#wwe fic

[punksstarlight]

punkintyre obsession final chapters are out now<3

i hope yall loved this fic as much as i loved writing it

also warning you there a lot of tragedy and i cried writing the ending soooo yeah

[punksstarlight]

omg im about to write the ending to punkintyre obsession but im literally dreading writing it bc i know im gonna be a emotional mess

ive just been staring at a half written document for 5 minutes ALREADY on the verge of tears

FUCKKKKK THIS ONES GONNA HURT😂😂😂

[cestslots]

* BEHIND CLOSED DOORS.

PAIRING: JEFF HARDY X MATT HARDY

WORD COUNT: 3.1K+

SUMMARY: SOBER AND RESTLESS AFTER A MATCH, JEFF SEEKS OUT THE ONLY THING THAT CAN SETTLE HIM BESIDES DRUGS - HIS BROTHER. BUT TONIGHT, THE USUAL BOUNDARIES AREN'T ENOUGH, AND MATT'S TENTATIVE SURRENDER OPENS A DOOR NEITHER OF THEM CAN CLOSE.

TAGS: BROCEST, INCEST, FIRST TIME, POWER DYNAMICS, PINNING, BACKSTAGE SEX, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP (SECRET), EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, DUBCON, POSSESSIVENESS, PWP WITH FEELINGS, BOTTOM MATT HARDY, TOP JEFF HARDY, AGE DIFFERENCE, DRUG USE REFERENCES, ETC.

WARNINGS: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS TABOO / INCESTUOUS CONTENT, MAKE SURE TO READ THE TAGS OUT THROUGHLY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. MINORS DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT.

jeff knows why he's angry. it's been there since he stepped out of the ring, this restless irritation simmering beneath his skin as he shoves past bodies backstage despite being the smallest man in the room.

he's too sober. that's the crux of it. he can't function without something in his system, something that makes him talkative and easy-going, something that smooths out the jagged edges. he just needs a little something.

maybe he's walking too fast, because his shoulder collides hard with another and he stumbles back, head lifting to meet face to face with his older brother, matt.

he sneers, rolling his eyes, dragging himself to push forward, but a harsh calloused hand snatches the back of the mesh top he wears, guiding him to stand in front of the elder.

“the fuck’s got you so mad, brother?”

jeff doesn't know how to answer that without sounding like an utter drug addict. a fool at heart, truly.

“jeff? you there, buddy?” matt tries again, and now the younger is staring at his brother, brows furrowed.

“it's nuthin'.” that's bullshit, and jeff knows his brother knows. the elder extends his hand to catch jeff's chin into his palm, which makes jeff tense because they're in an open area. sure, this seems normal to an outsider—but if only they knew what happens behind closed doors.

“talk to me, man.” matt orders rather than asks, and god, does that send a shiver down the youthful’s spine.

jeff doesn't know when or why, but a hand slides down to hook a finger under the loops of matt's buckle, tucking him closer, moving in to whisper into his ear. “need you right now.”

matt is almost shocked by the sudden boldness from his brother, a slight tint of pink flushing onto his cheeks, but he remains calm, brows furrowed as he shakes his head.

he's almost too quick to snatch jeff's wrist, dragging him along to the younger's dressing room, murmuring phrases underneath his breath, something about how needy jeff is. the enigma smiles at that, almost mischievously.

the brother duo barely has any time to even lock the door before jeff is shoving matt up against it, locking it for him as he catches the elder's lips in a smearing kiss.

it doesn't take long for matt to kiss back, a hand moving to grasp harshly at jeff's rainbow tresses from underneath to bring him closer.

the younger's hands are quick at undoing clamps and latches, tugging the belt from its loops to toss aside and squeeze at the elder's hips, slipping phalanges beneath the hems to feel at plush thighs, squeezing before rising up to lower his brother's pants—both pants and boxers—to allow his cock to spring free.

it's a rare occurrence that matt allows jeff the upper hand to do anything, let alone fuck himself on his cock, so jeff is enjoying this. he'll probably start bitching as soon as matt denies him anything else.

matt is first to break the kiss, holding jeff's jaw as a calloused hand wraps around his dick, pumping him dry and slow, causing the elder to arch forward, fucking his hips up into his hand. “fuck.”

“feels good, don’ it?”

matt grunts, then nods, eyes lowering to watch his brother touch him in ways only they would. in ways only they could succeed at. ways that would be taboo.

the sight alone is enough to get jeff going, his older brother moaning for him, letting him touch him in this way.

matt extends a hand out, tugging the other closer by the hip, quick to snag the side of his sweatpants down to reveal the v-line of his pelvis. straps encircle his hips, revealing the jockstrap that sits so perfectly snug around the younger hardy's hips, thighs, and genitals.

the elder sucks in a breath, biting so hard on his lower lip he could practically taste blood, snatching the fabric down to reveal the black spandex, moving to palm his brother and squeeze lightly.

“c’mere,” matt beckons, guiding the enigma closer, hasting after his lips before the younger's hips snap forth to rub bare arousal against his own cock through the confinements of his jockstrap.

“matt,” jeff breathes, the name falling from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. he's grinding down now, desperate and uncoordinated, the friction of cotton and spandex doing barely enough to take the edge off. “want to feel you. wanna feel us together.”

the elder groans, head thunking back against the door with a dull sound. his hands find purchase on jeff's waist, thumbs digging into the sharp jut of hip bones, guiding the rhythm. “christ, you're impatient.”

“always,” jeff admits, no shame in it. he reaches between them, shoving his own jockstrap down until they're both bare, hot and heavy against each other. the first slide of matt's cock against his own has him seeing stars, a whine catching in the back of his throat.

matt curses, hips jerking upward involuntarily. “fuck, jeff—”

“yeah,” the younger encourages, wrapping his hand around both of them, pressing them together. he's leaking already, pre-cum smearing between them, making the glide easier. “like that. just like that.”

they find a rhythm, messy and uncoordinated at first, then smoothing out into something filthy and perfect. matt's hands slide down to grip jeff's ass, hauling him closer, eliminating any space between them. the heat is overwhelming, the drag of sensitive flesh against sensitive flesh, the way their balls brush with every upward thrust.

“look at you,” matt murmurs, voice wrecked. he tilts jeff's chin up, forcing eye contact. “look at how pretty you are for me.”

jeff whines, high and needy, canting his hips faster. the pressure is building at the base of his spine, electric and insistent. “only yours,” he gasps, “no one else gets to see me like this.”

the confession seems to undo something in the elder. he surges forward, capturing jeff's mouth in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation. his hips snap up, rutting against jeff with abandon, the wet slide of their cocks together obscene and loud in the small room.

jeff breaks the kiss to pant against matt's jaw, breath hot and shaky. “close,” he warns, “matt, i'm close—”

“me too,” the elder grits out, hand joining jeff's between them, fingers intertwining to squeeze tighter, to create more friction, more heat. “come on, little brother. let go for me. make a mess of us.”

the name, the command, the sheer filth of it—jeff unravels. his orgasm hits him like a freight train, spine arching, cry muffled against matt's shoulder as he spills over their joined hands, over their stomachs, over matt's cock still rutting against his oversensitive flesh.

matt follows seconds later, groaning long and low, hips stuttering as he paints jeff's stomach with his release. for a moment they stay like that, pressed together, breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something uniquely them.

jeff slumps forward, forehead resting against matt's collarbone. “better,” he mumbles, sated and loose-limbed. “needed that.”

matt huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to jeff's temple. “yeah,” he agrees, carding his fingers through rainbow hair. “yeah, i know.”

jeff stays plastered against him, breathing slowing, but something restless still hums beneath his skin. he doesn't pull away. instead, he presses closer, forehead resting against matt's collarbone, and exhales shakily.

“matt,” he murmurs, voice small, almost lost. he rocks forward just barely, a question more than a movement. “matt, i need—”

“we just,” matt starts, but he doesn't finish. his hands find jeff's waist, thumbs tracing idle patterns there, stalling. he knows what jeff wants. he's always known. “jeffrey, we can’t just—”

“why not?” the question comes out wounded, petulant. jeff lifts his head, eyes dark and searching, mouth swollen from earlier kisses. “why do we always stop here? why is this the line?”

matt swallows hard, looking away. “you know why.”

“because it’s wrong?” jeff laughs, bitter and soft. he shifts, slotting his thigh between matt's, applying pressure just enough to make the elder gasp. “because people would look at us different? they already do, matt. they already think we're too close, too weird, too obsessed with each other.” he leans in, breath hot against matt's jaw. “so why not actually be? why not have this too?”

matt's hands tighten. “jeff—”

“let me,” jeff whispers, and there's desperation creeping in now, cracking his voice. “let me have you. just this once. let me show you how good i could make you feel if you’d just—if you’d just say yes.”

the silence stretches between them, heavy and charged. matt can feel jeff's heart hammering against his own chest, can feel the tremor in the fingers that trace up his spine. he closes his eyes.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” matt says quietly.

“i do,” jeff insists, insistent and aching. he pulls back just enough to meet matt's gaze, to let him see the sincerity there, the longing that's been building for years, decades, lifetimes. “i know exactly what i'm asking for. i want you underneath me. i want to feel you let go, completely. i want to be the one who gets to see that.”

matt exhales shakily, resistance wavering. “and if i say no?”

“then i’ll wait,” jeff says, but his hands are already roaming, mapping the familiar terrain of matt's body with new intention. “i’ll wait forever if i have to. but i’m tired of pretending i don’t want this. tired of pretending i don’t wake up thinking about it, don’t go to sleep dreaming about it.”

he presses a kiss to matt's throat, then another, working his way up slowly, deliberately, drawing out every second. “just think about it,” he breathes against matt's ear. “think about me inside you. think about how close we’d be. nothing between us, matt. nothing at all.”

matt shudders, a full-body tremor that jeff feels against his own skin. “you’re cruel,” he whispers, but there's no anger in it.

“only because you make me be,” jeff counters. he pulls back, just enough to see matt's face, to watch the war playing out behind his eyes. “say maybe,” he bargains, softening. “don’t say yes yet. just say maybe. say you’ll think about it.”

matt stares at him, at the boy he raised, the man he became, the lover he's not supposed to want. the lines blurred so long ago he can't remember where they started.

“maybe,” he breathes finally, and jeff lights up, hopeful and hungry. “maybe, jeff. but slow. if we do this. if. we do it slow. we do it right.”

“however you want,” jeff promises, surging forward to capture matt's mouth in something reverent and deep. “however long you need. i'll wait. i'll go slow. i'll do anything, matt, just—”

“just shut up,” matt murmurs against his lips, but he's smiling, he's yielding, he's pulling jeff down onto the couch with him, arranging them until jeff is hovering above, trembling with restraint.

“touch me,” matt whispers, and it's permission, it's surrender, it's everything jeff has ever wanted. “show me. like you promised.”

jeff stills above him, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of this moment, the fragility of matt's surrender. he braces his hands on either side of matt's head, caging him in against the cushions, and waits for the elder to meet his eyes.

“you sure?” jeff asks, voice barely above a whisper, though his body thrums with barely contained urgency.

matt's jaw works, his hands coming up to press against jeff's chest—not pushing away, not pulling him closer. just resting there, uncertain. “i don't know,” he admits, and there's fear there, real and raw. “jeff, i don't know if i can—”

“shh,” jeff soothes, lowering himself until their foreheads touch. “we don't have to. we can stop.”

but matt shakes his head, even as his body tenses beneath jeff's weight. “no. no, i want to. i'm just..” he laughs, breathless and nervous. “i’m fucking scared, okay? this is—this is different.”

“i know,” jeff says, and he does. he understands the enormity of what they're about to do, the line they're about to cross that can't be uncrossed. “i know, matt. but i'll take care of you. i swear.”

matt nods, but when jeff moves to kiss him again, the elder flinches—just barely, just enough that jeff notices. his whole body has gone rigid beneath jeff's, muscles coiled tight with anxiety.

“hey,” jeff murmurs, pulling back to search matt's face. “hey, where'd you go?”

“nowhere,” matt lies, turning his head to the side. “just—get on with it. before i change my mind.”

jeff hesitates. he could do that—could rush through it, take what matt's offering before he snatches it back. but that's not what either of them needs. not really.

instead, he reaches down and catches matt's wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand while the other cradles his brother's jaw, turning him back to face him. “look at me,” jeff demands softly. “don't hide from me, brother. not now.”

matt's eyes snap to his, wide and conflicted. “jeff—”

“i've got you,” jeff promises, holding him there, immobilized, vulnerable. “stop running. let me have you.”

matt squirms beneath him, hips bucking up in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge jeff, to reclaim some measure of control. “let me up,” he says, but there's no conviction in it, his voice cracking on the words. “man, let me—”

“no,” jeff says firmly, tightening his grip on matt's wrists, pressing them harder into the cushions. he lowers his body fully, pinning matt's hips with his own weight, eliminating any space for escape. “you said yes. you said maybe. i'm not letting you run from this. from us.”

matt struggles in earnest then, writhing beneath jeff, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. “i can't—i don't know how to—” he chokes out, and jeff sees the moment it hits him, the reality of being held down by his younger brother, of being completely at his mercy.

“yes you do,” jeff murmurs, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses along matt's jaw, his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. “you know exactly how to do this. you've just never let yourself.”

matt whimpers, still straining against jeff's hold, but the fight is leaving him, replaced by something softer, more yielding. “jeff,” he breathes, and it's half prayer, half surrender.

“that's it,” jeff encourages, feeling the shift in his brother's body, the way matt's hips stop trying to buck him off and instead start seeking friction, contact, closeness. “that's it, brother. let go. i've got you.”

matt's resistance crumbles in increments—first his wrists going slack in jeff's grip, then his thighs falling open to make room for jeff between them, then his whole body softening, melting into the couch cushions with a shuddering exhale.

“there,” jeff praises, releasing matt's wrists to stroke his hands down his brother's arms, soothing, reverent. “there you are. there's my matt.”

“shut up,” matt mumbles, but he's smiling, eyes glassy and overwhelmed, his hands coming up to grip jeff's shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

jeff reaches between them, spitting into his palm to slick himself, his other hand sliding beneath matt's thigh to hitch it up, open him wider. “tell me again,” he demands, positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against matt's entrance, hot and insistent. “tell me you want this. tell me you want me.”

matt groans, head falling back, exposing the long line of his throat. “want you,” he gasps, and then, quieter, “want my brother inside me. god, jeff—”

the words snap something in jeff, and he pushes forward, slow and steady, feeling matt's body resist for a moment before yielding, opening around him, taking him in. the heat is incredible, the tightness overwhelming, and jeff has to stop, has to breathe, has to give matt a moment to adjust.

