#wwe fluff

By the time Raw had began airing, he was out cutting a promo, the fans just as wild as you. Except, something else was wild for him. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you watched him pace in the ring, his neck tattoo you craved to lick on full display.

When the bell rang, he immediately got the upper hand, dishing out punishment on his opponent. Punishment you craved for your pussy. Maybe it was your ovulation—whatever it was, it had you feeling like you’d die without his dick inside you.

Cody won the match and the referee held his arm up in victory. Your core throbbed in anticipation as he made his way to the back, his steps deliberate. As soon as the door to the room opened, you pounced on him, your lips all over his face and lips.

“Baby, what’s gotten into you? I’m all sweaty,” Cody muttered into your kisses.

“I don’t care, I need you. Sweat and all, let it drip all over me, I don’t care, just fuck me. Please,” you pleaded.

His eyes darkened at your words, he could practically smell you dripping for him. “So fucking desperate for me, I’ll give you what you want.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Cody had you bent over a chair, his gear ripped off by you and his hard cock buried inside you. Your panties were ripped and he slammed into you from behind, his cock stretching you out. You hoped the distant cheering from the fans masked your loud moans as he absolutely ravished you.

“This is what you wanted? Huh? To get fucked like a slut?”

You nodded frantically, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock as he angled into you even deeper. If it wasn’t for his grip on your curls, you would’ve toppled over.

He slapped your ass and you cried out. “Y-yes sir! This is what I wanted.”

You knew he was smirking behind you and in your last act of boldness, you pushed back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.

“That’s a good girl. You should see how your pussy’s just creaming on my dick.”

His words sent a ripple through you and your body convulsed, an intense orgasm hitting you like a truck.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, but he wasn’t finished with you.

He lifted and carried you to the couch in the corner of the room. A cry left your lips as he sank into your pussy once again, immediately finding your sweet spot. You drooled as he hovered over you—Cody was a greek god, one you would be happy to worship every single day. The sweat made his muscles glisten and he wrapped a large hand around your neck, making your pussy twitch in excitement.

Your body jolted as he slammed into your pussy and his grip around your neck tightened. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet, fucking perfect for me.

You held his dark gaze, wrapped your arms around his neck and grinding against him, meeting his thrusts. His sweat dripping all over you made you moan and you reached up, licking the tattoo on his neck.

“My dirty fucking girl,” he said, darkly.

One of his hands pressed against your abdomen, making you moan so loud, you knew anyone passing by would hear. “Feel how deep I am inside you? Only my cock can get that far. I fucking own you.”

“You own me,” you echoed, your nails now digging into his back.

“Cum on my cock, cum with me.”

With a loud cry, you squirted on his cock, soaking both him and the couch as he continued to pound into your aching pussy.

“Fucking hell, what a good girl just squirting for me like that.”

His orgasm followed immediately after and he pushed deep inside you, his cum filling your ovulating womb to the brim.

The lump in your throat did not subside as Roman pulled up to the venue parking lot. You assumed it was where all the staff and wrestlers parked.

At this point, Roman turned towards you. His smile dropped into a worried look.

“Hey, babe, it’s going to be fine,” He soothed you. Grabbing hold of your hands. You looked down at your hands. Then back up at him. A worried expression on your face.

“What if they hate me? What if I say something stupid?” You gasped out. Roman let go of one of your hands, cupping the side of your face. You leaned in against his hand.

“Babe, you've got to stop worrying, they are going to love you, because I love you,” He spoke. You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“Just because you love me, doesn’t mean they will,” You gulped out. You felt nauseous.

“You're cute when you are nervous,” Roman cheekily said. Trying to distract you. It worked. You smiled shyly.

“How about a deal? We can leave anytime and go back to my locker room,” He suggested.

“We could just go to your locker room right now, skip the meet and greets with them,” You responded to his offer. Roman let out a small chuckle.

“Nice try, I will be right next to you, and if things go south, we can go back to my locker room,” He spoke again. Making you let out a whine.

“Okay,” You sighed. Roman smiled softly. He leaned closer to you. Pressing a soft, loving kiss on your forehead.

“Come on,” He spoke. His hand slipped away from your cheek as he exited the car. You followed suit, but slowly.

The minute you closed the door, Roman was by your side. Wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You were still nervous.

Roman guided you into the building. As soon as you encountered one backstage worker, you started shaking with nerves.

Roman leaned closer to you.

“Babe, relax, just take deep breaths, they aren’t even wrestlers,” Roman softly spoke.

You tried to listen to what he was saying, but it was lost the moment you saw AJ Lee. You were a huge fan of hers.

She smiled at you as she approached you.

“Hey, hi, I’m a huge fan,” You spoke, but it was all jumbled. You cringed. AJ Lee smiled at you, then looked over at Roman, then back at you.

“Hey, thank you… Your Roman’s girlfriend, right?” She spoke. You just nodded. She smiled at you, noticing how shy you get. She was about to say something when a backstage worker interrupted, and she had to leave.

The more you made your way backstage, the more of Roman’s coworkers and superstars. With every encounter, it was awkward. Every time you said Hi or Hello, it came out quietly; some let it slide, but you could tell they noticed.

It wasn’t until you reached Seth that’s when he decided to just blurt it out.

“You're shy, aren’t you? You don’t shy much,” He spoke. You felt a lump form in your throat. Roman glared at Seth. As tears pricked your eyes.

“Excuse me,” You spoke softly. You quickly pulled away from Roman and made an escape.

“Y/n,” Roman called out, looking in your direction. He looked at you, then back at Seth.

“What?” Seth spoke. Clearly confused by what happened.

“Did you have to be so rude to her? Just because she is shy doesn’t mean you have to point it out to her. Can’t you keep things to yourself?” Roman shouted furiously.

“Sorry to state the obvious,” Seth shot back.

Roman glared at Seth for a second before walking away. Seth rolled his eyes.

Roman stormed off angrily, going to find you.

He eventually found you with his cousins in front of his locker room. They smiled at him, saying goodbye to you, as Roman approached you. Roman wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush into his chest. Your body shook slightly. As you sniffled.

“Let’s go inside,” Roman spoke. You nodded your head. Roman took a step back. Loosening his arms around your body, he guided you into the locker room. Shutting the door as both of you entered.

Roman guided you towards the couch, sitting down. He pulled you into his lap. Wrapping his arm around your body. You nestled your head into his shoulder. Closing your eyes.

“He is an ass,” Roman muttered into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled. Roman heard you, though.

Roman pulled away slightly. One of his hands grabbed underneath your chin. He gently nudged you to look at him. You looked up at him, through wet lashes. Roman's heart ached.

“You don’t have to be sorry, y/n, it's not your fault. Seth is an asshole,” Roman spoke gently. His other hand ran up and down your back gently.

“I should have talked more.” You spoke quietly.

“Hey, no, don’t say that Seth shouldn’t have said what he said, don’t go changing y/n, just cause of one asshole, I love you for you, I love your shyness,” He consoled you.

You smiled softly at him.

Instead of replying to him, you leaned into him. Closing your eyes, you pressed a soft kiss against his lips. Roman kissed back. You were the first one to break the kiss. Leaning your forehead against his.

“I love you,” You softly spoke. Making Roman smile.

it started like any other match day. you were sitting on the edge of the bench in the locker room, lacing up your boots, when you felt eyes on you. looking up, you caught your husband leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, that smirk that you had learnt to love tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"you sure you want to dance with rhea tonight? she's a whole different beast," he teased playfully. you rolled your eyes, tossing a wrist tape at him hitting him in the chest as he walked over and crouched in front of you.

