i heard the news abt The New Day departing from wwe so let's remember that one time they acknowledged tumblr girls on live tv <3 they really had our backs huh 🥹❤️🩹
⛧ pair: the shield (dean ambrose (jon moxley), seth rollins, roman reigns) x reader
⛧ tags: @thetorturedlifeofashowgirl (apologies for such a late publish) @danbbyx @hodgepodge-musings [please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!]
⛧ warnings: reader is a pro dancer, slight bit of angst, foursome - not really lol (f/m/m/m), the shield being dicks, foreplay, f!ngering, degrading, as always minors should not interact ♡
⛧ first i'd like to apologize to @thetorturedlifeofashowgirl for being so late with this! I didn't expect life to mess me up for so long! this was a little challenging to write since it's a prompt (first time for anything right?); again thank you for the idea and i really hope i brought it just the way you would've wanted it. I hope this isn't so short lmao
⛧ you and your group were invited by levesque for a special performance for the show, not expecting for a performance to get a little heated backstage
⛧ word count: 1.4K
♫ - hey now - kendrick lamar
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You were lacing up your boots, mentally preparing yourself for a big performance alongside your dance mates. Tonight, your group will perform a dance for part of a two-part show before a pay-per-view in Europe. You felt a lump in your throat realizing after the main event for the first part of the show, you will be in front of thousands of fans.
Taking a deep breath, you finished lacing your boots and took a look in the mirror, your reflection greeting you with your gear.
“I hope Mr. Levesque was right” you thought to yourself “Maybe this would get more people to attend the shows…”
“Y/N!” Your dance mate, Bree, called for you. “Are you ready? It’s time to get going!”
“Just a minute, Bree! I’m grabbing one more thing!”
After taking another minute to adjust yourself, you grabbed your mask and headed out the locker-room, praying that this will change everything.
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Your stomach was tied with nerves as you and your group performed, reenacting the infamous rivalry of The Shield and CM Punk; you were dressed as Ambrose, Bree and another dance mate being Rollins and Reigns. Surely this would get some talks from the audience and backstage.
As your group hit your final move, the audience went wild, cheers and whistles from thousands of members of the WWE universe. You smiled and proceeded to exit as staff and crew members proceeded to get the ring set for the next show.
As you made your way back to the guerilla, Triple H immediately greeted you and your group.
"Fantastic work!" He said, shaking your hand firmly. "This will definitely make headlines. How do you feel personally?"
Bree and the others were waiting for your answer, it was difficult to get words out.
"I...don't know for sure, I was happy to do this. really. I'm happy we could make this happen."
Triple H smiled and stood out of the way so you could prepare to go home.
...
The Shield POV:
The three men were watching your performance as they were getting ready for their appearance for show 2. They were the main event as they prepare to squash their beef with CM Punk and Heyman. They immediately caught eyes on you, irritated with how you represented them.
"Is this about us?" Dean questioned, fixing his gear "I must say she sure looks the part."
"Seems like it" Seth answered, smiling watching your moves.
"I don't think I'm enjoying how we're being presented." Roman added, "Perhaps we should confront her about it."
"At least we can agree on that."
...
You were preparing to get to your locker-room before you felt a pair of rough hands pin your shoulders to the wall, catching you completely off guard.
Your eyes widened as you adjusted to your view. In front of you was the Shield, Roman staring directly into your eyes.
"Um...What is th-"
"Care to explain yourself?" Roman started, annoyance in his tone. "What was that stunt you pulled?"
"I don't know what you're talking ab-"
"Lying isn't going to make this easy." Rollins joined in, crossing his arms "We're talking about that 'dance' of yours."
Your stomach dropped when you heard that. Your dance, as in the choreography you were paid and signed to do for Levesque. You definitely understand if you didn't know they'd watch but what was their deal with you? You were just doing your job...
"I..." You started, The Shield already looked annoyed. "I was just doing my job. I was told to do this from Mr. Levesque; I wasn't aware that you three would be here tonight."
"Just like we weren't expecting for us to be mocked." Ambrose responded, his coldness making you shiver "This is wrestling, not Dance Moms or whatever."
Now that part pissed you off. It wasn't your fault that you were scheduled for this. Triple H specifically stated exactly what he wanted from you and your team. You were just following his request.
"How rude." You gritted your teeth, anger in your voice "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him! Excuse me for literally doing what I was requested to do. I don't know what your problem is, and I don't know what you expect me to do about it."
