, you entertained it for a few minutes, until you see a certain person looking over you from a distance.

yukimiya kenyu, “inconvenience.” — click here

syp; your roommate asked you to bring something to her agency, although when you were gonna enter, the security guard held you back. — fortunately, he was there to help you.

hiori yo, “title name” — click here

syp; coming soon.

otoya eita, “title name” — click here

syp; coming soon.

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©chevxyn

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter six ♡

Summary: Going through a hangover, two knocks surprise your door. Travis asks you to be honest, and Joel tries to get closer again. WC: 12.8k A/N: Well… today I'm feeling things. I hope you like it <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you very much for your messages and comments!!!!! Love youuuu

You lay sprawled on your bed, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin, your body humming faintly from the ibuprofen you’d taken an hour ago. When you’d woken up, sunlight had pierced directly through the blinds, straight into your eyes, splitting your head with a sharp, immediate ache. The kind of morning that felt punitive, though you weren’t sure what you were being punished for. But the water had helped. It always did. Steam rising, muscles softening, your skin flushed pink in its aftermath—a small gift you didn’t know you’d needed until now.

Sliding into your softest pajama pants and a faded gray cotton T-shirt oversized enough to drown in, you caught sight of the corset lying next to your boots. Something twisted low in your stomach. A reminder.

You remembered it as soon as you’d blinked awake: Joel. Joel in your bed. Silence wrapping around you both like a second, unspoken language. You’d cried, hadn’t you? Said something reckless, something that burned on the way out but didn’t feel entirely true. His face swam back to you in bits: the wet sheen in his eyes, the way he’d hugged you, close enough to steal your breath. And your words—you’d told him you hated him. That much was clear. You didn't hate him, he knew that. The feeling was raw and slippery, hard to hold. Surely Joel knew. He was always the first to claim he understood these things, always insufferably sure of himself.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the wall, though your mind wandered to Travis and then boomeranged right back to Joel, replaying the fragments of memory you had like they were clues in a puzzle you couldn’t solve. It was exhausting. You were exhausted. Eventually, you shut your eyes, not sleeping, but not entirely awake either, your body loosening as the pain ebbed and flowed. Your feet still throbbed, but even that felt distant, manageable.

Then the doorbell rang. The sound sliced through the quiet and dragged you back to the surface. You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to summon the energy to move. With a sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, sliding your feet into slippers, and shuffled toward the stairs. Halfway down, you froze, heart stuttering in your chest. What if it was Joel? It made sense—too much sense, actually. Except, what if it didn’t? What if he wasn’t here to fix things but to remind you of everything you’d said and did last night? What if he wasn’t here at all, and the thought of him was worse than his presence?

You didn’t have the stamina for him today.

Still, you kept moving, your stomach coiled tight as you reached for the door. When you opened it, relief swept over you like a breeze. Travis stood there, eyes a little puffy, a wooden paper bag with Mcfly’s stamped across the front dangling from his hands. The smell—greasy, rich, tempting—hit you first. He smiled, sheepish, his fingers curling around the bag like an offering.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse but warm.

You laughed softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Hey. You look awful.”

“Thanks,” he teased, his grin widening. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Hungry, apparently,” you replied, following him into the kitchen. “What about you? Any lingering regrets?”

“Only a thousand.” He set the bag on the counter and turned to you, his expression playfully contrite. “Throwing up dressed as Patrick Bateman was not on my bingo card.”

“Your puke was blue,” you reminded him, unable to suppress your laugh.

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “God, stop. Please accept my apology in the form of food.”

You pulled the containers from the bag, grinning as the smell intensified. “Apology accepted. But seriously, Travis, it happens to everyone. Though I’d say chugging a Blue Elephant probably increases your odds.”

He leaned against the counter, watching you, his smile softening. “Lesson learned. Never again.”

The two of you settled at the kitchen island, the plates piled high with burgers that felt almost comically indulgent—brioche buns, bacon, fried eggs, stacked patties. Fries on the side. It was exactly what you needed, and the silence between you was easy, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional laugh.

At some point, you noticed Travis watching you, his gaze a little too focused, a little too heavy. It sent a ripple of awareness through you, and you set your fork down, your cheeks flushing before you could stop them.

“I had a great time last night,” he said suddenly, his fingers tracing the rim of his plate. “Even with the, uh, puke thing. I hope we can…you know, pick up where we left off.”

Your heart skipped. He said it so casually, like he was talking about resuming a TV show or a book he’d put down. But you knew what he meant. His hands on your thighs, his breath hot against your neck—the near miss. You smiled, leaning into the moment.

“I’d like that,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “I have a great time with you, Travis. It feels…easy.”

“I hope that’s a compliment,” he teased, his eyes glinting.

“It is,” you assured him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the doorbell rang again, cutting him off. You sighed, pushing back from the stool.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, and he nodded, standing as well.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Go ahead. It’s under the stairs,” you told him, already heading for the door.

When you opened it, the air shifted. Joel stood there, your name falling from his lips like a quiet invocation. Your heart stuttered. His eyes locked on yours. 

Joel stood in front of you, his posture deceptively calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They searched your face intently, as if trying to unearth some hidden answer you weren’t sure you even held. His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady but tinged with uncertainty. 

“I, um... How are you?” 

The words fell between you, simple enough, but they seemed to carry more weight than the situation demanded. You blinked, your response escaping almost before you registered it. 

“Fine.” Automatic. A placeholder for the more complicated truth swirling inside you. 

He nodded, his expression softening slightly, though his gaze never left yours. “I wanted to check on you. After last night, I mean. And... I thought maybe we could talk for a moment. If you’re up for it.” 

The now-familiar tingle unfurled in your stomach, subtle but insistent. It was Joel’s effect on you, one you could neither anticipate nor ignore. His presence always seemed to trigger some deep, cellular reaction, your body responding to him before your mind had the chance to catch up. 

You let your eyes wander over him, taking him in as if cataloging the moment: the disheveled state of his hair, the small strands poking out stubbornly at the crown of his head; the quiet intensity in his dark, swollen eyes, the kind that told you sleep hadn’t come easy. His sweater was black, soft-looking, and fit just snug enough across his shoulders. Below that, dark pants and boots that carried a scuffed sort of permanence.

He didn’t flinch under your gaze. He rarely did. 

“Sure,” you said finally, fighting to keep your voice steady. “I mean... yeah. I feel better now.” 

His brow lifted, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a crooked half-smile that felt almost involuntary. “Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Yeah.” The tension between you felt oddly fragile, as though one wrong word could snap it altogether. 

“Good,” he said, his voice soft, almost to himself. “Uh, so...when you’re ready, we can talk. Doesn’t have to be now.” 

“No,” you interrupted quickly, sensing his sudden retreat. “I want to. Just—not sure now’s the best time.” 

His eyes flickered, something like relief washing over his features. “Okay. Whenever works for you. Just let me know.” 

There was something in the way he spoke that made you pause—a quiet hesitance, almost submissive, so unlike Joel that it left you momentarily off-balance. Before you could respond, the sound of a door opening and closing under the stairs interrupted the fragile moment between you. 

Joel’s gaze darted past you, his body stiffening. “I should get going. Need to see Tommy,” he said abruptly, his words coming faster now, as if the interruption had jolted him. “But I’ll be back before five. If you’re okay with that.” 

“I’ll text you,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended. 

Joel nodded once, and for a moment, his eyes softened again, lingering on you like he wanted to say more. But the sound of footsteps drew both your attention, and you turned just in time to see Travis approaching from the hall. 

“Hi, Joel,” Travis said, his voice light and oblivious. “How’s it going?” 

Joel’s demeanor shifted instantly, his polite but clipped reply sharp in contrast to the way he’d been speaking to you moments ago. “Fine. And you... regaining energy, I see.”

“That's right,” Travis nodded, a pleasant pout on his lips. “Never drink more than one blue elephant, trust me,” he teased.

