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ellswritings · 2 months ago

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In My Corner

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), Part 4, (Part 5)

CM Punk/Phil Brooks x reader

Seth Rollins/Colby Lopez x reader

TW: The usual angst, lots of confrontation, fluff, Damian and Rhea being flirty, this is over 14k words, but it’s a cute and a very important chapter.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling , @scream4mami

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

“I’m walking in right now, Joe,” Y/N tells her best friend, phone smooshed against her face as she carries her duffle bag into the arena with her. It was an unusual night where she would be performing on Monday Night Raw at the request of Adam Pearce. Paul Levesque had informed her of a new rivalry angle between her and Nia Jax who is still currently signed under the red brand.

Y/N takes pride as an actively defending champion. No matter who it is, or whatever brand they perform on, she’s open to the challenge. It also gives her more opportunities to appear on both brands which is even better exposure. It’s always been her dream to be the face of WWE so she’s not afraid to put in the work to do it.

“You know he’s gon’ be there tonight, right?” Joe reminds her warily. “And after Friday night, I dunno how comfortable I am lettin’ you be near him.”

“Joe, it’s just a match near the end of the show,” Y/N tries to calm him down. “I can just stay with Colby the whole night and it’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t understand why you gotta have a match every week,” he huffs playfully, wishing she would spend more time relaxing. Her schedule would stress caffeine out. “You could be out on the lake with me, Galina, and the kids.”

“Okay, first of all,” Y/N laughs loudly, “Absolutley not. Galina doesn’t get to see you much as it is so I would never intrude on a family outing. Second of all, I don’t mind having frequent matches. It keeps me sharp, reminds me that I can always learn more.”

Joe sighs, “I know. Just bugs me that you never take time off.”

“I don’t have anyone to take time off for,” Y/N says nonchalantly as she walks inside the building. She smiles, sending waves to some of the people she knows as she heads to Pearce’s office. “My parents are always doin’ some cool vacation stuff with their retirement money and my siblings are off doing their own thing. I swear we meet up for Christmas and Easter and that’s about it. I’m pretty sure the last time I did thanksgiving at home was the year of my debut.”

“That’s what I’m saying though,” he says exasperatedly. “Even if it’s not for your biological family, you can always take time to hang out with us.”

“If it was a whole family affair and the entire Anoa’i, Fatu bloodline was there, I’d go,” she tells him. “But this is a small family thing for your wife and kids. Just enjoy it and stop worrying about me.”

“When you gonna get it through that thick head I’m always worried ‘bout you,” Joe’s voice softens, surprising her with how genuine he sounds. “You my ride or die, Y/N/N. No matter what. You my wing woman, my right hand. No matter how hard Colby tries to get you to switch sides,” he adds the last part smugly.

Y/N rolls her eyes, practically hearing the smirk on his face. “If there’s one thing I can say about myself is that I’m one loyal SOB,” she grins even though he can’t see her. “I love Colbs, but my brothers come first.”

Joe nods, his heart warming. “Thas my girl.”

Y/N rounds the corner, locating the door with Pearce’s name plate on it. “Ight, well I gotta go. I have a quick meeting with Pearce before the show starts. I’ll talk to you later, Chief.”

“Okay.” Joe responds, but as Y/N goes to hang up, his voice stops her. “But Y/N… just promise me one thing.”

“What’s up?”

There’s a brief pause, “Don’t let him talk on you like that. ‘Cause if he does, I’ll send Josh out there faster than he can say his own damn name.”

Y/N looks down at her Air Force ones, forcing herself to not relive what was said that Friday night. She shakes her head, jaw ticking, “Trust me, if he wants to talk shit, he’ll be saying it to my face this time.”

“Good,” Joe nods, satisfied with her answer. “Okay, well have a good show, alright? Go kick my cousin's ass.”

“Will do,” she adjusts her bag strap. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And with one click the call ends. Without wasting much more time she finally knocks on Adam’s door. She waits maybe two seconds before the man emerges with a warm smile on his face. “Y/N, please, come in, come in.” He opens the door wider for her, allowing her to take a step inside. Once she’s comfortably situated in the office, he closes the door behind them.

There are papers and multiple different documents places in an organized fashion on his desk. Y/N takes a seat, smiling softly when she notices the amount of pictures adorning Adam’s desk. He’s always been a very personable guy, not afraid to show his love for the people in his life. He’s also a fantastic general manager, one she’s missed working with since being on SmackDown.

Adam rounds his desk, taking a seat in his own chair. “First off, I just want to say thank you for doing this on such short notice,” he says gratefully. “We were planning on doing a segment with her and Becky tonight, but the writers thought this would be a nice little Easter egg to throw in for a future feud.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Y/N waves him off. “Lina and I got a chance to go over our bumps a few times over the weekend at the performance center so it should go as planned.”

“I’m not worried,” Adam smiles. “I trust ya. I’m sure you and Lina will have the match of the night.”

“I sure hope so,” Y/N agrees with a light laugh.

“All right, well, you are more than welcome to leave your things in the women’s locker room,” Adam tells her. “Or if there’s somewhere else you’d feel more comfortable, feel free to go wherever.” Y/N nods as he stands, reorganizing some papers. He smooths over his blazer, “So after we wrap here, production’s gonna get a live shot of you walking out of this office. Just a little beat to show your arrival for the night — nothing long, just enough to set the tone and let the crowd pop.”

Y/N nods, already mentally timing the beat between the office door opening and the moment she walks into frame. “Got it.”

“From there,” he continues, grabbing a clipboard from his desk, “you’ll take the usual route — head down the main hallway, wave to a few crew members, and we’ll plant some familiar faces along the way.”

He flips the clipboard around to show her a short list of names.

“Damian, Rhea, Dom — they’ll be hanging around catering. Seth’ll be near Gorilla later, so we’ll have him cross paths with you on the way. The idea is to stir the pot a bit. Nothing overt. Just enough interaction for people to start guessing.”

“Guessing what?” she grins, playing dumb.

“That you’re thinking about jumping ship. Getting friendly with Judgment Day. Cozying up with the Monday Night Messiah again. You know how it works,” Adam smirks. “We just want a bit of a reaction.”

She chuckles. “Can’t wait to see the Twitter meltdowns.”

He sets the clipboard down, his expression shifting slightly — not serious, but intentional. “And there’s one more thing I want to go over with you.”

Y/N watches him closely, sensing the shift.

“Phil’s officially signing with Raw tonight.”

There’s a pause. Just a breath. Y/N doesn’t move — not a twitch of the jaw or flick of the eyes. She’s been trained for moments like this.

Adam gives her a moment, then continues. “You don’t need to say anything. I just thought you deserved to know. I respect what you’ve built on SmackDown, and I know you and Phil have a… history. Didn’t want this to feel like it came out of nowhere.”

Y/N gives a small nod, keeping her tone even. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He studies her face a second longer before softening again. “I just wanted you to hear it from me instead of being blindsided by it.”

Y/N could feel the meeting come to an end so she stands. She sends him a small smile and reaches forward to shake his hand. Adam holds it for an extra second longer, a genuine look in his eyes, “And Y/N, for what it’s worth… if there ever comes a point where you want to call Raw home again, there’s always a top spot for you. You’ve earned that ten times over.”

Her heart squeezes in her chest, but she doesn’t let it show. “I appreciate that, Adam. Really.”

He opens the door slightly, a cue that her live cue is coming. A stagehand just beyond the frame gives them a two-finger countdown.

Adam gestures with a smile. “Show’s yours.”

Y/N adjusts the strap of her duffle bag and steps through the door just as the red light above the camera switches on.

The door to Adam Pearce’s office cracked open with a low creak, and within seconds, the arena reacted like someone lit a fuse. The camera caught her first — just a glimpse — before the crowd fully processed what they were seeing.

Y/N, walking cockily, ready for her match with Nia later that night, the Women’s Undisputed Championship perched perfectly on her shoulder like it was born there. Her black and gold trimmed leather jacket covers her cropped black tank top, tight leggings accompanying the other parts of her outfit. Her duffle bag swings back into place as she rolls one shoulder, adjusting the strap without even looking.

She stepped into the hallway like she owned it. She kind of did.

What Pearce hadn't mentioned in the contract meeting — what he didn’t prep her for in that brief meeting— was the angle the Judgement day would be playing at with her.

The cameras followed her as she continued walking down the hallway. That’s when she sees them. They weren’t standing in formation. That wasn’t their style. They were draped across production crates and bathed in purple LED backlight like they’d been born out of the shadows. All three of them — Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio, and Damian Priest — watching her like they already knew something she didn’t.

Rhea saw her first. A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she pushed off the crate with lazy confidence, arms folded, chains glinting in the low light. “Well, would you look at that? Look who SmackDown decided to lend us for the night.”

Y/N’s pace didn’t slow, but her smirk did creep in. “Don’t tell me you missed me already.”

“Babe,” Rhea said, voice low and smooth, “I never stop.”

There it was — easy, sharp-edged banter. Her and Demi have been tight for years outside of kayfabe, but inside the walls of WWE, nothing was off-limits. Least of all the chemistry.

Y/N’s gaze flicked to Dom next. He straightened up from his slouch and tossed her a grin. “What’s up, champ?” he said, casually adjusting the chain around his neck. “Lookin’ like a million bucks.”

“Someone’s feeling bold,” she replied, eyebrow arched. “Or maybe something else caught your attention?” She nods down to her championship belt, subtly calling him a gold digger.

Dom didn’t blink. “Nah. I just call it like I see it.”

She chuckled under her breath — okay, cute. That was fair.

But then Damian stepped forward, and everything about the energy shifted. He didn’t grin. He didn’t nod. He looked at her — eyes dragging from her boots to the curve of the belt on her shoulder, then landing on her face like he was seeing something worth burning for.

And then he said, voice just rough enough to scrape under her skin: “Didn’t think Pearce had the balls to bring in someone with your bite… even if it’s just for the night.”

Y/N’s breath caught — just barely — and she masked it with a scoff. That wasn’t in the run sheet. “You know Pearce,” she said coolly. “He plays it safe… until he doesn’t.” She shrugs, shining off her belt with a smile, “Besides, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”

Damian took one more step — closer than needed, just enough to force the camera to tilt up slightly to catch them both in frame. She didn’t move back. “You always look this good after business meetings,” he said, eyes flicking to her mouth, “or is this just a special occasion?”

That stopped her. Just for a second. Long enough for her to wonder if Pearce had strategically kept that part of the script vague. Long enough for her to feel it — the pull, the electricity that wasn’t part of the job. She arched a brow. “You flirting with me, Priest? Or maybe this is some sort of recruitment tactic,” she looks him up and down, lifting an eyebrow.

Damian’s smile was slow, lethal. “Why not both?”

And okay — that got her. Bold move, she thought. Definitely not in the brief.

Rhea watched the exchange with open amusement, leaning in toward Dom like they were courtside at a basketball game. “She’d look good in our colors,” Rhea murmured, not to Y/N — just loud enough for her to hear.

“Think Roman would survive that?” Dom added, grinning as he looked between them. “The champ sliding in with us?”

Y/N clicked her tongue, sharp like a warning “Careful,” she said. “The Bloodline’s got long memories. And longer reach.”

Dom held his hands up. “Hey — no disrespect. I’ve seen what Solo does to people who get too close.”

Rhea smirked. “And I’ve seen what you do to people when you’re bored. That’s why I said to them that we should find you, have a little chat.”

Y/N turned her head, pretending to study a nearby monitor just to keep the grin from fully forming. God, she loved this job.

Damian stepped back — barely — giving her enough space to breathe again. But he kept his gaze on her like a challenge left hanging in the air. “If you ever get tired of standing behind Roman’s throne,” he said, softer now, lower, “we’ve got room for more than one crown.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t stand behind anyone.”

She took a step past him, not rushed, but deliberate. The camera followed her shoulder as she passed Judgment Day in full — Rhea smirking behind her, Dom mouthing something like “Daaamn,” and Damian still watching like he wasn’t done yet.

Y/N tossed one final look over her shoulder. “Tell your boss,” she said, “next time he sets the trap, he should warn me about the bait.”

Damian just chuckled, voice like thunder low on the horizon. “Who said anything about bait, princesa?”

And that — that — was when she knew. This wasn’t the end of the moment. It was just the start.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The show is going extremely well. The crowd in Cleveland is one of the most reactive they’d seen in a while. Y/N had dropped her bag off with Josh, letting him take it to wherever he kept his things. She’d managed to get changed into her ring gear, earning a low whistle from Josh in the process.

It’s a newer set, black and gold to match the leather jacket from before. Normally, she’d wear red or black to demonstrate her loyalty to the Bloodline, but the stylists had insisted on a new look for the night. She’s on her own tonight, and she’s the champion, might as well look the part.

