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mapis-putellas · 54 minutes ago

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𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader

Words: 1500+

Warnings: blood

Summary: You’d never seen Alexia lose control on the pitch before. At least, not until today.

The match had started off just as you and Alexia had planned. Barca was up 1-0, with Alexia scoring the opening goal off a perfect assist from Aitana. She'd celebrated with her usual confidence, that smile that told everyone in the stadium she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She looked so happy, so calm, and you couldn't help but beam at her across the pitch.

But the second half was where everything went wrong.

You were just about to intercept a pass when Arsenal's captain, Leah Williamson, came in with a rough tackle, her elbow catching you hard in the face. You barely had time to react, feeling the impact before you were sent sprawling to the ground with a gasp, pain shooting through your nose as you hit the turf. Everything went a little fuzzy, and you felt a warm trickle of blood start to run down your face.

Before you could even process what had happened, your teammates had gathered around you, waving for the medics to come out. They knelt beside you, one of them pressing gauze against your nose to stop the bleeding. You winced, struggling to keep your focus through the pain, but then you heard a voice that cut through the haze of it all.

"¡Oye! ¿Qué te crees que estás haciendo?" Alexia's voice was unmistakable, laced with anger in a way you'd never heard before. You turned your head, catching a blurry glimpse of her marching up to Leah, her expression thunderous.

Leah crossed her arms, standing her ground. "It was a fair tackle, calm down," she shot back, but Alexia was having none of it. She shoved Leah, her jaw clenched tight.

"¡No tocas a mi chica así!" Alexia's voice was low and dangerous, and you could see her fists were balled, her entire body radiating fury. Your heart skipped a beat; you'd never seen her like this, not in all the time you'd known her.

"Alexia..." you murmured, trying to sit up, but the medics held you back. "Wait, please—"

But the two captains were locked in a fierce standoff, teammates from both sides rushing in to pull them apart, voices rising in a chaotic jumble of English and Spanish. You couldn't make out the words, but the tension was thick, the lines between the two teams blurring as everyone tried to defuse the situation.

You couldn't just sit by and watch as Alexia's temper flared, though. With a determined look, you pushed away the medic's hand, standing up despite the dizziness that washed over you. Ignoring their protests, you made your way over, weaving through the bodies until you were right behind her.

"Alexia," you called, reaching out to grab the back of her jersey, giving it a tug.

She whipped around, her expression still fierce—until she realized it was you. Her face softened immediately, her hands lifting instinctively to cup your cheeks as she took in the blood smeared across your face. "Mi amor... you are bleeding," she whispered, her eyes filled with worry and anger all at once.

You managed a small smile, placing your hands over hers. "It's okay, I'm fine. But please, calm down, alright?" you said gently. You could feel the tension in her grip, the way her jaw was still tight, and you could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.

"But she... she hit you," Alexia said, her accent thicker than usual in her frustration. "I cannot let her do that to you."

You squeezed her hands, leaning in a little closer. "I know, I know, but it's just a part of the game. Please, just come with me to the stands so they can clean me up. It's not worth it."

Her gaze flickered between you and Leah, hesitating, clearly torn. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to launch back into the argument, but you tugged her hands a little closer, stepping into her line of sight.

"Please, cariño," you murmured, letting your voice soften. "Walk me over to the medics. Just... just focus on me."

Alexia looked over your shoulder at Leah, her eyes narrowing, but then she glanced back at you, her expression softening. "Okay... okay, for you," she murmured, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

You let out a relieved breath, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you."

She wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you gently back towards the sidelines. Her touch was firm and protective, her fingers pressing into your hip as if to shield you from any further harm. You leaned into her, feeling a sense of comfort despite the throbbing pain in your nose.

When you reached the bench, she helped you sit down, crouching beside you and reaching out to gently wipe a smudge of blood from your cheek with her thumb. "You scared me," she admitted softly, her voice laced with concern.

You managed a weak laugh, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I didn't mean to. But you really didn't have to go after Leah like that. I'm alright, Alexia."

She shook her head, her gaze intense. "No, no está bien. She should not touch you like this." Her hand moved to your shoulder, holding you as if to ground herself.

You cupped her face in your hands, making her look at you. "I'm okay," you repeated softly. "Just... stay here with me, alright?"

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, her thumb grazing your cheek. "Always, mi amor. Always."

The game was a whirlwind of chaos, and Leah's yellow card had been the last thing on anyone's mind after the rough tackle. But finally, after a visit from the medics to pack your nose, you managed to convince them—and Alexia—that you could head back on the field. She was fuming as she followed you back, shaking her head the entire way.

"I don't like this," Alexia muttered, her Spanish accent thickening as her irritation grew. "You shouldn't be playing."

"Lexi, I'll be fine," you said, giving her a quick, reassuring smile. "They're just making me get an X-ray later as a precaution, but it's nothing serious."

She didn't look convinced. Her fingers grazed the edge of the bandage on your nose, her brow furrowed. "But you are hurt. What if you get hit again? I don't like it."

You gently took her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, okay? I'll stay out of trouble.”

Alexia gave you a reluctant nod, though you could still see the worry etched in her expression. She stayed close to you as the match resumed, shooting daggers at anyone who so much as came near you, and by the time the whistle blew, her concern had shifted into a steely kind of protectiveness.

Barca had won, 1-0, and despite the soreness, you couldn't help but smile, hugging Alexia in celebration. She held you close, whispering, "You are too stubborn."

"Only because I'm dating you," you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away.

As the celebrations wrapped up, Leah approached, looking slightly nervous as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Hey," Leah started, glancing between you and Alexia. "I wanted to say sorry about earlier. Really didn't mean for it to be that rough. Are you okay?"

You nodded, giving her a forgiving smile. "It's alright, Leah. Things happen on the pitch. I'm all good now."

Leah let out a relieved breath, smiling back. "Glad to hear it." She paused, looking slightly sheepish. "Also, any chance you'd want to swap jerseys? As a bit of a peace offering?"

You blinked, a little surprised, but after a quick glance at Alexia's thunderous expression, you gave Leah a reassuring nod. "Yeah, sure."

You slipped your jersey off and handed it to Leah, who smiled gratefully as she passed hers to you. But Alexia's glare hadn't let up, and the second Leah turned away, you felt Alexia's arms wrap firmly around your waist from behind.

Her fingers spread out across your bare stomach, pressing against your skin as if trying to shield you from the world. She lowered her face to your ear, her voice low and annoyed. "She has no shame, coming up to you like this."

You laughed softly, leaning back against her. "Baby, she was just being nice."

"She hurt you," Alexia muttered, her arms tightening slightly around you. "And now she asks for your jersey? It's like she doesn't understand who you belong to."

You couldn't help but laugh again, turning slightly in her arms to look at her. "She knows, trust me."

Alexia's gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, though her annoyance was still clear. "Maybe I should remind her."

Rolling your eyes, you reached up to cup her cheek. "Alexia, I'm okay. And she apologised. I promise, I'm yours."

Her expression finally relaxed, and she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Good. Because I am not sharing you."

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She pulled you even closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Then let's go celebrate properly. Away from everyone else."

You laughed, letting her lead you off the pitch, her arm still wrapped possessively around you the entire way, her touch never leaving your skin.

