undesirable to undeniable

You didn’t care about New Year's Eve. But your friends did. Sometime in the last two weeks, your indifference had snowballed into a full-blown party.

Everyone was here. Everyone except him.

You sipped your drink and let your eyes scan past the gold balloons and neon lights flickering across dancing bodies. Past the guy in the corner who’d been trying to make eye contact with you all night.

Still no sign of him.

The music thumped, the liquor flowed, and somewhere in the corner of your mind, the same thought kept spinning like a record.

He’s not coming.

You tilted your head back to take a shot and let the bass drown it out.

“You okay?” someone asked, shouting over the beat.

You nodded automatically, flashing a smile. “Totally.”

Lie. But you sold it anyway.

You hadn’t stopped checking your phone. Or the door. Or the time. Deep down, under the glitter and carefully applied lipstick, you were still that girl with one stupid wish.

Let him show up. That’s it. Just show up.

You slipped out and told no one. Just snuck through the door, through the hall and up the stairs, to the rooftop. You walked straight into the cold.

The air bit at your skin. The wind picked at your hair. The city spread out below you. From up here, it was quieter. A little less fake. A little more room to think.

You leaned against the railing and looked up at the sky.

Empty.

Just like this moment. Just like you.

You exhaled bitterly, and let yourself feel it. The disappointment. The ache. You’d thrown this entire night together like a net, cast wide enough in hopes that maybe he would walk through that door.

But now he hadn’t come at all.

You leaned against the railing and closed your eyes.

“Hell of a party.”

His voice starled you so badly, you were terrified to believe it was even real. But real he was, standing right there in the doorway. His hands were in the pockets of his tailored slacks, jacket unbuttoned, blonde hair a little mussed from the occasional sharp wind.

Your eyes went wide. “You came.”

He shrugged, walking toward you with that cool confidence that always made your pulse skip. “You didn’t think I would?”

“I wasn’t sure,” you admitted.

“I was.”

You tried to breathe. More than anything, you tried to hide the fact that your heart was hammering in your chest like it was trying to break free.

“You’re late,” you whispered.

He stopped just in front of you. He was close enough that you could smell the clean spice of his cologne and the warmth of him baked into the fabric of his jacket. The heat of him chased the cold off your skin.

“I know.”

And then he leaned in, just enough to say it low against your ear, “If I’d shown up any earlier, I wouldn’t have made it through the night without doing this.”

The words hadn’t even cooled on his breath before his mouth found yours. Fast and certain, like he’d already made the decision before he even climbed those stairs.

The kiss tightened your chest and unraveled everything else. You inhaled sharply through your nose, hands braced against his shoulders, fingers bunching the fabric.

The kiss tilted. He chased it. Now there was only the heat of him pressed against you. The taste of him, bittersweet from whiskey, clean from mint, familiar and brand new.

His hands didn’t fumble. One slid up the side of your neck, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. The other hand curved around your waist. His tongue swept against yours. Your pulse responded like it had been waiting all night to be summoned.

You didn’t mean to drag your fingers up into his hair, but you did. You didn’t mean to roll your hips against the line of his thigh, but your body had already made the call.

It wasn’t performative. It was chemical.

He tasted like everything you shouldn’t let yourself want, and everything you couldn’t stop craving. The rooftop lights buzzed overhead, catching the gold in his hair and the hesitation in his eyes.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to come.”

You laughed quietly. “You seriously don’t know by now?”

“I know what I want. But I didn’t want to assume I was invited to be anything more than a name on your guest list.”

You met his gaze, throat closing on every word. “I only threw this party for you.”

The words were out before you could stop them. Just the honest, stupid truth.

He froze. Then he stepped closer, hands bracing against the railing on either side of you. “You what?” he asked.

“You heard me.”

He stared at you like he’d never seen you before.

“All of this—” you continued, voice shaky. “I thought if I gave you enough reasons to show up, maybe you would.”

His fingers curled into fists. His head dropped, like he was trying to hold himself back.

“I needed to know if I mattered,” you whispered.

Cody looked up. Something in his expression broke wide open with surprise.

“You matter so fucking much.”

Then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t careful or shy.

It was all the missed chances. All the almosts. Unspoken feelings and texts that always stopped one word short. It was every time you’d looked across a room and caught him already watching you. It was every breath you’d held when he was near, hoping, waiting.

His hand slid into your hair, the other grabbing your hip, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, undeniable.

Behind you, the city shimmered, reflections of the light flickering in his blue eyes.

You glanced down at his watch. "11:59."

Ten. His lips found your neck, open-mouthed and slow, tongue flicking against your pulse like he was seeing how fast he could made your heart race. “I was scared I wouldn’t get here in time.”

Nine. His hands dragged under your coat, across your hips, greedy with friction. “I didn’t want to ruin it," he continued.

Eight. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until your hips brushed, until you felt how hard he was already. “I’d take you right here,” he whispered, low and teasing. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Seven. His mouth trailed lower, teeth grazing your collarbone. “You want that?” he murmured against your skin. “Want me to ruin that pretty little dress before the year even starts?”

Six. You couldn’t speak. You just nodded. He groaned in your ear in response.

Five. You felt his thigh slide between yours, parting your legs slightly. His hands curled tighter around your waist, holding you where he wanted you.

Four. He looked at you now, eyes heavy-lidded with everything he hadn’t said all year. “I want you shaking for me.”

Three. You exhaled shakily. “Stay.”

Two. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

One. He leaned in, so close his words melted into your mouth before he kissed you. “Every second after this? Yours.”

Midnight.

“Happy fucking New Year.”

the party already felt like it had been going on forever by the time you arrived.

music rolled through the space in warm, thudding waves, bass vibrating through your ribs as laughter and voices layered over one another. fairy lights were strung along the walls and around pillars, casting everything in a soft gold glow that made champagne flutes sparkle and sequins catch the light. someone had clearly decided that "wwe new year’s party" meant classy first, chaos second and it was working.

you moved through it slowly, accepting a drink you barely tasted, returning hugs, smiling when expected. everywhere you looked, people were celebrating: clinking glasses, shouting over the music, already counting down to midnight even though there was still time left. It should have felt electric. instead, it felt heavy. not in a bad way. just thoughtful.

new year’s always did that to you.

it wasn’t that the year had been terrible. it hadn’t. but standing there, surrounded by noise and promise and the insistence that everything would reset in a matter of hours, you couldn’t help inventorying the things that hadn’t changed. the things you’d quietly hoped would.

you leaned against a high-top table near the edge of the room and let yourself breathe for a moment, eyes tracking the crowd. somewhere across the room, you spotted cody rhodes laughing with a small group, his suit jacket already discarded, sleeves rolled up in that familiar way that made him look both polished and approachable. he looked comfortable, at ease in a room full of people, like he belonged exactly where he was.

you looked away before you could linger on the thought.

a burst of laughter nearby pulled your attention back. a couple of women were huddled together, clearly deep into champagne-fueled storytelling.

"i swear it works" one of them insisted, holding up a grape she’d liberated from a garnish tray. "twelve grapes, twelve wishes. under a table. at midnight."

another snorted. "you’re kidding."

"i’m not! it’s a thing. spanish superstition."

you smiled despite yourself, shaking your head as they dissolved into giggles. you’d heard of it before, everyone had, at least in passing, but you’d never given it much thought. superstitions always felt like something for other people. people who believed in signs and fate and things lining up neatly if you just did the right ritual.

still.

the idea followed you as you drifted away from the table, the words replaying in your head. twelve grapes. twelve wishes. a silly little act of hope tucked into the final seconds of the year.

you told yourself it was nothing. just idle curiosity. just the kind of thought that popped up when the year was ending and the next one loomed, blank and intimidating and full of possibility.

but as you passed a catering table and noticed a small bowl of grapes sitting innocently among the desserts, something in your chest tightened.

what could it hurt?

you glanced around, suddenly feeling conspiratorial. no one was paying you any attention; the room was too busy celebrating itself. you plucked a small cluster of grapes from the bowl and tucked them into a napkin, heart beating a little faster than necessary, like you were getting away with something far more scandalous than stealing fruit.

the music swelled as the dj announced there were ten minutes until midnight. a cheer went up, loud and excited.

you smiled to yourself, the decision settling in your bones.

maybe it was silly. maybe it was pointless. but standing there, on the edge of another year, you wanted, just once, to believe in the possibility that doing something small and hopeful might matter.

you scanned the room, already searching for a table tucked just far enough away from the center of the party.

just in case

you waited until the crowd surged again, another swell of laughter, another round of drinks passed, to slip away unnoticed.

the farther you moved from the center of the room, the quieter it became. the music dulled into a distant thrum, more vibration than sound, and the lighting softened, shadows stretching longer along the walls. you spotted a small round table tucked near the edge of the space, half-hidden by a decorative column and mercifully unoccupied. it looked forgotten, like it existed purely for moments no one was supposed to see.

perfect.

you approached it casually, heart beating just a little too fast for how ridiculous this felt. the napkin crinkled in your hand, grapes pressing cool and firm against your palm. you glanced over your shoulder once more, no eyes on you, no curious stares, then set your drink carefully on the table as if you belonged there.

the decision became real the moment you crouched.

the underside of the table felt smaller than you’d imagined, the tablecloth brushing against your shoulders as you ducked beneath it. you winced slightly as your knee bumped the leg, biting back a laugh that bubbled up unhelpfully in your chest. once you were settled, you tugged your feet in close, pulling the hem of the tablecloth down so your shoes wouldn’t give you away.

for a second, you just sat there.

the world above you was muffled now, laughter and music reduced to a distant, indistinct hum. it felt strange, being so close to everyone and yet completely hidden, like you’d stepped into your own little pocket of time. the air smelled faintly of wood polish and champagne, grounding and familiar.

you unfolded the napkin in your lap and stared down at your prize.

twelve grapes. you counted them twice, just to be sure.

a soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quickly swallowed by the music overhead. what were you doing? hiding under a table at a new year’s party, about to make wishes like a child with a secret. if anyone found you, you’d never hear the end of it.

still, you didn’t move.

you checked your phone, four minutes until midnight.

okay. this was really happening.

you picked up the first grape, rolling it between your fingers, and tried to focus. the superstition hadn’t come with instructions beyond eating and wishing, but you figured intent mattered more than precision. you closed your eyes briefly, letting a wish form quietly in your chest before popping the grape into your mouth.

one.

the grape burst sweet against your tongue, juice sticky and real, grounding you in the moment. you swallowed and reached for the next, heart steadying as you went.

two. three.

you paused after the fourth grape, listening. someone laughed loudly above you, a chair scraping against the floor as people shifted positions. a pair of shoes stopped near the table for a heartbeat before moving on, and you held your breath, pulse spiking, until the sound faded.

you exhaled slowly and shook your head at yourself, smiling in the dimness.

five. six.

with each grape, the wishes came easier. some were small and selfish. some were quiet and aching. one or two surprised you with how honest they were, settling into your chest like truths you hadn’t quite admitted yet.

by the time you reached the eighth grape, your phone buzzed softly in your hand, two minutes to midnight.

your heart started racing again, urgency creeping in. you adjusted your position, knees drawing closer, the tablecloth brushing against your cheek as you leaned forward. this was supposed to be fun, you reminded yourself. light. hopeful.

nine. ten.

you could hear the dj’s voice now, louder, beginning to corral the room’s attention. the countdown would start soon. your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the next grape, nerves buzzing under your skin.

eleven.

"one more" you whispered to yourself, barely audible even to your own ears.

you lifted the final grape just as footsteps approached the table again, slower this time. purposeful. they stopped directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the polished shoes through the gap beneath the tablecloth.

you froze, last grape still poised between your fingers, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

above you, someone set a glass down on the tabletop.

and didn’t move.

the glass settled with a soft clink directly above your head.

you squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, silently begging the universe to let whoever it was take their drink and leave. your grip tightened around the last grape, skin cool against your fingertips, pulse loud in your ears. if you stayed perfectly still, maybe...

the table shifted slightly.

not enough to knock you over, but enough that the tablecloth swayed, brushing your shoulder. you inhaled sharply, the sound too quiet to register over the music, but it felt deafening all the same.

above you, there was a pause.

then, movement. a subtle one. like someone leaning down.

"hey."

the voice was calm. warm. curious more than alarmed.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

"are you okay down there?"

you opened your eyes.

the tablecloth lifted just enough for light to spill in, soft and golden, and there he was, crouched down on one knee, forearm resting casually against the table leg. cody’s expression wasn’t shocked or annoyed. if anything, he looked concerned, brows drawn together slightly as his eyes adjusted to the dim space beneath the table.

you stared at him, frozen, caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief.

"oh" he said quietly, blinking once as recognition set in. "hi."

for a beat, neither of you moved. the noise of the party felt miles away, muted and unreal, like you’d both stepped out of the moment everyone else was living. cody’s gaze flicked briefly over you, checking, assessing, before landing on your face again.

"you scared me for a second" he admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "i thought someone dropped something or passed out."

you swallowed, mortification flooding your chest. "sorry. i'm fine. i was just"

your explanation stalled when his eyes drifted to your hands.

the napkin. the grapes.

he tilted his head slightly, curiosity sharpening. "are those grapes?"

your face felt impossibly warm. you nodded, lifting the napkin a little as if that would somehow make this make more sense. "it’s, there’s this superstition. for new year’s. you eat twelve grapes under a table at midnight and make wishes."

cody stared at you for half a second longer.

then he smiled.

not a laugh-at you smile. not a teasing one. it was soft, almost fond, like he’d stumbled onto something unexpectedly earnest. "huh" he said thoughtfully. "learn something new every day."

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. "i know it sounds ridiculous."

"it doesn’t" he said immediately. his tone was gentle, sincere. "it sounds like you’re trying to start the year off with hope."

something in your chest loosened at that.

he glanced at his watch, then back at you. "how many left?"

you hesitated, then held up the last grape between your fingers. "one."

cody’s eyebrows lifted. "cutting it close."

a faint laugh slipped out of you despite yourself. "i got distracted."

"well", he said, shifting slightly but staying crouched, making no move to leave. "you’ve still got time."

the dj’s voice grew louder overhead, beginning the countdown instructions. the room buzzed with anticipation, cheers rippling through the crowd.

cody lifted the tablecloth just a little higher, giving you space without pulling you out of your hiding spot. "go on" he encouraged softly. "wouldn’t want the superstition mad at you."

you looked at him, at the quiet steadiness in his expression, and nodded. you brought the final grape to your mouth, closing your eyes as you made the last wish, one that felt suddenly braver than the others.

above you, the countdown began.

"ten!"

the room erupted.

cody’s voice dropped lower, just for you. "happy new year" he said, early but like he meant it.

you opened your eyes, met his gaze, and for the first time all night, the future didn’t feel so intimidating.

it felt possible.

the countdown reached its final seconds in a rush of noise.

"three!"

you swallowed the last grape, heart racing, just as the room seemed to inhale all at once.

"two!"

cody was still there, still crouched, his presence steady and grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. the tablecloth fluttered slightly with the movement of people above you, voices rising, champagne sloshing in glasses.

"one!"

the room exploded.

cheers thundered through the space, music surging louder, glasses clinking, people shouting happy new year to anyone within reach. the sudden brightness of the moment washed over you even from beneath the table, vibrations humming through the floor and up your spine.

cody smiled at you, wide and genuine. "there it is", he said. "you made it."

you laughed softly, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. Relief and adrenaline tangled together in your chest. "barely."

he straightened a little and held the tablecloth aside. "come on" he said gently. "you don’t have to stay hidden now."

you hesitated for half a second, then nodded and shifted forward. crawling out from under the table felt surreal, like surfacing from underwater. the lights seemed brighter, the noise louder, the world sharper. you smoothed your clothes reflexively, acutely aware of how close cody was as you stood.

no one seemed to notice. or if they did, they were too busy hugging, laughing, and kissing at midnight to care.

cody offered you a hand without making a big deal of it, palm open and patient. you took it, his grip warm and steady as he helped you fully to your feet. he didn’t let go right away.

"did it work?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough to feel private.

you glanced down at your empty napkin, then back up at him. "i guess i won’t know until the year’s over."

he nodded thoughtfully. "fair." then, after a beat, "what was your last wish?"

you opened your mouth to answer, then stopped. the wish suddenly felt too fragile to say out loud, like naming it might break whatever spell you’d just cast. you smiled instead and shook your head. "if i tell you, it won’t come true."

cody laughed quietly, a warm sound that felt closer than the music. "right. superstition rules."

he glanced around, taking in the chaos of the celebration, then back at you. "mind if i admit something?"

you raised an eyebrow. "depends."

"i made a wish too" he said. "didn’t have grapes. or a table. but it felt like the moment called for it."

something fluttered in your chest. "yeah?"

"yeah." his gaze held yours, open and sincere. "figured new year’s is about believing things can change. or start."

the party pressed in around you, someone bumped your shoulder, laughter burst nearby, but the space between you and cody felt oddly untouched by it all. he gestured toward the edge of the room, toward a balcony door cracked open just enough to let in cool night air.

"want to step out for a minute?" he asked. "before we get dragged into a group toast or something."

you followed his gaze, then looked back at him. the choice felt easy.

you nodded. "i’d like that."

cody smiled, that same soft, knowing curve of his mouth, and offered you his arm. as you took it and let him guide you away from the noise, you couldn’t help thinking-

maybe the superstition was already working.

the balcony was quieter than you expected.

the door closed behind you with a soft click, muting the party to a distant hum. cool night air wrapped around you instantly, a welcome contrast to the warmth and noise inside. the city stretched out beyond the railing, lights glittering like a second sky, fireworks already popping somewhere far off.

you took a deep breath without meaning to, shoulders relaxing.

cody stepped beside you, resting his forearms against the railing. for a moment, neither of you spoke. it didn’t feel awkward, just calm, like the night had carved out this pause specifically for the two of you.

"better?" he asked quietly.

you nodded. "yeah. much."

he smiled, eyes scanning the skyline before drifting back to you. up close like this, there was something different about him, less public, less polished. just cody. thoughtful. present.

"you know" he said after a moment, voice easy but sincere, "i don’t think I’ve ever rung in the new year under a table before."

you laughed softly. "sorry to rob you of a more dignified experience."

he turned fully toward you then, leaning one shoulder against the railing. "honestly? i kind of liked it."

that made your chest tighten, the feeling gentle but insistent. you shifted your weight, suddenly aware of how close he was. the space between you felt charged now, full of all the things neither of you had said, glances held a second too long, conversations cut short, moments that never quite crossed the line.

fireworks burst somewhere overhead, light briefly painting his face in soft color.

cody looked at you like he was making a decision.

"can i do something a little reckless to start the year?" he asked.

your heart skipped. "depends" you said, barely above a whisper. "what kind of reckless?"

he didn’t answer with words.

instead, he stepped closer, slowly, giving you time, giving you the chance to pull away. you didn’t. his hand lifted, hesitating for just a breath before gently cupping your jaw, thumb warm against your skin.

the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact.

"tell me if you don’t want this" he murmured.

you shook your head, breath shallow. "i want it."

that was all he needed.

he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft and unhurried, like he wasn’t trying to steal anything, just share it. it was warm and careful and real, the kind of kiss that made your chest ache in the best way. you melted into it instinctively, one hand curling into the fabric of his jacket as if to anchor yourself.

fireworks cracked again above you, louder this time, but you barely noticed.

when he pulled back, it was only a fraction of an inch, forehead resting against yours. his breath mingled with yours, a quiet laugh escaping him like he couldn’t quite help it.

"happy new year" he said again, softer this time. like a promise.

you smiled, eyes still closed. "happy new year."

Over the months, you’ve built friendships, but none as easy or close as the one with Jey Uso. What started as casual chats during your shared gaming sessions has become the part of your day you secretly count down to. He makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, teases just enough to get under your skin, but never crosses the line. When your world fell apart after your ex cheated, Jey was there. Your rock, your anchor, the one person who made you believe you’d survive it.

But lately, things feel… different. The lingering glances. The sly smirks. The way his hand “accidentally” brushes yours when he passes you a controller. It’s been messing with your head. Tonight is no different.

The backstage lounge is cozy, dim lighting casting a warm glow over plush couches and scattered gaming gear. Faint noise rumbles outside as you sit cross-legged on the couch, fingers tight on your controller. Jey sits close. So close you feel the heat of his body at your back.

“C’mon, girl, you really think you can beat me?” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear.

You grit your teeth. “Don’t get cocky, Uso. I’ve been practicing.”

“Oh yeah?” He shifts, his knee brushing yours just enough to trip your focus.

His character flies past yours. You groan as his triumphant laugh fills the room.

“You’re such a cheat, Jey!” you snap, twisting to glare at him.

“A cheat?” He raises his brows in mock offense. “Nah, baby. I’m just better than you.”

His arm snakes around your shoulders, tugging you back before you can react. Effortless. And suddenly, you’re pressed to his chest, wrapped in the faint scent of him.

“Jey!” you laugh, swatting at him, half-hearted at best.

“Don’t blame me just ‘cause you’re trash,” he teases.

His hand covers yours on the controller, fingers brushing your knuckles as he pretends to “help.” His idea of helping is steering your character straight off the track. He laughs when you groan again.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter, smiling despite yourself.

The banter flows easily, laughter filling the room between sounds of defeat. His body is a warm, steady line against your back. His breathing is oddly soothing, even as it makes your body tense.

