Only you could make me thirst for Eddie Kingston like this oh my goodness. Just imagining that smug smirk of his, and how he'd be SO effortless in his flirting, but just KNOWING how much he gets under your skin and knowing how much he turns you on.
I knoooow, he'd be so terrible and just enjoy pressing your buttons so much and know exactly how to get to you and make you so worked up that you end up dragging him off to some corner backstage and sucking his cock just to shut him up. And then maybe after he fingers you and he is like REMARKABLY good at that. SIGH, I have a pretty severe case of thirst for Eddie at the moment myself. But he's just so cool about everything! So sure of himself! Like this week on Dark, after his own match when he came out with Penta and Fenix and he just strolls out with his beer in hand all casual. (Also was at one point apparently randomly fondling his own nipples during that match? As some kind of taunt or something? The commentators were all wtf at that but it was definitely enjoyable.) And I can't stop thinking about him fucking you while still wearing the rosaries and he's on top of you and they're like dangling down on your chest... I just find that so hot. Or he's sitting in a chair fully clothed and you're standing naked between his legs and he takes rosaries off and puts them on you and they're hanging down between your breasts while he bites and sucks on your nipples.
Hey there~! Do you think you will ever write a piece of Mustafa Ali in the future? I personally feel like having sex with him would be an absolutely magical experience, like he would be super duper romantic and caring towards you throughout all of it and post-sex would include soft kisses, lots of gentle caressing and being held in his arms~ Have a nice day! ^w^
So you sent this I think a day or two before Raw and honestly I was going to answer that I totally agree and that’s partly why I’ve never written him, because he’s so pure and good and beautiful and sex with him would be like that too and I don’t think I could do that justice but WELL. Things have certainly changed since then! Actually I think it would be really interesting to write the magical gorgeous loving sex but set it not long before that last episode of Raw and you know something’s off and it kind of feels like he’s saying good bye but you don’t know why and it’s all wistful and then BOOM backstage at Raw you find out at the same time as everyone else that he’s with Retribution, oh no the angst of it all. But I’m very very intrigued to see exactly how he’s going to behave as leader of Retribution, like I’m assuming he’ll be the charismatic person giving the orders to his minions rather than physically joining in on the SMASH EVERYTHING they do but I can’t wait to see. I really have wanted to write him for a long time, so hopefully this storyline can inspire that!
(Also, on a more shallow note, he looks SO GOOD with the longer hair now, I love that so much.)(And I hope you have a nice day too, kind anon!)
The Shield/Reader, with a focus on Roman/Reader; 3500 words, smut smut smut
This is A/B/O, but kind of... just the bits of A/B/O I enjoy. So like, heats and lots of come but no knotting.
(And theoretically there is supposed to be a part 2 to this, but yeah, given my record on that, who knows.)
-
It's always embarrassed you, how irregular your heat cycle is. Other omegas seem to be able to predict the timing of their heats down to the day, marked safely on the calendar so they can plan ahead, but your own seem to ebb and flow, as if your cycle has a mind of its own.
And the worst of it is that your heats come on hard and fast, so fast that you've often ended up in awkward, sometimes even dangerous situations, unprotected by an alpha when in full heat, unable to isolate yourself.
Most of the alphas you've been with have hated it, dumping you when they can no longer handle the rollercoaster that is your cycle; always putting the blame squarely on you, too prideful to admit they're not up to the task of dealing with it.
But Roman, Seth and Dean are different. They seem to take it all in stride, always managing to somehow get you through your heat even if the timing isn't ideal, finding ways to work around any awkwardness. And the care and understanding they show has meant you've bonded with all three of them on a level that's deeper than you would have ever imagined you're capable of.
Tonight you're in the Shield's private locker room as they gear up ready for a six man tag match, and you haven't felt quite right all day, but you've been so busy that you haven't paid much attention, vaguely assuming it's simply exhaustion.
But then suddenly you start to feel dizzy, faint enough that you have to sit down, your skin tingling hot, a light buzzing sound in your ears, as if the air of the room is vibrating around you.
"Oh, god," you say, closing your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying not to start crying, because the timing couldn't be worse, and you hate this about yourself, that you can't control it in any way.
"What's wrong, baby?" Roman asks you, frowning. He takes a step towards you, and you hear him breathe in, the change in your scent already obvious. "Ohhh," he says. "Another heat."
"Again?" Seth says, incredulous, and though he doesn't exactly sound displeased Roman still shoots him a sharp look, shushing him.
"It's okay," he tells you, sitting down next to you, wrapping one big arm around you, kissing the top of your head.
"But it's nearly time for your match," you say, utterly miserable.
"I know," Roman replies, rubbing your arm. "But it'll be okay, I promise."
"We got time to fuck her before we go out?" Dean asks, sounding eager.
"No." Roman shakes his head. "We'll need all our energy for the match." He strokes your hair, looking down at your affectionately. "You know you always drain us, baby, with how bad you need it."
"I'm so sorry, I..." You breathe in, because you're already struggling to concentrate, the ache inside you growing into an acutely insistent throb of need, wetness gathering between your legs. "I don't think I can be by myself. Not here." WWE is a hotbed of the most alpha of alphas, and you know that once anyone catches your scent, they'll be after you, unable to resist the lure of your heat.
"We'll lock the door," says Roman.
"You know we always make sure we have a secure room, just in case," Seth chimes in.
"You promise?" you ask anxiously.
"We promise, baby," Roman tells you.
"Wouldn't hurt to have a little extra insurance policy, though?" Dean suggests, and Roman nods, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as he rises to his feet. He rummages through his bag, pulling out the chastity belt they'll often use on you when you're in heat. There's a small dildo attachment on the crotch of it, and you stand up, breathing in as you look at it.
Your clothes feel too hot and constricting on your body, like they're choking you, and you pull them off impatiently, not caring how you look, your t-shirt nearly getting stuck over your head, ignoring the sound of the zipper on your skirt ripping open, tossing it aside and stepping out of your panties.
You move your feet wider, biting down on the moan rising up in your throat as Roman walks around you, bending lower to guide the dildo inside you, getting it as deep as possible. And though it feels good, it's nowhere near big enough, you think, fretting a little as he fastens the belt into place, adjusting the straps, making sure you're comfortable. You exhale as the padlock on the front clicks into place, and Roman tugs on it, just to be sure.
