#damage ctrl

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N needed a break.

She hated the feeling of needing one, especially after having a few weeks off right before Christmas. But she couldn’t go back to work and face the two men who have managed to piss her off more than anyone in her life ever has.

She had about three days before needing to head to Atlanta, and she planned on ignoring both Colby and Phil until she couldn’t anymore. It wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but she couldn’t talk to either of them. Not right now. Especially after Phil’s confession. She needed time away. Time with a person who she didn’t see all the time and who could be impartial to her situation.

That’s what brought her to Cincinnati Ohio.

Y/N pays her uber driver before grabbing her suitcase and clambering up the familiar driveway that she hasn’t seen in person in at least two years. She didn’t really give him or his family a warning that she was coming. But they always said if she needed anywhere to go, she could come there.

Y/N inhales deeply before hitting the door with three measured knocks. She can hear the confusion behind the door. Small murmurs and shuffling around on the hardwood in the foyet. It only takes five more seconds before the front door swings open.

“Y/N?”

She shoots a small yet nervous grin, “Hey, Good… Long time no see.”

Jonathan Good. Her longtime best friend and ex-Shield member. After he left WWE and got signed with AEW, they agreed to keep in touch and visit when they could. They kept up with the keeping in touch part, but visiting became scarce with their schedules.

For a second, Jon just stared at her like she was a ghost—like his past had materialized on his porch with a suitcase and no explanation. And then, in true Jon fashion, he laughed—gruff and disbelieving—before stepping forward and pulling her into a rib-cracking hug.

“Holy shit, what the hell are you doing here?” he said, lifting her clean off the ground and spinning her once. She laughed into his shoulder, squeezing him just as tightly.

“Surprise?” she said, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“You’re damn right it’s a surprise.”

He set her down and held her at arm’s length, looking her over like he was making sure she was real. Same eyes, same smirk, same slight exhaustion tucked behind it all. “You look… tired.”

“Thanks,” she muttered. “Great to see you, too.”

He grinned. “Get your ass inside before the neighbors start thinking I’ve kidnapped a celebrity.”

She stepped in, the warmth of the house wrapping around her like a weighted blanket. The air smelled faintly of lavender and coffee, and she barely had time to register anything before another familiar voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Who was at the—” Renee Paquette’s words halted the second she stepped into view, her eyes landing on the figure beside her husband. “No way.”

Y/N turned, smiling brightly. “Hey, stranger.”

“Oh my God!” Renee squealed, immediately hurrying over to wrap her in a hug of her own. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you text? You’re lucky I don’t have rollers in.”

“I figured I’d just show up and hope you guys still like me.”

“We love you,” Renee corrected as she pulled away. “Obviously.”

Before Y/N could respond, tiny footsteps thundered from around the corner.

“Nora, slow down!” Renee called, but it was too late.

The little girl came running in, her long dark hair in a braid and her smile wide. She skidded to a stop the second she saw who was standing in the foyer.

“Auntie Y/N?”

Y/N’s face broke into a full-blown grin. “Oh my God… Look at you!”

“You came back!” Nora yelled before launching herself at her. Y/N caught her with a slight stumble, arms wrapping tightly around the girl who had grown so much since she last saw her.

“You’re huge now,” she said dramatically, setting Nora back down. “What have they been feeding you? Protein powder?”

“Pizza!” Nora shouted proudly.

Jon snorted. “That checks out.”

“I missed you,” Nora said, peeking up at her with wide eyes.

Y/N melted. “I missed you too, kid.”

Jon grabbed her suitcase with a grunt. “C’mon. We’ll put your stuff in the guest room.”

She followed him down the hallway, Nora clinging to her side, and Renee trailing behind. Once her bag was set down and she had a chance to breathe, Jon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “So,” he said. “What gives?”

Y/N flopped onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair. “I needed a break,” she said. “From everything. Everyone.”

Renee gave Jon a look. A knowing one. Then she smiled gently. “I’ll take Nora to the back. We’ll let you two catch up.”

Nora pouted. “Can’t I stay?”

Y/N ruffled her hair. “Later, kid. I promise.”

Once Renee and Nora left the room and the door clicked shut, an oddly comfortable silence settled between them. Jon stood there, arms crossed, still leaning in the doorway while Y/N sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

“Alright,” he said gently, “what’s going on, really?”

She let out a slow breath through her nose, not looking up. “It’s stupid.”

“Probably,” Jon’s voice was soft but firm. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real though.”

She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Since when did you start sounding like a therapist?”

“Since my wife started rubbing off on me.” He gave a half-smile. “Y/N… come on. You flew halfway across the damn country, unannounced, with a suitcase and that look on your face. You’re not here for pizza and pool night.”

Y/N groaned, falling backward onto the bed dramatically. “I hate that you know me this well.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. Now spill.”

There was a long pause. The ceiling suddenly became very interesting to her. “…It’s boy problems,” she finally muttered.

Jon blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

She groaned again, louder this time, covering her face with both hands. “Boy problems, Jon. Jesus, I sound like a teenager.”

“You kind of do,” he teased, coming to sit on the chair across from her again. “But if I’m assuming correctly… the two stooges who are causin’ your problems are makin’ your life more difficult than just high school crushes and dance invitations.”

She groaned, already regretting everything. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like… I blinked and somehow ended up in the middle of this emotional war zone. Like one minute I was minding my business, doing my job, and the next, I’ve got two emotionally constipated men acting like I’m the goddamn Royal Rumble trophy.”

Jon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “So… I was right? It’s Colby and Phil?”

Y/N sighed. “Yup.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded like he was watching a slow-burning explosion unfold in real time. After a second, he ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Yeah… figured something like this was gonna happen.”

That made her sit up straighter. “Wait, what?”

Jon gave her a knowing look. “Y/N, come on. I’ve known you for over a decade. And I’ve known Colby just as long. The second he stopped seeing you as just a co-worker? That was it. Dude didn’t stand a chance. I figured he’d confess eventually—just didn’t think it would take him this long.”

Her stomach twisted. “But,” Jon continued, “of course it happens to line up with Phil coming back like a damn ghost from the past, dragging all that old chemistry with him. And now you’re stuck in the crossfire of two men trying to out-alpha each other.”

Y/N dropped her face into her hands. “The fact you don’t even work for the damn company and you have it all figured out pisses me off.”

He smirked. “Yeah, it’s annoying, isn’t it?”

She looked up. “They both mean something to me. Colby… he’s good. He’s sweet. He’s constant. He doesn’t try to change me, and he sees me—really sees me. But Phil…” She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. “…Phil’s everything I told myself to stay away from. But he’s also part of me. My past, my growth, my pain, my passion. He challenges me in a way no one else ever has. And now that he’s back, I can’t pretend like it’s nothing. But I also can’t just break Colby’s heart because of old flames and confusing feelings.”

