❥REQUEST: hi! i was wondering if i can request a roman fox where y/n is a heel and a complete menace and then she wins the championship? (i’m sorry if that didn’t really make sense also either headcanons or one shot is cool ty!)-Anon.
❥ PAIRINGS: Tribal Chief! Roman Reigns x Heel! Reader]
❥ WARNINGS: Wrestling themes, Heel! Reader, angst I suppose, fluff, heel themes, yandere themes (both roman & reader), cat and mouse game, Michael Cole being your biggest hater, Corey being your biggest fan, errors I missed.
❥W/C:1120
❥ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally writing again.
You let out a frustrated scream as Aj kicked out of the pin. Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. You completely forgot about Becky until you felt a hit to the side of your head. Repeated shots were fired as she kept hitting you and letting out an aggressive scream.
“Stay down, bitch,” She screamed.
“It's mine,” She spoke again. Some of the crowd booed her. You groaned in pain.
“Stay down,” She ordered, though you weren’t going to listen to her.
She kicked you out of the ring. You landed on the ground hard. Making you cringe in pain. Becky looked down at you. fighting a battle in her mind. She looked back at Aj Lee, who was still on the mat, lying down, trying to recollect herself. Becky frowned, then looked back at you. Unlike Aj Lee you were attempting to get up.
“You just don’t listen, do you, you just can't stay down,” Becky roared. Making the crowd cheer as she got out of the ring and made her way over to you. She grabbed your hair, pulling you up by your hair.
“Poor y/n,” Corey sighed.
What do you mean, poor y/n, if she paid more attention to the buildup of this match and feud and not on her odd obsession with Roman Reigns, then she wouldn’t be in this mess, she would be in that ring, not outside,” Cole shot back.
Cole hated Becky and you, but hated you more. So, of course, he would hype Becky up.
“That’s just rude. She may have an unusual obsession with Roman, but he has one with her,” Corey commented, glaring at Cole.
“After I’m done with you, you won't be able to get up, you will be on a stretcher, and I will be the winner,” She spoke. Making you roll your eyes.
Becky pushed you roughly into the barricade. Making you groan in pain.
Becky slowly made her way over to you, insulting you as she made her way over to you. Expect she stopped midway when Roman’s music hit.
“Wait,” Corey spoke in amazement.
“What is he doing here?” Cole spoke.
“Probably to save his girlfriend,” Corey spoke.
“They aren’t even together,” Cole shot back.
“I mean, for all we know, they could be this could be a ploy to get Becky off her game,” Corey stated. Cole just stared at him blankly. Before going back to what was happening in front of him on the screen.
Becky stopped midway. Looking at you, then over to the ramp. Roman walked slowly to the ring. A stern look set on his face. The crowd cheered for him.
“Nope,” Becky muttered before going into the ring, not aware of Aj Lee. Roman stopped at the front of the ring.
“No, don’t you dare,” She shouted at Roman. Roman just stood there staring her down.
“What is going on here?” Cole spoke.
Roman looked over at you, you looked at him, slightly shocked, then at the ring. Seeing Aj Lee pull Becky in for the black widow submission.
Becky struggled. Slightly shocked. Before she could even think about tapping out. You got into the ring. Super kicking Becky. Becky fell. Aj Lee going down with her. You picked Becky up by her hair and threw her out of the ring in front of Roman, setting your sights back on Aj Lee. Aj got up a little dazed. You were setting her up for a spear. Aj turned around as soon as you charged at her. Colliding with her mid-half. Knocking her back down on the mat again.
“Spear,” Corey yelled.
“Oh my god,” Cole spoke.
“Of course, she cheats,” Cole grumbled.
You slightly hovered above her. Punching her a few times before going in for a pin.
The ref counted to three. Making the bell ring. Your theme music started to play. You got off of Aj Lee.
“Y/n wins the Intercontinental title,” Corey cheered.
“Yeah, with Roman’s help,” Cole spoke.
“Here is your new women’s intercontinental champion by submission, [Y/n],” The ring announcer announced.
The ref came over to you, handing over the women's intercontinental belt. You grabbed it from her as you slowly got up. The ref took your hand, raising it. You raised the belt above your head, as some of the crowd booed. You snatched your hand away from the ref. bringing the women’s international to your face. Smiling proudly before letting out a giggle.
AJ Lee rolled out of the ring, looking devastated, while Becky was crying.
Roman made his way into the ring. Making you look at him. He stopped halfway in front of you.
“What’s going on here?” Cole spoke.
Roman clapped slowly, making you raise a brow. Heart beating fast.
This cat-and-mouse game he had going on was getting dangerous fast. You lived for the thrill of teasing him, which got you so high.
You walked up to him slowly, till you could feel his warm breath on your face, the women’s intercontinental championship belt slung on your shoulder now.
“Congrats, champ,” Roman congratulated you. Eyes slowly looking you up and down. You kept calm. You smirked at him. Slowly leaning in. The crowd cheered, thinking you were going to kiss him, but you weren’t. Roman’s breath hitched. For someone cold, he surely acted differently towards you. It's almost like you had his tongue.
“It's all fun and games to you, isn’t it?” He spoke, the little tricks that you have been playing on him obviously got to him. Which was the plan all along, he intimated, you yet turned you on. You wanted him, you wanted his attention, so you would always be there, hovering, getting in the way, getting in on his promos.
“Yeah, baby,” You purred, licking your lips, your lips were hovering above his. As you pressed your body against his. You could feel him start to gain a tent down there.
Roman wanted to drag you to his locker room, but he wanted you to be the one who cracked first. He didn’t want to be the weak one.
“Well, you have my attention,” He spoke. As you fluttered your eyelids. God, he wanted to kiss you so bad. You took a step back, opening your mouth a bit. You were about to speak, but stopped. Walking backwards till you hit the ropes. You slowly exited the ring, eyes on him still as you exited the ring. You gave him a wink before skipping off.
Unbeknownst to Roman, CM Punk snuck into the ring. The crowd cheering loudly. Roman sensed someone was behind him, and as soon as he turned around, he got attacked by CM Punk.
synopsis: it was supposed to be just another match. but when you don’t get up, punk’s entire world shatters. now, with you fighting for your health, he’s fighting with himself , having to decide between wanting to keep you safe forever, or letting you chase the only dream you’ve ever known.
wordcount: 4.5k
warnings: injury. hospitals. angst with a happy ending.
it started like any other match day. you were sitting on the edge of the bench in the locker room, lacing up your boots, when you felt eyes on you. looking up, you caught your husband leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, that smirk that you had learnt to love tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"you sure you want to dance with rhea tonight? she's a whole different beast," he teased playfully. you rolled your eyes, tossing a wrist tape at him hitting him in the chest as he walked over and crouched in front of you.
"relax, old man. it's not me you've got to worry about. i've got this"
punk chuckled under his breath, but there was still something in his eyes, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment. pre match bliss was probably his favourite part about getting to work with you every single week. no matter whether it was you or him that had a match that night it was tradition for you to spend the moments leading up to it engrossed in one another.
he gently took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist the little pre-match ritual you both started when you first got together when you were working with different companies and only got to spend a couple match days a year with one another. his lips lingered just a second longer than usual. "be safe out there, babe. i love you."
before you could respond, bianca burst into the room with her usual infectious energy, tossing you a protein bar. "eat that love, we got to keep that energy up" she said, grinning. punk gave her a nod of respect, but you could see the playful rivalry between them. now that you all worked together weekly you found your husband and best friend constantly competing for your attention but in the most playful, light-hearted of ways.
"if rhea gets too rough", punk joked, raising an eyebrow, "i'm storming the ring."
"it's rhea i have had a million matched with that girl, i'll be fine" you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "i'll see you after."
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"does that man ever stop worrying about you", bianca questioned as she walked alongside you.
"you would have thought five years and a chapel later he would have calmed down on the whole protective thing but i don't think he ever will"
bianca laughed shaking her head, "you ready?", she asked just gently checking in.
