hi pooks I NEED some post rumble soothing ARARRA
just reader having to comfort a pissed off punk who or drew.. or both tehe *kicks feet*
(CM Punk x kinda bratty!reader x Drew Mcintyre)
so…i accidentally made drew & punk comforting reader n didn’t realize until i finished :)) sorry pooks love u im a dummy
The rumble had been…rough. Both of your boys were upset, especially Punk, and honestly, so were you. You had all been in the rumble, and every single one of you had faced a rough exit. Drew was pissed about all of the drama with Priest, and stormed out of the arena, Phil had just been eliminated by Logan Paul of all people, which said enough, and you had accidentally been eliminated to early. Considering you weren’t expecting it, you almost fell head first into the stairs and just about killed yourself. You weren’t able to make it out without a concussion, though.
With Drew no where in sight (you were hoping he’d just gone back to the hotel or something), and Phil currently walking up the ramp absolutely devastated, you couldn’t find it in you to do anything but dissociate and stare off at the floor of the hallway. In your concussed and very much distressed state, it seemed like a better idea to sit on the cold floor than…well, anywhere with an actual place to sit, apparently.
“You okay down there?” A wrestling boot nudges your thigh, Pink and Black with the Chicago stars. You don’t really feel like looking up, and Phil’s shoes gave him away so you just grasp at the shiny pink and black, resting your head on his knee with a sigh. “Is that a yes or a no?” You groan. “Alright, a no.”
He shuffles down a little, grabbing your hand from his boot, and sits down next to you.
“What the hell are we on the floor for, honey?” His voice is that little bit of soft that makes you melt against his shoulder, the ice pack between the back of your head and the wall slipping out, his hand patting against your knee before he moves to grab it and shove it between your head and his shoulder instead.
“Gotta concussion.” You mumble, pulling his hand into yours when he’s done. “N’ Drew left.”
“Got mad ‘bout somethin’.” The two of you fall back into silence for a moment until Roxanne Perez walks by (she had to step over your feet) and asks, very concerned, if you’re okay. Phil stands back up to assure her everything’s fine, and eventually she leaves, albeit, still pretty worried.
“Is it a reasonable ask of me to want you off the floor?” Your eyes fall close in another groan, but he interrupts. “I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s a real seat. I gotta stay for the press conference but-“
“Noooo!” You pout. As much as the boys called you a brat, they never failed to cave from one glance of the puppy dog eyes.
“I’m tryin’ my best here, hun’, there isn’t much I can do. I guess I can call Drew, and we can hope he answers.” He’d left his phone in the locker room, but luckily it was just around the corner. He rushes to grab it and flies back over to where he’d left you with the phone already pressed to his ear. It rings for a while before you can hear the Scottish accent mumbled through the phone. You pull yourself up the best you can with the help of one of the travel crates.
“Yeah, they’re concussed to all hell, it’s-“ You yank the phone from his hand. He calls your name, exasperated, but you ignore it.
“D, come pick me up.” He’s quiet on the other side, just sighs at you with a similar tone to Phil.
“Now, please.” Punk manages to pry the phone from your fingers, and tugs you closer to rub your back when you start whining some more. He hangs up after a bit, and turns his attention back to you.
“He’s on his way. We’re going to go over to the Guerrilla, so you can stay with other people and not hurt yourself any more-” You scoff, and try to roll your eyes but it makes your head throb a little extra. “yeah, just like that, don’t do that- and I’m going to grab your shit so you can get out of here. Alright?”
“Mmh.” You lay your head back on his shoulder, and the hand rubbing your back settles on your waist, pushing you to move forward with him.
“Alright.” Punk confirms to himself. The walk to Guerrilla is blurry to you, and honestly, so is the wait. It wasn’t long, but Roxanne was attempting to have a full conversation with you (it wasn’t going well). You can’t really remember the walk to Drew’s rental either, only Punk’s calloused hands helping you up from the chair, grabbing your bag from where he’d plopped it down, and hovering over you while you stumbled your way through the arena. When Drew steps out of the rental, your fuzzy mind clears a little.
“Drewww,” You tumble towards him, wrapping around his waist. “You left me!” He tuts at you, hand cupping the back of your head.
“Jesus,” He starts, looking over to Punk behind you, and pulling you just a little closer. “Didn’t think it’d be this bad.” Phil nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, this is their second concussion, it’s actually better than the last. First time, wouldn’t stop cryin’ all over the place and it just made everything hurt more.” He sighs it out, then moves to throw your bag in the back seat. Seeing you, all pouty and stuck onto Drew, Phil can’t help but dote on you a little before he has to go back.
“Ready to get out of here, honey? Go take a bath or somethin’?” His hand rubs up and down your back again, the warmth seeping through (his) your shirt. You start nodding against Drew before realizing that meant you’d have to leave Punk. You start turning towards him, and the look on your face, eyes gleaming and lips frowning, brings him even further back into the memories of your first concussion back in AEW.
“I want you to come,” Your hand reaches out to him, splaying across his tummy. “Please?” Christ almighty, you were absolutely gone. A real please? Punk wasn’t sure he’d ever heard one of those from you. His hand moves to hold yours against his midsection instead of continuing to rub your back.
“I’ll be real quick. Promise, okay?” He tilts his head down at you, his little bangs falling with it, before continuing. “I’ll ask Paul to have me be the first one out there, you won’t even notice i’m gone.”
Finally he gets you to relent with little to no tears fallen, and the both of them lead you into the passenger seat with big, gentle hands. You did grab onto Phil and refuse to let go for quite some time, but eventually, with the help of Drew, forehead kisses, and lots of sweet words, he manages to pry you off and basically runs back into the arena.
“Alright,” Drew plops down into the drivers seat, shutting the door and turning the car on, quick to get on the move. “Let’s get on with this, Lover, yeah?” He pats your thigh, keeping one hand on you for the rest of the drive.
What a way to start the year. The three of you only hoped for a better Wrestlemania.
happy day 1 of wrestlemania hoes 😛 mostly everything went swimmingly for me today, w my girl tiffy & mr rollins comin out on top
ignore that this is three months late, hoping to get another out before tuesday! i got monday off too:)))
title is the kublai khan tx song i couldn’t help myself
there’s prolly so many mistakes in this i’m sorry i broke my glasses (i stepped on them) and i have to blue tac them together as a last resort im also just rlly tired and finished this on my phone