Jon nodded slowly, his eyes steady on her. “And now?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “They’re both trying to pretend like they’re not competing, but they are. One second, they’re sniping at each other like they’re twelve, and the next, they’re throwing punches. And I’m just there, trying not to scream in the middle of it.”

Jon tilted his head. “And what do you want?”

She blinked at him. “I told you. I don’t know.”

“You do know,” he said. “You just don’t want to hurt either of them.”

“…Exactly.”

Jon leaned back in the chair, cracking his knuckles. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I can tell you what to do. But you’ve got to stop treating your own heart like it’s the damn fallout zone. You’re allowed to want what you want without trying to fix everyone else’s emotions along the way.”

Y/N stared at the floor for a long beat. Then she looked back up at him. “I missed you.”

He smiled at that. “I know. You only show up here unannounced when the world’s spinning sideways.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I always keep a spare key and a fridge full of snacks just in case.” He stood, grabbing a water bottle from the desk. “Now go change. You came all the way out here to escape, but I’m not letting you wallow.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this the part where you make me do violent cardio?”

“Nope.” He tossed her the water bottle. “This is the part where I let you hit things.”

“Now that sounds like therapy.”

“You’re welcome.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The warehouse-style gym was quiet, the sound of a creaking ring rope echoing faintly across the concrete walls. Y/N took a slow breath as she rolled her wrists, watching Jon circle the mat. He was already barefoot, hoodie off, in a pair of sweats and a “Mox” tank that had seen better days. He tilted his head at her with a half-grin.

“You stretching or stalling?”

Y/N scoffed and dropped her bag on the bench. “Please. I’m just deciding whether or not I should go easy on you.”

Jon barked out a laugh, already climbing under the ropes. “Cute. That Shield ego’s still alive and well.”

Y/N stepped onto the apron and ducked inside. “You brought it out of me. I was peaceful before I was partnered with you.”

“Yeah, peaceful,” he said, smirking as they circled each other.

They locked up hard, neither holding back. She pushed into him with more force than he expected, making him stagger. He chuckled, rolling his shoulder before lunging again. They traded holds and grapples, feet skimming over the mat, and eventually Y/N spun out and caught him in a clean arm drag.

He landed with a thud and let out a surprised grunt, flipping onto his back with a slight smile. “Damn,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re more aggressive than half the guys I work with.”

She smirked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Gotta get my frustrations out somehow.”

They kept going, sweat beginning to bead along their hairlines. Jon ducked a swinging forearm and scooped her into a waistlock, lifting and planting her with a controlled takedown. She popped back up fast, knocking him with a shoulder. The two rolled and slammed, their movements sharp but trusting. No ego, just mutual respect.

After another lock-up, Jon leaned back against the ropes, catching his breath. “You ever think about switching over to AEW?”

Y/N raised a brow. “You offering me a contract, Good?”

He smirked. “Might not be a bad move. Hell, you already beat me up like you work here.”

She chuckled and wiped her forehead. “Not sure you’d know what to do with me.”

“You kidding? We’d run that locker room within two weeks.” He glanced at her more seriously. “You look good using this kind of style. Comfortable.”

There was a pause—just long enough to let her guard lower. “I needed this,” she said. “I needed you. This whole week has been—” She cut herself off with a sigh and leaned against the ropes beside him. “I just… I needed to feel like myself again.”

Jon stayed quiet, sensing the shift. She wasn’t looking at him. That meant whatever was coming next was real. He finally said, “You’re not here just to throw me around and look good doin’ it, are ya?”

“No,” she muttered. “I guess not.”

He waited.

Y/N exhaled. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t even be this wrapped up in it.”

“Try me.”

She chewed on her bottom lip before finally admitting, “It’s just– they’re both being… impossible. And I’m tired. I don’t even remember what it all started over. One second Colby and I are fine, the next it’s a full-on fight at a hotel party.”

Jon’s eyebrows raised. “Jesus.”

She laughed, humorless. “I know. It’s pathetic. I’m not even mad at one more than the other. I’m mad that they made me the damn prize. Like I’m some walking trophy they have to outdo each other over.”

“You’re not a trophy,” Jon said, voice low and steady. “You’re a damn earthquake. You shake up everything around you. They just don’t know how to deal with it.”

Y/N glanced at him. “Why do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you. May not have known you as long as Brooks, but I’ve been your friend for longer than he was gone. And I know your tells. I know when you’re spiraling. And I know when you’re holding something back.” He tilts his head, “Now i know they’re botherin’ you, but I can tell there’s more goin’ on in that head of yours. So what’s up?”

She was silent for a moment before finally sighing, “I’m bored on SmackDown.”

That surprised even her. But it felt good to say out loud. “I love my guys,” she continued. “Joe, Joseph, Jon. They’ve had my back forever. But it’s the same shit every week. Interfere. Attack. Pull someone outta the ring. I’ve done it all already. And I don’t feel like I’m growing.”

Jon nodded slowly. “So grow.”

“I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. “Monday nights feel different. There’s more room to breathe. I have people who push me.”

“You need that. You always have. You’ve never been the ‘just go with it’ type. You’re a firestarter.”

They were quiet for a moment. Y/N sat down on the edge of the ring apron and pulled out her phone, instinctively checking the screen. More missed calls. Colby, again. A couple of texts too.

And two from Phil. Short. Measured. One just said, Hope you’re good. The other? Wish we could talk.

Jon peeked over. “They still blowing you up?”

“Colby’s panicking. Phil’s… waiting.”

Jon snorted. “Figures.”

She locked the phone and dropped it beside her. “I don’t even know what to do. I care about Colby. He’s… there. Reliable. He cares about me. He always comes back, always tries. And Phil—”

“You don’t need to explain Phil,” Jon cut in gently. “We all saw how that went.”

“I just wish they’d both stop making it about each other and start giving a shit about what I want.”

Jon crouched in front of her, meeting her eyes. “Then tell ‘em. And don’t forget that what you want matters just as much as their feelings. You’re not responsible for managing their egos.”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’re one of the toughest people I know,” he added. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to be tired.”

Y/N gave a watery smile, her throat tight.

“Now,” Jon said, standing up and extending a hand. “We’re gonna go again. But this time, I’m actually trying.”

“Oh, now you’re trying?”

“Hell yeah. Can’t let you leave town thinkin’ you can whoop my ass.”

She took his hand, letting him pull her up. “Too late.”

He grinned, already circling again. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I came here.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stepped through the loading dock entrance of the arena, dragging her suitcase behind her with a quiet clack against the concrete. There was a certain sharpness in her walk tonight—like she'd sharpened her edges during her time away. Mox had helped clear her head a bit, sure. But the weight she’d left behind hadn’t fully lifted. Not when she still had two unread messages from Phil and a voicemail from Colby sitting on her phone like ticking time bombs.

Still, she wasn’t going to let any of that follow her into the locker room. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, cracked her neck, and forced on a grin as she made her way through the familiar hallways of SmackDown.

When she entered the Bloodline locker room, Jon and Joseph were already inside, bickering over what sounded like the proper way to wrap wrist tape.