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

#woso community #woso x reader #soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x you #groucy alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso appreciation #woso soccer

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mustainegf · 2 days ago

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Okay, I just thought this idea was so cute so I wanted to share - cliff practicing on quieter and calmer songs on the bass while reader lays in bed, so sort of like a lullaby in terms i suppose, and when he climbs into bed she just tells him how good it sounded and which parts of his peices she really liked before they go to sleep

Thank yew elena!!💋

THIS IS SO CUTE AHH since its a short little plot, this is more of a drabble!

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 ¹⁹⁸⁴

Its late, and the sleep tugs at me. Only that soft glow of the moon creeps in through the window. Cliff is sitting on the floor beside the bed, his bass in his hands. I can hear the soft plucking of strings, the way he strokes the notes. He's practicing again, but not the heavy, thrashing kind of music most people know him for. It's softer, more melodic, something that feels like a secret, just for us. I can't see his face where I lie, but I know the expression he'd wear.

Concentrated, yet calm, as though he has slipped into some little world of his own. His fingers trace along the strings so incredibly easily, forming sounds that are calming and almost hypnotic in nature. It's pretty- the way he plays. I can tell even from half asleep just how talented he is. I always think no one hears this side of him but me.

The music floats through the room, slow and gentle, wrapping itself around me like a blanket. I listen with eyes closed, letting the notes sink into my skin. Sometimes I hum along, but I'm too tired for that tonight. The soft plucking of the bass, the buzz of strings here and there, makes some sort of lullaby. I am so at peace, caught in this particular sound and time.

Cliff never plays like this when he's on stage, and that is one thing I always loved about him. He's so different at home, as if there are two versions of him living in two different worlds. He's fierce, wild, and full of energy on the stage. But in the quiet of our bedroom, he's gentle and still. It feels almost like he's giving me a piece of him that no one else ever sees. That makes me feel so fortunate.

After a little while, the music starts to slow down, and I can tell he's winding down. The notes become more infrequent, softer now, almost like whispers. Finally, the music stops, and all I can hear is the quiet hum of the amp. It fades after a moment, replaced by nothing at all.

Cliff eases the bass down gently, oh so quiet, it would appear. I feel the bed dip as he climbs in beside me. His arm wraps around my waist, and I can feel the heat of him beside me. He smells of leather and smoke, familiar and comforting. I smile, even though my eyes are still closed. His fingers trace lazy circles on my back, barely touching but enough to make me shiver.

"You're so good," I mumble. "It was beautiful, like always..."

He laughs softly, almost incredulous. Cliff never takes compliments well, but I say it anyway, every time. He presses a kiss to the back of my neck and sends warmth washing over my skin.

"You really think that?" he asks softly, his voice low.

"Mmhmm, " I manage to get out, too exhausted to say more, but sincere in my tone. I always am. There's just something about the way he plays that feels so special... such talent. Like he's pouring his soul into the strings, and I get to be the one who hears it.

He pulls me closer, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, the pulse steady and slow. It's moments like this that make everything else seem to fade away: long days, tours, chaos-all that seems so very far away when it's just the two of us like this.

I feel myself drifting off again, but I don't want to let this moment go yet. Sleep is pulling me under, and I know I won't be able to fight it for much longer.

"You're amazing," I whisper one last time before it pulls me under. Cliff says nothing, but I feel a smile against my skin as his arms squeeze tighter around me. And in that, I know he understands. He always does. In the dead of night, when the last sounds of his bass have died out completely, I fall asleep in his arms, and I'm at peace.

#mustainegf #fanfiction #fanfic #reqs open #metallica #request #metallica fanfiction #metallica x reader #metallica fluff #metallica oneshot #metallica imagines #cliff burton fanfiction #cliff burton x you #cliff burton fluff #cliff burton x reader #cliff burton imagines #cliff burton

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requiemforthepoets · 5 hours ago

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you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

ONE - BETWEEN WORLDS

𖤓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: charles was never meant to see you—no human beings can see you except for those souls you have to guide to the afterlife. but somehow, charles did, and ever since he did, he had been very persistent to catch you, and when he finally had you in his line of sight, you decided to disappear on him once again.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little but of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the first part of the series! again, i would like to reiterate, this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. there will be a bunch of fast forward, but don’t worry, i’ll include everything as much as possible so that you will still be able to follow through. i wanted to limit the series to five parts, so each chapter will be lengthy. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this first part!

As a Celestial, the warmth of human life and ache of human loss are always at a distance, intangible. Watching over humans and guiding them in unseen ways, you walk through the lives of people that are filled with laughter, sorrow, and strength. Your purpose is very clear, that is to help them transition from their earthly ties to the beyond. It was an endless cycle, yet you often marveled at the peculiarities of humans.

Beside you on many of these journeys is Gabriel, a fellow Celestial who, much like you, watches over humanity from afar. Though you and Gabriel guide people through their last moments, neither of you truly understand them, they are bound to the sensations you and Gabriel could not understand, things that you could never feel—touch, taste, the warmth of sunlight on their skin, and how humans held onto life fiercely. Their happiness and fears are a foreign concept, ideas that stir something within you and Gabriel, but will always remain incomprehensible without the senses the only humans possess.

2017

On an ordinary night by human standards, you had found yourself once again in Monaco, within the quiet sterility of a hospital room, where the soft hum of machines filled the room, a steady rhythm of life intertwined with impending loss. You knew, as you often do, that someone would soon pass—Hervé Leclerc, a man whose life was filled with passion for his family and his love for racing, lay fragile and silent on a hospital bed.

You stood nearby, unseen, feeling the quiet tension of the room, and watched as his family gathered around him. His wife, Pascale, sat at his side, holding his hand, her touch featherlight, as if she feared pressing too hard might shatter what little life remained in him. His three sons, Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, surrounded them, their eyes solemn yet determined, trying to be strong for their father and each other. As you waited, you felt Charles approach his father, bending down so only Hervé could hear him, and took a deep breath.

“Papa, I did it. I signed a contract to race in Formula 1 with Ferrari.” Charles softly murmured.

The statement hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the hope in Charles’ words—a gift, an offering of peace for his father in his final moments. Though you knew that it was not entirely the truth, you understood, in your own way, that it was a kindness, and an act of love. Hervé’s eyes remained closed, yet his breathing steadied, a faint smile curling on his lips. You knew that he had heard Charles.

Hervé’s spirit, though still connected to his mortal body, seemed to hover beside you, taking in the scene. He looked on, his gaze was soft and reverent as he watched his family, as if he was imprinting this final memory of them deep within his being. His presence was calm, accepting, and you felt like it was already time.

“Tell me,” you asked gently, stepping closer to him. “What was your favorite thing in life?”

You always ask this question to them, in their final moments, what their favorite thing in life has been. They would always recall something that is deeply personal, yet beyond your comprehension.

“My family,” Hervé answered as he looked at you, his ethereal form somehow both weary and joyful, his essence luminous even in the face of mortality.

“My sons, my wife. Watching them grow, finding their own passions, their own dreams…that was my greatest joy.” His gaze lingered on Charles, and you sensed an overwhelming pride emanating from him.

“I remember how Charles would always run into the house after a day of racing, his eyes filled with excitement. I could feel his dreams even then.” His voice trailed off as he was reliving those memories.

You just stood there beside him listening, absorbing his words, though the feelings themselves eluded you. Humans and their intricate emotions, it was like a puzzle with no answer. Your existence was outside the realm of these emotions, yet there was a beauty in his words, you glanced back at his family, sensing how they held Hervé’s life within their own, like a thread woven through each of them.

