amy :3

zowens truther writer & singer she/he

[genius-ofthesky]

ive been having some thoughts i wanna explore

this somg is so incredibly zowens its crazy i feel like it could go either way pov wise it just makes me think of them

AND IDK A LOT OF THE LORE PRE BLOODLINE but this made me think about their heel run

the iconic part from tiktok is so real i think (pictured below) cuz i dont think either of them care how awful thy are as long as they have each other and that really makes me feel things

i love zowens

[moxleyrollins]

wwe: Kevin & Becky couldn't wait to congratulate their friend Sami 🥹

[genius-ofthesky]

my favourite trio ever im so aick

[genius-ofthesky]

hi guys i need to use tumblr more. i have many sami ideas BUT MAINLY KAMIJEY IDEAS

but for now take this image ive made to show our glorious undisputed wwe champion and all of his boyfriends (plus becky!)

can he leave some men for the rest of us smh

[punksyeetgifs]

Jey Uso Congratulates Sami Zayn

WWE SmackDown - July 3rd, 2026

🏷️: @miss-kuki-nz @spiicii @romanreignsbae @rollinsland @lovelikebuttahbaybee @dpriestxripleysgirl @plaidpajamallama ⋆˙⟡

[samijey]

Behind the scenes @ SummerSlam 2025

[genius-ofthesky]

i know some of u may be wondering “where were cody’s friends when he was being beaten by randy??” well. i have an answer for you! for sami. i already talked abt this on twt but its gotta go on here too, soo …

here’s my analysis of sami zayn’s pov, watching randy orton destroy cody rhodes.

(this has zowens AND candy in it! mainly zowens but i’m tagging candy for good measure)

— — —

previously in the night, sami had two backstage segments. one with cody & aleister/zelina, the other with trick. in the first, cody and him get into an argument regarding his championship win. it isn’t meant to be a fight, but in sami’s current state everything seems to be a fight.

and as it seems to be for sami, everytime he’s arguing with cody, he says something he shouldn’t say.

“i look up to randy orton!” he says, with conviction in his tone as he stares back at cody, “i don’t look up to you.”

however, sami doesn’t believe this is wrong to say, because it makes sense in his mind. cody is his friend, his equal, so he’s allowed to say his piece and talk to him normally.

when cody fires back, he doesn’t understand why he’s upset by it. cody isn’t a wwe legend, not like randy. he’s just his friend. not someone to look up to. he’s not a fourteen time world champ, he’s not someone who’s guaranteed into the hall of fame. he’s just cody, and that’s okay.

cody doesn’t like that thought.

“you don’t look up to me. well, you don’t need to. just look right here,” cody pats the title mockingly, glaring at him with an animosity sami hasn’t seen before.

that’s when it clicks in his head. as cody leaves, sami realises that saying that made his friend think he hated him, that he didn’t inspire him. cody has inspired sami, many times. just because he doesn’t look up to him doesn’t mean he hates him.

anger floods him, so he has to hit something before he hurts someone he doesn’t want to hurt. his heart sinks and it makes him so frustrated because he doesn’t want to be like this. the way he’s acting reminds him of someone he can’t face, not anymore.

that’s when he hears footsteps.

aleister black and zelina vega, standing like they know exactly what he’s thinking. maybe they do. if they did, he wishes they’d tell him. then maybe he could actually stop these horrific thoughts in his head. something is said, but the words don’t reach his ears. he just knows his ears are ringing and the world is spinning.

“you need to stay far .. far away from me,” sami’s voice is so close to trembling, he stands his ground. “do you understand?”

when aleister doesn’t respond, he feels himself get angrier. so he takes his leave as fast as he can. he can barely hear himself think when he’s in the next corridor. that’s why we don’t see him until just before the last match of the night.

sami, despite himself, knows that this anger won’t go anywhere unless he directs it somewhere. so he goes to find someone who’s been a factor of his pain for weeks. trick williams, who thankfully had a match tonight.

he just needs to insult him, to even get rid of some of his rage, no matter how small. so he does. runs his mouth, unlike how he usually stays quiet. he lets trick know exactly what he’s been thinking for so long.

“i know that feeling very well. you’re embarrassed,” he sneers, inching closer to trick as he speaks. “and you should be.”

trick clocks him, as he usually does, knowing exactly why sami’s here. for a fight. even with no true response from him aside from an empty threat, the canadian needs someone to fight, so he keeps berating him. as the man leaves, sami prays trick will drop him next week so he has something to focus on.

he stays there for a few minutes, alone. just until he hears cody’s music hit. he needs to breathe without thinking about other people, even just for a moment. every breath he makes is shaky, his grip on the crate desperate.

while he thinks on it, his behavior grows increasingly familiar. the anger, the need to fight, all of it points to one person in particular. someone he hadn’t seen or spoken to in a full year, yet he haunted his life regardless.

kevin owens.

a man he loved, much more than he ever told him. twenty whole years they had together and it made him appreciate him much more than any man before him. or, he hoped so. if another man loved kevin as much as he did, he’s not sure he’d get a chance with him.

sami knows he’s acting like him. knows it so well, his heart is starting to panic. thinking about him for any longer than a minute usually causes him to panic, stumble over himself. he’s sure if kevin knew, he’d use it against him in some way. that or he’d just laugh, looking at him smugly like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

the familiar sting of cody’s music makes him jump, run his hands through his hair and make his way to gorilla. when he does, him and randy are sitting together at the table, talking. it’s normal, so sami zones out, leaning against the wall as he does.

a smile almost makes its way onto his lips.

but when he hears the slam of a head onto a table, he knows peace is a foreign concept for him. his eyes find the screen again, watching as randy destroys a helpless cody. cody who mumbles his name, asking why through horrified gasps of pain. sami knew they were together. so he doesn’t understand why randy would do that.

