Ella 🤍

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Haymitch Abernathy

Worse Things

Cato Hadley

Marvel Sanford

Clove Kent

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

Series

none yet :(

Teen Wolf

Imagines

Scott McCall

Stiles Stilinski

Derek Hale

Jealousy, Jealousy

Peter Hale

Chris Argent

Lydia Martin

Issac Lahey

Allison Argent

Malia Hale/Tate

Liam Dunbar

Kira Yukimara

Series

Lupus Nox- S1 Cast, Prologue, S1 E1, S1 E2, S1 E3, S1 E4, S1 E5, S1 E6, S1 E7, S1 E8, S1 E9, S1 E10, S1 E11, S1 E12

S2 Cast, S2 E1, S2 E2, S2 E3, S2 E4, S2 E5, S2 E6

The Maze Runner

Imagines

Thomas

Newt

Minho

Gally

Aris

Brenda

Sonya

Harriet

Series

none yet :(

Marvel

Imagines

Steve Rogers

Sparks Fly

Tony Stark

Snowflake

Bucky Barnes

Loki Laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Logan Howlett

Peter Quill

Misery Loves Company

Gamora Ben Titan

Peter Parker

Peter Parker (TASM)

Thor Odinson

Michelle Jones-Watson

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Series

none yet :(

Once Upon A Time

Imagines

Regina Mills

Emma Swan

Killian Jones

David Nolan/Prince Charming

Peter Pan

Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy/Baelfire

Series

none yet :(

Bridgerton

Imagines

Anthony Bridgerton

How To Be A Heartbreaker

Colin Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

King George

Simon Bassett

Eloise Bridgerton

Series

none yet :(

Harry Potter

Imagines

Harry Potter

About Time

Ron Weasley

Hermoine Granger

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

James Potter

Like I Can

Draco Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Luna Lovegood

Bellatrix Lestrange

Series

none yet :(

Glee

Imagines

Finn Hudson

Sam Evans

Jesse St. James

Quinn Fabray

Santana Lopez

Brittany S. Pierce

Rachel Berry

Mercedes Jones

Mike Chang

Noah Puckerman

Series

none yet :(

Criminal Minds

Imagines

Aaron Hotchner

Undercover Heat

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

No Place Like Home

Emily Prentiss

Jennifer Jareau

Matthew Simmons

Luke Alves

Kate Callahan

Series

none yet :(

9-1-1

Imagines

Evan 'Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

I Knew You Were Trouble

Bobby Nash

Athena Grant

Howard 'Chimney' Han

Maddie Buckley

Series

none yet :(

Gossip Girl

Imagines

Chuck Bass

Nate Archibald

Dan Humphrey

Serena Van Der Woodsen

Blair Waldorf

Carter Baizen

Series

none yet :(

Pitch Perfect

Imagines

Jesse Swanson

The Flirting Game

Beca Mitchell

Chloe Beale

Bumper Allen

Cynthia Rose

Benji Applebaum

Donald Walsh

Fat Amy/Patricia Hobart

Series

none yet :(

WWE

Imagines

Roman Reigns

Relinquish Control

Cody Rhodes

Fight Me

Fight Me Pt. 2

Shake It For Me

Tricky Situations

You Never Noticed

My Favorite Plot Twist

Jey Uso

Just Friends?

Jimmy Uso

Solo Sikoa

CM Punk

A Gift for the Victor, Pt. 2*

My Hero

Getting Even

Seth Rollins

Double-Booked*

Mine, Pt. 2

Rhea Ripley

Finn Bálor

In My Dreams, Part 2

Damian Priest

LA Knight

Rules

Sami Zayn

Bron Breakker

Dominik Mysterio

Drew McIntyre

You Never Noticed Pt. 2

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Alex Shelley

Chris Sabin

Gunther

Brand New

My Forever Champion*

Randy Orton

Little Hurricane*

Series

In My Corner:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15*, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

Miscellaneous

Chandler Bing

New Years Eve

Stiles does as instructed, but he almost launches his two best friends out of their seats as he roughly slams on the breaks. There are tire spikes lined on the concrete below, preventing the Jeep from moving any further. 

They’re wasting time. Fallon is quick to scramble over the seats, following after Scott as they scurry out of the Jeep. Stiles doesn’t even have time to process that his friends have already left the vehicle. “What do we do now?” His jaw hits the floor when he sees both of them already on the other side of the large fence in front of him. The human boy throws his hands up in defeat, even more angry that he’s now the only non-supernatural one in the friend group.

They bolt through the darkness, Fallon following the sound of growling and grunting. She smells something familiar. Derek. Of course he’s already here. But it hasn’t been long. Scott and her have to be only a few minutes, maybe even seconds behind him. 

Her eyes widen as she watches Derek flip before kicking the Kanima into a stone pillar. It’s not dazed for long though as he climbs up another one of the support beams, taking out one of the many light bulbs hanging above. Sparks fly causing a blinding light to block their vision. The Kanima grabs Derek by the collar of his jacket before tossing him across the pavement.

Two headlights appear in the distance, pulling the creature’s attention away from Derek. Fallon can already tell that it’s the Argent’s based off of the silhouette of the black SUV. The girl runs over to Derek, pulling him off the ground before running a safe distance away where Chris and Gerard wouldn’t see them. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek seethes, his eyes still bright red, not bothering to shift back. 

“Saving your stupid ass apparently,” Fallon snaps back just as angrily. His wolfed out form doesn’t faze her. Personally, she thinks the way she looks when transformed is ten times scarier than Derek. But that might just be her own personal bias. 

“I don’t need your help,” he grunts out, getting ready to walk away.

“Really?” She scoffs, crossing her arms. “‘Cause from what I just witnessed you were getting your face bashed in. And if I didn’t show up when I did, you might’ve ended up getting murdered by the Argent’s too.” She grabs his wrist, stopping him from moving away from her. “You don’t have to go after Jackson alone,” she tells him. “We can help you.” 

“No, you can’t” he shakes his head stubbornly. His eyes finally turn back to their gorgeous green as they bore frustratedly into hers. “You’ll only help me if I agree to let him live.” 

“I don’t really think that’s too much to ask, Derek,” Fallon exclaims. “He’s a human being who just happened to take an unfortunate supernatural shape. I’m not exactly Jackson’s biggest fan, but he doesn’t deserve to die. We need to at least try and save him.” 

“Something that dangerous shouldn’t live,” Derek says stubbornly. “He’s killing people, Fallon.” 

The brunette huffs, “I know.” She runs a hand through her hair, “But he can’t control it. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, but it’s not fair to hold him accountable for something when he’s not in his right mind. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

“I thought Scott was supposed to be the annoyingly noble one,” Derek snarks. He’s not trying to be rude to the girl, but he knows if anyone can sway him away from this mission, it’ll be her. She has a way of calming him down, of preventing him from being angry. It scares him. Anger is something he’s held onto. It’s been a constant, and she somehow makes it dissipate. He can’t let that happen. Not right now. 

The harshness of his words do leave an impact on the girl. She doesn’t flinch, but her expression does harden. “I’m not being annoyingly noble. I’m expressing empathy and trying to be a good person. You should try it sometime.” 

That hits Derek where it hurts. She’s one of the only people who ever considered him to be good. The way her heart rate increases, he knows she doesn’t mean it, she’s just upset. But it still stings nonetheless. “I’m protecting innocent people from getting hurt. And if killing Jackson makes me the bad guy, then so be it.” 

“Why can’t saving everyone be an option?” Fallon asks him genuinely. “I get there are some cases where that isn’t possible, but this isn’t one of them. We can save everyone.” 

“How do you know that?” Derek challenges her. “Do you have some great plan that none of us know about? Where you know how to stop Jackson while also saving him? Because if you do, please enlighten me.” 

“You don’t have to be such a dick all the time,” the girl scoffs. 

“Do. You. Have. A. Plan?” 

“Not right now!” She says, frustrated with not only him, but herself. “But we’re trying. That’s why we’re out here catching him. Which, again, is something we should all be doing together, not alone,” she reminds. 

“I’m not going to waste my time trying to save someone who isn’t worth saving.” 

“Well, what if it was me?” Fallon raises her eyebrows, taking a step forward. Derek’s face is still stoic as ever as she gets closer. “What if I was the Kanima? Would you still kill me? Even though I’m not in full control?” 

He looks away from her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. That’s all the answer she needs. He wouldn’t. That’s why he can’t answer her, because he knows she’s right. 

“Would you?” She eggs on, wanting to hear him say it. 

“No,” he replies shortly. “I wouldn’t.” 

“Then why can’t we give Jackson that same grace?” Fallon asks exasperatedly. 

“Because this is different!” He exclaims.

Fallon looks at him incredulously, “How?!” 

“It just is!” Derek stares at her, more than frustrated. He doesn’t understand why she always feels the need to challenge him. 

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that explains so much,” the brunette remarks sarcastically. “Is there ever a time where you’re not so damn cryptic?! Why can’t you just give me a straight answer? Why is it different?” She demands.

“Because he’s not you!” Derek finally snaps. “I know you. I wouldn’t kill you. I couldn’t kill you.” 

Fallon freezes. That’s not the answer she was expecting, but the aggressiveness on her face fades. Her eyes soften as she stares at him. It’s different when he said he wouldn’t kill her compared to couldn’t. Derek looks almost embarrassed for a moment, but he’s quick to cover it up. His tense posture returns, “That’s why it’s different,” he says stiffly. 

Fallon shoves her hands in her pockets, “Okay… I get it,” she says quietly. Her surprise at his answer, stops her from fighting him as much. In his own odd way, this is his way of confessing how much he cares about her. “But once we do come up with a plan, will you at least hear us out?” 

“If I think it’ll work, sure,” he shrugs. “But don’t expect me to go along with it.” 

Fallon nods her head in understanding. She sends him a small, toothless smile before turning on her heel to walk away. Derek furrows his eyebrows, “Where are you going?” 

“To find Jackson.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon runs as fast as she can, quickly approaching the night club Scott told her to meet him and Stiles at. She figured Scott caught the Kanima’s scent or saw which direction it went in. She wishes she could’ve been more helpful, but Derek proves to be a pretty good distraction. 

She finally notices Scott hugging the wall at the corner of the building. He’s hiding in the shadows, trying to avoid being spotted. She carefully approaches him, keeping her own eyes peeled for the scaly creature. As she gets closer, she watches as Stiles also scrambles up to where Scott is hiding. 

“Where did you go?” Scott asks her with furrowed brows. “You disappeared after we jumped the fence.” 

“Sorry,” Fallon apologizes with a sigh. “I got a little preoccupied making sure Derek didn’t get himself killed.”

“Derek was there?” Stiles’ jaw drops. 

“Yeah, he found Jackson first,” Fallon reveals. “He was in the middle of fighting him when the Argent’s showed up. So I pulled him to the side to make sure he wasn’t seen,” she explains. 

“Well, did either of you guys see where he went?” Stiles questions. 

Fallon shakes her head, “I only saw him briefly before I went to get Derek.” 

“I lost him too,” Scott says, peeking around the corner.

“What?” Stiles looks at him in disbelief. “You couldn’t catch his scent?” 

“I don’t think he has one,” Scott tells him thoughtfully. 

“All right, any clue where he’s going?” Stiles asks his two werewolf friends, hoping they have some sort of idea.

“To kill someone,” Fallon scoffs out humorlessly. “Seems to be his staple.”

“Ah. That explains the claws, and the fangs, and all that,” Stiles nods his head sarcastically. “Good. Makes perfect sense now.” Fallon and Scott narrow their eyes at him, silently telling him that now is not the time. “What?” Freckles says, starting to feel the need to defend himself. “Guys, come on. I'm one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone– sarcasm is my only defense!” 

“Just help us find it,” Scott huffs out, turning away from Stiles, not wanting to address his comment.

“Okay, the Kanima isn’t an ‘it,’” Fallon corrects. “It’s a he and he is Jackson.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Scott eyes her briefly before turning back to the line of guests filing into the club. 

Stiles leans forward to look with them, “All right, but does he know that?”

“No,” Fallon answers him, her eyes carefully scanning over the crowd. “Jackson thinks he hasn’t turned into anything. He told Derek that nothing happened to him on the full moon. If he knew he was turning into a scaly lizard monster, I’m sure he’d be acting a lot more cocky.” 

Stiles nods along with her statement before turning back to Scott, “Did anybody else see him back at your house?” He presses on.

“I mean, I don’t think so,” he shrugs. “But he already passed Derek’s test anyway,” the boy glances back at his friends, confused. 

“Yeah, but that's just the thing— how did he pass the test?” Stiles presses. 

“I don't know,” Scott says unsurely. 

That's when the two boys glance at Fallon. She can feel their eyes drilling holes into the back of her head, but she ignores them. Her eyes stay trained on the growing line of men entering the club, but Scott and Stiles make it practically impossible to focus. Scott sighs, trying to get her attention. Then Stiles goes one level louder. Cue Scott once more, and finally Stiles overdramatically throws his hands up, doing a mix of a grunt and a sigh. 

“Why is it always me?!” She finally turns, slapping her hands on her thighs with a huff. “Why do I always have to have the answers?” 

“Because Derek tells you these kinds of things!” Stiles exclaims. 

“No, he doesn’t!” She yells back. “It’s very rare that he feels generous enough to tell me what’s going on. And even if he did, I wouldn’t tell you guys because you would just get mad at him for not telling you first,” she whisper-seethes. 

Scott blinks, “So he does tell you things?” 

Fallon sucks in an annoyed breath, “Derek said a snake can’t be poisoned by its own venom. Now, I know this is asking a lot of you guys, but I need you to use your brains for a second,” the boys glare at her for the slight insult. “When is the Kanima not the Kanima?” 

The boys look at each other with an expression of realization, “When it’s Jackson.” 

“Exactly,” Fallon nods. “Therefore, Jackson can be poisoned by the venom because he isn’t the Kanima at that point.” She huffs before looking at them, “So now that we got that out of the way, why don’t we head back home and we can jump Jackson when we go to school? Since we clearly have no idea where he is.”

When neither of them answer, her eyebrows furrow. Stiles’ eye line goes up as he throws his hands in the air. Fallon squeezes her eyes shut, “What now?” She asks.

“Uh… do you see that?” Stiles manages to get out. They all look to the roof to see a small snippet of the Kanima’s tail creeping into the club.

“Damn it,” the girl grumbles. “Well, now what? I mean, why would he even want to go in there?” 

There’s a small pause between them before Scott speaks up, “I know who he’s after,” he says, breaking out of his daze. 

“What?” Stiles looks at him confused. “How? Did you smell something?” 

“Armani.” 

Fallon crosses her arms, “Okay, Scott? You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. I’m pretty sure every dude who’s walked into that club probably uses Armani.”

“It’s Danny,” Scott tells her exasperatedly, pointing over to the line where said boy struts into the club. “He told me he wears Armani. It’s his aftershave.”

Stiles brushed past both of them and tried to open up the back door to the club. The door handle doesn’t even budge. The boy sighs frustratedly before examining the area around them, trying to find a way in. “All right, maybe there's, like, a uh-like, a window we could climb through, or some kind of–”

He’s cut off by the sound of metal clanging, and a cold door handle being put in his hand. He turns around to see Fallon walking into the club with a smug smirk while Scott just stands there, watching his girl best friend in awe. Scott and Stiles make eye contact, the former shrugging with a dopey grin before he follows after Fallon. 

Stiles blinks, “…Handle that we could rip off with supernatural strength? How'd I not think of that one?” He asks himself before turning to walk in behind his friends.

The club itself is practically buzzing with the nightlife that fills it. The techno pop plays loudly as multicolored lights flash in every direction. It’s dark and difficult to see, unless the lights are shining in just the right places. Fallon’s head moves back and forth analytically as she tries to pick up on any sign of Jackson. She takes in her surroundings, fully focused on making sure no one dies tonight.

The one thing she notices is that every patron of Jungle seems to be a guy. That's when her eyes widen in realization. No wonder Danny’s here. They’re in a gay club. 

“Guys, everyone in here is a dude!” Scott tells her the music, a little late in deducting their situation. “I think we’re in a gay club.” 

“Man, nothing gets past those keen Werewolf senses, huh, Scott?” Stiles remarks sarcastically, making both Scott and Fallon turn to face him. The latter places a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from snorting as three fabulously dressed drag queens surround him, the one on his side slowly stroking his ear. 

“At least you got the answer to your million dollar question,” Fallon smirks. “You are attractive to gay guys.” 

Stiles laughs sarcastically before walking over to her and smacking her upside the head. “Aren’t you just so funny?” 

“I like to think of myself as the comedian of the group,” She keeps the same cocky grin on her face. Stiles hates that he loves her sometimes. 

The two of them follow after Scott who beelines it towards the bar right as Danny leaves. The brunette girl shakes her head as Stiles and Scott practically scramble into their seats. “Two beers,” Stiles requests, his demeanor in no way giving off that he’s twenty-one. 

The bartender raises a skeptical eyebrow at Stiles and Scott, “ID’s?” 

Fallon plasters on her best confident face before smoothly sliding up to the bar. She smiles softly before nodding to the boys, “They’re with me,” she says, handing him the fake ID Lydia helped her get a year ago. She’s never really had an opportunity to use it, so this is a very big moment for her. 

The bartender looks at it and nods his head before handing it back to her. “How about two cokes for your friends?” He suggests, still not believing the boys are of age. 

Fallon shrugs, “I think that would probably be best.” 

Stiles and Scott watch with dropped jaws as the bartender walks away before returning to Fallon with an ice cold beer and two cups filled with coke. They both slowly turn to look at the girl as she tips the bottle back, a satisfied sigh leaving her lips. Again, Fallon isn’t much of a drinker, but she does enjoy the taste of beer every once in a while. Besides, now that she’s no longer able to get drunk, there’s no harm in it, 

“Okay, there is no way you look older than us,” Stiles says to her in disbelief. 

“It’s all about how you carry yourself, Sti,” Fallon tells him with a wink. “Confidence is key, y’know.” 

“How did you even get a fake ID that good?” Scott asks, looking at the card in her hand. “Ours suck.” 

“Being friends with Lydia has its perks,” she puts simply. 

Suddenly another bartender slides up with an extra drink, putting it in front of Scott. The man smiles charmingly, “That one’s paid for,” he reveals, nodding over to another man who sits across the bar. He raises his cup up to cheers with Scott. Fallon grins as Scott looks a little over excited at the prospect of getting attention. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott’s smile, “Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, now being the only one with a coke in his hand. 

“I didn’t say anything…” Scott says with a bashful expression. 

“Yeah, well, your face did,” Stiles remarks. 

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Fallon pats Stiles’ back. “They used to put cocaine in coke. So that's something...” 

Stiles goes to say something else snarky but he’s cut off when he notices Danny dancing across the way. He pats Scott’s shoulder, “Hey, I found Danny.” 

A beat of silence passes, “… I found Jackson,” Scott replies, eyes wide as he watches Jackson move through the rafters on the ceiling. They all swallow thickly, moving backwards slightly at the golden slitted eyes staring at them harshly. Scott regains his composure, “Stiles, get Danny. Fall, come with me.” 

“Wait, what?” Stiles turns his head towards his two best friends with an almost offended look on his face. “What are you two gonna do?” 

Scott whips his hand down to his side, his claws emerging in a threatening way. At the same time, Fallon flashes her purple eyes, a small grin on her face. Stiles nods in understanding, “That works,” he says before turning on his heel. He maneuvers his way through the club, eyes solely focused on Danny. 

Scott nods in the direction Jackson went, “Let’s go…” 

Jackson slowly crawls through the ceiling, his eyes trailing menacingly over the crowd. Scott and Fallon follow after him, never looking away from the ceiling. The music makes Fallon’s head thump wildly. Out of nowhere, an ungodly amount of fog starts to fill the large club. Fallon coughs into her arm as some of it makes its way into her mouth. This must be Jackson’s perfect hunting ground. His prey can’t see a thing, but he can. 

Scott and Fallon both turn on their heels, trying to spot where the Kanima went. The brunette girl grimaces as she feels bodies grinding on her as she walks. She tries her best to ignore it, knowing they’re in a club so it's to be expected. “I don’t see him!” She yells over the music to Scott. 

Suddenly bodies start dropping one by one. No one seems to notice right away because it’s all happening in one concentrated area. “Nevermind!” Fallon shouts again before her and Scott dart over to that part of the club. 

Scott and Fallon’s eyes widen when they watch Danny’s body hit the floor. “Jackson!” Scott calls out, hoping he can appeal to the very little humanity the blonde has in the first place. 

Fallon rushes forward, her eyes flashing purple as she tries to get to Jackson before he can hurt Danny. Scott launches forward, trying to pull her back, “Fall, stop!” He yells, but it’s too late. She’s already on her way to the scaly creature. 

As Fallon goes to strike, the Kanima spins around, a loud screech leaving its mouth as he raises his claws up to the brunette. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pair of familiar red eyes appears in front of her. She’s pulled out of the way and into the muscular chest of Derek. His eyes are blazing red, his fangs fully bared. 

“Are you okay?” He rushes out, his eyes scanning her face. 

“Derek?” Fallon looks at him confused. “Wha– yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?” 

“Doing what I said I would,” he replies before pushing her safely behind him and beelining it for Jackson. 

Fallon’s eyes widen as she realizes he’s going to try and kill the blonde boy. They just had this conversation. “Derek, don’t!” She screams, but his claws have already slashed through the Kanima’s throat by the time the word “don’t” left her lips.

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “What the hell were you thinking?” Fallon seethes to Derek as they stand on the outside of the club. They’re hidden in the shadows by Stiles’ jeep as Stiles and Scott try to keep Jackson contained in the backseat. “You said you’d let us handle it.” 

“No, I said I’d hear you out once you had a plan,” Derek corrects, his arms crossed. “And as far as I’ve heard, you don’t have one yet. So I’m going to continue with what I was doing.” 

Fallon throws her hands up in exasperation, “Are you kidding me?! Derek. You haven’t even given me twenty-four hours.” 

“And if I had, from the looks of it, Jackson would’ve killed you,” he says matter-of-factly. “Since you apparently have no common sense and decided to go after him on your own.”

“Scott was right behind me!” Fallon justifies. 

“No,” Derek takes a step forward. “No, he wasn’t. You get tunnel vision and think you can handle everything on your own. You can’t.” 

“That’s really funny coming from you,” she replies with no hesitation. “Didn’t you just go after him by yourself less than two hours ago?” 

“I’m an Alpha.” 

“I’m an Alpha,” Fallon mocks him, making a ridiculous face along with the shift in her tone. “Shut up. I don’t give a rat's ass if you’re the Alpha. You’re being a hypocrite.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, “I have certain skills you haven’t even learned about yet,” he points out. “It’s different.” 

“I have never wanted to smack you harder,” she deadpans. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Derek challenges, his expression almost amused. 

Fallon frowns, her fists clenching as she truly debates hitting him. But ultimately she decides against it. An annoyed groan leaves her lips and she blows out a dramatic puff of air. “Can’t you at least give us a day to figure out what to do with him?” She pleads. “If we don’t come up with something, then it’s free game.” 

Derek glances back at the jeep and watches as Stiles and Scott whisper-yell at each other as they try to get Jackson to stop moving in the backseat. In his mind, there’s no way they’ll come up with anything worthwhile. He doesn’t want to waste any time. But the way Fallon is looking at him, her eyes begging for just one shot. 

“Just trust me,” she says in an almost whisper. 

The muscle in his jaw ticks, but anyone could see on his face that he was giving in. “I do trust you,” he admits quietly. He sighs begrudgingly before nodding at her to head back to the boys, “Go. Figure something out before I change my mind.” 

Fallon smiles and moves to go around him but stops herself. She pauses, making Derek furrow his eyebrows. The only thing he can compare to what she looks like is a robot short circuiting. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as he suddenly feels her arms awkwardly wrap around his shoulders. It’s brief and lasts about half a second before she takes off towards Stiles who is now talking to his father.

Derek blinks, not fully processing what just happened. There’s a certain coldness that covers him now that the warmth of her body isn’t there. He scowls at the odd feeling before disappearing into the shadows. 

“What are you doing here?” Noah sighs exasperatedly as he looks at his son. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? It's a club,” Stiles flails his arms around. “It’s a club. We were clubbing, you know… at the club.” 

“Stop talking,” Fallon whispers into his ear as she walks up to them. Stiles jumps slightly, not having seen her coming, but he covers it up with a cough. 

Noah glances back at Jungle, “Not exactly your guys’ type of club,” he comments. “Especially since Fallon’s a girl…”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, “Uh, well, Dad, there's a conversation that we–”

“You’re not gay,” Noah cuts him off matter-of-factly.

Stiles’ jaw drops, almost offended by his father’s words. “Wha…? I could be.” 

“Not dressed like that,” Fallon chimes in, giving his flannel and t-shirt a once over. 

Noah nods along in agreement, “See?” He points to the girl. “So why don’t you try telling me what’s really going on here? This is the second crime scene that you just happened to have shown up on. And, at this point, I've been fed so many lies, I'm not sure I know the kid standing in front of me.”

“Dad, I– I–” 

“One of you needs to tell me the truth. Now,” Noah demands, shooting them the disappointed look that Fallon absolutely hates. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from revealing every supernatural secret she’s acquired over the past few months. 

“The truth?” Stiles swallows thickly as he looks at Fallon for help. “All right... Well, the truth is that we were here…” he pauses not having a lie fully formulated. 

“With Danny,” Fallon finishes, pointing to the boy who’s being loaded into an ambulance. “He’s one of my closest friends and he just broke up with his boyfriend, so, you know, I told him I’d take him out, and Stiles and Scott wanted to come so we could get his mind off things,” she explains, making Stiles let out a relieved breath. He doesn’t understand how she can naturally come up with the most believable excuses. 

“Yeah. That's-that's it,” Stiles nods, leaning onto Fallon. 

Noah narrows his eyes and for a moment Fallon doesn’t think he believes her. She has to fight off the wince that wants to cover her face, but thankfully the sheriff grins approvingly. “Well, that's really good of you guys. You're good friends.” 

After Noah lets them go, the two teens climb into the jeep, Fallon groaning as she realizes she’s going to be stuck in the back with Jackson. She glowers at her two best friends, “You both owe me… big time,” she huffs, buckling her seatbelt, careful not to disturb the freshly knocked out Kanima. 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “Okay, when you said you had a plan I didn’t think kidnapping would be a part of it!” Fallon seethes as she glares at Stiles. “I just got Derek off our asses because I told him we’d come up with a viable solution. This–” she gesticulates wildly to the prison van where they are holding Jackson hostage, “is not a solution!” 

“At least I did something!” Stiles scoffs. “It’s not like I’m trying to actively kill him like your new best friend is,” he says, referencing Derek. “I even bought the asshole food. You know, he should be grateful we’re the ones who kidnapped him.” 

“Oh no. No, no, no, no. There is no we,” Fallon states, her voice calm despite how angry she looks. “This is a you and Scott thing. I will not be going to jail for a felony I didn’t agree to.” 

“Will you just come in with me?” Stiles huffs out frustratedly. “I need a witness just in case he tries to kill me. Besides, if he turns into the Kanima, if you’re in there maybe he’ll leave us alone since he can’t kill you.” 

Fallon glares at him but ultimately gives in. She grumbles a plethora of profanities under her breath making the tips of Stiles’ ears turn pink, having never heard her use some of those words before. He opens the doors to the van, easily sliding in across from Jackson who looks ready to strangle the spaz in front of him. Fallon follows in shortly, sending Jackson an awkward nod as she sits down next to her best friend. 

“Okay, I bought you some foo–”

The chains wrapped around Jackson rattle loudly as the blonde tries to escape their hold. “Let me out now!” He yells loudly, his jaw clenched tighter than Fallon’s ever seen it. 

She honestly wants to let him out. Locking him in a stolen van was never something she planned on doing. She thought they would’ve at least pulled him aside and tried to talk to him about the Kanima before kidnapping him. Jackson’s not in control of himself. It’s wrong to blame him for something he isn’t even aware of. 

“You know, I put those pants on you, all right, buddy? One leg at a time. Being all up-close-and-personal with your junk wasn't exactly a highlight of my day.” Fallon cringes at the thought as Stiles continues, “So, don't think this is fun for me, either. You know, we're actually doing you a favor?”

“I’d just like to clarify again, there is no we. I did not agree to holding you hostage in a van,” Fallon chimes in. “I thought we were going to take you to one of our houses to explain what’s going on. Not commit a felony.” 

Jackson looks between the two of them, “I don’t care!” He yells loudly, yanking the chains once again. “Do you dumbasses really think this is doing me a favor?”

As much as Fallon wants to deny it, there is some real morality behind holding him hostage. It’s either get arrested for kidnapping and stealing a prison van or let the Kanima run free. The former option is definitely the lesser of two evils.

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims. “You’re–You’re killing people… to death.”

Fallon pats his back, “That’s what the word killing usually implies, Sti.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles before looking back at Jackson. “And, until we can figure out how to stop you, you're gonna stay in here. I'm sorry.” He shrugs remorselessly before pulling out two sandwiches, “Now, you want the ham and cheese, or the turkey club?”

“You actually think my parents won’t be looking for me?” Jackson asks them incredulously, his eyes narrowed. 

“Uh, well, not if they don't think anything's wrong.” Stiles pulls Jackson’s phone out of his pocket with a victorious smile plastered on his face. “Yeah.” He sighs when Jackson still doesn’t make a move for either sandwich, “Well, if you’re not gonna pick, I’ll take the club,” he shrugs, leaving the ham and cheese next to Jackson before maneuvering out of the van. 

Fallon goes to follow after him but pauses to look back at Jackson, “If you want, I can go pick you up a pb&j from Mrs. Ellis’s bakery if you want? I know you liked it when we were kids.”

Jackson tilts his head, his interest piqued. His stomach growls lowly at the thought, “Yeah. Least you could do for keeping me locked up here,” he covers up his surprise of her kind offer by being a jerk. 

Fallon grins slightly, “All right. I’ll be back in twenty.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Jackson bites into the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Fallon holds in front of his mouth. He hums quietly, appreciating the perfectly toasted bread hitting his tongue, complimenting the mix of raspberry and blackberry jelly quite nicely. “Scales?” He scoffs, narrowing his eyes at Stiles as he swallows the rest of his food. “Like a fish?” 

“Actually, it’s more reptilian than anything,” Fallon chimes in, offering their temporary hostage a drink of water. He takes a sip from the straw inside of it as Stiles nod along.

“Um, and, uh... your claws have this liquid that paralyzes people, and you have a tail,” he adds.

Jackson’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, “I have a tail?!” He looks at Fallon as he doesn’t trust Stiles or anything he says. 

She nods with a small shrug, “Unfortunately… It’s actually pretty cool when you think about it,” she adds absentmindedly. 

“Mmm,” Jackson purses his lips sarcastically. “Does it do anything?” 

“No,” Stiles shakes his head earnestly. “Not that we know of.” 

Jackson smiles sarcastically. He lets out a half laugh, half scoff, “Can I use it to strangle you?” 

Stiles sighs defeatedly at Jackson’s aggression, slumping further into the wall. “Yeah, and you still don't believe us. All right.” He sits up, coming up with a way to try and make him believe, “The night of the semi-final game– what did you do right after?”

“I went home,” Jackson shrugs.

“Are you sure about that?” Stiles presses making Jackson huff loudly in annoyance. 

“Yes, you idiot!” He exclaims frustratedly. “What the hell else would I do?” 

“You attacked me, Derek, and Fallon at the school, and you trapped us in the pool!” Stiles waves his hands around exasperatedly. “You also killed a mechanic– right in front of me, by the way, that was lovely. And, one of Argent's Hunters. Oh, and last night, you tried to kill Danny,” he lists off with a high sense of urgency. They need him to believe them so he can understand why they kidnapped him.

Jackson furrows his eyebrows, “Why would I want to kill my best friend?” 

“That’s what Scott is trying to figure out,” Fallon answers calmly. She takes a napkin and wipes the corner of Jackson’s mouth to clean it from the jelly. “He’s probably talking to Danny now.” 

“Mmm. Well, maybe, what he should be trying to figure out is how he's going to pay for a lawyer when I prosecute your asses all the way to jail!” The blonde yells, making Fallon roll her eyes at his dramatics. Anyone would think that after all the trouble she went through to keep him comfortable that he’d be a bit more grateful.

“Okay, well, you can prosecute us all you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a killer lizard man,” Fallon tells him, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “So riddle me this, on the night of the full moon after Derek bit you, what happened?” 

The muscle in Jackson’s jaw twitches. He’s angry, she can smell it on him. “Nothing–” he grumbles. “Nothing happened.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “Why are you being so nice to him?” Stiles asks Fallon as they make themselves comfortable in the front seat of the van. “Going out to get him a special sandwich, giving him water, wiping his mouth like he’s a little baby bird,” he rambles off, taking a bite of his own sandwich. “I thought you didn’t like him anymore.” 

“It has nothing to do with liking him,” Fallon replies, closing her eyes as she leans her head back on her seat. She kicks her feet up on the dash with a relaxed hum. “But we did kidnap him and are currently holding him against his will. The least we could do is try to make him comfortable so he doesn’t actually send our asses to jail.” 

“We’re not going to jail,” Stiles shakes his head. 

“I don’t know if you realize this, but we’re currently committing like three or more different felonies right now,” she deadpans. “And this also isn’t going to reflect very well on your dad. Having a son and his two best friends stealing a prison transport van and kidnapping someone isn’t going to make the county sheriff look good.” 

Stiles pauses, mulling over her words. He chews his sandwich slowly. She’s right. He didn’t even consider how his actions would affect his father. He’s really only been worried about keeping people safe from Jackson while also keeping Jackson safe from Derek. 

Fallon sighs, realizing the way she said that might have come off a bit more harsh than intended. “Look Sti, I’m not saying you’re gonna single-handedly make him lose his job, I’m just saying we have to play our cards correctly. We need Jackson to listen to us and taking the aggressive route is just going to make things worse.” 

He pauses, nodding slowly after a moment, “It’s just hard, y’know…? Especially since he’s an astronomical asshole.” 

Fallon reaches over, patting his thigh comfortingly. “I know, freckles. He’s not the easiest person to be around. But he’s confused and angry about a lot of things. Like you’ve always said, he could use some anger management classes.” She smiles jokingly at him, evoking a small chuckle to erupt from his chest. 

“Clearly he doesn’t hate you as much as he pretends to,” Stiles jokes back, jabbing her side. “Even as the Kanima he can’t seem to hurt you.”

“Yeah…” Fallon trails off, tilting her head. “That is weird,” she admits thoughtfully. “Why do you think he didn’t try to attack me? We both know he had plenty of opportunities.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles answers, mid-chew. “Maybe the Kanima has a thing for pretty brunette’s,” he chuckles, clearly messing with her. 

An eerie feeling fills Fallon’s chest at the thought. She knows he’s just kidding, but something about that theory feels off. There’s no way the Kanima has a type. Especially since it’s Jackson, and Fallon knows she’s not Jackson’s type.  

“Fall,” Stiles calls out for her. “I was kidding.” 

“Yeah–yeah, I know,” she forces out a breathy laugh. “I know…”

Suddenly a loud knock on the window causes both teens to jump, Fallon cursing rather loudly at the sudden intrusion. They both glance out the passenger side window and see a wide-eyed Allison staring at them with a worried expression. 

“Oh, my God…” Stiles lets out a shaky breath before both he and Fallon climb out of the vehicle. 

“They know,” Allison reveals. 

“What?” Stiles asks with a slack jaw. 

“They know Jackson’s missing,” Allison elaborates, gesturing towards the van. 

Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “No, they can't. I've been texting his parents since last night. They don't have a clue.” 

“My grandfather told me his parents went to the police–” Allison says urgently. “They know.” 

“I told you saying ‘I love you’ in every message was going to set off some alarm bells,” Fallon crosses her arms as she looks at Stiles. 

Stiles growls frustratedly before turning on the police radio. The sound of a dispatcher’s voice echoes around the forest around them, “All available units, proceed to Beacon Hills Preserve as instructed. Proceed with caution until Sheriff Stilinski's arrival. Proceed with caution.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Stiles grabs Jackson’s phone, chucking it across the clearing before rounding the vehicle to hop into the driver's seat. Fallon and Allison squeeze into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” Allison rushes out. 

“Somewhere very far from this.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “If Jackson doesn't remember being the Kanima, he's definitely not gonna remember stealing Danny's tablet,” Scott says to his friends and girlfriend as they all stand outside next to the van. Stiles had driven them to a more secluded part of the woods, much further away from their previous location to avoid being caught. Scott was slightly annoyed by having to run further out of the way after talking to Danny, but he got over it. 

Stiles furrows his eyebrows, “Why would he steal the thing if he doesn’t even know what’s on it?” 

“What if he didn’t steal it?” Fallon proposes. “Maybe someone else did.” 

“Then somebody else knows what he is,” Stiles replies, a brief flash of fear overcoming his face. If someone else knows about the supernatural that could mean a potential ally for them or a potential threat. And truthfully, neither of those options sound very good at the moment. 

“Uh, which could mean someone is protecting him,” Scott brings up. 

Allison nods along, “Like the Bestiary says, ‘The Kanima seeks a friend,’ right?” 

“Are we sure that’s really what it said?” Fallon questions unsurely, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Well, unless you can read Archaic Latin, Ms. Morell’s translation is all we’ve got,” Allison shrugs. 

“I studied Greek over Arhchaic Latin,” Fallon huffs. “Who would’ve thought that choice would come back to bite me in the ass.” She glances back at the van, listening as Jackson’s heartbeat increases the more the moon rises. “It’s just… a creature like that ‘seeking a friend’ doesn’t seem plausible to me. Something that viscous needs control.” 

“So what are you saying?” Scott tilts his head. 

“I don’t know…” the brunette mumbles.  “Something just feels off,” she admits. “We’re missing a very important piece of information and we have no idea what it is.” 

“Okay, hold on— so, somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the Kanima, and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? I mean, who would do that?” Stiles asks. 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Fallon glances at her best friend. “That’s not exactly ‘friend’ behavior. It sounds like someone who wants to control him. A friend would show him what he is.” 

“There's something else,” Scott says as he looks to Stiles. “You said the only thing you found online about the Kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?”

Freckles shakes his head, “No, it can't be. It tried to kill all of us, remember? I don't know about you three, but I haven't murdered anybody lately.”

“But, I... I don't think that it was actually trying to kill us,” Scott shakes his head. “Remember when we were at Isaac's the first time, it just went right by us, didn't it?” He says to Allison. 

She nods, “You’re right— it just ran off.” 

“And it didn’t kill you in the mechanics garage,” Scott points at Stiles as they continue trying to solve what is going on. 

“Well, yeah, but it tried to kill me, Fallon, and Derek in the pool,” Stiles argues, still convinced that the Kanima is going after people at random. 

“Did it…?” 

Stiles splutters, “I–I mean, maybe not Fallon. But he definitely would’ve killed Derek and I. It was waiting for us to come out.”

Scott sends them a look that he just discovered something revolutionary, “What if it was trying to keep you in?” 

Stiles groans, both him and Fallon being enveloped in full body chills. “Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?” 

“Because there’s something else going on,” Fallon insists. “And we have no idea what it is.” 

Scott sighs in agreement, “We don't know anything about what's going on with Jackson, or why someone's protecting him…”

“Know thy enemy,” Allison mumbles, making the trio look at her oddly. She shrugs realizing she said it out loud, “Just something my grandfather said.” 

Stiles throws his hands up, “All right, I got it— kill Jackson!” He exclaims. “Problem solved.” 

Fallon narrows her eyes at him, “You do realize we’re in this mess because I’ve been trying to keep Derek from killing him right?” She scoffs exasperatedly, “If I would’ve known our endgame was just to off him, then I would’ve let Derek do it when he wanted to.” 

“We’re not offing anyone,” Scott says pointedly before looking at Stiles. “He risked his life for us against Peter. You remember that?” 

“Yes, but what did we just find out? He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us. It's funny.” Stiles seethes with more venom in his voice than the Kanima could ever posses in its entire body. 

“But he’s still a person, Sti.” Fallon says. “He’s still worth saving despite him being a jackass.” 

“It’s always something with him though.” 

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Scott tries to defend the blonde. 

“So what?” Stiles scoffs, not caring. 

“So, I didn’t either,” Scott brings up, his voice filling with emotion. “You remember when I almost killed you, and Fallon, and Jackson?” He reminds him. “I had someone to stop me. He had nobody.” 

Stiles shrugs, “That’s his own fault.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Fallon cuts in. “If we have the opportunity to save him, we need to try. We might not love him, or even like him by any stretch of the means, but if he needs someone, it might as well be us. Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have another random person's blood on my hands because we failed to help him.”

“The one time I need you to be morally gray and you choose to be righteous,” Stiles grumbles, fake annoyance laced in his voice. “Fine… save him it is.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon stands outside the prison van, arms crossed, as she watches the back of the surrounding area. Scott and Allison are cuddled up in the front, talking lowly in a way that makes the brunette want to profusely vomit. Stiles left to go check on Lydia, leaving Fallon with the overly touchy couple. Her eyes flicker with unease. This plan, kidnapping Jackson and holding him until they could figure out what to do, still feels like a temporary fix. Derek’s voice echoes in her mind. He’d made it clear he wasn’t willing to wait much longer.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, breaking her from her thoughts. Pulling it out, she sees Derek’s name and a terse message: “Meet me. Now.” Fallon glances at the van, her mind already made up. With a deep breath, she slips away from the van and heads into the woods, her feet moving quickly, driven by a mixture of anxiety and determination.

She doesn’t make it far before Derek’s figure emerges from the shadows, his face set in a serious expression. He steps forward, gripping her arm gently but firmly as he pulls her behind a tree, out of sight.

Fallon lets out a startled yelp, then her shoulders relax as she meets his eyes. “God, Derek,” she mutters. “I’m starting to think you like scaring the crap out of me.”

His hand lingers on her arm before he lets go, his expression softening for a brief moment. “Had to make sure you weren’t followed,” he says, his voice low. “Did anyone see you?”

“No,” she says, glancing back in the direction of the van. “Scott and Allison are still with Jackson. They’re watching him. Stiles went to check on Lydia.” 

Derek’s gaze sharpens. “And? Have you come up with something yet? A real plan, Fallon. Because waiting around is only putting more people at risk.”

Fallon’s lips press together, her posture straightening. “I’m working on it, alright?” she says, her voice edged with frustration. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but killing him isn’t the answer.”

Derek’s jaw tightens. “We don’t have the luxury of keeping him alive if we can’t control him. He’s a threat.”

“That’s why I’m trying to find a way to neutralize him without…without doing something we can’t take back,” she argues, her voice softer but firm. She can see Derek’s patience wearing thin, and she steps closer, meeting his gaze intently. “Just…give me a little more time, Derek. We’re not giving up on him yet.”

His eyes bore into hers, intense and unwavering. There’s a long silence before he exhales, shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Fine. But if he hurts anyone else—”

“I know,” Fallon interrupts, nodding. “I’ll handle it.”

They stand in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them. Finally, Derek’s lips quirk in a faint smirk. “Didn’t expect you to be the kidnapping type.”

Fallon raises an eyebrow, a hint of humor breaking through her serious expression. “You kind of forced my hand. Had to keep you from killing him somehow.”

Derek huffs a low, dry laugh. “Guess I should be grateful?”

“Yeah, maybe you should,” she replies, crossing her arms and smirking back at him. “I mean, where would you be without me? In jail? Probably still out here, brooding alone in the woods.”

Derek rolls his eyes, though there’s a glint of amusement in them. “I don’t brood.”

“Oh, you definitely brood,” Fallon teases, taking a step closer, her voice lightening. “You and brooding? Kind of a package deal.”

For a moment, the serious edge between them fades, replaced by something lighter, almost playful. Derek shakes his head, a reluctant smirk pulling at his mouth. “If anyone’s forcing my hand, it’s you. Showing up, talking me out of things…”

“What can I say? I’m persuasive,” Fallon replies, shrugging. She leans back against a tree, crossing her arms, a playful glint in her eye as she looks at Derek. “Admit it. You’d be lost without me.”

He snorts, casting a sideways glance. “I don’t know if ‘lost’ is the right word.”

“Oh, come on,” she replies, nudging him with her shoulder. “Who else keeps you from making impulsive, regrettable decisions?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in amusement. “I thought that’s what you were for.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile playing at her lips. “Exactly. See? You need me.”

He shifts slightly, and for a moment, there’s a spark of something more in his expression, though he masks it quickly. Fallon catches it, though, and her heart skips a beat as she meets his gaze, holding it a little longer than necessary.

Derek’s voice softens, almost reluctant. “You do have a way of… getting under my skin.”

Fallon’s eyes widen slightly, taken off guard by his admission. She tilts her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Good. Someone has to keep you grounded.”

Derek shakes his head, but he can’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Only because someone around here has to,” she retorts, giving him a cheeky grin. “You’re a tough guy to keep up with.”

He huffs, his gaze flickering over her face. “You don’t exactly make it easy, either.”

They stand there, the playful tension between them building as they hold each other’s gaze. Fallon feels a strange warmth spread through her, and she catches herself wondering what it would be like to just let go of all the walls she keeps up around him. But she quickly shakes off the thought, breaking eye contact as she clears her throat.

She shrugs, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “I mean, I can’t be easy if I have to deal with you. If I’m not a bit of a hardass, how else can I talk sense into you?”

There’s a momentary pause, and Derek’s gaze softens, almost as if he’s considering something. “Maybe you’re right,” he says quietly, and for the briefest moment, his guard seems to slip, letting her see a side of him that he rarely shows.

Fallon’s smile fades slightly as she realizes he’s serious, and she finds herself caught in the warmth of his gaze, feeling her heart quicken in response. But then he looks away, and the moment is gone, replaced by the familiar distance he so often puts up.

“You’re impossible, Hale,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“You’re the one who came running into the woods just because I texted,” he counters, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Fallon narrows her eyes, refusing to let him have the last word. “Only because you sounded like you were about to do something reckless. I have a reputation to protect.”

“Is that what you call it?” he asks, his voice teasing, though there’s a softness in his eyes that belies the sarcasm.

“Absolutely,” she says, crossing her arms. “The famous Fallon Donovan, keeper of reason and savior of impulsive werewolves.”

Derek laughs, the sound low and unexpected, and Fallon’s smile widens, feeling a sense of victory at getting him to laugh. It’s a rare sound, and she can’t help but enjoy it, especially knowing she was the one to bring it out.

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Fallon realizes she’s still standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. There’s a strange energy between them, something that’s been building for a while but always left unspoken. She clears her throat, forcing herself to look away.

“So, are we done here, or are you going to tell me I need to come up with a hundred more plans to keep you from going off the rails?”

Derek shakes his head, his expression softening as he watches her. “Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

She raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “That’s almost a compliment.”

“Don’t push it,” he replies, though the smirk on his face says otherwise.

For a brief moment, Fallon wonders if she should say something, bring up the tension between them. But the timing feels wrong—too much going on, too many threats to face. So she keeps her mouth shut, letting the silence settle between them as they stand there, side by side, both knowing there’s something unspoken lingering between them.

Eventually, Derek clears his throat, stepping back as if he’s remembered himself. “Go on. Get back to them before they manage to mess things up even more.”

Fallon rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. She starts to turn away, but something makes her pause, glancing back at him. “You know… you’re not as scary as you think you are, Derek.”

He raises an eyebrow, slightly taken aback. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” she says, giving him a small smile. “Sometimes you’re actually… kind of decent.”

He scoffs, though she catches a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression. “Don’t get used to it.”

With a final smile, Fallon turns and heads back toward the van, her heart still racing from the conversation. As she disappears into the trees, Derek watches her go, his expression softening once she’s out of sight. He lets out a quiet breath, glancing down at the spot where they’d stood together, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he turns and disappears back into the shadows of the woods.

When Fallon arrives back at the van, her eyes widen in shock and her jaw falls to the floor. The doors that were separating Jackson from the outside world have been ripped off their hinges, the paint completely scraped off the metal. And the blonde himself is nowhere to be found. Her heart pounded loudly. He’s out. 

Stiles, Allison, and Scott are all standing outside, panic written on all of their faces. Fallon storms over to them, “What the hell is going on?” 

“He escaped,” Scott tells her. 

“Yeah, no shit, I can see that,” Fallon runs a hand through her hair with a humorless laugh. “He's literally a huge scaly creature. How did neither of you hear him trying to get out?” She narrows her eyes at Allison and Scott. 

“Well, I–” Scott stutters, briefly glancing at Allison. “I– where– where were you then?” He asks her. “You were the one supposed to be standing outside.” 

“I had a call to make,” she lies. She doesn’t know why the falsified information falls from her lips, but it does. It’s not like they don’t know she hangs out with Derek, but she doesn’t want them to start getting suspicious of how much time she’s been spending with him recently. “But don’t try to flip this on me. You guys were the ones inside the van.” 