It was then that something had shifted. You felt the air grow thick, as if some unseen barrier dissolved, and turning, you saw Charles looking directly at you. His eyes were wide, face pale but intent, as if he was unsure of what he was seeing but could not look away. Humans were not supposed to see Celestials, they could only feel a faint brush of your presence, perhaps. But Charles’ eyes are fixed on you, gazing at you with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. You froze, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, as though he was staring into something beyond the grasp of reality.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice had interrupted him, a gentle nudge that pulled Charles back, though his eye still lingered on you. “Why are you staring at the wall?” He asked Charles, glancing at your direction as well, but you knew that Arthur saw nothing there.

Charles hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He looked at Arthur, then back at the space where you were standing, his lips parted, as though he was about to ask Arthur, too, could see you, but he held back. He was still clearly torn between questioning what he had just seen and dismissing it as a trick of the mind. With a sigh, he chose silence, giving his little brother a faint shake of his head, brushing it off. He turned his attention again back to where you had been standing, but you were already gone, as silent and unnoticed as the night.

But, at that exact moment, a part of you had wondered, could he have truly seen you? Could he have felt the faintest echo of your presence, of your purpose?

You drifted back to Gabriel with the faint impression of Charles’ gaze lingering in your own consciousness—a reminder that even in your unseen world, sometimes the divide between the humans and Celestials could be momentarily bridged.

2024

Seven years. Seven years had passed since that quiet night in the hospital, but that moment with Charles had lingered in your mind like an echo. Since then, you had found yourself drawn to him, but not in a way that disrupted your purpose as a Celestial, but with a curiosity that seemed to grow with each passing year.

You had watched him move from promise to reality, the white lie he had told his father on his deathbed eventually blossoming into truth. Just a few months after that night, Charles had signed his contract with Ferrari, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and in some inexplicable way, you felt as if you had been there to bear witness to it all. Each race, every success and setback, despite going through a lot, you found yourself watching over him, a silent guardian he would never know.

Today, you sat with Gabriel atop one of Monaco’s high-rise buildings, the sparkling Mediterranean stretching out before you, and the entire principality sprawled below like a living diorama. The streets buzzed with celebration as the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix had come to a close, and Charles had finally claimed his victory in his home race. It was a win seven years in the making, a win that is not just for himself, but for the memory of his father, his family, and Monaco itself.

From above, you could see him clearly amidst the sea of red Ferrari colors, arms raised in happiness, face radiant with the kind of happiness only humans are capable of. Right in the middle of the chaos, he ran towards his little brother, Arthur, engulfing him in a hug that spoke of shared dreams and sacrifices, of family and bonds invisible, but deeply felt.

You just watched them in silence, the sight stirring something in you that had been dormant for as long as you had existed. Charles’ embrace was firm, his grip grounding, there was nothing restrained or hesitant about it. You felt a pang of longing, a wish as faint as stardust, and without turning your gaze from what was happening below, you murmured to Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” you began. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like…to feel someone’s touch?” Gabriel just looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare expression of contemplation on his normally serene face.

“Touch?” He echoed, as if the concept was foreign, a thing only humans grasped. “I’ve thought of it, perhaps, but…it is a human sensation. One we’re not meant to experience.”

“But don’t you ever feel…curious?” You pressed, your gaze drifting from the celebration below to Gabriel’s face. “We guide them, witness their lives, but we never feel what they feel. We only see it.” You let out a soft sigh, though it held no breath, a habit you had picked up from your time observing humans.

“To feel someone’s hand, to know the warmth they carry within themselves. It seems as if it would make understanding them so much easier.” You added.

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his gaze had softened when he turned to look at Charles and Arthur below, watching as they held each other in a tight embrace that was filled with laughter and unspoken love.

“Perhaps,” he said, in a thoughtful tone. “But our purpose is not to feel as they do. If we were to experience what they do, to carry their joys and burdens…wouldn’t that make our task harder? Wouldn’t we lose sight of our main purpose?”

“Maybe…” you trailed off, there was a note of hesitation coloring your words. “But at times like these, it’s hard not to wonder. To see the way they hold each other, as if through touch they share parts of themselves they can’t express in words, it feels like we’re missing something that is essential.”

Gabriel tilted his head, considering your words. “I do understand,” he said quietly, though there was a trace of doubt in his voice. “But we are Celestials. We exist beyond the limitations of human senses, we are meant to guide, not to partake.”

You turned back to the scene below, watching as Charles lifted his gaze to the sky, as if looking for someone, or something, that could share in his win. You imagined, for just a moment, what it would be like if he could see you there, perched above, watching him as you had all these years. What would he think, if he knew that something beyond human comprehension had been by his side, through each win, each loss.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Even after all these years, after guiding so many, I still don’t understand why they hold onto each other so tightly. Why do they need these moments of closeness?”

Gabriel gave a gentle nod. “Perhaps that is the beauty of humanity. Their mortality gives weight to every touch, embrace, and word. They cling to these moments because they know that their time is finite,” he replied quietly. “For us, existence is boundless. But to them, it’s fleeting. They reach for each other because they know it won’t last.”

“What do you think it would be like, if he could feel our presence?” You asked. “If he knew we were here, watching over him.”

“He sensed you once,” he reminded you, as he gazed softly at you. “That alone was a gift, rare and precious. Perhaps that moment, as brief as it was, is enough. Enough to remind us that we are a part of their lives, even if they never know it.”

For a long while, you and Gabriel sat in silence, watching as Charles continued to celebrate, his family and team surrounding him, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, and their laughter echoing through the streets. Though you could never fully grasp the intricacies of their lives, in the moment, you felt a rare, almost painful longing, a sense that maybe there was something beautiful in being bound to the world as they were. Something in their fragility made them magnificent.

Meanwhile, for Charles, that night in 2017 would always remain etched in his memory, shadowing his every step like a faint, haunting whisper he could never quite shake. It was something he never really fully understood, something he never spoke of, not to Arthur, not to Lorenzo, and certainly not to her mother, Pascale. Charles had kept it buried in the recesses of his mind, an unexplainable experience he half-believed and half-dismissed, but that, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t let him go.

The moment he had seen you inside his father’s hospital room, his first instinct had been confusion. In a place so intimately reserved for family, for whispers of love and tearful goodbyes, you were a stranger, someone so unfamiliar standing quietly at the edge of the room. Your form was as clear as anyone else’s, not blurred or shadowed like a moment of illusion. Yet, what unsettled him the most was that no one else seemed to notice you.

At first, Charles told himself that it must have been the weight of the moment, his grief playing tricks on his mind. After all, in that fragile state, it would be easy to imagine things that were not there. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, cautiously, hoping to see you disappear, to prove that it had been just a figment of his imagination. But you stayed, your gaze resting softly on his father, with an almost reverent patience, and as the minutes stretched on, his conviction that he was truly seeing someone, is real.

The memory of your gaze, so steady and detached, left a strange impression on him. Charles found himself glancing at you repeatedly, his heart pounding as he tried to think about who or what you were. He wanted to ask you why you were there, how you had come un unnoticed, but something about your presence was ethereal, inexplicably untouchable. You didn’t seem bound by the rules of this world, as if you were simply just passing through, a visitor from some place beyond.

Then, Arthur’s voice had snapped him out of his trance, asking him why he was staring at the wall. Arthur’s words were practical, a rope that pulled him back to the room. Yet, the second he had turned back to look at you, you were already gone—just as quietly as you had arrived, leaving no trace behind, it was as though you had never been there at all.