Joel’s laugh was hollow, a noise that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not on my agenda last time I checked.” 

The tension was palpable now, thickening the air. Though you were sure the tightening thread was solely between you and Joel, and Travis had only moved in to tighten it even more. Joel’s gaze flickered to you briefly, searching your face, you looking at him almost as if silently imploring him not to say anything offensive. But he didn't seem to want to bother Travis at that moment, which surprised you a little.

“Call me later,” he said to you, his tone softening again but only for you. “Whenever works.” 

“I will,” you promised, the words coming easily, though the knot in your stomach tightened as you watched Joel take a few steps back. He hesitated for only a second before turning and walking briskly to his truck. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed faintly as you closed your own door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

When you turned back, Travis was still standing there, his expression curious but unreadable. He didn’t say anything, though, as you brushed past him and returned to the kitchen, dropping back into your seat and taking a long sip of soda. 

Travis joined you a moment later, resuming his seat across from you. He picked up his burger but didn’t take a bite right away, his fingers idly picking at the edges of the bun. His silence stretched, pressing against you, until finally, he spoke. 

“So,” he began carefully, his tone light but probing, “how’s everything with Joel?” 

The question caught you off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. You forced yourself to look at him, your expression neutral. 

“We haven’t really figured things out,” you admitted, keeping your tone casual. "If that's what you're asking."

Travis nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. “I thought as much,” he said, setting his burger down. “Saw him the other day at the supermarket. Didn’t say hi—he looked...busy.” 

You offered him a small, noncommittal shrug, hoping he’d let the subject drop. But instead, his gaze lingered on you, studying you the way Joel had earlier. 

“Can I ask you something?” Travis said, his voice softer now. "And please be honest." 

You didn’t blink, your body stilling in response to the deliberate softness in Travis’s voice. It wasn’t the kind of soft that soothed; it was careful, as if he was trying to handle something fragile without breaking it.

“Sure,” you said, your voice neutral despite the curiosity growing inside you. “What is it?”

“Listen, please don’t think I’m prying.” His tone wavered, brushing up against nervousness.

“I won’t, Trav,” you said, laughing lightly, though the sudden weight of his seriousness made the moment feel unbalanced.

“Okay.” He smiled, the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. It reminded you of a kid caught holding something he shouldn’t but deciding to risk it anyway. “So, ever since I moved into the neighborhood, I noticed you and Joel were... close. At first, I thought you were together. Ian even confirmed that you were just friends, but for a while, I didn’t quite believe it. Then Helena told me the same; you were just friends.”

Your attention sharpened around his words, each one striking a chord of unease.

“And I thought that was good for me, you know?” he continued, leaning back slightly, his nervous hands fidgeting with the edge of his glass. “Because I liked you. Even back then. But then, Joel came over one day while I was working on the yard—offered to help me out. He was nice, friendly even.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice sounded far away to your own ears. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Travis said, shifting in his seat. “I told him I was almost done, didn’t really need help. But I thought, why not? So I said he could help me with something else.”

There was a pause. His gaze faltered, dropping to his hands. He clicked his tongue, closing his eyes for a moment as though bracing himself.

“And then I said something stupid.”

“What did you say?” The question tumbled out, your curiosity escaping before you could temper it. You couldn’t recall Joel ever being nice to Travis. If anything, his attitude toward him bordered on dismissive, sometimes outright cold.

“I, uh...” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told him he could help me with you.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression betraying your surprise, but you didn’t interrupt him.

“I said something like... if he wasn’t careful, I might steal you from him forever,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing deeply. “You know, like a dumb joke.”

The breath you’d been holding slipped out in a shaky laugh. “You said what?”

“I know, okay? It was stupid.” He grimaced, glancing away. “His whole attitude shifted. He got... intense. Asked if I thought you were some kind of object. Said I was an idiot for underestimating you like that.” Travis’s voice softened, tinged with embarrassment. “I apologized right away, told him I didn’t mean it seriously. But he just turned and walked off.”

“Yeah, well, that sounds like Joel,” you muttered, a hint of amusement slipping into your tone despite yourself.

Travis, however, didn’t seem amused. He sighed, dragging his hand over his face.

“Yeah. And ever since then, he’s been... I don’t know. Dismissive. Like I don’t exist. And at first, I figured I deserved it—I was out of line. But after a while, I started to think... maybe there’s more to it. Something I don’t know about.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your face neutral. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze felt heavier now, like he was peeling back layers, trying to uncover something buried.

“And when we started seeing each other, I thought maybe it didn’t matter,” he continued. “You told me you and Joel had argued, and that’s why things were strained. I believed you. But when I see the way you two act around each other...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s just... obvious. Too obvious. I’m sorry, but I have to ask—” His eyes locked onto yours, unflinching. “Did something happen between you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. Your heart raced, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. You felt pinned in place, his gaze pressing against your silence like a weight you couldn’t lift.

“Travis...” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

His expression shifted, softening, but not in a way that let you off the hook. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s okay. Just... be honest.”

You liked Travis. You liked how steady he was, how easy it felt to be around him. And it hurt to realize he’d been carrying this doubt, this unspoken question, all this time. But his words also unraveled something inside you—a confession that finally made sense of Joel’s behavior. The teasing, the frustration, the way he reacted whenever Travis came up in conversation. Joel’s coldness toward him had been about you all along.

“Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The single word carried a weight that settled between you, unavoidable. “A couple of weeks ago.”

The flicker of hope in his eyes extinguished, replaced by something quieter. Not anger, but something like disappointment. A quiet hurt he tried to hide but couldn’t entirely mask.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice steady, though you could hear the tension beneath it.

You hesitated. For a moment, you wanted to lie, to downplay the truth for his sake, for your own. But Travis had been honest with you from the start, and he deserved the same in return.

“We slept together,” you said finally, the words leaving your mouth like a weight dropping. “It was... a mistake. On his own words, that’s what he said.”

“He said it was a mistake?”

“Yeah.” The word felt colder this time, sharper.

Travis didn’t say anything for a long moment. He only nodded, as if piecing something together silently. And though you couldn’t quite read his expression, the shift in the air between you was undeniable.

“Then why did you fight?” Travis’s voice was steady but probing, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Was it because you slept together, or because he said it was a mistake?”

Your breath hitched. The question landed somewhere deep, stirring thoughts you’d been desperately trying to suppress. There was something in his tone—a clarity that felt unbearable, like a light shining on all the truths you weren’t ready to confront.

“Is there a difference?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. It was a feeble attempt at deflection, one that neither of you believed.

Travis let out a soft sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—fragile and fleeting.

“I’m afraid there is,” he said simply. “Because if the fight was about him thinking it was a mistake... that means you don’t think it was.”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly, shaking your head as if the physical act could erase the implication. “No, that’s not it.” But the words felt hollow, a lie that echoed between you both. “Do you want to know why we fought? It wasn’t about that. It’s because he was cruel to me. That night, before anything even happened, he treated me like I was insane—like I was jealous of the woman he’s dating. And afterward...” You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “Afterward, he acted like it disgusted him to be with me.”

Travis’s expression shifted, his eyes slightly wider now, but he didn’t interrupt. You could feel tears building, threatening to spill, but you pushed forward, the words pouring out faster than you could stop them.

“He’s been awful to me, Travis. Every chance he gets, he finds a way to provoke me, to make me feel small. Even to you—he’s been horrible to you, and it’s... it’s complete bullshit.” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily, wiping at your eyes. “Because he was my best friend. For years. And it’s hard for me to accept that someone I respected so much doesn’t respect me back. That’s what happened. That’s why everything’s so strange now.”

Travis nodded slowly, still quiet, his gaze steady but unreadable. You took another deep breath, your chest aching with the effort of holding it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you added softly. “But it was... private. And when we started seeing each other, everything was so new, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to tell you.”

The silence that followed felt like a living thing, pressing down on you. Travis leaned back slightly, his fingers grazing the edge of his glass. He looked at you with an expression that made your stomach churn—gentle, but heavy with something that made you afraid.

