Summary: Noelle conducts the most important interview of her career, sitting alone across from Roman Reigns in a tense, high-stakes encounter.
Warnings / MDNI (18+): None for this part
Word Count: 1.4k
Credit: Dividers by @anitalenia, GIF from @punksyeetgifs, photos from Pinterest
A/N: Please excuse any typos/grammatical errors. I’m experimenting. Thank you for reading, muahh ʚɞ ᥫ᭡.
Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
Noelle tapped her pen against the edge of her notepad, the soft rhythm filling the empty room. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed. Too bright. Too unforgiving. She squinted beneath them, resisting the urge to shift in her seat.
There was nowhere to hide here. Bare walls. Stark light. Nothing softened the space. It felt less like an office and more like a stage - or maybe an interrogation room. Just her, the chair across from her, and the quiet pressure of what was about to happen.
Here we go.
She exhaled slowly. Once. Twice. Her shoulders rolled back, tension loosening by inches. Every decision. Every late night. Every slammed door. All of it led here. Her eyes drifted to the empty chair across the table. Waiting. Patient. Soon it wouldn’t be empty.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The diamond in her earring caught the harsh light, flashing briefly against the sterile walls.
“You’ve got this,” she murmured under her breath.
The words sounded steadier than she felt. Noelle twirled her charm bracelet around her wrist, tiny beads clinking softly. A nervous habit she hadn’t broken since college.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The wall clock behind her carved the silence into pieces.
Her mind wandered to the moment Hunter had handed her the assignment: the biggest interview of her career. Not luck. Not timing. Years. Years of clawing her way toward something bigger.
Even as a child, she had carried a relentless need to be the best. She remembered watching her mother at the kitchen table late at night, bills spread out like a losing hand of cards. The tight line of her mouth. The quiet sighs.
Something rooted itself inside Noelle back then. A seed of guilt. Of urgency. Every “no” became “not yet.” Every failure turned sharper. More useful. She would succeed. However long it took.
The air conditioner cut out. Warm air crept through the room, prickling against her skin. Too warm. Her heel bounced against the floor. Pointed stiletto tapping lightly.
Breezing through accelerated programs, graduating summa cum laude - the first in her family - she still saw her mother’s eyes in the crowd that day. Pride written across her face. Her once-rambunctious child, now something else entirely. Driven.
Only a few years out of graduate school, Noelle already understood the reality of sports journalism: a field thick with testosterone and quiet assumptions. Women like her were decoration. Eye candy. Or worse. Some said they only made it to the top on their knees. Others believed women lacked the instincts to go far. The whispers never stopped. They just got quieter. Noelle smoothed a wrinkle from her navy skirt, pressing her palm flat against the fabric. Grounding herself.
Let them whisper.
She studied her notes, jaw tightening.
I won’t fail.
Weeks of research had prepared her for this. Morning smoothies at the laptop, tracing his career; championships, rivalries, interviews, headlines spanning more than a decade.
A legacy.
A phenomenon.
And now he was about to walk through that door.
Footsteps. Low voices. Male. Confident. Too many of them.
Noelle straightened, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as her pulse kicked higher.
Stay calm. Breathe.
The door creaked open.
A wall of men entered. Her stomach twisted. She pushed up from her seat, sliding her notepad and pen onto the table, smoothing her hair. Her eyes found him immediately.
Roman Reigns.
His presence swallowed the air.
Her bare legs tingled under the weight of his gaze, and she silently cursed herself for not choosing a longer skirt. Too late now. Her heart stumbled, uneven and loud, but she forced a wide, professional smile.
You’ve got this. Remember your prep. Focus.
The men moved toward her. Hunter walked beside the tall man at the front, speaking quietly. Roman didn’t answer. His attention never left her.
A controlled calm rested on his face, unreadable, almost surgical. Noelle dropped her gaze briefly, studying something neutral: the stark black of his sweater, plain joggers, custom sneakers. Simple. Effortless. A man who had nothing left to prove.
Hunter’s tailored suit probably cost more than her car, but standing beside Roman, it barely registered. The difference in presence was impossible to ignore.
This is it. This is why I worked so hard.
