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arination99 · 6 days ago

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This was so cute and can we get some more stories like these? Can Carmelo be next?

Brand New

Gunther (Walter Hahn) x reader

TW: Y/N’s ex is a jerk, but the rest of it is just fluff. Btw Y/S/N name in this means your son’s name.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Being a single mother isn’t an easy task. When Y/N first got pregnant with her son, she couldn’t have been happier. She was in a loving relationship with her fiancé at the time, or at least she thought she was, and she was at a stable enough place in her career to where she could take some time off to have a child.

However, what she wasn’t expecting was her fiancé to have a complete personality flip the moment she got pregnant. For the longest time he made it seem like all he wanted was to start a family with her, but the moment that became a reality, everything about him changed. He became distant, cold, harsh, and hated everything she did. He always had a criticism on everything.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to her when he cheated a month before their son was born.

Y/N had wanted her son to grow up in a home with two loving parents, but she also had enough respect for herself not to stay with a man who clearly didn’t want to be with her. They had called a quits on their relationship and Y/N ended up delivering the baby with her best friend Pam Martinez in the room instead of the baby’s father.

It wasn’t that she purposefully kept him out of the room, it’s that he didn’t show up until well after their son, Y/S/N, had been born. He had been out drinking with his friends and showed up to the hospital completely trashed. Y/N didn’t know where this sudden surge of recklessness came from, but she couldn’t have been more grateful to have gotten out of it.

Now five years later, her and Y/S/N are better than ever. She got full custody of her son, but due to the kindness of her heart, and wanting her son to know her father, she allows visitation. Every other weekend from Friday morning to Monday night she allows her ex to take their son out.

Thankfully, when he has Y/S/N, he seems to put a stop to his bad behavior to take care of his son. He may have mistreated her, but at least he’s willing to straighten up and play pretend for Y/S/N.

But there were still times, more often than not, that he dropped the ball when it came to their kid. Like this weekend for instance. He said he would be a day late in picking up Y/S/N, saying he was coming back for a business trip. Y/N was understanding, but she needed him to get Y/S/N before Sunday because she had to be in Chicago by Monday for Raw. Unfortunately a day late turned into him not showing up at all.

She found out his ‘business trip’ was actually a buddy of his having a bachelor party in Vegas. Y/N was furious when she saw him taking a shot off some stranger’s body when he should have been picking up his son.

She couldn’t spend time being angry though. She had a flight to catch and a venue to get to. So she bought a last minute ticket for her son, her usual sitter not being available due to the last minute circumstances.

Everyone was super understanding. Pearce didn’t have a problem with it in the slightest, even giving Y/S/N a quick little tour of the backstage area when he could. Josh and Rami were the first ones to find him, both of them being deemed his uncles when he was born. Y/N was never worried about raising her son because she had a family like this waiting in the wings to support them.

Still, even with all the support, doing her job while simultaneously trying to keep her five-year-old under control was proving to be an extremely difficult task.

Y/N exhales sharply as she turns a corner, her gear only half on. She’s still in the sweatpants she arrived in, her top being the only thing about her that’s ready. She had just gotten her makeup done, getting ready to do her hair when her son decided to take off. One minute he was sitting happily playing on the learning pad she got him, and the next he was giggling and running out of the room.

“Y/S/N!” Y/N calls out frustratedly. “Y/S/N, I don’t have time for this,” she huffs. “Mama’s gotta get ready.”

Panic starts to set in as she continues searching, asking some of the stagehands if they’d seen him as she passes. All of them say no. She tries to keep her breathing in check, knowing he wouldn’t leave the building. He knows better. So he has to be somewhere in this maze of hallways.

As Y/N takes another sharp right, she lets out a yelp when she collides into a solid chest. She looks up, getting ready to apologize, but she comes face to face with Joshua Fatu.

“Woah mama,” he places his hands on her shoulders to slow her down. “What’s got you runnin’ round here like you train in’ for a 5k?”

Y/N still tries to look around frantically, taking deep breaths so she can calmly answer his question. “Y/S/N ran off,” she tells him, eyes brewing with a storm of concern. “He didn’t tell me where he was going, just ran. And now I can’t find him.” She shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “God, if that asshole would’ve just showed up instead of being a flake I wouldn’t have to be runnin’ around here worried my son got himself stuck in a production crate.”

Josh immediately knew she was referring to her ex. He rolls his eyes, jaw ticking at the mention of the man he, and everyone in the locker room hates. Everyone knows what happened between them. It’s safe to say he will never be allowed at a WWE event for the rest of his life. Not while Y/N’s in the company.

“Hey, it’s aight, okay?” He rubs her shoulders softly. “Breath wit me. In one… out one… One more time mama, c’mon.” Y/N breaths along with him, finding herself calming down slowly. “Okay, I’m gonna go get Rami and we’ll help you look for him. He couldn't have gone far or nothin’. Kids got tiny ass legs.”

Y/N chuckles, her eyes still a bit teary, but feeling a little better. She nods, “All right. Holler if you find him.”

“You know I will,” he winks at her before walking off to recruit Rami for their search party.

Y/N skids around the corner so fast she nearly wipes out on the concrete, breath hitching when she hears that familiar little giggle echo down the hallway. She zeroes in on it like a hawk, boots pounding the ground.

“Y/S/N!” she calls, trying to keep her voice calm — but there’s a frayed edge to it, worry and exasperation all tangled together.

She rounds a stack of road cases and freezes.

There he is. Her son — perched happily on a production crate, sneakers kicking against the metal, mid-story about who knows what. And listening — actually listening — are Ludwig Kaiser, arms folded elegantly across his chest, head tilted in polite amusement, and Gunther, who towers at his side like a wall of calm authority, championship draped over one broad shoulder.

Her heart drops from her throat to her stomach.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath, half horrified, half relieved. She pushes a stray piece of hair off her forehead, drawing in a shaky breath as her son spots her and beams.

“Mama! Look who I found!” he squeals, pointing an enthusiastic finger at Gunther’s title. “He’s got the biggest shiny belt ever! It’s so heavy!”

Gunther shifts his attention to her, posture composed but eyes kind. His voice rolls out smooth, steady, carrying that quiet command that always settles a room. “He has been keeping us very well informed. About dinosaurs… robots… and the secrets under your couch, apparently.”

Y/N feels heat crawl up her neck. “Oh god. I— I am so, so sorry.” She crosses the distance quickly, cupping the back of her son’s head. “I swear he’s usually so good about staying put. He’s just… excited to be here and— I’m sorry he bothered you both—”

Ludwig lifts a hand, dismissing her apology with a graceful flick. “Please. He is no trouble at all. Quite the opposite — he’s more interesting than half the locker room, I assure you.” He glances at Gunther with a faint smirk. “We were overdue for some fresh conversation anyway.”