The silence was deafening. You hated that you had to defend yourself like this; yes, it was new, but it could be what may be needed for more traction to the franchise.
You were caught off guard when Roman finally released his grip on your shoulders, tension becoming thicker from the three men.
You felt a shiver as Roman took a hand to cup your face, examining your eye movements - his thumb stroking your cheek.
"Perhaps there is something you can do..." Roman finally responded, "Think of this as a little...consequence when you mess with us."
Ambrose and Rollins smirked, their sinister idea as to what they should do to you.
"Take us to your locker-room. Now" Ambrose demanded, "And don't make us wait."
You felt a tight lump in your throat as you immediately gathered your composure, as you lead them to your locker-room.
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You took a deep breath as you opened the door, the three behemoths following behind.
You watched as Rollins locked the door behind, the four of you standing there in complete silence. Your legs felt like jelly, struggling to continue standing.
Roman's eyes never left yours as he slowly approached you, his perfectly toned body nearly pressed against yours, you were scared to make a sound.
You felt sandwiched as you felt Dean's presence behind you. You didn't know how to respond to whatever they wanted from you.
You lost your train of thought as you felt a hand grab your ass, another pair of hands making their way to your chest.
"W-What?" You stammered; a harsh slap across your ass in response.
"Damn, baby" Ambrose chuckled "You make these look good."
You let out a sigh as Roman began cupping your breast, his hands being so playful. It was intoxicating.
"What is this? You were rude to me, but now this?" You were confused, shivers down your spine as you felt your pants being tugged on, Ambrose slowly pulling them down.
"Yes, we were annoyed about that." Roman responded, his face going to your neck. "But we couldn't help but look at how good you looked."
You let a soft moan escape as your felt a pair of lips kissing your neck, gentle but overwhelming. You felt Seth's presence behind you now, replacing Dean's grasp on your behind.
"You caught our eyes looking like one of us, like there was a female member" Seth teased, "That would've been an eyecatcher wouldn't it?"
"I'll say" Roman replied, his tone becoming more playful.
Your eyes shut immediately feeling a bulge pressed against your ass; catching as to what they really wanted. You couldn't look them in the eyes.
"Unfortunately, we're getting a little impatient." Seth growls, swiftly removing your pants, panties exposed.
You felt embarrassed and crossed your legs quickly. shivering from how heated you were getting. This only made them hungrier.
"Not so fast, little one" Roman smirked, forcing your legs apart with his hand, fingers tracing against your inner thigh.
As you felt yourself willingly allow him to take your shirt off, revealing the matching colored bra, you felt Roman forcefully grab your face, pressing his lips against yours.
It was too much to handle. First a big performance night for you and now this. What else could happen?
You gasped feeling fingers traced your underwear, getting damper from the slow circular motion.
"What a slut" Roman chuckled "Do you not feel ashamed?"
You held onto his shoulders for support, your ass still getting groped by Rollins.
"I don't think she is" Seth responded "I think this is what she wanted."
What felt like an eternity, the two men stopped teasing your body, having another idea in mind.
"You know...We could keep this going all night." Ambrose started, "But it wouldn't be fair to you."
You wouldn't respond, your body trembling from sensations, desperately needing to be touched.
"How about this: Just you and us? Nobody else. We can leave here and keep this going at the hotel?"
"I..." you started, "I'd like the sound of that."
The three men smiled, you grabbed your pants and shirt and gotten ready to leave with them.
@eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 make Roman a sexy antagonist that eventually becomes an ally again in the face of pure evil and I will love you both forever
⛧ pair - roman reigns x reader (it was about damn time i wrote one of his sexy ass)
⛧ tags: @88changemymind @reigns-prophecy @cyberdejos2 (please let me know if you would like to be tagged in this or any future ffs)
⛧ warnings: unprotected p in v, creamp!e, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dream sex? (What is the fucking term idk), power imbalance, power dynamic (idol x fan)
⛧ okay! so i know this was going to be one where you and roman didn't get along well but have a sexual relationship but then i decided that was too corny - so i figured to make it into a fantasy dream where he has some fun with a fan (which is you of course) happy reading! [I honestly hate this one lmao]
⛧ You finally had the chance to meet your idol - however your relationship could turn in a way never imagined; Whole oneshot is just an erotic dream
⛧ word count: 1K
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To you, Roman Reigns was your favorite wrestler. You always kept track of his matches, any storylines or anytime he had the title around his waist or had his wiseman, Paul Heyman holding the title for him. You didn't think too much of having an attraction to him. Sure he was attractive, but you couldn't dare to think about him with you. "No that could never happen" you say "Besides I'm just a fan..."