“Oh thank God,” Y/N said loudly as she dropped her bag near the bench. “Voices I actually want to hear.”

Jon turned first, grin spreading across his face. “Look who decided to show up.”

Joseph offered a smirk and a nod. “You look good.”

Y/N stepped in, tugging her jacket off. “I feel good.” She walked right up to Jon and nudged his shoulder. “Missed you, you annoying little shit.”

“Aw, she missed me.” Jon batted his lashes, and she shoved him harder, laughing when he stumbled backward into Solo’s arm.

Joseph chuckled under his breath and caught her in a headlock when she passed, ruffling her hair. She smacked his stomach to get him off, but it only made him laugh harder. For the first time all week, she felt… at home. Warm. Like she was still tethered to something steady.

But that sense of calm faltered the second the door creaked open.

Joe stepped inside, dressed in all black, his presence as commanding as ever. The atmosphere shifted immediately. Y/N straightened up instinctively, her smile faltering just for a beat.

Joe’s eyes found hers quickly, narrowing just slightly as if taking stock of her condition.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight,” Y/N said, voice light but guarded.

He stepped further into the room, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t think I’d be here. Plans changed.”

“Yeah… they seem to do that a lot lately,” she muttered under her breath.

Still, she didn’t shy away. She walked over and gave him a half-hug, brief and stiff, but enough. Jon and Joseph carried on like normal, making noise in the background about how the faction was finally all under one roof again. But the tension between Y/N and Joe was palpable. A few minutes passed as they joked around and caught up. The energy wasn’t perfect, but it was functional. Familiar. Y/N felt the invisible string between them tug when Joseph mentioned heading to finish up with hair and makeup.

“Y/N, you comin’?” Jon asked.

“I’ll catch up,” she said quickly, her tone casual. Too casual.

Joseph raised a brow but didn’t press. Once the two of them left, the room quieted significantly. Joe moved closer, arms crossed loosely. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or are we gonna pretend you’re fine until the roof caves in?”

Y/N glanced down, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You came in quiet,” Joe said softly. “You don’t do quiet unless something’s wrong.”

She scoffed, still not meeting his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joe took a step forward. “Means I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s off.”

Her jaw tensed. She didn’t want to do this now. Not with him. Not when she was already raw.

“Talk to me,” he said again, softer now. “Please.”

That word — please — cut through her defenses like a knife. She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to look at him. “You know what? Fine.” He blinked. Surprised by the edge in her voice. “You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m tired, Joe. I’m so damn tired,” she said, the words tumbling out too fast to stop now. “I know you’ve got your family, and your health isn’t always where it should be, and I get it. I do. But when you disappear without warning, you leave the rest of us to figure it all out.”

Joe said nothing, letting her keep going. “And I’m not your blood. I know that,” she said, her voice cracking despite her efforts. “So when I try to lead, it feels wrong. Like I’m overstepping. Like I’m trying to wear a crown that doesn’t belong to me. But when I don’t lead, we lose. They need someone. And when it’s not you, it’s supposed to be me.” She paused, blinking fast, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But I’m not the Tribal Chief. I’m not even a real member of this damn family. I’m just the girl who got dragged into all of this and somehow became the glue holding it together. And I’m so scared that if I fall apart, the whole thing will too.”

The silence stretched between them. Joe stepped forward, close enough that she had to look up at him. “You listen to me,” he said, voice low and firm. “You are family. I don’t give a damn about blood. You’ve earned your place a hundred times over.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “And if you wanna lead? You can. You’ve got my trust. More than Jimmy. More than Solo. Hell, more than some of my own blood that’s not here.”

That admission nearly knocked the breath out of her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. That’s on me. But when I’m not here, you don’t have to walk on eggshells. You call me. Anytime. You need something? You talk to me. I love you, okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back. “I love you too.”

Joe pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. She stayed there a little longer than she probably should’ve, selfishly taking the comfort she hadn’t known she needed.

After a beat, she kissed his cheek and pulled back with a sniff. “Thanks. For saying that.”

He nodded. “Anytime.”

She smiled weakly and grabbed her bag again. “I’m gonna go finish getting ready.”

“Hey,” he called before she reached the door. “Whatever’s eating you alive? Don’t let it win. You’ve got this.”

As she left for hair and makeup, guilt gnawed at her chest. She hadn’t told him the full truth. She hadn’t told him she was seriously considering switching brands. That maybe… maybe her time in the Bloodline was reaching its expiration date. But for now, she kept walking. One step at a time.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stood in the narrow hallway just behind the curtain at State Farm Arena, Atlanta. Her heart thundered in her chest like the crowd out front, but her face was calm and focused. She had taped her wrists three times, each layer a silent promise. Tonight was more than a match. It was a statement. She breathed in, brushing aside guilt over the unread messages from Colby and Phil—those worries would wait. She wasn’t here for drama. She was here for control.

Through the curtain’s bluish haze, she could see the ring below, where Kayden Carter and Katana Chance were stepping into place. The arena lights dimmed slightly, and their music hit. Kayden and Katana popped the crowd, fists raised and ready. Across the ring, The Unholy Union—Isla Dawn and Alba Fyre—arrived with that slow, cold precision that sent chills through the audience. Every detail mattered; Y/N watched carefully. This was a big match.

The camera panned to the commentary desk where Bayley had joined Kevin Patrick and Corey Graves. Bayley’s presence was electric—headset perched, eyeliner sharp, and her voice carried silk-and-steel venom. “Ohhh, will you look at Kayden and Katana,” she began, leaning over her mic, confident and superior. “They’re riding high tonight. But let's get real—they’re playing in someone else’s sandbox.”

Kevin chuckled quietly; Corey rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a point—new blood always shakes things up.”

Bayley sniffed. “Shake, sure. But they’ll forget it once Damage CTRL steps in. It’s cute watching these two think they run this place.”

Kevin Patrick smirked. “You mean the tag division?”

Bayley snorted. “Yeah. But cute doesn’t win you championships. Not on our watch.”

Corey Graves chuckled, shaking his head. “Always the tough talk from you, Bayley.”

She shot him a glare before adding, low but with venom, “Yeah, well they’re not the only ones who think they’re hot commodities around here. Let’s just say there’s someone else who thinks she owns the whole damn division. Always has to make a scene, steal the spotlight.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Someone we should know?”

Bayley shrugged, eyes locked on the ring. “You’ll hear the name soon enough. She’s been flashing around that gold on Raw and SmackDown like it’s her birthright.”

Corey rolled his eyes. “You mean Y/S/N?”

Bayley’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Yeah, that one. Thinks a couple weeks of spotlight means she runs the show. News flash—champion or not, this division belongs to those who earn respect here. And she’s still got a lot to prove.”

Kevin laughed. “Sounds like you’re not a fan.”

Bayley’s voice dipped into pure sarcasm. “Not a fan? Honey, I’m just getting started.”