“I know,” he said at last, his voice calm. “I know you wouldn’t keep something like that out of malice.”

“No, never,” you insisted, your voice cracking at the edges.

“But...” He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “I can’t lie to you, honey. This does affect me. And I don’t think I can pretend it doesn’t.” His honesty was like a sharp edge, cutting through whatever thin veneer of composure you’d managed to hold onto.

Your chest tightened. “Travis, I—”

He cut you off gently, raising a hand. “Listen. I like you. I really like you. You’re smart, and kind, and... easy to be around. But I don’t want to feel like I’m an obstacle in someone else’s story.”

“No,” you said, the word coming out as a rushed, desperate exhale. “You’re not. That’s not how it is. Joel and I... what happened between us was a mistake. A stupid, heat-of-the-moment thing that ruined everything we had. It’s over.”

Travis tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same quiet intensity. Then he shook his head, a soft, sad smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think Joel believes that.”

“Of course he does,” you insisted, though your voice sounded small, even to yourself. “He barely tolerates being around me now.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” His voice was calm, steady, as if he’d already thought this through. “I think Joel has... feelings for you. And I think it scares him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he’s defensive. That’s why he can’t stand me. That’s why he kept watching us at the barbecue like I was committing some kind of crime.”

“Travis—”

“No, just... let me finish,” he said gently, his hand brushing against yours. “I like you. I do. And I love spending time with you. But I don’t want to get caught in the middle of something I don’t understand.”

You blinked, feeling the words lodge somewhere in your throat. There was an ache now, spreading through your chest. “What... what are you saying?”

He gave you a small, bittersweet smile. “I’m saying you need to work things out with him. Figure out what’s really there—if it’s nothing, or if it’s something you just don’t want to admit yet. And once you do, if things are clear—really clear—then I’ll be here. If you want me to be.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your nearly empty plate. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, and you fought to keep your tears from falling. If Travis noticed, he didn’t say anything.

The silence lingered for only a few seconds before he spoke again, his voice shifting to something lighter. He told you a story about one of his friends you’d met the night before, trying to fill the space between you with something less painful. You appreciated the effort, even if it only barely reached you.

Later, when you settled on the couch, he pulled up a documentary on potatoes—something about their versatility and origins. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, as his warmth settled over you like a temporary balm. But as the documentary droned on, your attention blurred, your eyelids heavy with the weight of the night. Before you could process it, you drifted off, the quiet hum of his presence the only thing keeping you grounded.

*

When you opened your eyes, the room was still and dim, the TV screen darkened, its glow long since faded. You were stretched out on the couch, comfortably cocooned in the softness of a throw blanket that hadn’t been there earlier. You stretched lazily, a deep yawn escaping your throat, and for a brief moment, everything felt calm. You felt rested, better.

But the calm didn’t last.

The memory of your conversation with Travis resurfaced like a stone dropped into a still pond, ripples spreading out and disturbing your peace. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your body still tingling with the remnants of an unburdened nap.

That’s when you noticed the note on the coffee table, a piece of paper folded neatly, its corners perfectly aligned. You reached for it, your fingers brushing against the edges before unfolding it.

The note was simple, in Travis’s clean, deliberate handwriting:

"I had to go home, didn’t want to wake you up; thought the rest would do you good. See you later :)."

You sighed, reading his words again and again, overanalyzing every line, every punctuation mark. Of course, he was kind, thoughtful as always. But underneath that kindness was something else—a quiet truth he’d handed you earlier like a weight too heavy to carry alone.

He was right. You couldn’t have anything honest with him if you didn’t face the mess you’d left behind with Joel. And that, of course, was even more complicated than you wanted to admit. Because you knew why.

You loved Joel.

Not just in the messy, confusing way that kept you up at night. But in all the other ways too. Joel was your best friend. Losing him had been one of the hardest things you’d endured in years, and the ache of that absence lingered like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. You missed everything about him—his dry humor, the easy rhythm of your shared days, the unspoken understanding that only years of friendship could bring.

You missed the mundane, simple things: the lunches that turned into dinners, the quiet nights spent on his couch, watching some terrible action movie he insisted was a “classic.” The lazy afternoons in his backyard, the sun catching in his hair as he hosed down his truck, grinning like a kid when he’d spray water in your direction just to hear you yell. The way he listened, the way he told you things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. The moments with Sarah—how natural it all felt, like a little pocket of family you’d carved out together.

And then it was gone. The thought of it made your chest tighten.

Your phone was on the coffee table, its screen dark until you picked it up. 4:34 p.m. The nerves in your stomach stirred again, buzzing like static beneath your skin. You stared at Joel’s name in your contacts. His number had been blocked since that Tuesday. If he’d tried to text you, you wouldn’t know.

Your thumb hovered over the unblock button, then pressed it. There. Done.

But now what?

You stared at the tiny phone icon next to his name, debating whether to call him. Your thumb twitched, but you froze. Maybe it would be better to write. Calls made you nervous—they left too much space for things to go wrong.

"Hi, Joel, I was thinking—"

No. Too vague.

"Joel, if you want, we can—"

No. Still wrong.

"Hi, can you talk—"

No, no, no.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch, the phone still warm in your hand. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb pressed the call button. The line connected almost immediately, and then there it was—his voice, steady and familiar.

He said your name like it was a sentence.

“Hi, Joel,” you said, your voice even despite the way your heart was racing.

“D'you want me to come to your place, are you coming to mine, or should we meet somewhere else?” he asked, skipping over pleasantries entirely.

Always to the point.

“Is Sarah with you?” you asked instead, needing a moment to steady yourself.

“No. She’s with Lea.”

Lea. Right. You remembered Sarah talking about her—her new friend from soccer. Lea lived nearby with her mom and older sister, had a huge collection of video games, and a mother who baked cakes Sarah couldn’t stop raving about. But even then, Sarah had reassured you with a grin, “No one’s better at baking than you.”

She wouldn’t be back until dinner, you realized. It gave you some space, some time.

“Okay,” you said, weighing your options. You didn’t want to cry in public, and your house... well, nothing good had come from Joel being there last time. “I’ll go to your house,” you decided, bringing a hand to your forehead. “In fifteen. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his voice calm. “I’ll be here.”

You hung up without another word, the silence in your living room rushing back to meet you.

For a moment, you stood there, gripping the phone like it might steady the erratic thrum of your pulse. Your blood rushed in your ears, drowning out every other sound.

Fifteen minutes. That was all you had to pull yourself together. 

*

You rang the doorbell and swallowed hard, nerves curling tightly in your stomach. Your eyes flicked down to your body in an almost absent check. The pajamas had been swapped for something presentable but still low effort: tailored black pants that grazed your feet, a black t-shirt layered under a wool sweater of the same shade. Safe. Functional. On your feet, though, the betrayal of slippers—a detail you hadn't thought much about until now, standing on Joel’s doorstep.

Inside, heavy footsteps approached, steady and deliberate. A sharp pang of anticipation ran through you. Less time passed than you expected before the door swung open, and there he was, framed by the familiar threshold.

Joel’s dark eyes met yours, scanning over you with a quiet intensity. He hadn’t changed much from earlier—still in the same dark jeans, but his sweater was gone, replaced with a simple white t-shirt that clung to his broad frame in that way that made your throat feel tight. He smiled softly, disarmingly, like he’d been practicing this exact expression.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to make room for you.

You hesitated for half a second before crossing the threshold. The familiar scent of his home—clean laundry mingling with faint traces of coffee and wood—hit you immediately, stirring something warm in your chest. You took in the living room, unchanged since the last time you were here, though your memory painted it differently now. This house, this space, was the backdrop to so much shared history, yet it felt heavy with everything left unresolved.

