The Cuddle Clause

by Roxie Ray

For the ones who understand that love isn’t always loud—sometimes it’s a second mug left out, a shared silence that feels safe, a soft place to land after the world’s been too much. For the neurospicy, the heart-heavy, the overthinkers, the overstimulated. For anyone who’s ever made a checklist for how they’d like to be held—or wished someone else would bother to read it. And for every touch-starved soul who wants to be chosen on purpose, held like a ritual, and kissed like a promise.

May you find someone who spoons you with intention, remembers your Good Plate, and wants you like a full moon wants the tide— relentless, magnetic, and just a little bit ruined by the wanting.

Honest. Like honesty was some kind of mercy, and he hadn’t been pulling away in tiny, silent ways for months now.

thought of all the ways I’d reshaped myself for him, for this relationship. I’d tried being softer. I’d tried being smaller. I had bent myself into the shape of his ideal woman until I forgot what I actually looked like. I had shaved the edges off my personality and filed my voice down to something gentle and agreeable, just so I wouldn’t take up too much room. And now he needed something softer?

I didn’t want to be a mess. I didn’t want to need saving.

If Eric needed softer energy, I’d give him empty space.

I still wanted him to choose me, but he didn’t want me.”

it’s that I don’t even know who I am without trying to be who he wanted.”

his jawline looked carved, like whoever made him had been in a mood.

Not because I was too much, or too loud, or not soft enough… but because someone else was already standing where I used to.

He looked like trouble—the hot kind. The kind you thought you could handle until you woke up wondering how the hell you got into the mess you were in.

In case of disagreement, both parties agree to: Rock-paper-scissors duel Mediation via passive-aggressive sticky notes Or, if necessary, forced eye contact and a very long, awkward hug

Like someone who knew how to belong somewhere, even when everything was a mess.

wondering how I’d gone from emotionally unavailable trainwreck to horny roommate disaster in under ninety seconds.

I had to fake-date someone, at least it was someone with excellent arms and a body that looked like it could bench-press my trauma.

“I shift naked! What do you want, a werewolf in tearaway pants?”

“Let’s go be disgustingly domestic in public.”

“Breakfast tacos,” he sang. “And focaccia. Fresh, flaky. Slightly erotic.”

“For the queen of sarcasm. Your crown awaits.” “You’re such a menace,” I muttered, but my voice came out soft. Too soft. Too fond. He shrugged and brushed imaginary dust off his shirt like a humble martyr. “It’s a gift.”

He was doing this on purpose. Every look. Every pet name. Every hand graze. It was all part of his mission to ruin my life one goddamn flirt at a time.

The space between us hummed like an old radio barely tuned into the right station.

couldn’t fake that level of detachment no matter how hard I tried. I felt things. Loudly.

I was a sad little burrito of despair.

Roman was an enigma. The man could flirt like a menace one minute and become the human embodiment of a safe harbor the next. He didn’t talk. Didn’t press. He simply existed beside me.

revealing just a hint of collarbone that my brain decided to notice without my consent.

The kiss was soft at first, like a question we weren’t sure how to ask. But then his fingers slid higher up my thigh, and my mouth opened, and the kiss stopped being gentle. It deepened. It pulled. It ached. His hand found the back of my neck and he pulled me closer like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I will not hesitate to call Doris and tell her you’re a shape-shifting schnauzer with rabies.”

I hate watching you make yourself smaller for someone who doesn’t deserve the space you gave him.”

She looked the way every candle I’d ever lit felt: soft, warm, a little wild. The floral dress skimmed her body, and my throat went dry.

Sensory input helped when my brain started spiraling. I didn’t like crowds. I especially didn’t like pack crowds. Too many smells, too much energy, too much pressure to smile like I wasn’t two seconds from bolting.

“You’re funny. You make my weird feel normal,” he said, glancing at me. “And you’re cute as hell when you’re half asleep and glaring at your coffee like it betrayed you.”

“Because I was born to play the role of your fake boyfriend,” he said smugly. “And because watching Eric squirm when he realizes how hot you look with me is a dream I didn’t know I had.”

“Hey, Mags. You left your mug in the bathroom again. Either it’s part of your new skincare ritual or this coffee cup is possessed. Also, I saved you the last brownie, which means I’m clearly in love with you. Don’t make it weird.” He laughed softly. That rough-around-the-edges, kind-of-a-growl laugh that made it feel like someone had poured warm syrup over my heart.

“I changed who I was so much during my relationship with Eric that I forgot who the real me was.”

“Let me kiss you like I mean it.”

She was everything I wasn’t supposed to want. I was falling for her. Hard. And God help me, I didn’t want to stop.

God, she was gorgeous when she laughed. Radiant. There was something in the way she relaxed, the way her whole body gave in to joy. She didn’t do it often, but when she did, it made my chest ache.

His fingertips brushed the fabric at my hips, then his touch became firmer, more certain. His palms settled there, and I felt my knees nearly give. Roman looked at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to touch. To feel.

Roman was still on his knees, looking up at me like I was the sun.

but that look. The desire in his eyes said I was something he wanted. Not for show. Not for the pack. Not because we were pretending.

“You scare the shit out of me, that’s the problem!”

Even if we didn’t know how to stop breaking each other’s hearts with our mouths.

I looked down at her—half desperate, half wrecked already—and her eyes caught mine, holding. No shame. No hesitation. Just quiet intensity. As if she wanted this. Wanted me.

I felt bare in a way I never had before. Not because I was physically undone, but because I wanted more. All of her. Every stubborn, smartass, wild-haired inch. I was too far gone. And I didn’t want to find my way back.

Except his fingers were splayed gently on my waist as if they’d always belonged there. Like my body was familiar ground he was afraid to disturb but couldn’t stop touching.

We were playing a dangerous game with no reset button, and I didn’t want to stop.

“Just like that,” he praised, his mouth brushing mine between breaths. “Take me… that’s it. My perfect girl.”

“Greedy girl,” he growled, gripping my hips. I never wanted him to let go. “Gonna make me lose it.”

The girl who hides under blankets during thunderstorms, who still flinches when doors slam, who second-guesses everything she says three times before letting it out.

Roman laughed, and it did something to me. Heat spread low in my belly, and boy, if I wasn’t standing, I’d be crossing my legs and clenching my thighs.