he watches as officials move out, watches as cody starts to bleed, as randy humiliates him even further. it’s a horrible scene, he doesn’t want to look. but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from it as cody lays in randy’s arms, looking up at him like he hung the stars.

the scene reminds him of something.

the nxt title, finally in his grasp. sami reaches for kevin, leaning his forehead against his and smiling, trying to share his moment with the love of his life. his entire body is shaking as his boyfriend grins at him, using an arm to support him as they walk down the ramp together. it’s picture perfect, he never would heve asked for anything better.

until a sharp slam hits his back. the title is ripped off him, all signs of his achievement removed and replaced by a horrific feeling of betrayal. before he can fully comprehend whats happening, he’s been grabbed violently by kevin and his legs are on his shoulders.

he can barely breathe when he’s thrown into the side of the ring like a ragdoll. eyes, dazed and hazy, search kevin’s face for something, anything to show remorse. but he’s turned away. ran away from him. sami tries to pull himself up, reach for him, beg for forgiveness when he din’t even know what he had done. the medics push him down.

pain is all he sees after that.

a gasp escapes his lips when he refocuses. gorilla is empty, aside from him and maybe some tech people, but the screen is on. randy has a chair held above cody, ready to strike a final time against his lover. his expression mirrors one he’s seen before.

sami looks away. he hears the crash, he can’t look at it. it hurts too much to see his friend (maybe, he isn’t sure right now) differ a fate he had so many times from the same man who always delivers it. randy was someone he looked up too, sure, but not for this.

even if, deep down, he has a feeling that cody might deserve it.

the thought terrifies him. his whole body trembles as his legs carry him out of gorilla, taking him to grab his things then get out of there as fast as he can before he has to see cody or randy at all. they remind him too much of his own past and his own horrific feelings relating to this massacre.

sami doesn’t sleep much that night.

and if he does? all he dreams of is kevin.

[genius-ofthesky]

hi guysss

i wrote a samijey hunger games au (its not done but i did it) and i think u guys should read cause i’m reaaaaaally proud of it :3

it’s not done ALMOST WE ARE ONE CHAPTER AWAY but im so happy w it and i think you will be too

https://archiveofourown.org/works/79761976/chapters/209311306

also someone shld help me make an intro cuz idk how tumblr works.

[moxleyrollins]

🎥 BACKSTAGE AT SNME, 01.24.26 feat. rhea and her two favorite people

[genius-ofthesky]

rhiyo and damiyo in the same post I LOVE LIFE

[fairytale4masochists]

I walk around like i'm okay but deep down i really miss Kevin Owens.

[genius-ofthesky]

almost is never enough

pairing — kevin owens x sami zayn

summary — kevin and sami play marbles. many unspoken emotions come up, and suddenly they have a time limit to live a whole life together.

unfortunately, kevin’s never been patient.

neither has sami.

word count — 2.3k

first fic on tumblr <3

also cross posted to ao3 under the same user

Kevin didn’t think his life could get any worse after he lost all of his money. Being sent into debt post WWE shutting down was terrible for all talent, but especially him. He was at a loss, alone without anybody to grin at or make fun of.

Until a card slipped under his door, and that led him here. All the way back to Sami.

It frustrated him, how much Sami is in his life. At first, he didn’t understand it. Why this man couldn’t get out of his life, no matter the circumstances of it all.

But this was the worst place they had found themselves in. He knew that for a fact. Probably even worse than the unsanctioned matches they had all those years ago.

Being in a place like this with Sami was counterintuitive, either way. He made friends, introduced him to said friends, smiled at everyone. He played social, it seemed. Something Kevin wasn’t very good at. Especially in a place where everyone you became friends with would die eventually. So what was the point?

All of his new friends were okay. Jey, Jimmy, Solo. They were all nice enough, not too close by any means. Easy to get rid of, if it came down to it. People who had pissed him off in the past, but he could look past it for Sami.

But there was one that stuck out to him.

Roman Reigns. He knew Roman, much better than he wanted to know Roman. He hasn’t forgotten all of their fights that led to blood coating the floors. Hasn’t forgotten all of the things he did to the people he loved. And he definitely hasn’t forgotten how Roman beat Sami within an inch of his life in his home town all those years ago.

Kevin resists the urge to throttle him when he nudges Sami slightly. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him, let alone touch him. It makes him glad to know they all can’t survive, just so he can kill Roman himself when the time comes.

It won’t be now, though. He knows from the second the rules are announced it won’t be.

“For this game, you will be playing in teams of two,” The woman on the speakers says in that irritating voice that won’t leave his brain. “When you have found your partner, please shake their hand to show that you have became partners. You will have ten minutes to do this.”

The ticking starts. Kevin immediately turns to Sami, curse him, who looks right back at him. He can’t help but crack a smile.

“Hey,” He says. “Sure you don’t want to team with any of your new friends?”

Sami rolls his eyes, holding his hand out to him. “It’s life or death, Kev. I barely know them. But I know you. And I know you’d do anything to keep yourself alive, so …”

“So I’d keep you alive, too. Yeah, yeah, let’s team up.”

He shakes his hand firmly. In the corner of his eye, he sees that the twins have already done the same. Roman seems to be struggling to find a partner. Kevin can’t help but chuckle.

“Let’s just hope we’re not against anybody we know,” Sami murmurs. “I don’t think I could do it if I was up against Seth and Becky.”

He knows he couldn’t, either.

That’s the one pair he couldn’t face, no matter what.

———————————

They walk into the game room to find an orange tinted row of houses. It’s like a maze, almost. From beside him, Sami seems to be interested in all of the turns and twists it provides. He can see it on his face.

After being put in their spot, a small sandy place with some stairs nearby, they’re given two bags of marbles. Kevin vividly remembers them playing marbles together in college as a joke, trying to see whoever could beat the other the most times.

