#britwres

for the first time Progress divided their yearly two day tournament Super Strong Style 16 into men’s and women’s. the men’s champion was crowned and then the women’s match main evented. rhio became the first ever SSS16 women’s champion. amazing emotional moment 💖

Zack Sabre Jr x OC (Elise Turner)

Warnings: Language

A/N: I only own the OC and the Idea

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The day of the rehearsal dinner arrived with the grim inevitability of a dentist appointment. Zack stood outside Elise’s flat again, this time clutching a his overnight bag—because of course their mothers had arranged a "romantic pre-wedding stay" at the venue’s boutique hotel. The door swung open before he could knock, revealing Elise in a black jumpsuit that looked like it could double as tactical gear.

"Wow. You look good enough to elope," Zack blurted before his brain could filter the words. Elise froze mid-step, her keys dangling from one finger. The silence stretched just long enough for Zack to contemplate throwing himself down the stairwell.

"Flattery won't save you from the slow dance," Elise said finally, slamming her door with enough force to rattle the frame. She tossed her overnight bag at Zack's chest with pinpoint accuracy. "Carry that like a proper gentleman while I figure out how to murder you subtly during dinner."

Zack caught the bag by pure reflex, the leather still warm from her hands. "Subtlety's not really your strong suit," he muttered, following her down the stairs. The scent of her perfume—something spicy and unfamiliar—trailed behind her like a challenge.

"How long have you known me?" Elise snapped over her shoulder, heels clicking against the pavement like gunshots. "I can be very subtle when motivated." She pivoted on one foot to jab a finger at Zack's chest. "Like when I 'accidentally' spilled red wine on Jason Whitmore's white tux at prom after he bragged about cheating on me."

Zack's mouth went dry. He'd forgotten that detail—the way Elise had smiled sweetly while dousing Jason's crotch in Merlot, then blamed the slippery dancefloor. "Point taken," he muttered, adjusting his grip on her bag. The strap smelled faintly of her shampoo.

The hotel lobby was a minefield of wedding decor and overeager relatives. Zack's cousin Liam spotted them first, wolf-whistling as he elbowed their aunt Brenda. "Oi, lovebirds! Save some PDA for the altar!"

Zack flipped him off as they made their way to check in.

"I'm glad we've got separate rooms". Elise said through her smile, clutching Zack's elbow hard enough to bruise as they approached the reception desk. Her fingernails dug into his forearm like tiny daggers. "Wouldn't want to scandalize your nan before the wedding."

The concierge beamed at them. "Mr. Sabre! We've upgraded you to our presidential suite per your mother's request." He slid two keycards across the marble countertop with a wink. Zack's eye's widened.

"There's some mistake".

"We've also cancelled Ms Turner's room reservation," the concierge continued cheerfully, tapping his screen with bureaucratic finality. Zack heard Elise's sharp inhale beside him—the sound of a grenade pin being pulled.

Elise's grip on his arm tightened to tourniquet levels. "What a delightful misunderstanding," she purred through clenched teeth, her smile stretching unnaturally wide. Zack could feel the tremor in her fingers—equal parts fury and panic—as she plucked the keycards from the counter. "We'll just… sort this out ourselves."

They made it three steps before Zack's mother materialized from behind a potted fern like a floral-scented specter. "Darling! You're late!" She air-kissed both their cheeks while somehow simultaneously eyeing the suite keycards in Elise's white-knuckled grip. "Oh good, you got the upgrade! Plenty of space for… whatever." She winked—actually winked—before exiting toward the banquet hall with terrifying efficiency.

Elise waited exactly two seconds before dragging Zack into an empty service corridor, her nails biting into his wrist. "Presidential suite?" she hissed, shoving a keycard against his chest hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell me you knew about this."