“Noelle, meet Roman Reigns,” Hunter said.
Even in her stilettos, he loomed. Broad shoulders. Solid frame. Larger than life. For half a second, her instinct told her to shrink. She didn’t. Noelle squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and held his gaze.
Roman pulled one hand from his pocket and wrapped it around hers.
Massive. Warm. Firm.
Gentler than she expected.
A brief spark of awareness ran through her chest. She leaned in slightly, steadying herself.
“It’s great to meet you, Roman,” she said, voice even.
“Thanks for having me,” he replied. Cool. Measured.
Her opportunity had arrived. The moment that could change everything.
“Um, please, take a seat. We can start once you’re comfortable,” she said.
Roman glanced back at the three men following him. They filed out quietly. He lowered himself into the chair across from her. Slowly. Deliberately. Legs wide, arms resting as if the seat had been built for him. Quiet dominance.
Hunter lingered briefly, giving her an assessing look, then left, pulling the door shut.
Just like that, the room felt smaller. It was just the two of them now.
Noelle perched on the edge of her seat, straightening her notes.
Organize. Focus. Don’t rush.
Roman’s gaze stayed on her, heavy, patient, waiting. She could feel it like heat against her skin. His time was precious. So was hers. Hours of research, late nights, meticulous prep. She had earned the right to sit here. Across from him.
His eyes drifted over her face, then the notebook. Measuring. Assessing. Judging. The lights hummed overhead. Too bright. Too hot. The air thickened with every second.
Breathe. Control the moment.
Noelle tapped her phone and pressed the red record button. There. No going back now.
I hope you’re ready, Roman.
She drew in a slow breath, straightened, and lifted her chin.
“You returned earlier this year after months away,” she began, steady, “and many expected a huge singles rivalry right away. Instead, we’ve mostly seen tag matches and shorter appearances.”
Pause.
Then the blade.
“Do you feel this run has lived up to what you envisioned when you came back?”
Roman didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He watched. Silence stretched longer than necessary. Her stomach tightened.
Is he annoyed? Testing me?
Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Bold start. Most people don’t ask that first. What made you think you could handle asking the questions everyone else is too scared to, Noelle?”
Her breath caught. Half a second.
Because I’m ready. I know this story.
She kept those words behind her lips.
Something shifted. The interview became a challenge.
“Because I want to tell the story right,” she said. “Not just the version people are comfortable with.”
Roman paused. A flicker of amusement crossed his face, beneath it something sharper. Interest.
She felt it immediately. He wasn’t dismissing her. He was sizing her up. A thrill sparked in her chest. Good. Let him test me. I’ll get every answer I need.
“Alright,” he said, leaning forward. “Give me what you got.”
The tension eased. The conversation began.
Noelle guided him through major chapters of his career: Bloodline era, pandemic years, WrestleMania main events. She didn’t tiptoe. Pushed where others softened questions. Circled moments that haunted headlines.
Her palms tingled. Every shift. Every raised eyebrow. Every pause. Roman answered candidly. Measured. Controlled. Honest enough to make her pulse jump. And always, amusement lingered beneath his voice, quietly entertained by how far she’d push.
Halfway through one answer, he squinted at her.
“You really trying to get the whole truth here, huh?”
“I like to cut through the bullshit,” she said before she could soften it.
Too late now.
Roman leaned back, studying her with an unreadable expression. The door opened behind them, signaling time was up.
Just like that.
Noelle exhaled, realizing how tightly wound her shoulders had been. Her fingers trembled faintly as she lowered her notebook. Heart still racing.
But beneath the nerves, quiet satisfaction. She had gotten what she came for. Not everything. But enough. For now.
synopsis: yu jimin thought it was going to be a normal round of promotions in america for aespa until an unexpected guest joins their post-fan sign dinner that could cause sparks for the group's leader or maybe... it can be a one time thing?
just played the reworked bad things scene 11 and uhh…wow holy shit it’s definitely more disturbing, but the way it conveys the feeling of being trapped with Ivan is phenomenal. I genuinely cannot describe how uncomfortable it made me, and thats not a bad thing. I have no words. Would definitely recommend.