Josh couldn’t stay with her for long unfortunately. His match with Drew McIntyre was the first of the night so he had to head to Gorilla pretty much right after helping her get situated. He kissed her on the cheek softly right before taking off. Y/N had watched him with a small smile before continuing backstage. Eventually she found a relatively empty area with a monitor so she could watch his match in peace.

McIntyre has had problems with the Bloodline in Kayfabe. They had been interfering in his matches and making his life hell for the past few years. He’s been on the hunt to punish every member of the faction, having gone after Sami Zayn first. He perceived them all as an enemy.

The match has gone back and forth, favoring both men at certain points. Y/N watched carefully, picking up on certain moves she wouldn’t mind adding to her own combat set. Michael Cole and Wade Barrett’s commentary is nice comedic relief from the intensity of the match. Even though it’s all carefully choreographed, sometimes the sells look a little too real.

“You know, I’m not surprised you’re the one who managed to find the only quiet corner in the whole stadium.”

She turned just in time to see Rami Sebei walking up with that same scruffy charm and warm-eyed smile that had somehow survived a thousand promos and even more betrayals. He was already grinning like he’d caught her doing something secret.

“Rami!” she beamed, immediately scooting to one side on the production crate and patting the empty space beside her. “Come here, sit. I haven’t seen your face in forever.”

“Shocking, considering it’s my best feature,” he said dramatically, making a show of fluffing his beard as he plopped down beside her.

She snorted, nudging him with her knee. “Your best feature is your heart and we both know it.”

He raised a brow, touched a hand to his chest. “You flatter me.”

“I try. But really,” she leaned her head lightly on his shoulder for a second, “it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t even know you were on the call sheet until like… an hour ago. Were you hiding from me?”

She smirked. “Obviously. You caught me. I changed my name, dyed my hair, and faked a new finisher just to avoid running into you again.”

“Wow. Hurtful,” he deadpanned. “After all the emotional labor I did carrying our Honorary status together.”

Y/N laughed, the sound full and easy. “Please. I was the one keeping you from throwing a mic at Roman half the time.”

“Exactly! Emotional labor.”

They both giggled, the kind of laughter that didn’t need context, the kind built on long nights, dark hallways, and sharing too many chips at catering while dodging Heyman’s wrath.

“You’re still you,” she said after a beat, smiling at him softly.

“And you’re still the younger sibling I never asked for but would absolutely throw hands over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but her grin stayed in place. “You always say the nicest things.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you’re kind of the only person around here who never treated me like a side character. So, yeah. I’m allowed to be biased.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder again, this time letting it rest for a moment.

“God, I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

They stayed like that for a few beats, the quiet settling comfortably between them as Josh kicked out of a near fall on-screen. When Y/N straightened up again, she stretched her arms out in front of her with a small groan. “Can’t believe I’m actually working tonight,” she said, still watching the match. “Creative didn’t tell Lina or me until early Saturday morning. We basically lived at the PC all weekend getting everything ready.”

“Classic,” Rami said with an understanding scoff. “You’d think being a champion would earn you more notice ahead of time.”

She shrugged. “This is my eighth defense in like… a month and a half. At this point, I just show up where they tell me and pray my entrance jacket doesn’t rip mid-segment.”

“You ever just… get tired?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “Not just physically. I mean, all of it.”

She let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Always. But I love it too much to stop. So the tired part doesn’t scare me.”

He nodded, thoughtful again, one arm braced on his knee as he leaned forward, watching the screen with her. McIntyre landed a punishing neckbreaker on Josh, and Y/N winced in solidarity, but didn’t look away. “I used to think that,” Rami said, tone quieter now, “about the tired part. Told myself I’d rather be exhausted doing something I love than bored out of my mind anywhere else.”

Y/N glanced at him, reading more than just nostalgia in his voice. She nudged him gently with her knee. “You miss it?”

“The Bloodline?” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not the chaos. Definitely not the paranoia. But…” He shrugged. “The purpose. The feeling like you’re part of something. Yeah. That I miss.”

A pause stretched between them, comfortable. “Being ‘honorary’ was a hell of a weird gig, huh?” Y/N asked, a soft laugh in her voice.

Rami smirked. “No kidding. All the responsibility, none of the family dinners.”

Y/N laughed fully at that. “Or the family drama. Although I think I got stuck with more of that than you ever did.”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he said, grinning. “You got Roman on a leash and Solo breathing down your neck half the time. I just had to survive Jimmy’s nicknames and Jey’s side-eyes.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“I keep telling people,” he said with mock gravity. “Nobody listens.”

She elbowed him again lightly and leaned back on her hands, her boot tapping rhythmically against the side of the crate as Josh kicked out of another pin on-screen. For a moment, it felt like old times — her and Rami, hiding in plain sight backstage, stealing moments of peace in between chaos and storylines. But then his tone shifted again, a little quieter.

“You know,” he started, not looking at her, “I’ve been watching the way they’re setting you up lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “And?”

“And… it doesn’t look like they’re keeping you Bloodline forever.”

She turned her head sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” He finally looked over, something gentle but serious behind his eyes. “You’re on Raw tonight. No backup. New gear. New color scheme. You just did a whole segment with Judgment Day that looked suspiciously like foreshadowing. You really think that’s just coincidence?”

Y/N’s lips parted, ready to refute him, but the words didn’t come. She frowned instead. “It’s just creative trying to stir the pot, get reactions out of the audience. Maybe even trying to start some conspiracy theories to keep WWE trending. It’s not that deep.”

Rami gave her a knowing look. “You think Pearce didn’t hand-pick that segment? I heard him on the phone last week — said he wants ‘stronger female anchors’ on Raw. Plural. Not just one-off appearances. He wants people who draw eyes, Y/N.”

She looked away, jaw tightening.

“And I know you’re smarter than to pretend you didn’t notice that your name’s on a new merch board,” he added, softer now. “Without red.”

Y/N sighed through her nose, the kind of breath that held back the truth. “I’m not leaving the Bloodline,” she said flatly. “Paul wouldn’t do that.”

Rami hesitated. “You mean Levesque?” he asked, voice more careful now. Y/N didn’t answer — not directly. But the slight tension in her jaw spoke volumes. He nodded slowly. “Paul’s not the only one calling the shots anymore, Y/N. And if the higher-ups think a certain kind of drama sells…” He trailed off, but she heard it loud and clear. If the boardroom thought her past — her history with Phil — was worth cashing in on, they wouldn’t hesitate.

“They wouldn’t,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Wouldn’t they?” Rami replied, softer. “You know how this works.”

She did. The only way they’d move her brands entirely was if she lost the championship — and she wasn’t planning to let that happen anytime soon. That was her safety net. Her line in the sand. But even as the thought formed, a stagehand appeared around the corner.

“Y/N?” they called, politely but urgently. “Your segment with Seth is going live in five. Just a quick hallway run in before his promo with Punk”.

Y/N stood, reluctantly, brushing her palms over her thighs and adjusting the strap of her title on her shoulder. Rami stood with her, “You sure you’re good?” he asked, eyes scanning her face.

She nodded, lips tight. “Always.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Hey — whatever happens next, you’ll be fine. Bloodline or not. You’re more than that.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You always say the right thing.”

“I’ve got a gift,” he said with a wink, stepping back.

Y/N turned to follow the friendly stagehand, every step deliberate, the sound of the crowd growing louder with each footfall. She wasn’t sure what tonight was really setting up. But for the first time… she wasn’t convinced she was the one steering the wheel anymore.

The camera glides behind her as she walks down the hall as she was instructed— slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Y/N strides through the backstage area like the queen she is. Her boots echo off the concrete, her posture unbothered and unbent. The Raw crowd roars through the walls, but in this corridor, it’s just her — black and gold gear hugging every curve, leather jacket half-shrugged off her shoulder like she couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly.

She has to fight off the smirk threatening to stretch across her face. It’s always an ego boost whenever she hears the crowd get loud for her, even if it’s just a backstage appearance. The women’s championship glistens beneath the overhead lights. Centered, heavy, confident — just like the woman wearing it.

And then — the crowd erupts.

Because ahead of her — leaning casually against a production crate like he was summoned by pure chemistry — stands Seth Rollins. Black suit. Black shirt. Gold accents. Gold aviators. And that glinting World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder like a weapon made just for him.

The moment their eyes lock, it’s over. Seth’s breath catches — just for a second — because damn.

Matching.

Not planned. Not discussed. But matching perfectly. Black. Gold. Leather. Power. It hits him square in the chest. She looks like trouble wrapped in gold-plated glory. And she looks like she knows it. He pushes his glasses down his nose just far enough to see her better. And damn, she’s even more lethal up close. The sharp look in her eyes. The smirk tugging at her lips. The swagger in her walk like she’s walking toward her prey — or her next mistake.

Seth steps forward, slow and calculated, grinning like he’s already halfway in over his head. “Well, well, well…” he says, voice smooth but loaded. “Didn’t expect you to bring all that gold to my show.”

Y/N stops just short of him — toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, not an ounce of hesitation. “It’s not your show if I’m here,” she fires back, lips twitching into something playful. “You’re just keeping it warm for me.”

The crowd — even backstage through the screens — reacts immediately. Loud. Screaming. Someone yells “OOHHHHH” off camera. Seth doesn’t blink.

He grins wider. “Careful,” he murmurs. “Say things like that, and people might start thinking you’re after my spot.”

“I can’t want something that’s already mine, Rollins,” she says, slowly tilting her head. “Just go ahead and ask your General Manager.”

He feels his jaw flex. That wasn’t in the script. Neither was the way she steps in even closer — just a whisper of space between them now. Titles practically brushing. The lights above them flicker, like even the building feels the heat building in the space between their bodies. Seth was supposed to say something else next. Something safe. Something scripted.

But he doesn’t.

Because instead, he tips his head and lets his gaze drag down — her title, her outfit, the precision of how everything matches his — and then back up. Slowly. Almost disrespectfully. “Was this little matching incident an accident?” he asks, voice softer now. “Or are you looking this good just for me?”

Y/N’s brow lifts. She’s not supposed to touch him — but the script's already in shambles. So she reaches out — slow and smooth — and straightens the lapel of his jacket. Fingers linger. Press. Brush against the gold chain at his collarbone. “I match energy,” she says, voice like velvet. “Looks like you finally brought the right one.”

The crowd explodes.

Even backstage crew watching nearby are clutching their faces like they’re watching a scandal unfold in real-time. Seth leans forward, his grin tugging at the corners like he’s holding back something way too bold for live TV. “That right?” he murmurs. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re burning the whole place down just by walking through it.”

Y/N chuckles — low, dangerous — and drags her thumb across the edge of his title this time. “Guess we’ll see who survives the fire.” Their eyes lock again — and this time, it’s longer. Hotter. The kind of moment that teeters right on the edge of something explosive. “And between you and I… I’m hoping it’s you.”

His breath catches and neither of them move. Neither of them want to. They're both fully off-script now, and they know it — but no one’s stopping them. It’s too good. It’s too real.

Seth finally pulls back just a hair — like if he doesn’t, he’s going to do something that’ll break PG. “Enjoy your little visit, sweetheart,” he says, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “But remember — you’re not the only one who knows how to steal a show.”

Y/N smirks, eyes glinting. “Good,” she says, stepping past him with one last brush of her hand along the edge of his suit jacket. “Then maybe I won’t get bored.” She walks off without a second glance.

And Seth stands there — for just a second — completely wrecked. Because he knows something just happened. Something no one planned. Something the entire arena — and probably the entire internet — is already screaming about. He laughs under his breath, shaking his head and adjusting his sunglasses again. “Damn…”

Even back at commentary, no one knows what to say about what just happened. The buzz of the crowd fills the dead silence until Michael Cole snaps out of whatever haze he and Wade were stuck in.

Cole’s voice cracks. “Uh—did it just get very warm in here?”

Wade Barrett whistles low, still watching the monitor. “I’ve seen staredowns. I’ve seen mind games. But that? That wasn’t mind games. That was—”

“Foreplay?” Cole blurts before immediately clearing his throat. “I mean uh, that was—intense. Very intense.”

Barrett leans back in his chair. “Roman Reigns has made it very clear where his loyalties lie. And his golden girl? Just got very friendly with someone Roman still considers enemy number one.”

Cole nods slowly, visibly rattled. “If this is how Y/N shows up when she’s just visiting Raw… I’m scared to see what happens if she ever decides to stay.”

Barrett chuckles darkly. “Rollins might not survive it. And honestly? We might not either.”

Y/N could feel every part of her body burning after that. She knew it wasn’t smart to go off script, but she couldn’t help it. He looked too damn good not to add a little steam to their interaction. Y/S/N and Seth have always had that banter, but they may have let Y/N and Colby slip through a bit too much. It was a lot easier than either of them would have imagined. Probably because they could easily hide behind their characters.

