dominik mysterio is a crazy character cuz how often do you get someone with daddy issues actually just beating the shit out of their dad. in what other media can you have a character go "dad, you abandoned me when i was a child....square the fuck up". only on wwe
If there is an after, I hope it's not dark. And I hope you can remember. I'd hate to wander around in the dark forever, not knowing who I was or what I was doin' here, or not even knowing that I'd ever had anything different.
synopsis: you're one of the rising stars on the raw roster, known for your heart, resilience, and connection with the wwe universe. a fan favourite, you're everything bron breakker has been told to reject. bron is expected to be cold, calculated, and brutal, nothing more than a weapon.
but something changes when the two of you are forced to cross paths in and out of the ring. you see the real bron, buried under layers of anger and manipulation and he sees in you a version of the person he once hoped to be.
now he stands at a crossroads: obey seth rollins and keep crushing everything in his path or fight for his own redemption, and the woman who refuses to give up on him.
the camera lights burned a little hotter than usual as you stood backstage with cathy kelley, mic in hand, still catching your breath from your win earlier that night. the roar of the crowd echoed faintly through the arena walls, but your focus stayed sharp.
"youāve built serious momentum these past few weeks, y/n" cathy said with a smile. "how are you feeling heading into what could be a title opportunity soon?"
you adjusted the wrist tape on your arm and smiled, breathing confidence into every word. "i feel ready, cathy. iāve never needed shortcuts or backup. i earn everything i get, and i do it the right way, for the fans, for myself. thatās how champions are made."
cheers erupted from the crowd watching on the titantron in the arena, but before cathy could ask her next question, a slow, mocking clap echoed down the hallway.
you turned, jaw already tightening.
seth rollins strolled into frame with that signature grin, the kind that said heād been listening the whole time just to ruin your moment. bronson reed loomed behind him, arms crossed. and flanking sethās other side was bron breakker, stone-faced, arms tense, eyes fixed on you like you were prey he hadnāt decided whether to chase or spare.
"well, well, well", seth cooed, taking a step into camera range. "isnāt this heartwarming? monday night rawās little hero, telling bedtime stories about honor and hard work."
you rolled your eyes, lifting your mic. "iād rather tell bedtime stories than run a circus act that needs paul heyman to hold the leash."
sethās smirk twitched, but he didnāt bite. Instead, he glanced toward bron and motioned for him to step up.
bronās boots hit the floor like warning shots as he moved into your space, close, too close. his gaze bore into yours, sharp and unreadable. you didnāt flinch.
"you talk like youāre above us" bron said lowly, voice rough and cold. "but that smile of yours? itās gonna fade real fast when you realize how this place really works."
you tilted your chin up. "if you have to destroy everything good in yourself just to get ahead, then maybe youāre the one who doesnāt understand how this place works."
there it was, a flicker. a shadow in his eyes. a momentās hesitation, just for a second.
seth stepped between you both with a grin that felt too wide. "careful, y/n. keep poking the dog, and itāll bite eventually."
you didnāt move. "letās hope it remembers who it used to be before it got chained up."
that did it. bronās jaw twitched. but instead of snapping, he turned without a word and walked off. reed followed. seth gave one last smirk before trailing after them, the echo of his boots fading into the corridor.
you stood there, pulse racing, not from fear. from something else.
you had just left the locker room after toweling off and getting changed into sweats. the interview with cathy, the face off with rollins, and especially the tension with bron breakker, it all replayed in your head like a loop you couldnāt stop. something about the way he looked at you. not with malice. not exactly. something deeper. conflicted.
a call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned on your heel.
adam pearce, clipboard in hand and a tight expression on his face.
"y/n" he greeted with a small nod. "just a heads up before it goes live on social. i wanted you to hear it from me."
you raised a brow, tossing the towel over your shoulder. "whatās going on?"
pearce sighed. "management wants to capitalize on the buzz from earlier. you and bron had the fans talking."
you folded your arms. "okay"
"thereās going to be a mixed tag match announced for next weekās raw" he said. "youāll team with punk. youāre going up against bron and becky"
your heart skipped a beat.
"are you serious?"
pearce gave a weary shrug. "hey, itās a ratings move. your win streak, their dominance. the crowd loves the face off. they want more."
you let out a slow breath. "so iām stepping into the ring with the monster and the man"
"pretty much", pearce said with a grim smile. "i know you can handle yourself, but be careful with bron. heās not the same guy he was a year ago."
you stared at the floor for a second, your mind racing. "no. heās not."
pearce gave you a nod. "announcement goes live in ten. good luck next week."
as he left, you sat down slowly on a crate, heart thudding in your chest, not from fear, but from the questions that were already creeping in.
would bron actually try to hurt you?
would he follow orders?
or would that flicker you saw in his eyes, whatever was left of the real him, be enough to stop him?
somehow, you werenāt sure which answer scared you more.
bron sat on the edge of a production crate backstage, fists loosely clenched, elbows on his knees. the faint hum of the arena filtered in from down the hall, but his mind wasnāt on the crowd. It was on you.
he hadnāt meant to hesitate earlier. it just happened.
the words youād thrown at him in that interview had cut deeper than they should have. "letās hope it remembers who it used to be before it got chained up."
you didnāt know him. not really. but somehow, that one sentence dug into places he thought were long buried.
he didnāt have time to dwell on it.
