Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The roar of the crowd was still ringing in his ears when he pushed through the curtain and into the dim hallway backstage, sweat clinging to his neck like a second skin. His ribs ached- no, throbbed with that deep, pulsing kind of pain that always came after a rough landing. He didn't even remember which spot did it. Could've been the leg drop from the top rope. Or the steel steps. Or the table.

Didn't matter.

What did matter was that familiar itch, curling in his gut, whispering behind his eyes.

Just take the edge off. Just one.

His hand twitched at his side, muscle memory dragging him toward the emergency stash he kept hidden in the lining of his travel bag. He knew exactly where it was. He could get there blindfolded.

Jeff stopped walking. Breathed in. Counted to five. Again.

Six months.

Six damn months clean. He wasn't about to screw that up because of a sore rib and a bad day.

He rolled his shoulders and exhaled through gritted teeth, refocusing his attention down the hallway. That was when he saw the back of a head he'd recognize anywhere, even without the Pepsi tattoo.

Phil Brooks… fucking CM Punk.

Jeff groaned under his breath, already turning on his heel to go the long way around. The last thing he needed was a self-righteous lecture from Chicago's finest straight-edge savior. But before he could slip away unnoticed-

"Hey, Jeff!"

Matt's voice rang out, bright and casual, like he hadn't just unknowingly doomed his brother to a migraine. "Come meet the newest addition to the roster!"

Jeff glanced back. Matt was grinning, gesturing him over.

Phil's head snapped around like a loaded weapon. That glare hit Jeff dead in the chest.

Jeff smirked. His eyes narrowed in response, something sharp flickering behind his tired expression. He wasn't in the mood, but he'd never been one to back down from a stare-off.

Fine.

He walked toward them, bracing himself for whatever rookie Matt was about to parade out like the second coming of Lita or something.

Then he saw you.

And his world stopped.

You stood slightly behind Phil, close enough that Jeff could guess the connection, but not touching. Maybe you were uncomfortable. Maybe you were just smart.

He didn't even hear what Matt said next. Couldn't process the introduction. Couldn't hear anything over the sudden, deafening rush of blood in his ears.

Your eyes met his.

That was the first thing he noticed. Not your name, not your outfit, not even the way Phil shifted protectively in front of you like a guard dog.

It was your eyes.

And just like that, Jeff forgot about the pain.

Forgot about the pills.

Forgot about everything.

Because for the first time in a long time, he felt something stronger than the urge to disappear.

He felt drawn to you.

Matt clapped a hand on Jeff's shoulder as he stepped in. "This is Y/N Brooks," he said, grinning. "Phil's younger sister."

Jeff's heart sank.

Fucking CM Punk's sister.

Of course she was.

He forced a neutral look, schooling his features like he hadn't just been gut-punched. Tried to act like he wasn't suddenly hyper-aware of every breath you took. Like he hadn't just memorized the exact shade of your eyes.

You were cute. No- scratch that. You were beautiful.

In a way that knocked the air out of his lungs and made his chest feel too tight. But instead of showing it, Jeff shoved his hands in his pockets and gave the smallest nod.

"Hey," he mumbled, eyes flicking away like you were just another face in the locker room.

You narrowed your eyes instantly, like you saw right through the act. "Yeah," you said coolly, arms crossing, "nice to meet you, Hardy."

Your voice had a bite to it. Not rude, just… sharp. Guarded. It made something twist in Jeff's stomach.

Matt, oblivious to the current of tension, kept smiling between you both. "Y/N's officially signed on. She's got her first match next week. We were just talking ring styles and promos."

Jeff nodded again, barely hearing his brother.

He could still feel your eyes on him, and for a second- just a second, he let himself look back.

You didn't look away.

That was going to be a problem.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, arms still crossed. "They've got me just supporting my brother in the ring for now," you said, voice smooth but edged with something that sounded a lot like disappointment. "Nothing in the women's division yet."

Jeff tried, really tried , not to focus on how your voice sounded. Warm and steady, a little sarcastic, a little tired. But then he realized-

You were still looking straight at him.

Not at Matt. Not at Phil. At him .

"I saw your match out there," you said, gaze unwavering. "You took a rough bump, are you okay?"

His lips parted, caught off guard not just by the question, but by the softness in your tone. You weren't teasing. You actually meant it.

Jeff opened his mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance.

"Okay," Phil cut in sharply, stepping in between you and Jeff like he'd sensed a threat. "Enough introductions. Let's get you back to your dressing room."

You turned to him, annoyed. "Phil, I was just-" 

But he was already steering you away by the arm.

"Hey- Phil-" you protested, voice fading as you were guided down the hallway. You glanced back over your shoulder, eyes finding Matt's first, then Jeff's. "I'll see you guys around. Matt… Jeff."

Your voice lingered in his ears long after you disappeared around the corner.

He was still staring when Matt elbowed him in the ribs. "She's cute, right?"

Jeff blinked. "What?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "You look… interested."

Jeff shot him a glare and shoved his arm. "Shut up, man."

Matt just laughed, the way older brothers always did when they knew exactly what button they'd pushed. "I'm just saying," he said with a smirk, backing away. "Hmm… I don't know. I just have a good feeling about you two."

Jeff rolled his eyes and walked off without a word, but his heart was still hammering in his chest.

A good feeling, huh?

That was the problem.

It already felt too good.

~~~

Later, Jeff sat alone in the far corner of the locker room, lacing his boots back up even though he had nowhere else to be. The ache in his ribs had settled into a low throb, but he didn't reach for the pills.

Not this time.

His mind wasn't on the pain anymore anyway.

It was on you.

Y/N Brooks. Of course Punk's sister would have a mouth on her. Of course she'd be beautiful .

And smart. Observant.

She noticed his fall- most people didn't. Not unless they were in the business. Not unless they paid attention.

Jeff exhaled and leaned back against the cold cinderblock wall behind him, letting his head thud softly against it. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the feeling crawling up his spine.

It was just a look. Just a question.

Just a moment.

But it had sunk in deeper than it should have.

He didn't do this. He didn't feel things anymore- not like this. Not after everything he'd already lost. Love, relationships, trust- they all came with fine print. And complications.

Especially when the girl in question was CM Punk's little sister.

He let out a humorless chuckle and picked up the black sketchpad resting beside his bag. Pages and pages of ink bled together, chaos and color and shape, but none of them meant anything right now.

He flipped to a blank page.

Without thinking, his hand moved.

Just a curve of a jaw. The suggestion of eyes. Something soft. Something fierce.

He stared down at the half-formed sketch and shook his head, biting back a grin that had no business being there.

This was dangerous.

And he already knew- he was in trouble.

Chapter Text

The referee called the match.

The roar of the crowd hit Jeff like a wave, thunderous and electric, but it didn't drown out the fire still burning in his lungs. He was exhausted- sweat dripping down his face, ribs sore, legs aching, but he'd done it. He'd defended the Intercontinental Championship .

Again.

He clutched the title tight, breathing hard, adrenaline still spiking. He didn't even like the damn thing. Not really. But it was his… for now. He brought it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to the cold gold, if only for the show. If only because people expected him to care.

One of the officials slid a mic into the ring. Jeff caught it without thinking.

Across from him, Phil was dragging himself upright, chest heaving. Jeff could see the glare in his eyes even from across the mat. And sure enough, the bastard had a mic in hand too.

Figures.

"This isn't the end, Hardy," Phil spat, breathless but defiant. "I will take that title from you."

Jeff let out a breathy laugh and smirked.

Right on cue.

"Take?" he repeated, lifting a brow. "What if I just hand it to you right now?"

That hit like a grenade. Gasps. Shouts. Chaos.

Phil's eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious. "What's the catch?"

Jeff tilted his head, drawing it out, letting it stew. He could feel the crowd leaning in, holding their breath.

There was no script here. This was all him. All instinct. All impulse.

He wasn't thinking about the belt. He wasn't thinking about what the officials and Vince would say. He was thinking about you.

The way you looked at him the first time you met. The way your voice had haunted him for days after that first meeting.

He hadn't stopped thinking about you. Not for a second.

Jeff let the mic lift again, voice steady.

"Well…" he said, smirk growing, "there is one thing I want."

He watched Phil tense, jaw locking. Typical.

"Well?" Phil growled. "Spit it out."

Jeff didn't blink.

"I want Y/N."

Boom.

The crowd went insane .

White noise blasted around him as officials spilled into the ring, holding Phil back as he launched forward in blind rage. Jeff didn't move. He didn't flinch. He just stood there, title over his shoulder, watching the man unravel in front of thousands.

And somewhere, he knew you were watching too.

He stepped back toward the ropes, slowly. Calmly.

Just before ducking under the ropes, Jeff turned toward the camera. He locked eyes with the lens, and through it- with you .

"You're mine, Y/N."

He winked.

Then he disappeared up the ramp, smirk still firmly in place, heart pounding for a reason that had nothing to do with the match.

~~~

Matt was already waiting near the curtain when Jeff stepped through, chest still heaving, Intercontinental title hanging loose over his shoulder. The second Jeff passed through gorilla, Matt doubled over laughing.

"That was crazy, Jeff," he cackled. "I mean, damn. "

Jeff wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. 

"I know we said we wanted to save Y/N's career here," Matt continued, eyes wide with mock shock, "but romance route ? I didn't think you had it in you."

Jeff gave a lopsided shrug, pretending not to care, pretending that his heart hadn't been racing faster after what he said than during the entire match.

"I just wanted to mess with Punk," he muttered. "Get in his head. Rattle him. That's all."

Matt arched an eyebrow, grin stretching. "Oh, bullshit. "

Jeff blinked. "What?"

"You don't do that - on live TV, off script, in front of millions- just to mess with Phil," Matt said. "You don't wink at the damn camera like that unless you mean it."

Jeff didn't answer. Just looked away, jaw flexing slightly.

Matt stepped closer, still grinning. "You really don't want her to leave."

Jeff snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, come on, man. You like her. You've liked her since she showed up. And now that she's on the chopping block, suddenly you've got a mic in your hand declaring war on her brother and calling dibs on her?"

"I didn't call dibs."

"You might as well have tattooed your name on her forehead."

Jeff shoved him lightly, shaking his head, but he couldn't help the faint pull of a smile.

But the truth was heavier than the title on his shoulder.

Because he had overheard something he wasn't supposed to. Something that still hadn't left his head.

Flashback- Two Days Earlier

They hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

Matt had dragged Jeff down a hallway looking for catering, and they'd passed one of the smaller meeting rooms. The door was cracked open- just enough. And the second they heard Vince's voice, both of them froze.

"I'm just saying," one of the officials inside said, "CM Punk… Phil Brooks… is doing good work lately. He's clean, the crowd's behind him- he's got real momentum. We should be looking at long-term plans. Gold. Main event angles."

Jeff and Matt exchanged a look. Nothing unexpected there.

But then another voice chimed in, more cautious. "What about his sister?"

Vince sighed- loud and irritated. "Y/N? She's… fine. But it's too expensive keeping her around just to babysit her brother."

"I've said it before, she was never meant to be permanent," Vince muttered. "Y/N's contract was tied to Phil's momentum, and that's the only reason she's lasted this long. But with the budget cuts coming? She's near the top of the list."

Jeff felt his stomach turn.

Inside, one of the producers cleared his throat. "But she's connecting with the crowd. She's not just standing there anymore… She's part of the energy. The fans like her."

"That doesn't mean she draws," Vince replied flatly. "She doesn't have merch. She's not anchoring promos. She's not headlining anything. She was brought in to support CM Punk, and that's exactly what she's doing. Emotional support. Side character… Eye candy… That's her function."

Jeff's jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"She's practically background," Vince continued. "Walks out behind him, nods along in promos, maybe slaps someone once in a while to get a cheer. It works. But I'm not adding more women's matches just to justify a spot for someone we don't even know how to book."

Another official hesitated before speaking. "But she's good. Really good. She holds her own in the ring, and she's one of the most talked-about names online. She could run with the division if we gave her a proper angle."

Vince exhaled like he was already tired of the conversation. "The women's division is full. If I give her a spot, I've got to cut someone else- or take time away from the main men's stories, which we're not doing. End of discussion."

Matt's hand slowly curled into a fist by his side. Jeff didn't even realize he'd taken a step closer to the door until Matt grabbed his arm and gave him a look: Don't.

They were both quiet for a beat, the air thick with disbelief.

Matt leaned closer and whispered, "They're gonna cut her."

Jeff didn't respond. Couldn't. His blood was pounding in his ears.

They were talking about you like you were disposable. Like you hadn't fought for every second of airtime. Like you weren't already more compelling than half the scripted crap being pushed on TV.

"She's not a fucking extra," Jeff muttered.

Matt nodded. "We need a plan."

Jeff turned to him. "What kind of plan?"

Matt's eyes were focused now. "What if we pitch her joining us? You, me- remake Team Xtreme. Give her visibility. Keep her protected."

Jeff scoffed. "What, as a replacement for Lita?"

Matt flinched slightly at the name. "Don't do that."

Jeff sighed, shaking his head. "She doesn't deserve to be anyone's replacement , Matt. She's not backup. She should be front and center. She deserves a storyline built around her, not one where she's tagging along."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "Well if you come up with a better idea, let me know."

He turned and stormed off, boots echoing against the tile, leaving Jeff standing in the dim hallway alone.

Jeff glanced back at the now-closed meeting room door.

Well… Matt certainly had an idea.

And so did he.

Present

Now, standing beside Matt, Jeff adjusted the title over his shoulder and forced himself to breathe evenly.

Maybe it had started as impulse. Maybe he hadn't meant to go off script tonight.

But when he saw Punk standing there, mic in hand, trying to stake his claim on a belt Jeff didn't even care about…

All he could think about was you.

All he could think was- screw the belt. If I'm losing something, it's not gonna be her.