To Roman, he has millions and millions of fans that were always tuned in, He was one of the top superstars of WWE and a name surely to be indicted into the Hall of Fame someday. He had everything - a title, his faction, his wiseman, and all of the people who acknowledged him. "I have it all" He would laugh to himself "No one can touch me."
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Today was a Meet and Greet and many superstars were attending to meet new fans and take pictures. To everyone's surprise, Roman Reigns was a special guest - a lot of people came to meet him. You were lucky enough to be one of the first people to get a picture with him and meet him face to face.
You were hesitant as the first few people were in line, making sure you didn't look too overdressed and fixing your hair, eagerly waiting to meet Roman. It was the first time you were going to meet a wrestler in general. You attended several shows in the past but not all of them due to finances and saving up for the future. But when Roman was announced to be there, you couldn't help but buy a ticket immediately.
You finally were next to meet him and to no surprise at all, he was as attractive as he was in the ring. As you made your way to meet Roman, you gave a gentle smile not wanting to be seen as weird. Roman admired your eyes, looking into them for a moment, before he spoke.
"Nice to meet you. What's your name?" He asked
"My name's Y/N. I'm happy to meet you." You smiled.
He smiled as the two of you posed for a picture, his grip around your waist a little tightening. But you didn't think much of it.
"Thank you so much, Roman this means a lot!"
Before you left, he wouldn't let go of your hand, you felt something like paper slip in. You turned back to him, studying his face as he shot a wink at you.
"It was nice to meet you too, Y/N..."
As you left, making sure no one was watching you, you peeked into your hand seeing what Roman left for you. Your heart skipped a beat as you read it
xxx-xxx-xxxx
Call me sometime, beautiful
- RR
He gave you his number? You were freaking out but you wouldn't dare tell anyone for multiple reasons. The first and most obvious reason was because of your status compared to him - wrestler/idol and fan.
You hurriedly went to your hotel room that you were staying at for the weekend, making sure no one knew about your secret.
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"Look how needy you are for me" Roman chuckled, admiring your body and your facial reactions, your eyes full of lust.
Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers circling your clit, making you whine for more.
"You're soaking wet, little one. Is this what you've wanted?" Roman asked, "You wanted your Tribal Chief to ruin you?"
"Y-Yes...ruin me" you whined, his fingers pushing deeper into your cunt.
"Good girl.." he laughed, enjoying your moans and whimpers.
He stopped toying your clit, admiring your body - every curve, every part of you.
"Lay on your back for me"
Without any hesitation, you followed his orders, your legs spread, ready for him to ruin you. You wanted to be his.
Roman forcefully grabbed your hips, positioning himself against your clit. He wasted no time pushing past your folds, his length expanding your walls. You whined from the sudden change of friction as his thrusts were already at a fast pace, your hands pathetically reaching to hold on to his toned body.
"Fuck that's a good little girl" He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips "You're taking me so well."
Your walls tightened around him as your stomach began to tighten from how fast he was going.
"T-Too fast!" you exclaimed, your eyes rolling back praying that he could slow down.
"Hmm? Tell me what you want, little one."
"Too fast! I'll cum too quickly!"
There was a slight pause from him before he laughed, one of his hands placing a grip around your throat.
"That's too bad. You're going to let me ruin this pretty pussy of yours."
Your voice was scarce, you whimpered from his roughness. It was way too much for you. You tried to push his arm off of you before he gripped tighter on your neck.
"I wouldn't recommend that, little one."
The sound of sex was filling your ears - your sparse voice, sounds of grunts and skin slapping against each other. It was heaven.
You shut your eyes tight, whimpering as you came all over Roman's cock, him following behind, his warm seed exploding into you.
"Good girl" He muttered, releasing his grip on your neck.
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You jerked yourself up, checking your surroundings. You were in your hotel room. Your room was dark, the moon shedding light against the windows.
You checked your body, checking for any soreness from around your throat. Nothing. You checked your phone for a certain number. It wasn't there. Finally, you checked your ticket to check on the event. It was in a couple of hours.
