Perhaps reader is new superstar joining the company. If you could include this, reader having a similar aesthetic to Jazmin bean, I’d really appreciate it.
A mysterious rising star who catches the eye of Dom. Neither Liv nor Roxanne could sway him anymore. He was going to make his own decisions, and that decision was proving that the only one he needed was reader.
Reader being aloof he decided to do something drastic to prove himself. Liv and Reader are having a title match? Looks like things aren’t going to go as planned…
(Specifically Liv thinking Dom with help her, only for that hope to shatter immediately. Something, something Dom putting the belt on reader, something something, ending with Dom begging for a chance with reader.)
Thank you so much, take as long as you need
Creepy or Cute?
Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Reader
Summary: Based on the request above, the reader and Dom are flirtatious but what started as fun quickly becomes real.
Trigger/Content Warning(s): typical WWE violence.
Word Count: 1484
A/N: I went a slightly different direction with the rivalry with Liv as well as the potential relationship with Dom than usual. Also sorry this took ages, life is life and it’s rough. For those that don’t know Jazmin Bean’s look, I included a gif. Lol. :) love them.
Finally moving to the WWE was like a dream. (Name) hadn’t expected to be signed so soon due to her aesthetic. Not that it wasn’t sellable or unheard of. But the whole creepy-cute, inhuman-girl thing had been taken before.
And most people didn’t always want to see the same personas over and over again. But she had her own twist on it. And she was excited to show it off. Especially due to her desire to be more alien inhuman than monster inhuman.
At least at the moment.
Her first few matches it had been slow for her to find her footing in the WWE. But once the she got it her momentum was shocking but welcome.
The plot that had come to unfold for her was to rival Liv Morgan. All because Dominik had complimented her look. The baby pink skeletal outfit. His joke about copying him had her laughing. Saying he definitely could do with more frills if he wanted to match her glory.
Liv had taken it personally.
When it wasn’t.
At least not at first.
But one too many passive aggressive comments had (Name) feeling petty.
She made it a mission to have one part of her gear seemingly perfectly complimentary to Dominik’s. Who seemed none the wiser to the behind the scenes feud between the two women.
He was still all over Liv and being friendly with (Name). Teasing her about how long her face paint had to take. Liv and (Name) played nice in front of him. Because this was no longer about him…at least not to (Name).
Sure it started as catty, like two high school girls interested in the same boy, only one playing around about it, but of course as fully grown WWE superstars. Now it was a full blown rivalry that was leaking onto air. And the fans were eating it up. Every little comment and eye roll.
The audience loved it.
It seemed like every guy in the Judgement Day didn’t see it. Roxanne did though. And she was playing both sides.
Because more than being petty with each other Liv and (Name) respected each other. And they both wanted to come out on top. And now that Liv had a championship it was even more serious. Because that became (Name’s) main goal.
She wasn’t an official Judgement Day member, so putting herself into the lineup of challengers for the belt wasn’t a true betrayal.
Of course her tentative friendship with everyone was being challenged by that choice. But her logic was that it was time she tried. Of course even if she lost at least Liv would still have it.
It sounded so sarcastic. But she didn’t care. It was time to actually make a name for herself outside of the indies.
Dominik was admittedly suspicious but didn’t think Liv would take it as badly as she must have. Because he became painfully aware when Liv sabotaged (Name’s) gear before Raw one night. Spray painting the word “Skank”’on the back of her jacket.
And (Name) didn’t know until she walked out that night. The word had to be quickly blurred. Shesss thankful for the two minute delay with live TV.
It was a total scandal.
Everyone at home suspected Liv. But no cameras had caught the act.
(Name) knew it was Liv. Only one person would dare sabotage her like this. And she decided that it was time to truly up the game. Because it was no longer a game.
She won her match and then afterwards was on a mission. (Name) sought her out, doing a promo spot, which meant the cameras were on. Perfect.
“You’ve got my attention now!” She snarled as she rushed her.
The two wrestlers having to be pulled off of each other. Both being shocked that Dominik had been the one to grab (Name) around the waist to yank her away from Liv. Finn having grabbed Liv.
The two women spitting insults at each other the entire time.
“Next week that title is mine!” (Name) declared, “I’m gonna make you tap!”
“You wish bitch!” Liv glared at her, “Let her go Dom!”
Dominik slowly let his arms slide away as he did as Liv told her. She watched them walk away, confused as Dominik looked back at her. She crossed her arms. She was going to get Liv for her prank. Take her belt and her notoriety.
—
The match came up and (Name) was ready. This time her gear was all her own again. No subtly matching Dom. Because this wasn’t part of her game. This was all her.
Liv was walked down by Dominik who seemed out of the moment. Like he didn’t wanna be there. Like he was contemplating his choices as Liv made her way to the ring.
The ref held the belt up and it was time for the match to begin. The two ladies were not pulling their punches, they weren’t playing around. They were truly giving the audience the best match of their lives.
Nobody interfered. That wasn’t what this was for. This was about the two women in the ring. They were determined.
They were fairly evenly matched. And played off each other well. They made for good opponents. And it was debated online if they could make matching tag partners as well or not. Their love hate could either be a benefit or a detriment.
Right now it was a benefit as Liv managed to get (Name) off her feet. And rain a few blows down on her before (Name) countered her.
She had Liv in a submission hold. She would get her to tap out. That was one of her biggest skills in the ring. And everyone knew that. But Liv was good at getting out of the.
She’d been getting her in and out of holds their entire match history.
Liv lasted longer than most. But she did eventually tap in this match. There was no getting out of the hold.
(Name) let her go and stepped back raising her arms in victory. Loving the roar of the crowd as it was announced she’d just won the championship from Liv.
Before she could leave she and the crowd were stunned by Dominik entering the ring. Everyone waiting on him to pick Liv up off the mat and sever ties with (Name). That was what she had expected to happen.
But he didn’t do that.
No.
He took the belt from the ref and put it on (Name). Physically professing his alignment to her. She stared at him in shock. She never would have thought he would do this. Liv was now outside of the ring, being supported by Roxanne, staring at them seemingly heartbroken.
Dominik promised her that he would be good to her. He was always good to the women in his life. She was stunned. She never expected him to actually be serious with the flirtatious comments he would throw her way.
She looked around at everything before her eyes landed back on his. She reached up and cupped his cheek, seemingly accepting his affections.
“You gotta prove that,” she told him before exiting the ring.
Saying in character was hard when her heart was pounding like crazy.
Dominik followed her and caught her once the cameras were off, “I was serious,” he said.
“Since when?” She asked.
“Since I noticed you matching my gear…just little bits, but I think…we’d work well together,” he said.
“But…you’re with Liv…you and I are friends…” she said.
“I’m not with Liv anymore…haven’t been for a while…it was all for the audience…but I want to be more than friends…” he teased her.
She blushed darkly. She knew it was a risk. Mixing romance and work. But if she was honest. She’d always kinda been into him, but she respected relationships. She bit her lip before nodding, leaning up and pecking his lips, trying not to have any of her face paint come off on him.
He didn’t let it stay as a simple peck as he gave her a proper kiss. Holding her close. Before letting her walk off to clean up after her match. Grinning like an idiot, not caring that her lipstick was on his lips and some of her face paint was on him now.
He wanted her and he was gonna prove that he was serious about her. With the support of his best friend of course.
“You look like an idiot when you actually love someone, ya know that, Dominik?” Liv joked as she walked over.
“Shut up,” he laughed and shook his head.
“I can’t believe she hasn’t picked up on just how into her you are until now,” she laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, but then again, we were convincing,” he joked before they parted ways, him heading to wait for (Name) so he could take her out for dinner after work.
@svtboo donated to Sami For Syria and asked for "Sami Jey fashion/outfit swap :D" It got. um. a bit out of hand. I blame Jey. Rated G, 2.2k words.
Sami glared at Jey, who was too busy asking his barber about the man's daughter's best friend's wedding to notice. Jey had personally flown him in from Florida for the occasion, which if you asked Sami, was total overkill. Of course, no one had asked him. When the marketing folks had suggested a "tag team style swap" series for the YouTube channel, Jey had jumped in with both feet to call dibs on Sami. Never mind that they'd never been an officially registered tag team, or that they hadn't tagged in months, or that they were on different brands. Jey "second only to John Cena in merch sales" Uso had volunteered to take on additional promotional work, and the crew would move heaven and earth to see it through.
Jey had reassured Sami that he would take care of everything, that all Sami would have to do was show up on time and let himself be pampered. And that might have raised a tiny little red flag in Sami's mind, but he hadn't been able to resist a chance to hang out with Jey at work. More fool him.
Jey had shown up wearing a Sami Uso merch tee, nondescript black slacks and shoes, and one of Sami's plaid shirts tied low around his waist in a way that Sami most decidedly would never style it. Sami had gotten distracted by his sudden understanding of why Jey always cut the sleeves off his shirts — the way his biceps were straining against the flimsy cotton could not possibly be comfortable — to think much of the fact that, when Jey had handed him a gym bag and all but shoved him into the locker room to change, Jey hadn't followed. Sami had just put on the perfectly normal Yeet shirt with the sleeves and hem cut off and the weird athleisure pants (he thought they were called crotch drop?) and the brand-new white sneakers and then followed Jamie from the social media team to hair and makeup, cracking jokes at her as they walked.
Jey had been talking to camera when Sami joined him, introducing the large, dark-skinned older man next to him. And that should have been another red flag, except Jey's already cheerful face had become impossibly brighter when he took in the sight of Sami in his clothes, and all Sami could think of as he sat on the makeup chair was that the awkwardness of walking in those weird pants had been worth it.
Now, 15 minutes and a lot of words he barely understood later, he was reconsidering just how worth-it it had been to agree to this.
okay, so it's plotting time and i want to know what you guys want to see! i've been lacking in motivation to write for what feels like forever and maybe this is what i need to shake off that dust. right now my goal is to write at least 13 fics that blend kink/smut and halloween (or horror) elements!
feel free to send me suggestions through my inbox or replying to this post. this doesn't mean i'll write them but your girl needs some inspiration! yes, i know i could just look up a prompt list buuuuut meh.
fave things to write:
- fandom crossovers (like wwe x scream, etc; honestly the wilder the better like father paul from midnight mass paired off with alexis rose from schitts creek? if he told her she was a vampire she just wouldn't take it seriously and tell him an ever crazier story of a weekend she spent in croatia or something lol)!
- fandom ocs (i have several lol)!!
- canon ships.
- f/m, f/f - my fics tend to be female centric sorry fam.
- aus!!!
things i'll try to write:
- readers fics (this tense is my nemesis it just doesn't vibe with me as a writer or reader but i will try!!)
things i won't write:
* these are non-negotiable. if this is what you're into i love that for you but it's just not for me.
- incest.
- non con/sexual assault (dubcon is okay).
- water sports.
- necrophilia.
- zoophilia/bestiality (but monster fucking is okay).
- rpf.
- anything racist, homophobic, transphobic, etc;
- anything to do with pregnancy.