“Scott,” Allison’s lip quivers, “I have to tell my father,” she says worriedly. “He’s going to kill someone.” 

Scott huffs, realizing they’re all in over their heads. “Okay,” he nods. “Tell him. Tell him everything.” 

“Scott,” Stiles gets his attention, a defeated expression on his face. “I gotta tell mine too.” 

“This is all my fault,” the teen wolf groans frustratedly.

Allison places her hand on his shoulder comfortingly, “It’s not. But, we have to tell them. We’re just a bunch of teenagers. We can’t handle this.” 

There’s a brief pause, “You’re right…”

Allison looks over to Stiles, “How are you gonna make your dad  believe all this?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers with a sigh. 

Scott looks up, his eyes flashing their unique yellow, “He’ll believe me.” 

Fallon smiles softly, moving to stand next to him. She flashes her purple eyes as well. “Us. He’ll believe us.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     The trio walks into the Sheriff’s station in search of Noah. Fallon can see Stiles’ hands visibly shaking at the thought of exposing his father to the supernatural world. She doesn’t blame him. Putting his father in danger isn’t high on anyone’s priority list, but they need his help. And things might start making more sense for Noah once he gets the full picture. 

They get buzzed in by one of his deputies and there’s a certain wave of tension that fills the station. It’s eerily quiet until they opened the door to the sheriff’s office. Noah stands there, his arms crossed over his chest with a disappointed expression. Sitting next to him on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders is Jackson Whittemore. A smug smirk is plastered on his face as he waves tauntingly at the trio. 

There’s a cocky aura that surrounds him as he’s viewed as the victim by not only the Sheriff but by his own father. He has all the power in this situation and he knows it. Fallon can practically see his ego growing by the second. Soon enough his head is going to be too heavy for his neck to hold up. But she would be cocky too if she had the entire Beacon County Police department on her side. 

“Scott, Fallon, Stiles… Perfect timing,” Noah moves towards them, a stern conversation with his son brewing behind his irises. “Have you met Jackson’ father, Mr. David Whittemore, Esquire?”

Jackson leans forward in his seat, his nose scrunching up to rub in their misfortune, “That means lawyer.” 

The unfortunate part about someone like Jackson is that one minute he’s the perfect golden boy. Perfect smile, bright blue eyes, amazing at sports, but behind all that beauty is a steel death trap waiting to sink its sharp teeth into its victims. Maybe that’s why he turned into the Kanima. He took the shape that truly fit his personality.

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“What are you doing here?” Fallon asks, genuinely curious. “I mean, not that it’s an unwelcome thing, I just didn’t think you’d want to be out and about with the police looking for you and stuff.” She rambles. 

He shakes his head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder to continue their walk, “Let’s just say I’m no longer a person of interest.” 

“Did you convince Jackson to retract his statement?” She asks, baffled. Issac shrugs nonchalantly making her scoff, “How did you manage to do that?” 

“He owed me a favor,” Issac answers with a smirk. “That’s all.” 

“And he actually followed through with it?” Fallon asks in disbelief. “What did you do? Beat him up?” 

Issac simply sits in silence and Fallon takes that as her answer, “You didn’t!” She slaps his chest. Truthfully, she missed talking to Issac. They haven’t had much one on one time together since the dance, so this is a nice change of pace. 

“I didn’t beat him up technically,” he tries to justify. “It was more like the looming threat of being harassed by Erica and I that got him to do it.” 

Fallon sighs, “I guess that’s not as bad,” she grins softly, leaning into his side. “But it’s really nice having you back. I missed you.” 

“Don’t get all sentimental,” he playfully nudges her. “You act like we didn’t just see each other the other day.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just us talking,” she points out. “It was just me kicking your ass before Derek chucked you across the train station.” The smirk on her face makes Issac roll his eyes. 

“Okay, you did not kick my ass,” the blonde denies. “I just wasn’t ready.” 

“Ever?” She quips back wittily. 

“Why don’t you just shut up and let me walk you to class?” The boy flicks the side of her head making Fallon giggle. 

“Why don’t you make me?” She flicks his chest back. 

“I would,” he stares at her, blue eyes softening slightly. “Believe me, I would never throw away such a… tempting offer, but Derek would have my head on a stick.” 

“What?” Fallon furrows her eyebrows, “Why?” 

Issac shoots her a deadpan look, but once he realizes she’s serious he simply chuckles breathily. For as smart as she is, she’s the most clueless person he’s ever seen. “Nothing. No reason,” he shakes his head with a knowing grin before stopping directly in front of Coach’s class. “But I believe this is your stop.” 

Fallon pouts playfully, “Or we could ditch and go get ice cream,” she proposes.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Issac chuckles. “Plus, you’re too much of a bookworm to actually follow through with that.” 

She frowns but nods, “You’re right,” a small sigh leaves her mouth. The brunette reaches forward to hug him, “All right, well I’ll see you in chemistry. Try not to get arrested for murder while I’m gone,” she teases playfully. 

“I won’t,” he tells her as he’s walking away. “At least not today.” 

Fallon watches fondly as he retreats down the hallway. She smiles to herself before finishing her journey into Coach’s class. She goes to take one of the empty seats in the front row but is suddenly yanked backwards. She lets out a little yelp until her butt hits the seat of a chair near the back of the classroom. She glares at Stiles who was the one who dragged her all the way to the back. 

“Did you really just let Issac walk you to class?” He asks her with narrowed eyes. 

“Yeah…” she trails off with furrowed brows. 

“Did you know he was gonna be here today?” Scott questions her. 

“No,” she replies, getting irritated by the accusatory looks in their eyes. She can tell they think Derek told her something and now she’s keeping it from them. “I ran into him this morning and he walked me to class. That’s all.” 

“Why would he walk you to class if it wasn’t for something evil?” Stiles says overdramatically, making Fallon roll her eyes. 

“Maybe because Issac isn’t evil,” she mocks him. “Just because you guys have this weird feud going on with Derek and his pack, doesn’t mean I have to participate.” 

Stiles scoffs, “It’s not a feud. It’s us preventing them from recruiting more people into their weird little misfit wolf pack. And also stopping him from trying to kill anyone that tells him ‘no.’” He remarks sarcastically. 

“Hey, Testicle left, right, and their ball fondler–” Jackson’s voice calls out from behind them making the trio roll their eyes at his vulgarity. “What the hell is a Kanima?”

The argument the three of them were having suddenly stops as they whip their heads around to stare at Jackson in shock. Before they even have the chance to pick their jaws up off the floor, Coach starts the class. “All right, listen up! A quick warning before we begin our review— some of you, like McCall, might want to start their own study groups, because tomorrow's midterm is so profoundly difficult— I'm not even too sure I could pass it!” The class stares at him blankly, but all Fallon, Scott, and Stiles are worried about is how Jackson could’ve possibly figured out what the new threat in Beacon Hills is. “Okay, I need a volunteer at the board to answer the first question. Who's got it, huh?” He holds the marker out towards his volunteer. “Come on, let's go, buddy.”

“Paralyzed from the neck down,” Jackson seethes as if it were their fault he got kidnapped by Derek. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?” 

“I’m familiar with the sensation…” Stiles rolls his eyes, annoyed that Jackson thinks he’s the only one to go through it. 

“Wait— why would Derek test you?” Scott furrows his eyebrows. “Why would he think that it's you?”

“Cause he’s the only other new person to get bit who doesn’t know what he is,” Fallon answers like it’s obvious. “I’m a wolf, Issac, Erica, and Boyd are wolves. Him and Lydia are the only two we don’t know about.” 

“Wait, does that mean they think it’s Lydia?” Stiles asks worriedly. 

“I don’t know!” Jackson narrows his eyes. “All I heard was her name and something about chemistry.” 

“Jackson!” 

Coach’s booming voice catches all their attention. They whip their heads around, eyes blown wide. “Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?” He crosses his arms tauntingly, waiting to see what crappy excuse he comes up with.

Jackson folds his hands together, “Umm…” he wracks his brain for something to say. “Just an undying admiration for my– my coach.”

“That’s really kind of you,” Coach nods with a fake smile before it falls and he looks at the blonde with a hard glare. “Now shut up!” he yells. “Shut it!” He glances around the room challengingly, “Anybody else?”

When Coach finally looks away, Scott glances at his two friends, “How do we know it’s not her?” 

“Because I looked into the eyes of that thing, okay? And what I saw was pure evil. And, when I look into Lydia's eyes, I only see fifty percent evil.” Scott and Fallon give him a pointed look. “All right, maybe sixty. You know, but no more than forty on a good day!”

“Stiles, that's not exactly a convincing argument,” Fallon huffs. 

“I’m aware of that,” Stiles grumbles. “But I swear it’s not her. It can’t be, all right? Lydia’s fine.” 

“I’m not saying I think she’s a homicidal lizard person, but there’s definitely something going on,” Fallon whispers. “She’s been acting a bit off since the dance, and not in a regular trauma kind of way.” 

Almost as if on cue, their eyes travel up to the board and stare in horror as Lydia writes things rapidly that are definitely not economics related. Fallon narrows her eyes at the writings. It looks like it’s another language, but not one she’s ever seen. That’s when she pulls out her phone, taking a photo of the board as Coach gets the strawberry blonde’s attention. Lydia spins around with a gasp, tears forming at her waterline. Fallon’s heart clenches. There’s something wrong that she hasn’t told anyone about. 

“Okay, then. Anybody else want to try answering? This time in English?”

“What is that, Greek?” Scott asks his friend. 

“No,” Fallon shakes her head, showing them her phone. “I know Greek. I’m actually pretty sure it is English,” she says, flipping the photo around to show the words ‘someone please help me’ written across the board in all capital letters. 

Once the bell rings, the trio is quick to rush out of the room to get to the chemistry classroom before Issac and Erica do. Fallon knows Issac’s last class is further from Harris than they are, so they should have thirty extra seconds to come up with a game plan to somehow protect Lydia.

“Derek’s not gonna kill her without proof,” Scott says as they round the corner to approach the chemistry room door.

“All right, so he tests her like he did with Jackson, right? But when and where?” Stiles asks as Fallon slaps her hand across both their chests. They stop inside the room, noticing Erica and Issac rushing in as well with determined looks on their faces. 

“…I think here and now.” The brunette girl answers. 

The three of them rush towards Lydia, unfortunately Scott and Stiles get to her first, taking up the two seats next to her. They shoot Fallon a sympathetic glance, knowing she has to find her own seat now. The girl waves them off, knowing Lydia’s life is more important. To her dismay, the only open seat left is the one next to Issac. Normally, she would be thrilled to sit next to the curly haired boy, but with how they’re kind of working for opposing sides, it might make things a bit awkward. 

Harris walks around the classroom and up to his desk, “Einstein once said, "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity... And I'm not sure about the universe. I myself have encountered infinite stupidity,” he pats Stiles’ back in passing, making Fallon roll her eyes. “So, to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments! Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or, in Stilinski's case, less than one.”

“Well, would you look at that?” Issac smirks as he turns towards Fallon. “Turns out the universe seems to think we’re the dream team.” 

“I’m not helping you test Lydia.” Fallon deadpans, making Issac smirk. 

“Really?” he scoots his stool closer to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He leans forward to whisper, “Even if Derek is watching?” 

Her eyes travel over to the window and chills run down her back as she makes eye contact with Derek who’s standing near the tree line. His icy eyes bore into hers even from that far away. She clears her throat, “I’m still not gonna help you.” 

A small hum escapes his lips as he wraps his arm around her shoulder, “We’ll see.” 

“Erica, you take the first station. You'll start with–” Every single guy in the class, minus Scott, Stiles, and Issac, raise their hands, desperate to be partnered with the beautiful girl. Fallon doesn’t blame them. She’d want to be partnered with her too if her personality hadn’t gotten vain along with the rest of her. “I didn’t ask for volunteers,” Harris sneers disgustedly. “Put your hormonal little hands down.” He nods towards the boy in front of her, “Start with Mr. McCall. All right, next two!”

Issac and Fallon were quick to start on the experiment, but there was still a crackling tension between the two of them. Fallon shifts uncomfortably as Issac continues to stare at her, his arm that was wrapped around her back now sliding down to her thigh. 

“You're really beautiful when you’re all focused like that,” he compliments, but it sounds almost like a taunt. 

Fallon tenses under his touch, but doesn’t move his hand away. She drops another one of the ingredients into the beaker carefully. “What are you doing?” She asks through clenched teeth. 

“Admiring you,” he answers simply. “It really is a shame you’re so close with Scott. You’d be a real asset to us.” His cocky smirk returns, “We’d be able to spend more time together too.” 

“I know what you’re doing,” she whispers. “And I’m not that easily manipulated. Plus, I’m not interested.” She turns her attention back to the experiment. 

Issac laughs breathily, “No, of course not. Why would you be? I’m not exactly what you’re into.” His eyes become slightly hooded as he traces shapes on her thigh, “Your type is older, brooding Alphas with control issues.” 

Fallon’s eyes widen and her face flushes red. She whips her head towards Issac, an incredulous expression on her face. Her jaw hits the floor and she tries to deny the claim but Mr. Harris cuts her off. “Switch!” 

Fallon finishes what she was doing, but anger simmers in her chest as she looks at who her next partner is. Erica’s grin is much more venomous than Issac’s as she slides into the seat next to Fallon. The brunette decides to not make contact with the blonde. They haven’t exactly had civil conversations the last few times they’ve interacted. She doesn’t even bother waiting for her to help, continuing to add the ingredients written neatly on the board. However, Erica doesn’t take too kindly to being ignored. After receiving all this new attention recently, being disregarded isn’t what she’s used to. 

“What’s wrong, Fallon?” The blonde bats her eyelashes at the girl, breaking the silence between them. “I thought you and I were supposed to be best friends? Don’t tell me all this hostility is about that little kiss with Derek.” 

“Is that what that was?” Fallon remarks sarcastically, using the pipette to drop liquid into the flask. “Cause from where I was standing it looked a lot more like desperation.” She shoots Erica a fake smile, “And last I checked he took me out after letting me throw you around for three hours like a ragdoll.” 

The muscle in Erica’s jaw ticks as she clutches the edge of the desk. Fallon watches as her claws emerge slightly. “What are you gonna do, Erica? Hurt me?” She taunts, flashing her purple pupils in her direction. “By all means, I’d love to kick your ass again.” 

“You do realize he’s doing this to protect you right?” She snaps. “And you repay him by letting that thing live.”

“It’s not her,” Fallon glares. 

“And switch!” Harris calls out one last time. 

As Erica gets up to walk away, Fallon calls out to her. “And Erica, I will admit, you are very pretty.” She compliments, making the girl smirk. “But that doesn’t make you a good person. Remember, our insides will reflect who we are on the outside eventually.” 

Her face falls but she simply moves onto her next station. Suddenly, Stiles’ body slides into the seat next to Fallon. He looks at her with a concerned gaze, “You okay? That looked… intense.” 

“I’m fine,” Fallon mutters, trying to finish catalyzing the reaction. “Just Erica being Erica.” Her eyes widen as she looks up and sees Issac sitting directly next to Lydia, “But I think we have bigger problems than that.” 

“Crap,” Stiles tries to scramble out of his seat and go after Issac, but Harris stops him by slapping his chest with a rather long stick. 

“If you're trying to test my patience, Mr. Stilinski, I guarantee it will be a failing grade.” 

Their teacher walks away and Stiles looks at Fallon begging, “Can’t you convince him not to do this? Issac trusts you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Fallon shakes her head. “I already tried to get through to him. The only person he’s listening to right now is Derek.” 

“Can’t you convince Derek?” He asks exasperatedly. 

“I don’t think he’s listening to anyone but himself right now either,” Fallon says, pointing out the window to show Stiles that Derek is already there, and very convinced of his own theory. 

“She’s not a monster. She’s not the one killing people!”

“Stiles, I know that,” Fallon huffs breathily, realizing that she’s been the only person out of all her groups to do this experiment. “I’m not the one you need to convince.” 

“Time!” Mr. Harris stops them all, drawing their attention to the front. “If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal.” Fallon happily pulls out the crystal she created over the process, trying not to laugh as she glances up a few rows to see that Scott had failed miserably. “Now, for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy... You can eat it..”

Fallon barely has time to be proud of the work she has done as Lydia picks up her own crystal and puts it near her mouth. A clear liquid drips off of it, no doubt some Kanima venom that Issac sneakily coated it with. She, Stiles, Scott, and Allison all share concerned looks. Fallon’s breath catches in her throat as the liquid almost hits Lydia’s tongue. 

“Lydia!” Scott yells. 

Everyone in the class turns their attention towards him. Fallon fights the urge to cringe from how embarrassing the moment is. Lydia narrows her eyes at him, waiting expectantly for him to explain why he needed her attention so badly. “What?” 

Scott finally notices the unwanted attention on him. He swallows thickly before clearing his throat and sitting down. “…Nothing,” he says awkwardly.

They all watch nervously as Lydia drops the crystal in her mouth. Fallon and Stiles clutch hands, the latter practically cutting off Fallon’s circulation. The brunette anxiously bites the inside of her cheek as she waits for something bad to happen to Lydia, but nothing does. She’s fine. She wipes her hands like there wasn’t just Kanima venom on the candy crystal. And by that display, it confirms to Derek and his pack that it is Lydia. Fallon glances back out the window, watching as Derek makes his decision then and there. 

He’s gonna kill her.

        · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Scott ushers Stiles, Fallon, and Allison into a secluded classroom, the four of them still reeling from the events that went down in chemistry. They tested Lydia, and the poison did absolutely nothing to her. She didn’t even flinch. No part of her body was paralyzed. 

“Derek’s waiting outside for Lydia,” Scott reveals to them.

“Waiting to kill her?” Allison looks at him nervously.

Scott nods his head, “If he thinks she's the Kanima, then yes— especially after what happened at the pool.”

Stiles runs a hand through his buzzed hair, “It’s not her,” he insists.

Scott sighs, sending his best friend a sympathetic look, “Stiles, she didn't pass the test, man. Nothing happened.” 

Stiles huffs irritatedly, “No, it can't be her.”

“It doesn't matter, because Derek thinks it's her,” Allison crosses her arms, a frown etching its way onto her face. “So, either we can convince him that he's wrong, or we've got to figure out a way to protect her.”

“He wouldn’t hurt Lydia at school,” Fallon chimes in. “I don’t think he would hurt her at all if we could just show him she’s not the Kanima. There has to be a reasonable explanation for why the venom didn’t work on her. If we can figure it out, he’ll listen. He’s not some monstrous guy.” 

“You really think we can prove Lydia’s not the Kanima by three o’clock,” Stiles narrows his eyes skeptically. 

“There could be something in the Bestiary,” Allison suggests.

Stiles scoffs, “Oh, you mean the nine-hundred-page book written in archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that.” He tells her sarcastically.

“Look, I can read regular Latin, but I haven’t exactly spent much time looking at Archaic Latin,” Fallon crosses her arms with a frown. “I tried.” 

Allison’s eyes light up, “Actually, I think I know someone who might be able to translate it…”

“Uh, Fallon and I can talk to Derek, maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove that it's not her?” Scott suggests, looking at Fallon to make sure she’s okay with it. She nods her head in agreement, knowing they’ll get further if she helps him. “But, if anything happens, you guys let me or Fall handle it, okay?” 

“What does that mean?” Allison furrows her eyebrows, slightly offended.

“It means you guys can’t heal like we do,” Scott answers simply. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Out of nowhere, Allison digs through her backpack and pulls out one of her many crossbows. It clicks, indicating she’s ready to shoot at any coming threat. Fallon’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. How does she have any room for her school stuff when she’s hiding lethal weapons? 

“I can protect myself.” Allison reassures. Scott sighs, looking away from his girlfriend. He looks like he wants to say something, but is refraining from it. The girl tilts her head, “What? Did something else happen?” 

“I just don't want you getting hurt. Seriously, if anything goes wrong, you call me, okay? I-I don't care if your dad finds out. Call, text, scream, yell, whatever. I'll hear you and I'll find you as fast as I can. We have until three.” 

Allison nods in agreement. Scott finally turns around, him and Fallon heading towards the door to try and find Derek. Both of them hear this loud whirring, causing them to turn around. Fallon gasps loudly, her hand instinctively shooting up to catch an arrow that was heading straight for her face. Stiles stares at her in shock, his eyes wide. He immediately puts the crossbow on the ground. 

“I am so sorry,” he rushes out. “Sensitive trigger on that thing.” 

        · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Scott and Fallon make their way out to the lacrosse field where they previously saw Derek. Scott keeps close to his best friend’s side, not wanting anything bad to happen to her. She and Derek might be on good terms now, but that doesn’t mean they always will be. 

Boyd stands in the distance, his hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets as the two werewolves approach him. He looks relaxed, not intimidated by them at all. “We want to talk to Derek,” Scott tells the boy. 

Boyd shrugs, stepping up to Scott. “Talk to me.” 

“Boyd, we don’t want to fight,” Fallon sighs, sensing an upcoming argument. 

“Good,” he nods his head. “‘Cause I’m twice the size of both of you.”

“True,” Scott concedes, growing slightly nervous as he finally takes in Boyd’s full stature. “Really, really true. But do you wanna know what I think?” Boyd smirks with an expectant look. “I’m twice as fast.” Suddenly that smirk falls as Scott speedily tackles him to the ground making Fallon roll her eyes. 

“Was that really necessary?” She questions.

Out of nowhere, Derek appears only a few inches away from Scott’s side. Fallon blinks just to make sure her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. He really is good at this whole sneaking up on people thing. “She failed the test,” the older man says ominously.

“Yeah,” Scott scoffs. “Which doesn’t prove anything. Lydia’s different.” 

“I know!” Derek nods. “At night, she turns into a homicidal walking snake.”

“We’re not going to let you kill her,” Fallon tells the man. “Just give us a chance to prove to you she’s innocent. Lydia can be a little scary sometimes, but not scary enough to be the Kanima.” 

“You don’t have to convince me of anything,” he tells her. “And who said I was going to be the one to kill her?” Scott and Fallon share a concerned look as they realize he’s sending Erica and Issac after the strawberry blonde. “I don't know why you think you have to protect everyone now, Scott... But, even so, Lydia has killed people, and she's gonna do it again. And next time, it's gonna be one of us.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Scott challenges him.

“She was bitten by an Alpha!” Derek yells exasperatedly. “It’s her!”

“Derek, we saw that thing up close,” Fallon tries to reason with him. “It’s not like us.” 

“But it is!” He counters, his tone less aggressive than it was with Scott. “We're all shapeshifters. Neither of you know what you're dealing with— it happens rarely, and it happens for a reason.”

“What reason?” Scott questions.

Derek sighs, trying to find the best way to word it. “Sometimes, the shape you take reflects the person that you are. Even Stiles calls her cold-blooded.”

“Okay, but what if she’s immune or something?” Fallon suggests, moving closer to the Alpha werewolf. “What if she has some sort of enzyme or–or something in her blood that prevents her from being susceptible to the bite? Maybe that’s why she didn’t get paralyzed.” 

Derek looks frustrated, but for whatever reason when she talks him down, it makes sense. He can’t let Scott or Boyd see that though, “No ones immune,” he denies. “I've never seen it or heard of it. It's n– It's never happened!”

“What about Jackson?” She brings up, making the man fall into silence. He doesn’t have an answer to that. “You bit him didn’t you? So why hasn’t he turned?”

“Fallon–”

“Nothing happened to Jackson,” she cuts him off. “His body didn’t reject the bite or else he’d be dead. He’s alive, yet hasn’t shifted or turned into anything. And you have no idea why, do you?” 

Scott’s suddenly very grateful he decided to bring Fallon with him. Derek sighs in defeat, “No.”

“Well,” Fallon glances at Scott, “we have a theory. Lydia is immune and somehow passed that onto Jackson. Now if you’d give us a couple of hours, we’d be able to find a way to prove that to you.” 

“No.”

“You cannot do this!” Scott exclaims, getting tired of Derek’s inability to see when someone else is right. 

“Look, I can’t let her live! You should have known that!” Derek says, beginning to get overwhelmed. All Scott sees is Derek looking for control, but Fallon knows that’s not it. The poor man has lived his entire life trying to protect the people he cares about, only for them to either leave or die. He’s just trying to keep Beacon Hills safe. It might not align with the way Scott thinks it should be done, but they both want the same thing. For no more deaths to occur. 

“I was really hoping one of us would be able to convince you…” Scott glanced up at Derek, not as bothered as he should be. “But then again… we weren’t counting on it.” 

        · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     After the confrontation with Derek, Scott insisted that Fallon head to his house without him to meet with everyone. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he trusts her to protect them more than anyone. She could see how serious he was, so she listened. Her feet carry her out of the school as she sends Stiles a quick message to tell him she’ll be there soon. 

The girl yelps as she runs into an unknown person. Her phone flies to the floor with a small thud. She looks up, getting ready to profusely apologize for not watching where she was going, “I’m so sorry!”

Matt shifts awkwardly, readjusting the camera strap on his shoulder. "No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention at all. Are you okay?” He rushes out genuinely.

Fallon rubs her shoulder, quickly glancing around to make sure no one saw the collision. She locks eyes with Matt and feels a twinge of embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m fine. Again, I’m so sorry about that. I genuinely wasn’t… watching where I was going.”

Matt shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “No, no, it’s on me too. I was distracted. Looking at my camera… or, well, pretending to.”

Fallon raises an eyebrow at that, bending down to pick up her phone. She checks for cracks—thankfully, it’s still intact. “Pretending?”

Matt lets out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t really looking at anything. Just… thinking.” His gaze flicks back to her. “You’re in a hurry, huh?”

“Yeah,” Fallon says, her voice coming out a bit rushed. “I’ve got to get to Scott’s. Something… uh, came up.”

Matt nods, still smiling, though there’s a faint flicker of something else in his eyes. “Of course. You three are always on the move, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Fallon mutters, already feeling the pressure of the clock ticking in her mind. She steps to the side to get moving, but Matt doesn’t seem as off-putting as usual. Actually, he seems... almost relaxed. It throws her off.

“I feel terrible,” she adds quickly. “I didn’t mean to run you over.”

Matt waves it off. “Hey, if I had to get run over by someone, I’d prefer it be you.”

Fallon snorts despite herself, unable to help the small grin that breaks through. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with?”

Matt shrugs, clearly pleased that he got a laugh out of her. “It worked, didn’t it?”

She shakes her head, the smile lingering even as her brain reminds her to keep moving. She has to admit, her cheeks did slightly heat up from his words. The brunette isn’t used to getting attention from male’s in this context.  “Yeah, I guess it did.”

They fall into an easier rhythm for a moment, the tension from the collision gone. Matt adjusts the camera strap on his shoulder once more and looks at her, his expression softening. “I know you’ve got somewhere to be, but... it’s good to see you smile, Fallon.”

She freezes for a split second, the weight of his words throwing her off. It's strange hearing him talk like that. She’s used to the awkward, slightly creepy Matt who lingers too long, but this version? It’s different. It feels... genuine. Almost like he's a normal guy.

“Well, I’ve got to run.” Fallon moves past him but can’t resist tossing a quick, “Try not to get flattened by anyone else today.” 

Matt laughs, mock saluting at her retreating form, “Will do.” 

The boy watches after her as she bolts out of the school’s doors. He glances back down at his camera, an image of her and Scott with the same glaring flash in both of their eyes. The mystery of why that is happening leaves his mind as he recalls the encounter that just happened. She laughed. I made her laugh. It’s not much, but it’s progress. He tucks the camera closer to his chest, his eyes following her for a moment longer before he forces himself to look away. There's still that pull, that obsession, but for now, it’s hidden behind his easygoing façade. One step at a time.

Fallon doesn’t notice. She’s already texting Stiles again, too wrapped up in everything happening to think much of the encounter. For now, Matt's just another guy at school.

But to him? She’s everything.

        · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon finally reaches Scott’s house, she pulls her motorcycle into the driveway, careful not to park in Melissa’s spot. She darts into the house, knocking on the door with the secret code Stiles told her to use when she got there. The boy is quick to swing the door open after unlocking the many locks he used as a precaution. 

“Finally!” He exclaims. “I was starting to think you were gonna let us fend for ourselves.” 

“I got here within ten minutes,” Fallon narrows her eyes at him. 

“Ten minutes too long for someone with werewolf super speed,” he claps back.

Allison emerges from the other room, a look of relief passing over her face. “Oh thank God,” she breathes out. “Scott said you were on your way, but I wasn’t sure.” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” she glances around the house. “Where’s Lydia and Jackson?” 

“In Scott’s room,” Stiles answers. “We figured it would be better to keep her in a separate room, y’know with Derek trying to murder her and all.” 

“Is the sarcasm really necessary?” Fallon quirks an eyebrow. 

“I’m stressed, okay? Sarcasm is my go to when I’m feeling any other emotion besides neutrality! So deal with it.” 

“You might need to be a lot more sarcastic then,” Allison mumbles as she glances out the window. Her eyes are wide with worry, “Because we have a problem.” 

Stiles and Fallon follow her line of vision and see Derek, Issac, Erica, and Boyd all standing menacingly outside of Scott’s house. They all swallow thickly before closing the curtain once more so they can’t see inside their fortress. 

“Fallon, when did Scott say he was gonna be here?” Allison looks at the brunette worriedly. 

“Coach told him he needed to scold Danny ‘cause his pads were ripped or something. That’s why he told me to come without him,” she explains. “He should be here soon.” 

They all stand around nervously, peeking through the windows periodically to see if Derek’s pack plans on making a move. They don't, which only makes them become more on edge. Stiles and Fallon share a concerned look when Allison pulls out her phone and begins to type.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks her. 

Allison sighs anxiously, “I think… I think I have to call my dad.” 

Stiles’ eyes widen, “But if he finds you here, you and Scott–”

“I know,” Allison cuts him off, her lip trembling. “But what are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay? They're here to kill Lydia.”

“Maybe if I go out there, I can stall them?” Fallon suggests, wringing her hands nervously. “I can maybe keep them talking to give you guys enough time for an escape plan.” 

“They would know,” Stiles shakes his head. “Derek wouldn’t buy it. He knows you’re here to protect Lydia.” 

“Can’t you go out there and fight them?” Allison asks genuinely. “You have a different kind of strength, right?” 

“Derek has taught me everything I know so far,” Fallon huffs. “I could handle Issac, Erica, and Boyd, but there’s no way I could take Derek by myself. Not yet anyway.” 

“I’ve got another idea,” Stiles suggests as he looks at Allison. “Why don’t you just shoot one of ‘em? Y’know arrows do good from a distance.” 

Allison scoffs, “Are you serious?” 

“We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it! Or at least give it a shot, right?” Stiles tries his best to be inspirational.

“I can try to handle Derek if you guys think you can take on the other three,” Fallon whispers. “If you can hold them off, I should be able to do some damage before he completely kicks my ass.” 

“Look, they don't think we're gonna fight, so if one of them gets hit, I guarantee they'll take off. So, just shoot one of 'em.” Stiles nods.

“Which one?” Allison questions unsurely. 

“Any of them,” Fallon answers. “Strategically, probably Boyd since he’s not as fast as the others.” 

Stiles agrees, “Yeah, just shoot one of the three betas.” 

“You mean two,” Allison corrects. 

Fallon furrows her eyebrows, “No, he means three. Derek has three beta’s.” She peeks out from behind the curtain, her eyes narrowing when she notices a missing head of blonde curly hair. “Where the hell is Issac?” 

“He’s not there?!” Stiles whisper-yells. His hands suddenly become rather sweaty when he realizes that one of the werewolves is probably already somewhere in the house. 

A small yelp catches Fallon off guard as Allison is tossed to the floor. Issac roughly shoves her to the ground before turning his attention to Stiles. Fallon wastes no time in grabbing Issac by the collar of his jacket and chucking him into Scott’s wall. The blonde grunts but is quick to bounce back, swiping at Fallon’s face. Luckily she’s fought Issac enough times to be able to predict his movements. She ducks underneath his hand before tackling him to the ground. 

“Go find Lydia!” Fallon screams at Allison and Stiles who both scramble to stand up as the brunette continues to decimate Issac. 

The curly haired boy uses his strength to flip her over, “You know, I really don’t mind seeing you underneath me,” he smirks. Unfortunately for him, his victory is only momentary as Fallon digs her claws into the side of his neck. He screams in pain as she uses her legs to kick him clear across the house. He hits Melissa’s coffee table with a loud thwack making Fallon cringe. That’s definitely not fixable. 

“Stiles! Fallon! It’s here!” Allison’s voice echoes from the second floor. 

“Great,” Fallon mumbles, standing up from the floor as she walks over to Issac who is struggling to stand. Now she not only has to fight Derek’s minions, but now she has to watch out for the blood thirsty lizard who won’t hesitate to kill everyone she cares about. 

Fallon growls lowly as Isaac tries to tiredly swing at her again. She grabs him by the nape of his neck, putting enough pressure on it to make him wince, but not enough to fully hurt him. Her head shoots to the right when she hears footsteps clambering down the stairs. She doesn't know when he managed to sneak in, but Scott is currently walking down the stairs, dragging Erica by her hair with Allison in tow. The latter having a very satisfied grin on her face. 

Fallon shakes her head with a small chuckle, “Glad you could join us.” 

“Seems like I didn’t need to,” Scott points down at Issac’s limp body. “You guys apparently had it handled.”

They walk over to the door, flinging it open with a loud creak. It was more than satisfying watching the cocky look on Derek’s face fade as Scott and Fallon throw his two beta’s back at him like taking them down took no effort at all. 

The older man huffs angrily before glancing back up to the porch where Scott, Allison, Fallon, and Stiles stand proudly. Derek and Fallon lock eyes for a moment, the girl trying to keep her head held high, but she does feel slightly guilty for fighting against him. She just doesn’t believe whoever the Kanima is has to die. Not if they can help them. 

“I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott. You're not an Omega– you're already an Alpha of your own pack. But, you know you can't beat me.” The smile on Derek’s face is taunting. Not the gentle one Fallon is used to seeing when it’s just them. It’s almost unsettling how different he looks right now. It’s not necessarily in a bad way, just different. 

“I can hold you off until the cops get here,” Scott says angrily. 

Police sirens wail in the background causing Derek’s face to fall. He looks off into the distance, but his attention is quickly pulled by another noise. There’s loud footsteps scurrying above them. That's when Fallon remembers that the Kanima did decide to make an appearance at tonight’s standoff. Her claws shoot out of her fingers, surprising her slightly at how easy it came. Normally she has to try a lot harder when it’s not the full moon. The brunette shakes her head, not bothering to worry about that now. Her eyes travel up to the roof to see the same yellow slitted eyes from the night at the pool. 

She protectively steps in front of Stiles while Scott does the same for Allison. The creature screeches loudly, baring its rows of razor sharp teeth at the people below before taking off into the night. Fallon can hear Derek fuming behind them. He missed his chance. 

“Get them out of here,” he tells Boyd, referring to his incapacitated trainees.

None of them get the chance to move or even react when the sound of furious high heels clicking pulls their attention. A small bit of relief floods the teens' systems when they realize that it’s Lydia walking towards them. They were right. She isn’t the Kanima.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!” The strawberry blonde exclaims. 

But that means there’s only one other person it could be.

“…It’s Jackson.”

ೃ༄ tags˚◞♡ ⃗

@iamaslytherin0 @famousrunaway1329

@avengersheart @random-fangirl003

Her fists slam into the punching bag over and over, the rhythmic thuds filling the dimly lit room. It's late, and exhaustion weighs heavy on her muscles, but she can’t stop. Not yet. Not after everything that’s happened in the last few days. Her arms burn, her knuckles scream in protest, but the physical pain is the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s a distraction from the anger and betrayal gnawing at her insides. The memory of Boyd sedating her, taking her out of the fight before she could even defend herself, plays on repeat in her mind.

Derek planned it. That much is clear. She doesn’t care what his reason was— he lied to her. After everything, he told her he’d keep her in the loop, that the next time he turned someone, she’d know. Instead, he blindsided her. Worse, he rendered her powerless. She’s furious, but underneath the rage is something else, something she doesn’t want to admit to: hurt. She trusted him, and he trampled that trust.

With one final punch, the bag flies off its hinges, the insides of it spilling all over her floor. She exhales sharply, an annoyed expression taking over her face as she realizes she not only has to clean up this mess, but now she has to buy a new punching bag. 

The sound of a window creaking open behind her breaks through the haze of her thoughts.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she mutters, her voice low, tinged with exhaustion. She doesn’t bother turning around; there’s only one person who would sneak into her room uninvited, especially after the past few days.

Silence stretches for a beat before Derek steps fully into the room, his presence a weight in the air. Fallon hears the soft scuff of his boots on the floor, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It’s infuriating how calm he always is, how little he seems to be affected by anything, even now.

“I had to,” Derek says finally, his voice low and measured, though there’s a hint of something softer beneath it. “It wasn’t an attack against you. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Fallon whirls around, her eyes flashing with anger. She’s tired, but the adrenaline surging through her veins keeps her on her feet, keeps her from backing down. “You knocked me out, Derek. You had Boyd drug me so I couldn’t fight and then proceeded to beat the crap out of my best friend. How is that protecting me?”

His eyes meet hers, and for a second, there’s something in his expression that almost looks like regret, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. He crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. “You would’ve gotten involved. Scott and I—”

“Scott and you what?” Fallon snaps, taking a step closer to him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think I couldn’t handle it? You don’t think I can fight?” Her voice rises slightly, the hurt slipping into her words despite her best efforts to keep it hidden. She’s not supposed to be weak, not supposed to let things like this get to her. But this— being sidelined, being treated like she’s fragile— it cuts deeper than she wants to admit.

“I didn’t want to fight you.” Derek’s voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of honesty in it that catches her off guard. His gaze softens, just a fraction, and Fallon falters, her anger wavering for a split second.

“That’s not the point, Derek,” she mutters, her shoulders slumping slightly as the exhaustion finally starts to creep in. “You lied to me. You told me you’d keep me informed.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I didn’t think I’d need to explain turning Boyd. You weren’t supposed to be involved. I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what? I am so tired of you using that as an excuse!” Fallon’s voice cracks, and she hates it. She’s not supposed to be this vulnerable, not with him. But the frustration, the betrayal, the hurt—it’s all too much. “You don’t get to decide what I’m safe from, Derek. I’m not some fragile little thing you need to protect.”

Derek steps forward, closing the distance between them. His presence is overwhelming, and Fallon can feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity in his eyes making her heart race despite herself. “I know you’re not,” he says quietly. “But you’re important. And I can’t… I won’t risk losing you.”

Fallon blinks, caught off guard by the weight of his words. For a moment, they just stand there, staring at each other, the tension between them palpable. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides, and she feels the sudden urge to hit him again, just to get some sort of reaction, to break through whatever wall he’s putting up.

“I can handle myself,” she whispers, her voice softer now but no less fierce. “I’ve been doing it for a while.”

Derek’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing over his face before he steps back, giving her space. “I know,” he says again, and this time, there’s no hint of doubt in his voice.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them is heavy with unsaid things, emotions that neither of them is willing to fully confront. Fallon feels the weight of it pressing down on her, but she’s too tired to push anymore. Too tired to keep fighting.

Derek shifts, breaking the silence. “You were right,” he admits, his voice gruff. “I should’ve told you about Boyd. And I shouldn’t have had him sedate you.”

Fallon glances up at him, surprised by the apology. It’s not exactly what she expected. Derek’s never been one to admit when he’s wrong, but there’s something in his tone, something genuine, that softens the edges of her anger.

She exhales slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. And you’re really stupid for both of those things,” she says, her voice quieter now, the fight slowly draining out of her. “But I guess… I understand why you did it.”

Derek watches her carefully, as if trying to gauge her reaction. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

Fallon raises an eyebrow. “Help you with what?”

“Training them.” He pauses, then adds, “Isaac, Erica, Boyd. I trust you to help.”

Fallon blinks, caught off guard by the request. She expected Derek to push her away again, to keep her at arm’s length like he usually does. But this— this is something different. It feels like a small olive branch, a way of mending the cracks in whatever this is between them.

“You want me to help train your new pack?” she asks, crossing her arms and tilting her head slightly.

Derek nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. You’ve been training with me longer than any of them. I trust you.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Fallon can’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in her chest despite everything. Trust isn’t something Derek gives easily, and the fact that he’s asking for her help... it means something.

Fallon lets out a small, tired laugh. “I guess I can’t say no to that, can I?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Derek’s mouth, and for a moment, the tension between them eases. It’s not a full reconciliation, but it’s a start.

“Just don’t sedate me again,” Fallon mutters, punching him lightly in the shoulder as she walks past him, heading for her bed.

Derek’s smile widens slightly, and he nods. “Won’t happen again… Unless you force my hand.” 

As she sits on the edge of her bed, Fallon watches Derek for a moment, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting off her shoulders. She’s still upset, still hurt by the way things went down—but maybe, just maybe, they can figure this out together.

“Tomorrow, then?” Derek asks, turning toward the window, ready to leave the same way he came in.

“Yeah,” Fallon says, her voice a little lighter now. “Tomorrow.”

He pauses for a moment, glancing back at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, without another word, he slips out the window, disappearing into the night.

Fallon sits there for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where he’d just been. She’s still tired, still sore, but for the first time in days, she feels a little less weighed down.

Tomorrow, she thinks, maybe things will be different.

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Watching Derek toss Erica and Issac around wasn’t necessarily Fallon’s idea of training them. They have been in the railway depot for the past four hours and it’s been the same pattern. Issac and Erica charge at Derek, and he tosses them across the room. Boyd had put in effort in the beginning but once he realized that Derek would just toss him to the side, he took to watching from the wall. He’s smart. Some may view it as less determined, but Fallon sees it as him knowing when to choose his battles. 

She watches curiously, tilting her head as Issac jumps over the different obstacles in the train station before launching himself forward to tackle Derek from behind. Of course, that didn’t work. Derek grabs him by the collar of his shirt and chucks him across the room, the blonde boys body cracking loudly as he hits the floor. She sighs. This isn’t the correct way to teach them how to fight. Fighting is a dance of some sort. When Gerard and the hunters come for them, they aren’t going to be standing, waiting for an attack. They’re going to be fighting back. It takes two to fight and so far all she’s seen is Derek standing in the center of the room, not attacking. 

Fallon has sparred with all three of them intermittently, but it’s been mostly Derek. Boyd is strong and calculated, he tends to work smarter not harder which she admires. It’s a tactic she tends to use. Erica over compensates. She wants to prove how much stronger she is due to being underestimated her entire life because of her epilepsy. Issac on the other hand is strong but his moves aren’t calculated. He tends to charge before thinking. His swings can be sloppy when he starts to get angry. Fallon could feel his anger when they sparred, that’s how she knew how to beat him. But the difference between her and Derek is she actually fought them. 

She shakes her head as Derek throws Erica in the same direction he did Issac, the girl groaning as she collapses to the floor. “Does anyone wanna try not being completely predictable?” Derek huffs irritably. 

Fallon fights the urge to sweep out his legs from underneath him. She shouldn’t embarrass him in front of his betas. That’s why they have their own personal training sessions. She’s here to help and observe, not challenge his authority… even if she desperately wants to.

Fallon’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline as Erica pounces up from her spot, wrapping her legs around Derek’s torso. She slams her lips to his, and without much thinking, Fallon is quick to run over and rip the girl off of him. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it until her chest is heaving heavily and Erica is clear across the train station. Derek wipes his mouth, his own uncomfortableness showing after Erica’s intimate invasion of his space. But he is slightly amused by how fast Fallon acted. Her jealousy is becoming more and more blatant every time they interact, and Derek is kind of enjoying it. 

“That’s the last time you do that,” his eyes glaze over Fallon who can’t seem to make eye contact with him. She’s not embarrassed of her actions, he’d be able to sense it. It’s almost like she’s nervous. 

“Why?” Erica snaps. “Because I’m a beta?” 

“No,” he states matter-of-factly, growing more annoyed with her attitude the longer they’re together. “Because I have someone else in mind for you.” 

“Or maybe because he has someone else in mind for himself,” Issac mumbles, glancing in Fallon’s direction. She fights off the blush that threatens to rise on her cheeks as she looks in the other direction. “Look, are we done?” The blonde boy rolls his eyes. “I got about a hundred bones that need a few hours to heal.” 

A fake look of sympathy crosses Derek’s face as he crouches down, “Come here…” he gestures for Issac to get closer. A rookie mistake. Derek grips Issac’s arm roughly, bending it backwards causing a loud snap to echo through the space. The teen cries out in pain, clutching his now broken forearm. “A hundred and one,” Derek snarls. “You think I'm teaching you to fight? Huh?” Issac cowers backwards from his aggressive tone. “Look at me! I'm teaching you how to survive!”

“If they wanted us dead, why aren’t they coming for us now? What are they waiting for?” 

Derek sighs before standing back up and taking a step back, “I don't know. But, they're planning something. And you especially know that's not our only problem. Whatever that thing is that killed Isaac's father, I think it killed someone else last night. Until I find out what that is, you all need to learn everything that I know... As fast as I can teach you.” Without another glance in his betas direction, he disappears into the beat up train car behind him. 

Fallon frowns, sharing a look with the other three betas in the room. By the pleading look in Issac’s eyes, she can already tell they want her to talk to him. She nods and follows after Derek. Entering the car, she watches as he begins to put things away and organize different tools. She leans against the doorway, crossing her arms. The brunette would announce her presence, but she doesn’t need to. He already knows she’s there. 

“If you came in here to tell me I was being too harsh–” 

“Do you wanna go get pizza?” Fallon cuts him off. 

Derek pauses. Did she really just ask him that? He turns around, his eyebrows furrowed as his brain processes what she just said. “What?” He asks. 

Fallon chuckles lightly, “Do you want to go get pizza?” She repeats herself. “I know a pretty good place in town,” she flashes her bright eyes at him. 

“You really came in here to ask me to get pizza?” He asks, his tone a bit amused. He was truly expecting her to tear into him for being too rough on Issac. 

“Yeah,” Fallon bites her bottom lip, a tad bit nervous that he might turn her down. “I mean, we’ve been at this pretty much all day…” she points out.  “I can see you’re frustrated and I don’t know about you, but when I’m frustrated, it usually means I’m hungry. And food makes everything better, so…” she gazes at him hopefully. “Pizza?” 

Derek can’t hide the smile that creeps up on his lips. He has to cough to try and cover it up, but she definitely already saw it. He rolls his eyes at her already teasing expression. He grabs his jacket before walking over to her, “Let’s go.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     “Was this a good idea or what?” Fallon smirks, swallowing the clump of pizza that’s in her mouth. Derek sits across from her in the booth they’re in, the two of them enjoying the dim light the pizza joint is providing them. 

Derek takes a bite of his own slice. He reluctantly nods, sitting back slightly, “Yeah, it’s good.” 

Fallon folds her hands together, leaning on the table. The low lighting catches in her eyes making tiny sparkles shine around her irises. “And you seem to be in a better mood,” she grins. “Told you pizza would fix everything.” 

Derek raises a brow, “Really? I agree to come out with you and the first thing you say is ‘I told you so?’”

“Cause I did,” Fallon chuckles. “Come on, Derek. You’re sitting here with me, eating pizza like a normal person. You’re allowed to admit you’re having fun.” She teases him.

Derek takes a deliberate bite of his slice, eyes locked on hers. “I’m having pizza,” he corrects, his tone as dry as ever, though there’s a hint of amusement lurking in his gaze. “That’s not the same thing as ‘having fun.’”

Fallon leans back in her seat with a scoff, crossing her arms, eyes sparkling as she locks onto him. “Oh, please. You’re totally having fun, and you know it. You’re practically glowing.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. “Glowing?”

“Yep.” Fallon grins smugly with a confident nod. “You’re positively radiant, Hale. You should probably start a skincare routine or something to tone it down.”

Derek lets out a short laugh under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Fallon shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re still here. So what does that say about you?” She smirks, sipping her Dr. Pepper.

Derek pauses, his eyes narrowing playfully as he leans back in the booth, studying her. “It says I’ve made some questionable decisions.”

Fallon gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow, that’s rude. I’ll have you know, pizza with me is never a bad decision.”

Derek glances down at his half-eaten slice, then back up at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll give you that one.”

Fallon beams, feeling oddly triumphant. It’s not often she gets Derek to play along, even just a little, and seeing him like this— almost relaxed— is rare. And she can’t help but enjoy it.

“Y’know, not to kill this great time that we’re having, but we should probably talk about what happened at training…” she brings up.

“What about it?” Derek asks, taking another bite of his pizza. 

“The whole tossing your betas across the room thing,” she smiles teasingly. “I wouldn’t exactly call that “teaching them how to survive,’” Fallon mocks his words from earlier. 

Derek raises a challenging eyebrow, “How so?” 

Fallon looks up at the sky, a small sigh escaping her lips as she tries to find the best way to explain her opinion. She leans forward again, “Fighting is like…” she struggles for a moment, “a dance.” 