You’re just about to make a comeback when the door swings open. The sound slices through the room, killing the laughter in your throat.

Your head snaps toward the doorway. It’s him. The man who shattered your trust and made you question everything.

His eyes widen as he takes in the scene of your body curled into Jey’s. Surprise flashes across his face… then curdles like spoiled milk.

“Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was told you were in here.”

Your ex lifts his hands, gaze flicking between you. “Relax, man. I just needed to talk. Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever this is.”

Jey straightens beside you, the warmth draining from his face. The smirk is gone, replaced by something steely and protective.

“And why you lookin’ for her?” His voice is low and calm, but there's a razor-edge underneath that makes your ex falter.

Your heart hammers, but you don’t flinch. Jey’s fingers tighten on your shoulder, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles along your collarbone. I’ve got you, that touch says.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice steady but barely.

He blinks, surprised you’re the one speaking. “I just… wanted to apologize.” His voice softens. “For everything. I know I messed up, but—”

“Apologize?” Jey cuts in, dry.

Your ex frowns. “I’m talking to her.”

Your ex’s jaw ticks. “I’m not here to fight. I just want a chance to explain. One mistake doesn’t erase—”

“And I’m tellin’ you,” Jey says, “she’s busy." His tone drops to a colder tone. “Maybe come back later. Or never.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” The words rip out before you can stop them. Your stomach flips, but your voice doesn’t waver. “You made a choice. And you don’t get to rewrite that just because you feel guilty now.”

Silence.

He stares at you, searching for the version of you that used to forgive too easily.

She’s gone.

Jey’s arm tightens around you. “You heard her,” he says quietly. “She don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Your ex swallows. “Alright,” he mutters. “I’ll go. I just thought you’d want to hear me out.”

You lean further into Jey’s chest. “I heard enough,” you say. “The night you lied to my face.”

Your ex flinches. But he doesn’t argue. The door clicks shut. Jey doesn’t let go. His hand stays at your shoulder. You look up at him, heart still pounding, but it’s not from fear this time.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

His eyes soften. “You don’t gotta thank me, girl.” He brushes his thumb along your skin. “I’m not about to let some dude who broke you waltz back in like nothing happened.”

It’s hard to breathe. He’s so close. His voice is low, full of warmth and protectiveness that coils around your chest.

“Jey…” you murmur.

He cups your face, fingers gentle. But his eyes burn with intensity. “You don’t deserve that kind of shit,” he says, voice rough. “Not when you got someone who’d never do you like that.”

“Someone like you?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His lips tug into a slow smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “Someone like me.”

The air between you and Jey disappears. His hand lingers on your cheek, thumb brushing skin. Your fingers loosen around the controller as his lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.

Your heart pounds. You lean in, terrified you’ve misread everything. But then his mouth meets yours like he’s been waiting for this as long as you have. The controllers hit the floor with a dull clatter.

Jey pulls you in, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he deepens the kiss. His lips move against yours, a low growl rumbling from his chest. You bury your fingers in his curls, tugging him closer, desperate to erase the space between you.

His hand slides to your hip, fingers slipping beneath your shirt. When skin meets skin, a bolt of heat tears through you. His grip tightens. His other hand glides up your back.

“Jey…” you breathe, your voice shaking.

His hands keep exploring, sliding higher beneath your shirt, testing the edge of fabric and patience when the door bangs open. You jolt like you’ve been electrocuted, yanked out of the moment, heart racing for an entirely new reason.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—oh.”

You whip your head toward the doorway. One of the producers stands there, clipboard in hand, eyes wide as they land on you. Jey’s sitting a little too upright, chest rising just a little too fast.

The producer clears his throat. “Uh. Didn’t mean to barge in.” He glances at you. “We need you for a quick pre-tape.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

You shift away from Jey, tugging your shirt down, hoping it hides how rattled you are.

The producer doesn’t move. His eyes flick to Jey’s arm still resting behind you, then back to your face. You see the moment it registers.

“Right,” he mutters. “Guess it’s good I came when I did.”

Your stomach twists. Of course, he noticed. He’s close with your ex, and he’s probably already reporting back.

He doesn’t say anything else, but the tension in his silence speaks volumes. “You ready?” he asks.

You glance at Jey. His jaw is set, his gaze locked on the producer like he’s trying to decide how much of a problem this guy plans to be. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but he curls them into a fist instead.

“Go handle your business,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. And for a moment, the whole world is just him. You. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You nod. “Wait for me,” you whisper, the words slipping out unfiltered.

A slow, satisfied smile tugs at his lips. “Ain’t going nowhere.”

You follow the producer into the hallway, the pre-tape dragging on, every second stretching like an eternity. His voice stays perfectly professional, but the clipped tone, the lack of small talk, the way he avoids your eyes, none of it is subtle.

You try to focus on your lines, your timing, the camera. But your mind keeps drifting. To the heat of Jey’s hands. The taste of his mouth. The way he said he'd wait.

By the time you’re finally dismissed, your patience is gone. You move fast, walking, then practically running. Dodging staff, brushing past friends with murmured apologies as you make a beeline for the room.

Your heart skips when you push the door open and see him still there. Jey’s stretched across the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth relaxed in sleep. You pause in the doorway. He’s so stupidly beautiful it hurts.

Quietly, you slip inside and close the door. You cross the room, ease onto him, straddling his lap, moving carefully. You hover for a moment, palms on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your touch.

Then you lean down and kiss him.

He stirs instantly, mouth moving with yours even before his eyes open, like his body recognizes you before his mind does. His hands find your waist, pulling you in as he deepens the kiss. When his eyes finally flutter open, they meet yours, hazy, then dark.

“Well, damn,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep. “This how you wakin’ me up now?”

You smile against his lips. “You complaining?”

“Not even a little.”

His fingers flex, dragging you closer until your hips slot perfectly against his. He kisses you again, harder now. His hands slide beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your skin. Goosebumps follow every pass of his touch.

Your breath stutters when his thumbs brush over your breasts. A whimper escapes. He groans in response, the sound rumbling against your throat as his mouth trails down, kissing along your jaw, your neck. He finds that sensitive spot just below your ear and nips it.

“You drive me crazy, girl,” he murmurs against your skin. His hands keep moving greedily, like he doesn’t want to stop.

You’re just starting to lose yourself in the feel of him, the taste of him, the delicious fog settling over your brain, when the door crashes open again, ricocheting off the wall.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You freeze, every muscle locking. Slowly, you turn your head. Your ex stands in the doorway, face flushed, eyes burning. His gaze sweeps over your messy hair, your pink lips, your place on Jey’s lap. Jey’s hands are still under your shirt. Your pulse roars in your ears.

“Unbelievable,” he spits, stepping into the room. “I just heard what’s going on. You’re seriously—” He gestures between you. “With him?”

You open your mouth, but Jey beats you to it. He shifts beneath you and fixes your ex with a cold, unblinking stare. “Yeah,” he says. “She is. Got a problem?”

Your ex’s jaw clenches. “I do, actually,” he snaps. “You think you can just swoop in and—”

“Hold up.” Jey’s tone is still even, but there’s steel beneath it. “Swoop in? Nah. You tossed her away. You didn’t know what you had. So don’t stand there like you still get a say.”

Color rises in your ex’s face. His hands curl into fists. “You don’t know what was going on between us.”

A flicker of rage pulses through you, cutting straight through the humiliation. You sit up straighter on Jey’s lap. “Stop talking about me like I’m not right here.”

That gets his attention. You meet his eyes, your voice sharp. “We both know what was going on. You lied. You cheated. That’s not some complicated mystery.”

He stares at you, searching your face like he’s hoping to find the version of you who used to fold. She’s not here.

You feel Jey’s fingers flex against you, like it’s taking tremendous effort not to get up and put himself physically between you.

“I didn’t throw anything away,” you say, low and firm. “You did.”

“It was one mistake,” he insists. “You’re really throwing everything away over that?”

Jey doesn’t look away from your ex. “I seen enough,” he says, voice rising with finality. “I was there when you broke her. I saw what you did.” His hand glides up your back, a subtle pull that presses you closer. “She don’t need you. She’s with me now.”

Then he turns your face toward him and kisses you. It’s not gentle. It’s a declaration. You hear your ex scoff, but Jey doesn’t stop. His mouth claims yours like there’s no one else in the room. His fingers dig into your waist. All you can taste is him. All you can feel is heat and adrenaline and the end of whatever came before.

Your ex mutters something under his breath. A second later, the door slams shut behind him.

Only then does Jey ease back, just far enough to meet your eyes. His lips are swollen. His grin is smug as hell. “Think he got the message?” he asks.

You laugh breathlessly, fingers sinking into his curls. “Oh, he got it.”

Jey chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “Good. I’m tired of him thinkin’ he still has a say in your life.”

You swat at his chest. “Jey…”

“What?” he teases, catching your hand and lacing your fingers with his. “Man’s been actin’ like a pop-up ad I can’t close.”

A surprised laugh bursts from you. “A pop-up ad?”

He grins. “Yeah. The kind that says, ‘CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON SOMETHING NOBODY WANTS.’”

You snort, leaning fully into him now. The adrenaline fades, leaving a warm, floaty hum beneath your skin, the kind only Jey seems to bring out. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, slower and sweeter than anything from earlier.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

It’s such a simple question. But it lands hard. Not because you aren’t okay… but because you finally are.

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Jey’s smile shifts, the cockiness giving way to something softer. “Good. ’Cause, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly almost shy. “I kinda like this whole us thing. Crazy ex and all.”

“You sure?” you ask, quieter now. “Because apparently I come with drama.”

He laughs. “Girl, I wrestle for a living. Drama’s my specialty.”

You laugh too, the sound lighter than it’s been in months. You rest your head against his chest as the last traces of hurt and awkwardness drain out of you.

“You mean you just like showing off in front of my shitbag ex,” you mutter.

“That too,” he admits with a shrug. “But mostly? I like you.”

You hook a finger into his collar, tugging him a little closer.

“Good,” you whisper. “’Cause I like you too.”

His grin softens, stealing the rest of your breath. He wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you into a slow, swaying hug.

“Besides,” he murmurs against your hair, “I like you too much to let a couple interruptions stop me.”

You smile. “A couple? Try, like, three.”

“Exactly why we need a new location,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

You smirk. “Oh? Like where? A broom closet?”

He gasps. “Wow. You think so little of me.”

You laugh again. “Okay, Mr. Big Plans,” you say. “Where do you suggest?”

Jey’s smile softens. “Dinner. Just you and me.”

Your stomach flips. “That… sounds really nice.”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Cool. Then it’s a date.”

A date. With Jey. Officially.

“Okay,” you whisper. “It’s a date.”

He beams, big, bright, and boyish, and it sends another flutter straight through your chest.

“Then let’s get outta here,” he says, standing, still holding your hand. “Before somebody else decides to ruin the moment.”

He leads you toward the door, fingers interlaced. Just before he pushes it open, he glances back at you with a grin. “And don’t worry,” he says. “Anybody who tries to get in the way? I’ll handle ’em.”

You squeeze his hand. “I know you will.”

And for the first time since your breakup, the thought of letting someone back in doesn’t scare you.

Because Jey isn’t a distraction. Or a rebound. Or some temporary fix.

He’s the one waiting on the other side of the door.

The one you chose.

And the one who chose you right back.

It all became even more surreal when she was told that Roman Reigns, The Tribal Chief himself would be the one to mentor her.

At first, she was shocked. She wasn’t expecting the man who has currently had the world championship for about two years now consecutively would be the one to train her. She wasn’t expecting such a big name. But she couldn’t complain. Well, at least not yet.

At first, working with him was like a dream, until it wasn’t. Y/N was stubborn and had a very hard time taking orders. Joe on the other hand demands respect, he values the control he has in every aspect of his life. He’s not as smug as he portrays himself on camera, but he and Roman do share some very similar personality traits that make Y/N’s blood boil. But the feeling is mutual. It annoys him to no end that Y/N refuses to acknowledge him as her Tribal Chief. Most people would kill to be an honorary member of the Bloodline, but not her. The moment he offered her a spot at the table, she laughed it off and said she didn’t need his help. That she didn’t take orders from anyone.

Training the next day was particularly brutal for the poor girl after that. But she didn’t give up. And that’s another thing he admired yet hated about her. Her perseverance and hard headedness never lets up. In the ring and in their interactions. At first, it’s truly just annoying. She doesn’t blindly follow his orders. She pushes him, makes him justify why he wants her to train in certain ways.

And what makes it even worse is that she’s good. Really good. Anytime he gives her a critique, she applies it, albeit with a bit of sass and backtalk, but she does it and makes it better. It especially grates his nerves when she proves him wrong sometimes, doing a move a different way than he instructed and it actually ends up being more effective. At first he thought it would make him mad, but it started to make him more… interested than anything.

Y/N huffs frustratedly as Roman dodges her enzuigiri. It’s currently six thirty in the morning and they have already been training for two hours. It’s the same routine pretty much everyday besides Sunday’s. Get up at four, go to the gym, spend three to four hours training, do an ice bath, then she can go on with the rest of her day. Sometimes he even forces her to do extra sparring at the end of the night if he feels she needs it. It’s rigorous and her body hurts eighty percent of the time, but she won’t deny she’s getting better.

Roman tries to clothesline her but she quickly ducks under his arm, using the ropes of the ring to speed herself up as she attempts, and successfully executes a hurricanrana. She feels herself begin to smirk, a witty quip about to leave her lips, but the wind is quickly knocked out of her as Roman counters quickly, taking her hesitation as a moment of opportunity. He spears her to the floor, making her groan in anguish as he pins her for the entire three count.

“Being cocky will get you pinned every time,” he tells her, standing up effortlessly like they hadn’t just had a full on match. He sticks his hand out to help her up, but Y/N being her usual self scoffs quietly before pushing herself up on her own. She winces slightly, already feeling the soreness in her side where his spear made its impact. One thing about Roman is that just because she’s his mentee does not mean he goes easy on her in the ring. He’s not above knocking her on her ass if it means it’ll help her get better.

“You’re just mad ‘cause I practically chucked you across the ring,” she grumbles, unwrapping the white tape from her hands as she goes to leave the ring.

He follows after her, his voice remaining patient even though she’s tested every nerve he has. “It doesn’t matter how far you throw an opponent. The moment you get arrogant or take your attention away from the match is the moment you lose,” he lectures. “You need to get out of that immature ‘I need to prove myself’ mindset and actually start being a wrestler.”

“You act like I’m not doing that already,” Y/N fires back, rolling her shoulders to ease the ache. “Last I checked, I’m the one waking up at four in the damn morning, training until I can’t feel my legs, and getting my ass handed to me by a six-foot-three Tarzan-looking-man on a daily basis. What part of that says I’m not taking this seriously?”

Roman exhales through his nose, leveling her with a look. “You’re putting in the work, yeah. I see that. But you still fight like you have something to prove.”

“Because I do.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.” He steps closer, looming over her, arms crossed. “You’re already here, Y/N. You made it to the main roster. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. But you keep fighting like some rookie trying to earn a contract. And that? That’s what’s gonna cost you when it actually matters.”

Y/N glares up at him, jaw set. She hates that he has a point. She hates even more that she can feel it sinking in. But she’s not about to admit that. She snatches up her water bottle and takes a long sip, buying herself time before responding. “Maybe that’s just how I fight,” she finally says, tilting her head at him. “Maybe I like fighting like I have something to prove.”

Roman scoffs. “Then you better get used to getting pinned.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not happening.”

“Then fix it.” His voice is firm, steady. It’s the same voice he uses in the ring, the one that commands the entire arena without needing to yell. “Learn to control yourself, or someone else is gonna do it for you.”

Y/N bristles at that. “Yeah? And you think you’re the one to do it?”

Roman doesn’t blink. “I know I am.”

There’s a tension in the air now, something heavy crackling between them. Y/N refuses to look away first. She can feel the heat of his stare, the weight of it pressing into her skin. After a moment of silence, she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, not wanting to continue the conversation. She still has an ice bath she has to sit through. “Whatever, Chief.” She spits the title with sarcasm, making Roman’s jaw flex just slightly. Then, just as she turns to leave, his hand wraps around her wrist, halting her in place. Her eyes flick down to where he holds her, then back up to his face. “Dude, I’m done for today.”

Roman doesn’t let go. “You don’t decide when we’re done.”

“My body does,” she argues, trying to yank free.

His grip remains firm but not forceful, his head tilting slightly. “You talk a big game, but the second things don’t go your way, you’re ready to walk?” He tuts. “That’s not how this works.”

Y/N glares at him. “I trained for three hours, got speared, and sat through one of your monologues about control. That’s a full shift as far as I’m concerned. I’m clocking out.”

Roman doesn’t even blink. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

She folds her arms. “Oh, please, enlighten me.”

“You think this is just training.” He steps closer, the weight of his presence suffocating. “You think I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in the ring.”

“That is what mentors do,” she shoots back.

Roman huffs a low, knowing laugh. “I’m not just your mentor, Y/N.”

She raises a brow. “Oh yeah? What else are you, then?”

His fingers trail from her wrist, up to her forearm, then to her shoulder before gripping it firmly. “Your leader.”

She actually laughs at that. “Hate to break it to you, but I haven’t exactly accepted your little ‘seat at the table’ offer, so I don’t have to answer to you. You’re my mentor, not my boss.”

Something flickers in his dark eyes. Amusement. Frustration. Maybe something else—something sharper. His fingers tighten slightly. “You think that matters?”

She scoffs, shoving at his chest, forcing distance between them. “Yes, actually.”

Roman doesn’t move an inch. He just watches her. Studies her. Feels the way her breath hitches for half a second before she squares her shoulders again. Then, with all the patience of a man who knows he’s already won, he tilts his head. “Get back in the ring.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “Not happening.”

He doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t have to. His stare alone is a command, heavy and absolute. And damn it, it pisses her off that she’s even considering listening.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she mutters, crossing her arms.

“I have every right to be,” he counters smoothly. “Everything I say, everything I do—it works. That’s why you’re here, training under me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, so now you wanna acknowledge that I never asked for this?”

Roman steps forward again, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. “You might not have asked, but you need it.” His voice drops, low and steady. “You need me.”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “You really think I can’t do this on my own?”

He smirks, head tilting. “You’re good, Y/N. But good doesn’t cut it here. You wanna make it? Wanna win?” His grip on her shoulder tightens. “Then acknowledge me as your Tribal Chief.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Dude, I’m not part of your little Samoan mafia or whatever the hell you call it.”

His smirk fades. “That doesn’t change anything.”

She gestures between them. “Uh, pretty sure it does. I’m not in the Bloodline, which means I don’t have to acknowledge shit.”

Roman exhales slowly, tongue running along the inside of his cheek. He should let this go. Shouldn’t let her get under his skin. But Y/N’s stubbornness, her complete defiance of him, grates his nerves in a way he hasn’t felt in years. She should want this. Anyone in the pro-wrestling world would. And yet here she is, looking him in the eye, daring him to push harder. Roman lets out a slow breath before shaking his head. “You’re gonna learn.”

“Oh yeah?” She lifts a brow. “And how’s that?”

He steps even closer, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the shift in the air between them is almost tangible. “Because I don’t lose,” he murmurs, voice dangerously low. “And I don’t let people walk away from me.” For the first time, Y/N’s expression flickers—just barely, but he sees it. That second of hesitation is all the confirmation he needs. His voice is calm, measured, unwavering. “You’ll acknowledge me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it’s going to happen.”

Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “Don’t hold your breath, Chief.”

Roman just smirks. “We’ll see.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Another thing about having Joe as a mentor is that Y/N can only train with him or another member of the Bloodline. She didn’t necessarily mind that part of it. While it would be nice to get in the ring with some other people, she didn’t mind being with the guys. Josh and Jon are fun to be around, always making sparring more entertaining. Solo is really good about giving her advice she’ll actually use in the ring. And truthfully, she just loves being around Sami. He’s talented and has an energy that no one else can bring. She actually prefers the days when it’s all of them in the ring rather than just her and Roman.

Not that she minded being alone with Joe. It was the exact opposite. She loves getting under his skin and making him grit his teeth extra hard when she does something that irritates him. It’s also easier to stare at him for a bit too long when no one is around to tease her for it. Not that she would ever admit that she stares. But what makes her prefer the others being around is the fact that Roman’s attention is a bit more divided so she has more time to do workouts she wants to do.

Unfortunately, today doesn’t seem to want to work in her favor. She and Roman circle each other in the ring, Josh, Jon, and Sami watching from the side while Solo does his own workout on the other side of the gym. But he won’t lie, he is watching out of the corner of his eye.

The ring is alive with movement as Y/N and Roman circle each other. She’s fast, her footwork sharp, slipping past his reach with ease. He’s patient, methodical, letting her expend energy while he remains firmly planted.

Josh lets out a low whistle. “Man, she’s really got you moving, Uce.”

Jon grins. “She’s makin’ you sweat, big dog.”

Sami, ever the instigator, clasps his hands together. “I don’t wanna be dramatic, but I think we might be witnessing the fall of the Tribal Chief.”

Roman’s glare cuts through all of them, and they immediately sober up. Y/N smirks. “Aw, don’t be mad just because they can see I’m winning.”