Zack's mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a landed fish. The keycard dug into his sternum—sharp plastic edges threatening to draw blood. "I swear on my life, I had no—"

"That means a double bed," Elise growled, pressing closer until Zack could see the furious dilation of her pupils. The service corridor's fluorescents flickered above them, casting jagged shadows across her face. "One. Bed. Your mother is a war criminal."

Zack swallowed hard, the keycard's edge now imprinting the word PRESIDENTIAL into his skin in reverse. "We're adults, we can sleep in the same bed together," he blurted, grasping at straws. "Or—or I'll sleep in the bathtub."

Elise's laugh was a short, sharp exhale against his chin. "With your spine? You'd be crippled by breakfast." She stepped back abruptly, smoothing her jumpsuit with jerky movements. "Fine. But if you breathe too loud or try anything, I'm smothering you with a pillow."

The presidential suite smelled like lavender and impending doom. Zack hovered in the doorway, clutching Elise's overnight bag like a shield. The bed—king-sized and ominously centered—dominated the room with the gravitas of a sacrificial altar. Elise strode past him, tossing her clutch onto the duvet with enough force to send a decorative pillow tumbling to the floor.

"Right," she said, pivoting on one heel to face him. "Ground rules." She held up a finger. "This side is mine." A second finger joined the first. "If your limbs cross the midline, I break them." Zack watched, transfixed, as a third finger unfurled. "And if you snore, I reserve the right to—"

A sharp knock at the door cut her off. Zack opened it to find his brother leaning against the frame, grinning like a man who'd already won the lottery. "Just wanted to check if you needed anything," he said, eyes darting past Zack to where Elise stood stiffly beside the bed. "Extra pillows, maybe? Earplugs?" His smirk widened. "Condoms?"

"I'm gonna kill him," Elise muttered, storming toward the door with terrifying intent. Zack barely intercepted her by the waist, hauling her back as she lunged with surprising strength. His brother's laughter echoed down the hallway as he bolted, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne and impending doom.

Elise twisted in Zack's grip, her elbow connecting sharply with his ribs. "He's such a wanker" she hissed, but there was laughter bubbling under the rage—Zack could feel it in the way her shoulders shook against his chest. He loosened his hold slightly, just enough for her to spin around and jab a finger into his sternum.

"You owe me double for this," Elise said, her voice low and dangerous as she stalked toward the minibar. She wrenched open the fridge with enough force to make the bottles clink. "And I'm drinking everything at the reception".

"Done, but first we've got the rehearsal dinner to get through first," Zack said, rubbing his ribs where Elise's elbow had connected.

Elise rubbed her temples as she took deep breaths, clearly trying to compose herself before facing the entire Sabre family at dinner. Zack watched her with a mix of amusement and apprehension—she was like a grenade with the pin halfway pulled. "You know," she muttered, pouring herself a shot from the minibar, "there’s still time to fake a sudden illness. Food poisoning. A ruptured appendix."

Zack snatched the bottle before she could take another shot. "And miss watching you charm my entire extended family? Not a chance." He grinned when she glared at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Come on, Turner. You’ve faced worse than my aunties and their interrogation tactics."

Elise snatched the bottle back, downing the shot with practiced ease. "Okay. Okay." She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders like a boxer preparing for round twelve. "It's just your brother's rehearsal dinner. Everyone will be focusing on them".

"Exactly. We'll stay together and if anyone asks us any uncomfortable questions then we'll use a code word". Zack said.

Elise arched an eyebrow. "What code word?"

"Pickle," Zack said without hesitation.

"Pickle? As a code word?" Elise's fingers paused mid-air, the shot glass hovering just below her lips. She stared at Zack like he'd suggested they solve this by tap dancing naked through the lobby. "You're telling me if someone asks when we're getting married, I'm supposed to just yell pickle and bolt?"

"No, you drop it subtlety like 'oh I wonder if there's Pickle in that' and I'll create a distraction," Zack said, plucking the shot glass from her fingers before she could throw it at his head. Elise's mouth twisted into something between a snarl and a laugh.