"bron" came heymanās voice from behind, sharp and deliberate. he turned, finding paul standing there, phone in hand, flanked by bronson reed and seth rollins smiling like he already knew something bron didnāt, becky at his side.
"youāre in a match next week" seth said with a sing-song lilt. "you and becky"
bron raised an eyebrow. "against who?"
sethās grin widened.
"punk... and y/n"
something shifted in bronās chest, tight, uncomfortable. he didnāt flinch, didnāt speak. just stared at the floor for a beat too long.
"itās perfect, isnāt it?" heyman added, stepping forward with that low, calculating tone. "after that little moment earlier, the fans want blood. they want to see you break her in half. you wonāt disappoint them, will you?"
bron didnāt answer.
rollins clapped him on the shoulder. "this is your chance to remind everyone who you are. what youāre made of. you donāt hesitate in our faction. you execute."
bronās jaw tightened. the words echoed louder than they should have. you donāt hesitate.
but he already had. back there with you, for a split second, heād frozen.
not because he couldnāt hurt you.
nut because he didnāt want to.
and now they wanted to put you in the ring with him again? expect him to run through you like a wrecking ball?
he stood abruptly, nodding once, too quickly.
"yeah" he muttered. "iāll handle it."
he walked off before they could say more, trying to shake the twisting in his gut. but no matter how many corners he turned, no matter how many deep breaths he took, your voice stayed with him.
"youāre not them, bron."
he wished he believed that.
because next week, he was either going to prove them wrong
the energy inside the arena was electric as the crowd chanted your name, the thunder of cm punkās entrance music still echoing through the rafters. you stood on the apron beside him, watching as he paced in the ring, tapping his fists together, ready for a fight.
across from you stood a different kind of team.
becky lynch, cocky and venomous in her heel era, leaned into the ropes with a wicked grin, taunting the crowd. beside her, silent and still, was bron breakker. his expression was unreadable, jaw locked, eyes fixed ahead, every muscle wound tight like he was holding something back.
you.
the ref rang the bell, and punk started the match against bron. the two men collided like titans, the ring shaking under the force of every hit, every slam. bron wrestled stiff, sharp, brutal, but not reckless. He wasnāt trying to send a message. he was just surviving the moment.
and his eyes flicked to you.
every. damn. time.
eventually, both men tagged out.
you and becky rushed in like fire and gasoline. her strikes came fast and dirty, hair pulls, eye rakes behind the refās back, a cheap knee to your gut that knocked the wind from your lungs. but you fought back harder. rope rebound. dropkick. flying elbow. you had the crowd roaring with every comeback.
she tagged out first.
and so did you.
bron stepped into the ring.
and you stood across from him.
the crowd exploded.
technically, you werenāt legal anymore. but there you were, both standing at centre ring, staring each other down while Punk and becky fought on the outside. the tag rule blurred in that moment. no one tried to stop it. not the ref. not the fans.
not bron.
"you gonna hit me this time?" you asked, voice barely loud enough for the cameras to catch.
his jaw clenched. "i donāt want to."
"youāre supposed to."
he stepped closer. "i donāt care."
the crowd lost it.
you could hear rollins somewhere backstage losing his mind.
bron didnāt move. not to hit you. not to leave.
you could see it in his face, the weight. the war. the part of him that wanted to fight this, and the part of him that was already falling.
"then walk away" you said quietly.
but before he could speak, or do anything, becky flew into the ring and cheap-shotted you from behind, smashing your face into the turnbuckle.
cm punk dove in to even the odds, tackling bron in retaliation even though bron hadnāt touched you. the whole match dissolved into chaos. fists flying. ref struggling. fans screaming.
in the middle of it all, bron stood frozen.
and when he looked down at you, dazed on your knees in the corner, he saw it, the bruise blooming on your cheek from beckyās shot. the crowd yelling for someone, anyone, to help you.
and thatās when he moved.
bron grabbed Beckyās arm and ripped her away from you, flinging her back with enough force to knock her down. she stared up at him, shocked.
"you donāt touch her" he growled, loud enough for the mics.
the ref called for the bell.
disqualification.
chaos.
boos and cheers tangled into one noise as bron stood over you protectively, eyes wild, chest heaving.
you looked up at him, stunned, confused, but not afraid.
and bron breakker?
for the first time in a long time
he looked afraid.
of himself.
of what he just did.
and of how much he wanted to do it again, if it meant keeping you safe.
the hallway outside gorilla was chaos. crew members shouted over headsets, officials scrambled to manage the fallout, and seth rollinsā voice echoed somewhere down the corridor, furious and wild.
but none of it touched you.
you sat on a production crate, ice pack pressed to your cheek, adrenaline still buzzing under your skin. the bruise from beckyās cheap shot throbbed dully, but that wasnāt what had you rattled.
it was him.
the moment bron breakker had grabbed becky, thrown away the match, and stood between you and the wreckage like some kind of shield, like someone who cared.
and now, you could hear his boots again.
you didnāt look up right away.