You paused in the living room, your hands finding their way into your pockets. The couch sat there like a relic, the same spot you’d occupied last time taunting you with its familiarity. Sitting felt both inevitable and wrong, like stepping back into a memory you’d tried too hard to forget. You lowered yourself onto the cushion anyway, folding into the space where you used to fit so effortlessly.

“D'you want something to drink?” Joel asked, already heading toward the kitchen. “I just made coffee. Got some of that chocolate you like too.”

You nodded without thinking, your voice betraying you with a simple, “Chocolate’s fine.” It came out softer than you’d intended, like you were worried anything louder might shatter the precarious peace between you.

Joel nodded back and disappeared through the archway. You were left standing in the middle of the room, the stillness pressing in. The faint aroma of coffee curled around you as your eyes moved over the space.

The TV was on pause, the frozen frame capturing Arnold Schwarzenegger mid-glare, leather jacket gleaming under dim lighting. On the coffee table, a stack of DVDs sat next to Joel’s keys. It was all so mundane, so normal, but the weight of your own memories turned it into something else entirely.

Your gaze lingered on the spot next to you, the place where Joel had sat the last time you were here. The memory hit like a bruise being pressed, sharp and unwelcome. You could still feel the crackling tension of that night, the words that had gone unspoken, and the ache of things breaking further apart.

By the time Joel returned, balancing two mugs, you’d managed to pull yourself back to the present. He set yours on the coffee table in front of you—a perfect swirl of steam curling from its surface—before sinking into the couch beside you with his own. The proximity sent a flicker of awareness through you, unsettling but familiar.

The chocolate was perfect, sweet and rich, just as you’d remembered. You focused on the cup in your hands, grateful for something tangible to anchor you. Joel took a sip from his mug, the silence stretching between you like a taut string.

He spoke first, breaking the quiet with a voice that was both casual and loaded. “Sarah’s still mad at me.” He paused, glancing at you before adding, “Said she didn’t want to be home if I was gonna keep acting like an idiot.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Why’s she mad?”

Joel gave you a look, his brows drawing together like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. “Because of yesterday,” he said finally. “When I wouldn’t let her talk to you.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the memory of his sharp tone from the day before resurfacing. You took another sip, letting the warm liquid settle in your chest.

Joel’s presence beside you felt larger now, like it was pressing against the edges of your awareness. It was strange, this new dynamic—this quiet discomfort with a man who had once been your safe place.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence turning awkward in a way that made you itch. Your mind churned with unspoken words, all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how to. And then, without fully realizing it, the thought slipped from your mouth:

“This is a bad idea.”

Joel’s head snapped up, his body tensing.

“No, wait,” he said quickly, setting his mug down as he reached for your hand, still curled around your cup. The warmth of his touch startled you, grounding and overwhelming all at once. “Please, don’t leave. Let’s talk. Just… talk, okay?”

The quiet desperation in his voice made you pause. You pulled your hand back, setting the cup on the table, and leaned away slightly, trying to create some distance.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Speak, then.”

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers fidgeting in an almost subconscious rhythm, twisting together before pulling apart, like his thoughts were straining against each other in his head. His tongue flicked out briefly to moisten his upper lip, a small, nervous habit you’d noticed but never commented on. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost too soft, but it carried weight, each word vibrating in your ears as if they’d been tailored just for you. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his words deliberate, as though he’d rehearsed them countless times but still wasn’t sure how they’d land. His eyes didn’t meet yours, staying glued to the restless movement of his fingers.

You straightened in your seat, your chest tightening, not because you didn’t know what he meant—you absolutely did—but because you needed him to say it. To finally put it out there, to stop hiding behind vague statements and unfinished thoughts.

“What, Joel?” you prompted, your voice sharper than you intended. 

His head lifted just slightly, his brow furrowed in a way that softened his expression rather than hardening it. His eyes, however, told the real story—heavy and shadowed, the exhaustion there making him look older than you’d ever allowed yourself to notice. 

“This,” he gestured vaguely between you two, his hand falling limp to his lap again, “this thing we’re doing. Acting like strangers or, worse, like seeing each other is some kind of punishment we’re both trying to avoid. I can’t stand it anymore. I hate it.”

You exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch as your arms crossed instinctively over your chest. His words stung because, on some level, they echoed your own feelings, but hearing them from him made you bristle. “I’ve never acted like that with you, Joel. Never.” Your voice was steady, clear, every syllable landing with precision. “If anything, you’re the one acting like seeing me is a nightmare you can’t wait to wake up from.”

Joel’s mouth parted as if to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. “Like yesterday,” you continued, your tone sharpening. “Forcing Sarah into the house, shutting me out like I was the problem. Or all those times you decided to pretend I didn’t exist. How do you think that makes me feel, Joel?”

His frown deepened, but he didn’t look away. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, though his voice lacked the confidence his words suggested. “Every time I’ve tried to talk to you, you’ve shut me out. Like you couldn’t bear to be near me. I saw it in your eyes, felt it in the way you’d flinch or turn away. Like at the Hoffmans’, when you wouldn’t even look at me. And every time I spoke, I could feel your... discomfort.”

The mention of that night sent heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Joel, really?” Your voice pitched slightly higher, but you forced yourself to rein it in, refusing to let him pull you into a full-blown argument—not yet. “You were so mean that night. To me, to Travis. What exactly did you expect? For me to smile and pretend like everything was fine?”

“I remember,” Joel interrupted, his voice dipping into something closer to regret. He rubbed a hand across his face, as though trying to erase the memory. “I just—” He paused, his brow furrowing further. “I just hated the way you looked at me. When I sat next to you I realized right away how uncomfortable you were with me there. I couldn’t stand it.”

You let out a long, slow breath, rubbing your temple as you tried to keep your own frustration from boiling over. “What did you expect me to feel, Joel? Our last conversation didn’t exactly leave me eager to see you again. Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d show up.”

“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. “I never miss the Hoffmans’ barbecues.”

That made you laugh, a short, humorless sound. “You hate those barbecues. You’ve said it a hundred times—the music, the noise, the neighbors gossiping. You only ever went because of us, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch and dropping his hands onto his thighs. His gaze drifted to some fixed point ahead of him, like he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah,” he admitted after a long pause. “And I wasn’t lying; I went because I knew you’d be there.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. You stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he was joking, but he wasn’t. A small, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, your voice laced with disbelief. “You attended for me but spent the whole night treating me like dirt. And let’s not forget hooking up with Clara Pierce.”

Joel’s face flushed immediately, a faint pink creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks. He looked down at his hands again, his fingers still fidgeting, but now with a new kind of nervous energy.

“I didn’t hook up with her,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the charged air between you. His gaze lifted to meet yours, earnest and unflinching. “I didn’t. I just walked her home.”

"Yeah, right." You snorted, crossing your arms again. “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, leaning toward you. “I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even wanted to be around her. I just needed an excuse to get out of there. So I walked her home and I told her to stop... you know, whatever she thought she was doing with me. You can ask her, and she'll probably tell you I'm an asshole.”

There was something in his tone, a rawness that made you pause. He wasn’t lying—you could see it in his eyes. But the relief you felt was quickly overshadowed by anger.

“You knew she liked you, Joel. And you let her think she had a chance. Why? Did you even consider it for a second?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

Joel exhaled deeply, his gaze roaming over your face like he was reading a language he used to know fluently but now struggled to understand. The irritation etched into your features mirrored his own; it was like looking into a cracked reflection. His shoulders sagged slightly as if weighed down by his own thoughts.

“No,” he said finally, the word flat, almost lifeless. “I don’t like her. I don’t like the way she talks to me, the way she... carries herself around me. And no, I don’t like the way I acted that night either. I know I was out of line. But I wanted to talk to you, and Travis wouldn’t—” He stopped, shaking his head, his frustration palpable. “He wouldn’t let go of you. And when I finally did talk to you, I screwed it all up again. I know that. I hate it, but it’s the truth. I was pissed off and fed up.”