"relax, old man. it's not me you've got to worry about. i've got this"

punk chuckled under his breath, but there was still something in his eyes, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment. pre match bliss was probably his favourite part about getting to work with you every single week. no matter whether it was you or him that had a match that night it was tradition for you to spend the moments leading up to it engrossed in one another.

he gently took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist the little pre-match ritual you both started when you first got together when you were working with different companies and only got to spend a couple match days a year with one another. his lips lingered just a second longer than usual. "be safe out there, babe. i love you."

before you could respond, bianca burst into the room with her usual infectious energy, tossing you a protein bar. "eat that love, we got to keep that energy up" she said, grinning. punk gave her a nod of respect, but you could see the playful rivalry between them. now that you all worked together weekly you found your husband and best friend constantly competing for your attention but in the most playful, light-hearted of ways.

"if rhea gets too rough", punk joked, raising an eyebrow, "i'm storming the ring."

"it's rhea i have had a million matched with that girl, i'll be fine" you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "i'll see you after."

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"does that man ever stop worrying about you", bianca questioned as she walked alongside you.

"you would have thought five years and a chapel later he would have calmed down on the whole protective thing but i don't think he ever will"

bianca laughed shaking her head, "you ready?", she asked just gently checking in.

"you are almost as bad as him", you laughed as your music began to play throughout the arena and you did your entrance, bianca flanked at your side. just like usual.

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the match started just like you and rhea had painstakingly practiced it was crisp, intense, but completely under control. every strike, every grapple was hitting perfectly. the crowd was molten completely engrossed, feeding off the chemistry you both had. from ringside, you could hear bianca shouting her usual words of encouragement, a few curses breaking through but that was netflix's problem. not yours.

about halfway through, you both set up for the big spot, the match’s turning point, the show-stealer. a top-rope slam. one you'd rehearsed backstage until it was muscle memory. rhea was perfectly in position, trusting you like she always did. you took a steadying breath, climbing the ropes, adjusting your footing.

but then your boot caught. just a fraction of an inch off, but just enough to be catastrophic. it was enough to make you fall.

you didn't have time to correct it. the next second was both a blur and in slow motion. the slam went through, but the landing was wrong. horribly wrong. you slammed against the mat with a sickening snap, pain detonating through your neck and shoulder like you'd been struck by lightning. stealing the air right out of your lungs.

you tried to push through instinctively wrestlers always do. muscle memory kicked in as you tried to scramble to your feet to finish the match, but your body betrayed you. your arm wouldn't move. your legs felt like jelly and buckled under you. the ring lights above spun wildly as you struggled to blink back the stars in your vision.

you could hear bianca's voice instantly shift from hyped to horrified. "get up, y/n, come on, baby, get up", the words were a plea. she needed to know that you were okay.

the ref (jessica) looked down at you, and you must’ve looked worse than you realized because without hesitation, she threw the unmistakable "x" high into the air. this caused the entire arena to gasp. the energy completely shifted like someone had pulled the plug on the entire show.

rhea’s eyes went wide, immediately dropping character and sliding to her knees at your side. "shit y/n, hey, talk to me, you okay?, you're okay right. please talk to me." her voice cracked as she hovered protectively, trying to shield you from the cameras without making it obvious. and bianca scrambled into the ring. her eyes looked straight at michael cole, "roll a video or something, this is a bad one", she called out and michael got to work talking about anything but your injury getting the cameras to focus on him and pat. not your motionless body in the ring.

you could barely register anything. the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, gut wrenching panic settling into your chest, because somewhere beyond the ropes your husband was watching.

and you couldn't move.

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back in gorilla, punk’s heart didn’t just stop. it detonated.

he knew this was different the second it happened. the slip. the landing. the unnatural angle of your body as you slammed into the mat. every instinct inside him rebelled, screaming at him to do something, to stop the match, to rewind time.

his head was so fucked that he barely registered his own body moving. he ignored the producers shouting after him. other wrestlers in the company tried to grab his arm, get him to calm down before going out there but those efforts were futile. he was cm punk, if he wanted to do something he was going to do it. especially when it came to his wife. they looked him and it was like they were looking at someone else. his face contained sheer panic, he was wide eyed and wrecked so they stepped aside. they had never seen punk like this.

and once he was past the curtain, he sprinted.

his body launched down the ramp, faster than ever, feet pounding the steel, throat tight with fear. the crowd didn't matter. the cameras didn't matter. nothing mattered, he just needed to get to you.

"move!" he barked, shoving past a medic, hitting his knees hard beside you. his hand hovered for a split second before they found yours, trembling as his free hand brushed the sweaty hair from your face.

"baby, please, look at me," his voice cracked. the Punk that everyone in the company knew was gone. he was just a man desperately clinging to the love of his life willing for her to be okay. "stay with me, sweetheart, i'm right here, i've got you."

your vision was foggy, and your head was spinning, but even through the chaos you could hear it the fear radiating off everyone in the ring, by now hunter had made the decision to cut the recording and play a highlight reel of matches from the past but the in house crowd were still in the arena eyes glued to the scene that was unfolding in front of them. punk's thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles against your palm like he could anchor you to the world with just that touch.

rhea stepped back, guilt flooding her face as she whispered broken apologies. bianca despite being stressed out of her mind had seen this and her arms wrapped around rhea hugging her. "she would never blame you rhea, it was not your fault", she spoke tears rolling down her cheeks.

punk’s voice dropped to a whisper, voice shaking so hard it barely sounded like him. "stay with me, please, don’t leave me i need you, please sweetheart. i need you." his forehead pressed against your hand, and you felt the wetness of his tears soaking your fingers. "don't leave me. not like this"

when the medics finally had to move you, punk refused to let go. they told him to give them space, but he physically could not move. he was glued to your side, walking with you as they wheeled you up the ramp.

"you're okay, you're going to be okay," he kept repeating, voice cracking more every time, as if saying it enough would make it true.

behind him, bianca didn’t even try to hide her sobs. she followed quietly, hand over her mouth, eyes never leaving you.

and punk?

he never stopped holding your hand. not once. not when he climbed into the ambulance, not when bianca hugged you goodbye, not when the ambulance crew asked a million questions about your health and definitely not when the fear that he might have just watched the love of his life break beyond repair clawed at him with every agonising second.

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once you got to the hospital you were taken back straight away and bianca and punk were ushered to a family and friends waiting room.

the fluorescent lights of the room felt colder than the steel chair punk was hunched over in, elbows on his knees, hands wringing together so tightly they were turning white. he hadn’t spoken much since they wheeled you through those doors. not to bianca, not to the medics, not even to the poor staff member who tried to gently suggest he change out of his gear. his mind was focused on thoughts of you. everything else was merely background noise

bianca sat a few seats away, tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, but refusing to leave. her eyes flicked anxiously between the clock and the double doors you’d disappeared behind.

when the doctor finally walked out, clipboard in hand, punk shot to his feet in an instant. "how is she? tell me she’s okay."

the doctor raised a steadying hand. "she’s stable. breathing on her own. she was conscious but she is back asleep because of the pain killers."

punk felt a weight off his chest as soon as those words left the doctor's mouth. you were okay, that was all he cared about. bianca visibly sagged in relief against the chair, murmuring a shaky, "thank god."

but the doctor’s face stayed serious. "she took a hard fall. there’s a cervical sprain, the muscles and ligaments in her neck were strained badly on impact and more concerning, there was immediate nerve trauma. likely a brachial plexus injury."

punk blinked, it all sounded like a different language. "brachial what?"

the doctor softened. "think of it as a stinger but severe. that’s why she couldn’t feel or move her arm properly. we ran imaging to rule out spinal cord damage." the pause nearly killed him. "thankfully, there’s no fracture. no permanent spinal injury."

punk dropped into the chair like gravity had doubled, head falling into his hands as the tension ripped from his body. his worst fear, paralysis, wasn’t real. she would heal.

but the doctor wasn’t done. "there is also a partial rotator cuff tear in her right shoulder from the angle of the landing. surgery might be necessary depending on how it responds to therapy."

punk’s throat worked, but no words came out.