“A dance?” Derek fights off the urge to laugh. 

“Yes,” she insists seriously. “It’s like a tango of some sort. It takes two to tango, the same way it takes two to fight,” she explains reasonably. “You’re doing them a disservice by just standing there waiting to toss them aside. I guarantee that when Gerard and the hunters, and whatever new creature is out there tries to attack, they’re not going to be waiting around for you guys to strike first. They’re going to fight back. So if you want them to survive, you have to fight with them, not just them fighting you.” 

Derek takes in her words. While he finds the dance analogy a little ridiculous, she’s right. “That’s why I’ve gotten so good,” she grins cockily. “Cause we fight collaboratively.” 

“Collaboratively?” He tilts his head, amused.

“Yes,” she enunciates with a playful eye roll. “You have to remember that you’re not just their Alpha, you’re their teacher too. Now, I’m not trying to tell you how to handle your betas or scold you by any means, but they look up to you. They trust you. So it’s important to continue to build on that. Trust means respect, and I know how much you value that.” 

He didn’t think she paid attention to him that much, but what was he expecting? Fallon Donovan has to be one of the most perceptive people he knows. Perhaps that’s why she’s so in tune with other people’s emotions. “I do,” he nods his head. “But if fighting is like a tango,” he mocks, “then you’re going to need to help me teach them from now on.” He presents the condition. “Since you apparently have such a great understanding.” 

“I’m choosing to ignore the sarcasm because I am just so flattered you asked me to be your permanent co-trainor,” she smiles. “But just know, I don’t take being bossed around very well.” 

“Trust me, I know,” he nods his head, scrunching his face up. 

Fallon scoffs, still with a grin on her face, “You’re mean.”

“Yet you’re still sitting here with me,” he counters with a cocky shrug. 

Her smile softens into something more delicate as she stares at him, “Yeah, I am.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, Fallon sipping her drink while Derek finishes his pizza. The buzz of the restaurant hums around them, but it feels distant, like they’re in their own little bubble. Fallon catches Derek watching her out of the corner of her eye, but when she glances up, he quickly looks away, busying himself with his drink. Fallon smirks. 

“So,” she starts, leaning forward again. “Do I get a prize for dragging you out of your cave and into the real world?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “A prize?”

“Yeah, you know, for being an amazing friend,” she teases. “Like, maybe next time you owe me a night out. Or, I don’t know, a thank-you would suffice.”

Derek’s lips twitch, and he leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “I already said you’re right. Don’t push it.”

Fallon feels a little shiver run down her spine at the way his voice drops, but she doesn’t let it show. “I’m just saying… pizza wasn’t the worst idea, was it?”

He holds her gaze for a second longer than necessary, and Fallon’s heart skips a beat before she quickly averts her eyes, pretending to focus on her drink.

“Definitely not the worst idea,” Derek says, and there’s something about the way he says it— low and almost soft— that has Fallon biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling too wide.

Before she can respond, the waitress suddenly appears, interrupting the moment as she sets down a milkshake with whipped cream and two straws. “This one’s on the house for the cute couple,” she chirps with a wink, leaving before either of them can get a word in.

Fallon’s eyes go wide, her brain scrambling to catch up. “Wait—no, we’re not—”

But the waitress is already gone, leaving the two of them sitting there, frozen, with the milkshake between them. Fallon chances a glance at Derek, who looks just as thrown as she is. His usual composure cracks for a split second, and it’s enough to make her cheeks flush with heat.

“Uh… well, that was… something,” Fallon mutters, her voice higher than usual.

Derek shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Definitely… something.”

Fallon fiddles with the napkin in front of her, feeling the sudden awkwardness settle between them. The words “cute couple” keep echoing in her head, and the longer the silence stretches, the more flustered she feels.

After a moment, she forces herself to look up, trying to play it cool. “So…should we?” Fallon asks, gesturing to the milkshake, her voice still tinged with amusement.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “What, share it?”

“Why not?” Fallon rubs the back of her neck, trying not to let the butterflies in her stomach get too out of hand. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to waste it, right?”

Derek gives her a sideways glance, and for a second, Fallon swears he’s suppressing a smile. “Yeah… sure.”

They both reach for a straw at the same time, their fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment. Fallon quickly pulls her hand back, her heart doing an embarrassing little flip. She silently scolds herself, but the damage is done.

They each take a sip from the milkshake, neither of them making eye contact. Fallon is hyper-aware of the fact that they’re both drinking from the same glass, from two straws just inches apart, and her mind keeps circling back to the comment the waitress made.

She pulls back after a few sips, crossing her arms over the table and letting out a soft chuckle. “You know… if anyone else heard that, they’d totally believe we were a couple.”

Derek smirks, setting his straw aside. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Fallon shrugs, trying to play it off casually. “I don’t know. We hang out a lot, we share food… and now apparently milkshakes. It’s not a huge leap.”

Derek leans in slightly, his voice teasing again. “So you think people think we’re a couple?”

The way he says it catches her off guard, and she swears there’s a flirtatious edge to his words. Her pulse quickens, but she tries to brush it off. “I mean, clearly that waitress did.”

Derek’s eyes gleam with amusement, and he leans back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “Maybe she’s onto something.”

Fallon freezes, her mouth going dry as she tries to figure out if he’s joking or not. But before she can respond, Derek takes another sip of the milkshake, completely unbothered, as if he didn’t just make her heart do somersaults in her chest.

She narrows her eyes at him, realizing he’s messing with her now. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Derek meets her gaze, his smirk growing slightly. “Maybe.”

Fallon rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one who invited me out,” Derek points out, finishing off the last of his pizza slice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Fallon mutters, though she’s secretly glad she did. That’s when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She furrows her eyebrows, pulling out the device to see who would be messaging her. It can’t be her dad because he’s on the night shift tonight. 

A small gasp leaves her mouth when she reads the text message from Scott. Derek looks at her concerned, “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Stiles…” she says worriedly, rapidly grabbing all of her stuff. “He-he was getting his jeep fixed at the mechanics and the thing that’s been killing people showed up. It killed the guy fixing his car and paralyzed Stiles. Scott just picked him up.” 

Derek stands up immediately, “Here, I’ll take you–”

“No, it’s okay,” she rushes out. “I–I just gotta go.” 

Derek stops her from running out by grabbing her shoulders, “Fallon… I drove us here,” he deadpans. 

She realizes that she doesn’t exactly have a choice. Her mouth falls into an “o” shape. She nods her head, “Okay, yeah. You take me.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Walking into the high school, Fallon hurriedly looks for her best friends. Derek had dropped her off at the crime scene where she was able to climb into Scott’s car to check in on Stiles. They both were visibly confused watching her leave Derek’s Camaro, but they had more pressing issues to talk about. She knows they’re going to have a lot of questions, hence why she’s strutting through the hallway with both of their favorite coffee orders. 

She grins when she notices them sitting at the bottom of the stairs. She’s careful not to spill any of the drinks, but has to hold back a laugh when she hears the words leaving Stiles’ mouth. “I'm so sorry about the other day. I'm trying. We'll get through this. Uh, I know, because I love you. I love you more than–”

“Should I come back later?” Fallon interrupts the sentiment with a small smirk. “Seems you're making progress with the whole making out with Scott thing, Sti.” She chides playfully before plopping down on Scott's other side, handing the two boys their drinks. 

Stiles takes it gratefully, taking a fast sip. He shakes his head definitively at Scott, “Yeah, no, I-I can’t do this. You and Allison just have to find a better way to communicate.” 

Fallon shoots Scott a pointed look, “He got attacked by a crazy monster last night and you have him running around being a messenger pigeon for you and your girlfriend?” 

“See?!” Stiles points at Fallon gratefully. “Exactly. It’s cruel. Thank you, Fall.” 

“C’mon,” Scott begs his best friend. “You’re the only one we can trust. I’d ask Fallon but as we just saw, we all know she’s a hard no.” 

“I never said I wouldn’t do it.” She scoffs.

“Would you?” Scott quirks a brow. 

A beat of silence. “No.” 

“Exactly,” Scott nods triumphantly. He glances back to Stiles, “Did she say if she was coming to the game tonight?” He asks hopefully. 

“Yes,” Stiles rolls his eyes, desperately wanting to shift the conversation to something more important. “Okay, message complete. Now, tell us about your boss.” 

“He thinks that Allison's family keeps some kind of, uh, records of all the things that they've hunted, like a book…” Scott tries to explain.

Stiles nods his head, “He probably means a bestiary.” 

Knowing the Argents, they probably do have some dusty old book they keep locked up in their basement or something. It would definitely help them out if they could get a hold of it. And a little selfishly, Fallon hopes they have something documented about what she is. That way adjusting and learning control might be a little easier. 

“What?” Scott asks, a small chuckle leaving his lips. 

“A bestiary,” Stiles repeats himself, not understanding what's so funny. 

Scott giggles like a little girl, “I think you mean bestiality,” he says, trying to correct Stiles.

Fallon blinks, “No, I’m pretty sure he meant bestiary,” she deadpans. “It’s like an encyclopedia of mythical creatures. What they are, their powers, how they came to be, all that jazz.” She explains, slightly disgusted that Scott’s mind went so far in the other direction.

The boy's jaw falls slack, “How am I the only one who doesn’t know anything about this stuff?” He asks exasperatedly. 

“Considering that both of my best friends are now creatures of the night, it’s kind of, like, a priority of mine,” Stiles waves his hands in the air to emphasize his point. 

Scott looks up at Fallon, waiting for an answer. She shrugs, “I read a lot… And we’ve also been spending a hell of a lot of time trying to figure out your crap, so. I’d say us being prepared for stuff like this isn’t exactly the most outlandish thing in the world.” 

Scott sighs, silently admitting that they’re right. “Okay. If we can find it, and it can tell us what this thing is–”

“And who,” Stiles adds.

The three friends make eye contact, “We need that book,” they say simultaneously.

For the rest of the day, Stiles is forced to run back and forth between Scott and Allison, delivering messages for the two since they can’t be seen together. Fallon offers to tag herself in once she notices Stiles starting to sway back and forth when he runs. He agrees to the much needed break until she comes back and then he has to go back at it again. 

Fallon sits back down at their table with a small laugh as she watches Stiles sprint. She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the uneaten almond butter and jelly sandwich in front of her. She takes a bite of it, noticing Scott staring at her. 

She wipes the corner of her mouth, “What’s up?” The brunette asks, confused as to why he’s looking at her. 

“Do you wanna talk about how Derek dropped you off at the crime scene yesterday?” 

There it is. Fallon winces at his bluntness. She should’ve guessed that eventually they would need answers. She just assumed it would be both of them asking rather than just Scott. “He asked me to help train Erica, Issac, and Boyd,” she admits shyly, trying to not make it a big deal. “So I had been with him all day and he took me to get food when you texted. I didn’t really have time to go back for my bike because I wanted to make sure Stiles was okay, so he just took me.” 

“So you’re helping him train his betas now?” Scott furrows his eyebrows. “Fall, you’re barely even trained yourself.”

“I know that,” she says, getting a bit snippy. “I might not have all my werewolf senses down, but I’m still good in combat,” she points out. “That’s what he was training them in. I don’t know if you remember, but I was the most physically fit one in the group before any of us got the bite. So I think I’m qualified enough to show them how to do hand-to-hand combat.” 

Scott sighs, realizing how offensive his previous statement came off. “Fall, I-I know you can fight,” he nods. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to end up getting sucked into Derek’s trap. I mean, it starts out with him just asking you to help him train, and then it turns into him forcing you to be in his pack. I just…” he exhales, looking at her worriedly. “Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Fallon reaches across the table and grabs his hand. She’s touched by the sentiment. Scott’s always been protective and she can’t be mad at him for wanting to keep her safe. She is getting tired of hearing that from both him and Derek though. “I can handle myself, Scotty.” She smiles softly, “I promise. And he’s not gonna force me to join his pack. He knows I’m with you.” 

His shoulders visibly relax at her words. He squeezes her hand gently, feeling reassured. As long as he has his friends, that’s all he needs. 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon huffs loudly as another one of the members of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team gets run over by this monster of a kid on the opposing team. She’s scored a few times against them, but this guy has to be at least ten feet tall and three hundred pounds. He’s a beast. Fallon isn’t even sure he’s an actual high school student. 

She would resort to her werewolf abilities, but with Gerard in the stands, it wouldn’t be smart to reveal her unnatural strength. So tonight she’s back to relying on her original lacrosse abilities, which is better than what most could say. 

“McCall! Donovan!” Jackson seethes as he walks over to them. “What the hell are you idiots waiting for? This is the semi-finals! Run that ‘roid-head into the ground!” 

“Us?” Scot scoffs at him. “You’re the one who’s been saying we’re cheaters!”

“I never called Donovan a cheater,” he clarifies condescendingly. “She could play before. But one of you needs to do something. ‘Cause that freak of nature being on the field isn’t fair either!” 

“We can’t,” Fallon whispers, glancing at the bleachers. “Not while Allison’s grandfather is here.” 

She notices Stiles snagging the keys to Gerard’s office and smirks. Unfortunately it’s short lived as the guy she just passed the ball to is plowed over by the absolute abomination on the field. She winces as she hears the guy's bones breaking. Some of the sports med kids come out and load him onto a stretcher, escorting him off the field. 

Returning back to the game, Fallon weaves in and out of the opposing players. She doesn’t even notice Matt walking over to Melissa, camera in hand. “He belong to you?” He asks the mother who watches her kid and kid-by-proxy run around the field. She tries not to bite her nails, silently praying that neither of them get hurt. 

She glances up at the strange boy, but she relaxes seeing his lacrosse uniform. “No, both of mine are still on the field,” she answers, classifying Fallon as her own. Noah, her, and Michael have all accepted the fact they are all parents to the trio. “While I’m here wishing he would’ve stuck with tennis and she would’ve just stayed with theatre.” That’s when her eyes travel to the camera in his hand. He nods to it, “You the yearbook photographer?” 

Matt shakes his head, looking back out to the field. “No. I, uh, I just take pictures.” 

“Just lacrosse, or other things?”

Matt glances down at his camera with a small smirk on his face. “Anything that catches my eye…” he mumbles admiringly as he scrolls through the many photos of a certain brunette on the field. The only thing he can’t figure out is why there’s a purple glare near her eyes in every photo he’s captured over the last few weeks. She still looks beautiful nonetheless. 

Fallon chucks her stick onto the ground as Abramovitz crashes into Danny, no doubt giving him a concussion. At this rate they're not gonna have enough players to finish this game out. Scott runs over to her, “You need to relax, Fall.” 

“The plan isn’t going to work if we don’t have enough players,” she whispers. “I have to find a way to sneak outta here without Coach noticing. And if we only have half the team left out here, he’s definitely gonna notice.” She says frustratedly. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Scott pats her back before his eyes light up with an idea. “Actually… how against are you getting an injury?” 

Fallon swallows thickly as she notices Scott glancing at Eddie. “I guess I’m not completely opposed… As long as I can heal fast enough to go help Stiles.” 

He tilts his head, “Let’s just see how this goes, yeah?” 

Once everyone spris back into action, Fallon watches Scott with careful eyes, trying to put together his plan to get her off the field. She’s a little late in realizing when he chucks the ball at her. She catches it with ease but not before being sent flying in the other direction by the man who’s been terrorizing the Cyclones. There’s no audible crack, but she definitely does hit her head too hard to be considered okay to play. She hears audible gasps and Coach yell a certain swear word as she’s assisted to her feet. The world spins for a moment before her supernatural healing kicks in. This is the plan. She acts injured enough to stay off the field and then sneaks off. 

As soon as she’s sat down on the bench, she squeezes her eyes shut and groans in order to really sell it. Coach bites his knuckles to prevent himself from freaking out as he lost one of his best players. He turns his attention to Danny and that’s when Fallon takes her opportunity. She stands up to her feet like absolutely nothing is wrong and bolts towards the school. 

She zooms through the parking lot, but stops suddenly when she hears small muffled cries coming from nearby. She frowns and turns to where the noise is coming from and that’s when she notices a very distraught and upset looking Lydia. The brunette walks over to her car, the strawberry blonde quickly wiping her tears away so Fallon wouldn’t see them. 

“Lyds?” Fallon tilts her head. “Are you alright?” She questions softly, not wanting to come off as nosey or pushy. 

Lydia forces a smile onto her lips, “I’m fine,” she lies. Fallon gives her a pointed look and that’s when she crumbles. She can’t hold it in anymore, “Besides the fact that I feel like I’m losing my mind.” She sighs, squeezing her eyes tightly as she leans against her headrest.

“Why do you feel that way?” Fallon questions with pinched brows. 

“It started the night at the video store…” she whispers. “Then what happened at the dance,” her breathing is shaky as flashes of each event goes through her mind. “I’ve been seeing things. I-I can’t even explain it, I just–” her voice cracks and her breath hitches, “I don’t feel safe in my own mind anymore.” 

Fallon reaches through the window and rubs her arm comfortingly, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Lydia shakes her head, a small yet embarrassed smile etching its way onto her lips. “I’m actually waiting for Stiles to come back…” She trails off making Fallon smile brightly. 

“Well, alright then,” she tries not to make her excitement for Stiles obvious. 

“Shouldn’t you be out on the field?” Lydia queries suspiciously.

Fallon looks down at her grass stained uniform and realizes she needs to come up with a believable lie. “Uh I– uh… I… had to use the restroom,” she finally spits out. “Yeah, really bad. Like if I got hit on the field I’d probably pee my pants bad.” Lydia gives her a weird look from the rambling so Fallon takes a step back. “Which reminds me, I should probably go do that. If I see Stiles, I’ll be sure to send him out.” 

Without another glance back at the crying girl, Fallon darts into the school. She’s quick to run over to Gerard’s office, frowning when she notices the door is still ajar… with no Stiles. The keys he used to unlock the room are still lodged in the door which tells her he didn’t leave out of his own free will. 

“Dammit,” she grumbles before running through the halls once more. The brunette looks through the halls, trying to see if Stiles is calling for her. Using her werewolf hearing, she listens for his familiar voice, or just any sound he would make. Eventually the faint sound of arguing meets her ears and she rounds the corner to run straight down the hallway. The sound increases the closer she gets to the pools. She furrows her eyebrows, wondering why the hell Stiles would be here. 

“Stiles?!” Fallon calls out, as she pushes the door open. She stops in her tracks when she comes face to face with an unconscious Erica and a waterlogged Stiles and Derek. The boys are struggling to take a breath in the large pool where it appears Stiles is holding Derek up. Or at least trying to. It’s hard to tell since Derek's head doesn’t stay above water for more than fifteen seconds. 

“What the hell is going on?” The boys stare at her with wide eyes, her voice pulling them from whatever argument they were previously having. 

Derek’s attention is solely on her, completely forgetting Stiles was even talking. “Fallon, get in the pool now!” He yells at her, his voice reverberating off the walls.

“What? Why?!” She asks, confused, taking a step closer to the pool’s edge. Unfortunately, something beats her to it.

Her breath catches in her throat as a scaly monster with yellow slits for eyes jumps in front of her. It’s the creature that killed those people and paralyzed Stiles. She freezes, but doesn’t miss the way her claws extend. Her body is ready to fight before her mind has even caught up. Derek and Stiles watch in horror as the beast circles Fallon like its prey. They all collectively hold their breaths as its claws move up as if it’s going to scratch her. Fallon squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the sting, but it doesn’t come. 

Her eyes shoot open as the creature runs its hand along her cheek, vaguely reminding her of the way Peter did. She tries not to grimace as the beast simply admires her. It makes no move to hurt her, seemingly distracted by her presence. 

Stiles takes this as an opportunity to lug himself and Derek towards the edge of the pool where his phone lies. While Fallon provides them with a distraction, this could be their way out. That, of course, would be too easy. Whatever that thing is takes note of Stiles’ sudden movement, diverting its attention from Fallon to where her spastic friend is splashing about. As soon as the beast runs to stop Stiles, Fallon takes this as her chance to jump in the pool, not wanting to give the creature another chance to get close to her.

Stiles takes Derek and quickly swims away from the edge of the pool where his phone is. Fallon is quick to meet them in the middle making Stiles look at her exasperatedly, “What the hell did you jump in for?” He yells. “You could’ve went and got us help!” 

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m the only help coming!” She yells back, moving to take some of Derek’s body weight off of Stiles. “If Scott were to take off in the middle of the semi-finals it would raise suspicions. Only one of us could.” 

“And just because it didn’t hurt her doesn’t mean it will let her leave,” Derek defends her, getting some reprieve from having two people holding him up instead of just Stiles. He glances back at the brunette, “You okay?” 

Fallon nods, pumping her legs as hard as she can to keep them afloat. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She spits some water out of her mouth, “What is that thing? And what did it do to you?” 

“It paralyzed him,” Stiles answers. “Same thing it did to me,” he tries to suck in a deep enough breath to ease the stitch in his side. “We don’t know what it is, just that it’s scary and definitely will kill us the second we step out of the pool.” 

“And you’re not healing?” She asks Derek. “Wouldn’t you be able to move sooner since your immune system recovers faster?”

“I don’t know,” Derek bites out, starting to get frustrated at his own impotence. 

Even with her werewolf powers, helping Stiles keep Derek up is a grueling effort. The man has to be all solid muscle which only makes him that much heavier. She has to hold onto him tightly in order not to lose her grip. The three of them constantly look around the pool trying to keep an eye out for the terrifying creature. It somehow manages to vanish into thin air, most likely hiding in the rafters far above their heads. That’s what most predators do. Find the high ground to stalk their prey. 

“You both get me out of here before I drown,” Derek commands as he struggles to keep his head above water. Fallon tries to take as much of his weight as she can, and he notices because Stiles is bobbing much higher than he was before. 

“You're worried about drowning?” Stiles snaps incredulously. “Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?” He shoots the man a pointed look for his complaints.

“Did you notice I’m paralyzed from the neck down in eight feet of water?” Derek snaps back, much more irritable than Stiles. 

“Would you both shut up?!” Fallon says breathily, feeling like she’s holding up both Derek and Stiles at this point. “You two arguing isn’t going to help us get out of here.” 

Both of them narrow their eyes at her. She simply returns the glare causing Stiles to huff, “It likes you, can’t you get out and fight it or something to give us enough time to get out?” 

“No, she can’t,” Derek responds for her in a snippy manner. “She’s not going to go out there and risk her life for something that might not even work. She can fight, but she doesn’t have full control yet. I’m not gonna put her in a situation that’s gonna get her killed.” 

“I’m not trying to get her killed, I’m trying to come up with an idea that gets us all out of here safely!” Stiles yells at him. “And don’t tell me things I already know. She’s my best friend. I know what she can do.” 

Fallon is confused by the way they’re indirectly fighting over who knows more about her. She shakes her head, “It wouldn’t even work. I was up there with it and the second you started moving, it stopped paying attention to me. It seems more focused on keeping you guys in here than it does on me.” She glances around the room once more, looking up and behind them for good measure. “Okay, I don’t see it. Which is either really good or really bad.” 

“That’s good, that’s really good,” Stiles gasps. “Help me move him over to the edge so I can grab my phone.” 

Fallon does what her best friend asks, lugging Derek over to the edge of the pool. Her head goes under for a split second until she comes up with a small cough. “Wait, wait, wait!” Derek yells at them. “Stop! Stop!” 

Both teens halt their actions, freezing when they see the shadow of the lizard-like creature creeping along the wall. A loud hiss slips across the water, ruining any plans they had at getting Stiles’ phone. It tilts its head before resuming its mission of circling around the pool. Its yellow, intimidating eyes never leave the three people who are frozen under its powerful glare. 

“What’s it waiting for?” Stiles questions as they watch it carefully. 

“Probably to kill you both,” Fallon mumbles, causing both of the men next to her to give her a pointed look. She shrugs her shoulders, a remorseful expression crossing her face as she realizes that probably wasn’t the most appropriate joke to make. “I mean, at least we know I’ll get out of here, right?” 

Stiles’ jaw drops in offense, “You know what? I originally was planning on saving you over Derek, but now… I’m not so sure. Maybe I’ll leave your little werewolf ass for dead this time,” he remarks sarcastically, making Fallon mumble a small apology. Both of them wave it off, not taking her words to heart.

The trio watches with curiosity as the monster keeping them trapped tries to get close to the water. It dips its hand into it only to flinch roughly and hiss. The thing jumps backwards and pushes itself as far away from the pool as it can. 

“Wait, did you guys see that?” Stiles gets their attention. “I don’t think it can swim.” 

“I don’t think that’s what we should be worried about,” Fallon gurgles as chlorine fills her mouth. “The real test of whether we live or die is how long we can swim, not whether or not that thing can.” She mentions as her leg begins to cramp up. She didn’t realize how stupid it was to jump in with her full lacrosse gear on. Her pads are getting heavier and heavier by the second. “And judging by how we’re doing now, I wouldn’t say we have very long left.” 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     An hour or so has already passed of Stiles and Fallon trying to keep Derek above water. It’s gotten to the point where they’ve been below the water more times than they’ve been above. Even with her werewolf abilities, Fallon is starting to get exhausted. She can’t imagine how Stiles is feeling, considering he’s been doing this since before she even walked in. 

“Okay, okay… I don’t think I can do this much longer…” Stiles exhales, completely exhausted and depleted of any energy. 

Fallon’s head goes under once more and she barely has enough strength to pull herself up. “My shoulders hurt,” she whimpers, the pressure from her equipment becoming way too much. 

Stiles eyes his phone which is still laying on the concrete surrounding the pool. “Crap…” he mumbles. “I forgot you’re still completely dressed out.” 

“My body feels like jello.” 

“How much longer do you think you can last?” The boy asks his brunette friend.

“Like maybe a minute,” she huffs out. It was supposed to sound sarcastic, but the water filling her mouth garbled it a bit more than she intended. 

“That’ll be enough,” he turns his attention back to his phone, ready to take off towards it. 

“No, no, no. Don’t even think about it!” Derek stops him, disliking the plan Stiles concocted in his head. It’s not that he doubts Fallon’s strength, but with how she’s already been holding up most of his weight for Stiles this past hour, there’s no way she could do it all by herself. Not even for as little as sixty seconds. 

“Would you just trust me this once?” Stiles exclaims, begging for some leeway.

“No!” Derek yells at him furiously. 

“I’m the one who’s been keeping you alive this entire time, okay? Have you noticed that?”

“Right,” Fallon says snidely. “Cause I’m not here… drowning as I hold seventy percent of his body weight.” 

“Where were you the first hour of this whole mess?” Stiles chirps back. “If you really wanna make it even, then you should’ve been holding him on your own.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Look, when the paralysis wears off, who is gonna be able to fight that thing-- you two or me?” 

“I would be just fine, thank you very much,” Fallon replies frustratedly. 

Derek fights the urge to drown himself. He looks directly at Stiles, “You don't trust me. I don't trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you are not letting me go.”

Stiles hesitates before sending Fallon a sympathetic look. Her eyes widen as Stiles practically throws Derek’s body onto her. “Stiles!” Derek screams as he falls directly on top of the brunette girl. His weight on top of the clothing she’s wearing causes both of them to sink, and fast. 

Fallon barely has enough time to close her mouth before she’s plummeting to the bottom of the pool, Derek’s body pushing her faster. It takes a tremendous amount of strength for her to roll out from underneath him. The second she’s free, she grabs Derek’s torso and tries to swim up with him, but it all just feels too heavy. 

Her heart stops when she watches Derek’s face turn into an unnatural shade of blue. The air bubbles around his nose begin to disappear and she panics. He’s so gonna hate me for this. She grabs his face gently, pressing her lips flush to his. She slowly breathes a puff of the minimal air she has into his mouth, hoping it’s enough to keep him conscious. There is a moment though where she feels his lips moving in sync with hers, but she brushes it off. He can’t even breathe for himself right now. 

Suddenly Stiles appears in front of Fallon, his eyes blown wide at what he just witnessed. The girl rolls her eyes, wanting to yell at him saying the man would’ve died if she hadn’t done that. But obviously she can’t open her mouth right now. Fallon simply grabs Derek’s right arm, Stiles grabbing his left before they struggle to kick back up to the surface. 

They all gasp for air, Fallon and Derek coughing from how long they were stuck underneath the water. The change in pressure gives her an automatic headache. Derek glares at Stiles, “Tell me you got him,” he says irritably, because if he didn’t, he might genuinely drown the boy. 

Stiles stays silent, not able to make eye contact with either of them which gives them their answer. “I’m going to castrate him,” Fallon growls roughly, panting as she tries to catch her breath. 

They continue to tread water and hold Derek up for a few more minutes until fatigue hits them roughly again. “I can’t stay up any longer. I need something to hold onto…”

“The–the diving board,” Fallon manages to point a few feet in the other direction to the small board which appears to be a Godsend for them. Stiles nods as he and Fallon try to drag Derek towards it. Any kind of relief from holding him up would be greatly appreciated. Stiles tries to grab onto it, but his hand slips, making him let go of Derek. Fallon is once again trying to hold him up alone and just as she’s about to slip under the water, she’s yanked out of the pool and gently placed on the concrete. 

The brunette sits up, watching as Scott growls at the beast, fully wolfed out. The creature screeches at Scott but before it can attack, Scott grabs a glass shard from the floor. He holds it up, intending to use it as a weapon but for whatever reason it makes the beast stop. It tilts its head as it stares at its reflection before screeching again and taking off through the glass ceiling. 

“Get me the hell out of here,” Fallon grumbles. 

       · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

     Fallon was more than happy with herself when she remembered she had an extra pair of clothes in her locker. She happily grabs the pair of sweats and the tank top she keeps stored in there for days where she accidentally stains her clothes. After changing, the girl is still freezing, especially when she walks outside to meet Scott and Stiles who have already opened a computer to look at the bestiary. Which was a hard drive on Gerard’s key ring, not a dusty old book. 

Her hands run up and down her arms as she joins her two friends who are engrossed in the information in front of them. “Is that even a language?” Stiles furrows his eyebrows. 

“How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?” Scott sighs exasperatedly. 

“It’s called a Kanima,” Derek responds, walking towards the three friends with Erica by his side and a jacket in his hand.

Stiles looks like he wants to punch Derek, “You knew the whole time?!” He asks incredulously.

“No. Only when it was confused by its own reflection.”

“It doesn’t know what it is,” Scott realizes, piecing together everything that has happened.

Derek nods in agreement, “Or who,” he adds. 

“What else do you know?” Fallon lifts an eyebrow, but not before shuddering from the cool chill in the air. 

He shrugs, “Just stories. Rumors.” 

“But it’s like us?” Scott interrogates. 

“A shapeshifter? Yes,” Derek nods. “But it’s–it’s not right. It’s like a…” he struggles to find the right word. 

“An abomination,” Stiles finishes grimly. 

Before anything else can be said, Derek wraps the jacket he brought around Fallon’s shoulders. Her hair flows lightly in the breeze and she looks up at him, slightly startled by the blatant act of kindness. She accepts his offer, allowing him to put it around her. It fits like how a warm hug feels. This will be jacket number two she’s taken from Derek. 

“I’ll take you home,” he whispers to her. He places his hand on her back, albeit a little hesitant, but he does it. Fallon fights off the blush that threatens her cheeks, but she nods. She turns to walk away with him and Erica before Scott calls out. 

“Derek?” They all turn back around to face him. “We need to work together on this. Maybe even tell the Argents.” He suggests.

The Alpha werewolf stands there, appalled. “You trust them?” 

“Nobody trusts anyone!” Scott exclaims frustratedly. “That's the problem! While we're here, arguing about who's on what side, there's something scarier, stronger, and faster than any of us, and it's killing people, and we still don't even know anything about it!

“I know one thing,” Derek corrects. “When I find it?” He turns back around to continue walking to his car with Fallon and Erica, “I’m gonna kill it.” 

Stiles and Scott watch after Fallon who makes her way to the passenger side of Derek’s car. She glances back at them and gives them a reassuring smile. “I’m okay,” she mouths to them. They look reluctant, but eventually turn away and head to their own vehicles. It’s a slow process, but they’re learning Fallon can make her own decisions. 

The car ride is silent, the only thing humming in the background is the smooth A/C of the Camaro. Derek drops Erica off at home first, which slightly surprises Fallon as she lives closer to the school than the blonde does. She also figured after spending over an hour almost drowning in a pool with her, Derek would be trying to escape the brunette’s company much faster. 

He puts his car in park right outside their driveway. Michael isn’t home so they won’t be raising any suspicions. Fallon twiddles her thumbs, finding it rather difficult to look Derek in the eye after everything that happened. A sudden surge of embarrassment flows through her as she remembers the way she saved him in the pool. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally breaks the silence. 

Derek whips his head towards her, giving her an odd look. “For?” 

Fallon internally smacks herself, “Y’know, the whole…” she trails off, gesturing to her lips in an awkward fashion. 

Derek blinks, “It’s fine,” he shrugs. “I would’ve died if you didn’t.” He somehow remains unfazed, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrow that Fallon misses. It doesn’t say much, but it shows he was affected by it too. Especially after the amount of time they’ve been spending together recently. Being mistaken as a couple, the way her lips brushed against his seemed to feel like more than just a life saving measure to him. To both of them. But why would they ever admit that out loud? 

She clears her throat, “Yeah…” She nods rapidly, feeling very self conscious now that she made a big deal out of something he clearly didn’t care about. “Well, uh, anyway, um–” she reaches for the door handle, trying to collect herself. “Thanks for the ride.” 

She swallows harshly when the sound of the lock goes off, trapping her in her seat. Her face goes pale white before she slowly turns around to face him, almost comically slow. His green eyes bore into hers, “What’s wrong?” 

“I–nothing,” she tries to shake her head, fidgeting with her hands once more. 

“Fallon,” Derek stops her, surprising both of them when his body reaches out to grab her restless hands. He looks just as shocked as she does. Almost like his body didn’t communicate with his mind before committing to the action. In order to not draw too much attention to it, he moves on. “Don't lie to me. Friends don’t lie.” 

Friends. Why does that sting? She wants him to be her friend, always has. So why does it suddenly hurt to hear him say that? “It’s just kind of been a rough day,” she breathes out with a humorless laugh. “I mean, I kind of felt useless out there,” she opens up. “I walked into that room, and did absolutely nothing to help. I could’ve tried to fight it or grabbed Stiles’ phone, but all I did was make life harder,” she shakes her head, recalling the events of the last hour. “And it touched me, Derek. I don’t understand why it’s always me. First Peter, and now whatever the hell this thing is. I don’t understand why every psychotic supernatural creature has a freakin’ fascination with me.” 

“I mean, can you blame it?” 

Fallon looks at him shocked, “Careful, Derek,” she warns him. “That almost sounded like a joke.” 

“That’s because it was,” he rolls his eyes. His annoyance turns into genuineness, “But you weren’t useless in there. If you hadn’t come in when you did, there was no way Stiles would have been able to keep me up for that long. You kept both of us afloat.” 

“I don’t know what to do with all this praise,” Fallon tries to be playful. She glances around the car, “Are we sure the real Derek didn’t actually drown and get replaced by some weird positive doppelganger?” She asks to the invisible ghosts who will never answer her. Derek scoffs, removing his hand from hers as he pretends to be offended. Fallon pouts, “No, no, no. You already held my hand. Now you’re stuck.” She reaches across the center console and takes his hand back. It’s calloused yet soft, warm against her usually cold skin. The two of them lock eyes for a brief moment. 

After a moment of silence, “You did good tonight,” Derek nods. “You put your survival training to good use.” He mindlessly rubs her hand with his thumb. He doesn’t understand what’s come over him. He would never touch anyone like this. But there’s this urge, this pull inside of him that is forcing him to stay as close in proximity as possible. “And I don’t want you to worry about its sudden interest in you. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you, or touch you again. I promise,” he reassured her. “I’ll be here to protect you.” 

“What if I’m the one who protects you?” She challenges him with a raised brow. They both don’t notice how the distance between their faces has become a lot smaller. 

“You will be,” he admits nonchalantly. “You’re the only one that does…” the last part comes out as a whisper, but Fallon still hears him. 

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek. After everything that’s happened, she doesn’t want to be alone. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to be away from Derek. “Do you wanna come inside?” she asks him boldly. Not that he hasn’t been in before, but she’s never blatantly asked him to accompany her. “We could watch the Harry Potter movies. Y’know, since I got you to read the books,” she says with a triumphant tone. 

She expects some sort of witty comeback, but all she gets is him swiftly turning the car off before walking over to her door and opening it for her. She stares at him with wide eyes as he extends a hand out to her, wanting to assist her out of the seat. Fallon looks like a deer in the headlights making Derek smirk cockily. He didn’t even have to say anything to win this round. 

“Well, are you coming or what?”

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She waves politely at some of the crew members she recognies, a few of them having previously worked some NXT shows. The amount of talent whirring past her is overwhelming, but she doesn’t let it show. She’s here to make an impression. Show no fear and people will respect you.

“Y/N?!” A loud and excited voice calls out to her.

The woman spins around and her smile grows wide as she watches Jessica, more popularly  known as Tiffany Stratton, darting towards her. She laughs happily as Jessica swoops her up in a hug, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you decided to sign with SmackDown!” She exclaims, slapping her arm playfully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise everyone,” Y/N explains, giggling as Jessica takes in her appearance. “Besides, it’s no fun if my decision gets leaked. So I kept it close to my chest.” 

Jessica rolls her eyes playfully, “Well, I’m super excited you’re here. Definitely gonna cause some trouble.” 

Y/N smirks playfully, “Damn straight. So you better keep an eye on that title,” she says teasingly. 

Jessica scoffs but she can’t help her smile, “Okay, okay… I see how it is. Hopefully you keep that energy in the ring.” 

Y/N throws her a wink before squeezing her arm fondly, “Oh you know I will.” 

She adjusts the strap of her gear bag and keeps moving down the bustling hallway. She made a point to nod or smile at whoever crossed her path, camera ops, producers, even the makeup crew she didn’t know by name yet. Every nod returned, every subtle glance of curiosity reminded her she wasn’t invisible. Her debut was already making waves.

A familiar voice cut through the noise. “Well, well, well… look who finally joined the land of the giants.”

Y/N turned sharply, her face breaking into a grin. “Priest?”

Damian Priest leaned casually against a road case, arms folded across his chest, his usual smirk pulling at his lips. His presence radiated the kind of cool confidence that made rookies nervous, but to Y/N, it was just Luis, the guy she’d shared late-night NXT training sessions and banter with.

“Thought I’d have to wait another year before seeing you up here,” he said, pushing off the case and walking closer.

“You got called up early,” Y/N countered, tilting her head. “Don’t act like you didn’t rub it in every chance you got.”

He chuckled, deep and warm. “What can I say? Raw needed me. Guess SmackDown got lucky tonight. Now they’ve got both of us in the same place. Almost like nothing’s changed.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin didn’t fade. “Always so full of yourself.”

“Hey, confidence pays the bills,” Luis teased, his eyes flicking over her attire. “Besides, I knew you’d make it. You’ve got that… spark.”

The compliment hit heavier than she wanted it to, but she just smirked and nudged his arm. “Careful, Priest. Keep talking like that, and people will think you’re soft.”

Damian leaned in just a little, lowering his voice in that way he always did when he wanted to get a rise out of her. “Soft’s not the word anyone’s ever used to describe me.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but before she could fire back, a sudden burst of cheers broke out down the hallway. Cody Rhodes had just rounded the corner, carrying himself with the weight of a man who was everywhere all at once.

“Y/N L/N,” Cody greeted warmly, extending his hand. “Welcome to SmackDown. Big night for you, huh?”

Y/N shook his hand firmly, masking her nerves with a grin. “Biggest night of my career. Hoping I don’t trip over the ropes or something stupid.”

Cody laughed, the kind of laugh that immediately put her at ease. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Everyone’s excited to see what you bring up here. Just do what you always do — fight like hell, and you’ll fit right in.”

“Appreciate that,” she said genuinely, nodding.

As Cody moved along, Y/N caught Damian still watching her, an unreadable look in his eyes. Before she could question it, a low rumble of conversation quieted when Triple H appeared.

The air shifted.

“Y/N,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying weight as he stopped in front of her. “Glad I caught you. Got some news for you.”

Her stomach tightened, but she straightened her posture. “What’s up?”

“We’re going to slot you into Tiffany’s segment tonight,” he explained. “She’s out there jawing with Nia, so we want you to make an impact. Hit the ring, take them both out. Leave the crowd wondering who the hell you are and why you just flattened two stars in your first five minutes.”

Her lips curled into a slow smirk. “So… chaos. My specialty.”

“That’s the idea,” Hunter confirmed with the faintest grin. “Then, Cathy Kelley’s going to catch you backstage for a quick promo. Nothing too heavy — just fire, intensity, a little edge. Show the people who Y/N is.”

Y/N nodded without hesitation. “Got it. I’ll make it count.”

“Good,” he said, clapping her shoulder before moving on. “Don’t overthink. Just do what got you here.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Y/N looked at Luis, her smirk still playing at her lips. “Looks like I get to steal the show tonight.”

He leaned closer, his voice low again. “Try not to forget me when you’re running the place.”

Y/N grinned, brushing past him with a playful glance over her shoulder. “No promises, Priest.”

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     The crowd inside the arena was buzzing, the kind of restless energy that only happened when two women with egos too big for one ring stood face to face. Tiffany Stratton, flawless in pink sequins and her Women’s Championship glinting on her shoulder, was nose-to-nose with the towering force of Nia Jax.

“You think you’re championship material?” Tiffany sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance as the crowd booed. “You couldn’t lace up my boots, sweetie.”

Nia smirked, stepping in closer. “That title looks real comfortable on your shoulder, blondie. Shame it won’t be there much longer.”

The tension crackled, the audience hanging on every word. Wade Barrett’s voice cut through from commentary. “These two are about to explode, Joe. You can feel it. Tiffany’s ego, Nia’s temper—it’s a recipe for chaos.”

Joe Tessitore jumped in, “Wait a minute—hold on, who—WHO IS THAT?!”

The camera panned to the ramp. A figure in a black hoodie had vaulted the barricade with catlike precision, sliding under the bottom rope before either woman even realized what was happening. The arena erupted, half in shock, half in wild cheers.

Wade’s voice rose, his words stumbling. “Who the hell—who just hit the ring?!”

The hooded stranger struck first. Nia barely had time to turn before she was yanked into a brutal Muay Thai–style clinch, the stranger’s knee driving up into her gut once, twice, three times, each one echoing through the arena. Tiffany swung wildly, but the figure ducked low, catching her by the wrist and whipping her into the ropes with a snapmare so crisp it drew an audible gasp from the crowd. Tiffany hit the mat hard.

Joe yelled over commentary, “Whoever this is, they know what they’re doing in there!”

Nia tried to rally, storming forward, but the intruder spun under her lariat attempt, snatching her into a judo-style hip toss that slammed the powerhouse flat on her back. The crowd was now roaring, the chants already breaking out: “Holy Shit! Holy Shit!”

The hooded figure stood tall, chest heaving, and slowly… deliberately… pulled the hood back.

Y/N’s face was revealed, and the camera caught the smirk pulling across her lips. The roof practically blew off.

“It’s Y/N! It’s Y/N from NXT!” Joe shouted, disbelief in his voice. “She’s here on SmackDown!”

Tiffany crawled toward her title, but Y/N stomped her hand down, forcing her to recoil in pain. Y/N bent, snatched the title belt clean from the mat, and raised it high in the air. The crowd reaction was deafening, cheers, chants, phones flashing everywhere.

Wade’s voice was almost a growl. “That is a STATEMENT. Y/N hasn’t even had her first official match here, and she’s already laying waste to the champion and the challenger.”

Y/N tilted her head, smirk deepening as she lifted a microphone from where Tiffany had dropped it. She rested the belt on her shoulder, pacing like she owned the ring.

“This…” she lifted the mic, her voice calm but laced with venom, “…this is what I’ve been waiting for. My time.” She tapped the title with her finger, eyes flicking between Tiffany and Nia sprawled on the mat. “See, whether it’s a rookie trying to make a name for themselves, or one of you vets who think you’ve got this business on lock…” Her laugh was sharp, condescending. “…you’re all about to find out real quick— you’ve got nothing on me.”

The arena popped again, the mix of cheers and gasps fueling her grin.

“So here’s your warning, step up, or get stepped on.” She raised the belt one more time, holding Tiffany’s championship high above her head as if it already belonged to her.

The camera caught the fury on Tiffany’s face and the rage in Nia’s glare as Y/N dropped the mic with a loud thunk and threw her hood back up. She mouthed the words “my time” one last time before sliding out of the ring, leaving chaos behind.

The fans were still chanting her name as she disappeared back up the ramp, the commentary team stunned into silence.

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     Y/N shoved past the curtain, her chest still heaving from the rush of the crowd. The noise out in the arena bled faintly into the hallway, a low roar chasing her footsteps. Before she could even pull her wrist tape loose, Cathy Kelley slipped in front of her, mic already in hand, a cameraman scrambling to keep up.

“Y/N— just a quick word?” Cathy asked, breathless but eager.

Y/N smirked and tilted her head. “Sure. Why not?”

The red light on the camera blinked alive. Cathy straightened her shoulders, voice shifting into her on-screen polish. “Y/N, tonight was your first night on SmackDown. What does this moment mean for you?”

Y/N leaned into the mic, her eyes cutting sharp into the lens. “It means SmackDown just got flipped on its head. Everyone’s been walking around here like they’ve got this division on lock, like they’re untouchable. Well, I’m here now, and I don’t play by the ‘wait your turn’ rules. I don’t care if you’re the flavor-of-the-month rookie or someone who’s been here forever. I didn’t come here to fall in line. I came here to run it.”

Cathy, quick as ever, followed up. “You sound confident. Some might say over-confident. Do you really believe no one in the women’s division can stop you?”

Y/N laughed softly, not breaking eye contact with the camera. “No one. Not even just the girls in the women’s division. That applies to everyone. Not a soul in that locker room can outwork me, outfight me, or outshine me. Some of these so-called ‘vets’ have been coasting on reputation for years, living off what they did back then instead of proving who they are now. That ends tonight. I’m not here to kiss rings. I’m here to take crowns.”

Cathy blinked, thrown just slightly by the edge in her words, but managed to keep the interview rolling. “So what’s next for you? Who’s the first target?”

Y/N arched a brow, that same cocky grin tugging at her lips. “Whoever’s brave enough to step up. Doesn’t matter who. The end’s gonna look the same.”

She brushed past Cathy and the camera like she was brushing off the entire division, the faint echo of her boots on the concrete fading with her.

Off to the side, Drew stood in front of a monitor, arms folded tight across his chest. He’d been listening since the first word left her mouth, and that line, coasting on reputation, hit harder than a claymore. She hadn’t named him, but the sting landed anyway. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing as her cocky grin filled the screen.

“She thinks she’s clever,” he muttered under his breath, the words clipped and heavy. “We’ll see how far that mouth gets her.”

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     Y/N had barely made it a hallway away from Cathy when she felt the tension shift. The hum of production crew chatter, the chaos of road cases being wheeled by, all of it seemed to fade the second she spotted him. Drew McIntyre, arms crossed, a storm brewing in his expression as he watched her like she’d just insulted his mother.

“Ah, there she is,” Drew muttered, stepping into her path. His voice had that low, rolling growl to it, each word deliberate. “The rookie with the mouth. Thought I’d come say hello since you couldn’t keep mine and every other veteran’s name out of yours.”

Y/N arched a brow, tightening her grip on the towel around her neck. “Funny, I don’t remember saying your name at all. Must’ve struck a nerve though, huh?”

His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching. “You think you’re clever. You think this business owes you a damn thing just because you can string a few cocky lines together on a microphone. But respect— respect is earned. Not demanded.”

“Respect is a two-way street,” Y/N shot back without missing a beat, smirking. “And last I checked, I don’t need a lecture from the self-proclaimed locker room dad. You want me to curtsy too, or just kiss the ring?”

Drew’s nostrils flared. He stepped closer, towering over her, voice sharp. “You want to make it here? You’d better learn to keep that smart mouth in check. Because the veterans you’re mocking? They paved the road you’re walking on.”

“And yet here I am, already lapping a few of them.” The words rolled out of Y/N like venom, her grin widening at the flicker of anger in his eyes.

For a split second, it looked like Drew might snap, his shoulders squared, his voice dropping into that dangerous calm of his. “Careful, lass. Keep talking like that and you’ll find yourself flattened before you even get started.”

“Big words for someone picking fights with a woman half his size,” a smooth voice cut in. Both Y/N and Drew turned. Damian Priest had arrived like a shadow, sliding between them with that calm, almost lazy swagger that made him seem untouchable. He rested an arm loosely against Y/N’s shoulder, not shielding her, but staking his claim.

“Real gentleman move, Drew,” Damian added, his tone deceptively light. “Going after someone who was just doing her job. You upset because she’s got more bite than most of the guys in your little veterans’ club?”