Roman doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he lunges forward, forcing her to duck. She’s quick—spinning behind him and catching his arm to set up a ripcord knee strike. But instead of executing it cleanly, she twists her body in a way he hadn’t taught her, adding an extra rotation before slamming her knee toward his jaw. He steps back just in time, narrowly avoiding the full impact. Josh and Jon exchange glances, clearly impressed.

“Damn,” Jon mutters. “That was smooth.”

“Yeah, it was. I mean, jeez ma, you been holdin’ out on us?” Josh adds.

Roman doesn’t give her a second to enjoy their praise. He moves fast—too fast—sweeping her legs out from under her before she can react. Y/N hits the mat with a grunt, and before she can roll away, he pins her.

One… Two… Three.

She breathes hard beneath him, blinking up at the bright lights of the gym. But her focus isn’t on the lights. It’s on the way he’s not moving. The way he’s still pressed against her, his hands braced on either side of her head. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Then, Roman’s gaze flickers downward—just for a second—before he abruptly pushes off her and stands. Y/N exhales sharply, rolling onto her side before pushing herself up.

The guys are still watching, but wisely choose not to comment on the moment. Instead, Sami clears his throat. “Uh, not to brag, but I totally called that pin like ten seconds before it happened.”

Josh scoffs. “Oh, please. We all knew it was coming.”

Jon nods. “Yeah, but she put up a hell of a fight.” He looks at Y/N. “Respect.”

She grins. “Appreciate it.”

Roman, however, isn’t smiling. “You changed the move.”

Y/N turns to him, lifting an eyebrow. “Yeah. And? It still worked, didn’t it?”

“I already showed you how to do it properly,” he says, arms crossing.

She shrugs. “And I put my own twist on it.”

“That’s not how it works,” he says, voice even. “You’re under my training.”

She folds her arms. “That doesn’t mean I can’t try new things.”

Sami leans toward Jon and mutters, “This is getting good.”

Jon smacks his chest. “Shut up, man.”

Roman ignores them, his attention solely on Y/N. “The way I showed you works. You don’t need to change it.”

She exhales, shaking her head. “Just because it works your way doesn’t mean it’s the only way.”

His nostrils flare. “It is when I’m the one in charge of training you.”

She huffs. “That’s not a good enough excuse anymore.”

Jon and Josh wince like they’ve just witnessed someone stepping on a landmine while Sami quietly hums the Jaws theme. Roman inhales deeply, his patience hanging by a thread. “You four. Out.”

Josh and Jon are up immediately.

“Yup.”

“Say less.”

Sami gives Y/N an exaggerated thumbs-up before following them out. Solo lingers for a beat, his sharp gaze flicking between them before he silently nods and exits. The second the door shuts, the tension in the room triples. Y/N stands firm, arms crossed. “No audience for this part?”

Roman exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need to learn respect.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. You know that I respect you, Joe.”

His gaze darkens slightly at the sound of his real name. She steps closer. “But I also think someone should keep your ego in check. And I think that someone might be me.”

His fingers flex. She’s testing him. He knows she is. And the worst part? He likes it. Her eyes don’t waver. She’s challenging him—daring him to react. Roman takes a slow, deep breath, every muscle in his body tight with restraint. She steps closer. He stiffens, his pulse spikes. If she says one more thing, he might just—

No.

Roman exhales sharply and steps back. “Get changed,” he says, his voice rough. “Training’s done.”

Y/N watches him for a second longer, then nods, grabbing her bag. But before she leaves, she looks over her shoulder. “You know,” she muses, “if you really wanted me to stop pushing you, you’d stop reacting.” Then she’s gone.

Roman lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand down his face. She’s a fighter that’s for sure, he just doesn’t understand why it’s him she has to fight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N bounces up and down on her heels as she warms herself up for her match. It’s her first time going up against Bayley and she wanted to give the audience the best show that she could. A small smile graces her face when Jey and Sami walk up to her with bright smiles on their faces, hyping her up as she mentally preps herself. She relishes in their presence, hugging them tightly as they tell her how great she’s going to do. She had seen Jimmy a couple minutes prior but he wanted to go spend some time with Naomi as her match was today as well.

The only thing that makes her nervous is that she hasn’t seen or heard from Roman since being at the arena. He’s normally the first one to walk up to her. Whether it’s to tell her good luck or to remind her of correct form, he’s always the one to find her. But she hasn’t seen him at all and it’s making her nerves spike.

Even when she rolls her eyes at his comments or critiques, it still provides a sense of comfort knowing he’s there watching her match. In a way, she takes it as his way of telling her to go out there and kick some ass.

“You alright Uce?” Jey asks as he notices her looking around, anxiety seeping through her features.

“You’re not worried, right?” Sami folds his arms over his chest with an endearing grin. “ ‘Cause if you are, you shouldn’t be. You’ve been killing it in training. And your mic skills are phenomenal. Every city we’ve gone to loves you.”

Y/N shakes her head, “It’s not that…” she admits, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “It’s just– normally Joe comes to see me before I go out as my mentor or whatever and I haven’t seen him all day so it’s kinda throwing my routine off.”

Jey chuckles, “So now you want to talk to him?” He jokes, nudging her shoulder. “Thought you’d be happy you didn’t have to hear his incessant nagging.”

“Hey man, she’s gotta get her daily dose of pissing him off,” Sami chimes with his own laugh. “The day’s not complete if she doesn’t make him mad at least once.”

“Shut up,” Y/N rolls her eyes, smacking both of them. “I’m serious. It’s just weird he isn’t out here yet.” She glances around the corner one last time, “I don’t think I did anything out of the ordinary to make him not be here.”

“Sweetheart, just relax,” Jey grabs her shoulders softly, smiling gently at her. “He probably just lost track of time or got caught up with some business stuff. He’ll be here to see your match and to correct everything you did wrong once you win.” He slides in a small joke to try and ease her nerves, and it works. Like it always does.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him,” Sami adds. “You keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles.”

“And you too pretty for that,” Jey winks.

Y/N laughs at their antics, but it still doesn’t calm the small storm swirling in her head. She would call or text him, but she’s had her phone in the locker room all day to keep her head in the right place. Avoid outside distractions. But it’s a good thing that she doesn’t know where Roman is or what he’s doing, because if she did, she would be beyond angry. At who? No one knows.

A scowl covers Roman’s lips as he walks through the guys locker room. He knows how late he’s running and he needs to make it out before Y/N’s match to give her some last minute advice. He keeps his face composed, not wanting to show how out of sorts he’s feeling. He’s never missed one of her matches and he doesn’t plan to start today. Especially since this fight against Bayley is opening up a perfect opportunity for Y/N to get her first title shot. Even though he can see her insufferable smirk now as she wins, he still wants to be there.

But as he moves through the space, his ears pick up on a conversation that immediately makes him stop in his tracks.

“She’s only getting this match because of Reigns,” a sneering voice mutters.

Roman’s stride slows. His head turns slightly, eyes narrowing as he spots a small group of guys near the benches. Mostly mid-card wrestlers—guys who like to run their mouths when they think no one important is listening. They blame their lack of success on everyone else but their own incompetence.

“She’s new as hell and already getting to work for a title shot?” another scoffs. “Come on, man. You know why she’s getting all these chances.”

A third voice, deeper and more smug, chimes in. “Yeah, she’s probably sucking Roman off behind the scenes. Ain’t no other reason for her to be moving up this fast.”

Laughter follows, low and conspiratorial. A fourth guy, younger but just as cocky, smirks. “I mean… she is pretty. If she wanted to use me to get to the top, I wouldn’t say no.”

The laughter grows louder. And then— Silence. Because he’s there… And no, not Roman Reigns.

Joe Anoa‘i.

He looms behind them, shoulders squared, his entire presence heavy with rage. His dark eyes bore into them like a warning shot before the kill, his face unreadable—calm in a way that’s so much worse. The guys freeze.

“Say that again.” The quiet command cuts through the locker room like a blade.

None of them move. None of them speak. Joe tilts his head, stepping forward just enough that the air shifts, thick and suffocating. “You think that shit’s funny?” His voice is low, slow—like a storm rolling in, inevitable and inescapable. “Think it’s real easy to talk about someone who ain’t here to defend themselves, huh?”

The guy who made the worst comment swallows hard. “Hey, man, it was just—”

Joe is in his face before he can finish, his presence alone making the guy shrink back. “I don’t give a damn what you think it was,” Joe growls. “What you’re not gonna do is disrespect her like that again. Not when every single one of you knows she can run circles around you.” No one breathes or even dares to make eye contact with the man. Joe’s jaw ticks as he takes another step forward, ensuring that every single one of them feels the weight of his anger. “I promise you—if I ever hear any of you say some shit like that about her again, I’ll make sure you don’t just walk out of here. I’ll make sure you’re carried out.” His voice drops even lower, dangerous. “On a stretcher.”

A tense, suffocating pause. Joe exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, eyes still burning with barely restrained fury. Then—he scoffs. A single, sharp sound. “That’s what I thought.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away, fists still clenched, mind still racing. He shouldn’t feel this protective over her. He knows that. But the thought of anyone talking about Y/N like that—disrespecting her, reducing her to something she damn sure isn’t—makes his blood boil. And if they ever did it again? He’d make sure they never forgot who they were dealing with.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N was on an absolute high after her match. She just won against Bayley of all people. An absolute legend in the locker room and someone everyone loves. It made her feel like she was truly working her way up in the business. She was proud of herself, however, Roman’s absence in the beginning lingered in the back of her mind for the whole match. It made her angry that he wasn’t there. It’s part of his job to show up and be there for her. That’s what mentors do.

Or maybe she just… wanted him there. Wanted his presence.

She feels a wide array of arms and voices enveloping her in congratulations as Solo, Sami, Jimmy, Jey, and even Naomi come to celebrate her big win. It takes a minute or so but something begins to feel off for her. A sharp pain shoots down her leg and she groans. Bayley had targeted her left leg a bit more than she was expecting, but she felt fine. Until now at least.

“I think I need to sit down…” Y/N tells them, causing every one of them to share a concerned look.

Josh is the first one to notice the small wince in her eyebrows, “What’s going on?” He asks worriedly.

“My leg,” she says, nodding down to it as they guide her over to one of the many stray pieces of furniture backstage.

Sami lets out an audible gasp as he looks at her knee, “Oh my God,” he kneels down in front of her. “That’s definitely not normal.”

Her right knee is battered and bruised from the many times Bayley ran her into the posts and turnbuckles. There were only a few times where it hit harder than anticipated, but she wasn’t expecting it to look this bad. It’s swollen beyond belief, already starting to have a dark bruise surrounding it. It looks very different from her good leg.

“Holy shit,” Trinity places her hands on the site gently making Y/N bite the inside of her cheek with a quiet groan. “Yeah, my bet is that it’s dislocated.” She shoots the younger woman an empathetic look, having experienced a similar injury herself. “I’m sorry hun, but we’re gonna have to get a paramedic or someone over here to push it back in place.”

Y/N winces again but nods, “Okay, yeah, let’s do that,” she manages to grunt out as the adrenaline wears off more and more.

Trinity assigns everyone a job to do to make sure this is as quick and painless as possible. Y/N’s only instruction was to stay where she was, which only made her chuckle because it’s not like she could walk very far.

After a few moments sitting alone, she couldn’t help but grind her teeth together as her knee throbbed relentlessly. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, counting down the seconds until someone could fix her current problem. The only thing she can do until one of them comes back with the paramedics is mentally prepare herself for the pain that comes with putting her knee back in place.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him. A slow, steady stride that was distinctly him. And then, rounding the corner with his usual brooding expression, Roman appeared, his gaze immediately locking onto her injury.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was low, controlled, but the storm in his eyes betrayed his composure. His arms crossed tightly over his chest as he took in the state she was in—her bruised and swollen knee, the way she sat awkwardly to avoid aggravating it, and worst of all, the fact that she was alone.

Y/N exhaled sharply, looking down at her knee. “Bayley happened,” she muttered, flexing her fingers against the cushion beside her. “Guess I took more hits than I realized.”

Roman’s eyes swept over her injury before narrowing. “And why are you sitting here by yourself?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was an unmistakable layer of frustration beneath it.

She should be mad at him. And she was. Or at least, she had been. But now, as the anger simmered down, it left behind something softer—something she wasn’t prepared to feel.

So instead of snapping at him, she just looked up, eyes filled with something vulnerable as she asked quietly, “Where were you?”

Roman’s jaw ticked. He knew she wasn’t just asking about now. She meant before the match. Before she stepped into the ring with Bayley, looking for his usual last-minute pep talk or critique. And he had no good excuse—at least, not one he could give her.

Y/N watched as his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to answer, but nothing came.

She sighed, shaking her head before looking away. “Never mind. Forget it.” A humorless chuckle escaped her lips, but it lacked its usual spark. “I don’t know why I assumed you’d be there for everything.”

That stung.

Roman felt his temper flare at her words, not because they were unfair, but because she genuinely believed them. He crouched down in front of her, leaning in slightly, his presence commanding as always.

“I’ll always be there,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just a promise—it was a vow.

Her chest ached, but it wasn’t from her knee. She quickly looked away, suddenly feeling too exposed under his gaze.

Roman cleared his throat and nodded toward her leg. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he muttered. “You should’ve tapped out if it was this bad.”

Y/N let out a scoff, shaking her head. “Of course, even when I’m sitting here crippled, you still find a way to lecture me.”

Roman smirked slightly. “Someone’s gotta knock some sense into you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

But then, his expression softened, just slightly. “For what it’s worth…” He tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “I still saw you kick ass out there.”

Y/N raised a brow at him, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Kick ass? So does that mean you don’t have a single critique for me this time?”

Roman gave a slow shrug. “It’d be mean to tell you while you’re injured.”

Y/N let out a genuine laugh at that, and for a second, the pain in her knee was completely forgotten. Then, without thinking, Roman reached forward, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture. Nothing he hadn’t done before. But this time… it felt different. The second his fingertips grazed her skin, something shifted in the air between them. It was like the world had tilted slightly off its axis, like everything had narrowed down to just this.

Her breath hitched. His hand lingered for a moment too long. And suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about her injury, or her frustration, or the match she had just won.

She was thinking about him.

Roman’s fingers curled into a loose fist as he pulled back, as if he was stopping himself from doing something reckless. His throat bobbed slightly, and Y/N could swear she saw the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his normally unreadable expression.

And then—

“Alright, we’re back!”

Jey’s voice sliced through the moment like a knife.

Roman was on his feet in an instant, stepping back just as Jimmy, Sami, and the others came rushing in with the paramedics.

Y/N exhaled slowly, blinking a few times as she tried to process whatever the hell had just happened. But judging by the way Roman was standing a little too stiffly beside her, arms crossed tightly over his chest, she wasn’t the only one feeling it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It had been a couple weeks since Y/N’s match with Bayley and she’s been on a winning streak ever since. Her knee healed up quite nicely, occasionally needing to wear a brace to keep the pressure off of it, but other than that, it’s been great.

The only thing that seems to have shifted slightly is her dynamic with Joe. Since that night, things have been a bit more… tense than usual. They still argue and challenge each other like they used to, but now instead of it ending with one of them rolling their eyes and leaving, it ends with one of them getting in the other’s face and staring at each other for way too long to be considered normal.

Even during training, Y/N finds herself shivering whenever he places his hands on her to help correct a move she messed up on. Anytime he’s around her, whispering in her ear how to use the correct form, her mind fogs and she can no longer focus on what they were doing. It frustrates him to no end because he perceives her as being off her game. And in a way she is, but it’s not her fault.

It’s his.

For being sculpted by the damn Greek gods. He’s intoxicating. She didn’t realize how genuinely attractive he was because she was always so focused on making him mad. But now she wants to make him mad for other reasons.

Now she wants to irritate him so he feels the need to get in her space. To invade her senses with everything that is Roman. She knows it’s more than wrong for her to feel this way about the man who is mentoring her, but she can’t help it. He’s managed to worm his way into her mind and she doesn’t mind his residency.

Her knuckles rap on the door to his private office three times. She bites the inside of her cheek until a small “come in” allows her access into the room. She slowly opens the door, her breath hitching when she sees what’s in front of her.

It’s nothing scandalous. Just Joe hunched over his desk, his hair pulled back in a manbun, a tight fitting t-shirt and sweats adorning his body as he fills out some paperwork. But the soft glow of the yellow light and the way his face isn’t pinched so tightly, it makes him look majestic.

“Jon said you wanted to see me,” she says, taking a step closer to his desk, arms folded over her chest.

“Yeah, I do,” he nods as he places his pen down, folding his hands together as he leans forward. Y/N can’t help the way her eyes travel to his biceps, the way they flex with just the smallest of movements makes her heart hammer against her ribcage.

There’s a long moment of silence until she realizes she’s been staring for a bit too long. “About…?” She asks with her usual level of sass.

Y/N watches as Joe leans back in his chair, a slow inhale filling his broad chest. He studies her, his dark eyes dragging over her face like he’s weighing something, considering his approach. She’s used to his intensity by now, but something about the way he’s looking at her tonight sets her nerves on edge.

“I think,” he finally says, voice smooth and deliberate, “we need to revisit your answer from a few months ago.”

She blinks. “My—what?”

His lips twitch, just barely. “Your answer. About the Bloodline.”

Y/N shifts her weight, arms tightening over her chest as she exhales sharply. “Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

Joe tilts his head, unfazed by her exasperation. “Yeah. It is.”

Y/N lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I thought we already settled this.”

“I didn’t.”

Her eyes snap to his, but he’s already rising from his chair, moving with that quiet, lethal confidence that always makes her feel like she’s on the verge of being devoured.

“Y/N,” he says, stepping closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You’ve been running with us for months now. Winning matches. Representing us. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re already part of this family.”

She clenches her jaw, heart thudding. “I told you—I don’t do hierarchies.”

Joe hums, as if he expected that answer. He reaches for something on his desk, lifting it into view.

The Bloodline jacket.

The sight of it sends an odd rush through her—one she really doesn’t want to analyze.

“This belongs to you,” Joe murmurs, stepping even closer.

Y/N swallows, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Joe lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re the only one who hasn’t accepted it yet. Everybody else already knows where you stand.”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “And where exactly is that?”

Joe just watches her, the answer in his silence.

It’s in the way Solo always has her back. In the way the Usos claim her as one of their own. In the way Paul Heyman talks about her like she’s already sworn her allegiance.

She is part of this. She just hasn’t said it yet.

Y/N exhales slowly, shaking her head. “I don’t need a jacket to prove I’m good enough to run with you.”

Joe’s smirk is slow, dangerous. “No. But it’d be nice to hear you say it.”

Her breath catches slightly. She can feel the shift now. The sudden weight in the air between them. The way his voice has dipped just enough to make her stomach tighten.

“Put it on,” Joe says, softer this time, stepping around her. The move is so smooth, so fluid, that she doesn’t even realize what’s happening until he’s right behind her.

Her pulse hammers.

Because now he’s close. So close she can feel the heat radiating from his body, the soft tickle of his breath against the side of her neck. Y/N’s whole body locks up, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. She should step away. She should shake her head and make some smart-ass comment and put space between them before this tension swallows her whole.

But she doesn’t. Because for some godforsaken reason, she loves it. She likes the way his presence wraps around her like something tangible. Likes the way he makes it impossible to think straight.

His fingers brush over her shoulder, guiding the jacket into place like a crown being placed on royalty.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice a low, steady hum against her skin. “Acknowledge me.”

Y/N exhales, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before she forces them back open. She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t submit. And no matter how badly her body is betraying her right now, she won’t start with him.

So with every ounce of control she has left, she steps forward, letting the jacket slip from her shoulders before turning to face him. Joe watches her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t take orders,” she says, voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.

A slow smirk curves his lips. “I know.”

There’s something about the way he says it—like he isn’t mad. Like he likes this push and pull just as much as she does. Y/N clenches her jaw, forcing herself to ignore the way her stomach flips at the sight of that goddamn smirk. “So that’s it?” she asks, tilting her chin. “You’re just gonna let it go?”

Joe exhales through his nose, looking almost amused. “You think I’m gonna stop just because you’re being stubborn?”

Y/N scoffs. “I think you’re gonna try.”

Joe’s eyes darken slightly, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. She should really stop provoking him. But God, it’s fun.

Before either of them can say another word, the door swings open.

“Hey, Uce, we got—”

Josh stops short, his eyes flicking between them.

Joe takes a step back, his posture shifting, expression smoothing back into something unreadable. Y/N clenches her jaw, pulse still thundering in her ears as Josh gives them both a slow, knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters under his breath before shaking his head. “We’ll talk later, big dog.”

Joe doesn’t look at her as Jey exits, but Y/N feels his attention shift back to her. The air between them is different now. Electric. Dangerous. And as much as she wants to put off her decision—she knows she won’t be able to. One way or the other, Roman’s going to get an answer. Y/N just doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to stand her ground with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Y/N saunters her way to the ring. It’s a buzzing Friday night in Atlanta Georgia as her theme music echoes around the large stadium. Y/N stops dead center of the walkway, dropping it low which causes whistles to emerge from the audience. She laughs, stopping to say hi to fans and sign posters on her way.

Roman, Jey, Jimmy, Sami, Solo, and Paul Heyman watch with a mix of curiosity, irritation, amusement, and anger as she had just interrupted their segment. None of them knew this was planned beside her which is what made their reactions even better.

