WWE one shots

CM punk - heart of a champ

The arena was electric. CM Punk stood victorious, the culmination of months of hard work and resilience finally paying off at Bad Blood. Sweat and blood dripped down his face, his chest heaving as he raised his hands in victory. The fans erupted, chanting his name, but something was wrong. He stumbled slightly, his legs feeling weaker by the second. His chest tightened, and before anyone could react, he collapsed to the mat, gasping for air.

Panic spread through the crowd. Medics rushed out from the back, trying to get to him, but Punk, with all the strength he had left, shook his head. "No... no!" he rasped, struggling to sit up.

The medics hesitated, but Punk was insistent. "I want my wife and son!" he yelled, voice cracking with emotion as he forced himself to his feet. "Someone call them!" His eyes were wild, scanning the arena, desperate to see them.

As he started to walk down the ramp, limping, his breath still shallow, the world seemed to slow. And then, he saw them. Across the sea of fans, his eyes locked with a familiar set of blue ones. His son's voice pierced through the noise of the crowd, "Daddy!" the little boy cried out, breaking into a run, tiny legs carrying him as fast as they could toward his father.

The arena exploded with cheers as Punk dropped to one knee, his arms outstretched. His son crashed into him, and Punk held him tight, closing his eyes as the weight of everything melted away. He buried his face in the boy's hair, inhaling deeply, trying to calm his frantic heart.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her—y/n. She stood just a few feet away, tears streaming down her face, her hands covering her mouth as she watched the reunion of her two boys. Punk's heart clenched as he got to his feet, still holding his son in one arm, and walked toward her.

"You did it," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Punk nodded, unable to find words, his throat too tight. He reached out for her, pulling her into their embrace, his family now complete in his arms. The fans chanted his name, but for Punk, in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his wife and son.

With his son nestled in one arm and y/n at his side, he raised his hand one last time to the crowd, but this victory wasn't just for them. It was for his family. And nothing—no title, no match—meant more to him than that.