"how long?" bianca whispered. "before she’s better?”

"it could be six months. maybe longer." the doctor looked between the two of them. "she might never get the function that she did have back. it all depends on how she responds to treatment", he spoke and bianca's face was etched with worry. she knew how much work mattered to you. how much it would kill you to be permanently benched.

"she’s stable, you can go see her, she is sleeping though."

before the sentence was even finished, punk was already moving.

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it had been about an hour of punk and bianca sitting in your hospital room waiting for you to wake up. the doctors had assured them that it was totally normal for you to be this tired after the trauma your body had sustained and the painkillers you had been pumped full of.

punk sat hunched over your hand, eyes red rimmed but refusing to cry fully, like letting go would make it worse. his thumb stroked mindless circles on your knuckles, replaying every second of the match in his head . the slip, the impact, your face twisted in pain.

bianca slipped into the room quietly, carrying coffee, knowing he wouldn't leave to get any himself. punk didn’t even look up.

"you’re scaring me, man," she whispered, stepping closer, placing one hand on his shoulder.

he sniffed and finally spoke. "i told her to be careful. i kissed her wrist and i told her to be safe. like that was enough." his voice cracked again, and this time, bianca’s tough exterior crumbled too.

she sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "we both know she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up like this. she trusts you more than anyone. she's going to need you to help her heal. not this version of you who’s tearing himself apart."

and then, as if on cue, you stirred. a weak groan slipped past your lips, eyes fluttering open.

"y/n?" Punk was on his feet instantly, gripping your hand like it was the only thing telling him this was real. "baby, hey. i’m right here. you're okay." his voice cracked like he didn't even believe it yet.

your eyes met his, and seeing the absolute devastation on his face, you whispered, barely audible, "babe i'm okay."

And that broke him. He choked on a sob, lowering his forehead to your hand, finally letting himself cry properly — ugly, desperate, relieved tears. Bianca wiped at her own eyes, trying to pull herself together, but even she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"i’m sorry," he kept repeating between broken breaths, like he could’ve changed anything.

you, despite the pain, weakly pulled at his hand until he finally crawled into the hospital bed next to you, careful not to hurt you further. he wrapped you in the gentlest hug, holding you like you’d slip away if he didn’t. and for the first time since the accident, you both allowed yourselves to just feel everything, pain, love, fear, relief it was all tangled into one devastatingly tender moment.

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when bianca left to go sort some things out punk was still a mess. he stood up and paced the room like he couldn’t physically sit still.

"you’re done." the words left his mouth sharp but shaky. his eyes didn’t meet yours at first. "wrestling. you’re done."

you blinked, unsure if you heard him right. "babe"

"i’m serious," he cut in, voice raw. "i don’t care what the doctors say. i don’t care what you say. you don’t get to." he stopped himself, pressing his fingers to his temple like he was trying to force the panic away. "i can't do this again. i can't watch you go out there and get hurt like that again."

the silence between you was suffocating. his breathing was uneven. he wasn't being possessive. he was just fucking terrified. his entire soul was sitting at the edge of a cliff.

"i know you love this," he whispered, finally meeting your eyes, "but you’re everything to me. the thought of you not coming back. i wouldn't survive"

his voice broke completely. he turned away, shoulders shaking.

"hey, hey," you said softly, motioning him back over. "come here."

punk hesitated, but you could see he needed it as much as you did. he slowly shuffled back to the bed, and you pulled him into your arms, weak but determined. he sank into you like he was falling apart, his head resting against your chest.

"i'm right here," you whispered. "i'm okay. you didn't lose me."

he clung to you for dear life, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "i can't lose you. you're my whole damn world, sweetheart."

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two weeks in the hospital had you losing your mind. thankfully you did not need surgery on your shoulder but the hospital wanted to keep you in so they could put you on a strict regime of physical therapy.

your days were all monotonous, punk would visit sometimes alone sometimes with bianca or your family. he would sit with you for a bit before going down to therapy with you. you appreciated his company but you were going mad. all you wanted was to climb out of your hospital bed and into the ring.

but you knew better than to bring the subject up with your husband, he made it very clear how he felt about everything and you did not have the energy to push. so you just talked to him about anything other than wrestling.

and eventually you got well enough to go home.

the drive home from the hospital was quiet , not in a heavy, uncomfortable way, but in the fragile quiet that comes after a storm. neither of you spoke much, but punk’s hand never once left yours on the centre console. his thumb kept tracing the same anxious little circles against your skin, like if he stopped you would disappear.

at every red light, he glanced over at you not to check your injuries, but to read your face, to make sure you were still there with him. you could tell he wasn’t convinced that everything was going to work out. not yet.

when you finally got home, your husband practically flew out of the car and circled around to your door before you could even reach for the handle. he didn’t ask he just scooped you into his arms with a tenderness that broke you a little.

you would’ve laughed, teased him about overreacting, told him you could walk, injury or not. but you saw his face.

there was no teasing him tonight.

his jaw was tight, eyes glassy and strained, every line of his face drawn tight with fear he hadn’t managed to shake yet. you could feel the stress of the last few weeks radiating off him.

he carried you through the door like you were made of glass, navigating straight to the couch where he eased you down with painstaking care. pillows were fluffed and adjusted. your favourite blanket was brought over without you asking. he even went as far as grabbing the specific water bottle he knew you preferred, twisting the cap off and setting it beside you along with your painkillers.

you watched him pace.

he was busying himself, grabbing things you didn’t need, moving pillows you wouldn’t use, all because it was easier than sitting still. easier than feeling.

his voice, when it finally came, was rough and distant. "you need anything else?" his arms crossed tightly, like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

your throat tightened. you reached for him, voice small but steady. "yeah", you whispered. "you."

the sound he made wasn’t quite a sob, but it was close. his whole body sagged, shoulders slumping as though you’d knocked the wind right out of him. in two steps, he was across the room, sinking onto the couch, pulling you gently against his chest. his arms wrapped around you like you might slip through his fingers otherwise.

"you have me", he murmured into your hair, voice breaking. "always. no matter what."

you melted against him, feeling the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he still needed to prove it to himself.

and for a long time, neither of you moved. you just stayed there, tangled up on the couch, while the storm finally started to pass.

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later that night, bianca stopped by with food, claiming it was to "check in" but really she was just as worried about punk as she was about you. you could tell by the way she side eyed him all night as he hovered around you like a shadow.

finally, when you drifted off on the couch, bianca yanked punk into the kitchen.

"you've got to stop looking like the world ended," she whispered, crossing her arms.

"the world almost ended, bianca," punk shot back, voice rough.