Drew’s eyes narrowed at him. “Stay out of it, Priest. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re barking down at her like she’s some trainee who spilled your coffee.” Damian’s voice stayed calm, but there was an edge there now.

Y/N smirked again, leaning just past Damian’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Drew. I’ll send you a thank-you card when I’ve got that title around my waist. You know, since I’m apparently standing on your precious road.”

That sharp grin stayed plastered across her face as she raised her hand and flipped him off, deliberate and bold. Drew’s face darkened, his voice a warning rumble. “You’ve got no idea the storm you’re calling down on yourself, lass.”

“Good,” Y/N shot back, her eyes glinting. “I love the rain.”

With that, Damian pulled her with him, the two of them disappearing down the hallway. But not before Priest threw Drew one last smirk over his shoulder. “Better hope she doesn’t run you over.”

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     Creative had seen the spark immediately. The second Y/N made her SmackDown debut, the audience’s reactions weren’t just loud, they were electric. Pairing her with Damian Priest wasn’t just smart, it was inevitable. The sly chemistry between them, that mischievous edge in her smile when she stood at his side, and the added wrinkle of Drew McIntyre’s growing resentment created the perfect storm. The writers wanted fire, and this trio gave them a blaze.

The main event of the night: Damian Priest versus Drew McIntyre.

The arena was already buzzing before the bell rang, the energy thick in the air. “This is gonna be a war,” Wade Barrett muttered over the live broadcast, but inside the arena it was even louder, the fans split right down the middle. Some were bellowing Drew’s name with pride, others chanting for Damian, the chants overlapping until the entire arena became a wall of sound.

From the opening lock-up, Drew and Damian matched each other’s intensity. Drew used his sheer power, shoving Damian back toward the ropes with a grunt, flexing his size advantage. Damian, however, countered with fluidity, rolling under Drew’s arm and snapping a quick kick to his ribs. The crowd reacted instantly, roaring as Damian smirked and motioned for Drew to “bring it.”

The two men went move for move. Drew hitting a stiff clothesline that nearly took Damian’s head off, only for Damian to kick out at two and roll straight into a chokehold attempt. The crowd ate it up, cheering every near-fall, groaning at every close kickout. Both men were fighting like this was personal, and in a way, it was.

Halfway through, Damian had the clear upper hand. He stomped down hard on Drew in the corner, leaning into him with vicious forearms. “Priest is all over him!” Joe Tessitore shouted as Damian launched Drew into a Broken Arrow that shook the mat. Drew kicked out at two, and the audience erupted, chanting “This is awesome!”

But Drew wasn’t going down without a fight. He pushed himself up, jaw tight, sweat running down his face as he glared at Damian like he’d just made a grave mistake. He rallied with sharp, punishing offense: belly-to-belly suplexes, a thunderous neckbreaker, and finally that spine-tingling “3…2…1…” countdown from the crowd as Drew retreated to the corner, stomping his foot against the mat, lining Damian up for the Claymore.

The energy peaked, fans were on their feet, the chants deafening. Drew sprinted across the ring, ready to end it—

And that’s when the roof nearly blew off.

Y/N appeared out of nowhere, sliding under the bottom rope in a black leather jacket, hood down, eyes burning with defiance. The referee had no time to see her, Y/N moving faster than anyone thought she could. Before Drew even registered it, she grabbed his boot mid-run, halting his momentum. He stumbled forward, breaking stride, fury flashing across his face as he looked down at her.

The crowd roared, some cheering wildly, others booing, but no one sat still. Y/N only smirked up at him, daring him to say something.

That split-second distraction was all Damian needed. He surged forward with a choke slam, throwing Drew roughly into the mat. The Scotsman gasped, eyes up at the lights, stunned. Damian hooked the leg.

“ONE! TWO! THREE!”

The referee’s hand hit the mat, and the bell rang as the arena erupted in shock and noise. Damian had pinned Drew McIntyre.

The ex-Judgment Day star rolled to his feet, chest heaving, and immediately turned to Y/N. She slid into the ring with fluid confidence, grabbing his wrist and yanking his arm into the air like she had just claimed the victory herself. Her smug grin locked directly onto Drew, who was propped up on his elbows, glaring daggers through the hair matted to his face.

The tension in the ring was white-hot. So much so that the audience could feel it, practically taste it in the air. Y/N tilted her head, raising her brows at Drew like she’d already beaten him without ever stepping in the ring. Then Damian leaned down, brushing his lips against the side of her head in a quick, deliberate kiss.

The crowd popped again, some gasping, others screaming, the mix of cheers and boos echoing off the arena walls. Drew’s expression twisted even further, disbelief and fury carving across his features. His jaw clenched, his fists slammed against the mat, but he couldn’t do a damn thing.

Y/N only tightened her grip on Damian’s raised hand, her eyes still locked on Drew like this was only the beginning. And truthfully, it was. Y/N had no idea what she just started with the Scottish Warrior, but she was about to find out.

Creative had barely waited for the dust to settle before pulling the next card. They wanted to strike while the iron was hot. And so, the very next week, Y/N found herself pacing in gorilla position, rolling her shoulders, shaking out her wrists, her eyes narrowed on the monitor. Chelsea Green was already in the ring, taunting the crowd with exaggerated pouts and cocky waves.

“Remember,” one of the producers said, clipboard in hand, “this is your showcase. Go out there and remind them why you’re here.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they never forget it.”

Her music hit. The crowd erupted, not the polite, cautious cheer of a newcomer, but genuine excitement. She was already becoming must-see. Walking down the ramp with her signature swagger, she played to both sides of the arena, pointing at a group holding up a “SmackDown’s New Queen” sign, before sliding smoothly into the ring.

The bell rang. 

From the start, Y/N owned the pace. Chelsea tried to stall, ducking between the ropes with a dramatic squeal, shaking her head at the ref. The crowd booed, and Y/N leaned against the ropes, smirking. “What’s the matter, Chelsea? Scared already?” she mouthed.

When Chelsea finally stepped in, Y/N was relentless. A chain wrestling sequence showcased her crisp technique; headlock takeover, quick wrist control, rolling seamlessly into a snapmare. The crowd popped for every transition, and when Y/N popped up to her feet with a playful bow, they roared.

Chelsea tried cheap shots, raking the eyes, yanking the hair, but Y/N countered with fluid reversals, her athleticism undeniable. A sharp dropkick sent Chelsea sprawling into the corner, and Y/N strutted across the ring, cupping her hand to her ear as the fans rallied behind her.

“She’s really got them eating out of her hand already,” Wade muttered from commentary. “And let’s be honest, it’s not just hype. She’s backing it up.”

“She’s arrogant,” Joe countered. “Confidence is one thing. This? This is poking a hornet’s nest. You don’t walk into SmackDown and act like you own the place.”

“Tell that to the people cheering,” Wade counters sassily. 

Momentum built. Y/N hit a running knee strike, then climbed the turnbuckle, pointing to the crowd before launching into a missile dropkick that flattened Chelsea. She hooked the leg.

One… two—Chelsea kicked out.

No problem. Y/N rolled to her feet, adrenaline pumping, the fans clapping in rhythm now. She circled Chelsea like a predator, signaling her finisher. This was it. She hauled Chelsea up—

The crowd suddenly erupted in boos. Y/N froze mid-movement, her eyes darting to the ramp. Drew McIntyre.

The Scottish Warrior’s theme blasted through the arena, and there he was, striding down the ramp with that smug grin plastered across his face. He wasn’t storming, wasn’t charging, just walking slowly, deliberately, sword in hand, eyes locked on the ring.

Y/N’s heart sank.

“What the hell is he doing out here?!” Wade's voice nearly cracked over commentary.

“He’s returning the favor,” Joe said smugly. “Fair is fair.”

“Fair?!” Wade snapped. “This isn’t about fair, this is about ego. He couldn’t stand her stealing his spotlight, so now he’s here to ruin hers.”

Y/N yelled from the ropes, pointing at Drew. “What the hell are you doing?!”

But in her distraction, Chelsea seized the opening. Rolling Y/N up into a tight schoolgirl, the ref dropped to count—

One… two… three!

The arena gasped. Shock, cheers, and boos all tangled together as Chelsea squealed, scrambling out of the ring, hands over her mouth like she’d just won a title. Y/N sat in the ring, stunned, hair falling in her face. Her chest heaved as reality sank in, her big showcase, stolen right out from under her.

And Drew? He stood halfway up the ramp, laughing. A deep, mocking laugh that carried over the jeers. He pointed at her, shaking his head, as if to say welcome to the big leagues.

Y/N gripped the ropes, her knuckles white. Her glare could’ve cut through stone. Then she screamed at him, voice raw, fury echoing through the arena: “You think this is funny?!”

The camera caught every second, the rage in her eyes, the disbelief, the unfiltered venom. She pounded the ropes, flipping him off with both hands as Drew smirked, turned on his heel, and walked away.

The crowd was split down the middle, half booing Drew mercilessly, half eating up the feud they knew was brewing. But one thing was clear. Y/N wasn’t just a flash in the pan anymore. She was in the middle of a war.

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     Y/N stormed through the curtain, her chest still heaving from the match. Sweat slicked her hairline, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white. She ripped the wrist tape from her arm and tossed it to the floor, muttering curses under her breath. She was beyond pissed, this wasn’t just losing. This was her match, stolen out from under her, and no one had the decency to even tell her that the outcome had changed.

And she knew exactly who was behind it.

Drew McIntyre stood a few feet down the hallway, laughing with two producers, his massive frame still radiating arrogance after what he’d just pulled.

That was the last straw.

Y/N marched right up to him, shoved him square in the chest, and snapped, “Who the hell do you think you are, huh? You had no right interfering in my match!”

Drew barely stumbled, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. His jaw flexed before he tilted his head, voice low but cutting. “It became my right the moment you decided to stick your nose in mine. You wanted to play games out there with Priest? Well, congratulations, sweetheart. Now you’re in my game.”

“Sweetheart?” she spat back, her eyes blazing. “Don’t flatter yourself, Drew. I wasn’t playing games, I was doing my job. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

His lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Your job? Your job is runnin’ your mouth and hidin’ behind Priest every time you get in over your head. Don’t act like you’re the one carryin’ the weight around here.”

The camera crew had noticed the scene brewing, their red lights blinking as they recorded every word. The footage was already rolling across the arena screens, the crowd buzzing with anticipation as the fight outside the ring began to spill into reality.

Y/N jabbed a finger into Drew’s chest, her voice like venom. “You think you’re God’s gift just because you’ve been here longer? Because you’re 6’5 and  got your little sword? Newsflash, McIntyre, I’ve done more in a month to get this crowd behind me than you’ve managed in the last year.”

That one hit. Drew’s expression hardened, his nostrils flaring as his thick accent cut through. “Careful, lass. You’ve got talent, I’ll give you that. But talent doesn’t equal respect. You don’t just take it, you earn it. And right now? You’ve earned nothin’ but a broken reputation for stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She stepped even closer, her forehead nearly touching his chest, refusing to be intimidated by his size. “Respect isn’t something you can demand, Drew. You might scare everyone else backstage, but not me. You want respect? Try not acting like a bitter caveman every time someone else gets the spotlight.”

The crowd watching on the screens roared at the exchange, sensing just how real it was getting. Drew’s eyes burned down at her, his voice dropping into a growl. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, but sooner or later, it’s gonna write a cheque your body can’t cash. And when that time comes, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Her laugh was sharp, mocking. “Funny. You sound just like every man who’s been afraid of me since day one. Guess it’s true— biggest guy in the room, smallest ego.”

The crew nearby glanced at each other nervously, stepping closer as if ready to intervene. Drew took half a step forward, his shoulders squared, his voice nearly a roar now. “Keep pushin’ me, and you’ll find out firsthand what happens when respect is forced!”

“Bring it on, Braveheart!” she shot back, shoving him again. “I’ll end you faster than your sword entrance does!”

That was when two crew members finally rushed in, separating the two before Y/N actually swung on him. She strained against their hold, still shouting over their shoulders. “You think this is over? You’ve just started something you’re not man enough to finish!”

Drew’s glare stayed locked on her as the men kept them apart. He gave a low, dangerous chuckle, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that, lass. We’ll see.”

The crowd in the arena was eating it up, the tension palpable, the feud now lit on fire.

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     Y/N was still muttering under her breath as she stalked down the hallway, every step echoing like the crack of a whip. When she reached Paul Levesque’s office door, she didn’t bother knocking, just shoved it open.

Her eyes immediately narrowed when she saw Drew McIntyre sitting there, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed like he owned the place. “Oh, hell no,” Y/N said, already turning on her heel. “Not doing this, not sitting in the same room as him.”

“Sit down,” Paul said firmly, holding up a hand before she could storm out. The authority in his voice froze her in place. “Now.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, exhaled sharply through her nose, then stomped over and dropped into the chair beside Drew like the seat had personally offended her. She crossed her arms tightly, refusing to look his way. Drew smirked slightly, his thick accent dripping with mockery. “Aw, what’s the matter? Don’t like sharin’ the spotlight with the big bad Scotsman?”

Her head snapped toward him. “Spotlight? Please. If anything, I’ve been carrying your overgrown ass in relevance these past two weeks.”

Paul raised a brow, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “You two done? Or should I give you a cage to settle this in before we get to business?”

Neither of them answered, just glared at each other. Paul sighed, shaking his head. “Look. Normally, I don’t let personal drama spill outside of kayfabe. If this was any other situation, I’d shut it down before it got out of hand.” He paused, locking eyes with both of them. “But the truth is, the fans are eating this up. Your tension, your animosity, the way you can’t even breathe the same air without sparks flying— it’s money. And we’d be idiots not to capitalize on it.”

Drew snorted. “So what, you want us to claw each other’s eyes out on TV until one of us snaps? Sounds brilliant.”

Y/N leaned forward, eyes blazing. “I’d be more than happy to snap if it meant shutting you up.”

Paul raised his hand again, cutting her off. “Enough. Here’s the deal— you’ve both got the Euro tour coming up. A lot of press, a lot of eyes on the company. And thanks to this little feud of yours, you two are hotter right now than half the damn roster. So congratulations, you’re going to be handling those events together. As partners.”

The silence was deafening for a beat, then Y/N shot up out of her chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Drew’s head jerked toward Paul, his face tightening. “No chance. Absolutely not. Put me with literally anyone else.”

Paul’s smirk returned, calm but unyielding. “You think I’m asking? This isn’t optional. You’re both adults, you’re both professionals, and if you want to keep cashing those paychecks, you’ll figure out how to coexist. At least for the next few weeks.”

Y/N’s hands were balled into fists at her side. “You’re basically putting me on babysitter duty for the Scottish psychopath over here.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth, lass, or I’ll give you a real reason to be scared of me.”

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N fired back instantly, “I’ve seen scarier in my bathroom mirror first thing in the morning.”

Paul chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You two…” He leaned forward, voice sharpening. “Here’s the bottom line: you either make this work, or you can kiss your contracts goodbye. Your call.”

The room fell into a thick, tense silence. Finally, Drew stood up, glaring down at Y/N. “Fine. I’ll play along. But if she gets in my way, don’t blame me when I stop bein’ polite.”

Y/N stood as well, stepping chest-to-chest with him, refusing to back down. “Try me, big man. I dare you.”

Paul’s voice cut through like steel. “Good. Glad we’re clear. Now go get yourselves prepared for the next few weeks before I change my mind.”

The two of them turned sharply toward the door, still glaring daggers at each other as they left, the tension thick enough to choke on.

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     The flight was long-haul, the kind that stretched hours into eternity, and of course— of course— they’d been seated right next to each other. Y/N dropped into her aisle seat with a sharp sigh, already bracing herself when Drew lowered himself into the seat beside her, his massive frame practically swallowing the row. His elbow immediately claimed the shared armrest like it was his birthright.

“Unbelievable,” Y/N muttered, shooting him a glare. “Do you take up this much space on purpose, or is it just a talent you were born with?”

Drew turned his head, lips twitching into that insufferable smirk. “I’m six-five, lass. I take up space by existing. Not my fault ye’ve got arms like twigs.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of him, his voice a low murmur that sent unwanted goosebumps along her arms. “Nothin’ wrong with twigs. They bend easy.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Keep talking like that and you’ll find out how easy they snap, too.”

That earned a chuckle from him, low and rumbling, and damn if it didn’t curl somewhere deep in her stomach. She hated that sound. She hated that she liked that sound. He didn’t move his arm from the armrest when she shifted in her seat, forcing her to press closer than she wanted. His scent, clean, sharp, a little musky, hit her. Then the warmth radiating from his body. Then the fact that, annoyingly, the muscles in his forearm looked even more defined this close. She hated herself for noticing, and hated him more for making it impossible not to.

“You always this grumpy, or is it just me that brings it out of you?” Drew asked casually, like he hadn’t just made her pulse tick faster.

“It’s definitely you,” she shot back, buckling her seatbelt. “And you’re not as charming as you think.”

“Charming?” His eyebrows lifted, smug. “Didn’t realize that was on the table. Sounds like you’ve been thinkin’ about me more than you’d like.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes flashing. “Don’t flatter yourself, Braveheart. Just because you’ve got the size advantage doesn’t mean you’re carrying your weight in the ring. Half the time, your opponent’s making you look good.”

That jab landed, she could see it in the way his jaw tightened. But then his gaze flicked to her, slow and heavy, and lingered a second too long on her mouth before he dragged it back up. His lips curved. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

She almost choked. “Excuse me?”

“Plenty of flash, sure. You’re quick, you’re clever. But when it comes to grit?” His voice dropped, the rumble curling around her in the confined space. “You’ve barely been tested. One rough night, and I wonder if you’d crack.”

Her breath hitched, but she leaned closer, fire in her eyes. “Try me. I’ll last longer in this business than you ever will.”

For a moment, they just stared, too close, too tense, and too aware of how much heat buzzed between them. She hated the way her stomach flipped at the way he looked at her, like she was a fight he was eager to lose himself in.

Finally, the flight attendant stopped beside them, smiling stiffly. “Everything okay here?”

“Perfect,” Y/N said sweetly, tearing her glare from Drew.

“Couldn’t be better,” Drew echoed, voice dripping with something that sounded too much like challenge.

When the attendant left, Y/N crossed her arms and muttered, “Nightmare.”

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoyin’ it,” Drew replied, smirk tugging at his mouth.

She refused to answer, but her cheeks burned hotter than she wanted them to.

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     The convention hall buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the snapping of camera flashes. A long row of autograph tables stretched across the floor, banners hanging above each one. Drew McIntyre’s was crowded, fans in kilts and replica Claymores, some shouting his name like they were at ringside. Just a few feet away, Y/N’s line was just as long, people holding signs, t-shirts, and Funko Pops, eager for her autograph.

It was easy enough to stay in character. The feud was hot right now, and every fan seemed desperate to see it play out live, even here.

“Drew, man, you’ve got to admit, Y/N’s been giving you hell lately!” one fan shouted as he slid a glossy photo across the table.

Drew gave a dark laugh, signing the photo with a flourish before glancing over at Y/N. “Aye, lad, she’s been a thorn in my side, I’ll give ye that. But don’t confuse persistence for power. She’s loud, not lethal.”

From her table, Y/N looked up, pen paused mid-signature. “You sure about that, Braveheart?” she shot back, smirking at the crowd’s laughter. “Because last I checked, I’m the one still standing every time we go toe to toe.”

Fans howled with approval, loving the jabs. “Keep dreamin’, lass,” Drew muttered, though he kept smiling at the kid in front of him. “Nightmares don’t last forever.”

It went on like that for a while, autographs, banter, trading insults like they were passing a ball back and forth. No one noticed how much of it wasn’t just for show.

The event rolled on like that until she noticed a small commotion near Drew’s line. A boy, maybe ten years old, walked up with his parent by his side. His little frame swam in an oversized Drew McIntyre t-shirt, the kilt from a costume store wrapped proudly around his waist. His mom smiled nervously as he tugged her hand and practically bounced toward Drew. The volunteer at the front whispered something in Drew’s ear—Make-A-Wish. Y/N froze, realizing instantly.

Drew’s expression softened in an instant. His whole presence shifted from performer to protector. “Well look at ye,” Drew said warmly, crouching slightly so he wasn’t towering so high above the boy. “Dressed better than I am. Bet ye’ve been practicin’ the claymore too, aye?”

The boy beamed. “You’re so big and strong! Do you ever get scared?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. The boy’s voice was small, but it carried enough weight to cut through the buzz of the event.

Drew paused. His eyes flicked briefly toward Y/N, maybe instinct, maybe habit, but when he looked back at the boy, his face was open, unguarded. “Aye, lad,” he said, lowering his voice to a soft burr. “I get scared all the time. I’ve spent years tryin’ to prove myself, tryin’ to earn respect. It wasn’t always easy, and it wasn’t always fun. But y’know what I learned? Bein’ strong isn’t about how big yer arms are or how high ye can lift someone over yer head.” He reached out, steadying the boy’s shoulder gently. “It’s about gettin’ back up when life knocks ye down. And you…” He smiled, eyes crinkling. “…you’re stronger than I could ever be.”

The boy’s mom wiped her eyes quietly as the boy threw his arms around Drew. The big Scot hugged him back carefully, tenderly, as though he were made of glass. When the boy finally pulled back, his eyes went wide as he looked over Drew’s shoulder toward Y/N. “C-can she be in the picture too?” he asked, shy but hopeful. “She’s funny. And really tough.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

The boy nodded earnestly. She smiled, an unguarded, real smile, and stood, crossing over. “Of course, kiddo. Scoot over, I’ll be right here.” She crouched beside him, throwing up a playful mock-fighting pose. The boy mimicked her, sword raised proudly, while Drew crouched down on the other side with his own fierce scowl.

His mother snapped the picture, the boy glowing between them. When the kid finally skipped off with his mom, Y/N glanced at Drew. For a moment, the walls they’d built cracked, the look in his eyes wasn’t mocking, and hers wasn’t combative. It was… something else. Something that neither of them liked to acknowledge.

Drew broke it first, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t think ye had it in you, sweetheart. Almost looked human there for a second.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t get all sentimental just because you found your mini-me. The only reason that picture’s worth anything is because I was in it.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, lass.”

She crossed her arms, leaning closer with a sharp smile. “I will. Because unlike you, I don’t need a claymore or a funny accent to stay relevant.”

Fans within earshot laughed, eating it up. Neither of them broke character, but under the noise and the smiles, that lingering softness from a moment ago stuck like a thorn neither could quite pull out.

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     The backstage monitor had already been buzzing with chatter. A mixed tag: Drew McIntyre and Y/N versus Montez Ford and Bianca Belair. The crowd was alive before they even stepped through the curtain, energy pulsing in a way that promised either disaster or magic.

Drew adjusted his wrist tape as they waited by the gorilla position, glancing down at Y/N with that same mixture of disdain and something else he’d never admit out loud. She was stretching, rolling her shoulders, utterly focused—except for the smirk she caught him with when she noticed him watching.

“Try not to cost me this one, big man,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear over Montez’s entrance music blaring through the curtain.

Drew arched a brow, his Scottish burr laced with dry humor. “Funny, I was about to say the same to you. Don’t worry, lass, I’ll carry the weight.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’d be on your back within three minutes without me.”

The music hit, their names announced, and the two stepped through the curtain—side by side but not touching, the reluctant team that nobody thought would gel. The crowd roared regardless, sensing the tension, the possibility.

Drew started things off with Montez. He towered over him, locking up with sheer power, forcing Montez into the corner with ease. The crowd erupted with Drew’s dominance—until Montez ducked low, used his speed, and came flying off the ropes with a slick dropkick that staggered the Scotsman.

Y/N slapped Drew’s back, tagging herself in before he could react. “Step aside, Braveheart,” she taunted, slipping between the ropes.

Drew shot her a glare, muttering, “Patience clearly isn’t your strong suit.”

She ignored him, eyes locked on Bianca as the EST hopped into the ring, ready. The two women went at it fast—chain wrestling to start, counters and reversals, until Bianca launched Y/N into the ropes. Y/N ducked a clothesline, springboarded off the middle rope, and hit a flying back elbow that popped the crowd. She smirked as she glanced back at Drew, mouthing: See? Carried.

Bianca rallied, forcing Y/N into the corner, and Montez sneaked a tag, stepping back in. Before Y/N could react, Drew smacked her shoulder hard enough to tag himself in.

“Get out,” he ordered, stepping past her.

Her jaw dropped. “You just tagged me out?!”

“Correct. You’re welcome.”

The crowd laughed at their bickering, eating it up.

Things shifted when Montez’s athleticism caught Drew off guard. A running enziguri, then a frog splash that had the crowd convinced the match was over—1…2…Drew just barely kicked out.

Drew was still down, clutching his ribs, when Y/N suddenly hopped the ropes, breaking the pin. The referee scolded her, but she didn’t care.

She crouched down beside Drew, glaring at him. “Get up. Don’t you dare make me carry your ass alone.”

He blinked at her, stunned, not at the words, but at the fire in her eyes. For a second, she looked like she actually cared.

She yanked him up by the wrist before he could process it, then spun and drilled Montez with a brutal snap DDT. The arena went wild.

Drew, still catching his breath, stared at her. She just shot him a sharp smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Bianca stormed the ring to even the odds, charging straight at Y/N. But Y/N ducked, sent Bianca flying over the ropes, and turned right back to Drew.

“Tag me!” she barked, slapping his chest hard enough to echo.

Drew’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. “Bossy.” But he obliged, stepping back to let her fly.

Y/N vaulted off the ropes, taking Montez down with a flying crossbody. The two traded near-falls, but soon Drew reached out a massive hand. Y/N glanced at it—hesitated just a beat too long—then slapped it.

From there, something clicked.

Drew scooped Montez up for a suplex, but instead of dropping him, he held him vertical. Y/N ran in, leapt, and dropkicked Montez’s chest mid-air, sending him crashing down harder than ever.

The crowd roared. Moments later, Y/N whipped Montez toward Drew, and Drew blasted him with a Claymore that nearly took his head off. Bianca tried to rush back in, but Y/N met her halfway, cutting her off with a wicked superkick that sent her tumbling through the ropes again.

The crowd was on fire, chants breaking out from every direction. Drew covered Montez, Y/N standing guard. 1…2…3. The bell rang.

The place erupted. Their music hit, echoing through the arena. Drew pushed to his feet, sweat dripping, chest heaving. He turned to find Y/N already standing in the middle of the ring, hand outstretched, not in insult, not in mockery, but as if daring him.

For once, he didn’t overthink it. He smirked, took her hand, and together they raised each other’s arms high in victory.

The crowd popped so loud it shook the rafters. And for the briefest of moments, amidst the cheers, the lights, the heat of the win, they both felt it. Not hatred. Not rivalry. Something else.

They dropped each other’s hands quickly after. Neither spoke. But the smirk they shared said enough.

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     The adrenaline from the match still hummed in the air as Y/N followed Drew backstage. Sweat dripped down her temple, and her chest heaved from the final sequence they’d just pulled off. The crew parted around them, some nodding, others clapping them on the back. A few still looked shocked that the two of them had managed to function as a team at all.

Drew dragged a hand through his damp hair and let out a low chuckle, still catching his breath. “Never thought I’d say this,” he said, glancing sideways at her, “but we actually pulled it off.”

Y/N smirked, tugging at the tape around her wrist. “Don’t sound too surprised. I am good at this, you know.”

He gave her a look, that dry, Scottish patience only he could pull off. “Oh aye, you’re good. Doesn’t mean I expected you to save my arse out there.”

She cocked a brow. “What, you think I’d just let Montez pin you? Please. I couldn’t ruin my record. I’ve got bigger things to worry about— like Tiffany’s title.”

That earned her a short laugh, his shoulders shaking. “So it wasn’t about me at all, then?”

“Not even a little,” she shot back with a grin. “You were just… collateral damage I had to drag along with me.”

Drew leaned against a crate, towering as he tilted his head at her. “Funny, because from where I was lying, it looked an awful lot like you cared.”

She scoffed, refusing to let the flicker of warmth in his tone land. “Don’t flatter yourself, big guy. I just don’t like losing. Especially not to Montez and Bianca. Do you know how long I’d have to hear about it from them?”

His mouth curved, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fair enough. Still, I’ll admit… you surprised me. Didn’t think you had teamwork in you.”

“And yet,” she said, tugging at the cap of a water bottle before tossing it to him, “we won.”

He caught it easily, twisting the cap open. He took a long drink, then extended another bottle toward her. Their fingers brushed as she grabbed it, barely a touch, a fleeting graze, but it lingered in the air longer than it should have. Neither of them moved to pull away too quickly.

Y/N cleared her throat first, breaking the moment with a quick smirk. “Careful, Galloway. Keep talking like that, and people will think you actually like teaming with me.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed, though the amusement was clear beneath the weight of his stare. “Don’t push your luck, lass. Tonight was a one-off.”

She tilted her bottle toward him in mock salute, her grin tugging wider. “Sure it was.”

And for the first time since they’d been thrown together, the silence that followed wasn’t sharp or hostile. It was… strangely easy.

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     The crowd’s roar still echoed in Y/N’s ears as she pushed through the curtain, adrenaline humming in her veins. She’d just put Nia Jax down in the middle of the ring, clean, decisive, and in style. Sweat clung to her temples, her chest still rising and falling as Cathy Kelley appeared with a cameraman in tow.

“Y/N!” Cathy’s smile was bright, microphone raised. “Congratulations on your victory tonight. Beating someone as dominant as Nia is a huge statement for your main roster run. How are you feeling right now?”

Y/N dragged a wrist across her forehead, grinning like she owned the place. “How am I feeling? Like I just reminded the entire women’s division that I’m not here to fill space. I’m here to take it over. Nia was step one.”

Cathy nodded, clearly impressed. “It’s no secret the fans are buzzing about you. Your popularity’s skyrocketed since your debut, and a lot of people say that being paired in segments with Drew McIntyre helped boost that momentum—”

The smirk on Y/N’s face twisted sharp, cutting. “With all due respect, Cathy, my momentum comes from me. Not from standing next to some guy who swings a sword and broods into the camera. I didn’t need Drew to beat Nia. I don’t need Drew to make a name for myself. And I sure as hell don’t need him to validate what I can do in this ring.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. Cathy blinked, eyebrows arching at the pointed remark, while the crew nearby went silent, listening. That silence broke with the sound of heavy boots. Drew McIntyre stepped into frame, towering over Y/N, his eyes glinting under the harsh backstage lights. He’d clearly been watching from a monitor, and he didn’t look amused.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue, lass,” Drew said evenly, voice edged with steel. “But you’re forgetting something. The reason folk are talking about you at all is because of the company you’ve kept. A little gratitude might not kill you.”

Y/N tilted her head, refusing to back down. “Gratitude? For what, Drew? For you showing up and pretending like I need saving? I just proved I don’t. I’m climbing this ladder with or without you, and if that bruises your ego— well, that sounds like a you problem.”

His jaw flexed, shoulders squaring as he stepped closer, the air between them suddenly suffocating. “Careful now. You might think you’re above learning respect, but the veterans you mock? They’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

Y/N’s smile only widened, taunting, dangerous. “Guess I’ll just have to chew harder, then.”

The two were nearly nose-to-nose now, Cathy frozen between them, eyes wide as if she wasn’t sure whether to cut the camera or keep rolling. Drew’s gaze drilled into hers, chest rising with slow, simmering breaths. “You’re going to regret underestimating me.”

“And you’re going to regret ever thinking I needed you.” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the venom in it cut like glass.

Cathy hurriedly tried to close the segment, her nervous voice barely covering the tension sparking between them. Crew members shifted, ready to step in if things escalated. But even when a small step pulled them apart, their eyes stayed locked — both furious, both stubborn, both too aware of the pulse hammering in their chests.

Neither of them said it, but they both felt it: this wasn’t just rivalry anymore.

This was something dangerous.

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     The hotel room was thick with silence. Y/N sat on the bed, massaging her thigh and trying not to wince, though every movement sent pain rippling through her legs. She hated showing weakness, especially here, with him.

Drew leaned against the desk, scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t care less. But his eyes flicked up every few seconds, catching the way she shifted, the way she bit back a hiss.

“You’re makin’ it worse,” he said finally, voice low and gravelly.

Y/N’s head whipped toward him. “I didn’t ask for a medical opinion.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious.” He set the phone down, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re stubborn enough to work yourself into a wheelchair, and for what? To prove a point no one asked you to?”

Her mouth fell open, incredulous. “A point? That was a match against Piper freakin’ Niven. If I didn’t give it everything, she would’ve steamrolled me.”

He shrugged, maddeningly calm. “Sometimes living to fight another day is the smarter choice.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so full of wisdom.” Her voice sharpened, eyes blazing. “Tell me, Drew, do you hand out advice because you actually care, or because it makes you feel better to remind everyone you’ve been here longer?”

His brows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Careful.”

“Why?” she shot back. “Hit too close to home? You don’t like it when someone calls you out for being old and obnoxious?”

His nostrils flared, his accent deepening with his rising temper. “Obnoxious? Lass, I’ve bled in more rings than you’ve had birthdays. You think you’re the first brash young thing to come in screamin’ about changing the business? You’ll burn yourself out before you even begin.”

“Better to burn out than fade away!” she snapped. “At least I’m fighting. At least I’m making people notice me. You think I’ve got ten years to find myself like you did? I don’t. I either prove I belong now, or I’m gone.”

Drew stepped closer, towering over her now. “You think respect’s earned by breakin’ yourself in half every night? You think I wanted to start over in bingo halls with fifty people watchin’? No, but I did, because I had to earn back every ounce of respect I lost. You’re playin’ with fire, and one day you’ll get burned.”

“And what—” she bit out, rising to her feet despite the pain— “you’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’?”

Her knee buckled suddenly, pain lancing through her leg. She staggered forward with a gasp. Before she could hit the floor, his arms wrapped around her, strong and steady. The sudden closeness made her breath catch, the fury in her chest colliding with something far more dangerous.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, less angry, more… worried. “You tryin’ to kill yourself out there?”

“Get off me,” she snapped, though her hands clutched at his arms, grounding herself.

He didn’t let go, easing her back onto the bed with surprising gentleness. His big hands stayed firm on her arms, anchoring her. “You think this is strength? Pushin’ until your legs give out? All I see is someone too proud to admit she’s hurtin’.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes locked with his. “And all I see is someone pretending he doesn’t care when he clearly does.”

That stopped him. His jaw tightened, eyes flickering like she’d struck a nerve. He didn’t move, still close enough that his breath brushed her cheek. “Of course I care,” he said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant. “You’re my partner, whether I wanted it or not. You think I enjoy watchin’ you throw yourself to the wolves? You think I don’t respect the fire you’ve got? But fire unchecked…” His hand shifted to her injured leg, holding it carefully. “…burns everything in its path.”

She swallowed hard, heart racing. The way he said it, the way his hand lingered just enough to steady her, it was more intimate than anything they’d ever let slip between them.

“You’re infuriating,” she whispered.

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Aye. And yet you’re still sittin’ here, lettin’ me patch you up.”

Her mouth curved into something between a glare and a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want to hobble into SmackDown like Bambi on ice.”

“Whatever you say, lass,” he said, grabbing the first-aid kit. But when he wrapped her leg, his touch was impossibly careful.

They talked as he worked, snapping at first, then easing into quieter truths. Drew admitted how long it had taken him to shake off the shame of losing everything once. Y/N confessed how badly the pressure was crushing her, how much she needed to prove she wasn’t just a flash in the pan.

By the time he tied off the bandage, the anger had burned down into something heavier, quieter. Their eyes met again, lingering too long. The tension was different now, softer but sharper all at once. Drew leaned just slightly closer, like the weight between them pulled him in. Her breath caught, lips parting without thought.

For a second, it felt inevitable. But then he blinked, jaw clenching, and pulled back abruptly. “You should rest,” he muttered. But the heat in his eyes betrayed the restraint in his voice. And for the first time, silence between them didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like possibility.

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     The crowd was still buzzing from the electric finish as Y/N and Drew pushed through the curtain backstage. Both were flushed with adrenaline, sweat glistening under the harsh arena lights. Crew members clapped shoulders and shouted praise as they passed.

“Bloody hell, that spot with the double suplex— genius,” one producer grinned, shaking his head. “Crowd ate it up.”

“And the synchronized kip-up? Chef’s kiss,” another added.

Drew just smirked, shrugging like it had all been easy. “Aye, light work.”

Y/N barked out a laugh, tugging at the tape on her wrists. “Light work? You were huffing like a steam engine two minutes in.”

His head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me? Lass, I carried Bo halfway across that ring like he weighed nothin’. You’re welcome for settin’ you up with the easiest hot tag of your life.”

Her jaw dropped, mock-offended. “Easy? Please. Who saved your Scottish ass when Nikki was about to put you in the Sister Abigail?”

He tilted his head, lips curving in that infuriating smirk. “Saved me? You just wanted the spotlight back. Admit it.”

Y/N stepped closer, chin tilted defiantly. “If I wanted the spotlight, Drew, I wouldn’t have let you steal half my thunder out there.”

His low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and before she could move past him, he nudged her shoulder with his own, playfully rough. “Thunder, huh? More like a drizzle.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Did you just call me drizzle?”

He leaned down, deliberately lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Aye. Cute drizzle.”

Her cheeks heated, and she shoved at his arm with a scoff, though her lips betrayed her by twitching into a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

He straightened, smirk firmly in place. “And yet, you’re smilin’.”

Before she could come up with a comeback, he gave her a final nudge. “I’m headin’ to catering before you decide to pick another fight. Don’t go breakin’ your legs again while I’m gone.”

She rolled her eyes, waving him off. “Go eat your chicken breast and pretend it has seasoning, old man.”

He chuckled as he walked off, tossing over his shoulder, “Better than whatever nonsense you eat.”

The moment he disappeared around the corner, a voice piped up behind her. “Well, well, well. Look who’s suddenly besties with Scotland’s finest.”

Y/N turned to see Jessica leaning against a crate, arms crossed and a mischievous smirk plastered on her face.

“Don’t start,” Y/N warned, tugging at the towel draped over her neck.

Tiffany’s brows shot up. “What? I’m just noticing things. Like how you were smiling at him. And how he was definitely checking you out when you flipped Nikki into that headlock takeover.”

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed, flustered. “He was not.”

Tiffany tilted her head, clearly amused. “Uh, yeah, he was. Girl, everyone could see it. You two had, like, a whole moment out there.”

Y/N scoffed, defensive. “It’s called chemistry. In the ring. You know, for the crowd.”

“Mm-hmm.” Tiffany drew out the sound, clearly not buying it. “Chemistry, sure. Totally nothing to do with the way you two were practically flirting when you came back here.”

“I was not flirting!” Y/N snapped, maybe a little too quickly.

Jessica just smirked, unbothered. “Whatever you say. But if you start showing up to the gym with a tartan scarf, I’m calling you out.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her towel. “I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Tiffany sang, sauntering off, leaving Y/N standing there, cheeks warm, replaying Drew’s stupid smirk in her head.

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     The crowd was still electric after Drew’s match with Damian Priest. Sweat soaked through his hair, his chest heaving as he raised his arm in victory. He snatched the mic, pacing the ring with that usual fire in his eyes.

“You see that? That’s what it means to fight like a warrior!” Drew roared, his accent thick, his voice booming. “That’s what it means to stand toe to toe with the very best and come out on top. Damian Priest is no easy man to beat, but I—”

The chant cut him off.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!”

He froze, lips pressing into a thin line. The chant rolled louder, drowning out his words, feeding off itself. Drew’s nostrils flared. He gripped the mic tighter, pacing harder. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” he muttered into the mic, drawing boos and cheers. “I give you a war, I give you a win, and instead of chantin’ for me— you chant for her?”

The crowd doubled down. “Y/N! Y/N!”

Drew’s voice sharpened, the bitterness seeping out. “She didn’t fight this match. She didn’t spill her blood tonight. I did. But no, you’d rather sing for the rookie— because she’s shiny, she’s new, she’s got a couple of flashy moments under her belt.”

Boos. Gasps. A few cheers from the diehards.

“You all need to hear this. She’s not me. She’s not tested. She’s not proven. She’s just a rookie ridin’ hype, and the day’s comin’ when all that noise fades away. But me?” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’ll still be here. I’ll still be the one carryin’ this brand while you all chase your next favorite.”

The boos were deafening now, but Drew just hurled the mic down and stormed out, jaw locked, eyes dark. 

Backstage was a blur of noise, but the second Drew walked through the curtain, the tension was different.

Y/N was waiting. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest, jaw set, but her eyes, there was something in them he hadn’t seen before. Not fire. Not defiance. Something heavier.

“What the hell was that?” Her voice was sharp, but thin, like it was stretched too far.

Drew frowned, still riding the high of the promo. “It’s called doin’ business, lass. Workin’ the crowd. You know that.” 

Her laugh was bitter, brittle. “Don’t. Don’t stand there and tell me that wasn’t personal.”

He straightened, his own temper prickling. “You think I care enough to make it personal? I said what needed to be said. You’re the one who’s been struttin’ around like you built this place after five minutes on the main roster.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, hands curling into fists. “You don’t respect me.”

“Respect is earned,” he shot back. “Not handed out like free merch at the door.”

Her breath hitched, barely audible, but he heard it. And when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I thought… I thought maybe you did. After everything. Even just a little.”

Something twisted in his gut. The usual fire in her was dimmed, replaced by something raw, and it knocked the wind out of him.

“Lass—” he started, but she cut him off, her chin trembling.

“You humiliated me out there.” Her eyes shone, though she blinked hard, fighting it back. “You made it sound like I don’t belong. Like I haven’t bled and trained and clawed my way here. You made me sound like a joke. On live TV.”

Drew’s chest tightened, his words catching before they left his throat. He hadn’t expected this, her shoulders tight, her voice breaking, her face trying and failing to hold itself together.

For the first time, she wasn’t spitting fire at him. She was breaking. And he’d done it. “Y/N…” His voice softened despite himself, his accent thick with something almost like regret. “That wasn’t—”

“No.” She shook her head, jaw set even as her eyes brimmed. “Don’t. I can’t trust you. Not if you’re willing to cut me down just to make yourself feel taller.”

Before he could move, before he could find the right words, she turned and stormed down the hallway, shoulders stiff, wiping at her face.

Drew stayed rooted to the spot, his chest tight, replaying the crack in her voice.

He’d fought wars in this business. He’d broken bodies, cut promos that gutted people. But this? The look in her eyes as she walked away? This one felt different. And for the first time, Drew McIntyre wasn’t sure if he liked what he’d just done.

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     The arena was buzzing before the bell even rang. Anticipation hung in the air like static, every fan on their feet for what could be the match that defined Y/N’s career. Jade Cargill stood across the ring, her sculpted frame gleaming under the bright lights, every movement radiating power and dominance. Y/N rolled her shoulders back, adjusting her wrist tape with steady hands, but her jaw was tight, eyes never leaving Jade. Tonight was hers to win or lose.

Backstage, Drew McIntyre had been pacing for twenty minutes, running a hand through his hair until it nearly stuck up on end. He knew he didn’t belong out there. Not tonight. Not after what he’d said.

But the guilt ate at him. The look on her face after his promo, the cracked voice, the way she’d stormed off like he’d just ripped something vital out of her, it had been gnawing at him every night since. He’d replayed it over and over, hearing himself sneer the words, “just a rookie ridin’ hype,” and hating himself more each time.

He didn’t want to interfere again, didn’t want to take anything away from her. But he also couldn’t sit in the back and do nothing. Not when she had the biggest fight of her career standing right in front of her.

So when the time came, he made his decision. The lights shifted. A ripple ran through the crowd. Then his music hit. The audience erupted instantly, the kind of roar that rattled the rafters. Drew appeared at the top of the ramp, not in gear, not storming toward the ring with sword in hand. Just jeans and a black shirt, arms folded across his chest. No mic. No theatrics. Just him. Watching.

A deliberate choice. He wasn’t here to steal spotlight. He wasn’t here to overshadow. He was here to show her the one thing he hadn’t before: respect.

Y/N’s head snapped toward the entrance. Her stomach twisted sharply the moment she saw him. Of course he’d be here. Of course he’d pick tonight, the most important night of her career so far.

Her lips pressed into a hard line. She turned back to Jade, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The bell rang.

Jade came out swinging, scooping Y/N up and slamming her down hard enough to shake the mat. Then another. Then a suplex, rattling through Y/N’s sore legs, pushing her endurance to its limits. The crowd groaned with each blow.

Still, Y/N kept getting up.

And every time she rose, Drew’s eyes followed. He gave a small nod from the ramp, silent approval that only sharpened the knife twisting in Y/N’s chest. She didn’t need him there. She didn’t want him there. But she couldn’t ignore the way his presence set the arena buzzing, how his nods fueled the crowd into chants of her name.

The match built to its fever pitch. Jade hooked Y/N up for Jaded, the finisher that had ended so many others before her. But mid-air, Y/N twisted, flipping into a desperate hurricanrana that sent Jade crashing to the mat. The crowd exploded.

Y/N hit the ropes, wild energy driving her. She launched with a sharp, clean kick, then dropped her finisher with precision born of pure grit.

One. Two. Three.

The referee’s hand slapped the mat.

The noise was deafening. Y/N rose slowly, clutching her ribs, sweat running down her face as the referee lifted her arm in victory. The crowd screamed her name, chanting it in waves that shook the building.

And yet her eyes were pulled, unbidden, up the ramp. Drew was clapping. Slow. Deliberate. His expression unreadable, somewhere between pride and regret.

Her heart ached. She wanted to let herself feel it, to soak in the validation. To believe the respect was real. But she couldn’t.

Instead, she slid out of the ring, her boots hitting the floor hard as she stormed up the ramp. She brushed past him without a single glance, disappearing backstage before the crowd could even process the moment.

Drew’s applause faltered, hands lowering slowly. He exhaled hard, jaw tightening as guilt burned through his chest. He deserved that. Every bit of it. But he wasn’t going to stop trying. Not until she believed him.

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     The cameras were rolling, the Impaulsive set buzzing with energy as Logan Paul leaned across the table, grinning ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, sitting across from me right now is a man who needs no introduction, The Scottish Warrior, DrewMcIntyre.”

The crowd off-camera popped, and Drew gave a small smirk, nodding toward Logan. “Cheers. Happy to be here.”

“Big fella, you’ve done it all. Royal Rumble winner, multiple-time world champ, carried WWE through the pandemic era… I mean, that’s legendary shit.” Logan slapped the table for emphasis. “How does it feel knowing you’re one of the pillars of this company?”

Drew leaned back in his chair, folding his massive arms. His voice carried that trademark Scottish grit. “It feels like a lot of pressure, truth be told. But pressure’s good. Means the company trusts ye, the fans believe in ye. I wouldn’t trade it for anythin’.”

Logan nodded, impressed. “Alright, so what about the current landscape? Lot of people say WWE’s in a renaissance. New stars rising, vets holding it down. Where do you see yourself fitting in right now?”

“Right where I’ve always been,” Drew replied evenly. “At the top of the mountain, fighting off anyone tryin’ to take my spot.” He smirked, the competitive edge in his eyes clear. “That part’s never changed.”

Logan chuckled. “Fair enough. Speaking of fighting people off… you’ve had some wild rivalries lately. Damian Priest, CM Punk, Roman Reigns— the list is stacked. But I gotta bring this up, man, because the internet is obsessed.”

He leaned in closer, grinning mischievously. “You and Y/N. People call you the weirdest tag team that shouldn’t work, but somehow does. The tension, the banter… what’s the real story there?”

The studio fell just a little quieter.

Drew’s smirk faltered. He shifted in his chair, his jaw tightening for a brief second before something softer flickered across his face. It was so subtle, but enough to make Logan blink in surprise.

“The real story?” Drew repeated, his accent low, deliberate. He hesitated, then leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “She’s… one of the most stubborn, hard-headed, fiery people I’ve ever met in this business. And I mean that as a compliment.”

Logan raised a brow, picking up on the change in tone immediately. “Compliment, huh? That’s not what it sounded like last week on SmackDown.”

For the first time since the cameras started rolling, Drew’s expression dropped the bravado. He exhaled through his nose, the guilt behind his eyes unmistakable.

“Aye,” he admitted. “I said somethin’ in the heat of the moment that I regret. Deeply. That’s on me. I let my ego get in the way when it should’ve been about givin’ credit where it’s due.” He looked directly into the camera now, voice steady. “The truth is… Y/N is one of the fastest rising stars we’ve got. She doesn’t need me, or anyone else, to validate her. She’s earned every bit of what she’s gettin’ right now. And anyone who doesn’t see that?” He gave a faint smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “They’re blind.”

Logan blinked, taken aback. “Damn. That was… respectful. Not what I expected.”

Drew gave a soft chuckle, rubbing his jaw. “She deserves respect. Always has. And I’ll make sure she gets it, even if it’s not me she wants to hear it from.”

The room was silent for a beat, the weight of his words settling. Even Logan, the king of chaos, seemed momentarily at a loss.