The crowd hummed in anticipation as the bell rang and the match kicked off — but Bayley’s eyes never left the entrance, waiting for her moment to remind everyone who really called the shots. “I mean, she’s been spending the last few weeks bouncing between Raw and SmackDown. Poor thing is probably still trying to decide which brand makes her look better this week.”

Corey cut in, matter-of-fact: “You think she’s worried about that?”

Bayley smiled darkly. “Honestly? I don’t think she’s even thinking about this place anymore.”

The bell rang, and the match began with fierce energy. Kayden charged at Alba, hitting a crisp fallaway slam that rattled the ring. Katana soared in with a springboard crossbody, stunning Isla. The duo kept their rhythm: Kayden feinted one way, Isla ducked—only to meet a running enzuigiri. Katana scored quick with a swift spinning heel kick that staggered Alba toward the ropes.

Bayley’s voice cut through the flurry: “Fast doesn’t win championships. It just looks good on Instagram.”

Corey responded they were doing more than posting—“These girls can fight.”

Kayden bounced off the ropes and launched herself into Alba with a missile dropkick, followed instantly by Katana’s backstabber neckbreaker on Isla. The execution was seamless—precision trained to perfection. Katana climbed the top rope, collected her focus, and launched a perfect 450 splash onto Isla. One, two, three. The bell rang and Fireworks lit the ring.

Kayden and Katana embraced, soaking in their victory and the roaring crowd. Bayley’s tone shifted to controlled dismissal: “Congrats, kids. Now let’s get to what really matters—Damage CTRL’s next move.”

As they reached to lift their tag titles, Asuka and Kairi Sane materialized at ringside. They stole the belts with theatrical efficiency—Asuka raising them high as Kairi bowed mockingly. The crowd erupted in jeers.

Bayley exhaled sharply: “Diplomatic loss for these rookies, isn’t it?”

That’s when the lights dimmed. Y/N’s theme cut through the jeers like a thunderclap. Bayley screamed into her mic: “What—what’s she doing out there?!”

Kevin and Corey were equally stunned, their surprise audible. Y/N stepped out—black tights, gold trim, title slung over her hip—and headed straight for the ring. No pause. No showmanship. Just focus.

Inside the ring, she caught Kairi with a judo arm twist, flipping her over and straight across the mat. Asuka rushed in, but Y/N countered with a gutwrench scoop slam, then spun to deliver a shooting star elbow to Dakota Kai, who’d vaulted in.

Bayley rose from her seat, mic in hand, eyes wide with panic. “Stop this. Right now! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

Y/N blocked Bayley’s swing with a calm lofted forearm, then swept her forward, taking her out with an explosive snap German suplex. Bayley lay stunned as Y/N stared down into the camera lens.

“I hope you win the Rumble,” Y/N continued, turning to face Bayley directly. The tension was a cord thick enough to snap. “Because I want you at WrestleMania. I need you at WrestleMania—so I can show you how a champion stands.”

She stepped back and gestured to Kayden and Katana, now holding THEIR belts again, celebrating, their smiles genuine.

“Now,” Y/N concluded, her voice cool but full of promise, “Congratulate these two. Because they—like me—don’t need backup plans or secret alliances. We earn our spot.”

The crowd roared. Kayden and Katana, now upright and clutching their belts, ran toward Y/N, who reached back to raise both their arms in victory. The crowd erupted again—calling it mentorship, leadership, solidarity.

Bayley staggered to the ropes, face contorted with fury—and possibly pride, though neither of them would ever admit it. Y/N slipped out under the ropes as her music rose. She shot one final glance at Bayley: eyes sharp, promise heavy. She didn’t need to look back.

Corey said, amazed: “That was clinical, that was caring, that was leadership.”

Kevin added quietly: “That’s why she’s the Undisputed Women’s Champion—and a teacher to the next generation.”

Backstage, Y/N walked down the hallway with purpose. Fire burned in her chest—she’d made her mark. But questions still waited—brand, allegiance, heart. Atlanta saw the showing. Now she had to decide.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Night had already long fallen on Atlanta, but the arena lights burned bright for AJ Styles and LA Knight, locked in a battle that was anything but ordinary. Y/N stood backstage with Solo and Jimmy, tense energy coiling in her chest. They’d been waiting for their moment—tonight, they struck.

The bell rang.

Gone were polite openings. Styles darted forward with a snap forearm, but Knight answered with a fierce suplex into a gutbuster. Styles, hurt but defiant, rallied into a leapfrogging entry that morphed into a seamless flying forearm, staggering Knight.

They traded blows like chess masters—Styles planting Knight with a Phenomenal Blitz, only for Knight to land a powerslam a heartbeat later. The audience roared as Styles answered back with a step-up enzui into a rolling moonsault, barely scraping a two-count.

Suddenly, the match broke in half—not with ceremony, but with ferocious intent. Jimmy and Solo burst through the backstage curtain, storming into the arena with purpose. Y/N followed, heart pounding—but not paused. They didn’t saunter—they exploded onto the scene.

Knight staggered to his feet just as Jimmy tossed a steel chair into the ring. The referee stopped mid-count.

“Disqualification,” his whistle screamed.

Without skipping a beat, Solo dragged Styles into view and deposited him with a brutal Samoan Spike onto the steel chair—heartbreak in human form. Knight swung for Solo but found his fist met chains and belt. Jimmy joined the fray, raining kicks down on Knight and Styles alike.

But the fight didn’t end with them. Y/N slid into the ring with a predator’s grace, her eyes locked on LA Knight as he struggled to regain his footing. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and driving him hard into the mat with a thunderous snap suplex. The impact echoed through the arena, and the crowd erupted in cheers and gasps.

Before Knight could even roll away, Y/N was straddling him, one knee pinning his chest, the other braced beside him. She leaned in close, her breath barely brushing his ear as the arena held its collective breath at the electric tension crackling between them. The heat of the moment was undeniable—equal parts challenge and invitation.

Knight’s eyes flickered up, meeting hers with a knowing smirk that spoke volumes. “You always did like having me under you,” he murmured, voice low but dripping with that trademark swagger.

The audience exploded, the mix of shock, excitement, and sheer disbelief rolling through every corner of the arena like wildfire. Cameras caught every second, broadcasting the charged moment to fans everywhere.

But before anything else could happen, Jimmy Uso’s hand shot out, gripping Y/N’s arm and tugging her up with a firm but teasing yank. She shot Jimmy a quick glare, but the playful glint in her eye betrayed her amusement. As Jimmy pulled her back, the crowd roared their approval, sensing the layered history and undeniable chemistry unfolding right before them.

Solo’s voice carried clear and confident as he teased, “Two down… one to go.”

Y/N shot one last smirk at Knight before following Jimmy out of the ring, the energy between all of them crackling as the crowd buzzed from the raw intensity of the moment.

“Randy Orton! Get out here, NOW!”