The key is on a string that he loops around his neck, tucking it under his vest, out of sight.
"All safely locked away," he tells you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and you whine as he pulls away, trying to hold onto him, but he peels you off him with a kindly smile.
"You good to go?" he asks Seth and Dean, who both nod.
"We're gonna be thinking about you," Seth tells you. "The whole time. Gonna be real hot to fuck you by the time we get back."
Dean inhales a deep breath, staring at you, lust in his eyes. "You sure we don't have time?" he asks, again. "Just a quickie to tide us over?"
"No," Roman replies firmly. "Got to do it right for her, you know that."
Dean shrugs, like he doesn't agree, but he doesn't say anything further, and Roman looks at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he assures you. "You just sit tight."
You nod, unable to even speak by now, watching them leave, closing the door behind them.
You note that Roman has locked it from both sides, and you know it's not that they don't trust you, it's just to make sure, but it's still humiliating, that you have to be contained like this, even if it is for your own good.
You throw yourself down on the couch, hand over your eyes, trying to breathe through it, need building inside you until you feel like you might explode, and you don't know how you're going to hold on.
You find a cloth, running it under the cold tap at the sink in the corner of the room and then folding it in half, pressing it to your forehead, dabbing it on your throat, your skin so hot it's almost burning, the coolness barely registering. You sigh, tossing the cloth aside, and pace up and down the room for a while, back and forth, counting your steps, but that only makes it worse, the dildo shifting inside you with every step. Your pussy is dripping wet, slick seeping out the sides of the belt, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around the dildo, spasming helplessly. It's too small, you think, barely enough to fill you, and it's no good, anyway, because what you're craving inside you is come, alpha come, the only thing that can bring you even the slightest relief when you're in heat.
Your breasts are already starting to swell, firm when you touch them, your nipples taut and hard, and you lick your fingers, teasing the tight peaks, pinching them. You moan, too loud, you know, but you don't care, straddling the arm of the couch, rubbing yourself on it almost mindlessly, but you can't feel anything, the metal of the belt thick enough not to allow you any sensation. You groan in frustration, anger flaring inside you, childish resentment at the fact that your alphas aren't here to take care of you, and the logical part of your brain might know that's unreasonable, but your heat is taking over, and you can't think.
But then, out of nowhere, there's a sharp knock on the door and you jump up, guilty. Your heart races as you stand there, silent, watching as the door handle rattles, but the lock holds.
"Pretty baby," someone croons from outside in a sing-song voice. "I can smell you in there, sweet little omega all alone." You hear them suck in a deep breath, then exhale. "That's a nice heat you got going there, why don't you open the door for me, little one, and I'll give you what you need."
You stay frozen in place, barely daring to breathe, and the handle again rattles, this time with more force. You flinch as the surface of the door resounds with a violent kick, pressing your hand tight over your mouth so you don't gasp aloud, trembling with fear.
There's silence for a minute, and you dare to creep closer to the door, tiptoeing across the carpet, holding your breath. And you can hear something, rhythmic, small wet noises, and then there's a grunt, the sound of something spattering onto the door.
It drips down onto the floor, and you can smell it, and though it's not the same, not from your alphas, you're desperate enough that you let out a broken whine.
A laugh echoes from outside, and then the voice says, "Enjoy that, omega, and if you ever want a real alpha you can come find me anytime."
Footsteps echo away, and you back up into the furthest corner of the room, sinking down onto the floor, bending your knees up to your chest, tears running hot down your cheeks. You sob, quietly, and you don't know how much time passes, lost in your own private misery, but finally the door opens, and you look up, vision still blurred by tears.
Dean, Seth and Roman are standing there, staring at the door. "Gross," Dean comments.
"Seems like someone had themselves some fun," Seth says, shaking his head.
"Doesn't matter," Roman states. "As long as they stayed out." He walks towards you, asking, "You okay?" And you shake your head, hiccuping out one last sob. "Oh, baby," Roman says, giving you a concerned smile. "You're really not okay, are you?" He takes your hand, pulling you up to your feet.
"C'mon, man," Dean says, grabbing his crotch, rubbing at it. "Get that fucking belt off of her and I'll make her feel better than okay."
"Patience," Roman tells him, pulling the key out from under his vest.
"Yeah, fuck patience," Dean snaps back. "And just so you know, I'm going first."
"Why does he get to go first?" Seth complains.
"It doesn't matter who goes first," Roman says, calmly. "As long as we give her what she needs."
He carefully unlocks the belt, unfastening the straps, lifting it away from your body. You mewl at the feet of the dildo slipping out of your pussy, the thick scent of your heat suddenly filling the room, potent and undeniable. And all three of your alphas practically growl in desire, their spines straightening, standing tall and dominant, predatory instincts awakened, eyes flashing dark, but it's Dean that moves first, as promised, grabbing you. He drags you over to the table at the side of the room, shoving you down onto it face first, his hand tight on the back of your neck, your hips jammed up against the edge, digging into you. You feel him fumble with his pants, barely able to wait, wailing in relief as his cock sinks into you, fucking you, pumping hard.
"Oh, fuck," he mutters. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
You moan, trying to push your hips back into him, pussy tightening rhythmically around him, keeping time with his thrusts, the need of your heat as if trying to pull his orgasm out of him, hungry for his come.
And it doesn't take long for him to finish, letting out a guttural, bitten-off moan as he comes, shooting thick and hot inside you, spurt after spurt, and it feels so good, but it's not enough, barely beginning to slake the thirst of your heat.
He pulls out of you, and Seth's right there, roughly flipping you over onto your back. He lifts up your legs, your ankles resting on his shoulders as he plows his cock into you, deep and hard and fast, holding on to your legs, his teeth gritted, face twisted up in desire.
His hips piston, thrusting with enough violence that you have to hold on to the edges of the table, your head rolling back, chest arching up towards him, your body begging for what you need.
And you see him close his eyes, tensing as his orgasm hits him, his cock releasing inside you, alpha come filling you yet again, but it only seems to make you want more.
His cock slips out of you, and you slide down onto the floor, legs so weak you doubt they could hold you, but Roman's sitting on the couch, waiting, and he beckons to you. "Come here, my sweet girl," he says, and you crawl over to him, letting him help you up into his lap, facing him, sitting astride his thighs. His hands are on your waist, pulling you up onto your knees, closer to him so your breasts are right in his face, and he nuzzles at them, humming in delight.