It was all Paul Levesque’s idea. To have her go out and interrupt an important moment to cause some tension. The crowd loves her attitude so it was good for business to do something like this.

Y/N moves toward the steps, taking her time, soaking in the moment before slipping into the ring. She doesn’t acknowledge the tension immediately, instead adjusting the leather jacket over her shoulders before finally turning to face Roman.

The Tribal Chief.

She lifts the mic, tapping it twice before speaking, her voice carrying over the noise. “So this is what a Bloodline family meeting looks like,” she muses, glancing around. “I gotta say, it’s a little culty.”

Roman stares at her blankly as the room buzzes with anticipation and tension. Everyone’s eyes flicker between Roman and Y/N, the Tribal Chief staring her down like she just committed a war crime. Y/N can’t help but chuckle. She tilts her head, running her tongue over her teeth before lifting her mic again. “You don’t look happy to see me, Chief.”

Roman exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “You got a habit of interrupting things that don’t concern you.”

She scoffs, pacing a slow circle around them. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” She gestures around the arena, the thousands of screaming fans. “This? This concerns me. Everything concerns me.” She shrugs. “Guess that’s the price of being a free agent. No orders. No one to answer to.” Her smirk sharpens as she turns back to him. “Unlike you.”

Jey lets out a sharp laugh before he schools his face, coughing into his fist. Jimmy’s grin widens, clearly entertained, while Sami presses his lips together like he’s trying to become invisible.

Roman, however, remains still. Controlled. Watching.

Y/N clicks her tongue. “You like to call yourself the Head of the Table, right?” She steps forward, deliberately closing the space between them. “But from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just another guy scared to eat alone.”

The tension in the ring spikes. Jey’s brows shoot up. Even Solo shifts slightly, his gaze flickering to Roman.

Y/N takes another step, lifting a hand to count off on her fingers. “You need your cousins to fight your battles. You need your Wise Man to do your talking. Hell, you even needed Sami here to boost morale. But you?” She gestures to him with her mic. “Take all that away, and what are you?”

The crowd lets out an “OHHHHH!” in response, feeding off her confidence, her defiance.

Roman doesn’t react immediately. He just tilts his head slightly, as if considering her words. Then he finally lifts his mic. “You don’t stand with us. We know that You’ve made that clear.”

“Damn right, I don’t.” Y/N folds her arms, her eyes burning with challenge. “I don’t fall in line. I lead.”

Roman hums low in his throat, nodding as he steps closer, his presence suffocating. “That why you’re out here? You trying to prove something?”

“Nah.” Y/N tilts her chin up, her smirk unwavering. “Just thought someone should finally tell you the truth.”

Roman watches her, dark eyes unwavering, before he slowly shakes his head. “Nah.” His voice is calm, controlled. “Nah, you know what I think? You’re out here because you want my attention.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Oh, you think so?”

Roman exhales slowly, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to something almost intimate despite the thousands watching. “You want to stand across from me. Test me. Push me.” His head tilts slightly. “You want to be noticed. But sweetheart, the only person here who deserves to be noticed… who deserves acknowledgment is me,” his voice drops an octave making the crowd erupt. “I am your Tribal Chief.”

The crowd screams, chanting, urging her to do as he asks, “Acknowledge him! Acknowledge him!”

Y/N’s smirk falters for half a second before she lets out a scoff. “That’s cute, really. The whole cult leader act.” She leans in slightly, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You need my validation that bad?”

Roman just watches her, waiting. The crowd chants louder, the entire stadium shaking.

Y/N exhales, shaking her head. “Yeah, sorry, big guy. Not happening.” She shifts her stance, glancing at his cousins before looking back at him. “If anything, maybe this table needs a new head. Maybe… you should acknowledge me.”

There’s a flicker in his expression—something dangerous, something unreadable. “You better watch your mouth.”

And that’s when she makes her mistake. She clicks her tongue, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or what, Roman? You gonna have your lapdogs do your dirty work for you again?”

The air shifts instantly. Jey’s grin vanishes. Jimmy stops smirking. Even Sami looks alarmed. Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then, he exhales slowly, hands on his hips, before he turns slightly—to no one in particular. “Solo. Jimmy.”

That’s it. No further instruction. No elaboration.

And before Y/N can fully process what’s happening, hands grab her arms, yanking her back.

“What the hell?” she snaps, struggling against them. The crowd erupts in a chaotic mix of cheers and shouts, but she barely hears them over the sudden shock of the moment.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

Jimmy has a firm grip on one arm, but it’s Solo who truly locks her down, his strength damn near unshakable. Y/N thrashes, planting her feet, but they don’t stop, dragging her out of the ring as she shouts, “You seriously this pressed, Roman?!”

Roman doesn’t react. Doesn’t stop them. Just watches.

And as she’s hauled up the ramp, the last thing she sees before disappearing behind the curtain is him standing there, unmoved, unreadable.

But still watching.

She kicks and yells at Solo and Jimmy as they drag her to Roman’s office. Some of the other wrestlers watch as she’s taken. She sends them all pleading looks, silently begging for someone to save her but no one does. A part of her is genuinely fearful that she crossed a line, but he knew it was all acting, right? He had to. It’s part of their job, their characters. The world knows he’s offered her a spot at the table and she’s been very vocal about where she stands. It aligned with their story, so why is he doing this? Could it be to add to it and she’s worried for nothing?

Jimmy and Solo open the door to the room, allowing her to walk inside. Both men look like they want to say something, to apologize, wish her luck, save her, but they decide against it. Y/N sends them a reassuring smile before they walk off. She looks over her shoulder for a split second and suddenly the door closes with a small click, indicating the door has been locked.

She turns back around and sees a seething Roman Reigns standing in front of her. His chest rises and falls with every breath, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at the mouthy woman in front of him. He’s been slowly losing it since the day he met her and today might be the day where he disregards the importance of professional boundaries.

Today might be the day where he snaps.

The silence between them stretches tight, humming with something thick and electric.

Y/N stands her ground, her breath even despite the wildfire running through her veins. But Roman—he’s not still. His fists flex at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. Like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s fighting the urge to do something neither of them can take back.

Good.

She wants to push him.

Because he’s been pushing her for weeks, forcing her into this—into whatever this is. The way he looks at her like he sees everything. The way he steps too close, speaks too low, lingers too long. She’s not stupid. She’s noticed. But he won’t admit it. Not outright.

So she’ll make him.

She tilts her head slightly, keeping her voice cool. “If you have something to say, Chief, say it.”

Roman exhales slowly through his nose, his jaw flexing. “You think this is a joke?”

Y/N smirks. “I think you like being in charge of everyone in your life, and it gives you an insatiable itch that you can’t scratch knowing you can’t break me. That you can’t get me to beg for your validation.”

His fists clench. There it is. A crack in the armor. A flicker of something darker in his eyes.

Y/N steps closer, feeling reckless, feeling emboldened by the way his breathing changes, the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes track every single movement she makes like he can’t help himself.

She lifts a brow. “Or am I wrong?”

Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But the air shifts. Tightens.

And that’s when she knows she’s right. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You don’t like that I don’t fall in line. That I can read you like a damn book. That I can see through all those stoic walls you put up. I see what you hide from the world.”

Roman’s jaw ticks. She takes another step forward. “What is it, huh?” she pushes. “You bark orders at everyone else, and they listen, but me? I don’t make it easy for you, do I?”

Roman exhales, slow, measured. “You need to watch yourself, Y/N.”

She ignores the warning. “No, I think you do.” She sees it again—the flicker of something barely restrained. So she keeps going. “Because you can pretend all you want, but I see it,” she murmurs. “The way you look at me.”

Roman’s gaze darkens. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

She tilts her head. “Am I?”

His fists flex again, and she doesn’t miss the way his breath catches, just slightly, at the challenge in her tone.

“Tell me, Chief,” she continues, voice smooth, sharp. “Did you like it?”

His brow furrows slightly, just barely. “Like what?”

“The jacket.”

His entire body tenses.

Bingo.

Y/N smirks, stepping even closer, forcing him to either back away or stand his ground. He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t.

“I saw the way you looked at me when I wore it,” she says, voice quieter now, more pointed. “I saw the way your grip tightened, the way your jaw clenched. You couldn’t stop staring.”

Roman exhales sharply, his eyes locked onto hers with a fire that wasn’t there before. Y/N tilts her head. “Why is that?” Roman doesn’t answer so she presses further. “Was it because I didn’t belong in it?” she muses, watching him closely. “Or was it because I did? That the simple thought of me walking around in your colors did something to you?”

That’s when it happens. The shift. The moment his restraint snaps. Roman moves before she can blink. One second, he’s standing in front of her, barely keeping himself in check—

The next, he’s shoving her back, forcing her down into the chair behind her.

The movement is fast, precise, effortless. His hands grip the arms of the chair, caging her in, his face inches from hers, his body looming over hers like a storm about to break.

Y/N’s breath catches, her pulse hammering. Roman stares at her, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp, deliberate movements.

And then—

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, dangerous.

Y/N swallows, her skin burning where he hovers, where his presence presses down on her like gravity. She wants to speak. Wants to throw something back at him. But she can’t. Because she feels it now. The weight of it. Of every single one of their battles, their challenges, their little wars. They weren’t just about dominance.

She suddenly finds it hard to maintain eye contact, but Roman can see her trying to mentally escape. He quickly takes her jaw into his hand, holding it in place so she can’t look away from him. She got to talk, so now it’s his turn.

“Don’t look away from me.”

Y/N can feel the chills surge through her body at the command. His hand is warm on her icy skin, causing her cheeks to flush from the actual heat and the situation. She blinks slowly, her eyelashes fluttering which makes Roman suck in a sharp breath. The innocence in her face is more than misleading. Looking at her, anyone would think she’s nice, well-mannered, and behaved.

How wrong they would be.

Roman exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to her lips for half a second before flicking back up. “I shouldn’t be looking at you the way that I do,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Y/N’s throat tightens. She breathes, steady despite the fire running through her veins. “Then stop.”

His lips twitch, just barely. “You think it’s that simple?” he asks, tilting his head.

Y/N narrows her eyes. “I think you’re scared of what happens if you give in.”

Roman hums, his grip tightening slightly on the chair. “I think you look at me the same way I look at you.”

Her stomach flips. She doesn’t answer. Because if she does—she might just crack.

“You look at me like you want me to do something about it,” he murmurs.

Y/N’s heart continues to hammer at a rate that can’t be considered healthy. His face is so close to hers. If she simply leaned forward, she could satisfy the craving of wanting his lips on hers.

Roman exhales slowly, his thumb grazing the underside of her jaw. “Say it,” he murmurs.

Y/N swallows. “Say what?”

“That you don’t feel it.” His voice is almost a whisper now, but it’s rough, heavy with something dangerous. “That you don’t feel this.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. She should lie. She should laugh. She should roll her eyes, shake her head, tell him he’s imagining things. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she exhales slowly, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “Now look who’s playing dangerous.”

Roman’s grip on the chair tightens. “And you don’t mind playing high risk, do you?”

Y/N lets the smallest smirk touch her lips. “No,” she murmurs. “I don’t.”

And just like that— Roman lets her go.

The absence of his touch is immediate, almost jarring, but Y/N refuses to back down. She holds his gaze for a long moment, neither of them speaking, neither of them breaking.

Then, finally, Roman exhales, voice quieter now. “This isn’t over.”

Y/N’s pulse is still racing, but she smirks. “I would despair if it was.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N sits in the locker room, her head tilted back against the cool metal of the lockers, eyes shut as she tries to steady the storm in her head. But it’s useless. Roman’s voice is still there. The feeling of his fingers on her jaw, the weight of his stare—every moment of their last confrontation is still there. And it’s driving her insane.

The worst part? It’s not just the tension, the fights, the way they keep pushing each other to the edge. It’s the fact that deep down, something in her craves it. Craves him. And that? That’s unacceptable.

A sharp sigh leaves her lips, frustration simmering beneath her skin as she rubs her hands over her face. “Fucking hell,” she mutters under her breath.

“That bad, huh?”

She jerks her head up at the sound of Seth’s voice. He’s leaning against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest, his expression somewhere between amused and knowing.

Y/N groans, dropping her head back. “Please don’t start.”

Seth chuckles, pushing off the lockers and dropping onto the bench beside her. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

She shoots him a look. “You’re thinking it.”

“Well, yeah,” Seth admits, smirking. “You’re sitting here, looking like you wanna put your head through a wall. And considering your favorite hobby lately has been trying to start a war with Roman, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s the reason you look like you’re about to lose your damn mind.”

Y/N scoffs. “I am not starting a war with him.”

Seth raises an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am. But it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Seth hums. “Mm. Sure.”

She glares at him. “Don’t ‘mm, sure’ me.”

Seth just smirks again, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Alright, so tell me—what’d he say after he had his goonies drag you to his office?”

Y/N exhales sharply. “It’s not even—ugh. It’s not just one thing. It’s everything. The way he looks at me, the way he gets in my face, the way he acts like I belong to him or something.” She throws her hands up. “It’s like he’s always there, always pushing, always—watching me.”

Seth tilts his head, studying her. “And that bothers you?”

She blinks. “Obviously.”

Seth shrugs. “You sure about that?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Seth sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know you like to fight. It’s what you do. But if this was just about him trying to control you, you’d have walked away by now.”

Y/N tenses. “I have walked away.”

Seth snorts. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

She falls silent.

Seth gives her a knowing look. “Y/N, you’re not fighting him because you hate what he represents. You’re fighting him because you feel it too, and you don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Her breath catches. “No,” she says automatically. “That’s not—”

“Then why do you care so much?” Seth challenges.

Y/N clenches her jaw.

Seth exhales, shaking his head. “You wanna know why he gets under your skin? Why you can’t get him out of your head?”

She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t stop him, either.

Seth leans back, his expression shifting, no longer teasing but thoughtful. “Because you don’t trust it,” he says simply.

Y/N stiffens.

“You don’t trust that someone like him—someone as powerful as he is—can want you without trying to own you,” Seth continues. “And maybe, yeah, maybe a part of him does want to own you. But not in the way you think.”

Her throat feels tight.

“You think he wants control?” Seth shakes his head. “No. He wants you. And that scares the hell out of you.”

Y/N swallows hard, looking away. “You’re wrong.”

Seth smirks. “Then why are you still sitting here like you’re trying to solve the world’s hardest riddle?”

She says nothing.

And Seth? Seth just pats her shoulder before standing up, his voice lighter now as he walks away. “Think about it, princess.”

Later that night, Y/N finds herself wandering around aimlessly as she waits for Jey and Jimmy to finish their match. The backstage halls are quieter than usual, but Y/N barely notices. Her boots echo against the concrete floor as she walks aimlessly, lost in thought, Seth’s words playing over and over in her head.

"You don’t trust that someone like him—someone as powerful as he is—can want you without trying to own you."

"He wants you. And that scares the hell out of you."

Her jaw clenches as she swipes a hand down her face. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. Because if he’s right—

No. She won’t let herself finish that thought.

Y/N exhales sharply, trying to shake the feeling, but it clings to her like a second skin. Her body is restless, like an itch she can’t scratch, an answer she can’t find. She needs to move, to do something—anything to distract herself.

Then she hears it. Roman’s voice. She stops in her tracks.

It’s low, rough with something she can’t quite place, but there’s a weight to it that makes her breath catch in her throat. The door to his locker room is cracked open just enough to let the sound slip through, an unguarded moment not meant for anyone else to hear. She shouldn’t listen, but she does.

Inside, Roman runs a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down his beard as he exhales heavily. “I don’t know what else to do,” he mutters, voice strained.

Paul, standing beside him, folds his hands in front of him. “She’s stubborn.”

A short, humorless chuckle leaves Roman’s lips. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Paul tilts his head. “She fights you at every turn. That doesn’t surprise me. But what does concern me…” He hesitates.

Roman looks up at him, already knowing where this is going. “Go ahead, Wise Man. Say it.”

Paul sighs, carefully choosing his words. “I think you’re making this personal.”

Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “It is personal.”

Paul studies him for a moment. “More than it should be?”

Roman tenses. That’s the problem, isn’t it? It is more personal than it should be. At first, it was just about bringing her in, keeping her close, making sure she understood who she belonged to. It was about loyalty, about keeping her safe in the way he deemed necessary. But somewhere along the way—he stopped thinking about it as just a responsibility. Somewhere along the way—it became about her. Roman exhales sharply. “You don’t get it, Paul.”

Paul raises a brow. “Then help me understand.”

Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together as he stares at the floor. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve given her space. I’ve given her time. I’ve tried forcing her hand. None of it works.” He lifts his gaze, eyes dark with frustration. “She’s still fighting me.”

Paul hums thoughtfully. “She’s also scared.”

Roman’s eyes flicker. “Of me?”

Paul shakes his head. “No. Of what you mean to her.”

Roman stills and Paul steps forward slightly, his voice careful. “She’s never had someone like you before. Someone who watches over her. Someone who sees her.” He tilts his head. “And I don’t think she knows what to do with that.”

Silence stretches between them.

“I’m not trying to control her,” Roman says quietly. “I just…” He trails off, voice rough around the edges. His fingers tighten together. “I don’t want her to be alone in this.”

Paul watches him for a long moment. Then he exhales, nodding slowly. “You care for her.”

Roman’s jaw tightens. “She’s one of mine.”

Paul doesn’t look convinced. “It’s more than that. I can see it. She’s more than just numbers to you.”

Roman exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face again. He doesn’t answer. Because what is there to say?

Outside the door, Y/N can barely breathe. Her pulse pounds in her ears, her hands clenched at her sides as she tries to process what she just heard. She wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting him to be struggling just as much as she was. Because he is struggling. She hears it in his voice, the weight behind his words. She feels it. It isn’t just about dominance or control for him. It’s about her.

It’s about them.

The realization makes something shift inside her, something she can’t ignore any longer. Because if she’s been fighting this— So has he. If she’s been pushing him away— He’s been holding himself back. Her breath catches.

Seth was right.

The reason Roman gets under her skin isn’t because she hates him. It’s because she’s terrified of what it means to want him. To trust him. To let herself be his. And for the first time, she wonders… What if she stopped fighting? What if she acknowledged him?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Looking at herself in the mirror, Y/N couldn’t believe what she was doing. She shrugs on the familiar black and red colors, a small smirk on her face as she admires how she looks in the mirror. Roman has his own segment in the next few minutes and she intends to make it one he’ll never forget.

After everything that’s happened between them, she’s finally come to realize that fighting him is only a way of trying to deny how she really felt about Joe and what he meant to her. She was trying hard to fight his control because truthfully, she wouldn’t mind belonging to him.

Her eyes dance over the Bloodline jacket that fits her far too well, her fingers dancing over the fabric. She runs her fingers over the stitching, the weight of it heavier than she expected. He’s been waiting for her to wear it. To claim her place.

And for the first time— She thinks she might actually want to.

This time It’s not about defiance. It’s about choice. It’s about him. And this time… She’s finally ready to choose.

The arena is electric. The crowd is still buzzing from the match that just ended, the energy thick with excitement, with awe, with dominance. Roman Reigns stands in the center of the ring, championship slung over his shoulder, sweat glistening against his skin as he takes in the sea of fans, the deafening chants of his name.

Another victory. Another opponent put down.

Whoever stood across from him tonight had already become an afterthought. It didn’t matter who it was—Cody, Seth, AJ—because the result was always the same.

Roman Reigns. On top. As always.

He lifts the mic to his lips, smirking as he lets the audience’s reaction settle.

But then— The music hits. Her music. And Roman’s entire demeanor shifts.

The crowd erupts at the familiar sound, voices rising in a chaotic mixture of cheers and gasps. The camera pans back to the entrance, but Roman doesn’t turn. He doesn’t need to. His grip tightens around the mic, his fingers flexing, his jaw clenching. He already knows what this is. Another interruption. Another challenge. Another night where she tries to test him.

He exhales through his nose, fighting the instinct to roll his eyes. She’s been doing this for weeks now, throwing herself into his moments, standing against him with that fire in her eyes, acting like she has any kind of control in this game.

And tonight, she’s trying it again. At least—that’s what he thinks.

Then he sees her. And for the first time in a long time—Roman Reigns is shocked, the breath feeling like it’s been knocked out of his lungs. Because Y/N isn’t strutting out in her usual gear, not in the colors she’s worn every time she’s stepped onto this stage before.

No.

She’s wearing his colors. Black and red. The Bloodline colors. And not just that. The Bloodline jacket. His jacket. The one she’s refused to put on, the one she’s ignored, rejected—until now.

Roman’s body goes still, his expression unreadable, but inside, his pulse is pounding. She steps onto the stage slowly, deliberately, her smirk unmistakable as she scans the crowd, soaking in their reaction. She knows what she’s doing. The way she walks, the way her fingers play with the edges of the jacket, the way she makes a show of it. Roman’s eyes darken. She’s teasing him. Pushing him. But this time—it’s different. Because for the first time, she’s not pushing him away. She’s coming closer.

Y/N starts her slow descent down the ramp, taking her time, milking the moment. Roman doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off her, his championship hanging loosely from his grip. The closer she gets, the more the tension builds. By the time she reaches the steps, the anticipation in the air is thick. She climbs into the ring smoothly, sliding between the ropes with ease, and then—finally—she stands before him.