Jimmy and Y/S/N linger ringside, watching as Randy Orton’s music hits and the Viper makes his way towards the ring. His expression shows he’s not here to mess around. Solo sticks his tongue out, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Despite Styles and Knight being taken out by the Bloodline, Randy doesn’t look distressed at all. In fact, he looks more determined than ever.

Randy climbs into the ring, almost analyzing Solo. Silently figuring out who he is, how he ticks. He sends a sharp flare to the Tribal Heir before jumping up in the corner of the squared circle and striking his signature pose. The audience continues cheering for him even as he steps back down. He and Solo circle each other like vultures, the referee already sensing the growing tension.

And just like that, the bell rings.

Solo doesn’t waste any time before he lunges for the Viper. However, Randy’s always been quick on his feet, so he easily blocks Solo’s strike attempt and punches the enforcer with his own powerful right hand. It doesn’t take Solo long to recover though. He shoves Randy backwards with extreme force before quickly slapping him and knocking him to the floor.

Y/N visibly winces from the crack of the slap, the sound echoing throughout the arena. Solo corners Randy before firing a few powerful punches on the dome of the legend killer. Solo takes off to the opposite corner of the ring before screaming and hitting Randy with a hip attack. The latter collapses and practically melts out of the ring from the impact.

Solo follows after him, rolling out in order to grab Randy. The referee yells at them to head back into the ring, but Solo pays no mind. He grabs Randy and moves to smash his head into the announce desk, but Randy gets his hands down just in time. He pushes himself up right before striking his opponent in the chest.

Randy maneuvers behind Solo, attempting to pick him up and slam him on the table, but Solo puts a stop to it. He elbows the back of Randy’s neck, causing the Viper to stumble. Solo takes the opportunity and finally manages to slam Randy’s head into the announce desk. He lets out another loud scream before taking Randy and running him into the steel ring stairs.

The crowd boos him loudly as he climbs atop the side of the ring. After soaking in the hate, Randy starts to make it back to his feet, prompting Solo to jump down and continue his assault. He grabs Randy by the back of the neck once more, moving to run him back into the announce table, but Randy stops him.

The tides turn here. Randy grabs Solo and slams him across the announce desk before guiding him back towards the ring. It doesn’t keep Solo down long though as he elbows Randy in the stomach to put some distance between them. Now it’s his turn to push Randy in the ring.

The crowd vocalizes their disdain for Solo and how he has the upper hand. Solo goes to head butt Randy through the ropes but the Viper side steps, kicking Solo in the dome to halt his efforts. He lunges forward, wrapping his arm around the back of his neck and dropping him into a draping DDT.

Randy drops down, the Viper coiling himself as he preps to put Solo away. But it doesn’t last long as Jimmy and Y/S/N start stalking around the ring. They don’t get very far though as LA Knight comes charging from the back and knocking Jimmy onto the floor. The crowd erupted, sensing the shift in momentum.

Suddenly, Y/N was cut off from Randy’s spotlight. Knight charged her mid‑stride—everything changed in the blink of an eye.

She spun, instinctively raising her arms in defense. But he was inside her guard before she knew it, pressing her chest against painted ramp metal. His hand snaked behind her spine. Y/N froze—simultaneously aroused and indignant. The arena lights caught the streak of steel emotion in her eyes. Fans gasped. Knight leaned in, voice low: “I’m startin’ to think you like it when I gotta handle you like this.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet but furious. “A little cocky of you, no?”

Before Knight could respond, AJ Styles barreled out from backstage—a blur of adrenaline. He charged, tackled Jimmy, and sent him flying into the wall with a gut-wrenching thud. The crowd roared. Styles wasn’t here just to fight—he was here to clean house.

At the same moment, Solo sprang toward Randy—arms out, preparing a heavy strike. But Randy’s instincts were sharper. Before Solo could connect, Orton flashed his eyes, pulled Solo’s head down—and RKO.

“1… 2… 3.”

The bell barely rang before the audience erupted in noise—Orton had done it. He didn’t celebrate; he simply held position, eyes sliding to Knight and Styles at ringside. Both men climb into the ring, standing across from Randy with steely looks in their eyes. They share a loud argument, but nobody besides them could make it out. The only thing indicating the fight is the tension seeping from each of them.

Suddenly, Knight surges forward, and sucker-punched Styles across the jaw—a single, heavy blow that sent him crumpling to the mat.

The crowd gasped. AJ wasn’t moving.

Orton turned and without hesitation, RKO’d LA Knight the second he stood up straight. Knight was flattened, and the crowd roared again.

AJ tried to push himself up, but Randy wasn’t done. The moment he was back on his feet, the Viper struck. One more RKO. Three men down.

Randy stood tall, chest rising and falling with every breath. He stared out into the sea of fans, high on adrenaline.

That’s when it happened. No music. No warning. Just a shadow sliding into the ring—

Roman Reigns.

He struck before Randy even sensed him. SUPERMAN PUNCH. Randy collapsed, sprawled across the mat. Roman stood over him, face calm, smug, in complete control.

He walked over to Nick Aldis, yanked the contract from his hands, and signed it with a flourish. He didn’t even look down at it. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he tossed the contract onto the floor next to Aldis’ feet. He barely glances at the GM before the Tribal Chief turned on his heel and exited the ring.

Y/N, Jimmy, and Solo regrouped outside—Y/N brushing her messy hair from her face, eyes still burning with adrenaline. Roman reached them, and without missing a beat, slung a confident arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The Bloodline walked up the ramp together.

The Fatal 4-Way at the Royal Rumble was official.

But it was clear—Roman wasn’t just walking in as champion. He was walking in as the problem.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Backstage was still pulsing with leftover adrenaline, the aftershock of the show rippling through the crew and the roster. Y/N strutted confidently beside her Bloodline boys — Joe on her right, Jon and Joseph on her left — all four basking in their post-show high. Their energy was loud and rowdy, shoulders bumping as they laughed and teased, each of them still fired up from the chaos they'd left in their wake.

“Tell me you saw the way I hit Styles into that barricade,” Jon said, already half-smirking.

“You mean that little love tap?” Y/N quipped, lifting an eyebrow at him.

Joe let out a short laugh while Joseph shook his head, smirking. “She’s got you there.”

“Please,” Jon scoffed. “She was too busy throwing LA Knight around like a ragdoll.”

“I was not—”

“Oh come on,” Joe cut in with a rare grin. “You practically mounted the guy.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Y/N groaned, swatting Joe’s shoulder. “He tackled me first!”

“You didn’t exactly look mad about it,” Joseph added slyly, earning himself a sharp side-eye from her.

She was about to clap back when something in the corner of her eye made her pause. A presence. Still and watchful.

There he was — Shaun. Leaning against a production crate like it was just another day at the office. Arms crossed, eyes locked on her. That telltale smirk ghosted his lips, and even under the harsh lights, there was something unreadable about the way he looked at her — calm, sure, curious.

Her steps slowed. “I’ll catch up in a sec,” she told the boys softly.