"but it didn’t," she pushed. "she’s here. she’s breathing. she's stronger than both of us combined and you know it."

punk leaned against the counter, rubbing at his eyes. "i don’t know how to do this," he admitted. "she’s my whole life. what if next time..."

bianca grabbed his hoodie, forcing him to face her. "then you’ll be there. like you always are. like you were that day. but you can’t put her in a bubble. you fell in love with a fighter. let her fight. just don’t make her do it without you."

that hit him like a punch straight to the ribs. bianca was right. he couldn't expect you to walk away from the sport that you loved. he could not give you that ultimatum.

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later that night, when the house was dark and quiet, punk had carried you up the stairs and gently placed you in bed. he stood at the side of the bed, still not ready to rest. his mind a whirlwind of emotion.

your voice sliced through the silence, "you think i didn’t hear you two?"

his heart sank. "i’m sorry"

"bon't be." you pulled his arm and he climbed into the bed next to you. "i get it. but you don’t get to make that choice for me."

punk swallowed hard, tears forming again. "i’m scared."

"so am i" you admitted. "but I want to fight. not just in the ring, but for us. for this. and i need you in my corner, not holding me back."

punk crumbled. his walls shattered like glass. he didn’t hide the tears this time. he slid down the bed until he was able to rest his head on your stomach, sobbing quietly.

"i love you so damn much," he choked out. "i’m so sorry, baby. i just, i need you."

you carded your fingers through his hair. "you have me. you’ve always had me. just don’t make me do this alone."

"as long as i'm alive you will never be alone."

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the locker room was buzzing with the usual pre-show chaos, but for you, it all sounded like white noise. your gear was already on, fingers nervously tapping against your thigh as you sat on the bench, staring down at your boots. six months. half a year of doctors, rehab, setbacks, doubts, and nights where you almost believed you'd never be back here.

and now you were minutes away from your return match. you were ready. you had to be ready.

the door creaked open. punk slipped inside, quietly shutting it behind him. he was in his usual black hoodie, arms crossed, but you could tell from the softened lines on his face that he wasn’t here to give you last minute advice. he was here because he needed to be. he couldn't stay away.

"you okay, sweetheart?" he asked gently, voice quiet but steady.

you nodded, but he could see right through you. he crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of you, like he had that night, only now without the panic. this time, it was reverence. tenderness. he took your hands and kissed your knuckles, then pressed them against his heart.

"you don’t have to prove anything", he said firmly. "not to them, not to anyone. not even to me. you have already proved that you are a survivor"

your throat tightened. "i need to do this"

his eyes softened even more. "i know", he whispered. "and i’ll be right there. like always."

you leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "i’m so damn proud of you", he said. "no matter what happens out there, you hear me? you’re already everything to me."

you squeezed his hand. "stay where i can see you?"

"always."

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the crowd was electric the second your music hit. the roar was deafening, louder than anything you have ever heard in your many years performing in front of countless crowds. signs with your name waved from every corner. and standing right at the edge of the curtain in gorilla, you caught your husband watching you with glassy eyes and the softest, proudest smile you’d ever seen.

your opponent, bayley, met you in the ring with a wide smile and a genuine hug before the bell, mouthing a quiet welcome back. the match started smoothly. every bump, every movement, you felt the ring again like it was a part of you. sure, there was rust, but your body remembered.

and punk didn’t take his eyes off you for a second.

from behind the monitor in gorilla, arms crossed tight against his chest, he watched every step, every impact. his heart raced every time you grabbed your shoulder instinctively or landed hard, but he noticed the little things too. the fire in your eyes. the way you rallied after every setback. the spark that never left you, even after everything that you had been through.

when you locked in your finishing submission move and bayley tapped, the crowd erupted. You sat there in the centre of the ring, overwhelmed and shaking. and when you looked up the ramp, there he was.

punk had stepped just out onto the stage, not caring about breaking the fourth wall. his hands were clapping slowly but deliberately, eyes never leaving you. no bravado. no smirk. just absolute pride.

you felt yourself start to cry, but you smiled through it as he mouthed, you did it.

backstage, the second you stepped through gorilla, he was there in the crowd of people ready to congratulate you on your return. pulling you straight into his arms, practically lifting you off the ground. he kissed your temple over and over, holding you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"i told you", he whispered against your hair. "you’re unstoppable."

It was getting to a point where people like R-Truth were getting annoyed. It made him come backstage every week and crack a joke, but still, everyone but the one person he wanted to laughed.

It didn’t just stop at R-Truth, but also Sami. Sami attempted to get him to break out of his shell at a karaoke bar the team decided to visit after a show. 

The ginger stood on the stage with a cheap microphone in hand while swaying side to side at the opening of the music. “Oh this is a duo song? Solo, come up here and sing as the girl!”

Sami noticed the death glare he was sending his way, he cleared his throat. “Okay fine, I’ll be the girl and you can be the guy?”

Still, Solo didn't react.

Then there were his two brothers who tried to get him to party as well.

After a big win to get a chance at the tag titles, they celebrated with a dance. Fans danced along with them and hyped them up making the twins even more excited.

“Yo Uce, dance with us!”

The two continued their dancing, but Solo didn’t even budge. He only stood there with his arms crossed, standing on guard.

Even when Jey wrapped his arm around his shoulders and jumped up and down to force him to move, Solo stood there with no reaction, showing he was being moved against his own will.

And then there’s you.

It didn’t take much to get a reaction out of him when it came to you, and everyone quickly found that out when The Judgement Day slithered into the ring and attacked you all.

You were the only one in the ring as Rhea backed you  into one of the turnbuckles, continuously creeping towards you with a kendo stick.

Before any harm was done, Solo slid in the ring and shielded you, blocking you from the sight of Rhea.

The two continued to stare each other down as Jimmy and Jey took the opportunity to drag you out the ring. Solo soon exited, continuing his stare down with the people inside the ring.

You instantly jumped on him as soon as you were backstage, and on instinct he caught you, his arms wrapping protectively around your waist to hold you up.

“Thank you, Solo! Thank you for saving me!”

You then did the unthinkable and pecked his cheek. 

“You’re my knight and shining armor!”

You let go of him, to which he had a little delay of doing the same, and began walking down the hall.

Good thing you left or you would’ve seen the small smile that came to his lips and how red his face had gotten.

“Really Uce?” Jimmy spoke up.

“A kiss?” Jey finished.

After their promo dissolved into a snapping match ending with her saying that he should know better than to entertain Roxanne even though she was supposed to be their friend and him saying she was acting like Rhea, he stormed off.

He needed some air.

He was outside, breathing in the cool night air. Not wanting to go back inside or back to the hotel. He and Liv were sharing a room this time. And he don’t want to have another argument.

“Trouble in paradise, Mysterio?” A voice piped up from behind him.

He turned and had to bark out a humorless laugh. Standing off to the side was (Name), a wrestler he knew well and had a slight history with. Before Liv, before Rhea, when he was still a baby face wrestling with his dad…there was her.

There were talks about maybe have a soft and sweet romance plot on screen as they got closer. But then he and his dad started to disagree a lot. And he got swept up in the surging tide that was Rhea Ripley. And the Judgement Day.

And that relationship consumed him.

She’d let him go. Become that household name. She always said she didn’t mind being the cult favorite of a select few weirdos. And she’s become just that. She did pretty good on merch sales and there were always fans who wanted to meet her.