- characters under 21.
- harry potter aus (lol in this economy?).
characters i'll write:
* this isn't an exhaustive list, just the characters i feel most drawn too and comfortable writing so there could be more added to this or some taken away idk.
horror: sam carpenter (scream), sienna shaw (terrifier), grace (ready or not), skye riley (smile), joey (abigail), nancy thompson (nightmare on elm street), jennifer (jennifer's body).
wrestling: rhea ripley, damian priest, bray wyatt/the fiend, jey uso, roman reigns, uncle howdy, dexter lumis, liv morgan + multiple ocs.
the band ghost: copia, terzo, perpetua + two ocs - a non beliving clerical worker (lena) and a pop star dating terzo (saraya).
other: monsignor pruitt/paul hill (midnight mass), barbie (the barbie movie, lol), allie hayes (off campus), alexis rose (schitt's creek).
The women's locker room buzzed with the familiar rhythm of another tour morning. Hair dryers hummed somewhere near the mirrors. Someone was hunting for a missing boot. Music drifted faintly from a speaker balanced precariously on top of an open suitcase, changing songs every few minutes as different people connected their phones. It felt less like a workplace and more like organised chaos. Which, after long enough on the road, had somehow become comforting.
You sat cross-legged on one of the sofas, phone balanced in your hands, your attention completely stolen by an article you'd stumbled across over breakfast. A grin slowly spread across your face. "Oh." You scrolled a little further. "Oh, that's adorable."
Across the room, Rhea looked up from lacing her boots. "What is?"
"You have to look at this."
She didn't move. "You've said that before."
"And?"
"It was a goat wearing pyjamas."
"It was cute. it was wearing little ducks."
"It was." She smiled despite herself before pushing herself off the bench. "I still don't know why you thought I needed to see it."
"Because you're my best friend."
"I walked right into that one."
You beamed as she dropped onto the sofa beside you. "Exactly."
You held your phone out towards her. "It's not another goat."
"It better not be."
"It's a little independent bookshop."
Rhea frowned. "...Okay?"
"It's only ten minutes from the arena."
She looked between the screen and your excited expression. "And?"
"And look."
You swiped through the photos. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, dotted with cosy armchairs, trailing plants and little handwritten recommendation cards. One corner housed an old café with mismatched furniture and homemade cakes displayed beneath glass domes. "Oh my God." You all but bounced where you sat. "They've got a resident cat."
Rhea couldn't help smiling. "I knew there was a catch."
"His name's Marmalade."
"Of course it is."
"Apparently he just walks around judging everyone."
"I respect that."
You laughed. "So..." You nudged her shoulder. "Wanna come?"
Rhea's expression immediately shifted into one that you recognised all too well. The apologetic one. "I can't."
Your shoulders fell just a fraction. "Oh."
"I've got media after lunch."
"Right."
"Then photos."
"Yeah."
"And Priest wants to go over something before the show."
You nodded, already smiling again. "That's okay."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"There'll be another city."
"There always is."
It wasn't unusual. Every week you found something, a museum, a café, a bakery, a little market tucked down a side street. Half the fun of touring, to you, was remembering that every city had people who called it home. You liked seeing the bits that weren't arenas and airports.
Most weeks nobody else had the time or the energy. You'd never really minded exploring on your own.
Rhea reached over, gently bumping your knee with hers. "I would've come."
"I know."
"If I wasn't working."
"I know."
"You know I like your weird little adventures."
"They're not weird."
"They're a little weird."
"They're charming."
"They're weird."
You laughed. "They can be both."
"They absolutely can." Rhea glanced back at your phone. "You gonna bring me back a picture of the cat?"
"I'll bring you several."
"Good."
"And maybe a bookmark."
"You don't read."
"I know."
"I'll still get you one."
"See?" Rhea shook her head affectionately. "That's why I can't say no to you."
You smiled. "I wasn't trying to convince you."
"I know."
"You're just nice."
"Unfortunately."
"Very unfortunate. You make it difficult to maintain my terrifying reputation."
"I think the tattoos do most of the work."
"And the resting bitch face."
"You don't have one."
"I absolutely do."
"You've smiled at me six times this morning."
"That's because you're annoying."
"You love me."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "I tolerate you."
"You bought me coffee."
"You forgot your wallet."
"You also bought me a muffin."
"You looked sad."
"I wasn't sad."
"You looked like you were about to be."
You laughed, leaning your head briefly against her shoulder. "I appreciate you."
"I know."
A voice echoed from the doorway. "Catering?"
You looked up to find a handful of people already heading out for lunch. Perfect timing. You slipped your phone into your pocket before standing. "Come on."
Rhea pushed herself to her feet. "I suppose I need feeding."
"You absolutely do."
"You buying?"
"You know I can't afford to keep buying your lunch."
"I was testing my luck."
"You fail every week."
"One day."
"You've got a better chance of convincing Jey to pay."
Rhea snorted. "Now that's funny."
The two of you wandered out into the corridor together, still talking over one another as you made your way towards catering. The arena seemed even busier now. Crew members hurried past carrying lighting equipment. Someone jogged in the opposite direction with a headset clutched in one hand. A producer called after one of the referees disappearing around the corner. You smiled to yourself, you loved this part, not just the wrestling, everything around it. The people. The routine. The feeling that every week, no matter what city you woke up in, you were surrounded by familiar faces. As you stepped into catering, the smell of fresh coffee and warm food immediately greeted you.
Rhea reached for a tray. "So..."
She glanced sideways at you. "Who are you going to ask?"
You looked at her innocently. "What do you mean?"
"You ask someone every week."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I just..." You shrugged. "...don't like exploring by myself if I don't have to."
Rhea smiled. "I know."
Your eyes drifted around the room, searching more out of hope than expectation. Most people were already sitting in little groups. Chelsea and Tiffany laughed loudly at one table, Damian and Truth occupied another, a few members of production sat in the corner discussing the night's show. You drew a small breath. Maybe everyone really was busy this week.
Then, from across the room your eyes met Solo's. He'd been sitting quietly near the end of one of the tables, halfway through his lunch. The second he noticed you looking over, he gave a small nod.
You smiled automatically, lifting your hand in a cheerful wave. "Hi, Solo!"
He nodded again. "Hey."
Rhea looked between the two of you. Then back at Solo. Then at you.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You should ask him."
You blinked. "Solo?"
"Mhm."
"I don't know him that well."
"So?"
"What if he thinks it's weird?"
Rhea looked over your shoulder just in time to see Solo glance in your direction again before quickly looking back down at his plate. "No," she said quietly, a knowing smile growing on her face. "I don't think he'd think it was weird at all."
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Catering slowly emptied as people disappeared in different directions. Some headed for production meetings. Others drifted towards the gym. A handful made a beeline for the coaches' office, folders tucked under their arms. You stood near the drink station, absent-mindedly stirring your iced coffee as you looked down at the map on your phone. The bookstore was only a twelve-minute walk away, you could easily go on your own, you always had before.
Still, Rhea's words lingered in the back of your mind. You should ask him.
You glanced up. Solo was still sitting at the same table, finishing his lunch in complete silence while the room buzzed around him. He didn't seem busy. But then again he never really seemed anything.
You smiled to yourself. What's the worst he can say?
Taking a quiet breath, you walked over. "Hi again."
Solo looked up almost immediately. "Hey."
"You, um..." You shifted your coffee from one hand to the other. "...you busy?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." You smiled. "Good."
A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows, waiting patiently for you to continue. "I found this little bookshop nearby."
You held your phone out so he could see the photos. "It has a café." He looked. Then looked at you. Then back at the phone. "They've got a cat." Another beat of silence. "Marmalade." You pointed excitedly at the orange cat sprawled across one of the armchairs. "He just walks around the shop apparently."
Solo studied the picture for a second longer than you'd expected. "...Orange."
"Very." You laughed. "I was going to walk over before call time." You suddenly felt a little awkward. "You don't have to or anything. I just thought..." You rubbed the back of your neck. "...if you weren't doing anything..."
Before you'd even managed to finish the sentence, "I'll come."
You blinked. "...Really?"
He nodded once. "Yeah."
Your face lit up so quickly it almost caught him off guard. "Oh!" You smiled so brightly it made something warm settle quietly in Solo's chest. "Okay."
He stood, grabbing his hoodie from the back of the chair. "When?"
You glanced at your watch. "Now?"
"Okay."
"...You don't need convincing?"
"No."
"You don't want to think about it?"
"I'm thinking." You waited. "...I wanna go."
A grin spread across your face. "Perfect."
You turned towards the exit. "This way."
Solo fell into step beside you without another word.
The walk into the city was comfortable almost immediately. Not because either of you filled every second with conversation. Because you didn't feel like you had to. You happily pointed out things as you noticed them. "Look."
Solo followed your gaze. A tiny dog wearing an oversized yellow raincoat trotted proudly past its owner. He looked at the dog. Then at you. You were already smiling. "...Cute."
"I know."
A few minutes later "Oh!"
"What?"
"There." You pointed towards a mural covering the side of a brick building. "I love finding stuff like that."
Solo stopped beside you while you admired it for a moment. "You take pictures?"
"Mhm. You don't?" He shook his head. "You should."
"...Maybe."
You snapped a quick photo before continuing down the street.
The conversation drifted naturally. Mostly led by you. "So where's your favourite place you've wrestled?"
Solo thought for a second. "...Japan."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
"The crowds."
"They're loud?"
He smiled faintly. "...Sometimes."
You laughed. "I've heard they're amazing."
"They are."
"What about yours?"
You looked thoughtful. "I think..." A smile spread across your face. "...Honestly?" He nodded. "I don't think it's about the cities."
"No?"
"It's the random little memories."
He looked across at you. "What kind?"
"Oh..." You started counting on your fingers. "The bakery in Boston, the beach in San Diego, the old record shop in Nashville, the woman in Seattle who gave me an extra cookie because she liked my earrings."
Solo listened quietly. "...I barely remember the arenas."
You smiled. "But I remember all the little adventures."
He looked ahead for a moment. Then quietly said, "...That's nice."
You looked over at him. "You think?"
"Mhm."
"You should come on more." The words left your mouth so casually you barely thought about them. "You'd probably like it."
Solo didn't answer straight away. Instead a tiny smile appeared. "...Yeah."
"I think I would."
The bell above the bookshop door chimed softly as you stepped inside. Immediately, the noise of the city disappeared. Warm lighting spilled across rows and rows of wooden bookshelves. The café in the corner smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh coffee. Someone sat curled up in an armchair reading by the window.
And, just as promised an enormous ginger cat lay sprawled across the middle of the front counter, completely unbothered by the customers wandering around him.
You gasped quietly. "Marmalade."
Solo looked towards the cat. "...Big."
"He is!"
You crouched down beside the counter, holding one finger out carefully. The cat lazily stretched before rubbing his head against your hand. Your smile somehow became even brighter. "Oh, hello."
Solo stood a couple of feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He wasn't looking at the cat anymore. He was looking at you. Watching the way you laughed softly every time Marmalade bumped his head against your hand. Watching how excited you became over something so small. You looked happy. Completely, effortlessly happy. "You were right."
You looked back at him.
"Hm?"
"He's friendly."
"I told you!" You stood again. "Come here." Solo hesitated. "You can pet him."
"I don't..."
"Marmalade likes everyone." You held your hand out towards him. "Come on."
For reasons he couldn't quite explain Solo stepped closer. You gently guided his hand towards the cat's head. "There." Marmalade immediately leaned into the scratch behind his ears.
Solo's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "...Huh."
You laughed. "I know."
"He's soft."
"I know."
For the next few seconds neither of you said anything. You simply stood shoulder to shoulder, absent-mindedly petting a sleepy bookstore cat while the world outside carried on without you.
Eventually, you looked over at him with an easy smile. "I'm really glad you came."
Solo looked back at you. There wasn't even a second's hesitation. "...Me too."
And somehow. he realised he wasn't talking about the bookshop. He wasn't even talking about the cat. He was talking about spending the afternoon with you.
He just didn't know it yet.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A week later, another city greeted you through the aeroplane window. From above, it looked like every other place you'd flown into over the past few months, grids of roads, clusters of buildings, tiny cars moving like ants beneath scattered clouds. You still smiled anyway. Every city had something worth finding. Even if it was just a good coffee shop.
The rental bus rumbled towards the arena while conversations drifted lazily around the seats. Some people slept with their heads against the windows. Others watched films on their phones. Chelsea and Tiffany were halfway through a debate about whether cereal counted as soup. You decided it was safer not to get involved.
Instead, you pulled out your phone and opened the little folder you'd created months ago.
Tour Ideas.
Each city had its own note.
Little recommendations you'd saved from TikToks, travel blogs, Instagram reels and comments
from fans. Bookshops, vintage markets, parks, museums, independent cafés. You scrolled until you found today's city. Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh..."
Across the aisle, Rhea looked over the top of her sunglasses. "What've you found now?"
You turned your phone around. "A little bakery." Rhea studied the photos. It was tucked into a narrow brick building with flower boxes beneath every window. Glass cabinets displayed rows of pastries dusted with icing sugar, and handwritten menus hung behind the counter. "They make cinnamon rolls the size of your head."
Rhea nodded approvingly. "Now you've got my attention."
"They've also got homemade hot chocolate."
"Hm."
You watched her hopefully.
"You coming?"
She sighed dramatically. "I wish."
"So that's a no."
"I've got media."
"Again?"
"I'm very popular."
You snorted. "So I've heard."
"And after media I've got rehearsal." She reached over and squeezed your knee. "But you should still go."
"I probably will."
"You definitely will."
"I don't like wasting cities."
"I know." Rhea smiled to herself. "I know."
By the time everyone had settled into their locker rooms and grabbed something to eat, the familiar pre-show routine had already begun. The corridors filled with producers carrying clipboards. Music drifted from somewhere near Gorilla. Someone hurried past balancing four takeaway coffees.
You wandered into catering with your phone already unlocked. "Okay..."
Chelsea looked up immediately. "There it is."
You frowned. "What?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The 'I've found somewhere' face."
Tiffany laughed. "Where's today's adventure?"
You grinned. "A bakery."
Chelsea clasped her hands together dramatically. "I love bakeries."
"I know."
"But I've got glam."
"I know."
"You'll bring me something back?"
"If there's anything left."
"There better be."
You laughed, looking around the room. "So..." Your voice lifted just enough for the nearby tables to hear. "...anyone fancy coming?"
There was a chorus of responses.
"I've got a meeting."
"Need a nap."
"Sorry."
"Maybe next week."
You nodded happily. "No worries." You'd expected as much. You turned to grab your water bottle
"I'm coming."
You smiled before you even looked up.
Somehow you'd expected that answer too. Solo stood from his chair, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Jimmy watched him. Then looked at Jey. Then back at Solo. "...Again?"
Solo glanced over. "What?"
"You goin' to another little café?"
"It's a bakery." You corrected automatically.
Jimmy grinned. "My bad."
"A bakery." Solo gave a single nod. "Mhm."
Jey rested his elbows on the table. "I thought you were gonna hit the gym."
Solo shrugged. "Later."
Jimmy frowned theatrically. "You hate crowds iIt's the middle of the afternoon, it'll be busy."
Another shrug. "S'alright."
Jey slowly leaned back in his chair. "Huh."
Solo ignored him completely, looking back at you instead. "You ready?"
You smiled brightly. "Yeah."
As the two of you headed for the door, Rhea appeared carrying two bottles of water. She watched you leave. Then looked at the twins. "You two seeing this?"
Jimmy didn't take his eyes off the doorway. "Oh, we're seeing it."
The bakery smelled like butter before you even opened the door. Warm air wrapped around you as little bells chimed overhead. Behind the glass counter sat rows of pastries in every shape imaginable. Croissants, fruit tarts, cookies, brownies. And right in the centre the enormous cinnamon rolls.
You gasped. "They weren't lying."
Solo looked at them. "wow."
"They're huge!"
You turned to him with the excitement of someone who'd just discovered buried treasure. "We're sharing one."
He blinked. "I don't really—"
"We're sharing one."
He almost smiled. "...Okay."
A few minutes later you managed to carry the oversized plate to a little table by the window. Two forks. One cinnamon roll. One hot chocolate. One coffee. You stared at the pastry. "I think this could feed a family."
Solo picked up his fork. "You first."
"No." You pushed the plate slightly towards him. "You came because I invited you."
"You first."
You narrowed your eyes playfully. "We're doing this?"
"Mhm."
"...Fine." You cut off a ridiculously oversized bite. It nearly fell off the fork. You laughed. "This is impossible."
Solo watched you carefully balance it all the way to your mouth. The second your eyes widened he already knew. "It's good?"
You swallowed quickly. "Oh my God."
"That good?"
You nodded enthusiastically. "You have to try it."
You cut another piece before holding your fork out without thinking. "Here." The moment froze for half a second. You realised what you'd done. "Oh!" Your cheeks warmed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to” Before you could pull the fork back Solo leaned forward slightly and took the bite anyway. Your brain stalled completely. "...Sorry."
He looked at you, chewing thoughtfully. Then gave one decisive nod. "...Good."
You laughed, relief washing over you. "I know!"
For the next twenty minutes, the two of you slowly demolished the cinnamon roll while you talked about everything and nothing. You told him about the tiny aquarium you'd visited on your last holiday. He admitted he'd never actually been inside one. "You've never been?" He shook his head. "You'd love it."
"Mhm?"
"They've got little jellyfish."
He smiled faintly. "You like jellyfish?"
"I like everything."
"I noticed."
You laughed. "I can't help it."
"No." He looked out of the window for a second before quietly adding, "...I don't think you should."
The words were so quiet you almost wondered if you'd imagined them. You looked at him. "What?"
He met your eyes. "You always get excited."
You smiled sheepishly. "I do."
"It's nice."
Warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks."
He just nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.
It wasn't until your phone buzzed with a reminder for call time that you realised nearly an hour had disappeared. You blinked. "We should probably head back."
Solo checked the time. "...Yeah."
Neither of you sounded particularly enthusiastic about it. As you stood, you carefully folded the leftover half of the cinnamon roll into a takeaway box. "You taking it?"
You nodded. "Chelsea threatened me if I came back empty-handed."
Solo's mouth twitched. "...Fair."
You laughed.
Together, you stepped back out into the sunshine and began the walk towards the arena. As you chatted away beside him about where next week's tour stop might be, Solo found himself doing something he almost never did. He hoped there would be another little adventure. Not because he cared about bakeries or bookshops or museums. But because somewhere between sharing one cinnamon roll and listening to you talk about jellyfish with complete sincerity he'd realised those afternoons had quietly become his favourite part of every tour stop.
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The following week, you found yourself in another city, another hotel, another arena, another little pin waiting to be added to the map you kept saved on your phone. You smiled to yourself as you walked through the loading bay, suitcase rolling behind you. Every place felt new.
That was your favourite part. No matter how many times you'd toured, there was always another little coffee shop to discover or another street to wander down.
Rhea fell into step beside you, coffee already in hand. "So."
"So?"
She took a sip. "What's today's adventure?"
You laughed. "I haven't decided yet."
"You've definitely decided."
"I've narrowed it down."
"How many options?"
"...Five."
Rhea groaned. "Five?"
"I couldn't choose."
"You never can."
"I like them all."
"You always do."
You unlocked your phone as the two of you walked through the maze of corridors, pulling up the folder labelled Tour Ideas. "Okay." You turned the screen towards her. "So there's a botanical garden."
"Mhm."
"A tiny comic book shop."
"Mhm."
"A second-hand record store."
"Mhm."
"Oh!" You scrolled again. "And apparently there's a little family-run ice cream place that makes everything fresh every morning."
Rhea smiled despite herself. "You're impossible."
"I know."
"I swear you get more excited about exploring than wrestling."
You gasped dramatically. "I can love two things."
"You definitely can."
As you reached the women's locker room, Rhea nudged your shoulder. "So..."
She looked at you over the rim of her coffee cup. "Which one are you taking Solo to?"
You blinked. "What?"
She looked completely innocent. "I didn't say anything."
"You absolutely did."
"I asked a question."
"I haven't even asked anyone yet."
"Mhm."
"You think he's coming?"
"I do."
"What makes you think that?"
Rhea only smiled. "You'll see."
By lunchtime, the arena had settled into its familiar rhythm. People drifted in and out of catering between meetings, music played quietly from someone's speaker, a production assistant hurried through carrying enough paperwork to bury themselves under.
You wandered in with your tray balanced carefully in one hand. The moment Chelsea spotted you she pointed her fork in your direction. "There she is."
You frowned. "What?"
"Explorer."
You laughed. "I have a name."
"Barely."
Tiffany looked up. "So where are we going?"
You looked around the table in confusion. "What do you mean 'we'?"
"The imaginary group that asks before abandoning us."
"I don't abandon anyone."
Chelsea smiled. "You kind of do."
"I invite everyone."
"You do."
"You all say no."
"Correct."
"So that's hardly my fault."
Rhea sat down beside you, trying very hard not to smile. "So..." She rested her chin on her hand. "Where are you going today?"
You pulled your phone out. "I found this botanical garden."
Chelsea immediately sighed. "I'd actually love that but I've got glam."
You'd barely finished speaking when a familiar voice came from behind you. "I'll come."
Without even thinking, you smiled. "Hi, Solo."
He gave a small nod as he stopped beside the table. "Hey."
You looked up at him. "I found a botanical garden."
"Mhm."
"They've got butterflies."
He nodded once. "...Okay."
"I thought we could walk there."
"Okay."
You smiled brightly. "Perfect."
Across the table Chelsea slowly lowered her fork.
Tiffany looked at Rhea.
Rhea took a very deliberate sip of her drink.
Chelsea leaned a little closer. "...Has he..."
Tiffany whispered back, "...been on every one?"
Rhea didn't answer. She simply raised one eyebrow.
The three of them watched as you happily continued telling Solo about the botanical garden while he listened with complete attention, occasionally asking the odd quiet question. "...They've got a koi pond too."
"Mhm."
"And apparently a greenhouse full of orchids."
He nodded. "...Sounds nice."
"I thought so."
You looked at your watch. "Oh."
"We should probably head off soon."
"Yeah." Solo hadn't even picked up his tray yet. He simply turned around. "I'll grab my stuff."
"Okay!"
You smiled after him before sitting back down. Only then did you notice the three women staring at you. "...What?"
Chelsea blinked. "Nothing."
Tiffany nodded far too quickly. "Absolutely nothing."
Rhea looked down at her lunch to hide the grin spreading across her face.
You frowned. "You're all being weird."
"Nope."
"Very normal."
"The normalest."
You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think that's a word."
"It is today."
You laughed, shaking your head. "You lot are strange."
As soon as you wandered off to refill your water bottle Chelsea immediately turned to Rhea. "...Okay."
Rhea smiled into her coffee. "What?"
"What is happening?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Tiffany nodded. "I've literally never seen Solo volunteer for anything."
Rhea leaned back in her chair. "I know."
Chelsea frowned thoughtfully. "Has he ever said no to her?"
The three of them fell silent. Thinking. Rhea counted on her fingers. "Bookshop, bakery, botanical garden."
Chelsea added, "He was with her at the airport last week."
Tiffany looked up. "And I saw them walking back from the hotel together after SmackDown."
Another pause.
Rhea finally smiled to herself. "...Huh."
Chelsea looked at her. "'Huh?'"
"I think..."
Rhea glanced across the room just in time to see Solo return with his backpack slung over one shoulder, automatically walking over to where you were waiting by the door.
You smiled at him. He nodded back. Without discussing it, the two of you fell into step beside each other and disappeared down the corridor.
Rhea watched until you were out of sight. Then she looked back at Chelsea and Tiffany. "I don't think he's going because of the places."
Chelsea's eyebrows shot up. "You think he's going because of her?"
Rhea smiled knowingly. "I've had that feeling since the bookshop."
Tiffany laughed softly.
"Oh..." Chelsea grinned. "...He's got it bad."
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the conversation you'd just inspired, you looked over at Solo as the afternoon sunshine hit your face outside the arena. "You know..."
"What?"
"I've never actually been to a botanical garden before."
He looked at you. "No?"
You shook your head. "So..." A smile spread across your face. "...we get to experience our first one together."
For reasons he couldn't quite explain that made him smile too.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Another Friday, another city, another arena. By now, it had become something of a tradition. You'd arrive, you'd unpack just enough to make the hotel room feel lived in, you'd spend the morning bouncing between production meetings, rehearsals and catching up with everyone you'd only seen a few days earlier.
Then, somewhere around lunchtime you'd appear with your phone. "So..."
The word barely left your mouth before Jimmy called across catering. "Where we goin' today?"
Laughter rippled around the room. You smiled. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"You don't gotta." Chelsea pointed her fork towards you. "You found somewhere."
"I did."
Jimmy leaned back in his chair. "Course you did."
You laughed, unlocking your phone. "There's a little market by the river."
"Mhm."
"They've got handmade jewellery."
"Mhm."
"Oh! and apparently someone sells homemade fudge."
Chelsea looked tempted for a split second. "...No. I've got hair."
Tiffany shook her head. "I've got media."
Rhea smiled into her coffee. "I've got absolutely nothing..." Your face brightened. "...But I'm not coming."
You pouted dramatically. "Traitor."
She shrugged. "I'm busy."
"You just said—"
"I'm busy."
"You've become very suspicious recently."
"I've always been suspicious."
You narrowed your eyes. "I don't believe you."
Jimmy was already looking past you. "You gonna ask him?"
You turned. "Him who?"
As if summoned simply by the conversation Solo walked through the catering doors. Jimmy couldn't help himself. He looked at Jey. Then dramatically checked an imaginary watch. "Right on time." Jey snorted into his drink.
Solo frowned. "What?"
"Nothin'."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
You looked between the three of them in complete confusion. "...Have I missed something?"
"Nope."
"Not at all."
Jimmy waved you off. "So..." He nodded towards Solo. "Ask him."
You blinked. "I was going to."
"I know."
"...How?"
"'Cause you always do."
You laughed. "I don't always."
"You absolutely do."
You walked over to Solo before anyone else could continue whatever strange joke they were all apparently in on. "Hi."
"Hey."
"I found a market." He waited. "There'll be food."
"Mhm."
"And jewellery."
"Mhm."
"And there's a man who makes tiny glass animals."
For the first time since you'd met him Solo's eyebrows lifted just a little. "...Glass animals?"
You nodded enthusiastically. "Tiny ones."
He thought for all of half a second. "...Let's go."
The market wound its way alongside the river in a patchwork of colourful stalls. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed above your heads despite the afternoon sun still shining brightly. The smell of fresh bread mixed with coffee and cinnamon drifted through the warm air. Someone nearby played an acoustic guitar while children chased each other between the stalls.
You smiled almost immediately. "I love places like this."
Solo glanced at you. "I know."
"You do?"
"You always smile."
Your smile somehow grew even wider. "I do."
"You do."
You wandered slowly, stopping every few feet because something else caught your eye. "Oh!" You hurried towards a stall covered in tiny ceramic animals. "They're adorable." Solo followed without complaint. You picked up a tiny duck no bigger than your thumb. "Look."
He looked. "...Cute."
"It has a little hat."
"It does."
You laughed quietly before setting it back down. At the next stall, an elderly man sat behind dozens of tiny blown-glass animals that glittered in the sunlight.
You crouched down almost immediately. "They're beautiful."
The man smiled warmly. "Take your time."
You carefully admired each one. Foxes. Owls. Whales. Tiny turtles no bigger than your fingernail. Then You spotted it. "Oh..." You reached for a tiny orange cat. Its tail curled around its paws exactly like Marmalade's had in the bookshop.
The man noticed your smile. "You like that one?"
"It reminds me of a cat I met."
He chuckled. "That's a good enough reason."
You turned it carefully between your fingers before reluctantly placing it back down. "It's really pretty."
Solo looked from the cat to you then quietly wandered a few steps away while you became distracted by another display. A minute later, you thanked the stall owner and continued walking.
Completely unaware that Solo had lingered behind for just a moment.
"You know..." You looked over as the two of you walked along the river.
"What?"
"I've noticed something."
Solo glanced at you. "What?"
"You've started talking more."
He looked genuinely surprised. "I have?"
"Mhm. At first I think I spoke enough for both of us."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You still do."
You laughed. "I know but..." You nudged his shoulder lightly. "...I like hearing what you've got to say."
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then quietly, "I like listening."
"I know."
"It makes it easy."
"What does?"
A small shrug. "Being around you."
Your heart softened. "I hope that's a good thing."
"It is."
The words came so naturally that neither of you really stopped to think about them.
You eventually found a quiet bench overlooking the river. You sat down with two lemonades and a paper bag full of warm fudge you'd somehow been convinced to buy after sampling "just one piece." You tore off a tiny square and held the bag out. "Wanna try?"
Solo nodded. "Mhm."
He reached into the bag only for your fingers to brush. It was barely a second. Barely anything at all.
Yet somehow neither of you moved straight away. You looked up. His eyes were already on you. The sounds of the market seemed to fade into the background. For just a heartbeat it was only the two of you, then someone shouted happily across the river.
The moment broke. You smiled shyly, looking back down at the bag. "...Sorry."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't do anything."
"I know."
He took the piece of fudge, turning it over thoughtfully before taking a bite.
You watched him expectantly. "Well?"
He chewed. Then nodded once. "...Good."
You laughed. "That's all I get?"
"It's really good."
"There we go."
He almost smiled. "You happy now?"
"Very."
The two of you sat there for a while longer, watching boats drift lazily past.
It wasn't silent. But it was quiet. Comfortable. The sort of quiet that only existed between two people who never felt any pressure to fill every pause.
Eventually, you sighed happily. "I think this might be my favourite one."
Solo looked at you. "The market?"
You shook your head. "The afternoon."
He followed your gaze to the river. "Mine too."
He wasn't talking about the market.
And this time he knew it.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The pattern became impossible to ignore, not for you, you were still blissfully unaware.
But for everyone else?
It had become the easiest game on tour.
Every new city, someone would ask exactly one question.
"Where's she taking Solo today?"
Another Monday, another airport, another early morning. The women's locker room hadn't quite woken up yet. Chelsea sat curled up on the sofa with a coffee almost as big as her head. Tiffany scrolled through her phone. Rhea was attempting to convince herself that six in the morning should be illegal.
You wandered in with your backpack still slung over one shoulder. "Morning!"
Rhea looked up. "You're smiling."
"I am."
"It's six."
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You found somewhere."
Your grin widened. "...Maybe."
Chelsea groaned dramatically. "She's done it again."
You laughed as you dropped into the seat beside Rhea. "It isn't even that exciting."
"What is it?"
"A little aquarium."
Rhea blinked. "...An aquarium?"
"They've got rescued sea turtles."
Rhea chuckled. "So..." She leaned back. "You asking him?"
You frowned. "Him?"
"The very large Samoan who's apparently become your personal tour guide."
You looked genuinely confused. "You mean Solo?"
"Mhm."
"I mean..." You shrugged. "I'll ask everyone."
Chelsea and Rhea exchanged a look. Neither of them said a word.
By lunchtime, the game had already begun. Jimmy spotted you walking into catering with your phone in your hand. He didn't even look up from his lunch. "There she is."
Jey glanced over. "What's today's adventure?"
You smiled. "Aquarium."
Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. "Nice." Then he looked around the room. "Where Solo at?"
As if the universe enjoyed proving him right the catering doors opened. Solo walked in.
Jimmy immediately slapped Jey's arm. "There."
Jey burst into laughter. "I swear he got a tracker."
Solo frowned. "What?"
"Nothin'."
"You keep sayin' that."
"'Cause there ain't nothin'."
You walked over before the twins could confuse you any further. "Hi."
"Hey."
"So..." You unlocked your phone. "I found an aquarium."
"Mhm."
"They've got rescued sea turtles."
He nodded. "Okay."
"And little penguins."
"Mhm."
"And jellyfish."
Something softened in his expression. "You like jellyfish."
Your face lit up. "You remembered?"
He looked almost surprised that you'd sounded so pleased. "...Yeah."
You smiled. "I do."
He nodded once. "I'll come."
Before you'd even asked.
You blinked. "Oh. I..." A little laugh escaped you. "I was actually about to ask."
"I know."
"You knew?"
"Mhm."
"You would've said yes?"
He looked at you as though there wasn't another possible answer. "Yeah."
You smiled so warmly it made his chest tighten. "Okay, meet you after lunch?"
"Mhm."
"Perfect."
You wandered off towards the dessert table, happily humming to yourself.