They're even more swollen now, taut and tender as he kisses your skin, licking, sucking on the hard peaks of your nipples, so sensitive it's almost unbearable.
It forever astonishes you that he can take his time with you like this when you're in heat, because the man has self-control like no alpha you've ever known, but Roman's special, always worth the wait even if right now you're too impatient to think about anything but his cock.
He gets one hand between your legs, pushing his palm firm up against the fullness of your clit, and you rut yourself on it, your hips working, feeling Seth and Dean's come leaking slowly out of you, gasping as Roman's teeth sink into the flesh of your breast, biting down hard enough to mark you.
You whine as he removes his hand, your hips still moving helplessly even though all that's there now is now empty air, and he kisses your mouth, tongue teasing frustratingly light over your lips.
"Yeah, you want Daddy's cock, don't you?" he murmurs. "Need more of that alpha come."
You nod at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and he smiles at you, hauling you up off his lap.
He sets you down on the floor, on your knees, turning you around so you're facing the couch, arms braced on the edge of the seat in front of you, and you arch your spine, your knees apart, pussy wet and hungry for him.
You pant, barely able to control your breathing you're so dizzy with anticipation, but then Roman slides into you, cock thick and slow, filling you up until you feel like you can't take anymore, and when he's as deep as he'll go, bottomed out inside you, he stops, not moving.
You're whining with every exhale, shaking all over, but Roman can't be rushed.
"Yeah," he says, softly. "So tight, aren't you?" He shifts himself slightly, and you moan at the feel of it. "Never had an omega like you, baby girl, full in heat but so hot and tight on my cock." He lets out a breathless, careless laugh, and you feel tears burning hot in your eyes, your whole being consumed with nothing but want. "Fuck you all night and that sweet pussy will still try and milk me for more."
You squirm, trying to move yourself on him, but he's ruthlessly unyielding, a solid wall behind you.
"You need to let go," he orders, gently yet firmly, "and let me take care of you." He rests one hand in the curve of your back, just above your ass, and you focus on your breath, inhaling and then exhaling, knowing that you have to stop fighting it, that you need to surrender, give yourself and your heat over to him, submit to the will of a true alpha.
You feel your body start to relax, trusting him, and it's only then that he starts to fuck you, slowly at first, but building in intensity and speed until he's pounding into you, holding onto your hips, your pussy so wet with slick that the noise of it seems to fill the room like something obscene.
Roman leans forward, hands either side of yours on the edge of the couch, his body over yours, broad chest pressed to your back. You feel as if you're being consumed by him, fucked until you're split wide open, nothing but a vessel for this need and when he finally comes it's like a rush, ecstasy and relief all at once, because this is what you've been craving, and you don't want it to ever stop, his cock pumping into you until you're so high you're not sure you'll ever come down from it.
But then at last he's done, pulling out of you, and you slump down, sitting on your heels on the floor, swaying slightly, the room feeling as if it's moving slowly around you. And Dean's already hard again, right there with his cock in your face. He gets one hand on your jaw, forcing your mouth open, pushing himself in past your lips, thrusting. And you're way too far gone to do anything but let him take what he needs, your heat meaning your throat is just as open as your pussy, and he goes deep, over and over until he's coming so hard that you struggle to keep up. You swallow as much as you can, lapping up the taste, the rest dripping warm down your chin.
He backs off, and you lean against the couch, exhausted, barely able to stay upright. And you can't even imagine the sight you must make, breathing hard, sweating, come and spit all over your face but Roman, Seth and Dean only gaze at you like you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
"You want her again?" Roman asks Seth, who shakes his head.
"Nah, I'll wait," he says. "We should get on the road."
"Yeah, it's getting late," Dean agrees, and they begin to pack up their bags.
You sit quietly, watching, only standing up when Roman brings one of his hoodies over to you, helping you put it on. He knows it's uncomfortable for you to wear too many clothes when you're in heat, but you need to be covered, and the hoodie is soft, comfortingly imbued with his scent, big enough that it reaches mid-thigh on your smaller frame.
But Seth looks at you, frowning. "Should we clean her up a little first?" he asks. "Can we get her out of here like this?"
"She's fine," Roman replies, no trace of doubt in his voice.
"Everyone's gonna to be able to smell her," says Dean, sounding unsure. "I mean, every alpha in the place will be after her."
Seth smirks, laughing. "Might be fun to stir up some trouble with the opposition, boys."
"They know their place," Roman says. "She's ours." But then he frowns to himself. "Still," he adds, "better put this back on her." He picks up the chastity belt, taking off the dildo attachment, and then he seems to think for a moment before going through one of his bags, producing a small, remote-controlled vibe.
And you whimper in discomforted anticipation, because you know how that's going to feel inside you, your pussy already so overstimulated that it will be way too much for you to deal with.
"Just for on the ride, baby girl," Roman tells you. "Got to keep you nice and hot for us."
You shake your head no, pouting in distress.
"Hey," Roman says, firmly. "You need to trust us." He cradles your face in one hand, his thumb stroking tender across your cheek. "Don't we always take care of you?"
And you nod, biting your lip, knowing you need to accept his authority.
"Hold her," he directs Seth, who stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You squirm a little, whining in protest, but Roman pays no attention, pushing the vibe into your pussy. It slips in easily with how wet you are, nestling up against your walls, and you bite down on your bottom lip, breathing out, because even the presence of it inside you is reigniting the intensity of your heat, urges beginning to return in full force.
"Don't worry," Roman says with a smile, clearly observing your reaction, "we won't turn it on yet."
You shift restlessly as he and Seth help you into the chastity belt, fastening it, locking it tightly, securing you for no one's use but theirs, under their protection.
You breathe out as Roman drops a brief kiss on your lips before draping one arm protectively over your shoulders.
"Ready, boys?" he asks.
"Ready," Seth agrees.
"Always," Dean says.
"Then let's go," says Roman, and he opens the door.
He's been back for a few weeks before you're brave enough to try and see him, talk to him.
He keeps to himself backstage now, has his own private locker room, doesn't mingle. Not like he used to, and he's changed, you know that. Everyone knows that, anyone can see. But he's still Roman, you're sure, because no one changes that much.