"you are almost as bad as him", you laughed as your music began to play throughout the arena and you did your entrance, bianca flanked at your side. just like usual.
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the match started just like you and rhea had painstakingly practiced it was crisp, intense, but completely under control. every strike, every grapple was hitting perfectly. the crowd was molten completely engrossed, feeding off the chemistry you both had. from ringside, you could hear bianca shouting her usual words of encouragement, a few curses breaking through but that was netflix's problem. not yours.
about halfway through, you both set up for the big spot, the match’s turning point, the show-stealer. a top-rope slam. one you'd rehearsed backstage until it was muscle memory. rhea was perfectly in position, trusting you like she always did. you took a steadying breath, climbing the ropes, adjusting your footing.
but then your boot caught. just a fraction of an inch off, but just enough to be catastrophic. it was enough to make you fall.
you didn't have time to correct it. the next second was both a blur and in slow motion. the slam went through, but the landing was wrong. horribly wrong. you slammed against the mat with a sickening snap, pain detonating through your neck and shoulder like you'd been struck by lightning. stealing the air right out of your lungs.
you tried to push through instinctively wrestlers always do. muscle memory kicked in as you tried to scramble to your feet to finish the match, but your body betrayed you. your arm wouldn't move. your legs felt like jelly and buckled under you. the ring lights above spun wildly as you struggled to blink back the stars in your vision.
you could hear bianca's voice instantly shift from hyped to horrified. "get up, y/n, come on, baby, get up", the words were a plea. she needed to know that you were okay.
the ref (jessica) looked down at you, and you must’ve looked worse than you realized because without hesitation, she threw the unmistakable "x" high into the air. this caused the entire arena to gasp. the energy completely shifted like someone had pulled the plug on the entire show.
rhea’s eyes went wide, immediately dropping character and sliding to her knees at your side. "shit y/n, hey, talk to me, you okay?, you're okay right. please talk to me." her voice cracked as she hovered protectively, trying to shield you from the cameras without making it obvious. and bianca scrambled into the ring. her eyes looked straight at michael cole, "roll a video or something, this is a bad one", she called out and michael got to work talking about anything but your injury getting the cameras to focus on him and pat. not your motionless body in the ring.
you could barely register anything. the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, gut wrenching panic settling into your chest, because somewhere beyond the ropes your husband was watching.
and you couldn't move.
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back in gorilla, punk’s heart didn’t just stop. it detonated.
he knew this was different the second it happened. the slip. the landing. the unnatural angle of your body as you slammed into the mat. every instinct inside him rebelled, screaming at him to do something, to stop the match, to rewind time.
his head was so fucked that he barely registered his own body moving. he ignored the producers shouting after him. other wrestlers in the company tried to grab his arm, get him to calm down before going out there but those efforts were futile. he was cm punk, if he wanted to do something he was going to do it. especially when it came to his wife. they looked him and it was like they were looking at someone else. his face contained sheer panic, he was wide eyed and wrecked so they stepped aside. they had never seen punk like this.
and once he was past the curtain, he sprinted.
his body launched down the ramp, faster than ever, feet pounding the steel, throat tight with fear. the crowd didn't matter. the cameras didn't matter. nothing mattered, he just needed to get to you.
"move!" he barked, shoving past a medic, hitting his knees hard beside you. his hand hovered for a split second before they found yours, trembling as his free hand brushed the sweaty hair from your face.
"baby, please, look at me," his voice cracked. the Punk that everyone in the company knew was gone. he was just a man desperately clinging to the love of his life willing for her to be okay. "stay with me, sweetheart, i'm right here, i've got you."
your vision was foggy, and your head was spinning, but even through the chaos you could hear it the fear radiating off everyone in the ring, by now hunter had made the decision to cut the recording and play a highlight reel of matches from the past but the in house crowd were still in the arena eyes glued to the scene that was unfolding in front of them. punk's thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles against your palm like he could anchor you to the world with just that touch.
rhea stepped back, guilt flooding her face as she whispered broken apologies. bianca despite being stressed out of her mind had seen this and her arms wrapped around rhea hugging her. "she would never blame you rhea, it was not your fault", she spoke tears rolling down her cheeks.
punk’s voice dropped to a whisper, voice shaking so hard it barely sounded like him. "stay with me, please, don’t leave me i need you, please sweetheart. i need you." his forehead pressed against your hand, and you felt the wetness of his tears soaking your fingers. "don't leave me. not like this"
when the medics finally had to move you, punk refused to let go. they told him to give them space, but he physically could not move. he was glued to your side, walking with you as they wheeled you up the ramp.
"you're okay, you're going to be okay," he kept repeating, voice cracking more every time, as if saying it enough would make it true.
behind him, bianca didn’t even try to hide her sobs. she followed quietly, hand over her mouth, eyes never leaving you.
and punk?
he never stopped holding your hand. not once. not when he climbed into the ambulance, not when bianca hugged you goodbye, not when the ambulance crew asked a million questions about your health and definitely not when the fear that he might have just watched the love of his life break beyond repair clawed at him with every agonising second.
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once you got to the hospital you were taken back straight away and bianca and punk were ushered to a family and friends waiting room.
the fluorescent lights of the room felt colder than the steel chair punk was hunched over in, elbows on his knees, hands wringing together so tightly they were turning white. he hadn’t spoken much since they wheeled you through those doors. not to bianca, not to the medics, not even to the poor staff member who tried to gently suggest he change out of his gear. his mind was focused on thoughts of you. everything else was merely background noise
bianca sat a few seats away, tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, but refusing to leave. her eyes flicked anxiously between the clock and the double doors you’d disappeared behind.
when the doctor finally walked out, clipboard in hand, punk shot to his feet in an instant. "how is she? tell me she’s okay."
the doctor raised a steadying hand. "she’s stable. breathing on her own. she was conscious but she is back asleep because of the pain killers."
punk felt a weight off his chest as soon as those words left the doctor's mouth. you were okay, that was all he cared about. bianca visibly sagged in relief against the chair, murmuring a shaky, "thank god."
but the doctor’s face stayed serious. "she took a hard fall. there’s a cervical sprain, the muscles and ligaments in her neck were strained badly on impact and more concerning, there was immediate nerve trauma. likely a brachial plexus injury."
punk blinked, it all sounded like a different language. "brachial what?"
the doctor softened. "think of it as a stinger but severe. that’s why she couldn’t feel or move her arm properly. we ran imaging to rule out spinal cord damage." the pause nearly killed him. "thankfully, there’s no fracture. no permanent spinal injury."
punk dropped into the chair like gravity had doubled, head falling into his hands as the tension ripped from his body. his worst fear, paralysis, wasn’t real. she would heal.
but the doctor wasn’t done. "there is also a partial rotator cuff tear in her right shoulder from the angle of the landing. surgery might be necessary depending on how it responds to therapy."
"it could be six months. maybe longer." the doctor looked between the two of them. "she might never get the function that she did have back. it all depends on how she responds to treatment", he spoke and bianca's face was etched with worry. she knew how much work mattered to you. how much it would kill you to be permanently benched.
"she’s stable, you can go see her, she is sleeping though."
before the sentence was even finished, punk was already moving.
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it had been about an hour of punk and bianca sitting in your hospital room waiting for you to wake up. the doctors had assured them that it was totally normal for you to be this tired after the trauma your body had sustained and the painkillers you had been pumped full of.
punk sat hunched over your hand, eyes red rimmed but refusing to cry fully, like letting go would make it worse. his thumb stroked mindless circles on your knuckles, replaying every second of the match in his head . the slip, the impact, your face twisted in pain.
bianca slipped into the room quietly, carrying coffee, knowing he wouldn't leave to get any himself. punk didn’t even look up.