You sighed of relief, taking a few slight breaths to gather your thoughts.
After sulking at one of the walls for a few minutes, you finally fell back on your bed, trying to get some more sleep before your morning alarm.
Greetings! Apologies for not updating in a while. I'm currently in my senior year of college and haven't been able to write such. But anyways a few updates
Due to the recent AI scraping on AO3, I plan to take my work down from the site. I cannot risk losing more of my work as I already have on there - at least all but 2 have been scraped.
I have more than 4 works in my drafts! I also have a request that I need to get started on!
Finally, before wrestling I was originally a bts account - I do plan to rewrite an old work of mine from 2019 called "children of darkness" which is a bts cult ff. I decided it would be best to end my announcement with some good news
Again I apologize to anyone whose found my works on there but it's for the greater good. Thank you to everyone for your support
The air felt thick, heavy with the storm outside. The storm outside was terrifying, far worse than it had been when Roman left to pick up dinner for the both of you. It had been over an hour ago, but he still hadn’t come back.
It felt as if almost the thunder was shaking the whole house. You were hidden under the numerous heavy blankets laid out, stuffed into a corner of the L shaped couch in your living room. Worried sick you called Roman, wondering how the drive home was in this horrifying weather.
“Please pick up Ro..” you mumbled to yourself in pure fear. It made you nauseous to think of Roman driving home in this weather, let alone not answering his phone. He could be- No. Tears clouded your eyes as you called again.
All you wanted was for your husband to be home. He could forget about the food for all you care. You reached for your phone, dialing his number again, your fingers shaking as you pressed the call button. But nothing. The phone rang, and rang, but there was no answer. No reassuring voice telling you he was fine. Panic surged in your chest as you hung up and redialed, your thumb frantic as you pressed the button over and over, hoping that he would pick up. That he would tell you everything was okay.
But still, nothing. The calls went straight to voicemail. You gripped your phone tighter, your chest tightening with fear.
The storm was so loud, the wind so harsh..w-what if something happened? What if he’d gotten stuck somewhere, or worse, been in an accident? Your thoughts spiraled, each one evoking more and more tears.
You sat under the blanket huddled with your head in your hands. Tears flowing all over the place. You were petrified. You just wanted him home. Safe. In your arms.
You didn’t know how long you sat there, lost in your thoughts, your heart racing as you kept dialing and redialing his number. Nothing.
And then, you heard it. The faint creak of the front door opening. Your breath caught in your throat. Was it him? Could it finally be him? You jumped to your feet, still shaking, and rushed toward the door.
When you saw him standing there, drenched from head to toe in his Nike hoodie, your heart soared with relief.
Without thinking, you rushed to him, throwing your arms around him in a desperate hug. The tears came instantly, all the fear and panic crashing down in an overwhelming wave.
Roman stood there, confused for a moment, before pulling you close. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.
You looked up at him, still sobbing, and tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. All you could do was shake your head and bury your face in his chest. “I called… I thought something happened to you…I was so scared, Ro.”
Roman gently cupped your face in his hands, brushing the wet hair out of your eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. I lost signal. I didn’t get of your calls. I’m okay. I promise.”
He kissed the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you again, pulling you close. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. Everything is okay. You’re okay.” You clung to him tightly, finally feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. The storm outside didn’t seem as terrifying anymore, not knowing Roman was beside you. He was home. Safe. Everything was going to be okay.
⛧ tags: @88changemymind @reigns-prophecy @cyberdejos2 (please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future ffs)
⛧ warnings: explicit content, cockwarming (duh hence the title), nonchalant jon, jon being an asshole, (unprotected p in v, creampie, as always minors should not interact.
⛧ the title is so fucking dumb but it's so funny at the same time (A wrestler's theme sometimes works magic) . i do miss writing smut for you all - i hate that college is keeping me busy and i hate that i have way too many drafts atm (i gotta fix that soon); short because my body hurts and i haven't slept properly in weeks (I love you guys though so...)
⛧ no plot - jon is deep in thinking because of his feud with copeland
⛧ word count: 502
You whined as Jon gripped your flesh, his knuckles turning bone white as you grind against him. It was another day where your partner wasn't in the mood for passionate sex, especially after his match with Adam Copeland. Jon's focus was on your shared tv - deep in his thoughts while you rode his cock, buried deep in your walls.