Gunther nods once, the barest hint of amusement softening his serious expression. “He is very proud of you. He told us you are stronger than all of us.”

Y/N lets out a breathless laugh, hugging her son closer to her side. “Did he now?” She raises a brow at the boy. “You’re not supposed to go bragging about Mama to the entire roster.”

Her son shrugs, utterly unbothered. “But it’s true! And Uncle Josh says I’m gonna be strong like you and Mister Gunther!” He gives Gunther’s belt a gentle tap, eyes wide. “I like your big shiny belt.”

Gunther lowers his chin, almost solemn. “Thank you. It takes much work to keep it. You must be strong here—” he taps a finger gently to the boy’s chest, “—and here.” Another tap to his temple.

Her son beams, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride.

Y/N hides a smile, brushing a bit of lint from her son’s hair. “I really am sorry, though. His dad was supposed to take him this weekend, but…” She trails off with an exasperated sigh, not quite meeting Gunther’s eyes. “He just didn’t show. Again. So now we’re improvising.”

Gunther’s brow furrows — not harshly, but enough that she feels her stomach twist under his quiet scrutiny. “He left you alone to manage this?” There’s no judgement in his tone, just a steady disapproval that somehow feels protective.

She shrugs, her laugh more tired than amused. “Yeah, well… It’s not the first time. He’s great at promising, not so great at doing.”

There’s a stretch of silence. Gunther shifts his title higher on his shoulder, gaze drifting from her to the boy and back. He says it without malice, but the blunt honesty cuts deep:

“He is not worthy of you.”

It’s so matter-of-fact that she nearly forgets how to breathe. Her mouth opens, then closes again as her face warms. “I— Um— That’s—” She clears her throat, suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. “Well. Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

Gunther blinks at her like he doesn’t understand why she’s flustered at all. “It is not nice. It is true.”

She looks away, biting her lip to keep a helpless smile from spilling out. Her son, oblivious, tugs Ludwig by the hand toward the vending machine down the hall. “Come on! I want a snack before Mama wrestles!”

Ludwig lets himself be dragged off with a dramatic sigh. “I see how it is — replaced by gummy bears…”

And just like that, it’s quieter. She adjusts her hold on her boy before setting him down, letting him scamper off with Ludwig for a moment of sugar mischief.

She catches Gunther watching her, his hands calmly resting on his championship, a quiet steadiness about him that makes her shoulders drop a fraction of tension she didn’t know she was carrying.

“You’re very good with him,” she murmurs, surprised by the softness in her own voice.

Gunther shrugs once. “Children are honest. I respect that.” He lets the faintest trace of a smile ghost across his face. “Besides. He is proud of you. It is easy to be good to him.”

She breathes out a shaky laugh, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve to hide her flush. “You know, you have a way of saying things that—” She gestures helplessly, flustered all over again. “—you just say them so plainly. And it’s… it’s nice. It’s just… nice.”

Gunther tips his head, studying her with a quiet curiosity that makes her pulse skip. “Is it so rare for people to tell you the truth?”

She hesitates, then admits, softer than before, “Sometimes.”

He hums low in his chest — not quite a laugh, but close. “Then they are fools.” He says it simply, without heat, but it makes something warm unfurl in her chest anyway.

Before she can respond, her son comes barreling back with a pack of gummies half-open, Ludwig trailing behind looking only mildly scandalized. “Mama! Look! Ludwig says these are his favorite too!”

Gunther’s expression relaxes further, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to make her stomach flutter. He rests a gentle hand on her son’s head, steady and sure.

“You will cheer for your mother tonight, yes?” he asks, voice low but warm.

Her son nods fiercely, cheeks sticky with sugar already. “I’m gonna yell so loud everyone will hear me!”

Y/N laughs, scooping him back onto her hip with an affectionate grunt. “That’s my boy.”

When she glances back at Gunther, he’s still watching her — steady, unbothered, and so effortlessly solid it makes her chest ache in the best way.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, hoping he knows she means more than just the hallway conversation.

Gunther inclines his head, his eyes soft but unwavering. “Any time.”

Y/N adjusts her son on her hip again, nose brushing his temple as she catches her breath. Gunther shifts his title higher on his shoulder, watching her quietly for a moment before he speaks — voice low, but certain as always.

“You are doing very well.”

She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“As a mother.” He nods once, as if it’s an obvious fact that doesn’t need sugarcoating. “It is clear in how he looks at you. And how you care for him. You do well.”

For a second she can’t find words. She laughs it off, but her voice comes out softer than she means. “Coming from you, that… that means a lot. Thank you, Walter.”

Ludwig lets out an exasperated sigh as Y/S/N waves him over. Marcel drops to a crouch but before he can even register what’s happening, Y/S/N reaches forward and sticks a gummy bear to his cheek with mischievous delight. “Oh you little devil,” Ludwig deadpans, peeling it off and flicking it back at him. “I don’t talk to you for two minutes and suddenly I am sticky. What an honor.” He chuckles.

Y/N chuckles as her son darts off again, Ludwig rolling his eyes fondly before standing. “I will keep him busy, yeah? Someone must keep him from scaling the production crates again.”

“Good luck with that,” Y/N teases, and Ludwig answers with a dry little salute before wandering after the boy, pretending to groan when he’s pelted with more gummies.

It leaves her and Gunther alone again, standing just off to the side, a pocket of calm in the hallway’s buzz. She fiddles with the hem of her sleeve again, catching his eyes once before dropping hers, then looking back because she can’t quite help it.

“You know,” she murmurs, nodding toward her son where he’s now tugging Ludwig to show him a poster on the wall, “he really likes you.”

Gunther lifts a brow, like it’s news to him. “Hm?”

“He does. He has a hard time with new people sometimes — especially men.” She shifts her weight, a quiet honesty creeping into her voice. “But with you… it’s like he’s known you forever. He’s just comfortable. I really appreciate that. And you.”

If he’s warmed by that, he doesn’t let it soften the iron in his posture — but there’s a flicker in his eyes, a subtle shift that says he hears her. “He is a good boy. Easy to respect.”

She smiles, the tension in her shoulders uncoiling just a bit. He watches her son a moment longer, then glances back at her — his tone unexpectedly gentle.

“He looks like you.”

She freezes, stunned. Her laugh is soft, almost a breath. “Most people say he’s the spitting image of his dad.”

Gunther’s brow furrows slightly. “They are wrong.” He says it so plainly, so certain it nearly undoes her right there. They stand like that for a heartbeat — close enough to feel the quiet pull of something that neither of them names. “He has your eyes… and you heart.”

Her chest tightens, but she breaks the eye contact first, glancing down the hall where Ludwig is now being dragged by the sleeve to look at something else entirely. “God, I don’t even know how I’m gonna do my match tonight and keep him wrangled at the same time. My head’s spinning just thinking about it.”