"you’re scaring me, man," she whispered, stepping closer, placing one hand on his shoulder.
he sniffed and finally spoke. "i told her to be careful. i kissed her wrist and i told her to be safe. like that was enough." his voice cracked again, and this time, bianca’s tough exterior crumbled too.
she sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "we both know she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up like this. she trusts you more than anyone. she's going to need you to help her heal. not this version of you who’s tearing himself apart."
and then, as if on cue, you stirred. a weak groan slipped past your lips, eyes fluttering open.
"y/n?" Punk was on his feet instantly, gripping your hand like it was the only thing telling him this was real. "baby, hey. i’m right here. you're okay." his voice cracked like he didn't even believe it yet.
your eyes met his, and seeing the absolute devastation on his face, you whispered, barely audible, "babe i'm okay."
And that broke him. He choked on a sob, lowering his forehead to your hand, finally letting himself cry properly — ugly, desperate, relieved tears. Bianca wiped at her own eyes, trying to pull herself together, but even she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
"i’m sorry," he kept repeating between broken breaths, like he could’ve changed anything.
you, despite the pain, weakly pulled at his hand until he finally crawled into the hospital bed next to you, careful not to hurt you further. he wrapped you in the gentlest hug, holding you like you’d slip away if he didn’t. and for the first time since the accident, you both allowed yourselves to just feel everything, pain, love, fear, relief it was all tangled into one devastatingly tender moment.
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when bianca left to go sort some things out punk was still a mess. he stood up and paced the room like he couldn’t physically sit still.
"you’re done." the words left his mouth sharp but shaky. his eyes didn’t meet yours at first. "wrestling. you’re done."
you blinked, unsure if you heard him right. "babe"
"i’m serious," he cut in, voice raw. "i don’t care what the doctors say. i don’t care what you say. you don’t get to." he stopped himself, pressing his fingers to his temple like he was trying to force the panic away. "i can't do this again. i can't watch you go out there and get hurt like that again."
the silence between you was suffocating. his breathing was uneven. he wasn't being possessive. he was just fucking terrified. his entire soul was sitting at the edge of a cliff.
"i know you love this," he whispered, finally meeting your eyes, "but you’re everything to me. the thought of you not coming back. i wouldn't survive"
his voice broke completely. he turned away, shoulders shaking.
"hey, hey," you said softly, motioning him back over. "come here."
punk hesitated, but you could see he needed it as much as you did. he slowly shuffled back to the bed, and you pulled him into your arms, weak but determined. he sank into you like he was falling apart, his head resting against your chest.
"i'm right here," you whispered. "i'm okay. you didn't lose me."
he clung to you for dear life, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "i can't lose you. you're my whole damn world, sweetheart."
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two weeks in the hospital had you losing your mind. thankfully you did not need surgery on your shoulder but the hospital wanted to keep you in so they could put you on a strict regime of physical therapy.
your days were all monotonous, punk would visit sometimes alone sometimes with bianca or your family. he would sit with you for a bit before going down to therapy with you. you appreciated his company but you were going mad. all you wanted was to climb out of your hospital bed and into the ring.
but you knew better than to bring the subject up with your husband, he made it very clear how he felt about everything and you did not have the energy to push. so you just talked to him about anything other than wrestling.
and eventually you got well enough to go home.
the drive home from the hospital was quiet , not in a heavy, uncomfortable way, but in the fragile quiet that comes after a storm. neither of you spoke much, but punk’s hand never once left yours on the centre console. his thumb kept tracing the same anxious little circles against your skin, like if he stopped you would disappear.
at every red light, he glanced over at you not to check your injuries, but to read your face, to make sure you were still there with him. you could tell he wasn’t convinced that everything was going to work out. not yet.
when you finally got home, your husband practically flew out of the car and circled around to your door before you could even reach for the handle. he didn’t ask he just scooped you into his arms with a tenderness that broke you a little.
you would’ve laughed, teased him about overreacting, told him you could walk, injury or not. but you saw his face.
there was no teasing him tonight.
his jaw was tight, eyes glassy and strained, every line of his face drawn tight with fear he hadn’t managed to shake yet. you could feel the stress of the last few weeks radiating off him.
he carried you through the door like you were made of glass, navigating straight to the couch where he eased you down with painstaking care. pillows were fluffed and adjusted. your favourite blanket was brought over without you asking. he even went as far as grabbing the specific water bottle he knew you preferred, twisting the cap off and setting it beside you along with your painkillers.
you watched him pace.
he was busying himself, grabbing things you didn’t need, moving pillows you wouldn’t use, all because it was easier than sitting still. easier than feeling.
his voice, when it finally came, was rough and distant. "you need anything else?" his arms crossed tightly, like he was trying to physically hold himself together.
your throat tightened. you reached for him, voice small but steady. "yeah", you whispered. "you."
the sound he made wasn’t quite a sob, but it was close. his whole body sagged, shoulders slumping as though you’d knocked the wind right out of him. in two steps, he was across the room, sinking onto the couch, pulling you gently against his chest. his arms wrapped around you like you might slip through his fingers otherwise.
"you have me", he murmured into your hair, voice breaking. "always. no matter what."
you melted against him, feeling the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he still needed to prove it to himself.
and for a long time, neither of you moved. you just stayed there, tangled up on the couch, while the storm finally started to pass.
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later that night, bianca stopped by with food, claiming it was to "check in" but really she was just as worried about punk as she was about you. you could tell by the way she side eyed him all night as he hovered around you like a shadow.
finally, when you drifted off on the couch, bianca yanked punk into the kitchen.
"you've got to stop looking like the world ended," she whispered, crossing her arms.
"the world almost ended, bianca," punk shot back, voice rough.
"but it didn’t," she pushed. "she’s here. she’s breathing. she's stronger than both of us combined and you know it."
punk leaned against the counter, rubbing at his eyes. "i don’t know how to do this," he admitted. "she’s my whole life. what if next time..."
bianca grabbed his hoodie, forcing him to face her. "then you’ll be there. like you always are. like you were that day. but you can’t put her in a bubble. you fell in love with a fighter. let her fight. just don’t make her do it without you."
that hit him like a punch straight to the ribs. bianca was right. he couldn't expect you to walk away from the sport that you loved. he could not give you that ultimatum.
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later that night, when the house was dark and quiet, punk had carried you up the stairs and gently placed you in bed. he stood at the side of the bed, still not ready to rest. his mind a whirlwind of emotion.
your voice sliced through the silence, "you think i didn’t hear you two?"
his heart sank. "i’m sorry"
"bon't be." you pulled his arm and he climbed into the bed next to you. "i get it. but you don’t get to make that choice for me."
punk swallowed hard, tears forming again. "i’m scared."
"so am i" you admitted. "but I want to fight. not just in the ring, but for us. for this. and i need you in my corner, not holding me back."
punk crumbled. his walls shattered like glass. he didn’t hide the tears this time. he slid down the bed until he was able to rest his head on your stomach, sobbing quietly.
"i love you so damn much," he choked out. "i’m so sorry, baby. i just, i need you."
you carded your fingers through his hair. "you have me. you’ve always had me. just don’t make me do this alone."
"as long as i'm alive you will never be alone."
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the locker room was buzzing with the usual pre-show chaos, but for you, it all sounded like white noise. your gear was already on, fingers nervously tapping against your thigh as you sat on the bench, staring down at your boots. six months. half a year of doctors, rehab, setbacks, doubts, and nights where you almost believed you'd never be back here.
and now you were minutes away from your return match. you were ready. you had to be ready.
the door creaked open. punk slipped inside, quietly shutting it behind him. he was in his usual black hoodie, arms crossed, but you could tell from the softened lines on his face that he wasn’t here to give you last minute advice. he was here because he needed to be. he couldn't stay away.
"you okay, sweetheart?" he asked gently, voice quiet but steady.
you nodded, but he could see right through you. he crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of you, like he had that night, only now without the panic. this time, it was reverence. tenderness. he took your hands and kissed your knuckles, then pressed them against his heart.