Jon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Joe simply nodded, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat as the three of them drifted further down the hallway. Y/N turned and walked toward Shaun, her eyes narrowing with practiced suspicion. “You lurking again? You got a shadow-kink or something?”

He chuckled. “Only when you’re in it.”

She rolled her eyes — but not even she could fight the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You always this annoying post-match?”

“Only when I lose,” he replied. “And only when the person who beats me looks that damn good doing it.”

She gave a playful scoff, stepping in closer. “You liked getting tossed around, huh?”

Shaun tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “I liked where I landed.”

That stopped her cold — if only for a heartbeat. Her cheeks warmed. She shoved his chest lightly, trying to deflect. “Shaun.”

“What?” he grinned. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” he murmured, stepping a little closer. “You’ve been off tonight, you know.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Not in the ring — you were on fire in there. But out here?” He paused. “You’re not as quick with your comebacks. Not as sharp. You’ve got that... faraway look in your eyes.”

She blinked up at him. That was more observant than she expected. “I notice things,” he added, a little quieter. “Especially with you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that — at least not right away. And he didn’t push her. He just reached out, brushing his fingers gently against her jaw, then her cheek. His thumb lingered there, slow and grounding. “Talk to me,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she looked down. Her arms, once crossed, dropped to her sides. He reached for one of her hands, interlacing their fingers without hesitation. That tiny bit of warmth, of connection — it was all it took.

“I feel like I’m stuck,” she admitted softly. “Like I’m a pawn in someone else’s story.”

Shaun just listened, his thumb gently stroking across her knuckles. “They’re fighting over me like I’m some... prize. Like they’ll win the war if they can hold onto me longest. And the worst part is? I don’t even know if either of them sees me anymore. Just what I represent.”

Shaun’s brows pulled together, his jaw tightening slightly. But still, he let her speak. “I try to stay focused on the work — the title, the fans, my matches — but when I go home, it’s just noise. And lately, I don’t even know what I want.”

She paused. Her voice got smaller. “What if I never did?”

Shaun didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even need to hear the names of the men she’s talking about. He knew. He stepped forward, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face before resting his palm lightly on her cheek.

“You’re not a trophy,” he said firmly. “You’re not a title belt, or a prize, or some symbol of dominance. You’re you. You’ve got the biggest damn heart in the business and a fire that half this locker room’s afraid of.”

She laughed softly, just once.

“You deserve more than high school games and backhanded confessions,” he added. “You deserve peace. And if they can’t give you that? You walk away.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to hers. She let her eyes flutter shut. Her hands curled in the fabric of his shirt without even thinking. “You ever wanna step back from all that? Just be Y/N, not the Champion, not the in-demand obsession of two idiots — I’ll still be here.”

She opened her eyes then, searching his. “You mean that?”

He smiled softly. “Course I do. Even if I also wouldn’t mind being the idiot you throw around now and then.”

That made her laugh again — lighter this time. Real. “I’ve seen you carry this division,” he said. “You’ve carried Raw. SmackDown. The damn locker room. You shouldn’t have to carry their egos too.”

It startled her — how warm this felt. How steady.

“You don’t owe them anything, darlin’,” he whispered. “And if you wanna focus on you — on your peace, your career — that’s not selfish. That’s survival.”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her arms wrapped around him without thinking, hugging him tight. And to his credit, Shaun didn’t flinch. His arms slid around her waist, holding her like he meant it.

No flirtation. No games. Just safety.

And then… they heard it. That familiar sound. A throat clearing from down the hall. Y/N tensed slightly in Shaun’s arms but didn’t turn yet. Shaun looked over her shoulder and saw Colby standing there, arms stiff at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes guarded. For a second, he didn’t move.

Shaun loosened his grip, whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

She nodded, her fingers gently trailing off his chest as he let her go. He stepped back, gave her a final look — not one of defeat, but one of patience. And when he walked past Colby, he didn’t say a word. Just offered a stiff nod — a warning, almost. The kind that said: I see you. Don’t screw this up again. Colby returned it, holding back the tension in his chest.

When he looked back at Y/N, she was standing there with her arms crossed. Not defensive. But… protecting herself.

Y/N stood stiffly in place, arms still crossed as she stared at him—Colby—like he was a ghost she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe was real. Her brows pinched slightly, mouth parted but frozen, as if she didn’t even know where to begin.

“…What are you doing here?” she asked, a little sharper than she meant, her tone laced with confusion, surprise, and something dangerously close to hope.

Colby shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair. That’s when Y/N noticed the brace on his knee. She can’t help the flicker of concern that fills her. He wasn’t wearing that at the party. Did something happen during his match with Jinder he didn’t tell her about?

His eyes flicked toward the ground, then back up to her, and despite the way he stood—back straight, chest high—he looked like a man unraveling. “I had to see you,” he said. “I didn’t care if I wasn’t supposed to be here or if you still didn’t wanna talk to me. I just… I couldn’t go one more day pretending like I was okay.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching slightly.

Colby stepped closer, his voice quieter now—less Seth Rollins, more Colby Lopez. “You ignoring me? You freezing me out?” He let out a short, joyless laugh. “It’s like the world kept moving and I couldn’t. You know how hard that is for me?” He gestured vaguely around them, the chaotic backstage that had become their second home. “This place doesn’t stop. And I usually don’t either. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Y/N didn’t say anything, not yet. He pushed a hand through his hair again and tried to smile, but it didn’t land. “I kept hearing your voice in my head. Every time I hit the ropes, every time I tried to focus on anything else. I’d picture you—how you’d look at me. How disappointed you’d be.”

Her arms dropped slowly, her expression softening with every word.

“I know I messed up,” Colby said, his voice steady but raw. “I let my jealousy—my fear—drive me into making a scene. Into hurting you. And I hate that. But not talking to you?” He shook his head, breath catching slightly. “That was worse.”

She exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest releasing a little. “Colby…”

“I haven’t said it,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “I don’t think I’ve said it out loud, not like this. But I need you. I need you, Y/N. And not in some possession, clingy, control-you way. I just…” He paused, grounding himself. “You bring me back to myself. You make everything make sense. And I’ve spent the past few days completely lost.” Y/N swallowed hard, heart stuttering. “I didn’t show up here to win you over,” he added. “I showed up because I can’t stand the thought of not trying. Of you thinking I’m not all in.”

That silenced her for a moment. And then, quietly, she said, “I forgave you a while ago.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“I’m not mad,” she continued. “I just don’t understand why it’s always like this. Why you spiral every time he even looks at me too long.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Because I don’t trust him. That’s what this is. It’s not you.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” she shot back, her voice rising. “Because it keeps becoming about me. About how I react. How I handle it. And no matter how happy we are, no matter how good we get… it’s always one wrong look or one conversation and we’re back at square one.”

“I know,” Colby said, softer now. “But I watch him—how he still plays at you. How he acts like you’re still his to save. And I know you’re trying, I do. But I can’t unsee it.”