“fuck,” matt chokes out, his hands scrabbling at jeff's back, nails digging in sharp enough to sting. “fuck, you’re—nero, you're—”

“i know,” jeff grits out, sweat beading on his forehead as he fights the urge to thrust, to take, to claim. “i know, man. breathe. just breathe.”

matt does, shaky and unsteady, and with each exhale he relaxes further, his body accepting jeff's intrusion, welcoming it. jeff watches his face, watches the pain fade into something else—something dazed and needy and desperate.

“move,” matt whispers finally, his hips rolling experimentally, taking jeff deeper. “please, move.”

jeff groans, long and low, and withdraws slightly before pushing back in, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. “like this?” he asks, voice rough. “is this what you wanted? your little brother fucking you?”

matt cries out, his head snapping back, his body arching up to meet jeff's thrusts. “yes,” he sobs, “yes, nero, yes—”

“who's inside you?” jeff demands, picking up the pace, angling his hips to find that spot that makes matt see stars. “say it. say my name.”

“jeff,” matt gasps, “jeff, my brother—my little brother is—fuck—”

“that's right,” jeff snarls, losing himself in the rhythm, in the heat, in the impossible closeness of being inside the person who knows him better than anyone, who raised him, who he's wanted for longer than he can admit. “it's me, matt. it's always been me. nobody else gets this. nobody else gets you like this.”

matt is unraveling beneath him, completely undone, his earlier hesitation vanished like it was never there. he wraps his legs around jeff's waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper, harder, faster.

“oh, god–” he keens, “jeff, m’ gonna—i can't—”

“cum for me,” jeff commands, reaching between them to wrap his hand around matt's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “let go for your brother, matt. let me feel you.”

matt shatters with a scream that jeff swallows with a kiss, his whole body convulsing, his release spilling hot and sticky between them, his inner muscles clamping down on jeff so tight it borders on painful.

the sensation drags jeff over the edge with him, and he buries his face in matt's neck, groaning his brother's name like a prayer, a confession, a vow as he spills himself deep inside, marking matt in the most primal way he knows how.

for a long moment, neither of them moves. jeff stays buried inside matt, both of them breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling. then jeff shifts, withdrawing carefully, and matt whimpers at the loss, at the emptiness.

“shh,” jeff murmurs, gathering matt into his arms, pulling him close, cradling him against his chest. “i’ve got you, brother.”

matt curls into him, burying his face in jeff's neck, and jeff feels the wetness there that isn't sweat. “we're gonna hell for this,” matt mumbles, but he doesn't pull away.

“maybe,” jeff agrees, pressing a kiss to matt's temple. “but at least we'll be there together.”

matt laughs, wet and broken and real.

hope you enjoyed reading this fic! pushed through cramps to finish it because i REEAAALLLYY wanted to get this done: again, i'm a SUCKER for elder bottoms. however, maybe the next fic, jeff is getting bent? 👀

TAGS: @salemnslater @i5uckersblog @beloved-cadaver @spiicii @dpriestxripleysgirl

[saintheel]

….𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟.

summary: word is bond.

content warnings: dubious consent, cuckolding, verbal humiliation and taunting, creampie, breeding, power imbalance, infidelity under pressure.

word count: 3286.

featuring: tribal chief! roman reigns / black!oc / jacob fatu.

authors note: i literally started this when jake and roman’s feud started and i just finished. 🫩

the arena was still loud when the referee’s hand slapped the mat for the third time. jacob’s shoulders were pinned. roman’s arm stayed heavy across his chest. the crowd roared, but roman leaned down just enough for only jacob to hear. “i told you,” he said, voice low and even. “i’ll be at your house in an hour. have her ready.” the taller man stood up, taking his title as his music played.

jacob didn’t answer. he just stared up at the lights while the medical team checked him and the arena began to empty.

the bet had been made three nights earlier over a round of cigars. roman had looked him dead in the eye and said, “you want that title shot? fine. but if i beat you clean, i take everything you care about for one night. your loyalty, your respect…your wife.” he’d paused, something darker flickering behind the calm. “that’s what i really want. fuck that belt, fuck the title…i need that.” if looks could kill, the tribal chief would’ve been slain. the answer was no, a resounding fuck you, but then jacob realized that it seemed like he didn’t believe in himself, that he knew he wouldn’t win. his pride acquiesced for him. they shook on it, it was law. now, it was time to pay the fucking reaper, sell his soul and his wife’s body to the devil incarnate.

the drive home was silent. jacob’s hands stayed tight on the wheel. his body ached, but none of it hurt as much as the weight in his chest. when he pulled into the driveway, the house lights were on.

naima was on the couch in a black tank top that stretched tight over her full, heavy breasts and the soft roll of her belly. gray shorts rode high on her thick thighs, her moisturized skin glowing under the lamp. the femme was naturally beautiful in a way that made even her leisure look like she was putting in effort.

“hey baby…sorry i didn’t get to watch the match…” she greeted; she really didn’t like watching him fight, so she would always rather apologize than to sit through the violence. that smile died the second she saw his face. “jacob… what happened? you look like someone died.” he didn’t sit, she sat up in alarm. “jake, did you fuckin’ kill roman?” jacob would’ve laughed at her if the situation wasn’t so fucked up. instead he shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face.

“man, naw. i lost…and we had a bet.”

naima’s brows pulled together. “a bet? what possibly could he have won in a bet that could make you so upset?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

the front door opened behind him before he could answer. “you.” the low vibrato that didn’t belong to her husband answered. roman stepped in like he paid the mortgage, and if you asked the arrogant son of a bitch he would say he did. he closed the door quietly and looked straight at naima who’s head snapped in jacob’s direction. “what?” she inquired, waiting for somebody…anybody to laugh and say they were just playing. “i’ve wanted you for years,” he said, voice low and almost gentle. “every time i saw you backstage, waiting for him…you knew what you were doin’, titties always out…” naima’s breath hitched. “roman… what the hell are you talking about? jacob, tell him to leave.”

jacob’s voice was tight. “if i lost… he gets everything. including you.” naima stared at her husband, then at roman. “you’re not serious. jacob, this isn’t funny. you can’t just… give me away.” roman walked toward her slowly. naima stood, the weight of her body shifting, tank top pulling tighter across her chest. he reached out and took her wrist, pulling her in close until her full breasts pressed against his hard chest. his free hand slid down her side, over the soft curve of her waist, then lower to squeeze one thick hip. “he’s not giving you away, i won you…” he murmured, almost against her ear. his fingers traced the edge of her shorts. “i’ve wanted to hear the sounds you make when you’re full, wanted to watch these heavy titties bounce while i fuck you deep and tonight i finally get to, you’re my prize.” naima’s voice shook. “jacob… please. this can’t be real.”

jacob finally moved, as if he came to his senses. he stepped forward, voice low and sharp. “no. fuck that. get your hands off her.” roman didn’t let go of naima’s wrist. he just turned his head slowly, his expression was calm but the look in his eyes was frigid. “you shook on it. you lost clean. this is the price.” he gritted through his teeth, holding onto the woman territorially ⸻ like he was her rightful owner.

“i’on give a fuck what i shook on,” jacob snapped, closing the distance until they were almost chest to chest. “you not fuckin’ my wife, blood. get the fuck out.” roman’s grip on naima tightened just enough to keep her close. “you already sold her when you took the bet. pride made you do it. now you’re gonna stand there and watch me collect.” jacob’s hands curled into fists. “try me. i’ll put you through that muhfuckin’ wall.”

roman’s voice dropped even lower, a huff cosplaying as a laugh. “you couldn’t put me down in the ring with a referee and a crowd. you think you’re gonna do it here? with her watching?” the air between them went tight. both men were breathing hard, close enough that one wrong move would turn the living room into a war zone. naima’s eyes flicked between them, heart hammering. “stop,” she said, voice shaking but loud. “both of you. just… stop.” neither man looked at her at first. jacob’s jaw was locked so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. roman’s eyes stayed fixed on him, waiting.

naima pulled her wrist free from roman’s grip and stepped between them, soft body pressing against both of their chests for a second before she faced jacob fully. “baby… look at me.” her hands came up to his face, thumbs brushing over his jaw. “i’m not gonna let y’all kill each other in our living room. not over this. not over me.” jacob’s eyes finally dropped to hers. “naima—”

“i’m serious.” her voice cracked but stayed steady. “you already paid the price when you lost. if this is what it takes so y’all don’t tear the house apart… then i’ll do it. just… don’t fight. please.”

roman’s hand slid back to her hip from behind, possessive, but he didn’t say anything yet. he just watched jacob over her shoulder. naima kept her eyes on her husband. “i’m still yours after. you hear me? still yours. but right now… let me handle the mess you got us in, so nobody gets hurt worse than they already are.” jacob’s fists stayed clenched for a long second. his breathing was rough. finally he took one step back, eyes dark and furious, but he didn’t swing.

roman’s voice came low against naima’s ear. “smart girl.” he turned her around again and bent her over the arm of the couch with deliberate care, like he was positioning something precious. one strong hand stroked down her back, over the soft roll of her waist, then lower. he yanked the gray shorts down her thick thighs slowly, exposing the full, soft cheeks of her ass and the swollen folds of her pussy. he ran both hands over her, squeezing, spreading her open, thumbs brushing along the wetness already gathering there. “shittttt, look at you,” he said, voice thick with appreciation. “this pussy’s already wet for me. you’ve been thinking about it too, haven’t you?” he brought one hand down hard across her ass, she hissed from the sharp sting as he soothed the mark with his palm. “i’ve wanted to mark you up. leave my handprints on you. make sure you feel me even when i’m gone.” he glanced over at jacob, still standing frozen a few feet away. “look at your wife, jacob. already dripping for the man who just whooped your ass. she didn’t even put up a real fight.”

naima gasped. “roman… this is wrong… jacob is right there…” he freed himself, veiny manhood thick and heavy with anticipation as rubbed the head between her lips, coating himself in her wetness, slow and deliberate. he didn’t push in yet. instead he kept sliding the head up and down, teasing her, letting her feel how hard he was. “i’ve dreamed about this,” he said quietly, still looking at jacob while he teased naima. he leaned over her, chest against her back, one hand sliding under the tank to cup a full, heavy breast. his thumb circled the dark nipple slowly. “tell me you feel how much i want you.”

naima’s voice was shaky. “i feel it… you’re so hard… god…this is so fucked up…” roman finally pushed in. one long, relentless thrust that forced a broken sound out of her throat. her soft body jolted. heavy tits swung under the tank as he started fucking her deep and steady, hands gripping the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. “fuck… you’re tight,” he groaned, almost reverent. “warmer than i dreamed. taking me so deep already.” he stayed buried for a moment, just grinding, letting her feel every inch. then he looked straight at jacob. “this is what you lost, jacob. this soft, wet pussy…this fat ass bouncin’ on my dick.” naima’s hands clenched the cushions. her voice cracked as roman pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in harder. “augh… fuck! you’re so big… please… slow down… it feels like you’re splitting me open…” he fucked her like a man who’d been waiting years, the perfect intersection of sensual and rough at the same time. slow, deep strokes that let her feel every inch, then harder, wet, heavy slaps of his hips against her ass filling the quiet house. his free hand stayed on her breast, squeezing, rolling the nipple between his fingers while he talked, eyes flicking between naima’s body and jacob’s face.

“you feel perfect under me. i’ve wanted to ruin this pussy for him. wanted to fill you up and make him watch every second.” he pulled the tank higher so both soft, heavy tits hung free, then reached around with both hands to play with them while he fucked her deeper.” naima’s voice broke between moans and half-protests. “this is so wrong… but it feels… ahh… fuck, roman… you’re so deep… please don’t stop… no, wait—i mean—oh my god…” her words tangled as another hard thrust forced a louder moan out of her. roman slowed for a moment, grinding deep, one hand sliding down to where they were joined. he rubbed slow circles over her clit while he stayed buried inside her. he looked at jacob again. “you hear that, jacob? your wife is already getting wetter for me. her body knows what it wants even if her mouth is still trying to fight it. i’ve wanted to feel this pussy squeeze me for so long. wanted to hear her try to stay quiet and fail… right in front of you.”

naima cried out, voice high and broken. “roman—fuck—it feels too good… i’m not supposed to like this… i’m so sorry… but he’s so deep… ahh… right there… don’t stop…” her thick thighs trembled. “oh god… i’m close already… please… i can’t hold it…” he kept the same relentless pace, one hand still working her clit, the other gripping a heavy breast, squeezing and rolling the nipple. “cum on my dick, pretty girl. let him watch you fall apart for me. he thought he could protect you from me, mmm…you belong to me.” naima’s first orgasm hit hard. her whole body tensed, thick thighs shaking, soft belly pressing against the arm of the couch as she came with a loud, broken moan. “fuck! roman! i’m cumming… i’m cumming on this dick… oh my god… it feels so good… i hate that it feels this good… jacob… baby… i’m so sorry…” roman didn’t stop. he fucked her through it, hips never slowing, hands still roaming over her plush frame, gripping her thick hips, spreading her wider so he could sink even deeper. “that’s one, jacob. your wife just came on my cock. soft little body shaking, pussy squeezing me so tight… and she still has more in her. i want another one. i want to feel this pussy milking me until she can’t think straight… while you stand there and take it.”

naima was panting, voice wrecked. “i can’t… it’s too much… this is so humiliating…please don’t stop… keep fucking me… fuck— you’re hitting s-so deep…” her second orgasm built fast, forced out of her by the relentless, euphoric pace. “i’m cumming again… oh god… my legs… i can’t even stand… fuck… yes… just like that… i’m sorry… i keep coming…” he grunted low, as her body clenched around him a second time. he kept thrusting through it, slower now, deep and grinding, hands roaming like he couldn’t get enough of how soft she was.“look at that grip...i think you wanted this, you fuckin’ liar, look at you.” he reached under again, cupping both swollen mounds, squeezing them as he fucked her. “you wanted to be used as a fuckin’ cum slut didn’t you? you wish you could take us both at the same time?”

naima’s voice was almost a sob now, mixed with moans. “roman… please… i’m so sorry… i keep cumming for him… i can’t stop…” she pushed back against him a little, like her body was betraying her. “you’re so deep… i can feel you in my stomach… fuck…” roman’s rhythm stayed powerful but deliberate. he leaned over her fully, chest against her back, one hand still on her breast, the other sliding down to grip her soft belly while he thrust. he spoke to jacob without looking away from naima’s body.