"you don’t have to prove anything", he said firmly. "not to them, not to anyone. not even to me. you have already proved that you are a survivor"
your throat tightened. "i need to do this"
his eyes softened even more. "i know", he whispered. "and i’ll be right there. like always."
you leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "i’m so damn proud of you", he said. "no matter what happens out there, you hear me? you’re already everything to me."
you squeezed his hand. "stay where i can see you?"
"always."
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the crowd was electric the second your music hit. the roar was deafening, louder than anything you have ever heard in your many years performing in front of countless crowds. signs with your name waved from every corner. and standing right at the edge of the curtain in gorilla, you caught your husband watching you with glassy eyes and the softest, proudest smile you’d ever seen.
your opponent, bayley, met you in the ring with a wide smile and a genuine hug before the bell, mouthing a quiet welcome back. the match started smoothly. every bump, every movement, you felt the ring again like it was a part of you. sure, there was rust, but your body remembered.
and punk didn’t take his eyes off you for a second.
from behind the monitor in gorilla, arms crossed tight against his chest, he watched every step, every impact. his heart raced every time you grabbed your shoulder instinctively or landed hard, but he noticed the little things too. the fire in your eyes. the way you rallied after every setback. the spark that never left you, even after everything that you had been through.
when you locked in your finishing submission move and bayley tapped, the crowd erupted. You sat there in the centre of the ring, overwhelmed and shaking. and when you looked up the ramp, there he was.
punk had stepped just out onto the stage, not caring about breaking the fourth wall. his hands were clapping slowly but deliberately, eyes never leaving you. no bravado. no smirk. just absolute pride.
you felt yourself start to cry, but you smiled through it as he mouthed, you did it.
backstage, the second you stepped through gorilla, he was there in the crowd of people ready to congratulate you on your return. pulling you straight into his arms, practically lifting you off the ground. he kissed your temple over and over, holding you like you were the most precious thing on earth.
"i told you", he whispered against your hair. "you’re unstoppable."
cm punk x fem!reader enemies to lovers? in the mood for my fav trope lol
cm punk x reader
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
‼️enemies to lovers, some angst, unwanted attention, touch without consent‼️
NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL
cm punk was insufferable.
everything about him got under your skin. the way he walked around like he owned the place, the smug smirk that always seemed permanently glued to his face, the way he always had something to say, especially to you. he had this aura, this energy, that made you want to roll your eyes every time you saw him.
and it wasn’t just you. everyone knew you and punk couldn’t stand each other. as if everyone could stand him either.
it had started the second he returned to the company. you were backstage, lacing up your boots, when he waltzed in like he had never left. he barely spared you a glance before muttering something like “they’re really letting just anyone into this business now, huh?”
you had clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm “and they’re really giving second chances to people who can’t play well with others, huh?”
you were tired already.
his smirk had deepened, like he enjoyed getting a reaction out of you “careful, sweetheart. you might not like what happens when you start playing with the big kids.”
from that moment on, it was war.
every interaction was a battle of quick glances and snide remarks. every glance was a challenge. he never let you breathe, always finding a way to get under your skin.
he’d critique your matches and your way of fighting.
“not bad out there. a little sloppy, but you’ll get there” he would say.
he’d scoff whenever you walked into a room, like your presence was an inconvenience.
“oh great, you again.”
and you gave it right back.
“don’t sound so excited, punk. wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle”
it got to the point where people backstage started betting on how long it would take for one of you to finally snap.
a lot bet on you first. you were the emotive one. and they didn’t know how much you could handle before you started screaming back at him.
“just give in and fight already” seth rollins had joked once, laughing as he watched you and punk bicker over god-knows-what “or, you know, just make out and get it over with.”
you had almost choked.
“yeah bad idea…” seth said “just fight then…hurt his ego, for me” he made you smile a little.
punk heard everything of course. earning a bad look from rollins too.
“she couldn’t handle me” he said as he watched you.
you had shoved him hard enough on your way out that he actually stumbled “in your dreams, old man.”
but no matter how much you hated him, you could never quite shake the feeling that he enjoyed this. like he liked having someone challenge him, push back, refuse to bow down to his bullshit.
and maybe, deep down, a part of you liked it too.
but you’d rather die than admit that.
but then everything changed.
it was after a long show. you were sore, exhausted, just trying to get back to the locker room and call it a night. the arena was quiet, most people already gone or wrapping up interviews.
smackdown had been amazing that night but your tired ass couldn’t wait to lay down for the night.
walking backstage you had just rounded a corner when you heard footsteps behind you.
before you could react, a hand grabbed your arm.
your heart stopped.
the grip was too tight, the voice behind you too familiar.
“where you off to in such a hurry?”
you froze. you knew that voice. one of the guys working backstage who had always made you uncomfortable, who always crossed the line with his comments, his stares, the way he seemed to linger whenever you were around.
you yanked your arm, but his grip tightened.
“let go” you said trying not to sound too scared.
he laughed.
“relax, sweetheart. just wanted to talk” he smirked.
your stomach turned. your pulse spiked.
you were about to shove him away, maybe even scream, when suddenly - he was gone.
ripped away from you so fast you barely processed what happened.
your breath came out in sharp, shallow bursts as you took a step back, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through your veins.
and then you saw him.
phil. standing over the guy, fists clenched, chest heaving, eyes burning with a rage you had never seen before.
the guy on the floor groaned, clutching his jaw, but phil didn’t even look at him. his eyes were on you.
“you okay?” his voice was sharp, but underneath it, there was something else, something almost gentle.
your throat felt tight. you nodded, but your hands were still shaking.
phil exhaled through his nose, stepping closer, just enough that his presence felt protective instead of suffocating.
“what the hell were you thinking?” his voice was low, tense “walking around alone like that?”
you swallowed hard “what? this is my workplace too…i-i wasn’t thinking…”
“exactly. you didn’t think” he ran a hand through his hair, jaw still tight “jesus, y/n.”
his mind was racing thinking about the things that could have happened if he got there too late or if he didn’t find you at all.
you had never seen him like this before. this was real. this was anger wrapped in concern.
he cared.
and that realization hit you harder than anything else.
“come on,” he muttered, his hand finally brushing against your arm, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him “let’s get you out of here.”
and you let him.
because for the first time in forever, punk wasn’t the enemy. he was something else entirely. and you weren’t sure what to do with that.
and from that day on punk didn’t leave your side after that.
at first, you thought it was just because he felt responsible like he had to make sure you weren’t going to crumble or do something stupid. but it wasn’t just that.
it was in the way he lingered a little longer than necessary whenever you were around. the way he always made sure you weren’t walking alone, even if he never admitted he was doing it on purpose. the way his usual snarky comments had softened, losing some of their bite.
you tried to ignore it at first, but it was impossible. especially when he started looking at you differently.
it was after another show, a week after the incident. you were sitting in catering, picking at your food, when he sat across from you.
“you eat like a bird” he commented.
you shot him a glare “you watch me eat quite often, phil.”
he smirked, but it wasn’t his usual cocky one. this one was softer, almost fond.
you hated that it made your stomach flip.
“just making sure you don’t pass out in the ring” he shrugged.
“how sweet of you” you sarcastically remarked.
“i know” he said but then he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the table “seriously, though… you doing okay?”
your eyes met his, and for the first time, you saw it - real concern.
you swallowed, looking away, feeling shy “yeah… i’m okay.”
he didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. instead, he just nodded “good.”
you weren’t sure why that made your chest feel warm.
things kept shifting between you after that.
the tension was still there, but it was different now. it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t full of irritation or frustration. now it was something else entirely.
you caught him staring at you more often, his eyes lingering, his expression unreadable.
he found excuses to be around you, even when he had no reason to be.
and then one night, after a show, it all boiled over.
you had been walking back and forth in the locker room, the same as always, but this time, there was something charged in the air.
his presence was there. back with his remarks and sneaky comments but this time it felt right.
you shoved him lightly, rolling your eyes “god, you’re impossible.”
his smirk didn’t waver, but there was something dangerous in his eyes “you love it.”
yeah you did.
you scoffed “i tolerate it…i barely tolerate it.”
he stepped closer. too close.