"y/n" he said, voice low and rough.
you raised your eyes slowly, finding him standing a few feet away, tense, uncertain, like he was ready to run but forcing himself to stay.
"you didnāt walk away" you said.
his brows furrowed. "what?"
"in the ring", you said, voice soft but steady. "you said you didnāt want to hit me. i told you to walk away. but you didnāt."
"i couldnāt."
you stood, ice pack falling to your side. "why?"
bron looked down, shaking his head, fists clenched like he didnāt know what to do with them. "i donāt know anymore" he muttered. "everything they taught me, the way seth, paul, all of them drilled it into my head you follow orders. you donāt hesitate. you donāt feel anything."
"and yet you did" you said, taking a cautious step toward him. "you hesitated. you felt something."
he looked at you then. really looked at you. and it wasnāt the cold stare he wore in the ring. it was open. raw.
"because itās you" he admitted. "i donāt know when it started. i donāt know how. but when iām around you, i feel like iām losing control and itās the only time i donāt hate it."
silence stretched between you.
he took a breath, like it hurt to say what came next.
"i wasnāt supposed to care. youāre everything i was told to crush. and instead all i want to do is protect you."
you stepped in closer, until only inches separated you. his breath caught.
"you donāt have to be what they made you, bron" you said quietly. "you can be something better. you already are."
he looked down at your cheek again, at the bruise he didnāt cause but still felt responsible for.
"i shouldnāt have let her touch you."
you reached up, gently brushing your fingers against his forearm. "but you didnāt let it happen twice."
for a long beat, neither of you moved.
then someone shouted his name down the hall, rollins again, livid and closing in.
bron didnāt move.
you stepped back first, voice low. "you have to decide, bron. who you are when itās just you. not what seth tells you. not what heyman wants."
he nodded once, jaw tight.
"iāll be watching" you added, before turning and walking away.
and behind you, bron stood motionless, still trapped in the middle of a war he was no longer sure he wanted to win.
bron barely had time to turn away from where you disappeared down the hallway before the storm hit.
āBRON!ā
seth rollinsā voice cracked through gorilla like a thunderclap, sharp and venomous. bron didnāt flinch, he stood still, shoulders squared, as rollins stormed toward him in full on fury mode, black leather coat billowing behind him like a warning flare. behind him trailed paul heyman, slower, silent, more dangerous in his restraint.
"what the hell was that?"seth snapped, jabbing a finger into bronās chest. "we had that match. we owned that crowd. and you just threw it all away because of her?!"
bron didnāt respond.
that only made seth angrier.
"you disobeyed. you hesitated. you let your emotions, your little puppy dog eyes for some sparkle eyed babyface, ruin everything!"
heyman stepped in then, his hand raised calmly, voice low but cutting. "gentlemen. letās not do this in front of production staff."
rollins backed off by a step, but his glare stayed locked on bron like a blade pressed to skin. heyman turned to bron, folding his hands like he was about to deliver legal sentencing.
"we brought you into this faction for one reason", paul began. "because you were a weapon. efficient. controlled. ruthless. unstoppable."
bronās jaw tensed.
"and now?" heyman continued. "youāre hesitating. youāre showing mercy. you're protecting y/n in front of millions of people like you're her knight in shining armor."
seth scoffed from the side. "more like her lapdog."
bronās eyes flicked toward him, sharp and dangerous, but he didnāt take the bait. not yet.
"youāre getting soft" rollins sneered. "and soft doesnāt survive in this business. soft gets chewed up. soft gets left behind."
heyman lowered his voice, more surgical than savage. "whatever feelings youāre entertaining, bron, they are a liability. you want to fall in love? go to catering and write a hallmark special. but in this faction, you follow orders. you obey."
bron stared at them both, the storm inside him only just contained beneath his surface.
"you want me to be a machine" he said finally, voice like stone. "no hesitation. no thought. just swing the hammer and never ask why."
seth smirked. "exactly."
"and if the hammer turns around?" bron asked, voice lower now, dangerous. "if the weapon you created starts pointing back at you?"
the silence hit like a slap.
heymanās expression flickered just slightly. "is that a threat, mr. breakker?"
bron stepped forward, close enough that sethās cocky mask twitched with just a hint of unease.
"itās a reminder" bron growled. "even weapons break. especially when theyāre used for the wrong war."
then he walked past them both.
didnāt wait for permission.
didnāt ask for forgiveness.
and somewhere deep in sethās laughter, forced and hollow now, and the flicker in heymanās eyes, that subtle calculation shifting, you could feel it:
the backstage hallway was quieter than usual after the chaos of raw. the energy had settled into something colder. tense. like the air before a storm.
you sat on a steel bench outside the trainerās room, lacing up your boots after a quick checkup. the bruise on your cheek was already turning a deep violet, but you didnāt care. youād had worse.
what stuck with you, what kept sticking with you, was the way bron had looked at you before heād stepped in.
not like a monster.
like someone trying not to fall apart.
"hey" a voice murmured nearby.
you looked up.
cm punk stood beside you, towel draped around his neck. he glanced at your cheek, then let out a sharp exhale.
"you good?"
you nodded once. "yeah. just annoyed."
"with the match?"