She and Dominik had drifted apart once he turned heel. They didn’t have many run ins as her rival at the time was not Rhea. Even though it had been a plan, her trying to appeal to Dominik’s soft spot for her, one he admittedly still had, a shoulder injury took her out for a few months and the storyline was scrapped.

They still were friendly, but didn’t get the chance to talk like this much anymore.

“You can say that, this whole Roxanne business has got Liv on lockdown mode.” He did his best to joke.

“Seems the only one on lockdown here, is you, Mysterio,” she said, “It’s like Rhea 2.0. You are good to them and then once they get their claws into you…they just put you in a trophy case like some prize. I mean…I don’t get it…you ain’t that cute.”

The lighthearted jab added at the end of such brutal honesty earned a real laugh from the recent Intercontinental champion. She smiled at him, enjoying the sound of his genuine laugh again.

“There’s the Dom I remember," she said with a grin, she reached into her bag and pulled out a jolly rancher, she had always carried candy, it was a personal quirk that became a part of her kayfabe, she popped it into her mouth and smile at him, before grabbing another to offer, “It’s Blue Raspberry, your favorite.”

The fact that she remembered that after all this time. Something that seemingly inconsequential had his shoulders feeling lighter. And his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He took the candy, “Thanks.” He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth, “So what else do you remember about me?” He teased back.

(Name) laughed and shook her head, “You’re a hard man to forget shit about, I still got your coffee order down.” She joked before reciting it, “Or does your latest girl not let you drink that anymore?”

Dominik rolled his eyes and once again barked out a humorless laugh, “I am still a grown man, I can drink what I like. But, yeah, I haven’t had that in a while…I always feel like I’m in a rush…getting coffee in the morning.”

He didn’t say it, but it was because Liv didn't like waiting too long if she could help it. Much as she liked fancy drinks she did not want to wait to give any kind of special requests. So he’d had to simplify it.

But what was so complicated about a mocha with a bit of caramel syrup?

Or maybe it was because it was part of his past. With (Name). Her signature vanilla latte with a couple pumps of caramel syrup was well known. She worked out a lot to be able to handle the amount of sugar she liked. But then again…she was the ‘Sweetheart of the WWE’.

Or at least that was her latest moniker due to her gear from the previous Valentine’s Day. Candy heart themed. It was all for fun. But the nickname stuck.

“You know, Dom, you should let yourself enjoy things,” (Name) said and pushed off the wall to walk over to him, standing right in front of her old friend, "You've got the title now, you worked so hard for it. Don’t lose yourself to anyone else. You’re the champ. Girlfriend, best friends, teammates, father…you need to live up to your own standards, not anyone else’s.”

It was a modified version of the same speech she gave him when he told her he was getting tired of being disrespected by his father and their allies in the ring. He felt like he was living in the shadow of a legacy like he hoped to build for himself.

“Says the one not on a team,” he replied with a sarcastic laugh.

She didn’t take it to heart.

“And how’s that team thing working out for you, Mysterio?” She joked, “The Sweetheart doesn’t play well with others. Not anymore. She’s kinda a lemon drop…after Mami took her favorite playmate.” She repeated the words Rhea had used once when they were spouting off pre-match after Dominik’s heel turn.

She poked Dominik’s chest, “Team or not, you support them, they support you, but in the end…it’s you in the ring with your opponent…they do not get to dictate who you’re friends with or who you date…you’re not their chew toy. You’re the draw. At least in my eyes.”

She smiled at him again before they both heard Liv shouting for him. “Time to kiss and make up, Dirty Dom.” She said and reached up to pat his cheek, “If you can, actually treat yourself for winning that belt.”

She turned and walked away, leaving a very confused Dominik behind her. He was frozen. Unable to move.

Liv walked over and grabbed his hand, “Hey look, I know you didn’t mean the Rhea comment,” she assured him and he turned to her, letting her pull him into a kiss.

Hoping she didn’t taste the blue raspberry jolly rancher on his lips.

—

The next week on Raw there was a different kind of tension in the air. It was uncomfortable. Everyone knew that he and Liv had had an argument during the promo shoot. And that Liv and Roxanne had been feuading. But tonight they the two women weren’t arguing. There seemed to be tentative peace in the clubhouse.

But Dominik knew better. He could sense the anger brewing below the surface with both Liv and Roxanne. Liv’s possessiveness was in overdrive. And it was like she was showing off her claim on him at every opportunity.

He was honestly emotionally exhausted. He used to love when she hung off of him. But it never felt like this. Strangling and claiming.

She was being overly affectionate when the cameras were on. But kept making biting comments. About him. About his loyalty. The loyalty he had never broken with her.

But still, she persisted. He didn’t understand the issue until she implied that Roxanne wasn’t the only one that he was eying up as they were walking through the hallways backstage. Walking up on another wrestlers promo spot.

(Name’s) promo spot.

It happens before Dominik could step in to stop it. Liv and Roxanne both came from either side to ambush the other wrestler. On camera. Insinuating she was trying to ‘steal Dominik from me’!

(Name) for her part held her own in the surprise before Dominik could pull Liv away, Finn rushing over to snatch away Roxanne.

“Whoa! What the hell Liv?!” Dominik demanded.

“She’s got her eyes on you now that you’ve got the belt too!” Liv insisted, “I know you gave her the time of day last week!”

“Oh my god, you think I want any part of this drama?!” (Name) exclaimed.

“Is this because of that damn candy?” Dominik asked.

“You tasted like you’d been kissing her! If I lose you to anyone I should at least respect them!” Liv snapped.

This was reminiscent of a custody match Dominik remembered all too well. And it seemed (Name) had the same thought, they always had been on the same wavelength.

“Should we get the ladders out then, Liv? Whoever gets the case gets to call Dirty Dom their own?” (Name) said, rolling her eyes, “Excuse me if I’m not chomping at the bit for that prize. Been there, done that.”

“Excuse me?!” Liv snarled while Roxanne just glared at her.

“Oh, you want me to play, you want the Sweetheart in on this, let’s go, because you forget, before Roxanne who, let’s be honest, isn’t even a contender…” Salacia said, a hand on her cocked out hip, grinning as Finn did his best to hold her back.

She turned to face Liv who had the sourest look in the world on her face. And it seemed like (Name) was revelling in it. Knowing the cameras were on.

“Before there was you, Liv, the one who he turned to, who snatched Dominik’s affections from Mami…and speaking of Ms. Ripley…before Rhea…there was me,” she finished, “So…I don’t need to compete with you…because the only reason Rhea got her claws into him…was because I was out due to family needing me…”

“Oh please, like you’d have stood up to anyone back then!” Roxanne snapped.

“Oh honey, you don’t know me at all, do you?” She asks and stepped up to get in Liv’s face first, “I’m gonna fight you, and I’m gonna win…not to win my ex back…but to show you exactly who the hell I am!” She moved to get in Roxanne’s face next, “You are welcome to join us…I know you’re just desperate for the attention.”

She turned and stormed off not even sparing Dominik a second glance. He could feel the anger and hurt rolling off of his old friend. And all he wanted was to go after her. Be sure she was okay. He waited for the cameras to turn away to let go of Liv.

“Man, what the fuck was that Liv?” He snarled, “Fucking with my friends over some dumb shit you got in your head, over thinking Roxanne had a chance with me. I’m not gonna save you. If you insist on going through with this, if you think that I’m just a chicken tender slut like Rhea calls me…we’re gonna be fucking through.”

He stormed off next. Wanting to blow off some steam. She had one week to decide if she was gonna be ridiculous about this. He couldn’t handle her drama while trying to keep his title.