Sami had won, but only because Kevin let him.

“… seven, eight, nine, ten! Yeah, I have ten. Kev, what about you?” Sami asks, poking his bag.

He doesn’t need to check, he’s sure it’s ten. He nods with a faint grin. “I got ten. Ready to beat these guys?”

Before Sami can properly reply, the buzz of the intercom interrupts their thoughts.

“In this game, using your set of ten marbles, you will play the game of your choice with your partner.”

A pause follows. Deliberate. Kevin tenses slightly.

“The player who manages to take all ten marbles from their partner wins.”

Oh.

Oh.

One of them has to die.

No matter what happens here, one of them is going to die because of the other.

All because of some stupid marble game.

Kevin, very slowly, turns to look at Sami, who seems to have frozen up from the realisation that he just had. Maybe it was foolish, to assume they’d be kind enough to let them be partners for once.

Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens worked much better against each other.

That was the rule of thumb. It’s a shame how these things tend to play out, isn’t it?

“You have thirty minutes to complete the game.”

Then she buzzes out.

The timer ticks. Sami hasn’t moved an inch. His brain must be moving at a hundred miles an hour, trying to piece together a way they can both live. It’s almost sweet. Well, it would be if they were anywhere else. But they aren’t.

They’re here.

And one of them has only thirty minutes left to live.

“Sami,” Kevin starts, tapping his shoulder softly. The man snaps to look at him, eyes soft and desperate. “Breathe. We’ve got time, just breathe.”

He opens his arms, and his friend practically falls into them, clutching onto the fabric of his jumpsuit for dear life. A sniffle follows, then he feels the tears. It’ll stain, they won’t replace his jumper, but he can’t seem to care. Sami’s head tilts up to look at him, and he feels like they’re back in the indies, just two people with dreams to make it to the top but nothing to get them there.

And he hates how much he wants to cry right now. Hates it, because he knows he can’t. Sami needs support, and if he needs support, Kevin can’t give him that if he’s a crying mess.

“I’m sorry,” Sami manages to squeak out. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

Kevin blinks. “Like this?”

“No. No, no, I never wanted us to end. Kev, I can’t let go of you, no matter what I do,” A hand reaches up to wipe away a tear, but it finds its way to Kevin’s face. “If I had a choice, I’d be fighting you for the rest of my life.”

Oh. Right, of course.

A sigh escapes his lips. It’s shaky. “Sami, you’re making it really hard not to cry right now. Spare me, just this once.”

“I have more to say. It’s gonna get worse from here, Kev,” Sami lets a breathy laugh fall. “I don’t think there’s ever been a moment I haven’t loved you. Ever. Not even when you destroyed me at Elimination Chamber, not even after you told me you never wanted to see me again. And I think I always will love you, no matter what you do here.”

Kevin feels a tear drop down his cheek. Sami wipes it off with ease. “I love you, habibi. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

And as he pulls him closer into a hug fuelled with so many unsaid emotions, he finally gets it. Why they’ve never been apart for very long, why they never manage to leave each other alone, why they’re always fighting by the end of it all.

It’s not hate.

It’s devotion.

Love, wrapped in a barbed wire chair and so much blood. Far too much, if you asked Kevin.

He hates that he didn’t see it until now. Until they’re left together, a mess of emotions until one of them has to die.

He hates that him and Sami didn’t get to have a life together.

The timer ticks down. Twenty minutes left. That’s how long they have? To live an eternity in barely a half hour, to learn everything they should have learned over the past years. God, it hurts him to even think.

“I love you, too,” He whispers, as if the words are sacred. “I have since NXT. But, it really hit me at Wrestlemania 39. Winning the tag titles, in the main event, with you?”

He pauses. Sami looks up to him, eyes focused on him. And as he opens his mouth to speak, lips cut off his entire thought process.

It feels almost euphoric, how he tastes like cinnamon and he’s so unbelievably good at it that it almost knocks Kevin off his feet. Sami is kissing him, and through his tears he lets the moment last. His partner’s arm comes to cradle his back, Kevin’s moves to hold his face. They’re so close, so unwilling to let go that it felt like a dream come true.

Maybe it was a dream.

Maybe he’d wake up, know what the game was, and save them from this.

If only he could.

They part for air, foreheads resting against each other as they tend to do. Touch keeps both of them grounded, he’s sure. That’s why Sami reached for him after his NXT title win, and after they won the tag titles and even after he won the Intercontinental title.

A dry laugh escapes Kevin’s lips. “How did I ever live without you?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years. Keep up, Kev.”

That makes him smile. Even just a little. And it really clicks for him. Sami has to live. No matter what happens here, it’s Sami who has to make it out. He always knew Sami would win in the end.

“What’s the plan, then? Are we just … waiting till time runs out?” Kevin asks, even though he’s already coming up with a plan to trick Sami into winning.

Sami sighs, nervous hands twitching on his back. “I don’t want to die. But, I think I’d be okay with it if I was with you.”

And Kevin would be too, if he didn’t know how good Sami was to the world. A beacon of light, he’d describe him as. Someone who would always be kind to others, always be there for them.

Not like Kevin.

He couldn’t get anybody to like him if he tried. Too violent, too cruel.

That’s why he fought so much.

And he’d be damned if he didn’t fight for Sami to live this time.

Time ticks again, fifteen on the clock. Barely any time at all. He hears a shot, watches his partner flinch as it hits. He’s not ready to die, he can tell.

Is he?

Leaving people he loved, like Sami or Seth/Becky (depending which one lives), would be hard. He’s always known he’d leave eventually. So he’s really been preparing for his whole life. A shame, really. Maybe if he lived happier he’d be fighting more. But he’s not. Not now.