Zack placed his hands on her shoulders, the warmth of her bare skin seeping through the thin straps of her jumpsuit. "Trust me," he said, his thumbs rubbing small circles near her collarbones. "I got you. We're in this together."

Elise exhaled through her nose, shaking her head but not shrugging him off. "If I end up in handcuffs tonight," she muttered, "I'm telling the police it was your idea."

The rehearsal dinner was a disaster in slow motion. Zack's Aunt Margaret cornered them by the shrimp cocktail, her perfume strong enough to strip paint. "So," she purred, eyeballing Elise's ring finger, "when can we expect your engagement party?"

Zadk smiled as he felt Elise grip his hand too tightly. "Oh Aunt Margaret. We're taking things steady".

Elise's fingers twitched against his palm—three sharp presses like Morse code for help me. Zack cleared his throat. "You know with our hectic schedules, my wrestling career and Elise being freelance now—"

"Oh dear. I didn't know you went freelance. How exciting. Which publications are you working with?" Margaret asked, her beady eyes gleaming like she'd just spotted fresh prey.

Elise's grip eased as she genuinely smiled—the kind Zack hadn’t seen since they’d walked in. "Actually, I just landed a feature with The Guardian," she said, tilting her chin up just enough to make Margaret blink. "Investigative piece on sports injuries in grassroots football. Turns out concussions aren’t just for rugby players."

Zack nearly choked on his sparkling water. Elise hadn’t mentioned the Guardian gig—probably because she knew he’d rib her about going mainstream. Margaret’s penciled eyebrows shot up toward her stiffly sprayed bangs. "Oh! Well, that’s… impressive."

"Yeah, I'm very proud of her". Zack said smoothly, squeezing Elise's hand back—three deliberate pulses that meant nice save.

The moment Margaret scurried off to interrogate another cousin about their life choices, Elise slumped against Zack’s shoulder like a marionette with cut strings. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered into his sleeve, “I think your aunt just tried to perform a credit check on me with her eyes.”

Zack snorted into his sparkling water, nearly spilling it down Elise’s back. "That was just the warm-up," he murmured, steering her toward the relative safety of their table. "Wait till Uncle Derek corners you about property values in Greater London."

Elise groaned, sliding into her chair with the grace of a condemned prisoner. "Remind me why I agreed to this again?"

"Because you’re a masochist with a soft spot for me," Zack said, grinning as he nudged her wineglass closer.

"Mm that is true". Elise nodded taking a swig of wine.

"So, The Guardian huh. That's a big deal. Congratulations". Zack whispered as he leaned closer to Elise. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered across her face, catching the hint of smugness in her smirk. She shrugged one shoulder, but he could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her wineglass—pleased, but trying not to show it.

"Freelance rates are better," she muttered, swirling the wine absently. "And I get to pick my own stories instead of writing puff pieces about local council corruption." She took another sip, then glanced sideways at him. "Don’t act so surprised. I can do serious journalism when I’m not busy covering your sweaty grappling matches."

"I know, but I will miss you covering wrestling for Tokyo Sport," Zack said, grinning as he nudged her knee under the table. The contact was brief—just a tap of his dress shoe against her ankle—but it sent a jolt through him anyway. Elise rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched.

Then the speeches began. Zack’s brother stood, clinking his fork against a champagne flute with the confidence of a man who’d never known embarrassment. "Before I get sentimental," he started, smirking directly at Zack, "I just want to say how thrilling it is that my big brother finally brought someone home. And that it’s Elise—someone we’ve all loved for years." The room erupted in awws. Elise’s grip on Zack’s thigh under the table could have crushed bone. "Beth and I have always looked up too and admired you two," he continued, laying it on thicker than the butter on the bread rolls. "Your relationship’s been such an inspiration to us and we probably wouldn't be getting married tomorrow if we hadn’t seen how much you two love each other."