“Alright,” Logan finally said, grinning again but clearly thrown. “That was… not the savage Drew McIntyre I thought I was getting today. But hey, respect where it’s due. Y/N’s gonna see this, man.”

Drew’s lips quirked faintly. His gaze didn’t leave the camera. “Good. That’s the point.”

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     Later that week, the backstage corridor buzzed with the usual chaos, crew wheeling production carts, wrestlers heading toward gorilla, agents barking into headsets. Drew walked with his usual measured stride, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, mind already focused on the night ahead.

And then he heard it.

Two lower-card guys, barely blips on the roster, leaned against a crate just ahead. Their voices carried over the noise.

“Crazy how quick hype fades,” one of them snickered. “Y/N’s nothin’ special. Just another pretty face they’ll feed to Tiffany.”

The other barked out a laugh. “Yeah, exactly. Fans’ll get bored of her real fast. Doesn’t matter how much they chant her name— she ain’t built to last. She’s just the flavor of the month.”

Drew froze. His body locked up like a predator catching a scent. Slowly, he set his duffel down on the floor. His fists curled so tight his knuckles cracked. His chest rose and fell, every inhale sharp, every exhale heavier.

He turned. His boots echoed against the concrete as he stalked toward them. “What,” Drew said, voice low, guttural, dangerous, “did you just say?”

The two men straightened, startled. One tried to laugh it off. “Just—just talkin’, man. Don’t get all—”

Before he could finish, Drew exploded forward. His hand shot out, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him back against the wall so hard the crates rattled. A forearm pressed into his throat, cutting his words to a strangled cough.

“You think you’re funny?” Drew snarled, his Scottish brogue thick with rage. “You think you can stand here, run your mouths about her, like she hasn’t bled for what she’s got?” His face was inches from the man’s, eyes blazing.

The second wrestler backed up, hands raised. “Whoa, Drew, chill—”

Drew’s glare snapped to him, lethal. “Don’t you tell me to chill.” His voice thundered down the hallway, drawing eyes. “She’s fought harder than either of you’ve ever fought in your worthless careers. She’s earned every damn chant she gets! She’s got more heart in her pinky than you’ve got in your entire bodies!”

The man against the wall choked, squirming, his face red as Drew’s forearm pressed harder. Drew’s free hand curled into a fist, veins standing out along his forearm. He was seconds away from swinging, from unleashing every ounce of rage pounding in his chest.

And deep down, he knew— it wasn’t just about their words. It was about him. About the fact that once upon a time, he had stood in front of thousands and said things not too different. He’d dragged her down when he should’ve lifted her up. And hearing her name spit out with that same venom from someone else’s mouth made him sick.

“Drew! Drew, stop!”

Crew members swarmed in, trying to wedge themselves between him and his target. A road agent grabbed his arm, another tugged at his shoulder. “Enough, man, enough!”

Drew resisted, body trembling with fury, his fist still cocked. He wanted to break this guy in half. He wanted to make sure he never said her name again. It took three people to pull him back, and even then, Drew shoved them off, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead.

The wrestlers scrambled away like frightened rats, muttering apologies, heads down. They didn’t even look back.

Drew stood there, breathing hard, hands shaking with adrenaline. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, trying to ground himself. He knew he’d nearly lost control. He knew if he’d landed that punch, it would’ve been ugly.

But for once, it wasn’t about his pride. It wasn’t about proving himself. It was about her. About defending her the way he should’ve all along.

For Y/N, he realized, he was willing to fight every single person in that locker room, from the curtain-jerkers to the main eventers. He’d burn every bridge, take every fine, throw away every ounce of goodwill.

Because the truth, slamming into him harder than any claymore he’d ever thrown, was that he cared about her, more than he’d ever let himself admit. More than he even wanted to.

And now? He couldn’t turn it off.

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     Drew had spent the better part of the day wrestling with himself. He knew he’d crossed a line with his promo on SmackDown, tearing down Y/N in front of thousands of fans. He’d been proud, frustrated, even competitive, but seeing her crushed afterward? That had shaken something loose inside him.

He’d gone to extreme lengths to find her tonight, bribed a stagehand, negotiated with security, done whatever he needed just to get her room number. And now he stood outside her door, knuckles hovering, heart hammering.

“Y/N?” His voice was careful, quiet, almost vulnerable.

No answer.

He pressed his forehead to the door, eyes closing. “I’m not gonna yell. I just… I need to talk to you.”

Inside, her hand hovered over the doorknob. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she opened it just enough for him to see her. Drew froze. Oversized Stone Cold hoodie, black spandex shorts. Hair messy, strands falling around her face. And a large, angry bruise creeping up her leg. She looked soft, unguarded, and impossibly beautiful. “Can I come in?” he asked, voice low, controlled.

She stepped aside without a word. He entered slowly, like he was stepping into enemy territory. She moved to the far side of the room, arms crossed, eyes glued to the carpet. Normally, she’d be fire, sass, sarcasm, always ready to bite back. Tonight? Nothing. Just cold silence.

Drew sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Talk to me. Please. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You don’t deserve to know how I feel,” she spat, voice trembling. “After everything— after tearing me down in front of everyone— why the hell would I let you in now?”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “I know,” he admitted, voice rough. “I don’t deserve it. But I had to see you. Had to say… I’m sorry. And I need to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Make it right? You think a half-assed apology erases that? You made me feel small, Drew. Like everything I’ve bled for in this business meant nothing. And it was you. Not some rival, not some stranger. You.”

Her voice cracked. She looked away, biting down hard on her lip. He took a careful step closer, chest tight. “You don’t understand. When I said those things, I was… projecting. I pushed you away because I— because I was scared. Scared of how much I actually care about you.”

Her eyes widened, anger and shock clashing inside her. “Care about me?” she whispered. “That’s what that was? You think ripping me apart is how you show you care?”

Drew’s jaw clenched, his voice breaking. “No. That’s not caring, that’s cowardice. I didn’t know how to handle the fact that you—” He stopped, struggling to force it out. “You mean more to me than I ever wanted to admit. I thought if I pushed hard enough, I could convince myself you were just competition. Just another fight. But you’re not. You never were.”

Her lip trembled. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she cursed under her breath, turning away. “I hate crying,” she muttered. “I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling weak.”

He reached out, gently tilting her face back toward him. His hands cradled her cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears. “You’re not weak,” he whispered, reverent. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. And God help me, you’re even more beautiful when you let yourself feel.”

Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling quickly. Weeks— months— of tension swelled between them, thick and combustible.

“Y/N…” Drew’s voice was rough, breaking.

And then she closed the distance.

Her lips crashed against his, fierce and desperate. It wasn’t gentle, it was messy, heated, like they were trying to take back every moment wasted in denial. She fisted his shirt, dragging him closer, like she was afraid he might slip away. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him, anchoring her in place.

The kiss was fire, anger, longing, need all tangled together. Every insult, every staredown, every almost-touch exploded in this one moment, and neither of them wanted to let go. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, foreheads pressed together, Drew let out a ragged laugh. “Bloody hell…” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I’ll ever admit.”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell sharply, eyes still glistening. “Don’t think this fixes everything,” she whispered, lips brushing his.

“I know,” he said, thumb stroking her cheek. “But it’s a start. And I swear to you, I’ll never tear you down again. Not you.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty, it was thick, heavy, full of everything they hadn’t said. Drew finally pulled back, taking a shaky breath. “I should let you sleep,” he murmured, starting to step away.

But her hand shot out, gripping his shirt. Her eyes were softer now, but fierce. Vulnerable. “Stay.”

His chest tightened. “Y/N…”

Her lip caught between her teeth, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Just… stay.”

Drew hesitated only a moment before nodding. He kicked off his boots, then let her tug him down onto the bed beside her. She curled against him, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist. For the first time in weeks, the tension eased, not gone, but transformed. No longer poison. No longer enemies. Something new. Something fragile, but real.

And as she tucked her head under his chin, her hand fisting lightly in his shirt to make sure he wouldn’t slip away, Drew pressed a kiss into her hair and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

             ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

     The crowd inside MetLife Stadium was deafening.

SummerSlam. Mixed tag. All eyes were on them.

Drew stood in the corner, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow as the chants rattled the arena. Across the ring, their opponents regrouped, clearly shaken. But it wasn’t just Drew carrying this fight.

It was her.

Y/N had just taken the hot tag, exploding into the ring like a lightning bolt. She ducked a clothesline, hit the ropes, and delivered a picture-perfect dropkick that nearly knocked her opponent’s head off. The crowd roared. Drew leaned against the ropes, jaw tight, watching her. Watching the way she moved, confident, fearless, commanding the ring like she’d been born in it. He’d seen it before, but under the SummerSlam lights, it hit him differently.

God, she was incredible.

Her opponent scrambled to the corner, tagging in the other half of their team. Y/N didn’t hesitate, she launched herself off the top rope, twisting in the air, and landed a crossbody that sent the arena into chaos.

Drew couldn’t hold it in, he roared with the crowd, pounding the turnbuckle in approval. His chest burned with something deeper than adrenaline. Pride. Awe. And something else he’d been fighting for weeks.

When Y/N finally tagged him back in, Drew cleared the ring with a Claymore like a man possessed. The final three-count was almost a blur, the ref’s hand slapping the mat as the bell rang and the announcer screamed their victory.

The building shook. His theme blasted through the speakers, fans on their feet. Y/N rushed back into the ring, colliding with Drew as they threw their arms up together. They’d done it. SummerSlam. Victory.

She turned to him, grinning, hair sticking to her forehead, chest rising and falling. “We actually did it!” she shouted over the roar.

Drew’s heart thudded in his chest. He nodded, his smile softer, more personal. “Aye. We bloody did.”

And then she did it, something small, something only for him. Y/N reached up and grabbed his wrist, raising his arm higher for the crowd. Not her arm. His. A deliberate show of respect, of partnership. Her way of saying, I see you. I’m proud of you too.

It broke him. Drew’s face shifted, gone was the usual stoic grin. His eyes softened, the mask slipping. He didn’t care about cameras, about kayfabe, about keeping their fire under wraps. Not anymore.

Before she could process, his hand slid around the back of her neck, pulling her in. Y/N gasped— then his lips were on hers. Right there in the middle of the SummerSlam ring. The crowd exploded. A shockwave of sound rolled through the arena, fans screaming, cheering, some even shrieking. The commentary team lost it, shouting over each other in disbelief.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, but only a heartbeat. Then she melted into him, fingers gripping the front of his gear as if to anchor herself. The kiss was hot, unyielding, weeks of tension and frustration and buried feelings igniting under the stadium lights. When they finally broke apart, breathless, Drew pressed his forehead to hers. His voice was low, private, meant only for her. “That’s for the world to see.”

Her lips curved into a dazed, giddy smile. “Guess there’s no going back now.”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb across her jaw, his voice steady, certain. “Wouldn’t want to.”

The crowd kept roaring, their names chanted in unison, a sound neither of them would forget. And as Drew held her close, one thing was clear, this wasn’t just a victory in the ring. It was the hard launch of the two of them. Together.

Backstage, the air still crackled with leftover electricity from the arena. Staff and wrestlers alike passed them, grinning, clapping them on the back, muttering things like “about time” and “hell of a moment out there.” Everyone had seen it. Everyone knew.

But Drew could only look at her.

His large hand rested low on her waist as he guided her into a quieter hallway, away from the bustle. Even here, with only the hum of fluorescent lights and their own footsteps, the adrenaline pulsed between them. Drew stopped, turning her gently toward him. That teasing glint sparked in his eyes as he leaned down. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Y/N arched a brow, her lips twitching. “Oh really? That’s your follow-up after kissing me in front of sixty-thousand people? Pain in the ass?”

His grin widened, boyish and wolfish all at once. “A stubborn, mouthy pain in the ass.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped lower, rough with affection. “But…” His hands tightened on her waist, tugging her flush against him, his breath brushing her ear. “…I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Heat crept up her cheeks, though she masked it with a roll of her eyes. “Smooth, McIntyre. Real smooth.”

He smirked, tilting his head, lips grazing just beneath her ear before pressing to her neck in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her shiver. He felt her body tense, then melt against him. “Your ring work tonight…” he murmured against her skin, “…was flawless. You were flawless.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, tilting her chin at him with mock arrogance. “If it took all this just to get you to admit how good I am, I should’ve seduced you sooner.”

Drew threw his head back with a full, unguarded laugh. It echoed off the walls, deep and warm, and when his gaze fell back to her, it wasn’t teasing anymore. His eyes softened in a way they never did with anyone else. He pressed his forehead to hers, voice low and reverent. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet…” she teased back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, “…here you are.”

His lips curved in a smile, softer now, full of quiet devotion. “Aye. Here I am.”

They stood like that for a beat, the world around them fading into nothing. Just two people who’d clawed and fought and bickered their way into something neither of them had expected, but both of them had wanted. Finally, Drew kissed her again. Not the desperate heat of their first kiss, not the shocking spectacle of the one in the ring, but something deeper. Slow. Intentional. His hands cupped her waist, thumbs tracing circles against her hips like he never wanted to let her go.

When they broke apart, Y/N was smiling, really smiling, that mischievous, fire-in-her-eyes grin he’d fallen for without meaning to. “Guess we’re not enemies anymore,” she whispered.

Drew brushed his knuckles along her jaw, his voice steady, certain. “No. Not anymore.” A pause, his lips twitching into that crooked smile she knew too well. “But don’t think that means I’ll stop callin’ you a pain in the ass.”

Her laugh rang out, light and teasing. “And don’t think I’ll stop proving you wrong every chance I get.”

He kissed her temple, lingering, before sliding his arm firmly around her waist. As they started walking back toward the locker rooms, whispers and knowing smiles trailed them like shadows. For the first time, there was no pretending. No hiding. No question.

                ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

     The ride to the airport was quiet aside from the gentle thrum of the A/C. Y/N didn’t know what to say, and frankly, neither did he. It wasn’t common that the two mouthiest stars in the WWE were at a loss for words. Both of their phones had been on silent since the post of them att he game blew up. It only got progressively worse at three in the morning when the video fthem on the kiss cam emerged on the internet. Someone posted the footage and it was only a matter of time before they had to face the music for their actions.

Y/N had to call Colby. She knows he was sleeping when the video was posted, but he had to have seen it by now. But she couldn’t call him when she was with Phil. It wouldn’t be right to either of them to have that conversation. As soon as she’s in the airport, she plans on calling. She doesn’t know what to expect. Well, she has an idea… and it’s not gonna be pretty. And no matter how many times she’s ran through the conversation in her head the past few hours, nothing she says seems to be good enough. The only thing that seems to have stuck is just a desperate I’m sorry. 

Phil glances in her direction, watching as the wheels behind her eyes turn to the point of combustion. His green eyes can’t seem to look away from her for long, knuckles turning white as he grips the wheel. He knows exactly why she looks so broken. He knows she’s thinking about Colby. It stings. It does. Knowing after the moment they shared, she still can’t seem to get him out of her head. 

But he doesn’t have time to be mad or bitter. If he wants to win her back, he has to cover as much ground as possible. He exhales softly, reaching over the middle console to grab her hand. Y/N finally is pulled from her thoughts, eyes snapping up to meet Phil’s brief stare. He glances at her, then back at the road, then black at her. She didn’t expect the tenderness of his callused hand, but even though she should, she doesn’t pull away.

“You need to stop overthinking,” Phil tells her quiet yet firm. “Like you said at the game, it was a kiss cam. It’s not that big of a deal.”

There’s a long pause, Y/N inhaling sharply. “...Maybe that was me trying to convince myself it wasn’t,” she admits, hating how weak her voice sounds. “Clearly to the rest of the world it’s a big fucking deal. And I’m sure Colby wont react as nonchalantly about it as we tried to.”

Phil can hear the edge in her tone, but she’s more tired than angry, more disappointed. She couldn’t believe she tried to brush it off. “If he cares about you the way he says he does, he’ll listen to you.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t be angry, Phil,” she points out upsetedly. “I can talk in circles for hours about what happened, but he still has every right to be pissed off at me.”

“Why would he?” He hears himself growing frustrated. He tries to keep his emotions in check, but trying to calm her down over the man who practically stole her from him made it difficult. “You said yourself you didn’t think it meant anything.”

“I said I didn’t know what it meant,” she bites out. “It obviously meant something, asshole. It meant more than I wanted it to or I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be freaking out over everyone’s reaction. If it didn’t mean anything, i wouldn’t have even done it in the first place. I wouldn’t have felt the need to kiss you if I didn’t feel something.”

Silence. 

Phil isn’t quite sure what to say. In her angry rant, she just admitted more than he thought she would. She just fessed up to everything he wanted to hear. That there’s still something between them. He can’t help the way the corner of his lip twitches up at her confession, and also because of the fact she never pulled away when he held her hand. Y/N watches the way his eyes scrunch up in that infuritatingly cute way whenever he smiles. She has to fight off her own grin, focusing on why she’s still upset.

“WIpe that stupid smirk off your face before I do it for you,” she grumbles, looking out the window so she doesn’t feel the urge to actually smile back. However, she still never removes her hand from his. 

Phil just chuckles softly, shaking his head as he pulls into the parking lot where her gate is located. He throws he car in park, “No need to get so aggressive sweetheart,” he leans back in his chair, head tilting so he can stare at her. She doesn’t understand how he can look so at peace, how he can grin like they just got back from a honeymoon in Greece. Like they didn’t just do something that is going to implode their lives. “Just nice to hear that you still haven’t gotten over me.”

He almost cackles at the heavy glare she sends him. She shifts in her seat, looking away. An easy tell to him that she’s flustered. She always did this. But he loves watching the way she can’t help but smile awkwardly as her face heats up. 

“I hate you,” she grumbles. “And I am over you. Maybe this was just unresolved tension from when you dumped me for April.” 

Punk scoffs, “Okay, I didn’t dump you,” he counters sassily. “If my memory serves me correctly, it was your idea to end things.” His memory is perfect. It was Y/N’s idea to call things off as soon as she saw the way he acted with April. She wasn’t interested in being a secret side piece when he obviously wanted to be with someone else. If he wanted he he would come back eventually, and that’s what she told herself. 

“And you act like I didn’t fuck you in the broom closet at that arena in Wisconsin the week after.” He adds bluntly.

Y/N chokes on her own spit, startled by his brashness, but she does remember that day very vividly. Everyone thought her mach with Trish is what caused her limp, but if anyone saw the smirk on Punk’s face, they would’ve known the truth. He ws never subtle in his claims of her. 

She clears her throat, looking back out the window, “You still ended up choosing her.” 

Phil can hear the undertone of hurt  in her voice, no matter how hard she tries to mask it with indifference. It’s still there. That sting of losing something she had thought was a constant. They remained friends, of course, but after having the… special relationship they had, it was odd having to shift back to just friends. And most would say they never actually got back to that platonic place. April was the first one to call it out. That the two of them were just biding time until they found their way back to one another. 

Phil stares at her, eyes softening. “Did I?” He questions.

Y/N looks back at him, eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?’

His lip is twitched up in an almost sad smile. Reflecting on everything that has transpired between them makes the mood almost bittersweet. “Did I really choose her?”

Y/N blinks, “I mean, it sure as hell felt like it,” she scoffs out a laugh. “You guys were together for years Phil. She literally left the company right after you did. You guys moved in. Got a damn dog together. You stopped talking to me. I’d say that was a pretty finite decision.”

There’s a brief pause, “But where am I now?” 

Y/N stared at him, blinking in stunned silence at his words. But where am I now? The question echoed in her chest, bouncing around her ribcage in a way that was almost suffocating. Because he was right. He came back. He was sitting here. With her. Not with April. Not with anyone else. But even still, she couldn’t stop that voice in her head from whispering that maybe this wasn’t real, that maybe this was just circumstance. Maybe he was only here because everything else fell apart.

Phil noticed the hesitation in her eyes instantly, like he always did. He leaned back against the driver’s seat, still holding her hand, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “There’s a reason I’m here with you and not her,” he said finally, his tone lower, less teasing now. “There’s a reason that shit didn’t work out. Because— truth is— I made my decision a long time ago. I was just too dumb, too stubborn to admit it. The happiest I’ve ever been was when I was with you. And I didn’t even realize it until it was gone.”

Her throat went dry, her chest tightening. She shook her head, almost laughing bitterly. “Phil… you’re only saying that because it didn’t work out with April. You wouldn’t be here saying this if it had.”

He smirked, but it wasn’t cocky, it was tired, honest. “No. You don’t get it. I could never hate April. No matter how bad things got, no matter what we disagreed on, she was never someone I could hate.”

Y/N blinked, confusion flashing in her eyes. “How the hell does that prove anything? That literally backs up what I just said.”

Phil shook his head slowly, his hand tightening around hers. “No, sweetheart. Indifference? That’s when you know you never really gave a shit. That’s when it’s over. But hate?” His green eyes locked on hers, sharp, unflinching. “The line between hate and love’s so goddamn thin you can barely see it. And that’s how I knew. ‘Cause I could hate you. I did hate you sometimes. But it was never clean. Never final. It’s because I never actually wanted to let you go.”

The air in the car thickened, neither of them able to look away from the other. Y/N’s heart pounded so hard she swore he could hear it. His face was so close, his voice so raw, and before she could even think, they were leaning in, too close, too dangerous.

It was another one of those moments. One of those “if you move an inch, I’m done for” moments. She could feel his breath ghosting across her lips, her pulse racing at the familiar pull between them. And god, she wanted it. She wanted to let herself fall back into the ease of him, back into the chaos that somehow always made sense when it was just the two of them.

But Colby’s face flashed in her head. His laugh, his warmth, the way he always made her feel steady. Safe.

Her chest constricted. She couldn’t. No matter how much she wanted to.

Instead of kissing him, Y/N leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder. It was the only thing she could give him without breaking every promise she had made to herself. Phil froze for a second, surprised. Then his arms came around her, strong and grounding, holding her like he wasn’t ready to let go. He exhaled softly against her hair, disappointment flickering in his chest, but understanding too. He wasn’t going to push.

“Guess that’s my answer, huh?” he muttered against her temple, a sad smile in his tone.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes glossed over. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, brushing a strand of hair from her face before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. It lingered, warm, final in its own way. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.”

The silence between them said everything else.

Phil got out first, slinging her carry-on over his shoulder before she could argue. He walked her through the automatic doors, through the noise of the terminal, right up until the security checkpoint where he couldn’t go any further. The weight of their history followed them, hanging heavy in the air. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, not really. But they also knew they had to.

“I’ll see you at work,” he said finally, stuffing his hands in his pockets like if he didn’t, he’d reach out and hold her again.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice quieter than she wanted it to be. “See you at work.”

She lingered, just staring at him for a long moment like she wanted to memorize him standing there. He gave her that small half-smile, the one that had always undone her, and it nearly broke her. Finally, she forced herself to turn and head toward her gate. She didn’t look back. Not until she was far enough away that he couldn’t see her falter.

But Phil stayed there. Watching. Until she disappeared from sight.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

     Getting through security went a lot smoother than Y/N originally anticipated. Truthfully, she wished it took longer to avoid the phone call she’s about to make. Her hands shake with anxiety as she bypasses a Starbucks on her way to find her seat to wait for boarding. She can’t have caffeine now, it’ll just make it worse. She finally finds an empty seat in a rather quiet corner. The only person near her is eight seats over and passed out with headphones lodged in his ears. 

She exhales shakily, pulling her hoodie further over her head to hide her face. She can already feel herself getting emotional and she hasn’t even called him yet. She pulls her phone out of her sweatpants pocket, unlocking it with ease. Her heart beats faster and faster with every swipe of her finger. She opens up the phone app before Colby’s profile picture pops up. He’s her first favorited contact. She swallows thickly, throat bobbing from the force. 

She can already feel the familiar sting behind her eyes. She fucked up. She knows she did. And there’s nothing she can say to excuse her behavior. He’d be completely in the right to tell her not to come home. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. He’s stood by her all these years, through everything, and she went behind his back and kissed the man who broke her into a million pieces. 

She betrayed the man who put her back together.

Reluctantly, she presses call and puts her headphones in. She sucks in a deep breath as it rings. Once… twice… three times… and then–

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice nearly knocks the air from her chest. It’s deep, rough, but not in the way she loves, it’s clipped, restrained. Like he’s holding a snarl in the back of his throat. She can’t tell if it’s anger or if he’s been crying, but either option makes her stomach twist violently.

“Hey,” she breathes, trying to keep her tone light, normal, but it cracks at the edges.

“Don’t,” he cuts in sharply. One word, firm, and it shuts her down instantly. There’s no warmth, no ease, none of the usual soft teasing that comes with his hellos.

Her throat tightens. “So… I’m guessing you saw.”

“I saw.” The words are bitten off, sharp as glass.

She swallows, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her hoodie. “Colby—”

“Y/N, don’t,” he interrupts again, harsher this time. “Don’t sit there and act like this is something we can just… chat about over the phone. I trusted you.” His voice raises slightly before he reins it in, but the strain is evident. “I trusted you to go on this trip, keep it clean, keep it professional, and instead what do I get? I get to watch you kiss the guy you swore to me, swore to me, didn’t have a chance in hell.”

The words slam into her, every syllable weighted. Her chest heaves, breath shaking. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t like that,” she stammers, but even she knows how weak it sounds. “I don’t even know why I—”

“Exactly.” His voice cuts through hers, sharp, frustrated. “You don’t even know. And I’m supposed to sit here and what? Just accept that?” His anger drips heavy through the line, but there’s a break underneath it,  a fracture she knows is pain.

Her voice drops, barely audible. “I messed up. I know I did. I—”

He exhales, the sound rough, strained, like he’s dragging his hands down his face. For a second, she thinks she hears his breath hitch, but then it hardens again. “I’m not doing this on the phone. Not like this.”

She freezes. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means,” Colby says slowly, tightly, “we’ll talk when you’re back in Davenport. Face to face. I’m not—” his voice cracks just barely, then steadies, “—I’m not giving you some half-assed fight through a phone line. You deserve better than that, and I deserve better than that.”

For the first time in days, something flickers inside her. Small. Fragile. Hope. “So…” her voice shakes, afraid of the answer, “I’m still welcome?”

There’s silence on the other end, and she swears her heart is going to stop from the weight of it. When he finally speaks, it’s softer, but still wounded. “Jesus, Y/N… of course you’re welcome. It’s your home too.” He exhales again, this one sounding like it hurts. “It’s not about me wanting you there. It’s about… if I can look at you the same when you are.”

Her lips tremble. She wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out except a broken little “okay.”

“I’ll see you when you get home,” he says firmly, and just like that, the line goes dead.

The sound leaves her hollow. She pulls her headphones out, staring down at her phone screen until it blurs with tears. Quiet, muffled sobs shake through her as she curls in on herself, face hidden by her hood. People move past her in the terminal, luggage wheels rolling, announcements echoing overhead, but she’s frozen,  her chest aching, her heart breaking, and her world tilting in the middle of an airport chair.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

     The Uber pulled away from the curb, leaving Y/N standing in front of Colby’s house with her hood pulled low over her face. Her backpack hung heavy on one shoulder, but not nearly as heavy as the exhaustion pressing down on her. She hadn’t slept on the flight. Couldn’t. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, but there weren’t any tears left in her. She just felt hollow.

Her fist hovered over the door for longer than it should have before she finally knocked. She didn’t even feel right walking in anymore.

When the door swung open, Colby stood there, hair pulled back, sweats hanging low on his hips. The surprise that flashed across his face was unmistakable. They just stared at each other for a long beat, both of them frozen.

Finally, he stepped aside, opening the door wider. “You’re back.” His voice was quieter than usual, controlled.

Y/N shuffled past him, tugging her hoodie strings tighter as though they could hide her. “Yeah.”

The door shut behind her, the sound echoing in the silence. She didn’t dare look up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you landed?” Colby asked, still standing behind her. “I would’ve come and got you.”

Her voice came out hoarse, cracked from hours of crying. “I… I didn’t wanna bother you.”

That did it. His tone sharpened instantly, frustration cutting through the exhaustion on his face. “Jesus, Y/N. Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn. Don’t ever think that. Of course I would’ve came to get you.”

She flinched, shoulders hunching further. “Sorry,” she whispered, so quiet it almost disappeared into the air.

Colby let out a long breath, running a hand down his face. He could see how broken she looked. Puffy eyes, red nose, hoodie drawn in around her like armor. It killed him, but he forced himself to keep steady. He couldn’t just fold. Not this time.

They finally made their way to the couch, sitting down with a space between them that felt like a canyon. Colby leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “So.” He paused, jaw clenching. “Why?”

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “It was the kiss cam. They put us on it, and we tried to brush it off, but they wouldn’t move on. People started booing, yelling… it just– it got overwhelming. So I kissed him. Just to shut it down.”

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his before dropping again. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Colby let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t mean anything. Right.” He leaned back, shaking his head. “You been on my ass for months– months– about being jealous, about ‘losing my shit’ whenever Punk was around. You made me feel like I was crazy. Like I was insecure for no reason.” His eyes finally snapped to hers, sharp and burning. “But then you go and kiss him in front of thousands of people. So tell me, Y/N– was I wrong? Was I outta line, or did I have every goddamn right to be pissed?”

Y/N stayed silent, her chest rising and falling unevenly. She didn’t even try to argue. “You’re right,” she murmured finally, barely above a whisper. “You had every right. And I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make it up to you. And if you…” her voice cracked again, “…if you don’t wanna do this anymore, I get it.”

Colby’s jaw worked, like he was chewing on words he wasn’t sure he wanted to let out. Finally, he leaned forward again, voice low but steady. “Don’t be ridiculous. You think I don’t want you anymore? You think I’d be sittin’ here, feeling like my chest just got ripped open, if I didn’t want you?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

He nodded slowly, firm. “Yeah. At first, I didn’t know if I’d even be able to look at you the same. Felt like I lost everything in one damn second. But even now? Even with all that? I still want you. More than anything. I don’t wanna lose you, Y/N. You’re still mine.”

Her lips trembled, but no words came. He rubbed his hands together, shaking his head like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. “I just… I need time. I need some space to figure out how to get past this. ’Cause right now, I don’t know how.”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay. I can go home for now. Give you space.”

But Colby was already shaking his head. “No. I don’t want you leaving. I gotta head out for Raw tomorrow anyway. You won’t be there, so we’ll use that time apart. You’ll be here when I get back, and we’ll see where we’re at.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Colby leaned back into the couch, running both hands over his face again. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was something in between raw, fragile, but maybe still salvageable.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

     The apartment still felt like him. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his coffee mug still sitting upside down on the drying rack. Even Kevin was moping by the door like he half-expected his owner to walk back through at any second. Y/N caught herself thinking about the way he left that morning, replaying it like it was stuck on a loop.

Colby had been quiet when he zipped his bag up, his eyes darting to her every couple of minutes like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. He lingered in the doorway longer than he had to, hand flexing at his side, like he wasn’t sure if reaching for her was the right move.

He wanted to kiss her. She knew it. She could feel it in the way he stalled, the way his jaw twitched, the way his chest rose like he was fighting himself. But instead of making him choose, Y/N reached out first. She laced her fingers through his and gave his hand a firm squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she told him softly. “You don’t have to.”

The words nearly cracked her chest in half, but she meant them. She didn’t want him to force something he wasn’t ready for just to make her feel better. And the way he stared at her in that moment, like he could see the truth written all over her face, almost broke him too.

She wanted the kiss badly. He could see it. But she was willing to swallow that want, just to make sure he felt valid in his feelings. It made it damn near impossible to stay mad at her.

So he compromised. He leaned in and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Not the lips. Not yet. But it was something, and she held on to it like it mattered more than it probably should have. Then he walked out the door, and the place had felt emptier ever since.

Now, hours later, she’d been trying to keep busy. She’d run herself ragged around his place — vacuumed, mopped, did the dishes, fed Kevin, even scrubbed down the counters. Busy hands meant she didn’t have to sit with her thoughts. She finally collapsed onto the couch with a plate of food, flicking on the TV for background noise.

The phone rang.

Demi.

Y/N instantly perked up, smiling as she answered. “Hey, stranger.”

“Where the hell are you?” Demi’s accent cut through immediately, blunt and sharp as always.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… home?”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” Demi said dryly. “But why? You should be here. They didn’t book you or what?”

Y/N leaned back against the cushions with a sigh. “Nope. Nothing for me tonight. I’ve got the kickoff show in Vegas on Thursday. So I figured I’d stay back. Save myself the hassle of traveling for once.” She hesitated, not adding the and because Colby and I are a mess right now part.

“Laaame,” Demi shot back immediately. “We could’ve gone out for dinner. You’re killin’ me here.”

Y/N laughed. “I’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“Yeah, you better.” Demi’s tone softened a little before shifting. “Anyway, they’ve got me runnin’ Nia at Chamber. They want you to stir some trouble in it. Some kinda revenge angle after last week.”

Y/N smirked, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Oh, that sounds fun. But hear me out, what if we pitched a handicap match instead?”

There was a beat of silence before Demi barked out a laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that. You try sellin’ that to creative and lemme know how it goes.”

They both giggled, the easy flow of their friendship pulling some of the weight off Y/N’s chest. Until Demi casually added: “By the way, you seen social media at all today?”

Y/N froze. “…no?”

“The Blackhawks game,” Demi clarified, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. “You and Punk. Internet’s eatin’ it up. Everyone here’s been mumblin’ about it.”

Y/N groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “God. Does that mean everyone knows?”

“Anyone with access to Wi-Fi,” Demi deadpanned. “So… yeah. That’d explain why Colby looked ready to chew through steel tonight.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her heart thumping harder. But she couldn’t tell if it was Colby’s name or Phil’s that did it. Flashes of both of them cut through her head like static, and the worst part was… she missed them. Both of them. But Colby– Colby was her priority. He had to be.

“Yeah,” Y/N said finally, her voice small. “We’re just… trying to figure out where we’re at.”

Demi hummed low. “Probably a good thing Punk wasn’t here tonight then. Colby might’ve actually swung on him.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, though her pulse spiked again. “Yeah… glad he wasn’t around. We don’t need any more drama.”

That’s when Demi’s tone shifted,  sharper, more probing. “So why’d you kiss him?”

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to put the storm into words. “The kiss cam wouldn’t move on. The crowd started booing. It was all just… so much. I panicked. I just did it without thinking.” Her voice cracked a little. “And now I’m dealing with the fallout.”

A long exhale came through the line. “Love’s not easy, mate. Especially not in this business.” Demi’s voice was gentler now, but still firm. “If you really only did it ‘cause you felt pressured, then it’s fixable. Colby’ll come ‘round. But…”

Y/N swallowed hard. “But?”

“But if you did it ‘cause you still have feelings for him…” Demi let the weight of the words hang. “…that’s a whole different conversation.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/N’s stomach turned.

“Do you?” Demi finally asked, blunt as ever. “Still have feelings for Punk?”

Y/N’s answer was barely a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. Y/N could almost hear Demi running a hand over her face on the other end. Finally, she spoke. “Here’s what I think,” Demi said, tone steadier now. “You’ve got stability with Colby. He grounds you. But I’ve seen you around Punk too. You light up different. More… alive. Only you know what you want, but you can’t drag this out forever. It ain’t fair to either of ‘em. Or you.”

“I know,” Y/N murmured.

Demi softened, a smile threading through her words. “Listen, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. We’ll do a girls’ night in my hotel room, or we’ll hit the gym and smash some weights. Whatever you need, yeah?”

Y/N’s lips curved despite herself. “I might have to take you up on that.”

“Good.” Demi’s grin was audible. “Now quit mopin’ and eat somethin’. I love ya.”

“Love you too, Dem.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N staring at her phone, her food forgotten. Her chest ached with all the things she couldn’t say out loud.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

     Colby came home later than usual, the kind of late that made the house feel heavier than it should’ve. He kicked off his boots by the door, set his bag down with a thump, and waited for Kevin’s nails to start clicking across the hardwood toward him. Nothing. That alone stopped him cold.

He rounded the corner quietly and found the reason why. Y/N was in the kitchen, hair tied up in a messy bun that looked like it’d been fighting gravity all day, one of his old Blackcraft shirts draped over her frame with a pair of spandex shorts. There was a dusting of sugar smeared across her cheek, and she was muttering to herself as she wiped down the counter, checked the oven, wiped again. Kevin was curled up by her feet, head on his paws, keeping watch.

Colby leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and just took it in for a second. She looked… domestic. Too domestic. Like she was trying to anchor herself to something while he wasn’t here.

He cleared his throat.

Y/N jumped like she’d been shot. Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide, cheeks flushing instantly when she realized he was watching her in this state. “Colby, I—I didn’t hear you—”

Her gaze darted to the clutter of bowls, the dusting of flour across the counter, the sink piled with dishes. Her chest tightened. God, it looks like a disaster. He’s going to hate this. He’s already mad, and now it looks like I can’t even keep the place clean—

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, hands flying to grab the nearest dish rag. “I was just— I didn’t mean for it to get so messy, I’ll— I’ll clean it up right now—”

Her words started tripping over each other, coming faster and faster as her breathing picked up. “I should’ve— I wasn’t thinking, I just— I thought you’d maybe like the pie and I wasn’t trying to— I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“Hey,” Colby said softly, taking a step forward.

But she didn’t hear him. Her chest heaved, breaths shallow and ragged, as she shoved plates around with trembling hands. The room tilted around her, closing in. It was like drowning, every inhale tighter than the last, lungs straining as if someone had cinched them shut. Her throat burned. Her fingers shook so badly she dropped the rag.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” she chanted, tears pricking at her eyes as her voice cracked. Her whole body trembled, panic crawling like fire under her skin.

Colby’s heart plummeted. “Baby, stop—” His voice broke as he crossed the space between them, reaching for her wrists. She tried to pull away, still babbling through sobs, “I messed everything up, I kissed Phil, I hurt you, I hurt you, I ruin everything—”

“Stop.” This time it was sharper, desperate. He caught her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to his. “Y/N, breathe.”

Her chest stuttered, air catching like it physically hurt.

“You’re not listening to me,” he whispered urgently, pulling her against him and pressing her face to his chest. “Right here. Feel me. Right here.”

He exaggerated a slow inhale, then a steady exhale, chest rising and falling against her cheek. His palm rubbed circles on her back, grounding her. “Match me, baby. Just match me.”

For a few terrifying seconds, she couldn’t. Her body shook violently, sobs clawing up her throat, but slowly, painfully slowly, her breaths began to line up with his. Still ragged, but deeper. The drowning started to ease, inch by inch, like her head was finally breaking the surface.

Colby kept his lips pressed to the crown of her head, murmuring between breaths. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

The dam broke. She sobbed into his shirt, shaking like she was made of glass. “I’m sorry,” she choked again, words muffled against him. “For the kitchen, for kissing him, for everything. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His chest cracked open at the sound. He lifted her effortlessly onto the island, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her tears streaked down, blotchy and raw, and it damn near gutted him. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing tears away.

“Baby… stop apologizing for making dessert. You didn’t murder anybody.” His tone softened, but he held her gaze. “As for the rest… look. I can’t sit here and say I’m over it. Not yet. You crossed a line, and it cut me. But—” He exhaled, shoulders loosening. “If you’re telling me it didn’t mean anything, then I’ll believe you. That’s enough for me to try.”

She nodded, lip trembling. “It didn’t. I swear it didn’t.”

“I know.” His thumbs smoothed over her damp cheeks again. “But there’s gotta be a boundary, alright? I can’t have you alone with him. Not after that. I’m not trying to control you, I just— that’s where I draw the line.”

Her heart sank, and it showed in her eyes. But she still whispered, “Okay. If that’s what it takes… okay.”

Colby leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose, then the damp corner of her mouth. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t think for a second I don’t still want you. You’re still mine.”

That cracked something in her, and she grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He kissed her temple. “It’s gonna be alright. One step at a time.”

That’s when the oven beeped.

Y/N jumped, swiping at her face. “Shit.” She scrambled off the counter, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling out the pie. It was golden, perfect. She set it down and turned with a sheepish smile, cheeks still blotchy. “Surprise.”

Colby smirked, that signature Rollins smirk, cocking his head. “You made this for me?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “I made it because…I missed you. I missed your warmth. This was the only way I could stop crying long enough to feel you close.”

Something inside him twisted, aching and tender all at once. It made sense now why Kevin didn’t rush to the door when he got home. He’d been protecting her. It killed him to think of her having a panic attack like that without him home. But at least Kevin was there to keep her steady when he couldn’t. He’d bonded to her. He was comforting her like a young child would their mother. 

He leaned in, kissing her lips, soft, unhurried. Her eyes widened, startled, before he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Thank you.”

Then he grabbed forks, a knife, and the whipped cream. Minutes later, as the pie cooled, he finally cut himself a slice. One bite in and he groaned out loud, dramatic and unfiltered. “Goddamn. That’s the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever had. And you know how picky I am with this shit.”

Y/N’s face bloomed into a smile, the first real one in days. For the first time since everything fell apart, it felt like they had a piece of their groove back.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

    Thursday came a lot quicker than Y/N anticipated. It was finally time for the WrestleMania forty kickoff event. She and Colby caught a flight Thursday night, the travel being nonstop for them. Y/N has gotten to the point where she doesn’t believe she can get jet lag anymore with how frequently they’re in different time zones. 

Her hand is laced through Colby’s as they walk into the venue. Cameras are immediately on them as they walk forward, prerecording for when they go live later. He glances down at her, a small grin on his face as she looks up at him. He doesn’t even think before leaning down to kiss her softly. She smiles against his lips, happy that they’re at a point where he feels comfortable enough to kiss her again. 

The arena was already buzzing with that distinct pre-WrestleMania energy, voices bouncing off the high ceilings, camera lights flashing every few seconds, production assistants rushing past with clipboards in hand. Y/N adjusted her grip on Colby’s hand as they walked deeper into the venue, the cameras that had followed them finally peeling off once they’d gotten the prerecorded footage they needed. She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice with a grin.

“Feels like a zoo in here.”

Colby let out a small laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced down at her. “Y’know how it is during WrestleMania seasoned, babe. Controlled chaos.”

Before Y/N could respond, she spotted a familiar blonde head across the room. “Cody!” she called out, breaking into a grin as she slipped out of Colby’s grasp just long enough to cross the floor and pull Cody Rhodes into a quick hug.

Cody let out a soft laugh, squeezing her back tightly before pulling away to look her over. “Well, look who finally showed up. You ready for tonight, or am I gonna have to carry you in our segment too?”

Y/N smirked, nudging him in the ribs. “Please. You should be thanking me. I’m the reason this thing’s about to turn some heads.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Cody chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “Between you stirring the pot and Colby always running his mouth, it’s basically must-see TV.”

Colby finally caught up, hands in his pockets, his own smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, my mouth pays the bills.”

“Yeah, and Y/N’s the one making you tolerable,” Cody fired back with a grin.

Colby barked out a laugh, giving Cody a light shove to his shoulder. “Don’t inflate her ego any more than it already is. Trust me, she doesn’t need it.”

Cody’s smile softened as his gaze flicked between the two of them. “So… does this mean things are good now? You guys— back on track?”

Y/N glanced at Colby, the answer in her eyes before she even said a word. Colby tilted his head, then gave a small nod. “We’re good. Not perfect, but… better. Getting back to normal.”

“Good,” Cody said simply, clapping Colby on the back in that firm, brotherly way. “That makes me happy. Seriously. You two belong raising hell together, not apart.”

“Aw, look at you being sentimental,” Y/N teased, rolling her eyes.

Cody chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Colby smirked faintly at that, and the three of them exchanged a few more pleasantries before Cody excused himself to prep for his segment. As they started walking again, Y/N slipped her hand back into Colby’s, letting the comfortable weight of it ground her. They were headed toward the makeup area for quick touch-ups, nothing extravagant, just part of the routine. But as they rounded the corner of the hallway, her steps faltered.

Her eyes caught on him immediately. Phil.

He was standing with a small group near one of the producers, his arm snug in that familiar tricep brace, though the sleek cut of his navy suit distracted from it. The fabric fit him perfectly, sharp lines accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. His dark hair was slicked back, neat in a way that made him look both polished and dangerous, and his smile— God, that smile— lit up his face as he laughed at something the producer said.

Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest. He looked… incredible. For a second, she couldn’t look away. She hated herself for it, hated the way her chest felt warm and fluttery, hated that her lips almost curved into a grin just from the sight of him. She tried to remind herself that Colby was right beside her, that she shouldn’t even be thinking these things. But Phil had always had this effect on her, like gravity, pulling her in whether she wanted it or not.

As though he could feel the weight of her stare, Phil’s head turned. His eyes locked onto hers, and the hallway seemed to still. Time stopped. Neither of them moved. Phil’s gaze lingered, deliberate and heavy, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He didn’t look away. Instead, a slow smirk spread across his face, sharp and knowing. And then, just to twist the knife, he sent her a wink.

Heat rushed up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. She felt the flush betray her as she forced herself to look away, biting the inside of her cheek to fight off the grin threatening to break across her face. God, she hated him. Hated him for still managing to make her feel as giddy as she had in her twenties, when everything between them was reckless and burning.

Colby, oblivious, tugged gently at her hand, guiding her down the hallway. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get this over with before they decide we need full glam.”

But Y/N’s pulse still thrummed in her ears, her thoughts tangled and dangerous. Phil Brooks still had her number. And she knew it.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧* 

    Y/N smirks as Colby struts out onstage after Michael Cole and Pat McAfee introduce him. She stands comfortably backstage, Joe on her right, Paul on her left. Her outfit is a dark emerald green, coincidentally matching Seth’s sparkly suit as he revels in the audience singing his song. She smoothes over her glittery top, adjusting the leather pants that make her quads look huge. 

“I dunno if I should be offended they made you match with him or not,” Joe mumbles with a teasing tone. “Startin’ to question if you’re planning on leaving me for Raw or somethin’.”

Y/N freezes for a moment. She hasn’t mentioned leaving to Joe yet. She’s obviously been thinking about it for a while, but she hasn’t talked about it with any of the guys. Besides Josh, of course. She just smiles, looking up at him as Colby’s music cuts out. 

“Don’t be jealous,” she lightly shoves him. “I’m still standin’ by you aren’t I?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder. “That’s one thing I’ll always be grateful for.” 

That’s when Colby’s cackle fills her ears. She glances at the monitor as he says a petty, “Still a pretty big pop, I’d say.” 

She can’t help but chuckle, Joe rolling his eyes. She slaps her best friend's chest, still laughing. “You walked into that one after talking your shit last week,” she chastises. “Don’t roll your eyes.” 

“Then tell your man to stop bein’ so damn dramatic,” he fires back as they walk closer towards the entrance, their cue coming up. 

“You tell him yourself,” Y/N fires back. “You guys had a bromance going on way before I was in the picture.” 

That’s when one of the producers nods their head at them. Colby says his line, calling Cody out there, and that’s when Roman’s music hits. Colby throws his head back, completely annoyed at the interruption. His title is slung over his shoulder as he waits for the arrival of the Tribal Chief. Y/S/N and Roman walk out from backstage, aura oozing out of them with every step. The crowd goes crazy, ones shooting up in the air as well as some chants for Y/S/N circulating around the room. 

Paul holds Roman’s title close to his chest, Y/N clutching hers as it’s draped over her shoulder as well. They absorb the crowd reaction for a moment before Roman sticks his hand out, waiting for Paul to hand him his championship. The Wise Man does his job, handing Roman what he requests. Roman raises the title high in the air, Y/S/N joining him, earning another loud pop from the audience. 

Roman hands his title back before taking the microphone from Heyman’s hand. Y/N places her title safely back on her shoulder, briefly looking at Colby who even with sunglasses, anyone could tell he was staring directly at her. The heat of his stare never failed to make her forget what she’s doing. 

“Las Vegas!” Roman’s booming voice pulls her back to the present. She plasters on her cocky smirk, confidence exuding from every pore in her body. “Acknowledge me!” 

Her finger shoots in the air, Roman nodding in approval at her. A mix of cheers and boos echoes around the room. Seth simply grins evilly before raising the microphone to his lips, “Hey guys… he showed up for work once.” The crowd gasps and applauds the dig. “I love to see it. Good to see you, big brother.” He says mockingly. 

Roman doesn’t hesitate, looking out to the crowd, “And he showed up to work in my right hand woman’s shoes.” 

Everyone shouts a loud “OH”, and Seth revels in it. He shimmies around in his shoes, which Y/N would never actually wear, but she can appreciate the humor. He grins, looking her up and down as he and Roman start talking over each other like two siblings in a rivalry would. Roman finally manages to sound louder than him, “Let’s talk about someone who actually matters right now.” 

There’s a mixture of Rocky and Cody chants in the audience. Roman waits a moment before saying, “Let’s talk about Cody Rhodes!” Another mixture of boos and cheers. “The man who can’t make his own decision.” Y/S/N sends an odd look her Tribal Chief’s way, hoping the audience picks up on her distaste. This long term storytelling is going to feed generations. 