“i’ve wanted to ruin her for you, jacob. wanted to leave my cum so deep inside her that you can still taste me when you fuck her later. wanted to mark this soft body so every time she looks in the mirror she remembers who had her first tonight… the man who beat you clean.” he bit lightly at her shoulder, then soothed it with his tongue. “you’re taking me so well, naima. this thick ass bouncing every time i bottom out… fuck. i could stay inside you all night… while he just watches.” naima moaned louder, almost desperate. “don’t stop… please don’t stop… i know it’s wrong… i know jacob is hurting… but you feel so good… right there, right there… use me… i’ve never been fucked like this…” her voice cracked as she flew through a rolodex of pitiful begging. “i’m gonna cum again if you keep going… roman… please… fill me up… i want to feel it…” he finally let himself go a little harder, the wet slap of his hips against her soft ass louder, his hands gripping her tighter. “cum one more time for me then. squeeze this dick like you never want me to leave. let him hear how good the man who’s always wanted you can make his wife feel… while he stands there powerless.” naima’s third orgasm hit her hard and messy. her whole body shook, her knees buckled, as she completed an orgasm trifecta with a broken cry. “i can’t stop…oh my god….” only then did roman bury himself to the hilt, grind hard, and release deep inside her with a low, primitive groan. “that’s it… take every drop… i’ve wanted to leave my cum in you for so long…” he stayed buried, pulsing, filling her while his hands kept stroking her body, from her hips, her belly, her pillowy mounds, like he was memorizing the feel of her. he looked at jacob one last time while still inside her. “your wife is full of me now. wrecked and fuckin’ shaking and she came three times while you watched.” he pulled out slow, watching his cum leak from her immediately, running down the soft inside of her thigh. “the same amount of seconds it took me to beat you.” his hand stroked her ass one more time, almost affectionate, before he fixed his clothes. he looked at jacob once more, voice still even. “fix your face man, a bet is a bet. we don’t renege on bets.” then roman left, as swiftly as he came. the door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving the couple to contend with the aftermath of his depraved desire.

silence hung for three full seconds until jacob moved and he grabbed naima by the hair, dragged her off the couch onto the carpet, and shoved her face-down. she was still open, still leaking roman’s cum but jacob didn’t care. he yanked his own pants down, lined up, and slammed into her used pussy hard enough to make her cry out. “you let him,” he growled against her ear, fucking her rough, punishing, every thrust forcing more of roman’s release out around his cock. “you took it, enjoyed every fuckin’ second. you never been fucked like that before?” he asked, using her words against her. naima’s voice was muffled against the carpet, broken and wet. “jacob… i’m sorry… i couldn’t stop it… it felt so good… please… i fuckin’ love you… i was trying to make it okay…” her words came out between hard, punishing thrusts. “he was so deep… i came so hard for him… i hate that i came for him… jacob… slower… no, don’t stop… just… fuck, it hurts so good… baby, i’m yours… i’m still yours…” his hands dug into the soft flesh of her ass and hips, spreading her wider, pounding deep. one hand stayed fisted in her hair, the other spanking her already marked cheeks red between thrusts. naima’s body jolted under him, slick thighs shaking, her upper half pressed into the floor; shifting with every hard stroke. jacob fucked her angry, using the same body roman had just claimed and praised, only meaner, deeper, like he could fuck the memory of the other man out of her.

“say it,” jacob demanded, thrusting harder. “say you came on his cock.”

naima sobbed out a moan. “i came on his cock… i came so hard for him… three times… and now you’re using me too… fuck, jacob… fill me up… please… i love you… i’m so sorry…” he came hard inside her, grinding through it, adding to the mess already leaking from her. when he finally pulled out, naima stayed collapsed on the carpet, breathing hard, both of them quiet for a long moment.

jacob sat back against the couch, staring at her open, used body, marked by two men in the span of an hour. roman’s words still hung in the air. naima’s voice was small, almost a whisper. she reached a shaky hand toward him. “jacob… baby… are we okay? i didn’t mean to… enjoy it like that… he just… he made it feel so good… but i kept trying… i didn’t want you to feel alone in it… please… look at me…” she begged. not knowing how they would ever move on from this. “get cleaned up,” he said eventually, voice flat. naima stayed on the floor a moment longer, voice soft. “i’m still yours, jacob. even after all that. i’m still yours…”

[iyosbiggestfan]

GIFT FIC for @rozettaswritingblog

Me First Tattoo

Rating: G

Summary: After decades of keeping his body ink free, Sheamus finally gets his first ever tattoo.

This is only a work of fiction. I don't own anyone used in the story.

The arena lights were still buzzing in Sheamus’s ears even after the final bell. The crowd’s roar from earlier that night still echoed in his head: Edge’s spear attempt stuffed, the Irishback breaker connecting clean, the referee’s hand slamming the mat three times.

The World Heavyweight Championship was strapped around his waist for the first time in his career, gold gleaming under the backstage fluorescents as he walked the concrete corridor with a towel draped over his shoulders and a half-empty bottle of water in his fist.

He didn’t head for the locker room showers right away. Something had been chewing at him for weeks. First title. First real statement. Time to mark it permanent.

He found the tattoo shop two blocks from the arena, a narrow storefront with a flickering neon shamrock in the window and the low thrum of rock music leaking under the door. The place smelled of green soap, ink, and cigarette smoke. A big guy with sleeves of blackwork looked up from his station when the door opened.

“We’re closin’ in twenty,” the artist said, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “Unless you’re quick.”

Sheamus stepped inside, still wearing his ring gear under an open hoodie, the title over one shoulder. “I’m quick. First tattoo. Want it done tonight.”

The artist raised an eyebrow. “Championship night, eh? Congrats. What’re you after?”

Sheamus rolled up the left sleeve of the hoodie and held out his wrist, palm up. “Celtic Cross. Right here on the wrist. Big enough to see, not so big it looks like I’m tryin’ too hard. And at the bottom: SOS. Sheamus O’Shaunessy. That’s the name.”

The artist nodded slowly, already reaching for a sketchpad. “Clean idea. Traditional lines or a bit of shading?”

“Traditional. Bold. Something that’ll still look proper when I’m sixty and the skin’s stretched.” The Irishman said, sat in the chair without being asked. “And make the lettering sharp. I want people to read it from across a bar.”

The stencil went on after a few minutes of discussion. Sheamus stared at the purple outline on his pale skin: the Cross, the knotwork, the letters SOS sitting clean beneath it. He flexed his hand once.

“That’s the one,” he said.

The machine started. The first touch of the needle was a sharp, steady burn. Sheamus didn’t flinch. He talked through most of it.

“Edge thought he had me tonight. Thought the spear was comin’ and that was the end of it. I caught him. Lifted him. Dropped him. Three count. The whole place went mental.” He grinned through the sting. “Figured if I’m carryin’ that gold, I might as well carry somethin’ that actually means somethin’ under the skin.”

The artist worked in focused silence for a stretch, then asked, “First time under the needle, and you’re puttin’ it on the wrist. Most lads start somewhere they can hide it.”

“I’m not most lads.” Sheamus watched the black lines fill in. “This stays visible. Every handshake, every time I raise the belt, every time some eejit wants a photo: they’ll see it. SOS. That’s me.”

An hour and a half later, the machine shut off. The artist wiped away the blood and plasma, sprayed it clean, and held up a mirror.

Sheamus turned his wrist slowly under the light. The Celtic Cross sat bold and sharp against his skin, the knotwork tight, the lettering underneath crisp:

∞ ꕥ 𝕊𝕆𝕊

𝕊𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕦𝕤 𝕆'𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕪 ꕥ ∞

He stared at it for a long moment, then smiled widely.

“That’s perfect. Absolute perfection.” He flexed his hand again, watching the ink move with the muscle. “Looks like it’s always been there.”

He paid in cash, tipped heavily, and wrapped the fresh work carefully under the plastic the artist provided. Outside, the night air felt colder against the heat still radiating from his wrist. He walked back to the hotel with the championship bag over one shoulder and the new ink protected under his sleeve.

Back in the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, unwrapped the plastic just enough to look again, then pulled out his phone.

First stop: Fakebook.

He uploaded a clear photo of the fresh tattoo under the soft hotel lamplight, with the championship belt visible in the background on the dresser. Caption:

First tattoo. Celtic Cross on the wrist. SOS – Sheamus O’Shaunessy. Won the big one tonight. Felt right. #WorldHeavyweightChampion

Username: sheamus_o_shaunessy

Then he switched to Tout and posted the same photo with a shorter line:

New ink. Celtic Cross + SOS. First one. Night of the title win. Proud of this.

Within minutes, the comments started rolling in.

Fakebook comments:

Drew McIntyre: Look at the big man finally gettin’ some ink. Proper Celtic work, too. Congrats on the gold and the tattoo, brother. Don’t cry when the scab starts itchin’.

Wade Barrett: First tattoo, and you put it on the wrist? Bold. Looks clean. Congrats on both wins tonight. Don’t let that thing get infected, or I’ll never hear the end of it in the locker room.

Ted DiBiase Jr.: SOS? Sheamus O’Shaunessy. I see what you did there. Solid piece. Enjoy the belt, Irish.

Cody Rhodes: Quality work. The lettering is sharp. Congratulations on the championship. That Cross is going to look even better once it’s healed.

Jack Swagger: First tattoo after a title win. Classic. Looks good, Sheamus. Don’t go soft now that you’ve got pretty pictures on your arm.

Tout replies:

@flybourne_evan: Wrist tattoo on the first go. Respect. The belt looks good on you, too. Don’t scratch it.

@william_regal_legacy: Clean lines. Proper. Congrats on the gold. Try not to flex too hard for the next week.

@randyorton_viper: Nice piece. SOS. Clever. Enjoy the reign.

@cm_punk_BITW: Tattoo and a title in one night. Showing off. Looks decent. Don’t get bored with the belt.

@the_miz_2X_grandslam_champ: First tattoo and it’s already better than half the ones I’ve seen backstage. Congrats, Sheamus. Try not to let it go to your head… more than usual.

Sheamus sat back against the headboard, championship belt resting across his lap, and turned his wrist under the lamp one more time. The fresh black lines of the Celtic Cross and the bold SOS underneath caught the light.

He typed one last reply on both platforms, short and simple:

Thanks, lads. First of many. Belt’s stayin’ with me for a while.

Then he set the phone down, looked at the ink again, and smiled to himself in the quiet hotel room.

The night had been long. The gold was real. And now so was the mark on his wrist.

[rozettaswritingblog]

TakerCena slash fic <3

Chpt 17/18 of my Summer Splash fanfiction :D

Pairing: Taker x Cena

Rating: G

Disclaimer: this is only a work of fiction!

Note: This was my first yaoi ship in wrestling, from 2014, when I read fanfiction on my PSP over the summer after my 5th-grade year. Man, I feel so old as time flew in a flash. :D

Requested by: Allyson, one of my best friends <3

The soft afternoon light of Venice painted the canals in liquid gold as the gondola glided away from the crowded landing near the Rialto. The water lapped gently against the black hull, and the only sounds were the quiet dip of the gondolier’s oar and the distant call of a vendor somewhere along the fondamenta.

John Cena sat beside The Undertaker, their shoulders almost touching, the older man’s long black coat open against the mild Italian breeze. The iconic hat rested on the seat between them, forgotten for once.

John leaned back, letting the beauty of the city wash over him: the pastel façades reflected in the water, the ornate bridges arching overhead, the narrow alleys that seemed to hold centuries of whispered secrets.

“You know,” he said, voice low and warm, “after all the arenas, the noise, the lights… this is something else. Feels like the world finally shut up for a minute.”

Taker's deep voice rumbled beside him, softer than most had ever heard it. “It does. Places like this remind you there’s more than the ring. More than the next match, the next city.”

He turned his head slightly, the pale blue of his eyes catching the light. “Besides love… There are friendship moments like these. The ones that don’t need cameras or crowds. Just two people who’ve bled for each other, talking about the things that keep them human when the lights go down.”

John chuckled, the sound easy and genuine. He shifted closer on the cushioned seat until their arms brushed, then leaned in a little more, resting his weight against the solid presence of the man beside him. “You always know how to say it, Taker. After a busy match, hell, after a whole tour: we need this. Something that revives us. Not just the body… the rest of it too.”

The older man nodded once, slow and deliberate. His hand rested on the side of the gondola, close enough that John’s fingers could have brushed it if either of them moved.

“Favourite hobbies,” he said, almost to himself at first, then more clearly. “When we’re not wrestling. In my spare time after the chaos. What do you still reach for, John? What brings you back?”

John’s smile softened. He watched a pair of lovers kiss on a nearby bridge as the gondola drifted beneath it. “Motorcycles. Still. Long rides with no destination, just the road and the engine. And cooking simple stuff. Pasta, actually. Funny, being here. I like making a big pot of something and just… feeding people. No performance. Just feeding them.” He glanced sideways. “What about you? Besides the old films and the quiet.”

“Gardening,” Taker answered without hesitation. “Not flowers for show. Vegetables. Herbs. Things that grow with time and attention. And reading history, mostly. Real stories of people who endured. And…” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting in the smallest of smiles. “Photography. But only when the scenery is worth it. No point wasting the shot on anything less.”

As if on cue, the canal opened into a wider stretch where the late sun hit the water just right, turning it into a mirror of warm amber and soft rose. The domes of distant churches rose against the sky, and a single black-and-white cat sat perfectly still on a windowsill, watching them pass.

The Deadman reached into his coat, pulled out a small, well-worn camera, and raised it once. The shutter clicked softly. Then again, a moment later, a gondola in the distance drifted through a shaft of light between two buildings. Two pictures. That was all.

He set the camera down carefully on the seat beside the hat and turned fully toward John, giving him every ounce of his attention and no longer looking at the scenery. No more dividing his focus.

“The rest of the time,” he said quietly, “I spend right here. With you. The pictures can wait. This...” his gaze held John’s, steady and unguarded. “this is the part that matters.”

John’s chuckle came again, softer this time, almost a breath. He leaned in closer still, until his temple nearly rested against The Undertaker’s shoulder. The gondola rocked gently as they passed under another bridge, the cool shadow of the stone brief and intimate.

“You know what I like most about these moments?” the younger man murmured. “We don’t have to be anyone else. Not the Phenom. Not the Champ. Just… us. Talking about motorcycles and gardens and whatever the hell else keeps us going after the matches take everything we’ve got.”

The Undertaker’s hand finally moved, settling lightly over John’s, where it rested on the seat between them. The touch was warm, steady, full of the quiet strength that had always defined him.

“After the busy nights, after the noise dies down… this is how we enhance it, how we revive. Friendship that doesn’t need to shout. Love that doesn’t need to prove anything. Just two men on a boat in a city that was built for moments like this.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, the kind that only comes after years of knowing someone completely. The gondolier guided them through quieter canals where laundry hung between windows like colourful flags, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from open doorways. John spoke first again, voice low and reflective.

“Remember that night in Boston after the triple threat? We sat on the hotel balcony until three in the morning, talking about nothing and everything. Motorcycles, old records, what we’d do if we ever walked away from it all. Felt the same as this. Just… without the water.”

“I remember,” his lover said. “You were still buzzing from the match. Couldn’t sit still. I told you about the first time I planted tomatoes, and they all died because I overwatered them.” A rare, quiet laugh escaped him. “You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the chair.”