Elise’s wineglass froze halfway to her lips. Zack could see the exact moment her brain short-circuited—her fingers twitched, her nostrils flared, and her eyes darted sideways at him like a trapped animal assessing escape routes. The entire table was watching them now, misty-eyed and nodding along like they were starring in some romantic drama. Zack’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

"Christ," Elise muttered under her breath, her knee bouncing under the table. "I’m going to murder him in his sleep."

"Relax". Zack whispered, his warm breath tickling Elise’s ear. He squeezed her thigh under the table—whether to reassure her or stop her from bolting, he wasn’t sure. "Just smile and nod."

Elise bared her teeth in something that could charitably be called a smile, her fingers tightening around her wineglass until the stem creaked ominously. "If I nod," she hissed through clenched teeth, "it’ll be to confirm where I buried his body."

The toast concluded with Zack’s brother raising his glass directly at them, the bastard’s grin practically glowing with smug satisfaction. The room erupted into applause, forks clinking against crystal in approval. Elise lifted her own glass in a mock salute, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.

The applause died down with the same slow agony as a deflating balloon. Elise set her wineglass down with exaggerated care—Zack could practically hear the internal counting to ten—just as his father materialized beside their table with terrifying parental stealth.

"Elise," Mr. Sabre said, extending a hand with the gravitas of a man requesting a duel, "may I have this dance?" The opening notes of "Fly Me to the Moon" drifted from the string quartet. Zack's mother was conspicuously absent—likely orchestrating this from behind the potted palms.

Elise's fingers twitched toward her steak knife before she caught herself. "Of course. Hopefully you're better at it than this one. I still have the bruises from last time". She threw Zack a look that promised retribution before accepting Mr. Sabre's outstretched hand with surprising grace.

The dance floor cleared like the Red Sea as Zack's father led Elise into a practiced waltz. Zack watched, mesmerized, as Elise—who'd once broken his toe during a drunken conga line—somehow transformed into something elegant under his father's guidance. Her black jumpsuit caught the candlelight, the tactical fabric moving like liquid as Mr. Sabre spun her in a perfect turn.

"You know, you're good for him," Mr. Sabre said as he guided Elise through an unexpectedly graceful spin. His hands were warm and steady against hers—nothing like Zack's nervous fidgeting whenever they'd been forced to dance as teenagers. "Our Zack used to have panic attacks before matches when he was younger. Wouldn't leave his room for days."

Elise nearly missed a step. She'd known Zack since they were eleven—had seen him through broken bones and bad breakups—but he'd never mentioned that. "He… what?"

Mr. Sabre chuckled, steering her effortlessly away from a collision with Aunt Margaret. "Oh, he'd kill me for telling you. But ever since you started traveling with him on the indie circuit? Stopped entirely." His grip tightened slightly as he led her into a dip. "Funny thing is, he used to scribble your name in his notebooks when he thought no one was looking. Had a proper crush on you at fourteen."

The string quartet shifted into a softer melody as Elise processed this. Zack—her Zack, who'd once drunkenly dared her to arm-wrestle a bouncer—had been secretly romantic this whole time? She risked a glance at their table where Zack was currently stabbing a bread roll with unnecessary force, his ears burning red under the candlelight.

"Wish he'd told me," she muttered before she could stop herself.

Mr. Sabre's smile crinkled at the corners. "Would you have believed him?"

Elise opened her mouth—then shut it with a click. Because no, fourteen-year-old Elise would've laughed in his face and challenged him to a wrestling match instead. The realization hit her like a suplex: all those times Zack had "coincidentally" shown up at her university pub, the way he'd always volunteer to share hotel rooms on press trips, even tonight's ridiculous lie—they weren't just Zack being Zack. They were moves.

"You two have always been…" Mr. Sabre searched for the word as he guided her through a turn, "good together. But watch how he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." He nodded discreetly toward their table where Zack was now glaring at his brother's back like he could set it on fire through sheer willpower. "That's not just friendship, love."