She could feel people’s eyes on her as she continued walking backstage. She kept her eyes forward unless someone blatantly walked up to her. She noticed a lot of people heading towards catering. It was early on enough in the night to get a quick bite without worrying about missing a cue.

Once she reached another monitor, she caught the tail end of Punk’s speech on SmackDown last Friday. She exhales, nostrils flaring as she stares at his face. That must mean he’s on next. He’s announcing where he’s officially signing.

As if on cue, the monitor comes back to life, showing Adam Pearce standing in the ring with a folder in one hand and a microphone in the other. Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, watching with a stoic look on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time for a sales pitch is over.” There’s a dramatic pause, the crowd roaring before he continues on. “After going to SmackDown and talking to Nick Aldis, and going to NXT to talk to HBK, the man I’m about to bring out here may not need an introduction, but he needs to make a decision.” A buzz of anticipation and excitement fills the room as Pearce expertly creates the build up for Phil to announce his decision to the public. “And after twenty-five years of knowing him, I’m sure he’s gonna make the right one. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the man that calls himself the ‘best in the world,’ C…M… Punk!”

That tv static pulses through the entire building, the crowd screaming loudly for him as he walks out from backstage. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore at SmackDown, just a different pair of jeans and shoes. He struts down the ramp, making sure to high five every person who sticks their hand out towards him. His smile is wide and bright as he continues to soak in every ounce of praise thrown his way. He slowly makes his way to the ring, stopping to acknowledge the audience one more time before climbing into the ring.

He shakes Pearce’s hand respectfully, the two men sharing a brief embrace before Adam hands him his microphone to allow him to make the announcement. His music fades out as the crowd begins to loudly chant his name. It’s like Friday night all over again. She didn’t blame the crowd though. It’s an exciting time. People have been chanting his name for years since he left. There was a point in time where she wanted this day to come more than anything. It’s just funny how much things change.

“I thought I was in a bit of a sullen mood, and then I come out here, and I see all these signs, and I hear all these people…” the crowd increases in volume in response to his words. He allows them to cheer, smiling at the support being thrown his way. “Truth is, I have a huge decision to make. We, if I may, have a huge decision to make.” Y/N rolls her eyes. He’s already made his decision. But he’s always been good at making people feel important, valued, even if he never planned on taking their words into consideration.

“And I’ve been thinking about it all week. And the reason I’ve been so consumed and worried about it is because I love you guys,” Punk gestures out to the crowd. “But the truth is, this town, and this building specifically, hasn’t always been kind to CM Punk.”

The people boo in response, some of them knowing the lore behind Cleveland, others being too new to wrestling to understand. But the one person in the building who knows his quarrels with this building more than anyone is Y/N L/N. In fact, she was present for most of his issues that happened here. She was the shoulder he rested his head on when the most frustrating events of his life happened.

Until the night he walked out. The night he left this building and decided he didn’t need her anymore.

“I walked back here through the hallways, there’s a lot of ghosts, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m doing my best to face ‘em head on.” Y/N wants to laugh at that. Or maybe she’s just angry at the fact the one ghost he hasn’t faced was her. That the only way he would acknowledge her presence was if he could embarrass her in front of an entire sold out arena.

“A lot of people might not know this, but I debuted in this building.” The crowd cheers. “Yeah! Was anybody there? I had Mickie James on my arm.” Once again people scream in support. “We walked down that ramp, we got into this ring, and it was so good, I went back and they said, we’re sending you to Louisville Kentucky. Have fun in OVW.”

Y/N might not have been there in person, hell, she hadn’t even had her own debut yet, but she remembered seeing it on her tv back home. She was watching it with her dad after spending an entire week at her own hometown wrestling academy that she had been performing at since she was six years old.

Little did she know that at that point she would end up right by his side only a few years later.

“And, gosh, I didn’t wanna go, but while I was there, I embraced being uncomfortable, and I learned how to love it. Exactly like when I came to the WWE for the first time, and I didn’t know what I was in for. But I embraced being uncomfortable and I learned to love it.”

His eyes never leave the camera and for a moment it feels as if he’s staring straight at her. Y/N knows he’s not, he probably doesn’t even know she’s watching, but the way his eyes bore into the lens, it feels like he knows. She curses under breath at the way her heart skips a beat at the passion in his voice. Even after all this time, hearing him talk about what he loves to do still affects her that way. It’s like a conditioned response. Even though her mind says she never wants to speak to him again, her body still remembers how it felt hearing him all those years ago.

“I triumphantly return to this town, this same building, World Heavyweight Champion! I was ready to put on a show for everybody here!” He starts pacing the ring back and forth, finally looking away from the camera and towards the cheering fans. “And, then, Randy Orton kicks me in the head backstage… and I wake up and they tell me, ‘By the way, we stripped you of the title. You couldn’t compete. You’re no longer the champion.’ And I was like ‘Cleveland!’” He raises his fist in the air, jokingly cursing the town. “Again!”

He sighs, spinning on his heels. “Was anybody here ten years ago for the story I’m about to tell?” There are scattered voices in the audience as he goes on, “I’m not gonna bore you with details ‘cause a lot of it is in my rear view mirror. I’m focused on the future. I’m focused on the now. I’m focused on everybody here in this building today.” He all was the crowd to have their reaction time. “But ten years ago, I had to take myself off the hamster wheel. I had to, for better or for worse, make the hardest decision of my life. And I don’t regret it. I don’t look back.”

Y/N tilts her head, wondering to herself what exactly was the hardest part of that decision. He says he’s moved on, that he doesn’t look back on that fateful day, but part of her doesn’t believe that. There’s no way he’s managed to move on like nothing happened when that day ten years ago still manages to haunt her in the present. But perhaps that’s her own weight she needs to carry, not his.

“But there was always that part of me that wondered if anybody paid to see CM Punk that day I walked out of Cleveland, if they were disappointed. Backstage, I saw a young lady by the name of Indy, and she told me that she felt betrayed as that little kid. And I told her a story of when I saw ‘Rowdy’ Roddy Piper appear on WCW television. And as a young wrestling fan, I felt the exact same way, so I understood. So, if you’re here now, if you’re watching at home, and you’re disappointed that CM Punk walked out, I understand. And hell, ladies and gentlemen, I apologize.”

The applause for that is thunderous. Y/N watches, her eyes widening at that last sentence. Punk? Apologizing? She never thought she’d live to see the day. But that’s his whole new brand now. Older, wiser, just here to have a good time and make money.

“I’ve gone to SmackDown, and I’ve listened to what Nick Aldis has to say. He put together a very substantial offer. You understand. I went down to NXT, I hung out with Shawn Michaels, and there’s a fifteen year old CM Punk somewhere in the universe who’s tickled to death that he got an offer from Shawn Michaels to go help mold the next generation of Superstars. It’s a great deal.” He glances down to his right, “Adam Pearce has put together a deal that, honestly, is head and shoulders above both those other deals.”

That’s when it finally clicks for everyone in the crowd as they realize the Second City Saint is about to sign a contract right in front of their very eyes. “But can I be very real and very honest with you folks right now? My mind was probably already made up when I looked at the calendar and I saw Cleveland. I’m here to bury those ghosts. I’m here to right a few wrongs. My future starts now.” He smiles cockily, shrugging his shoulders. “You couldn’t write a better television show, ladies and gentlemen. Ten years, almost to the day, CM Punk walked out. And regardless of how you feel about it, CM Punk walks right back in!”

That’s when he stops pacing, making direct eye contact with the camera again. “And if you’re happy about it… if you’re mad about it,” his voice lowers then, almost in a deliberate fashion. “You better learn to love it, ‘cause congratulations, Adam Pearce…” Adam sticks out his hand to seal the deal. “The newest Raw Superstar is named CM Punk…” the crowd goes bananas, “and CM Punk is home!”

With that, he shakes Pearce’s hand, taking the folder from him and signing it with that same unshakable confidence he’s always had. Everyone backstage claps at the segment, some of the other stars cheering as one of their all time favorites has just returned to the company “officially.”

Y/N continues watching blankly, ignoring commentary and the chants of his name. Punk runs to the corner of the ring, celebrating with the crowd as her hearing seems to go out. He’s actually back. Avoiding him is going to be much harder now. The only reprove she might have is that he won’t show up much on Friday’s. The only thing that seems to snap her out of her haze of thoughts is the familiar scream.

BURN IT DOWN!

Y/N looks back to the monitor and suddenly Colby’s form appears on screen. Punk doesn’t bother to hide his irritation as Seth dances down the ramp, living for the way the audience sings his song. He doesn’t linger for much longer, tossing his sunglasses haphazardly into the audience, championship belt snug around his waist as he beelines it for the ring. Y/N knew this confrontation was on the call sheet, but after what Phil said in the ring on Friday, she doubts this is going to surmount to anything professional.

The look on Seth’s face says everything Colby is thinking. It makes Y/N’s heart spike with nerves and without doing much thinking, she darts towards Gorilla. When she enters the small space, people shoot her off looks, telling her it’s nowhere near time for her match.

“I know, I know,” her eyes dart back to the monitor. “I just… got a bad feeling about this,” she mumbles. “I promise I’ll go if nothing happens. I’m just here as a precaution.”

Albeit reluctantly, they allow her to stay, on the condition that she remains quiet since they are so close to the entrance. Any loud noise could interrupt the show.

Punk watches Seth with narrowed eyes, quick to meet the Visionary in the center of the ring. The two of them puff their chests out, lifting their heads as a show of dominance. Pearce tries to deescalate the situation, but the two men can’t seem to take their eyes off of each other. The audience chants “Holy Shit” as a newfound tension seems to infect the ring. There’s no avoiding this bout. It’s a head on collision waiting to take out everything and anything in its path.

The crowd fights to support their favorites, some singing Seth’s song, others chanting for Punk. It only stops when Seth brushes past Punk to get his own microphone. Phil crosses his arms, attitude on full display as he gestures for Seth to go ahead on his tangent, as if he already knew this was coming.

“CLEVELAND, OHIO!” Seth screams, his voice coming out in that growl that never fails to send shivers down Y/N’s spine. Her eyes never leave the monitor as Seth turns to face Phil again, “C…M… Punk.”

Both men are not afraid to show their disdain for each other. Punk’s nose scrunches up, his arms crossed, subconsciously showing just how closed off he is. How he doesn’t welcome Seth out there in the slightest. Seth stalks forward, eyes narrowed, “Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” The crowd says it along with him, only boosting his ego further.

Punk simply allows Seth to get in his face, nothing but that same cocky grin on his face. Anyone could read exactly what that smirk means. He plans on making sure that Raw is his show, no one else’s.

“I hope you know how incredibly fortunate you are to be standing in this ring right now. But could you just do me, just one, one little favor, just one thing, please?” Seth gestures wildly with his hand, almost in a flimsy manner before his face falls and his limbs go rigid. He looks Punk dead in the eyes, “Don’t you dare call this place your home.”

The crowd boos in response, an elongated silence stretching between the men as everyone starts chanting CM Punk again. Seth gives him a moment to respond, but when he doesn’t he raises the microphone back up to his own lips. “You abandoned this place ten years ago. Not only did you abandon it, you actively tried to tear it down. You spent ten years slandering me, slandering every person back in that locker room,” he points towards backstage. “And then, you wanna walk back in here and call this place your home. This is NOT your home! This is my home!”

Y/N’s heart clenches at Colby’s words. Sure, this was all planned, but that dialogue, that came straight from him. Not Seth. Colby. He poured exactly how he’s felt for the past decade into that monologue and she couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s been the workhorse of the company since she could remember and he deserves his flowers more than anyone.

“I’ve been here. Everybody in the back, those are my brothers and sisters,” Seth continues on passionately. “Everybody here, everybody watching at home, that is my family, and this is our home!” He circles around the ring like the true showman he is. “And I will do everything within my power to protect it from people like you!”

Punk simply smirks in response, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief. Seth can see his expression shifting so he doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t want there to be any confusion. I know I’m a bit worked up. I want everybody to understand. I’m going to say it plainly, with every fiber in my being, I hate you.”

The roof damn near explodes off the arena as the crowd screams at his declaration. Y/N feels her eyes widen at how simply he said it. Like it’s just another fact of life. Phil looks down at the floor, grin only growing, almost as if he’s willing himself not to laugh. Everyone can feel the other shoe about to drop and it makes Y/N nervous. There’s way too much animosity out there for it to end like that.

“But… if you’re going to be a part of WWE again, then I want you on Monday Night Raw,” Seth laughs evilly. “Because the truth always comes out, pal. The truth always comes out. I know, you know, everybody else knows… this is your last chance. And, so, one of two things is gonna happen. Either you’re gonna expose yourself, you’re gonna self-destruct like you always do. And I’ll be the first person in the back to slam the door shut on your legacy!” He pauses, “Or, if by some miracle, you have changed… and you’ve got any gas left in this old tank… maybe one day, you’ll be lucky enough to stand across the ring from me in a World Heavyweight Championship match. And, then I will expose you for the fraud that you are.” His glare intensifies with his voice. “I will show you that there are levels to this, I will wrestle circles around you, and I will let you understand in real time… what it means to be the ‘best in the world.’”