"with becky" you muttered. "and the fact that bron didnāt make the move until after she hit me."
punk gave you a look. "but he did move."
you didnāt respond. because that part? that was the problem. he had moved, for you. against his own team. In front of millions.
punk caught your silence and tilted his head. "careful, y/n. iāve seen that look before."
"what look?"
"the one youāve got right now." he smirked faintly. "itās the look you give someone when you think theyāre worth saving."
you rolled your eyes, but the smirk almost made you smile. almost.
before you could respond, movement at the far end of the hallway caught your attention. bron.
he was walking alone, hoodie half-zipped, jaw clenched, tension in every step. his usual swagger was gone. he wasnāt looking for a camera. he was just moving. like a man without a direction.
no seth. no paul. no reed. just him.
your breath caught.
he glanced up.
and for just a moment, your eyes met.
it wasnāt a glare. not a challenge.
just something quiet. raw. and gone in an instant.
bron kept walking, disappearing into the shadows near the weight room without saying a word.
punk followed your gaze. "you gonna talk to him?"
"i donāt know", you said honestly.
he nodded. "when you do be ready. that kind of guy? heās not just fighting other people. heās fighting himself."
the small training ring tucked away in the back corner of the performance centreās private wing was usually empty after hours, especially after raw. most wrestlers were out, celebrating, cooling down, or flying to the next town.
but when you pushed the door open, there he was.
bron breakker.
sitting on the bottom turnbuckle, hoodie off, black training shirt clinging to him with sweat. his forearms rested on his knees, head down like he was waiting for the silence to tell him something he didnāt want to hear.
you froze for a second. he hadnāt seen you yet.
you almost turned around.
then he looked up.
his eyes met yours.
and for the first time since that chaotic night in the ring, neither of you looked away.
"didnāt know anyone was still in here" you said, stepping inside, voice soft.
he gave a faint shrug. "didnāt feel like being anywhere else."
you nodded, slowly making your way toward the ropes. "hell of a match the other week."
he huffed a bitter laugh. "you mean the one i screwed up?"
you tilted your head. "you mean the one where you stopped Becky from breaking my jaw?"
he didnāt respond.
you leaned against the ropes, watching him. "whyād you do it?"
"i donāt know."
"try again."
bron looked up, jaw tight. "you donāt get it, y/n. i wasnāt supposed to care. about you. about that match. about anything. thatās what they want. clean. controlled. ruthless. no hesitation."
"but you did hesitate" you said gently. "twice."
he stared at the mat. "yeah. and now iām a liability."
you stepped closer, slipping through the ropes. "youāre not a liability. youāre just finally acting like a human."
he looked up again. something flickered in his eyes. not quite hope. not quite fear. something fragile.
"you know what theyāre gonna do if i keep this up, right?"
you nodded. "turn on you. cut you out."
"they built everything i have."
"no, bron,ā you said. "you built it. with your blood. your body. your work. not rollins. not heyman."
you knelt beside him on the mat, your voice barely above a whisper now. "youāre allowed to want more than being their weapon."
He looked at you like he didnāt know what to do with your words.
then he said, quietly, "when i was standing in front of you in that ring i didnāt feel like a heel. i didnāt feel like a faction member. i felt like me. and i didnāt hate it."
you smiled softly. "then maybe thatās who you really are."
silence fell between you.
heavy, but not uncomfortable.
eventually, you stood and reached for the ropes.
"come find me when youāre ready to stop surviving and start living, bron."
and with that, you stepped out of the ring, leaving him alone under the low gym lights.
but not nearly as alone as before.
the door shut behind you with a soft click.
bron didnāt move.
he just sat there, alone in the ring, elbows on his knees, staring at the ropes youād just slipped through. the echo of your voice still rang in his head.
"come find me when youāre ready to stop surviving and start living."
no one had ever said that to him before. not his father. not his uncle. not seth. not heyman. certainly not anyone in this business.
living wasnāt part of the job description. surviving was.
you didnāt survive in wwe by feeling something. you survived by grinding your knuckles into the mat and smiling through the blood. you did what you were told. you became whatever they needed you to be.
and for bron breakker, that meant becoming a weapon.
until now.
until you.
he clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching as his hands slowly curled into fists.
he shouldāve told you to leave him alone. told you to stop trying to fix something that wasnāt broken. he shouldāve stood up and walked out the second you walked in.
but he didnāt.
he stayed.
he listened.
and worst of all, he believed you.
because when you looked at him with those eyes, sharp, honest, unafraid, he didnāt feel like a machine anymore.
he felt like a man.
and that scared the hell out of him.
bron rose to his feet slowly, the mat creaking beneath his boots. he moved to the ropes and leaned against them, forearms draped over the top strand, head bowed.
if seth saw him now, heād call it weakness. if heyman saw it, heād call it leverage.
you knew something was off the second your music hit.
the match had been booked last minute, too last minute. you were set to face ivy nile, a clean showcase to keep your momentum going. no run-ins. no drama. that was the plan.
but your gut didnāt buy it.
as you stood in gorilla, pulling your wrist tape tight, one of the producers gave you a quick nod.
"clear segment. no interference" he said.
right.
you stepped through the curtain anyway.
the crowd lit up, your name echoing off the walls. you smiled as you slapped a few hands on your way to the ring, trying to push down the unease curling in your stomach.
ivy was already in the ring, smirking like she knew something you didnāt.
and fifteen seconds into the match, you did too.
because his music hit.
bron's
the crowd erupted, not in boos, not in cheers, just that kind of buzz, that electricity that meant everyone was watching, waiting, unsure which version of him they were about to get.
you paused mid-sequence, instinctively turning toward the ramp.
bron strode out, slow and deliberate, hoodie unzipped, eyes locked on you.
no seth. no heyman. no reed. just him.
your heart pounded.
ivy used the distraction to hit a cheap shot from behind, a hard forearm that staggered you into the corner. the ref shouted at her. the crowd booed. but you barely registered it.
because bron had reached the ring.
he didnāt slide in.
he stood there. hands on the apron. watching.
your eyes locked again, just like they had in the training room. like they had in the tag match. like he saw you, really saw you, and couldnāt unsee it anymore.
ivy shoved past the ref, charging toward you again.
but bron moved.
quick.
he reached up, caught her by the ankle mid-step and yanked her off her feet. she hit the mat face-first with a stunned yelp.
the crowd popped.
and you went for the pin.
1... 2... 3...
you won.
you stared at bron in disbelief as he rolled into the ring slowly. not rushing. not angry.
justā¦ calm.
ivy scrambled out of the ring, shrieking at the ref, holding her jaw.
bron didnāt look at her once.
his eyes were still on you.
"why?" you asked, barely loud enough to be picked up by the nearest camera mic.
"because i heard what they told me to do" he said quietly. "and i decided not to."
the crowd, dead silent for a beat, erupted.
not a full cheer. not yet. but something.
recognition. shift. a crack in the foundation.
he stepped closer, not touching you, not intimidating. just there.
"they told me to hurt you. make a statement. bring you down."
"and instead?" you asked.
he looked at you like it was the only thing he was sure of in the entire world.
"i protected you."
for a long moment, the noise around you vanished. you stood in the centre of the ring, staring at the man who had once been your enemy, now standing between you and everyone who wanted to break you.
and in that moment, he didnāt look like a weapon.
not in temperature, just in atmosphere. heavy. still. like the air before a thunderclap.
bron breakker stood inside, arms crossed, back to the door. heād been summoned. not invited. summoned.
heyman was already seated when he walked in, legs crossed, hands folded around his phone like a prayer. seth stood near the lockers, pacing with the simmering energy of a bomb mid-tick.
no one spoke for a long moment.
then seth laughed, short and bitter.
"youāve got balls, iāll give you that" he said. " embarrassing my faction? throwing the match just so you can play knight in shining fucking armour"
bron didnāt flinch. "she was hurt."
"so?!" seth exploded, arms wide. "that was the point!"
paul heyman stood slowly, eyes cold and calculating. "we gave you direction, bron. focus. prestige. and you, you chose to undermine us for a woman."
he didnāt say your name.
that was deliberate.
"sheās not the reason i stopped" bron said, jaw tight. "you are."
seth stepped forward, nose to nose with him now, teeth clenched. "no. youāre the reason. you got soft. thatās on you."
bronās silence was dangerous. he wasnāt shouting. wasnāt posturing.
he was thinking.
heyman turned, slow and deliberate. "do you know what happens when people start thinking for themselves, bron? they get replaced."
bronās nostrils flared. "try it."
seth grinned like a devil. "oh, we wonāt replace you, big man. thatās not the plan."
heyman smiled too, thin and sharp. "weāre going to remind you what happens when feelings cloud judgment."
bronās gaze flicked between them. "what does that mean?"
seth turned away, casually pulling his gloves from his pockets. "it means sometimes, bron the best way to break a man isnāt through him."
bronās stomach dropped.
they were going after you.
and now he knew it for sure.
he stepped forward, fast enough to make seth pause mid-glove pull.
"you touch her", bron growled, voice low and deadly, "and i promise, i wonāt just walk away from this faction, iāll tear it down from the inside out."
the arena was quiet. long after the last match. long after the crowd had emptied out and the lights dimmed.
you sat alone on the edge of the ring in the private gym, hands resting on the ropes, still in your gear but stripped of the adrenaline. everything ached in that post-show way, sore muscles, bruised ribs, a tension in your chest that had nothing to do with the nightās match.
you didnāt look up when you heard the door open.
you didnāt have to.
he walked in slow, like he wasnāt sure if he should be there. like every step forward was another rebellion.
"bron" you said softly.
he stopped at the edge of the mat, silent. watching you.
"they know" you murmured. "donāt they?"
he nodded once. "yeah."
you turned to look at him fully, your voice lower now. "and?"
"and i think theyāre going to make an example out of you" he said, jaw tense.
you exhaled slowly, unsurprised. "you came to warn me?"
he didnāt answer right away. then he stepped closer and pulled himself up onto the apron, sitting beside you without asking.
"i came because i couldnāt stop thinking about you" he said.
you blinked.
and for a moment, the weight of everything, the games, the pain, the lies, slipped away.
"you donāt have to do this" you said, your voice barely a whisper. "you donāt owe me anything."
he turned to you slowly.
"yes, i do."
his words were quiet, but solid. Final.
"you made me remember i'm not just what they built. you made me feel like something more than a weapon."
you didnāt know what to say. so you said nothing. just looked at him, really looked, at the crease in his brow, the scar above his eyebrow, the storm barely kept behind his eyes.
he moved first.
leaning in like he was expecting you to stop him. like this was a risk he was willing to take, but not one heād force.
you didnāt stop him.
his lips brushed yours, careful, tentative. a test.
and then you kissed him back.
there was nothing performative about it. no crowd. no heat of battle. no ring to perform in.
just two people who had been at war with everything around them and now, for just a second, found peace in each other.
when the kiss broke, he kept his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
"i donāt know what happens next" he murmured. "but whatever it is, iām with you."
you closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of him.
you shouldāve known something was off the second the lights flickered.
the crowd was buzzing, not roaring, not hostile, just that weird, restless kind of noise that comes when something unexpected is in the air.
you had just won your match. clean. quick. nothing high-stakes, just a solid crowd-popper, one more notch in your belt. the ref raised your hand and you smiled, waving to the fans, turning toward the ropesā
and then it hit.
a steel chair. cracked across your spine so fast, so hard, that the air left your lungs in a choked gasp.
the crowd exploded in shocked boos.
you dropped to your knees, breathless.
another shot.
and another.
you barely registered the red hair at first, too busy trying to breathe, to move
but when she stepped in front of you, chair in hand, sneering through her teeth
you saw her.
becky lynch.
not the crowd-favorite. not the underdog rebel.
this becky was merciless.
"you like saving people, bron?" she hissed through the camera. "you like protecting her?"
she drove the edge of the chair into your ribs.
you screamed.
the crowd was on their feet now, shouting, panicking. referees ran down the ramp but becky shoved one to the mat, then pulled you up by the hair, dragging you upright just enough to throw you violently into the steel steps outside the ring.
everything blurred.
your face hit metal. you tasted blood.
you barely registered her boot stomping down on your shoulder.
"THIS IS YOUR FAULT, BRON!" she screamed toward the hard cam. "This is what she gets when you grow a heart!"
you rolled onto your side, coughing, blinking through the blood dripping from your forehead.
she wasnāt stopping.
you heard the crowd shift before you saw him.
because he came.
bronās music hit, not like a heroās return, not like a save, but like a storm breaking through a wall.
he sprinted down the ramp.
becky raised the chair again, one last shot aimed for your head
and then she was gone.
bron tackled her off her feet, not attacking, not striking back, just removing her from you.
he shoved her off, grabbed the chair, and flung it across the floor with a roar.
becky laughed, LAUGHED, blood on her lip, crawling backward like a devil proud of her damage.
security swarmed her.
bron dropped to your side.
your vision blurred.
but you felt him. his arms. his voice, low and shaking.
"y/n hey. hey, stay with me."
your blood smeared on his hands.
you reached for him instinctively, your fingers curling in his hoodie.
you didnāt care that the cameras were on you both.
didnāt care that the crowd was watching, hushed in horror.
all that mattered was him. his presence. his hands. his rage. his fear.
his voice cracked.
"they did this to you because of me."
You blinked slowly, lips parting. "no. they did it because theyāre scared of what youāre becoming."
the medics tried to pull him away from you. cameras were crowding the floor around the ring. producers yelled in his earpiece. refs shouted. security tried to keep fans from climbing the barricade.
but bron didnāt move.
he was crouched beside you on the floor, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other holding your bloodied fingers. your forehead was split. your lip swollen. your gear streaked with blood and steel dust.
and you still whispered, "i'm okay."
you werenāt. but you said it anyway.
bron looked like he could rip the whole arena down.
then sethās music hit.
the crowd booed, viciously. but seth walked out like he owned the world, slow and theatrical, wearing that unbothered grin.
he stood at the top of the ramp with a mic in hand, tilting his head toward bron like this was all just so predictable.
"you know, bron", seth called out, voice echoing, "itās cute that youāre playing white knight. really. but maybe now you understand, this business? this war? itās not about love stories. itās about legacy."
bron didnāt look up.
seth kept going.
"you were supposed to be more than this. we were going to build you into a monster. and instead? You let some starry-eyed face with a pretty smile turn you into a puppy dog."
bronās jaw tightened.
you squeezed his hand, weak but present.
then he stood.
slowly. like something seismic had shifted.
he stepped between you and seth, not hiding you, but protecting you, eyes locked like a sniper on his target.
someone offered him a mic. he didnāt take it.
he ripped it from their hand.
when he spoke, his voice didnāt need shouting.
it was low. steady. and terrifying.
"you want a monster?"
"you made one."
the crowd erupted.
"you think i'm weak because i care? you think protecting someone i love makes me less dangerous?", he paused, "no, seth. it makes me free."
the camera cut to seth, frowning now. the smile gone. his jaw flexed.
"you and heyman used me. you told me i had to hurt people to matter. to belong. and i bought it. but she looked at me like i was worth something. even before i earned it."
you felt your heart twist.
"and you sent becky to punish her for that? you didnāt break me, seth. you gave me a reason to fight."
bron turned, crouched beside you again, cupping your cheek.
"you good to watch me finish this?"
you nodded, lips trembling. "burn it all down."
he stood.
turned toward aeth.
and said the words that made the arena explode.
"you. me. saturday night's main event. no faction. no heyman. just you and the consequences of every damn thing youāve done."
"iām not your weapon anymore. iām your reckoning."
bron dropped the mic.
and the camera held on you both, bloodied, furious, united.
dim lights. the soft hum of a mini fridge. the occasional click of a monitor. you sat on the edge of the exam table, your body aching from neck to knee. your lip was split. your temple bandaged. bruising bloomed along your ribs like dark fingerprints.
and still, youād had worse.
just not like this.
the curtain rustled gently, and you looked up. you didnāt have to guess.
bron stepped in, his hoodie streaked with your dried blood, eyes dark with the kind of anger that hadnāt faded even after the shouting. even after the challenge. even after the whole damn building roared for him.
he looked like he was still ready to fight the world.
until he saw you.
his whole face softened.
"youāre still standing" you said with a crooked smile.
he didnāt smile back.
he walked straight to you, knelt in front of the table, and took your hand like it was glass.
"why didnāt you stop her?" you asked, the words out before you could filter them. "you couldāve..."
"i was too late" he said. "and if iād touched her, theyād have spun it. seth wouldāve used it. iād be suspended, or worse. and youād still be bleeding."
you were quiet for a beat. then you whispered, "i didnāt want you to see me like that."
he looked up. "y/n, i never wanted to see you like that."
his hand came up to your face, fingers gently brushing your cheek, avoiding the worst of the bruises. you leaned into it anyway. his touch grounded you.
"you scared the hell out of me" he said, voice tight. "i thought i lost you before i even had you."
you blinked hard. swallowed back the ache in your throat. "youāre not gonna lose me that easy."
he exhaled, forehead dropping gently to your knee.
you let your fingers thread into his hair, holding him there.
safe.
warm.
still here.
"i meant what I said out there" he murmured. "about you. about all of it."
"i know."
he finally looked up again, eyes searching yours. "you donāt have to be strong right now. not with me."
you werenāt.
not anymore.
you leaned down and kissed him, soft, slow, steady and for the first time in days, neither of you were pretending.
the kind of late where everything felt softer. more real.
your apartment was dimly lit, the tv low and ignored. rain tapped against the windows. the bandage above your eye itched, and your ribs throbbed if you moved too fast, but at least you were home.
alive. upright. healing.
bron sat on the couch beside you, legs spread, forearms braced on his knees. he looked like heād been thinking for hours. not twitchy, just quiet. focused. like the next twenty-four hours might decide who he was going to be for the rest of his life.
you sat cross legged, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea, the other resting lightly on his knee.
he hadnāt said much since dinner.
you didnāt push him.
finally, he spoke.
"do you think i'll come out the other side of this better?"
you blinked. "better than what?"
"better than what they made me" he said, eyes still on the floor. "better than the guy who stood by while others got hurt. while you got hurt."
you set the mug down and shifted closer.
"bron" you said softly, "youāre already better than that."
he looked at you then, really looked and in that gaze was a thousand things he hadnāt said yet. fear. guilt. hope. love. it all swirled behind those tired eyes.
"if i lose tomorrow..." he started.
"you wonāt."
"but if i do..."
"you wonāt."
he exhaled hard. "you donāt know that."
"i know you" you said simply.
and that silenced him.
he leaned back into the cushions, eyes on the ceiling now, jaw tight. you crawled into his lap without asking, gently, careful of your ribs, careful of his stress. you settled against his chest, felt the strength of his arms wrap around you, and you listened to his heart thudding like it already knew the fight was coming.
"do you believe in me?" he asked, voice barely audible against your hair.
"with everything i have" you said.
he held you tighter.
and in that dark, quiet space, no crowds, no cameras, no war drums, you felt him begin to believe it too.
every light, every heartbeat in the building pulsed toward the same moment. saturday night's main event. seth rollins vs. bron breakker, not just a grudge match, not just a headline.
it was war.
and you were there.
you shouldnāt have been cleared to appear ringside. your ribs were still taped. the stitches above your brow had only come out two days ago. but no one was going to keep you away from that match.
not after everything.
you stood at ringside, one arm pressed protectively against your side, hoodie zipped up over your ring gear, eyes locked on the man inside the ropes.
bron.
he didnāt look like a soldier anymore. He looked like himself.
focused. dangerous. grounded.
free.
across the ring, seth grinned like the devil. arrogant. colorful. poison in motion. he played to the crowd, taunting, waving his arms, but there was a twitch in his jaw you recognized now.
he was nervous.
the bell rang.
and it began.
seth fought like a snake, fast, dirty, clever. he went for bronās knees, raked the eyes, baited him into near-falls with chair teases and rope breaks. but bron didnāt flinch. he countered, punished, endured.
it wasnāt a squash match.
it was a war.
seth hit the stomp.
bron kicked out.
the crowd exploded.
sethās eyes widened, disbelief, fury. He shouted at the ref. shoved him. turned back toward bron
and caught a spear so brutal the mat shook.
bron didnāt cover right away. he stared down at sethās crumpled body, chest heaving, fists clenched.
then he looked at you.
and everything stilled.
you nodded once.
do it.
end it.
bron hauled seth up like dead weight, hooked him, and slammed him with his finisher, a move born from the faction, now used to destroy it.
1.
2.
3.
the bell rang.
the crowd roared like thunder.
bron stood over the ruins of his past, victorious.
you climbed the steps slowly, ribs aching, legs weak, but your eyes never left his. he turned toward you as the referee raised his hand, and for a second, you both just looked at each other.
no cameras. no noise.
just the two of you.
and then you stepped forward
and he kissed you.
hard. sure. in the centre of the ring, under the lights, with twenty thousand people screaming and the world watching, he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you like there was no tomorrow.
The great thing about huge declarations is that the most times you're ever going to have to deliver on them is ONCE. And even that is vanishingly unlikely. The dishes happen every day. My feet hurt now. The kids need a lift to piano lessons every week. The grenade is hypothetical.
sometimes I see pictures from when I was younger and it makes me wonder why I spent so much time hating myself. sweet little baby me. I was still growing. I was still learning. I was still getting used to my own skin. I didnāt deserve that
Why are we treating Kourtneyās anxiety and EJās anxiety SO differently?
Kourtneyās worried about bombing on stage, she gets a literal chorus of supportive sisters to help her climb the literal and metaphorical wall.
EJ is worried about his ENTIRE LIFE imploding, and he gets snarky comments from Ricky about how everyone knows heās stressed, Carlos (who knows the stress of putting on a show) telling him toĀ ājust do it at night,ā and literally NO ONE just taking the damn script away at the prom. Gina knew exactly where to find him after the last dance, why didnāt she go look for him DURING it? Where is the close relationship he and Ashlyn have had for years? Why is his arc just aboutĀ āwow, heās fucking up everywhereā?Ā
YES, EJ made mistakes. YES, heās terrible at reaching out and asking for help. So was Kourtney. But she got support, and EJ didnāt. And I think Kourtney DESERVED the help! But why didnāt EJ?
To be clear, this isnāt about the Portwell breakup. I think Gina has some very valid points about them being in different places and feeling unsure about the future, and all those feelings are incredibly valid and real. I think they came a bit out of nowhere and wish weād been actually addressing those issues all season instead of these GIGANTIC external factors that they keep dropping onto this couple, so it felt a bit unearned, but that part isnāt the problematic part for me.
I CANāT get behind the way the narrative has treated EJ and diminished what HIS experience of anxiety has been time and time again.
It feels like a very gendered lens on mental health, honestly, and Iām not here for it.Ā
btw if you live in the midwest (a region where a lot of the states are going to have trigger laws or ban abortion completely it looks like) and if itās possible that you can leave ur state, get to illinois. Illinois isnāt just a state where abortion is permitted, in illinois abortion is strictly a protected right. illinoisā right to abortion is permanent and isnāt going to be changed anytime soon. in illinois your abortion rights are completely confidential. illinois is one of the easiest states to access abortion in and the process is fairly simple, and itās going to always be legal to do so even as the right to abortion is overturned in other states. itās very much a safe haven to anyone who needs to flee their state right now. if anyone can provide any resources and links that would be greatly appreciated.
Okay but real talk here about Will Poulter joining the MCU.
If I see any of you saying Will Poulter is āuglyā, calling him names, sending him hate or abuse, or otherwise being absolute dicks about him, I will personally be throwing hands.
I saw what happened after Bandersnatch came out, and it was to the point that Will actually had to take a step back from social media because people were sending him hateful messages calling him āuglyā and being generally awful. Itās so shitty to see not because Iām a fan of him (I am though), but because he is an incredible human being who is involved with anti-bullying charities (including being an ambassador for AntiBullyingPro) and has been for several years, has publicly acknowledged in MULTIPLE occasions that he has privilege as a white man, he tries to use that privilege he has to raise awareness of various issues, he promoted a book that is āan autism friendly story that encourages empathy, understanding and kindnessā (by a group that aims to bring inclusivity and representation to childrenās stories), heās actively anti-racist and pro-BLM and using his platform on social media to do this, he works with multiple different charitiesā¦ he is literally such a good person, and yet people are just focusing on how he looks.
Already Iāve seen it: people whining and complaining that heās been cast as Adam Warlock and āwhy didnāt they cast _____ instead???ā Etc. Will is extremely talented as an actor and wonderful, and he absolutely kills every single role he plays: Eustace in Narnia, Kenny in Weāre the Millers, Jim Bridger in The Revenant, Krauss in Detroit, Gally in Maze Runner, Colin in Bandersnatch, Mark in Midsommar, Andrew/Anthony/Abraham in the Dark Pictures: Little Hope game etc etc. He has played so many roles in so many different types of films and projects, and he slays all of them - this will be no different.
And actually, you know what? To be quite brutally honest, I donāt understand how people are looking at him and deciding ālol heās not hotā or āheās uglyā when he is absolutely not āuglyā in the slightest?!? Have you seen him?!? Are you not using your eyes?!?
In short, please donāt be assholes. Will Poulter deserves the absolute world and nothing less.
Fun fact: will was originally supposed to play pennywise in the it franchise but then backs out of the role when the directors and vision for the movie changed
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