Elise followed his gaze just in time to see Zack's expression soften as he absentmindedly rubbed the spot on his forearm where she'd dug her nails in earlier. Her throat went tight.

"My guess is he asked you to pretend you were together for the wedding. Am I right?" Mr. Sabre murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. Elise stumbled, her heel catching on the parquet. He steadied her effortlessly, chuckling at her stunned expression. "Relax. I've watched that boy trip over his own feet trying to impress you since primary school. The way he looks at you during press conferences? Like you hung the moon."

Elise's throat clicked when she swallowed. "You knew?"

The older man's eyes crinkled. "Know my son. He panicked when his brother got engaged first. Classic Zack." He spun her deliberately, giving her a clear view of the table where Zack was now nervously shredding a napkin while shooting glances at the dance floor. "What's interesting is you agreed."

"He's my best friend and his mum is terrifying," Elise blurted, but her traitorous pulse jumped when Zack's father arched an eyebrow—the same skeptical expression Zack wore whenever she lied about finishing his crisps.

Mr. Sabre hummed, spinning her into a turn that put Zack directly in her line of sight. "I would've said overbearing,"

Elise chuckled nervously as Mr. Sabre guided her through another turn, her palms suddenly damp against his. "You're reading too much into things," she said, but her pulse betrayed her, hammering loud enough that she was sure he could feel it through her fingertips.

"Oh, I don't think so," Mr. Sabre murmured, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Remember that summer after GCSEs? When Zack refused to go on that family holiday to Spain?" He spun her deliberately, watching her face as realization dawned. "Because you'd just broken up with that twat from the sixth form and he 'had to stay behind to keep an eye on you.'" His fingers tightened slightly around hers. "He moped around the house for a week waiting for you to call."

Elise's breath caught. She remembered that summer—how Zack had shown up unannounced with a tub of cookie dough ice cream and bad action movies, how he'd let her cry into his shoulder about Jason without once saying 'I told you so.' She'd thought it was just Zack being Zack—her best friend, her constant. But the way his father was looking at her now, like he was piecing together a puzzle she hadn't even realized was incomplete…

"He used to practice his promposal in the mirror," Mr. Sabre continued, amusement colouring his tone as Elise nearly tripped over her own feet. "Full suit, flowers, the works. Wanted it to be perfect." A pause. "Then you started dating Whitmore, and he threw the flowers in the bin."

The music swelled around them, violins cresting like waves, but all Elise could hear was the rushing in her ears. Zack—her Zack, who'd shown up to her flat last year with a black eye and two tickets to Prague just because she'd mentioned wanting to go—had been in love with her since they were kids? And she'd been too oblivious to notice?

Mr. Sabre's grip shifted, his thumb brushing reassuringly over her knuckles. "You're thinking too hard," he chided gently. "Just watch." With a subtle tilt of his chin, he directed her gaze toward their table where Zack was now in heated conversation with his brother.

Even from across the room, Elise could see the tension in Zack's shoulders—the way his fingers drummed an uneven rhythm against the tablecloth. But when his brother said something that made the surrounding aunties gasp, Zack's head snapped up instinctively, his eyes searching the dance floor until they locked onto hers. The moment their gazes connected, his shoulders dropped half an inch.

"See?" Mr. Sabre murmured. "He's always done that. Even when you were kids—one look from you, and he'd settle." He guided her into a slow turn, his voice dropping conspiratorially.

"Why didn't he tell me?" The words slipped out before Elise could stop them, her grip tightening on Mr. Sabre's shoulder as the quartet transitioned into a slower waltz. The question hung between them like the chandelier above the dancefloor—fragile, glittering, impossible to ignore.