For the first time in Seth’s whole rant, Punk finally raises his mic up. His eyes are cold despite that constant shit-eating grin on his face. He bravely steps up to Seth, voice tight. “Are you done?” He doesn’t even give him a chance to reply. “That’s your one pass to stand here and speak to me disrespectfully without me coming after you.”

He takes a step forward, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “But I see what this really is. You’re not out here defending the ‘future’ or waving some flag of morality. Nah, this ain’t about the locker room. You’re just trying to rewrite history — polish up your little redemption arc with smoke and mirrors. But behind all that screaming, all that passion, there’s just one thing you’re really afraid of.” His eyes narrow, laser-focused. “Her.”

The crowd makes a collective sound — part gasp, part groan. Seth’s expression doesn’t budge, but his shoulders do. Just slightly. Enough.

“Oh, now I’ve got your attention,” Punk sneers, licking his lips like he tastes blood. “Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to bring her up. You always knew it’d come to this. You can drag out every camera-friendly version of the truth you want, but everybody backstage knows exactly what went down when I left.” He gestures behind him, then jabs a thumb in Seth’s direction. “You didn't earn her trust — it was handed to you by management. You were the golden boy, the chosen one. So when I walked out, they slid her next to you like some prop to keep the Shield from falling apart.”

Seth flinches.

“But you? You ran with it. You got close. Real close. And suddenly the world forgot what came before. You got to play the hero in the fairytale while I got turned into the villain — again.” He steps closer to Seth now, voice lowering. “But she wasn’t yours to win. You didn’t earn her loyalty, Seth. You inherited it. And deep down, she knew it too.”

Seth mutters something under his breath, but Punk talks over him, venom dripping from every word. “You paraded her around like she chose you. Like she picked the guy who stayed. But let’s be real for once — she never made a choice. She was never given one.”

Punk stops pacing, turning his full body toward the hard camera, voice rising again. “So how ‘bout this? Let’s stop pretending this is about brands and belts and legacies. Let’s talk about betrayal.” He turns his head slightly, back toward Seth. “Not mine. Hers.”

Seth’s entire face shifts — his eyes flash like he’s about to leap across the ring. The crowd explodes in reaction. “Because if anyone stabbed anyone in the back, it was Y/S/N.” Punk’s voice drops to a snarl. “She stood beside me for years. Knew what I fought for, what I bled for. And when things got hard, when I needed her most? She let me walk away alone. Worse — she stayed. She became everything we used to fight against.”

A second of silence.

Then—

“Enough.”

The voice cuts through the arena like thunder. The crowd erupts as Y/S/N storms onto the ramp — mic already in hand, expression unreadable but blazing. She doesn’t look to the crowd. Doesn’t smile. She’s a bullet, aimed straight at the ring.

“You really wanna do this here? Fine. Let’s hash it out since apparently it’s become damn near impossible for you to keep my name out of your mouth!”

Y/N couldn’t believe she was doing this. After doing her best to avoid him like the plague, she was throwing all of that away. It was time to confront her demons. If he wanted to come at Seth sideways, she’d make sure he knew that she had something to say about it.

She slides under the ropes without hesitation, rising to her full height, nose-to-nose with Punk like gravity doesn’t apply to her. “You wanna talk about betrayal?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm. “Let’s talk.”

Punk’s smirk twitches. “Look who decided to show up.”

She doesn’t blink. “You left. You walked away. From this place. From me. From everything. And you want to call me a traitor?”

“I needed you,” he bites, quieter now, but sharper. “You didn’t come.”

“I waited!” she fires back. “I waited for months. I defended you when nobody else would. I almost lost my job trying to justify your choices. I begged them not to turn their backs on you. But you didn’t call. You didn’t write. You disappeared. And when they came to me with Shield gear and a script I had no say in, what was I supposed to do? Say no? Get fired? Go down with a ship you set on fire?”

Her voice is shaking now, fury and grief tangled like a noose. “So don’t you dare stand there and act like I owed you anything more than that when you didn’t even tell me goodbye.”

He scoffs bitterly, like the sound hurts him. “You think I had a choice?”

She shoves him — full force. “YES!”

The arena gasps, then breaks into a frenzy of noise. “You had every choice. You chose to run. And now you come back and try to punish me for continuing on without you?” Her voice breaks, just for a second. “I didn’t betray you, Punk. I mourned you. You didn’t just leave the company. You left me. You left the version of yourself I believed in. And when I finally stopped looking over my shoulder hoping you’d come back — you did. But not as the man I knew. Not the man I fought side by side with. Just another bitter stranger picking a fight with the past.”

That lands harder than any slap could’ve.

Punk stares at her, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. His mic raises again, but now his voice is raw. “You don’t get to stand there and call me a stranger when every part of you changed the moment they handed you a title and a spotlight.”

Y/S/N lets out a sharp laugh. “You think this is about titles? I earned everything I have. You think you’re the only one who bled for this place? I’ve bled. I’ve broken bones. I’ve gone through tables, cages, and hell just to prove that I belonged here. Not as your shadow. Not as Seth’s trophy. Hell, not even as Roman’s right hand. But as me.”

Punk steps forward, his words now a whisper between them. “Then say it.” He never breaks eye contact with her, daring her to confirm what he’s thought over these past ten years. “Say you never cared about me.”

Silence stretches. The crowd holds its breath. Both of them knew what he really meant by that. The late nights they spent together, the endless hours of training, the emotional nights spent tangled up in the same hotel bed, trying to figure out who they were and what they meant to each other. Cared is not the word he wanted to use. It’s what came out of his mouth, but they knew he meant more.

Love.

Y/N could read between the lines. “Say you never loved me,” was the underlying message that died on his tongue. Her eyes shimmer, but her spine stays straight. She breathes in — just once — and says: “I did. More than you’ll ever know. And I still let you go.”

That’s it. She turns her head, locking eyes with Seth, who’s still frozen at the edge of the ring. Y/S/N raises her mic one last time, voice clear as glass. “But I’m done being someone else’s ghost story.” She drops the mic, and the arena erupts. She walks to Seth, grabs his hand, and together they leave, backs straight, heads high. Punk doesn’t chase her. He just watches — with bloodshot eyes and a silence that says everything.

The second they pass through the curtain, the roar of the crowd fades into a dull roar — like thunder muffled through concrete. The crew around gorilla doesn’t say a word. Nobody tries to high-five them or offer praise. They all saw what just happened. They know it wasn’t all scripted.

Y/N’s chest is rising and falling fast, her knuckles white at her sides as her mic gets stripped from her hand by a passing tech. Her face is unreadable — not a blank mask, but a storm barely contained. The heat still clings to her skin, and her jaw clenches so tightly it looks painful.

Colby was right there beside her, breathing just as hard. But his face was tight with something else — not just exhaustion. Not just relief. He was furious. Not at her. Never at her. But his jaw was clenched so tight he could barely speak, and the vein in his neck was pulsing with restraint. She could feel it radiating off him — that Seth Rollins fire threatening to explode. But he pushed it down, shoved it back, because his only priority was her.

They turned the corner into the hallway behind gorilla, and the second they were alone, Colby finally spoke. “You okay?”

Y/N stopped walking. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she was physically trying to hold herself together. “I’m fine,” she lied automatically, eyes fixed on the floor.

He raised a brow, gently reaching for her arm. “Y/N—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping back. Her eyes flicked up to his. “There was no reason for it to go that far. That wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to keep it professional.”

Colby didn’t flinch, even though her voice had sharpened. His anger toward Punk flared again, just under the surface — but he swallowed it, because she was what mattered right now. “I know,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

She blinked, not expecting the easy agreement. Her lips parted slightly, but he kept going. “I let it get personal. I lost control. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to step in. That shouldn’t have been your burden. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Her walls cracked then — not all the way, but enough. Enough for her to let out a small breath and lean back against the cool wall behind her. “He said some seriously messed up shit, Colby. Not just about me, but about you too,” Y/N runs a hand through her hair. “And God, I didn’t even care what he said about me, but as soon as he went after you, it was like–” she sighs. “I couldn’t even think before I walked out there.”

“I know,” he murmured. His hand came up, brushing a piece of hair gently behind her ear. “And if I hadn’t already promised you I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him backstage, I’d be halfway down the hall right now.”

That drew a weak laugh from her, one that died almost immediately — but Colby caught it, savored it, and offered her a half-smile in return. “God,” she groaned softly, dropping her face into her hands. “What a mess. I don’t even know why I got involved like that—”

“You got involved because you’re you,” Colby interrupted gently. “Because you care. And because he knows exactly how to get under your skin.”

She looked up at him then. Really looked. And for a second, they just stood there in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by silence and low flickering lights, everything unspoken passing between them in a glance. Then, without warning, she stepped into him. Her body collided with his chest, and his arms wrapped around her without hesitation. She buried her face into his shirt, breathing him in like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Colby kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, his fingers curling around the back of her neck protectively. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

Y/N didn’t answer at first, just sank into his hold like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Like if he let go, she might fall apart completely. Then, barely audible against his chest: “God, I love you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I love you more.”

She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes — those deep, honey-brown eyes that saw every part of her. “You don’t have to take care of me right now, you know,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to be angry too.”

“I am angry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I want to rip his head off. But that won’t fix anything. You will always come first. That’s not a choice. That’s just… what it is.”

Her lip quivered at that, and she didn’t even try to stop herself from kissing his cheek. It was soft — nothing like the firestorm they’d just walked through — but real. Grounding. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer than she already was, like she was something fragile and precious that he’d die to protect.

And for just a moment, everything else disappeared. No Punk. No crowd. No WWE. Just them.

“I know I just said it, but I really do love you,” she whispered again as they pulled apart, forehead to forehead.

He smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s match with Nia was approaching rapidly. She knew it was going to go well, she trusted Lina with her life, but she still couldn’t go out there completely cold turkey. She had to at least get in a light warm up before heading out there.

She was mid-lunge when a shadow fell over her peripheral vision. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“I figured I’d find you back here pretending you're not fuming,” Demi said, leaning casually against the crates, arms crossed, signature smirk in place.

Y/N groaned. “Am I that obvious?”

Rhea chuckled. “Only to people who know what it looks like to hold in a scream.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, standing upright and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Don’t start. I already had the whole heart-to-heart with Colby. I’m emotionally tapped out.”

“Relax, I’m not here to dissect your trauma,” Demi teased, pushing off the crates and strolling up beside her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re good. And maybe tell you that if Nia gets in one cheap shot, I’ll jump the barricade and help you powerbomb her through commentary. No questions asked.”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Now that’s friendship.”

“Damn right,” She smirked, nudging her shoulder. “Also, full offense — that was wild out there. You really came for his soul, huh?”

Y/N winced. “Didn’t mean to go that far. I just… snapped.”

“Well, he deserved it. You don't spit fire like that unless you've been burned. He knows it. We all do.” She paused, a beat of real sincerity slipping in. “You okay though? Like, actually?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at the wrap on her wrist. “I don’t know. He looked at me like… like he still—” she stopped herself. “Never mind.”

Rhea didn’t push. She just shrugged with a knowing look. “Men are dumb. Especially the broody, wounded poet ones with vendettas and outdated merch.”

Y/N snorted. “Jesus.”

“Anyway,” Rhea clapped her hands together. “If you’re not emotionally obliterated by the time you’re done with Nia, Luis and I are hitting the gym after the show. Nothing says therapy like flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that an actual invite or are you just giving me something to think about other than CM Misery?”

Rhea smirked, eyes glinting. “Bit of both.”

A cue came through Y/N’s headset — four minutes. She rolled her shoulders and took one last breath. “Thanks, Demi. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rhea said as she started walking away. “If you don’t win, I’m telling everyone I offered and you said no. Gotta protect my rep.”

Y/N grinned after her, then turned back toward the curtain — fire in her veins, and a little less weight on her chest.

Her heart hadn’t quite stopped racing, even as Demi’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway. The encounter had been brief, but grounding — a spark of levity in a night that had, so far, been drenched in fire and emotional chaos. Demi’s offer lingered in her ears like a song stuck on loop. Flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists. Therapy, indeed.

Still stretching, Y/N exhaled a steady breath and stood tall, rolling her shoulders out as a production assistant’s voice crackled in her headset. “Two minutes to curtain.”

She gave a nod, then peeled the sweat-damp towel from around her neck, tossing it aside. The title belt gleamed from the corner of the room, resting atop a folded chair — her name engraved on the side plate like it belonged there. And it did. Because she earned it.

Focus. Be present.

She draped the championship over her shoulder, stepped toward the curtain, and waited for the storm to begin. And then it did.