You were met with silence and the sound of sex. Frustrated, you bounced a little faster only to be met with a harsh slap across your ass
"Jon..." You whined, trying to get his attention, slowly bouncing up and down, your arms wrapped around him.
"Watch yourself. I'll make you regret making me more irritated than I already am, dollface."
You shivered to Jon's words. You knew it was a threat, especially when he isn't playing with your tits or using his hands to overstimulate your clit.
You whined into the crook of his neck, going back to slowly grinding on Jon. It was intoxicating, every slow stroke, your walls tightening around him, you were getting impatient.
"I oughta make him regret trying to get in my way..." Jon muttered, his hands digging in your flesh "I'm the one keeping this company alive"
You yelped as he roughly bit your earlobe, noticing him trying to escape his thoughts about his recent feud with Copeland. Jon was the champion and he wasn't going to let go of the title any time soon. Even without his faction...
"He pisses me off...This is my title. I'm not letting anything change that...Fucking hell"
You moaned as he thrusted harder, his balls slapping against your clit, you bit into his neck, causing a lustful growl escaping from his lips.
"Do you enjoy this dollface?" He laughed, slapping your ass once more. "Do you want me to pay attention to you?"
"Please, daddy! I want your attention.." You moaned, your stomach beginning to tightening.
"Really? Do you think you deserve it?"
You gritted your teeth at his words. Now he was being a jackass. You bounced faster on him in response, receiving a low groan from Jon.
"God you're such a whore..." He threw his head back, his arms wrapping around your body, holding you closer. You finally felt satisfied - his thrusts getting sloppier.
"You know, dollface, I should thank you...this is better than whatever i'm dealing with..." Jon growled, his grip tightening around you.
You smiled to this, relieved that you could calm your partner down.
"Fuck...I'm getting close, dollface"
"I-I can't hold it anymore, Daddy." You were begging. It was hurting to hold it in now.
"Go ahead, doll.."
You screamed as you came, your walls tightening as you came all over him, not realizing Jon came in you, his warm seed filling you up.
Your breath hitched as Jon was still buried deep in you. Your legs shaking from your orgasm. You looked into his eyes, met with a lustful stare. He smirked as he grabbed your hips roughly.
"Don't think I'm finished with you just yet, dollface."
Summary - Cena claims his Winner's Rights from Punk... and sends a message!
Wanted to get this out before Raw tonight will probably ruin it 😅
For @stripeydani , @d-lanx , @selamat-linting and @are-we-really-doing-this and all the other Punkena shippers out there. Umm but.... I'M REALLY, REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS!!!! FORGIVE ME FOR I HAVE SINNED!!!!
*** Please note the tags! You have been warned!***
He found Punk in his private locker room, sitting slouched on the far bench with his head in his hands. As soon as he noticed John enter however he slowly straightened up, swiping his hand back over his hair. Cena noted the subtle curl on Punk's lips, the slight softening of his red, puffy eyes, like he had been expecting him. Or hoping he would.
'Hey,' Punk said and a heavy silence hung between them, a membrane as fragile as a bubble, one finger poke away from popping. Punk moved first, the tattooed man getting to his feet with a groan as his aching bones creaked and hobbled towards him. John tensed, readying himself for a confrontation. Instead he was offered a single taped hand. 'Congratulations... Winner.'
Winner! The word sounded strange on Cena's tongue, like a bitter pill he had trouble swallowing. Not that he was unaccustomed to winning; he had enjoyed the lion's share of victories throughout his storied career and was a sure-fire entrant for the Hall of Fame one day.
No, the issue was that he'd won... against Punk!
For over a decade now, Punk had been his banana-peel opponent. The last time he'd defeated him on a Premium Live Event was back when they were still called Pay-Per-Views. Elimination Chamber 2011 to be exact when, just like tonight, he'd eliminated Punk last to become the overall winner. After that, they'd wrestled five times on major events yet Punk had emerged victorious each and every time. He had John's number, could see every one of his Five Moves of Doom coming and counter them effortlessly. No matter what John did, Punk had a knack of running rings around him, all while wearing that unbearably smug grin on his pierced lips.
But things were different now. They were older, slower, balding and greying and that lip ring was now a sad distant memory. But that wasn't all.