Mr. Sabre's smile was soft, the kind reserved for toddlers taking their first steps or dogs finally catching their tails. "Would you have let him?" He didn't wait for an answer, spinning her just in time for Elise to catch Zack mid-eye-roll at something his brother said. Even irritated, his gaze kept flicking back to her like a compass finding north. "You two have always been… kinetic. Like flint and steel." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "Maybe he was waiting for the right spark."

Elise's pulse stuttered. She remembered Zack at fourteen, shoving her into a swimming pool and cannonballing in after her—how he'd lingered afterward, dripping and grinning, until she'd tackled him under again. At eighteen, showing up at her dorm with takeout after her first brutal breakup, letting her cry into his shirt while he pretended not to notice she'd ruined it. Last winter, pressing his freezing hands against the back of her neck in Prague just to hear her shriek, his laughter echoing off the Charles Bridge.

"Why are you telling me all this now?" Elise finally asked as the song wound down, her voice barely audible over the fading strings. Mr. Sabre guided her into a final spin, positioning her perfectly in front of Zack's chair before releasing her hands with a magician's flourish.

"Because," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to stir her hair, "someone had to." And with that, he melted into the crowd like a stagehand after the big reveal.

Zack stood abruptly, his chair scraping loud enough to make several aunts wince. "You okay?" he asked, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for her but wasn't sure he was allowed. Up close, Elise could see the nervous sweat at his temples, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when she didn't immediately answer.

"Yeah," Elise said, but her voice sounded strange even to her own ears. Zack's fingers hovered near her elbow—close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the candlelight refracting strangely through her wineglass. "Your dad's a surprisingly good dancer."

Zack's laugh was too loud, too sharp. "Yeah, well. He had to learn after mum threatened to replace him with a Strictly pro." His eyes flicked nervously between hers, searching for something. "He didn't… say anything weird, did he?"

Elise studied the way Zack's collar dug into his throat when he swallowed, the way his knuckles whitened around his napkin. Suddenly all those shared hotel rooms, all those "coincidental" meetups at train stations, all the times he'd shown up exactly when she needed him—they rearranged themselves in her mind like puzzle pieces clicking into place. "Define weird."

Zack's throat clicked audibly. "You know. Dad stuff. Embarrassing childhood stories." He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture so familiar it made Elise's chest ache. "Like that time I—"

"Tried to grow a mustache for our Year 11 formal and it looked like a dirty caterpillar?" Elise supplied, watching the flush crawl up Zack's neck. "Or when you practiced your promposal in the mirror for two weeks?"

Zack's water glass froze halfway to his lips. Elise saw the exact moment realization hit—his eyes widened, his fingers tightened around the glass, and a drop of condensation rolled off the rim onto his trousers. "He told you." It wasn't a question. The words came out strangled, like someone had their hands around his throat.

Elise watched the ice cubes tremble in his glass. "About the flowers too." She hadn't meant to say it—hadn't even processed the information herself—but now the words hung between them, fragile as the candle flames flickering in Zack's dilated pupils.

The reception hall noise faded into a distant hum. Somewhere to their left, Zack's brother laughed loudly at something, but neither of them turned. Zack's throat worked silently before he managed, "It wasn't—I didn't—" He cut himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose, his free hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach for something. "Fuck."

"Let's dance," Elise said abruptly, plucking Zack's glass from his hand and setting it down with a clink that made him jump. His fingers twitched toward hers, then curled into fists at his sides.

"Elise—"

"Now," she interrupted, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the dance floor with terrifying efficiency. The quartet had transitioned into something slow and syrupy—the kind of song that made Zack want to bolt for the nearest fire exit. Elise positioned them between two swaying couples, her hands settling on his shoulders with surprising gentleness. "Relax," she murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone. "Just breathe."

Zack's hands hovered awkwardly near Elise's waist before settling with tentative pressure, his fingers trembling against the small of her back. Up close, she could smell his cologne—something citrusy with an undercurrent of sweat from tonight's panic. His pulse thrummed visibly at his throat. "I can explain—"

"Why didn't you tell me? All the times we've been single at the same times. It's not coincidence is it?" Elise interrupted, her fingers tightening slightly on Zack's shoulders. The string quartet's melody wrapped around them, softening the edges of her words but not their weight.