A sonic boom of bass dropped as her entrance music blared through the arena’s speakers, vibrating through the floor and rattling through her chest like a war drum. The moment she stepped through the curtain, a wall of light and noise hit her all at once — pyro lighting up the sky behind her, the jumbotron splashed with her name, and thousands of fans rising to their feet in a unified scream of reverence.

“Y/S/N! Y/S/N! Y/S/N!”

The chants filled every inch of the stadium, growing louder with every step she took down the ramp. Her presence was magnetic, unstoppable. She moved like a storm in boots — chin high, eyes sharp, the title belt now raised above her head with pride and defiance. Cameras flashed as she slid into the ring and climbed the ropes, pointing to a sign in the front row that read: "CM WHO? OUR CHAMP STAYS WINNING." A half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She couldn’t afford to focus on that right now, but it still warmed something frozen inside her.

The lights shifted. And then the mood changed. Nia Jax’s music cut through the electricity like a serrated blade. The boos were instant. Loud. Justified. Nia stepped out with all the arrogance in the world, her eyes already locked on Y/S/N, a smirk playing across her face like she knew something the rest of them didn’t. She moved slowly, deliberately — her entrance less about showmanship and more about dominance.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She just waited. The moment Nia climbed through the ropes, they were on each other — eyes locked, breaths heavy with tension, the air between them practically crackling. “You sure you wanna be here tonight, sweetheart?” Nia asked with a saccharine sweetness that made Y/N’s lip curl. “After getting dragged by your ex in front of the world, you might wanna sit this one out.”

Y/S/N leaned in closer, running her tongue across her teeth, her voice low but lethal. She takes a defiant step forward, “He’s not my ex,” she snaps out. Y/N knows Lina is only doing it for the sake of their oncoming feud, but it still caught her off guard. But she has to remember, everything is in character. “And you know what? I was planning on going easy on you. Now I’m not.”

The bell rang before Nia could even snort a response. The match was a war from the opening second. It began with brute force — a lock-up that turned into a raw test of strength, Nia tossing Y/N across the ring like a sack of flour. But Y/N popped back up, hitting a clean kip-up and nailing a dropkick that landed square in Nia’s chest. The crowd erupted again, hungry for more.

The pace quickened. Y/N ducked a wild clothesline and rebounded off the ropes, throwing herself into a spinning back elbow that rocked Nia just enough to take her to a knee. Another dropkick. Then another. But every time Nia stumbled, she bounced back harder. Ten minutes in, Y/N was on the mat after taking a brutal Samoan drop that nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. She rolled away, clutching her ribs.

Fifteen minutes in, they were both running on fumes — sweat pouring, limbs heavy. The mat itself felt like it was shaking beneath them. Y/N drove a boot into Nia’s knee, followed by a snap DDT that planted her hard. She tried to go for a pin, but Nia powered out, roaring like a wounded animal.

Each time Y/N hit the ropes, it was with renewed fire. Each time she fell, it was with purpose — because she always got up. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered resilience.

From backstage, Phil Brooks watched it all unfold on the monitor. He stood in the shadows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it ached. The light from the screen cast flickering shadows over his face, his eyes never leaving her — not even once.

She was brilliant.

A warrior in motion. Every strike she threw had venom. Every counter, every transition, every dive — it was like watching a symphony composed entirely in punches and pain. He’d known how good she was. He just hadn’t wanted to admit how beautiful it was to watch her thrive without him.

That was the worst part.

Even now, after all the bitterness and venom and distance between them, some rusted part of his soul still ached when he saw her shine. Because it reminded him of what they had, and how he had been the one to dim her light — and she still burned anyway.

He didn’t want to feel anything. But he did. God help him, he did.

Back in the ring, the match thundered toward its climax. Y/N rebounded off the middle rope, twisting mid-air into a beautifully brutal springboard tornado DDT that dropped Nia square on her back. Without pausing, Y/N scrambled to the top rope, legs shaking from exhaustion, and flew with a precision moonsault that landed clean across Nia’s chest.

She hooked the leg.

“ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!”

The bell rang, and the crowd exploded. Y/N collapsed back onto the mat, lungs burning, chest heaving, fingers curling tightly around the championship belt as it was handed back to her. She rolled onto her knees, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as the weight of the match — and the night — settled on her shoulders.

She had survived. She had won.

The crowd was chanting her name again, and this time, it wasn’t just noise. It was affirmation. It was love. She stood slowly, holding the title high in the air as the camera zoomed in on her face. Sweat streaked her hairline. Her eyes shone with something unspoken. And somewhere backstage, behind that monitor, Phil exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Y/S/N was still the champion.

And he was still very, very confused on where the true line between hate and love was drawn.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The roar of the crowd was still echoing faintly through the hallway when Phil stepped back from the monitor. She had done it. Again.

There she was, championship hoisted high, sweat shining on her brow like a damn halo. And the worst part? The worst, most soul-wrenching part of it all? She hadn’t even looked at him.

No glance in his direction to celebrate her win. No asking if he was proud of what she had accomplished. She didn’t need him. Not anymore. The moment she stepped through the curtain, the hallway seemed to shift around her — an energy he hadn’t seen in a long time. People clapped her on the back as she passed, voices congratulating her left and right. She was magnetic, glowing. Untouchable.

She laughed — breathless and real — and that sound cut through Phil’s chest like shrapnel. Colby was the first to pull her in. Not in a subtle, casual way, either. His arms looped tightly around her waist, his face buried briefly in her hair before he leaned back and said something that made her tilt her head and laugh again — softer this time, private. Too private.

Phil’s gaze darkened.

Josh and Cody joined seconds later, all grins and praise. Even Sami wandered over from catering with a smug “told you so” smirk, but Phil didn’t process their words. He didn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears as his eyes tracked that one damn detail like a target he couldn’t miss:

Colby’s hand. Still on her. Fingers spread low across her back, like he belonged there.

Like Phil hadn’t.

The heat rolled up his spine like a fuse being lit. He stepped forward before he could think better of it, legs moving on instinct — but a hand suddenly shot out, firm against his chest. Stopping him. “You need to slow the hell down.”

Phil turned, already bristling. “Becky—”

“I swear to God, if you take one more step looking like you’re about to reenact a scene from Fight Club in the hallway, I’m knocking you out myself.”Her tone was bright but dangerous—witty in that razor-sharp Irish way that left little room for argument. Her copper hair was braided tight, her eyes sharper.

“Let go,” he muttered, trying to pull his arm back.

She didn’t. “Nah. I’ve seen that murder-glare before. I was there when you punched John in catering. I was there when you almost caved in Hunter’s door. So believe me when I say—don’t be dumb.”

Phil scowled. “You think I’m gonna cause a scene because she won a match?”

“I think you’re seconds away from throwing a tantrum because she didn’t run into your arms after the bell.”

His jaw clenched, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please.” Becky rolled her eyes, releasing his arm but stepping in closer. “You’ve been standing back here for ten minutes looking like you want to burn a hole through Colby’s skull with your mind. And let’s not pretend you’re here to congratulate her.”

Phil’s glare could’ve leveled a building. “You done?”

“Not even remotely.” Becky’s grin sharpened. “Look, I get it. You’re used to people bending over backwards for you. You're used to women waiting around while you figure your shit out. But guess what? Y/N doesn’t have time for your brooding Shakespeare routine.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think this is about me being broody?”

“I think you’re spiraling because for once in your miserable, emotionally constipated life, someone you care about moved on—and you weren’t the one who called the shots.”

Phil’s temper snapped. “Don’t talk like you know what happened between us.”

Becky’s eyes blazed. “I don’t need to know the details, Phil. I’ve seen the reruns. She trusted you. You shut her out. You picked fights, she tried to fix it, and you made her feel like she was never enough—when really, you were just too much of a coward to admit how you felt.”

“That’s not what happened,” he bit out, voice low and dangerous.

“Then what did?” she fired back. “Because all I’ve seen is you treat her like she’s the villain in a story you wrote, while she’s out there earning every bit of this moment.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when the words were crawling up his throat and making it impossible to breathe.

Becky shook her head, softer now. “Look at her, Phil. She just main-evented Raw, defended her title, carried that crowd on her back—and all you can think about is that Colby’s holding her too close?”

Phil glanced over his shoulder again, and sure enough, Y/N was still nestled against Colby, shoulder pressed to his chest, hand on his arm. Like home.

“You’re pissed because she looks happy without you,” Becky said. “But here’s the part that’ll really burn yer arse— no matter how angry you pretend to be, you still love her.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, a flash of something wild in his eyes. “I never said—”

“You don’t have to say it.” Her voice had dropped now. “It’s written all over your face.”

The hallway suddenly fell away and he was right back in that hotel room in Atlanta. It smelled like rain, cheap beer, and leftover Chinese food cooling in its styrofoam container on the coffee table. The low hum of the TV filled the silence—wrestling reruns from earlier that night, blurred and grainy, flickering over the walls in dull shades of blue.

April stood near the window, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Not in defiance. In desperation. Like if she let go, she’d unravel. Her lips trembled, but her voice didn’t.

“You’re always there when she is.”

Phil didn’t look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “Every event. Every promo. Every backstage interview. She so much as coughs and you’re halfway across the arena, checking on her like she’s your responsibility.”

“She’s my friend, April. Or am I not allowed to have those anymore?”

April’s laugh was dry, bitter. “You keep saying ‘friend’ like that makes your behavior okay.”

Phil straightened up, shoulders stiff. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I watch you,” she said, stepping forward. “I see you. The way your whole damn face changes when she walks into the room. The way your tone softens when you talk about her. Like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to wrestling—and to you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t start with this jealous girlfriend crap.”

She flinched like he’d slapped her. “Jealous? Jesus, Phil, do you even hear yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from her.

April’s voice sharpened. “You talk about her like she’s untouchable. Like you’re lucky just to be around her. I’ve never heard you speak about me the way you speak about her in interviews. Not once.”

Phil spun around, his eyes flashing. “You’re twisting everything. This isn’t about her—it’s about you. You’re insecure, and you’re dragging her into this because you don’t want to admit it.”

April’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t back down. “Insecure?” she echoed, stunned. “You think this is insecurity? No, Phil. It’s recognition.”

He froze.

“I see what you refuse to admit,” she went on, her voice rising. “You love her. You don’t have to say it—it’s written all over your damn face. And maybe you haven’t crossed any physical lines, but emotionally? You’ve been gone for a long time.”

Phil barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“You remember that angle she did with Cody?” she continued, ignoring him. Her tone almost patronizing, like she wants to get a reaction out of him. She saunters over, her need to hear him confess the only thing keeping her from completely snapping. “The one with the kiss? I remember exactly how you reacted. You didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the night. You trashed the locker room, told everyone it was about creative—but it wasn’t. It was about her.”

“That kiss wasn’t in the script,” Phil said through clenched teeth. “It was stupid. Cheap. Just for a pop—”

“No, it was a kiss, Phil. A basic wrestling spot. But you acted like she cheated on you.” April moved in closer, her hands shaking now. “Same thing when she posted that picture with John. The one backstage after that panel in New York? Where he treated her for coffee and she said she was the luckiest girl in the world? You threw your phone across the room.”

He pointed at her, his voice rising. “Don’t act like you know what’s in my head.”

“I don’t need to,�� she spat. “I’ve seen enough. You pretend to be above all this shit—above drama, above feelings—but when she’s involved? You fall apart.”

Phil’s breathing was heavy now, erratic. He raked a hand through his hair and turned his back on her again.

“She started dating that random kid she met at a convention. What was his name? Something stupid with a T. Trevor– Tyler? And you didn’t talk to her for two weeks. You ignored her texts, ducked out early every night, acted like she stabbed you in the back.”

“I was busy,” he growled.

“You were pissed,” she corrected. “Because you didn’t like it. Because it wasn’t you.”

He whipped around, voice suddenly thunderous. “I TOLD YOU TO DROP IT!”

April didn’t flinch, in fact she got closer. She was never one to be afraid of Phil’s temper, especially about this. It was all just a wall for him to hide behind. “Why? Because I’m right?”

“Because you’re making shit up!”

She stepped into his space, eyes brimming with hurt and fire. “No. I’m just saying the quiet part out loud.”

Phil looked like a cornered animal. Pacing. Clenching and unclenching his fists like he needed something to hit. His jaw twitched violently. “You’re delusional,” he muttered.

“I’m done letting you lie to me. Stop insulting my intelligence by trying to make it seem like it’s all in my head.”

She was close now—so close he could smell her shampoo, see the rise and fall of her chest as her voice caught. “You think I didn’t see it before? That moment at WrestleMania two years ago—after her match with Charlotte? When she came through the curtain and hugged you first? Not her boyfriend at the time. Not her family. You. And you looked at her like she hung the damn moon.”

“Enough.”

“You stood by the monitors for her every match. You never did that for me.”

“Enough, April!”

