meiuri

[meiuri]

RANDY ORTON ˚₊‧꒰ა MASTERLIST

( updated ; jun. 21, 2025 )

౨ৎ˚₊ ── blurbs.

౨ৎ˚₊ ── drabbles.

౨ৎ˚₊ ── fics.

𓏲⋆. on his knees. (nsfw)

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to wwe masterlist?

[meiuri]

…all these birthday writings for wrestlers with birthdays in may and april gonna come out WAYYY late… don’t be mad 😔😔… they’ll come out, I SWEAR (after I get june up to date) 🙏😭

[meiuri]

୨ৎ .ᐟ 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐒 ── randy orton.

. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: today is randy’s birthday and you want to make it special just for him. but, you decide to tease him all day about his “real” (the most special) present not coming until midnight. by the time that clock strikes twelve, he’s demanding to unwrap what’s rightfully his.

. ݁₊ ⊹ mei’s notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY RANDY!! our viper is 45 years old and has never looked better, so i thought why not write something for him for his birthday? BTW, i wanted this to get smutty, but I’m not sure i’m good at writing smut, so you get a sexy cliffhanger…. (😞)

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABE!!!”, you shouted out when you’d woken randy up that morning, bringing in some balloons and a tray, holding a plate of bourbon-infused pancakes with some maple-glazed bacon, because a birthday called for liquor before noon.

he’d sleepily scoffed, loving your energy, and plus, today was his 45th birthday! so he couldn’t wait to see what you’d put all of that same energy into doing for him today.

it started with small things—gear you had special-ordered and thoughtfully designed for him the next time he got in the ring. a limited-edition cigar you knew he’d been eyeing for about a week.

a bottle of his favorite whiskey you two would have during dinner that night. however, you kept telling him that these were just things you knew he’d like for his birthday. the “real” present that he’d get later was one he loved, and deserved.

i mean, it was his birthday, after all. denying the birthday boy what was his was practically a crime, right?

randy was, at first, amused at the fact that you tried to sate his impatience with trinkets and other items, which he appreciated and truly did love!

but really? he wouldn’t be patient forever, and as the day dragged on, he was ready to see what his “real” present was.

every time he asked you, all you gave him was a teasing, “patience, birthday boy.”

later that evening, during his birthday dinner at you two’s shared home with friends and family both you and him invited; his father, bob, his mother, elaine, cody rhodes, ric flair, and triple h, you kept up the act.

during the toast hunter had started, your fingers subtly brushed against his inner thigh. when everyone was busy pouring themselves another glass of whiskey, you playfully whispered in his ear, “i picked out something… special just for you tonight.

hearing that, randy immediately guessed in his head that it was a sexy outfit? maybe lingerie? you continued with a, “you can unwrap it later.”

it took everything in randy not to bend you over and fuck you right there on the dining room table.

after everyone was finished eating and drinking, randy blowing out the candles on his cake (that you made yourself!) and opening his presents from everyone in the living room was next.

you lied, saying you had to use the bathroom, leaving on his jaw a lingering kiss.

what you were really doing was making sure your outfit for tonight was perfect for randy: a black garter belt lingerie set.

a lace bra, matching panties, and lace garter belts to hold up the sheer thigh-high stockings that came with the set. you couldn’t wait to have randy basically tear the outfit off of you.

after 2 hours at some upscale VIP nightclub with the same guests that were at his birthday dinner, randy loving the atmosphere and you dancing your heart out, it was finally midnight.

back at home, people like cody and ric were texting randy’s phone, telling him how they hope he enjoyed his birthday. but, they didn’t know it wasn’t over yet. randy leaned back on you two’s bed, watching the bathroom door closely, arms crossed.

the usual smugness that always graced his face was replaced by something darker—something that looked like he was sick of your little game.

“it’s past midnight!”, he yelled to you through the door, checking the time on his phone. then, his voice caught a low, dangerous edge to it. “i think it’s time i got my “real” present.”

“coming!!”, you yelled back, adjusting the bra’s cups on your breasts, making sure they sat up just right. you were ready. slowly opening the bathroom door, you stood in the doorway for a minute, letting randy take in the sight of you.

his mouth slightly dropped open, feeling a rush of blood go straight to his cock, as he started to grow hard. you stepped closer, the heat of your body mixing with his as you straddled his lap.

the thin lace of your lingerie did little to hide the dampness of your pussy as you ground against his clothed cock, still confined within his tailored suit from the nightclub earlier.

the friction was maddening to randy, him feeling every delicate contour of your pussy lips through the fabric.

electric sparks shot through the both of you, randy’s breath hitching slightly as you rolled your hips against him.

he leaned in, your panting breath ghosting his lips, sweet and hot.

the scent of your perfume mingled with the faint taste of whiskey on his breath.

his hands found your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he steadied you.

you could feel his cock twitch beneath you, and you rolled your hips again, pulling a low groan from deep within his chest.

his grip tightened, and he pulled you closer, his breath catching once again as your breasts pressed against his face.

he turned his head, rubbing his cheek against your cleavage, inhaling your scent.

his tongue darted out, tracing the edge of the lingerie bra, teasing the swell of your breast.

he then moved on to kiss you, his eyes darkening with desire, his lips barely brushing yours before you pulled away, a playful smirk on your face.

you weren’t going to let him have it that easily. you wanted to tease him—to draw out the anticipation until he was practically vibrating with need.

a sound of frustration and desire, a low growl, rumbled in his chest, as you leaned back, your hands resting on his thighs. his cock strained against his pants, and you could see the outline clearly; thick and hard.

you licked your lips, clearly trying to provoke him. you started to stand back up, keeping randy from getting what he wanted, but randy wasn’t having it. his strong hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly, not letting you go too far.

his blue eyes burned into yours, the patience he’d been trying to have all day completely gone now. “don’t think you get to tease me anymore, sweetheart.”

he rasped, his voice a low rumble—a dangerous purr that sent shivers down your spine. it was a threat and a promise at the same time.

his other hand snaked up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. he tugged gently, pulling your head back, exposing your neck. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your pulse point. his tongue flicked out to taste your skin, wet with sweat.

you gasped as he sucked lightly, his teeth grazing your flesh. trying not to let randy get the best of you, you interrupted him, sighing innocently and dramatically, a small smirk playing on your lips, even though your heart pounded in your chest.

after some thinking, you decided to relent, not wanting to keep him waiting any longer. “fiiiiine. then… get on your knees, birthday boy.” you commanded him, your breathy voice laced with a sultry confidence that surprised randy and yourself. especially yourself. but, for a split second, randy was caught off guard.

you’re bossing him around, but wasn’t this supposed to be his birthday gift? his eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. but, that surprise was quickly replaced by something else—amusement, lust, and a dark curiosity. his smirk returned, slower this time. darker, even?