“Mr. Hesitation. Here’s a life lesson kids, if you hesitate, your moment’s gonna move on. And that’s what’s happened to Cody Rhodes. It’s no longer his decision. It’s now your Tribal Chief’s decision.” Now that is met with more boos than anything. Seth stares at him with disbelief, Y/S/N sharing the same look. Almost as if she doesn’t approve of this tactic. She may not follow all the rules, but she’s always honored those who have earned their spot. “That’s exactly how it works, thank you.” He says in response to the haters. 

“So tonight, I choose who faces me at the main event of WrestleMania.” He soaks in the reaction before glancing over at Seth with a look of pure disdain. He waves him off like he means nothing, “Hey, get this bum outta here. Jus–just get this bum outta her already, huh?” 

Y/S/N subtly shifts away from Roman, taking a step closer to Seth. Only those really paying attention would pick up on it. Roman lifts his head up arrogantly, “I choose–” He pauses, allowing the crowd to voice who they think he should face between The Rock and Cody. “I choose– The Rock!” 

The crowd goes berserk in both a negative and positive way. Some people love the decision, others hate it. Seth starts shouting that’s not how this whole process works. Y/S/N takes a step towards Roman, in an almost defiant manner. She tells him that he can’t just pick his opponent. Cody won the Rumble. However, Roman doesn’t get to respond as the Rock’s music hits, making the crowd get even louder. 

Dwayne walks out, microphone already in hand. His presence is just so powerful that it takes everything in Y/N not to geek out along with the rest of the crowd. His entrances never fail to turn her into a fan girl. He walks to each side of the stage, raising his iconic eyebrow before going right back to the middle, between Roman and Seth.

He raises the microphone to his lips like he’s going to say something, but stops when the crowd grows louder. He glances over at Seth who puts his hands up, claiming he wasn’t saying anything bad about The Rock. That’s when he raises the mic back up, “Finally!” His gravelly voice announces. “The Rock has come back to Las Vegas!” Some people in the crowd scream it along with him, others trying to boo over him. Either way, the man is doing his job.

“Now, let The Rock ask you a question,” he starts. “Do you think that Roman Reigns is going to beat The Rock at WrestleMania?” Some people scream yes, others no. There’s not a lot of times where anyone in the WWE fandom agrees on anything, and this is no exception. There’s a large group of people who don’t even want The Rock versus Roman. They want Cody. And truthfully, Y/N does too. 

“Or do you think that The Rock is going to beat the Tribal Chief at WrestleMania?” There’s more boos in response to that, Roman crossing his arms with a smug shrug. The Rock clearly doesn’t like that response as the crowd starts chanting “We Want Cody” as well as “Rocky Sucks.” 

“Or do you think that The Rock and Roman Reigns will be the biggest Main Event in the history of WWE?”

No one would be able to dispute that. People boo out of their love and want for Cody. Y/N agrees and respects that, but truth be told, The Rock versus Roman would be a killer match. Everyone would watch. It wouldn’t only bring in wrestling fans, but it would also intrigue the fans of his outside of the WWE. It would also be huge watching two generational Superstars from different eras go at it. 

“All right,” Dwayne raises his hand. “I love the passion. The Rock loves the passion. So to members of the press, welcome. Glad you’re here. To the WWE universe–” he’s cut off again by more “We Want Cody” chants, stopping his sentence. “To the WWE universe, welcome. To everyone watching around the world, welcome. And certainly, to the millions of The Rock’s fans, welcome.” The people in the crowd add their own and millions to his statement. “And on top of that, to the members of the press, world watching, I introduce you to… the Cody Crybabies.” 

All of Cody’s fans cheer loudly, proud to show their support for the American Nightmare. Y/N has to fight off her smile. Cody worked for this. He earned this fanbase through blood, sweat, and tears. Through Dashing, Stardust, and so much more, he finally found his home. He found who he is and he’s the most beloved Superstar in all of WWE right now. 

Roman and Paul Heyman laugh at The Rock’s words, Y/S/N keeping her face straight. She watches as the camera catches her reaction, displaying it on the large screen behind them. This whole acting thing gets to be pretty fun in situations like this. 

“Now,” Dwayne continues. “Let The Rock show you all, and everyone around the world— I’m gonna show you something right now that is very important. It’s very cool. And I think you’re gonna like it a lot. But regardless whether you like it, or you don’t like it, you love it, or you hate it, one thing for damn sure, you are gonna respect it.” He raises his hand to the tron behind him, “Take a look.” 

The Bloodline family tree appears on the screen behind them. Everyone stares in awe at the amount of people in this family. Y/N’s seen the family tree, in fact she’s met a good portion of them during the holidays, but seeing the sheer size of this tree never ceases to amaze her. 

“When you look at this incredible family tree– and I want you to take a look at the very top of the tree.” He points up. “At the top of that tree, The Rock’s grandfather and Roman’s grandfather made a blood oath and our  family in Samoan said ‘Aiga. Aiga forever.’ And if you cannot see that, if you can’t see the fact that this is proof that there is only one dominant and powerful royal family in professional wrestling— if you can’t see that, and if you think that The Rock and Roman Reigns isn’t the biggest main event in the history of wrestlemania then– then– save your boos, save your boos.” He taunts the audience. “Then, if that’s what you think, in simple Rock speak: It doesn’t matter what you think.” 

The crowd boos him, but that type of reaction has never phased The Rock. “WrestleMania Forty. Philadelphia. The Rock and Roman Reigns, the Universal champion versus the People’s champion. Whether you like it or you don’t like it, the People’s champion, in the biggest main event in the history of professional wrestling. Bound by blood.” He raises his hand in the air, prompting Roman to link his hand with his. The two men hug, sharing a nod of mutual respect. 

Y/S/N runs a hand over her face, Seth pacing in disbelief not even a foot away from her. It’s clear she’s not happy with what just transpired. She can hear the faint cheers of her name from her fans down below. They want her to say something. They can see her holding back. But she’s biding her time. They have no idea what they’re in for yet. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Cody’s voice cuts through the tension like a hot knife through butter. The crowd goes wild when they see the Nightmare stroll out in his perfectly tailored gray suit. Seth throws his hands up in a “finally” motion, irritated it took him this long to finally come out here. “This. This right here is bullshit!” 

The crowd goes crazy, the use of profanity not as common in WWE as it once was. Y/S/N smirks as she watches Cody’s anger grow. She hosts her championship up a little more, hip cocking to the side as she watches this all unfold. Colby raises a hand to his head, scratching it as the curse word flies from Cody’s mouth. 

He points at The Rock and Roman, the crowd chanting his name. “Roman!” He walks over to the Head of the Table. “Roman, you’re out here calling the shots, dictating WrestleMania forty. And as the Tribal Chief, as the Undisputed Champion, you have a lot of stroke. But it is not your right, it is not your distinction to determine the main event. It is mine. I won the royal rumble!” 

The audience shouts in agreement. Y/S/N also voices her agreement to Roman, telling him it’s not right to take away what Cody fought for. But his eyes are solely zeroed in on Cody. The American Nightmare turns his attention to The Rock. “And Rock, we had a wonderful conversation. I had many conversations. I have made my decision.” There’s a long stretch of silence as Cody looks between Seth and Roman, allowing the suspense to build. 

“At WrestleMania forty in the Main Event… I choose you, Roman Reigns.” Cody points directly at the Tribal Chief. 

The audience starts cheering loudly. Roman looks completely bewildered. Seth is clearly disappointed. But Y/N just stands there with that same smirk on her face, head titled as she chuckles quietly. 

Roman lifts his mic, “You must be crazy,” he insults. “You must be stupid or somethin’, huh? This is a done deal,” he gestures between himself and The Rock. “You’re old news. Go over there with the number two’s. The number two table will have you now,” he waves dismissively over to Seth. “Loser bracket. Right there with in dummy in green. Just go. Leave. You’re embarrassing yourself now. Last year was your year. That was your moment. You were only a chapter in my book. Nobody cares about your story, nobody cares about you finishing the story. You’re embarrassing your entire family now. You— just understand this— you’re irrelevant.” 

Cody tries to cut in, but Roman’s next words stop him cold. “Just like your dad.”

Cody’s smile is dangerous, biting. He narrows his eyes at Roman, “Here you are— here you are talking about family. Is that what the Bloodline is?” He questions mockingly. “Let me ask you a question… How’s Jey?” The crowd screams at those words. Y/S/N raises her eyebrows, looking between Roman and Cody as the tension starts to rise. “It’s not a family. You’re a meal ticket. And they are nothing but lackeys, but yes men. They’re goons!” He points between Roman and The Rock, “And what is this match all about right here? Who sits at the head of the table? What does it matter when neither of you have been doing any of the cooking for the past two years?!” 

More cheers from the crowd. Cody is on fire. It’s always a treat getting to see him do his thing on the mic. One of the only men in WWE who could almost hold a light to John Cena’s mic skills. The other is in the green suit a few feet away, and the next is up with the rest of the commentary team in his arm brace. 

“Earlier we had that family tree up there,” Cody points to the tron. “And you’ve invoked my father before, so let me go and do the same. If your grandfather was here,” he looks to Dwayne, “if the High Chief, his grandfather was here… they’d be ashamed of you.” 

Roman’s jaw tightens. Triple H watches carefully, as does everyone else in the venue. That’s when The Rock drops his microphone and takes a step towards Cody. Cody looks in between him and Roman, almost confused as to why he’s stepping up to him. However, what no one in the audience was expecting was for Y/N to step in between Dwayne and Cody Rhodes. 

Y/N didn’t think twice as she stepped forward, heels clicking against the stage floor as she slid between Cody and Dwayne. Her emerald-clad figure cut the tension like a knife, her championship glinting under the lights as she lifted a hand toward The Rock. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Her voice rang clear over the crowd noise, even as their roar swelled. “We don’t need to do this.”

The audience’s reaction shifted, buzzing with curiosity as she planted herself in front of Cody, her free hand pushing lightly against his chest to keep him from lunging forward. She tilted her chin up, eyes sharp as she addressed The Rock. “You want to talk about family? Fine. But let’s not get selective about it.” Her gaze flicked toward Roman, her tone sharp but steady. “He brought up Cody’s dad first. That door was kicked open and splintered. That line in the sand was blurred. So if we wanna call it an even playing field—then it’s even now. No need to stoop lower than we already have. This is supposed to be civil.”

The crowd reacted loudly, half cheers, half boos, loving the tension but hanging on her every word. Cody stared down at her in disbelief, protective but grateful, while Seth smirked faintly from the side, almost proud she had the guts to stand up in this moment.

Y/N turned her focus back toward Roman, then The Rock. “Cody won the Rumble. He earned the right to pick. Whether you like it or not, that’s the reality. And if we’re gonna stand here, on this stage, in front of the world— then let’s show the world what it means to actually represent this company.”

The crowd popped hard at that, an unusual moral high ground from someone often so cocky. But Dwayne didn’t budge. His eyes narrowed, the electricity in his presence shifting from playful to dangerous. Roman stepped forward, frustration flashing across his face. Without warning, he reached out and yanked Y/N back by the arm, pulling her out of the way.

She stumbled, catching herself before falling, the championship sliding against her shoulder. The crowd exploded, boos crashing like thunder at the sight of Roman manhandling her.

That was when The Rock struck. He closed the space in two steps, his voice booming into the microphone as he stared straight into Cody’s eyes. “Let me make something perfectly clear to you.” His words rolled heavy, dripping with venom. “When you talk about his family…” He jabbed a finger toward Roman. “…you’re talking about my family. When you talk about his ancestors, you’re talking about my ancestors. And when you talk about his blood, you’re talking about my blood.” His tone sharpened into a growl. “So now we got a problem.”

And then, before anyone could react— SLAP! The sound cracked across the mic, Cody’s head snapping to the side. The arena erupted. Screams, boos, chants, chaos. Cody staggered, fury flaring in his eyes.

That’s when all hell broke loose. Seth lunged at Roman, shoving him back with both hands, shouting obscenities that the mic barely caught. Roman shoved him right back, the two nearly coming to blows before security and officials swarmed the stage. Adam Pearce was barking orders, Nick Aldis grabbed Roman by the chest, and Triple H himself stormed in, immediately getting between Cody and The Rock.

Y/N was frozen for half a second, eyes wide as she tried to process the slap. Then something in her snapped. She surged forward and swung, a fake but convincing shot that connected with The Rock’s jaw. The crowd went wild, the sound deafening, disbelief and exhilaration mixing into one roar.

Her mic picked up her voice, fierce and sharp: “I don’t know where you’ve been the last eight years, but this isn’t how The Bloodline represents!”

Roman’s head whipped around at her, fury etched across his face. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, shoving past Nick Aldis to get to her.

He grabbed at her wrist, but before he could yank her again, Seth slid in between them, chest puffed out, arms wide like a human shield. His shades had fallen askew, his smirk gone, he was dead serious now.

Roman snarled past him, pointing a finger at Y/N. “Fall in line, Y/S/N.” His voice was thunder. “You hear me? Fall in line.”

Y/N’s chest heaved, her emerald-green outfit sparkling under the blinding lights as she raised her mic with trembling hands. Her voice didn’t waver. “Not until you straighten up whatever the hell is wrong with you right now.”

The crowd lost their minds. Roman’s face contorted with rage, but before he could lash out again, Seth wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and tugged her back, his glare locked on Roman the whole time. “C’mon,” Seth muttered low, voice rough but steady, his hand protective on her back as he guided her offstage.

Y/N didn’t look back. She clutched her title tighter against her chest, her chin raised defiantly, walking out at Seth’s side as the arena’s noise swelled to an uncontrollable peak. The last shot the cameras caught before cutting was Roman seething, The Rock’s jaw clenched, Cody standing tall despite the sting on his face, and Y/N exiting with Seth, emerald green flashing under the lights, leaving the Bloodline shaken in her wake.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧* 

     The camera cut back to ringside, where the commentary team sat, the roar of the crowd still refusing to die down. Pat McAfee was leaning so far forward he looked like he might launch himself onto the table.

“Somebody pinch me, because there is no way we just saw Y/S/N knock the taste out of The Rock’s mouth!” Pat’s voice cracked with laughter, one hand clutching his headset. “Of all people— the Great One himself!”

Michael Cole shook his head, still trying to piece the chaos together for the audience at home. “It wasn’t just The Rock, Pat. Let’s not forget— Cody Rhodes took a shot too. And all of this chaos, it’s starting to feel like we’re building toward something bigger. We’ve got Roman Reigns, we’ve got The Rock, we’ve got Seth Rollins, Cody Rhodes—”

“Say it plain, Michael,” Big E cut in, grinning so wide it was infectious. “You’re talking about a tag match. Cody and Seth versus Roman and Rock. That’s where this train is headed. You can feel it.”

Cole gave a half-nod, half-sigh. “It certainly seems that way.”

Before he could continue, Punk finally leaned into his microphone, his voice low but cutting through the noise like a knife. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s all fine and good, but can we stop pretending anything tonight is bigger than the fact Y/S/N just punched The Rock?”

The crowd, still fired up, gave another loud cheer as if on cue, and Punk tilted his head toward the ring, grinning for the first time all night. “You don’t understand. I’ve waited my whole career to see somebody do that. I would’ve done the exact same thing in her shoes. Maybe harder.”

Pat slapped the table. “YES! YES! Finally somebody said it!” He was nearly doubled over laughing. “She decked The Rock. Nobody does that! NOBODY.”

Big E couldn’t stop shaking his head. “And it wasn’t even some cheap shot. No hesitation, no fear. She looked him in the eye and swung like she meant it. That’s… man, that’s legendary.”

Cole tried to bring the conversation back on track. “Look, let’s not get carried away. Roman Reigns is already calling the World Heavyweight Championship the ‘second-place title.’ He’s mocking Seth Rollins, he’s mocking everything that championship stands for—”

Punk cut him off, his tone snapping sharp again. “Yeah, well, let’s talk about Seth Rollins for a second. He went on national TV and said he hated my guts. No love lost there. But if Seth actually wants to shut Roman up? He needs to stop playing fashion week on Monday nights and take his balls out of his purse long enough to punch somebody in the face.”

The table erupted, Pat slamming his hands down, Big E throwing his head back laughing. Cole groaned, burying his face in his notes. “Come on!” Punk barked, jabbing a finger toward the hard camera. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me Roman’s not daring him, begging him, to hit back. And instead, who’s the only one throwing punches tonight? Y/S/N. Not Seth. Not Cody. Y/S/N. And she did it to The Rock.”

Pat’s voice cracked again, half-yelling, half-laughing. “She did what half the locker room’s been DREAMING of doing for years!”

Big E leaned into his mic, chuckling. “Man, she just skyrocketed into another stratosphere. I don’t know if she knows what she’s started, but I do know one thing— people are never gonna forget tonight.”

Punk smirked again, eyes flicking to the ring. “Good. They shouldn’t.”

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧* 

     Paul Levesque’s steps echoed off the concrete hallway as they moved quickly, weaving through production staff and crew. He didn’t slow for anything, not even her occasional sideways glance or half-grin. “Kid,” he said, voice low but firm, “that punch you just threw? Money. Perfect execution. Everybody loved it. The crowd is eating it up.”

Y/N smirked, tugging her hoodie a little tighter around herself. “Thanks, Paul. I was nervous it’d look… weird or like I overdid it.”

“Overdid it?” Paul barked a short laugh. “You? No chance. But we can’t just leave it at that. We need momentum. Social media, viral clips, stuff that spreads faster than wildfire. That’s where you come in.”

Y/N tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “You’re saying I need to do what exactly?”

Paul slowed for just a fraction, leaning in. “We want you and Roman outside. Confront him, be loud, be furious— make it so a fan can catch it. Somebody’s gonna record. Somebody’s gonna post. And it’s gonna blow up.”

“Outside?” she asked, skepticism in her voice. “You’re sure that’ll work?”

Paul nodded firmly. “We’ve got to have hope. You meet him out back, make noise, get in his face, and let the scene sell itself. Fans will do the rest.”

Y/N’s lips pressed together, a spark lighting in her eyes. “Got it.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed toward the exit. She inhaled the cool night air, letting it sharpen her senses. Every step put her deeper into her character, her mind already replaying the anger and frustration she was about to unleash.

The crunch of heavy boots echoed behind her, and she knew before she saw him. Roman Reigns emerged from the corner, hoodie shadowing his eyes but not hiding the glare that could cut steel.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he growled, voice like rolling thunder. “You think you can just walk out here, defy me? Put your hands on my blood, on my cousin, and then stroll around with one of my sworn enemies? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up. “You know exactly who I am, Roman. And don’t try to act like this is about loyalty or family. You’re scared. You’re scared of Cody, so you hide behind your title and your mouth instead of actually earning respect.”

Roman’s jaw tightened, nostrils flaring. “I am the Head of the Table. I make the rules. You don’t walk out here and lecture me on honor. You don’t touch my family and talk back. You don’t—”

“I did what I had to,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I’m not here to cower, not here to play second fiddle. The Bloodline’s always held themselves to higher standards, which is why we’ve run this company for as long as we have. Bayley won the Rumble. I face her at WrestleMania because that’s the rules. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t complain. I didn’t try to run around and take someone else’s shot. You? You’re using your power like a shield, not like a crown.”

Roman’s lips curled, venom creeping in. “And your precious little relationship with Rollins? That makes you feel brave enough to talk back to me?”

Y/N’s gaze hardened, fury burning in her chest. “That’s none of your business. And you know it. Keep your jealousy to yourself.”

Roman stepped closer, the heat of him almost physical. “You think you can just talk to me like that? Walk out here like you’re my equal? I made you.” He sneers. “You hit my cousin, you walk with my enemy, and you think that gives you the right to lecture me?”

“You didn’t make me,” she barks back. “I created every ounce of my career with my own blood. You were just lucky enough I chose to stand by you,” she hissed, “You’ve called me your right hand for years, so that gives me the right. The right to call out power when it’s abused. You don’t get to run everything because you’re afraid. You don’t want to fight Cody? That’s too damn bad. He won the Royal Rumble, so he gets to call his shot. So why don’t you grow a pair and actually fight for that title you parade around. Don’t hide behind your intimidation and your history.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous, each word a blade. “You’re not even blood. So what the hell do you know about how the Bloodline should represent itself?”

The words hit her like a punch. Not Joe, Joe had made it clear she was family since day one, but Roman? Roman’s gaze was ice, sharp, unwavering. Her chest tightened, every muscle in her body screaming, but she forced the anger into action.

She leaned in, shoulder ramming into his chest, hard enough to stagger him a step. “Blood doesn’t make family, Roman. Actions do. You want respect? Earn it. Not with fear, not with threats, not with this—” She gestured between them, “this charade of entitlement.”

Fans from nearby corners whispered and fumbled with phones, capturing every second. “Holy shit,” one muttered. “She just shoved him!” “Post that, post that now!” “This is insane.”

Y/N didn’t look back. She stormed inside, boots clicking on concrete, the night air fading behind her. By the time the door swung shut, her face was set, her chest still heaving, but the damage was done. Phones were out, whispers were loud, and within minutes, the clip was already viral. And Roman? He was left standing under the streetlights, chest heaving, jaw tight, and pride stinging.

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧* 

     The locker room had the buzz of after-show adrenaline, laughter bouncing off concrete walls, talent weaving in and out, still sweaty from the lights onstage. Y/N leaned against the doorframe with Colby at her side, the two of them getting pulled into quick handshakes, hugs, and congratulations from everyone who passed. The air smelled faintly of hairspray, coffee, and that sharp tang of pyro smoke that always seemed to stick to the walls.

Cody came strolling up, still grinning ear to ear, his forehead shining under the fluorescent lights. He slapped his palm into hers with a loud clap before drawing her into one of those half-hug, half-handshake things that had long since become their thing.

“Hell of a night,” Cody said, his voice warm and proud, almost brotherly. “But I gotta know…” He tilted his head at her with a little smirk. “Did you actually punch Dwayne? Because the way the place popped— I swear, it sounded like you just knocked the absolute hell outta him.”

Y/N laughed, holding her hands up like she was innocent. “No, no, no. Come on. You think I’d actually break my fist on The Rock’s jaw? We went over it earlier today. Whole thing was planned— timing, angle, all of it. We just wanted to make it look cool without him actually eating a shot.”

Cody’s grin widened as he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You pulled it off. That was picture-perfect. I talked to Demi, apparently everyone back here was losing their minds. Hell, I was trying not to lose my mind out there.”

She beamed at the praise, feeling a rush of pride, and went into their ridiculous handshake routine that ended with them both snapping their fingers and pointing at each other like complete idiots. Cody laughed, shaking his head as he headed off down the hall. “Star of the damn show, as always. Don’t forget that.”

Colby had been leaning against the wall during all of this, arms crossed over his chest, but the fond look he gave her was impossible to miss. His eyes followed every laugh she gave, every bounce of excitement in her movements. He didn’t say a word until Cody disappeared down the corridor. Then, as naturally as breathing, he slipped his hand into hers and tugged her gently toward the exit.

They made their way out of the building, weaving through the last few stragglers in production headsets, until a familiar figure caught them at the loading dock.

Joe leaned against the barricade, phone in hand and a big grin plastered on his face. “We trending already. Our little standoff outside? Number one on X, baby.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide before she burst into laughter, slapping his hand in a quick high five. “No way!”

“Way.” Joe pulled her in for a quick hug. “Drama’s officially kicked off. We killed it tonight.”

She practically bounced in place, hugging him back. The energy of it all, the fact that it was working, that their story was sparking fire already, it made her chest buzz with adrenaline.

Colby just stood back with that quiet smile of his, letting her soak in the moment before Joe waved them off. “Go celebrate, you two. You earned it.”

They walked hand in hand toward the rental car, the cool night air brushing over them, the noise of the arena fading behind. Y/N felt Colby’s eyes on her, heavier than usual, burning a hole into her side profile. She tilted her head, suddenly self-conscious, nerves tickling the back of her neck.

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Nothin’. Just… proud of you.” He tugged her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “You’re killin’ it out there, like always. It’s— hell, it’s amazing getting to watch it up close.”

The words should’ve made her heart soar. Instead, guilt coiled tighter in her chest. She hadn’t been able to shake the weight of what she’d done, the kiss with Phil lingering like a bruise. His praise made it sting sharper.

Colby felt her shift beside him, the way her energy dipped. He frowned, glancing down. “Hey. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” she deflected too quickly.

He snorted. “Don’t give me that. You think I don’t know you by now?” His grip on her hand tightened. “Talk to me.”

Her throat burned. Finally, she let the words out. “I hate what I did to you. Standing here, having you be so nice, so loving— it just makes me feel worse. I don’t deserve it.”

Colby stopped walking, turning her to face him fully. His voice came low, steadier than she expected. “Stop. You made a mistake. Doesn’t mean I stopped lovin’ you.”

Her breath caught. They’d never said it before.

Her eyes lifted slowly. “You… love me?”

For a second, panic flashed across his face like he wished he could rewind the words. But there was no way back. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and said it without a flinch. “Yeah. I do.”

The admission made something bright and unstoppable burst inside her. She smiled so big it almost hurt. The words tumbled out before she even thought about them. “I love you too.”

Colby let out a ragged laugh, pure relief in it, like he’d been holding his breath for months. He leaned in, kissing her hard, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Good,” he muttered, grinning against her lips. “’Cause now we got even more reason to go celebrate. Dinner’s on me.”

                 ✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧* 

      The restaurant was low-lit, warm, tucked far enough away from the Vegas strip that it felt almost private. Y/N and Colby were still in their matching green fits from the kickoff, a detail the waitress noticed immediately, grinning as she set down their menus. “Y’all look like you just stepped out of a magazine,” she teased.

Colby smirked, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “Oh, we know. We planned it.” He shot Y/N a wink that earned him an eye roll.

They ordered drinks, and by the time the cocktails hit the table, the nerves from the chaos earlier had started to settle. Colby reached across the table, dragging his thumb along her knuckles. “I gotta say, babe… I’m hyped to see where this thing goes. You standing up to Roman? That’s some big-time stuff.”

Y/N smiled, a spark of pride warming her chest. “Yeah, it feels good to finally incorporate a spicier side of me into the mix like that. I’m excited too.”

“Excited?” Colby leaned in, dropping his voice to that smug lilt he always carried in promos. “C’monnn, that’s underselling it. You’re about to light this whole place on fire. Tribal Chief better watch his back.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

They ordered food, joking back and forth, Colby throwing out ridiculous impressions of Roman until she nearly spit her drink out. At one point he rested his chin in his palm, watching her laugh, and his smirk softened into something gentler. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “For real. I appreciate you. We’ve had… our bumps this week, sure. But the fact you’re willing to work through it with me?” He shrugged, grin tugging at his mouth. “Means the world, Y/N.”

She tilted her head, touched by the honesty. “Colby, if anyone should be grateful, it’s me. I don’t even know what I did to deserve you, but I’m damn glad I have you.”

“Good,” he teased, spearing an appetizer and popping it into his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in his gaze lingered. When he finally stood, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, her chest ached. “Bathroom run,” he murmured. “Don’t miss me too much.”

The second he disappeared, her phone buzzed on the table. Her stomach dropped. The screen lit up with one word that made her pulse stutter.

Punker.

Her throat went dry, but her thumb betrayed her, swiping before she could stop herself.

“Sweetheart,” Punk’s voice came through, low and familiar, tinged with a smirk she could hear without seeing. “That kickoff was insane. You — punching Dwayne? Highlight of the night.”

She laughed softly, forcing normalcy. “It looked good, right? We worked it out ahead of time.”

“Looked more than good,” he countered. “Looked like you actually rocked him. Not gonna lie, I popped. Hard.”

Her cheeks flushed despite herself. “Well… mission accomplished then.”

There was a beat, then his voice dropped lower, sly. “Still hate the matching thing with Rollins, though. But…” he exhaled, almost like he was picturing it. “You in that green? Damn. You wore the hell outta it.”

Her lips curved, unbidden. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously honest,” he shot back. But then his tone shifted, catching something in her clipped answers, her too-fast laughs. “Why do you sound like you’re whispering? Where’s Loverboy?”

Her breath hitched. “He just went to the bathroom. We’re, uh… we’re at dinner.”

“Dinner,” Punk repeated flatly. Then quieter, more dangerous: “And you’re rushing me off the phone like last time when you were sequestered to his hotel bathroom. What’s going on?”

Y/N closed her eyes. The guilt weighed heavy, pressing into her ribs. “…Colby doesn’t want me talking to you alone anymore.”

Silence. Then a sharp laugh crackled through the speaker. “Of course he doesn’t. Figures.”

“Phil—”

“No, no,” he cut her off, voice rising. “He doesn’t get to control who you talk to. What the hell is that?”

She winced, glancing toward the bathroom, heart hammering. “After what we did… after the kiss— his reaction makes sense. I can’t blame him.”

Punk scoffed so hard it made her grip the phone tighter. “Makes sense? Sweetheart, come on. He doesn’t get to put a leash on you because you slipped once.”

Her throat burned. “It’s not just a slip, Punk. I care about him. I can’t keep hurting people I care about.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then his voice came back, quieter but cutting. “So what is it? You hurting him… or him hurting you?”

The question hung between them like glass, sharp and fragile. Her lips parted, but no words came. She couldn’t answer.She ended the call instead, setting the phone face down on the table. Her chest heaved, guilt and confusion clawing up her throat. Just as Colby’s hand brushed her shoulder on his way back to his seat, she forced her best smile.

Colby lowered himself down to one knee in front of her, not dramatic like a proposal, but steady, deliberate. His hands reached for hers, warm and a little rough, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded.

“Hey,” he said softly, searching her face with those sharp brown eyes that usually carried arrogance in the ring but, right now, carried nothing but vulnerability. “I don’t think you realize how much it meant to me when you agreed not to go around Phil on your own.”

His mouth twisted a little at the name, like it tasted bitter just to say it.

“It wasn’t about control, or me trying to be some asshole laying down rules,” he went on, his voice low, almost pleading. “It’s just—he’s got this way of… digging into people, you know? Twisting things, making everything about him. That’s who he is. And I can’t—” he shook his head, exhaling hard through his nose. “I can’t let him be some kind of parasite on what we’ve got. I don’t want him anywhere near us. Near you.”

He squeezed her hands a little tighter, leaning in closer, like he needed her to feel the truth in his words. “I don’t want casual with you,” Colby said, his tone firm now, conviction cutting through the nerves. “I don’t want to mess around, or explore, or figure out if there’s something better out there. I already know. I just want you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The sincerity in his voice, the way his thumb kept circling against her skin, the way his eyes softened when they locked on hers, it pulled at something deep inside her. Something dangerous. For a moment, she let herself get swept up in it. “I just want you too,” she whispered back before she could stop herself, the lie slipping out so smoothly it almost sounded true.

Colby’s lips parted in relief, a shaky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing like he’d been holding his breath for weeks and finally let it out.

The hotel room was quiet except for the muted hum of the air conditioner. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling absently through her phone while Bron leaned back in the desk chair, spinning it lazily side to side. They’d already burned through the usual road talk, flight times, rental cars, catering complaints, and now they were just… existing. Comfortable silence filling the gaps.

Bron tossed a protein bar in the air, catching it with one hand before ripping it open. “I swear, if I gotta eat another one of these on the road, I’m gonna lose it,” he muttered around a bite.

Y/N smirked, not looking up. “That’s rich coming from Mr. Six-Chicken-Breasts-a-Day.”

“Hey,” he shot back, mock offense in his voice, pointing the bar at her, “fuel is fuel. You don’t get to look like this,” he gestured down at himself with a cocky grin, “by eatin’ fries and milkshakes every night.”

Finally glancing up, she tilted her head. “Yeah, but you also don’t get to be fun at parties eating like that.”

Bron laughed, a deep, easy sound that filled the small room. “I’m plenty fun. I’m just the guy carrying everybody else to their rooms when they’ve had too much.”

It was banter that felt effortless, warm, like home. The kind of back-and-forth that didn’t need an audience, didn’t need to mean anything. They drifted into talking about road stories—showers that never worked right, the fans that always seemed louder in Chicago, the time Josh fell asleep mid-flight and drooled on Bron’s shoulder. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t heavy. It was… normal.

Eventually, though, the chair stopped spinning. Bron leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring down at the floor like he was trying to find the right words hidden in the carpet. His tone shifted. “Can I talk to you about somethin’?”

Y/N set her phone aside, giving him her full attention. “Of course.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I’m… kinda worried about you.”

Her brows pinched together. “Worried? Why?”

Bron’s jaw flexed. He was trying to be careful, trying not to say the wrong thing. “It’s just… Colby, man. I know he’s the top guy, I know he’s our mentor and all that. But it feels like… he’s got you stuck in his orbit. Like you don’t really talk to Demi or Syd anymore. Me and Josh barely get time with you unless it’s business. It’s like…” He hesitated, voice dropping low. “Like you’re not allowed to leave.”

The words cut deeper than she expected. Her instinct was to defend Colby, to argue, to push back, but when she looked at Bron, she saw it plain on his face. No judgment. No jealousy. Just worry.

“Bron…” Her voice softened as she slid off the bed, crouching down in front of him. She rested her hands on his knees, grounding him. “I’m still me, okay? I’m not trapped. Colby’s just… he’s teaching me. Things I wouldn’t learn anywhere else. And I want to soak it up while I can, before it all changes. Before we all split.”

He wanted to believe her. She could see it in the way his eyes flicked between hers, searching for the truth. But he still shook his head slightly, unconvinced. “I just… I don’t like the idea of anybody makin’ you feel like you don’t got options. You deserve to breathe, Y/N. You deserve to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Something about the way he said it, simple, blunt, no strings attached, made her chest ache. She stood up from the floor, climbing into his lap to wrap her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Bron didn’t hesitate. His big arms came around her instantly, strong and steady, holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for him, it was.

Her cheek pressed against his chest, her heartbeat syncing with the steady thrum of his. He smelled like soap and clean laundry, not cologne that clung to your skin for hours. He was warm. He was solid. Safe. For Bron, this was exactly how it was supposed to feel. No games, no tension, no power struggle. Just… right.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “I’m okay.”

He squeezed her a little tighter, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Yeah, well… I’ll probably still worry. Can’t help it. You matter too much not to.”

She smiled against his shirt, eyes slipping shut. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t dangerous. It was soft, grounding.

Neither of them noticed they weren’t alone.

They hadn’t realized they left the door slightly ajar, Colby stood half-hidden in the shadows, his gaze locked on the sight of Y/N in Bron’s arms. His busted knuckles flexed at his sides, jaw tight, eyes burning. What Bron saw as right, as safe, Colby saw as a threat. His girl wasn’t supposed to feel safe with anyone else.

And in that moment, Seth Rollins made a silent promise: Bron Breakker had just crossed a line.

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The lights painted the ring gold and white as Seth Rollins prowled across the canvas like a king surveying his kingdom. His coat shimmered, his laughter sharp and unhinged as he lifted the mic to his lips. The crowd’s energy swelled, cheers, boos, chants all crashing together, but Seth thrived in it, soaking it up like oxygen.

“This…” he spread his arms wide, twirling once in the center of the ring, “THIS is my house! My people! My kingdom! And nobody—and I mean nobody—is gonna take it from me!” His voice rose, bouncing off the rafters. “I took care of Sami Zayn, I took care of Jey Uso… hell, I’ll take care of anyone else who thinks they’ve got the guts to step up. Line ‘em up, and I’ll knock ‘em down, bay-bay!”

The arena roared. His cadence was hypnotic, the kind of rhythm the crowd couldn’t resist. He strutted, pacing, his coat swishing behind him as Heyman clapped from the corner, his face lit with calculated glee. Y/N stood just off Seth’s right shoulder, all sharp poise and smolder, while Bron Breakker held his place on the left, his arms folded across his chest.

For a moment, it was business as usual—until Seth’s energy shifted. His strut slowed. His grin twisted into something narrower, sharper. His gaze cut sideways, locking on Bron.

“But…” Seth let the single word dangle, drawing it out until the arena quieted in anticipation. His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. “Sometimes though when it comes to leadership… the real challenge doesn’t come from the outside. Sometimes… the biggest threat comes from within.”

Bron’s jaw flexed, his chest rising heavier with each breath. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—but the heat crawling up his neck told Y/N he already knew where this was headed.

Seth circled closer, his laugh bubbling up again, but it was colder this time. “You see, some people think they can just ride the wave. Stand next to me, bask in the glory, smile for the cameras… and suddenly, they’re a star.” He turned sharply, jabbing a finger at Bron. “But let’s get one thing straight, big man—you’re good. You’re strong. You’re fast. But you’re not me. You will never be me.”

The crowd gasped, a ripple of shock cutting through the noise. This wasn’t on the script. Heyman’s brows ticked upward, his smirk faltering for half a second before settling back into place.

Bron clenched his fists at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to fire back. To grab Seth by the collar and shut him up right there in front of the world. But he forced himself still, chest tight.

Seth leaned in close, his smirk curving into something more dangerous. His voice dropped so only ringside mics and the faction could catch it. “You think hanging around me makes you somebody? You think… spending a little extra time where you don’t belong makes you more than what you are?”

Bron’s breath hitched. His fists flexed, knuckles bone-white. Y/N’s eyes widened, she knew exactly what Seth meant. The hotel room the other night. He must’ve somehow seen them together. And now he was calling it out, here, now, in front of everyone.

Bron’s body tensed, a second away from snapping. Without thinking, Y/N slid her hand over his. Her palm pressed against his fist, her fingers weaving through his knuckles, holding him down. It wasn’t just comfort, it was an anchor, keeping him from blowing everything up.

Seth straightened, pacing again, laughter spilling out like a crack of thunder. “Bron Breakker! The so-called next big thing. And yeah, I’ll admit it, you’ve got the tools, kid. You’ve got the body, the pedigree, the fire. But without me?” His grin widened as he threw his arms wide. “Without me holding your hand, without me giving you this platform, without me letting you stand in this ring beside greatness—you’re nothing. You’re just another rookie who’d drown in the deep end!”

The crowd booed, a chant of “SETH! SETH! SETH!” cutting through, the fans buying into every barb. They thought this was business as usual. But Y/N could feel the venom hidden under his words, the truth tucked in the corners where only she and Bron could hear it.

She squeezed Bron’s hand harder. His chest heaved like a caged animal trying to break free, but he stayed locked in place. Stone-faced. Silent.

Seth turned once more, eyes flicking to Y/N with a flash of something darker, possessive, hungry. The smirk curled higher, a silent dare. Then he turned back to Bron for the final dagger.

“You’re not competition. You’re not my equal. You’re a burden. And the only reason you’re standing here is because I allow it. Don’t forget that.”

The words hung heavy, suffocating. Bron’s throat tightened, rage pooling hot under his skin. But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Y/N’s grip on his hand was the only thing keeping him grounded, her nails biting into his skin as if to say: don’t. Not here. Not like this.

Colby laughed again, soaking in the chaos, the crowd’s noise fueling him. To the world, it was just another savage Rollins promo. But to them, Bron, Y/N, and Colby, it was something else entirely.

A warning. A claim. A line in the sand.

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Y/N stormed through the narrow hallways backstage, every step hot with fury. Her hands were shaking, not with fear but with the sheer force of how angry she was. She’d seen Colby do some manipulative, egotistical things before, but what he had just pulled out there, in front of thousands in the arena and millions watching at home, wasn’t just business. That was personal. That was vindictive.

She didn’t even knock. She shoved the locker room door open so hard it banged against the wall, making Colby look up from where he sat unstrapping his boots. He had moved fast after the promo, avoiding the boys in the back, avoiding Heyman, avoiding her. Which told her everything she needed to know: he knew exactly what he had done.

The door slammed shut behind her, echoing in the tense silence that followed.

“What the hell was that out there?” Y/N snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. “What the fuck was that, Colby?”

Colby tilted his head, slow and deliberate, like he was measuring her. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he’d been waiting for this. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and gravelly. “I say a lot of things out there.”

“Don’t—” she stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t play dumb with me. That wasn’t a promo. That wasn’t about Sami or about proving you’re the top guy. That was you humiliating Bron. You destroyed him in front of everyone, and for what? Some cheap pop? To hear yourself talk?”

Colby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his smile spreading wider. “You think I do anything for cheap pops? Nah. See, there’s always a reason.”

Y/N folded her arms, heart hammering. “Then enlighten me. Because from where I was standing, it looked like the most immature, petty bullshit I’ve ever seen.”

Colby’s eyes darkened at that, his smirk fading into something sharper. “Immature?” He laughed under his breath, a low, dangerous sound. “No, no, no, baby girl. That wasn’t immature. That was a warning.”

Her brows furrowed. “A warning? To who?”

“To Bron.” He stood now, closing the space between them in two long strides. “Because Bron Breakker seems to think you belong to him. That he can sneak into my hotel, into my territory, and put his hands on what’s mine. But you don’t belong to Bron.” His voice dropped lower, eyes boring into hers. “You belong to me.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. For a moment, Y/N couldn’t even breathe. She should’ve been furious, disgusted, something. And she was angry, yes, but it tangled with something deeper, something she hated to admit. The possessiveness in his voice made her stomach twist, her thighs press together instinctively.

“That’s what this is about?” she snapped, shoving against his chest. “You publicly humiliate him because your pride’s hurt? Because you’re jealous? Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

He grabbed her wrist before she could shove him again, not painfully, but firm enough that she couldn’t ignore the strength in his grip. His eyes glinted with that wild, dangerous energy he carried both in and out of the ring. “I don’t take kindly to people trying to take what’s mine,” Colby said, voice steady, deliberate. “And I’ll put down my own guard dog if it means keeping you all to myself.”

Colby’s eyes searched hers, molten and sharp, disbelief twisting into something darker when he realized she wasn’t recoiling. His hand slid up from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair like a snare, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he rasped, forehead resting against hers, his laugh low and humorless. “You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be. And you can lie to yourself all you want— but your body?” His thumb dragged across her lower lip, tugging it down slightly. “Your body already knows it.”

Y/N swallowed hard, heat prickling down her spine. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and that tiny movement was all he needed. His grin spread slow, wicked, like he’d just won a war she didn’t know she was fighting.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, almost taunting, eyes flicking down to catch the subtle shift of her hips. “There it is. I felt that. You think I didn’t notice? That little tell of yours?” He tilted his head, studying her with a mixture of hunger and something unhinged. “You like this. You like me tearing down anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way. You like when I lose control over you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, shame and arousal tangling in her chest, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. Colby’s smile sharpened. “And you didn’t run. Not when I told you you’re mine. Not when I promised I’d put Bron in the dirt if he stepped out of line. You stayed.” He pressed closer, chest flush against hers now, his voice dropping to a growl. “So tell me, sweetheart… why are you still here?”

Her lips parted, trembling with a truth she couldn’t swallow back. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

For a second, something flickered in his expression, satisfaction so raw it was almost feral. Then he surged forward, crashing his mouth against hers, this kiss nothing like the first. This one was brutal, claiming, desperate. His grip in her hair tightened as his other hand slid down to her hip, jerking her against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.

The locker room, the show, the world outside—it all blurred away. There was only the sharp taste of him, the scrape of his teeth, the intoxicating burn of finally giving in. Colby broke the kiss only long enough to whisper against her swollen lips, “That’s my girl.”

And then his mouth was on hers again, hungrier, rougher, daring her to keep up, daring her to prove she really wasn’t going anywhere. Y/N’s hands lace through his hair, Colby groaning at the feeling. He’s been biding his time for this very moment. Waiting to see when she would finally succumb to her dark desires the way he did.

He taps her ass twice, Y/N taking it as a hint to jump. She wraps her legs around him as he guides them over to one of the benches in the locker room. He eases them down onto it, Y/N whimpering into his lips as she feels herself growing wetter from his attention.

She couldn’t stand the distance between them anymore, ripping the shirt he was wearing off his head. She wasted no time in peppering kisses along his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulders. The toned muscle makes her feel the urge to bite, but she refrains. She knows better than to do things without him giving her permission to.

Colby lifts her head, reconnecting their lips before repaying the favor. He starts kissing down her neck, leaving marks and nibbling wherever the hell he sees fit because she’s his. “I could’ve killed him,” he mumbles against her skin. His hands squeeze her hips tightly, “He’s been walkin’ around here, talking, acting like he has a chance with you.”

Y/N whines quietly as he bites the soft spot connecting her neck and collarbone, and Colby drinks it up like he’s been without water for days. “He doesn’t,” she whimpers. “He never did.”

Colby grins against her skin, something dark, hungry… obsessed. It’s that same look she knows is reserved just for her. The one she loves, knowing he only looks at her like that. One of his hands travels from her hip up to the waistband of her pants, toying with the fabric there.

“I know,” he mumbles. A beat passes and then he leans up to her ear, whispering. “But I think it’s time for me to give you a little reminder of who owns you.”

Y/N gasps quietly as he flips their position. Suddenly she’s the one sitting on the bench and he’s kneeling before her, eyes dark and waiting. He doesn’t wait to ask permission before sliding her pants off, hooking her lace panties through his fingers and dragging them off too.

The cold air of the locker room hits and a shiver runs down her spine. Colby tilts his head, almost memorizing the way her soaked heat looks sitting in front of him. The way her clit pulses with need. He smirks, never taking his eyes off her as he raises her panties to his mouth, licking a long stripe of where her arousal had seeped through the cloth. Y/N’s own pupils dilate as she watches him shove them in his pocket.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss on her inner thigh. His tongue dances along the skin before biting softly. She whimpers quietly, more of her juices threatening to spill out as she watches him leave a mark on her. “All of this is mine,” he says with almost disbelief.

She tries to look away from him, not used to being this vulnerable with anyone. The heat of his gaze is almost too much for her. However, it doesn’t last long as he grabs her chin. His expression is serious, eyes staying locked on hers. “Don’t look away from me,” he commands.

Y/N’s lips part with a small exhale. She doesn’t know how to respond. He looks almost heartbroken over the fact she looked away from him. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, guilt starting to creep in. So to apologize, she presses her lips against his, kissing him softly to make up for it. He kisses her back with a tender softness she wasn’t expecting.

Then he moved back just slightly before burying his head between her thighs. Y/N couldn’t help the wanton sound that escapes her lips as she curls her fingers through his hair. His tongue is firm between her legs, eating her out at a pace that shows how long he’s been waiting for this. It’s his first time getting a taste of her and he wasn’t going to waste it.

His eyes never closed, maintaining that burning stare at all times. It made it impossible to look away from him. Every time she felt the need to throw her head back from the pleasure, she couldn’t. She could only look at him. Every moan, gasp, and tug at his hair, he took it in stride.

She can’t contain herself anymore as she slowly starts moving her hips to meet his eager tongue. Her eyes finally roll back into her head as she feels him groan into her heat. “Please…” she begs quietly.

Colby smirks, barely removing his head from between her legs, “Please what, baby?” He taunts. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna come,” she gasps out as he uses his tongue to play with her clit.

He lets out that dark chuckle, “You wanna come?” Y/N nods in response, needy and ready. “Then do it sweet girl. Come for me. Lemme see how good I make you feel.”

Her legs start shaking as he dives right back in. His large hands wrap around her thighs, massaging the skin there to only increase the pleasure she’s feeling. His tongue is absolutely relentless, fucking in and out of her like a man starved. And from what she’s seeing, he might as well have been. With one more strong flick of his tongue, the coil inside her belly snaps. Y/N’s head flies back into the lockers, a small thud from the impact reverberating around the room. She can feel the ache in the back of her head, but it barely crosses her mind as she rides out the wave of her orgasm.

Colby continues lapping up the mess she made, enjoying it way more than he probably should. He loves the way her legs shake, unable to even sit still as he coaxes her out of the land of ecstasy she’s currently staying on. When she opens her eyes, they’re fogged but glowing. He slowly rises up, careful not to hurt her.

She’s still trying to catch her breath when she sees the way his beard glistens with her essence. She can’t help herself as she reaches forward, hands gripping the back of his neck as she pulls him in for another heated kiss. Their tongues clash wildly, her moaning against his mouth as she tastes herself on his tongue.

“Who do you belong to sweet girl?” He mumbles against her lips, a small growl in his voice. “Tell me.”

In that moment, there was only one correct answer. She knew it, and so did he.

“You.”

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Colby had been watching her from the second she walked into the arena that night. Ever since what happened in the locker room, something in him had shifted. He couldn’t let her out of his sight for long, and didn't want to. It was like he’d finally sunk his teeth into something he’d been craving for far too long, and now he wasn’t about to let anyone pry her away from him.

She was his.

From his spot near the production table, his eyes followed the curve of her back, the little tilt of her head as she chatted with another wrestler in the hallway. She smiled and Colby’s chest tightened with something almost feral. That smile wasn’t for them. It should never be for them. It should be for him.

And she knew it, too. Ever since the locker room incident, the way he got to taste her rearranged the air in his lungs. She hadn’t pulled away. She hadn’t run. If anything, she was leaning into him more, a subtle shift in the way she stood closer, the way her gaze lingered longer, the way her body instinctively tilted toward his. She wasn’t scared of his claim. She liked it. He could see it in every flicker of her expression.