While Sami’s distracted by the timer, he picks up his bag, and puts his own marbles inside the bag. It might be risky to do that now, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t want to force Sami to wait.

Kevin puts the two bags in his pockets, turning to his partner one last time. This is it. Sami moves forward, slowly, tilting his head slightly.

“Kevin.”

The tone is warning, not what he expected. Kevin squints at him.

“What?”

Sami exhales. Moves closer, so that their chests are together.

“You seriously don’t think I’m that stupid, do you?”

Kevin hisses. Shit, what does he think he was trying to do? Kill him? No, no, he’d never.

”Sami, that’s not what I —”

When he looks back up, his partner has stepped back. He’s holding the empty bag with a smile. No. No, what?

“Did you seriously think I’d let you kill yourself for me?”

Kevin feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. He grabs Sami’s collar, yanking him forward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving your life. Let me, please.”

The guard situated nearby walks over, as if on command, cocking the gun to take the one thing he couldn’t lose. It points at Kevin first, and he almost wants to punch Sami so he’ll win instead.

But the redhead just pushes him back softly and turns to the guard, holding his empty pouch. “I lost. It’s over, Kevin — Player 210 wins.”

The guard nods.

The gun is raised.

Kevin stares.

“Just …” Sami sniffles, voice shaky. “Make sure you win for me, okay?”

He tries to let him. Really, he does. But he can’t do it without one last goodbye. He runs forward, against his better judgment, knocking them both over and avoiding the gunshot all together.

A skull crushing hug follows, much more intimate than any they’ve shared. Kevin feels the tears from Sami, or himself, feels every tremor in his skin and he wishes he could imprint them into his memory forever. The matches wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be. Not ever again.

“I love you. I’m so sorry,” Kevin manages to squeak out. Sami just smiles, kissing him one final time.

“Take your time, okay?”

Blood splatters across his face, a final cruel reminder of what’s happened. It coats his shirt, coats his face, his hair, his beard.

Everything Sami was covers him as his body slumps in his arms.

He’s gone.

Kevin’s lip trembles, hands gripping his partners lifeless body. Unwilling to let go, unwilling to let them take him no matter what.

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair.

Then he feels the cool metal of a gun hit against his head.

More gunshots follow after he hits the floor.

And he prays he’s dead too.

[unintentionaloracle]

Say My Name [Fic]

While working on my current project, I just had to get a bit of a cracky, goof thing I thought while writing a scene to get it out of my system. It's kinda set in the universe, but really all you gotta know for context is Cody and Drew are "friends" with benefits.

Summary: Cody makes an unfortunate error while trying to tease Drew.

 They'd been snuggled in bed for a while now, reminiscing about their past failed “romantic” relationship (well, as romantic as a fling between two egotistical young men could be). It might've been playing with fire, given their current arrangement was meant to be more physical, but it was nice.

 “You know, you've improved a lot in bed from when we dated, Drew.” Cody commented, resting his chin on Drew's chest.

 Drew smirked, running his fingers through Cody’s hair. “Yeah? Well, you can thank The Indies for that. I had a lot of fun there.”

 Cody smirked back. “With anyone I know?”

 Drew shook his head. “I don't kiss and tell, Cody.”

 Cody’s smirk became a wicked grin. “Fair enough. I'm gonna assume it was Joe Hendry...”

 “NO!” Drew exclaimed, but it was too late. He heard the music emanating from the hotel bathroom, making Cody jump from his lover’s grasp and Drew groan:

 “Say his name and he appears! I believe in Joe Hendry!”

 The door swung open as phantom claps rang out. There stood a platinum blond man in a blue shirt and white pants, back turned to the men. He then swiveled around, smiling.

 “I believe in Joe Hendry!” The disembodied music proclaimed.

 “...I didn't think it actually worked...” Cody said, bewildered.

 Drew rubbed his face. “Of course it does...” He remembered when this started manifesting. It made complaining about the guy with the other guys in Black Label practically impossible. He wasn't even using that theme and it would play!

 Joe tilted his head, somehow looking both confused and amused. “Drew, you and Cody?” He said, pointing at both of them.

 “Not a word of this to anyone!” Drew said, sitting up in bed.

 “Not even Grado?” Joe asked.

 “ESPECIALLY not Grado!” Drew said, pointing at Joe.

 Cody sat up. He leaned against Drew. Without thinking, Drew threw his arm around him. Though he soon wished he hadn't.

 “Joe,” Cody said, the smirk audible in his voice. “Maybe you can answer this for me: did you and Drew ever hook up in the Indies?”

 Drew scowled at Cody. “We didn't!”

 Joe grinned. Then he gasped in mock betrayal. “Drew!” He feigned hurt as he put his hand over his chest. “You forgot our magical night of passion back in Glasgow?” Joe fake pouted.

 “Oh, you damn liar!” Drew objected.

 Cody chuckled. “I knew it!” he teased. Joe laughed along.

 Drew sighed in resignation, knowing he couldn't beat two theatre kids (or at least theatre kid adjacent, in Joe's case) committed to the bit. He sulked, removing his arm from Cody. “I hate both of you.”

 Cody rested his chin on Drew's shoulder, looking up. “No, you don't...”

 Drew felt his heart pounding at the accusation.

 “Soooooo,” Joe said, cutting through the budding romantic tension, “was that the only reason you said my name? Or were you two wanting a thr—?”

 Joe popped out of existence, startling Cody again as he clung to Drew’s arm. “What the hell just happened!?”

 “Someone else said his name, now he has to appear...” Drew said with a shrug.

 “Oh. That's...that's a terrible way to have to live...” Cody said.

 “I know,” Drew said with a grin. “Isn't it wonderful?”

 Cody rested his head against his shoulder. He glanced up at him again. “You know, I kinda get why you tease me, now. It's fun.” He smirked mischievously. “And you're kinda cute when you're flustered.”