You straightened your spine, your body tense, arms stiff at your sides. “What did you even want to talk to me about, Joel?” you asked, your voice sharp now, cutting through the air between you. “What for? If every time we talk, all you succeed in doing is making me feel worse?”

He blinked slowly, the weight of your words visibly landing on him. His dark eyes drifted over your face, heavy with something that resembled anguish. His hands rested in his lap, fingers clasped tightly together, his thumbs rubbing small, compulsive circles against each other. When he spoke again, his voice was unsteady, barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his head lowering until his eyes were focused somewhere around your feet. “I try to psych myself up to apologize to you. But every time I see you, I can’t think straight. It’s like my brain short-circuits. I get defensive, I think, whenever I see you looking... happy.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Happy with him. You look like you’re doing just fine, and I think, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I here? Clearly, you don’t feel as shitty as I do. And then I get angry. I hate how easy it seems for you. How simple it is for you to move on, like my absence doesn’t even register. And that’s what I can’t handle, because that’s not how it is for me. Not at all.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours, and the intensity in his eyes was like a physical touch, hot and almost unbearable. “It’s not my case at all,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. “Not a single day has gone by where I haven’t missed you. Do you have any idea how empty this house feels without you? How empty my life feels?”

Your lips parted, the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue faltering under the weight of his words.

“Joel—” you began, but he cut you off, his body leaning toward you, one hand lifting as if to physically hold your words at bay.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, his voice firm now, the rawness in it making your chest tighten. “It’s pathetic, how much it affects me. And it’s exactly what I was afraid of, you know? That we’d cross that line, and everything would go to shit. And now—”

“Is the thought of that night really so unbearable for you, Joel?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but still strong enough to slice through his stormy rambling. You leaned in slightly, your posture rigid, your gaze locked on him. The question caught him off guard; his breath seemed to hitch, his eyes widening. “Because it feels like you can’t even stand it. Like the idea of touching me—of having touched me—is some stain you can’t wash off. Like I was a nasty trap you fell into by mistake, like you needed an acid bath to clean off my handprint. Just a moment of weakness.”

He froze, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him illuminated the back of his neck, the soft curls there catching the light like strands of gold. His skin looking golden as honey, dark eyes safe in shadow against the illumination. You could almost swear he wasn't breathing.

“Yes, it is” he said at last, his voice quiet and careful. “But not for the reason you think. I hated how I acted. I hated how I treated you. I was impulsive and cruel, and that’s not how it should’ve been between us. That’s not how we should’ve been.”

You frowned, the confusion and annoyance sharpening your gaze.

“You always think you know how everything should go, don’t you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “You map it all out in your head—the beginning, the middle, the end—and when it doesn’t go your way, you act like the world’s against you. Don’t you get tired of trying to control everything, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. You leaned back, shaking your head softly.

“You’re impulsive. You’ve always been impulsive," you continued. "That night, at the barbecue, even yesterday. And somehow, you always manage to drag me down with you.”

“Stop it,” he said suddenly, his voice low and firm. He sat up straighter, his broad frame casting a shadow over you as he loomed closer. “You want to know what bothers me? That you act like I forced you into all of this. Like I made you do something you didn’t want to do. Yes, we slept together. I know I messed up afterward, but I didn’t manipulate you into it, and you know it.”

His voice softened but remained steady, each word deliberate. “I asked you, I asked you right before it, don't you remember? Tell me to stop,” he paraphrased, his thick voice sending shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to stop?. No, you said.”

You remembered, of course. The moment was burned into your memory, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. His voice had been thick with urgency, his body trembling against yours. Tell me to stop, he’d said, his breath hot against your skin, your body pressed against the wall.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

Joel’s voice was laced with something raw, an edge of frustration barely concealed. “Then why does it feel like every time we talk, you act like all of this is something I forced you into?” His words hit the air with force, each syllable sharpening the distance between you. “Like I’m the villain in your story. Like seeing me or even talking to me is some kind of punishment. You made that pretty clear at the barbecue.”

You watched him, your chest tightening in that way it always did when his anger met your own. It was ironic, wasn’t it? How he felt like you were the one dragging him down when you’d spent months drowning under the weight of him. You shook your head slowly, a faint, bitter smile curling on your lips.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm.

Joel blinked, the sharpness of his expression softening into confusion. His brows relaxed, his shoulders losing some of their tension. He looked at you like he was waiting for something, like you were about to reveal a crucial piece of the puzzle he hadn’t yet figured out.

“You left, Joel,” you began, your tone steady, each word landing like a blow. “You lied to me. You treated me like I was the liar, like I was the jealous one. You used my feelings against me, and then you kissed me like you were trying to win some kind of argument, to prove a point. You undressed me. You saw me naked, touched me, and fucked me. And then you left.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you saw how they hit him—hard. His face didn’t change much, but you noticed the way his brows twitched, how his lips parted slightly as if to respond. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“It took you days to come and talk to me properly. Days,” you continued, your voice harder now, every syllable sharp and deliberate. “And when you finally did, it wasn’t to apologize. You treated me like I was nothing more than an afterthought. A stranger. You said it was a mistake, Joel. That you let yourself go. That you regretted it. Do you have any idea how pathetic that made me feel? How used? My best friend decided that sleeping with me was the worst thing he’d ever done. A ‘torturous mistake,’ I think you called it. And no, you didn’t force me. But don’t stand here and ask me why I don’t want to see you anymore. You made me feel less than nothing.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, his head lowering until you could see the thin scar across the bridge of his nose. It was almost absurd, how familiar you were with it—how many times you’d wanted to trace it with your fingertips. Your hand twitched at your side, but you held still, the distance between you stretching impossibly wide.

When he looked up, his eyes startled you. They were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears that caught the light like fragments of something broken. His voice, when it came, was quieter, almost hesitant.

Joel’s voice was steady but low, weighted with something that felt too big to name.

“The first time I saw you, I felt something I wasn’t supposed to feel,” he said, each word measured, like he’d been rehearsing this in his head for years. “I liked you. Simply put. I’m not sure I was even trying to fight it then, but I knew I should have been.”

You didn’t interrupt. You couldn’t. The weight of his words settled into your chest, filling spaces you hadn’t known were hollow. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his gaze lingering somewhere to the left of your shoulder.

“It was your birthday,” he continued, his tone softening as though he were wading into the memory. “You were having a bad time. I could tell the second I walked in. I wasn’t even invited to the party, remember? Brianna brought me, and I knew I shouldn’t have attended. It was small, intimate—you clearly weren’t expecting someone like me there. You looked at me like I’d ruined the whole night just by showing up.”

His lips curved slightly, a self-deprecating smile. “Brianna told me it would be fine. She was wrong, obviously. But I figured it out pretty quickly—that it wasn’t me or even the party that was bothering you. It was your birthday. You hated it.” His gaze flicked toward you then, tentative, as if confirming his guess. “Still, you smiled at me in the kitchen. I don’t think you wanted to, but you did. And I thought, this is dangerous.”

Your stomach twisted, memories of that night rushing back in sharp detail—the awkward weight of him in the room, the heat in his voice when he’d said your name. You’d never realized how much he’d been paying attention, even then.

“I was dating your friend,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, “so I didn’t let myself think about it much. But after that night, Brianna kept inviting me to things. And I knew you were always there, and that you probably would always look at me like I was some sort of intruder. So I turned her down every time after that. I didn't—I couldn't afford to find out how much I liked you. I've had enough."

His admission hit you like a punch to the ribs. You gripped the edge of the couch, trying to keep your expression neutral, though you weren’t sure you were succeeding.

“When Brianna and I broke up, I figured that was it. I wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.” He exhaled, almost laughing at himself. “And then, four years later, you moved in next door. Can you believe that? I actually thought it was fate or something. Stupid, right?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t say anything. He didn’t notice. He was smiling faintly now, lost in his own thoughts.

“That’s when I realized how much I liked you,” he said, his voice softening. “Too much. But time passed, and you became more than that. You became my best friend. Sarah adored you. I adored you, i do. You made everything feel... I don’t know, lighter. I couldn’t ruin that just because of some crush.”