Roman stares down at her, his breath slow, controlled, his face still a mask of dominance. But inside, he feels the fight in his veins, the war between wanting to push her back or pull her in. Then she smiles. That smile. The one that tells him she knows what she’s doing to him. She lifts the mic, tilting her head slightly, her voice laced with amusement. "You like what you see, Chief?"

A muscle in Roman’s jaw ticks. The crowd erupts. A slow smirk plays on her lips as she takes another step forward, intentionally making him feel the heat of her presence, making sure he sees every inch of her in that jacket. She turns in a slow circle, dragging her fingers along the hem of the fabric, as if showing off. Roman’s fingers twitch. She stops in front of him again, the playful tilt of her head only fueling the tension stretching between them. "You look surprised," she muses, eyes flickering over his face, watching his every reaction.

Roman exhales sharply through his nose. “Should I be?”

She hums, trailing her fingers along the sleeve of the jacket now. “I don’t know, Tribal Chief. Should you be?”

Roman clenches his jaw. She’s testing him. Again. But it’s different this time. Because now, she’s his. Even if she doesn’t fully realize it yet. His voice is lower when he speaks, edged with something darker, something controlled. “Why are you wearing that?”

Y/N runs a hand down the front of the jacket, smoothing the fabric over her frame, and then—without warning—she reaches out, her fingers ghosting over his bicep. Roman’s muscles tighten instinctively beneath her touch. She doesn’t move away. "I just figured it was about time," she murmurs, her tone laced with something dangerously close to sweet.

Roman’s nostrils flare. “Figured what was about time?”

She smiles again—soft, slow, knowing. "For me to look this good in your colors."

Roman clenches his fists once again. The crowd is losing their minds, but Roman barely hears them over the sound of his own thoughts. Over the heat building in his chest, in his veins. She’s pushing him to the edge of his own restraint. And she knows it. He watches her, silent, his dark eyes burning into hers. “You think this is a game?”

Y/N bites her lip, amusement flickering in her gaze. “No. But I do think this is fun.”

Roman fights the urge to exhale too hard. Fights the urge to reach for her, to do something. He tilts his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping. “And you think wearing that makes you one of us now?”

She smirks. “Maybe.”

Roman watches her for another long second, studying her face, trying to find anything in her expression that might tell him what she’s really thinking.

And then she turns to the crowd. Her gaze sweeps over them before she lifts the microphone again. "I think it’s time to accept my rightful place at the table, no?"

The arena explodes. Roman feels something shift in the air—something real. She turns back to face him, standing tall. And then she lifts her hand, raising her finger in the air. The acknowledgment. The submission. The choice. Then, locking eyes with him, steady and unshaken. "I acknowledge you."

Roman doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. Because for weeks, for months, she has fought him. Denied him. And now— Now she’s standing in his ring, wearing his jacket, looking him in the eyes and giving in. By choice.

Roman clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling with every controlled breath, forcing himself to stay composed. Because every instinct in his body is screaming at him to grab her. To claim her. To remind her who she just gave herself to. But he doesn’t. Because he is the Tribal Chief. He is in control. He forces a slow, measured smirk to tug at his lips, his voice dropping to something only she can hear.

"Took you long enough."

The crowd erupts. Y/N just grins. And for the first time— She feels like she belongs.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Walking backstage, Y/N could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Roman has his hand placed gently on her lower back, no words being exchanged as he guides her back to his private office. Her nerves are on fire. She could see in his eyes how satisfied he was seeing her representing him and his family. She just hopes it sent the message she wanted it to.

She doesn’t want to just belong to the Bloodline. She wants to belong to him. Because for once in her life, she isn’t afraid to let someone help her. To give someone else a say in her life. As they walk, Y/N notices Colby staring at her from his spot against the wall with a knowing smirk on his face. She rolls her eyes at him, mouthing for him to “shut up” as they finally round the corner and walk into his office.

There’s a comfortable tension between the two of them as the door smoothly shuts. Y/N fiddles with the fabric of her new jacket, still trying to decipher what’s going on in Roman’s head. His expression hadn’t changed since they left the ring. He stays silent, walking past her to set his championship down on his chair. He’s deliberate, taking his time, making her squirm before he finally leans back on his desk to face her.

His arms are outstretched behind him as he leans comfortably on the wood. He can see the gears turning in her head and part of him wants to make her wait before saying anything. It would serve as a form of punishment for all the back talk she’s been giving him since he took her under his wing.

But seeing her there, rocking his colors better than he ever could, glancing around the room all nervous. It made his heart clench. He couldn’t let her sit there and think he was mad. “Well, you were right about one thing,” his voice comes out low and gruff, making Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. She wasn’t expecting him to be the one to break the silence, let alone say something like that.

“What?” Y/N asks. She almost cringes at how small her voice sounds in comparison to his. She normally matches his energy, his dominance, but right now her anxiety is too high. She doesn’t know if what she did was the right move.

Suddenly he’s standing from his spot, slowly walking over to her. Y/N can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he cups her chin the same way he did the other night, but this time it’s much more gentle, soft even. Her heart flutters at the way he’s looking down at her. Normally his eyes are filled with some sort of irritation whenever he looks at her, but now they’re just filled with what she can only call adoration, longing maybe. “Seeing you in these colors does do something to me,” he admits quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up into an almost smile.

Y/N feels a small weight lift off her chest. He likes it. She finds herself leaning into his touch, allowing her head to rest on his hand. “Does it now?” She says, her teasing edge returning to her voice.

She raises her hand up to his arms, her fingers lightly facing the tribal tattoo that covers it. Joe sucks in a breath, fighting off the chills that threaten to explode over his skin. He loves how her touch feels. It’s almost like sliding into a freshly warmed hoodie on a cold day. “You look beautiful.”

Every brick Y/N had put in place to keep herself guarded crumbles. Any ounce of professionalism she had left disappeared at that moment. The way he said that was different than anything he had ever said to her before. He said it like it was the only truth he had ever known. Nobody has ever looked at her the way Joe is right now. There’s that same small voice that’s haunted her, telling her to run away, that he doesn’t mean it. But when she sees the unwavering expression on his face, it silences any doubts she could have. She tilts her head, “You really think so?”

“I’ve always thought so,” he confirms. “Just fought really hard to not admit it… but I don’t think I want to fight it anymore.”

Y/N chuckles softly, “I actually kinda like it,” she says, messing with the jacket once more. “I don’t know why it took me so long to just put it on. It’s pretty cute.”

Roman shakes his head, his smile growing, “Cause you’re a stubborn ass who does the exact opposite of what she’s told.”

Y/N slaps his chest with a playful glare, “Well, maybe if you weren’t so bossy I wouldn’t feel the need to defy you all the time.”

“Nah, you just did it ‘cause you like pissin’ me off,” he says, his hands finding their way to her hips. He squeezes the soft flesh there, finally feeling like the world isn’t going to crash down around him by admitting how he feels.

“You liked it too,” she counters with a grin. “But I came around eventually didn’t I?” She raises her eyebrows.

Roman studies her for a moment, his dark eyes flickering over her face as if trying to commit every little detail to memory. The teasing, the playfulness—it’s always been their dynamic. But tonight, there’s something different. Something heavier in the air between them. He feels it in the way she’s looking up at him, waiting, holding her breath like she’s expecting him to finally say what’s been left unspoken for so long.His hands tighten slightly on her hips, grounding himself in the reality that she’s here, in his colors, letting him hold her like this. Letting him see the parts of her she doesn’t just give to anyone.

“You did come around,” he repeats, his voice softer now. “Took your sweet ass time, though.”

Y/N tilts her head, lips twitching. “Yeah, well, I had to be sure it was worth it.”

Roman smirks, cocking a brow. “And?”

Her fingers trace lazy patterns over his chest, her touch barely there, but enough to make his skin burn. “I think it is.”

A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest. “Damn right, it is.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. She shifts a little closer, her hands sliding up his biceps, fingers pressing against the firm muscle beneath them. “You know, I think it’s funny” she muses, “even the Wise Man picked up on it.”

Roman quirks a brow. “Picked up on what?”

She gives him a knowing look. “How different you are with me. How I mean more to you than just numbers.”

His expression doesn’t change, but she feels his fingers twitch slightly against her hips. He knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“Oh,” he drawls, smirking. “So you were spying on me?”

Y/N giggles, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe...”

Before she can say anything else, he moves. Swift and effortless, like it takes no effort at all to lift her up. A surprised squeal leaves her lips as he hoists her into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Joe!” she exclaims, laughing breathlessly as her arms loop around his neck.

He just chuckles, the sound deep and rich in her ear. “You know, you got a real bad habit of eavesdropping.”

Y/N grins. “It’s not eavesdropping if you’re talking about me.”

Roman shakes his head, his smirk never faltering. His hands slide along her thighs, securing her against him as he presses her back against the nearest wall. His gaze drops to her lips, his grip tightening just a little.

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

Y/N hums in amusement, her fingers threading into his hair. “I do.”

Then, finally, after what feels like forever, he kisses her. It’s not hesitant or uncertain. It’s not careful or slow. It’s deep, firm, and claiming—like he’s been holding back for too damn long and he’s finally allowing himself to take what he’s wanted. Y/N melts into him instantly, her body molding against his as her hands tug at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groans into her mouth, one hand sliding up her back, pressing her tighter against him as he deepens the kiss. She tastes like victory, like home, like every damn thing he’s been too stubborn to admit he needed.

When they finally break apart, Y/N’s eyes are bright with mischief, her lips swollen from his kiss. “Took you long enough,” she teases, mocking his words from the ring.

Roman lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head before his hand drops to her ass, delivering a playful smack.

Y/N gasps, eyes widening slightly before a delighted giggle escapes her.

“Gonna have to teach you some manners,” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise.

Y/N bites her lip, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Oh yeah? Think you’re up for that?”

Roman grins. “Oh, I know I am.”

Seth held the hotel room door open, letting you stomp past him in your pink heels, the sparkling, translucent wings on your back slapping him in the face as you crossed the threshold.

“Man, you are asking for it tonight,” Seth snapped, following you inside and allowing the door to close on its own.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” you shouted, stamping your foot, which hurt more than you let on, and you folded your arms across your chest.

Seth mirrored the gesture, his biceps on full display just beneath the sleeves of his blue scrub top that matched the blue scrub pants. “Yes, you did,” he spoke deliberately, brows rising and falling. “Tell me you did, and I can make this a lot easier on you.”

Pursing your lips, you smoothed your barely-there pink, mini-dress, straightened the tiny crown on your head, and squared your shoulders. “I didn’t do—”

“Alright, get on your knees,” Seth interrupted dismissively, shaking his head. “I’m fucking done with your shit.”

You hesitated. Not that you were scared—quite the opposite—but you actually wanted to fight about what happened, not just sweep it under the rug of fucking.

“I swear to god,” Seth chuckled, strolling toward you, midnight eyes drinking you in from heels to crown, “if I have to tell you again, you’re gonna need help walking out of here tomorrow.”

You gulped. He loved to spank you until your ass was raw, hot, and sensitive. Until you sobbed, begging him to stop, apologizing for whatever offense you’d committed. He hadn’t punished you so hard as to need assistance walking, but you wouldn’t dare put it past him. And if he ever went too far, there was always a safe word in place.

“Do you want me to—?”

“Just get on your knees.”

Take my costume off, is what you were going to say, but at Seth’s clipped, angry tone, you descended carefully to your knees, minding the high, thin heels on your feet, the tightness of your costume making it that much more difficult.

“Cute little tooth fairy,” Seth remarked, his smile deliberate, wicked, as he slowly approached you. “We were gonna have fun tonight. But you had to pull that shit—” You opened your mouth, clamping it shut at the rounding of Seth’s gorgeous chocolate eyes. “Now tell me you did it on purpose. Then tell me why.”

Your jaw worked, eyes hooded as you stared up at your boyfriend. After inhaling deeply through your nose, you replied confidently, “Fine, I did it on purpose.”

Seth nodded, unfolding his arms, sliding a thumb down his abdomen to hook and tug the waistband of his scrub pants. You could see a line of brown hair trailing from his belly button and disappearing into the pants. The material of the scrubs was thin, making the outline of Seth’s thickening cock that much more defined, and you unknowingly passed your tongue across your lips.

“Why?” Seth urged.

Your hands itched to touch him, to massage the palm of your hand over his growing bulge, but you were already in trouble, and you absolutely believed he would make it difficult for you to walk the following morning. You clasped your hands in your lap, though your indignation couldn’t be completely quelled.

“Because you were ignoring me,” you confessed, brows arched.

Seth tilted his head. “I was ignoring you?”

“Yeah!” you retorted, Seth’s own eyebrows climbing into his hairline. “You spent all night talking about fucking football! Are you kidding me? I didn’t squeeze my ass into a slutty fairy dress to not have my boyfriend feeling me up all night!”

Your boyfriend’s nostrils flared, the restraint in his eyes quickly fading. “And?” he prompted with clenched teeth, rough, experienced fingers sliding under your jaw, squeezing just enough to make your heart quicken.

Your fingers tightened around themselves, thighs trembling, knees beginning to protest from their position on the hard-carpet floor. “And,” you mocked, Seth’s grip much stronger on your jaw now, “I saw someone who was looking … so I talked to him.”

“Him?”

You steeled yourself. “Punk.”

Your eyes stayed locked with Seth’s, but you still saw him reach inside the scrub pants and pull out his long, curved cock. You swore you actually felt your pupils dilate just as you watched Seth’s do the same.

“You piss me off so fucking bad,” Seth murmured, stroking his dick.

You glanced down, watching his big hand and lithe fingers work his impressive manhood, the branching veins and leaking head making your mouth water. Your gaze returned to your boyfriend’s. “Clearly.”

Seth slapped his solid dick against your cheek, wiping the precum from the tip along your hot skin, and you winced, his other hand still gripping your jaw. “I’m gonna fuck the attitude right out of your pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he benevolently explained, your pussy juices already beginning to soak through your panties. “So do you wanna make it easier on yourself and apologize first?” He tilted his head, eyes drifting to your parted lips. “Or am I gonna have to fuck that out of you, too?”

“You should be the one apo—”

As soon as your jaw dropped, Seth shoved a thumb inside to pull your cheek to the side just before launching his cock passed your lips—his flavor coating your tongue—directly into the back of your throat, instantly finding resistance. You gagged, body convulsing, tears prickling your eyes.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Seth chuckled, removing his thumb, both hands on the sides of your head. “Thought you grew out of this shit. Makin’ me jealous.”

You smiled despite your mouth being full, despite the drool seeping from the corners and trickling down your chin. Grown out of it. You hadn’t grown out of shit—you just wanted him to think that, so that when you did act out …

Seth suddenly bypassed the tight ring in the back of your throat, his cock sliding into place in your neck like you were the lock and he was the key. Your nose mashed into the trimmed hair at the base of his dick, hands on his muscular thighs, though you didn’t try to push him away. He held you there for as long as he knew you could take, yanking himself out, his cock soaked in your spit.

“Jerk me off,” he ordered, hands falling to his sides, and you grabbed his shaft with both hands—because it fucking took both of your small hands to cover the area of your boyfriend’s impressive dick. You twisted your grips in opposite directions, moving back and forth at the same time, and Seth was pissed, but he couldn’t fight the proud smile. “You ready to apologize?”

You considered for about two seconds before shaking your head, slowing your hands. “Nope,” you replied. “I didn’t do anything wro—” He swatted your hands away, grabbed his cock, and stuffed it back into your mouth, rougher this time. You could feel the anger and the jealousy rolling off him in waves, and it only succeeded in turning you on even more.

“See,” Seth bristled, one hand cradling your head, holding the tiny crown in my place, the other on the side of your face. “That’s where we disagree, baby doll.”

He fucked your mouth this time at a quickening pace, your jaw aching, mouth drooling not only onto your chest and dress, but your thighs as well, some of it even landing on the carpet. He commanded your attention, your respect, your reverence through your locked gazes.

“You could’ve talked to anyone,” Seth growled, using your mouth as he pleased, holding your head at the perfect angle for maximum insertion into your throat. “And you picked him.” Your glistening eyes narrowed, but a bout of gagging interrupted your attempt to be cavalier, Seth somehow smiling and snarling at the same time, your eyes refusing to leave his. You wished he’d take that stupid scrub top off, show off his flexing abs like he loved to do, but he was too concentrated on teaching you a lesson. Not that you could see much anyway through your overflowing, watery eyes.

When Seth removed himself, you sputtered, “Because it would piss you off!”

“Fucking knew it,” Seth mumbled, stroking his cock against your forehead, his fingers grazing your cheek and nose. “Just so fucking desperate for Daddy’s attention.”

Your eyes rolled back, hands clutching his massive thighs, tongue snaking out to lick at his dick, his fingers. “I just don’t like sharing you—” Seth licked his lips. “—with anyone.”

“Now say you’re sorry,” Seth breathed, his hand a blur on his dick still poised above your face.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you obeyed, leaning forward to slurp one of his balls into your mouth. You weren’t sure how much more you could take without touching yourself—a standing rule during punishment.

“Fuck,” Seth groaned, pulling your head back by your hair just in time to shoot his cum on your forehead, nose, cheek, chin, across your lips. As you licked at what you could around your mouth, Seth knelt in front of you. “Daddy’s sorry, too,” he said, index finger dragging the puddles of cum into your mouth where you sucked it clean. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “But don’t ever disrespect me like that again.”

In response to the crowd’s chanting “We Want Cody” as part of the viral campaign to secure him the spot he earned in the main event of that year’s WrestleMania, Cody said those words after winning a Texas Bull Rope match against Shinsuke Nakamura, blood still on his face as he addressed the crowd.

“Well, all I can say is this, since I was a little boy who grew up loving everything- for you to want me is special because I have always wanted you.”

His voice cracked as he said those words, clearly feeling something real and vulnerable in that moment and I have a feeling it might have been just as personal for the man behind the character as well. So let's talk about it. Let’s talk about why those words were so impactful for me and other Cody fans, people who’ve followed his career from the start, people who gave him a chance along the way; let’s talk about how he got here.

Nearly twenty years ago, Cody debuted on Monday Night RAW as the plucky son of a Legend at the young age of twenty-two, dead set on defending his father from the Legend Killer, which he wasn’t able to do and after just a few weeks, his father’s in-ring career was over. It was the kind of debut any young wrestler would dream of, the problem was Cody was a smaller guy for that time, he was cute, he appealed more to that teenage girl demographic that’s always been seen as a joke than he did to any die hard “serious” fans even if they were fans of his father. Unfortunately, he wasn’t someone anyone was going to take seriously as a threat.

He wasn’t big or jacked enough for the fans of Batista or Triple H, he wasn’t cool enough for the fans of Randy Orton or CM Punk, he wasn’t marketed to kids enough to be like a John Cena or Jey Uso now, which given how popular he is with that demographic now just proves how well he could have done with the right push even then, he was always just Cody Rhodes. A solid midcard guy doing solid work and putting in his time hoping to catch that big break. 

He got a decent push when he joined Legacy with Randy Orton and Ted Dibiase Jr., two other men from wrestling families, but he was always the fall guy, he was always the one taking the pins, he was the pretty one. Full offence, but they wanted to push Ted “Yes Girl, Give Us Nothing!” DiBiase Jr over him. Why? Because he was an inch or two taller and more traditionally masculine? He didn’t have a more “appealing” body, he was nowhere near Cody’s level of charisma and character work, it’s just an example of how little value WWE saw in Cody as a main event star from the beginning. 

After that group imploded and they all went their separate ways, Randy came out of it as the face, the one getting all the cheers, despite the abuse he put Cody and Ted through. Ted drifted around RAW and Cody was sent to SmackDown to do “grooming tips” videos as Dashing Cody Rhodes. It was more of a push than he’d ever got as a solo wrestler up until then, he was getting solid screen time but he was still a heel, he was still not a genuine contender for a World Title, he still wasn’t taken seriously, he still didn’t have the crowd behind him. By now it had been over three years of near constant boos, he didn’t even get his first t-shirt until that year. 

Instead he was doing tutorials on how to shave your body, or put on lip gloss, or even how to apply deodorant, and he was giving it his all. He was doing the best work he’d ever done, he was killing it as the guy coming out and roasting the crowds, but that doesn’t exactly get you fan support, especially if you’re pretty, and especially in 2010 when “metrosexual” was still a joke.

So he kept working, he went on to do incredible character work the next year as Undashing Cody Rhodes, a broken man convinced he was a hideous monster. That was the year he won his first solo WWE title. Winning the Intercontinental Championship is seen as a stepping stone to a world title, it’s seen as something you get when you’re heading for the top, only Cody never got there. Even after winning it a second time, Cody never reached any further than that.

It wasn’t until 2013 when, and only for a brief moment, he really had the crowd behind him for the first time, he had a taste of what that felt like- but all that came crashing down the following year when Stardust debuted.

Now don’t get me wrong, I adore Stardust, I think it was some of Cody’s best work, he put everything into that character, but Stardust was never going to be more than a novelty act to sell gloves and masks to kids. Professionally, he was at the lowest point in his career, after nearly ten years of struggling to gain a foothold, nearly a decade of working hard and giving it everything, this was it. This is where he was at and this was where he was going to stay.

Laying on his back, looking up at the lights night after night as rotating members of the roster pinned him. 