He’d only looked away for a second— one damn second when a producer came over with notes about his segment. But when he glanced back across the hall, she was gone. Vanished.

His chest tightened, almost painfully, and he fished his phone out of his pocket, thumb flying over the screen.

Where’d you go?

She didn’t answer right away.

Answer me.

The second bubble appeared before he could stop himself. Obsession wasn’t something he usually allowed to show so blatantly, but with her—it was impossible to hold back. When her reply finally came, his pulse slowed just enough to let air back into his lungs.

I’m okay. I just got hungry.

Hungry. That was it. His jaw ticked as he shoved his phone back in his pocket and strode down the hallway. If she was hungry, then she wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it herself. That was his job now.

By the time she reached the catering table, her plate still empty, Seth stepped in beside her. He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t need to. His presence was heavy, unmistakable.

She looked up at him, startled for half a second before her mouth curved in a knowing smile. “You followed me?”

“I didn’t like you just disappearing on me,” he said lowly, voice gravel edged. “Don’t do that again.”

Her brows lifted, teasing. “I told you I was hungry.”

“You could’ve told me before you walked away.” He plucked a plate from the stack and started filling it with food, her favorites, every single one. She blinked, realizing she hadn’t ever mentioned half of them aloud. He just knew.

When he finished, he set the plate in her hands. His gaze pinned hers, dark and unyielding. “You don’t have to do anything on your own. That’s why I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

Something in her chest cracked open at the words, heat rushing beneath her skin. She couldn’t even come up with something witty to deflect with, not when his sincerity was this raw, this bare. So instead, she set the plate down on the nearest counter and grabbed his wrist, tugging him down the hallway without a word.

“Y/N—” he started, but the urgency in her grip stopped any protest. He didn’t resist. He followed, silent and coiled, until she shoved open the first empty door and pulled him inside.

The second the door clicked shut, she spun, closing the space between them. Her lips crashed against his, fierce and hungry. For a moment, he froze, startled, not at the kiss itself, but at how reckless, how desperate it was. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her closer, answering her heat with his own.

When he finally broke the kiss, breathless, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Thought you were hungry,” he rasped, voice rough with something more than amusement.

“I am,” she whispered back, lips brushing his jaw. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him down to her. “Just not for food anymore.”

His laugh was low, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around how much she matched him now. His thumb traced her jaw, tilting her face so he could see her eyes. The way she’s staring at him makes his stomach twist. Desire. Gratitude. Something that went deeper than either.

And Colby knew, without her saying a single word, that she was about to show him exactly how much she appreciated the way he cared for her.

He blinked and suddenly she was on top of him, bottoms and panties discarded somewhere in the empty room. She barely managed to get his own pants and underwear to his ankles before she was sinking herself down on him. She knew they wouldn’t have much time, being at work runs the risk of everyone hearing what they’re up to, but that didn’t seem to deter them in the slightest.

Her hands were everywhere. Worshipping and praising every part of him as she impales herself on his length. Colby groans into her hair, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she increases the pace. He can feel the way her walls squeeze him, almost like she’s trying to milk him for everything he’s got.

He meets her bouncing with one particularly harsh thrust causing a rather loud moan to leave her lips. He laughs cockily, “Gotta be careful, baby…” he teases, not genuinely caring if she gets any louder. “Don’t want anyone else to hear how grateful you are for me, do you?”

Y/N lets out a shaky breath, continuing to ride him like it’s the only thing she knows how to do. “Don’t care,” she admits, the words broken up between each bounce. She loves the way he practically bruises her cervix, reaching depths no man has ever been able to touch. “Want them to know.”

Colby raises an amused eyebrow, growling momentarily as she leans down to kiss his chest. She feels so fucking perfect around him. It almost makes him forget he’s the one in control whenever he sees the way her pussy swallows his cock. “Yeah?” He teases, sinking his fingers into her side a little deeper. Without warning he starts pummeling into her, stopping her movements all together. Y/N gasps as he quickens the pace, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of her over and over and over. “You want everyone to know that I fucking own you? That you like getting fucked where anyone could walk in and see how much you need me?”

Y/N moans his name soft, needy, like it’s the only thing she’s been programmed to say. She can feel herself approaching the finish line. Colby snaps his hips harshly forcing her to cry out once more.

“Answer me,” he commands, starting to lose control himself.

“Yes,” she cries out, falling into his chest. She places desperate kisses along his jaw, trying to distract herself so she doesn’t make any more loud noises. She can hear producers and other talent walking around outside, completely oblivious to what’s going on behind this door. “Fucking need you so bad,” she babbles. “Let them know. See how good you fill me up.”

She sucks a mark into his neck, one of many, that makes him growl lowly. He smacks her ass roughly causing her to grind into him. He laughs at how well he knows her body. She’s always tried to act like this innocent, sweet girl. But he always knew. He knew the depths of her depravity long before she did. That’s why she’s his.

“No one ever gets to touch you like this,” he tells her, Y/N arching her back as his thrusts begin to falter. “You’re mine. Forever. Do you understand me?”

Y/N nods her head, a broken yes leaving her mouth as her climax finally hits. His name is the only thing leaving her lips as her pussy clenched around him. Colby curses, the feeling of that vice-like grip sending him over the edge. He spills inside of her, his seed mixing with her arousal. He continues thrusting in and out of her, guiding them both through their high. She buries her face into his neck, breathing in his signature scent like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

He holds her there, eyes trained on the way his seed spills out of her. Watching the collective mess they made is enough to make him ready for a round two. But he knows better. He won’t push his girl further than what she’s capable of right now. He can see how tired she is and she still has a match later on tonight. So he simply runs a hand through her hair, placing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against him. “For taking care of me.”

Colby grins softly. She finally understands. Why he’s done everything he has… it was all for her. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, sweet girl. Take care of what’s mine.”

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Y/N sat on one of the production crates backstage, her gear still clinging to her skin with that post-match stickiness. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed in that restless way it always did after a fight. For once, she wasn’t with Colby. He’d been pulled into a production conversation across the arena, and she’d relished the sliver of freedom to just… breathe. She tugged on the cap of her water bottle when a voice pulled her attention. “Y/N.”

Bron stood there. Not the explosive, cocky Bron Breakker the crowd cheered for, but a quieter version. Shoulders slumped, eyes dim, like the life had been drained out of him. She blinked. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” His voice cracked a little, raw in a way that instantly pricked at her chest.

Her first instinct was to shut it down. To shake her head, to tell him no. She could already feel the heat of Colby’s disapproval if he found out. And there was the other side of it, protecting Bron himself. He didn’t deserve the kind of storm that came with standing too close to her now. But then she saw his eyes. That desperate, begging look that made him seem younger than he was, stripped down to something human and hurting.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Okay.”

They slipped down one of the quieter hallways, away from the noise of crew and wrestlers, until it was just them in the dim light. Bron leaned against the wall, arms crossed like he was holding himself together. “I can’t keep doin’ this,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Watchin’ you like this. Pretendin’ I’m fine with it.” His voice was low, husky with exhaustion. “I’m still scared for you, Y/N. Every damn day.”

She swallowed hard, unsure what to say. He let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Hell, even Punk’s been comin’ to me. Askin’ me if you’ve said anything about needing an escape. Or an out. A way to leave him. You got Punk worried, and that ain’t easy to do.”

Her chest tightened. She’s seen Punk when she’s talking to Colby. Always on the outskirts, lurking with those sharp eyes that saw more than she ever wanted him to.

“I barely even see you anymore,” Bron pushed on. “Unless it’s in the ring. Colby doesn’t do the group meetings, doesn’t let us be in the same room. He tells us stuff one-on-one now, just so we don’t cross paths. You don’t think that’s messed up?”

She wanted to argue. To say it wasn’t like that. But deep down, she knew he was right. She had noticed it. Colby wasn’t careless; every step he took was deliberate. He’d built this little cage around her piece by piece, and somehow, she hadn’t fought him. Bron’s jaw flexed, his voice softer now. “He’s keepin’ you from your friends. From me.”

Her throat went dry. Because it wasn’t like she didn’t miss him. She did. Bron had been a constant, someone who’d known her before all this had gotten so complicated. And seeing him standing there, his heart written all over his face, it chipped away at her happiness in ways she didn’t want to admit. But then there was Colby. Colby, who consumed her, who made everything feel so terrifyingly real. With him, she didn’t just feel alive, she felt like she couldn’t breathe without him. It was dangerous, maybe even wrong, but it was what she wanted.

She dragged her gaze back to Bron, and he was watching her, searching her face like he could find the truth buried there. Her eyes softened. “Bron…” she whispered, stepping closer. “I know it doesn’t look good. And I know you’re just trying to look out for me. But when I’m with him— it doesn’t feel like a cage. It feels… real. Like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

He let out a harsh exhale, dragging his hands down his face. “That’s crazy, Y/N. You hear yourself? You know it sounds crazy.” His voice cracked with frustration, not anger. “He’s cutting you off from everyone who gives a damn about you, and you’re calling that love.”

She swallowed hard, tears pricking her eyes. “Maybe it is crazy. But I want it. I want him.”

Bron’s jaw clenched. He looked at her like she’d just ripped his heart out. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at her, trying to memorize her face like this. Then he shook his head slowly. “You know, if it wasn’t for him,” he murmured, voice low and pained, “you and me… we probably would’ve had a shot.”

The words gutted her. She reached out instinctively, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he said, eyes shining with something raw. “I care about you, Y/N. More than I’ve said. More than you probably even realized. And watching him sink his claws into you, watching you disappear into his world… it’s tearing me in two.”

Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat. She did care for him. Deeply. If Colby hadn’t gotten there first, if things had been different… maybe, yeah, she and Bron could have been something real, something steady.

But she couldn’t let go of Colby now. Not when every cell in her body screamed for him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Bron gave a tight, broken nod. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he pulled her into a hug, holding her like it was the last time. She clung back, tears threatening to spill. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t look at her again. Just shoved his hands in his pockets, jaw tight. “I guess that’s my answer.”

And then he walked away, leaving her in the stairwell with her heart split clean down the middle.

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The car was quiet— too quiet. Normally, Y/N couldn’t get a word in edgewise when she and Colby were together. He’d interrupt with some smart remark, tease her about whatever tangent she was going on, or counter with an opinion so ridiculous it made her laugh until her stomach hurt. But tonight, the silence was pressing in.

She sat in the passenger seat, curled toward him with her knees pulled up, chattering on about some silly moment from her match, filling the space because he wasn’t. Her words fell into the quiet like pebbles dropped into deep water. No splash. No echo. Just silence.

Finally, her smile faltered. “Colb?” she asked softly, peeking over at him. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, the tendons in his forearm flexing with every small adjustment he made to keep them steady on the road. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, jaw ticking. He shook his head slightly, muttering, “It’s nothing.”

But she knew him better than that. His whole body was tense, like a rubber band stretched too far. Y/N’s voice gentled, low enough to slide beneath his guard. “Hey. Talk to me. Please.”

The way she said please cracked something in him. His shoulders stiffened, then he exhaled hard through his nose. “I saw you,” he ground out finally. “Back there. With Bron.” His voice was low, sharp. “Saw you two tucked in the hallway like it was some big secret. Saw the way you looked at him. Like—” His hands tightened on the wheel. “Like you were breakin’ in half just bein’ around him.”

Y/N’s lips parted, heart lurching. She’d known he might’ve noticed, but hearing the raw edge in his voice made her chest ache. Colby let out a humorless laugh, finally glancing her way with wild, golden-brown eyes. “I leave you alone for thirty seconds and then suddenly he’s got his arms around you like I won’t rip him in half for doing it.” His tone rose, a flare of anger laced with desperation. “So what the hell was that about huh? What did he say to you?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned across the console, closing the space between them with a steadiness that cut right through his fury. Her lips brushed his cheek in a soft, grounding kiss.

Colby froze, his breath catching. Her hand found his arm, the one not gripping the wheel, and squeezed gently. “He just asked me if I was happy,” she said quietly. Honest. Solid. “And I told him I am. Because I am, Colby.”

He flicked his gaze to her, searching her face, suspicion and need warring in his eyes. She smiled, small but certain. “Being with you… it makes me happy. It scares him, and it probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else. But to me? It feels right. It feels real.” She swallowed hard, thumb brushing over his tense forearm. “So Bron and I… we probably won’t talk anymore outside of work. Because I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone else. I’ve already chosen.”

The words landed like gasoline on a flame. He hadn’t expected that—her cutting Bron off on her own, giving herself to him without him even asking. It knocked the air out of him, left his possessiveness burning but satisfied.

Colby’s grip loosened on the wheel as he let out a slow breath. His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still blazing, softer now, molten instead of fire. “Yeah?” he muttered, his voice husky. “You’ve chosen, huh?”

“I have,” she whispered.

He chuckled, shaking his head, but there was no humor in it. Just relief, disbelief, and that dangerous edge that always came with him. “God, you drive me insane, y’know that?” He finally reached over, dragging his hand from the wheel just long enough to lace his fingers with hers. His palm was warm, solid, claiming. “But… I’m happy too. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Y/N’s chest swelled at the admission. She let her head fall lightly against his shoulder, and for the first time all night, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was full.

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Three months later

The set was all lights, laughter, and polished charm, the kind of place where Seth Rollins thrived. He had one arm draped across the back of the couch behind Y/N, his other hand casually tangled with hers like he had no intention of letting go. Every time she shifted, he followed, thumb rubbing across her knuckles in a way that looked effortless but very deliberate.

Jimmy leaned forward with that trademark grin. “Alright, I’ve got to say— you two are on fire right now. Seth Rollins wins Money in the Bank, Y/N L/N wins the Intercontinental Championship, and both Bron Breakker and Bronson Reed are on their way to great things. That’s a lot of power under one roof. How does it feel holding all the cards?”

Seth threw his head back with a laugh. “Jimmy, it feels like destiny, baby! This— this right here, look at us— it’s not just power, it’s dominance. We’re not just collecting gold, we’re collecting history.” He leaned forward, hand slicing through the air, then tilted his head toward Y/N with a grin. “But hey, she’s the one walking around with that shiny new championship, why don’t you ask her how it feels?”

Y/N smiled, shifting the belt on her shoulder so it gleamed under the lights. “Honestly? It feels surreal. I worked my ass off for that moment. Lyra pushed me harder than anyone’s pushed me in a long time, but walking out with this…” She tapped the faceplate with her nails. “That made it worth it. And now, I’ve got Becky Lynch knocking at my door, so clearly, the work doesn’t stop. But that’s the way I like it.”

The crowd broke into cheers at Becky’s name, and Seth’s grin widened like he was feeding off the noise. “Ooooohhh, Becky Lynch! You hear that, Jimmy? That’s the kind of fight people pay to see. That’s main-event level right there.”

Y/N nudged him with her elbow, laughing. “You’re not wrong. But hey, you’ve got LA Knight breathing down your neck now, so don’t act like I’m the only one with problems.”

The crowd laughed as Seth clutched his chest theatrically. “Yeah, yeah, LA Knight thinks he’s slick, thinks he can just walk into my business? Well, let me tell you, Jimmy, money in the bank means I’m walking around with a target, but it also means I’m holding the key. Any time, any place, I can flip the script. That’s pressure for everybody else, not me.”

Jimmy chuckled, glancing down at their hands still locked together. “You two are very… close, huh?”

Y/N raised a brow, playful. “What are you implying?”

“Well, I can’t help but notice something shiny on your finger.” Jimmy leaned in, pointing at her hand. The crowd gave a collective gasp when the camera zoomed in on the unmistakable ring.

Seth’s laugh came out like a bark, sharp and delighted. “Ah, well— looks like the cat’s outta the bag, huh?”

The cheers shook the studio, but Seth barely seemed to hear them. His eyes were locked on Y/N, hand tight around hers like he didn’t even notice he hadn’t let go once. His grin curved sharp, but his voice dropped low, softer, more grounded than the showy bravado he usually carried. “You see this?” he lifted their joined hands, the ring flashing under the lights. “This isn’t just for show. This— this is forever.”

The audience roared, some fans shrieking, some gasping. Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but the way she leaned into him betrayed her smile. She tits her head. “I guess the secret’s out,” she said, her voice warm but firm, carrying over the crowd. “We didn’t plan to say anything yet, but… here we are.”

Jimmy tried to cut back in, rattling off a question about timing, but Seth didn’t let go of her gaze. His grin softened at the edges, tilting almost tender. He dipped his head just close enough that their foreheads brushed, his mic catching just enough of the words meant mostly for her.

“She’s mine. Always.”

The crowd erupted again, and this time Y/N kissed him first, quick, but certain. The cameras caught it, the glint of gold from their championships, the ring flashing between their hands, the chaos of fans screaming in disbelief.

No explanation. No justification. Just the two of them, locked together against the noise of the world.

wwerollins

liked by bronbreakkerwwe, itsmebayley, archerofinfamy, and 66,987 others

tagged: y/s/nwwe

view all 15,322 comments

beckylynchwwe: “Congrats, champ. Keep your head up.” 🥂

| wwerollins: She always does.

reallaknight: “YEAH, big win. Just remember, it’s your belt, not his.” 👀

| wwerollins: Funny, coming from a guy with no gold to his name.

bronbreakkerwwe: “Proud of you. You earned that moment.”

| wwerollins: We know. She’s a star.

itsmebayley: “Champ 🖤✨”

carmelo_wwe: “All I’m saying is, don’t let nobody take credit for your shine.”

| wwerollins: Don’t worry, Melo. I’m the one making sure she shines.

archerofinfamy: “Congratulations, hermana. Big things coming for you.”

shieldgirl98: She’s glowing omg, they’re perfect 🥹

| wwerollins: Damn right she is.

wrestlingtea__: idk why this feels lowkey scary lmao

architectfan21: “she’s mine” uhhh Colby what do you mean by that 👀

| wwerollins: Exactly what I said.

wrasslinuncensored: nah something about this doesn’t sit right

burnitdowndaily: champion couple energy 🔥🔥🔥

worriedboutyn: I’m sorry but doesn’t this feel… obsessive??

happyforthechamp: as long as she’s happy, we’re happy 🖤

| wwerollins: She’s happy. Trust me.

heelturnrumors: this caption feels like a red flag ngl

Y/N never expected to be called into Paul Levesque’s office the Monday Night Raw after WrestleMania. She hadn’t had a match at the biggest event of the year for their profession. When things had started out, she was supposed to win the Royal Rumble but Charlotte Flair’s return had gotten in the way of that, so Y/N and Tiffany’s feud had to be postponed until after Mania season. She’s had storylines here and there but nothing dramatic enough to carry over to WrestleMania. She had a tiff with Liv, but she was already set up for the tag match with Raquel against Lyra and Becky. This took precedent because it was going to lead to Becky’s heel turn. Her and Rhea had an alliance going on up until this point, but there was no way to include Y/Nin the triple threat, so she had no choice but to sit out.

It wasn’t terrible. She didn’t mind watching her friends succeed. She’s young and has already been in every WrestleMania since being called up from NXT three years ago. Missing one won’t kill her, even though it did sting slightly watching from the boxes rather than being in the ring.

So when one of the producers said Paul needed her, she couldn’t think of what for. She had a match later that night, she knew that. But the arena opens in about four hours and he’s calling her in. Perhaps a change in the story, a different outcome of who would win, but she wasn’t sure. She just hoped she wasn’t being taken off the card all together.

“Hey kid, have a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his desk. He takes a seat in his own chair, looking at her with a slight smile on his face. Y/N was one of the lucky ones. She got to see that warm grin on his face more often than not. She didn’t know if it was because he saw something in her or if he just found her entertaining, but she was grateful for whatever caused it.

“Mark said you wanted to talk to me about tonight?” Y/N says, her voice slightly wary as she takes a seat across from him.

“Yeah, just a quick change in the program, nothing to be concerned about,” he waves off, organizing a stack of papers on his desk. “We decided to cut your match.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She knows her facial expressions betrayed her, the smile she had been sporting suddenly fading away into a disappointed frown. She didn’t get a match at Mania, and now she doesn’t even have one on Raw.

Paul’s smile only grows, “Relax, Y/N/N…” he assures. “You’re still on tonight, just not in the way you think.”

Y/N furrows her brows, “What do you mean?”

“We have a plan for you,” he begins, voice resembling an ominous movie villain. “It’s big, important. And tonight is the night everything comes together.”

Y/N patiently waits for him to continue explaining. Her foot bounces up and down, her nerves growing by the second. Clearly it’s big if he’s making this much of a deal out of it. She’s never been one to say no to anything. Whatever storyline they hand her, she accepts it with grace, and she plans to do the same here.

“We’re introducing a new faction,” he reveals. “One that we’re hoping propels your career to new heights.”

Y/N tilts her head with intrigue. She never really pegged herself as the faction type. Ever since joining WWE, her character has always been a solo player. She had alliances and worked with others when necessary, but she held her own. She liked it better that way, leading herself through the fire, not following someone else.

“Who’s faction?” She finally asks.

“Seth Rollins,” Paul tells her, gauging her reaction.

He can tell he’s caught her off guard by the way she shifts in her seat. She wasn’t expecting it. Good… that will keep things interesting. The more she’s enticed by the idea, the more likely she’ll say yes.

“I’m assuming you saw everything that happened night one, correct?” He asks and she nods. “Well, now that he’s aligned with Paul, both of them have a vision for the future. Of course, it’s going to be a major push for him, but Colby and Paul have always been focused on propelling this business forward. So they want this to be an opportunity for the people they view to be the future of the company.”

Y/N connects the dots, her eyebrows going into her hairline. “Me?” She points to herself in a shocked manner.

Paul can’t help but chuckle at her shock, “Yeah, you,” he confirms. “They see something in you. They see your potential. But don’t worry, they’re not recruiting just you.” He pushes a file with the story laid out in front of her.

Y/N pulls it closer and reads the other name, “Bron?” She looks back up to Paul curiously.

“They want both of you. Think you guys could end up main-eventing WrestleMania, being the quarterbacks of the company when all of these old dogs are gone,” he continues on. “And personally, I agree. Which is why both of you are interfering in him and Punk’s segment tonight.”

Y/N leaned back in the chair, still processing everything Paul had just laid out for her. “I mean… wow. That’s huge. But—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “Paul, I’ve spent the last three years building me. My character, my voice, my style. If I suddenly just… join a faction, especially Seth’s, won’t it undo all that work? I don’t wanna become someone’s sidekick.”

Paul chuckled quietly, leaning forward, forearms resting on the desk. “Kid, listen to me. You’re not losing anything. You’re not getting watered down, you’re not getting shoved in the background. You’re still you, we’re just adding gasoline to the fire you already lit. You with Seth and Bron? That’s not you being overshadowed. That’s you standing next to two guys who can help push you into an even bigger spotlight.”

She frowned, still not totally sold. “And I still get to wrestle like normal? Fight my own matches, go for title shots…? Because if this turns into me just walking to the ring behind Seth like a glorified hype woman—”

Paul raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’ve got my word. You still work singles programs, you still go after gold, you still cut your own promos. Hell, Seth wants you talking. Your mic work’s one of the reasons you’re in this position. The only difference now is when you walk out there, you’ve got more danger, more presence, and a faction that makes every opponent think twice about messing with you.”

Y/N sighed, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “And I still get to have a say in my promos? I’m not reading someone else’s words?”

Paul smirked. “If I ever tried to hand you a script, you’d throw it back at me before I finished talking. You’ll still have freedom. You’ll just be aligned with a vision that’s gonna make you look like a killer.”

She studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint that this was just another corporate pitch. But his expression stayed the same — confident, steady, certain.

Finally, she let out a long breath and shrugged. “Alright… fine. I’ll do it. But if I end up stuck in the background while Seth plays fashion show, I’m walking.”

Paul grinned, the kind of grin that said he already knew she was going to kill it. “Deal. Now go get ready. Big night for you, kid.”

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Y/N kept her head down as she wove through the crowd, hood pulled so low it shadowed most of her face. The smell of popcorn and spilled beer clung to the air, blending with the faint bass thump of the theme music echoing from the ring. Security didn’t give her a second glance, to them, she was just another fan heading back from the merch stand.

Her chest buzzed faintly, the way it always did before a cue. Somewhere out there, Seth was already in the ring. She could almost hear his laugh through the noise of the crowd, the kind of sharp, unbothered sound that somehow still carried confidence even when he was trying to be a thorn in someone’s side. She shook her head, pushing the thought away.

She kept moving until a voice cut clean through the hum. “Y/N L/N, sneakin’ around like you’re tryin’ to rob the place.”

She turned her head just enough to catch a broad-shouldered figure leaning against the barricade, hood pulled low. Bron Breakker.

A small, involuntary smirk tugged at her mouth. “Guess I’m not the only one.”

Bron’s grin was quick, teeth flashing under the shadow of his hood. “Nah, I’m just here keepin’ a low profile. But…” His gaze swept over her, not in a way that lingered too long, but enough that she caught it. “…I’m not mad I ran into you.”

She raised a brow. “That supposed to mean something?”

He shrugged, casual, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. “Just sayin’. Haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve been makin’ some noise lately. It’s hard not to notice.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I’m a headline.”

Bron tilted his head, watching the ring crew across the way move into position. “You kinda are. Not everyone gets crowds as loud as you do this fast. You’ve got ‘em.”

She glanced at him sideways. “You always give compliments this easy?”

“Not really,” he admitted, a corner of his mouth quirking. “But I figure, since we’re gonna be workin’ together for a bit… I might as well let you know when you’re killin’ it.”

It wasn’t heavy-handed, but it left her with a little grin she tried to hide.

Before she could answer, the arena lights shifted and CM Punk’s music hit. The pop was deafening. In the ring, Punk came out swinging, no hesitation, no buildup, just a straight charge at Seth. The two collided like they’d been waiting all night to tear each other apart, fists flying, boots slamming into the mat. Seth fought back with that signature defiance, but Punk’s rage was relentless, backing him into the corner and unloading a flurry of stomps and punches.

Bron muttered under his breath, “Look like our guy’s gettin’ worked over.”

“Looks like it–” she started, but the words caught when Seth shoved Punk off him, hair coming loose from its bun in the scuffle. A wild strand clung to the sweat on his jaw, and damn if he didn’t look… good. Too good, maybe. She kept her eyes forward, pretending she wasn’t noticing.

Punk turned on Paul Heyman, stalking him into the opposite corner. Heyman’s hands flew up, voice high as he tried to redirect the blame, but Punk was in his space fast.

Then Seth was there. A yank on Punk’s shoulder, a rake to the eyes, and a brutal stomp that had the older man’s head snapping to the mat.

Y/N’s stomach did that little twist again as Seth stood there in the center of the ring, hair completely loose now, chest rising and falling. That dangerous glint in his eyes made it hard to look away.

Heyman scrambled for the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen… the NEW number one star—SETH! FREAKIN’! ROLLINS!”

The declaration barely left his lips before Roman Reigns’ music shook the building. Seth’s expression shifted instantly, a muttered curse, a flash of irritation, and he shoved Punk out of the ring to clear space.

Roman took his time coming down the ramp, but the moment he hit the apron, he exploded forward. Seth swung first, Roman ducked, and the spear hit so clean it looked like it knocked the wind straight out of him.

Seth rolled to the outside clutching his ribs. Heyman wasn’t so lucky. Superman punch. Heyman hit the mat like a dropped sack of bricks. Roman paced back, eyes locked on his next target, a spear lined up for the kill.

Bron glanced at Y/N. “That’s us.”

They vaulted the barricade in unison. Bron hit Roman first, a spear that sent the crowd into chaos, and Y/N followed immediately, planting her boot in a spinning stomp that drove Roman to the mat.

The noise was deafening. They tore off their hoodies, the reveal electric. Bron shouted loudly, patting on his chest for emphasis. Y/N simply smirked, eyes taking over the audience with that signature attitude that’s gotten her so far. Everyone was screaming. Some in disbelief, others in anger, even some excitement.

That’s when Seth slid back into the ring, low stance, ready for anything. His eyes flicked between them, but they kept coming back to Y/N. A second too long. Just enough for her to notice.

The air felt thicker. She didn’t move. Neither did he. It was like they were waiting to see who would blink first.

Then she sprinted, straight past him, and caught Punk who had silently climbed back in the ring with a swinging neckbreaker. The thud was sharp, and Punk sprawled across the mat.

When Y/N turned back, Seth was already watching her. Really watching her. His tongue slid across his bottom lip in thought before a slow grin curved his mouth. He stepped closer, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to her temple. His hand caught her waist for half a beat longer than necessary.

“Nice work, sweetheart,” he said, voice low enough for only her to hear.

He waved Bron over, looping an arm around his shoulder too. “You both just made my night.”

Bron grinned, and that’s when Seth pointed to Roman was who was struggling to his feet outside the ring. He instructs Bron to take care of him, the young Superstar all to eager to do his part. But before he could get very far, Roman cracked him with an uppercut at ringside. Bron recovered quickly, circling the ring at the speed of sound before flooring Roman with a massive spear.

“Get him in here!” Seth barked, and Bron dragged Roman back into the ring. “Get his ass in here!” He shouts.

Bron does as he’s told. He drags Roman’s limp body into the ring, holding his head up so he can see and hear everything Seth is about to do. The Visionary cackles, talking his smack to the Tribal Chief. Suddenly he turns back to Y/N again, that smirk curling like a dare. “All yours.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her own wicked smirk forms as she spins on her heel. Punk was just sitting up, and she drilled him with another vicious stomp.

Seth’s cackle rang loud enough to be picked up on the hard camera before he stepped in and stomped Roman himself.

He dragged both rising stars to the center of the ring, raising Y/N’s and Bron’s arms high as the crowd roared.

The Vision had arrived.

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The hallway backstage buzzed with the muffled roar of the crowd, a constant undercurrent that neither of them could escape. Y/N moved through it like a shadow, hood pulled low over her face, shoulders straight, every step measured. Colby’s eyes had been on her the moment the ring emptied, and he hadn’t been able to look away since. At first, he told himself it was about her skill, the way she’d executed that stomp like it belonged to her. But the truth was, it was her. Her.

He stepped closer, closing the space until the subtle brush of their arms made his chest tighten.

“Not bad out there,” he said, voice casual, even a little teasing, though his stomach churned with something sharper. “Almost makes me worry you might’ve done the stomp better than me.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Please,” she said, shaking her head. “No one’s ever gonna outdo you. I’m just lucky you let me even use it.”

Lucky? That word hit him harder than any punch he’d thrown in the ring tonight. He kept pace with her, careful not to stumble over his words, or the fact that every time she moved, every slight tilt of her head, it felt like gravity had shifted.

“Let you?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t let anyone do anything like that. You make it look… good. Too good.”

Her lips twitched in amusement, but she didn’t back down. She licked her bottom lip unconsciously as she glanced over at him, and his chest tightened. God, she doesn’t even know what she does to me.

“You think I’m trying to distract you using your own moves, huh?” she asked, voice light, playful.

Colby laughed softly, a low, almost feral sound that didn’t quite fit the casual tone. “Distracting? Maybe. But in a good way,” he said, eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the way her hair fell just so. “You know, watching you hit something I tried so hard to perfect… makes it hard to focus on anything else.”

Her smirk softened, slower now, teasing replaced with something more deliberate. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t even blink. And Colby felt like he could stare at her forever. Every step, every subtle glance, felt like a countdown he didn’t want to end.

“Y/N!”

The sound of her name snapped them both out of it. Bron’s voice was coming from a few steps behind, and when they turned, he was already catching up. “You heading back to the hotel?” he asked, tone easy and friendly, though his eyes flicked briefly between the two of them. “Got room if you wanna ride together.”

She hesitated for half a second, just enough for Colby to notice, before smiling. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Bron nodded and fell into step beside her, the shift in formation forcing Colby to slow just a fraction. Y/N glanced back at him over her shoulder, her smile still warm, but her expression a touch unreadable. Colby’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile, because that’s what he had to do. Polite. Cool. But inside, everything else was a storm. She’s mine. Not like this… not yet. But soon, she’s mine.

“See you later,” he said, voice steady, though his eyes lingered a second too long on her retreating figure.

As they walked off toward the elevator with Bron, Colby’s jaw tightened. His thoughts ran faster than he could process. Every tilt of her head, every laugh, the way she brushed her hair from her face, it all pressed against him, made it impossible to act normal. She was dangerous, but not in the ring. Dangerous in the way she claimed his attention without even trying. And damn it… he was all in.

Just keep it together, Lopez. She’s not yours yet. But she will be.

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The gym smelled of sweat and metal, the low hum of treadmills and the clank of dumbbells filling the room. Y/N stood at the deadlift station, bar loaded ridiculously heavy. Every movement was precise, effortless, she looked like she was barely trying, but Colby couldn’t stop noticing every flex of her arms, every controlled breath. He had been watching from the doorway for several minutes now, debating how to walk over without looking like a creep, when he saw her smile.

Bron Breakker was beside her, hands hovering near her as he spotted her lifts, occasionally nudging her gently with encouragement. They were laughing, light, easy laughter that didn’t belong in the tense, competitive world they shared. And Y/N’s laugh… it hit Colby like a fist.

“Wow, you really do make that look easy,” Bron said, adjusting his grip on the barbell. “I mean, seriously. I thought I could lift heavy… then I watched you, and suddenly I feel like I’ve been training with plastic weights my whole life.”

Y/N grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “You’re not bad yourself, Breakker. But if we’re being honest, I’m still gonna outlift you.”

Bron laughed, that deep, easy laugh that seemed to shake the air between them. “Yeah, yeah, but you’re ridiculously good-looking while you’re doing it. Makes me almost think you missed your calling to be a personal trainer.”

Colby’s jaw tightened. He leaned more heavily against the doorway, pretending to stretch, but his eyes never left them. Bron’s voice was low and teasing, his hand brushing against hers as he guided her form. Colby’s chest tightened every time she laughed at something he said.

“You’re always this smooth?” Y/N asked, smirking as she re-racked the bar.

“Smooth?” Bron tilted his head, mock offense in his tone. “Nah, I’m just honest. Someone’s gotta point out when a machine like you is making the rest of us look bad.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Honest, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that. But just so we’re clear, I don’t let anyone show me up… even someone like you.”

Bron grinned wider, leaning a little closer. “Someone like me, huh? Dangerous, unpredictable, and apparently ridiculously strong?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” she said with a smirk. “I’ve been in this company a while. I know how to handle people like you.”

“You’ve been here for like two years longer than me,” he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Still longer and more seasoned,” she quips in an almost sing-song voice.

Bron chuckled. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Colby’s blood boiled. Every casual touch, every laugh, every tilt of her head toward Bron was a spark in the kindling of something he couldn’t ignore. He wanted to storm over, to remind her exactly whose faction she was in, whose presence mattered. Instead, he turned to the weights, pretending to focus, though he could still hear every word.

Bron moved with her to the bench press, guiding her, joking about their upcoming segment. “You excited about tonight? I mean, Paul Heyman and Seth Rollins of all people have this weird look in their eyes when they talk about us. Like we’re supposed to be the future or something.”

Y/N’s brow lifted, eyes shining with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “It’s flattering… terrifying, honestly. I mean, Heyman sees something, sure, but Colby? The guy’s basically a legend. If he thinks we’re ready, then… wow. It’s a lot to live up to.”

Bron nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. But you’re not just ready, you’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. And let’s be honest, you make this all look too easy.”

Colby’s fists tightened around his dumbbells. Too easy. Too easy for Bron to flirt, too easy for Y/N to laugh. His eyes never left her, tracking the curve of her jaw as she laughed, the way she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the faint blush on her cheeks. He saw it all—the admiration in her tone when she spoke about him, the pride she tried to hide when she mentioned him to Bron.

“I just hope I don’t mess this up,” Y/N said softly, almost to herself. “I mean… Colby trusts us to make this work. And I don’t want to let him down.”

Colby froze. She wasn’t looking at him, but she was thinking about him. He could practically feel the pulse of her respect, the slight weight of her admiration, and it sent a rush through him. Bron, of course, didn’t catch it, laughing again at something Y/N said.

“And you know,” she added, “seeing him trust us like this… it’s kinda inspiring. Makes me want to prove him right.”

Colby’s lips twitched, half a smile, half a growl. She’s thinking about me. She’s noticing me. She doesn’t even know what that means.

Bron clapped her on the shoulder, smiling wide. “Well, whatever happens, I’m glad we’re doing this together. Can’t wait to see what kind of chaos we unleash.”

Y/N laughed again, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s make them remember our names.”

Colby dropped the dumbbells a little harder than necessary, the echo ringing in the gym. He moved to start his own set, but every rep was slow, calculated, his gaze locked on her. He could hear them joking, teasing, laughing, and each laugh made him grit his teeth, and smile just a little despite himself.

He knew one thing for certain: he was going to make sure the only man she felt the need to talk to was him.

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Y/N sat cross-legged at one of the catering tables, nursing a bottle of water while her plate sat mostly untouched in front of her. Demi was leaning across the table, telling some ridiculous story about a fan at last week’s house show, her hands moving wildly as she talked. Sydney was already laughing so hard she had to wipe at her eyes, while Rami shook his head like he couldn’t believe any of it. Joshua was leaning back in his chair, grinning, and Bron sat at Y/N’s side, his arm draped lazily over the back of her chair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m telling you,” Demi said between laughs, “we need to run back our tag team. With everything going on, it could be you and me against Roxanne and Giulia. Imagine the chaos.”

Y/N grinned, shaking her head. “Oh, you’re just saying that because you want to see me try to kick Roxanne’s head off again.”

Demi pointed at her, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Exactly. And I wanna see your face when you realize Giulia doesn’t care if she breaks your jaw.”

“She won’t,” Y/N shot back, smirking. “Because I’ll get her before she gets me.”

Bron chuckled beside her, low and easy. “That’s my girl.”

It wasn’t even anything over the top, just four little words, said in a way that made her cheeks heat, and she caught the way Sydney’s brows lifted slightly, her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Rami and Josh traded a look that wasn’t subtle, but they both kept their attention on their food.

Before Y/N could think too much about it, a familiar voice broke through the chatter.

“Y/N.”

She turned, and there he was… Colby, standing just inside the doorway, his eyes not leaving her even once. There was something unreadable in his expression, but the sharpness in it softened slightly when her gaze met his.

“Walk with me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Her chest tightened, her heart rate spiking so fast she swore he might be able to hear it. She didn’t even think about saying no, she just nodded, muttering a quick, “Okay,” as she pushed back her chair.

Bron’s arm slid away from her shoulders, his eyes narrowing just slightly at Colby, but nothing was said. She followed Colby out of catering and into the quiet of the hallway, the hum of the arena in the distance. He didn’t speak right away, and for some reason that made her more flustered.

“So…” she started, glancing sideways at him. “Everything okay?”

That’s when he glanced at her, really glanced, and the smile that curved his mouth was the exact one she’d seen a hundred times on TV. “Yeah. Better now.”

Her brow furrowed, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite herself. “Better now?”

“Mhm.” He slowed his pace just slightly, enough so their steps fell into sync. “I want you to talk in our segment tonight. When we open the show.”

Her steps faltered. “Wait— seriously?”

Colby nodded, eyes flicking over her like he was already picturing it. “I want you to talk back, use your mic skills. Don’t hold back.”

She blinked at him, her brain stuttering to keep up. “You… want me to talk?”

“I’ve seen your promos,” he said, voice dipping low like it was meant just for her. “All of ‘em. You’re good. Really good. You’ve got that thing people can’t teach. I just wanna see you let loose.”

The compliment landed somewhere deep, warming her from the inside out. She tried to play it off with a small shrug. “I didn’t think you’d trust me with that so soon.”

His smirk widened, and it wasn’t the one for cameras, it was softer, more dangerous. “I’ve trusted you from the start.”

Her stomach did an unhelpful little flip. “Is Bron gonna say anything?”

Colby’s expression flickered, just for a heartbeat, before settling back into something cool. “Nope. I’m trusting you to talk, that’s all that matters.”

They rounded a corner, their shoulders brushing, and she became hyperaware of how close they were walking. He glanced down at her like he was cataloging every expression she made.

“You’re seriously unfair,” she muttered without thinking.

His brow quirked. “Unfair?”

She waved a hand. “You… you say stuff like that and then expect me to just be normal?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Who says I want you to be normal?”

She scoffed lightly, looking ahead. “I think you enjoy making people nervous.”

“Only you,” he said easily.

The words hit harder than she expected, but she told herself he was just being Colby, smooth, charming, saying whatever sounded good in the moment. Still, her cheeks heated and she looked away before he noticed.

“Thank you,” she said finally, voice softer now.

Colby reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to make her forget where they were. “Stick with me tonight,” he murmured. “You’re my right hand, and I don’t wanna do much without you.”

Her breath hitched, but she nodded, leaning into his touch without even thinking about it. “Okay.”

Colby’s smirk widened as he leaned just a little closer, his voice low enough that it felt like it belonged only to her. “You’ve been turning a lot of heads, you know. Paul’s impressed… I’m impressed.”

Y/N blinked, trying to play it off with a shrug. “You’re just saying that because you have to.”

He chuckled, slow and deliberate. “No, sweetheart, I don’t have to say a damn thing. I’ve been watching you.”

Her pulse spiked, and she hated how much she liked the way that sounded. She raised an eyebrow. “Watching me, huh? That’s not creepy at all.”

He tilted his head, dark eyes never leaving hers. “Depends on how you look at it. I call it… evaluating potential. Making sure no one wastes it. You’ve got more than potential, though. You’ve got that… edge.”

Y/N laughed, trying to keep it light even as heat crept up her neck. “Edge? That’s a new one.”

“Mm.” Colby’s gaze dipped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “It’s rare. And once I see something rare, I don’t like sharing it.”

Her stomach flipped. “I didn’t realize I belonged to you like that.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, and there was something in the way he said it, quiet, certain, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N broke eye contact, fiddling with the strap of her gear bag to distract herself. “You’ve got a lot of people in your… whatever you call it. I’m just another rookie.”

“No,” Colby said, stepping in just enough to close the space between them, his cologne mixing with the faint scent of leather from his gloves. “You’re the one who stood out. You’re the one I noticed. And when I notice someone…” He let the words hang, slow and dangerous. “…I keep them close.”

Her breath caught, and she hated how much she didn’t want to move away. “Sounds like you collect people.”

He grinned, sharp and knowing. “Only the ones worth collecting.”

And before she could come up with something smart to say back, he leaned just a fraction closer, not touching, but close enough that his presence wrapped around her like a hand at her back, guiding her where he wanted her to go.

“You’ll figure out soon enough,” he said, almost a promise, “it’s a lot better being in my pocket than anywhere else.”

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Y/N cracks her neck as quietly as possible as she, Bron, and Paul stand behind Seth to wait for his music to hit. Bron is wearing a black suit, the spray on tan make up put on him before this being a shade too dark to look natural, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

The Unpredictable Badass glances at her, smiling softly in her direction. She smiles back, reaching over to squeeze his hand with hers. They might have not been friends for long, but she already trusts him immensely. He’s sweet, cares enough to check if she’s okay, tells her how great she’s doing even when sometimes it doesn’t feel like she is.

She opens her mouth to say something, but there’s a burning sensation that makes the hairs on her arm stand up. She turns her head slightly to see Colby looking directly at them. He doesn’t look angry, just stoic as always when he’s trying to get into character.

Colby clenches his fists, trying his hardest not to show the irritation he feels seeing her hold Bron’s hand. He wanted the kid in his faction, needed him to make this business great. But the more time Bron spends with Y/N, the more Colby wishes he would’ve just feuded with the man instead.

But suddenly all of his anger dissipates as he watches the woman walk towards him. She has a small grin on her face, completely disregarding the fact she was holding Bron’s hand. She stops directly in front of him and Colby swears he stops breathing for a moment. Especially when he noticed the way her gold eyeshadow matches the the shimmering top she has on while simultaneously complimenting the engraved pattern on his jacket. He wonders if their outfits matching was intentional. He remembers picking out his jacket… perhaps someone guided her to pick something similar. He’d have to thank them later if they did.

“You okay?” She asks in a whisper, careful to listen for their cue. “You look a little lost in your head.”

Colby just smiles back at her, shaking his head. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just getting into character.”

“That’s what I thought you were doing,” she admits, almost proud of herself for already being familiarized with his pre show routine only a week in. “But I just wanted to check. Y’know… as your right hand and all.”

He watches as her cheeks tint slightly, the bashful smile on her face growing. She likes it. She likes being his right hand. It’s a step in the right direction. Because with a few gentle nudges, eventually she’ll like belonging to him all together.

Colby’s eyes soften, his hand moving up, thumbing brushing against her cheek affectionately. He never realized how intoxicating her scent was until just now. It takes everything in him not to just lean his head down and nuzzle into her neck. “Thank you,” he says gratefully. “But don’t worry your pretty little head about me. If something’s ever wrong, you’re the first person I’ll tell.”

Y/N’s heart stutters, “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Colby nods earnestly. “You’re my girl, remember? Gotta tell my girl everything.”

Those words would naturally make anyone look at him funny. Calling her his girl after only being in his faction a week seemed a bit excessive. But Y/N couldn’t help the desire to hear him say it again. She likes the fact he wants to tell her things. That she’s this valuable to him this soon.

That’s when his music hits. He sends a playful wink her way as she walks back to her position. She and Bron plaster on their smug smiles, Heyman flanking Seth’s other side as they walk out to the loud crowd in the arena.

The energy was electric. Y/N couldn’t believe how loud the fans were. She and Bron shared another quick grin, not expecting this reaction. Her smile only widens when she sees the amount of fans with some form of her merchandise on. She waves at a younger boy who’s holding a sign in the front row with her logo on it.

The four of them walk to the ring after being announced by Alicia Taylor. Each of them take up a side of the ring, Seth dancing to his own music. He walks over, patting Bron’s chest. His music starts to die down and that’s when he moves to grab a mic before waltzing right back over to where Y/N’s standing, placing a nonchalant arm around her waist. Almost like he had done it a million times before.

Seth holds his microphone in the air, silently commanding the audience to continue singing his song. The patrons in the arena happily oblige, screaming at the top of their lungs to appease the Revolutionary that is Seth Freakin’ Rollins. But through all of this, his arm still stays wound around her waist.

“Kansas City!” He screams into the microphone, being met with the enthusiastic cheers of the people around him. “Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” That’s when he finally lets go of her, shrugging his shoulders as he bounces around the ring. “I am your host, I am a visionary, I am a revolutionary, I am Seth–”

FREAKIN’ ROLLINS!!

The audience finishes for him. Y/N watches in awe, hoping one day that big of a reaction will be for her. That the fanbase she builds is as passionate as the one Seth built for himself. They adore him, and truthfully, she doesn’t blame them. She was a fan of Seth when she herself was still rocking it on the indies.

“And in case you didn’t know, you’ve been living under a rock, you are looking at the winner of the main event of WrestleMania!” The cheers are even louder now, everyone thrilled to see how this story has played out. “And I know…” he takes off his sunglasses to hand them to Paul. “It’s a little difficult out there who still want to chant for CM Punk.”

A chorus of boos echoes throughout the arena. The reaction surprises everyone in the ring, none of them expecting the crowd to be against the Best in the World. They all assumed everyone would be supporting him, seeing as he was betrayed by Paul who was supposed to be in his corner. Seth has to stop himself from laughing. But once the boos quiet a bit, that’s when the CM Punk chants start rolling through.

“I knew there were still a few of them out there. And I know it might be painful for some of you who want to put your fingers in the air for Roman Reigns,” he puts his one in the air mockingly. The crowd then starts chanting OTC. “But what you are looking at in this ring right now is the future of our industry!” He claims confidently, the crowd cheering in agreement.

“The future runs through one man. That man is not CM Punk. That man is not Roman Reigns. Hell, it’s not John Cena. It’s not Jey Uso. It’s not Cody Rhodes,” Seth rants passionately. “The future of this industry, with Paul Heyman to my left, and Y/S/N and Bron Breakker to my right, the future of this industry runs through Seth Freakin’ Rollins!”

The pop from the crowd however doesn’t last long for them as the familiar chords to Sami Zayn’s music starts playing. All four of them glance towards the entrance, feigning confusion and almost disbelief that Sami out of all people has the audacity to come out here and interrupt Seth.

He walks down to the ring, a serious look on his face. He doesn’t dance around with the crowd like normal, clearly only here for business. He stares at the new faction before sliding into the ring and grabbing a microphone from one of the stagehands. Seth grins from ear to ear, assuming his long time friend has came out to celebrate with him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Sami Zayn!” Seth introduces.

A small shiver runs down Y/N’s spine at the small growl in Seth’s voice. She mentally scolds herself. She needs to focus. Colby is providing her with an opportunity to cut a promo, to prove she can run in this faction, she needs to keep her head in the game. Her attraction to Colby is merely an obstacle. Something she’ll have to get over. He’s a seasoned veteran. Someone who could get the attention of any woman he wanted. He believes in her to carry this business when he’s gone. She’s his protege, nothing more, nothing less.