“you think you’re in control here?”, he asked you, rough hands gripping the fat of your hips possessively. his fingers dug in just enough to make you gasp. he could feel your heartbeat—rapid and wild under his touch.

he leaned in, his nose brushing against your stomach, inhaling the scent of your perfume, which was still lingering. his tongue darted out, tracing a line from your navel to the waistband of your lingerie (that was still on, surprisingly.)

you shivered, goosebumps blooming across your skin. he looked up at you, his eyes locked onto yours.

even though he wanted you to submit to him right now, he sank down onto his knees anyway, his eyes not leaving yours.

he was now eye level with your cunt, the scent of your arousal intoxicating.

he could see the damp spot on your lingerie, could see how your lips were slightly swollen, the intoxicating smell of your arousal more obvious than ever now.

his tongue darted out, wetting his lips in anticipation as he leaned in, his breath hot against your pussy, making you squirm.

even if he hadn’t seen your wetness, he could’ve guessed correctly that you were soaked.

“that for me, baby?”, he murmured, a sentence that went straight to your core.

you giggled, half-nervous and half-excited, as you play-punched his shoulder.

but, your touch lingered, turning into a caress as he nuzzled against you, his lips rubbing against your inner thigh.

“why don’t you find out?”, you challenged. his hands slid up your things, calloused fingers hooking into the waistband of your lingerie.

he tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening cunt inch by inch. oh, he definitely would.

[meiuri]

BRET HART ˚₊‧꒰ა MASTERLIST

( updated ; jun. 9, 2025 )

౨ৎ˚₊ ── blurbs.

౨ৎ˚₊ ── drabbles.

౨ৎ˚₊ ── fics.

𓏲⋆. fresh start. (series — sfw)

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to wwe masterlist?

[meiuri]

୨ৎ .ᐟ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ── bret hart.

. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: you were just supposed to fix a torn seam, not catch feelings for the excellence of execution in a fluorescent-lit dressing room.

. ݁₊ ⊹ mei’s notes: omg, first post on a new page! this is the first fic in a series of fics about personally meeting wwe superstars for the first time. these relationships will go from awkward to ideal (as sickeningly sweet as i can make a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship) as the series progresses—like those boyfriend scenario books on wattpad (lowk not ashamed to say i still read those in 2025 🤷‍♀️). excited to see how it turns out!

the way the chaos was moving around you, it felt like you were a bystander in an action movie. people were shouting, metal was loudly clanging, and backstage employees were rushing through the hallways like a flood was on their ass. where were you, exactly?

you were backstage, in the designated space for costume designers—an empty room at the moment. all your co-workers? somewhere in the building, which was the united center in chicago, illinois. why? because tonight was summerslam night.

the biggest party of the summer in wrestling tonight!

well, a party for the fans. but for you? you’d be an overworked, yet content, service staff member for the party, earning a solid paycheck and building a name for yourself as the one behind the wrestlers' incredible costumes.

well, the positives kind of outweigh the negatives in this situation, but you get the point! it's not like you minded much anyway. you loved your job! you got to be in your own personal area with loving co-workers at most shows, navigating the organized chaos around you, stitching and accessorizing ring gear for days.

it was like a stressful heaven for you, especially every monday night, when you traveled with the RAW roster as a costume designer, working with other designers under your team's boss and head-seamstress, terry anderson.

on RAW, you usually worked on quick fixes, last-minute adjustments, and making sure the wrestlers' gear looked good on them, and good for the cameras/audience.

but tonight, your little stressful heaven was just that bit more tense, since your role was upgraded to designing certain wrestlers' gear in the week before the event. see where your amazing work got you?

nevertheless, that tuesday afternoon, you were called by ms. terry and tasked with designing razor ramon and shawn michaels' gear due to your nice work on being such a great employee—both in attitude and your work on some incredible ring gear.

that, coupled with the fact that ms. terry saw how you understood a wrestler's character and how closely you listened to requests and specific looks for certain gear made you a surefire pick to do this for two demanding headliners.

you also hadn't been stretched to your fullest potential yet, and ms. terry never liked workers at their "average". sure, you did great right how you were, but she wanted workers at their most amazing and this task would put you on that level.

also, all of the other designers would be busy helping the mid-to-lower-mid-card wrestlers with their gear, making certain props like diesel's gloves, and other tasks, and you were the only one available that ms. terry could get a hold of.

it would be a challenge for you since you'd never designed full gear-sets before, not even for events like the royal rumble and wrestlemania of that year, but you knew you could overcome it.

so, that tuesday night, not yet left ohio from last night's RAW, to get started on your assignment, you invited both razor and shawn to a small little restaurant in the youngstown area to see what they wanted their gear to look like.

you knew they had some bad blood, but thought, "hey, let's kill two birds with one stone."

after the on-edge, but nice, dinner and writing down what they'd wanted their gear to look like in a special book just for designing gear, you went back to the hotel and sketched it out. they looked wonderful in your eyes.

you'd show them to your department in the morning, hoping they'd like them.

4:00 a.m. your portable alarm clock rang loudly in your quiet hotel room. you yawned, bleary eyes glancing at the time on the clock. you knew the drill, so you got all your belongings and packed them in the various suitcases you usually brought with you to work.

checking out with the other wrestlers and the rest of your department, you piled into an SUV with 4 other costume designers you were close with to get on the road to chicago.

remembering to get feedback on the designs, you kept your sketchbook out of your suitcases, and flipped to the pages the two mens' gear was on.

showing them to the two co-workers you were seated in-between, the girl on the right side of you gave constructive criticism that was based in humor. the guy on the left side of you boosted your ego, saying you'd been with them less than a year and you were designing things better than they ever could.

you knew he was probably juicing up the compliments, but you didn't mind! now, to actually create them and try them on shawn and razor.

thursday afternoon, in your hotel room. all morning, you'd just finished shawn's gear, adorned with hearts with zebra-striped patterns. finding high-quality zebra-striped material to shawn's liking, and that wouldn't tear in the ring wasn't too hard, but you also had to take some extra time creating the de-attachable sleeves and chaps with the same pattern (he'd just take them off anyways), clasping the hook of the chains that would hang from the sleeves (they didn’t cover anything) to the back holes, and finally, hotgluing and supergluing the cross on his little hat he'd wear for his entrance, so... yeah—a lot of work, that took all afternoon, but hey! you got it done!