Over the years, Charles tried to put that night behind him, brushing off the memory as a momentary lapse in judgment, a strange vision conjured by the heartbreak of losing his father. But even as time passed by, the memory of you still lingered. He felt you in many ways he could not describe, as if you existed in the peripheral spaces of his life, just out of reach, yet somehow undeniably real. Every so often, in the hushed stillness of a race night or in the lonely hours before dawn, he would sense something—an invisible presence, a faint familiarity. It was as though you were watching over him, an unseen guardian who drifted along with him from one country to another, from one track to another.

Sometimes, he thought he caught a glimpse of you, a brief, shadowy figure in the distance, a subtle hint of movement where there should have been none. Once, while preparing for a race in Silverstone, he was warming up in the garage when he thought he saw you standing by the edge of the track. His heart had leapt, his mind suddenly thrown back to that hospital room, but when he looked again, you were gone, leaving only the flicker of your image imprinted on his mind.

Even his teammate, Carlos, noticed too. There were times when Charles would falter mid-sentence, his gaze drifting as if he was seeing something beyond their conversation, beyond the present. Carlos would follow his line of sight, seeing nothing but an empty space, a shadow that Charles seemed inexplicably drawn to. He would often give Charles a curious look.

“Are you alright, mate?” Carlos asked, looking at him weirdly. Charles just shook it off, smiling tightly, and offering a quick nod. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

It became a pattern that he could neither understand nor dismiss. The feeling of your presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder that he was somehow never truly alone, even in the depths of solitude. There moment he had questioned his own sanity, wondering if he was simply haunted by the memory of his father’s death clinging to something he could not let go. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the feeling that you were real, that he had seen you.

At times, he would catch himself searching for you in the crowd, hoping for just one more glimpse. Charles wanted answers, an explanation that would either ground him in reality or confirm that he is not going crazy, that his life had crossed paths with something beyond the ordinary. But as the years went by, he learned to finally accept your presence as a quiet, unspoken truth, something woven into the fabric of his existence that he would never fully understand.

SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX

The Singapore Grand Prix has always been one of the most electrifying events of the season, the country is a home for night racing—a race that is held under the city’s dazzling night lights, set against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers, and a sea of spectators from different parts of the world. The vibrancy, palpable energy, it all felt foreign to you, like watching scenes play out on a distant plane of existence you could never fully enter.

This year, the circuit was alive as ever, buzzing with the energy of fans and flashing cameras, the constant pulse of music and chatter weaving into the humid tropical air. Charles was in his element, navigating the crowds and the chaos with the ease of someone who had grown accustomed to the demands of fame. But in the middle of the swirling mass of people, someone unusual had appeared, unnoticed by most but utterly unmistakable to him.

You hadn’t meant to be seen. For years, you had existed on the fringes of Charles’ life, watching from a distance. But something about Singapore piqued your curiosity. It was the sheer energy of it all—the press, fans, and the kaleidoscope of colors. For someone like Charles, who seemed perpetually surrounded by people and yet remained alone in many ways, you wanted to understand just a little more about the life he lived. So you wandered through the paddock, watching from the shadows, taking in the sights and sounds, studying the excitement in the faces of those who adored him.

Then, as if some force had finally decided that it was time. You had found yourself standing right in the open, in the midst of it all, no longer bound to the periphery. There you stood, calm and composed, while people streamed around you, their movements fast and chaotic, yet never once brushing against you.

Charles arrived shortly after, dressed in his Ferrari team uniform, stepping into the crowd as he made his way through. However, his steps began to slow down as he walked, and his focus shifted the moment he saw you, your figure stark against the colorful, shifting background. You stood perfectly still, framed by the buzzing energy around you, as if the world had momentarily paused just for you. You were dressed entirely in black—turtleneck, tailored trousers, sleek shoes, and a long trench coat that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—you appeared like a shadow against the vivid scene, an undeniable presence, a figure of quiet, captivating stillness. The Singaporean heat clung to everything and everyone, beads of sweat visible on even the most acclimated locals, but you felt none of it.

For a moment, Charles thought his mind was playing tricks on him again. He blinked numerous times, expecting you to vanish, for your presence to disappear into the crowd as it had so many times before. But this time, you didn’t fade. You just stood there, watching him with a calm, knowing gaze that seemed to pierce through the noise of the crowd. His breath was caught in throat, and he almost faltered in his step. You were no longer a flicker in his peripheral vision, no longer a question lingering at the edge of his mind. You were unmistakably there, standing directly in his line of sight, unyielding and unfazed by the swirl of people passing around you.

Your gaze met his, and in that instant, he felt the weight of something intense, a connection that defied explanation. It felt like it was a bridge that seemed to span years and memories, drawing him back to that hospital room in 2017. Charles remembered your face so vividly, and here you were, the same mysterious figure who had watched over his father in his final moments. He knew instinctively that you were not something ordinary, everything about you, from the calm in your expression to the impossible composure you held, marked you as something beyond human.

Charles could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief surging through him. He wanted to reach out to you, speak to you, but the weight of the moment made it very impossible. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, especially from the media and fans who circled around him, unaware of the encounter unfolding before them. He didn’t want to appear crazy, pausing in the middle of the crowd to address a person that, for all he knew, only he could see. So he kept his expression carefully neutral, his gaze lingering on you as he moved forward with deliberate steps, passing just a few feet away from where you stood.

As he brushed by, he felt a soft, cool gust of wind graze his shoulder—a breeze that did not seem to belong in the humid heat of the Singapore air. It was as if your presence had left a subtle mark on him, an unspoken reminder that this moment was real, that you were real. Charles continued walking, the weight of your gaze lingering on his skin, the connection between you evident as he moved away. His mind whirled with so many questions, with the need for answers that he had long since buried but that now surged back with renewed urgency.

Who are you?

What were you?

Why did you seem to appear only at the most pivotal moments of his life, watching him with a calm that suggested knowledge he could barely fathom?

But as he glanced back over his shoulder to look at you one more time, you remained exactly where you were, standing with your hands casually tucked into the pockets of your coat, observing Charles with the same quiet intensity. He didn’t need words to understand that, somehow, you were there for him, that whatever role you played in his life was not a figment of his imagination but something far more profound. It was as if, by some cosmic design, you had been an integral part of his life, even if he could not understand why.

It was both terrifying and strangely comforting for Charles, knowing that you were there, connected to his life in ways he could not even explain. Though he continued to walk away, blending back into the crowd, he could still feel your presence, like a steady anchor amidst the chaos of his world.

The night had already fallen over Singapore, casting a warm, beautiful golden haze over the circuit as the city lights reflected off every glass surface, every curve in the architecture. The air still held the weight of the humid day, though there was a subtle breeze stirring now, drifting through the emptiness of spaces high above the throngs below. This was where you and Gabriel often met, removed from the world you observed, yet close enough to feel its pulse.

You sat together on a ledge that overlooked the bright labyrinth of the track, each car flickering past like the streaks of light, their paths twisting through the city like a thread woven into the heart of human life. Gabriel sat beside you, posture relaxed, gaze steady on the crowds moving below. He had a serene presence about him, as all Celestial did, though his was tempered by a slight curiosity, a kindred spirit in your shared wonder at the lives below, though he carried the wisdom of countless lifetimes.

“Today…” you began, breaking the silence between the two of you. “I saw him again. Charles.”

“And this time…he really saw me. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker. He truly saw me, Gabriel. It was different.” You added.

The words felt very strange in the open air, as though they held a weight that went beyond their sound. Gabriel’s gaze turned towards you, a subtle light of interest in his eyes, nodding as though encouraging you to continue, so you tried to put it into words that felt almost too elusive to capture.

“When I first saw him years ago, in the hospital room, I thought that maybe he only sensed me. It’s not unusual—though I know that some humans have that…intuition. They feel our presence, but they never truly see us,” you paused, searching for the words.

“But this was different. I was standing right in front of him, in the open, and he looked at me as if…as if he recognized me. As if he has always known I was there, even though we’re not supposed to be seen. It’s as if there’s a connection between us—one I can’t fully explain.” You continued.

Gabriel’s expression softened with understanding, a hint of knowing in his gaze. He looked out over the city, his voice a low murmur that held the weight of something ancient.

“Sometimes,” he began. “There are rare occasions when certain humans have a heightened sensitivity. They can feel what others cannot, see what lies just beyond the veil of human sight. They can perceive glimpses of our world, though they never fully understand it.”

You considered his words, recalling the many faces of humans who had felt your presence, brief shivers down their spine, faint chill in the air. “But this doesn’t feel like that,” you said softly. “This isn’t just intuition. It’s more than that…I—I think he truly sees me. As if I'm as real to him as any other person in his life.”

Gabriel met your gaze, his eyes thoughtful. “There are many possibilities,” he said, his voice holding a trace of reverence. “It could be that Charles was born with a rare gift, a unique soul attuned to the spiritual realm. Sometimes, humans like him are able to see beyond what others can, though they seldom realize it. Perhaps, he was always meant to see you, even if he doesn’t understand why.”

“But why him? Of all people, why would I form this…this kind of connection with him?” You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, feeling a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

“Maybe it isn’t for us to know,” Gabriel replied gently, his gaze soft with empathy. “But there’s another possibility.” His tone grew contemplative, as though he was drawing from knowledge buried deep within him.

“Sometimes, when a Celestial spends enough time around a particular human, they may develop a tether—it is a bond that links their existence to that person’s life in a profound way.” Gabriel replied.

“A tether?” Gabriel nodded at you.

The word felt heavy with significance. You had heard of it, of course, in ancient stories, tales of Celestials who had unknowingly bound themselves to a single soul, a single life, whether through empathy, admiration, or something far more elusive.

“A tether is rare, but it does happen. It is formed not by choice, but by some force beyond even our understanding. When a Celestial is tethered to a human, it is as if they share a part of their essence with them. It could be because you watched over him so closely after his father’s passing, you saw him through one of the most pivotal moments of his life.” Gabriel explained.

The notioned lingered between you, reverberating like an echo. You had indeed been there, unseen, at some of his most significant moments, his quietest doubts, his rare happiness. You had felt compelled to follow Charles’ journey, though you could never quite explain why.

“But if I’m tethered to him, what does that mean for us?” The question was one you had not thought to ask before. It felt really impossible, like trying to decipher the meaning of a shadow that has been casted by an unseen light. “Is it my responsibility to stay close to him…to protect him?”

“Not necessarily.” Gabriel considered this, his expression calm and wise. “A tether isn’t a duty. It’s simply a bond. It doesn’t force you to act or change your purpose, but it can shape how you experience your existence—how you feel, and perhaps, in rare instances, it allows the human on the other end to see us, as Charles did today.”

You let Gabriel’s words sink in, the idea that your connections with Charles might be something outside either of your control. A rare, inexplicable bond that went beyond the boundaries you had come to know.

“Does he know?” You wondered aloud, the thought both terrifying and exhilarating. “Can he sense it as I do?”

“It’s possible,” Gabriel murmured. “Even if he doesn’t consciously understand, he may feel it. An inexplicable comfort, a quiet sense of your presence. Humans don’t often recognize such things, but in their hearts, they understand more than they realize.”

“I thought I understood my purpose,” you said quietly. “To guide, protect from a distance, never to interfere. But this…it feels like something more. I didn’t think I could feel this way.” You closed your eyes, absorbing the realization that your connection to Charles might be as real to him as it was to you.

Gabriel gave you a look of quiet understanding. “Feelings are not foreign to us, though they are seldom as strong as what humans experience. It is only natural to be curious, to want to understand what draws us to them, and what makes them so fascinating to us.”

He paused, then added softly, “but remember, the tether doesn’t mean you must change your purpose. It only means you’ve shared part of yourself with him, and in return, he has shared a part of his essence with you. It’s a gift, though one we may never fully understand.”

You nodded, a deep sense of acceptance settling over you. Charles might never know the truth of who you were, or why he saw you, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. He would carry the sense of your presence, a constant and silent connection, and in a way, it would be enough.

You just sat in silence with Gabriel, looking out over the glittering cityscape, you felt the comfort of his companionship. The two of you were bound to different souls, different journeys, but you shared the same questions, same yearnings.

As the night wore in, and the world around was now silent in the aftermath of the race, and the Singaporean circuit lay quiet, already emptied of the usual buzz of engines and the thrill of spectators. Only a few distant voices and the gentle hum of machineries being packed away punctuated the stillness.

Charles lingered in the Ferrari motorhome, his mind far from the day’s race. Finishing in P5 and scoring point should have filled him with satisfaction, yet something lingered beneath it all, a presence far more pressing. You. The image of you, standing amid the crowd, hauntingly calm and out of place, had filled his thoughts since he had passed by you that afternoon. He had always known you, even though Charles was certain he had never seen you before. The fact that you were gone the moment he had looked away haunted him, and now, despite the silence around him, his mind raced with the need to see you again.

As Charles stepped out of the motorhome, running a hand through his damp hair, he slowed, his eyes searching the dimly lit surroundings as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Then, just beyond the edge of the shadows, there you were. You stood there, calm and still, a silhouette framed by the city lights, a vision of dark elegance against the fading glow of the circuit. You were wearing the same all-black ensemble he had seen you in before, a stark contrast against the remnants of bright lights and flashes that had filled the paddock earlier, and the subtle breeze caught your coat, giving you an almost weightless presence as if you were somehow apart from the world around you.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Charles’ gaze lingered on you, studying the way your features seemed almost unreal, too striking to belong to the ordinary world he inhabited. It was as though everything he had ever seen had paled in comparison. He could feel some type of strange warmth radiate from you, a kind of serene beauty that pulled at him and silenced everything else in his mind. If ethereal were to take a human form, it would look like you, he was sure of it. Then you spoke.

“Hello, Charles.” You greeted him.

Your voice was soft, almost like a gentle breeze yet clear in the quiet of the evening. There was a soft smile on your lips, one that carried both mystery and warmth. Charles’ eyes widened, his heart seeming to stop for a second.

“I know that you can see me.” You said gently, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

For the first time, Charles felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and vulnerability. He had spent so many years convincing himself that you were just a figment of his imagination, yet here you were, standing mere feet from him, speaking as though you had been waiting for this moment just as he had.

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was torn between asking if you were real and confessing that he had thought about you since that day at the hospital, wondering if he had imagined you. He felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, everything he knew upended by this encounter, but before he could gather his words, a voice had brought him back.

“Charles!” A friend called out, waving him over from across the clearing, and instinctively, Charles turned his head to. “We’re already heading out, you coming?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment. But the moment he glanced back to look at you, you had already disappeared. A rush of frustration flared in him, sharper than anything he had felt in recent memory. The moment he finally had you there, standing before him, speaking to him as though you understood this strange, silent connection, you had vanished again, leaving only the soft night breeze in your wake.

He just stood there, his chest tightening with an unnameable sense of loss, staring at the empty space where you had just been. Charles could still feel the subtle warmth of your presence, a lingering trace of your smile that had somehow left an imprint on his mind. His hands clenched and unclenched as if he could somehow reach for you and pull back, his jaw set in determination.

Though you were gone again, the mystery of you wrapped around him tighter than ever, leaving him certain of one thing—he would see you again. He had to.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 2 days ago

Text

Possession: a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley x Jimmy Uso fanfic.

Chapter 4: I’m a survivor..

Jimmy held Rhea close, feeling the way her body shook with each quiet sob. He hated seeing her like this—vulnerable, raw, breaking. And he hated Jey even more for being the reason behind it. His hands instinctively tightened around her, a fierce protectiveness rising in his chest, a silent vow that he’d never let anyone hurt her like this again.

“Let him cool off,” Jimmy murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “He’ll talk when he’s ready. Right now, you need to take care of yourself.”

Rhea nodded slowly, her face buried in his shoulder, absorbing his warmth and steady presence. His words were like an anchor, grounding her amidst the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart inside. She took a shaky breath, finally starting to feel a bit of calm wash over her.

After a few minutes, she gently pulled away, her fingers brushing away the tear stains from her cheeks. She gave him a small, grateful smile, though it was laced with exhaustion. Without a word, she reached for their gear, gathering up her bag and his as well.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” she murmured, her voice still thick with emotion but steadier now.

Jimmy nodded, watching her carefully, making sure she was okay to walk. As they made their way out of the locker room and down the quiet hallway, he stayed close, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back, guiding her gently.

The car ride to the hotel was mostly silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rhea appreciated Jimmy’s presence, the way he didn’t push her to talk or demand answers. He just stayed by her side, a quiet pillar of strength, making her feel safe.

Once they arrived at the hotel, Rhea fumbled with the keycard before finally opening the door. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the floor from the muted streetlights outside. She dropped their bags by the bed, her shoulders sagging with the weight of everything she’d been carrying all day.

Jimmy closed the door behind them and watched her for a moment. She looked small, vulnerable, like the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He hated seeing her like this, and the anger he felt toward Jey for causing her this pain flared again.

“You don’t deserve this, you know?” Jimmy said softly, breaking the silence. “You shouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting your own happiness.”

Rhea looked up at him, her expression weary but touched by his words. “I just… I never wanted any of this to happen. I wanted to make it work with Jey, to be there for him, but… now everything’s so messed up.”

Jimmy moved closer, gently reaching for her hand. He didn’t say anything, but his touch said everything. It was steady, warm, grounding. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a quiet promise that she wasn’t alone in this.

“Rhea, you don’t have to carry this all by yourself,” he murmured. “You’ve got me here. I’ll stay with you, no matter what happens with Jey. You’re not alone.”

Her lips trembled as she looked at him, and for a moment, she felt her walls start to crumble again. She nodded, her hand squeezing his, drawing strength from his presence. Jimmy’s gaze was intense, but it was soft, understanding. There was a depth in his eyes that told her he meant every word.

Without another thought, she leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around her once more. In his embrace, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter, the ache in her heart a little duller. She took a deep, steadying breath, letting herself savor the comfort he offered.

“Thank you, Jon..” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “For everything.”

Jimmy just held her tighter, his arms a cocoon of warmth and safety around her. For that moment, it was enough to just be there, together, sharing the silence and the solace it brought.

—

After Jimmy finished his shower, he stepped out into the dimly lit hotel room, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, the tension between them lingering even now, quiet but palpable.

Rhea lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the day playing over and over in her mind like a film she couldn’t turn off. Her alarm was already set for the PLE tomorrow, but sleep felt like an impossibility. She couldn’t shake the ache left by her fight with Jey, the emptiness gnawing at her, an endless void she yearned to fill with something real, something comforting.

As she heard Jimmy step out of the bathroom, she sat up, her eyes finding him in the soft light. “Jon?” she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jimmy stopped, his gaze shifting toward her, the sound of his real name falling from her lips catching him off guard. She was reaching out to him, not just his stage persona, and that single word grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice soft as he crossed the room, towel still wrapped around his waist.

Rhea’s gaze met his, vulnerable and pleading. “Can… can you sleep with me? I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Jimmy’s heart skipped, but he didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he replied gently.

He slipped into the bed beside her, careful with each movement as he lay down. The space felt warmer, more intimate with him there. Rhea shifted closer, her eyes searching his, and she asked quietly, “Can you hold me?”

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his hand resting against her back as he cradled her to his chest. Her head nestled against him, and he could feel her breath, slow and deep, her body melting into his.

“Hold me tighter,” she murmured, her voice laced with a mixture of desperation and trust.

Jimmy obliged, pulling her even closer, the warmth of her body pressing against his bare chest, stirring something deep within him. His breath caught as he became acutely aware of the intimacy, his possessiveness surfacing, tugging at him in ways he wasn’t sure he could control.

She was soft against him, vulnerable, and all he wanted to do was protect her, to shield her from anything and everything that could hurt her. His fingers traced small circles along her back, a comforting gesture that somehow made him feel even more connected to her.

“Don’t let me go, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling, the last of her walls crumbling as she clung to him.

Jimmy tightened his hold, his arms firm and steady around her. “I’m not going anywhere, Rhea,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

In that moment, all the complexities, the tangled emotions between them, faded away. There was no past, no future—only the here and now, only the two of them finding solace in each other. Jimmy’s hand slid up, cradling the back of her head as she relaxed against him, her breathing gradually slowing as she found peace in his embrace.

He felt her body relax, her breathing syncing with his, and his heart ached with an intensity he hadn’t expected. It was more than just possessiveness—it was a fierce need to be hers, to be the one she could rely on, even if only for this moment.

The room fell into silence, broken only by the soft rhythm of their breaths. Jimmy’s fingers traced her hair, his thumb brushing against her shoulder as he held her tighter, grounding himself in the warmth of her presence.

And for the first time in a long time, Rhea felt safe. She closed her eyes, drifting into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in the arms of the one person who, tonight, was exactly what she needed.

—

The morning light filtered through the hotel room curtains, casting a soft glow across the bed. Rhea reached over, groggy, and silenced her alarm. As her fingers brushed against her phone, she paused, aware of the warmth next to her—the steady, comforting presence she had shared the night with. She didn’t feel the jolt of shock or panic like she did the first time. Instead, a sense of calm settled over her.

She shifted slightly, and Jimmy’s arms instinctively tightened around her, pulling her closer. His hand rested on her lower back, fingers tracing gentle circles against her skin, soothing and grounding her. The intimacy of the moment felt so natural, yet now, in the light of morning, she couldn’t help but wonder if it had become something… more.

Her gaze drifted down, her hand trailing along the strong, defined lines of Jimmy’s chest, taking in the intricate Samoan tattoos that adorned his skin. The inked patterns seemed to come alive in the soft sunlight, highlighting the strength and heritage he carried with pride. Her fingers traced over them lightly, almost reverently, the quiet admiration stirring a warmth in her chest.

As if sensing her gaze, Jimmy’s eyes slowly opened, meeting hers with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before. His dark eyes held a depth that was both familiar and foreign to her. It was as if she was seeing a different side of him—one that was softer, protective, and filled with something she couldn’t quite name.

Jimmy reached up, his hand gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek. He studied her, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. “We should get ready,” he murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep, but laced with a warmth that made her heart skip.

Rhea swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and nodded, unable to trust her voice to respond. She simply looked at him, trying to memorize the way he looked at her, how safe she felt in his arms. She knew they couldn’t linger here forever, wrapped in this fleeting intimacy. But for now, she allowed herself to hold onto the moment, just a little longer.

Slowly, they both pulled themselves from the bed, the quiet spell between them broken but not forgotten. They moved around the room in silence, gathering their things, preparing for the day ahead, the Professionalism they’d mastered over the years slipping back into place. But there was something different now—a quiet understanding, a shared moment that neither of them spoke of but both felt.

As Rhea changed into a hoodie with matching sweats. She gathered her things and stole a glance at Jimmy. He caught her gaze in the mirror, and a faint smile tugged at his lips, a reminder of the comfort they’d shared through the night. In that brief look, she felt a silent promise—a reassurance that whatever came next, he’d be there.

They both knew they’d have to step into their roles as professionals once again, put on the armor that was expected of them in the ring. But beneath that, between them, something had shifted. And while Rhea couldn’t yet name it, she knew it was something she wasn’t ready to let go of.

Jimmy slung his bag over his shoulder and waited for her by the door. As she moved to join him, he gave her a soft, knowing smile. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes—he’d be there, no matter what happened with Jey or anyone else. She returned the smile, grateful for his silent support, and together, they left the room, stepping into the world outside, but not leaving their unspoken connection behind.

—

“Hold still,” Jimmy murmured, his eyes focused as he put the final touches on Rhea’s bandana bandeau. His fingers moved deftly, sewing it securely in place, making sure everything was perfect. Rhea looked down, admiring the unique piece he’d crafted just for her. She wore his black button-up shirt, left unbuttoned, draped casually over her shoulders, giving her look an effortless edge. Beneath it, the bandana bandeau, sewed to perfection, sat proudly against her chest, framed by a black harness that added an extra layer of intensity.

Her purple camo-print cargo pants hugged her hips, her black wrestling boots completing the tough, yet distinctively styled outfit. A fishnet long sleeve peeked out from underneath, adding texture to her look, while purple fingerless gloves adorned her hands, tying the ensemble together with an undeniable fierceness.

“There,” Jimmy said, standing back to admire his work with a satisfied grin. He had dressed himself in black wrestling joggers with Rhea’s face sewn across the legs in a collage of fierce expressions, each patch a testament to the connection they shared. His black muscle T-shirt had “Mami” emblazoned in purple lettering over his heart, a tribute that Rhea couldn’t help but find sweet, even if it sent her mind spiraling with complex emotions.

“Looking good,” he said with a wink, before reaching up to gently adjust her hair. He’d styled it himself, three braids running down the right side of her head, the same way he’d first crafted her “Mami” look. Rhea caught her reflection, seeing the purple eyeshadow she had meticulously applied, and the small heart with “Jimmy” scrawled on her cheek, a final personal touch. It was bold, unmistakable—a message to the world that tonight, they were a unit.

As she took one last look, there was a soft knock on the door. An assistant peeked in, announcing, “You have five minutes before your match starts.”

The two shared a glance, the anticipation settling heavy in the air between them. This was the moment they had worked toward, and despite the confidence they exuded, jitters crept in. But it was a good kind of nervousness, a shared excitement that made them feel alive. Rhea took a steadying breath, feeling the warmth of Jimmy’s hand on her back as they walked down the hallway together, making their way to gorilla.

Just before they reached the staging area, Hunter intercepted them, his expression serious but proud. “Alright, listen up,” he began, his voice low but filled with authority. “This is where we call it. The chemistry, the story… it all leads to tonight.” He gave Rhea a pointed look, adding, “You gotta kiss Jimmy tonight, Rhea. Make it memorable.”

The words hit her like a freight train, but she didn’t flinch. Still stinging from her fight with Jey, her emotions felt raw and complicated, but she pushed them down, nodding at Hunter’s instructions. She was a professional; she would do what was asked of her. She gave a quick glance at Jimmy, who met her eyes with a silent understanding. This was as much about their characters as it was about everything left unsaid between them.

Jimmy’s music hit first, the familiar beat pounding through the arena, vibrating through their bones. He took a deep breath, then turned to Rhea one last time, his hand squeezing hers briefly in a silent promise. “We got this,” he murmured, his voice steady, and then he stepped through the curtain to the roar of the crowd.

Rhea watched him walk out, the adrenaline pulsing through her. She straightened up, adjusting her bandana bandeau one last time, feeling the weight of everything on her shoulders—the storyline, the crowd’s expectations, and the tumultuous emotions she’d been wrestling with all week. But as her music began, she pushed it all aside, letting the rhythm of her entrance fill her senses as she strode out onto the stage with a confidence that made the arena come alive.

—

The arena is buzzing with anticipation as the steel cage is lowered around the ring, setting the stage for the first-ever Mixed Gender Tag Team Title match. The atmosphere is electric, with fans on the edge of their seats, eagerly awaiting the historic showdown.

Michael Cole: “Ladies and gentlemen, history will be made tonight as we crown the first-ever Mixed Gender Tag Team Champions! This Tornado Tag steel cage match will see Rhea Ripley and Jimmy Uso face off against the high-flying Dragon Lee and the unpredictable Zelina Vega.”

Pat McAfee: “This match is stacked, Cole! Both teams have fought tooth and nail to make it to the finals, and tonight in Calgary, it all comes down to who can survive the cage!”

Jimmy Uso’s music hits, and he makes his way down the ramp, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. As he reaches the end of the ramp, he pauses, looking back toward the entrance with a knowing grin.

Suddenly, Rhea Ripley’s music blares through the arena, and she steps out, scanning the crowd before locking eyes with Jimmy. With a burst of energy, she takes off, leaping into Jimmy’s arms in her iconic jump, her legs wrapped around his waist as he catches her. The crowd erupts in cheers as the chemistry between them is undeniable.

Michael Cole: “What a sight! Jimmy and Rhea clearly have some serious chemistry going on here.”

Pat McAfee: “You can say that again, Cole. I don’t know if they’re officially a couple, but they sure look like it tonight! I mean, look at them—they’re on fire!”

Jimmy and Rhea exchange a nod, a silent affirmation of their unity, as they step inside the steel cage, ready for war.

The music shifts as Dragon Lee’s high-energy theme song hits. He sprints down the ramp, stopping at the base of the cage, where he’s quickly joined by Zelina Vega. They exchange a fist bump, their fierce determination matching that of their opponents. With one last glance, they enter the cage, the door slamming shut behind them.

Michael Cole: “Dragon Lee and Zelina Vega are no strangers to big matches, and they bring a unique combination of agility and strategy. This is going to be an explosive clash of styles.”

Pat McAfee: “Absolutely, Cole. This isn’t just any steel cage match—it’s a Tornado Tag, so all four competitors are in there at once. No tags, no breaks, just pure chaos!”

As soon as the bell rings, all four competitors explode into action, each determined to outmaneuver the other. Dragon Lee goes after Jimmy, the two men exchanging rapid punches, while Rhea and Zelina lock up, their intensity palpable.