“She was crying after her match with Becky last year, and you sat outside her locker room for forty-five minutes just trying to get her to come out. Didn't even tell me where you went. You think I didn’t know?”

“I said that’s ENOUGH!”

And then he snapped. He turned and punched the wall so hard the plaster cracked under his knuckles. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool, ruined drywall. His whole body shook—rage, shame, confusion.

April didn’t move. After a long beat, her voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Quiet. Steady. Brutal.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything for her.”

He didn’t turn.

“Do it,” she said. “Look at me and say it. Say you don’t love her.”

His shoulders caved in like the weight was finally too much. Still, he didn’t turn around.

April’s voice broke, and still she stood her ground. “That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The silence she left behind was louder than anything she'd ever screamed.

The memory snapped back like a rubber band to the face—sharp, stinging, and impossible to ignore. Phil blinked, the echo of April’s voice still ringing in his ears like a ghost he hadn’t laid to rest.

"That's what I thought."

Becky was still standing in front of him, arms crossed, chin tilted like she knew exactly what that silence meant—even if she didn’t know the story behind it. Her eyes flickered, searching his face. “You good now, tough guy?” she asked, her voice still laced with that Irish bite. “Or am I gonna need to get a straight jacket?”

Phil exhaled through his nose. It wasn't a laugh, not really, but it was all he could manage without splintering again. He wiped a hand over his mouth and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Becky didn’t move. She just raised a brow. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “But I’ll let you keep lying. Just… don’t mess with her. Not unless it’s to fix everything wrong between ya. She deserves better than that.”

Then she walked away, leaving him in the hallway with the hum of the exit sign and the ache of things he never said.

And still couldn’t.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The gym Demi dragged Y/N to buzzed with familiar energy—weights clinking, music humming low through the speakers, occasional grunts and laughter echoing off the walls. It smelled of chalk, sweat, and rubber—harsh, but oddly comforting. Y/N had grown used to it. Sometimes it was the only place that made sense.

She was flat on the mat, abs burning as she knocked out the final few sit-ups of her set. Her breathing was labored, controlled, and she counted each one silently until her body finally gave in and collapsed with a huff. A shadow crossed her peripheral vision.

“You good?” Luis asked, crouching down beside her, a water bottle extended like a peace offering. Sweat glistened on his biceps, the towel slung around his neck damp with effort.

Y/N didn’t answer at first. She just took the water with a grateful grunt, unscrewed the cap, and drank like her life depended on it. “Alive. Barely,” she managed between gulps. “Pretty sure Demi’s secretly a sadist.”

“Confirmed,” Luis replied easily, eyes flicking toward the bench press area.

Across the gym, Demi gave them both a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “I heard that!” she called, not even out of breath. “And you’re welcome.”

“You both suck,” Y/N muttered, lying back down dramatically.

Luis grinned. “And yet, here you are. Voluntarily.”

“Peer pressure.”

He shrugged. “Nah. You needed this. Better hangin’ with us than being stuck backstage.”

Y/N huffs as Luis sticks his hand out to help her up. She accepts it gratefully, allowing him to pull her onto her feet. He lazily slings his arm around her shoulder as Demi finally makes her way back over to the two of them.

“Alright,” she announced, “what’s next on the torture agenda?”

Luis gestured toward Y/N. “She wants to spar.”

Y/N sat up. “No, I don’t.”

“Too late,” Demi grinned. “Luis, you’re up. You two, in the ring. I’ll ref. Let’s settle this once and for all.”

“Settle what?” Y/N asked, brushing the towel off.

Luis stood and stretched, his smile cocky. “Who’s scrappier.”

Demi cracked her knuckles. “Spoiler: it’s me. But I’m feeling generous today.”

Y/N sighs loudly as Luis gets in position to actually wrestle her. Her body burns from the heavy lifting she did, but Y/N’s never been one to back down from a challenge, even if her opponent is a whole torso and head taller than her.

Luis stands across from her bouncing on the balls of his feet, shirtless now, tattoos flexing with every motion. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, flashing her a grin that was somewhere between charming and challenging.

“I don’t need to be ready,” Y/N said, rolling her neck. “You should be worried.”

“Oooh,” Demi muttered from the sidelines, already smirking. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?”

Luis’s brows lifted. “Talk? Nah. But she can show me what she’s got.”

Y/N smirked. “Keep talking, Romeo. I’ll plant you faster than your last situationship ghosted you.”

“Damn,” Demi said, laughing as she dropped into a crouch beside the mat. “I’m just here to ref, but this is better than Raw Talk.”

Luis lunged first—light on his feet, playful—but Y/N dodged easily, sweeping behind him and tapping the back of his knee. He stumbled but caught himself, already spinning with a smirk.

“Okay, okay,” he said, circling. “You got reflexes. I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll take that and your ego in one go,” she said, darting in. They grappled briefly, a tangle of limbs and tension. Luis was stronger, no doubt, but she was quick and scrappy—half laughter, half precision.

He caught her by the waist mid-move, spinning her around before she could land a knee.

“Tryna take me down, princesa?” he murmured, breath brushing her ear. “You’re gonna have to buy me dinner first.”

She twisted in his grip, laughing. “I don’t date guys who lose to me.”

“Then let me win.”

“That’s even worse.”

They crashed down onto the mat, Luis letting her get the upper hand just long enough for her to think she had it, before flipping them both with a grin. Y/N squirmed beneath him, both of them breathless and sweaty, their faces close enough to feel the heat between them.

“Pinned,” Luis said smugly.

Y/N arched a brow. “That’s cute. You think this counts.”

Before he could respond, Demi blew an imaginary whistle. “Alright, break it up, horn dogs. I’m not about to explain to HR why y’all are dry-humping on the sparring mats.”

Luis let Y/N up with a groan as she rolled her eyes. “For the record,” she said, brushing off her leggings, “if this were a real match, I’d have won.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Luis said, winking. “But if you need another round to prove it, I’ve got time.”

Demi made a gagging noise, but the sound was cut off by the slam of a gym door and a low voice calling, “What did I miss?”

Y/N turned to find Joshua Fatu walking in, hoodie slung low on his frame, sunglasses still on indoors like the menace he was. He scanned the scene—Y/N still flushed from the fight, Luis shirtless and smirking, Demi looking way too entertained.

“Please tell me I’m not too late for the main event,” Josh said, tugging his hoodie off.

“You’re just in time for the post-match commentary,” Demi quipped.

Josh came to a slow stop in front of Y/N, giving her a once-over, then grinned. “You beat him?”

“I would’ve,” Y/N said with mock offense. “But your boy fights dirty.”

Luis held up his hands. “Hey, I was respectful.”

Josh laughed. “That’s your first mistake.”

“Y/N’s the one who started it,” Luis said. “I just responded to the energy.”

Josh leaned in, lowering his voice just enough. “Yeah, well… her energy’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk, but before she could fire something back, Josh reached over and tugged at her ponytail. “You know, you should spar with me next. Bet you’d look cute talking all that shit from the mat.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “You wish, Fatu. She barely survived me.”

“Please,” Demi said, wiping her hands on a towel. “You two have been flirting harder than commentary during a mixed tag match. Get in line.”

Josh tilted his head. “So there is a line?”

“I didn’t say you were at the front of it,” Y/N teased.

He held a hand to his heart. “Ouch. Damn mama, don’t gotta bruise my ego.”

Luis draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s okay. She likes ‘em with wit and a winning record.”

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing it?” Josh said. “Alright, alright. We’ll see what happens next time we’re booked together.”

Demi, ever the chaos agent, grabbed Y/N’s phone and waved it. “Okay, picture time. Before you two fight each other for real.”

Without warning, Luis jumped up on Y/N’s back causing the woman to grunt as she tries to hold him up.

“Wait, wait��what are you doing—Luis!” she shouted, laughing as he propped her up on his shoulders with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re gonna thank me when you see how good your arms look from this angle,” he said. “All this pressure’s gonna give you the pump of a lifetime.”

“You’re gonna thank me when I drop you flat on your ass,” Y/N muttered, still grinning as she balanced.

“Everybody shut up and smile,” Demi said, placing the phone at a good enough distance before setting the timer. “This is going viral.”

The camera clicked.

@Y/S/Nwwe

liked by trinity_fatu, wwerollins, rhearipley_wwe, and 626,356 others

tagged: rhearipley_wwe, archerofinfamy, uceyjucey

Y/S/Nwwe: Fought for my life and then got body-snatched for the selfie. Friends like these 🫠💪 #gymrats #chaosunit #sendhelp

View all 12,367 comments

@beckylynchwwe: Who needs enemies with a squad like this? 😂🔥

@trinity_fatu: Y’all are a mess. I love it.

@otiswwe: I volunteer as next lifting partner 🙋‍♂️

@uceyjucey: Don’t let this post distract you from the fact I’m prettier in person.

@rhearipley_wwe: I’m the real MVP for this shot. You’re welcome.

@archerofinfamy: I am not as heavy as she’s making me look 🙄.

@fansince2009: I knew she was strong, but DAYUM.

@justhereforcolby: This is cute but… where’s Colby? 👀

@idontlikeherfr: Not her flirting with every guy in the locker room 🙄

@sheeatsyouup: @idontlikeherfr Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, babe.

@mommyynation: I would kill to work out with her. 🔥

@burnitdowngirl97: Why is everyone flirting with my wife??? 😤

@CMpunk.fanpage01: Notice how Phil liked this five minutes after it went up? 👀 Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

@legendkilla_32: Seth’s not gonna like all that touching.

@AntiY/N_Burnbook: Okay but why is she everywhere lately? Mid in the ring, mid on the mic, and now a thirst trap in gym shorts. Yawn.

Y/N scrolled through the comments without really reading them, half-laughing at some, rolling her eyes at others. She was used to the internet—its praise and its poison. What she didn’t expect, though, was the subtle change in expression when she reached the top of the notifications.

@CMPunk liked your photo.

Her thumb hovered. Just for a second. No comment, no message—just a like. And somehow, that was louder than anything else.

145 notes · View notes

ellswritings · 2 months ago

Text

In My Corner

(Part 1), Part 2, (Part 3), (Part 4)

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Angst, flirty tension, Josh being a good bestie, Colby being overly protective, emotional damage frfr, flashback to 2008.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @scream4mami (Lmk if you wanna be tagged)

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

“Girl, you better slow down,” Trinity warns Y/N as she slides into the chair next to her on her and Jon’s hotel room balcony. Y/N has downed at least three bottles of beer within the past hour and a half. Now, everyone in the room is drinking as the party down in the lobby from Survivor Series is still in full swing, but no one is as emotionally charged as Y/N. And that plus some alcohol spells disaster for everyone. “You still gotta be able to get up in the morning to drive over to the next town.”

“I’m fine, Trin…” Y/N waves her off, finally setting her now fourth halfway empty bottle of beer. “I just need to take the edge off.”

“Hun, he’s not even here,” Bianca soothes her as she joins her two friends outside. “He’s probably downstairs with the rest of ‘em. It’s only us up here.”

“It still doesn’t change the fact he’s back,” she grumbles. “I’ve gone ten years without speaking to the man and he just waltzes back in here with that stupid look on his face and it’s like I’m twenty-six all over again.” She once again grabs the neck of the bottle before taking another swig. “He didn’t even say anything to me and it’s like I got the wind knocked out of my lungs. The moment we made eye contact I forgot how to breathe.”

“That’s normal,” Trinity reached over to grab her hand. “You guys were close for a real long time and then he just left. It’s normal to feel that kinda hurt. And I know you blame yourself sayin’ you coulda defended him, but he also should have supported you.”

“She’s right, babe,” Bianca nods. “You guys were best friends. He should’ve been okay with your decision. You shouldn’t feel like you’re in the wrong around him.”

“And I know there’s plenty of people in here that’ll back us up on that,” Trinity adds with raised eyebrows as she subtly nods back into the room.

Joe, Jon, Josh, Colby, Montez, and a few of the others they invited over are laughing just a few feet away. The conversation flowed freely between all of them. Y/N watches with a faint smile as Colby tilts his head back, his cackle booming throughout the small space. He has the most infectious smile. When his head returns to its regular position, he feels her eyes on him from across the room. He glances out to the patio, his own soft grin taking over his face as he notices her stare. He raises his hand slightly, waving at her in a playful manner which only makes her giggle in response.

“You have that man wrapped around your finger,” Trinity laughs as she watches the exchange. “I don’t even remember the last time Jon looked at me like that.”

“Girl, I know you ain’t talkin’ shit bout me,” Jon waltzes up to the three women, a wide smile on his face as he greets his wife. Josh follows his twin in tow along with Montez who goes to kiss his own wife on the head. “All I do is love yo ass.”

“Oh hush,” Trin playfully slaps her man’s chest. “I’m just sayin’ that Y/N and Colby have a cute friendship, that’s all.”