His words cracked something open inside you, the realization sinking in that he had never known how you felt. How many nights had you lain awake, cursing yourself for the way you looked at him? And all that time, was he doing the same?

“So I let it go,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “I buried it. You were important to me. Too important. I wasn’t going to risk what we had for something that might not even needed to be real. I couldn't corrupt us. But that's just what I did, isn't it?”

He paused, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were dark, shining with a mix of regret and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“I threw it all away in one night. Let myself get carried away, let my anger take over. And now you’re hurt, and I hate myself for it.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. The tears streaming down your face were hot, but you barely registered them. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, heavy and weightless all at once.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said suddenly, his voice dropping. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Don’t think for a second that sleeping with you was torture. It wasn’t. I was stupid and selfish and angry, and I hurt you. I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing to you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Your breath caught, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. He wasn’t finished, though. His gaze dropped again, his hands twisting together as he added, almost to himself, “I was too focused on my anger...I didn't realize how much I had hurt you. You look so good with Travis that I thought-”

“Joel.” His name slipped out of your mouth, barely audible, but he didn’t stop.

“He treats you well, doesn’t he?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s good to you. Better than I’ve been lately, m'sure of it. I've been mean to him, I know."

"Joel, can-"

"Sarah is very happy for you. Says he's handsome and all that," he continued, almost as if he was thinking out loud. “I’ll stay out of your way,” he said finally, looking back at you with a kindness that made your stomach twist. His smile was soft but hollow, his eyes dark with resignation.

You wanted to tell him to stop. But again, Joel wasn’t looking at you anymore. And his thoughts were spiraling somewhere you couldn’t reach.

“I promise I'll be good. And you don’t have to forgive me. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to try. To make it right. Even just a little, may-”

His voice broke something in you. Your breathing quickened, your chest tightening with something that felt too big to contain. And Joel stopped mid-sentence, his body going still as he took in your expression when you suddenly got up the couch, interrupting the sound of his voice, which slowed down as soon as he saw you. 

Joel’s eyes flickered with confusion as he looked at you, his body tense, like a taut string waiting to snap. Your expression must have told him everything he needed to know—or maybe nothing at all. Your breathing was uneven, shallow, as though you couldn’t find enough air.  

There were too many feelings jostling for attention inside you, none of them distinct, all of them overwhelming. His words were still spinning in your head, looping back and forth without ever resolving into clarity. Was he stepping back? Letting go? Accepting Travis? Did you even want him to do that? The thought alone made your chest tighten painfully, but you didn’t even know if it was what he meant.  

You caught his gaze one last time, something raw passing between you, and then you turned sharply. Your feet carried you toward the door like they had a mind of their own, your breath hitching, your pulse wild and erratic. The rush of blood in your ears drowned out the sound of your footsteps, the room, him. You reached out for the door, your hand trembling, when his touch—firm, warm, steady—landed on your shoulders.  

He turned you to face him, and there he was, his expression cracked open with concern. His brow furrowed, his lips parted slightly, searching for words he didn’t know how to form. He looked lost in a way that made something inside you twist painfully.  

“Please don’t—” Joel began, his voice low, careful, but he didn’t finish. He couldn’t, because suddenly, you were on your toes, leaning into him, closing the space between you like it was inevitable.  

Your arms wrapped around his neck as your lips found his, desperate and unrelenting. For a moment, he froze, stunned, but then his hands moved to your waist, strong and grounding, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even a sliver of space left between you. His eyes fluttered shut, and yours followed, everything else fading to a blur.  

Completely lost, that's how you felt as his lips kissed yours; the kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, and the world tilted. Your breathing came fast and shallow, mixing with his, as if neither of you could quite get enough. His arms tightened around you, his chest pressed against yours, solid and impossibly warm. You felt his strength everywhere, his thick arms wrapped around you, the way he held you like he didn’t want to let go, and it undid you completely.

Your body fit against his in a way that felt both foreign and natural, and when he pulled you tighter, you felt his unmistakable hardness against your belly. The sound that slipped from your lips was involuntary, a soft moan that melted into his mouth. He responded with a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver through you, leaving no doubt that he felt this just as intensely.

He broke the kiss, but only to trail his lips down your neck, finding that spot just beneath your ear that made you gasp. His teeth grazed your skin, gentle but firm, and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could anchor yourself to him, to this moment. Your body burned under his touch, heat radiating from your skin, your body so hot that if someone spilled water on you it would evaporate instantly.

This time Joel didn't ask, he didn't have to. His hand found yours, and he guided you toward the stairs, his grip steady, his presence a quiet reassurance. Each step was a blur, your feet barely keeping pace with him, but you didn’t care. You trusted him completely, even as your knees wobbled, even as you stumbled and he steadied you.  

When you reached his room, he pushed the door open without hesitation, his lips already finding yours again. It was different this time, hungrier, more urgent, like neither of you could wait any longer.  

How many times had you been in Joel's room? Too many. The space was familiar, you’d been there countless times before, and yet now it felt entirely foreign. The walls seemed closer, the air heavier, thick with anticipation.

He tossed you onto the bed with a gentle push, his hands sliding to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth motion before tossing it aside. And his eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink sharp against the charged silence. You sat up, your hands trembling as you peeled off your sweater and shirt, discarding them without a second thought. His pants hit the floor, and as your hands unbuttoned your pants, Joel's hands took over pulling them down your legs, while your eyes devoured the image of him —fully, completely bare—, his thick, swollen dick staring back at you. And you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you.

Joel climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, his mouth finding yours again. His skin was burning hot beneath your fingertips as your hands explored him, desperate and deliberate. You could feel the weight of him pressing against you, grounding you, and yet you felt utterly unmoored.  

He paused, just barely, his eyes locking on yours in a gaze that felt criminal. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something intense and devastating, as his body pressed even closer to yours. The evidence of his desire pulsed against your skin; his silky pink tip throbbing against your belly. And your breath hitched as a wave of heat rolled through you, leaving you breathless. 

Joel’s right hand slid under your back, his fingertips brushing against your skin in a way that sent an electric current racing through you. Instinctively, your spine arched, your body offering itself to him without hesitation. The faint plastic sound of the clasp unbuckling filled the charged air, followed by the soft sensation of his knuckles brushing your shoulder blades.  

You lifted your arms above your head, releasing the hold you’d had around his neck, giving him the space to slide the bra free in one seamless motion. The fabric disappeared somewhere out of sight, irrelevant now, as his lips returned to the curve of your neck. They pressed there, slow and deliberate, his kisses trailing downward with a tenderness that felt almost reverent.  

When his mouth reached your chest, everything else fell away. Joel paused, just for a heartbeat, before opening his mouth and taking one of your breast, his tongue circling your nipple with a teasing rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. His lips were soft, almost unbearably so, and the suction he applied was gentle but insistent, each movement pulling a quiet moan from your throat.  

Your hands found his hair again, threading through the thick, slightly messy strands. This time, you tugged, harder than you meant to, and he responded with a low, guttural moan that vibrated against your skin, the sound so intimate it made your stomach tighten. His free hand claimed your other breast, his thumb moving in slow, agonizing circles over your nipple, each touch coaxing more heat from you, your body so sensitized it felt like every nerve was connected to him.  

The ache inside you was unbearable, a tension building low in your belly that threatened to spill over with just the careful ministrations of his mouth. You felt wild, desperate, every inch of you on edge, and still, he moved with the kind of patience that felt like torture.  

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice raw and unsteady, “fuck me already.” The words spilled out unfiltered, your head falling back against the pillow, your back arching again in a plea for more of him, more of his touch, more of his weight pressing into you.  

His hands stilled for only a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours. Something passed between you then, a moment of recognition—of shared urgency, yes, but also something deeper. Then his hands moved, confident and certain, to the waistband of your underwear. With no hesitation, he hooked his fingers around the elastic and tugged downward, the fabric dragging against your thighs in a way that felt both intimate and freeing.  