“Welcome back, my man, you were out for such a long time.” Seth greets happily. “It is good to see you back on Monday Night Raw!” He places a hand on Bron’s shoulder like an owner would his dog. He looks back at Sami, “I assume uh– I assume you caught WrestleMania… right?” He grins, taking a step closer to Sami, his tone a humble brag.

Sami exhales disappointedly, “Yeah… Yeah, Seth, I saw the main event of WrestleMania, very good.” He commends.

Seth can’t help but get giddy, “Ah, yeah.” He dances around a little, still waiting for that praise.

“How long have we been friends? Long time, right?” Sami asks.

Seth nods, “Long time, long time.”

“Okay, I feel the need to come out here as a friend, as someone whose known you a very long time, and tell you to your face that this–” he gestures between Heyman, Bron, and Y/N, “this is a load of crap, man.”

Seth looks bewildered, glancing back at his newly formed group. “What are you– Hey, hey. No, no, no, no, no. What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

Sami scoffs, “What do I mean?”

Seth shakes his head, “This isn’t– What are you talking about?” He asks, completely flabbergasted. He was expecting a friendly celebration and all he got was a confrontation.

“How many– how– how much time did you spend talking about CM Punk, talking about Roman Reigns, and then the one thing that those two guys have in common happens to be standing over your shoulder now?” Sami says logically, pointing over to Paul. The crowd cheers in agreement. Seth glances back and forth between Sami and the Oracle. Sami continues, “So how are you any different?”

Seth puts his hand up, “Wait, wait, wait a minute, you’re–you’re not seriously comparing me to CM Punk and Roman Reigns,” he shakes his head. “How can this not be different? Come on now.”

Sami laughs but there’s no humor behind it, “For the longest time, I really started to believe that you just had this deep anger, this– this deep hatred for CM Punk. And you sounded so self righteous when you were talking about Roman Reigns. But now I’m starting to see that maybe… you were just jealous.”

Y/N knows it’s all part of the promo, but part of her can’t help but feel angry on Seth’s behalf. He’s worked hard to get here. She knows how he feels personally about CM Punk, so the fact the accusation of him being jealous of that man is even out in the world pisses her off immensely.

“Maybe you just wanted to be in the position that they were in.” Sami calls out.

Seth still can’t believe this is what the conversation has devolved into. “S–Sami, look, I am not CM Punk. I am not Roman Reigns. This is the vision for the future. You and me, we’ve gone back many, many years talking about what that future would look like. This is our–”

“Oh–oh– oh, well isn’t that– what a coincidence that is!” Sami cuts Seth off exasperatedly, throwing his hand in the air. “That the vision for the future of the WWE, the vision of the future for this entire industry, for years to come, it all revolves around Seth Rollins being front and center.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Seth denies, sure of himself, “I’m the best man for the job. You know this.”

“Yeah, that’s my point, Seth,” Sami talks over him bitterly. “That’s my point, it’s not a coincidence… it’s hypocritical.” He points his finger directly in Seth’s face and Y/N can feel her time coming. She can feel her need to speak boiling over like a fiery sea. “And you spent all this time talking about The Bloodline this and The Bloodline that–”

“This is not the Bloodline!” Seth screams, his frustration finally reaching a fever pitch. “Quit comparing me to them!”

“H–how is it different?!” Sami exclaims. “You’ve got the Wise Man right over there,” he gestures to Paul. “And then you’ve got your little puppet and dog right over there,” he points to the other side towards Y/N and Bron. His eyes narrow on the Badass, “Who by the way if he keeps looking at me like that, is gonna get his face kicked in!”

Bron starts to lunge forward, the veins in his forearm tightening under his suit sleeve, but Y/N steps in before he can so much as take a step. She plants a firm hand on his chest, holding him back with a quiet authority that surprises even him.

“Easy,” she mutters, not breaking her glare from Sami. Her touch is steady, grounding him, even while she herself looks like she’s about to explode.

The crowd is buzzing, waiting for something to happen. Seth’s smirk falters into something darker, curious, as he watches her step forward and lift the microphone to her lips.

“You’ve got some nerve, Sami,” Y/N starts, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. The crowd roars just from the bite in her tone. “Coming out here, disrespecting him—” she jerks her thumb back toward Seth, “like he hasn’t carried this entire industry on his back when people like you couldn’t hack it.”

There’s a rumble from the fans, split down the middle, some booing, some cheering. Sami raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised she’s cutting in, but Y/N doesn’t give him a chance to respond.

“You wanna call me a puppet? You wanna call Bron a dog?” she sneers, pacing closer until she’s toe-to-toe with him. “Let me make one thing crystal clear, Sami. We’re not pawns. We’re not charity cases. We are the vision for the future. And you?” She jabs her finger into his chest. “You can either be smart enough to join us, or you can be stupid enough to stand against us.”

The crowd pops at the venom in her words, and Seth’s lips curl into something between pride and hunger. He leans against the ropes, watching her work, that arm-around-the-waist territory claim from earlier now feeling prophetic.

“See, Seth might still love you like a brother,” Y/N continues, her voice rising. “He might care about you enough to want what’s best for you. But me? I don’t care how long you two have been friends.” She shakes her head, her tone ice cold. “You come at him like that again, and I’ll fight you myself. Because no one— and I mean no one— disrespects Seth Freakin’ Rollins and gets away with it.”

A wave of cheers crashes over the arena. The camera cuts to Sami, his jaw tightening, but Y/N doesn’t flinch. She paces a slow circle around him, her presence commanding the entire building.

“This is bigger than you. Bigger than me. Bigger than all of us,” she declares, passion dripping from every syllable. “Seth is building something that’s going to outlast every single one of us standing in this ring right now. And if you’re not on board, then you’re not just an enemy to him, you’re a target to me.”

The audience gasps, eating out of the palm of her hand now. Seth exhales a low laugh into the corner of his mic, shaking his head, like he can’t believe how effortlessly she’s killing it. But his eyes never leave her, following every movement, every gesture, every ounce of fire she’s putting out there.

She stops pacing, planting herself square in front of Sami. “Now, I’m not unreasonable. There doesn’t have to be a fight. We don’t need to destroy what’s left of this friendship, right?” she tilts her head, her words mocking but smooth. “The Wise Man—” she gestures to Paul, who smirks knowingly— “can pull a few strings. Get you moved to SmackDown. Fresh start. New stories to tell. No blood spilled.”

She leans in just close enough for her words to hit like venom. “But if you stay here, Sami… if you choose to stand in our way? Then you’re going to be our next victim, and that isn’t a threat.” She pauses, the crowd hanging on her every word. “That’s a promise.”

The arena erupts, the noise deafening. Sami glares at her, mic halfway raised, but Y/N doesn’t give him a chance. She lets the microphone slip from her hand, the thud of it hitting the mat punctuating her words like a gunshot.

And then, shockingly, her music hits. Her eyes widen for just a split second before she schools her face back into confidence, holding her head high as if it was always part of the plan. The fans lose their minds as her own theme hits rather than Seth’s, her own identity within this faction showing.

Without hesitation, she turns and walks out of the ring, her stride purposeful, commanding. Seth, Paul, and Bron fall in step behind her, Seth lingering just a heartbeat longer to cast one last look at Sami before following.

The camera catches Seth’s expression as he trails after Y/N. That smile of his is gone, replaced by something more dangerous, more predatory. He’s always seen her as the sweet girl he picked up, but watching her tear Sami apart on the mic, watching her command a crowd like that? It lights a fire in him. Something he didn’t know he wanted until now.

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The curtain fell behind them, and Y/N felt like her heart was still sprinting even though her body had finally slowed. Her hands trembled as she ran them down her gear, the adrenaline still burning hot in her veins. She’d cut promos before, sure—but this one? This one felt different. It felt like she’d actually said something that mattered, like her words had landed the way they were supposed to. She was still trying to catch her breath when a familiar voice broke through the fog.

“Well, well, well.” Paul Heyman stepped forward, his eyes gleaming in that sly, calculating way that always made people lean in closer whether they wanted to or not. He adjusted the fold of his jacket with the same reverence he used when he talked about greatness. “That… was spectacular. You didn’t just talk out there, my dear, you commanded. You had that entire arena hanging on your every syllable, desperate for the next word to fall from your lips. Do you know how rare that is? How few Superstars in this business have ever possessed that kind of presence?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, trying not to shrink under his piercing stare. “I mean… thank you. I just said what I felt.”

Heyman’s smile was almost paternal, though sharp at the edges. “And that is precisely why it worked. Authenticity. Passion. You, my dear, are the brightest future this industry has seen in a very long time. The brightest. Remember this night. Mark it in your mind. Because twenty years from now, you’ll look back and know that tonight was where it all began.”

Before she could even process that, he turned on his heel, already moving down the hall with a flourish, muttering to himself about destiny.

She exhaled, her chest heaving. “Wow.”

“Wow’s right.”

Her head snapped to the side where Bron Breakker was casually crossing over to her after talking with a producer, arms crossed, watching her with that boyish grin that always seemed to melt some of the roughness off his sharp features. His admiration wasn’t slick or smothering, it was easy, genuine.

“You killed it out there,” he said, coming closer. “Like, seriously. I could listen to you talk forever and never get tired of it. You’ve got this fire in you that just… man, it’s something else.”

The heat in her face spread faster than she’d like to admit. “Bron…” she laughed nervously, shaking her head. “You’re just saying that.”

He shrugged, smiling softer now. “I don’t say stuff I don’t mean. You’re special, Y/N. I knew it before, but tonight proved it.”

She chewed her lip, glancing down at her boots. His sincerity made her stomach twist in ways she wasn’t prepared for. Before she could think of something else to say, another voice cut in.

“Well, isn’t this sweet?”

The tone alone made Bron stiffen. Colby approached with that confident, deliberate gait that always seemed to own whatever room he walked into. His smirk was sharp, his eyes glittering with something far less innocent than Bron’s admiration.

“Bron, I think some people from makeup were lookin’ for ya,” Seth said casually, though his stare never left Y/N. “Somethin’ about that tanning product they used. Might wanna go clear that up before you start glowin’ in the dark, huh?”

Bron’s jaw tightened. “Really? Right now?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Seth chuckled, spreading his hands innocently. “I’m just sayin’—they asked for ya. Wouldn’t wanna leave ‘em hangin’.”

Bron looked back at Y/N, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He didn’t want to leave her here, not with him. But he also couldn’t exactly challenge Seth Rollins without a damn good reason. “Alright,” he muttered reluctantly. “I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “Thanks, Bron.”

Once Bron disappeared down the hall, Seth finally shifted his attention fully to her. The playful smirk didn’t fade—it deepened. He stepped closer, and before she knew it, his hand slid lightly across her lower back as he guided her down the corridor with him. She didn’t even think to resist.

“You were somethin’ else out there,” Seth murmured, his voice low and edged with something primal. “God, the way you stood your ground, the way you looked Sami dead in the eye like you were ready to rip his head off… beautiful. You didn’t have to do that, y’know. You didn’t have to step in. But you did. For me.”

Her breath hitched. “I—yeah, well, I wasn’t gonna just stand there and let him run his mouth.”

“That’s what I love about you.” He leaned in, his nose brushing against her temple as he pulled her closer. “You’ve got claws. You’ll fight for somethin’ that matters to you. For me.”

Her pulse jumped, her body locking up for a second when his beard grazed against her cheek and then lower—his nose dipping into the curve of her neck. The sensation made her knees weak, and without thinking, her hands clutched at his shirt tighter.

Seth chuckled against her skin, the sound dark, knowing. “Mmm, yeah. You feel that, don’t ya? You like me holdin’ you like this. You like knowin’ you’re mine.” His voice was velvet and gravel all at once, dripping with that possessive edge he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

Her brain was fogging, every nerve lit up from the scratch of his beard and the warmth of his body pressed so close. She swallowed hard, trying to will herself to say something, anything.

“Don’t—don’t say things like that,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Why not?” His smirk widened, his thumb brushing circles into her hip like he was staking his claim. “Because it scares you? Or because it’s true?”

She pulled in a shaky breath. “You… you don’t mean it the way it sounds.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, tilting his head so his lips hovered dangerously close to her ear, “I mean every single word. I don’t say anything I don’t mean. And when I say you’re mine? That’s exactly what I mean.”

Her stomach twisted, heat rising to her cheeks. She tried to convince herself it was just playful teasing, that Seth Rollins, the man everyone called cunning, arrogant, untouchable, wasn’t serious. But the weight in his voice, the intensity in his eyes, told her otherwise.

“You shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?” he interrupted smoothly, pulling back just enough to pin her with that burning stare. “Shouldn’t claim you? Shouldn’t make it obvious? Too late for that.” His grin was sharp, predatory. “I’ve been watchin’ you since the day you walked in, and every time you prove me right. You belong right here. By me. With me.”

Her chest tightened. Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Colby…”

“What?” he asked softly, almost gently, though the fire in his gaze didn’t dim. “Tell me you don’t feel this. Tell me you don’t like me pushin’ you up against the wall like this. Tell me you don’t crave it.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The words were tangled in her throat, betraying her.

Colby’s smirk returned, satisfied. He leaned in again, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear as he murmured, “That’s what I thought.”

Her knees wobbled, and her fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, hating how much she needed the anchor.

Colby lowered his voice, softer now, almost intimate. “Don’t overthink it, sweetheart. Just remember… you were perfect out there. And the best part? That fire? That fight? It’s ours now. Me and you— we’re unstoppable.”

He said it like a promise. Like a claim. Like a vow he’d carve into stone if he had to. And deep down, she knew he meant every word. The scariest part was—she realized she wanted him to.

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Y/N’s pulse was still out of control. Her skin tingled where Colby’s hand had burned against her, and she hated that she couldn’t shake the phantom feel of his beard grazing her neck. It had been five minutes, maybe ten, and she was still flushed, walking down the corridor like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts.

She slowed her steps, taking in the chaos of backstage. Crew members bustled around, wrestlers passed in and out of locker rooms, and everything felt so normal. But she didn’t. Not anymore.

“Hey.”

The voice stopped her cold. She turned to find CM Punk leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes didn’t match his easy stance; they flicked over her like he was trying to read every inch of her expression.

“Uh—hey,” she said, blinking. “You good?”

“Should be my line,” Punk replied. He pushed off the wall, closing the space between them in a few measured steps. “You look like you just stepped out of a furnace.”

Her cheeks flared hotter. “I—uh, no. I’m fine. Just… hot back here.”

Punk arched a brow. “Hot back here? You’re talking to somebody who’s been sweating under arena lights for twenty years. Don’t feed me bullshit.”

Her stomach twisted. “Okay, then… why are you asking?”

He studied her for a beat, then jerked his chin toward the hallway she’d come from. “Because I saw you with Colby. And I know that look.”

Her breath caught, a flash of nerves sparking. “What look?”

“The one he gave you.” Punk’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact, like he was stating a law of gravity. “That laser-focus, nothing-else-matters glare. I’ve only seen it once before. Right before his first title shot. He wanted it so bad it didn’t matter who was in front of him. Didn’t matter what it cost him. He took it. Wouldn’t stop until it was his.”

She shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms like she could shield herself from the weight of his words. “Okay, but– that’s wrestling. That’s competition. It’s not the same thing.”

Punk’s gaze sharpened, cutting. “You think you’re an exception?”

Her lips parted, the defensiveness bubbling up before she could stop it. “I’m saying Colby’s not dangerous. Not to me. He– he cares about me. He’s been good to me.”

“Good now,” Punk said dryly, tilting his head. “But obsession doesn’t always stay good. Trust me, kid— I’ve seen enough locker rooms and enough egos to know when someone’s gone all in on something. Or someone.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And Colby? He’s all in on you. Whether you’re ready for that or not.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck. She thought of Colby’s hand on her hip, his beard scraping her skin, the way his voice had wrapped around her like a chain.

Still, she forced a smile. “I appreciate it, really. But I can handle myself. I don’t need an escape plan.”

Punk didn’t smile back. “Not yet.” His eyes locked on hers, steady and unblinking. “But if you ever do… don’t be too proud to ask. Got it?”

For a second, the chaos of backstage fell away. It was just him and her, the weight of his warning sinking deep. Finally, she nodded. “…Got it.”

Punk gave a small grunt, satisfied enough, and stepped back. “Good. Then I’ll shut up.” He smirked faintly as he turned to leave, throwing one last line over his shoulder. “Just remember— obsession may win titles. But it wrecks people.”

Y/N stood frozen, her skin still flushed, her heart pounding in her ears. She wanted to brush it off as paranoia. But the way Punk had said it, the certainty in his voice, lodged in her chest like a hook she couldn’t shake.

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The Performance Center was quieter than usual, just the faint hum of the lights above and the soft thud of Y/N’s boots against the mat as she ran through her set. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and exhaled, muttering the sequence under her breath. Dropkick, kip-up, into the ropes, clothesline— spin it into the sling blade. She hit it clean, the impact snapping through the ring. The sound echoed in the empty space, a satisfying crack.

She didn’t notice him at first.

Colby leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a sly grin tugging at his lips. He just watched. The coil of her body, the way her movements weren’t stiff or rehearsed anymore but fluid, sharp, hers. When she vaulted to the top rope and sprung off into a flawless tornado DDT on the crash dummy she’d set up, he let out a low whistle.

The sound sliced through the silence.

Y/N’s head whipped toward him, cheeks heating instantly when she saw him. Colby sauntered forward, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked like trouble in sweatpants and a fitted tee, hair loose, damp from his own workout earlier.

“Damn,” he drawled, voice low but carrying. “You tryin’ to make the rest of us look bad, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t wanna interrupt.” He stopped at ringside, tilting his head, watching her catch her breath. Then, with that wolfish grin, he slid under the ropes. “But now? I gotta see this up close.”

The air shifted instantly. He circled her in the ring, slow and measured, like a predator sizing up prey. His eyes raked over her in a way that wasn’t subtle.

“You wanna run through it with me?” he asked, voice pitched casual, though the way he prowled around her made it feel anything but.

“You don’t have to,” she stammered, brushing her hair from her face. “Liv’s supposed to be here soon to help me go over it.”

He smirked, stepping closer, close enough she had to tilt her chin up. “Forget Liv. I’d love to run through it with you. C’mon. Show me what you got.”

She swallowed, then nodded, her nerves fizzling into adrenaline. “Okay… uh, start with a lock-up.

They clashed, tying up at the collar and elbow. Colby gave her just enough resistance to feel real, but let her maneuver. She slipped into a headlock, he shoved her off, and she hit the ropes, coming back with a flying forearm that staggered him.

“Nice,” he muttered, grinning as he shook it off.

She didn’t stop. She ran the ropes again, leapfrogged over his duck, spun on her heel and caught him with a dropkick square in the chest. He stumbled back, laughter in his breathless curse.

“Shit, alright!” he barked, pride glinting in his eyes.

She kept the momentum, calling her cues under her breath as they moved. Sling blade. Step-up enzuigiri. A quick snap suplex that had him hitting the mat with a grunt. He let her guide, impressed at how tight her timing was, how she adjusted to his counters without hesitation.

But it was the finish that did it.

“Alright,” she panted, swiping sweat from her temple. “End spot.”

She ducked a swing, hooked his waist, and drove him down into a fluid, snapping DDT. The mat rattled. Before he could even register it, she flowed into a cover, one knee planted by his ribs, her body leaning over his, forearm pressing against his chest as her other hand pinned his wrist above his head.

It wasn’t just a pin. It was a statement.

Her breath came fast, chest heaving. She glanced down at him, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead. For the first time since he’d slid in, she realized how close they were. Her thighs bracketing his torso, her hand holding him down like she owned him.

Colby’s grin faded into something darker. His hands, resting on the mat, shifted — then slid up, curling over her hips. He didn’t push her off. He anchored her there.

“Damn…” His voice was rougher now, the cocky tone stripped away. “You’re really tryna kill me, huh?”

Her throat bobbed, words tangled in her chest.

Then, slowly, Colby sat up just enough that their faces hovered a breath apart. His nose brushed against her jaw as he dipped lower, lips grazing down the column of her neck. Not rushed, not greedy. Just deliberate, featherlight kisses trailing along her collarbone, each one pulling a soft gasp from her throat.

“Colby…” she whispered, her hands threading into his damp hair without thinking, tugging him closer. She tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck to him like instinct, like surrender.

His grip on her hips tightened. He murmured against her skin, voice low, vibrating. “You have no idea what you do to me, sweet girl.”

The tension was molten, sparking and building, threatening to break into something they couldn’t undo. Her pulse hammered under his lips, the heat of his breath branding her.

Then the door to the PC swung open with a heavy slam.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” Liv’s voice rang out, chipper and oblivious.

Y/N jolted back, scrambling to her feet, cheeks flaming. She smoothed her shirt, forcing a bright smile. “Hey, Liv! No worries, I was just– uh– warming up!”

Colby lingered on the mat for a moment, eyes still locked on her with that dark glint. Finally, he stood, brushing his hair back with a smirk tugging at his lips. He moved to leave, but as he passed her, he leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“Match looks great,” he whispered, voice velvet and dangerous. Then lower, rougher: “But don’t forget… you belong to me when the bell rings.”

And with that, he slipped out, leaving her knees weak and her stomach in knots.

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Backstage was its own storm before a show — cords coiled like snakes across the floor, ring crew yelling over each other, producers rushing talent to hit promos or get in place. Y/N slipped through the noise with her headphones around her neck, breathing slow, trying to keep her nerves level. Tonight wasn’t just another match. Tonight was a chance to prove she wasn’t just someone’s girlfriend. She wasn’t Seth Rollins’ project. She was her own wrestler.

She hugged her jacket tighter around herself as she walked, eyes flicking between the chaos and the thoughts churning in her head. She almost didn’t hear the low voices coming from around a corner near a stack of flight cases.

At first, it was just background chatter. But then her name came up.

“—you see the card? She’s in there with Liv now. I mean, what are they gonna give her the title from Iyo next? Unreal. Like, what’s she done to deserve that spot except sit in Rollins’ lap?”

Y/N froze mid-step, heart lurching up into her throat.

Another voice chuckled, sharper, meaner. “Exactly. I bust my ass on house shows for months, and she gets a push because she bats her eyelashes at the locker room leader. That’s the only reason creative even looks her way. She’s not even trying to be humble. She’s milking it.”

The first guy laughed, a low, humorless sound. “Hell, if I so much as glanced at a girl like how Rollins does her, I’d be interviewed on Dateline the next day.”

Their words crawled under her skin, stinging like cuts she didn’t ask for. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t public, but it was enough. The quiet cruelty of it, the casual dismissal, as if everything she worked for was nothing more than being “Rollins’ girl.”

She backed away before they saw her, pulse thrumming in her ears. She couldn’t confront them, not now, not when she was minutes away from prepping for her match. Y/N moved through it quietly, headphones looped around her neck, jacket tugged tight as she tried to breathe past the nerves.

She barely noticed when Colby appeared in her path, fresh from his own prep. His shirt clung to his chest, hair damp, eyes sharp as they landed on her. But then his expression shifted. He stopped. Tilted his head.

“You’re quiet,” he said, voice low, searching.

She forced a little smile. “Just focused.”

His gaze didn’t waver. He stepped closer, blocking the hallway traffic, hand brushing her arm like an anchor. “No. Something’s eating at you. I can see it.”

“I’m fine, Colby,” she tried again, softer this time.

His jaw worked. He leaned down until his forehead nearly touched hers, voice dropping into something more commanding. “Don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Her chest tightened. His stare was relentless, like he’d peel the words out of her no matter how hard she tried to bury them. Finally, she sighed, shrugging half-heartedly. “I just… overheard some guys back in that hallway talking. Saying I don’t deserve my spot. That I’m only here because of you.” She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I’ve been grinding for years, and it just—sucks. To hear it torn down like that.”

Colby stilled, every muscle in his body going taut. His eyes darkened in an instant, that flicker of something primal flashing across his face.

“They said that?” His voice was steady, too steady, like a storm about to break.

“Colby—” she started, reaching for his arm.

But he shook his head, jaw clenched. “No. No. You deserve to be here more than half this locker room. You earned it. Don’t you ever let anyone make you think otherwise.”

Her heart fluttered at the heat in his tone, at the sheer conviction behind it. But before she could answer, he released her arm and turned on his heel.

“Where are you—?”

“Stay here,” he snapped, not looking back.

Her stomach sank. She knew that tone, knew exactly where he was going. “Colby, wait!” But he was already moving — a storm cutting through the hallway, shoulders squared, each step fueled with something dangerous.

She hesitated only a moment before following, weaving through crew members until the sound of raised voices hit her ears.

By the time she rounded the corner, it was too late. Colby had one of the men pinned against a stack of cases, his fist slamming into the guy’s face over and over, each hit punctuated with snarled words.

“You think she doesn’t deserve this?!” Crack. “You think she’s just riding my coattails?!” Crack.

The other man tried to pull him off, but Colby swung his elbow back, sending him sprawling. Staff rushed in, yelling, trying to drag him away, but Colby fought like a man possessed, teeth bared, eyes burning.

Y/N’s breath caught, frozen at the sight. His knuckles were split open, bloodied, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. His gaze snapped up for just a second — found hers across the chaos.

And that was when the anger in his face shifted. Just for her. From rage to something rawer, protective, desperate.

She should’ve been furious. Should’ve been scared. But all she could think, as her chest tightened, was: He did this for me. He bled for me.

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The med bay was quieter than the chaos outside, but the tension still hung heavy in the air. Y/N stepped inside slowly, her chest tightening when her eyes landed on him. Colby sat on the exam table, shoulders hunched, dark hair sticking damp to his temples. His right hand was split and bruised, knuckles raw and angry red under the harsh fluorescent lights. The sight of it made her heart ache so deep it nearly stole her breath.

She crossed the room, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Colby lifted his eyes to her, bloodshot and burning. For a moment he didn’t answer, just clenched his jaw like he was trying to wrestle the words into something calm. Finally, he shook his head, voice rough. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… I heard what they said about you and I saw red. They thought they could talk about you like that, like you were some object they had the right to tear down. And I wasn’t—” His nostrils flared. “I wasn’t gonna let it slide.”

Y/N’s throat went dry. She moved closer, looking down at his battered hand as if it physically hurt her to see it. Her own hands trembled as she reached for the medical kit on the counter. “Colby…” she whispered, pulling out gauze and antiseptic. “You can’t do this. You can’t just destroy yourself because some idiots can’t keep their mouths shut.”

“They don’t get to speak about you.” His voice cut through her words, low and hard. He caught her gaze, eyes sharp even as pain flickered behind them. “No one does. Except me. You’re mine. And I’m not gonna let anybody— anybody —make you feel like you’re less than what you are. Because you’re not. You’re one of the best in this whole damn business, Y/N, with or without me. And if they don’t see it, I’ll make them see it.”

Her hands stilled on his knuckles, her chest aching at the raw conviction in his voice. She dipped her head, muttering, “You’re gonna get yourself suspended, Colby. You’re gonna end up leaving me here to do this alone. Do you even get how terrifying that is for me? Coming to work and not knowing if you’re here? Not having you in my corner?” Her voice cracked, sharper than she meant it to. “Don’t you dare put me in that position.”

The fire in his eyes softened instantly, guilt slipping across his features. “Sweet girl…” His voice gentled, almost breaking. “I didn’t think about it like that. I just— I couldn’t stand hearing them disrespect you. But I’d never wanna scare you. I’d never wanna risk leaving you on your own.”

She pressed the gauze against his split skin, hissing softly when he flinched, but her hands were gentle. Every time she wrapped the bandage, she muttered soft thank you’s under her breath, like the words were slipping out without her control. When she finished, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his knuckles, lingering there for a moment as though kissing the pain away.

“Don’t do that again,” she whispered.

Colby’s chest tightened, heart thundering at how much of herself she’d just bared. He reached out, tugging her against him until her forehead rested against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her in a hold that was more vow than comfort. “I won’t,” he promised against her hair, voice steady now. “I won’t ever scare you like that again.”

Y/N closed her eyes, breathing him in. The wild part of her brain knew this was obsession, knew it was dangerous to need someone this badly. But the rest of her? The rest of her couldn’t breathe without him.

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The lights dimmed as Y/N’s music hit, the opening notes immediately drawing a huge reaction from the crowd. The pop rolled through the arena like a wave, people jumping to their feet, some holding signs with her name, others chanting before she even stepped through the curtain. She appeared with her usual confidence, her hips swaying deliberately as she stepped onto the ramp. The spotlight caught her perfectly, highlighting the shimmer of her gear, the curve of her smirk. Her eyes flicked straight into the nearest camera lens, narrowing as she tilted her head and gave that slow, almost taunting stare, the kind of look that felt like a challenge, like a promise. The crowd roared even louder.

She raised her arms before strutting down the ramp, letting the adrenaline eat away at the lingering ache from earlier — Colby’s split knuckles, the sight of him in medical, the way it had nearly broken her. She shoved it all down, burying herself in the character. Tonight, she wasn’t the woman terrified of losing the one person who matched her fire — she was her. Untouchable. Dangerous. Desired.

Sliding into the ring, she popped up fluidly to her feet, leaning back against the ropes with her arms stretched wide as if daring anyone to take the moment from her. The camera zoomed in again, catching the glint in her eye as her tongue darted across her bottom.

Liv Morgan’s music hit next, drawing her own cheer. She skipped out onto the stage with her bubbly energy, slapping hands along the ramp, but Y/N stood still in the ring, watching her with a cool, steady stare. The contrast was electric, Liv’s lighthearted playfulness against Y/N’s sharp, sultry confidence.

The bell rang, and immediately Y/N and Liv circled one another. The crowd clapped in rhythm, anticipation buzzing. They locked up, and Liv took control first, wrenching Y/N into a headlock. Y/N pushed her off into the ropes, and when Liv came back, Y/N dropped down, popped up, and caught her with a sharp arm drag. Liv rolled through, popped back to her feet, and smirked.

They collided again, this time Liv getting the advantage with a springboard dropkick that sent Y/N stumbling back into the corner. Liv charged, but Y/N side-stepped, hooking her arms around Liv’s waist and hitting a snap German suplex. The crowd erupted as Liv’s body arched across the mat, Y/N flipping her hair back before crawling toward her with a predatory slowness. She pressed a forearm into Liv’s jaw for a quick pin attempt, her face angled toward the camera with a sly smirk, but Liv kicked out at two.

Liv fired back with a flurry, running forearms, then a step-up enziguri that cracked against Y/N’s temple. Y/N staggered but countered with a spinning back elbow that dropped Liv in her tracks. She covered again, hooking the leg deep. Liv still managed to kick out.

The crowd stayed hot, split between them, chanting both names. Y/N pulled Liv up by the hair, whispering something sharp in her ear before whipping her hard into the corner. She strutted after her, swaying her hips again before slamming a knee into Liv’s ribs. Liv collapsed forward, only for Y/N to hook her head and nail a swinging neckbreaker. She rolled across the mat into a fluid cover, her body stretched across Liv’s chest as she tilted her chin toward the hard camera again, every inch of her oozing control. Liv kicked out.

The pace picked up. Liv caught Y/N with a codebreaker out of nowhere, the crowd popping. Y/N rolled to the apron to recover, but Liv was relentless, running the ropes and hitting a suicide dive that sent both of them crashing against the barricade.

They both climbed back into the ring before the ten count, trading strikes as the crowd fired up. Y/N landed a stiff forearm, then a sharp kick to Liv’s thigh, doubling her over. She hooked Liv’s head quickly, lifting her just enough before snapping her down into a devastating DDT. The crack of it echoed through the arena.

The audience jumped to their feet. Y/N didn’t waste a second, she slithered across Liv’s body, draping herself over her opponent with a seductive pin. Her body pressed flush against Liv’s, her forearm lazily resting across her chest as her eyes locked on the nearest camera. Her lips parted in a smirk, a dangerous little curl that made the crowd scream louder.

One… Two… Three.

The bell rang. The announcer declared her the winner, and her music blasted through the speakers. Y/N rose slowly, brushing hair from her face as the referee raised her hand. She let her smirk widen, staring into the sea of fans, sweat glistening down her neck, her chest rising and falling with the effort of the match. She was electric, untouchable.

But then Seth Rollins’ music hit.

The arena exploded into noise. The crowd lost it, the scream of thousands drowning out the music itself. Y/N’s head snapped toward the stage, and there he was, Colby, walking out with his signature swagger, the cocky strut and the rolling shoulders. His hands, though, were still taped, knuckles bruised and split. The sight sent a sharp twist through her chest.

He walked slowly down the ramp, his eyes never leaving her. The grin on his lips was dangerous, but his gaze was darker, hungrier. He climbed into the ring and circled her once, his chest heaving slightly, before stepping closer.

The crowd roared, sensing it, the tension, the heat between them. Seth’s gaze dragged down her body, the curve of her gear, the rise and fall of her chest, every detail glistening under the lights. He stalked toward her, towering over her as the noise of the arena hit a fever pitch.

He leaned down, their faces just inches apart. The audience collectively held its breath, waiting for it, the kiss, the break, the inevitable fire. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her eyes locked on his.

But Seth chuckled, that trademark, wild, unhinged laugh rolling out of him as he turned at the last second. He grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand high in the air, his grin sharp, his cackle echoing. The crowd went insane, a wall of noise.

Y/N kept her smirk on, forcing her expression to stay in character, but her chest burned, her heart hammering. She was utterly captivated, trapped in his gravity, unable to think beyond the fact that he was right there. And together, standing in the middle of the ring, hand raised, sweat-soaked and untouchable, they looked like they owned the world.

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wrestlingupdates: Nah… you can’t tell me Rollins doesn’t move DIFFERENT around Y/S/N 👀 The stare-downs, the way he circles her in the ring, the way he raised her hand after her match tonight… that’s not the same guy we see with anyone else. He was straight up possessive out there. Idk if this is storyline or something deeper but the tension is UNREAL 🔥 #WWERaw #Y/S/N #SethRollins

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shieldera4life: The way he looks at her? That’s a man obsessed. It’s kinda hot ngl.

livmorganarmy: It’s giving “mine” energy 😳 I can’t decide if it’s hot or terrifying.

MondayNightMessiahFan: Notice how he never acts like this with Bron? Bron gets respect. Y/S/N gets intensity. Feels like he’s barely holding back.

RingsideQueen: He was circling her like prey in the ring. Y’all can romanticize it but I saw straight up possession.

WrestleTalker99: Nah this isn’t normal. This isn’t “protective,” this is controlling. If I was her, I’d be worried af.

BlackAndGoldForever: The hand on her back, the whispers, the stares… I don’t think he wants anyone else even looking at her.

IndyWrestleChick: I know people think it’s cute but I see red flags 🚩 that man’s energy is SCARY sometimes.

HeelTurner: She’s leaning into it tho 👏 Y/S/N doesn’t look scared, she looks like she’s in on it.

AEWButILoveWWE: This is either the hottest slow burn ever or it’s gonna blow up bad.

Phil hadn’t told her anything about the match. She has no idea what the outcome will be, but just watching the first few minutes, she knew it was going to be brutal. She watches as Phil gets his hits in, the match clearly in the shine stage. However, when the cutoff comes, she flinches as Gunther’s chop echoes off Phil’s chest.

They’re both professionals. They wouldn’t sandbag each other on such an important match. But that still doesn’t mean Y/N doesn’t get squeamish seeing him get hit so roughly. She’s taken her fair share of chops, but none of Gunther’s caliber.

“C’mon baby…” she mutters under her breath, biting her nails.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous,” Pam says teasingly as she walks up to Y/N, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. “Not even for your own match.”

“I just don’t want him to get hurt,” Y/N admits, her eyes never leaving the screen, but she does lean into her friend.

“Well, I can’t promise he won’t,” Pam says softly. “But I know his main goal is to get back here to you in one piece,” she rubs her shoulder reassuringly. “You scare him more than anything, and you were very adamant about him making it back to you.”

Y/N laughs softly, looking down briefly before glancing back up to the screen. Phil lands a good strike making her grin. It was one she remembered running through with him. “I trust him. I know he’ll be okay. But…” she exhales loudly, “Doesn’t stop me from worrying about him.”

“You’ve always been a worry wart,” Pam chuckles. “You should try relaxing every now and again. It’s good for ya.”

“I’ll relax once this match is over,” Y/N huffs out.

Pam pats Y/N’s back, “Well, don’t give yourself wrinkles. At least not before tomorrow.” She pats her back before taking off towards production, one of the writers calling out to her.

Y/N zeroes in back on the match. She watches her boyfriend and Gunter climb on top of the announce table. A gasp leaves her lips when Punk takes Gunther down, the man hitting the table face first before falling down behind it. Phil falls to the floor, crawling across slowly. She knew he was selling, but part of her knew some of him was hurt.

That’s when Gunther emerges from behind the table, blood cascading down his face. Y/N covers her mouth, feeling terrible for the Ring General, but mostly just grateful it wasn’t Phil in that position. If she saw him emerge with that amount of blood on his face, she would’ve lost her mind.

Punk slides over to the corner of the ring, wincing as he catches his breath. Y/N can feel her heart rate increasing, waiting and hoping this match is nearing the end. She despises the fact he wouldn’t tell her the way this match was going to go. What was going to happen.

Punk scrambles to pull himself up the side of the ring. Gunther manages to stumble to his feet, rushing into the ring before Punk can. Eventually, Phil gets to his feet, pulling himself inside. The sweat matted his hair to his forehead. He winced once more before cornering Gunther at the turnbuckle. He throws a few strikes before hitting him with a running knee. Y/N holds her breath as Punk climbs up to the top rope before delivering a flying elbow to the Ring General.

He’s tired, she can see it. But he uses the crowd to his advantage, taking their cheers and morphing it into energy. He makes his “go to sleep” hand gesture before turning his attention back to Gunther. He tries to pick him up, but the larger man manages to slip off Punk's back before locking in the sleeper hold.

“Damn it…” Y/N mumbles, foot bouncing rapidly. They’re nearing the end, she can feel it. But Punk has never been the type to tap. He wouldn’t lose this match to the sleeper. It’s not in his blood. Creative would never book him that way.

Punk claws at Gunther’s hands, the blood on the Austrian man’s face blocking whatever sight he had. She exhales loudly as Punk makes it to his feet, fighting out of the hold. Her jaw drops slightly as Phil gets Gunther on his shoulders before delivering a perfect GTS.

She shakes her head when Gunther remains on his feet. He staggers, clearly not fully present in the moment. Punk’s chest heaves with each difficult breath before he finds the strength to hoist him up and hits him with a second GTS.

Gunther falls to the floor, allowing Punk to dive in for the cover.

1…

2…

3…

CM Punk is the new world champion.

Y/N feels her heart practically leapfrog out of her chest. She smacks a hand over her mouth, eyes welling with tears. “He did it…” she mumbles. There’s a short pause before she laughs joyously. “Oh my fucking gosh. He did it!”

She feels her feet carrying her to gorilla before she can stop herself. She can see in passing monitors the emotions on her boyfriend's face. The way tears fill his eyes as he clutches the title he so desperately wanted to win. He hugs it towards himself like if he were to hold it any looser, it might disappear from his grasp. He deserves this. Out of everyone she knows, he deserves this win. Over ten years he’s waited for this moment, and now he finally got it.

She’s about to run out there to celebrate with him in the ring, kayfabe be damned, when the familiar scream of Seth Rollins music hits. Y/N pauses, her blood running cold as she sees the back of Seth’s man bun disappear from behind the curtain.

There’s no way. He’s hurt. That’s what he and Becky have been telling people. That’s why he hasn’t shown up to work. He wouldn’t be cashing in. He couldn’t be. Not when Punk just won. Not when he just fought like hell to get a title he deserved. After losing to John Cena at Night of Champions, this had to be his moment. They wouldn’t take it away from him.

Y/N slows, her footsteps bringing her to the edge of the curtain as she peeks out from behind. She can hear people whispering for her to move away, but she didn’t care. She had to see for herself. Seth strolls out with his crutches, Paul holding his money in the bank briefcase. Punk looks gutted for a moment before covering it back up with his tough facade. For a moment, Y/N thinks it’ll be okay as Seth turns back around to head backstage. It’s just a warning. That he’s still lingering in the background.

…Until he drops the crutches.

“No,” She shakes her head in disbelief.

Before she can even blink, Rollins is darting down the runway, knee completely fine. Punk grips his title as tightly as he can, crouching down to prepare himself for the fight of his life. He’s beaten down, broken, emotional from finally winning the world heavyweight championship. Of course Seth would cash in now.

Y/N feels her blood boil, grinding her teeth together. She can’t interfere. She can’t do anything. Not now. Maybe if she had known before, she could’ve pulled some strings with creative. That’s why Phil hadn’t told her. That’s why he held the title as close to him as he could because he wouldn’t have it for long.

Seth slides into the ring, Punk dropping the title to punch him at full capacity. He tries to lift Rollins up for a GTS, but Seth elbows him in the perfect spot, causing Punk to drop him. Seth manages to get Punk down on the mat, landing haymakers on the back of his head. He grasps his briefcase before slamming it onto the Voice of the Voiceless’ back. One after the other. Y/N watches in anger as Rollins spins around and hands his briefcase to Jessica, officially cashing in.

Seth Rollins is cashing in his money in the bank contract.

With Punk practically defensless, Seth lines up in the opposite corner, gaining momentum before stomping his head into the ground. Phil falls face down, selling the hell out of the move. Seth drops to his knees, rolling Punk over before hooking his arm under Phil’s leg and pinning him.

1… 2… 3.

And just like that, Punk is no longer the champion.

Watching Seth celebrate killed Y/N. She wants nothing more than to run out there and kick his ass for what he just stole from Phil. She understands it’s part of the business. But after all this build up, all of the “almost times” creative gave Punk, they took it away again.

It’s like every time Phil gets close, it’s taken away from him. And ninety percent of his failures have been caused because of Seth. She knows that Seth has say in his storylines. He has pull with creative. He didn’t have to do this. He chose to.

Seth sits down right in front of Punk’s limp body, title slung over his shoulder while Bronson and Bron continue to rub it in. Eventually, the camera cuts and the show ends. The fans in the audience are all reeling. Seth and his faction are the first to stand up, sauntering backstage with all the power they could want.

Y/N doesn’t move away from the curtain, her feet planted firm as everyone goes about their business. She continues staring at her boyfriend who is just now struggling to his feet, leaving the ring completely deflated.

Her jaw clenches as Seth and the rest of his posse push past the curtain. Seth stops abruptly, coming face to face with the ball of fury standing in front of him. She’s not showing it, her outward appearance remaining composed, but being the manipulative man he is, he can see exactly how she’s feeling.

He tilts his head, smirk ever so present. He pats the title on his shoulder, “Do me a favor Y/N/N… thank your man for keepin’ it warm for me while I made my way out. Really appreciate it.”

He lets out that obnoxious cackle, nodding for his henchmen to follow after him. She inhales sharply, fighting every urge to turn around and get herself suspended. The only thing that stops her is when her boyfriend stumbles through the curtain, practically almost falling into her arms. She wastes no time in pulling him close to her. If this hurt her as much as it did, it must’ve felt like torture for him.

Phil stumbles into her arms, his weight heavier than she expected. His chest is heaving, the sweat on his skin still warm from the lights and the fight. Up close, she can hear how ragged his breathing is, not from the match alone, but from everything that just happened. His hands clutch at her sides like he’s trying to ground himself.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just wraps her arms around him tighter, resting her chin on his damp hair as people walk past, crew members, talent, agents, all of them casting sympathetic glances his way but saying nothing. This wasn’t their moment to intrude on.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she murmurs finally, her voice low, meant only for him. She shifts, hooking her arm around his back, guiding him away from gorilla and deeper into the maze of hallways. He doesn’t resist. His head is down, shoulders rounded, the championship dream slipping further behind with every step they take.

She keeps walking until she finds an empty corner near one of the unused dressing rooms. It’s quiet, just the faint hum of a vending machine and the muffled chaos of backstage somewhere far away.

“Phil…” she says gently, stepping in front of him. She takes his face in her hands, thumbs brushing the damp strands of hair off his forehead. His eyes meet hers, and it’s like looking at a man who just got the air punched out of his soul.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, not accusing, but pained.

His jaw works, but no words come out at first. She can see him swallow hard, his throat bobbing. Finally, he exhales, voice cracking on the edges.

“Because I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he admits, eyes darting away like he can’t bear to see her reaction. “I came back to win. To prove I could still do it. And tonight… I had it. I finally had it.” His voice breaks on that word. “And the second I did, they told me I wouldn’t keep it for longer than five damn minutes.”

Her stomach twists. She’s angry—white-hot angry—but her first instinct is to wrap him up in her arms again. So she does, pulling him against her chest, her hand stroking the back of his neck. “I’m not disappointed in you,” she says firmly, pressing her cheek to his temple. “I’m pissed for you. You’ve fought like hell to get here. You’ve eaten more crap from this business than anyone else would’ve survived, and you’re still standing. If anyone deserves that title, it’s you. Not Seth. You.”

His arms tighten around her, like her words are the only thing holding him up. He breathes out slowly. “I know I’m closer to the end than the beginning. And the time to win titles… it’s running out.” His voice is quiet now, almost a confession. “Every time I get close, it gets ripped away. Makes me wonder if it’s ever gonna happen.”

She pulls back just enough to cup his face again, forcing him to look at her. “It will. And I’ll be here every damn time it does or doesn’t. But don’t you ever think you’ve got nothing left. Not to me.”

He tries to smile, but it’s faint, like the muscle memory is there but the joy isn’t. She leans in, pressing her lips softly to his. It’s not a heated kiss—it’s steady, grounding, a promise she can’t quite put into words yet.

When she pulls back, her mind is already working, already sparking with an idea. Something he doesn’t need to know yet. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

Confusion flickers across his face instantly, and his hands tighten at her waist. “No. Please… don’t go. Not right now.”

She smiles, leaning in so her forehead rests against his. “Five seconds. That’s all. And when I come back, I’ll still be yours.”

It’s the way she says it, soft, certain, that makes him reluctantly let his hands fall away. She kisses him again, slower this time, before stepping back. He watches her go with tired, wary eyes, still not sure what she’s about to do.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s boots hit the concrete with purpose, every step echoing in the narrow hallway. The buzz of backstage chatter, the crackle of radios, the distant thud of someone’s theme music, it all blurs into white noise behind the pounding in her ears. She’s not walking so much as cutting through the space, weaving between production crew and talent like a blade through fabric. Her jaw is locked, and her hands are fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Phil’s face, defeated, exhausted, trying to hide how much it gutted him, is burned into her mind. It fuels every ounce of her anger, stoking it into something sharp and focused. She’s not just mad for him. She’s furious at the system that keeps doing this to him.

She spots Paul Levesque a few feet ahead, leaning against a road case while talking with a stagehand. Without hesitation, she calls out, her voice cutting through the noise.

“Paul.”

The way she says his name, low, firm, edged, makes him turn instantly. His brows lift slightly when he sees her expression. The stagehand mutters something about getting back to work and quickly disappears, sensing the shift in the air.

Paul holds his hands up slightly, like he’s already trying to head off whatever is about to happen. “Alright, kid, slow down—”

“No.” Her voice cuts clean through his. “You don’t get to ‘slow down’ me right now. You owe me.”

That gets his eyebrows up. “I owe you?”

“Yes.” She closes the distance between them in a few quick strides, staring him down like she’s daring him to deny it. “Royal Rumble—you remember? I was supposed to go over. But you wanted Charlotte’s big return to be the thing everyone talked about. So I waited. Then Elimination Chamber—you kept me out of the win because the Bianca, Rhea, and Iyo story needed another month of oxygen. And I waited again.” Her voice sharpens with each word. “I’ve been patient, Paul. That patience is gone.”

Paul exhales slowly, running a hand over his face. He does love her. Hell, he’s the one who’s always said she’s money for the business, and yeah, he owes her. He knows it. But her eyes right now? They’re dangerous.

He inhales sharply, long and slow, rubbing his beard like he’s stalling for time. “You’ve had good spots, Y/N—”

She cuts him off with a look that could slice steel. “Don’t. Don’t give me the company line right now. You know damn well you’ve been holding me in place because it suited the board, the booking, the storylines. Fine. I played the game. But you promised me a favor. And I’m cashing it in.”

He shifts, arms folding across his chest. “Alright… what is it you want?”

“I want to interfere in Becky and Lyra’s match tomorrow.” She says it like she’s dropping a grenade at his feet.

His brows furrow. “That’s after your triple threat with Naomi and Rhea.”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna go out there twice? Right after wrestling?”

“Yes.” Her tone is so even it’s unsettling.

He shakes his head slowly. “Becky’s supposed to win, Y/N.”

“I don’t care.” The words are quiet, but they hit harder than if she’d shouted them. “You’ll figure out how to fix it. Bayley can challenge Lyra after for the title. Hell, I’ll challenge her if I have to. But I’m not asking you, Paul. This is the favor you owe me. And I’m calling it in now.”