The second you were out of earshotJimmy slowly turned towards Solo. "Bro."
"What?"
"You ain't even let her finish."
Solo frowned. "So?"
"So?" Jey laughed. "She didn't even ask yet."
"I knew what she was gonna say."
Jimmy leaned forward. "And you already knew your answer."
"...Yeah."
The twins stared at him. Completely speechless.
Finally, Jimmy spoke. "You know you could say no."
"I could."
"But you don't."
"No."
"Why?"
Solo looked genuinely confused by the question. "'Cause I wanna go."
Jey rubbed a hand down his face. "That ain't what I'm askin'."
Solo stayed quiet.
Jimmy tried again. "You don't even like aquariums."
"I never said that."
"You've never been."
"So?"
"So why you goin'?"
Solo opened his mouth. Then paused. His answer should have been easy. He could have said he wanted to get out of the arena. He could have said he was bored. He could have blamed the sea turtles. Instead the only honest answer sat quietly in his chest. Because she asked. Because she smiled when he said yes. Because somewhere between bookshops and bakeries and markets those afternoons had become the part of tour he looked forward to most.
He didn't say any of that. He simply shrugged. "...Sounds fun."
Jimmy stared. Then looked at Jey. "You hear that?"
Jey nodded solemnly. "I heard it."
"He lying."
"He lying real bad."
Solo rolled his eyes. "I ain't lying."
"You are."
"You hate museums."
"I went."
"You hate shopping."
"I went."
"You don't even drink coffee."
"I still went."
Jimmy stood dramatically, pointing across the room towards where you were laughing with Rhea over something one of the catering staff had said. "You know why."
Solo followed his finger automatically. You were still smiling, still laughing, still completely oblivious to the fact that three people were talking about you. His expression softened without him noticing.
Jimmy caught it immediately. "There."
Jey nodded. "There."
"What?"
"That."
Solo looked back at them. "What?"
"The face."
He frowned. "What face?"
Jimmy couldn't stop grinning. "The one you get every time you look at her."
Solo opened his mouth to argue. Nothing came out. Because for the first time he wasn't entirely sure they were wrong.
An hour later, the two of you wandered slowly through the cool, blue-lit aquarium. A rescued sea turtle glided lazily past the glass. You pressed your hands together excitedly. "Look."
Solo didn't answer, you turned. He wasn't looking at the turtle. He was looking at you. "What?"
He blinked, as though you'd caught him doing something. "...Nothin'."
You smiled. Then looked back at the turtle.
Neither of you noticed Rhea standing on the upper level with Damian Priest, looking down into the enormous central tank. She glanced from you, to Solo then smiled to herself. Damian followed her gaze. "...What's that look for?"
Rhea folded her arms. "I've been watching this happen for about a month."
"Happen?"
She nodded towards the two of you. "He hasn't looked at a single fish."
Damian frowned. "...Huh."
Rhea laughed quietly. "Exactly."
"He keeps saying yes because of the adventures." She shook her head. "No." Damian looked back down just in time to see you excitedly point at another exhibit, immediately setting off towards it. Without hesitation Solo followed. Not because he'd read the sign. Not because he cared what was in the next tank. Simply because you were going there. Rhea smiled. "He'd follow that girl anywhere."
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A few weeks passed, a few more cities, a few more little adventures. A record shop where you spent twenty minutes trying to convince Solo to buy a vinyl player despite the fact he didn't own a single record. A tiny art gallery where you accidentally spent almost an hour sitting on a bench trying to decide whether one abstract painting was "deeply moving" or "just three blue circles." An animal sanctuary where Solo had quietly become attached to a goat that kept following him around.
You'd laughed so hard you'd nearly cried. "You've got a friend."
He looked down at the goat. "...Mhm."
"I think he likes you."
The goat nudged his leg. Solo reached down absent-mindedly to scratch behind its ears. "...He's alright."
You'd taken approximately twelve photos. Rhea had made one of them her lock screen.
By now, the adventures had become expected. Not just by everyone else.
By you.
You found yourself looking forward to them as much as the shows.
Because somewhere along the way you'd stopped thinking of them as exploring new cities. They'd simply become your afternoons with Solo.
You were halfway through getting ready when your phone buzzed. A single message.
Solo: You busy?
You smiled. He never texted much. Usually only if it was important or apparently if there was a free afternoon.
You quickly typed back.
You: No! Why?
Three little dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Solo: Found somewhere.
Your eyebrows lifted. Solo? You replied almost immediately.
You: You found somewhere??
This time, his response came a little quicker.
Solo: Thought you might like it.
For a second you simply stared at your screen a smile slowly spread across your face.
You found him waiting just outside the hotel lobby. Hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Just like always. Except, this time, you weren't the one holding directions on your phone. "You planned today?"
He nodded. "Mhm."
"I'm impressed."
A tiny smile appeared. "I remembered."
"You remembered what?"
"You always find places."
"I do."
"So..." He shrugged. "...Thought I'd find one."
Something warm fluttered in your chest. "Okay."
"So where are we going?"
He started walking. "You'll see."
It turned out to be a little hill overlooking the city. Nothing touristy. No cafés, no markets, no museums. Just a quiet walking path leading up to an old stone viewpoint where you could see almost the entire skyline. The afternoon sun painted everything gold. You slowly turned in a circle. "Solo..." He looked over. "This is beautiful."
"Mhm."
"How did you find it?"
"I asked."
"Who?"
"Hotel guy."
You laughed. "You asked the concierge?"
"He said tourists don't usually come here."
You looked out across the rooftops again. "I can see why."
"It’s quiet."
"It is."
"I thought..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "...you'd like that."
You smiled at him. "I love it."
For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply leaned against the old stone wall, watching the city stretch endlessly beneath you. The breeze tugged gently at your hair. Somewhere below, a church bell rang. It was peaceful, wonderfully peaceful.
Eventually, you looked sideways at him. "So..."
"What?"
"You've never suggested somewhere before."
He nodded. "I know."
"What changed?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "You always plan everything."
"Mhm."
"You always find nice places."
"I try."
"So" Another shrug. "Thought it was my turn."
Your heart squeezed. "You didn't have to."
"I know."
"But I wanted to."
The simplicity of the answer stole every other thought from your head. You looked back out at the view, trying to ignore the strange warmth blooming in your chest. It lingered there, long after the conversation had ended.
As the sun began to dip lower, you sat on a nearby bench, sharing a packet of crisps you'd picked up from a vending machine in the hotel lobby. You nudged the packet towards him. "Last one."
He looked inside. One lonely chip remained. "You have it."
You shook your head. "No. You."
"We're doing this again?"
"Mhm." You laughed.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
You reached into the packet at exactly the same moment he did. Your fingers brushed, again.
This time neither of you pulled away immediately.
You looked up. He was already looking at you. Not saying anything. Just looking.
Your stomach fluttered, it was different. You couldn't explain how. It just was.
You smiled first. "What?"
He blinked, almost as though you'd pulled him out of a thought. "...Nothin'."
"You keep saying that."
"Mhm."
"But it never feels like nothing."
For the first time since you'd met him Solo looked genuinely flustered. His eyes dropped to the packet in your hands. "Sorry."
Your smile softened. "You don't have to apologise."
A comfortable silence settled between you again. Only now it didn't feel quite the same.
Because for the first time you caught yourself wondering why Solo had remembered how much you loved finding hidden little places. Why he'd gone out of his way to ask someone at the hotel. Why he'd wanted to surprise you. Why every spare afternoon for the last two months had somehow ended with the two of you wandering through another city together. The answers should have been obvious, yet somehow, you'd never really stopped to ask the question.
Until now.
As you looked over at him again, watching the breeze lift the edge of his hoodie while he quietly admired the view, one thought settled gently into the front of your mind.
Maybe, these little adventures hadn't become your favourite part of tour by accident.
Maybe they had become his favourite part too.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The next city arrived with grey skies and light rain. The kind that never seemed to fall particularly hard, yet somehow managed to soak everything anyway.
By lunchtime, the arena had settled into its usual rhythm. Music echoed faintly from somewhere down the corridor. People wandered in and out of catering between rehearsals. Crew members rushed past with headsets pressed against one ear. Nothing about the day felt unusual.
Until you walked into catering. Phone already in hand.
Rhea noticed first. "Oh no."
You looked up innocently. "What?"
"You've found somewhere."
"Maybe."
Jimmy, who'd only just sat down with his lunch, let out a dramatic groan. "Every week."
"I don't force anyone to come."
"No." He looked across the room. "You don't have to."
You frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing." Jey coughed into his drink to hide a laugh. Chelsea smiled into her coffee. Tiffany suddenly found the table incredibly interesting.
You looked between all of them. "Why are you all being weird?"
"We're not."
"You are."
"We're really not."
"You definitely are." You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before giving up. "Fine." You unlocked your phone. "So..." "I found this little planetarium."
Jimmy immediately looked towards the catering doors. "Three..."
Jey grinned. "Two..."
Chelsea bit her lip. "One..."
Almost on cue the doors opened. Solo walked in. He paused for barely a second before spotting you. Then naturally he started walking over.
Jimmy threw both hands into the air. "I TOLD YOU!"
Solo frowned. "What?"
"You ain't even got here yet!"
"Okay?"
"You don't know where she going."
Solo looked at you. You smiled. "Hi."
"Hey."
"I found a planetarium."
He nodded once. "Okay."
"It starts in forty minutes."
"Mhm."
You smiled. "Wanna come?"
"Yeah."
Jimmy physically dropped his fork onto the table. "There!"
Jey buried his face in his hands. Chelsea laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her drink.
You looked around the room, completely bewildered. "What?"
Jimmy pointed dramatically at Solo. "You!"
"What?"
"You ain't even askin' questions no more!"
Solo blinked. "I know where we're going."
"That's not the point!"
You looked between them. "I'm confused."
"We know." Rhea laughed softly. "You've both been confusing for weeks."
You frowned. "We have?"
Jimmy looked at Solo. "You tell her."
Solo stayed quiet Jey nudged him. "Go on."
Another silence. The room somehow became noticeably quieter. Even a few people at nearby tables had started pretending not to listen. You looked at Solo. "You don't have to if they're teasing."
He looked back at you. Then quietly said, "They're right."
You blinked. "About what?"
A long pause. Long enough that you wondered if he was going to change his mind. Instead he looked down at the floor for a second before meeting your eyes again. "I don't really care where we're going."
Your smile faltered slightly. "You don't?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." For some reason That stung a little. You looked down at your phone. "I thought you liked the adventures."
"I do."
"You just said-"
"I like 'em" He searched for the words. Then found them. "...'Cause you're there." Silence. Complete silence. "I'd go anywhere with you." His voice stayed as calm and steady as it always was. As though he wasn't quietly turning your entire world upside down. "It could be a bookshop, a bakery, a museum, a walk, I don't really mind." Another tiny shrug. "My favourite part" His eyes never left yours. "isn't where we go." Your heart pounded. "It's spending time with you."
No grand declaration. No dramatic speech. Just the truth.