 Drew knew his face was flushing. That he had butterflies in his stomach like a schoolgirl whose unattainable crush knew her name. And he hated it. He pulled his arm away. “Don't flatter me, I'm still mad at you. Goodnight.” Drew sulked, falling back to bed, deliberately turning his back to his situationship.

 He felt Cody spoon him from behind. “Goodnight, Drew,” he said, settling against him. Drew sighed and allowed it: purely for their arrangement and not because it felt good to be held for once.

 To stave off the feelings he felt rising, Drew thought of one thing: “What poor bastard summoned him?”

---

 “See, Kevin? I said his name, and he didn't appear! You don't need to skirt around it. He's not Beetlejuice,” Sami said, “Now,” He placed his hand on Kevin's folded arm. “I'm trying to have a serious talk about us–”

 A man in Scotland colors appeared beside them, his back turned to them. A disembodied voice sang “Say his name and he appears!”

 Sami immediately clung to Kevin as the claps hit, both in surprise and to keep him from punching someone on instinct. Kevin looked at him, as if to say “Well, look at that: the handsome man who's right was right again. Never doubt me again, Sami.”

 Joe whirled around to them to the tune of “I believe in Joe Hendry!”, that grin of his plastered to his face. Then he blinked, confused for a moment at the sight of the two of them, before smiling again.

 “Ah, so you two are back together?” He said. “Congratulations!”

 “GET OUT!” Kevin shouted, pointing to the door as he held Sami defensively.

[punksrhea]

RHEA RIPLEY & IYO SKY WWE RAW, January 5th, 2026

[samijey]

12 years of it is craaaaazy

[mith-gifs-wrestling]

There were only two wrestlers currently on the active roster who got a hug from Cena during his last entrance... ❤️

(Also a certain Drifter! With Kevin!)

[samijey]

it was giving this ngl

[dpriestxripleysgirl]

earn it

pairing — jey uso x fem!reader word count — 4.2k summary — when jey’s new title starts to go to his head, you decide he needs to be put back in his place. warnings — sub!jey, dom!reader, humiliation, sex toys, brat taming note — this takes place after the twins won the world tag team championship in december 2025 general masterlist jey uso masterlist join my taglist here ♡

Jey had been unbearable since the win.

That title hadn’t left his sight– not even at home. He carried it from the gym to the kitchen like it was a second skin, slinging it over his shoulder when he filled up your water bottle like he was doing you a favor by just being there. Shirt off. Chain on. Sweat still glistening along his chest as he grinned at you like he was the one running the house.

Like the gold made him invincible.

Like you were the prize he already claimed. 

At first, you let it slide. That post-victory glow? Fine. He earned it. He bled for it. You were gonna let him have his moment. 

But that was four days ago.

And now it was the little things– the ones that build, the ones that bite.

You asked him to turn his music down when he was working out, and he didn’t. You reminded him not to leave his belt on the table, and he raised his brows like “who gon’ check me?” He grabbed your ass while you were talking on the phone for work. Cut you off mid-sentence twice during dinner. Stood too close when you told him to wait.

Worse than all of it though, was the grin he wore when you called him out on it.

That cocky smile like he knew you’d forgive him. Like he was already picturing you on your knees, forgiveness dripping from your mouth, begging to make him feel good because “that’s what you always do, baby.” 

Except tonight? Tonight, you were done. You felt it in your chest before you even spoke.

You were standing by the sink, back to him, scrubbing the edges of your water bottle, like it was the only thing in the world worth paying attention to. The house was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your hands against plastic and the hum of the refrigerator.

He was leaned against the counter in those low-slung gray shorts– the thin, drawstring kind he knew you liked. Chain still on. Skin damp from a shower, glistening just enough to look like effort. The belt– the newly-won, hard-fought, shiny fucking tag title belt– was perched right next to him on the counter like a centerpiece, gleaming under the recessed light like it belonged in the Louvre.

You he knew it. You could feel him basking in the silence. His muscles flexed when he stretched his arms behind his head, elbows wide, like he was airing himself out. Like that gold had somehow given him permission to be ten times louder, slower, cockier.

His voice was warm when it finally came. Smooth. Coated in that kind of sweet drawl he dipped into when he wanted something– when he thought all he had to do was ask the right way.

“You really ain’t gonna talk to me all night?”

You hummed, soft and dismissive.

His teach clicked together gently like he was biting a smile. “Damn,” he laughed. “Still got an attitude?”

You didn’t turn around.But your grip on the towel tightened just slightly, your thumb pausing at the rim of the bottle’s lid. You stared down at the sink and breathed once through your nose. He didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. 

“You win one new title,” you murmured, “and forget how to act.”

There was a pause behind you. A shift in his weight. Then—

“Girl, what?”

He said it like a joke. Like he didn’t even need to defend himself, because you had to be teasing. You set the bottle down slowly. Towel folded. Hands braced on the counter. You weren’t mad. You weren’t yelling. You hadn’t even raised your voice. Because you weren’t here to fight with him. You were just tired.

“You know I ain’t forget nothin’,” he said behind you, stepping a little closer. “I’m just sayin’, you been actin’ real uptight lately. Thought maybe I could help with that.” He said it like he was the solution to your shitty mood. Like he thought his dick was the cure. And on any other day? Yeah, maybe it would be. But today wasn’t that day.

You felt him now, just behind you. His heat pressed close, not quite touching. One hand hovered near your waist, not bold enough to grip you yet, but itching to. His breath was warm over your shoulder. 

“Lemme take care of you,” he murmured, soft. Sugary.

And that’s what did it. You picked up the towel again. Sat it next to the bottle. Hands calm. Body calm. Voice calm. Then you turned around. And the second he saw your face—his mouth shut. Because this wasn’t your teasing expression. This wasn’t your flirt. This wasn’t even your warning look. This was stillness. This was when the weather changes and the birds go quiet. This is when everything inside him says you’ve gone too far.