now, you were almost done with razor's gear, carefully heat-pressing the accents he wanted on his gear, like his ever-famous razor blade symbols on both of his elbow pads, but this time, in blue.

the last thing needed from you was to hand-sew the embellishment to his wrestling trunks, making sure your seams were invisible.

the embellishment was his ring name, "razor", in gold foil lettering with a deep blue outline. after that, the two men just had to try them on, and in 3 days, you'd be summerslam-ready.

finishing up razor's gear, you called the two men to your hotel room using your Nokia 2110, and directed them one-by-one into the room's bathroom to see how the gear fit.

shawn, of course, had to show off, saying it made him look sexy (which was what he wanted, so, yay!) and razor created a cool little handshake between you two, saying that it perfectly exuded his character's "machismo, mang."

after that, you told them to go back into the bathroom, one-by-one, to take the gear off in order to keep them clean, and it was now their responsibility to keep the outfits good until the event.

they listened, and you organized all your materials, before turning on the hotel television.

hey, you'd worked damn hard for this.

now, three days later, we're back where we started. you, backstage at summerslam. chaos surrounding you, but you didn't mind. your job was done, and now, you could sit back and watch the show from a TV that ms. terry had "begged" mr. mcmahon to put in the costume designers' personal room.

well, she says "begged", but you thought it was because having ms. terry there made vince's wrestlers look incredible and, well... not like he'd tell her no in that circumstance!

nonetheless, you turned the TV up, watching whatever point the show was at now, which was 2 minutes into jeff jarrett's match against mabel.

however, there was arguing you could faintly hear outside the room's door. not joking, friendly bantering—genuine hateful words-type arguing, with a canadian accent.

turning the tv down, you turned around in the chair you were sitting in to hear what was happening. the harsh voice got closer, but it didn't go past the door. no, it stopped right at the door. then, some quick knocks were heard before the door opened.

you barely got time to respond, "come in!", before a head of brown hair was seen storming into the room with a pissed-off expression, the door loudly slamming behind him. you flinched and stood up quickly, with a "hello! can i help you?" you knew this was "the hitman", bret hart, but what did he need from you?

that question was soon answered when he handed you something. that something was his gear for tonight. why didn't he have it on? you figured that out for yourself when you inspected the gear, finding a huge tear in a seam along the torso.

how did that happen?? looking at him with confused eyes, he immediately noticed you wanted answers and so, he gave them to you. "owen did it.", he said, a clipped tone evident in his voice, with a more-than-agitated scowl on his face.

"he wanted to add a reversal of my transition into the sharpshooter in the match, even though two sharpshooters are already in the script . well, i told him no, 'cuz it'd disrupt the idea of him being the less polished wrestler. and then, that hoser demonstrated how we could do it in the ring! ...and it ripped. so uh, that's how that happened.", he sighed, rubbed his eyes with one hand after intensely ranting to you, and, once finished, pointed to the tear.

you had no clue what a "hoser" was, but you felt it'd be better not to ask, feeling sort of intimidated by him. but, you'd heard backstage that he was a perfectionist, so you could understand why he was so angry.

your fingers brushed over the tear, checking the clock on the wall. it was 8:55. checking the card sitting next to you that backstage stagehands had passed out hours before the show started, you read that bret's match against owen was up after this.

you grimaced at the issue at hand. bret's match was up next, and you had to fix his gear in time for that match, but mabel and jeff's match was almost over.

would you have time in-between commercials and the lowering of the steel cage for his and owen's match to get it done? you didn't know, but what you did know was that you'd try.

you jumped into problem-solving mode, asking bret the two main questions you asked every wrestler when you worked on quick fixes: "do you know how your gear fits?" and "how does it move when you're wrestling?" he gave a succinct answer:

"tight and flexible. the lady who made it used either… spandex or lycra. one of the two." you nodded, glancing up at bret. let's get to work.

you noticed that the tear was clean, so that means you won't have to take any other reinforcing measures on the gear. you then rolled the chair you were in over to your sewing machine.

making sure it was threaded with some suitable material, you changed out the needle for a ballpoint one as to not ruin his gear. next, you turned the dial to the triple-straight stitch option.

putting the gear under the presser foot, you started to see his outfit back together, and stuck your tongue out of the side of your mouth slightly. you always did when you were entranced in your work.

as bret watched you work, his eyes were still downturned in anger. but, they slowly started to change to one of some odd feeling of respect.

you were just doing your job, but he was weirdly grateful for that. the room soon grew quiet, though. the only noise heard was the sewing machine and the TV that was still broadcasting the PPV, now showing commercials.

bret was now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, not wanting to get too close or crowd you while you worked. his eyes flitting over to you again, he was still quiet, but now curious.

breaking the silence, you blurt out, “you should be careful next time. i’ve heard how important wrestling is to you, so you should treat your gear the same.”

bret nodded, knowing you weren’t wrong. “yeah… sorry.”, the canadian just jumped out of him there. “it is a problem. i’ve known that as long as i’ve been with vince.

not just vince… with my dad, too. he always told me when teaching owen and i wrestling that we should always think about how we want to be portrayed. well, if we can do anything about it.

and ever i started wrestling here, i’ve been seen as the good guy. but, being seen as the good guy just came with me also wanting to be… perfect. so, my promos, my matches, and my gear should be ideal. even so… i can’t be perfect all the time."

as you continued to work on bret's gear, you felt the urge to chime into the discussion. "well... i think you're perfect. you're the hometown hero of calgary, who serves as just that for fans not just in canada, but here in the united states, too.

plus, your skills are incredible...! i've never seen anyone who knows how to work a leg in the sharpshooter like you do. it only makes sense that someone as tactical as you would be a wonderful idealist technical wrestler.", you smiled slightly.

hearing you get down to the nitty-gritty of what he does, beyond all the lights and the pageantry... it surprised him. he didn't know you knew so much about the profession, despite not ever seeing you before.

his expression once again softened, giving you a small, but truly genuine, "thanks." then, the "thump-thump-thump"-ing of the sewing machine stopped. you were finished with repairing his gear. checking the time, it was now 9:05.

looking at the TV, the steel cage was starting to be lowered. you'd finished just in time. you turned around to hand his gear to him.

then, a stagehand burst in, holding bret's entrance jacket, panting because they were probably running themselves ragged trying to find bret, announcing, “bret!

the cage is lowering, so it’s time for you to be at gorilla.” bret thanked the stagehand for the information, and they left. you traced the stitched area softly, making sure it couldn’t be seen before reaching out to give it to him, confidently nodding.

you looked sure of yourself, but you were hiding how nervous you were that your stitch job would hold good enough. bret took his singlet, and went to leave, but before that, he turned to you with a soft expression on his face, lips slightly smiling.

still backstage. you watched as bret and owen’s match just started, with bret giving owen a brutal atomic drop. you winced, as the move looked like it hurt, but you also looked at his gear, watching where you made the repair at.

it was holding up wonderfully! whatever were you so nervous for? as the match continued and your eyes followed bret as he began to scale the cage, with owen about to cut him off, you couldn’t help but wonder about the man wearing the gear you helped fixed.

the conversation you two had earlier seemed surface-level, but it was deep. mariana trench deep. you hadn't had a heartfelt conversation like that in a minute, not even with your co-workers! it seemed bret had a quiet intensity that matched your own, huh? continuing to focus on his match as bret dragged owen back into the cage, a small smile grew on your face—because this match was honestly captivating and because you were still thinking about "the hitman", bret hart.

the event was now over, with the undertaker defeating a fake "undertaker" being the final match of the night. whatever the hell that was about, you had no clue. anyhow, fans left happy and amazed, the noise of the crowd fading away. you were happy as well. happy to have made some wonderful gear that was broadcast on live national TV and happy you could help show off your quick-fixing skills to yet another wrestler; one that you felt was growing on you, oddly enough.

and it’s odd because you were so guarded, only doing your work, and talking to your boss, and your co-workers. talk with any wrestlers for you usually went like, “what’s wrong?”, “i’ll fix it.”, and “you’re welcome.”

but, for some reason, bret’s talking about himself and him wrestling just made you want to put your 2 cents in. maybe it’s because you felt the same way he did about himself? whatever it was, you sorta kinda liked it.

not minding that, you started to pack up all your stuff, making sure the room looked like it was before you and your co-workers got there. you’d be free for the rest of the week, unless you were needed for more costume creations, which honestly wasn’t the most stressful thing in the world.

if you could do it for shawn and razor, you could do it for any other wrestler. making sure you had each one of your belongings in your bag, with your co-workers all starting to file back into the room, three knocks rung out. the co-worker you sat next to on the ride to chicago opened the door, bret's sweaty figure at the door.

he greets that same co-worker, named "dana", the two seeming to be acquainted well. he gave her a friendly side-hug because he didn't want his sweat to get on her. he didn't seem as pissed as he was earlier.

maybe him winning his match against owen got some of the stress out? apart from that, him and dana exchanged maybe 5 sentences before she stepped aside to let him in, and he calmly made his way to you.

you were almost finished packing, now color-coding your threads. your head was down and you didn't notice anyone was standing there until you bent down to put the last spools of thread in your sewing kit case and saw white boots with black toes to the side of you.

you look up, locking eyes with bret, a smile on his face just as wide as you'd seen him have in a promo with owen last year. well, that was before their current feud started. "hey...!", you addressed him, giving him an equal smile back.

"hey... i, uh... just wanted to thank you. for fixing my gear, even with the limited time on the clock. you really gave'r, huh?" your eyebrows raised, and your mouth grew in a confused smile, but you could guess that he meant you gave it your all when you repaired his singlet.

"you're welcome, but it is my job. i do it because i love it. you... don't gotta thank me.", you told him, hesitating being humble, but also being truthful. you'd done quick-fixes so many times, a "thank you" didn't even matter anymore. but bret, he went that extra mile. talking about the effort you put in and how great you work under pressure.

so, from him, you guessed a "thank you" mattered. (it did, A LOT. you just didn't want to admit it.) "i do", he replied. "...like you told me earlier, your skills are incredible. i don't think anyone's had to do...

...whatever stitch that was for me in 10 minutes before." you giggled, correcting him, with a "triple-straight." he smiles at your laugh, before shifting the conversation to something but costumes and fixes and sewing. "so... how long you been here for?"

"a year. i was hired november of last year." bret leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he nodded, like he was filing that fact away in his brain storage.

"guess that means you survived a whole year of this circus." you huffed a quiet laugh, crossing one leg over the other.

"yeah. still standing!" his lips twitched, obviously amused. and then, a pause.

"...you like it here?" you hesitated, picking which words would sound better coming out.

"...i do. it's... hectic, but i love the work. keeps me busy." bret tilted his head, hearing your response.

"that why you took the job? to stay busy?"

"part of it." you glanced down. "i wanted to do something that mattered with the skills i have and for the unique industry that is wrestling. ever since i was a child, when i was bored in school, i'd draw other kids' outfits in the back of my notebooks, taking notes on what looked good and what didn't.

it grew on me and i started paying more attention to clothes, like what my mom dressed me in and forcing my mom to buy me fashion magazines everytime we went into a store. and... i didn't grow up watching wrestling, so i'd skip past the channel on TV, even though the outfits captivated me.

but one night in january, last year, curiosity caught me and i finally watched an episode, and i saw shawn on a wwf wrestling challenge. he was wearing this red outfit; red chaps, red chain vest, the works.

i found it ridiculous that he prided himself on dressing that way, but looking at it from another perspective... it was unlike anything i'd seen before. the action and the clothes.

whoever made his gear had to have been proud that their client loved their gear so much and how shawn brought his character to life with it. i wanted to use my fashion that way. i hadn't been drawing polo shirts and cargo shorts in a black-and-white notebook all my childhood just to not use it.

so, when i graduated high school, i went to a fashion school out-of-state, created a portfolio, had some of my work featured in an amateur fashion magazine and i guess someone here found the magazine, saw my work, and liked what they saw.

plus, seeing how rough you guys got, i wanted to make sure you guys don't fall apart in the ring—literally. so, i combined two of my interests and now, i'm here." bret chuckled, the sound low and warm, but not in a demeaning way.

honestly, you were surprised he sat and let you ramble your life story to him. "hey, trust me, all of that matters. last thing i would need is my gear splitting mid-match." his voice dipped, sounding somewhat self-aware. "wouldn't exactly fit the "excellence of execution" image." you smiled and shook your head.

"no, it wouldn't." for a moment, it was quiet except for the murmurs of your co-workers' conversations. bret then exhaled through his nose, tapping his index finger against his bicep.

"you ever thought about designing full-time? not just for us, i mean. like, fashion stuff." he was asking and he'd never seen any of your work before. well, except shawn and razor's gear for this here event.

the question caught you off guard, and you blinked up at him. "i—uh... i don't know. never really thought about it." he nodded like he expected that answer.

"well, you should." his voice was even, but there was something genuine beneath it. "you've got a good eye. the stuff you put together for shawn and razor—hell, even fixing my mess here—'s a beauty of a talent. 's solid work."

your chest tightened, warmth creeping up your neck. "thanks... that means a lot." bret just shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. like he didn't just casually drop a compliment that'll linger in your head for days.

he looked as nonchalant as you when he told you "thank you" earlier. "call it how i see it." another pause. he shifted, checking the clock on the wall before standing, stretching his arms overhead.

“well, guess i should let you get ready to go.”, he said, rolling out his shoulders. “you probably got more important things to do.” you smirked.

“nope, i’m all packed. but, don’t be afraid to come back.”, you pointed at the repaired seam of the gear he was still in, symbolizing that if he had any more gear problems, to come see you.

he looked down at the seam, then back at you. a beat passed, but then, that rare, real smile made a return—small but sincere.

“yeah. i won’t.”

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓝EW ERA.

( updated ; jun. 9, 2025 )

𐙚˙⋆. ── aj styles.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cesaro.

𐙚˙⋆. ── chris sabin.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cm punk.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cody rhodes.

𐙚˙⋆. ── damian priest.

𐙚˙⋆. ── daniel bryan.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dean ambrose.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dolph ziggler.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dominik mysterio.

𐙚˙⋆. ── drew mcintyre.

𐙚˙⋆. ── finn balor.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jeff hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jey uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jimmy uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── karrion kross.

𐙚˙⋆. ── kevin owens.

𐙚˙⋆. ── la knight.

𐙚˙⋆. ── ludwig kaiser.

𐙚˙⋆. ── matt hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the miz.

𐙚˙⋆. ── nathan frazer.

𐙚˙⋆. ── paul “triple h” levesque.

𐙚˙⋆. ── penta.

𐙚˙⋆. ── randy orton.

𐙚˙⋆. ── rey mysterio.

𐙚˙⋆. ── roman reigns.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sami zayn.

𐙚˙⋆. ── seth rollins.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shawn michaels.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sheamus.

𐙚˙⋆. ── tama tonga.

𐙚˙⋆. ── wade barrett.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓡EALITY ERA.

( updated ; jun. 9, 2025 )

𐙚˙⋆. ── aj styles.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cesaro.

𐙚˙⋆. ── daniel bryan.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dean ambrose.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dolph ziggler.

𐙚˙⋆. ── drew mcintyre.

𐙚˙⋆. ── finn balor.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jey uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jimmy uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── john cena.

𐙚˙⋆. ── kevin owens.

𐙚˙⋆. ── wade “king” barrett.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the miz.

𐙚˙⋆. ── randy orton.

𐙚˙⋆. ── rey mysterio.

𐙚˙⋆. ── roman reigns.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sami zayn.

𐙚˙⋆. ── seth rollins.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sheamus.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cody “stardust” rhodes.

𐙚˙⋆. ── triple h.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓟G ERA.

( updated ; jun. 9, 2025 )

𐙚˙⋆. ── wade “bad news” barrett.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cesaro.

𐙚˙⋆. ── christian.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cm punk.

𐙚˙⋆. ── cody rhodes.

𐙚˙⋆. ── daniel bryan.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dean ambrose.

𐙚˙⋆. ── dolph ziggler.

𐙚˙⋆. ── drew mcintyre.

𐙚˙⋆. ── edge.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jeff hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jey uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jimmy uso.

𐙚˙⋆. ── john cena.

𐙚˙⋆. ── matt hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the miz.

𐙚˙⋆. ── randy orton.

𐙚˙⋆. ── rey mysterio.

𐙚˙⋆. ── roman reigns.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sami zayn.

𐙚˙⋆. ── seth rollins.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shawn michaels.

𐙚˙⋆. ── sheamus.

𐙚˙⋆. ── triple h.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

"Every single person in that building disappeared. It was the best kiss of my entire life. What was supposed to be an unreciprocated peck was now bordering on smut, a hard-core make-out session, going twenty seconds overtime—live on air. We attempted to stop, and for a moment you can see us begin to pull apart, but hover just a second too long, before Phil adds one last tug of my lip. Years later, I let him know that was my favorite part."

[meiuri]

I want to cockwarm Shawn Michaels in his office and deepthroat him

a/n— oh baby, me too, but while people are in the room🥳

Shawn's lips pressed against yours, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world but he didn’t. In just a few minutes, he’d be having a meeting. You moaned into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his neck as your tongue massaged his.

“Mm—isn’t your meeting soon?” you asked, between kisses.

“Don’t worry about that sweetheart, just sit on my dick and look pretty,” his gruff voice retorted.

Your eyes widened. He quickly unbuckled his belt, easing his hard cock from his boxers making your breath hitch. His hands skimmed down your back, settling at your hips before lifting you with ease, guiding you onto him.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with amusement.

You barely had time to respond before there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Shawn called, completely unfazed, while you tensed on his cock. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily around your waist as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

A few NXT talents stepped in, greeting Shawn with respect, eyes flickering curiously to you. You kept your expression composed, but underneath the table, your fingers dug into his arm as you shifted slightly, the hardness of him impossible to ignore. You could feel every inch, every vein, you felt so full and it took everything out of you not to jump off him.

Shawn, the professional he was, didn’t falter. His free hand casually rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your clothed clit, an infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued speaking.

“You okay, sweetie?” he whispered under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. “Mhm. J-just fine.”

He chuckled softly, the sound almost smug. “Good girl. Sit tight on that dick, won’t be long.”

And so, you did—trying your best to keep still, even as he made it impossible.

Shawn sat back in his chair, his grip firm on your waist as the meeting carried on like all was well. But beneath the table, where no one else could see, his hips bucked up, thrusting harshly into your pussy. The movement sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening on his arm as you forced yourself to stay composed.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low. “Be a good girl and be still. Wouldn’t want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, would we?”

Heat crawled up your spine, your breath catching as his hand smoothed over your hip, grounding and tormenting you at the same time. You bit your lip, forcing down the whimper threatening to escape, eyes fixed on the conversation in front of you while your body betrayed you completely.

Minutes stretched on like hours, each slight movement of his hips sending another wave of frustration and pleasure through you. You knew he was enjoying this—knew it from the way his fingers flexed against your waist, from the low chuckle he let slip when you squirmed a little too much.

Finally, Shawn clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the meeting. The NXT talent murmured their thanks, filing out one by one until the door clicked shut behind them.

As soon as you were alone, Shawn turned you in his lap, his hands framing your face as he pulled you into a teasing kiss.

“See how easy that was?” he murmured against your lips.

You exhaled shakily, narrowing your eyes at him. “Easy for you.”

His grin widened, fingers brushing along your jaw as he leaned in again. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m not done with you yet.”

He put you on your knees with ease and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tilting your chin up as he looked down at you with a smirk. His thumb traced along your jaw before he tapped it lightly.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he murmured, his cock hard, covered in your juices and right at your mouth.

You obeyed without hesitation, taking him into your throat as his eyes darkened. His fingers ran through your braids as he murmured quiet praises.

“That’s my good girl,” he hummed. “Suck that cock.”

The knock at the door made you freeze, your breath catching as you instinctively moved to rise, but Shawn’s grip tightened just slightly. His voice remained calm, steady, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” he muttered. “Keep sucking.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could take his cock out of your mouth and protest, he called out, “Come in.”

The door swung open, and you pushed yourself to take him deeper, every nerve in your body buzzing. The person greeted Shawn, then hesitated.

“Where’s Y/N? Thought she was here.”

Shawn didn’t even flinch. “Oh, she left a little while ago.”

A pause. “Huh. Didn’t see her leave.”

Shawn merely shrugged, smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere as he spoke like nothing was unusual. But you could feel the tension in his cock, the way it twitched, the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if testing his own restraint. You stayed quiet, bobbing your head slowly as you listened to the conversation above you, knowing exactly what you were getting away with.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally shut again, signaling that you were alone. Shawn let out a slow breath, his head tilting down to meet your gaze.

“That,” he murmured, “was perfect. You were perfect.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the praise. It willed you on and you took him even deeper, the sound of gagging filling the room. You worked him over as he moaned, lips then your tongue trailing along his shaft and your hands massaging his balls.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart. You want my cum so bad, don’t you?” he groaned.

You hummed around him, deep throating his cock with your watery gaze locked on his.

“Swallow my cum then. Swallow every drop, baby.”

With a deep, ragged moan that went straight to your pussy, Shawn’s warm cum shot down your throat. You guided him through his orgasm, sucking as you swallowed every drop. You didn’t stop until you felt him soften in your mouth, then you took him out with a pop, a trail of spit connecting you to him.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips and tasting the remnants of his cum. His smirk was evident even as he whispered against your mouth—

“Such a good girl for me.”

[meiuri]

Older Wrestlers Do It Better—Shawn Michaels x Fem!Reader

summary— After winning your first Women’s Championship, you finally meet your childhood crush, Shawn Michaels. Nervously flirting with him leads to an unforgettable night where he makes your win ever better.

warnings— age gap(reader is in her 20s, shawn is in his 50s), flirting, cunnilingus, praise kink, possessive!shawn, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— My first Shawn Michaels fic, hope you guys enjoy <3 Literally have had a crush on him for so long🤭

Winning the Women’s Championship was the most surreal moment of your life. Years of grinding in other promotions, building your name, perfecting your craft, it had all led to this. The cheers of the crowd, the weight of the gold on your shoulder, the rush of emotions hitting you all at once as you stepped backstage.

The second you crossed the curtain, a wave of congratulations hit you. Superstars, crew members, even higher ups, everyone was there, giving you pats on the back, words of praise. You tried to take it all in, your heart still hammering from the adrenaline, when you heard it.

A deep, gruff voice behind you.

“Congratulations, champ. I’m proud of you.”

You froze. That voice. That unmistakable, slightly raspy voice. Slowly, almost in disbelief, you turned around and your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Shawn Michaels.

Your brain short circuited. For years, you’d admired him. Hell, if you were being honest, you’d been in love with him. Growing up, watching him on your TV screen, mesmerized by his presence, his talent, his everything. And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, looking at you like he actually knew who you were.

“Wow,” you blurted out, your voice coming out embarrassingly breathless. “Thank you.”

Shawn smirked at your obvious nerves, his arms crossing over his chest. “You earned it,” he said. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. I made sure they knew you were the real deal. You’re gonna carry this division better than anyone.”

Your heart nearly exploded. Shawn Michaels had been watching you? Shawn Michaels had put in a word for you?

“I��” You struggled to form words, your cheeks burning. “That means everything. I admire you so much, I love your work, I—” You cut yourself off before you started sounding like a crazy fangirl, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from rambling.

His smirk deepened, and before you could react, he pulled you into a hug.

Holy. Fuck.

Your face pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the scent of his cologne completely overwhelming your senses. Your brain refused to function, your hands awkwardly gripping onto the back of his shirt as your cheeks burned hotter than ever.

After a few moments, he pulled back, his hand squeezing your shoulder before dropping to his side. “Didn’t wanna take up too much of your time,” he said. “Enjoy your night, champ.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there like an absolute fool.

Later, after the chaos of the night settled, you were lounging with Rhea, Tiffany, and Liv in the locker room, all of them still hyped over your win.

“You killed it out there,” Rhea said, nudging you with a proud grin.

Tiffany nodded, flipping her hair. “And let’s be real, your skin looks so good with gold.”

“Thanks, guys. But guess who congratulated me? And—” You leaned in dramatically. “Was apparently partially responsible for my win?”

The girls exchanged curious looks. “Who?” Liv asked.

You took a breath for dramatic effect. “Shawn. Fucking. Michaels.”

The reaction was instant. Rhea’s eyes widened, Tiffany gasped, and Liv practically shrieked.

“Your crush?” Rhea said.

“The man you said you wanted to marry?” Tiffany added.

“Exactly,” you confirmed, still trying to process it yourself.

“And?” Liv pressed. “Did you keep your cool, or did you embarrass yourself?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Oh, I embarrassed myself. I was all nervous, blushing like an idiot, barely forming words. But he hugged me. I swear I almost passed out.”

“Okay, but what does this mean? Do you think he was flirting?” Tiffany laughed.

“God, I hope so,” you muttered before sighing dramatically. “I just want him so bad. He’s so fine. And you know I love older men. Like, I would give anything for him to fuck me hard. With eye contact, might I add. Older men just do it better—”

The sudden silence from the girls made your stomach drop.

You saw their eyes widen, their mouths slightly open, and the moment Rhea subtly nodded toward something behind you, you knew.

Slowly, dreading what you were about to see, you turned around.

And there he was.

Shawn Michaels.

Standing right behind you.

Smirking.

Your heart fell straight to the floor. You were so done. Absolutely finished. WWE was going to strip you of your title, fire you, and blacklist you from the industry.

Shawn crossed his arms, looking far too amused for your liking. “Whenever you’re free and ready to leave,” he said smoothly, “meet me in my dressing room.”

You nodded, entirely incapable of forming words.

He winked before walking off, leaving you frozen in place, your entire soul leaving your body.

The second he was out of earshot, the girls erupted into laughter, squealing and shaking you like you’d just won the lottery.

“You are so lucky,” Tiffany gasped, fanning herself.