“sure you do” he murmured.
your breath hitched. you should have stepped back. should have said something. but you didn’t.
because suddenly, it all made sense.
the tension, the arguing, the way you couldn’t stand him but also couldn’t stay away from him.
it wasn’t hate. it had never been hate. and when he leaned in, his lips hovering just over yours, he smirked.
“tell me to stop” he whispered.
you didn’t because you didn’t want him to.
and when his lips finally met yours, when his hands found your waist, when he pulled you against him like he had been waiting for this all along you knew.
cm punk was insufferable but maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind anymore.
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Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤
All OC Characters belong to me
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They weren’t supposed to be anything more than friends with extra benefits. No feeling we’re supposed to be involved, but somewhere along the way, she had fallen for him, hard.
Every time his name popped up on her phone, her heart did that stupid fluttering thing she couldn’t control. She’d smile, sometimes without meaning to, even before she read the message.
She had told herself it was just physical. Just fun. Just something to pass the time and keep the loneliness at bay. She told herself that again and again.
But it wasn’t just that. Not anymore.
She knew it the night he fell asleep next to her, his arm draped lazily across her waist, breathing slow and even, completely at peace. And instead of slipping out of bed like she used to, she stayed. She stared at the ceiling, feeling content and at peace in his arms.
But she had seen a shift in him as well. Soft, subtle changes that nobody in their friend group picked up on. Like how he stopped checking his phone when they were together, or how he started to send her memes throughout the day, telling her how it reminded him of her. And when she spoke, he listened, really listened, as if her words mattered. Like she mattered.
He even stopped mentioning other women.
That’s when she knew something had shifted. Maybe she wasn’t the only one falling. Maybe it all wasn’t in her head.
And then suddenly, he did a 180 on her. The good morning messages stopped. The late-night calls turned into unread messages. He still answered, sometimes, but with short replies, polite and distant.
Even the sex was different now. He wouldn’t look her in her eyes; he would keep his head tucked into her neck until they were done. Afterward, he’d roll away with a mumbled, “You good?” like they weren’t friends before starting this whole arrangement.
She’d nod. Not having the courage to actually speak because she knew her voice would crack. So she stayed silent, just listening to him get dressed.
“I’ll see you,” Josh said as he walked out of her room. Aniyah nodded again but kept her eyes focused on her ceiling.
She waited until she heard the sound of her front door closing to finally let out the shaky breath she had been holding. A few tears slipped down her cheeks as she sat up and pulled the covers tighter against her body.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, just breathing, feeling everything she didn’t want to feel.
She knew at that moment she had to put herself first. Whatever feeling she had for Josh died that night.
At least that’s what she told herself.
Which is why when they ran into each other at a mutual friend's birthday party a couple months later, her heart didn’t do that stupid flutter it always did when she saw him. Lie.
When their eyes made contact from across the room, the butterflies in her tummy stayed stagnant. Another Lie
And when a woman she had never met before walked over to him, handed him a beer, and placed a kiss on his lips, her heart didn’t shatter into tiny pieces.
It cracked.
She couldn’t look away, no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes were stuck to the couple as Josh accepted the drink. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close so she was tucked into his side, like she belonged there.
Aniyah let out a shaky breath and turned away from them. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a shot, and downed it, holding her head to her chest as the liquid burned as it flowed down her throat.
She closed her eyes and tried to push her feelings away. Tonight wasn’t about her or Josh. It was about her best friend and his birthday. Schooling her features, she walked back into the room and scanned it for the birthday boy. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she saw he was now talking to Josh and his new friend.
“Luis!” She called out once she got close. He immediately turned away from Josh and his friend. “Happy Birthday!” She said, letting out a giggle as Luis pulled her into her hug and lifted her off the ground.
Josh excused himself from the group and walked away, pulling his date with him.
“Here,” she said as she handed him a gift bag and a birthday card. “Happy Birthday.” She tried to ignore the ache in her chest.
Luis’s face lit up immediately. “I said no presents this year,” he said with a laugh, already tearing into the bag. “You always go too hard.”
Aniyah smiled, small but genuine, grateful for the distraction. For a moment, it almost worked.
“Oh shit,” Luis called out with a laugh as he unwrapped his present. “You didn’t!” He called out.
Only the best for my friends,” she said, smirking lightly,
“No shit,” Luis laughed. still holding the signed Aaron Judge baseball. “How’d you get this?!”
Aniyah shrugged. “You know, friends in high places.”
Luis scoffed with a laugh and pulled her into a hug. “Honestly, this is the best gift of the night!” He called out, holding the baseball up.
Aniyah rolled her eyes and let out a laugh as his girlfriend, Valerie, called out, “Hey!”
Luis grinned unapologetically, holding the baseball up again. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”
Valerie shook her head, laughing as she walked over and slipped an arm around him. “Whatever. I see how it is.”
Aniyah smiled, stepping back slightly to give them their moment. While she loved her friends deeply, she just couldn’t bear to be around a loving couple.
She turned around and immediately bumped into someone.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Aniyah said as she tumbled back slightly, instinctively reaching out to steady herself.
A warm hand caught her wrist.
“You good?” a familiar voice asked.
She immediately snatched her wrist away. She knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them came face to face tonight. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, not looking up. Her voice was steadier than she felt. She busied herself smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her dress, anything to avoid his eyes.
Josh didn’t move away.
“Aniyah,” he said softly. Too softly. Like he still had the right to say her name that way.
She finally looked up, and for a split second, she wished she hadn’t. His expression wasn’t distant or cold like she’d expected. If anything, he looked… uncomfortable. Guilty, maybe. His jaw was tight, his brows pulled together slightly, like he was bracing himself.
“No, we’re not doing this.” She said as she tried to walk around him, only for him to side step her. “Excuse me.” She muttered.
“Niy, please, just…” Josh trailed off with a sharp inhale. “Can we talk, please?”
That nickname hit her square in the chest.
Her jaw tightened, and she clenched her fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She hated that after everything, after the silence and the distance and the way he had made her feel disposable, he could still unravel her.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes again. “You’re here with someone.”
Josh shook his head immediately. “She’s—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “This isn’t about her. It’s about us.”
“There is no us,” Aniyah replied, sharper than she intended. She softened her tone, but not her stance. “You made sure of that.”
Josh fliched, but stayed quiet, making Aniyah scoff. She rolled her eyes at him as she moved past him, making her way back to the kitchen.
“I fucked up!” He called out, gaining the attention of half the party, including his date.
Aniyah stopped mid-step.
For a moment, she didn’t turn around. She closed her eyes instead, inhaling slowly, grounding herself as heat crept up her neck. Of course, he would do this, make it public, make it messy, make it harder than it needed to be.
“I handled everything wrong,” he continued, louder now, raw. “I shouldn’t have shut you out. I shouldn’t have walked away like you didn’t matter.”
Josh’s date looked between the two of them, realization suddenly dawning on her face. Looking just as embarrassed as Aniyah felt, his date snatched her purse off the couch next to her and stormed out of the apartment.
Josh looked torn. He wanted to go after Lauren and explain, but another part of him wanted to stay with Aniyah, make her understand how sorry he truly was.
Josh was tired of hiding how he truly felt; he was tired of feeling like a coward. “Niyah,” he said, his voice lower now, as he stepped towards her. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to hear me out. But I need you to know the truth.”
Luis cleared his throat as he stepped towards the… couple? He wasn’t too sure what the hell was going on. He knew when Aniyah was ready, she would tell him the full story, but for now, he was in protective mode.
“Maybe y’all should go out on the balcony to talk… too many people in here up in y’all’s business.”
Josh glanced around, noticing the curious eyes of a few lingering partygoers, and nodded. “Yeah,” He said as he cleared his throat. “C’mon,” He muttered at Aniyah and held his hand out, hoping she would take it. “Please,” He whispered when she just stared at him.