Gunther hums thoughtfully. “I have only one small segment with Joshua to film. After that, I can watch him — if you wish.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Wait. You’d really do that?”

He lifts a broad shoulder, calm as ever. “It is no burden. He listens to me. He will be safe.”

Emotion wells up too fast to hide. She presses a hand to her mouth, then laughs shakily. “I— You don’t know how much that helps me. Thank you, Walter. Really. Thank you.”

She calls her son over with a soft whistle and he darts back, gummy bears clutched in a sticky fist.

“Hey, buddy. So, Mama’s gotta go get ready for her match, okay? Mister Walter’s gonna hang out with you for a bit after he talks with Uncle Josh. If he has to do anything important, you go find Josh or Uncle Rami. Got it?”

Her son nods so hard his hair flops. “Got it! Mama, can I show Mister Walter my dino roar?”

Gunther’s lips twitch — the closest he gets to an actual grin. He tips his chin down to the boy’s level. “I would like that.”

“Yay!” her son squeals back, and they share a high five that makes Y/N’s heart feel like it’s about to burst.

She looks up at Gunther one more time, the air between them thicker than it has any right to be. She opens her mouth, closes it again, then breathes, “Thank you. Seriously.”

Gunther holds her gaze steady, the faintest flicker of softness in the steel. “Go do your job. We will be here.”

She nods, eyes darting to his lips once without meaning to, then back up to his eyes. She forces her feet to move before she does something reckless, flashing him one last grateful smile as she turns to head toward gorilla position — heartbeat thundering all the way.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The low hum of the monitor fills the corridor, a constant pulse behind the distant roar of the arena crowd. Marcel’s voice echoes faintly around a corner — instructions to a tech, a low laugh — but he’s left them alone for now.

Gunther sits still as a statue on the rolling road case, posture deceptively casual, massive hands folded loosely between his knees. Y/S/N’s warm weight leans against his side, tiny head resting on the crook of his arm as he watches the screen with wide eyes.

On the monitor, Y/N drives her opponent into the mat with merciless precision, her face a mask of grit and exhaustion.

Gunther has seen her like this a hundred times. A warrior, a technician, a presence that demands respect. He has spoken with her backstage, shared ring space, watched her command crowds bigger than some countries. But somehow — shame creeps in at the thought — he never truly saw her. Not like this. Not through the eyes of this child who sees her as everything.

He hears the boy whisper it again, voice a sleepy mumble at his ribs: “She’s my hero. Even when she’s tired. Even when Daddy says mean stuff to her. She’s still happy with me.”

Gunther’s brow furrows, a fissure of cold anger threading under his ribs. “Mean things?” His voice rumbles so low the boy almost misses it.

Y/S/N’s small shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “Daddy yells sometimes. Says she’s not good enough. Says I’m bad too. But Mama always hugs me after. Says I’m her best thing ever. I don’t listen to Daddy. He’s not nice sometimes. Usually when he’s around her.”

The muscle in Gunther’s jaw flexes once. Twice. He fights the urge — the deeply trained, iron-forged discipline not to show more than he must. But inside, something unfamiliar sparks and claws its way up his chest: an echo of protectiveness that is almost personal.

He glances at the monitor just as Y/N’s hand is raised, the lights catching the sweat on her brow like a crown. For the first time, he does not see an opponent, or a partner on the card, or another name on the roster. He sees a woman — one who stands her ground while the world tries to knock her down behind closed doors. A woman who wakes up each day and chooses to fight again, not just for herself but for the boy pressed trustingly into his side.

He thought he knew what strength was. The cold, merciless kind — the champion’s iron spine, the Ring General’s iron rule. But she reminds him there is another kind: the kind that bleeds and still smiles for someone smaller. The kind that bends and bends and does not break.

He leans closer, his deep voice so soft it hums against the boy’s curls. “He was wrong, you know. Your father. Your mother is more than enough. For you. For this place. For anyone with eyes to see.”

Y/S/N peeks up, blinking sleepily. “Did you see her just now?”

Gunther allows the faintest nod. “I see her much clearer now.”

He means it in ways the boy cannot understand.

The child shifts, curling tighter against him like a sleepy cat. “Mama says people forget to look. They see what they want. Not what’s real.”

Gunther huffs a breath, almost a laugh but edged with truth. “Then your mother is wiser than most.”

He settles his palm carefully on the boy’s small back — a rare gesture from a man whose touch usually means destruction. There is no steel in it now. Only an unspoken promise he does not fully grasp yet.

“She is a champion in every sense,” he says at last, each word weighty, deliberate — an oath to the empty corridor as much as to the boy drifting to sleep on his arm. “In this ring, and outside of it. Do not ever doubt that.”

He lifts his eyes back to the monitor — to her figure disappearing behind the curtain, her shoulders still squared even in exhaustion.

How many nights has she stood alone like this? he wonders, for the first time tasting an unfamiliar bitterness that it was not him standing guard at her side. He tells himself it is unnecessary. She does not need pity. She never did. That is why she is who she is.

But deep in his chest, where the discipline falters for no one, something roots itself quietly:

If she ever asked — if she ever let him — he would stand there anyway.

Not because she needs it. Because she deserves it. And for Gunther, that is the only reason that has ever mattered.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The arena has quieted to a low hum, the crowd long gone, the crew packing away the chaos piece by piece. Backstage, the sterile hallways look softer in the late hour, shadows clinging to corners that feel strangely intimate after the roar of thousands.

Y/N adjusts the weight on her shoulder — her son, limp with sleep, his cheek smushed against her collarbone. She’s bone-tired, half running on adrenaline, half on the warm sweetness of his little breaths ghosting her neck.

She says her goodbyes to Rami and Josh near catering, earning two gentle ruffles of her boy’s hair and a quiet, “Proud of you,” from Rami that makes her chest ache in the best way.

She turns the corner toward the back exit and nearly collides with him.

Walter.

Gone is the pristine Ring General who barked orders earlier — no tie, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a faint crease at the corners of his eyes that comes only with exhaustion… or maybe something softer. He looks human in a way that feels dangerous to her sense of composure.

They stop a breath apart, the boy shifting against her shoulder but not waking.

“Sorry,” she whispers, shifting her grip. “Didn’t see you.”

He studies her, head tilting just slightly — an animal assessing if it should let itself be gentle. Then he lifts one massive hand, and for a fleeting second she thinks he’ll touch her face. Instead, he brushes a stray strand of hair off her brow with his knuckle — barely a touch at all, but enough to make her pulse skip.

“No apology needed.” His voice is quieter than it has any right to be, rough edges tucked away just for her. “You did well tonight.”