Joel sat back slightly, his weight shifting onto his heels as he worked the underwear off completely, his movements slow. The sun streamed through the window, catching him in a way that made your breath hitch. He looked unreal, the golden light painting his skin in warm hues, the flush on his chest and face deepened by the contrast. His eyes, darkened with desire, somehow glinted brighter in this light, a sharp clarity that made them look like liquid amber.  

You couldn’t look away. He was beautiful—too beautiful, almost painfully so—and the way his chest rose and fell, his labored breathing, the way he looked at you, like he wanted to eat you whole, made your throat tighten.  

Joel smiled then, soft but unguarded, and you swore you felt it everywhere. A double inhaled breath escaped his lips, more felt than heard, and then he let the underwear fall to the floor, forgotten.  

His hands found your ankles next, his grip firm but tender as he slowly spread your legs apart, his gaze dropping between them, dropping to the throbbing heart between your legs. The shift in his expression as his eyes settled there—intense, hungry, almost reverent—made heat bloom across your chest. You felt exposed in the most vulnerable, raw way possible. But it felt good. Natural.

Desire was etched across his face, raw and consuming, his lower lip trembling slightly as though he was holding something back—something that threatened to spill over any second. The air between you felt molten, thick with the weight of what was about to happen. Your whole body ached with need, a fire burning so fiercely inside you that you couldn’t bear to wait any longer.  

As though he could read your mind, Joel leaned over you, his hands bracing on either side of your head, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His body hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hips shifted, his movements slow, deliberate, as he guided himself to you.  

The head of his cock brushed against your clit, swollen and slick with his pre-cum, and the contact sent a shockwave through you. Your cunt throbbed at the sensation, a needy whimper escaping your lips, soft and involuntary.  

Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as he took himself in hand, rubbing his length against you. The pressure, the friction—it was maddening, each stroke sending your back arching off the mattress. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin like you might fall apart if you didn’t hold on to him.  

Then, without warning, he pressed forward, the thick head of him stretching you open, slow and steady. A gasp tore from your throat as he filled you inch by inch, the delicious ache of it making your head spin. Joel’s breath hitched, his eyes falling shut as he stilled for a moment, buried fully inside you. His body trembled slightly, overwhelmed by the sensation of your warmth gripping him so tightly.  

He dipped his head down, his face close enough that your noses brushed, and your lips found his instinctively, crashing together with a fervent kind of need. His kiss was messy, uncoordinated, but it didn’t matter—it was everything you needed in that moment.  

Joel shifted, bracing himself on his arms, his body pressed even closer to yours as his hips began to move. The first thrust was deep, deliberate, setting a rhythm that sent shockwaves through you. Each roll of his hips drove him impossibly deeper, his cock sliding against your slick heat, glistening in the golden sunlight that spilled across the room.  

The sounds that filled the space were obscene: the wet, rhythmic slap of your bodies meeting, your moans mingling with his, and the creak of the bed frame crashing against the wall with every thrust. The room seemed to shrink around you, the rest of the world fading away until there was only this—only him.  

Your body sank into the mattress under the force of his movements, your hands clutching at his skin desperately. Your nails bit into the muscles of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you cried out, each sound punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his hips.  

You couldn’t think anymore. Your mind had been overtaken completely, drowned in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming. All you could do was feel—the heat of his body against yours, the slick slide of him inside you, the way every thrust seemed to tear you apart and put you back together all at once.  

His eyes found yours then, blazing with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His face was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and neck, and the sight of him like that—lost in you, undone by you—was enough to make your chest tighten.  

Your hands slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips finding the curve of his throat. You kissed him there, tasting the salt of his sweat, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Your tongue ran over the wet centimeters of his skin, and Joel let out a low, guttural sound, a noise so raw and primal that it sent a shiver through you.  

His thrusts quickened, each one harder, deeper, the intensity building to a fever pitch. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your heels digging into his skin as if to anchor yourself. You couldn’t hold on much longer—every muscle in your body was coiled tight, the tension growing unbearable, threatening to snap at any second.  

Your mouth found his again, desperate kisses scattered across his jaw and lips, and just as his tongue slipped past your lips, his deep moan vibrated against your mouth. It was your undoing.  

Your body tensed, every nerve igniting as you shattered around him, the release so powerful it stole the breath from your lungs. You cried out, your moans tangled with his as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, holding him tight.  

Joel’s hips faltered, his rhythm breaking as he followed you over the edge. He groaned, the sound low and hoarse, as his body jerked against yours. You felt him throb inside you, his release hot and overwhelming, spilling deep within you as he buried himself fully one last time.  

The world went quiet then, save for the sound of your labored breathing and the soft creak of the bed as you both stilled. Joel collapsed onto you, his weight grounding you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You were utterly spent, but there was a strange peace in the way his body rested against yours, the way his lips brushed your temple in the aftermath.  

Joel’s lips lingered against yours for a breathless second before he pulled away, his face collapsing into the crook of your neck as though he couldn’t hold himself upright any longer. His body felt heavy, but his touch was soft, almost hesitant, as if the weight of the moment had finally sunk into him. Your labored breaths mingled, the only sound in the room, filling the air with an intimacy that neither of you dared disturb.

When he finally rolled onto his side, you turned to face him, unable to look away. His face was flushed, damp curls clinging to his forehead, and his lips were still swollen and dark from your kisses. There was something unguarded in his expression, a rare openness that made your chest ache. You drank him in with fascination, deliberately holding back the tide of guilt or confusion that threatened to rise.

His eyes caught yours, and when they softened, a warmth unfurled low in your stomach. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with an almost painful tenderness, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple—delicate, reverent, like a vow unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with a slight sigh, Joel pushed himself up and padded toward the bathroom. You watched him the whole time, your gaze tracing the lines of his back, the way his shoulders moved with every step. When he returned, he carried a damp towel, crouching beside you with quiet purpose. The towel was warm against your skin as he cleaned you carefully, the act so gentle it left your throat tight.

Once finished, he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed, his body sinking into the mattress beside yours, his arms wrapping around you again, bringing you closer to his warm chest. The silence stretched out between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You weren’t sure how long you lay there, the two of you caught in the stillness, but the pull of sleep began to tug at you, the haze of exhaustion wrapping around your mind.

Neither of you had spoken a word. The quiet felt sacred, unbroken by explanations or apologies. You didn’t want to speak, and it seemed Joel didn’t either.

But then, the sharp sound of the front door creaking open shattered the stillness, startling you both. Joel bolted upright, his body tense.

“Dad, I’m home!” Sarah’s cheerful voice echoed up the stairs.

Panic shot through you like ice water. You sat up abruptly, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. Joel was already on his feet, reaching for his clothes in a hurried, almost frantic motion. His eyes darted to you, his expression equal parts alarmed and apologetic.

“I’ll be right down!” he called out, his voice forced into an approximation of calm. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and when he returned, his face and hands were damp. He rubbed at his skin with the hem of his shirt, then turned to you, his gaze steady but urgent.

“Five minutes,” he said softly, waiting for your nod before slipping out the door.

Left alone, you scrambled to pull yourself together. Your legs trembled as you stood, still tender, and your hands shook as you worked to smooth your hair and wipe your face. No amount of effort could erase the telltale flush of your skin or the lingering haze in your eyes, but you tried anyway. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was written all over you, I just had sex.

When you finally made your way downstairs, every step felt like walking into a storm. Your body felt too warm, too obvious, but Sarah’s voice rang out before you could falter.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rushed toward you. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, her excitement genuine and bright. “Dad told me you were upstairs, but I thought he was joking!”

Joel stood in the living room doorway behind her, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed. His gaze met yours, careful and unreadable, but the tension between you was a living thing, humming beneath the surface. And then, as Sarah beamed at you, reality crashed over you like a wave.