John grinned, eyes bright. “Because the Deadman, the man who makes the lights go out, couldn’t keep a plant alive. It was perfect.” He squeezed the hand covering his. “That’s the stuff I carry with me. Not the titles. Not the entrances. These conversations. These rides. The way you only take pictures when it’s truly good… and the rest of the time you look at me like I’m the only thing worth seeing.”

Taker’s thumb brushed once across the back of John’s hand. “Because you are. In moments like this, you are.”

The gondola turned into a broader canal where the water reflected the entire sky: soft blues melting into gold and rose. Venice stretched around them in all its quiet grandeur: the weathered stone, the hidden gardens glimpsed through iron gates, the distant sound of church bells marking the hour.

They talked on as the light began to soften further. About favourite rides along the California coast, about the satisfaction of a perfect plate of carbonara shared after a long day, about the strange peace of watching something you planted with your own hands grow. About the way the body aches after a hard match and how necessary it is to find something gentle afterwards, something that reminds the soul it is still alive.

John eventually rested his head fully against his man's shoulder, the movement natural and unhurried. The older man didn’t move away. He adjusted so he would be more comfortable, his free hand coming up to rest lightly at the back of the younger man's neck for a moment before settling again.

“We’re good at this,” he said after a long, contented pause. “At finding each other in the middle of everything. Remembering there’s more than the fight.”

“We always have been,” Taker answered. His voice was barely above a whisper now, meant only for the man beside him. “Friendship. Love. The quiet moments in between. They’re what make the rest of it worth carrying.”

The gondola drifted on through the golden evening, two legends of the ring far from any arena, simply two men sharing a boat ride through one of the most beautiful cities in the world: talking, laughing softly, leaning into each other, and letting the rest of the world stay exactly where it was: outside the small, perfect space they had made together.

End <3

Hope y'all like it.

[onlyangel4]

charlie. charlotte flair. language of love series

charlotte flair xgirlfriend!reader

physical touch

The arrivals hall buzzed with the familiar chaos of a Thursday afternoon. Suitcases rolled over polished tiles, children darted between exhausted parents, flight announcements echoed overhead, blending into the constant hum of hundreds of conversations happening all at once. Charlotte barely heard any of it. She checked her watch for what had to have been the twentieth time. Five minutes. Your flight had landed five minutes ago. You'd be through passport control any minute, probably. Unless the queue was long or baggage reclaim was delayed. Or… "You know pacing isn't going to make the conveyor belt move any faster." Charlotte glanced sideways. Alexa sat comfortably on one of the metal benches, an iced coffee balanced in one hand while she watched her tag partner with open amusement. "I'm not pacing." "You've walked past me twelve times." "I have not." Alexa raised an eyebrow. "You've also checked the arrivals board six times." Charlotte folded her arms. "It could've changed." "The plane landed." "I know." "So unless they've somehow put it back in the air..." Charlotte shot her a look. Alexa simply grinned into her coffee. "You are so gone." "I'm fine." "Mhm." "You've met her." "I have." "So you know I'm always like this." Alexa laughed outright. "No." Charlotte frowned. "No?" "No." Alexa stood, walking over until she was shoulder to shoulder with her. "You've never been like this." Charlotte opened her mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

She hadn't seen you in almost six weeks. Normally, your schedules lined up well enough that one of you could fly to the other for a long weekend. This time Europe had happened, then Saudi, then television. Then one of your clients had a horse qualify for Badminton, throwing your entire workload into chaos. Every time the two of you had tried to make something work life had gotten in the way. Phone calls had become FaceTimes. FaceTimes had become voice notes sent at three in the morning because one of you was always asleep. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was just life. Still six weeks felt far too long.

"You've missed her." Charlotte looked at Alexa. "What?" Alexa shrugged. "You've been impossible." "I have not." "You've hugged me twice." Charlotte blinked. "I..." Alexa pointed accusingly. "You voluntarily watched a terrible reality dating show with me." "It wasn't that bad." "You hate reality TV." Charlotte sighed. "It made you happy." Alexa smirked. "My point exactly."

The automatic doors slid open again. Another wave of passengers spilled into the terminal. Charlotte's eyes lifted instinctively. Not you, a family of four. The doors closed. Opened again. Still not you. She checked the time, again. Alexa watched the whole thing with poorly concealed delight. "I've never seen you nervous." "I'm not nervous." "No?" "No." "What are you then?" Charlotte considered the question. Eventually "Excited." Alexa smiled. "That's better."

The doors opened for what felt like the hundredth time. Charlotte looked up automatically. Then stopped breathing. There you were. Walking through the arrivals gate with your headphones hanging around your neck and a rucksack slung over one shoulder, dragging a slightly battered suitcase behind you. Your hair had escaped the clip you'd obviously attempted to tame it with hours ago. One sleeve of your jumper was rolled higher than the other. There was a faint smear of something, grease? mud?, across the knee of your jeans that Charlotte immediately recognised as evidence of your morning. You'd almost certainly gone straight from treating a horse to the airport, typical. You were looking down at your phone, completely oblivious. Charlotte smiled before she even realised she was doing it. Alexa noticed. "There she is." Charlotte didn't answer. Because you'd looked up. Your eyes found hers instantly. The tiredness disappeared from your face so quickly it was almost startling. A smile spread across your lips. Bright, warm, completely effortless.

Charlotte didn't wait. She was moving before she'd consciously made the decision. The suitcase she'd been absentmindedly holding clattered onto the floor beside Alexa. "Charlotte" Your voice barely left your mouth before she reached you. One arm wrapped securely around your waist. The other around your shoulders. Pulling you into her with enough force that your feet almost left the ground. The familiar scent of your shampoo filled her senses. She buried her face against your hair, finally.

You laughed softly, your arms immediately circling her waist. "Hi, Charlie." God. She'd missed that. Not Charlotte. Not The Queen. Charlie. The name almost nobody used anymore. She held you for another few seconds before pulling back just enough to look at you. "You cut your hair." You blinked. "That's the first thing you noticed?" "It suits you." You laughed. "I've been gone for six weeks." "I know." "You could've started with 'I missed you.'" "I did." "No, you hugged me." Charlotte's hands settled naturally on your hips. "I thought that part was obvious." Your smile softened into something quieter. "It was." Without thinking, Charlotte reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then leaned down and pressed an unhurried kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes for the briefest second. The entire airport seemed to disappear. It was simply the two of you, together again.

A loud, exaggerated cough broke the moment. Charlotte sighed before she even turned around. Alexa stood a few feet away, one hand resting dramatically over her heart. "Oh, thank God." You laughed. "Hi, Lex." Alexa immediately abandoned Charlotte, wrapping you in a hug of her own. "I have missed you." "I missed you too." She stepped back, looking between the two of you. Then back to Charlotte. "You know..." "What?" "I was beginning to think she was imaginary." Charlotte rolled her eyes. "She's clearly standing right there." "I know." Alexa grinned. "But nobody else does." You frowned curiously. "What do you mean?" Alexa slung an arm around your shoulders as Charlotte instinctively reclaimed your hand. "I mean..." She looked at Charlotte with the most mischievous smile imaginable. "The locker room thinks Charlotte Flair is an emotionally unavailable ice queen." You snorted. "They do?" "Oh, honey." Alexa looked between your interlocked fingers, the way Charlotte's thumb absentmindedly stroked over your knuckles, the fact that Charlotte hadn't let go of you for a single second since you'd walked through arrivals. "They are about to have the biggest shock of their lives."

Charlotte didn't deny it. She simply glanced down at you, quietly. Almost instinctively. Checking that you were really there. You smiled back, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She returned it without thinking. Alexa caught it and smirked to herself. The tour hadn't even started yet. And she already couldn't wait to watch everyone else realise that the woman they travelled with every week wasn't Charlotte Flair at all. Not really. She was just Charlie. And Charlie was hopelessly, unapologetically in love.

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The following morning began far earlier than you would have liked. A soft vibration against the bedside table dragged you from sleep long before the sun had properly risen. You groaned into the pillow. "What time is it?" Charlotte, somehow already awake beside you, reached over to silence the alarm before it could ring a second time. "Six." You made a sound that wasn't quite human. "I don't think six should exist." A laugh escaped her as she rolled onto her side to look at you. "You said that yesterday." "I'll say it tomorrow as well." She smiled. "I know." You cracked one eye open. "Are wrestlers always awake at this time?" "Usually earlier." Your expression became one of genuine horror. "You people are unwell." That earned you a proper laugh. Not the polite little chuckle she gave during interviews. A real one, warm, unrestrained. You grinned triumphantly. "There she is." Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "There who is?" "The real you." "I'm always the real me." "Mhm." You reached across the bed, gently poking her side. "I've seen your public interviews, they're terrifying, they're professional, they're terrifying professionally." Charlotte rolled her eyes, but there wasn't an ounce of annoyance behind it. Instead, she caught your wandering hand before you could poke her again, lacing your fingers together against the duvet. "You talk too much in the morning." "I've had at least six hours to think of things to say." "I noticed."

By the time the two of you arrived at the arena, the building was already buzzing. Road crew hurried through the corridors pushing towering stacks of equipment cases. Producers balanced laptops and coffee cups. Someone shouted for lighting. Someone else was looking for a referee. It felt like organised chaos. You paused just inside the entrance, taking everything in. "So..." You looked around with wide eyes. "This is where all the magic happens." Charlotte watched your expression more than the arena itself. "You expected something different?" "I don't know." You shrugged. "I think I expected less forklifts." She laughed softly. "It's mostly forklifts." "I feel lied to."

Charlotte had barely finished signing herself in when voices echoed down the corridor. "Charlotte!" Chelsea Green appeared first, somehow managing to look immaculate despite carrying two garment bags and talking animatedly into her phone at the same time. Behind her walked Tiffany Stratton, sunglasses perched on top of perfectly styled blonde hair despite being indoors. Chelsea spotted you immediately. "Oh!" Her entire face lit up with curiosity. "So this is—" She stopped herself. "Oh my God." "I don't actually know your name." You smiled, offering your hand. "I'm Y/N." Chelsea shook it enthusiastically. "Chelsea." "I know." "You do?" "I've watched enough of Charlotte's matches to recognise people." Chelsea looked delighted. "See? She likes me already." Charlotte gave her a look. "You've known her for approximately seven seconds." "Exactly." Chelsea nodded decisively. "Long enough." Tiffany stepped forward next. "It's nice to finally meet you." "You too."

Charlotte noticed something almost immediately. You weren't nervous. Not in the slightest. You weren't trying to impress anyone. You weren't starstruck. You simply spoke to Chelsea and Tiffany exactly the same way you'd spoken to the receptionist at the hotel that morning. With genuine interest. With kindness. It made something warm settle in her chest.

"You've never come on tour before?" Tiffany asked. You shook your head. "Our schedules have never lined up." "What do you do?" Charlotte glanced towards you. She always loved hearing you answer that question. "I'm an equine physiotherapist." Chelsea blinked. "A what?" "I basically work with competition horses. Injuries, rehabilitation, performance, muscle recovery." Tiffany's eyebrows lifted. "So you massage horses?" You laughed. "When you say it like that, it sounds a little ridiculous." Chelsea frowned thoughtfully. "Can horses get knots?" "They absolutely can." "Huh." Chelsea looked genuinely fascinated. "I thought they were just... horses." Charlotte bit back a smile. You'd been explaining your job like this for years. Every single time someone left the conversation understanding horses a little better than before.

A production assistant hurried past carrying a stack of folders. One slipped from the top, papers scattering across the corridor. Before anyone else reacted you were already crouching to help gather them. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry." The assistant waved his hands frantically. "No, no, that's my fault." "It's okay." You smiled, handing the papers back in neat order. "There you go." "Thank you." "No problem." He disappeared just as quickly as he'd arrived. Chelsea watched the exchange. Then looked at Charlotte. Then back at you. "She's nice." Charlotte looked almost offended. "Of course she's nice." "I know." Chelsea tilted her head. "I just expected someone dating you to be" She gestured vaguely. "scarier." You laughed. "So did my mom when we first met." Charlotte groaned. "We are not telling that story." "Oh, we're absolutely telling that story." "No." "You accidentally intimidated my entire family." "I was trying to make a good impression." "You turned up in a three-piece suit." "It was dinner." "My grandad thought you were there to buy the house." Chelsea doubled over laughing. Tiffany clapped a hand over her mouth. Charlotte buried her face in one hand. "I hate both of you." "No, you don't," you said gently. Without even thinking, your fingers found the sleeve of her jacket, giving it a tiny tug. The movement was barely noticeable. A simple touch. Charlotte immediately relaxed. Chelsea caught it. She'd been joking one second earlier. Now she frowned ever so slightly. Because she'd watched Charlotte's shoulders physically drop the moment you'd touched her. Interesting. Very interesting. She filed that away for later. This week was already getting much more entertaining than she'd expected.

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By lunchtime, you'd somehow managed to become completely turned around. "I swear we've walked past this hallway already." Charlotte looked over her shoulder with a smile. "We have." "So..." You looked between two identical corridors. "Why are we back here?" "Because you wanted to see the ring." "I did." "And then you got distracted." "I absolutely did not." Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "You spent ten minutes talking to the woman making floral arrangements for tonight's VIP lounge." "She was lovely." "I'm sure she was." "And she showed me how they keep the flowers fresh all day." Charlotte laughed quietly. "I know." "You were standing right there." "I was." "So you learnt something too." "I learnt my girlfriend will make friends with absolutely anybody." You gasped dramatically. "I have standards." "Oh?" "I haven't tried to befriend the forklift yet." That earned another laugh. The sound echoed down the otherwise quiet corridor.

The gym had been converted into the day's warm-up space. Music played quietly through overhead speakers. Several members of the roster stretched, lifted weights or chatted between training sessions. Charlotte paused just inside the doorway. "You can sit here if you want." "I'll stay out of everyone's way." "You won't be in the way." "I know." You smiled. "I still don't want to interrupt." Charlotte nodded. She understood. You weren't intimidated. You were simply respectful. One of the many things she'd always admired about you.

"Flair." The familiar voice made Charlotte turn. Rhea Ripley walked over, a towel slung around her neck after finishing her workout. She offered Charlotte a brief nod before her attention shifted naturally towards you. "So..." She smiled politely. "You're the famous girlfriend." You laughed. "I didn't know I was famous." "Oh, you are." Rhea folded her arms. "We've heard about you." Charlotte sighed quietly. "I'm slightly concerned about what you've heard." "Honestly?" Rhea looked back at you. "Almost nothing." "She keeps you to herself." You glanced sideways at Charlotte. "I always thought that was because she liked me." Charlotte's hand found the small of your back almost automatically. "I do like you." "Good answer." "It was also the truthful one."