She lets out a tired laugh, eyes flicking to the floor so he won’t see the heat climbing her neck. “Thank you. I had good motivation.”

His eyes darken, flicking to the small boy in her arms — then back, locking on hers so deeply she has to remind herself to breathe.

“You endure so much more than what happens out there in the ring,” he says, low but steady, as if saying it makes it undeniable. “Most people… they show their strength when the world watches. You show yours when no one sees. That is rare.”

Her throat tightens, stung by the honesty in his tone. She wants to deflect — to joke, to lighten it — but can’t find the words because something in her chest twists warm and unguarded under his gaze.

“I don’t always feel strong,” she admits, softer than she means to.

He studies her face as if committing it to memory — the shadows beneath her eyes, the gentle clutch of her child’s small hand at her collar.

“That is how I know you are,” he murmurs. Then, almost as if it’s for himself: “You do not pretend. You survive. And somehow, you keep… giving.”

He glances at her son, who shifts, mumbling nonsense in his sleep before tucking in closer to her warmth. A corner of Walter’s mouth twitches — not quite a smile, but the shape of one trying to exist.

“He knows it too. He trusts you with everything he has. Children do not lie about these things.”

For a heartbeat, the hallway feels impossibly small. She wonders if he can feel how fast her heart beats under the weight of his words — words from him carry a gravity that lingers long after silence returns.

She shifts her son higher on her shoulder, swallowing the flutter in her throat. “Well… goodnight, Walter. And… thank you. Really.”

He nods, slow, deliberate — the Ring General even now, but something softer carved into the edges.

“You are more than you believe you are,” he says, quiet but so certain it leaves no room for protest. “And he is lucky. To be your son. As we are… to stand beside you.”

Her breath catches, and for a split second she wonders if he knows exactly what he’s doing to her composure.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he finishes, his voice dipping just enough to wrap around her name like a secret.

She lets herself linger for just a heartbeat longer — lets herself really see him: not the stoic king of the ring but the man who notices the tiny cracks in her armor and does not think less of her for them.

“Goodnight,” she whispers, her voice softer now, nearly fond.

She turns, walking away with her entire world snuggled to her chest — her steps echoing faintly in the hush behind her.

Walter watches until she’s gone.

Not far off, Rami elbows Josh with an obnoxious grin. “Man’s finished. He just doesn’t know it yet,” Rami mutters.

Josh snorts, eyes still fixed on the empty hallway. “She’s gonna be the best thing that ever happens to him. Just wait.”

And in the corridor, Walter stands alone, an unfamiliar warmth settling behind his ribs — an ache and a promise both, one he has no name for yet. Only that it has her face.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The living room is littered with building blocks and plastic dinosaur armies — the battlefield of a five-year-old mind at play. Afternoon sun spills in through half-drawn curtains, catching on the toy clutter and the faint dust motes drifting lazily through the warm air.

Y/N leans against the doorframe, a half-empty coffee mug in hand, and watches her son conduct a dramatic rescue mission involving a T-Rex and a fleet of matchbox cars. It’s silly and chaotic and perfect.

“Hey, bud,” she calls softly, careful not to break the spell too harshly. “Come here a second.”

Y/S/N makes a series of engine noises, parks his imaginary convoy, then scrambles over, curls an arm around her leg with that little-boy possessiveness that never fails to melt her.

“Your birthday’s coming up, mister. Have you thought about what you wanna do this year?”

He pulls back just enough to look up at her, nose scrunched, considering. “Ummm…” He taps his chin, eyes darting to the toy chaos behind him as if inspiration might be hiding among the dinosaurs.

Then his face lights up. “A wrestling party!” he announces, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N laughs, warmth blooming deep in her chest. “A wrestling party? What does that even mean, huh?”

“It means…” He starts counting on tiny fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. “Uncle Rami and Uncle Josh have to come. And Uncle Jon. And Aunty Trinity and Aunty Pam! And —” he pauses dramatically, “— Jayden and Liam and Tommy from school. And…”

He trails off, mischief flickering in his grin as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Mama — you have to invite Gunther too!”

Her hand freezes mid-sip, coffee forgotten as heat rushes up her neck. “Gunther?”

“Yeah!” He giggles at her shocked face, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “He’s my friend. He played dinos with me, ‘member? And he said I was brave. He should come! Please, mama? Please?”

She tries to hide the blush creeping to her cheeks by setting her mug down and ruffling his hair, but it’s no use — her mind flashes back to Walter’s text the night after the show: You did well. Rest tomorrow. Let me know if you or the boy need anything. And then the next day: How is he feeling today? Sleeping well? And her answering at midnight when she couldn’t sleep either.

She clears her throat, gently tugging her son’s hand from her hoodie. “Are you sure you want him to come, baby? He’s busy, you know.”

Y/S/N pouts dramatically. “I like him. He’s nice. And he smells like soap and candy canes. He should come. Please?”

She laughs, giving in like she always does with him. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask him.”

She fishes her phone out of her pocket, thumb hovering over the recent call list where Walter Hahn sits pinned near the top. Her stomach flips — stupid butterflies she doesn’t have time for — but she taps Call anyway.

It rings only once before his deep, unmistakable voice rumbles through the speaker. “Y/N.”

The way he says her name still does things she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Hey,” she says, smiling despite herself. “Sorry to bother you. I’ve got a certain tiny person here with a big request.”

He hums, and she can almost hear the faint smile in it. “Yes?”

She crouches, phone on speaker, wrapping an arm around her boy’s middle. “Tell him, baby.”

Y/S/N leans in close to the phone, his little voice bright and certain: “Gunther! It’s my birthday soon. You hafta come to my party. Please? Mama said to ask you nice.”

There’s a pause — not quite silence, but the kind that feels deliberate. Then Walter’s voice, warmer than she expects: “Your birthday, hmm? Well, I cannot refuse such an invitation, can I? I would be honored to come. Thank you for inviting me, little one.”

Y/S/N squeals, turning to bury his face in her shoulder. “He’s coming, Mama!”

She bites her lip, fighting the grin in her voice. “You really don’t have to. He just— he really likes you.”

“I will be there,” Walter says simply, no room for argument. Then, a touch softer: “Thank you for asking me. Truly.”

She swallows around the sudden warmth in her throat. “Alright then. It’s settled. I’ll send you the official invitation a bit later this afternoon when I finish designing it.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, her name brushing the end like a promise. “See you soon, Y/N.”

She ends the call, her heart doing somersaults she pretends she doesn’t feel — while her son barrels back into his dinosaur battlefield, already planning which toys to show Gunther first.

And she stands there a moment longer, phone clutched to her chest, wondering when exactly this man slipped past all her walls — and why it feels like she might not mind at all.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Y/N was more than satisfied with how the decorations for Y/S/N’s party turned out. She managed to set up their own backyard wrestling ring, his cake mimicking the same squared circle from the WWE performance center. Small championship belts that connect in a streamed-esque way cascade down from the ceiling. Different decorations like Money in the Bank briefcases, as well as mini ladders and chairs decorating the tables. It had taken a while to find all the specifically sized things, but when she did, it all came together.

People should be arriving at any minute, the only thing seemingly missing is the birthday boy himself. Y/N can hear rustling from upstairs and a small smile takes over her face as God only knows what that boy is up to.

“Y/S/N!” She calls out playfully. “It’s time to come down, buddy! Everyone’s already almost here.”

“Coming!” His little voice calls out.

Y/N chuckles as she hears his little feet scampering down the stairs of their home. She leans up against the banister as she waits for him to finish his journey. Once he comes into view, her heart practically melts at the sight.

His eyes are covered in his own ‘Yeet’ sunglasses that his Uncle Josh gave him when he took Y/S/N down with him during his entrance a couple months ago. The pants he’s wearing are a mini version of Rami’s with the signature SZ engrained on the side. And his shirt is one that she knows well. It’s one of her favorite merch shirts that the company ever created for her. Mostly because she had a lot of input on what went on the design.

He looks absolutely chaotic, but in the best way. Y/N’s grin turns into a full blown smile, “Honey… what are you wearing?”

Y/S/N giggles at the question, jumping down to the floor from the final step. “I’m wearing all my favorite wrestlers!” He says happily. “Now I just gotta wait for Gunther and then I can put his belt on.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow, “And what makes you think he’ll let you wear it?”

Y/S/N skips past her and over to the door so he can be ready to greet all his guests. “Becauseeeeee,” he drawls. “He likes me,” he states like it’s the only fact he knows.

Y/N shakes her head right as the doorbell rings, “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Y/S/N beats her to the door, swinging it open to reveal and the house fills in an instant with laughter and greetings. Jon is the first to pull Y/N into a one-armed hug, his deep chuckle vibrating in her ear.

“You outdid yourself, mama bear,” he teases, eyeing the tiny replica wrestling ring in the yard.

Trinity laughs as she hands over a big, gift-wrapped box. “I told him he’d want one just like it at his next birthday — don’t let him steal your ideas.”

Josh is next, sweeping Y/N into a warm, crushing squeeze that makes her laugh. “Where’s my twin?” he demands, looking for Y/S/N.

“Already terrorizing the snack table,” Y/N says, flicking her eyes toward the backyard where Y/S/N steals a handful of candy before doing a somersault into the ring’s bouncy ropes.

Sure enough, the moment Jeyce, Josh’s son, spots Y/S/N, he launches himself into a clumsy but enthusiastic dropkick. The backyard erupts with tiny warrior cries.

Next through the door is Rami, all crooked grin and wide arms. “Okay, who let this party happen without me?” he jokes, dropping a bright gift bag at her feet. His son darts past him, high-fiving Jeyce before tackling Y/S/N into the grass in a fit of giggles.

Y/N watches the boys roll around, her heart squeezing at the chaos.

“Thanks for coming, Rami,” she murmurs sincerely, hugging him tight.

He kisses the side of her head, big-brother affection warm in every word. “Wouldn’t miss it. He’s my boy too, you know.”

The next wave brings Colby and Becky, little Rioux perched on Colby’s shoulders, eyes wide at the homemade ring. Becky snorts when she sees the decor. “This is absolutely mental. She’s never going to want a normal party again.”

Y/N laughs, hugging them both. “Good thing you’re all used to being tackled for fun.”

“Ok Rioux! Go pin those boys. Show ‘em who’s boss!” Colby shouts, setting the boy down with a gentle shove toward the backyard. The toddler charges in, arms out like a tiny beast.

Cody and Brandi follow not long after, Liberty clinging shyly to Brandi’s leg until she sees the other kids, then takes off squealing. Y/N hugs Brandi tight, both women grinning as they watch the backyard ring devolve into the world’s cutest battle royal.

“I give it ten minutes before someone’s crying,” Brandi jokes.

“Five,” Y/N counters, both laughing as Jeyce somersaults into Rami’s son, sending them both toppling.

Tommaso, Johnny, and Candice arrive next, each herding their own pint-sized mini-me into the fray. Willow and Quill run out to join Liberty forming an unexpected tag team that gangs up on poor Y/S/N until he squeals for mercy.

Y/N flits between guests, refilling snacks, passing out juice boxes, catching up on stories. Every few minutes she pauses at the patio door, heart swelling at the sight of all these people she loves gathered for her son — who beams every time he catches her watching.

She’s just setting a stack of extra paper plates beside the cake when she hears the door click shut behind her. The low murmur of kids wrestling and parents laughing drifts in from the yard — but right now, she feels the hairs on her neck stand up for an entirely different reason.

She turns, wiping her hands on her jeans, and nearly loses her breath.

There he is. Walter Hahn — Gunther, the indomitable Ring General — standing in her hallway with a neatly wrapped box in his massive hand, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar open. The late sun catches on the faint sheen of sweat on his throat, and for a moment she has to remind herself to actually speak.

“Hey,” she breathes, a shy smile lifting her mouth as she steps closer. “You made it.”

Walter inclines his head, eyes flicking briefly over her shoulder, taking in the noisy backyard. “I would not miss this. He asked for me himself, yes?”

She laughs softly, crossing her arms as if to hide how much the sound of his voice makes her stomach flutter. “He did. He was convinced the party wouldn’t be complete without you. So… thank you. Really. For being here. For everything, lately.”

He considers her for a beat, that unreadable stare softening just enough at the edges. Then, without ceremony, he shifts the present to his left hand and closes the small distance between them. One arm slides around her back, the other braces lightly at her waist — careful, deliberate, warm.

The hug catches her so off guard she doesn’t even breathe at first. His chest is solid and unyielding, but the way he holds her — it’s protective, almost gentle.

“You do not need to thank me,” he murmurs against her temple, his voice a low anchor in the quiet entryway. “I should thank you. For trusting me. For allowing me here.”

She feels her cheeks flush. Her fingers brush the crisp fabric at his bicep before she pulls back just enough to see his face. “Well. I guess you’re stuck with us now.”

He lets out the faintest huff of laughter — an impossibly rare sound that makes something warm unfurl in her belly. “I would not call it being stuck. I enjoy spending time with you and your boy. I promise, I would not be here if I did not want to be.”

She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, and he watches her for a moment longer than necessary — the kind of look that makes her forget her exhaustion entirely.

In the backyard, the small commotion of wrestling kids and barking dogs continues, oblivious to the quiet moment blooming by the door.

She nudges his forearm playfully. “Come on, tough guy. Before your number one fan body slams Rami’s kid for stealing the last cupcake.”

“As you wish,” he rumbles, following her with that slight, amused curl to his lips that only she seems to pull from him lately.

Out on the patio, Trinity leans her elbows on the railing next to Jon, eyes narrowed like a gossip-hungry hawk as she watches Walter gently clap Y/S/N on the shoulder and get dragged straight into a messy backyard brawl with the kids.

“Okay,” she says, squinting at the two adults catching each other’s eyes across the yard, “when did that happen?”

Jon snorts, arms crossed. “Right? Since when is the big man Mr. Family Gathering?”

Josh, sipping from his red Solo cup, tries and fails to look innocent. “I mean… it’s been a thing. Kinda.”

Rami nearly chokes on his drink. “A thing? Bro, it’s practically a Hallmark movie now. They’re both just too stubborn to notice they’re the leads.”

Trinity swats his arm. “Spill it! I feel like I missed six months of tea in one day.”

Josh grins, leaning conspiratorially between them. “All you need to know is: kid loves him, she trusts him, he’s low-key wrapped around both their fingers and doesn’t even know it yet. It’s beautiful. And we didn’t have to do a damn thing but watch.”

Jon whistles low, shaking his head with a grin. “Man’s a tank in the ring but soft for her? Unreal. I’d pay to see that match.”

Trinity smirks, raising her cup in a mock toast. “Well, if it happens, I’m getting my popcorn. And front row seats.”

They all clink plastic cups, laughter echoing over the backyard chaos — the secret best-kept secret of the day: that something real and quiet and rare is growing just behind all the noise.

Y/S/N spots Walter just as he finishes greeting the adults, his eagle eyes catching the familiar shape by the door in an instant. He abandons the makeshift backyard ring with all the stealth of a stampede.

“GUNTHER!” he shrieks, barreling across the grass so fast even Jeyce can’t catch up.

Walter barely has time to brace himself before fifty pounds of boy collides with his thigh, arms wrapping tight. It jolts a quiet grunt out of him, but his giant hand steadies the kid’s back easily.

“Hello, little warrior,” Walter rumbles, the deep edge of a laugh hidden in his chest. He pretends to inspect the boy’s sunglasses and mini title belt, as if it’s serious business. “You look ready for battle.”

Y/S/N beams up at him, cheeks flushed with pure excitement. “We were fighting in the ring, but now you’re here so you gotta wrestle us! Please? Me and Jeyce against you and Mama!”

Y/N crosses her arms from where she stands by the cake table, fighting a hopeless smile. “Oh, he’s got plans, huh?”

Walter glances at her — and there’s that quick flicker in his eyes again, the quiet softness that says more than he’ll ever admit aloud. He gives a tiny, helpless shrug, still kneeling so Y/S/N can drape himself over his broad shoulder.

“I believe I have been conscripted,” he says dryly, but there’s warmth there, unmistakable. “Shall we give them a show?”

Y/S/N whoops loud enough to wake the neighbors. Jeyce scrambles back into the ring, bouncing on the rope in pure glee.

Minutes later, the backyard crowd has gathered, laughing and recording as the “main event” kicks off.

Walter steps carefully into the roped-off square of soft mats and tape with Y/N at his side — their ‘team huddle’ just him bending slightly to murmur something that makes her bark a surprised laugh.

“You know,” she teases, pushing his shoulder playfully, “you’re about to lose to a pair of tiny tornadoes. Think your reputation can handle that, big man?”

He lifts a brow, smirk faint but lethal. “For him? I will endure.”

The match is pure, joyful chaos. Y/S/N launches himself at Walter’s leg while Jeyce tries to pin Y/N with dramatic wrestling moves he learned from watching Uncle Josh. Walter ‘staggers’ under Y/S/N’s tiny elbows, his deep rumble of fake agony making the kids cackle.

At one point, Y/N ducks behind Walter and taps his side, mouthing, help me, when Jeyce drags her down by her arm. Walter only laughs — a real, warm laugh — and scoops Jeyce up like a sack of potatoes, flipping him gently onto the mat to squeals of delight.

Finally, after a heroic ‘finish’ — Walter dramatically flopping onto his back while Y/N gets ‘pinned’ by Jeyce and Y/S/N standing triumphantly on his chest — the boys declare themselves the undisputed tag champs of the entire backyard.

Walter sits up slowly, brushing stray grass from his shirt. Y/N drops beside him, catching her breath, both of them laughing so freely that the parents on the sidelines trade knowing looks.

“Who would’ve thought you were such a graceful loser, Hahn,” she teases, nudging his arm with her elbow.

He turns to her, eyes flicking from her smile to the kids dancing around them. There’s something honest and soft in his next words — low enough that only she hears.

“It is easy to lose, when the victory is theirs.”

She stares at him for a second too long. Her pulse skitters in her throat. He clears it first, pushing himself to his feet with that graceful power that never fails to draw her attention.

As she gets up, brushing grass off her jeans, his hand finds the small of her back — steadying her without thinking. She tries not to lean into it, but fails completely.

Y/N and Walter drift back toward the patio where everyone’s clustered around the big outdoor table — laughter and stories flying as the kids tear through cupcakes nearby. Becky and Colby have settled on one side, bickering lovingly over Rioux sneaking a second soda. Cody’s halfway telling an outrageous story to Brandi, who’s rolling her eyes at every dramatic hand gesture.

Y/N slides in beside Becky, brushing her shoulder in greeting, while Walter stands just behind her, an easy sentinel presence that no one misses.

“Hey, there she is!” Colby crows, flashing that trademark grin. “Your kid’s officially undefeated, you know that, right? Rioux is gonna be emotionally scarred she lost to a five-year-old and a preteen.”

Y/N laughs, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll take her out for a spa day as an apology.”

Becky points at Walter, brows arched in mischief. “And you! You didn’t even try to win, you big softie.”

Walter lifts a single brow — that subtle kingly disapproval that makes even Colby snort into his drink. “He deserved his moment. I will not rob him of that.”

“Aw, you hear that?” Brandi nudges Cody with her elbow. “You could learn something about sharing the spotlight, mister quarterback.”

Cody clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me. I live to put people over—”

Josh cuts him off with a fake cough. “Lies.”

Everyone bursts out laughing, the easy camaraderie wrapping around them like a warm blanket in the late afternoon sun. Y/N glances over her shoulder, catching Walter’s eyes — the faintest curve of a grin playing on his lips just for her.

He dips his head close, voice pitched so only she can hear above the chatter. “Next time, I expect you to carry the team better. Your performance was… questionable.”

Y/N’s jaw drops, a delighted bark of laughter tearing free before she can stop it. “Oh, you did not just bury me at my own son’s birthday party.”

He fights the grin threatening to break through, mouth twitching at the corners. “Next time, study more tape. You may stand a chance.”