Aniyah hesitated for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. The thought of being alone with him terrified her. But she wanted to hear him say what she already knew. So, she slowly placed her hand in his.
Josh’s thumb brushed gently over hers, a small smile now on his face. “Thank you.” He muttered before leading her towards the balcony. They stepped out onto the balcony together. Aniyah shivered as the cool night air hit her bare skin.
Josh let go of her hand just enough to take a step back and meet her gaze fully. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, but his eyes were honest…vulnerable. “I fucked up,” He repeated. “And I spent every day regretting that shit.”
“Why are you telling me now?” She asked, “Why wait all these months? I mean, you got my number, you know where I live, and…” She trailed off with a shaky breath. “Why did you bring a date tonight?”
“I didn’t think I had the right,” he admitted quietly. “I just disappeared on you, Niy. I thought if I showed up unexpectedly, you’d shut the door in my face.” Aniyah scoffed out a laugh and shook her head. “And I.. I don’t know why I asked Lauren to come, I -”
“You said you would tell me the truth. Don’t lie.” She said, cutting him off.
Josh ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t want to come alone,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… maybe if I had someone there, it’d make it easier to hide how much I actually missed you.”
Aniyah rolled her eyes and looked away from him, out into the city, trying to steady her racing heart. The lights blurred together, a kaleidoscope of color that somehow mirrored the chaos she felt inside.
“Aniyah…” He gently called out, grabbing both of her hands, making her turn her attention back to him. “Our… situation started because we both had been single for a while and we needed a release… I - We said no feeling, no strings attached, and it was possible for a while. I wasn’t looking for anything serious… I wasn’t ready for another relationship, but fuck…” He trailed off and released one of her hands so he could run it over his face. “I caught feelings, Niy. Real ones. And instead of being honest, instead of talking to you like an adult, I panicked.”
“You ran…”
“Yeah,” Josh nodded. “I ran like a coward, and I’m tired of running, Aniyah.”
“Do you know what it felt like?” She asked after a moment of silence fell between the two of them. “It felt like I wasn’t enough,” she said, voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. “Like I was only good for the parts of you that were convenient. You let me believe I mattered, then you took it all back without a word.” She laughed weakly. “Do you know how stupid that made me feel? Sitting there, replaying every moment, wondering when I crossed a line I didn’t even know existed? Every unread message. Every short reply. Every time you couldn’t even look at me after we fucked.” She spat out.
Aniyah let out a bitter laugh. “I needed you to choose me, or hell, at least give me the option to choose you back; instead, you just tossed me to the side like I was just trash.”
Josh shook his head. “I never meant to make you feel like that, Niy,” he said, voice rough with emotions. But I did. And that’s on me.” He swallowed hard. “You were never just convenient. You were… everything I was afraid of.”
Aniyah scoffed, turning away again. “That’s not comforting.”
“I know.” He stepped closer, “But it’s the truth. You mattered too much. You still do.”
He paused, jaw tightening. “I’d just gotten out of something that wrecked me. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall again. And then you came along, laughing at my dumbass jokes, calling me out on my bullshit, making me feel safe without even trying.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to handle that without losing control.”
“So you decided that breaking my heart was better than telling me the truth?”
Josh nodded, shame written all over his face. “Yeah. And it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
She laughed, sharp and humorless, tears finally spilling over. “Do you know how unfair all this is right now? I spent months putting myself back together!”
He swallowed, “I just needed you to know you were never just sex. You were and always will be something more. You didn’t deserve none of this shit, Niy.”
Aniyah shook her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks as she watched him take another step closer to her.
“I’m not asking for a second chance.” He started, stopping himself just short of touching her. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for her. “I don’t think I’ve earned that. Not yet. I just want you back in my life, Niyah.”
“I’m not asking to pick back up where we left off.” He added in quickly once she narrowed her eyes at him.
“You expect me to trust you… just like that?” She asked, snapping her fingers.
“No,” Josh answered honestly. “I want to earn your trust again. Prove to you that I can be better. That I can be the person you deserve all along.”
Aniyah bit her bottom lip. “And what about Lauren?”
“Over before it even started.. I promise.”
“And what if I don’t believe you?” She whispered.
“Then I’ll just have to prove it to you. One step at a time, Niyah.”
Aniyah stared at him, her chest tight, the weight of everything they’d been through pressing down on her. For a long moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city below.
“One step at a time,” she repeated.
Josh let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulled Aniyah into his arms, not missing how she tensed up. “I missed you.” He whispered into her hair.
Aniyah stayed stiff for a heartbeat, then slowly relaxed, letting herself feel the warmth of him without letting it break her completely. “I know,” She whispered into his chest. And for the first time, in a long time, the ache in her chest didn’t feel so heavy.
Author's Note: Oh.. hey there! I missed you guys! GO EASY ON ME 🫣. This is something I have been working on since JULY!
Summary: After a long hiatus from wrestling, you return in hopes of starting a new chapter in your life. Things go South when the memories of your ex-boyfriend Dominik, are brought up, and your confrontation with him spews in the hallway.
A/N: Another WWE songfic! (check out my Randy one) This time, I was inspired by 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 by Madison Beer! Hope You Enjoy!
“Guys, I have to admit. I kinda missed this place.”
Cheers erupted around the table at your admission.
You looked around the room, noticing every little change. Like the missing table in the far right corner, or the new shade of white on the walls, and the different coffee makers.
You haven’t seen this room in 3 years.
“Well, we missed you too.” Nattie announced while pulling you in for a hug. You let out a small giggle and attempted to push her away as she kissed your temple.
Nattie’s seen as a mother figure to many women on the roster, but none can compare to the relationship between you two.
She was really the only person who kept in touch with you after your…falling out.
“Yeah, I can’t believe you’re actually here!” Lash added.
“Why is everyone so happy? Why did you leave?”
You didn’t look up but heard some of the girls scolding the person who asked. It was Wren Sinclair, some NXT girl who just got called up to Smackdown.
“No guys, it’s fine. She doesn’t know.”
Her eyebrow cocked up. “Well…can I know?”
You felt Nattie’s soft touch on your wrist, and then heard her words. “You don’t have to. Most of us know that’s a hard chapter in your life—” She stopped talking when she saw the shake of your head. “No, I want to talk about it. Even if telling the story will make me break.”
The girls who were standing up quickly grabbed a seat, sitting down as if it was storytime.
“The short answer for why I left was because me and my ex, Dominik, broke up.”
A small gasp interrupted. “Dominik? Like Mysterio?”
You nodded.
“We met in 2021 when he wasn’t on the main roster yet, just training in the PC. I was a trainee there too, so we kind of grew a bond together.”
“He asked me out on a date 4 months into knowing each other, and then asked me to be his girlfriend the next.”
You couldn’t help the smile that came to your lips at the memory.
“And all was good! He took me out, let me meet his family, and we even moved in together that following year, but that was until he got put into The Judgement Day.”
You took a breath to prepare yourself for the next parts.
“Which one? The one with Edge and Damian, or the one with Rhea,—” You flinched at the mention. “Yeah, with Rhea.”
“Dominik didn’t tell me about the whole Dom-Rhea storyline, he just said he was getting ‘put into a team.’ Not that she was going to be trapping him between her thighs, or “helping her stretch”. I had to find out all of that as I watched each week.”
A loud scoff from Ivy was heard. “What an ass!” Followed up with the hollers of agreement from others.
“I hated it. I hated seeing them get down on TV, even if it was something as little as whispering in each other’s ears. And I know you may be thinking ‘why didn’t I just tell him how I felt?’ Trust me, I tried.”
You let out a nervous laugh before continuing.
“God, I tried so many times to tell him that I hated it when he and Rhea were on the screen. I told him that I didn’t like it when he hung out with her after the shows, or when they posted each other on their social media stories, but he didn’t listen.”
You took a moment to grab a tissue Nattie offered you and wipe your nose.