Simple. Honest. Entirely Solo.
You stared at him for what felt like forever. Then, very quietly "So" Your smile slowly returned. "if I told you I'd actually forgotten to plan something today..." He waited. "You'd still want to go?"
"Yeah."
"What if we just walked around for an hour?"
"Mhm."
"What if we sat in a coffee shop?"
"Okay."
"What if we bought absolutely nothing and just wandered?"
A tiny smile appeared. "Sounds nice."
You laughed softly, warmth blooming right through your chest. "So" You stepped a little closer. "It was never about the places."
He shook his head. "Never."
"It was me?"
Another nod. "Always."
You felt your cheeks warm. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were the one struggling to find the right words. Then you smiled. The same bright smile he'd quietly fallen for somewhere between a sleepy bookshop cat and an oversized cinnamon roll. "I've got an idea."
He tilted his head. "What?"
You slipped your phone into your pocket. "No plans, no maps, no recommendations. Just…” You held your hand out towards him. "let's go and get lost."
For a second, Solo simply looked at your outstretched hand. Then, without hesitation, he slipped his fingers into yours. His hand was warm. Steady. Like it had always belonged there.
A quiet chorus of exaggerated sighs echoed behind you.
Jimmy clutched dramatically at his chest. "'Bout damn time."
Jey laughed. "I've been watchin' this for two months."
Rhea just smiled, arms folded across her chest. "I told you all."
Chelsea leaned against Tiffany with a grin. “I knew the adventures were dates."
"They weren't dates," you protested, laughing.
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "You spent every week exploring cute places with one man."
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. "...Oh."
The entire room burst into laughter.
Solo looked down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting into that rare, soft smile you had learned to treasure. "What?"
You nudged his shoulder. "You could've told me."
He shrugged. "I liked watching you figure it out."
You laughed, intertwining your fingers with his a little more securely. "Come on."
"Where we going?" You smiled up at him. "I haven't got the slightest idea."
For once, there was no carefully researched itinerary. No saved TikToks. No list of hidden gems waiting on your phone. Just a rainy city. A free afternoon. And the boy who had quietly turned every ordinary adventure into your favourite memory.
Solo gave your hand a gentle squeeze as you stepped out into the corridor together. He had been right all along.
Rating: T (strong language involved, slight mentions of past sexual encounter)
Disclaimer: This is only a work of fiction. I do not own anything!
🌸Chapter written by: Mia (starburst_magibluemiakun).
🌸Revisions and editing: Rosy aka me, xGoOnSilverx <3
🌸Enjoy our co-written story.
21 December 2009: Monday Night Raw: Return to Business
Monday Night Raw has arrived at St. Pete Times Forum as the entire roster heads to their respective locker rooms to prepare for the show days before Christmas.
The upholstery of the vintage Jaguar was a shade of cream that looked expensive even in the dimming light. It was the kind of leather that demanded you sit perfectly still so as not to crease it.
Sheamus steered the car through the Tampa traffic with a relaxed confidence, one hand draped over the wheel. Beside him, John was scrolling through a dense itinerary for the night, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The air conditioning hummed, fighting back the humid, cold Florida evening, creating a quiet sanctuary inside the cabin while the chaos of the city blurred past their windows.
“You’re going to give yourself a headache if you keep staring at that list,” Sheamus said, his voice a low rumble. He reached over and squeezed John’s shoulder, a brief but grounding gesture.
John let out a short, tired laugh and leaned into the touch. “It’s just a lot of moving parts tonight. The timing has to be exact, or the whole segment falls apart.”
Sheamus brought the Jaguar to a precise halt in the restricted parking zone, the tyres kissing the curb with a softness that betrayed how much he actually liked the car. They stepped out into the thick, salt-tinged air of Tampa, each gripping the heavy straps of their gear bags.
The transition was instantaneous; the car’s domestic quiet evaporated, replaced by the distant, rhythmic thumping of bass from the arena and the frantic energy of the production crew scurrying across the asphalt.
“I’ve got MVP first,” The Irishman noted, his voice cutting through the noise of the crew. “And then, just as soon as I’ve finished my little victory lap and spent a good few minutes obsessing over that TLC win over you, you’re supposed to jump me for the title. The script says you can’t stand the sight of the belt around me waist.”
His husband stopped mid-stride, his eyes scanning the itinerary again. He paused, his finger sliding down the page to a section he had clearly overlooked in his haste. “Wait, I’ve got a match against Jack Swagger before that. And look, the challenge for the title isn’t actually happening tonight. It’s been pushed to next Monday.” He looked up at the current WWE Champion, a wry smile playing on his lips. “It looks like the champion gets to walk away unscathed for one more evening.”
Sheamus let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. He had already read the final revisions to the script and knew exactly how the night would unfold. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them, and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to John’s lips. “Everything will be alright, Johnny. A little suspense just makes the payoff better,” he murmured.
They navigated the labyrinth of the backstage area, the familiar scent of gym mats and electronics greeting them as they entered their shared locker room. The heavy thud of their gear bags hitting the floor signalled the official start of the working night. Sheamus didn’t stop talking, his energy filling the small space as he chatted about the choreography of his match, his hands gesturing wildly to describe the impact of a specific slam.
As John began to put on his orange wristbands and armband, his man leaned in, his voice dropping to a private, velvet whisper against John’s ear.
“Once we’ve done our parts and the cameras stop rolling, we’re going for a romantic stroll. Just us, far away from the noise.”
Cena leaned back into him, a genuine smile breaking through the stress of the schedule. The idea of a quiet walk, away from the scripted chaos and the roar of the crowd, was exactly what he needed.
“I love that idea,” he whispered back, glancing at the clock. But the moment of peace was brief. The distant sound of a production assistant calling for the first set of talent echoed through the hallway, reminding them that the luxury of their private world was temporary.
He stood up, squaring his shoulders and shifting back into the persona the world expected. “But first,” he said, glancing at Sheamus with a playful glint in his eye, “business.”
“Aye,” he agreed as he got closer to his husband to pull him in for one final kiss, enjoying the taste before shifting into their on-screen personas.
The professional facade didn’t snap back into place immediately. Instead, Sheamus lingered, his hands sliding from John’s shoulders down to the small of his back, pulling him flush against his chest. John let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back as Sheamus captured his lips in a kiss that was less about affection and more about a hungry, desperate claim.
In the heat of the moment, The Irishman’s hand wandered lower, firmly groping John’s backside through the fabric of his denim jorts. A low, guttural moan escaped the smaller man’s throat, vibrating against Sheamus’s lips, a sound of pure surrender that belonged only to the privacy of their locker room.
They broke apart slowly, both gasping for air, the sudden silence of the room amplifying the frantic beat of their hearts. For a few seconds, they just looked at each other, the intimacy hanging heavy in the air. Then, as if a silent switch had been flipped, the warmth vanished.
Their postures shifted; the softness in their eyes hardened into the competitive edge of two men who were paid to hate each other. The husbands were gone, replaced by the WWE Champion and the challenger.
Sheamus didn’t say another word as he stepped out of the room, his gait transforming into a confident, arrogant swagger. He scuffed his boots against the concrete floor, the sound echoing the aggression he was building inside. By the time he hit the curtain, the transition was complete. He stepped out into the blinding arena lights, and the roar of the Tampa crowd turned into a wall of visceral boos. He didn’t flinch; he fed on it.
He marched down the ramp with a sneer plastered across his face, the WWE Championship draped over his shoulder like a trophy of war. He didn’t just walk to the ring; he invaded it. He climbed through the ropes and seized a microphone, his eyes scanning the crowd with utter contempt before he leaned into the mic, his voice booming with a thick, mocking Irish lilt.
“Look at all of you! Pathetic!” Sheamus roared, the crowd jeering louder. “You can boo until your lungs give out, but it won’t change the fact that the Celtic Warrior is the king of this mountain! And as for John Cena...” He paused, a cruel smile curling his lips as he thought of the man still backstage.
“That little dance we had in that tables match? That wasn’t just a victory. It was a slaughter! I didn’t just beat him; I broke him. I watched the look of pure desperation in his eyes as the wood splintered beneath him. He thought he could take this title, but he found out that he’s nothing more than a footnote in the legend of Sheamus!”
He hoisted the belt high above his head, his chest heaving with the effort of his own theatrical rage. The boos reached a crescendo, a chaotic symphony of hatred that he absorbed with a triumphant laugh. To the thousands of people in attendance, he was the villain who had stolen the gold.
To him, the noise was simply the background music to his dominance. He paced the ring, the championship glimmering under the spotlights, fully immersed in the role of the man who believed the world belonged to him.
“And let’s be honest about it!” Sheamus bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip over the noise. “John Cena is nothing but my little lapdog! He’s my bitch in every sense of the word, and no matter how many times he tries to claw his way back, he’ll never find the strength to defeat me!”
The crowd, especially little kids, erupted in a chorus of boos, a wall of sound that would have shaken a lesser man, but Sheamus only leaned further into the microphone, his eyes gleaming. “Another loss for the history books, boys! Another chapter where the world remembers that Cena is just a stepping stone for the Celtic Warrior!”
🎶 I’m coming!
Nobody could stop me, nobody could hold me, nobody control me!
I’m coming!
I’m here to do my thing, I’m here to bring the pain, I’m never ever gon’ change! 🎶
The sonic assault of the crowd was suddenly sliced through by the booming bass of MVP’s entrance music, without any ring-announcing introduction. The transition was abrupt. As MVP emerged, radiating a mixture of confidence and caution, Sheamus didn’t even look at him. He simply let the WWE Championship slide off his shoulder, the gold hitting the canvas with a heavy thud. As a frantic ringside assistant scrambled to retrieve the belt, the champ didn’t move.
He stayed rooted to the spot, his gaze drifting toward the curtain where Cena was likely watching. He didn’t say a word, but he let a slow, evil smirk curl across his lips: a silent, visceral promise to John of exactly how he planned to dismantle him the following week.
At the commentary table, Michael Cole was practically shouting into his headset. “The arrogance! The sheer audacity of this man! Sheamus is treating the most decorated superstar in this company like a common errand boy!”
Jerry Lawler chuckled, his voice sounding amused despite the tension. “I don’t know, Cole, you have to admire the confidence! He’s not just beating Cena; he’s mentally breaking him. Sheamus has been a dominant force since the moment he set foot in this ring. He’s operating on a level of aggression we haven’t seen in years!”
The referee’s hand dropped, and the atmosphere in the arena shifted from a roar to a roar of anticipation. Sheamus and MVP collided in the centre of the ring with a sound like two slabs of granite hitting one another.
The match was a brutal exchange of heavy leather and raw power; Sheamus absorbed MVP’s strikes with a sadistic grin, only to respond with forearm smashes that echoed through the rafters. MVP, ever the showman, managed to carve out a few moments of momentum, playing to the crowd and whipping the fans into a frenzy with a series of quick-fire strikes.
But the tide turned when Sheamus caught MVP mid-stride. With a sudden, violent burst of strength, the Celtic Warrior overpowered him, slamming him into the corner. Instead of going for a pin immediately, Sheamus paused. He looked directly toward the curtain where Cena was lurking and, with a mocking glint in his eye, mirrored Cena’s signature hand gesture: the “You Can’t See Me” wave, before shoving it directly into MVP’s face.
It was a calculated insult, a message sent to John that the champion was playing with his food. Sheamus dropped for the cover, but MVP surged back to life, kicking out at one with a desperate burst of energy. The momentum swung back briefly as MVP caught Sheamus in a sudden, opportunistic roll-up, forcing the champion to kick out with a startled snarl.
The struggle grinded on for fifteen gruelling minutes, the pace slowing as exhaustion set in. MVP attempted to secure the win, winding up for his finisher, but a split-second lapse in timing proved fatal. Sheamus didn’t just reverse the move; he hijacked it.
In one fluid, powerful motion, Sheamus hoisted MVP into the air and drove him into the canvas with the High Cross. The impact was definitive. The referee’s hand hit the mat three times, and the bell signalled the end of the contest.
Sheamus stood over his fallen opponent, chest heaving, basking in the heat of the spotlights. He was so consumed by his own victory that he didn’t hear the familiar theme music or the roar of the crowd as John Cena slid into the ring from behind. By the time Sheamus turned around, Cena was already there, a microphone gripped in his hand, his face set in a mask of focused intensity.
“Enough with the games, Sheamus!” Cena shouted, his voice booming through the arena. “You can mock me all you want, but the gold belongs on my shoulder. Give me my rematch, and give it to me right now!”
Sheamus didn’t look intimidated; he looked amused. He let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the rafters, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Cena. “Right now? You’re asking for a favour? You’ve forgotten your place, Johnny,” he sneered, the arrogance returning in full force. Without another word, the champion simply turned his back on the challenger and began to walk away, leaving Cena standing alone in the centre of the ring.
John didn’t back down. He dropped the microphone and snapped into a fighting stance, his muscles coiled like a spring, calling out to the retreating champion with a raw, visceral intensity. The tension was a physical thing, stretching across the canvas until the General Manager stepped out onto the stage.
With a definitive gesture, the GM announced that the clash would be settled officially, not tonight, but next Monday. Sheamus didn’t even look back, his swagger returning as he exited the ring, leaving a frustrated Cena to fume in the spotlight.
The former champion marched through the curtain, his jaw locked and his eyes flashing with a scripted fire that didn’t quite extinguish as he entered the backstage corridors. To the production assistants and the wandering cameras, he was the picture of a man possessed, a competitor simmering in a fury that could ignite the entire arena.
He maintained the facade with a professional rigour, his boots thudding against the concrete in a rhythmic cadence of simulated rage, projecting the image of a man who wanted nothing more than to tear the WWE Championship off Sheamus’s shoulder.
At that exact moment, the heavy door of their private locker room clicked shut, and the air shifted. The tension didn’t vanish, but it transformed from aggression into an exhausted, shared intimacy.
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his shoulders dropping three inches as the “Cena” persona dissolved into the quiet of the room and didn’t say a word as he navigated toward the oversized leather couch, collapsing into it with a weary groan that spoke of the physical and mental toll of the night.
His lover was already there, stripped of the arrogant champion’s armour. He had traded the gold and the sneer for a comfortable t-shirt and a soft expression. Without a word, he shifted his weight, sliding closer to John and wrapping his powerful arms securely around his waist.
He pulled the smaller man flush against him, anchoring him. “That was intense,” Sheamus murmured, his voice losing its theatrical boom and returning to that low, grounding rumble. “Even for us. The energy out there was something else.”
John let his head fall back, resting his temple against Sheamus’s broad chest. He could hear the steady, rhythmic thumping of his husband’s heart, a sound that acted as a balm to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “Tell me about it,” John replied, his voice hushed and genuine. “But that’s what this is. Heated rivalries, performing the matches of our lives... It’s the only way the story works.”
He closed his eyes for a second, letting the silence of the room wash over him, feeling the strength of his husband’s hold.
Sheamus didn’t respond with words; instead, he began to slowly rub John’s back, his large hand moving in soothing circles that worked the tension out of John’s shoulder blades. It was a quiet, domestic ritual, a necessary decompression after the high-voltage chaos of the arena. For a few minutes, they simply existed in that bubble of warmth, the sounds of the production crew in the hallways fading into a distant hum.
Their attention eventually drifted to the wall-mounted television, which was broadcasting the live feed of the show. On the screen, Carlito was standing in the ring, his expression one of smug confidence as he faced off against Chris Masters.
Beside Masters, Eve stood with a poised, professional air, her presence adding another layer of friction to the segment. The two men were locked in a tense verbal standoff, the crowd’s reaction muffled through the TV speakers. John shifted slightly, settling deeper into Sheamus’s embrace, watching the screen not as a competitor, but as a man who was simply glad to be home in the arms of the only person who truly knew the man behind the mask.
“Come on, Johnny. Just a quick trip to catering,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against John’s shoulder. “I can smell the roast beef from here, and you’ve barely had a sip of water since we hit the tarmac.” He started to nudge John upward, a playful pressure against his side intended to coax him off the couch.
John let out a tired groan, shaking his head as he looked at the clock on the wall. “I can’t, Sheamus. I’m up against Swagger right after this. If I go to catering now, I’m risking a stomach cramp in the middle of a suplex.” He sighed, leaning back into the cushions.
“Besides, with Christmas just a few days away, the backstage area is a madhouse. I can’t even walk to the bathroom without getting swarmed. There is no such thing as eating in peace tonight.”
They both turned their attention back to the monitor, where the match with Carlito and Chris Masters had reached a fever pitch.
The crowd in the arena was buzzing, though the television audio barely captured the same level of visceral heat. On screen, Carlito was playing the part of the romantic hopeful, leaning in with a smug, hopeful expression toward Eve. He spotted a small sprig of mistletoe dangling precariously above them, and the look of predatory confidence on his face was almost comical.
“Look at him,” Sheamus chuckled, a genuine, warm sound that had nothing to do with his on-screen persona. “The absolute cheek of it. He actually thinks he’s going to pull that off.”
John let out a short laugh, his eyes crinkling as he watched Carlito make a clumsy, desperate attempt to plant a kiss on Eve. It was a textbook “mushy distraction,” the kind of scripted clumsiness that usually preceded a disaster.
Right as Carlito leaned in, Masters stepped in with the timing of a surgeon, cutting off the kiss and hauling Carlito into the air. The transition from romance to brutality was instantaneous; Masters snapped him down into the Master Lock submission, and Carlito’s face twisted into a mask of sudden, genuine agony, losing the match via submission.
“Pure poetry,” Sheamus murmured, glancing at John with a grin. “The romantics always get it the worst.”
They shared a quiet moment of amusement, the tension of the evening finally beginning to dissipate. For a few seconds, they weren’t the focal points of a global sports entertainment machine; they were just two men sharing a joke about a colleague’s misfortune.
The Celtic Warrior tightened his grip on John, pulling him in for one last, lingering squeeze before the reality of the schedule reclaimed them.
“Alright,” John said, finally pushing himself up from the couch. “Swagger won’t wait for me to finish my dessert.” He stood up and began to stretch, his muscles popping under the strain of the night. “But you’re treating me to something massive once we leave this building. I’m thinking a steak the size of my head.”
As John turned to leave, Sheamus didn’t let him go without one final, playful parting shot. With a mischievous glint in his eye and a low, knowing chuckle, he reached out and delivered a sharp, loud smack to John’s ass. The sound echoed through the quiet locker room, punctuating the intimacy of the moment.
“Good luck with Swagger, princess,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a playful affection that only existed behind closed doors. He leaned in, his smirk widening as he watched the colour rise in John’s cheeks.
“After your match, get out of that gear and into something with long sleeves. It’s bloody cold outside, and I’ve no intention of our romantic stroll through town being cut short because you’ve caught a chill. We’ll both enjoy the night once we’ve finally completed our roles for the evening.”
John paused at the door, his face flushed a deep, genuine crimson. For a fleeting second, the “Face of the WWE” was replaced by a man completely undone by his husband’s teasing.
He opened his mouth to retort, a soft, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but the sudden, sharp blast of his own entrance music cut through the walls.
🎶Your time is up, my time is now
You can’t see me, my time is now
It’s the franchise, boy I’m shinin’ now
You can’t see me, my time is now! 🎶
The sonic boom of the theme song served as a trigger; his blush faded, his posture stiffened, and the warmth in his eyes was replaced by the steely, focused intensity of a competitor.
He stepped out of the locker room and into the corridor, the transition seamless and instantaneous. The moment he hit the curtain, the roar of the Tampa crowd hit him like a physical wave. He didn’t just walk toward the ring; he charged into the spotlight, the energy of the arena fueling the fire in his veins.
Every step was a calculated part of the performance, his eyes scanning the sea of cheering fans with practised, charismatic confidence. He was no longer the man being teased in a private room; he was the hero the world expected him to be.
Cena warms up, throwing his shirt and cap to the crowd, his chiselled abs exposed, his face locked in intense focus as he waits for his opponent.
Jack’s theme song Get on Your Knees by Age Against the Machine, blasts through the arena speakers as the crowd boos him.
🎶Check one two
Awww yeah!
Uhhh!
Check the {ish} out
I got you, where I want you
Your clock’s run out of time
Cause you know I know you🎶
“And his opponent, from Perry, Oklahoma,” Justin Roberts announces. Weighing in at two hundred and seventy-five pounds, he is the All-American American, Jack Swagger!”
The bell rang, and the atmosphere in the arena shifted from anticipation to a kinetic roar. Jack Swagger was already pacing the canvas, his posture rigid and arrogant, a stark contrast to John, who circled him with a calculated, predatory focus. For several minutes, the match became a chess game of spatial dominance.
They locked up in the centre of the ring, a grinding clash of strength where neither man would give an inch. The crowd surged with every shove and stalemate, their cheers peaking as a series of lightning-fast reversals turned the bout into a blur of technical precision. Every time Swagger seemed to have the upper hand, John would slip out of the hold with a fluid grace, turning a precarious position into a sudden offensive strike.
Back in the sanctuary of the locker room, Sheamus had already shed the grime of his own battle. Clean, refreshed, and dressed in a sharp casual ensemble, he stood before the mirror, meticulously combing his spiky hair into place. He wasn’t just watching the monitor; he was absorbing the sight of John.
A low, primal growl escaped his throat as the camera caught a tight angle of John struggling on the mat, fighting his way out of one of Swagger’s suffocating submissions. As the angle shifted, the waistband of John’s jorts dipped, offering a fleeting, intimate glimpse. Sheamus licked his lips, his eyes darkening with a possessive hunger. He remembered the heat of the last few days, the raw intensity of their private hours, and the visceral thrill of claiming his husband as his own. A smirk played on his lips as he murmured to the empty room, his voice a rough, gravelly promise that Johnny belonged entirely to him.
The spell of the submission was broken in an instant. With a sudden, explosive burst of power, John bridged his hips and reversed the pressure, sending Swagger sprawling across the canvas. The momentum shifted violently. He surged forward, delivering a thunderous shoulder block that rattled Swagger’s ribs and sent him reeling backwards. It was the opening John had been waiting for.
The arena erupted as John pivoted, his movements synchronised with the rhythm of the crowd. He stepped back, his hand slicing through the air in the iconic gesture, and the thousands in attendance joined him in a synchronised wave of defiance. He launched into the brief, energetic dance, a flash of charisma that culminated in a sudden, heavy drop. His fist slammed into the canvas with a definitive thud, the “Five Knuckle Shuffle” connecting squarely with Swagger’s jaw.
Jack’s ascent from the mat was a slow, shuddering process, his movements jagged and devoid of their usual poise. He clawed at the canvas, his gaze glazed as he tried to find a centre of gravity that no longer existed. John didn’t give him the luxury of recovery.
In one fluid, explosive motion, John stepped into his space, hoisting Swagger’s massive frame onto his shoulders. For a heartbeat, Swagger was suspended in the air, a captive of Cena’s raw strength, before the inevitable descent.
The Attitude Adjustment was a thunderclap of impact, driving Swagger’s spine deep into the canvas with a sickening thud. The referee’s hand hit the mat: one, two, three and the arena detonated into a frenzy of celebration.
The victory high was an electric current that John channelled directly into the crowd. He didn’t just leave the ring; he lingered in the same place for a few moments, soaking in the adoration of the Tampa faithful.
He spotted a cluster of wide-eyed children leaning over the barricade, their faces filled with joy, and with a genuine, tired smile, he peeled off his sweat-soaked armbands and wristbands.
He pressed the worn fabric into their small hands: tangible pieces of the night’s battle, leaving the kids shrieking with delight as he finally navigated the ramp and disappeared through the curtain.
The transition back to the private sphere was instantaneous. The moment he stepped into the locker room, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving a heavy, satisfying ache in his muscles. Sheamus was still there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the smaller man with an expression that balanced pride and a simmering, possessive heat.
John didn’t waste a second; he stripped out of the damp, suffocating gear, tossing the salt-stained fabric into his gear bag with a grunt of relief. He replaced the spandex and leather with a curated ensemble: a plush, dark cashmere sweater and tailored trousers that hugged his frame. This look was both effortlessly comfortable and stunningly sophisticated.
As he zipped the bag shut, the silence of the room felt like a sanctuary. He looked up to see Sheamus studying him, the Irishman’s gaze lingering on the way the sweater accentuated his strong, tanned shoulders.
Without a word, Sheamus stepped forward, his large hand sliding firmly around the nape of John’s neck, pulling him in for a slow, grounding kiss that tasted of shared victory and anticipation.
“You look far too handsome to be staying in this concrete dungeon any longer,” Sheamus murmured, his voice a low vibration against John’s lips.
The heavy glass doors of the arena hissed shut behind them, cutting off the chaotic hum of the production crews and the lingering scent of pyrotechnics. For the first time in hours, the air was crisp and sharp, a stark contrast to the humid, sweat-soaked atmosphere of the ring.
Sheamus didn’t let go of John’s hand; instead, he tightened his grip, their fingers interlocking firmly as they stepped onto the sidewalk. The transition from the blinding spotlights of the WWE to the soft, amber glow of Tampa’s streetlamps felt like waking up from a vivid dream.
They walked in a comfortable, synchronised silence, the rhythmic click of their shoes on the pavement the only sound accompanying the distant murmur of the city. John leaned his shoulder into Sheamus, feeling the solid warmth of the larger man beside him.
The adrenaline of the victory over Swagger had finally settled into a pleasant, humming glow in his chest, leaving him feeling light and untethered. He glanced up at the taller man, whose expression had completely softened, the predatory intensity of the “Celtic Warrior” replaced by a quiet, genuine contentment.
“You know,” John murmured, his voice sounding small and intimate in the open air, “this is exactly what I meant by a romantic stroll. No scripts, no microphones, just the cold air and you.”
Sheamus let out a low, rumbling chuckle, pulling John closer until their hips brushed with every step. “I told you it would be better than the roast beef at catering,” he teased, his voice a velvety purr. He paused for a moment, stopping under the canopy of a sprawling oak tree draped in twinkling holiday lights.
He turned to John, his gaze sweeping over the cashmere sweater and the way the moonlight caught the contours of John’s face. In this light, without the makeup and the persona, John looked vulnerable and serene, a sight Sheamus guarded with a fierce, silent possessiveness.
“Stay right here,” Sheamus murmured, his fingers lingering against John’s palm for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he released him. He stepped into the warm, cinnamon-scented sanctuary of a small corner coffee shop, the bell above the door chiming a cheerful greeting.
John waited outside, leaning against a brick wall and watching his breath bloom in the chilly night air. When his husband emerged, he wasn’t just carrying two steaming cups of hot chocolate topped with melting peaks of whipped cream; tucked under his arm was a vibrant bouquet of lilies and deep red roses, their petals still beaded with a light mist.
The smaller man’s reaction was instantaneous. A flush of heat crawled up his neck, colouring his cheeks and staining the tips of his ears a vivid crimson that rivalled the roses. “Sheamus, seriously?” he whispered, his voice a mix of embarrassment and adoration. “You shouldn’t have bothered at all. We’re just walking to the car; it’s not a formal occasion.”
He didn’t let the protest linger. He stepped into John’s space, the scent of rain and expensive cologne enveloping them, and pressed a single, calloused finger against John’s lips, effectively silencing him. The gesture was tender but commanding.
“Hush now,” Sheamus whispered, his eyes softening into a look of raw sincerity. “You make me happy, Cena. You have no bloody idea. To the world, you’re the face of a company, but to me... you’re John O’Shaunessy, my love. I wouldn’t trade a single second of this man in my arms for anything in the world.”
He paused, a small, thoughtful smile playing on his lips. “I’m just thankful we have such good chemistry in our rivalry, because it makes the quiet moments like this feel that much sweeter.”
John felt his heart swell, the last of his modesty melting away under the weight of Sheamus’s gaze. He took the flowers, breathing in their fresh scent, and managed a shy, genuine smile. “You’re a romantic menace,” he teased, glancing down at the steaming cups.
“Now, for the love of everything, drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold. You’ll be complaining about the temperature in five minutes.”
“You’re right, princess. I’ll be a shivering wreck if I don’t get some sugar in me,” Sheamus chuckled, the sound a low vibration that seemed to echo in the quiet street. He didn’t hand the cup over immediately; instead, he held it between them, the steam swirling upward like a miniature storm cloud in the moonlight.
John leaned in, taking a cautious sip of the rich, creamy liquid, the warmth blooming in his chest. As he pulled back, Sheamus didn’t let him retreat. With a deft movement, the Irishman took the cup from John’s hand, setting it momentarily on the ledge of the brick wall, and bridged the small gap between them.
He captured John’s lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted faintly of cocoa and winter. It wasn’t the hungry, desperate claim of the locker room or the playful peck of a husband; it was a lingering, soulful connection that seemed to pull the very air from his man’s lungs, anchoring him to the present moment.
When they finally broke apart, John was breathless, his eyes slightly glazed and his heart hammering against his ribs. He leaned his forehead against Sheamus’s, both of them sharing the same warm air.
The world around them: the distant sirens of Tampa, the flickering streetlamps, the looming pressure of next Monday’s title match simply ceased to exist. In this small, illuminated pocket of the city, they weren’t icons or athletes; they were just two people who found home in one another.
Sheamus retrieved the hot chocolates, handing one back to John with a look of smug satisfaction. “Better?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
“Much better,” he replied. “I love you.”
He pulled his lover closer, kissing his forehead. “I love you more.”
He let Sheamus lead him back toward the Jaguar, their pace slow and deliberate, as if they were trying to stretch the night into something infinite.
As they reached the car, the WWE champion didn’t immediately open the door. Instead, he stopped, his arm sliding around John’s shoulders to pull him into the shelter of his side.
“Now, listen,” Sheamus began, his voice regaining a bit of that commanding Irish lilt, though it was tempered with excitement. “About the twenty-fourth. I’ve been thinking. No more quiet nights in the hotel or rushed meals between flights. I’m organising a proper feast. A real celebration.”
John looked up at him, curious. “A feast? You’re planning a dinner?”
“Not just a dinner, Johnny. A banquet,” Sheamus corrected with a proud grin. “I’m thinking roast beef, potatoes, every bit of greenery the market can provide, and enough dessert to make a nutritionist faint. And I’m inviting the lot of them: the inner circle. I want the house full of our friends, laughter, and enough noise to wake the neighbours. A proper Christmas party to clear the head before we go back to trying to kill each other in the ring.”
“A banquet,” John repeated, the word tasting like a luxury he hadn’t realised he was craving. He leaned back into Sheamus, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across his face. “You’re actually going to try and feed an entire locker room’s worth of heavyweights? You’re a madman, Sheamus. A complete and utter madman.” He laughed, the sound light and airy, finally shaking off the last remnants of the night’s professional rigidity. “But yes. God, yes. I love the idea.”
Sheamus beamed, the pride in his eyes mirroring the triumph he usually reserved for the championship gold. He opened the passenger door with a flourish, gesturing for John to enter with the exaggerated gallantry of a medieval knight.
John slid into the supple leather seat of the Jaguar, clutching the bouquet of lilies and roses tightly against his chest. The fragrance of the blooms filled the small, enclosed space, mingling with the lingering scent of the car’s high-end upholstery and the fading aroma of hot chocolate.
As Sheamus closed the door and rounded the front of the vehicle, the heavy thud of the door sealing shut acted like a final curtain call. The noise of the city: the distant honking of horns and the murmur of the midnight crowds was suddenly muted, reduced to a ghostly hum. Inside the cabin, the world shrank until it consisted only of the two of them and the soft, amber glow of the dashboard lights.
His husband climbed into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life with a low, powerful vibration that seemed to synchronise with the steady beat of their hearts. He didn’t pull away immediately; instead, he reached over, his large hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from John’s forehead.
The gaze they shared was silent and heavy with a mutual understanding that transcended their public personas. In this sanctuary of glass and steel, there were no titles to defend, no scripts to follow, and no crowds to appease.
It's not every day you get to give your blorbo what he wants for his birthday! But I'm pretty broke rn, so on top of the small amount I can afford to give, I will be offering a 3+ sentence ficlet to anyone who donates a minimum of $5 USD to Sami For Syria!
For that length, I'm willing to try almost any WWE character, ship and prompt, except sexual content involving minors and direct sibling or parent incest. Yes, I'll even write Cody. Hell, I'll try reader insert
If you donate a larger amount of money ($18 USD or more), I'd be happy to answer 3+ prompts for you, or turn one of them into a full-sized ficlet if the inspiration strikes! I'm also down to write for other fandoms, but please contact me first to make sure it's something I'm familiar with
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