You remember how it used to be; you in his lap, cradled in those powerful arms, his mouth on your neck and his teeth so quick and sharp that the bite was always more pleasure than pain, and then him feeding from you; the soft, gentle sound of him swallowing as he drank, the heady feeling of it enveloping your whole body. He'd kiss you, after, the taste of your own blood lingering in your mouth as he undressed you, slowly.
You smile to yourself, standing in front of the door labelled Roman Reigns, and you're about to knock when it's thrown open with some violence, a girl rushing out. She's crying, one hand held to the side of her neck and she hurries away without even looking at you, her choked-off sobs echoing down the hallway.
You watch her go, frowning, and when you turn back around, the door is again closed, but Heyman's standing in front of it, looking you up and down with an undisguised sneer.
"Can I help you?" he asks, tone practically dripping condescension.
"I'm here to see Roman," you say, and Heyman gives you a small, spitefully sarcastic smile.
"I'm afraid," he says, speaking slowly, as if to indicate he thinks you'll have trouble understanding, "the Tribal Chief isn't taking visitors right now."
And maybe you should just leave it, come back later, but this guy's enough of a dick that you decide to be stubborn. "I think he'll want to see me," you state, calmly.
Heyman looks at you for a long moment, then shrugs. "Fine," he replies, and knocks twice on the door, opening it just enough that he can peer inside.
He says something you can't quite hear, and you hear Roman's voice reply, the words muffled.
"Okay," says Heyman, and he opens the door, standing aside to let you in, giving you an exaggerated little bow.
He stays outside, thankfully, and you quickly glance around the room as you enter, finding it dimly lit and mostly bare, just a table, a few chairs. There's a bed set up in one corner, the sheets messily rumpled, and you try to not to think about what that means.
Roman's sitting in one of the chairs, looking at you, dressed in black pants and a black tank top, his hair pulled back. "Hey, baby," he greets you, face all at once breaking into an easy smile. "Been a while." And you're not sure how it's actually physically possible that he's become even hotter during his absence, but it seems he has, because the sight of him literally takes your breath away.
"Hi," you say, trying not to sound awkward, and when he doesn't say anything more, you're not sure what to do. "Yeah," you go on, nodding, "I thought you might want to..." You gesture at your neck, but then suddenly remember the girl you just saw leaving. "Unless you've already..."
"No, no," Roman interrupts. "You know me, always hungry."
"I remember," you say, but you're not so sure you remember it being like this.
"Come sit with me," he says, patting his thigh, and you find yourself hesitating, uncertain. "Am I making you nervous?" he asks, raising his eyebrows a little, seemingly amused.
"No, of course not," you say, shaking your head. "No, like you said, it's just been a while." You swallow, because you could swear there's something not right about this, about him, some tiny nagging warning bell sounding in the back of your brain in a way that you can't quite make sense of, but this is Roman, you tell yourself.
And so you smile, walking over, sitting yourself sideways across his lap, and his arms wrap around you and it's like you're home, sweet and safe and familiar, any doubts instantly forgotten.
"Right where you belong, baby girl," Roman says, softly, fingers smoothing your hair back behind your shoulder, out of the way, and you tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.
You hear him hum to himself as he licks along your throat, tongue wet on your skin, and you have to hold your breath, waiting, your heart racing with anticipation. He lets out a quiet hiss, and then you feel the sharp, brief sting of his bite, making you gasp, but then he starts to drink, and warmth floods through you.
And god, you think, sighing in contentment, because you've missed this, and it's every bit as good as you remember. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the strange, almost profound intimacy of it, a closeness that's like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, every inch of your skin alive, heart pumping inside your chest, your body giving itself over to Roman, his need.
You lean into him, letting go, trusting, falling.
But then something creeps in under the bliss of it, your head starting to spin in a way that's verging on discomfort and you realize that he should have stopped by now, that he's taking way more than he ever has before.
"Roman," you say, nudging him lightly, but he ignores you, continuing to drink.
"Roman," you repeat, louder, and his arms tighten around you as you struggle a little, try to push him away, and you're suddenly dizzy, light-headed, the room feeling as if it's moving around you.
"I-I can't..." you stutter out, starting to truly panic. "It's too much, I..."
Roman stops, pulling away just enough, but he doesn't let you go.
"It's better like this," he whispers against your neck, licking at the wounds there, his teeth scraping across your skin. "When you're afraid, I can taste it." You hear him laugh, feel his breath on your throat. "Fear makes the blood sweeter," he murmurs, his teeth sinking back in, and you cry out, already too weak to fight him, even when his hand wanders down between your legs, pushing them apart, sliding under your skirt, into your panties.
He sucks harder at your neck, drinking even more deeply, and your body responds, the rush of your blood pulsing through you, your pussy swollen and wet, his fingers slipping inside you with ease, his thumb teasing at your clit.
You let out a whine, and you're drifting away, like you're floating, vaguely aware you're about to lose consciousness, but just before you're gone, he again stops, lifting you up, gathered into his arms as he carries you over to the bed.
He lays you down, and you sprawl out beneath him, unable to move or even protest as he undresses you, moving around you, shifting your limp body with efficient ease, removing your clothing piece by piece until you're naked.
He kneels over you, legs either side of your thighs, staring down at you.
"Please..." you whisper, weakly, barely able to hear yourself, and you don't know what you're asking of him, but he only smiles, teeth stained red with your blood.
"You're so beautiful like this," he tells you, and you watch, helpless, as he takes off his tank top, reaching back and pulling the tie out of his hair, shaking his head so it tumbles down over his shoulders in loose waves. He unzips his pants, taking out his cock, hard and proud in front of him as he strokes it, darkened eyes raking over your body, his gaze hungrily possessive.
And you have to close your eyes as he bends your legs up, spreading them wide, thighs splayed before him as he settles himself down over you, weight heavy on top of you.
He licks at the marks he's left on your throat, tongue teasing at them until you feel the sting of leaking blood dripping down your neck and you whimper. "Shhh, baby girl," Roman murmurs, reaching down, guiding his cock into you, and even in this state, you're wet for him, taking him in, your body unresisting, and maybe, you think, you want this. Maybe you've always wanted it like this, pleasure like something faint and far away as he starts to fuck you, slow and hard.
He takes his time with it, kissing you, sucking on your neck, his cock thick and relentless, going deep, fucking you open until you feel you might break, come apart and be remade for only this, for him.
He moans as he comes, thrusting into you, and perhaps there's an answering echo somewhere inside you, but you can't tell anymore, numb to it, disconnected from yourself, fading.
Roman stands up, zipping his pants, and your vision is blurring in and out of focus but you can see Heyman standing there beside him, and if you cared, you'd wonder how long he's been there.
"Vince wants to see you," he says to Roman, who nods.
Heyman stares at you, his upper lip seeming to curl in disdain, and you want to turn over, hide yourself, but you can't, lying there, exposed to his gaze. And you know what's he thinking as he turns to Roman. "Do we... need to deal with her?" he asks, carefully.
"She's fine, she'll be out for a while." Roman looks down at you, smiling. "I'm going to want her again later, anyway."
Heyman laughs, shortly. "The Chief has his needs."
"Exactly," Roman says. He leans over, kisses your forehead, lips gently tender on your skin. "Be good, baby," he tells you, softly. "I'll be back soon."
Do you still take requests now, even through the ask box?
I mean, kind of! I don’t take formal requests in the “you ask, I write” kind of way, but I don’t mind at all if you want to suggest something and if it sparks, I very well may write it. With the warning that it mostly takes me FOREVER to finish stuff, so you know, it’s probably not much of a deal even if I do write it, haha.
I love your writing!! Do you have any more female wrestlers x female reader stuff planned? ❣️
Thank you!! I do, but I have been sadly neglectful on that side of things, I know. I always have some Shayna stuff at least half on the boil (because SHAYNA, also I really REALLY want to write some knife play with her because she’s into knives and I can’t stop thinking about it) and there’s a Ruby Riott thing I have mostly done and just need to push to finish. And I kind of keep wondering about Dakota/Raquel/Reader with the reader as the sub to the two of them and Dakota being super bossy and telling Raquel what to do to you. Also (as a separate thing) domme!Asuka, because that idea has fascinated me for a long time now.
Hi! I've never done this before so bear with me lol. This isn't a request but i just wanted to express just how much I enjoy your work. It seems the older i get, the more picky I am in regards to my taste in fanfics. My first piece of yours that I read was when you first uploaded the one about Big E so i've been lurking on your page for a while. A big factor for me is realism & that's something you execute very well. The mannerisms, the way they speak is all on POINT & I LOVE it. (1/2)
(2/2) Whenever my friends ask me to recommend them some good wrestling fics, I always point them in your direction. Sadly, my scattered brain always forgets to interact with your posts after I read them. However, I do read them all. Keep up the good work, Love.
P.S. I also wanted to know if you had a Ko-fi account or any way for me to send some form of appreciation. 🖤🖤
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Aaaahhh, thank you so much I do not even know what to say because honestly you are too nice and I keep re-reading this and getting all kinds of emotional, because it makes me like stupidly happy to know you enjoy what I write and I really REALLY appreciate you saying so. And I love that you think I get the characters right and make them real, because that's something I aim for and I'm never sure how well I do it, so it's amazing to hear that.
Seriously, just... thank you, that all truly does mean a lot to me. (And no, I don't have a ko-fi, but it is incredibly generous and kind of you to ask!)
Brodie's still ranting by the time you get him alone backstage, closing the door of the Dark Order's locker room behind you, no one else daring to follow you in. He throws the dog collars down onto a table, the chain that connects them clattering violently as it lands, and then he paces up and down the short length of the room, his anger so fierce it seems to fill the space around you, words bouncing off the walls, spat out accusations of cowardice and audacity.
You stand there, quiet, watching calmly as you let him keep going for a few minutes, knowing he needs to get this out, waiting until he pauses for the merest second to inhale before you speak.
"So," you say, jumping in before he can go on, "why does Brandi get to call you Daddy?"
And Brodie stops dead, turning to stare at you, almost as if he'd forgotten you were there. He's breathing heavily, sweat still dripping down his bared chest. "Because her husband's not a real man," he growls out. "He's a coward."
You smile, taking a carefully measured step towards him, and when he doesn't react, doesn't say anything, you take another, moving closer. "But you're a real man," you say, gently placing your hands on his chest, palms resting on the broad, firm rise of his pecs. He flinches as you touch him, just slightly, looking down with narrowed eyes, but he's silent, letting you push him back into a nearby chair, seating himself, his expression impatiently expectant, but you know him well enough to understand what he needs.
You gaze back at him, unafraid, taking off your clothes, your eyes never leaving his until you're naked, sliding yourself onto his lap, sinuous and graceful, legs spread so you're astride his thighs, facing him, draping your arms over his shoulders.
"What does a real man like to be called?" you murmur, shifting forward, your mouth close to his, beard ticklish on your face as you smell sweat and damp skin. He doesn't answer, his hands on your waist, so huge they're halfway up the sides of your ribcage, fingers digging in just enough that you feel it.
"Sir?" you ask, softly, your teeth nipping sharp and quick at his bottom lip, pulling away as his mouth chases yours. "Mr. Brodie Lee," you whisper, feeling his breath hot on your lips as you kiss him, tantalizingly brief. "Exalted One," you breathe out, closing your eyes for just a second, because you like that, but then you look at him, smiling. "Daddy," you say, and you see his eyes flare, darkening with something far more dangerous than anger. And his hand is on the back of your head, tangling painfully tight in your hair as he pulls you in, kissing you, taking your mouth, deep and hungry and dominant.
You're breathless by the time he stops, seeing him glance suddenly over your shoulder, looking at the table, and for a second you wonder what he's doing, what's distracted him, but then he leans across, picking up the chain, the dog collars dangling off each end of it. And he doesn't need your permission, so you don't say anything, simply lifting your hair up and out of the way as he loops one collar around your neck, buckling it, not too tight, but firm enough that you feel it, the pressure of it on your throat lightly insistent as you swallow.
"Can't you wear the other end?" you ask.
"Not now," he tells you, shortly. "Not for you." He wraps the chain around his hand, once and then twice, the metallic links tight across his massive fist, and even just that, just the sight of it, makes you feel weak, breathing in as he tugs on the chain, testing it, the leather of the collar digging into your skin.
You squirm a little in his lap, and ask, hopeful, "If I'm wearing a collar, does that mean I can be Daddy's little pet?"
"No," he says, shaking his head. "What you are is Daddy's little bitch." And you can't stop yourself from gasping at the word, the way he says it, stirring something deep inside you, arousal slipping hot down through your body, your cunt suddenly aching, pulsing with need. He pulls at the chain, dragging you towards him to kiss you again, and then says, his voice low, "You want Daddy to fuck you like a little bitch?"
"Yes," you hiss out, aware of how desperate you sound, but you don't care, and Brodie pushes you off his lap, tugging roughly on the chain to lead you onto the couch, shoving you down on all fours. You shift enough that you can rest your hands on the arm of the couch, bracing yourself, waiting, feeling the cool weight of the chain snaking down your back, heavy like the promise of what's to come, anticipation rushing through you.
You look back over your shoulder, restless, watching as Brodie pulls off the tank top that's still bunched up around his middle after his match, tossing it aside and unfastening his pants, and then his hands are on your hips, roughly angling you towards him, lining himself up behind you, one knee on the couch, other foot on the floor. You exhale as he enters you, forceful, burying his cock inside you, right up to the hilt, the girth of it filling you, making you moan, going even deeper, slamming into you again and again as he fucks you.
And you're just getting close when he stops, pulling out of you and standing up. You whine in protest, high and fretful, but he slaps your ass, just hard enough to be a warning. So you bite your tongue, glancing back to see him with a bottle of lube in hand, slicking up his cock and you're already whimpering softly, arching your back so your ass is higher, ready for him. You feel him get back into position behind you, the head of his cock immediately at your hole, blunt and thick. And you do this often enough that you don't need any real prep, but still, Brodie's big, big enough that you have to consciously relax, breathe in. He goes in slow, letting you adjust, and it's so good, so overwhelming in a way that's almost too much, but you love it.
And once he's in, he doesn't wait, starting to fuck you, no mercy now, hard and fast. He gets hold of the chain, pulling on it in time with each thrust, collar tightening around your throat, heightening the feeling, every sensation in sharp relief.
And then, without any warning, he yanks on the chain, forcing you up onto your knees as you yelp in pain and surprise, trying to catch your breath as he wraps one arm around you, pulling you into him, cock still pounding into your ass. His other hand toys with the buckle on the collar, sliding up over your jaw, fingers stroking across your lips as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it, instinctive, tongue working, hearing yourself whimper and cry. "Louder," he tells you, mouth wet on your ear, beard brushing hot and damp against your skin. "Daddy wants to hear you moan." He punctuates the last word with a sharp, viciously forceful thrust and so you do, you moan, the sound of it almost a wail as his thumb slips out of your mouth and you'd bet Silver and the others are outside the door, all listening, and you know Brodie knows that, and that he likes it.
You get your hand between your legs, pressing up on your clit, so on the edge of it that you cry out almost immediately, your body bucking up against Brodie's, held so tight you want to fight it, but he doesn't let go, not even when you slump back against him, limp and spent, aftershocks trembling through you as he still fucks you, finishing himself inside you, using you, taking what's his until you have nothing more to give.
But then he's done, still for a minute before carefully pulling out of you. You wince at the feeling of it, but he sits down, lifting you into his lap, the chain of the collar pooled between you as he kisses you, slow and messy, licking at your mouth, breathing together as you both come back down.
"Did you like that?" he asks. You nod in reply and he smiles at you, indulgent. "Then say thank you."
"Thank you," you reply, and he looks at you, face all at once stern. "Daddy," you add, quickly. "Thank you, Daddy."
"Good girl," Brodie murmurs, and he kisses you again.
Ok but Brodie Lee calling himself “daddy” has me feeling some type of way. Don’t know if I’m the only one.
Oh yeah, that was GOOD. I actually, um, mayyyy have written something about that because it REALLY got to me. Anyway. I don’t even know, but I’m just finishing it up and should post it in a bit.
hello there! another long time reader and first time asker. i can’t be the only one that thinks tim thatcher and oney lorcan are fucking hot, can i? they’re both so aggressive and it make me so happy to see them beat people up🥺my two murderous sons
Hi there! And you are 100% not alone there, my friend, Oney and Thatcher are both so incredibly hot. Oney is my shameful failure when it comes to writing, because no matter how hard I try, I cannot get him, and it kills me, because I love him so much. But every time I write him, he just is WRONG, I can't make him himself and I don't know why! But he's so great, and I feel like he would be super intense when it came to fucking, like he'd get those wild eyes going and would be extremely silent but extremely full on and it would be amazing.
And Timothy Thatcher, damn. He has like the PERFECT body and that rough-yet-strangely-gorgeous face. And so angry! Thatch as thatch can, always. I did have this idea about him when he was feuding with Damian, like you're one of Damian's girls and you see Tim kind of looking at you a bit and you think it's just because they're at each other, but then one day you and him end up somewhere away from everyone else backstage, and he asks you, out of nowhere, "So why's a girl like you with a guy like him?"
And you're taken aback, but you answer, kind of insulted, "Maybe I like being with a guy like him."
"You should be with someone who respects you."
"You don't even know me, and you think you can judge me?"
"No judgement," he says. "Just... you could do better."
"What would be better?" you scoff. "Someone like you?"
"Maybe," he says, shrugging, but then he looks at you, like really looks at you, and suddenly you feel it, like there's something there, some kind of chemistry that you don't understand at all, because he's not your type, and he get all up in your space and then backs you up against the nearest wall. And he leans in, like suuuuuper slowly, and then kisses you, not even any tongue, just his lips light on yours, breath mingling, and it's like the barest taste but there's a spark in it that's undeniable. And you want more, but he pulls away, breathing hard, eyes all hot and fierce with desire, and you can see how much it's costing him to hold himself back but he does, walking off without saying anything.
And so you end up having this intensely sexual, clandestine flirtation just in weird little moments backstage when no one else is around, with all the frustrated not-quite-making out and you want to fuck him, but he won't do anything while you're still with Damian. "If you want to be with me, then you need to be with me," he tells you.
And you're afraid of commitment, because you've been with too many assholes, and you're also kind of afraid of the way Tim seems to feel about you, because you don't trust that you're worth feeling that way about, like you don't deserve that from anyone. "Can't we just... be casual?"
"I can't," he says. "Not with you."
And then of course after much angst you give in, because one night you're supposed to be going to a party with Damian and all the other girls, but all of a sudden you realize you can't do this anymore, and you tell him you're going to skip tonight, and he stops, looks at you, says, "You sure?" and you nod.
"Yeah," you say, because you are, and Damian just gives you a little smile and says, kindly, "Your choice, baby." And you wonder if he knows, but if he does, he doesn't say it.
And so you go to Tim's place and he opens the door and you look at him, and say, "Just us." And he smiles at you, all crooked and gap-toothed and it's so freaking hot, and he lets you in and then of course you have a fairly remarkable amount of totally transcendent sex, the end.
Well, apparently I'd given that idea QUITE A LOT more thought than I realized I had, there you go.
Can we expect some Jay fic now that he’s returned? 👀
It's the Jay1, baby, I am SO HAPPY to have Jay back, god, I do need to write something about him but I don't know what yet. (Though I do have a couple of old things I should finish, that would actually be better and more productive, SELF.) But he looks SO GOOD, I am just dying because HOW has he gotten even hotter? How is that possible? And even more of an arrogant little shit, it is amazing. I love that he's wrestling with his hair half pulled back now, that really suits him. And I gather this is mostly an unpopular opinion, but I don't care because I fucking LOVE the beard. The longer it gets, the more I love it. And he’s always touching it in the backstage comments, like doing that thing where he gets his fist around the long bit and kind of tugging on it, SIGH. It is indeed beautiful facial hair surrounding your beautiful mouth, Jay, and I will applaud you as much as you want, you lovely man.
Yes, so, short answer: very possibly, if I can get my ass organized because I am all over the place and currently writing like ten things at once.
The fact that nobody is talking about how intense Brodie Lee is and how much dominance he exudes is astonishing. Is it just me or everytime he walks out and speaks the majority of what I think about is BDSM related?
Noooo, that is definitely not just you, because he IS, like SO intensely dominant. And there really is a BDSM tinge to it all, like just the way he interacts with the rest of the Dark Order - he's like this consciously capricious, moody dom in how he treats them, making sure that everyone has to walk on eggshells around him all the time. And he's so impatient with them all, and seems to genuinely relish humiliating them when they mess up. I have to admit, I was kind of unsure about Brodie coming in as the Exalted One but he has been so great in the role and he's grown into it more and more, like there's just an aura about him? The second he walks out, it's like you say, he just EXUDES authority and power, it's just in his EYES, the way he looks, and I love it.
What would Shayna be like after winning the tag team championship? Would she be soft and sweet or rough and fast acting off the adrenaline?
Oooh, I feel like she'd mostly be rough and all high on it? Like she'd maybe allow a moment or two of softness, because she'd be really happy but would obviously be trying to be cool about it, and as soon as she saw you backstage after she'd kiss you and for once let you give her a properly clingy hug, but after a minute she'd kind of peel you off of her and then she'd have to go and do all her interviews and pictures and stuff. And you'd wait around, watching in the background, but even in the midst of all that, she'd look at you every now and then, and you can tell by the expression on her face she's thinking about what she's going to do to you. Which means you're thinking about it too, so by the time you're finally alone, you're really really wet, and she's still got the belt around her waist, and you can't stop staring at it. "Can I touch it?" you ask, holding out your hand, hesitating, not wanting to do anything without her permission, and she shakes her head. "No, no touching." And then she kind of smiles a little and says, "But you can kiss it." And so you kneel down in front of her and kiss the belt, keeping your hands by your sides, pressing your mouth to the center plate, like kind of reverently worshipping it.
And then of course Shayna gets out a nice big strap and puts it on BUT without taking the belt off and first she just lightly fingers you while saying slightly mean things about how wet you are, how easy, but then she presses the heel of her hand nice and hard up between your legs and makes you rub yourself off on it. And just when you're about to like DIE of frustration, she takes her hand away and wipes it all over the strap so it's all slick with your wetness and then she pushes you back down on your knees and gets you to suck it. While she's still wearing the belt! And after that she lies back and lets you ride her until you come, and then come again, and you can't stop staring at the belt, all the way through, because it's so hot to see it on her, to know that she's champion again, just like she should be. But then after she’s a little more indulgent than she normally is, and doesn’t mind that you’re kind of snuggly, and you tease her a bit, asking if she’s ever going to take the belt off? And she just shrugs and says, “Maybe, maybe not.” And you laugh and she kisses you, and yeah, THAT would definitely be all soft and sweet.
Okay I need to know, do you find Eddie Kingston attractive?
I do actually find him attractive. But in like... a very shameful way, I don't know. Like I probably shouldn't. And yet I do. I feel like you would be mayyybe not sure about him because he's very talk-y and kind of aggressively self-assured with how he hits on you, as if he doesn't bother putting in much effort because he doesn't have even the slightest doubt that you're going to say 'yes' sooner or later and yeah, you ARE, but you don't like the fact that he just assumes. So you're a little bit snippy and prickly with him and he's not your type, not at all but at the same time he's really charming AND YET also kind of crude about it, and you try to ignore him, not let him know he's getting to you, but of course he knows, and he just smirks at you. "Can't even lower yourself to speak to me, princess? Aw, never mind, you'll come around, won't you? Girls like you always do." And you're practically glowering with irritation, but, of course, he's right. And when you finally get down to it, he STILL doesn't ever shut up, so there's a lot of, "Yeah, you like that, baby, don't you?" and maybe, because he's still into kind of needling you even now, some stuff along the lines of, "Thought you were too good for this, too good for me, didn't you, princess, actin' all high and mighty, like you're above it all, but look at you now baby." And he rubs the tip of his cock over your clit and then lower, so it's just inside you, but then he moves it back up, teasing your clit again until you're so frustrated you moan and he laughs, kind of breathless but still annoyingly in control. "Oh yeah, moanin' for me all nice and pretty with how bad you want this dick." And in the end you have to clamp your hand over his mouth and like growl out, "Would you shut the fuck up and just fuck me," and when you take you hand away, he's grinning, like this has all been a competition and he's won, and he says, "The pleasure would be all mine, sweetheart." And he does fuck you, and it's so good that you kind of hate yourself for it, and you definitely hate him, but you know you're going to do this again, and again, as many times as he'll let you.
I’m not actually here, it’s just a random Wardlow drabble. Set around the thing with MJF on last week’s Dynamite.
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You've just been in catering, grabbing an apple to take with you, and you're walking down one of the back hallways of Daily's Place munching away happily when a blonde woman rushes out of a room, straight into your path.
"Whoa," you say, jumping back a little, barely missing her, and she looks at you, clearly distraught, tears running down her face. You're about to ask if she's okay when she hurries off, and you peer into the room she's just exited, leaning around the edge of the door.
And oh, you think, as you see MJF, because yeah, that's generally the effect he has on people. He's with Wardlow, standing close, voice venomous as he spits out threats about paychecks and families being thrown onto the street. And Wardlow just takes it, standing there, tall and upright, his anger visibly simmering, but he doesn't say a word.
You hurriedly move away as MJF strides out of the room, pretending you're walking in the opposite direction, but once he's gone, you look in again.
Wardlow is standing there, and though his back is still straight, there's something defeated in his posture, a resigned look about him.
And you're curious, so you take another bite of your apple, and wander inside. "You always let him talk to you like that?" you ask.
Wardlow stares back at you, silent, the pained expression on his face instantly vanishing, his features set, jaw clenched square.
"No, seriously," you say. "Do you like it when he talks to you like that? Because if that's what you're into, you know, verbal humiliation and all, I know a few girls who'll do a much better job than that guy."
"It's not what I'm into," he says, slowly, carefully, voice deep. "I don't like it."
You shrug, finishing off your apple, tossing the core neatly into the trash can in the corner of the room. "Some guys like it," you say, then gaze up at him. He must be almost a foot taller than you, built like a solid fucking wall of muscle. "Gets them hard," you add, and you see his eyes narrow, suddenly wary.
You reach out, tentatively, waiting to see if he'll stop you, hearing him breathe in as you run one fingertip over the center of his belt, along the upper side of the buckle. He doesn't move, but he doesn't protest, and so you slide your hand downwards, feeling the length of his cock through his pants, palming it, just lightly.
"He's not very big, is he?" you say, softly. "Max, I mean. Like, compared to you." You stroke him, more firmly, and you see him swallow, closing his eyes for just a second.
But then he gently grasps your wrist, moving your hand away, and it doesn't quite feel like a decisive rejection, so you don't give up, not yet. "You could take him, you know that, right?" you say. "Anytime you want."
"I know I could," he replies.
"Then why don't you?"
"It's not…" He shakes his head. "It's complicated."
You laugh, the sound of it more bitter than you intend. "It always is." You fold your arms in front of you, looking him up and down, because this guy is way too hot to be someone's lackey, especially someone as big of an asshole as Max.
"Maybe," you suggest, "you should be with someone who's working for your interests, not their own."
"Maybe," Wardlow concedes.
"If you don't want to speak for yourself, I'm good at talking." You lean in a little closer, standing on your tiptoes, your mouth nearer to his ear. "If you want a voice who'll back you up instead of shitting on you." You take a step back, surprised to feel yourself exhale, because mostly you don't fluster so easily.
"Think about it," you say. "I'm betting we'd work well together."
He doesn't speak for a good minute, but he doesn't look away. "So it'd be just business?" he asks.
"Sure." You smile at him, licking your lips. "Whatever kind of business you want."
And he doesn't smile back, face as serious as ever, but there's something there, you can tell, a thought, planted, and maybe it'll grow, maybe it won't.
"Come find me," you tell him, backing out of the room. "Whenever you're ready." He nods, shortly, and you turn away. "I'll be waiting," you murmur to yourself, but you keep walking.
Hey there! Long time reader, first time question sender! Do you have any particular thoughts when it comes to Brodie Lee now that hes hot (tbh hotter) and running his own cult? When he gets all yelly and scary its -chefs kiss-
Hi there, nice to hear from you!! And YES, because I have finally gotten somewhat caught up on AEW and Brodie is indeed chef’s-kiss-amazing and I like him a whole lot. I LOVE the yelly/scary thing especially, because so often with cult leader-type characters they do the “eerily calm till they lose it” deal but Brodie now just seems kind of genuinely unhinged and barely keeping it together most of the time, like so impatient with his followers and always shoving them and slapping them around. WHICH is why my thing with Brodie is that you’re the only one who can calm him down, like after a match even backstage he’s still ranting and raving, and Evil Uno kind of herds everyone else off so you can be alone with him, and he won’t stop pacing until you finally get him to sit down. And his hair’s all messed up again from the fight so you pull it out and smooth it all back into a bun and tie it up again. And he’s barely stopped talking but then he looks at you, and you stand there, with both your hands resting on his chest, and you can feel him still breathing hard, and he pushes you away just enough that he can take off his tank top that’s bunched up around his middle from the match and you kneel down in front of him. And he grabs a tight handful of your hair and like shoves your face into his crotch and you can barely get your hands in enough to unfasten his pants and get your mouth on him but the second you do he pulls you right down onto his cock and basically fucks your mouth, guiding your head up and down on him real rough. And then after he’s come he pulls you up onto his lap and kisses you (a lot, because he REALLY doesn’t care that you’ve just swallowed) and fingers you.
Also there was another Brodie anon who suggested that he makes the rest of the Dark Order watch when he fucks you, which I still can’t stop thinking about. Sometimes he lets them jerk off while they watch, sometimes he doesn’t. Also very possibly he likes to watch you and Anna Jay together, but only he’s allowed to watch that, and when he’s had enough he’ll send her away and just fuck you.
Shout out to Lance Archer for being hot and ugly at the same time
Oh god, LANCE ARCHER, anon, you know, he has crept up on me in the worst/best way lately, because I was always totally uninterested in him when he was in KES, but then he went solo and I was kind of “Hmm,” and then he went to AEW and I was “Hmm, mayyybe, INTERESTING,” and then I swear during All Out the switch suddenly flipped over to “BUT HE’S SO SCARY AND HOT HOW DID I NEVER REALIZE?” And he is hot! But like you say, also ugly! Yet that only makes him hotter! Also huge, and menacing, and you would surely have the most terrifying but also the best sex of your life with him, like one giant adrenaline-fuelled rush of getting slammed up against a wall and him lifting up your legs and just like ramming his cock into you and then throwing you down on the bed and his weight on top of you and he’s not careful with you at all, like he does not give a shit, he just TAKES you. And then he grabs you again and flips you both over so you’re on top and paws roughly at your breasts with those enormous, callused hands while you ride him and when he gets close to finishing he grips your hips and ass so hard you can feel the bruises forming and pulls you down onto him as he comes. And after, he kicks you out pretty much straight away, lying there kind of smirking disdainfully while he watches you get dressed.