Zack swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against her gaze. His hands were warm through the thin fabric of her jumpsuit, thumbs tracing absent circles that sent shivers up her spine. "Would you have believed me?" His voice was rough, an octave lower than usual. "After that disaster with Jason, you swore off dating entirely."

Elise remembered that night—how Zack had shown up at her flat with takeout and terrible movies, how he'd let her cry into his shirt without saying a word. She'd assumed it was just Zack being Zack. But now, with his father's revelations echoing in her ears and Zack's fingers trembling against her back, the memory took on new dimensions.

"You waited," she said softly, watching the candlelight flicker across Zack's face. His lips parted, then pressed into a thin line—the same expression he wore when trying to talk his way out of a submission hold.

"Yeah. Good things come to those that wait and you're worth waiting for." Zack's voice cracked on the last word, his hands tightening reflexively around Elise's waist. The admission hung between them like the chandelier above—impossible to ignore now that it had been said aloud. Elise could feel his heart pounding against her palm where it rested against his chest, a frantic rhythm that matched her own.

The music swelled around them, violins cresting like waves against the shore.

"You could've told me," Elise whispered. Her fingers curled into the fabric of Zack's dress shirt, anchoring herself as much as him. The heat from his skin seeped through the material—familiar and foreign all at once. "All those times we got drunk and complained about being single—"

"And say what?" Zack's laugh was breathless, strained. He dipped his head closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. "'By the way, I've been in love with you since Year 9?'" His fingers flexed against her lower back, pulling her incrementally closer. "You'd have bolted faster than when I accidentally set your hair on fire with sparklers."

Elise's lips twitched despite herself. "That was one time." She could feel Zack's exhale against her cheek, warm and unsteady. The song transitioned seamlessly into another, the quartet oblivious to the tectonic shift happening mid-dancefloor. Around them, relatives swayed in contented ignorance—except for Mr. Sabre, who winked shamelessly from across the room before turning to refill his wineglass.

"You're my best friend. Part of me was worried that if I told you I'd lose what we had. I came to realise that I'd rather have you remain in my life as my best friend than not at all." Zack murmured, his breath hitching when Elise's fingers traced the line of his jaw. The gesture was familiar—she'd done it a hundred times—but tonight it felt different.

Elise's fingers stilled against Zack's jaw, her thumb brushing the faint stubble along his chin. The warmth of his skin beneath her touch was familiar, but the way his breath hitched—that was new. The string quartet's melody wrapped around them like a cocoon, shielding them from the curious glances of Zack's relatives.

"You idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking on the last syllable. Zack blinked, his brows knitting together in confusion, but before he could respond, Elise surged forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that tasted of wine and twenty years of missed opportunities.

For a heartbeat, Zack froze—rigid against her—before his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him with a desperation that made her knees weak. His lips were softer than she'd imagined, parting against hers with a quiet gasp that Elise swallowed greedily. Somewhere in the background, a glass shattered, followed by a chorus of gasps and delighted murmurs, but Elise couldn't bring herself to care.

The world narrowed to the press of Zack’s lips against hers—warm, insistent, slightly off-center because he’d jerked in surprise when she first kissed him. Elise could feel the moment he stopped thinking and just felt; his hands slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer until the sequins of her jumpsuit dug into his chest. Someone wolf-whistled. Zack’s mother burst into applause.

Elise broke away first, breathless, her fingers still tangled in Zack’s hair. His pupils were blown wide, his lips reddened from hers. "Oh," he said dumbly, like he’d just been suplexed into another dimension.

"Yeah," Elise agreed, her voice rough. She smoothed down his mussed collar, noting with satisfaction how his breath hitched at her touch. "Took you long enough."