Y/N’s arms dropped slightly, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Then learn how to look at me. Not him. Me.”

There was a silence between them.

Then she said, “If you want this to work—if you want me—then you have to trust that I want you. That Phil… is in the past.”

But he didn’t say anything right away. He just stared. And then, carefully, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Her expression cracked slightly. “What?”

“Are you sure he’s in the past?” Colby pressed. “Because I see the way you look at him sometimes. When you think no one else is watching.”

That stunned her. Her mouth opened, then shut. Her heart thudded in her chest. “I don’t—” she shook her head. “I don’t look at him like anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. Not accusing. Just waiting.

Y/N licked her lips, trying to push past the lump in her throat. “I’m trying to rebuild a friendship I thought I lost forever. That’s all it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It sounded rehearsed. It sounded like a lie. But she didn’t take it back. Colby didn’t call her on it either. He just nodded once. Still looking at her like he was trying to figure out if she even believed herself.

“You said something once,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet. “That you always feel like you’re playing catch-up with me. That you’re scared one day you’ll wake up and I’ll be gone.”

He looked down.

“And that’s how I feel,” she said, almost a whisper now. “Every time you doubt me. Every time you look at me and don’t trust me—it feels like I’m the one trying to catch up. Trying to prove I’m enough. Trying to keep us afloat.”

Colby’s jaw clenched. She’d never said something like that before. Not out loud. Not so direct. But it hit him like a wave. “I know how I’ve been acting isn’t fair to you,” he admits lowly. “I’m in my own head. But I’ve been chasing after you for years—literally. And now I have you, and it still feels like I could lose you in a blink. Like I’m never quite enough to keep you.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, emotions swirling in her chest like a storm. “I chose you,” she said firmly. “And I keep choosing you. But you have to believe that. You have to meet me there.”

“I want to,” he said. “God, I want to.”

She nodded slowly, then paused—something tugging at her from inside. A truth. Something she didn’t normally say, didn’t let herself say.

But this time, she did.

“You make me feel safe,” she said, voice quiet, but certain. “Not just physically. Not just because of who you are in the ring or what you’ve done. But emotionally. You… you make me feel seen.”

Colby’s brows lifted, stunned by the honesty.

“You always say I’m hard to pin down,” she continued. “But you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I don’t have to run. Like I don’t have to be anything other than who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy—but warm. Charged with emotion neither of them were used to letting out this freely. Colby’s eyes softened in a way she hadn’t seen in weeks. Maybe months. “Wow,” he breathed. “Usually I’m the sappy one.”

She smiled slightly. “I figured I’d steal your gimmick for once.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled her into his arms. His hand cradled the back of her head, his mouth pressing gently against her temple. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “For not hearing you sooner. For letting my fears get too loud. I’m here. For real this time.”

Y/N melted into him, letting herself rest against his chest for just a second longer than she meant to. Then she leaned back, teasing lightly, “You sure? Because I think we’ve had this talk like fifty times now.”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. But this is the one that stuck.”

She tilted her head. “Why this one?”

He leaned in, kissing her softly before murmuring, “Because this time… you let me in.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but in the back of her mind, guilt lingered—quiet, nagging, familiar. Because she still hadn’t told him about the night she ignored his apology. The night she answered Phil instead.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The hotel room was cloaked in quiet. A soft breeze whispered through the barely cracked window, and the pale gold light of the bedside lamp bathed the space in warmth. Everything was still. Serene. But her heart wasn’t. Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung loosely over her shoulder, wet strands of hair clinging to the sides of her face. The oversized Bloodline hoodie hung low over her thighs, swallowing her frame, sleeves pushed halfway up her arms. Her bare legs padded silently across the carpet, the faint scent of her lavender body wash trailing behind her like a halo of calm.

She slowed when she saw him. Colby. Asleep.

And not in the way he sometimes pretended to sleep on planes or backstage—arms folded, mouth pressed in a firm line, tension still clinging to his shoulders. No, this was something different. Something real. He was sprawled across the bed, one hand resting palm-up on his chest, the other splayed beside him like he’d meant to reach for her and forgot halfway through. His curls were messier than usual, soft and unruly across his forehead. His lashes were long, almost delicate, and his breathing was slow and even.

He looked… young like this. Not like Seth “Freakin” Rollins. Not like the larger-than-life showman who taunted crowds and soaked in spotlight. Just Colby. Raw and human and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Her eyes swept over him, pausing on the faint lines at the corner of his eyes, the hint of stubble at his jaw, the soft curve of his lips as they parted in sleep. Her chest clenched—tight, full—with something dangerously close to love. God, how did we get here? She walked to the edge of the bed slowly, carefully, and knelt beside him, brushing a wild strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingertips lingered there for a moment, the warmth of his skin grounding her. Then she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of his head, just above his temple.

“You’re always carrying everything,” she whispered into the space between them. “Even when you’re resting, you’re holding the world on your shoulders.”

He didn’t stir. Her lips brushed against his hair once more, and then she sat back, heart so full and yet so tangled she almost couldn’t breathe. That was when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound was sharp in the quiet. Familiar. She glanced at it absently… until her chest seized.

Phil.

Y/N’s stomach dropped—then fluttered. Her thumb hovered for a beat too long before she tapped it. And there it was. A photo. Not from social media. Not from a fan. This was personal. Grainy. Taken by Phil himself.

She hadn’t seen that photo in years. But he had it. Still.

The moment flashed on her screen like a memory she wasn’t ready for—Phil’s lips on hers, one hand tangled in her hair, the other curled firmly around her throat. They were both in gear, sweaty and bruised from the mixed tag match they’d stolen the show with. Her eyeliner was smeared, his lip was split, and yet they looked invincible—like war-torn gods reveling in the chaos they’d just survived together.

And underneath it, his message read:

You remember this? Good times. You still know how to grab a man when you want him.

You’ve always liked it rough, sweetheart. But it wasn’t the matches that made it feel like a high.

It was you and me.

You don’t look at him like that. You don’t look at anyone like that.

But hey… maybe I’m just living in the past.

Or maybe you’re still trying to forget how alive we were when it was just us.

Either way, I’ll keep the photo. In case you ever need reminding.

Sleep tight, champ. 🖤

——————

They stumbled through the curtain, both of them still panting, covered in sweat and adrenaline. Their chests rose and fell in near perfect sync, matching the electricity still crackling in the air around them. It had been a war out there—and they’d won. Together. Phil tugged at the tape wrapped around his wrist as they walked, his jaw ticking slightly with each step. There was a faint limp in his gait, but it didn’t stop him from slinging his towel over his shoulder like it was nothing. Typical.

Y/N trailed a step behind, peeling off the top layer of her gear, exhaling hard. “I swear if that idiot had missed one more cue, I was gonna throw him over the ropes myself.”

Phil grunted. “You should’ve. Might’ve saved me a shot to the jaw.”

She gave him a look. “Like you didn’t elbow me in the ribs two minutes in.”