He was tired of every woman in his life being drama. Whether current partner or wannabe partner. He was sure the only reason that (Name) was entertaining this was on the principle of the matter being jumped like that.

He saw her fuming in the corner, wringing her hands, before digging into her bag and pulling out a piece of gum. He walked over.

“Hey, you good?” He asks.

“They fucking attack me together like they aren’t gonna keep being prissy with each other over you…I mean…you’re a catch but not a prize…” she was honest, “I’m going through with the match, Dominik…don’t try and talk me out of it…I’m gonna drag your Barbie doll by her bottle blonde hair and show her who the hell I am!”

“I forgot what a firecracker you are, Ma,” Dominik said, their old rapport falling from his tongues easily.

She smiled up at him, slightly flirtatious, “Careful Dom, people might actually think you like me. Got a sweet tooth?” She joked

“Maybe I do,” he said with a chuckle.

This felt…right. Like no time had passed. Still with a sigh he had to walk away. He had to see if Liv was gonna be stupid and wrestle (Name). That was never the smart idea.

Neither of them realized that their private moment had been caught on camera. And was already in talks to be part of the promotion for the upcoming triple threat match.

—

Another city. Another Monday. Promos were shot. And accepted. Her comment about Liv being a bottle blonde going viral. She hadn’t planned on that. But maybe the audience needed to know she wasn’t just sugar. She had some spice to her.

Waiting for her entrance music to start she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. Shaking out the nerves that always hit before her music did. She could hold her own in the ring. Everyone knew that. Or should know that.

Liv seemed to have forgotten.

So had Roxanne. But she barely registered to (Name) this was about pride.

—

Over with Liv and Dominik he had ended things earlier in the day in private after she went on ranting and raving about him being hers and only hers and they shouldn’t even be part of the Judgement Day anymore because they were better than them and he should only be around her. He had heard this song before. And he didn’t like it then either. So he broke up with her in their off screen life and was planning on working on breaking their on screen relationship as well.

Needless to say she was pissed at him.

“I told you I wasn’t gonna do this shit again, Liv,” he said, “I broke up with Rhea over this…you know that.” He said to her, “I’m done being your fucking chew toy.”

She wasn’t speaking to him. Just glaring ahead. They had to enter together. Put up a strong front for the cameras. But he had ended that.

She wasn’t ready to admit that it was her fault.

Hers and Roxanne’s.

She had another person to blame. But her main focus was on (Name) now.

—

Liv and Dominik had walked to the ring together. And she kissed him in a show of possession. Maybe if she won this she could convince him to stay. At least publicly she could win him back privately.

Roxanne entered next and the two spat some barbs at each other. Waiting for the music of the third opponent to hit. And it was as energetic as she was.

Bright and light but fierce at the same time. Just like the woman making her way down to the ring. Confident and cheerful. She was going to make a real show of this.

—

The bell rang and Dominik was on the outside of the ring. Doing his best to seem invested in Liv during the match. But his eyes kept wandering to (Name) who was truly holding her own against opponents.

Roxanne said something cutting to Liv about Dom being done with her already. So Liv turned on her and tossed her out of the ring so she could focus on (Name). Who seemed to be really enjoying herself.

They were going toe to toe. Move for move. Dominik was really impressed. She had gotten better in these past few years.

Dominik knew he had to interfere in the match. It was expected of him. There was even a steel chair under the ring just waiting for him.

And Finn was waiting to distract the ref. He turned and nodded at Finn as Liv and Roxanne were both pounding on (Name) again. When (Name) had tossed Roxann into the turnbuckle and kicked her out of the ring only to be caught in a chokehold by Liv.

That’s when Finn rushed out to pretend to interfere. He went for the chair the second the ref’s back was turned. He moved to slide it into the ring as soon as he could.

(Name) reached behind her and grabbed a chunk of Liv’s hair like she said she would and yanked it making her release the hold.

She may be a baby face…but she could fight dirty.

Still when they both saw Dominik with the chair neither expected him to slide the chair right for (Name).

A smirk on his lips as he said loud enough for the cameras to hear. “I said we were done, Liv.”

He knew that if (Name) was caught with the chair she would be disqualified. But he was certain she knew what to do.

She picked it up and waited before pulling a move right out of the old school WWE. Slamming the chair on the mat loudly and, with a wink, tossing it to Liv who caught it on instinct before dropping to the mat like she’d been the one hit.

A perfect homage to one of Eddie Guerrero's signature plays.

The crowd went nuts.

The referee turned around and immediately called for the end of the match due to disqualification. Liv tried to argue as (Name) made a show of needing help from the ring. Dominik kept his distance but watched on with a proud grin.

—

They didn’t see each other that evening after everything was said and done. The entire roster buzzing with the typical gossip that came out after a dramatic match like this.

But the next morning in a Starbucks just outside of the hotel the talent was staying in. While (Name) was scrolling her phone, reading the reactions from the night before. The internet was abuzz with the rumor mill. She didn’t do this often. Only the first day after a match if part of some big storyline had taken place.

And that was one way to put what had happened the night before.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Dominik there, holding two coffees.

“Vanilla latte with two pumps of caramel syrup,” he said with a soft smile, a smile she recognized.

“Wanna join me, catch up, before we gotta fly out,” he asked.

(Name) smiled softly, “Okay.” She said.

“My brothers’ hitting up Blockbuster after school to rent some movies. You in?” 

Dejah shut her locker and gave her best friend, Myra, a look. “What type of movies, cause last time I had to sleep in my mom’s room for a week, and she was not happy.” Dejah rolled her eyes as Myra started to snicker. 

“Look, Jeepers Creepers wasn’t even that scary of a  movie -” 

She was cut off by someone clearing their throat. Both girls turned their heads, shocked to find Josh and his twin brother Jon standing behind them. Jonathan and Joshua Fatu were thee most popular guys in school, so it threw Dejah and Myra off to see them standing there… totally unexpected. 

“Sup. Dej.” Josh said that million dollar smile on his face. Dejah felt her heart skip a beat. 

“Hi…” She said slowly, cutting her eyes at Myra, who shared her look of confusion. “Can I help you?” 

Josh chuckled and bit his lip. “Math.” He said, and Jon elbowed him. “I mean,” Josh cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “You’re in my class. Mr. Reed.” 

“Algebra, yeah. Did you need the notes or something?” She asked, rummaging through her bag, looking for her algebra book. 

“I was uh-. I was actually hoping you could, you know.” He paused, shrugging. “Help me.” 

Dejah still had the confused look on her face as she replied, “Help you?” 

 Josh scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah. Like… tutor me.”

Dejah’s jaw dropped open. “You want me to tutor you?” 

“Yeah.” Josh nodded, Only if you not too busy.” 

Myra snorted, and Dejah gave her a swift nudge in the ribs.

Josh rubbed the back of his neck again, clearly trying not to look too embarrassed. “I mean, you always seem like you know what you’re doing. Always got ya’ hand up and shit.” He shrugged,  “Thought maybe you could help me catch up. Just a little.”

Dejah eyed him, a bit skeptical. But who could say no to Joshua Fatu? She damn sure couldn’t. “Fine,” she said finally, “I can help you. But I’m not doing your homework for you.”

Josh grinned, clearly relieved. “Deal.  After school?”

“Library,” Dejah confirmed, trying to sound casual even though her heart was racing.

“Alright.” Josh nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “See you after school.” He gave her one last smile that made Dejah’s stomach somersault and turned around, heading back down the hallway with his brother. As soon as Josh and Jon turned the corner, Myra whipped around, eyes wide like saucers.

“Girl… what the hell?”

Dejah blinked, still looking in the direction the boys walked off to. “Did that just happen?” 

“Oh, I can see it now!” Myra said, dramatically placing her hand over her heart. “The next Mrs Joshua Fatu.” 

Dejah rolled her eyes and shoved her friend as they began walking towards their next class. “Shut up. He just asked for help with math.” She shrugged. “No big deal.” 

Myra gave her best friend a look. “Mmhm. And Romeo just wanted to borrow Juliet’s notes, too, right?”’ 

Dejah sighed. “I don’t even know why I said yes…”

“Because you’ve had a crush on him since freshman year.” Myra reliped in a ‘duh’ tone. 

Dejah gasped and looked around, making sure no one heard what Myra just said. “Myra!” Dejah hissed and smacked her arm. 

“Oh come on,” Myra said with an eye roll, and the girls walked into history class. “You acting like it was some big secret.” 

“It was,” Dejah muttered, sliding into her seat and pulling out her notebook.  “And i’m planning on it staying that way.” 

“Too late,” Myra replied with a shrug as their history teacher strolled into class. “Y’all are practically married now.” 

Dejah shot her a sharp look. She opened her mouth to reply, but Mr. Henderson's booming voice stopped her. 

“Books away!” He called out. “Pop quiz time.” 

As soon as the final bell for the day rang, Dejah took her time getting out of her seat.  She packed her books slowly, deliberately avoiding the rush of students flooding the halls. Her heart was pounding in her chest. 

By the time she reached the library, she was one of the first to arrive. She slipped inside, scanning the rows of tables, but there was no sign of Josh.

She settled into a chair near the window, pulling out her algebra book and flipping through the pages, but her mind wasn’t on the homework.

It was on him.

Myra was right. Dejah did have a crush on Josh since freshman year, but she never acted on it because, in her own delusional way, she wasn’t Joshua Fatu’s type. In her mind, he went for the popular girls, the girls who wore their cheer uniforms like designer outfits and walked the hallways like they owned them. 

But don’t get her wrong, Dejah knew she was cute. She wasn’t blind. She heard the compliments, saw the way people looked at her sometimes, but in her head? That didn’t matter. Not when compared to girls like Kayla Martin and the rest of the “it” crowd. Girls who were loud without being labeled. Who flirted without trying. Who could say anything and make it sound cool. 

‘Damn, mama, you deep into thought.” 

She blinked and Josh was standing in front of he table, now dressed in his football jersey, a pair of grey sweatpants, and a durag. Dejah coughed and sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re late.” She said, trying not to sound flustered. 

“Shit, im sorry.” He said, and Dejah was taken aback at how genuine it sounded. “Coach made us stay a lil’ later than normal.” He pulled his notebook out of his bag and placed it on the table before scooting his chair closer to hers. 

Dejah stiffened as his scent wafted through her nose. He smelled good, like clean soap, a little sweat, and something warm and masculine. She tried to ignore it, but it hit her like a wave, making her brain short-circuit for a second.

“I-I was thinking we could work on the packet Mr. Reed gave out today,” Dejah said with a slight stutter. 

Josh let out a little chuckle as he noticed her stutter, but he didn’t mention it, which she was grateful for. Hr pulled the packet out that was tucked into the back of his book. 

“I was thinking we could do the first ten problems separately, then peer check.” She said. 

“You sure? Josh asked, his confidence dropping slightly, “I ain’t tryna make a fool of myself.” 

Dejah’s lips tugged into a frown. “Oh, well, we can go one-by-one then.” She said, biting her bottom lip as she looked over at him. 

Josh groaned slightly, “You can’t do that around me.” 

Dejah blinked, pencil hovering over the first question. “Do what?” 

“Bite that lip like that.” 

For the second time in less than 15 minutes, he had made her brain short-circuit.  “Oh,” she said, feeling flustered as she looked back down at her paper. She didn’t know how to respond to that without sounding lame. “Um, so for number one, it’s a linear equation.” She said as she tried to get them back on track. Josh noticed how flustered she was and cut his flirting down only a bit. 

He let her explain how to solve for x and then did it by himself. He showed Dejah his work, a timid look on his face as he watched her go over his answer. 

“You sure you need help?” She asked with one perfect eyebrow arched as she looked at him. 

Josh shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You explain this stuff so well, I might actually start liking math. Got a nice voice to listen to, too.”

Dejah didn’t look up right away. She just pressed her lips together, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He was laying it on thick. 

“You flirtin’ or you learning?” She asked, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him. 

“Can’t I do both?”

Dejah raised an eyebrow. “Not if you wanna pass the next quiz, you know Reed loves pop quizzes.” 

“Will it get me your number?” 

Dejah froze, heart beating in her chest as she choked out, “What?” 

Josh sighed, but that million-dollar smile was still on his face, “Your number, Dejah, can I have it?” 

“Um, I don’t think -” 

“Please…” He cut her off, giving her his best puppy dog look. 

Dejah bit her lip, still feeling the heat of Josh’s puppy dog eyes. She hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay.” She whispered. 

“What do I tell you about that lip?” He smirked as he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. He handed it over to her. 

She quickly released her bottom lip and entered her number into his phone. Their hands brushed as she handed him back his phone, and she could’ve sworn she felt a rush of electricity shoot down her arm, and by the look on his face, he must’ve felt it too. 

He broke their eye contact as he looked at the clock that was situated above the window they were sitting by. “Shit.” He muttered as he started to grab his things. “My mom’s gonna kill me. I’m late for dinner.” 

“Oh,” She said, feeling slightly disappointed as she watched him pack his stuff. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He looked up at her as he placed his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t be disappointed, Dej.” He smirked. “I got your number now, remember.” He winked. 

As soon as he was out of the library, she let out a groan and let her head fall onto the table. “I’m in deep trouble.” She muttered. 

The next day, Dejah put a little bit more effort into her outfit. 

Her favorite jeans, that hugged her hips and ass just right, and a light pink cropped hoodie that showed a sliver of skin when she reached up. She ignored Myra’s knowing smile as she met her at the front steps of the school. 

“Don’t start,” Dejah said as they walked into the building and towards their lockers. 

Myra ignored her warning. “So I take it the tutoring session went good yesterday.” She said as she hip bumped her. “You forgot to call me last night.” 

“Sorry,” Dejah muttered as they navigated through the hallways. “I crashed after my shower.”

Myra snorted, and both girls froze as they turned the corner. Josh was leaning against Dejah’s locker, an anxious look on his face as he kept looking around the hall. 

“Hey,” Josh said with a smile as she walked closer to him. 

“Hi.” She muttered, heart beating fast as she reached her hand up to mess with her name necklace. 

“I’m not a creep or anything.” He said, causing her to giggle. Josh grinned at the sound of her laugh. He wanted to be the only one to make her laugh from here on out. “I just wanted to walk you to class.” 

Dejah blinked in surprise. “Oh, I mean,” She turned to look at Myra, who had a big smile on her face. 

“I’ll be fine,” Myra said with a flick of her hand. “I was thinking about skipping first period anyway.” Myra didn’t give Dejah a chance to reply; she waved goodbye and turned on her heels, and started walking away from them. 

“So…” Josh said, rocking back on his heels as he glanced at her. “You ready?”

Dejah blinked. “Ready?”