The reception hall erupted into cheers and applause around them, but all Zack could hear was the pounding of his own pulse. Elise's lips were still centimeters from his, her breath warm against his skin as she smirked—that infuriating, beautiful smirk that had haunted his dreams since GCSE maths class.

"You—" Zack's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, fingers tightening on Elise's hips like she might vanish if he loosened his grip. "You kissed me."

Elise arched an eyebrow, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where her lipstick had smudged. "Astute observation, Sabre. Should I write you a—"

Zack didn't let her finish. He cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again—properly this time, with none of the startled hesitation from before. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that made Elise's knees buckle, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones in a gesture so tender it threatened to undo her entirely. The reception hall erupted into another round of applause, but neither of them noticed.

When they finally broke apart, Zack rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged. "Been wanting to do that since Year 9," he admitted, his voice rough around the edges. Elise's pulse stuttered at the admission—at the way his fingers trembled against her skin, like he still couldn't quite believe this was real.

"Definitely worth waiting for," Elise teased, her voice low enough that only Zack could hear. Her fingers traced the shell of his ear, noting with satisfaction how his breath hitched at the contact. The reception hall buzzed around them—auntie whispers, clinking glasses, someone loudly declaring they "knew it all along"—but all Zack could focus on was the weight of Elise's hands against his chest, anchoring him to this moment.

Zack's brother materialized beside them with the timing of a seasoned provocateur. "Took you two long enough," he said, clapping Zack so hard on the back that Elise had to steady him. His grin was pure smugness. "Mum owes me twenty quid—I said you'd crack before the cake cutting."

Elise narrowed her eyes. "You bet on us?"

"Yeah, since that year 9 away trip you guys went on to France," Zack's brother admitted, grinning as he dodged Elise's half-hearted swipe. "Christ, Zack was unbearable after you kissed him at that party—what was it, like fifteen minutes before Whitmore showed up?"

Zack's ears burned crimson. "Fuck off," he muttered, tightening his grip around Elise's waist like he was afraid she'd vanish if he let go. His thumb rubbed absent circles against her hipbone—a nervous habit Elise recognized from press conferences when he was trying not to fidget.

"So, what do we do now?" Zack asked, his voice uncharacteristically small as he traced the line of Elise's jaw with his thumb. The noise of the reception faded into background static—the clinking glasses, the murmurs of his relatives, even his brother's smug commentary all dissolving into white noise. All that mattered was the way Elise's fingers curled into the front of his shirt, anchoring him to the present.

Elise tilted her head, considering him with a look that made his pulse stutter. "Well," she said slowly, her smirk returning with devastating effect, "first you're going to tell me how long you've actually fancied me. Proper timeline. Then we're going to get very drunk, because your family is relentless, and I need fortification before round two." Her thumb brushed his lower lip, wiping away the smudge of her lipstick. "Then tomorrow, after this wedding—"

"—we see where this takes us," Elise finished, her voice dropping into that private register Zack had only ever heard when they were alone in hotel rooms after press tours. His breath caught at the implication—at the sudden, dizzying realization that this wasn't just for the wedding. That after tomorrow, there might still be an us.

On this account, I will be going by the name Felix, it isn’t my real name or my ring name, but I like how it sounds, so apologies to any wrestlers out there named Felix.

I’ve been wrestling on and off for about 2 years now, I’m in my early 20s, and thus far my career has been a series of steps forward and jumps backward,

I tell people that my only talents in the world are wrestling and writing (even if I may be lying about the first) and I thought it would be good to combine the two. I hope it’s an enjoyable reading experience.

In this diary I will talk about my matches, training sessions and general run ins with the world of British Wrestling.

went to a local wrestling gig, couldn't not show some appreciation for the main event (declan mccarthy vs gary maginnis in a last man standing match) 💛⚡

i think futureshock uploads their matches somewhere? keep an eye out