“That was strategy,” he fired back with a smirk. “You fight better when you're pissed.”

“Oh, so hurting me is motivation now?”

Phil looked over his shoulder, smirking. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

He slowed just enough for her to catch up, bumping her shoulder lightly with his own. “You’re just mad because I made us look good.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “The only thing you made look good was your ass getting kicked for ten straight minutes.”

Phil’s smirk deepened. “And yet, somehow, I still got the pin.”

“Only because I softened them up.”

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep.”

They reached a quieter hallway—darkened, away from the chaos. The glow of the exit signs barely lit the space, but neither of them made any move to leave. Phil rubbed the back of his neck, winced, then cracked it like he was trying to shake off the lingering fight. She watched him for a second—his hair damp and clinging to his face, his tattoos glistening under the low light. His jaw was bruised, the corners of his mouth slightly swollen from an earlier strike. But damn… he looked good.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking at her.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “You’re literally bleeding, Phil.”

“And?”

“And your face is going to look like hamburger meat in the morning.”

He turned to her with a lazy grin. “Still better than half the roster. Plus, chicks dig the scars.”

Y/N’s jaw twitched. “Good thing you don’t need any other chicks then, huh?”

Phil blinked—slow, amused. “Oh?”

She lifted her chin. “Would be a shame if I had to start knocking out fangirls for staring too hard.”

He turned to face her completely now, stepping into her space. “Jealous, are we?”

“You wish,” she muttered, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Just saying, you’re already a handful. Don’t need some starry-eyed mark trying to tame you.”

Phil’s eyes darkened at that—slowly, completely. And without thinking, she reached out—hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trunks, yanking him toward her.

He stopped dead. The hallway was silent for a beat, like even the building knew something had just shifted. Slowly, he looked down at her hand. Then up at her. His gaze was darker now. Less playful. More deliberate. “You grab me like that,” he said, voice low, husky, dangerous, “and I’m not responsible for what happens after.”

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Then, with a soft smirk, she gave another tug. Phil exhaled through his nose like it took everything in him not to slam her into the nearest wall. Instead, he stepped forward. Close. His hand found her hip, grounding them both. And the other?

Wrapped lightly around her throat.

Just like that. Not forceful. Not hard. Just... his. Her back hit the wall. His forehead pressed to hers. “You drive me fucking insane,” he murmured.

“Good,” she whispered. “Means I’m doing it right.”

Phil’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh—but didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw, then slid back into her hair. And just before he kissed her, he pulled back—just enough to fish out his phone with one hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“Freeze,” he said with that shit-eating grin of his. “This one’s for the archive.”

Flash. The photo snapped: her against the wall, smirking through a split lip, his hand still at her throat and love in both their eyes. The intimacy of it was loud—undeniable. More them than anything posed ever could be. She laughed after, swatting at his phone. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t argue. He leaned in again, lips brushing her cheek this time—tender, almost reverent. “I’m keeping that one.”

“Of course you are,” she muttered, breath catching in her throat.

He didn’t move away. And neither did she. Because for all the chaos they created in the ring—this? This was their quiet. Their peace. Their home.

——————

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, the faint click of her phone’s camera roll echoing softly in the quiet room. Her eyes locked on the photo — that photo — bathed in the glow of the screen. The one Phil had sent just minutes ago, with a message burning just beneath it like a challenge.

“Good times. You still know how to grab a man when you want him.”

Her lip caught between her teeth, heart skipping. The memory surged — raw, intoxicating, his. Not just the image, but the signature swagger in the words: bold, teasing, flirtatious — the kind that felt like smoke curling beneath her skin.

She glanced sideways. Colby was sprawled across the bed, one arm tucked under his pillow, dark curls tousled like a storm caught in slow motion. His mouth hung slightly open, a hint of a stubble brushing the knuckles of his hand. Long lashes rested against smooth cheeks, the kind of peaceful stillness that made her breath hitch — like he was a rare quiet in a loud, spinning world. He looked so damn peaceful. She hated how much that made her ache.

Yet despite it all, her thumb hovered, restless, over the screen. The edges of the photo seemed to shimmer, tugging at something deeper — not just nostalgia, but a current she hadn’t named yet. Casting a quick, guilty glance at Colby, she slipped silently from the bed and padded back into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Her thumb hovered again — then tapped.

Two rings.

Phil’s voice crackled through, low and laced with that familiar smug edge. “Wondered how long that photo would sit unread before you caved.”

Y/N exhaled a soft smile. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Of course. But be honest — you wanted to hear my voice.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Breathing too hard over the phone isn’t a good look.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You called me.”

“Unfortunately.”

A quiet laugh, the sound vivid in her ear. “What do you want?”

“Want to know if you’re blushing right now.”

“Not happening.”

“You were in the photo.”

“That was years ago.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “you’re calling me in the middle of the night all alone. Makes a guy think that maybe your intentions aren’t so pure.”

She sucked her teeth, hiding her grin. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“Charm’s just the safety net.”

A pause.

“So... why the whispering, sweetheart?”

Y/N hesitated.

Phil caught the change instantly — his tone dropping, mischievous. “You’re not alone, are you?”

Silence.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, voice darkening. “You’re with him.”

Still quiet, but the flush in her cheeks gave her away.

Phil chuckled softly. “Man… calling me from the other guy’s bathroom? That’s cold.”

“Stop.”

“I never said I hated it. Just means I’m occupying space in your mind,” he licks his bottom lip absentmindedly. “Same way you have been for me.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the counter.

He shifted gears, voice slick with something that made her pulse jump. “You know, if I were there, I’d make sure you never needed to whisper again. That voice... it’s way too sexy to be limited to a breath.”

Her breath hitched, involuntarily.

Phil’s smile was audible. “I’m just saying… It’s the kind that makes the mind wander to dangerous places, y’know?”

A stifled laugh escaped her lips.

“I wish I could see the look on your face right now. Pretty sure you’re fighting a losing battle.”

Her cheeks burned, but the grin stayed. “You’re being rather forward.”

“I have to. Never know when I might catch a cold shoulder from you again,” he teases. “But I can tell by your voice that you’ve missed me,” he repeated, softer now. The silence stretched. “…So, since you called, does that mean I’ve been forgiven yet?” His voice softened, losing none of its edge but gaining a thread of vulnerability. “Because I’ve got a whole arsenal of memes waiting to break the ice.”

Y/N laughed, warm and genuine. She glanced back to the door. If she could forgive Colby, she could forgive him as well. It wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t. “Yeah,” she whispered finally, “you’re forgiven.”

Phil let out an exaggerated sigh. “Thank God. Holding in jokes is my cardio.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Delightfully so. And don’t worry — I won’t ruin your cozy night with Seth ‘the human lion’s mane’ Rollins. But maybe next time… you’ll call me before you disappear into some bathroom.”

Y/N shook her head, heart tugging in conflicting directions. “Goodnight, Phil.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N/N.”