“To walk to class,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Unless you tryna ditch me already.”

“No!” Dejah said, a bit too fast. “I mean, yes, I’m ready.” She said as she grabbed and readjusted her bag on her shoulder. She let out a yelp of surprise when his bag was suddenly gone. She watched as Josh slung her bag over his shoulder and tilted his head in the direction of Mr. Reed’s class. 

“C’mon.” 

All she could do was nod and fall into step with him. Their hands and arms brushed while they walked, but neither of them had the courage to make the move… yet. 

As they walked into Mr. Reed’s room, neither one of them could feel the stare of Kayla Martin. She scoffed as she noticed how close her man and that loser nerd were. Her eyes narrowed, and at that moment, she declared war on Dejah Monroe. 

Authors Note : NEW STORY ALERT! This should only be about 2 or 3 chapters, honestly.

ENJOY Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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The camera wobbled before settling into a slightly tilted frame—just close enough to catch half of Rhea’s smirking face, eyeliner sharp, black lipstick smudged from a stolen piece of chocolate.

“Alright, you chaotic little gremlins,” she greeted Instagram Live with a wicked grin. “Welcome to a very special episode of Rhea Ruins the Kitchen: Domestic Edition. I’m here on location, deep in the heart of suburbia, where one very soft, very flour-dusted woman is currently baking her way into a man’s soul.”

She turned the camera dramatically, revealing Shiloh standing at the kitchen island. She was barefoot, dressed in a grey cami maxi dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways—soft cotton clinging gently to her waist, dipping low across her collarbone. Her hair was pulled up in a lazy bun, a few curls falling loose around her face. She was focused on the bowl in front of her, folding chocolate chips into dough with careful precision.

Shiloh looked up, catching the phone pointed directly at her. “Rhea…”

“Don’t Rhea me,” Rhea grinned. “Look at you. You’re giving soft. You’re giving silk. You’re giving ‘my man might actually cry when he sees this.’”

Shiloh laughed under her breath, brushing a smear of flour off her wrist. “You said we were just hanging out.”

“We are,” Rhea said innocently, flipping the camera back to her face. “You just didn’t know I was bringing three thousand people with me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m documenting greatness,” Rhea declared, zooming in on Shiloh’s hands. “This is wife behavior, by the way.”

Shiloh looked at her flatly. “We’re not even married.”

“Not yet, babes,” Rhea said with a wink. “But don’t worry. He’s halfway there. You sneeze and he checks the thermostat.”

Shiloh tried to keep a straight face, but her smile crept through anyway.

The comment section was already unhinged:

@tribalthirstclub: NOT YET BABES 😭😭😭😭 @flourandsweetness: she said wife behavior and was RIGHT @romanistan69: oh he gone marry her. no doubt @ughfineimjealous: that dress + cookies = roman in a chokehold

Rhea angled the phone again, now showing the full spread: cookie dough ready to bake, a cooling rack prepped, ingredients still out in a charming mess. The condo smelled like butter, vanilla, and trouble.

“She’s in here barefoot, makin’ cookies in that dress,” Rhea continued. “And the Tribal Chief is out watching football. He should be arrested.”

“He needed a break,” Shiloh said, setting the tray into the oven.

“He needs to witness this,” Rhea argued. “Because I swear to god, if my girl here doesn’t get a ring by next fiscal quarter, I’m starting a GoFundMe. Justice for Shiloh.”

Shiloh shook her head, but her smile stayed.

“I’m here doing the Lord’s work,” Rhea said. “Taste-testing. Vibing. Being an extraordinary best friend while watching this soft bitch be in love. It’s fine.”

“You’re not taste-testing anything,” Shiloh warned as Rhea reached toward the bowl.

“You act like I didn’t grow up eating raw dough—”

“You literally got sick last time.”

“Worth it,” Rhea said, stealing a single chocolate chip and popping it into her mouth. “Also, you’re glowing. This dress? The soft lighting? The cookies? It’s giving domestic bliss. It’s giving final girl gets the rose in The Bachelor. It’s giving ‘he’s not gonna survive seeing you like this.’”

The front door opened.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, heavy.

Shiloh froze only for a second—just long enough to smile to herself.

Rhea’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. Cue the final boss theme.”

Roman stepped into the condo. His hair was tied back in a messy man bun, his black muscle tee clinging to his chest and shoulders. Grey joggers hung low on his hips. His face was unreadable—stoic, sharp-edged—until his eyes found her.

His entire body softened.

He walked past Rhea without so much as a glance. Crossed the kitchen. Reached for Shiloh like it was instinct. One arm slid around her waist, the other cupping the side of her jaw. He kissed her slowly—soft, firm, like he’d missed her more than he knew how to say.

Rhea stared at the phone. “Sir. We are live.”

Roman didn’t respond.

“She’s making cookies,” Rhea added, like it was supposed to change something. “You just walked in here like you own the house.”

“I do,” he murmured against Shiloh’s lips, making her giggle.

“And I don’t?” Rhea asked with mock offense.

Roman finally looked up, deadpan. “You don’t even live here.”

“Oh, so now we gatekeeping real estate?” she shot back. “I bring one ring-light and a little joy and suddenly I’m a trespasser?”

Roman raised a brow. “You brought chaos. And glitter. It’s still on my couch.”

“That was Valentine’s Day! Get over it!”

@grumpygirlsgethim: HIS WHOLE FACE CHANGED 😭😭😭 @gimmeachair: rhea getting evicted in real time @tribalthirstclub: “i do.” “you don’t.” pls this is gold @lineagewivesclub: roman’s a golden retriever but only for her

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m still getting a cookie.”

Roman reached for one off the tray.

“They’re hot,” Shiloh warned.

“So?” he said, already taking a bite. He chewed once and nodded. “Perfect.”

“She’s perfect,” Rhea muttered, licking her thumb. “You’re just here for the plot.”

Roman reached for a second cookie—and without warning, chucked it at Rhea. It bounced off her shoulder.

“Was that an act of war?!”

“You’ll live.”

“Oh, I am leaking the footage now,” Rhea threatened. “I have years of receipts. Y’all get married and don’t let me officiate? I’m leaking every photo I’ve ever taken of him smiling like a golden retriever whenever you’re sitting in his lap.”

Roman didn’t blink. “I meant that.”

Shiloh blushed. Rhea made a gagging sound and turned the phone back to herself.

“I’m ending this Live,” she said. “But just know—this soft bitch got the grumpy man cooking. I hate it here. I’m happy for them. But I hate it here.”

The feed cut just as Roman pressed a kiss to Shiloh’s temple, and Rhea’s voice faded out, “Ugh. Adorable. Disgusting. I’m going home to order pizza. Roman, wait until I get inside my car to rearrange her guts will ya. Bye babes. I will be over tomorrow for my cookies. ”

Roman frowned instantly. "I wish the fuck she would."

Shiloh giggled, shaking her head as she tugged Roman toward the oven. “Come on,” she murmured. “Cookies first. Guts later.” Roman followed without complaint, his hand already finding her waist.

Group Chat:

💭 Author’s Note:

just a quick lil soft + chaotic short for the soul 🫶🏽 rhea’s loud, roman’s grumpy ass, and shiloh’s out here baking her way into hearts. not super long, but y’all deserved to witness roman holding all the cookies for himself in real time 🍪

thank you so much for the likes, reblogs, comments, and asks—it truly means the world. i love interacting with y’all for real. you make posting these so much more fun 💌