Liv was practically in tears. “Oh my god, I thought you were gonna die on the spot.”

Rhea smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Well, champ, looks like your childhood crush just became your reality.”

Your brain was still catching up. Shawn Michaels had heard you. Shawn Michaels wanted you to meet him.

Holy. Shit. You were in for one hell of a night.

Shawn was waiting when you stepped into his dressing room, leaning back on the couch with that signature smirk.

“You took your time,” he teased.

Your heart pounded as you shut the door. “Trying to recover from the fact that you heard all of that.”

“Oh, I heard every word, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

You groaned, covering your face. “God, that was so embarrassing.”

He pried your hands away. “Nah, I liked what I heard.” His smirk deepened. “Older men do it better, huh?”

Your face burned. “Are you gonna keep bringing that up?”

“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head. “But I think I’d rather show you instead.”

Your breath hitched, and he leaned in, voice lower now. “Where you staying tonight?”

You told him your hotel, and he hummed in approval. “Same one. I’ll drive you.”

You texted the girls telling them you’d be with him. There would be a lot to talk about in the morning.

The car ride made you nervous. You stole glances at him, watching the way his muscles flexed as he gripped the wheel. He was even hotter in person. He looked just as good, hell, even better than he did on TV. The years had only added to his appeal, roughening his edges in the best way.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road, “I might just have to pull over.”

You bit your lip. "Can’t help it. You’re kinda unreal."

His smirk grew. “Come to my room tonight. I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been craving.”

Your stomach flipped.

90s Shawn Michaels had been your first love. But Shawn now? Oh, you’d let him do anything to you.

When you arrived at the hotel, people stopped to congratulate you. You took pictures, smiling through the anticipation burning inside you.

The moment the elevator doors shut, his fingers brushed your wrist. “Last chance to back out.”

“Not a chance,” you murmured.

His hotel room door had barely shut before he turned you, pressing you against it. His hands beside your head, eyes dark as they met yours.

“This what you wanted?”

Your breath caught. “I’ve dreamt about this.”

His lips crashed onto yours, stealing any response you had left. His hands gripped under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as you wrapped around him. He carried you to the bed, sinking onto it with you in his lap.

You could feel him beneath you, hard and eager, as you rocked against him. His hands roamed, mapping every inch of you, his lips never leaving yours.

“Been wanting this for years, haven’t you?” he murmured against your lips, hands roaming your body.

You nodded breathlessly, gripping onto his shoulders for balance.

His smirk returned as he cupped your face. “You’re just as sweet as I imagined.”

His lips trailed down your cheek, to your neck, pressing soft kisses that left you shivering. He moved slowly, savoring, before laying you back against the bed, hovering over you. His eyes searched yours, expression softening slightly.

“This okay?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“I want this. I want you,” you nodded, already breathless.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb tracing your cheek. “Then let me take care of you.”

His hands found the hem of your blouse, fingers toying with the fabric as he waited for your permission. When you gave it, he lifted it over your head, his gaze roaming over you with something akin to awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Heat pooled in your stomach, your heart pounding as he leaned down again, pressing another kiss to your lips. He slipped you out of the rest of your clothes then pulled back, his eyes once again taking over you.

“Look at you, naked in front of me. Fucking perfect,” he said.

He knelt, making you gasp, trailing kisses until he reached your clit, spreading your legs and kissing further and further.

“You're soaked, sweetheart, so wet for me,” he murmured, using his tongue to collect your wetness and spitting it back onto your pussy.

A soft moan escaped your lips, you couldn't believe Shawn fucking Michaels was about to eat you out.

“I love those moans. Let me hear you.”

He dived in, flicking his tongue on your clit before bringing it down to your leaking hole and licking back up. His grip was firm but gentle on your thighs, spreading them wide as he continued. You couldn't believe the utter pleasure you were feeling, he was so skilled with his tongue having you squirm underneath him and moan so loudly, you feared the other wrestlers on the floor would hear.

“Oh, Shawn,” you cried, back arching off the bed.

Cocky Shawn hadn’t been lost due to the years. You could feel the smirk between your legs. “That’s it, sweetheart. Scream my name. I’m the one making you feel good.”

His tongue worked you over sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body as his blue eyes stared into yours. As his movements grew, the coil in your abdomen grew tighter, ready to burst.

“Cum on my tongue beautiful.” A loud moan left your lips and your body lifted from the bed, as he practically took your soul and you squirted onto his face, soaking him. He slurped you up like you were his last meal and you squirmed under his touch, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“You're so beautiful when you cum. You taste amazing,” he panted.

You pulled him up into a kiss, his mouth soaked in your juices. His head moved down to your breasts, suckling and moaning as your fingers clawed his back.

Shawn’s eyes never left yours as he undressed, revealing his toned chest and arms. You smiled, your heart racing as you reached out to gently touch his chest, tracing the lines of muscle with your fingertips. “You’re so so hot,” you whispered.

He let out a soft laugh. “You’re the one who’s hot, sweetheart,” he said, his hands in through your curls, tugging you closer to him.

Your lips met his again, tender and slow, savoring the moment. You pressed yourself against him, feeling his hard cock, the heat of his body matching the desire building between you. His hands were gentle but firm as he guided you to the bed, settling you back gently.

Your gaze wandered and your eyes caught his very hard cock. He was so thick, the full package. Shawn always radiated big dick energy but to see it up close and personal—veins prominent, slight curve, long—it was no wonder he acted the way he did in the 90s. He had all reason to be that cocky bastard. He was perfect.

Your mouth practically watered at the sight and you took ahold of it, hand barely able to go around and angled it towards your mouth but he stopped you.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Tonight’s about you, about making sure you feel good.”

You nodded, heart fluttering as he hovered above you, his hands resting on either side of your head. His expression was soft, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration as he looked down at you.

He used the tip of his cock, dragging it along your wet folds as the sound of squelching filled the room. He teased you a bit more, until he slowly pushed inside, your mouth falling open as he thrusted into you. You moaned at the intrusion and looked down, only to see he was just half way in.

“Y-you’re so big,” you gasped.

“I know, but you can take it. This tight little pussy was made for my cock,” he whispered, leaning down to bite your ear lobe.

It felt like all the wind had been knocked from your lungs as he slid the rest of his length inside you. Tiny whimpers left your lips when he stilled, savoring how your walls began to welcome him in.

“See, you can take it baby, it’s okay.” He began rutting into you steadily, each time, you could feel the head of his cock brush against an area no man had ever come close to hitting before. He was so deep.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, rolling his hips to meet yours.

All you could do was moan, the overwhelming pleasure taking your ability to form coherent words.