No closer to a world title, no closer to main eventing, no closer to hearing an arena full of people chant his name like every little kid who grew up wanting to be a Wrestler dreamed of than he ever was. Stardust is still the butt of jokes online, people who want to disparage him in comment sections will still call him “Stardust” as if it’s an insult, as if the work he put into those three years of hell isn’t impressive and admirable.

So he left. 

So he walked away from his dream, he walked away from the chance of ever holding a world title in WWE. He gave it his all and because he was too small, or too pretty, or too childish, or too feminine, or too much of a joke to ever be taken seriously by the large majority of fans as a Star, he left to prove to the world that they were wrong about him. 

And he did. 

People loved him. People cheered for him as a face, they booed him as a heel, they got on their feet for him, they showed up for him because he had so much more to offer as a wrestler than WWE ever allowed him to show. He sold out shows, he became a star. For the first time in his career he was a main eventer, he was holding the top titles, not because they were handed to him because of his name or his history at WWE but because he put in the work and earned them.

So coming back to this company who didn’t see any real value in him for nearly a decade and finally, finally getting the crowd support that he’s always wanted, that any wrestler wants, but was always just out of his grasp, at a time when he was at risk of losing his shot at that title again and being pushed out of the spot he’d worked nearly twenty years for, it was special. It was beautiful, it was personal, it was the culmination of a decades long struggle to be taken seriously as the Main Event Star he was born to be.

“I have always wanted you.”

Cody works his ass off for that company, for all of us as fans, and whether you like him or not, he’s an incredible performer. If you’ve ever felt something watching him work, whether that’s joy or hatred, he’s making an impact. Every time he gets in that ring or on that mic he’s still coming out to prove to an audience who for years, never took him seriously or really seemed to care about him at all, that he’s earned our support, that he’s worthy of our support, and I think he’s more than proven that.

Every time he looks surprised that people are cheering for him or chanting his name, even still after the incredible run he’s been on the last few years, I think about that young guy who was undervalued and treated like a joke, I think about that guy in smeared face paint looking up at the lights who could only dream having a moment like this, and I am so proud of him for getting here. 

Cody always talks about how he doesn’t expect it to last as if he can’t believe it himself how much the WWE audience has embraced him, not because he didn’t earn it but because he was never given the opportunity to show he was worthy of it. He was never given that star-making push that some people get, whether it works out or not, but I think Cody’s proven that all he needed was someone to believe in him and give him a chance, even if it had to be himself. 

the roar of the crowd rattled through your chest, a living heartbeat that seemed to pulse through the walls. you stood just behind the curtain, the familiar wash of adrenaline coursing through you even though you weren’t the one about to step out there. you never got used to this part, the waiting, the watching.

seth was already bouncing on his toes, rolling his shoulders loose, the faintest sheen of sweat shining on his temples. he always looked like he was born for this moment: the lights waiting, the music ready, the entire arena chanting his name. but you saw what no one else did. the way his hand lingered too long on the brace strapped around his knee. the brief flicker in his eyes when his weight shifted just slightly wrong. the ghost of a limp that he thought he hid well enough.

"last one before mania" he muttered, almost to himself, almost to you.

you forced a smile. "you’ve got this. like always."

he flashed you a grin, the one meant to reassure you, the one he’d perfected over the years, and then his theme music hit. the crowd erupted, and he was gone, swallowed into the light and smoke.

you turned toward the monitor, heart hammering. you’d watched him wrestle a hundred times before, maybe more. you knew every rhythm, every tell, every swaggering flourish he threw to the crowd. tonight, though, something was off. you saw it the moment he slid into the ring. the shift of his stance wasn’t clean. He favored the left leg.

the match was a blur of motion and noise. every stomp, every knee strike, every whip into the ropes made your stomach tighten. he was still seth rollins, the charisma, the fire, the stubborn defiance, but you could see the cracks spiderwebbing beneath the surface. the moment he climbed the ropes, you gripped the edge of the monitor stand so hard your knuckles ached. his landing drew a roar from the audience, but you saw the grimace he hid in a snarl. his hand brushed his knee.

your breath caught. he pushed through. of course he did. he always pushed through.

by the final stretch, sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, his chest heaving with exertion. the crowd screamed his name as he delivered the finishing move, covered his opponent, and took the three-count. victory. another notch in his belt. to everyone out there, it was just another seth rollins triumph.

but as the ref raised his arm, his leg buckled almost imperceptibly. you saw it. you felt it. and when he limped out of the ring, jaw tight, smile plastered in place for the cameras, your heart sank.

the curtain swallowed him again, the crowd’s noise muffled to a distant thunder. then came the sound you dreaded most, a sharp, bitten-off hiss of pain, the stumble of boots dragging against concrete.

you were already moving toward him.

by the time you reached him, seth was hunched against the wall, one hand braced on the concrete as if it might stop the world from tilting. his other arm clutched his knee, his face twisted in a grimace that he tried to bury the moment your eyes met his.

"i’m fine" he rasped, as if saying it would make it true.

"fine?" you slipped under his arm before he could argue, taking as much of his weight as you could. "you can barely stand."

trainers swarmed in an instant, voices overlapping, hands steadying him on both sides as they hurried him down the hall. you stayed pressed close, refusing to let go even when they urged you to give them space.

the trainer’s room smelled of antiseptic and sweat, too bright under the fluorescent lights. seth sat on the table while the doctor cut away the tape and peeled back the brace. his jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if sheer willpower might keep him from reacting. but when the doctor pressed along the joint, a sharp hiss escaped him anyway.

"stability’s gone" the doctor muttered, shaking his head. "ligaments aren’t holding like they used to."

seth shifted up on his elbows. "so what are we talking? a few weeks? couple months?"

the doctor’s gaze softened in that way that never meant anything good. "seth you’ve had multiple tears, multiple repairs. the cartilage is wearing down. if you push it any further, you won’t just be risking your career. you’ll be risking your ability to walk without pain ten years from now."

the room went quiet. you heard the steady hum of the air vent, the distant roar of the crowd outside still cheering for a man who didn’t know his career had just been declared over.

seth gave a short, incredulous laugh, though his eyes were wet. "you’re saying i’m done?"

the doctor didn’t answer right away, and that was answer enough.

you pressed your hand to seth’s, fingers curling tight around his. he didn’t squeeze back. his stare was glassy, fixed on a point beyond the wall, as though maybe if he refused to look at you, refused to look at anyone, it wouldn’t be true.

when the trainers left, silence settled heavy and suffocating. seth sat with his hands folded in his lap, the ice pack strapped to his knee like an accusation.

he finally spoke, voice low and raw. "that’s it? after everything? i don’t even get to decide?"

you slid onto the table beside him, your thigh brushing his. he didn’t look at you, not yet, but he didn’t move away either.

your hand found the back of his neck, damp strands of hair curling against your palm. you didn’t tell him it would be okay, because you both knew it wouldn’t feel that way tonight. instead, you said the only thing that mattered.

"i’m here. whatever happens next, i’m here."

for a moment his composure cracked. his lips parted like he wanted to say something, scream, rage, beg, but all that came was a shuddering breath. he leaned forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder, his body heavy against yours.

and as the crowd outside cheered for a victory that suddenly meant nothing, you held him in the trainer’s room, knowing this night would mark the end of everything he’d built.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

by the time you left the arena, the crowd had already thinned, the last chants of his name echoing faintly in the distance. the night air hit sharp and cool, heavy with the smell of asphalt and rain. storm clouds had rolled in without warning, and now the sky opened above you, water pouring in sheets that plastered your hair to your face and soaked through your clothes within seconds.

seth limped beside you, hood pulled low, his arm draped over your shoulders for support. he hadn’t spoken much since the trainer’s room. not when you gathered his bag, not when you guided him through the labyrinth of hallways, not when security cleared the path to the lot. he was quiet in a way that frightened you, not angry, not even bitter. just hollow.

you tightened your arm around his waist. "car’s not far. just a little further."

he nodded, but his steps slowed, his boots scuffing against the wet pavement. at first you thought the pain had caught up to him again, but when you looked up, his expression was distant. the rain slicked down his cheeks, beading in his beard, darkening the strands of his hair until it clung to his face.

he stopped just short of the car, his weight sagging more heavily into you. his voice came quiet, almost lost beneath the storm.

"guess this is it."

the words lodged in your chest. you swallowed hard, searching for something to say, but nothing came. no speech could soften the blow of what he’d lost tonight. so you did the only thing you could. You shifted in front of him, pressed both palms to his chest, and leaned into the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

his eyes finally met yours, wide and raw in a way that stripped away the bravado, the character, the performer. for a moment, he wasn’t seth rollins, the superstar. he was just a man in the rain, broken in places no spotlight could ever heal.

you slid your arms around him carefully, mindful of his knee, and held him close. his chest shuddered against yours, the breath leaving him like he’d been holding it for far too long. slowly, he bent his head until his forehead touched yours, his nose brushing damp strands of your hair.

neither of you spoke. the storm raged on, thunder rolling low in the distance, rain soaking through to your skin. but in that silence, wrapped in his arms, you let him lean on you, let him unravel just a little.

he didn’t need promises tonight. He didn’t need answers. all he needed was this, you, steady at his side, refusing to let him face the end alone.

and so you held him, in the rain, at the end of the road.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the house was too quiet.

you hadn’t realized how much of your life had been built on noise until it was gone, the constant travel, the echo of arenas through the tv speakers, the rush of fans outside hotels. now there was just silence, broken only by the low hum of the television in the living room.

seth sat on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees, eyes glued to the screen. the replay of one of his old matches flickered in the dark room, the glow carving sharp lines into his face. he’d been watching for hours, flipping from one bout to the next, muttering under his breath at mistakes only he could see.

"footwork’s sloppy" he grumbled. "look at that, should’ve pivoted earlier."

you leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching him watch himself. his knee was propped on a cushion, the brace resting nearby on the coffee table, forgotten for the moment. his hair hung loose, damp from the shower, but his expression was anything but calm. his eyes tracked every movement on screen with a restless intensity, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

"maybe you should turn it off" you suggested gently.

he barely glanced at you. "i need to see what went wrong."

"seth" you crossed the room, lowering yourself onto the couch beside him. the commentary on the tv blared, but it felt far away compared to the strain in his voice. "you didn’t do anything wrong. your body just"

"i said I need to see it." his tone snapped sharp, louder than he meant, and the sound of it stung in the quiet room.

the silence that followed was heavier than before. he blinked, realization softening the hard lines of his face. his hand reached for you almost immediately, brushing over yours where it rested on your lap.

"sorry" he murmured, voice low, rough. "i didn’t mean"

you squeezed his fingers gently, cutting off the apology before it could spiral. his hand trembled faintly in yours, the tension still thrumming under his skin.

on the screen, the match ended. the crowd erupted into cheers, chanting his name. seth’s gaze stayed locked there, like he couldn’t look away from the ghost of who he used to be. His voice cracked when he finally spoke again.

"that used to be me."

you turned his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "it still is."

for the first time that night, he tore his eyes away from the screen to look at you. the anger was gone, but in its place sat something heavier, grief, raw and unfiltered. and in that moment, you realized that for all the matches he’d fought, this was the battle he didn’t know how to win.

so you leaned into him, resting your shoulder against his, and let your presence speak louder than any words could.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the knock at the door came mid afternoon, just as seth was restlessly shifting through channels with nothing holding his attention. He barely looked up, muttering, "probably a delivery."

you crossed the living room to answer it, but when you pulled the door open, a familiar grin greeted you.

"hey" bron breakker said, all broad shoulders and boyish charm, his duffel bag slung casually over one arm. "hope i'm not intruding."

before you could answer, seth’s voice carried from the couch. "bron?"

bron stepped inside, his energy filling the room like sunlight. He looked every bit the rising star he was: fresh off tv, his hair damp from a workout, his movements radiating that effortless confidence of someone who hadn’t yet tasted true defeat.

"wanted to check on you" bron said, setting his bag down. "heard what happened. figured i owed you a visit."

seth pushed himself up straighter, forcing a grin that didn’t quite mask the tension in his jaw. "you didn’t have to do that."

"of course i did" bron said easily, dropping onto the armchair across from him. "wouldn’t be where i am if you hadn’t taken the time to push me back at the pc. all those extra drills, all that advice, i wouldn’t be half the wrestler i am without it."

you saw the flicker in seth’s eyes, pride, yes, but also something heavier. he leaned back, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. "you did the work. i just yelled at you a lot."

bron laughed, the sound bright, genuine. "you did more than that, and you know it." he leaned forward, animated, his hands gesturing as he launched into a story about his latest match, the roar of the crowd, the rush of hitting his finisher, the sheer thrill of standing in the spotlight at the top of his game. his voice brimmed with excitement, the kind of high that used to course through seth’s veins.

and seth smiled, nodded at the right moments, even threw in a teasing jab or two. but from your spot on the couch beside him, you saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his hand tightened around the edge of the cushion every time bron described a victory, a crowd reaction, the future wide open in front of him.

when bron finally stood to leave, he clapped seth on the shoulder. "you’re the reason i’m here. don’t forget that. and hey, once you’re ready, come by a show. i’d be proud to have you in the crowd."

seth’s smile was thin, but steady. "yeah. maybe."

after the door closed and bron’s footsteps faded down the walkway, silence settled back over the house. seth stayed frozen on the couch, staring at the blank tv screen.

"he meant well" you said softly.

"i know" seth replied. his voice was flat, his eyes distant. "that’s what makes it worse."

he rose abruptly, the limp in his step pronounced as he moved toward the kitchen. you stayed where you were, the echo of bron’s laughter still lingering in the air, and the hollow weight of seth’s grief pressing down heavier than ever.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the weeks crawled by, each one blurring into the next. seth moved like a man caught between rooms, never quite settling anywhere. some days he buried himself in the gym, training upper body until his muscles trembled. others he drifted through the house like a ghost, half-watching old matches, half-listening to the commentary he used to own.

you tried to give him space, tried to be gentle, but the weight of his restlessness seeped into everything, the silence over breakfast, the way he stared too long out the window, the tightness in his smile when fans online tagged him in bron’s latest highlight reel.

that evening, you found him in the living room again, slouched on the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. the glow of the screen painted his face as he scrolled through clips of a pay per view. the sound of the crowd poured from the speakers, deafening even at low volume.

"you’re watching again?" you asked softly, leaning against the doorway.

he didn’t look up. "just keeping up."

you crossed the room, careful, like stepping into a storm. "keeping up, or torturing yourself?"

his jaw flexed. he slammed the laptop shut harder than necessary. "don’t start."

"i'm not starting" you said, sitting down across from him. "i'm worried. you’re hurting yourself every time you watch this stuff, seth. you can’t heal if you keep living in the ring."

"i am the ring" he snapped, the words spilling out sharp and bitter. "without it, i’m nothing."

the air went still, the weight of his words hanging between you. your heart clenched, but you forced your voice steady. "that’s not true. you’re still you, with or without"

"don’t." his eyes blazed as he stood, pacing despite the limp. "don’t give me the whole ‘you’re more than wrestling’ speech again. you don’t get it. you’ve never had everything you are ripped away in one night."

you rose slowly, the hurt creeping past your ribs. "i get it more than you think. because i’ve watched you disappear since that night. you’re here, but you’re not here. and it feels like i'm losing you, seth, and i don’t know how to bring you back."

he froze, back to you, his shoulders tense. for a moment you thought he might soften, that he might turn around and finally let you in. Instead, his voice dropped low and cold.

"maybe you can’t. maybe you’re just here because you pity me."

the words sliced through you clean and merciless. you stared at him, the sting settling in your chest, and realized there was nothing you could say in this moment that wouldn’t make it worse.

so you grabbed your jacket from the chair and headed for the door. "i’ll give you space."

he didn’t stop you. didn’t turn. just stood there, breathing hard in the silence you left behind.

outside, the night was cool and quiet. and for the first time, you wondered if loving him through this storm would be enough or if he would let you love him at all.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you went about your morning routine quietly, making coffee, scrolling through your phone, trying not to notice the empty space on the other side of the bed when you woke. seth hadn’t slept beside you. You found him slumped on the couch instead, the tv still glowing faintly from the night before.

he didn’t say much as the hours dragged on. just grunts, half-nods, the occasional shuffle from room to room. you gave him the space you promised, even though it ached, each step of distance between you felt like another splinter driven into your chest.

it wasn’t until late evening, after the sky had darkened and the house had fallen quiet, that he finally came to find you. you were curled up in the bedroom, book forgotten in your lap, when you heard the hesitant knock on the doorframe.

"hey" he said softly, his voice rough from disuse.

you looked up. he lingered there, hair mussed, dark circles under his eyes, his posture sagging under the weight of something heavier than just a bad knee.

"can i?" he gestured toward the bed.

you nodded, moving your book aside. he crossed the room slowly, lowering himself onto the mattress with a stiffness that had nothing to do with his injury. for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then, quietly, he said, "i’m sorry."

you exhaled, the tension in your chest loosening, though the hurt lingered. "for last night?"

"for all of it." he rubbed a hand over his face, sighing hard. "for snapping at you. for acting like you don’t understand. for making you feel like you’re here out of pity." his voice cracked on the word. "god, that was the last thing i wanted to say to you."

your throat tightened. "then why did you?"

he dropped his hand, finally meeting your eyes. and in them, you saw not anger but fear, raw, bone-deep fear.

"because i don’t know who i am anymore" he admitted, the words tumbling out like they’d been locked in his chest too long. "every day i wake up, and i’m not in the gym, not on the road, not in the ring. i feel empty. and i’m terrified that if i don’t have wrestling, i don’t have anything. that i’m nobody without it."

your heart ached, but you reached for him, curling your fingers over his hand where it rested on the sheets. "you’re not nobody, seth. you’re the man i fell in love with. the man who pushes himself, who believes in people even when they don’t believe in themselves. you’re still that man. with or without wrestling."

his jaw trembled. He turned his hand, threading his fingers through yours, gripping tight like he was anchoring himself to you. "what if i can’t believe that? what if i don’t know how?"

you squeezed his hand back, steady, sure. "then i’ll believe it enough for both of us. until you’re ready to see it again."

that broke something in him. his eyes brimmed, his breath shuddering as he bowed his head into your shoulder. you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as he shook, as all the grief and fear and self-loathing spilled out in the quiet of your room.

for the first time in weeks, he let himself unravel completely. and for the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start to put him back together again.

the storm between you had broken, leaving only the quiet in its wake. seth still clung to you on the bed, his breath ragged against your shoulder, his body heavy with exhaustion after letting go of so much weight he’d been carrying.

you smoothed your fingers through his hair, feeling the damp strands cling to your skin. "you’re not lost to me" you whispered. "not ever."

he lifted his head slowly, his eyes red-rimmed but soft in a way you hadn’t seen for weeks. "i don’t deserve you."

"stop" you said gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. "you deserve to feel loved. you deserve to feel wanted."

his gaze flickered, uncertain, as though he couldn’t quite believe you. so you took his hand, lacing your fingers together, and tugged him toward the bathroom. He followed without protest, too tired to argue, too raw to hide.

the shower filled with steam, the hiss of water rising as you helped him step inside. he leaned against the tiled wall, his movements careful, still favoring his knee. you joined him, your body pressing close to his beneath the cascade of warmth.

for a moment he stood still, his eyes closed, as though letting the water wash away what the past few weeks had carved into him. you slid your arms around his torso, cheek resting against his wet chest.

"you’re still mine" you murmured against his skin. "not seth rollins. not the man in the spotlight. just you. and that’s all i’ve ever needed."

his arms came around you then, pulling you tight, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. his breath trembled as though your words had cracked something open inside him again, but this time, it wasn’t grief. it was relief.

you tilted your head back, kissed the hollow of his throat, whispered softer truths against his ear. "you’re enough. you’re loved. you’re not alone.”

he shuddered, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d slip away. "god" he whispered hoarsely, “how did i get this lucky?"

you smiled faintly, lifting his face so his eyes met yours through the haze of steam. "because you let me love you. that’s all."

and in that moment, with your bodies pressed together, the water cascading around you, seth finally believed, even if just for tonight, that maybe his life wasn’t ending. maybe it was only changing.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

later that night, the two of you curled up in bed, the sheets warm and the room quiet save for the faint patter of rain against the windows. Seth lay on his side, facing you, his damp hair falling across his forehead in soft waves. his eyes were heavy-lidded, calmer now, though shadows still lingered behind them.

you traced your finger along his jaw, slow and unhurried, just to feel the steady rhythm of his breath. he caught your hand halfway and pressed a kiss to your palm, his lips lingering like he didn’t want to let go.

"feels like the first time i’ve breathed in weeks" he murmured.

"feels like the first time i’ve breathed in weeks"

you smiled faintly, brushing his cheek. "that’s the point. you don’t always have to fight to survive, seth. sometimes you just let yourself be."

he exhaled, closing his eyes for a beat, before opening them again to study you. "and if i don’t know how to ‘be’ without the ring?"

you hesitated, then spoke carefully, the thought that had been tugging at you for days finally finding its voice. "maybe you don’t have to give it up completely. not in the way you think."

his brows furrowed. "what do you mean?"

"you love wrestling. it’s in your blood. but just because you can’t wrestle anymore doesn’t mean you can’t still be part of it. share it. teach it." you paused, squeezing his hand. "what if we opened a gym? something that’s ours. a place for the next generation to learn. from you."

seth blinked at you, the weight of your words settling over him. for a long moment he said nothing, only stared at the ceiling as if picturing it, imagining the space, the mats, the sound of training echoing against walls that belonged to him.

finally, he shook his head, though his grip on your hand tightened. "i don’t know if i'm ready."

