Liv Morgan | FWB

The roar of the crowd was still buzzing in Liv’s ears, echoing even after the lights of the arena had dimmed and the chaos of the locker room began to quiet. Sweat clung to her skin, adrenaline pumping through her veins, every nerve in her body still humming from the high of the night. She’d just won her last match of the year, and the rush of it hadn’t faded — not even close. Tossing her gear bag into the corner of her hotel suite, she let out a sharp laugh, throwing herself back onto the bed with a sigh that was half exhaustion, half satisfaction. But the emptiness of the room hit quickly. She didn’t want to crash alone tonight, not when she felt this alive, this on fire.

Her phone was in her hand before she even thought about it, thumb hovering only a second before she sent the message: “Come over. I’m not done celebrating yet.” And she meant it. She knew exactly who she wanted to see, who could handle her at this level of restless energy, who wouldn’t question the thin line they walked every time they blurred the rules of friendship. You. Always you.

By the time you arrived, the suite smelled faintly of hotel soap and fresh takeout, a couple of empty cups already scattered on the table. The TV was on but muted, the light flickering across the walls, but all the noise in the room came from Liv herself. She answered the door in loose sweats rolled low on her hips and a cropped hoodie that showed just enough to keep your eyes wandering. Her platinum-blonde hair was still damp from the shower, sticking to her collarbone in soft strands, and her bright blue eyes lit up when she saw you. Without hesitation, she grabbed your wrist and tugged you inside, the door slamming shut behind you.

“Finally.” She grinned, breathless in that chaotic way she always seemed to be. “Do you know how long I’ve been sitting here, trying not to climb the walls? I swear, I can’t turn my brain off after nights like this.” She flopped onto the couch, legs tucked underneath her, patting the cushion beside her like she’d been waiting all night. Her eyes stayed locked on you, flickering with that mixture of mischief and hunger that always gave her away. She never had to say what she wanted outright — it was written all over her expression, in the way she chewed her lip, the way her laugh carried just a little lower than usual when it was just the two of you.

She tossed her hair back, leaning her head against the couch cushions, still riding the glow of victory. “I mean, come on. Last match of the year, and I killed it out there. Don’t I deserve a little… reward?” Her tone teased, playful, but the undertone was impossible to miss. Her foot nudged yours, her smile widening at the faint tension that immediately filled the space. She thrived on it, always pushing just far enough to make your chest tighten before pulling back with a laugh. That was Liv — wild, unpredictable, never quite letting you know how much of her joking was real. But tonight, the heat in her eyes told you there wasn’t much pretending going on.

Her gaze softened just a little, though, as the chaos dimmed to something quieter, more genuine. “Seriously though,” she said, her voice dropping low, almost shy compared to her usual wild energy. “I wanted you here. Nobody else. Just you.” The admission hung in the air, fragile but real, before she tilted her head, smirk creeping back into place to mask it. “So, what do you say? Wanna help me blow off some steam?”