“God, I love hearing your pretty moans,” he said, pushing your hair back.

You could barely hang on and “Shawn, cum,” was all you managed to say as you felt the pressure build up like a dam ready to burst.

“I can feel your pussy just sucking me in and gripping me. Go ahead sweetheart, cum for me, s’okay,” he cooed.

You cried out, wrapping your arms around him as he picked up his pace, the dam inside you bursting and your orgasm overtaking you. Your entire body shook and he pressed kisses on your damp forehead, slowly moving inside you to draw every last drop of cum from you.

Shawn had awaken that demon deep inside that you weren’t even aware was there. You needed more.

“I need more,” you moaned, voice shaky.

With that invitation, he increased the pace, thrusting harder and deeper. The headboard slapped against the wall under the pressure, the whole floor probably heard, your nails dug into his back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That’s it sweetheart, scratch my back,” his gruff voice said.

You were lost in the rhythm, your breath quickening, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

He was pounding you hard and relentless, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. He pulled back slightly, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His voice was a low growl as he murmured against your mouth, “You’re all mine. Mine to fuck and use now.”

A shiver of excitement raced through you, and he continued, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m all yours, Shawn,” you moaned, the words flowing from your lips as if they were the only truth that mattered.

“Such a good girl.” With a gasp, your body responded to his words, pleasure washing over you in waves as you squirted, soaking him completely. Shawn groaned in response, his grip on you tightening as he felt the warmth of your release.

“That’s so hot baby, that turned you on huh,” he said, now chasing his own orgasm as your body lay shaking underneath him.

You were too fucked out to answer, each deep thrust making your pussy throb around him.

He smirked, that infamous cocky smirk, clearly proud of how he had you at his mercy. He switched his pace, slow and deep, driving you both wild. It was as though he was proving a point to you. Showing you exactly who was fucking you and how good it felt.

You wrapped your legs around him tightly for a moment, pulling him closer before releasing them, spreading wider to accommodate him. The shift allowed him to plunge deeper, each stroke igniting a raw, primal desire within you. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and you met his movements with your own, grinding against him as he filled you.

“Just like that,” you urged, your voice thick with passion. “Please cum inside me.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. You words sent him over the edge and with a deep, guttural moan, he bucked his hips inside you, his hot cum filling you to the brim. You moaned in satisfaction, his cock throbbing and practically breeding you from how much he came—triggered your own orgasm.

Your body jolted beneath him, shaking from the pure intensity as you both were on cloud nine together.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, fuck, I can’t get enough of this pussy. I’ve got you,” he groaned.

Your body was still buzzing, your mind hazy as you lay against the soft sheets. Shawn pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands tracing slow, soothing patterns along your bare skin.

“You were incredible,” he murmured, voice deep. “So perfect for me.”

“I think that title belongs to you,” you teased, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I mean, I just won the Women’s Championship and spent the night with you, I’m lucky.”

Shawn chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, sweetheart, I’m the lucky one.” He kissed your forehead before slipping out of bed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You watched him disappear into the bathroom, and moments later, he returned with a warm cloth, carefully tending to you with the kind of gentleness that made your heart swell.

“Didn’t have to do that,” you smiled.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply.

Once he was done, he climbed back into bed, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you securely, his body warm and solid against yours.

“You’re everything I thought you’d be,” you admitted softly, tucking your head under his chin. “And somehow even better.”

He sighed contentedly, his fingers tracing over your back. “And you’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he whispered. “Strong, talented, and so damn beautiful. I knew you were special the second I saw you wrestle.”

You smiled tiredly as you nestled further into him. The day had been surreal, from standing champion in the ring to this—wrapped up in the arms of the man who had been your childhood crush, your inspiration, and now, something more.

As your eyes grew heavier, Shawn pressed a final kiss to your hair, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

“Sweet dreams, champ.”

And with that, you let sleep take you, still wrapped in the warmth of the best night of your life.

[meiuri]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝓛ACE 𝓛IBRARY — where every thread tells a story. ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

( updated ; jun. 7, 2025 )

𝟬𝟭 . . . WWE !

𝟬𝟮 . . . AEW !

𝟬𝟯 . . . TNA !

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to mei’s menu?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ — 𝓦WE.

( updated ; jun. 7, 2025 )

main masterlist for the WWE, separated by era!

⋆˙⟡ golden era.

⋆˙⟡ new generation era.

⋆˙⟡ attitude era.

⋆˙⟡ ruthless aggression era.

⋆˙⟡ pg era.

⋆˙⟡ reality era.

⋆˙⟡ new era.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓖OLDEN ERA.

( updated ; jun. 8, 2025 )

𐙚˙⋆. ── bret “the hitman” hart.

𐙚˙⋆. ── razor ramon.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shawn michaels.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the undertaker.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

✧˚. 𝗠𝗘𝗜. writer. 8'teen. wrestling-centric blog. contains sfw + nsfw content. please read my rules before interacting with my blog! thank you! other than that, enjoy! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ �� )⸝

⋆˙⟡ 𝐿ACE LIBRARY. 𝒟O’s and DONT’s. 𝒜BOUT ME. ♡

𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥! all content made on this blog and rights belong to meiuri! please don't copy, republish, retranslate, steal, claim as your own, put into an AI system, etc. — as i work very hard on my posts! thank you for understanding and i hope you enjoy my blog.

© — all rights reserved to meiuri.

Ggg

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓝EW GENERATION ERA.

( updated ; jun. 8, 2025 )

𐙚˙⋆. ── bret “the hitman” hart.

𐙚˙⋆. ── rob van dam.

𐙚˙⋆. ── razor ramon.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shawn michaels.

𐙚˙⋆. ── “stone cold” steve austin.

𐙚˙⋆. ── triple h.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the undertaker.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!

[meiuri]

୨ৎ — 𝓐TTITUDE ERA.

( updated ; jun. 8, 2025)

𐙚˙⋆. ── bret “the hitman” hart.

𐙚˙⋆. ── christian.

𐙚˙⋆. ── eddie guerrero.

𐙚˙⋆. ── edge.

𐙚˙⋆. ── jeff hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── kane.

𐙚˙⋆. ── matt hardy.

𐙚˙⋆. ── kane.

𐙚˙⋆. ── randy orton.

𐙚˙⋆. ── rob van dam.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the rock.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shane mcmahon.

𐙚˙⋆. ── shawn michaels.

𐙚˙⋆. ── “stone cold” steve austin.

𐙚˙⋆. ── triple h.

𐙚˙⋆. ── the undertaker.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ — back to main masterlist?

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐑𝐈 © don’t plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms!