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wallofchynax · 1 month ago

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SWEETHEART (1/?)

POSTED ON AO3

Synposis: Shawn Michaels is a legend. A Hall of Famer. A respected veteran in the wrestling industry. He’s also one breath away from a full-blown breakdown. Because somehow, despite his best efforts, he’s found himself entangled with the worst possible problem: you. You, the young, smug, utterly relentless female wrestler who has made it your personal mission to ruin his peace. Shawn knows this is a bad idea. And yet— He can’t stop.

Ships: Shawn Michaels / Bratty!Reader, Stephenie McMahon/ Triple H

Shawn Michaels isn’t looking at you.

He is not.

(He is.)

Shawn Michaels is professional. Focused. Disciplined.

He’s been in this business for decades. He’s a Hall of Famer, a legend, a respected veteran in the wrestling industry. His name carries weight. His reputation precedes him. Sure, there have been some bumps along the way. He’s also a man who has made a lifetime of bad decisions.

Once upon a time, his name was synonymous with recklessness, ego, and trouble. He was a wild card, a notorious womanizer, a man who lived fast and crashed even harder. He left chaos in his wake. He isn’t that man anymore.

He’s cleaned up, changed, evolved. These days, he’s focused on helping younger talent. Guiding them. Shaping them. Mentoring them. He’s the guy everyone respects now. The wise veteran. The mentor. The one who has it all under control.

Most of the time, this isn’t a problem. Normally, he gets along well with the people he trains. He sees potential, fosters it, watches them grow.

Normally, he can separate himself.

Normally, he can keep things professional.

You, however, are a problem.

Because while Shawn Michaels isn’t looking at you (he is), you are watching him.

And he swears you know exactly what you’re doing.

You brush past him in the hallway.

Close enough that your arm grazes his.

Close enough that your perfume lingers between you.

Close enough that you don’t even acknowledge him, but he knows you’re there.

You keep walking, like you didn’t just ruin his entire day. Like you haven’t been doing this for weeks. Like it isn’t a game to you.

Shawn Michaels isn’t looking at you.

(Except he is. And you are ruining his life.)

When you were younger, you told everyone you were going to marry Shawn Michaels.

You remember sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the screen, waiting for him to show up on Monday Night Raw. You memorized his promos. You studied his matches. You hung on every word, every movement, every moment.

Maybe that’s why you became a wrestler. Okay, sure, you loved the sport. But deep down? Maybe there was a part of you—the stubborn, determined part—that wanted to make your younger self’s dream come true.

And now?

Now, you’re here.

You aren’t watching from a TV screen anymore. You’re standing in the same hallways. Stepping into the same ring. Breathing the same air. This is real.

And now? Now, you see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.

And it’s almost funny.

Because he’s struggling.

You see it every single time.

The way his jaw clenches when you step too close.

The way his eyes flicker down for half a second before snapping right back up.

The way he forces himself to look away like he’s fighting a losing battle.

He is.

And oh, you love this for him.

Because this isn’t a childhood dream anymore. This isn’t innocent admiration. This is different.

This is real.

And right now? You want him.

And you always get what you want.

Shawn Michaels is getting way too old for this.

That is exactly what he tells himself. He spent years cleaning his act up to prove that he’s not some reckless, wild card that he used to be. He has rules. Discipline. Yet... yet when he looks at you and all that goes out the window.

He’s in hell. Not literally but it’s damn close.

He was supposed to be helping you train. Supposed to be focused. Professional. He was supposed to be critiquing your footwork, your technique, your-in-ring psychology and yet, instead he was trying not to lose his mind because you kept getting too damn close. To anyone else, this just looks normal, just an innocent training session, nothing weird. However, to him, this is torture.

“Alright, let’s go again,”

Shawn had to step back and put space between the two of you. He doesn’t have to do that but here he is, trying to set space between them. You just nodded, sweetly but there was something in your eyes that was just pure evil. You step forward again, just as you had done the last time and just as you always do.

Shawn doesn’t move. He could, and he probably shouldn’t have but instead, he just let’s it happen. When you lock up with him, you drag it out. Just a little. Your hands linger on him, you lean forward and your chest briefly presses up against him. The smell of your perfume lingers. Your breath is warm against his throat as you adjust your stance.

To anyone else watching, this is perfectly normal.

To Shawn? This is hell. This shouldn’t be happening. You’re too close and you keep doing this despite knowing damn well you shouldn’t. Automatically, and without thinking, his hands were on your waist, trying to direct your footing and stance. He should be criquing your legwork but instead, he’s trying to ignore that his pulse is racing as your body briefly pressed against yours.

He had to stop this.

He exhaled, forcing his voice to stay even before looking at you.

“Take a break,”

You pout. You watch him abruptly pull away from you. Stepping back instantly. Too fast. Too sharp. His hands flex like he’s dying to do something with them. His jaw clenches, hard. He’s not looking at you.

He’s trying to run away.

“But I’m only just getting started,”

You tilt your head. He’s really struggling now. You love that for him.

Instead of backing off, instead of giving him the space that he clearly needs, you step closer. Just a little. Enough that the ghost of your touch is near. Just enough that he barely feels it.

Then, voice low, teasing, you speak again.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Shawn exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders and forcing himself to focus. This...this is fine.

He is fine.

(He’s not fine)

He isn’t looking at you. He can’t look at you. If he does, he knows he’ll see that look in your eyes, the ones that tell him you know exactly what you are doing and what you are doing is being a menace right now. So, he stepped away, once again.

“Go cool off,” His voice is clipped, strained, “We’re done for now,”

Then he turns to walk out of the ring. You watch him go and he doesn’t look back at you. You know you have him. If he really was unaffected by you then he would have been able to look at you in the eyes but instead, he’s running away from you. You smile fondly as you watch him. Shawn Michaels may have left the ring but...you’re still in his head.

Shawn Michaels is a lot of things. Legend, coach, professional.

Right now. He’s a man with a problem.

That problem is you.

It’s after hours. The performance centre is almost empty, aside from a few lingering staff in the offices. The training ring is dimly lit, the overhead lights buzzing faintly in the silence.

You’re the only on in the ring, stretching. Waiting.

And he should leave. He should turn around and pretend he never saw you, pretend that his stomach doesn’t twist every time you looked at him. He should have left. Instead, he stepped closer. You heard him before you could see him. Those heavy footsteps. The hesitation. That feeling that he should have left already but he hasn’t. You glance up from your stretching, smirking.

“Sweetheart,”

Shawn exhaled sharply at the way you say it. Like it’s a joke. Like you know it doesn’t mean a damn thing in this moment.

“I was just finishing up,” Your voice was far too casual, “Are you staying late?”

But instead, he climbed into the ring.

He said nothing at first, watching as you lean back, resting your elbows against the canvas. Your gear clinging to your body. You know that he always notices.

“I should go,” His voice is strained. Controlled.

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity, “Nothing is stopping you,”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Damn you.

You shift, slow and deliberate rising up onto your knees, “Shawn~” His name slipped out, testing, taunting, “What would you do if I...”

You reached out. It’s light, barely even a touch just as your fingers grazing along his forearm, the head of your skin searing him alive. However, it’s enough. Because suddenly in that moment, he’s no longer a Hall of Famer, not a mentor or a respectable professional.

He’s a man with a problem. A man standing way too close to temptation.

His breath is sharp and uneven. He could feel the warmth of your body as if you were waiting for him to cave.

He shouldn’t. But what would happen if he did?

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and at a rasp. He was at odds with himself.

“Depends,” You tilted your head as your lips curled into something that was far too dangerous, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Silence.

Heavy suffocating silence. Because for all his self-control, for all his restraint – he didn’t know the answer. No one would have had to find out and no one would have ever heard a sound.

And yet, as he doesn’t know what to say, you pulled away from him. You pulled away and left the ring, leaving him standing there wondering what happened.

“See you later, sweetheart,” You called, hardly able to hold that smug grin on your face.

Shawn Michaels is exhausted.

Physically? He’s okay. Mentally? Absolutely not. Spiritually? Hanging on by a goddamn thread. He just spent the entire training session today trying not to think about the little moment he had with you. The way your breath ghosted over his throat. The way your hands lingered just a second too long. The way you called him sweetheart like you knew exactly how much it would ruin him.

Now? He just wanted to go to the hotel room, take a shower and forget that you existed for at least six hours. Give him a break from the absolute torment that he has been receiving recently.

And so, as soon as he stepped out the elevator with his key card in his hand-

There you are.

Standing in the hallway.

And oh, it’s perfect. You’ve been waiting with your back up against the wall, looking relaxed and amused. You just happen to be there. This is totally coincidental.

(You aren’t there on coincidence)

Okay well, maybe it isn’t. You can see on his face that he knows that isn’t a coincidence. The second his eyes laid on you, his expression begins to sift. Tension, restraint, and something else, something that is much darker, something controlled but barely.

And you?

You’re smiling.

He didn’t want to do this. No. Not tonight. He just kept walking. He didn’t acknowledge and didn’t even look at you. The hope was that if he didn’t acknowledge you, you would go away.

He’s an idiot for thinking that.

Just as he reached his door, just as he swiped his key card...

“Hey sweetheart,”

You spoke. Oh. Oh, he’s so fucked, and you see it happen in real time. The pause. The sharp inhale. The tiny twitch of his jaw, the way his hand stiffens around the key card. And then, he just kept ignoring you. He thinks he can outlast you.

That’s so cute.

You step forward, just slightly just enough to make your presence undeniable.

“What’s wrong?” you teased, tilting your head, “You’re awfully quiet tonight,”

Shawn exhaled, sharply, through his nose, “I’m tired. Long day,” His voice is clipped.

You hummed thoughtfully. Them with pure unfiltered mischief-

“Guess I did keep you busy, huh?”

Shawn’s entire body locked up. Oh, you are having too much fun with trapping him. He should have just turned around and went inside, shut the door and ended this but then you decided to open your mouth before he can disappear inside. This was a mistake. He turned around and there you were, smiling in front of him. Smug. His shoulders tense as you stepped a little closer. Not enough to touch, just enough to ruin him.

“Why are you like this?” Shawn muttered, voice horse.

You grinned, “Born this way,”

Shawn groaned, shaking his head, “I have to go,”

You tilted your head.

“Why?”

Before Shawn could answer, he inhaled sharply, “Because this...” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, “Is a bad idea and you need to stop,”

That didn’t discourage you. In fact, you stepped closer just a little more.

“Oh, sweetheart,”

Your voice was low, sweet and dangerous as you tilted your head up, waiting. You were almost daring him to make a move. For a moment, you thought you might have caught him. His breath caught and his gaze darkened, and just one second, he looked like he’s about to give in.

But before he does, he pulls away. He cleared his throat and forced out the most strained and most unconvincing excuse ever.

“I need to shower,”

You don’t miss a chance to tease.

“Do you want company?”

You could physically see his soul leave his body as he yanked his door open, stepped inside and slammed it behind him. He leaves you outside laughing because you know that while Shawn Michaels might have left the hallway. But, oh, he is still thinking about you and that is exactly what you wanted.

Shawn Michaels isn’t getting much sleep that night.

Not after the way you have behaving. Not after the way you pressed close to him and began to test his patience. The way you left him standing there like a damn fool, pretending that you weren’t unravelling him completely from the inside out.

Now he’s in his hotel room, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands trying to get you out of his thoughts.

But he’s failing.

Miserably.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees you.

Sees the way your lip's part when he touched your waist.

Sees the heat in your eyes when you step a little too close to him.

Sees the way you lick your lips like you're just waiting for something to happen. The worst part, he begins to see things that happened yet. Things like how you would look with your back arched, face flushed and eyes fluttering. Things that haven’t happened yet. He can’t help it. It isn’t his fault.

Except it is.

Because he was totally looking. And he knows he’s fucked.

Shawn Michaels is trying to be very careful right now.

After yesterday, after your behaviour, he knows that he should be avoiding you. However, at a cooperate event, he has every intention of ignoring your existence. After all, you are across the room standing next to Seth freakin Rollins, laughing and having a good time. He is standing with Hunter Hearst Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon, and that is all he needs for tonight.

And he intends on keeping it that way for now.

He doesn’t need to think about the way that Seth is making you laugh. Or the way that you touch his arm whenever you’re listening to him intently. You don’t know what kind of affect that it is having on him.

Except when you turn and notice him. Your expression doesn’t change but your eyes are dancing with mischief.

That’s when Shawn knows you are about to ruin his night.

Because you lean in to talk to Seth more intimately. More intently. You press a hand on his forearm, whispering something into his ear. Seth seems oblivious to this and things you are just being friendly. Innocent.

But Shawn does not see it that way.

Shawn’s grip on his glass tightens. It’s far too tight. He forces himself to loosen it before he shatters the damn thing in his hand.

Unfortunately for Shawn, Hunter notices.

“You alright, Shawn?”

He cannot answer. Not right away anyway. Because you are still standing there, having the time of your life and he is very much suffering.

Hunter follows his gaze, and when he sees what, or more like, who Shawn is staring at, he huffed out a laugh.

“Oh, I see how it is,”

Shawn grits his teeth, “You see nothing,”

Hunter just gives him a look like he’s known Shawn all of his life. He knows Shawn’s mannerism like the back of his hand.

Amd now Stephanie, overhearing their conversation, turned to see who Shawn is staring at.

“Interesting...”

Shawn rolled his shoulders, jaw tight as his eyes are finally dragged away from you and Seth. “There’s nothing for either of you to be interested in,”

Hunter outright laughed and patted Shawn on the back, “Come on, man. You’re practically burning a hole into the back of Rollins head,”

This right here is hell. Shawn gripped the bridge of his nose, “You two are being insufferable,”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, “You sure you don’t want to step in? Looks like she’s having a great time,”

Shawn’s jaw clenches. His grip on his glass tightens. He does not rise to the bait. He refuses to.

Hunter, however, is having far too much fun with this. “Yeah, I mean, Seth’s a good-looking guy. Charismatic. Younger, too.”

Shawn does not react.

(He absolutely reacts.)

“I don’t care what she does.”

��Hunter and Stephanie exchange glances.

“Oh, sure.” Stephanie takes another sip. “Totally believable.”

Shawn looked between the two of them, exhaling sharply. With deliberate movements, he placed his drink down—a little too hard.

"I need to hit the restroom," he muttered, barely masking the edge in his voice. It was a flimsy excuse, but he needed an escape. Hunter and Stephanie were making this unbearable.

He needed to breathe. To clear his head. To remind himself why he was even here and not already halfway back to his hotel room, pretending you weren’t in the same building, making his life significantly harder than it needed to be.

Inside the restroom, he gripped the edges of the sink, staring at his reflection before splashing cold water onto his face. Get it together, Michaels. He told himself he’d just take a moment, pull himself together, then go back out there like none of this was happening.

That was the plan.

But then he stepped out.

And there you were.

Walking toward him, like you had been waiting for this exact moment.

Your gaze locked onto his, holding it for just a second too long. Just long enough to make his pulse kick up a notch. And as you passed him—so close, so intentional—your hand brushed against his side.

And then? Something slipped into his pocket.

A note.

Shawn didn’t stop. Didn’t react.

Not until you were already gone, disappearing back into the crowd.

Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket.

His fingers closed around the small, folded piece of paper. He opened it.

Room 506. The door will be unlocked.

You scribbled a little love heart too.

Absolutely not.

Shawn Michaels was at his wits end.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting the note sit between his fingers. This was a game to you. A long, drawn-out excruciating game that he had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to play.

Except now, standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, his mind was already running ahead of him. 506. Unlocked.

No. He wasn’t doing this.

He crumpled the note in his fist, shoved it back into his pocket and started heading towards the events hall. He made a few stops.

Then he stopped and turned.

His feet were no longer listening to him. This was far too dangerous. There was no harm in checking, right. There was no harm in seeing if she would be there. It didn’t matter if his self-control was dangling by a thread. It was perfectly reasonable to just check. Sooner or later, he found himself at room 506. His palms were pressed against the flat against the door before he even realised. He shouldn’t be here. He told himself that this was a mistake. That turning around was still an option. He could walk away.

But before he could make the decision to walk away, the door handle began to turn.

You were standing there, leaning against the frame, arms folded looking as smug as ever.

You knew this would happen. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Shawn let go of the breath he was holding, “We shouldn’t be doing this...”

You tilted your head, “If that were true, why are you here?”

Silence. His mouth opened but nothing came out because Shawn didn’t really have an answer to that. Not when you were this close, not when he could smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your body dragging him further and further into the room until he heard the click of the door behind him. His throat was dry. His resolve was crumbling.

Your hands reached up, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt, lips were just inches away from his own.

And he had finally lost the battle. The moment his lips met yours, it was like the tension that had been building between the two of you finally snapped. There was no more hesitation. No more second guessing. Just heat. An all-consuming heat that was all too reckless. This was the kind of recklessness he swore he was beyond. However, he was drowning in it.

Your back hit in the door as he pressed against you. Hand gripped your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You tasted like something sweet, something he was getting all too drunk on.

Your hands reached up, wrapping around his neck as you groaned into his mouth.

And he lost his mind.

“You don’t know what you’ve been doing to me...” He muttered between kisses, his hand tightening on your hips in an almost possessive manner. You didn’t mind. In fact, you were counting on his reaction. Hence why you spent the evening all over Seth Rollins.

“I think I know,”

You reached up and tugged his tie, pulling him even closer and into the room. After all, the room had a comfy bed for you both to get comfortable on. The way you both moved was frantic, messy and inevitable. He didn’t think too much. He didn’t want to. You made it pretty much impossible to think. Every touch, every breath and ever teasing glance. You were making him suffer.

His hands, rough from years of being a legendary athlete, rough from the sweat and tears he poured into this industry. His hands were on yours, touching every part of your body. You didn’t know when he found his way into taking your dress off, but before you reached the bed, you were just standing there in your bra and panties. You made sure to pick a pretty pink set, the one that you had wanted to wear for him forever.

“I’ve been wanting this for a long time,” You whispered against his ear when his head dipped down to his and mark up your neck.

He let out a strained laugh. You were impossible.

But oh god, did he want you so much.

Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers trace the lace of your pink panties, his touch was deliberate, torturous, “Still think this is a game?”

Your smirk faltered, just only for a second but he noticed it and savoured it.

Perfect.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Shawn silenced you—this time with his hands.

One hooked around your thigh, pulling you closer, the other trailing up your spine. Slow, teasing, deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,”

continued????

#oopsie poopsie i wrote some sin #although the actual smut will be in the next chapter because i don't like writing overly long chapters #wwe #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #wwe x oc #wwe fanfiction #wwf fanfiction #wwf #shawn michaels x reader

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