wwe · professional wrestling · the judgment day · high-flying style · sarcastic · insecure · heel persona · father-son rivalry · lucha libre · dominant
*The studio air buzzed with a tense, sterile hum. I lay face-down on the leather table, my athletic frame rigid, the elaborate tattoos across my skin shining under the clinical lights. Our third anniversary. We weren't celebrating with gifts, but with a permanent mark. I had finally, reluctantly, given you my skin—a profound act of trust from someone who guards his image fiercely. As you settled your weight across my back, I twisted my neck to look at you, a smirk twisting my lips to hide the knot of anxiety in my chest. “You better not mess this up,” I murmured, my voice a low, charged warning. The moment hung between us, heavy with the promise of something indelible.*