Cena stared down at the open palm, thinking back to that moment in the ring when he had extended the same olive branch to Punk, remembering the way the younger man had shook his head, hushed out a 'no', then embraced him in a hug. Now, with the roles reversed, the message was still the same. 'No,' John said at last then rushed forward and wrapped Punk up in a hug of his own. The tattooed man sighed contently, sinking into his Winner's arms he pressed his face against Cena's shoulder.
They lingered there, wrapped up in in each other's warmth, the rest of the world melting away until there was only him and Punk, only them, only this moment. Whatever else existed beyond that door ceased to matter.
'I'm sorry.'
Another echo from the chamber. Punk didn't so much as flinch. 'Don't be,' he said, 'I missed you.'
The ghosts were surrounding them, both men haunted by what had transpired before, but then, hadn't it always been this way? Punk and Cena. Cena and Punk Their legacies entangled, tethered together with unbreakable chains. 'I missed you too,' Cena replied and went to lift Punk's chin with his hand-
But it only broke the spell, the younger man blinking back to reality when he caught sight of red smears marring John's fingers. 'You're bleeding!' Punk exclaimed and in that moment it reverted back to what it used to be. Punk taking charge. 'Sit down. I'll fix you up.'
Cena smiled, enjoying the welcome taste of familiarity. They'd always had this kind of dynamic between them with Punk opting to be the one handling the reigns. Everybody believed Punk was a sub, and for the most part they were right; he got off on being dominated and beaten down. They all witnessed how sweetly the tattooed man writhed with pain, the way he would open his legs as he lay face-down on the mat, suffering beautifully as blood poured down his twisted features.
But how easily they forgot that other side of CM Punk. The one that liked to dangle a hapless victim on the end of a string then twitch his little finger to make them dance. His theme music was 'Cult of Personality' for a good reason; he liked to take poor, broken souls under his charred wings and mould them into his latest devotees. People went insane for Punk - look at Drew, look at Seth - whether they wanted to or not and very few were ever aware of the demon's curse until it had already devoured them whole.
That included Cena. Their first match together, when John had tried to call the plays and Punk had scoffed before putting John in his place quicker than a whipped dog, had changed something in the older man's brain chemistry. Before, he thought Punk was a scraggly misfit, petulant and difficult but after that match, he rapidly became one of John's favourite opponents. He liked Punk being in charge, he liked being able to switch his brain off and let himself be lead for once.
'I said 'sit'.'
John obeyed and took a seat on the bench while Punk grabbed up a towel and headed through to the showers. Left alone for a brief spell, John felt the mask slip from his face. His lips stiffened, his eyes darkened, losing that sparkle of innocence they once held. Yes, things were different now. This time when Punk came to gleefully gnaw on John's soul like a chew toy, the way he always did, he would find nothing there but a festering hole.
'What am I gonna do with you, John-Boy?' Cena swiftly put the mask back on, smiling sweetly at the tattooed man as he wrung the excess water from the towel in the doorway of the shower room. 'Didn't even think I was that rough with you this time.' Punk look up and returned the soft smile, a cheeky light dancing in his gentle hazel eyes.
'You weren't,' John replied, his voice sounding gruff and course in the peace of the locker room. He cleared his throat to sand off the rot. 'Trust me.'
'I do,' Punk said, setting off an invisible spark in the older man's chest, exciting him, 'but if I was man-handling you like you say, then how the hell did you get the pin on me?'
Pin? He hadn't won by pinfall. How did Punk not know that...
Cena thought back to the closing moments of the Chamber. The stomp from Rollins had been brutal, smashing Punk's skull right into the thinly padded steel on the outside of the ring. The worst part was that the tattooed man didn't even see it coming and didn't have a chance to protect himself as his brow collided hard. Now, scanning his eyes over the other man, Cena noting the large welt bruising Punk's forehead, the way he leaned too heavily on the doorframe for support, how sluggish and clumsy every one of movements were.
And in that moment, a wonderful realisation broke on him like a radiant dawn. Punk was concussed, his brain entirely scrambled. He couldn't even remember the end of the match!
'I guess I just wanted it more,' Cena said. Careful there, John. Don't give the game away just yet.
Punk snorted with derision as he stumbled closer. 'Not a chance,' he rebutted, 'I wanted that win more than anybody else in that cage.'
Oh Punk, you're really not that naive, are you? To think that just because you were the only one (that mattered) in the Chamber who's never main-evented Wrestlemania that you were the only one who cared? Punk moved in close to grab up Cena's soiled hand and rub it clean with the damp towel. John watched him, his gaze locked tight as a sniper's rifle. Punk's hazels flicked up briefly, caught him staring and paused, their faces inches from each other.