Becky squints at them, suspicious as ever. “What’d he say to you?”

Y/N tries to control her giggling, swatting Walter’s arm as he feigns innocence. “Nothing. He’s just—” She smiles brightly, “So cocky.”

Walter only hums, content to let her fluster herself, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair — a small, subtle claim that none of them can ignore.

Across the circle, Cody and Colby exchange a knowing look over their drinks. Becky elbows Brandi, who’s hiding a grin behind her cup.

Josh leans toward Rami, stage-whispering, “Yeah. They’re gone.”

Rami snorts into his beer. “About time.”

And amid all the teasing and half-hidden glances, Y/N tries not to think too hard about how easily Walter’s quiet warmth has begun to slip into the spaces of her life she didn’t even know were empty.

The two of them stay l tucked in by the fence line for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. They both chuckle as Tommaso allows Willow and Rioux to take him down at the legs.

Colby yells for his daughter to keep beating him up which makes everyone cackle loudly, especially when Tommaso lets out a defeated yell. However, Y/N’s laugh fades on her lips as the sliding back door creaks open behind them.

Derek, her ex-fiancé, steps out like he owns the place. Even dressed casual — designer jeans, crisp polo, smug grin — he looks out of place amid the backyard clutter of streamers, cupcakes, and plastic championship belts.

He doesn’t announce himself. He doesn’t have to. The atmosphere shifts on instinct alone: Josh stiffens where he’s pouring juice for the kids; Rami’s grin turns razor-sharp; Trinity and Jon exchange a quick glance that says here we go.

Y/N feels her spine lock, every muscle remembering old, unwanted tension. Beside her, Walter’s warmth transforms — no longer soft and private, but a fortress braced at her side.

Derek takes his sweet time stepping off the deck, eyes sweeping the yard like a petty king inspecting subjects he’s certain are beneath him.

“Well, look at this,” he drawls. “Aren’t we just the perfect little family barbecue? Hope I didn’t miss the puppet show.”

Josh sets the juice carton down with enough force to make the table rattle. “Funny, Derek. Didn’t think you even knew where your kid lived these days.”

Rami smirks, arms crossed. “Yeah, traffic must’ve been crazy — what, took you almost two weeks to get here?”

Derek ignores them both, eyes sliding instead to Y/N — lingering where she stands, half-shielded behind Walter’s broad frame. His grin widens, oily and practiced.

“Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?” He says it loud enough for everyone to hear.

Walter shifts before Y/N can answer — just enough to block Derek’s direct line of sight. It’s subtle but unmistakable: a wall planting itself between a wolf and what he wants.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Y/N says, voice neutral but tight. She tries to step forward — Walter’s hand hovers low at her back, a silent promise she’s not alone. “You never actually responded to the invite I sent.”

Derek clicks his tongue, pretending hurt. “Aww. Don’t look so surprised. I’m still his father. Wouldn’t miss my own boy’s party — even if I had to crash.”

He doesn’t even glance at his son, who’s still across the yard wrestling a foam ladder away from Jeyce and Willow. Instead, Derek lets his gaze rake over Walter.

“And you must be the new muscle, huh? Gunther — that what they call you on that silly tv show? Cute.” He doesn’t even try to hide the sarcasm dripping from the name.

Walter says nothing. He doesn’t have to — his silence is a blade that makes even Derek uneasy.

Josh clears his throat, stepping forward. “You got five seconds to quit acting tough, man. Or I’ll help you back into your car myself.”

Derek laughs. “Oh, relax, Fatu. I’m just saying hi to the happy family. Right, sweetheart?”

He says it again — sweetheart — and that’s when Walter’s hand drifts lower, finding Y/N’s hand where it clenches at her side. He links their fingers together without looking at her — a move so confident, so unyielding, that her heart stutters behind her ribs.

Rami catches it. His grin curls like a snake ready to strike.

Across the lawn, Y/S/N looks up from the chaos, spots Walter — and doesn’t even acknowledge his father. With a squeal, he barrels across the grass, shoes squeaking on the fake ring mat, and launches himself straight into Walter’s arms.

Walter catches him easily, the only sign of effort a slight flex in his arms as he lifts the boy high above his head — drawing a delighted giggle that melts half the guests on the spot.

“Hi, buddy,” Walter rumbles, warmth seeping back into his voice as he brings the boy down to nestle against his shoulder.

“Hi, Gunther! Did you see me win? I won the Money in the Bank!”

Walter nods solemnly, ignoring the burning glare drilling into him from Derek’s direction. “I saw. Very impressive. Now that you have the briefcase, you can cash in on me whenever you want. Then you’ll be the true heavyweight champion.”

Y/S/N beams, curling his small arms around Walter’s neck. Derek watches it all, eyes narrowing to slits, rage bubbling beneath his smug exterior.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp. “What, you gonna tuck him in tonight too, big man? Maybe tell him a bedtime story about how you stole his mom?”

Josh loses it first, stepping forward with his fists clenched. “Hey — you better shut your damn mouth—”

Walter’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightens — a silent not yet. But his eyes lock with Derek’s, cold and unblinking, voice low enough to make the back of Y/N’s neck prickle:

“You insult her or her boy again, and I will not be as polite.”

The casual, accented threat snaps something in Derek. He scoffs, flicking his gaze to Y/N — who still hasn’t let go of Walter’s hand.

“Look at you. God, you’re pathetic. Clinging to this overgrown bodyguard? Letting him pretend he’s daddy so everyone here pities you? You always were desperate for attention—”

Something inside Y/N snaps.

She steps forward, ripping her hand from Walter’s only to jab a finger square into Derek’s chest, her voice calm, icy, lethal:

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Yard.”

Derek barks a laugh, though he flinches at the venom in her eyes. “Or what?”

She smiles — a slow, dangerous curve that makes even Walter glance at her like she’s wielding a dagger.

“Or so help me, Derek, I’ll make sure you never see your son again. You forget, your visitation is a privilege I give you, not a right. You don’t deserve to be around Y/S/N — or me. So if you have a problem with who I trust with my son — tough shit. I trust Walter. Y/S/N trusts Walter. And you? You’re nothing but a disappointment in discount cologne.”

She lifts her chin, shoulders squared like she’s back in the ring under blinding lights. “So get the hell out. Before I call the cops to drag your sorry ass off my lawn.”

Silence.

Rami whistles low. Josh’s grin splits ear to ear. Trinity mutters, “Queen shit,” under her breath.

And Walter — Walter just watches her, eyes blazing with a rare spark of something feral and proud, his free hand finding her back again like he can’t not touch her.

Derek glares one last time — at Y/N, at Walter, at the small boy still nestled safe in the Ring General’s arm — before he spins on his heel and stalks back into the house.