"that’s okay" you said softly. "we don’t have to decide tonight. i want you to know there are still doors open for you. for us. life doesn’t end here."

his eyes softened, and he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. "you really think we could do it?"

you smiled into the dark. "yeah. i do."

for the first time in weeks, you fell asleep beside him not weighed down by fear or grief, but with the fragile beginnings of something else blooming quietly between you: hope.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

a month later, you finally got him there.

it hadn’t been easy. every time you’d brought up the gym, seth had dodged the subject, sometimes with a half-smile, sometimes with silence. you didn’t push, not when he was still piecing himself together, but you didn’t let it go either. little reminders, small mentions, a gentle someday tucked into quiet moments.

and now, here you were, unlocking the door to a dusty warehouse on the edge of town, your hand firm around his as you tugged him inside.

the air was cool and musty, carrying the scent of concrete and old wood. the space stretched wide and open, sunlight spilling through high windows and catching on floating motes of dust. it wasn’t glamorous, not yet. just four walls, a roof, and possibility.

seth stood just past the threshold, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. "this place looks like it hasn’t seen life since the ’90s."

you grinned, walking ahead and turning in a slow circle. "exactly. which means it’s a blank canvas. picture it, mats here, a ring in the middle, a wall of mirrors there. and maybe an office in the back for paperwork. it could be ours, seth."

he followed you further in, his boots echoing against the concrete. his eyes scanned the room with cautious curiosity, but you saw the flicker there, the faint spark of imagination, of what could be.

you stopped near the center of the floor and extended your hand. "come here."

he hesitated, then stepped closer, slipping his hand into yours. you guided him into the middle of the open space, where the light was brightest.

"close your eyes" you said.

he gave you a wary look, but did as you asked.

"now" you whispered, "imagine the sounds. the thud of boots on canvas. the slap of bodies hitting the mat. kids laughing, learning, failing, getting back up. your voice, teaching them. believing in them the way you always have."

you squeezed his hand. "you can still be part of this world. just in a different way.”

his chest rose and fell slowly, his face softening as though the weight of the image pressed against him. when he opened his eyes, there was something different in them, not certainty, not yet, but the glimmer of hope you’d been waiting for.

"you really see it, don’t you?" he asked quietly.

"i do" you said. "and i think you do too."

seth looked around again, this time longer, deeper. he let out a slow breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "maybe this place isn’t so bad."

it wasn’t a yes. but it wasn’t a no, either. and for the first time, you felt like the future was finally shifting beneath your feet.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the warehouse didn’t transform overnight.

it started small, a broom in your hands, a mop in his, the two of you working side by side as you cleared years of dust and grime from the corners. seth grumbled the whole time, teasing that you’d tricked him into manual labour. but there was a lightness to his voice that hadn’t been there in months.

by the second week, you had paint cans lined up against the far wall. seth stared at the samples you’d picked, arms crossed, brows knit in exaggerated seriousness.

"you want to paint a wrestling gym" he lifted a swatch of pale blue between two fingers like it offended him. "this color?"

you rolled your eyes. "it’s not just a gym. it’s ours. and pale blue feels welcoming."

"it feels like a dentist’s office" he countered, holding up a deep red instead. "now this says power."

"or murder scene" you shot back.

he smirked, leaning in. "what, afraid of a little intensity?"

"afraid of scaring the children" you said dryly, snatching the swatch from his hand.

the argument spiraled into laughter, both of you ending up with streaks of paint on your arms, your clothes, and, at one point, seth’s beard, courtesy of your quick brush strike. he chased you across the room with a roller until you squealed and ducked behind a ladder.

later, when the laughter subsided and the walls slowly shifted from dingy beige to something brighter, you caught him leaning against the ladder, watching you. his hair was tied back messily, his shirt stained with color, but the way his eyes lingered on you made your chest ache.

"what?" you asked, smiling despite yourself.

he shrugged, that rare boyish grin tugging at his lips. "just thinking, this feels good. like i haven’t felt in a long time."

you set your brush down, stepping close until your paint-smeared hands rested against his chest. "that’s because we’re building something new. together."

he bent his forehead to yours, his voice low, intimate. "i don’t know what i did to deserve you."

"painted a wall with me" you teased softly, before kissing him, the taste of sweat and laughter between you.

the days blurred into weeks, borrowed trucks carrying in equipment, the clang of metal as racks were assembled, the echo of your combined voices singing along badly to the radio while you worked. there were arguments, sure, over mat placement, over the name, over whether the office really needed a couch. but each disagreement ended the same way: a laugh, a kiss, a reminder that you were in this chaos together.

and slowly, the warehouse shed its past life and began to look like something else entirely: a future neither of you had thought possible.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

it was late, well past midnight, when you finally convinced seth to stop tinkering. the gym was nearly finished, mats laid, bags hung, the ring assembled in the centre like a crown jewel. he’d been pacing around it for hours, checking bolts, tugging on ropes, running his hand over the apron like he needed to reassure himself it was real.

"come on" you coaxed from the doorway, your arms folded. "it’ll still be here tomorrow."

he glanced back at you, hair falling loose around his face, and for a moment you thought he’d argue. Instead, he let out a long sigh, climbed through the ropes, and crossed the empty floor toward you. his limp was still there, a reminder of everything that had led him here, but it seemed lighter tonight.

the two of you ended up on the office couch, the one you’d insisted on and he’d grumbled about, but now claimed as his throne after long workdays. you curled against his chest, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, the scent of paint and sweat still clinging to both of you.

for a while, you sat in silence, listening to the distant hum of the city outside. then he shifted, pressing his lips into your hair.

"you know" his voice was low, thoughtful. "i didn’t think i’d ever feel this again."

you tilted your head, looking up at him. "feel what?"

he glanced down, his eyes soft in the dim light. "like i belong somewhere. like i have purpose. for a while, i thought i’d lost everything that made me... me." he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "but building this with you? it feels like i've got a second chance. and i couldn’t have done any of it without you."

your chest tightened, warmth spilling through you at the vulnerability in his tone. you reached up, cupping his jaw gently. "you don’t have to do anything without me. that’s the point."

he smiled then, a real smile, not the half-hearted one he’d been wearing for months. "guess i’m finally starting to believe that."

you kissed him softly, lingering, and when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "i love you" he whispered. "more than i ever thought i could love anything after wrestling. and that’s saying something."

you laughed quietly, your thumb brushing across his cheek. "i love you too. always."

the gym stood silent around you, the future waiting just outside those doors. but in that moment, it wasn’t about what came next. it was about the quiet between you, the kind of peace seth hadn’t known he was capable of finding again.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the morning of the soft opening, you found seth already at the gym.

you’d woken to an empty bed, sunlight spilling across the sheets, and you knew before you even checked your phone where he’d gone. by the time you arrived, he was standing in the middle of the ring, leaning on the ropes with his arms folded, his head bowed as though he was listening to some echo only he could hear.

you climbed up onto the apron quietly. "you okay?"

he looked up, and to your surprise, there was no tension in his eyes. just a calm, steady glow. "yeah" he said, his voice low but sure. "just taking it in."

before you could reply, the front door creaked open. a small group shuffled inside, a handful of wide-eyed kids with gym bags slung over their shoulders, two nervous-looking teens, and one older guy who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life for a second chance.

their chatter echoed in the big space, their gazes sweeping over the equipment, the mats, the ring. the ring especially.

seth’s posture straightened. you could see the nerves flicker through him, the old performer’s instinct, the fear of judgment, but when the first kid waved shyly, he smiled. a real, easy smile.

"morning" seth called, hopping down from the ring with a surprising grace. "welcome to rollin stone"

you watched him step into his role seamlessly, greeting each person, shaking hands, crouching to meet a kid’s eye level, laughing when one of the teens asked if they’d ever seen him wrestle on tv. he didn’t shy away, didn’t flinch at the reminder of what he’d lost. instead, he leaned into it, telling them about long nights on the road, about lessons learned the hard way, about resilience.

at one point, you caught him glancing over at you. his eyes met yours across the gym floor, and you saw it, the spark you’d missed, alive again, but different this time. softer. rooted not in the roar of a crowd but in the quiet pride of giving something back.

later, when the trainees were warming up and laughter filled the air, seth came to stand beside you. his hand slipped into yours, fingers interlacing like they always belonged there.

"looks like it’s really happening" you said, watching the kids stretch awkwardly on the mats.

"yeah." his voice was quiet, full. he pressed a kiss to your temple. "and it’s because of you. you didn’t let me give up."

you leaned into him, your heart swelling as you watched the little community take shape around you both. for the first time, the future didn’t feel scary. it felt wide open.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

rollin stone felt alive in a way you hadn’t dared imagine months ago.

the mats were scuffed now from weeks of drills, the walls carried faint handprints of chalk and sweat, and the once-echoing warehouse thrummed with energy every evening. seth had found a rhythm as a coach, pacing the floor, correcting stances, clapping loudly when someone nailed a move, crouching beside trainees with the same fire in his eyes he used to bring to the ring.

watching him like this made your chest ache in the best way. he was still seth rollins, just different. softer around the edges, steadier, but still carrying that unshakable belief in people.

at home, things were simpler too. nights ended with tangled limbs on the couch, seth half-asleep with his head in your lap while you absentmindedly stroked his hair. mornings began with coffee mugs balanced on paperwork for the gym, the two of you arguing gently over scheduling and finances before dissolving into laughter. it was ordinary, imperfect, and more precious for it.

one evening, as the last of the trainees trickled out, the gym door swung open again. you glanced up from the desk and froze when bron breakker’s familiar frame filled the doorway.

"hope i’m not too late to the party" he said, his grin easy as ever.

seth turned from the ring, sweat dampening his shirt, and blinked in surprise. "bron?"

bron strode inside, duffel slung over his shoulder. "heard about rollin stone. figured I’d come check it out. maybe run the ropes a little, if you’ve got room for me."

for a moment, you held your breath, unsure how seth would take it. the last time bron had walked through your door, seth had nearly drowned in his own resentment.

but this time was different.

seth’s lips curled into a grin, genuine, warm, proud. he stepped forward and clasped bron’s hand, pulling him into a quick hug. "you’re always welcome here. hell, i should be thanking you, these kids won’t believe half my stories until they hear ’em from you."

bron laughed, setting his bag down. "then let’s give ’em a show."

soon, the two of them were in the ring, bron demonstrating moves while seth barked playful corrections, the students gathering around in awe. seth moved carefully, never pushing his knee too far, but his voice carried that old fire, the mentor, the leader, the man who refused to let the next generation fail.

you leaned against the ropes, watching as bron hit a flawless suplex and seth clapped, grinning wide. your heart swelled at the sight, not with jealousy, not with the ache of what had been lost, but with pride. He’d found his place.

and later, when the gym was quiet again and you walked home hand in hand, seth glanced at you, his smile soft in the streetlight glow.

"you were right" he said simply. "about everything. i thought my story ended the night i retired. turns out" he squeezed your hand, eyes shining. "it was just a new chapter. and i couldn’t have written it without you."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the house smelled like garlic and herbs long before the first knock came at the door. you’d insisted on cooking, though seth had tried to sneak in with his chef skills, which mostly amounted to hovering near the stove and stealing tastes whenever you turned your back.

"babe" he said as he licked sauce off his finger, grinning when you swatted at him with a spoon, "i'm just making sure it’s not poisoned."

"you’ll be poisoned if you touch it again" you warned, though your smile gave you away.

by the time the trainees started arriving, the kitchen was warm and loud, bowls and platters covering every inch of counter space. seth greeted each of them like family, ushering them in with easy laughter, teasing one about their footwork, clapping another on the back with pride.

and then bron appeared, ducking his head through the doorway with a sheepish grin and a six-pack of craft beer in hand. "didn’t want to show up empty-handed."

seth barked a laugh, pulling him into a hug. "you’re family now. you don’t have to bring anything but your appetite."

soon, the dining table was full, plates passed from hand to hand, glasses clinking, conversations overlapping. one of the younger trainees told a wild story about slipping on the mats their first day, and the table erupted with laughter. another shyly asked bron about his biggest match so far, and he launched into the tale with his trademark enthusiasm, complete with sound effects that had everyone nearly choking on their food.

through it all, seth sat at the head of the table, his face glowing in the warm light. he was in his element, not as the architect, not as the monday night messiah, but as something simpler, truer. a mentor. a leader. a man surrounded by people who looked at him with admiration and affection.

at one point, he leaned over, his hand brushing yours beneath the table. when you turned to him, he didn’t say anything, just smiled at you, soft and grateful, his thumb tracing circles against your skin.

the noise swelled around you, laughter, clinking silverware, the hum of voices, but in that small touch, you felt it. the fullness of what you’d built together. the life neither of you had expected, but both of you needed.

later, when the dishes were stacked and the trainees spilled onto the porch to swap more stories, seth pulled you close, tucking you against his chest.

"this" he murmured into your hair. "this is everything i ever wanted. i just didn’t know it until now."

you smiled, wrapping your arms around him as the sound of your little found family carried through the night. "then it’s a good thing you’ve got it, isn’t it?"

he kissed your forehead, his voice a whisper only for you. "because of you."

the night wound down slowly, laughter fading into yawns, the last of the dishes clinking into the sink. the trainees trickled out one by one, calling goodbyes and thanks as they disappeared into the cool evening air. you lingered on the porch with one of the youngest students, making sure they’d text when they got home safe.

inside, seth and bron stayed behind to clear the empty bottles from the table. the room was quieter now, the chaos of dinner replaced by a comfortable calm. bron stacked a few plates, glancing over at seth with a grin.

"you’ve built something real here, man" bron said, his voice easy. "the gym, the kids, the whole vibe tonight. they look at you like you’re bigger than life."

seth huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he set bottles in the recycling bin. "bigger than life, huh? feels more like i'm just holding everything together with duct tape and dumb luck."

"maybe" bron said, leaning against the counter. "but you’re doing it. you’re giving them something to believe in. hell, you gave me something to believe in back then."

seth’s smile softened, his eyes distant for a beat. then he set down the last plate, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and reached into his pocket. "there’s one more thing i’ve been building toward."

bron raised a brow as seth pulled out a small velvet box, worn from being handled too often. he opened it with care, and the kitchen light caught the simple but stunning ring nestled inside.

bron blinked, then let out a low whistle. "damn, man. that’s beautiful."

seth stared at the ring, his thumb brushing lightly over the band. His voice dropped, softer than bron had ever heard it. "she’s everything. you know? i thought losing wrestling meant i lost myself. but she never gave up on me. she built me back up piece by piece. this gym, this life, none of it would exist without her."

bron nodded slowly, the grin on his face turning more serious. "then don’t wait too long. she deserves to hear that every day."

seth’s lips curved into a quiet smile, his eyes still fixed on the ring. "yeah. she does."

he closed the box gently, slipping it back into his pocket just as you stepped inside, brushing the cool night air from your arms. "everything good in here?" you asked, glancing between them.

"yeah" bron said easily, clapping Seth on the shoulder. "everything’s perfect."

seth met your eyes then, and though he didn’t say a word, there was a secret warmth there, a promise only you and he would share soon enough.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the days at rollin stone fell into their own kind of rhythm, messy, loud, exhausting, and somehow perfect.

mornings began with the two of you at the kitchen table, coffee mugs balanced precariously on piles of paperwork. you had your laptop open, squinting at spreadsheets and emails, while seth scribbled out training schedules on a notepad that was already half-covered in doodles of rings, ladders, and the occasional stick-figure suplex.

"you realize i'm the one keeping this place afloat, right?" you teased one morning, pushing your glasses higher on your nose as you scrolled.

seth leaned back in his chair, smirking. "oh, please. i’m the talent. you’re just my overworked, underpaid manager."

"overworked, yes. underpaid, absolutely."

he laughed and reached across the table, tugging your hand away from the keyboard to press a kiss to your knuckles. "worth every penny i don’t pay you."

by midday, the gym came alive. the slam of bodies hitting the mat echoed through the open space, mixed with grunts, laughter, and seth’s voice cutting clear above it all. he was a natural in this role, barking corrections with a sharp clap of his hands, crouching beside a trainee to adjust their footing, pacing the ropes like he was born to this.

"eyes up! keep your center tight! don’t think, just move!"

you watched from the office doorway, pride blooming in your chest as he guided a nervous beginner through a sequence. the old seth, the one who burned bright under arena lights, was still there, but here, he was gentler, steadier. every success his trainees had felt like his own.

still, he couldn’t resist finding you in the chaos. once, while the class was running drills, he jogged over, sweat dampening his shirt, his hair sticking to his forehead. he leaned down to steal a quick kiss before you could protest.

"seth!" you hissed, swatting at him. "you’re supposed to be working."

"i am working" he said with a wicked grin. "motivating the boss."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

the days ended the same way they began, together. sometimes you lingered at the gym until the last trainee left, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the apron while seth recapped the day like it was a highlight reel. other nights, you collapsed on the couch at home, takeout cartons spread across the coffee table, his head heavy in your lap as you absentmindedly stroked his hair while the tv murmured in the background.

it wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t the road life you both once knew, but it was yours.

and more than once, as you drifted toward sleep with seth’s hand tangled with yours, you thought: this was the kind of happily ever after no fairytale had ever prepared you for.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

it was rare for seth to be late leaving the gym. he liked to be the last one out, lights off, mats wiped down, door locked with a firm tug to make sure it was secure. so when he slipped out earlier than usual one evening, handing bron the keys with a quick, "cover for me, yeah?" it raised a few eyebrows.

bron just smirked knowingly. "yeah, i got you. go do your thing."

"don’t say it like that" seth muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as if he could hide from the weight inside one of them. "it’s nothing."

but it wasn’t nothing.

the small box felt like it burned a hole against his thigh as he drove downtown, headlights streaking across his windshield. he parked a block away from the jeweller’s, a little shop with warm lights glowing against the september dusk and sat for a long moment with the engine off, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

he’d wrestled in front of tens of thousands, flown off ladders, taken bumps that rattled his bones for weeks. none of that had made his heart hammer quite like this.

finally, he exhaled hard and pushed himself out of the car.

inside, the jeweller greeted him with a polite smile. "mr. lopez. Rrght on time.”

seth gave a quick nod, pulling the box from his pocket and setting it gently on the counter. "just wanted to make sure it’s perfect. for her."

the jeweller opened the box, inspecting the ring before sliding it onto a velvet tray. under the soft lights, the simple band gleamed, the stone catching fire like it was alive. seth’s chest tightened.

"she’s the kind of person who makes everything brighter just by being in the room" he found himself saying, voice rough. "i don’t want flashy. i just want something that feels like her. something real."

the jeweller adjusted the setting slightly, nodding. "it already does. but let’s make it fit just right."

while the ring was resized, seth wandered the shop restlessly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. he thought about you at home, probably curled up with your laptop, muttering about spreadsheets. he thought about the way you looked when you laughed so hard your eyes watered, or when you fell asleep with your head on his chest, hand curled in his shirt like you were afraid he’d slip away.

by the time he left the shop, the box felt heavier than before. precious. terrifying.

back in the car, he opened it one last time, staring at the ring in the glow of the streetlights. his fingers trembled as he snapped the lid shut.

"soon" he whispered to himself, slipping it back into his pocket. "just gotta find the right moment."

and for the first time in months, he felt the same kind of nerves he used to feel right before his music hit and the curtain parted. only this time, it wasn’t about a match. it was about forever.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

by the time seth made it home, the sun had dipped low, the house glowing faintly in the warm lamplight you’d left on. you were sprawled on the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees, scrolling through emails with a furrowed brow.

"you’re late" you called without looking up. "everything okay at the gym?"

"yeah" seth said too quickly, hanging his keys by the door. his voice carried that slight pitch you knew better than anyone, the one he used when he was definitely hiding something.

you glanced up, narrowing your eyes. his hoodie was zipped up to his neck, hands jammed into the front pocket like he was smuggling contraband.

suspicious.

he crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed your temple before dropping onto the couch beside you. "long day" he said, stretching his legs out, his arm falling over your shoulders a little too casually.

"mhm" you murmured, watching him out of the corner of your eye. "funny. you look more nervous than tired."

seth let out a laugh that sounded like it had been pried out of him. "nervous? me? please nothing scares me."

"except maybe balancing the budget for rollin stone" you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

that got a real laugh out of him, and he pulled you closer, burying his face against your hair. "fair point."

still, you didn’t miss the way he checked his pocket twice when he shifted, or how he seemed distracted, his thumb tapping against his thigh.

you closed your laptop and turned to him, straddling his lap so you could look him in the eye. "seriously, what’s going on with you? you’ve been weird for days."

for a split second, panic flickered across his face. then he recovered with a grin, hands settling firmly on your hips. "weird? babe, this" he gestured between you, smirking "isn’t weird. this is premium couple time."

you rolled your eyes, but his arms around you softened the suspicion. "you’re more stressed than when you were champ" you said quietly, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

his smile faltered, and something raw flickered in his gaze. he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, thumb tracing lightly over your skin. "i know. and i don’t deserve you for it.”

the words hit with unexpected weight, and before you could press further, he kissed you, slow, deep, the kind that melted every question off your tongue.

later, after you’d both showered and crawled into bed, he lay beside you in the dark, your head resting on his chest. his fingers toyed absently with yours, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"i don’t know what i’d do without you" he whispered, so soft you almost thought you dreamed it.

you tilted your head up, pressing a sleepy kiss to his jaw. "good thing you’ll never have to find out."

he closed his eyes, clutching you tighter, the ring box hidden away in his bag across the room. and in the quiet, seth thought to himself that he’d never been more terrified, or more certain about anything in his life.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the gym was quiet on a rare afternoon off, the mats spotless, the ring ropes taut and gleaming under the overhead lights. seth leaned against the ropes, towel slung around his neck, his hair falling loose as he watched you pace around the apron.