John's fingers found Punk's dishevelled hair, his hand gliding through the sweaty strands until it clasped the back of his head and pulled him in. Their lips found one another, both men opening wide to welcome their dear friend in. Punk's mouth was warm and moist albeit empty without the tongue bar and even though he'd stopped chewing gum in the ring, it still tasted as sweet as cherry pie, the rich red tang bursting with juices beneath its buttery outer layer.
While they kissed, Cena artfully closed his powerful thighs around Punk's slender waist, locking him in. The Venus flytrap closing its mighty jaws around the fly after luring it in with its nectar.
You wouldn't know, Punk. You wouldn't know because you've never tasted it but closing the Showcase of the Immortals once, twice, five times? It was never enough. It's an urge, a need, a hook that fastens itself deep into a person's lip and hauls them in, much like what I'm doing to you right now.
His other hand trailed down Punk's back, feeling each droplet of sweat catching in the folds of his skin, until it came to rest at his hip, delicately teasing the waistband of his trunks.
Punk pulled away from the kiss abruptly. 'Cool your jets, John-Boy,' he scolded the older man in his best commanding tone, the one that once turned Cena's insides to putty. 'First, we deal with the bleeding then we can have fun.'
John watched as Punk grasped his hand again to wipe the last of the blood off, his expression unchanging, a being made of granite, grey and cold. He had grown tired. Tired of the posturing and the constant need to pander to the masses. His whole career he'd been a victim to the whims of the crowd. They loved him, they hated him. If Cena won, they rioted. He was a boring do-gooder who couldn't wrestle and buried other talent. Then, in that Chamber, when he and Punk had finally come face-to-face, they started to chant.
Let's go Cena! CM Punk!
Let's go Cena! CM Punk!
Memories came flooding back. To times when he was despised by anybody over the age of ten, to when he was seen as a corporate stooge selling out. To when they all put their adoration on a skinny runt from the indies with slicked back hair and a Pepsi tattoo. Punk was a damn dirty heel back then and they revered him, raised him to become the biggest babyface in the company overnight to where he even began outselling Cena's merchandise. He understood why, he'd been there and heard the Pipebomb live, the words spilling from pierced lips like venom. He could see the appeal of CM Punk - the rage, the fire, the danger. It had sucked him in just as easily.
The hand stroking back and forth along Punk's waistband refused to relent until it needed to do more than tease. Without warning, John pushed his hand inside, under the trunks, under the speedo, to grab his trophy between his legs. Punk let out a loud yelp and froze. The fly now paralysed by the spider's bite, ready to be bound up tight and devoured.
'Fuck John, I told you to wait until I'd finished.'
'Then finish,' John rolled his fist along Punk's already semi-hard dick, lavishing in the whimpers it drew from the tattooed man.
'Fine.' Punk grit his teeth, fighting against the sensations wracking his senses. Fighting his basic desires. Fighting. Just like out in that Chamber when he'd kicked out from a Pedigree, kicked out from a Stomp, kicked out from an AA. Again and again. Always fighting.
Never give up, right?
John watched the lines in Punk's face crinkle with every sloping pull of his large hand, spied the crow's feet deepen as his eyes lazily blinked, getting hazy with lust. Just a little more...
Punk wiped the last of the blood, then examined John's hand. Knotting his brow he turned it over, inspecting the back. 'I can't find it,' he said, and John let the sickness take hold, the darkness creeping into his features. 'John, where's your wound?'
Cena smiled. Not that poster boy, all-American smile that made the girls swoon and the kids cheer. Not the cute, dimply smiles he often shared behind closed doors with Punk whenever they found themselves in each other's company. No, he sneered, like a python that finally had its coils wrapped taut around its prey.
'It wasn't my blood,' he said.
The knot deepened. Punk trying to solve the conundrum after only hearing half the riddle. 'Then... who's was it?'
Cena just stared back, quirking his brows.
'John?' He tried that commanding voice again, utterly oblivious to the switch happening between them, how their roles were rapidly reversing. 'Who's blood was it?' Cena refused to answer beyond his vicious sneer. Watching as it all clicked into place in the other man's foggy mind. '...Cody? What did you-? CODY!'