Rhea watched the interaction carefully. It was subtle. So subtle she doubted either of you had noticed. Charlotte's hand hadn't simply rested against your back. The second she'd moved closer it had found you. Like muscle memory. No hesitation. No thought. Just there. "I'm Rhea, by the way."  "I know." You smiled warmly. "It's nice to finally meet you." "You too." Rhea tilted her head. "So..." "What?" "I expected someone different." Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can everyone stop saying that?" "What?" Rhea shrugged innocently. "I just thought" She looked at you. "I don't know. A model, a wrestler, an actress." You laughed. "I spend most of my days covered in horse hair." There was a beat of silence. Rhea blinked. "I'm sorry?" Charlotte smiled to herself. Here we go. "I'm an equine physiotherapist." Rhea nodded slowly. "Right." "I help rehabilitate competition horses after injuries." "Huh." Another pause. "That's actually... really cool." "It is." Charlotte answered before you could. Rhea noticed. Of course she did. There was pride in Charlotte's voice. Quiet. Undeniable. The sort of pride people usually reserved for talking about their own achievements. Not someone else's.

Before the conversation could continue, one of the trainers called Rhea back over. She nodded. "I should get back." Then looked at you again. "It was nice meeting you." "You too." As Rhea walked away, she glanced back once. Charlotte was already looking at you again. Not staring. Simply checking in. Making sure you were comfortable. Making sure you had somewhere to sit. Making sure your water bottle was within reach before she headed towards the ring for practice. You thanked her with a small smile. She smiled back. That was all. Nothing dramatic. Nothing anyone else would notice.

Except Rhea noticed. She walked over to where Chelsea and Tiffany were pretending to stretch. Chelsea immediately leaned forward. "So?" Rhea grabbed her water bottle. "What?" "You met her." "Mhm." "And?" Rhea took a slow drink before answering. "She's lovely." Chelsea blinked. "That's it?" "What more do you want?" "I don't know." "Details." Rhea looked across the gym. Charlotte was halfway through talking to a producer. Even while listening her eyes drifted back towards you. You'd found a seat near the wall and were happily watching the organised chaos around you with obvious fascination. The second your eyes met Charlotte's you smiled. Charlotte smiled back, instantly. Without thinking. Then continued her conversation exactly where she'd left off. Rhea lowered her bottle. "I've never seen her like that." Chelsea frowned. "Like what?" "Relaxed." The word hung in the air. Tiffany looked over. Charlotte had unconsciously wandered back towards you during the conversation with the producer. She now stood close enough that your shoulders brushed every few seconds as people walked past. Neither of you seemed aware of it. It was simply where you naturally ended up.

Rhea shook her head with a quiet laugh. "I always thought Charlotte was just..." She searched for the right word. "Intense." Chelsea snorted. "She is." "No." Rhea smiled softly. "I think Charlotte Flair is."vShe looked back at you. Then at the woman quietly accepting the bottle of water you'd just held out to her without even asking if she was thirsty. Charlotte murmured a thank you, her fingertips brushing yours for the briefest second before she unscrewed the cap. There it was again. Another tiny touch. Another unconscious one. Rhea's smile widened. "Charlie isn't." Across the room, Charlotte caught your eye once more. You reached up and absentmindedly straightened the collar of her training jacket before she headed towards the ring she didn't even pause, didn't seem surprised, she simply leaned ever so slightly into your hand for half a heartbeat before walking away. Rhea watched the exchange. Then quietly muttered to herself, "Well no wonder she's obsessed." Chelsea's head whipped around. "I'm sorry, obsessed?" Rhea only smirked. "You'll see." And somehow, she had a feeling this was only the beginning.

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The afternoon disappeared in a blur of rehearsals, production meetings and last-minute changes. From your seat tucked safely beside the curtain near Gorilla Position, you'd quickly realised that wrestling television was equal parts athleticism and organised chaos. "You still surviving?" You looked up as Alexa dropped into the empty chair beside you. "Barely." She laughed. "Overwhelming?" "A little." You smiled sheepishly. "I thought there'd be more sitting." Alexa stared at you. "Sitting?" "I don't know. I've never been backstage before." She snorted. "I don't think anyone sits until about midnight." You looked genuinely horrified. "That's deeply concerning." "It is." Charlotte appeared moments later, fresh from another production meeting.

Without breaking her conversation with one of the producers, she walked straight past Alexa, straight past the empty chairs and stopped directly beside you. One hand settled lightly between your shoulder blades. "So." She looked down. "You've eaten?" You blinked. "Yes." "Water?" You lifted your bottle. "Good." She nodded once. Satisfied. Then returned to her conversation without moving away. Alexa watched the whole interaction. Very slowly she turned to look at you. "See?" "What?" "You didn't even notice." You frowned. "Notice what?" Alexa simply pointed. Charlotte's hand still rested comfortably against your back. Neither of you appeared remotely aware of it. You looked over your shoulder. "Oh." Charlotte followed your gaze. "What?" “Your hand." Charlotte looked down as though she'd only just realised it was there. "...Oh." She removed it. Almost apologetically. "Sorry." You laughed. "For what?" "I didn't realise." "It's okay." Without thinking, you reached over and briefly squeezed her forearm. "I like it." Charlotte smiled. "So do I." She wandered off towards Gorilla before either of you could say anything else.

Alexa waited until Charlotte disappeared around the corner. Then she leaned towards you. "She's impossible." You laughed. "What now?" "Do you know she does that constantly?" "What?" "The touching." You tilted your head. "I suppose." "No." Alexa shook her head dramatically. "I mean constantly. If you're standing still she's touching you. If you're walking she's touching you. If you're eating she's touching you. If you're breathing she's probably touching you." You smiled into your coffee. "I've never really thought about it." "Exactly." Alexa pointed triumphantly. "Neither has she."

Unfortunately for Charlotte Someone else had been listening. Chelsea Green. Who had the hearing of someone permanently searching for gossip. Her head slowly appeared around the corner. "Alexa." Alexa sighed. "No." "C'mon." "No." "I just want to know one thing." "No." Chelsea ignored her entirely. Looking straight at you instead. "How long do you think she could go without touching you?" You blinked. "Excuse me?" Chelsea marched over with Tiffany in tow. "I'm conducting research." "No, you're causing problems," Alexa corrected. "Semantics." Chelsea folded her arms. "I've been watching all day." Tiffany nodded thoughtfully. "I have too." You looked between them. "I feel like I should be worried." "You should be fascinated." Chelsea grinned. "I genuinely don't think she's physically capable of it." You laughed. "She's not that bad." Four pairs of eyes slowly turned towards Charlotte. She stood across the room talking to Nick Aldis. Professional, focused, completely engaged in whatever conversation they were having. You smiled. "See?" Chelsea raised one finger. "Wait." Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Charlotte nodded politely at Nick then, almost absentmindedly, glanced across the room. Straight at you. The moment your eyes met she smiled. Just a tiny one, barely there. Then she excused herself from Nick. Walked directly across Gorilla. Past three other conversations. Past the monitor station. Stopping beside you once again. "You alright?" You looked up. "Mhm." She nodded. "Good." That seemed to satisfy her. She stayed exactly where she was. Close enough that your shoulders brushed. Completely unaware she'd crossed half the arena for absolutely no reason.

Chelsea's jaw slowly fell open. "No." Alexa folded her arms smugly. "I told you." Charlotte looked between the group. "What?" Chelsea pointed dramatically. "You!" "What about me?" "You literally abandoned Nick!" "I finished the conversation." "To come over here." Charlotte looked confused. "I was already coming this way." Chelsea stared. "Were you?" Charlotte frowned. "I think so." "You think so?" Charlotte looked at you. Then around the room. Then back at Chelsea. "...Maybe." Alexa burst into laughter. "You genuinely don't know, do you?" Charlotte blinked. "Know what?" Rhea, who'd wandered over just in time to catch the end of the exchange, answered before anyone else could. "You orbit her." Silence. Charlotte frowned. "...What?" Rhea gestured between the two of you. "You always end up next to her." Charlotte immediately looked at you. Then down. Your hands were brushing. again. You hadn't noticed either. "I..." She actually stopped to think. Had she walked over here deliberately? Or had she simply ended up here? The answer came embarrassingly quickly. She honestly didn't know. Because standing beside you felt so natural that she'd stopped registering when she'd done it. You looked up at her with a fond smile. "I think you're just my magnet." A faint flush crept across Charlotte's cheeks. Chelsea gasped so dramatically that half the corridor looked over. "SHE ADMITTED IT!" "I admitted nothing." "You absolutely did." Charlotte rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. You chuckled, slipping your hand into hers for just a second. "There." You squeezed gently. "So you don't have to keep wandering over." The moment your fingers intertwined, Charlotte's shoulders visibly relaxed. It lasted less than two seconds. But everyone saw it. Rhea glanced at Alexa. Alexa simply smiled. She'd been trying to explain it all day. Now everyone had finally seen it for themselves. Charlotte didn't reach for you because she was clingy. She reached for you because, somewhere along the way, your touch had become the place she rested and judging by the peaceful expression on Charlotte's face it was the safest place she'd ever known.

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By the time the show had gone off the air, the arena had settled into a much quieter rhythm. The frantic energy that had carried everyone through the evening had finally begun to fade. Production staff started dismantling equipment, road cases rolled through the corridors, someone somewhere had already ordered pizza. You wandered quietly alongside Charlotte as she made her way through the backstage area, stopping every few minutes to thank members of the crew before heading towards the locker rooms. "I still don't know how any of you remember everyone's names." Charlotte glanced sideways at you. "They're important." "I know." You smiled. "I just think I'd panic and call everyone 'mate.'" "You call everybody 'love.'" "I absolutely do." "You called Nick Aldis 'love' earlier." You stopped walking. "I did?" Charlotte nodded, biting back a smile. "'Thanks, love.'" "Oh." You covered your face with both hands. "Please tell me he didn't notice." "He noticed." "Oh, no." "He laughed." You groaned dramatically. "I've known him for all of six hours." "He wasn't offended." "I called your boss 'love.'" "He'll survive."

"You've corrupted her." The familiar voice made Charlotte turn before you did. Cody Rhodes leaned casually against the corridor wall, one arm folded across his chest, still dressed in his ring gear beneath an unzipped hoodie. A knowing grin spread across his face as he looked between the two of you. "I heard that." Charlotte smiled. "So did I." "You've got her calling authority figures 'love.'" You pointed at yourself. "I've always done that." "I know." Cody looked at Charlotte. "You've stopped apologising for it." Charlotte's smile softened. "I have." You stepped forward first, wrapping Cody in a warm hug. "It's good to see you." "You too." He returned the hug easily before stepping back. "Been too long." "It has." Charlotte watched the interaction with quiet affection. There was something comforting about the two people she loved most outside of her immediate family getting on so effortlessly. She'd worried about introducing you to Cody the first time. She needn't have. Within twenty minutes you'd been arguing over whose turn it was to make tea. "You surviving your first tour?" Cody asked. "So far." You smiled. "I've learnt two things." "Oh?" "One..." You held up a finger. "There are significantly more forklifts than television would have you believe." Cody laughed. "Accurate." "And two..." You looked at Charlotte. "Nobody actually sits down." He nodded solemnly. "Also accurate." "I've never seen so many people willingly function on four hours of sleep." "We're a strange bunch." "I've noticed."

Charlotte excused herself briefly when one of the producers called her name from further down the corridor. "I'll only be a minute." You nodded. "I'll be here." Her hand found yours automatically before she walked away, giving your fingers one absent squeeze. Neither of you acknowledged it. It simply happened. Cody watched the tiny exchange. Then looked back at you with an amused smile. "She does that all the time, doesn't she?" You looked down at your hand. "...I suppose she does." "You don't even notice anymore." "I don't think she does either." "No." Cody chuckled quietly. "I don't think she does."

The two of you leaned comfortably against the wall, watching Charlotte in the distance as she spoke to the producer. She gestured animatedly about something. Professional, focused, confident. Every inch the performer the world expected. Cody followed your gaze. "That's Charlotte." You looked at him. "Mhm." He smiled softly. "But" His eyes drifted towards the tiny smile tugging at the corner of Charlotte's mouth as she glanced back towards you for barely half a second. "this week she’s been Charlie” You stayed quiet for a moment. Then smiled. "I fell in love with Charlie a long time ago."

You tilted your head slightly. "Were you surprised? When she told you about me?" "Mhm." He thought about it honestly. "No." "Really?" "No." He folded his arms, still watching Charlotte. "I was surprised she let herself be happy." You frowned gently. "What do you mean?" He let out a slow breath. "You've got to remember I've known her a while. Our dads, the business, the expectations." He shook his head with a fond smile. "She spent most of her life believing she had to earn everything." Your heart squeezed. Even love. He didn't have to say it. You heard it anyway.

Cody continued quietly. "Every championship, every opportunity, every friendship. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be deserved." He looked at you. "And then she met someone who" He smiled. "doesn't care how many titles she's won." You laughed softly. "I couldn't tell you how many she's won." "I know." "I lose count after about five." He laughed. "Don't tell her that."

His expression softened again. "You know what my favourite thing is?" "What?" "The first time I came over for dinner." You groaned. "Oh, don't." Charlotte had invited Cody over one evening months earlier while he was passing through Orlando. You'd spent the entire evening cooking or at least attempting to cook. The smoke alarm had gone off twice, the pasta had been overcooked, the garlic bread had somehow been forgotten completely. You buried your face in your hands. "It was a disaster." "It was." Cody smiled. "But do you know what I remember?" You looked up. "What?" "I don't remember the food. I remember walking into the kitchen..." His eyes drifted towards Charlotte again "...and seeing Charlotte dancing with you while you stirred a saucepan." Your cheeks warmed. "We were listening to Fleetwood Mac." "I know." "And she was laughing." He smiled to himself. "I hadn't heard that laugh in years."

Before you could answer, Charlotte returned. "What are we talking about?" Cody's grin became immediately mischievous. "You." Charlotte sighed. "I walked away for three minutes." "And we got through twenty-five years of stories." She looked suspiciously at him. "...Which ones?" "The nice ones." "There are nice ones?" "Occasionally." You slipped your hand into Charlotte's as naturally as breathing. She didn't even look down. She simply intertwined your fingers, her thumb brushing lazily over your knuckles as the conversation continued. Cody noticed of course he did. Not because of the touch itself. But because Charlotte hadn't once looked to check if you were comfortable with it. She already knew. The gesture had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as familiar as home. He smiled quietly to himself. Years ago, the little girl he'd grown up around had spent every day trying to prove she belonged in a world that expected perfection. Now she'd found someone who let her be wonderfully, beautifully imperfect. Someone who didn't need Charlotte Flair. Someone who loved Charlie enough that Charlotte no longer remembered where one ended and the other began. And watching the two of you disappear down the corridor together, shoulders brushing, hands still intertwined Cody decided that was worth more than every championship either of their fathers had ever won.