“I’ve been acting uptight?” you asked, voice low. Flat. No bite. Just disappointment.

He lifted his chin a little, tried to meet you halfway with bravado that didn’t quite land. “I ain’t mean it like that.”

“No?” You stepped forward once. One slow step into his space. “Then how did you mean it?” He didn’t answer. His lips twitched like he was reaching for charm that didn't want to come. He shifted back slightly, unconsciously. Your gaze dropped to the belt on the counter— angled just right to reflect the light. You looked back up.

“You’ve been walking around this house like that belt makes you royalty.”

He laughed, but it was shaky now. “Maybe it does.”

“Oh?” Your head tilted. You took another step. “You think gold around your waist makes you the boss of me?”

His breath caught. He faltered, just for a second.

“That’s not what I said.”

His voice was smaller now. Still shaped like defense, but softer. Like maybe he was realizing the words he was choosing didn't carry weight in this room anymore. Not with you standing there like that. You didn’t let him recover.

“It’s what you act like.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue. Maybe to deny it, maybe to plead. But you didn’t give him space to speak. You kept going. Firm. Calm. Lethal.

“You ignore what I say.”

Your words cut slow.

“You touch what’s mine without asking.”

His eyes dipped.

“You run your mouth in front of people like you don’t belong to me.”

That one landed. Hard.

He shifted on his feet, jaw tight, something flickering behind his eyes that looked suspiciously like shame. You paused. Let it settle. Let him feel every word fall like weight on his chest. Then, softer, deadlier, you asked, “Do you still belong to me?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze flickered like he didn't know where to look. His throat worked hard around the answer. And when it came, it was quiet. Barely a whisper.

“You know I do.”

You nodded once.

“Then show me.”

He hesitated.

That was the moment. Right there. Where he realized this wasn’t going to be fixed with a kiss and a couple yes ma’ams. That tonight wasn’t about you getting off— it was gonna be about him getting put back where he belonged.

Your voice sharpened. Cut clean.

“Now.”

His shoulders twitched, like he wasn’t expecting the command to hit so hard. Like it rattled something deep in him. And then he moved. Not fast. Not confident. Just… deliberate, and careful.

Jey followed you down the hallway without a word. His bare feet were heavy against the floor— each step deliberate, cautious, like he was trying not to make the moment worse by breathing too loud. You didn’t look back. You didn’t tell him to hurry. You didn’t say a thing. You just left the bedroom door open and waited.

When he stepped inside, he was quiet. He felt as if he had just walked into a room where something sacred was about to happen, or something dangerous. The air shifted behind him. Still. Heavy.

The belt was still in his hands. But it was different now.

It wasn’t tossed over his shoulder like he was about to hit a pose for the camera. Wasn’t dragging off his hip like something he forgot to take off. No. Now he was holding it to his chest— tight. Not cradling it like it was precious. He was clutching it like it was armor.

Like it might save him.

Like it meant something.

He hovered near the wall, just inside the room. Didn’t step further. Didn’t sit down. His fingers curled around the leather strap like it was a part of him. His arms folded across it, gold plate pressed flat to his chest like a confession he didn’t know how to say out loud.

And you thought, maybe he was scared you would take it from him.

And maybe you would.

You crossed the room slowly, nothing in your posture rushed or reactive. Just steady. In control. You faced the dresser, ran your fingers across the smooth wooden top— but you didn’t open it. Not yet. Not until he knew why he was in here.

When you turned to face him, he didn’t look at you. He was looking down at the belt. Then up at you. Then back again. Like maybe it held the right words. Like maybe if he looked long enough, it would explain everything he did wrong for him. Maybe if he held it tight enough, you wouldn’t say what you were about to say.

But you did.

You stepped forward. Just one step. He straightened instantly— like instinct, like his spine remembers submission even if his ego didn’t.

You tilted your head, voice soft but sharpened at the edge. Like velvet with a knife tucked inside.

“You really thought that made you a boss?”

He looked up.

And for the first time in days, you saw something real flicker behind those long lashes— hesitation. Not defiance. Not mischief. Something smaller. Something shakier.

His big brown eyes widened just slightly, caught somewhere between shame and desperation. And something in him wanted to argue. You could see it start to rise in his chest, then falter.

“This… this do mean something,” he said, quietly. Not snappy. Not smug. Like he needed it to be true. “I earned this.”

You nod once. That much, you’ll give him.

“You did,” you said. “You earned that title. You fought for it. Bled for it. Got your hand raised on national TV. You made your family proud.”

His jaw ticked. Chest rising shallow.

“But…”

Your voice dipped, softened.

“…you didn’t earn me this week.”

That hit.

You watched it happen— how the words sank into him like a stone through water. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Just breath. Just this dumbfounded ache that cracked right through his chest and spilled across his face.

He stared at you like you just pulled the rug out from under everything he had been clinging to.

And you didn’t stop.

“You walked around this house like that belt made you untouchable,” you said, voice low and steady. “Like it meant you didn’t have to listen. Like it gave you permission to forget who you belong to.”

He didn’t speak. He just clutched the belt tighter. Knuckles pale. Shoulders stiff. Face unreadable, but his mouth trembled when he exhaled.

“I thought this meant I was a champ,” he said finally.

And it wasn’t defiant anymore.

It was small. Quiet. Like he was realizing— right here, right now— that he got it wrong.

“That just makes you a man with a belt,” you murmured.

You stepped closer.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Being mine?” you said, eyes locked to his. “Earning me? That’s the part you forgot how to do.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to speak. Maybe to argue. Maybe to plead. But the words died behind clenched teeth. His jaw tightened hard enough that the muscle jumped, and for one fleeting second, his hands went slack.