"come on" he coaxed with a grin. "it’ll be fun. just a little spar. i promise, no crazy flips, no stomps, no" he waved his hand vaguely "suplex city disasters."

you crossed your arms, arching a brow. "seth, i’m not a wrestler. i’ll trip over my own feet."

"exactly" he teased, climbing through the ropes. "which makes it a fair fight for me these days."

you shot him a look, but his smile was so bright, so boyish, you couldn’t resist. with a dramatic sigh, you slipped off your shoes and crawled under the bottom rope. the canvas felt strange under your socks, springy and solid at the same time.

"alright, coach" you said, planting your hands on your hips. "show me what you’ve got."

he moved toward you slowly, deliberately exaggerated like a cartoon villain, hands up in mock menace. you laughed, shoving his chest, and he stumbled back with a theatrical groan, clutching at his heart.

"unbelievable!" he cried. "taken down in my own house!"

you tried to mimic the stance you’d seen a hundred times, knees bent, arms raised but seth just smirked. "cute. but maybe a little less ballet, a little more brawl."

you lunged at him, and he let you push him into the ropes, his laughter spilling into the quiet gym. In one smooth motion, he reversed the hold, looping an arm gently around your waist and spinning you back into the center. he moved carefully, always mindful of your balance, of his knee, of the line between playful and too much.

you wriggled against him, laughing breathlessly. "cheater! you’re not supposed to be good at this!"

"not my fault you’re a natural" he shot back, pinning your wrists to the mat as you both tumbled down in a heap. he hovered above you, breathing hard, his hair brushing against your face as he grinned.

and then, just like that, his smile faltered.

because looking at you there, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes bright and trusting beneath him, seth realized something hit harder than any bump ever could. this, the laughter, the play, the way you never let him drown in what he’d lost, this was his life now. his future.

he pressed his forehead to yours, still catching his breath. "you have no idea what you mean to me."

you softened, your hands slipping free to cradle his face. "i think i do" you whispered.

but seth knew. he knew with absolute clarity, in the middle of that quiet gym, that he was ready. 100 percent ready. to stop waiting. to give you the ring tucked away in his bag. to ask you to stay by his side not just in love, but in every moment to come.

he kissed you then, soft, reverent, sealing a silent promise only he understood.

soon.

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seth had been carrying the ring around for weeks. too long.

it lived tucked in the bottom of his gym bag, wrapped carefully in an old wrist tape roll to keep it hidden. he checked on it constantly, between classes, before bed, even once in the middle of the night when you stirred and asked if he was okay. he’d muttered something about needing water, heart hammering as he slipped back under the covers.

he wanted the moment to be right. he’d thought about dinners out, about surprising you at home with candles and music, even about flying somewhere special. but none of it fit. none of it felt you.

and then you’d agreed, without hesitation, to spar with him. just to make him smile. just to meet him where he was, even in a ring that was never supposed to be yours.

that was when it clicked.

the proposal had to be here. in the gym you built together, the place where you’d turned heartbreak into something new. In the ring that wasn’t about his career anymore, but about your life, both of your lives, moving forward.

that night, after the trainees had gone home, seth lingered. he walked the ring in slow circles, running his hand over the ropes, imagining how it would look under softer light.

"you really gonna do it?" bron’s voice broke the silence as he appeared from the office doorway, leaning against the frame.

seth chuckled low, raking a hand through his hair. "yeah. i think i am."

bron crossed the floor, smirking as he clapped seth on the back. "took you long enough."

"i just" seth hesitated, staring down at the canvas. "she deserves more than some half-assed speech and me fumbling around with a ring. i want it to be" he trailed off, struggling for the words.

"real?" bron supplied.

seth’s mouth tugged into a smile. "yeah. real."

together, they dug through the storage room for strings of lights leftover from a fundraiser, draping them along the posts. bron fetched a couple of candles from his truck, setting them near the steps. slowly, the gym transformed. the harsh fluorescents gave way to a warm glow, shadows stretching soft across the mat.

seth climbed into the ring, standing dead center. he could already see it, you stepping through the ropes, him trying not to cry before he even got the words out. his hand brushed against his pocket, feeling the outline of the box.

"looks good, man" bron said from the apron, watching him. "she’s gonna love it."

seth nodded, his throat tight. "i just can’t believe i get to do this. after everything, i didn’t think i’d have a future that looked this good."

bron grinned. "then don’t waste it. make it hers too."

seth laughed softly, shaking his head. "that’s the plan."

as bron left, locking up behind him, seth stayed in the ring a little longer, letting the silence wrap around him. he imagined your face when you saw it, your laugh, the way your hand would tremble when he slipped the ring onto your finger.

for the first time in a long time, seth didn’t feel nervous. he felt ready.

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you frowned when your phone buzzed, seth’s name flashing across the screen.

"hey" you answered, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you locked up the house. "everything okay? you’re at the gym late again."

his voice came back light, almost too casual. "yeah, uh bron left some gear. can you swing by? you’ve got the car tonight."

"bron can survive a night without his gym shorts" you teased, but you were already slipping on your shoes. "fine. but you owe me takeout tomorrow."

the gym looked strangely different when you pulled up, the windows glowing softer than usual, shadows flickering across the floor. You stepped inside cautiously, calling out, "seth?"

your breath caught.

the harsh overhead lights were off. instead, strings of warm bulbs wound around the ring posts, casting golden light across the canvas. a couple of candles burned near the steps, their soft glow pooling like stars against the dark. and standing in the centre of the ring was seth.

he looked nervous and sure all at once, dressed in simple sweats and a black tee, his hands resting on the top rope as he waited for you.

"what is all this?" you asked softly, your voice echoing in the quiet space.

"come here" he said, holding out a hand.

you climbed the steps slowly, your heart thudding in your chest. he helped you through the ropes, his palm warm against yours, and guided you to the middle of the ring.

for a moment, you just stood there, surrounded by light, staring at each other. then seth exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath for months.

"you know, i thought my story ended when i retired" he began, his voice low and unsteady. "i thought losing wrestling meant losing myself. but then you" he broke off, swallowing as his eyes searched yours. "you showed me i had more. that i could build something new. this gym, this family, this life, none of it exists without you."

your throat tightened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the small velvet box you’d seen him fidget with but never asked about.

"i've carried this around for weeks" he admitted with a shaky laugh. "too scared to ask, too scared to get it wrong. but tonight, standing here with you, i know there’s no wrong way to do this."

he dropped to one knee, the box opening in his hand. the ring caught the soft light, gleaming like it had been waiting for this moment.

"will you marry me?" seth’s voice cracked, but he smiled through it, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "will you keep building this life with me? be with me at the end of every road?"

you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up, half a sob, half a shout of joy. "of course i will."

the box tumbled to the mat as he slid the ring onto your trembling finger with clumsy hands, then rose to kiss you. it was messy, desperate, both of you laughing against each other’s mouths as you held tight, the glow of the lights wrapping you in warmth.

and for seth, it wasn’t just an ending. it was the truest beginning he’d ever known.

you were still kissing him when the sound of the back door creaked open. you pulled away, startled, but seth only grinned sheepishly, a guilty kind of smile.

"what was that?" you whispered, brows furrowed.

before he could answer, a loud cheer rang out, bouncing off the gym walls.

"about damn time!"

bron’s voice boomed first, and then the rest followed, the trainees filing in, clapping, hooting, and whistling like a crowd at wrestlemania. they carried pizza boxes, paper bags of takeout, even a sheet cake with uneven frosting that read congrats coach & (y/n)! in lopsided red letters.

you blinked in disbelief, clutching seth’s arm. "you planned this?"

seth’s cheeks flushed, but his grin stretched wide. "maybe i didn’t want it to be just us. not tonight. not after everything we’ve built here"

the ring was quickly surrounded by smiling faces. one of the younger trainees scrambled onto the apron and leaned over the ropes to hug you tight. "we’re so happy for you, coach!"

laughter filled the air. someone popped open a soda can that fizzed too much, and bron barked at them to clean it up while trying not to laugh himself.

before long, the whole gym smelled of pepperoni and garlic knots. music played low from someone’s bluetooth speaker, and everyone found a spot, on the mats, the benches, the office chairs dragged out into the main floor. It was chaotic, warm, and so perfectly imperfect.

at one point, bron pulled seth aside. they stood just out of earshot, but you caught the moment bron clapped a firm hand on seth’s shoulder, grinning like a proud kid brother. seth showed him the ring on your finger, and bron let out a whistle before saying something that made seth laugh, shaking his head in mock annoyance.

you stayed where you were, sitting cross-legged on the mat with a slice of pizza in hand, watching the people around you. these weren’t just trainees anymore. they were friends, family, the foundation of everything you and seth had poured yourselves into.

when seth finally came back to sit beside you, he didn’t say anything at first. he just laced his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"this," he murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your temple. "this is better than anything i ever dreamed about."

and as the laughter and chatter filled the gym, you believed him.

the party wound down slowly, like the last embers of a fire. empty pizza boxes stacked in the corner, half-finished sodas forgotten on the benches. the trainees lingered, laughing quietly as they slipped out one by one, offering hugs and handshakes before disappearing into the night.

bron was the last to leave, tossing his keys in the air with a grin. "don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. and don’t let him chicken out before the wedding" he teased, jerking a thumb toward seth.

"out" seth groaned, waving him off.

when the final door clicked shut, the gym was quiet again. the strings of lights still glowed around the ring, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the mats. you and seth sat side by side on the apron, legs swinging idly, your hand resting in his.

for a long while, neither of you spoke. you just leaned against him, his shoulder warm and solid against yours.

finally, seth broke the silence. "you know, i used to think the happiest moment of my life would be holding a championship. standing in the middle of that ring with a crowd screaming my name."

you tilted your head toward him, listening.

"but tonight" he looked down at your joined hands, the ring catching the light as he brushed his thumb over it. his smile was small, but steady. "tonight, i know i was wrong. the happiest moment is this. you. us. all of it."

your chest ached in that soft, overwhelming way it always did when he opened up like this. you pressed a kiss against his shoulder, whispering, "i’m glad you figured it out."

he laughed under his breath, kissing the top of your head. "took me long enough."

you stayed like that, quiet and content, the whole world narrowing to the glow of the lights and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

and just before you both slid off the apron to head home, seth whispered against your temple, voice low and certain:

the two of you had been wandering through the mall for over an hour, and somehow, cody still hadn’t complained once. he walked half a step behind you, his broad shoulders drawing more than a few double takes from passersby, while his hands were full with shopping bags you’d collected along the way. every so often, you glanced over your shoulder at him, fully expecting to catch a hint of exasperation in his expression, but all you ever found was that small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

"you know" he drawled as you stopped in front of yet another store, "i’m beginning to think this was your plan all along. you drag me here, distract me with the food court, and then saddle me with free weight training." he lifted the bags slightly to prove his point, though his eyes were warm when they met yours.

you laughed, brushing his teasing off with a wave of your hand. "you offered to carry them."

"i offered to carry one bag." he tilted his head, clearly fighting back a grin. "this is not one bag."

despite his words, cody didn’t look the least bit put out. he leaned casually against the store’s entrance while you started flipping through racks of clothes. he carried himself with the kind of quiet patience that came from being used to waiting, in airports, in arenas, in hotel lobbies and now, apparently, in women’s clothing stores. every so often, you heard a soft chuckle behind you, usually when you muttered to yourself about a price tag or pulled something ridiculous off the rack just to hold it up against yourself.

the normalcy of it struck you sometimes, how this larger than life man, someone adored in arenas across the country, could look perfectly at home in such an ordinary moment. no spotlight, no chants of his name, no booming entrance theme. just cody, your husband, casually scrolling his phone with one hand while balancing shopping bags in the other, keeping close enough that you knew he’d follow you wherever you went.

when you turned back to him with an armful of clothes, he immediately straightened, raising his brows. "that’s either a brilliant find" he said, "or a trap for me to spend the next thirty minutes waiting outside a fitting room."

you smirked at him, already heading for the fitting area. "guess you’ll find out."

he shook his head with mock exasperation, falling into step beside you anyway. "and they say wrestling is all about endurance."

the fitting rooms were tucked in the back of the store, a small hallway lined with pale wooden doors and a desk where a couple of teenage employees sat. they couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen, matching black polos, name tags, and the kind of energy that came from being halfway between bored and overly chatty to pass the time.

one of them perked up when she saw you approaching with your armful of clothes. "how many items?" she asked in a polite, sing-song voice.

"uh, five" you answered, handing them over as she clipped a numbered tag to your pile.

"room three" she said, gesturing down the row.

cody gave you a dramatic little salute as you disappeared into the fitting area. "good luck in there" he whispered, his grin impossible to miss. you rolled your eyes but smiled anyway before closing the door behind you.

inside the small cubicle, you set the clothes on the bench and slipped off your shoes. the muffled hum of the store bled faintly through the walls, but what caught your attention was the girls’ voices drifting from the desk just a few feet away.

at first, it was harmless chatter about school and music. but then, one of them lowered her voice, her words still carrying easily through the thin partitions:

"so, did you see smackdown last week?"

the other girl gasped. "yes! oh my god, cody was insane. i swear, he’s the reason i even watch."

you froze halfway through pulling a blouse over your head, your lips curving into an involuntary smile.

"no, seriously" the first one continued. "like, he’s just... ugh. the entrance, the pyro, that jacket. and don’t even get me started on the way he talks in promos. he makes it feel so real."

her friend giggled. "i know! my mom thinks it’s so funny how obsessed i am, but like he’s cody rhodes."

you pressed a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud, your heart swelling at the sincerity in their voices. they weren’t mocking, they weren’t putting on a show, they were genuine fans, sitting outside your door, not realizing that the very man they were swooning over was currently browsing through a clearance rack just a few steps away.

you slipped the blouse fully on, your mind already spinning with the idea forming in the back of your head. you glanced toward your purse, where your phone sat tucked inside, and bit your lip to stop your grin.

maybe this fitting room trip was about to get a lot more interesting.

you sat down on the little wooden bench inside the fitting room, blouse draped over your lap, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. the girls outside were still chattering, their voices bouncing back and forth with the kind of excitement only teenage fans could muster. every word they said about cody, about his matches, his promos, his smile, made your chest warm with pride.

and then the mischievous thought hit you.

you looked toward your purse again. your phone peeked out just enough to tempt you, and you couldn’t resist. slipping it into your hands, you unlocked the screen and scrolled to cody’s name. your reflection in the mirror caught your eye, you looked far too pleased with yourself.

you pressed call.

the line clicked after a couple of rings. "hey" cody answered, his voice low and amused, like he already suspected you were up to something. "that was fast. did we find our winner outfit already?"

you bit back a laugh, lowering your voice so the girls outside wouldn’t hear. "not exactly. i, um, i need you to do me a favor. come to the fitting rooms."

a pause. "the fitting rooms?" he repeated, clearly skeptical. "am i supposed to be a fashion consultant now? because i am warning you, i only know how to judge gear and suits."

"just come here" you insisted, grinning at your own reflection. "trust me."

you could practically hear his sigh on the other end, followed by that soft chuckle that always gave him away. "you’re trouble, you know that?"

"mm-hm" you said, trying not to giggle. "hurry up."

you ended the call before he could ask questions, sliding your phone back into your bag.

you took your time gathering your things, pretending to fiddle with the hangers so you could listen for cody’s footsteps. it didn’t take long. his presence had a way of filling a room before he even said a word, the faint sound of his boots on the tile, the low rumble of his voice as he greeted someone in passing.

your heart skipped as you cracked the fitting room door and peeked out. there he was, strolling toward the little desk with that easy confidence that seemed to follow him everywhere. his hands were tucked into his pockets now, but his shoulders were square, his chin lifted just enough to give him that unmistakable cody rhodes walk.

the girls at the desk didn’t notice him right away, they were still lost in their conversation, one of them twirling a pen between her fingers while the other leaned her chin on her palm. then one of them glanced up.

her jaw dropped.

she blinked once, twice, then smacked her friend’s arm. "oh my god" she hissed, her voice barely above a squeak.

the second girl looked up, annoyed at first, until her eyes landed on him. she gasped so loudly you were surprised the whole store didn’t hear.

cody stopped right in front of their desk, that warm smile spreading across his face as though he’d been expecting this exact reaction. "heard there were some cody rhodes fans back here" he said casually, his voice rich with amusement.

both girls froze like statues, wide-eyed and utterly speechless. one of them lifted a trembling hand toward her mouth, the other clutched the desk like she needed it to stay upright.

you bit your lip to keep from laughing, slipping fully out of your fitting room and leaning casually against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold.

cody rested one hand on the counter, leaning in just slightly. "so, am i interrupting, or should i take this as a compliment?"

that broke the dam. the girls both started talking at once, gushing about how much they loved his matches, how they couldn’t believe he was actually here, how surreal it felt. their voices overlapped in a messy rush of excitement, but cody just nodded along, chuckling, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you loved.

and then, as if on cue, he turned his head toward you. his gaze caught yours, a knowing glint sparking in his eyes. that little smirk tugged at his lips, the one that said he’d figured you out.

you only shrugged, feigning innocence, but the laughter bubbling in your chest gave you away completely.

the girls recovered quickly, quicker than you expected, honestly. within seconds, their phones were out, hands shaking as they fumbled with camera apps and whispered frantic little oh-my-gods to each other.

"could we um, could we maybe get a picture?" one of them asked, her voice high and nervous.

cody gave a soft laugh, leaning his elbows casually on the counter like he had all the time in the world. "of course" he said warmly, tilting his head toward them. "what kind of guy would i be if i said no to my biggest fans?"

that broke the tension, and the two teens practically melted with relief as they hurried around the desk. you pulled out your own phone to snap a few shots for them, because their hands were shaking so badly you didn’t trust their selfies to come out clear. cody crouched slightly to get into the frame, wrapping an arm around each of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"okay, big smiles" you said, biting back your grin as you snapped a few photos.

the girls giggled helplessly, cheeks flushed, but cody carried himself like the perfect professional, beaming with that signature rhodes charm, even throwing in a playful wink at the last second.

when the pictures were done, the girls immediately started gushing again, their words tumbling over each other. "thank you so much" "this is literally the best day of my life" "i can’t believe you’re actually here!"

cody just laughed softly, shaking his head. "you’re both too kind. really. i’m just glad you’re watching. means the world to me."

one of them blurted out, "we love you!" before she could stop herself, and her friend smacked her arm, mortified. cody only chuckled again, utterly unbothered, and pulled her into a quick, reassuring hug.

you watched from the sidelines, your chest full. he was so good at this, so effortlessly gracious and kind, like he truly believed every fan deserved a moment like this. it made you proud, but it also made your heart ache in the best way.

cody caught your eye again over their heads, his smile lingering just for you this time. it was softer than the one he gave the girls, quieter, like a secret you shared. and in that look, you knew, he’d figured out exactly what you’d orchestrated here.

when the girls finally drifted back behind the desk, still squealing softly to each other, cody straightened and walked toward you. his brows lifted ever so slightly, his grin tugging sideways, teasing but fond.

as soon as cody reached you, he slipped one hand into yours, tugging you gently away from the fitting rooms. you could still hear the girls behind you, whispering and giggling like they’d just witnessed a miracle. honestly, you didn’t blame them, because to you, cody really did feel like one sometimes.

the two of you rounded a corner into a quieter aisle, out of earshot. cody slowed his steps, turning to face you fully, that lopsided grin still plastered across his face.

"you" he said, his voice low and amused, "are sneaky."

you laughed, shrugging innocently. "what? i was just trying on clothes."

his brows shot up, his expression saying he didn’t believe that for a second. he squeezed your hand gently, shaking his head. "you knew exactly what you were doing. i should’ve known the second you called me over without explaining."

you bit back a smile, trying to play it cool. "okay, maybe i did. but did you see their faces? you made their whole week."

something shifted in his eyes then, softening. he tilted his head, studying you like you were the surprise, not them. "you set that up just for them?"

you nodded, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. "well yeah. they were being so sweet, talking about how much they love you. i thought why not give them a moment they’ll never forget?"

for a second, cody didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, his grin fading into something gentler, warmer. then, without warning, he tugged you closer and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"you’re incredible, you know that?" he murmured against your skin. "most people would’ve ignored it. but you went out of your way for complete strangers." he leaned back just enough to meet your eyes again, his own full of something that made your chest ache. "that’s one of the million reasons i love you."

your cheeks warmed, and you tried to laugh it off, but he wasn’t letting you. he wrapped his arm fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his smile returning but softer now.

"guess i’m not the only rhodes making people’s day around here" he teased gently.

you rolled your eyes at the line, but your heart was still racing as you leaned into his embrace. "pretty sure they were more excited about you."

"maybe" he said with a little shrug. "but i’m definitely more excited about you."