The crowd is on fire as Jimmy whips Dragon Lee into the cage wall, the impact echoing through the arena. Meanwhile, Rhea tosses Zelina into the corner, following up with a brutal knee to the midsection.

Michael Cole: “This match has started with a bang! Jimmy and Rhea are not holding back at all.”

Pat McAfee: “And why would they, Cole? This is for the first-ever Mixed Gender Tag Titles—this is everything!”

Dragon Lee quickly recovers, using his agility to slip out of Jimmy’s grasp and deliver a spinning kick that sends Jimmy staggering. Rhea, seeing her partner in trouble, rushes toward Dragon Lee, but Zelina intercepts her with a well-placed dropkick.

Michael Cole: “Dragon Lee and Zelina are showing exactly why they’ve made it this far—they’re quick and resourceful!”

Pat McAfee: “Yeah, but Jimmy and Rhea have an undeniable power advantage. Let’s see how that plays out as this match gets more intense!”

The action is unrelenting as all four wrestlers continue to brawl. Dragon Lee ascends the ropes and launches himself off with a crossbody onto Jimmy, but Jimmy rolls through, slamming Dragon into the mat. Zelina attempts to capitalize, jumping onto Rhea’s back and locking in a sleeper hold.

Rhea stumbles, clawing at Zelina’s grip, but with a roar, she slams Zelina backward into the steel cage, breaking the hold.

Michael Cole: “Rhea’s power is unmatched! She’s taking control here!”

Pat McAfee: “This is the brutality we expected, and it’s not disappointing, Cole!”

As the chaos rages on, Jimmy and Rhea exchange a quick glance, and with perfect timing, they both line up their opponents for a synchronized superkick.

Michael Cole: “Look at this Pat! Jimmy and Rhea are in perfect sync!”

In unison, they deliver devastating superkicks—Jimmy’s landing squarely on Dragon Lee’s jaw, and Rhea’s hitting Zelina with pinpoint accuracy. Both Dragon Lee and Zelina collapse to the mat, leaving the crowd roaring.

Pat McAfee: “Superkick party in Calgary! These two are unstoppable together!”

Sensing the opportunity, Jimmy ascends to the top rope, positioning himself for his signature splash. With the crowd behind him, he launches off, crashing down onto Dragon Lee with all his weight.

Simultaneously, Rhea lifts Zelina into position for the Riptide. With a powerful slam, she plants Zelina on the mat, sealing her fate.

Michael Cole: “The Riptide! And Jimmy with the Uso splash! They’re pulling out all the stops!”

Pat McAfee: “Cole, they’re going to do it—they’re going to make history!”

With their opponents down, Rhea and Jimmy lock eyes, a spark of victory igniting between them. They begin their climb up the steel cage side by side, inching their way up as the crowd builds in anticipation.

As they reach the top, they glance down at the carnage below, then look at each other, a triumphant grin spreading across their faces. Together, they swing a leg over the cage and drop down to the outside, landing with victory secured.

“Here are your winners, and the first-ever Mixed Gender Tag Team Champions… Jimmy Uso and Rhea Ripley!”

The crowd explodes as Jimmy and Rhea are handed their titles. Their faces shine with triumph as they raise the belts high.

Michael Cole: “History has been made tonight in Calgary! Jimmy and Rhea have won the first-ever Mixed Gender Tag Team Titles!”

Pat McAfee: “But wait, Cole—look at this!”

As the camera zooms in, Jimmy steps closer to Rhea, his hand reaching up to cup her face. In a moment that shocks the entire arena, he leans in and kisses her, the intensity of the moment capturing everyone’s attention.

Michael Cole: “Whoa! Jimmy Uso just kissed Rhea Ripley! This is… this is huge!”

Pat McAfee: “Are you seeing this, Cole? Jey Uso’s girlfriend, making out with his own twin brother?! This is absolute deception! I don’t know what’s going to happen when Jey sees this!”

The camera captures every second, zooming in as the crowd reacts, stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Jimmy pulls back, gazing into Rhea’s eyes with a smirk, while Rhea, flushed, gives him a soft smile.

The two stand together, arms raised, titles held high as the crowd cheers—and speculates about what this means for the future. They’ve not only made history but left the WWE Universe buzzing, their relationship now more complicated—and public—than ever.

Michael Cole: “This is a moment no one will ever forget! Jimmy and Rhea have made history tonight, but they’ve also created a whole new chapter of drama for the two..”

Pat McAfee: “This is the kind of thing that will shake the entire WWE to its core. What a night, Cole!”

—

Rhea sat in her locker room, hands still trembling as she adjusted the black jacket hanging loosely around her shoulders. The energy of the night still pulsed through her, but it felt distant, muted. Winning the Mixed Gender Tag Titles, kissing Jimmy in front of everyone—it was supposed to feel triumphant. But as she stared at her phone, everything else faded away.

Her screen glowed with a single text from Jey.

Good job.

That was all he said. No elaboration, no warmth. Just two words that felt as heavy as a boulder pressing down on her chest. She re-read it over and over, her stomach churning with a mix of guilt, confusion, and anger. Good job? Was that all he had to say?

Rhea’s fingers hovered over the screen as she dialed his number, desperate to hear his voice, to explain, to somehow make him understand that this was all just part of the job. But the phone rang, each ring a painful reminder that he wasn’t answering. By the time it clicked over to voicemail, her heart felt like it had been crushed into pieces.

She hung up, blinking back tears as the weight of her choices settled heavily on her shoulders. The line between reality and storyline had blurred beyond recognition, and now she was left in this painful in-between, where nothing felt certain anymore. Everything felt real to Jey, she thought. The kiss, the match, the betrayal—it all meant more to him than she’d anticipated. She didn’t know how to bridge that gap, or if she even could.

A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. Before she could call out, the door opened, and Jimmy stepped in, his expression softening the moment he saw her face.

“Everything alright, Rhea?” he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

Rhea forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She tried to brush it off, but Jimmy knew her well enough to see through the facade. He took a few steps closer, his gaze dropping to her phone still clutched tightly in her hand.

“He texted me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “All he said was ‘good job,’ and he won’t pick up my calls.”

Jimmy’s face hardened, a hint of possessiveness flashing in his eyes. He hated seeing her like this, vulnerable and hurt. The pain Jey was causing her only fueled his own resolve to be there for her, to show her that he could be more than Jey ever was.

“He’s acting like a kid, Rhea,” he said, his tone firm. “You made the right choice—you made the strong choice. If he can’t see that, then that’s on him.” He stepped closer, his hand gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You have something real now, something that’s building you up. He wasn’t doing that for you. I am.”

Rhea closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, letting his words wrap around her like a shield. A part of her still ached for Jey, but Jimmy’s steady presence reminded her that she had someone who believed in her, who was willing to fight beside her, even if the lines were messy and complicated.

“It’s just…” she struggled to find the words, her voice breaking slightly. “It feels like I’m losing him for good, Jimmy. Like I’m closing a door I can’t open again.”

Jimmy’s hand tightened slightly on her face, his jaw setting as he looked at her with a fierce determination. “Maybe that’s what you need, Rhea..” he replied, his voice unwavering. “Sometimes, you have to let go to move forward. He’s stuck in the past, and you? You’re out here making history. You’re with someone who sees you, really sees you. And if Jey can’t handle that… then he’s not worth this pain.”

She opened her eyes, searching his gaze, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. His words stung, but they also resonated deeply within her. For so long, she’d been trying to balance what she wanted with what others expected from her but now.. she didn’t know anymore.

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