The belt dipped. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the doubt creep in. But then he gripped it again. Tight. Like if he just held it hard enough, if he just kept it close, it would mean what it used to mean. It would still make him important here.

It didn’t.

You stepped in, quiet and smooth, until the space between you was gone. And then, softly, you reach up. You didn’t snatch it. You didn’t even try to take it. Your fingertips drifted along the top edge of the gold faceplate, slow and featherlight. Just touching. Just tracing the heat of it. The weight. The outline where his chest rose and fell too fast beneath it. You weren’t feeling the belt. You were feeling him. 

“You want this to matter in this room?” you whispered. His breath hitched. You leaned in, close enough that your lips nearly brushed the edge of his skin.

“Then learn how to wear it without acting like it makes you untouchable.”

He blinked hard, eyes flicking away like it physically stung. His throat worked visibly. Shoulders tense. You watched the internal war break loose right there under his skin. He didn’t know what to do.

Drop the belt? Offer it to you? Beg you to strip it from him like punishment?

He shifted on his feet, jaw tight, fingers flexing over the leather like it was burning him. Like he was trying to figure out how to make it right again. How to prove he was still worthy– not of the title, but of you.

You smiled. Slow. Indulgent. Knowing. Then you took a single step back and nodded toward the bed.

“Set it down,” you said, firmly now. “Neatly.”

He hesitated. Just a blink of a pause. One last breath held in his chest like pride might still save him. But it didn’t. So he obeyed. Of course he did.

He moved toward the bed slowly, reverently, as if his legs were carrying shame and not muscle. He lowered the belt with both hands. Both, like he was offering something sacred, and placed it right at the edge of the mattress.

Flat. Centered. Perfect.

His hands hovered a second too long. His fingers ghosting over the nameplate like he was still trying to convince himself that it meant something.

And it did. Just not tonight. Not compared to you.

You let the silence stretch after he set the belt down. Long enough for his heart rate to climb. Long enough for shame to creep in around the corners of his mouth. Let him stand there empty-handed, stripped of bravado, shoulders still tense, chest rising too fast like he was choking on the silence. He didn’t know where to put his hands now. Should they hand loose? Fold across his chest? Clasp behind his back? None of it felt right. None of it made him feel like a man in control.

He didn’t know if he was about to be forgiven or destroyed. Good.

You turned back toward the dresser at last. The drawer glided open with a soft, familiar sound. And his eyes locked to the movement immediately. He knew what was in there. He had seen it. Felt it. But never like this. Never when you were mad. Never when it was about him.

You didn’t rush. You didn’t even look back at him yet. You ran your fingers over every shape, every ridge, every color like you were tasting them through your hands. Slow. Unhurried. Deliberate. You weren’t just picking a toy. You were choosing how he suffered. 

When your hand finally closed around the one you wanted, you lifted it halfway, just enough for the light to hit the color. 

Pink. Smooth. Unapologetic.

No straps. No attachments. Just exactly what you needed. You glanced over your shoulder. Jey’s breath stuttered. 

“I don’t reach for this much,” you said, tone flat. 

His voice was small. “‘Cause you don’t need it.”

You turned fully now, dildo hanging loose from your hand like a leash. “Exactly.” You stepped closer. “Why would I need a toy… when I’ve got a man right here?”

And fuck, the way his chest lifted, his lips parted, like he was already hearing you’re moans in his head. LIke his dick was about to be forgiven before you even touched it.

But you took it away.

The hope. The chance. The illusion. Gone.

“But right now?” Your voice dropped, like the room itself needed to hush for what you were about to say, “You’re not acting like the man I thought I had.”

Jey deflated right in front of you. Like you pulled the bones out of him. HIs brows furrowed. His mouth opened to protest, then closed. 

“You gotta earn me back,” you reminded him quietly. The same line. Same cadence. Same sentence that folded him in the kitchen.

He nodded, slow. “Yeah.” His eyes drifted to the toy. Back to you. “You ain’t gonna…” His voice hitched. “...use that on me, right?”

There was a tremble in his question. Not fear, just shame. Nervous submission. Like he knew he deserved to be used and wasn't sure if he could take it. You smiled. Not cruel. Not teasing. Corrective.

“Oh, baby,” you murmured, stepping close enough for him to smell your lotion, feel your breath. “No.”

Relief flashed across his face. Bright, stupid, and so short-lived it was almost pathetic.

“I’m not using it on you,” you continued, letting your voice fall an octave. “I’m using it on me.”

And there it was. That confusion. That twitch in his brow. That tiny twitch of his fingers like he didn’t get it yet, but he would.

“Then why–” he started.

You lifted the toy and tilted it slightly, letting the head glisten in the warm light. “Because I’m not putting it in cold,” you said. “And I don’t want lube.” Jey’s mouth parted. “No,” you whispered, stepping even closer. “I want it wet. I want it warm, and I want it dripping.”

He was still staring at the toy like maybe you didn’t just say what you said. Like maybe he misunderstood. But he didn’t. You watched it happen– the twitch in his fingers, the subtle shift of his weight like he didn’t know if he should fall or run. The part of him that wanted to disappear beneath you, and the part that wanted to deserve it. 

You didn’t blink. And when your fingers tightened just slightly around the base of the dildo, his breath left his chest in one long, shallow exhale. He knew. He knew what was coming.

“Knees.”

One word. No room for misunderstanding. No softness in your tone. It landed like a damn commandment. And he obeyed. 

Jey dropped smooth, knees to hardwood. No theatrics, no hesitation. Just silence and obedience and the soft sound of skin against floor as he positioned himself in front of you. Palms flat on his thighs. Spine straight. Head tilted up to meet your gaze. His eyes were wide now. Not afraid. Not cocky. Just open. Raw. Ready.