“And then…he did listen!” Arianna spoiled, remembering it all like it was yesterday.
“Yeah he did. Everyone did.” you slightly smirked. “It was some late month in 2023 when he told me he was going to someone’s house. He wouldn't say who.”
Charlotte hummed and threw a knowing look.
“Before he left, he told me ‘not to worry ‘bout her,’ and I knew exactly who he was talking about… Long story short, he wasn’t answering my calls and it was like midnight at this point. I was getting worried so I looked at his location, and guess where he was?”
No one answered.
“Rhea’s house!”
‘Ooo’s’ traveled around the table.
“It might sound crazy, but I drove there and yelled at him. I yelled at him until my throat was sore, not knowing they were live streaming. I decided to call it quits that night in front of millions, and to make it clear, I don’t blame or hate Rhea. I give Dominik all credit.”
Some laughed.
“I asked for my release the next morning and moved back home with my family. Haven’t stepped foot in this arena since.”
You looked around the table and saw looks of pity.
“Do you still love him?”
You sniffled before laughing. “I don’t know. I still have all the letters he wrote me.”
“Letters?”
“Yeah. Sometime in the relationship he didn’t have a phone, so he would write letters and send them to me. I thought it was cute and he kept it up.”
“What were the letters about?” Blake prodded once more.
You closed your eyes with a smile, missing how Tiffany hit her for continuing the obvious harsh conversation.
“Oh, you know, the typical ‘You’re the only girl I want in my life.’ and ‘I love you so much and can’t wait to see you!’. And I fell for it like an idiot.”
Across from you, Jacy let out a scoff while crossing her arms over her chest. “I knew not to trust that mustache, chicken nugget-loving freak.”
The sound of a smack was heard followed by a ‘what!’ from Jacy.
“No, she's right.” you admitted with a chuckle.
“So that’s how you feel about me.”
Your head whipped around at the familiar voice, eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Is that what you’ve been telling people about our breakup?”
You didn’t say anything as you stood up and began walking down the hall.
You weren’t walking because you were scared to talk to him, no, you were walking for the sake of your mental health. For the sake of having a good first impression back.
“Hey, where are you going? You still gotta meet Liv, Raquel, and Roxxane!” he called out while following you.
You paused, finally turning around to face him. “Just go back to Liv!”
He took a step back with his hands in a surrender pose. “Woah, why are you so mad? Are you jealous?” he jabbed with a grin.
“No, I’m not jealous Dominik. I’m disgusted!”
You watched as his smile disappeared.
“I’m disgusted with the way you carry yourself, as if you're greater than everyone else. Like you’re immune to anyone’s feelings!” you yelled.
“I get that you’re with her now or whatever, but don’t forget you had me first. I was with you when you had nobody! and this—” you motioned to him with your hand. “—is not the man I met at the PC all those years ago. This is not the same man who promised to marry me in all those letters. Now, you’re nothing but a fucking dick!”
By the time you’re finished with your heartfelt rant, tears are streaming down your cheeks and you swear you could see his eyes water.
The sound of clapping from behind him made you straighten up, your blurry eyesight becoming clear.
“Aw, that was so cute!”
It was Liv. Along with her other teammates.
“Look, I’m sure it was a nice reunion you had with my Dommy Dom, but we have better things to do than sit around and listen to your dump. Byeeeee!”
Before Dominik could speak, she was dragging him away, the sight of your broken frame itched into his mind.
It really made him question: how could he be so reckless with your heart?
Description: Roman is clearly distracted after the events that occurred, not just losing, but how deeply Y/N's safety distracted him. Y/N begins to push back against Roman's protectiveness, insisting that caring isn't weakness.
A/N: Part 2 to Checkmate in Bloodline
The arena was quieter now.
Not empty - but different. The kind of quiet that settles after something irreversible has already happened.
You sat in the locker room, elbows on your knees, staring at the floor like it might offer answers if you looked long enough.
It didn't.
It just reflected the same though over and over again:
This is your fault.
The door creaked open.
You didn't look up immediately - you already knew it was him. You could feel it, the same way you always had.
Heavy. Controlled.
But not steady.
Not tonight.
Roman didn't say anything at first. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until it pressed against your ribs.
"I told you to stay with me."
The words weren't loud.
That made them worse.
Your head snapped up. "I didn't know-"
"You shouldn't have been alone." His voice sharpened, just slightly, but enough to cut. "Not tonight. Not with him around."
A flicker of anger sparked in your chest. "You think I chose that?" you shot back, standing up. "You think I wanted to be used like that?"
Roman's jaw clenched.
"I think," he said slowly, "that he got exactly what he wanted."
You stared at him.
"And what - now you're blaming me?" Your voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. "Because he decided to - what - turn me into leverage?"
"I'm blaming the situation," he snapped. "I'm blaming the fact that I walked into that ring already distracted because I couldn't find you-"
"Because you care," you cut in, stepping closer. "And that's not a weakness, Roman."
His expression darkened.
"To him, it is."
The room went still.
Because that was the truth, wasn't it?
Seth hadn't attacked your body.
He'd attacked Roman's focus.
His control.
His center.
And that center -
Was you.
----------------------------
Elsewhere, Seth watched the replay.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Roman hesitating.
Roman turning.
Roman losing.
The faintest laugh slipped past his lips.
"Still got it," he muttered.
There was a knock at the door, but he ignored it.
Because the real victory wasn't the match.
It was what came after.
The doubt.
The tension.
The fracture.
And if he played it right-
That fracture would split right open.
------------------------------
"You can't let him do this to us."
Your voice was quieter now, less sharp, but heavier.
Roman turned away, dragging a hand over his face.
"He already did."
"No," you insisted, stepping in front of him again.
"He tried. There's a difference."
Roman looked at you then - really looked at you.
And for the first time, you saw it clearly.
Not anger.
Not just frustration.
Fear.
Buried deep, twisted under layers of pride and control - but there.
"You don't get it," he said, voice low. "I was in that ring, and all I could think about was you. Not the match. Not the title. You."
Your chest tightened.
"And if something had happened-"
"But it didn't," you interrupted firmly.
His eyes flashed. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?" you challenged.
The question hung between you.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Roman exhaled slowly, like the words physically hurt to say.
"The point is... I can't focus when you're not safe."
Silence.
You swallowed.
"That's not weakness," you said again, softer this time.
"It is in this business," he replied immediately.
And there it was.
The truth neither of you wanted.
Because love - whatever this was between you - it didn't fit cleanly into the world he lived in.
It wasn't strategy.
It wasn't control.
It was chaos.
And Seth had just proven exactly how dangerous that could be.
----------------------------------
Later that night, your phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
You hesitated before opening it.
A message.
You looked good on camera.
Your stomach dropped.
Another message followed immediately.
Don't worry. I didn't hurt you.
Pause.
Then-
Not yet.
Your hands trembled slightly as you locked the screen.
Across the room, Roman noticed.
"What is it?" he asked.
You hesitated.
Just for a second.
But that second was long enough.
Roman's expression hardened.
"Show me."
Slowly, you handed him the phone.
You watched the exact moment he read it.
The way his posture shifted.
The way his grip tightened just a little too much around the device.
The way something cold settled between his eyes.
"He's not done," you said quietly.
Roman didn't respond right away.
He just handed the phone back, his movements controlled - too controlled.
But you could feel it.
The shift.
The storm building under the surface.
"No," he said finally.
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Dangerously so.
"He's not."
----------------------------------------
The next week felt like a countdown.
Every hallway glance lingered too long.
Every shadow felt intentional.
Every moment you weren't directly beside Roman felt... wrong.
And Roman?
He didn't let you out of his sight.
Not backstage.
Not during travel.
Not even for a second longer than necessary.
At first, it felt safe.
Then-
It started to feel like something else.
"You don't have to walk me everywhere," you said one afternoon, trying to keep your tone light.
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
Roman didn't answer immediately.
That told you everything.
"Roman," you pressed gently. "I'm not bait unless we let him make me bait."
His gaze snapped to yours.
"You think I'm letting this happen?"
"No," you said quickly. "I think you're overcorrecting."
A beat.
"You're treating me like I'm breakable."
His expression hardened. "You were in his hands."
"And I got out," you countered. "I'm still here."
"That's not the point."
"It has to be," you insisted, stepping closer. "Because if we keep acting like he already won - then he did."
The words hit.
You could see it.
But instead of easing the tension -
It twisted it tighter.
Because Roman didn't know how to exist in a space where he couldn't control the outcome.
And right now -
He couldn't control Seth.
-------------------------------------
Across the arena, Seth leaned casually against a crate, watching the two of you from a distance.
The way Roman stayed just slightly too close.
The way you kept trying to create space that never lasted.
The way tension crackled between you like a live wire.
we all need a small break. especially your man—the most dominate man you know. be his peace. his breath of fresh air…he deserves it. (overlaps when he was champion…i miss him *sigh*)
warnings: smut.
parings: sub!roman x black!reader
sub!roman appreciated the small moments of coming home to you; a hot meal, clean house, and a hot bath waiting for him. you’d clean him off and when he’d step out the bath, you were ready to give him a massage. he always vocalized his gratitude towards you taking care of him when he needed it most.
sub!roman wasn’t always shown. your man was a true dominate—a leader. you followed him and he adored it knowing you put your entire faith and trust into him. he worked so hard in WWE. carrying the titles for damn near 3 years was starting to show work on his body, and his mental. so moments like these were rare. times when he’d let you lead him for a change.
sub!roman was a natural at pinning your hips down and digging his dick into your pussy and filling you to the brim. stretching your pussy on his dick to accommodate him, to make you cum over and over as you’d thrashed around under him…but you wanted the same reaction from him too.
sub!roman craved those releases. such as you standing behind the giant circular bathtub in your shared home, his long and girthy dick in hand as you stroked him in a sensual motion. your hand barely being able to wrap around his dick in its entirety. his head thrown backwards on his shoulder as moans emitting from his chest kissed the celling, “you like that baby?,” you quietly asked in his ear “i love the sounds you make for me baby.” you could feel his hips swiftly thrusting upwards to pump his dick in your warm hand a little faster.
sub!roman knew you wanted to join him—the ache in your pussy becoming more prominent. the sounds he made was so sexy, it made your pussy wetter and clench with each sound. you wanted to take your other hand and work yourself towards your own release, but tonight was about him. he deserved it. “tell me when you’re cumming, mkay?”
sub!roman was desparate. he was about to blow all over your hand if you kept stroking him, making sure to squeeze his angry red mushroom tip when you neared the top. “you’re doing so good, baby. you like it when i tell you how good you’re doing?” his moans growing louder as he neared his release, his chest heaving. “i know baby, i know. you’re gonna cum for me, mkay? don’t hold back. let it all out baby.” you sucked on his neck and placed loving pecs on his shoulders, increasing the pace of your strokes. “aw, fuck baby. ahh, don—don’t stop baby, please,” his voice sounding a tortured rasp “i can’t stop—i won’t. i promise. not till you cum.”
sub!roman felt the room spinning. it was dizzying. addicting, even. his mind was clouded with only one goal. he felt he body shudder before letting his mouth open on a whimper. chills raced through your spine. your wetness drenching your boy shorts. seeing him like this set you off. needy for anything you’d give him. “you said you’d always give me what i want. cum for me, baby.” your name fell from his lips as a breathless chant. his body going ridged against you before violently shaking and flexing his abs. “y-y-ahh, fuck! i’m cumming, i’m cumming.” warm hot spurts pouring out from his dick onto the top of your fist. roman always came a lot; it creating a waterfall, dripping down the sides of your hand.
sub!roman couldn’t say a word. you continued stroking, wanting to milk every bit of stress out of him “you did so good. you feel better, baby?” his head was spinning. between fighting his tremors off, catching his breath, and your hand still stroking him created an overstimulation. he let out another small whimper as he felt his dick ache for another release. his dick never falling limp, “you wanna cum again? hm? you deserve it. you work so hard, ro.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: the hardest part of loving a wrestler is watching them leave again and again—but your long-term boyfriend, aj styles, makes one simple promise before boarding his flight that somehow makes the goodbye hurt a little less.
. ݁₊ ⊹ notes: this is for another great friend of mine @bunneepawzz, who actually wants this unc so bad and HONESTLY I CANNOT BLAME HER! (which is why i'm being evil and giving her angst + fluff!! :])
the airport terminal buzzed with the kind of restless energy that never really settled—rolling suitcases rattling across terrazzo tile, distant boarding announcements echoing overhead, travelers weaving through crowds like schools of fish that somehow never collide. a few members of the roster lingered nearby, laughing about flight delays and time zones, but aj barely paid them any mind. his duffel bag hung from his shoulder, boarding pass tucked loosely between his fingers, while you stood beside him, quiet in a way that felt different from your usual calm. you kept watching the departure board more than she you watched him, like every flicker of changing flights reminded you exactly what was about to happen.
“you’re gonna text me when you land, right??”, you asked after a moment, arms folded loosely as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. aj huffed a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. “you say that every time.” “and you forget half the time.”, you muttered, though there was a faint smile tugging at your mouth. he glanced at you then, properly this time, noticing the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, the way your gaze drifted everywhere except his face. the smile you wore didn’t quite reach your eyes. aj tilted his head slightly, studying you the same way he studied opponents in the ring: quietly, patiently. “alright.”, he said, voice gentler now. “what’s goin’ on with you?”
“nothing.”, you replied immediately, almost too fast. aj didn’t move, didn’t push, but he did reach for your hand before you could tuck it away. his thumb brushed across your knuckles in a slow, absentminded motion. “c’mon now.”, he murmured. “don’t do that.” your shoulders lifted in a small, helpless shrug. for a second, you just stared at the polished floor, the noise of the terminal filling the silence between them. when you finally spoke, your voice was softer than the chaos around them. “i just… hate this part.” aj didn’t need her to explain which part she meant. the waiting. the empty side of the bed back home. the missed calls when time zones didn’t line up and the quiet evenings that stretched longer than they should. his chest tightened a little as he glanced around the gate area. a few fans had already started whispering, recognizing him. without making a big deal out of it, he curled his fingers around yours and gently tugged.
“c’mere.”, he said. he led her away from the crowd and the noise, down toward a quieter stretch of windows overlooking the runway where planes crawled slowly across the tarmac beneath gray evening clouds. only once the terminal noise faded into something softer did aj pull you into a hug; an actual hug, the kind where his arms wrapped fully around you and one hand settled at the back of your head. you melted into him instantly, face pressed into his chest, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. “i just… i wish it didn’t feel like this every time.”, you mumbled into his shirt. aj exhaled slowly, his hand moving in slow circles along your back. “yeah.”, he admitted quietly. “me too.” he rested his chin lightly on top of your head before leaning down just enough for his voice to reach you clearly. “but comin’ home to you??”, he added, squeezing you a little tighter. “i could do that forever.”
you pulled back gently, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but warm. “…forever, huh?”, you teased, your voice still a bit of thick. aj smirked, that familiar crooked grin slipping into place. “well!”, he spoke, shrugging one shoulder. “long as you keep puttin’ up with me.” the overhead speakers crackled to life before you could answer, announcing the start of boarding for his flight. reality settled back in with an annoying kind of finality. you both groaned quietly, sharing the same reluctant look before you reached up and grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling him down into a quick kiss that lingered just long enough to mean something. “…text me when you land.”, you said again as you pulled away.
aj grabbed his duffel and started toward the gate, but halfway there, he turned back. you were still standing by the window exactly where he’d left you. he pointed at you with a small smile and mouthed a single word. “forever.” and, as you watched him disappear down the jet bridge, the ache of goodbye didn’t feel quite as heavy as it had before.