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The following afternoon was supposed to have been simple. A short in-ring rehearsal, some camera blocking. A few timing adjustments before that night's live show. Instead everything seemed determined to go wrong. Music cues were late, the cameras missed two transitions, one of Charlotte's sequences had to be restarted three separate times because the timing between entrances wasn't quite working. None of it was anyone's fault. But by the fourth run-through you could see it. The tiny crease between Charlotte's eyebrows, the way she pressed her lips together whenever something didn't land perfectly. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed. You did. Because you knew that expression. She was getting inside her own head.

From your seat near the entrance curtain, you watched another rehearsal end. Charlotte climbed from the ring, thanking the producers politely before heading towards Gorilla Position. On the outside she looked exactly the same. Calm. Professional. Collected. But you'd seen the slight hitch in her breathing. The stiffness in her shoulders. The way she kept flexing her taped fingers. You stood before she'd even reached you. "There you are." Her voice was warm. Automatically softer than it had been in the ring. You smiled. "I was wondering when you'd come find me." Charlotte stopped. "...You knew I was coming?" "Mhm." "How?" You tilted your head. "You always come and find me after a bad day." She blinked. "I do?" "You don't even realise you do." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "It's one of my favourite things about you." She looked away for a second. Almost embarrassed. "I wasn't..." She sighed quietly. "I wasn't very good out there." "You were." "It didn't feel like it." "It doesn't have to." You reached up, smoothing an invisible crease from the shoulder of her training jacket. "I know."

Neither of you noticed the group gathered several metres away. Alexa, Chelsea, Tiffany, Rhea. All waiting to head into the production meeting. Chelsea was halfway through telling a story when she stopped talking altogether. "Hang on." The others followed her gaze.

Charlotte hadn't said another word. She hadn't complained. Hadn't explained what had happened. Hadn't listed everything that had frustrated her. She'd simply stepped closer. Close enough that your trainers touched, you looked up at her for a long moment. Then, without asking permission you lifted both hands to her face. Your palms rested lightly against her cheeks, gentle, unhurried. As though you'd done it a thousand times before. Charlotte's eyes closed immediately. The entire corridor seemed to fall away. She hadn't realised how tightly she'd been holding herself together until your hands found her. Warm. Familiar. Home. You didn't ask, "What's wrong?" You didn't say, "Talk to me." Because you already knew. Instead, your thumbs stroked lightly beneath her cheekbones. "You did your best today." Charlotte let out a slow breath. "It didn't feel like enough." "I know.” “You don't have to convince me it was." You smiled softly. "I'm not trying to." There was something about the way you said it. No pressure. No fixing. No empty reassurance. Just acceptance. Charlotte felt her shoulders finally drop. The tension she'd carried since rehearsals slowly leaving her body. "You've been carrying this for an hour." You murmured it so quietly she almost missed it. She gave the smallest nod. "I know." "You can put it down now." Her forehead drifted forward almost instinctively until it rested lightly against yours. Neither of you spoke. You simply stayed there. Breathing together. Your hands still cradling her face her fingertips lightly resting against your waist.

Across the corridor nobody moved. Chelsea had completely forgotten what she'd been saying. Tiffany's arms slowly uncrossed. Alexa smiled to herself. Rhea looked between the two of you before quietly muttering, "Oh." Chelsea blinked. "What?" Rhea kept watching. "That's not affection." Alexa glanced sideways. "No. It's grounding."

Charlotte inhaled slowly. Then again. By the third breath the crease between her eyebrows had disappeared. You smiled. "There she is." She opened her eyes. "What?" "My girl." The words were so simple. So matter-of-fact. Not The Queen. Not Charlotte Flair. Just my girl. Charlotte actually laughed. A tiny one. The kind that only existed for you.

A producer called Charlotte's name from further down the corridor. She looked over, then back at you. Normally she would've gone immediately. Instead, she hesitated. You smiled knowingly. "Go." "You sure?" "I'll still be here." Those four words settled something deep inside her. Not just now. Always. Charlotte squeezed your hand once before reluctantly stepping away. She'd barely made it three steps before she looked back. You were exactly where she'd left you. You gave her a little wave. She smiled. Then finally disappeared around the corner.

Silence lingered for a few moments. Chelsea was the first to break it. "I thought she came over because she wanted a hug." You looked over, slightly surprised to realise you'd had an audience. Rhea shook her head gently. "No." Chelsea frowned. "Then what was that?" You smiled, glancing down the corridor where Charlotte had disappeared. "Sometimes..." You rubbed your thumb absentmindedly over your own palm, as though you could still feel the warmth of her skin there. "...Charlie spends all day holding everyone else together." Your eyes softened. "So when she comes to me..." You smiled. "...she just wants someone to hold her for a minute." The corridor fell quiet again. Nobody had a joke. Nobody teased. Because for the first time all week they hadn't just seen how much Charlotte loved you. They'd seen how completely she trusted you and somehow that felt even more intimate than every hand held, every forehead kiss, and every unconscious touch they'd witnessed before.

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The hotel floor was unusually quiet. Most of the roster had disappeared downstairs for dinner hours earlier, while others had gone out to explore the city before tomorrow's flight. After two days of constant noise the silence was welcome. Charlotte unlocked the hotel room, holding the door open for you. You wandered inside first, immediately kicking your trainers off by the door with a relieved sigh. "I don't think I've ever walked this much in my life." Charlotte closed the door behind her. "You work with horses." "They're considerate enough not to make me walk through six miles of corridors." She laughed quietly as she shrugged off her jacket, hanging it over the back of the desk chair. "I did warn you." "You did." You turned towards her dramatically. "I just thought you were exaggerating." "I wasn't." "You absolutely were." "I wasn't." "There were at least four hallways today that all looked exactly the same." "They don't." "They do." "They're colour coded." You stared at her. "...They're what?" Charlotte pointed towards the carpet outside through the still-open door. "This one has blue patterns, the next corridor has grey." You slowly closed the door. "I've been here two days." "I know." "I thought I was getting lost because I was stupid." She couldn't help laughing. "No. You were getting lost because the arena is enormous." You walked over, lightly poking her shoulder. "You could've told me that yesterday." "I thought you'd figured it out." "I spent twenty minutes following a referee." Charlotte blinked. "Why?" "I assumed he knew where he was going." "Did he?" "No. He was lost too." Charlotte's laugh echoed around the room, brighter than any you'd heard all week. You grinned to yourself. Mission accomplished.

The laughter faded into comfortable quiet as the two of you unpacked absentmindedly. Well Charlotte unpacked. You mostly succeeded in creating a small pile of clothes across the armchair. Charlotte looked over. "...Really?" "What?" She pointed. "You've been here approximately three minutes." "I work in muddy fields." "I noticed." "I've never claimed to be tidy." She walked over without another word. You watched curiously as she picked up your jumper, folded it neatly and placed it inside the wardrobe. Then your jeans, then your hoodie, then your socks. You smiled. "I was going to do that." "Mhm." "I was." "I know." "You don't believe me." She looked over her shoulder. "I've seen your flat." "My flat has organised chaos." "Your bedside table had three mugs on it." "I knew where all three were." Charlotte shook her head fondly. "You also had a saddle pad hanging over your dining chair." "I'd washed it." "...Three days earlier." "It was drying." "You have a tumble dryer." "It was... emotionally drying." Charlotte laughed so hard she had to lean against the wardrobe door.

The room settled again. Charlotte walked back over. Without thinking, she reached out and straightened the slightly crooked collar of your oversized T-shirt. "You've got hair stuck." She plucked a single blonde strand from your shoulder. You looked at it. "You're moulting." "I'm aware." She smiled, letting it drift into the bin. You wandered over to the window while Charlotte disappeared into the bathroom. The city glittered below, cars streamed through illuminated streets, people laughed somewhere outside. It was strange. Being somewhere completely unfamiliar. Yet feeling perfectly at home. The bathroom door opened. You turned. Charlotte had changed into one of your old university hoodies and a pair of grey joggers. Her hair had been pulled into a loose, messy bun. Every trace of makeup was gone. You smiled immediately. "There she is." Charlotte looked down at herself. "...Who?" "Charlie." She rolled her eyes. "I've been Charlie all day." "No." You walked closer. "You've been pretending to be Charlotte Flair all day." Her expression softened. "And now?" You reached out, gently smoothing one of the escaped strands of blonde hair back behind her ear. "Now you're home." Something flickered behind her eyes. Small. Almost imperceptible. But you saw it. You always did.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You simply stood there. Close enough that your shoulders touched. Looking out across the city together. Charlotte's hand slowly found yours. Not intentionally, not consciously. Just as naturally as breathing. Your fingers intertwined. You smiled without looking down. "I was wondering how long it'd take." She frowned slightly. "For what?" "You've gone almost..." You pretended to check an imaginary watch. "...three whole minutes." Charlotte looked genuinely confused. "I have?" "Mhm." "I've been trying." "You've been trying not to touch me?" She nodded sheepishly. "Everyone kept teasing me." You laughed softly. "Oh, Charlie" She looked almost embarrassed. "I thought maybe I was making you uncomfortable." The words surprised you enough that you turned to face her properly. "What?" "You know..." She shrugged one shoulder. "I do it a lot." "You've never said anything. So I thought maybe..." Your heart ached. You stepped closer until there wasn't even an inch between you. Then, very gently, you took both of her hands in yours. "Charlie." She met your eyes. "I have spent the last two years learning your language." She blinked. "My language?" You nodded. "You don't always tell me when you're overwhelmed." She smiled faintly. "No." "You don't always tell me when you're tired." "No." "You definitely don't tell me when you're anxious." She huffed a quiet laugh. "I don't." "But..." You lifted one of your joined hands between you. "You always reach for me." Her eyes dropped to your intertwined fingers. "I suppose I do." "So every time you do this..." You squeezed gently. "...I know exactly what you're saying." She looked back up. "And what am I saying?" You smiled. "'I'm here.'" Another squeeze. "'Are you still here?'" One more. "'I love you.'" Charlotte felt tears prick unexpectedly behind her eyes. You reached up, cupping her cheek. "And my answer has always been the same." She leaned instinctively into your palm. "What is it?" You smiled with all the certainty in the world. "I'm here." The words were barely above a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere." Charlotte closed the last inch between you, resting her forehead against yours. The world outside carried on. Cars moved. People hurried through the streets. The city buzzed beneath your window. Inside the room everything became still. She didn't kiss you. She didn't need to. She simply stood there, your hands wrapped around hers, forehead resting against yours, breathing in time with the woman who had somehow learned to hear every sentence she'd never been able to say out loud. And for perhaps the first time since she'd become "The Queen," Charlotte let herself believe that she would never have to carry the weight of that crown alone again.

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Saturday morning arrived with the familiar blur of checkout times, suitcase wheels and half-awake wrestlers searching for coffee before boarding the coach to the airport. You followed Charlotte through the hotel lobby, your own suitcase rolling behind you while she balanced two coffees in one hand. "I could've carried one." "You've got the suitcase." "So do you." "I've also got upper body strength." You looked at her with mock offence. "I work with horses." "So do I." "You absolutely do not." She smiled over the rim of her coffee. "I wrestle people." "I don't think those are comparable." "They both kick." You laughed. "I'll give you that one."

The coach was already waiting outside. Most of the roster had claimed seats in familiar little groups. Chelsea and Tiffany were halfway down the bus, already arguing over music. Rhea had headphones on before she'd even sat down. Cody was talking quietly with one of the producers near the front. Alexa waved the two of you over. "There you are." Charlotte slid into the window seat. You naturally took the aisle beside her. Neither of you questioned it. It was simply where you belonged.

The motorway stretched endlessly beyond the rain-speckled windows. Within twenty minutes, the conversations around the coach had settled into sleepy silence. Someone snored a few rows behind. Chelsea had somehow fallen asleep sitting completely upright. Tiffany was editing photos on her phone. You glanced sideways. Charlotte was trying very hard to stay awake, trying being the important word. Her head dipped once. Twice. Then jerked back upright. You smiled to yourself. "Tired?" "I'm fine." "Mhm." "I am." "You blinked for about fourteen seconds." "I was resting my eyes." "You were asleep." "I wasn't." "You snored." "I absolutely did not." Alexa looked over the seat in front. "You absolutely did." Charlotte looked betrayed. "You weren't even awake." "I am now."

Five minutes later Charlotte lost the fight. You felt it before you saw it, the tiniest shift beside you. Then a familiar weight against your shoulder. You looked down Charlotte was asleep. One arm folded across herself, cheek resting lightly against your shoulder, breathing slow and even. You smiled so softly it almost hurt. Without disturbing her, you reached up and gently brushed a few loose strands of blonde hair away from her face. She unconsciously leaned another fraction closer. Still asleep. Alexa watched the exchange over the top of her seat. She smiled to herself. Then quietly climbed out of her own seat, walking the short distance down the aisle. You looked up. "Did I wake her?" "No." Alexa shook her head. "I just..." She smiled fondly at the sleeping blonde beside you. "I've never seen her do this." You looked down at Charlotte. "Sleep?" "No trust." The word hung quietly between you. You frowned. "What do you mean?" Alexa rested one shoulder against the empty seat opposite. "You know what she's like." You nodded. "She likes to be in control." "Exactly, everything planned, everything organised, everything..." Alexa gestured vaguely. "...perfect." You smiled knowingly. "That sounds familiar." "She never slept on planes. Never slept in cars. Definitely never slept on coaches." You looked surprised. "Really?" Alexa nodded. "Not properly. She'd always say she wasn't tired or she'd sit bolt upright the whole journey." You looked back down at Charlotte. She hadn't moved. One of her hands had unconsciously found the sleeve of your hoodie. Holding onto it loosely. Alexa noticed you looking. "See?" Your smile widened. "She always needs to know you're there."

You gently adjusted the hoodie beneath her cheek so she was a little more comfortable. Her breathing stayed slow. Peaceful. You spoke so quietly Alexa almost didn't hear you. "I think she spends so much of her life making sure everyone else feels safe she forgets she deserves to feel safe too." Alexa looked at you for a long moment. Then nodded. "That's exactly it.” She glanced around the coach. Everyone else was still sleeping or quietly entertaining themselves. Her voice dropped another notch. "When she first told me about you..." You smiled. "I remember." "I thought she'd finally lost it." You laughed silently. "Thanks." "No, listen." Alexa smiled. "She wouldn't stop talking about you." Your eyebrows lifted. "Charlie?" "Oh, constantly. She'd pretend she wasn't but every conversation somehow became..." Alexa put on a surprisingly convincing Charlotte impression. "'Y/N mentioned this horse today.', 'Y/N found this tiny café.', 'Y/N thinks I work too much.'" You covered your mouth to stop yourself laughing. "She did not." "Oh, she absolutely did."