“Really?” Josh chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Friendship’s really how we gon’ label that?” He points between Y/N and Colby who is still sneaking glances at her from inside despite being deep in a conversation with Joe.

“That’s exactly what I’d call it,” Y/N fires back with a pointed look, still a playful smile on her face.

Jon kisses the back of Trinity’s head, “It just pisses me off that he walks back in here like nothing happened,” he mumbles against her hair. “And he really just looked right at you? Didn’t say nothing?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “Just looked and then we left. Joe insists he was gonna walk up to me, but I don’t think so.” She glances down at her feet, “Phil’s never been the type to converse with someone he’s been hurt by… unless it’s to confront them.”

“Yeah, well, good luck wit that shit,” Josh chuckles. “We got yo back mama, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N smiles at them softly. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Jon nods confidently. “You part of the family. If he thinks he can mess with you, he’s in fo an ass kickin’.”

“Guys…” Bianca calls out with a sheepish look on her face. “I hate to break this up,” she sends Y/N a sympathetic glance, “But Tez and I wanted to see if it’d be alright if we head back downstairs?” She keeps eye contact with Y/N, “We won’t leave if you don’t want us to. I know tonight was hard for you.”

Y/N shakes her head, laughing. “B, you can do whatever you want.” She smiles fondly at her close friend, “I’m not here to hold anyone hostage. If you guys wanna go downstairs, you should go. I don’t wanna ruin yall’s night.”

“Then why don’t you come down with us?” Trinity suggests.

Y/N’s face contorts into one of hesitancy as she takes another sip of her beer. The thought of going downstairs where she knows he is suddenly sobers her up. “‘Cause I’ll just be anxious the whole damn time. I don’t want to be like that.”

“Babygirl, we already said we gotchu,” Josh insists. “One of us will be wit you at all times,” he assures. “And I’m sure your lapdog would be happy to cling to you for the rest of the night,” he jokes, nodding over to Seth.

Y/N mulls it over as they stare at her expectantly. She certainly wouldn’t mind being able to party with her friends on a night where she got the winning pin. She also doesn’t want to be that person that keeps everyone else from having fun. She briefly glances towards Colby, knowing he won’t leave her side. And frankly, neither will Joe.

“C’mon,” Trin grabs her hand, squeezing it softly. “You look way too pretty tonight to be lettin’ him of all people get you. You said you don’t wanna ruin our night, then don’t let him ruin yours.”

Y/N sees the pleading look in all their eyes and finally feels her resolve cracking. She sighs, tilting her head back with a defeated grin on her face. She’s never felt more loved in her life, “Fine…” she drawls. “I guess I can suck it up.”

“Yes!” Bianca exclaims in celebration as she and Tez high five each other.

Everyone else smiles, Josh getting out of his seat to help Y/N out of hers. “Thas what I’m talkin’ about.” He pulls her up gently, “Let’s get yo fine ass outta here.”

Y/N allows him to guide her back inside the room, the rest of the group following after them. Colby furrows his eyebrows as he watches everyone come in. “Woah,” his eyes fall on Y/N, “Where’s the fire?” He asks playfully.

“On the dance floor,” Trinity backs it up onto Bianca as they laugh loudly. Y/N snickers along with them when she notices the confused look on both Colby and Joe’s faces.

“They convinced me to go downstairs,” she explains, trying to muster up her most nonchalant shrug.

Both of them grow increasingly more concerned. Joe takes a step forward, “Are you sure you wanna do that?” He asks her gently.

“Yeah, Y/N/N…” Colby trails off. “Will you be comfortable doing that?”

Y/N placed her hands on each of their arms, giving them an affirming squeeze. “I’ll be fine… as long as you guys come with?” She looks between them hopefully.

It takes them a moment, both of them looking at each other as if silently communicating. There’s a moment of silence before Joe turns back to Y/N, wrapping his arm around her. “Of course we’ll go with you,” he confirms, kissing the top of her head like a brother would his sister.

“If you’re sure,” Colby checks in one last time, still not fully convinced.

Y/N’s expression softens, not able to tear her eyes away from his as she nods in confirmation. “I’m sure.”

He looks for any sign of hesitation, but when he finds none, he ultimately gives in. He exhales softly before throwing his hands up, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get outta here!”

Everyone walked out of the room in celebration. It was probably best for her to go downstairs and be with all her friends anyway. It’ll be good for the company and good for her image. She still has the women’s undisputed championship so she should at least make an appearance.

Once they make it downstairs, everything is still in full swing. Lights are flashing everywhere, the music is pumping, hyping everyone up for the late night ahead. Y/N smiles as she watches Pam run up to her with a large smile on her face. She pulls the woman into a hug, “You made it!”

Y/N giggles, nodding her head. “Figured I’d bless everyone with my presence.”

“Well, then let’s get this party started!” She exclaims before pulling her towards the center of the room where a majority of the superstars and some guests are dancing. Pamela yells for Bianca and Trinity to follow, the two women leaving their husbands to join their friends on the floor.

Y/N shoots Colby an apologetic look as she’s torn away from him. He smiles, mouthing for her to just have fun. No one was expecting her to actually make it out of the room, not with Phil lurking around. But it was nice seeing her be so brave, standing up to that part of her life that she’s tried to block out for so long.

The bass throbbed in Y/N’s chest as she was pulled deeper into the sea of dancing bodies. The lights spun above her, casting flashes of electric blue and crimson across the faces of the crowd. She felt the beat surge through her veins, buzzing in her ears as the music consumed her.

Pamela twirled dramatically, pulling Y/N into a full spin that made her laugh, already starting to loosen up. Trinity and Bianca joined seconds later, each of them moving in sync, hips swaying in a rhythm they didn’t need to practice. It was like muscle memory—these girls had been her sisters in arms for years now. They knew how to command a dance floor just as well as they did a ring.

Y/N threw her head back, the laughter bubbling out of her lips. Her body moved instinctively—hips rolling, hands sliding into her hair, back arching to the rhythm. Her sequined top shimmered under the lights as she twisted in time with the music, every movement fluid, confident, electric.

She had almost forgotten why she hesitated to come down here in the first place.

Almost.

From across the room, Colby was frozen in place.

He had just been mid-sentence with Joe when his eyes caught on her. Everything else vanished. Her body moved like the music had been made for her alone—like every beat was chasing the rhythm of her hips. His jaw clenched unconsciously, head tilting slightly to the side. She was radiant, glowing, alive.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath, drawing a knowing glance from Joe.

“You could at least pretend you’re not staring,” Joe teased, nudging him with his shoulder.

Colby didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I’m not capable of that.”

Back on the dance floor, Y/N felt the shift in atmosphere. Eyes were on them now—but not in a judgmental way. It was admiration. She and the girls had a presence, a magnetic force that pulled attention like gravity.

Her body moved like she was born for the rhythm—every roll of her hips sharp, deliberate, confident. The dress clung to her curves and shimmered like liquid under the lights, drawing attention whether she meant to or not. Her heels clicked as she dropped it low, smooth and fluid, before arching back up with a sway that made several heads turn—including Joshua Fatu’s.

“Daaaamn, shawty,” he let out with a low whistle, adjusting his snapback and sliding through the crowd toward her like a shark in water. “You tryna make somebody fall in love tonight or what?”

Y/N turned her head just enough to smirk over her shoulder, not stopping her rhythm. “Just tryin’ to dance, baby. You can hang or you can watch.”

Joshua grinned wide, tongue flicking across his bottom lip. “Say less.”

He slid in behind her, hands hovering respectfully near her waist but not touching. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrists, placing them where she wanted them—right on her hips.

“Boy, don’t play shy now.”

That was all he needed. He moved with her, matching her sway, letting the beat take them both. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, hips grinding slow and heavy, teasing but familiar. It wasn’t romantic. It was just that good old-fashioned, talk-your-shit-and-dance kind of vibe they always had.

“You still dance mean as hell,” Joshua murmured with a grin, low in her ear.

Y/N popped her hips in response, throwing it back just a little harder. “And you still flirt like you mean it.”

“Who said I don’t?” he fired back with a chuckle. “You fine as fuck tonight, girl.” He leaned in, his voice a low drawl against the music. “You know, if I wasn’t already emotionally committed to food and naps, I’d be proposing right now.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed. “You flirt with me like you’re not scared of Colby seeing.”

Josh spun her, then caught her again with a grin. “That man don’t scare me.” He looked over her shoulder, clearly aware of Colby’s eyes boring holes through his back. “Well… maybe just a little.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said with a warm smile, resting her hand gently on his chest.

“But I’m your idiot,” he winks, dipping her smoothly as his hand squeezes her hip playfully. “I gotta say mama, you’re nothin’ but trouble. Might just let you ruin my life if you keep movin’ the way you do.”

“You always lay it on this thick with everyone,” Y/N teases, placing her hand delicately on his chest. The music slows, allowing her to move with him as the intensity increases.

“Yeah, but not like this,” Josh replied with an earnest tone that lingered in the air.

Before she could respond, a firm hand tapped Josh’s shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Colby’s voice was casual, but the fire behind his eyes wasn’t. He didn’t wait for an answer.

Josh glanced at Y/N, eyebrows raised in exaggerated mockery. “Whatcha think, princess? Want me or Prince Charming?”

Y/N smiled, biting her lip. “I think I can spare a dance.”

Josh threw up his hands in surrender. “She’s all yours, Lopez. Just remember though, I laid the groundwork.”

Colby stepped in, his hands settling carefully on her waist. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, the tension between them suddenly thick and electric. They moved slower than the beat, like the world around them had melted away. Colby leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing against her ear.

“You were really out there showing off, huh?” His voice was low, rough.

Y/N smiled against his shoulder. “Just dancing.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he murmured. “And it’s driving me insane.”

The comment sent a chill up her spine. Her body moved closer on instinct, their hips falling into sync. Around them, people started whistling and shouting. A small circle had formed, watching the way she dropped and moved up slowly, her body grazing his like they were two magnets finally locking into place.

Colby’s hands slid down just a little lower, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “You always dance like this?” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her skin.

“Only when I’m trying to get someone’s attention,” she answered without thinking.

He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “You’ve got it. Trust me.”

Her stomach flipped as his hand drifted to her hip, guiding her into a rhythm that matched the music. The tension between them was electric—an unspoken challenge, a push and pull of something they weren’t quite naming yet.

All around them, whistles and cheers started to erupt. Their friends were hyping them up, chanting playful jabs, but neither of them looked away.

“You know they’re watching,” she murmured, close to his ear.

“I know,” Colby replied, his voice low. “I don’t care.”

She smirked, leaning into him just slightly, letting herself go with the music. Her hips brushed his just enough to keep things teasing, and she felt his hand tighten briefly in response.

The air between them crackled like live wire, and they stayed locked like that—bodies close, breaths mingling, until the music shifted into a slower, more intimate tempo.

That’s when the DJ announced the last call. People started heading out, gathering coats and finishing drinks. The party was winding down. Soft music still played in the background, but it wouldn’t for long. Y/N felt herself growing tired. It had to have been about an hour and a half, maybe longer since coming down. She felt her social battery draining more and more, not that she minded dancing with Colby. In fact, she would stay with him all night if she was just a tad more drunk. But a part of her brain is still conscious enough not to put anything in jeopardy, or to start any rumors.

“I should head back to my room,” Y/N said, a little breathless as they finally stepped apart.

“Want me to walk you up?” Colby asked, voice softer now.

She smiled, touched by the offer. She runs her fingers up and down his chest, looking in his eyes with nothing but genuine admiration. “I’ll be okay. You stay and hang with everyone a little longer.”

He watched her carefully, then nodded. “Alright. But text me when you’re safe, yeah?”

She gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder as she slipped out of the party. She pulls her phone out, checking the time. Her eyes widened when she realized how late it truly is. She was planning on going to the gym in the morning, but maybe the afternoon would be a bit better after her long night.

Suddenly Y/N’s phone buzzes. She pulls it out and smiles softly when Colby’s name pops up. It’s a photo of him and Joe with fake pouty faces, the words ‘miss you already’ written underneath. Their silly behavior never fails to make her grin. Her fingers fly over the keys rapidly, teasing him for being so clingy as she rounds the corner to enter the elevator hallway.

And that’s when she saw him.

Phil was standing alone, hands in the pockets of his jacket, head slightly bowed until he heard her heels click against the floor. He looked up, and their eyes locked.

The air thickened. Y/N froze in place, expression unreadable. She didn’t know what to do. Her brain short circuits, not able to come up with a solution to this predicament. Half of her wanted to scream at him for all the pain he had caused her these past ten years, but the other part of her wants to rip that tight-fitting, black t-shirt off of him like old times.

Phil didn’t move either. He just stared at her, his mind running a million miles a minute. His eyes rake over her form, despite him warning himself not to fall into the trap that is her beauty again.

She looked… different. Stronger. That dress hugged her like it was made for her, and he’d watched her dance with Colby like he hadn’t existed in her world. Like he never existed. Or maybe like they never met. Like they weren’t partners for a majority of their young career. But the worst part? He couldn’t even be mad. Because he left. And now he was standing here, unable to speak, because the sight of her laughing and glowing and being everything he remembered—without him—was killing him slowly.

She was dancing like no time had passed. Like Colby had always been the one she smiles at like that. But Phil knew better. He knew every version of that smile that was plastered on her face. And that one? That used to be his.

He didn’t come back expecting… anything. He just wanted peace. He wanted a chance to work in the company he dreamed of being. Maybe he even wanted closure, to get rid of that anger he harboured for years. But watching Y/N tonight, watching him with her…

He felt his jaw clench and it didn’t go unnoticed by the woman in front of him.

It felt like a punishment. Like this was her way of getting back at him. But she was never vindictive enough for that. He was always the one in their friendship that stooped low enough for petty revenge.

He thought about stepping forward. About saying her name. But his legs didn’t move.

And then she did.

With a sharp exhale, Y/N turned and pressed the elevator button. She couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not like this.

He watched her step inside, watched the doors begin to close. His fingers twitched, like he might call out.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, wondering how something he once held so tightly had slipped so far out of reach.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Time moved too fast. Not enough of it was given to those who needed it. The year 2008 felt so long ago. It was a time of fun and excitement for Phil and Y/N. They were young, still rather fresh in the business. They were constantly together, sharing rooms, driving, always stuck with each other. It took a while for Phil to adjust to having her around, but once he did, nights like this became his favorite.

The TV murmured low in the background, but neither of them was watching it. Another night on the road. Another cheap hotel with thin walls and a broken ice machine.

Phil sat propped up against the headboard, glasses on, book open in one hand. He hadn’t turned the page in over ten minutes.

Y/N was lying sideways at the foot of the bed, head dangling over the edge, her hair grazing the carpet. She had one leg thrown lazily over his ankle, like she’d claimed him by default. Not that he was complaining. Not that he ever did.

“You’re being weirdly quiet tonight,” she mused, stretching her arms above her head. “That usually means you're either brooding or plotting.”

Phil didn't look up. “Or maybe I’m just enjoying the peace.”

She snorted. “You calling me peaceful?”

“I said the night is peaceful.” He finally glanced down, mouth twitching. “You? You’re like a raccoon with a caffeine addiction.”

“Wow.” She lifted her head just enough to squint at him. “I give you my best years, and this is the thanks I get?”

“You haven’t even hit your peak yet, sweetheart.” He said it too casually, like it didn’t mean anything. Like the warmth in his voice hadn’t just snuck up on him too.

Y/N paused. For a second, it felt like the air changed.

“I’m bored,” She drops her head back down again. “Tell me a secret.”

Phil’s eyebrows ticked upward. “Why?”

“Because I asked nicely?”

He turned a page he wasn’t reading. “You never ask nicely.”

“Fair. But seriously—come on. You’ve gotta have some deep, brooding Chicago trauma or closet obsession with romantic comedies you haven’t confessed yet.”

Phil didn’t answer.

She rolled over onto her stomach now, chin resting on her arms as she studied him. “C’mon, tell me something good,” she begs with that sweet smile that would make an iceberg melt faster than global warming ever could. “We’ve been partners for almost a year now and I feel like I barely know anything about you besides your name and that you have an affinity for a good pastry.”

“That’s all there is to know,” he shrugs.

“Don’t be like that, Punker,” Y/N exhales dramatically. “Seriously, why won’t you tell me anything personal?”

He shut the book with one hand, finally setting it aside on the nightstand. “That’s because I don’t trust you not to blackmail me with it later.”

Y/N smirks. “I would never.”

“You literally threatened to sell my old promo photos to Cena if I didn’t split my fries with you last week.”

She pointed a finger. “You did look like a vampire in them. I was doing you a favor.”

Phil sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re deflecting.” She nudged him with her foot. “Come on. One secret. I promise I won’t sell it for a t-shirt design.”

He looked at her for a long moment. That unreadable stare of his—the one that usually came before he shut the world out. But with her, it always softened just a little.

“I have nightmares,” he said eventually.

The smile slipped from her face.

“Real ones,” he added, quieter. “Not the dumb stress dreams everyone jokes about. Like… bad shit. Stuff from when I was a kid. Stuff that never really goes away.”

Y/N blinked, stunned by the honesty. “You never told me that before.”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “That was kinda the point. It’s a secret.”

Her voice gentled. “Do you still have them?”

“Sometimes.” He hesitated, then added, “Less when you’re here.”

Silence stretched between them, warm this time. A heartbeat. Two.

Then she sat up, suddenly unsure what to do with the weight of it.

“I, uh… guess I owe you one now.”

Phil leaned back against the pillows again, eyes on her. “Yeah. What dirt are you giving me?”

Y/N chewed her lip. “Alright… I used to pretend we were married for the first few months when we traveled together.”

He blinked. “What?”

She laughed, cheeks burning. “Not in a weird way! Just like—booking the hotel, renting a car—sometimes it was easier to say, ‘My husband’s running late’ or whatever. People treated me nicer. Plus it made the logistics easier.”

Phil looked way too smug now. “So, you fantasized about being Mrs. Brooks.”

Y/N grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the face. “No. Shut up. It was practical.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay, your turn again.”

He groaned. “That’s not how this works. I’m not playing thirty questions with you.”

“Well, now you are.” She leaned in a little closer, like daring him to keep pushing. “Or are you afraid I’ll one-up you again?”

He was already looking at her. That quiet intensity he always got when he wasn’t performing for anyone—not the crowd, not the camera, not even her.

“I think about kissing you,” he said.

The air stilled. Y/N’s heart stumbled somewhere behind her ribs.

Phil’s voice was calm. Deliberate. “More than I should. Especially after matches. You get that look—like you’ve been through hell but would do it again—and it just…”

He trailed off, letting the sentence go unfinished.

Y/N swallowed. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Why didn’t you?” She asks him, her voice filled with curiosity and a bit of something else that neither of them knew what to do with.

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” Phil answers honestly. “Besides, you wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

Y/N tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “You really believe that?” She confronts him.

Punk pauses, licking his bottom lip which causes his lip ring to pulse forward slightly. He stares into her eyes, finding her subtle challenge rather adorable. But the more he looks at her, the more that urge arises. So instead he allows his eyes to flicker before clearing his throat.

“I don’t know.”

They stared at each other. The silence said everything else.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The punching bag didn’t stand a chance.

Y/N’s taped fists hit it again and again, dull thuds echoing through the mostly empty gym. Sweat dripped from her brow, her ponytail swaying with every strike. Her knuckles were sore, muscles burning—but she didn’t stop. Not yet.

Not until she could stop hearing his voice in her head.

“I think about kissing you.”

Stop.

Her next hit was harder, the bag swinging wide enough to creak on its chain. She followed it, landed a knee, pivoted, struck again. This wasn’t about technique right now. It was about silence. About control. About not losing her goddamn mind over someone who hadn’t texted her in years but now haunted her like a ghost she didn’t invite.

She was supposed to be over this.

“You know they make therapy for whatever you’re beating out of that thing,” a voice called from behind her.

She turned, wiping her forehead with her forearm, only half-surprised to see Josh leaning against the squat rack, holding a water bottle and grinning like an idiot.

He tossed it to her. She caught it.

“Didn’t know you’d be here today,” she said between breaths, twisting the cap off.

“Didn’t know you were tryna to kill a bag,” he replied, crossing over. “Bad day?”

She shrugged. “Just loud in my head.”

Josh gave her a look that was both understanding and teasing. “So, same as usual.”

She huffed out a tired laugh, then glanced toward the weight benches. “You lifting today?”

“Eventually. Was gonna do legs, but watching you commit first-degree assault on that Everlast makes me think I need to stick around in case you collapse.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

He smirked and leaned in slightly. “You usually inspire something in me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re persistent.”

“Same thing.”

There was an ease between them—something natural. Something good. Josh was the kind of guy who showed up with post-match smoothies and sarcastic commentary, who knew when to push and when to just exist beside her. It was uncomplicated.

But it wasn’t him.

Y/N took another sip of water and turned back toward the bag.

“Seriously,” Josh said, walking around to lean against the padded post, arms folded. “What’s going on?”

She hesitated.

Just say it. Just admit it. Just say he was there. That Phil’s voice in her ear still sounded like a sin she never confessed. That seeing him again cracked something in her ribcage wide open, and now she couldn’t breathe right.

But she just said, “Party hangover.”

Josh raised a brow but didn’t press. “Well, if that’s the case, you’re doin’ it wrong. You should be face down in a breakfast burrito, not sparring wit yo past.”

Her lips twitched at that. He always had a way of cutting through things without slicing her open.

They trained together for a while—light sparring, easy back-and-forths. Nothing intense. Just movement. Just something to quiet her mind.

Later, when she was packing up her bag and slipping on her hoodie, he leaned against the locker next to hers.

“You coming out again tonight? Colby mentioned a few of us might hit that Giodarno’s pizza place.”

She paused, fiddling with her zipper. “Maybe.”

Josh grinned. “That’s a yes.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

They walked out together, the Chicago wind nipping at their skin, the lack of sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. They head out to the parking garage together, but Y/N slows as her eyes fall on the same man she’s seen twice in less than twenty-four hours. Two times too many if anyone were to ask her.

She barely blinked when she saw him. Phil stood by the edge of the parking lot, arms still tucked in his jacket pockets, shadowed by the glow of the overhead streetlight. She had half a second to steel herself, to keep the way her heart jerked in check, and then she walked forward like he wasn’t there.

But Phil’s eyes followed her like a spotlight.

Y/N kept her face neutral, jaw tight. She could feel him watching her, weighing something behind that stare. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of looking back. Not today. Not yet.

“C’mon,” Josh said under his breath, and as they passed Phil, he subtly reached out and pulled her toward him, his arm sliding around her shoulders like it belonged there. Not romantic, not overdone—but deliberate. Protective.

Y/N didn’t fight it.

Her fingers curled around the strap of her gym bag tighter, her throat dry. She didn’t look at Phil, but she felt the heat of his stare like a spotlight. And Josh? He didn’t glance over either. He just walked her to the car like she mattered. Like whatever history haunted her could be kept at bay, even for just one more hour.

When they got to her car, she didn’t say anything at first. Just unlocked the door and tossed her bag inside.

“You good?” Josh asked, his voice low, more serious now.

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N.”

She exhaled through her nose, bracing her hands on the car door, head dipping for just a second.

“I’m fine,” she repeated—quieter, wearier. “Just... not in the mood to start a fight right now. If I look at him one more time I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from saying something I don’t mean.”

“Then don’t.” He stepped beside her, bumping her hip gently with his. “Let me buy you waffles instead.”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah. Waffle House. No ghosts there. Just mediocre coffee, greasy food, and old country songs that make me question my life choices.”

She gave a soft laugh despite herself.

“You’re serious?”

Josh smirked. “When have I not been serious about breakfast food?”

She shook her head but slid into the driver’s seat. “You’re paying.”

“Always do.”

It took them about twenty minutes to get to the nearest Waffle House. Y/N smiles as Josh escorts her inside, his hand resting comfortably on her lower back. They were surprised to find the place was practically empty except for a pair of shift workers in a booth and a guy at the counter who looked like he hadn’t slept since Halloween.

Y/N and Josh sat in a booth near the window, the kind with cracked vinyl seats and a sticky tabletop. A waitress named Carla had already dropped off their waters and left them to look at menus they both knew by heart.

Y/N sat curled into the corner, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her hands, her eyes scanning the laminated menu like it held the answers to the universe.

Josh was watching her, chin propped in his palm, elbow on the table.

“You always get the same thing,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t pretend to explore my options.”

“You gonna order a waffle, extra crispy, bacon, scrambled eggs, no toast.”

She looked up at him. “You memorized my order?”

“I’ve memorized your post-match rants, your pre-workout routine, and how you get annoyed when people say ‘your guys’ instead of ‘your team.’ So yeah, the order was easy.”

Y/N smirked. “You’re such a simp.”

“Girl you best watch yo mouth,” he chuckles. “I’m just a very cool and emotionally intelligent best friend who happens to know how you like yo bacon.”

That earned him a soft laugh. She looked down again, twirling her straw.

“You don’t have to take care of me, you know,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

“I know,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I’m gon stop.”

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his. And for a second, it wasn’t quite playful—it was just quiet. Warm. Like the inside of a hoodie on a winter morning. Safe.

Josh leaned back as Carla came over to take their orders, his usual banter sliding easily back into place.

But Y/N felt it linger—the reminder that someone still saw her. Even in her silence. Even in her mess.

And maybe that was enough to make the memory of Phil sting just a little bit less.

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