The door slams so hard a streamer falls from the ceiling.

Y/N sags — but only for a breath, because suddenly she’s enveloped in Josh and Rami’s laughter, Trinity’s conspiratorial grin, and the quiet strength of Walter’s hand pressing firm at her lower back, grounding her exactly where she belongs.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

A few hours later, the backyard looks like the aftermath of a small, joyous hurricane. Paper plates stacked, stray balloons tangled in the fence, tiny championship belts abandoned in the grass where the kids dropped them mid-battle.

Near the back gate, Y/N stands with her son propped on one hip, hugging Trinity goodbye as Jon wrestles the leftover cupcakes out of Josh’s grip. Rami bumps fists with Y/S/N, murmuring something that makes the boy giggle through a yawn.

“Alright, champ, you’re gonna crash any second now,” Josh teases, ruffling the boy’s hair one last time before pulling Y/N in for a hug that’s half bear squeeze, half brotherly headlock. “Love you, sis. And about earlier? Damn proud of you.”

She squeezes him back, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Thanks, Josh.”

One by one, they slip out the gate — Trinity calling, “Text me later!” — Jon tossing back, “Lock the doors behind us, just in case he tries to slither back in!” — and Rami, winking at Walter with a grin that says I see you.

And then it’s just the three of them again.

Y/S/N wiggles in her arms, sleepy and sticky-faced. “Mama… can I watch cartoons?”

She kisses his temple. “Go on, baby. Living room.”

He bolts inside, footsteps thumping up the porch steps. Y/N exhales a soft, exhausted laugh — only now realizing how quiet the yard feels without the swirl of family and laughter and cake.

Behind her, Walter still stands near the porch — a quiet anchor among the chaos. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, the crispness of his shirt softened with the hours. There’s a hint of sweat along his collar, a smudge of dirt on one knee from when he let Jeyce and Y/S/N pin him during their tag team match. And yet he looks as composed as ever, something about him still so impossibly still — until his eyes meet hers.

“Thank you again,” she says, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “For everything today. I know this isn’t exactly your typical Saturday.”

Walter doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he steps down from the porch and crosses to her slowly, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“It was better,” he says simply, his accent thicker now with the wear of the evening. “More honest. Real.”

Y/N lets out a tired chuckle. “Yeah, well… ‘real’ is basically all I’ve got to offer these days.”

His eyes never leave her.

She fidgets, suddenly aware of how exposed she feels in the quiet — her hair a little messy, makeup faded, T-shirt untucked. But when he doesn’t look away, doesn’t even blink, she forces herself to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t have to stay after Derek showed up,” she says softly. “But you did. And you— you made me feel safe. Not a lot of people can say that about someone they’ve only known a few weeks.”

Walter tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing as if her words settle into a deeper part of him than she intended.

“I didn’t stay for obligation,” he says. “I stayed because I care. For your boy. For you.”

Her breath catches a little. She hadn’t expected that level of honesty — not from him.

“I never really… expected anyone to fight for me like that,” she admits, not even realizing how close he’s gotten now. “Not without a catch. Not without making me feel small for needing help. But you—” She falters, eyes searching his face. “You made it feel… okay. To not be okay.”

There’s a silence between them then — heavy, loaded, but not uncomfortable.

Then, softly, almost without thinking, she adds, “And honestly… it was kinda hot watching you put Derek in his place.”

That’s what makes him move.

Not aggressively, not suddenly. Just that slow, measured step forward that brings him within arm’s reach. One of his hands lifts — big, calloused fingers brushing a lock of hair from her face, then lingering at her cheek. The touch is feather-light, reverent even.

Her eyes widen, caught in his. And for the first time, she realizes how many colors live in his gaze — stormcloud greys, steel blues, all wrapped in quiet gravity.

“You deserve someone who would move the earth to protect you,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Not someone who tears it out from under you.”

Her lips part slightly, a breath caught somewhere in the middle of her chest.

And then he kisses her.

It’s not rushed, not demanding. It’s careful. Like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he presses too hard. But it’s real. His palm cradles her cheek as if it’s something fragile and precious. The rest of the world drops away.

When they part, she keeps her forehead pressed lightly to his, her fingers now curled into the edge of his shirt, grounding herself.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she whispers.

Walter’s voice is lower now, rumbling beneath her skin. “Neither was I. But I do not regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet his eyes again. “Me neither.”

A quiet beat. The moonlight glints off the edge of the ring still set up in the grass.

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” Walter says, thumb grazing her cheek in a motion so gentle it nearly undoes her, “but I’ve grown… attached. To you. To your son. And if you’d allow it… I would very much like to be part of your world. Not just for a moment, but for as long as you’ll have me.”

She stares at him, eyes glossy but bright.

“I’d love that,” she says, her voice small but steady. “God, Walter… I’d really love that.”

He leans in again — another kiss, this one less cautious. She melts into it. Not because she needs to be saved. But because, for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t have to carry everything alone.

Inside, the faint sounds of cartoons echo from the living room. But here, in the warm hush of a backyard still littered with balloons and streamers, something new blooms quietly between them.

Not a storm.

Not a spark.

But a promise.

And this time, it’s one she believes in.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Y/Nwwe

liked by gunther_wwe, wwerollins, samizayn, and 653,289 others

tagged: gunther_wwe

Y/Nwwe: …so this is love?

view all 25, 986 comments

Gunther_wwe: There is strength in many forms. This is mine. Thank you both for bringing such joy and purpose into my life. 🖤✨

wwerollins: Look at these two! This makes my cold little heart warm.

BeckyLynchwwe: Our kids are basically siblings now 😂 Love you both ❤️

Americannightmarecody: You two are disgustingly cute. Y/S/N is the real MVP though.

SamiZayn: I TOLD Y’ALL. I CALLED IT. Look at my family go 😭🙌

jonathanfatu: About damn time y’all made it official. 👏🏽💪🏽

trinity_fatu: This is the soft launch to end all soft launches 😍🖤 So happy for you, sis!

ciampawwe: Okay but can Walter babysit Willow too? Asking for a friend.

candicelerae: This is what happiness looks like. So proud of you, mama ❤️

RomanReignsNo1: NO WAY. MAMA IS WITH THE RING GENERAL?? MY HEART IS FULL 🥹🖤

SuplexQueen89: Protect this family at all costs. 🫶🏽

GermanPowerhouseStan: Walter with her kid?? I’m in tears. He’s Dad material, period.

KayfabeChaos: This is the most unexpected soft launch in WWE history and I support it 100%.

WrestleTeaDaily: Okay but who do I have to thank for this real-life power couple?? I am unwell 🫠

BrawlinBrutesFan: Aye aye aye this is the cutest timeline I’ve ever seen — we won today, folks.

95 notes · View notes