Alexa's expression softened. "I knew it was serious the first time she cancelled training." You blinked. "...She what?" "Mhm. You had one weekend off together. She skipped an optional training session. I genuinely thought she'd been kidnapped." You looked down at the sleeping woman beside you. Charlotte's fingers had curled slightly tighter around your sleeve. Almost as if she knew you were talking about her. Your heart melted. "I think..." Alexa said quietly. "...people think she became softer because of you." You looked up. "I don't." "No?" She smiled. "I think she was always like this." Her eyes rested on Charlotte. "You just gave her somewhere safe enough to let us see it." Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The coach rumbled steadily towards the airport. Rain tapped gently against the windows. Charlotte slept on without stirring. Eventually, almost instinctively, you leaned your own head lightly against hers. Not enough to wake her. Just enough that the two of you fit together a little more comfortably. Alexa smiled. There it was again. No grand declaration. No dramatic gesture. Just two people quietly making space for each other. She'd spent years watching Charlotte carry the weight of being Charlotte Flair. Titles, legacy, expectations, pressure. Every day, the world demanded something from her. Out here, on a coach somewhere between arenas, she demanded nothing at all. She simply rested. And Alexa realised something that made her smile all the way to the airport. Everyone else saw Charlotte reaching for you because she needed your touch. But after watching the two of you all week Alexa knew the truth. It wasn't one-sided. Every time Charlotte leaned into you, you leaned right back. Neither of you was carrying the other. You were simply sharing the weight. And maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like.

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Championship match days always felt different. You'd noticed it from the moment you'd woken up. The hotel room had been quieter. Charlotte still smiled. Still kissed your forehead while you made coffee. Still stole half your toast before claiming she "wasn't hungry." But underneath it all there was tension. Not fear. Never fear. Pressure. The kind that came from caring. The kind that only existed because she wanted to be perfect.

By the time the two of you arrived at the arena, the atmosphere backstage buzzed with anticipation. Producers hurried between Gorilla and the truck, championship belts had already been laid out for photographs, hair and makeup artists floated between dressing rooms. Everyone seemed to move just a little faster. You stayed out of the way where you could. Offering smiles, learning names, making coffee when someone looked like they hadn't sat down all day. By now, people had stopped introducing you as "Charlotte's girlfriend." You'd somehow become part of the rhythm of backstage life. One of the makeup artists waved as you passed. "Morning, Y/N." "Morning." "You surviving us?" "Barely." She laughed. "You'll fit right in."

Charlotte disappeared into wardrobe for final gear checks. "I won't be long." You smiled. "I know." She hesitated. Just for a second. "...You'll stay here?" You reached over, smoothing the edge of her jacket where it had folded awkwardly. "I'll be exactly where you left me." Her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. "Okay." Then she was gone.

An hour later the difference was obvious. Charlotte had become Charlotte Flair. Hair perfectly styled, championship gear immaculate, shoulders back, head high, confident, commanding. She moved through Gorilla surrounded by producers discussing camera cues. Nobody dared interrupt. Except Cody. He caught up beside her as she walked towards the entrance position. "Nervous?" Charlotte kept her eyes ahead. "Always." "You'll be alright." "I know." He smiled. "She's here." Charlotte's expression softened before she could stop it. "I know." Cody watched her carefully. "You gonna go find her?" Charlotte blinked. "I've still got ten minutes." "Mhm. You've got plenty of time." She looked towards Gorilla. Then towards the corridor where you'd been waiting all afternoon. Back again. "...I should stay here." "You should." Silence. Three seconds. Five. Then, "I'll be right back." Cody laughed under his breath as she disappeared around the corner. "I thought so."

You were exactly where you'd promised. Perched on the edge of a production crate with two cups of tea balanced beside you. One already waiting for her. You looked up as she rounded the corner. "There you are." Charlotte let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "There you are." You smiled. "I've been here the whole time." "I know." She stopped in front of you. Neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other. You noticed the slight tension in her jaw. The way she'd curled one hand into a fist without realising. The tiny crease between her eyebrows. So you stood.

Further down the corridor, Chelsea, Tiffany, Rhea, Alexa and Cody were all making their way towards Gorilla. Chelsea frowned. "Where's Charlotte?" Cody nodded subtly down the hallway. "She'll be back." The five of them slowed instinctively. Not hiding. Not spying. Just watching.

You stepped closer until only inches separated you. "Big day." Charlotte gave a tiny nod. "Mhm." "You ready?" Another nod. "I think so." You smiled knowingly. "No." Charlotte looked at you. "...No?" "You're ready. You just haven't convinced your brain yet." A tiny laugh escaped her. "Busted." You reached up. One hand rested lightly against her shoulder. The other brushed an invisible speck of glitter from her gear. "You know..." You said quietly. "I still don't understand wrestling." Charlotte smiled. "I've noticed." "I still think all of you are a little bit mad." "Probably." "But..." You looked into her eyes. "I do understand you." The smile faded into something softer. More vulnerable. "You've done everything you could." You gently adjusted one loose strand of blonde hair that had escaped the careful styling. "You've trained." "Mhm." "You've prepared." "Mhm." "You've sacrificed." "Mhm." "So whatever happens out there..." You shrugged lightly. "...nothing changes in here." Your fingertips rested briefly over the centre of her chest. "...for me."

Charlotte felt something inside her loosen. The pressure, the expectation, the endless voice demanding perfection. It quietened. Just enough. You lifted both hands to either side of her face. Warm palms against cool skin. The same gesture you'd done a hundred times before. Only this time five people watched from the far end of the corridor. Charlotte closed her eyes immediately. Not because she was upset. Not because she was overwhelmed. Because your touch had become instinct.

"You know what I love most about you?" You asked softly. She smiled with her eyes still closed. "What?" "You've never once been afraid to carry everyone else." She felt your thumbs brush lightly across her cheeks. "So let me carry you for thirty seconds." Nothing else was said. The corridor stayed completely silent. You simply stood together. Foreheads resting lightly together. Breathing in sync. One. Two. Three slow breaths. Charlotte felt every muscle in her body begin to unclench. By the fourth the knot in her stomach had disappeared.

Down the hallway Chelsea whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible. "...She's resetting her." Alexa smiled. "No." Chelsea frowned. "What?" "She's reminding her who she is."

Charlotte opened her eyes. The tension had gone. Your hands were still resting gently against her face. You smiled. "There she is." She laughed softly. "There who is?" "My Charlie." Your forehead bumped hers playfully. "The woman who accidentally burns pancakes." Charlotte groaned. "It happened once." "The woman who cries at dog videos." "I do not." "You absolutely do." "The woman who steals my jumpers." "They're comfortable." "The woman who forgets she's left cups of tea all over the house." She smiled wider. "I don't do that anymore." "You left one on the windowsill yesterday." "...Oh."

A producer called from Gorilla. "Charlotte! Two minutes!" She looked reluctantly towards the sound. Then back at you. You smiled. "Go." She didn't move. You laughed. "Charlie." "I know." "You've got people waiting." She nodded once. Still didn't move. Instead she leaned down. Pressed one lingering kiss to your forehead. Then whispered so quietly only you heard it, "Thank you for always finding me." Your eyes immediately softened. "I've never had to. You always come home to me." Charlotte smiled. A real one. Not the confident smirk the cameras adored. Not The Queen. Just her. She squeezed your hand once. Then finally turned and walked towards Gorilla. Her stride was different now. Lighter. Certain.

The five people waiting there all looked at her. Charlotte looked between them. "What?" Rhea shook her head with a quiet grin. "Nothing." Alexa walked over, bumping Charlotte's shoulder affectionately. "You good?" Charlotte glanced back once. You were still standing exactly where she'd left you. Smiling. Waiting. She smiled back. Then looked at Alexa. "Yeah." For the first time all day she truly meant it. And as her music hit moments later, the entire locker room watched Charlotte Flair stride through the curtain with all the confidence in the world. Not because she was fearless. Not because she was perfect. But because backstage, just out of sight, the one person who knew Ashley best had quietly reminded her that she never had to earn being loved. And somehow, that made "The Queen" feel utterly unstoppable.

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The hotel suite was quiet. Wonderfully, blissfully quiet. The roar of the arena had long since faded into memory, replaced by the distant hum of traffic somewhere below the city skyline. Charlotte pushed the door open with one hand, the championship belt balanced over her shoulder. The moment the lock clicked behind you both she let out the deepest breath you'd heard all week. The championship landed carefully on the armchair beside the window. Not thrown. Not discarded. Just set down. Like it had finally stopped being the most important thing in the room. You looked at it then at her. "Congratulations." Charlotte smiled softly. "Thank you." "You were incredible." She shrugged one shoulder. "I was alright." You laughed. "Charlie." "What?" "You've got the title." "Mhm." "You can stop pretending to be humble." "I'm not pretending." "You absolutely are." She laughed, shaking her head as she wandered into the kitchenette. "I've created a monster." "You absolutely have."

You disappeared into the bedroom to change while Charlotte quietly filled the kettle. The familiar rhythm settled between you almost effortlessly. She knew you'd steal one of her hoodies. You knew she'd make tea before either of you sat down. Neither of you discussed it. You never needed to. By the time you wandered back into the living area wearing an oversized black hoodie and fluffy socks, two mugs already waited on the coffee table. Charlotte had changed too. Grey joggers, one of your old university T-shirts, hair loose over her shoulders, no makeup, no championship entrances, no cameras, just Charlie. Your favourite version.

For a while neither of you spoke. Steam curled lazily from your mugs. The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The championship sat forgotten in the corner. Charlotte leaned back into the cushions with a contented sigh. You watched her for a moment. "You know..." "What?" "I think I learnt something this week." She turned her head. "Oh?" "I finally understand why everyone calls you The Queen." Charlotte smiled. "I'm almost afraid to ask." You shrugged. "Because when you're working everyone else disappears." "They don't." "They do. You make every single person around you feel like they're exactly where they should be." She looked thoughtful. "I've never thought about it like that." "I have." You nudged her gently with your shoulder. "You're very good at taking care of people."

Charlotte looked down into her tea. "So are you." You smiled. "I try." "No." She shook her head. "You don't understand." Her voice had grown quieter. More serious. "You take care of me." You frowned gently. "I make you tea." "You make me breathe." The room fell still. You looked at her, searching her face. She wasn't joking. She wasn't exaggerating. She meant every word. Charlotte set her mug carefully onto the table. "I've been trying to work out how to explain it." "You don't have to." "I want to." She shifted so she was facing you properly, one leg folded beneath her. "For years" She took a slow breath. "I thought I was good because I never needed anyone." Your heart squeezed. She smiled sadly. "I genuinely believed that if I could carry everything myself then I was strong." She looked down at her own hands. "I didn't realise I was just tired." Without thinking, you reached over and took one of her hands. She looked at your joined fingers and smiled. "There it is." You tilted your head. "What?" "My favourite place." Your throat tightened. She continued softly. "I've spent so much of my life holding on. To expectations, to pressure, to everyone's opinions, to being Charlotte Flair." Her thumb slowly stroked across your knuckles. "Then I met you." A tiny laugh escaped her. "And you never once asked me to be any of those things." You smiled through suddenly misty eyes. "I wouldn't know how." "I know. You just" She searched for the words. "held my hand."

Silence settled again. Comfortable. Warm. You squeezed gently. "I've got a confession." Charlotte smiled. "What?" "I noticed something this week." "Oh?" "You touch me all the time." She laughed. "So I've been told." "No. I'm serious. You do. You always have." She looked faintly embarrassed. "I've never really thought about it." "I know. I think everyone else noticed before we did." That made both of you laugh. You shifted closer until your knees touched. "Can I tell you what I think?" Charlotte nodded. "Always." "I don't think you reach for me because you're clingy." She smiled. "I'd hope not." "I think" You looked down at your intertwined hands. "it's because your whole life people have reached for Charlotte." Autographs. Interviews. Championships. Photographs. Expectations. Everyone always wanted something. "But" You lifted your joined hands between you. "Charlie just reaches for me." Charlotte felt tears sting unexpectedly. "You don't have to be impressive." You smiled. "You don't have to win. You don't have to be strong. You don't even have to talk. You just" You gently kissed the back of her hand. "have to be here." Charlotte stared at you for a long moment. Then quietly asked, "Can I tell you a secret?" "Always." "There were days" She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "before you where I couldn't remember the last time someone touched me without wanting something." The words hung in the air. Heavy, honest. "I'd shake hands, hug people after matches, pose for photographs. But" She looked into your eyes. "I couldn't remember what it felt like to just be held."

Your heart broke a little. You didn't answer with words. You simply opened your arms. You laughed through the tears gathering in your eyes. "Come here." She moved without hesitation, curling against you until her head rested beneath your chin. Your arms wrapped around her instinctively. One hand settled into her hair. The other rubbed slow circles across her back. Neither of you spoke, you didn't need to. After a few moments, you felt her melt completely into your embrace, every ounce of tension she'd carried through the week dissolving. "You know" she murmured into your shoulder. “Hm?" "I think everyone got it wrong." "About what?" "The touching." You smiled into her hair. "Oh?" "They think I can't go a minute without touching you." "They've got a stopwatch ready." A quiet laugh vibrated against your chest. "They're wrong." You smiled. "Yeah?" She tilted her head just enough to look up at you. "It's not that I need to touch you." Her fingers threaded through yours once more. "It's that" She smiled, a small, sleepy, wonderfully her smile. "every time I do I remember I'm home." Your eyes immediately filled. You leaned down, pressing the gentlest kiss against her forehead. "Welcome home, Charlie." She closed her eyes.

Outside, somewhere beyond the glass, the city carried on. Traffic moved. Lights shimmered. People celebrated another successful show. On the chair by the window, the championship gleamed beneath the hotel lamp. Tomorrow, Charlotte Flair would shoulder it again. She'd smile for cameras, answer interviews, carry the expectations that came with being one of the greatest wrestlers in the world. But tonight the title remained forgotten across the room because the greatest victory she'd ever found wasn't made of gold. It wasn't announced by a ring announcer. It wasn't won under bright arena lights. It was quieter than that. It was softer. It was a pair of hands she'd learned to reach for without thinking and a woman who answered every single time. "I'm here." And for Charlotte, that had always been enough.

[4pril12th]

‘SOMETIME AROUND MIDNIGHT’

Warnings :smut eventually, language, mentions of death

Jacob Fatu x black!oc

chapter 2

PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THE A/N at the end of the chapter, its actually important this time, and will help me produce more chapters for yall!

Emptiness.

Usually after coming home from a long tour Kenese felt grateful to get back to California, to her home with her dog, and her amazing bed.

But things felt lonely and repetitive now. Cairo was in Cancun for some brand trip, Jon, Josh, and Joe were in Florida up to God knows what, and for some reason, Jacob still hadn’t texted her.

Loneliness wasn’t a new feeling for her but repetitive loneliness was... and it led her to think about her environment. Maybe she had outgrown California life.

her having had lived there her entire life, growing up in a 1 story suburban at the edge of a cul de sac, and growing up in it until the time of her mothers death when she was 16, she had realized that a lot of the key factors in her life were repetitive and that needed to change..

The want for a new start wasn’t sudden.. She had told her ex-girlfriend about wanting a change but Anissa had convinced her that their relationship was already rocky enough and that a move would complicate things more.

So now, sitting in this moment she realized that she had spent most of her life catering to what other people thought they needed from her. Now with an entire month off from work, she decided that she has to take charge of her life and make the changes she wanted to make.

She sunk into the couch and got to brainstorming on where to move. “New York?.. no they got big ass rats down there.. Chicago? no… it get’s too cold during winter.. Texas? no.. it would just be like Cali…. Florida? Na- wait.. Florida…” She murmured, trailing off as she pondered on it longer.

She drifted in her thoughts for a few moments before an impromptu bark from her dog caused by the trill of the doorbell, broke her brainstorm. “who the hell is ringing my doorbell..” Kenese exasperated, heading to the door and opening it to see a delivery person holding a large bouquet of pink lilies and pink roses.

“Delivery for Kenese Rayan?” The delivery driver stated, reading out the card. “Oh I didn’t order these?” She questioned more than she stated. “Oh well theres a note from the buyer attached.” He said, quickly handing her the flowers before getting back in his delivery van.

She closed the door behind him and journeyed to her kitchen island, before sitting the flowers down and picking up the card to read the note.

“I didn’t forget to text you, texting is lil’ boy shit, I like going bigger. Hope You don’t mind, I got your address from your girl. Dinner soon? - J.F” She whispered, reading the note in awe.

As she went to pull her phone out to text Cairo, her phone started flashing with a call from an unknown number with a Florida area code. She opened her mouth to speak but got cut off by the voice on the other end.

“You got my lil’ surprise, mama?” The familiar deep voice spoke out. “I got it.. Thank’s big boy. Didn’t appreciate how you left me hangin’ though..” She teased.

“Well then I guess you’ll have to let me make up for it by taking you later?” He flirtatiously suggested. “Well then I guess, I’ll have to take you up on your offer, to see how you’re planning to make it up to me.” Kenese purred.

“Alright then, mama.. I’ll be seeing you later then.. be ready by 8:30, i’mma come swing by to grab you.” Jacob breathed. “Okay big boy.. see you at 8:30.” Kenese said slowly, before hanging up.

Kenese was good at a lot of things, but the thing she was best at was procrastinating. It was now 8:20 and Kenese was running around with her hair clipped up, setting powder still baking on her face, and one leg out of her bodysuit as Erykah Badu blasted in the background of the chaos.

She managed to get herself together by 8:27, checking her outfit in the mirror before answering the knock on her door. She opened the door and stepped to the side and let Jacob in, taking in his outfit. All black, chain dangling from his neck and large black sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Shit.. mama, you look so fuckin’ good.” He breathed out, eyes scanning up and down her body as he took her hand to twirl her slowly. “Thanks big boy, you look good too” She replied smirking.

“Alright, let’s go then mama.” Jacob said, gently taking her hand and leading her out the door towards the passenger seat of his car before opening the door for her.

As they sat in the car, they opted on not listening to any music, wanting to connect with each other first.

“So what made you get into wrestling?” Jacob quizzed, breaking the silence. “Well my mom died when I was 16, and we used to watch wrestling together all the time, and her favorite wrestler was Jazz and before she died she used to tell me that she wished that more women had the courage to break into male fields like wrestling.. So I started wrestling school at 17 and went up from there..” She expressed, as Jacob intently listened.

“ Thats respectable as hell , sounds like your mom was a good lady.” He replied gently. “ She was.. I just wish she was here so she could see me fulfilling her wish.” She sighed wearily.

“All your loved ones, are looking down and cheering you on, no matter what you think or how you feel in the moment… Your people are always with you in your heart.” He expressed, caressing the back of her palm with his thumb.

“Thank you, Jacob. I really appreciate you listening.” She replied, as the car pulled into the NOBU parking lot, slowing as Jacob’s eyes scanned for a park.

“Anytime mama, If you ever need to talk to someone about shit like this, let me know. I’ll be around” He said putting emphasis on the last part, as he parked the car and exited to grab her from the passengers seat.

As the walked inside the restaurant, Kenese shivered, slightly taken aback by the cold breeze of the lavish restaurant. Jacob immediately took notice her shiver and stood behind her and pulled her closer, as they were led to their table by the greeter.

Jacob slid into the booth first, still being observant of Kenese’s slight shiver. Kenese went to sit on the opposite side of Jacob, but her action was stopped by Jacob speaking up.

“Where you going mama? c’mere.” He instructed, curling his thick fingers to beckon her to come sit on the same side as him.She moved to sit next to him but yelped when Jacob pulled her on to his lap. “Oh well this is far better than my original seating plan.” She purred, feeling his breath on the back of her neck.

“You better chill out mama, we might not get through this dinner if you keep talking reckless at the mouth” He tilted his head down, leading into her ear whispering, as his hand two fingers trailed up her thigh teasingly. “Okay i’ll chill out.. only if we don’t stay for desert.. cause I have other things in mind for a dessert menu.” She breathed, leaning her head up to whisper in Jacob’s ear.

Jacob was about to respond but got halted by the server’s arrival to the table. “Can I get you guys started with any drinks?” The server suggested. Kenese had scanned over the drink menu. “I wanna get a drink, but they make these drinks hella strong here..” Kenese tilted her head up at Jacob indecisively. “We could split it..”He suggested.

“Okay, that works for me. Can I please get a hibiscus sour, and a water” She politely requested. The server nodded before trailing off to go grab their drink. “So im getting a feeling you don’t drink a lot?” Jacob joked.

She tilted her head up with an ‘are you forreal?’ expression on her face. “Boy did you forget all about how drunk I was, the night we met? And if you must know.. I’m more of a smoker” She giggled. “I could tell.” He admitted.

“boy, how the hell?” She replied, flabbergasted. “You too laid back for a 30 year old with a crazy ass schedule.” He jested. “Well maybe i’m just a Zen person!” She playfully scoffed.

“Yeah Ight.” He jokingly sucked his teeth in disbelief. “Whatever Jacob!” She playfully punched his shoulder before leaning closer into him. They chatted for a little while longer as they waited for their food to come out.

As the food came out, Kenese slightly lifted off Jacob’s lap to began eating but was paused by Jacob taking one of his hands from around her waist to grab her chopsticks out of her hand, clamping a California roll with it.

“What are you.. - Shh, open your mouth.” He cut her off gently, tilting her head up with his free hand as she opened her mouth, sliding the sushi in her mouth. “What was that for?” Smiling as she finished chewing. “Why would I let you make an effort to feed yourself when i’m right here?” He replied.

“well thank you, big boy.” She beamed, tilting her head back up as he fed her another piece of sushi. “This is bare minimum mama, don’t mention it.” He expressed.

He finished feeding her, before he began to eat his meal, finishing it quickly before moving on to hand her their drink for her to sip. As dinner wrapped up, Jacob paid the bill no questions asked. Something Kenese admired very much.

She had never been treated like this by any of her partners, let alone the first date. Everything was going perfectly on this date. Jacob even taking the liberty of carrying her to the car due to her being tipsy, even despite her protests.

Jacob drove through the busy streets of LA, as Kenese slightly hung her head out the window wearily knowing that this dream date would be over soon, breeze blowing on her face as ‘Bad’ by Tiara Thomas, played at a lower volume.

Jacob took notice to her unusual silence, he knew that you didn’t have to know Kenese for too long to realize she was a chatterbox. “Everything all right mama? You need something?” He inquired, taking one hand off the wheel to gently caress her thigh as a sign of reassurance.

“Tonight was a great night, and I’m a little upset that It’s ending so soon.” She admitted, scanning his side profile as he focused on the Road. “You thought the night was gon be over once I dropped you at your doorstep? nah that’s not how I do things.. Plus, you were mentioning a lil something bout’ dessert earlier If i recall correctly.” He replied grinning, gold peeking out.

“Dessert is still on the table.. I just didn’t want you to think I was moving too fast.” She replied contently. “You can never move too fast wit’ me, i’m happy to go whatever pace you need me to go lil’ mama.” He smirked.

“Well then I guess I’ll have to invite you in for dessert big boy.” She purred, still scanning his bearded side profile, feeling a new but familiar sensation between her legs.

As they reached Kenese’s house, Jacob wasted no time eagerly going over to the passenger seat to carry her. Kenese violently fumbled through her bag at the door, in search for her keys just as eager as Jacob to get started on the dessert portion of the night.

“Yes! Found them!” She whispered triumphantly as she quickly jammed the key in the lock to open it. Jacob pushed the door open, and entered still carrying Kenese in his arms before placing her down and picking her back up so she could face him.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He whispered in her ear hungrily before moving his mouth to her neck, ravaging it with his tongue. “Upstairs. First door on the left.” She managed to utter out between moans.

He quickly kicked off his shoes, making a beeline to the bedroom, Kenese clinging onto his broad frame. As they reached the bedroom.

He carried her over to the bed, gently placing her on the edge of it before getting on one knee and placing her foot on it slowly drifting his large hands to her ankle to remove her heels.

He gently placed both shoes on the floor before bringing his large hands back to her foot. “Look at these pretty lil’ things.” He breathed out, teasingly massaging her foot. She leaned her head farther into her sheets as she spread her legs, toes flexing in anticipation.

He gently picked up her slender, tattooed foot as he brought her big toe between his lips, tongue swirling around it greedily as he sucked, causing a a soft moan to rip out of Kenese’s throat.

He then continued, moving on to the following toes, tasting each one with a teasing pressure until her foot was slick with saliva.

Finally content with his work, he lowered her toned leg, shifting upwards until his mouth reached the supple skin of her inner thigh, Trailing wet kisses higher as he reached the smooth skin above her entrance, taking notice to the jewelry decorating it.

“Fuck.. you got her decorated lil’ mama? you must be tryna take me out.” He breathed out. He paused to admire it, playfully flicking his tongue against it before inching lower, trailing his hands down to spread her folds before pressing his tongue against her swollen nub. “Jacob..” She whimpered in ecstasy, kneading her hands through his hair as she rocked her hips against his face.

“Shit, you taste so sweet mama, you got me hooked on this pussy.” He growled hungrily, continuing to ravage at her swollen nub with his thick tongue.

As he continued to hungrily work at her clit, Kenese quickly tugged him upwards, feeling herself beginning to unravel. Gazing upwards as he towered over her. She sunk down to her knees to pull his pants and his boxers down.

Before he could say anything, she laid him on the bed, teasingly crawling as she worked her way between his muscular thighs. “Couldn’t finish just yet, had to make sure I got my dessert too big boy.” She purred, teasingly grinning as she took him into her mouth.

“Fuck mama, I aint know you was nasty like this.” He hissed out in pleasure, her lips plump lips sealed around his shaft as she bobbed up and down, her tongue slowly swirling around the tip, before she dragged her tongue up and down the underside of his large member. “Take it all mama.” He breathed out.

She continued to work down his shaft greedily with her tongue, taking him all in as her nose brushed across the short curly hairs of his pelvis.

Noticing him beginning to come undone, she clamped her mouth around him tighter as his body tensed up, as warm spurts began shooting down her throat. “Shit, Kenese” He exclaimed as an absolutely animalistic sound tore out of him.

“Sorry baby, you just tasted so good.. I had to suck everything up.” She teased, greedily running her tongue over her lips to collect the rest of his cum that landed on her plump lips, as Jacob watched in awe.

He slowly lifted up, getting stopped by Kenese placing her hand on his broad tattooed chest, before crawling up further and swinging her leg over one of his hips straddling him as she wrapped her hand around his large wet member placing a condom on it, and directing it to her slippery entrance before plowing down in one smooth motion.

“Oh my fucking God, Kenese” Jacob breathed out as she took control, beginning to ride him, hips rolling in sloppy circles as his eyes trailed to her large perky breasts bouncing up and down, matching the patterns of Jacob’s brutal thrusts.

“Shit Jacob, you feel so fucking deep like this!” She exclaimed, throwing her head back in bliss, as Jacob moved his large hands up to grip her waist, as she placed her hands down on his chest to steady herself. “Fuck, you so tight mama.” “Keep riding this dick baby, take control.” He groaned out.

She leaned closer into him, as she tilted her face into his neck, and began assaulting his neck with her tongue, her piercing brushing his pelvis with every rhythmic roll of her hips.

Feeling herself begin to cone undone, her pace began to quicken as her thighs tensing as she bounced with more force, feeling him go even deeper, meeting her every bounce.

“Shittt yes! Just like that” She whimpered, her tight walls clenching around him. “Fuck! I’m close Jake!” “Me too baby, Me too.” Jacob nodded back.

Her movements became more sloppy and erratic as she slammed down repetitively, her pussy clenching around him, As she felt Jacobs body tense up, hot wet spurts filling between her legs as a moan ripped out of Jacob, his now sweaty chest rising up and down as she continued to ride.

“Hold on a little longer baby, i’m about to cum!” She exclaimed, clamping around him even more, bouncing up and down as her orgasm ripped through her in waves, clear liquid gushing down her legs.

As she finished cumming, she leaned down and laid her head on Jacobs chest exhaustedly. Instead of immediately pulling away he moved his hands down to grip her chin, pulling her in for a gentle but passionate kiss.

He tapped her thigh for her to lift up slightly, as he eased his half hard cock out of her, as she whimpered from loss of contact. He wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her close as he gently ran his calloused hands across her supple skin in soothing strokes.

“So you’re a squirter huh?” He leaned down smirking. “That was my first time, so you must have been doing something right ,big boy” She beamed, moving her hand up to caress his face, pulling him in for another kiss.

“As much as I would love to lay here with you in my arms, I gotta clean you up baby.” He softly reminded her, as she gently nodded watching him go to her bathroom to fetch a rag.

As he made his way back from the bathroom, he stalked over to her gently spreading her legs as he brushed the damp rag over her still sticky entrance and her thighs before placing a light kiss on her tattooed hip bone.

After getting cleaned for what felt like forever, Jacob finally slid back into bed with her, pulling her closer, and peppering light kisses across her hairline until she drifted into sleep.

A/N : Okay guys, we finally got smut this chapter!! p.s I’m not the type of chick to engage in slowburn, and after that summerslam entrance I was dying to write smut.👀👀 btw, what do you guys think of Kenese and Jacobs dynamic so far? Im dying to know!! Also please note that I will be forming a masterlist so you can access all the chapters so far! Also feel free to ask any questions you want to know about Jacob and our oc, or give any requests to what you’d like to see between them. Just to let you guys know as well, yall missed a little hint in chapter 2 to something thats gonna become a conflict later in the story, so give her a reread and make your predictions on what my hint was!

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