Travis.

Sienna.

Joel.

And Sarah, looking at you like this was the happiest day of her life.

“What should we do for dinner?” Sarah asked, turning to you expectantly. You opened your mouth, fumbling for a response, but your thoughts were spinning too fast. Your heart was pounding, your pulse roaring in your ears. You glanced at Joel, hoping for a lifeline, but he looked just like you; completely lost.

“Oh, I know,” Sarah said, her tone bright with enthusiasm. “Let’s invite Travis!”

“Sarah,” Joel warned sharply, his voice cutting through her excitement.

“What?” she asked innocently, glancing between the two of you.

“Don’t be nosy,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

Sarah only laughed, brushing off his scolding. She turned back to you, her expression softening.

“Did my dad apologize to you yet?” she asked conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a mock whisper. “It’s about time.”

Her words hung in the air, a weight that neither you nor Joel seemed willing to touch. And as her laughter echoed around you, you forced a smile, though your mind was already spinning, trying desperately to figure out what to say—or what to do next.

It was too much.

[burekforsatoru]

leave a message after the beep

caleb (love and deepspace)/reader | read it on ao3 ever thought of how many times caleb calls you just to hear your voice? ever thought of how many times he's touching himself while listening? yeah… maybe you shouldn't know. maybe it's just his little secret. wc: 1.4k tags: smut, masturbation, tipsy reader, panty stealing, voice kink @velvetlilith777 my sweet, here's another ♡

𓇼 ⋆.˚ masterlist

"hey! sorry i can't pick up right now! but i can get back to you as soon as you can! just leave a message after the beep!"

click.

caleb throws his head back on the pillow again. his thumb hovers over the call again button like it has done the past two times he caved and clicked it. sighing, he swallows down all the regret of not calling you sooner. today's flight exam… damn it for taking longer than necessary. he got reckless, flew higher than advised, nearly lost control, nearly closed his eyes one final time with your smiling face behind his eyelids. it must have been luck, a constant companion settled in that pendant that hangs off his neck, the one that presses a cold metal kiss to his warm lips before every flight he takes.

now you're out celebrating the end of your exams, you've left him a voice mail saying so. you'd be back late, you'd make sure to let him know you're back in your dorm safely, you'd be missing him a lot… he can hear the noise of celebrations outside his own dorm room as well, drunk shouts mixing with bad music coming out of cheap speakers, more static than melody, but it doesn't matter. it never matters, not when they're barely listening, more interested in yelling and forgetting the entire academic year that just ended. the headache will be a problem for the next day, at least for them.

for caleb…

the ache is in his heart, and as of recently in his abdomen. with his left hand holding the phone and the right one tightly wrapped around his cock, he's contemplating just abandoning the mission altogether. his eyes are peeled to the screen, your contact photo a cheerful smile mid-twirl as you hold his hand. fuck, it's one thing to see you like this, static, the eternal smile unmoving, but another thing entirely to hear the chime of your giggle in person. to see the corners of your lips only begin to curl up when he says something so out of pocket, on purpose, just to make you roll those eyes at him and sigh that perfect sound of caleb…

he'll see you soon. but soon doesn't quite cut it when the tightness in his stomach demands to be let out, when he's already leaking precum all over the latest pair of panties he slipped out of your suitcase just before you packed up to go back to the academy last time. so he groans and clicks the button again, impatiently waiting out the several beeps that taunt him every time he calls, before he's once again met with your cheerful voice.

hey!

he starts the movements of his right hand again, bringing the phone closer to his face so he can hear you better. the fabric of your panties is soaked where his pearly white precum gathers and it rubs against his tip when he strokes himself, bucking his hips up with every desperate movement. your little giggle in between words sends his mind spinning, imagining you lying next to him with your hands on his chest, giggling as you straddle his lap to rub your pretty pussy on him.

sorry i can't pick up right now!

caleb grunts as his hand speeds up, rubbing your soaked panties over his reddened tip that just won't stop leaking at the thought of you. he struggles to keep his eyes open now, torn between looking at your contact picture and the image of you he has in his mind, far more lewd than anything in his phone, your lips stained white with his cum, cheek pushed out with his cock head stuffed in your mouth. oh what he would give to have you with him now, when he's aching so badly and trying to ignore the shouts outside, the drunken cheers, the celebratory mood everyone else is in. everyone but him.

but i can get back to you as soon as you can!

fuck, caleb can't handle much of your sweet voice anymore, the happy tone he's always greeted with when you pick up, or even when you don't. he should leave you be, he should stop calling, but if this is his drug, he's certain it's not the worst one out there. beads of sweat bloom on his forehead and trickle down, the fan on his ceiling doesn't help one bit when the heat is coming from inside his tense body. you might think he's a freak when you see the three missed calls from him, might get worried that something happened, might freak out, but he can't think about anything other than your lips parting to moan so desperately while riding him in his dorm, using every and any opportunity of his dorm mate being away, clinging to each other in the golden light spilling through the window next to his bed.

just leave a message after the beep!

he moves faster, speeding up his breathing as well as the strokes of his hand. the friction your panties leave on his tip is only threatening to send him over the edge sooner, sticky as they are, oozing silvery thick drips of cum from the previous loads he spilt on them. damn, if only caleb could catch a fucking break, if only he could finally have enough of the toe-curling orgasms he reaches when it's your voice that whispers in his ear, giggling, telling him to leave you a message. if only he could hear you moan his name again, maybe that would leave him satisfied while he's away from you for so long, shorten the long lonely nights promising only boring lectures and busy training hours. the last word from your message trails off into another giggle, sugary voice making him tense up and curse, once again cumming on the red fabric of your panties. he finally slows down, pumping rope after rope of his release into the already darkened material.

fucking beep.

he takes a moment and leans his head back on the pillow, breathing heavily, swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing slowly. his thumb ends the call before his deep breaths could be recorded in a message. then, lifting his head to survey the situation, he groans again, seeing the residue of his cum stick to the dusting of hair under his navel. shit, he has to wash it off before he forgets and falls asleep, exhausted as he is physically while his brain won't shut up about how pretty you'd look with those streaks of white painting across your face.

he's about to get up when his phone vibrates on his chest. your smiling face lights up the screen. pipsqueak is calling.

there's a tug of a smile on his lips as he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear, leaning back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

"heya pips, ya having fun?"

there's so much noise on your end, for a moment he wonders if you butt-dialled him and didn't realise, but then he hears that charming voice that so often stars in his dreams.

"caaaaale-le-le-le-le-leeeeebbbbb!" your singsong voice brings an even wider smile to his face, you're already in a partying mood, you're okay, you're thinking of him.

"damn, how much have you had to drink already?"

"jus— ah damn," a thud interrupts you, but then you're back, "dropped ya! sorryyyyy cale-le-le-leb! i've had two drinks! two! i'm not even ti— oops!" you giggle, and he chuckles along. "not even tipsy! 'm okay! but i miss you so muuuuuch, you called me so many times cale-le-le-leb!"

he licks his lips before deciding to just tell you the most basic truth he can muster at the moment. "just missed you, pipsqueak, that's all. i'm glad you're having fun. staying safe?"

you hum and he can hear the noise going down, so you must be moving away from the crowd. finally, it's just a faint buzzing in the background, and your voice is softer, like you're once again talking just to him. "can't wait to see you tomorrow."

and just like that, his right hand reaches down again and grabs the shaft of his semi hard cock, already pumping it slowly. only this time, he doesn't have your panties wrapped around it, just his warm hand; your voice gentle in his ear from the phone trapped between his palm and his cheek, brought as close as possible without digging for earphones.

"same," he sighs, "we'll have so much fun when we're back home i promise you."

♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also if you don't agree with any aspect of this that's okay, this is just my opinion and it's hella self-indulgent!

you hum again, the sound vibrates his ear and he breathes in sharply as his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock slowly. slowly, caleb strokes his cock to the rhythm of your words. he can afford the time.