Punk tried to get away but John's legs were locked tight around him like a snare, tightening the more the rabbit struggled. The hand that was only moments ago being tended to so gently by the tattooed man now grabbed him by the throat. Using his superhuman strength, Cena spun Punk around, sending his spine crashing hard into the wall. Punk struggled, beating his fists against the arms that held him. Always fighting. But the more he writhed like an insect stuck on flypaper, the more he became trapped, Cena squashing him tight into the small recess.
'It's too late, Punk,' John informed his prize with a face now devoid of human emotion.
'GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!'
'Stop yelling.'
'FUCK YOU!'
'Fine. I know exactly how to shut little punks up.' The fingers on Punk's throat pressed tighter, pushing into his windpipe. The shouting stopped instantly as Punk's face began to turn a deep pink. Their gazes met and Cena admired the way Punk's red-rimmed, tear-bitten eyes struggled to focus on him. His head injury raging inside his skull. Would he remember this moment too?
He'd make damn sure of it!
It was too easy to rip Punks' flimsy little trunks down, freeing his rock-solid cock. John suppressed a chuckle at the sight as he unbuckled his belt and jorts with his free hand and let them fall to his ankles. 'Sit,' he ordered the younger man, shoving him down by the grip at his neck until he was slouched against the bench, his erect cock standing like a flagpole. Never once releasing his grip on his trophy's throat, Cena mounted him, pushing himself down onto Punk's dick until it broke through his ring of muscle. Punk grimaced, his inked fingers weakly digging into Cena's wrist as he brutally ground his hips down onto him, forcing him further and further in until he was buried deep.
'You surprised?' Cena taunted his prize, who squinted up at him pleadingly, trying to gasp in air. 'This is always how we do it, right?'
John started to bounce, feeling Punk's cockhead rub up and down his passage. And every so often while he rode his trophy, he squeezed Punk's neck a little tighter. See, the problem with the STF is that his opponent was always facing away so he never got to see their expression as he applied the pressure and in the Chamber, when Punk was being cruelly crushed beneath Cena's weight, his little porcelain body going limp as he passed out, the sensation had felt so delicious that Cena wished with all his heart he could see the life fade from Punk's eyes himself.
Now here, in his Winner's Room, he got his opportunity. His eyes never once leaving Punk's face. Watching as his eyebrows steepled up pleadingly, meeting in the middle like two hands touching in prayer. His eyelids drooped over his glassy hazels while his mouth hung open. Cena hooked his finger in, dragging it across his slack lower lip.
Yes, things had changed and this was how it was meant to be. With Cena on top, the king on his throne and everybody else firmly beneath him. He'd understood the moment he'd witnessed Punk, dazed from Seth's vicious final stomp, hanging limply, half-suspended by the bottom rope with his ass up, begging to be bred like a prize bitch in heat. He had relented to this little slut for too long and it was time to finally stamp his authority on him like a brand.
He punctuated that sentiment with another savage drive onto Punk's cock. His trophy was failing now, going under, so Cena grabbed his own throbbing cock and pumped it urgently, pushing himself over the edge. He came with a grunt, soiling his trophy's stomach and thighs with his red hot cum. After catching his breath for a moment, he stood up, yanking himself free of Punk's dick. It flopped, his erection wilting like a flower in the frost.
Then finally, Cena released the hold on his neck. Punk fell, collapsing to the floor at John's feet. The older man admired the view as he pulled his pants back up and buckled them securely. Once dressed, he nudged the lifeless corpse at his feet with his toe, laughing as he placed his sneaker against Punk's head and shoved it into the dirt, just like he had done with Cody only moments before.
'Well Punk,' he spoke aloud, his voice booming against the eerie quiet of the locker room, 'while you lay there, hopefully as uncomfortable as you can possibly be, I want you to listen to me.' He bent down low, closer to Punk's ear. 'I don't hate you Punk. I don't even dislike you. I like you a hell of a lot more than I like most people in the back. I just hate this idea that you're the Best in the World.'
Grabbing a fistful of hair, he lifted Punk's heavy head off the floor, watching as a line of drool ran from his lips to the tiles below.
'Because you're not. I'm the best!'
He let go, heard the crunch of Punk's face hitting the ground then stood up. Grabbing one of Punk's towels he wiped himself clean as he left the carnage behind in his wake.
'And I'm gonna remind each and every one of you.'
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