Exactly how you liked him.

You stepped close, so close the hem of your shorts brushed his chest when you breathed. You didn’t speak. You just raised the toy slowly until the tip hovered in front of his mouth. Close enough to feel the heat of it from your hand.

He didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, lips parted just enough that you could see the nerves building up behind his restraint. Like he needed your permission to wrap his mouth around what you were offering. Like he knew that this wasn’t for him. 

Your fingers slid into his curls at the nape of his neck– light, steady– not yanking, not tugging. Just anchoring him in place. Grounding him.

“You wanna make this right?” you murmured.

He nodded once, sharp.

“Then earn it with your mouth.”

Jey’s lips parted fully now. Breath slow, eyes locked to yours. You pressed the tip in gently. Just the tip. He closed his lips around it, slow, soft. His tongue curled underneath instinctively. You felt him sigh through his nose as his jaw relaxed, as his cheeks hollowed slightly around the head of it. He wasn’t trying to impress yet.

He was just starting. Like he wanted to taste your forgiveness on the toy. You hummed, pleased. Calm. Still in control. 

“More.”

He took it deeper. A slow, obedient inch. His lips glided over the shaft, smooth and reverent. His tongue worked careful little swirls against the underside, and you watched the tension melt out of his body with each pass. Your grip on the base tightened, just enough to guide the pace. He let you. He wanted you to.

Jey began to suck– wet and noisy now, louder than before. The kind of sucking that sounded needy. Sticky. Sloppy. 

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Make it messy.”

And fuck, he did.

His jaw flexed, throat working as he sucked harder now. He pulled back with a wet pop, then spit thick across the shaft– his own spit stringing from his lips to the toy before he shoved it back in again, deeper this time.

More spit. More sound. More of his pride dripping onto his chest. He moaned around it. Eyes still locked onto yours, watery and wide and completely wrecked already.

His hands gripped his thighs like they were the only thing keeping him from touching you– like he was fighting every instinct to reach for your hips, your legs, your praise. But he wouldn’t. Because he knew he wasn’t allowed. He pulled off with another wet gasp, panting.

“Messy enough?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You ran the toy along his cheek, smearing the spit he worked so hard for across his flushed skin. You smiled. 

“Not even close. Open.”

You tilted the toy slowly, guiding back toward his tongue like you were painting his mouth with purpose. His lips sealed around the shaft with practiced appreciation, and you let it glide until it tapped the roof of his mouth with a slick little pop. His tongue chased it. So did his mouth– head tipping forward the moment it slipped away, like he couldn’t stand the feeling of it leaving. 

Drool spilled freely now. It leaked from the corners of his mouth, bubbled at the edged of his lips, and dripped slow down the curve of his chin. You watched the path it carved– down his throat until it finally settles in a glistening pool just under his collarbone. 

You didn’t wipe it. You didn’t slow him down. You wanted him ruined in this. Soaked. Sloppy. Owned.

“You know why you’re doing this?” you asked.

He moaned around the shaft– something high and needy and so soft you barely caught it. You pulled the toy out again, slow and controlled, just until it slid past his lips with a wet gasp. Jey’s mouth opened wider, still reaching, still desperate. And when you paused, pressing the tip against his flushed cheek again, he didn’t flinch. You just dragged it there. Letting the silicone smear through his spit and paint another hot, glistening line across his skin.

“Tell me.”

He blinked once. Breathed hard.

“‘Cause I forgot who I belong to,” he whispered. His voice cracked. Your smile broke slow.

“And who do you belong to?”

His answer came fast now. Sharp and certain.

“You.”

“And who comes first?”

“You do.”

You hummed, satisfied.

“Good boy.”

And then you guided it back in. HIs lips parted like they had been waiting for it, and this time, he took it. Buried it deeper, slid it between his lips with zero hesitation. HIs hands fisted into the fabric of his own shorts like he was grounding himself– because everything else in his body was working for this. 

No thoughts. Just suck. Just serve. 

Jey fucked himself on it now. Head bobbing. Lips flushed and stretched. His tongue worked like he was memorizing every inch. Spit flew. It was loud. Wet. Relentless. The toy was drenched. So was he. He moaned around it like it was his only language. Deep, hungry sounds that vibrated right into your palm. He was starving for approval– gutted by the need to make it perfect for you.

And fuck, he looked so beautiful like this. 

You released his curls, just for a moment. Let your hand drift between your own thighs, pressing into the heat blooming there. You didn’t even mean to. Your body just reacted– because Jey was on his knees, mouth ruined, eyes glazed. Eyes that wouldn’t stop looking up at you like you were the answer to every ache he had ever had.

Your pleasure. Not his. Not tonight.

You finally took the dildo from his mouth, dragging it free with another wet pop. It shone in your hand– slick, hot, and heavy with his devotion. His spit clung in strings between your fingers and the base.

You admired it for a moment. Then you turned and walked toward the bed. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t look back. But you knew he was watching. Mouth open. Breathing hard.

Desperate. Hungry. And still not allowed to touch.

Taglist: @spiicii @fearlesschimera @moxley99 @lovelyjay45 @luuvprincess @psilovey0u @dangerouslylunarwind @sharmelasworld @punksyeet @sgt-peppers-coffee-club @yana3sworld @mj202323 @paigereeder @lexisnicole25 @lovelikebuttahbaybee @magnificentbouquetmusic @wrestlingprincess80 @jeysslut @stxrmcuqz @uceyliyahh @auraluvsyou @m00nlitnight @buttercup0024 @i1ovecash @xnightmarexpunkx @brianochka @rickyshii @beccalynns-world

[who-do-you-want-to-be-deactivat]

The fun ones:

The intimate ones:

The even more intimate ones:

Just the way Jey looks at Sami here, especially in the 2nd GIF 🫠🫠: