Warnings: Mature content 18+, profanity, heavy smut, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), lots of praise, Roman being an absolute slut for you.
Summary: It was supposed to be a wholesome movie night, but roman can’t keep his dick in his pants that long.
WC:1.5k
A/N at the end!💕
The two of you were laying down on the couch, watching your favorite movie for the 100th time this month. You guys were cuddled up in the spoon position, your back side was on roman so that you could see the tv, and he was behind you with one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other tucked under you, and conveniently for him right where your breasts were.
He’s never verbalized this but he loves your titts, everything about them is so addicting—how big they are, how they bounce when you do just about anything, when they tease him whenever they spill out of certain clothing you were, and especially when he sees your nipples harden whenever the two of you have sex. He can't get enough of them.
He can’t get enough of you.
Before the movie even turned on, he was already turned on and you hadn’t even done anything. Just by him being close to you, smelling that vanilla and jasmine body wash you love so much, him feeling on your soft and plush stomach he loves to touch on(and push down on while his fucking you), and your voluptuous back side being right on his dick, which was hardening with every passing second. It didn’t help that you were wearing moomoo you knew he loved so much.
He honestly doesn’t give a fuck about the movie anymore.
He actually hates this movie, but he loves you more than anything though so he doesn’t care how many times he has to watch it if it means he gets to be close to you. Right now though, all he could think about was pulling that damn moomoo off of you and fucking your sexy ass right on the couch. He needed to hear those sweet moans you make whenever he hits your sweet spot, to caress and suck on those big, brown areolas, and bend you over so he could see your ass recoil as he fucks you through the couch.
You were very unaware of how primal you were making this man feel because you were zeroed-in on the movie, however, you quickly became aware when you accidentally scooted your ass back on him to adjust your position.You almost instantly felt his girth on your ass right after.
“I-I’m sorry baby…” you whispered nervously, now fully realizing what you’ve just started.
“It’s fine,” his voice was low and husky, causing your core to tighten, and your pussy to become slick. “Just watch the movie sweetheart, it’s about to get good.” He doesn’t even know what’s going on.
You nodded your head as you tried to redirect your attention back onto the TV, It was impossible now, though. Roman's hold on you got tighter, so tight that the veins on his hands and forearm started to become more visible. He started planting kisses on the side of your head, your burning cheek, and then he started to concentrate his warm, full lips on your ear. He hovered his breath over it, planting light kisses on it because, and whispering sweet nothings into it, small I love you’s, you’re so beautiful’s—and more audibly saying “You know what you’re doing, don’t you, pretty girl?” His hands started to travel down the side of your thigh and stopped at the end of your night gown. “You wearin’ my favorite clothes,” he started kissing on that sensitive spot on your neck. “And you try scooting that ass back on me,” his hand slowly pulled the end of that damned moomoo up. “And you think im not gon do nothin’?” he starts to lick and suck on that sensitive part on your neck.
As he’s talking to you, or teasing you rather, you’re letting out those sweet, yet pathetic whimpers he loves so much. “Ro, I didn’t-”
“Oh, you meant it, baby,” He growls and grips on your ass and you let out a breathy moan. “You meant that shit. Now be a good girl and watch that movie, tell me what’s going on.” One of his hands started to tease your big, plump, pussy.
“Ohh my god!” you gasped and immediately rolled your hips against his fingers for more friction, he noticed this and slowly circled your bundle of nerves. “There she is..” His voice was so provocative now it drove you insane. You didn’t even care about this damn movie anymore.
“Please don’t stop daddy, mmhh” you breathed out as he was now thrusting his fingers inside your tight hole and rubbing your clit with his thumb.
“I’ll never stop, so long as you pay attention to that tv. I know you can do it sweetheart” He encouraged you while putting you on your back so that he could snake his way down to your soaking pussy. “Go on and tell me, I’m listening” he teased as he planted small kisses on your stomach and spread your thick thighs apart, putting them over his shoulders and locking his arms around them, god you loved the way his muscles flexed when he did this.
“Th-ohhh fuck.. They’re trying to come up with a p-plan” you stutter, trying your best not to pay attention to Roman’s constant teasing.
“Oh yeah? What else baby?” He slid his tongue across your entire pussy, causing you to shiver with pleasure.
“And they-they’re waiting for the perfect-” you were cut off by the feeling of roman completely devouring you. His skillful tongue flicking your clit and slurping up your juices like it was his last meal.
“Daddy please, I'm gonna come!!” you begged as you put your hand on his head, gripping onto his hair as if it would help anchor you.
“Go on and come for me, baby. Let me taste that shit” He said slowly, then immediately continued to eat your sweet pussy.
You started to shake uncontrollably from all the pleasure, clenching your thighs around roman’s head and moaning his name so loud that you’re sure everyone in the neighborhood can hear you, and you finish all over yourself and roman,who can’t even contain himself anymore. The pressure he feels from your thighs mixed with your voice is driving him clinically insane. He licks you clean, groaning because you taste so damn good.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
You whimpered pathetically since you could no longer form coherent sentences. Roman leaned over you, held onto the tip of your chin, and gave you a deep kiss. “You did so good for me, I know you got another one in you. Don’t you baby? He cooed and gave you another kiss. You weakly nodded at his question. “Use your words, sweetheart.” he commanded.
“I-I do..” your voice was so shaky and he fucking loved it. He didn't even say anything else after you replied, he just took his sweatpants off, revealing his erection that was already dripping with come.
He took a second to soak you in admiring your now naked body sprawled out on the couch. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” He whispered, stroking his dick a couple of times before lining himself up inching himself inside of you, when he hears your intoxicating moans, he wastes no time sliding all his length inside you with one smooth stroke. He pulled out and slammed back in, hitting your sensitive spot that caused your back to arch off the couch and your face to contort in a way full of burning pleasure.
“Oouu, yes daddy, oh my god..” you whined and dug your nails into his tattooed arm.
His breath hitched upon feeling your sharp nails, but he didn’t mind one bit. He continued to fuck you hard and deep, grunting softly with each stroke.
“I love you so much, love this tight fuckin’ pussy, these fucking titties..” he said gruffly, squeezing onto one of your now sensitive breasts, and his pace started to pick up—getting faster, and somehow deeper.
“I-I’m gonna come, daddy. Please let me come” you pleaded weakly. Roman looked at you with those dark, lustful eyes of his—drinking up your perfect body under his. He then leaned down and gave you a passionate kiss before putting his lips to your ear and encouraging you to come for him, to let him see and feel how much you love him. And that you did—you squeezed yoru eyes shut and your body jerked and shivered under his as you released all over yourself, roman and the couch. Roman came undone at the same time, still fucking you through your orgasm at the same time.
“There you go, my beautiful girl, look at all that love you gave me” he alluded to the mess you and him made on that couch. He wrapped you into his arms, and gave you small kisses all over your face.
You wrapped yourself around roman, not even caring that the movie had ended a long time ago. The two of you just laid on the couch for the rest of the night in a comfortable silence. So much for having a simple movie night.
A/N💕: Hello hello you filthy little freaks😩, I hope yall enjoyed this shit. this was another one of those fuck it just post it kind of fics. I tried to do somethings differently, like kind of explore and practice on my smut like writing or whatever, let me know how yall liked it or didn't like it im very open to CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.
I also came up with this shit while I was on the couch watching game of thrones, thought I should add that for some reason.
anyways, thanks for reading, please interact with this!! I love to see what you guys think.
🩸A/N: Might be a series depending on how this goes. The reader has Pacific island ties.
🩸 Credits: @thecutestgrotto for 18+ divider.
@pixopix for red animated divider.
@lobster-graphics for support writers dividers.
🩸Pairings:
°Solo Sikoa x Fem! Reader
°MFT x Fem! Reader
🩸Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Dirty Talk maybe, Sexual tension, Group Conflict, Betrayal, Threats. MFT is intimidating & obsessed. Minors DNI! You will be blocked.
🩸Summary: Being the manager of the MFT was great until that night happened, and now you were torn between 2 sides. So what's it going to be?
🩸Word Count: 2.2k
You walked into the MFT's locker room after what happened backstage, but you happened to only find Solo sitting on the bench with his face buried into his leather gloved hands. Nothing, but both of your breathing being heard.
You slowly strided towards him, and breathed for a moment before carefully placing your hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
"Solo" you said softly.
He slowly removed his hands away from his face and looked up at you, eyes clearly red. That loss really hurt him, but also the tension going on between him and his MFTS.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?"
He took a deep breath before nodding.
"I'm okay, I can't believe we lost those titles. They slacked off bad and then when I try to discipline them, fucking Tama got the nerve to say I'm starting to sound like Roman. I trusted my MFT but here they are slowly turning against me."
"I don't think anyone is turning against you. They're just as tired & upset as you are. I mean if you look from their viewpoint, the Wyatt Sicks did come in to distract us. Then you yelled at them."
Solo glared up at you.
"Who's side are you even on Y/N?"
"I'm not picking sides, I'm saying this as a manager. No manager likes seeing their faction argue. I'm just trying to make peace. Look, it's just a misunderstanding. Just cool down and think about it. I understand that you're frustrated too. Just take it easy. Once this all calms down, you and them can have a talk and apologize-"
He cuts you off.
"Who's apologizing? Me?! Or them? I ain't apologizing for shit! That's their fault, Y/N!" his voice rose as he looked up at you and his breathing getting heavier.
You jumped, flinching away from him.
After a minute, his facial expression softened, and his breathing getting lighter, realizing what he had just done and started to look down at the red rug.
You continued to observe him, you couldn't deny you loved Solo since day one. You just didn't want your personal life to cross your professional life and ruin the manager and leader relation you both had in the MFT. You still cared about him.
Your thoughts got cut off when he walked towards you, and to your surprise he pulled you into a warm embrace. Your head resting on his shoulder. This is the first time you both have gotten so close to each other.
"I'm so sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just so exhausted with everything, you know?" his voice now deeper which made you feel butterflies on the inside.
"Those titles meant a lot to us. Just as I thought we were at the top, it goes downhill. My MFTs are my family, my Empire. Yeah, I do feel bad. I don't want to lose them and I don't want to lose you too." he confessed, making your heart race.
You pulled away from him to look him in his eyes, you nodded.
"I understand, our faction means the world. We've always been there to help each other, protect each other, dine with each other and travel. You know how unique we are too? We all come from different islands in the Pacific, just coming together and forming a faction so strong means something. Togetherness, representing, belonging. Yes, we have our disagreements. But please, don't be too harsh on them, they're humans too and they did their best out there. Plus I don't want anything to happen to you too" you empathized.
"I know, I just need to think about it, but I'll apologize...okay? I gotta go." he said, walking past you.
"Solo" you called out, but he already left the room. Did he even catch the last part of what you said? That you didn't want anything to happen to him too? You hoped that he didn't think that you only cared about the MFT.
" I care about you" you sighed, rubbing your face.
"I don't know what to do Liv," you said.
You were video chatting with your best friend who was on RAW. You both joined the company at the same time and always remained close together on the same shows. You were a part of the Riott Squad and were all like sisters to each other. But unfortunately, a time came when Ruby and Sarah left the company which you respected. It was just you and Liv, and then the draft happened and you both had to go on different shows, you hated that. That's when Solo recruited you into the MFT.
"Did you talk to Solo?" she asked.
"Yeah, he said he's going to think about apologizing to them."
"Hmmm, and have you spoken to the MFT?"
"Not yet, I'm just so tired Liv. I'm so stressed with school, they aren't giving us a break from throwing assignments at us like I just want to graduate. Then on top of that tension at work, and now I'm caught up in the middle of this."
"I'm sure it's just a disagreement Y/N. Solo's just stressed out with the losses lately, and leading to the titles loss pushed him past his breaking point. I'm sure both sides need to cool off for a week, and things will get back to normal. I also think you should speak to the MFT if they're still in the building, and get their side of the story. If they say they'll cut Solo some slack, then you don't have to worry about it, and you can fully focus on school" advised Liv.
You nodded.
"And if they don't cut Solo some slack?"
"Then you can come over to RAW & join us," spoke a male voice.
You saw Dominik Mysterio moving into the frame next to Liv, making her smile from ear to ear.
"Hey Dom" you waved.
"Hey Y/N" he waved back.
"As much as I'd love to join, but you guys got Raquel and Roxanne. I think you got plenty of ladies on the team."
"Ah, but there's no such thing as too many chicas!" he grinned.
Liv did her signature laugh, looking at Dom.
"I'll see, thank you for the advice you two" you smiled.
You then heard a bunch of footsteps, making you look up from your phone screen. You saw the 4 members of the MFT standing in front of you. Your smile faded.
"Hey Livi, I got something to deal with I'll talk to you later."
"No problem sister, talk to you later. Bye!" she said blowing a kiss at you.
"See you Y/N!" said Dominik.
"Bye!" you waved.
You put your phone away, turning your attention towards the men.
"I was looking for you guys, glad you're still here" you said breaking the silence.
Tama was the first to speak.
"We were looking for you too, Y/N" he smirked.
"Yeah...listen, I'm sorry for what happened tonight. Seeing you guys lose the titles, and Solo yelling at you and JC, you didn't deserve that. I also apologize on Solo's behalf, I spoke to him and I stood up for you guys too. I guess it's been a few bad weeks, he's just frustrated. But, he said he'll apologize to you all. Every group fights right? I'm sure we'll work things out and get back together-"
"Y/N" interrupted Tama as he raised a hand in front of you.
You stopped talking.
He exchanged looks with his brothers and JC before looking back at you.
"We've made our decision."
Your heart started to pound against your chest and your hands got sweaty.
"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered.
"The 4 of us have decided that we will leave Solo, and form a faction of our own. We will turn on him, next week."
Those 2 sentences were like the sound of 2 loud gun shots going off in your ears. You froze hearing what Tama had revealed.
Your mouth hung open, and your eyes scanned everyone's face. Their expressions looking like they concurred with what Tama said.
"Come on guys, you know Solo hardly yells at you. Today was the first and only time he crashed out on you and JC, and he told me that he felt bad about it and will apologize. Please give him some time. We can't break up so soon and over one dispute" you pleaded.
"You don't get it Y/N, you saw what happened in The Bloodline with Roman. Once he started yelling at The Usos, he kept doing it again and again then he started abusing them physically and emotionally. That could happen with Solo too, I mean he was The Tribal Chief. And I as a big brother can't stand to see that happen to me, and my younger brothers" defended Tama.
JC furrowed his brows at Tama leaving him out.
"Hey, what about me? I'm on your side too!" he exclaimed.
"You too, bro. You're always a part of us" said Tama, fist bumping him.
"We're also tired of being in Solo's shadow, it's been almost 2 years since we've debuted & we want a name of our own now. We want Guerrillas of Destiny back" spoke up Loa.
"And I wanna kick ass every week instead of having another day off at the office!" said JC.
"JC, you kick ass almost every week anyway whether you have a match or not" you said.
"2 weeks ago I didn't" he said.
"None of y'all did" you shot back, silencing him.
You then looked up at Talla, who had his arms crossed and looking down at you in silence.
"Do you have something to say too? Or forever hold your peace" you asked him.
He didn't say anything and continued to look at you which you found intimidating.
"Okay, you're starting to creep me out."
"He doesn't talk" said JC.
Talla's eyes shifted down to JC, furrowing his brows at him.
"Yes, the fuck I do" his deep voice spoke up, playfully shoving him forward.
" I know you do Talla, I was just messing with you. Anyway Tama, is that all you wanted to tell me before I see a high school brawl start in front of me?" you asked him.
"No, I also request for you to join us" he said.
Your breath hitched.
"What?!"
"Come on Y/N, aren't you tired of being in Solo's shadow? And the disrespect? Join us and make a name of your own. You'll have so much fun with us than you will with Solo" said Tama.
"Nah, I'm good" you said bluntly, turning his offer down.
Everyone's expressions turned confused at your response.
"You didn't even think about it" said Tama.
"Listen, I never got disrespected and I defended and vouched for you guys against Solo and he said he'll apologize-"
"And that's why we want you! You stood up for us! And you can certainly do that for us in the future. We need to get our group together!" exclaimed Tama cutting you off again.
"The only thing that you need to get together is your head! You just don't want to make peace don't you? Wild, cause you used to be in the Air Force" you questioned to Tama.
Tama started walking towards you, the trio following behind him, surrounding you against the wall. Anxiety started to envelope you.
"Why are you guys getting in my personal space?" you asked.
Tama shushed you.
"You got 2 options Y/N. You know why we want you in our group? Cause we like you, we always did. But it was always Solo in the picture, and you giving him the attention. But now that we're breaking up, we want better for you and to have you to ourselves" he said running a finger gently down your arm, making you shiver.
"Have me to yourselves? What the fuck am I? Your monthly steak at the restaurant?"
You looked up at the trio behind him seeing JC smirking at you, Loa giving you his signature million dollar smile and Talla biting his lip at you. You got chills.
"So I suggest you think about this carefully, whether it's Solo or us" whispered Tama his warm breath hitting your ear.
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to compose yourself.
"And what if I-I still say no?" you asked.
Tama scoffed before looking back at the trio, and then turning his attention back to you.
"Then both Solo and you better watch your backs on Friday, cause when he's going down, you will too" gritted Tama, looking deeply into your eyes.
That instilled fear in you, but you tried not to show it.
"So think about it" he said quietly.
You nodded quickly.
He smirked, before leaning in and sniffing your neck. Making you flinch. He hummed in satisfaction.
"Prada? Cute. If you join us, we could get you all the luxury perfumes for all those nights you will spend with us" he chuckled darkly.
You were speechless.
"Let me get a whiff!" said JC as he stepped towards you.
"Get any closer, and I'll send you moonsaulting into the Olympics" you said sternly, pointing a finger at him.
He raised his arms up stepping back.
"Save it JC, I'll go to Sephora and get a Prada bottle for all of us to smell" said Tama, looking back at him.
"Why are you so obsessed with me?" you asked.
He turned his attention back to you, smirking before backing away. You were glued to the corner, refusing to move.
Tama turned his back on you to leave.
"Oh, by the way" he said turning around to give you one last look.
" If you tell anyone about our plan, your career is going to end before Solo's" he threatened before turning back around and walking away from you.
The rest followed along but not before giving you one last look. The last being Talla, looking you up and down.
"Keep the words to yourself, if you know what's good" he said before cracking a small smirk at you and following the group.
As soon as the MFT was out of sight. You let out a breath of relief. You quickly pulled out your phone ready to dial Liv, but then you remembered what Tama said. How could you forget so quickly?
You had a decision to make... Solo? Or The MFT. How were you going to tell Solo about the plan without them even knowing? You had to save him.
rhea’s eyes marvelled at the design you had procured for her
it was a grand, cyber-sygial inspired piece, a heart at its centre, that would reside underneath your belly button, branching out around the soft flesh of your lower abdomen, across your hips, finally resting at the axis of where your thighs meet your hips
It was an intricate design, filled with sharp symmetrical points
definitely something that was outside of rhea’s traditional style but one that she attempted nonetheless
after all, anything for her favourite client
“and you want this piece where, exactly?”
rhea questioned with a curious quip, a small cock of her eyebrow as she examined the piece further.
you lifted up your shirt, the fabric two sizes too big, bunched up in one hand, while the other pried down your shorts ever the slightest
teasing, just a glimpse of your panties visible to rhea’s gaze and she could not help but wish her hands were in place of yours in that moment
“i was thinking around here”, you pointed out the space where you envisioned the tattoo would be and explained in detail how you wanted it to go
to be fair, your body barely had and blank canvas left at this point
your skin inked with rhea’s work, your arms held the first memories.
it was your first tattoo, a timid soul you were, staring up at her with doe eyes as she marked you with her art permanently
it was a simple design, albeit overdone in rhea’s eyes.
birth flowers of your parents and older brother, done in a fineline style on the inside of your forearm
the design now faded, melded in between various other designs of hers
her favourtite was the piece across your throat, not so because of the design itself, a neo-traditional black and white death moth, but moreson because rhea had to hold your head still between her thighs on the more intricate details
the intimacy of it, the closeness she craved.
she almost wished that you’d crane your head back just the slightest so the tip of your nose would rub against her clit through her jeans
even now thinking back on it her cunt quivered and drooled with excitement.
“i can do that for you”, rhea remarked with a subtle smirk
“go sit while i draw up the stencil for you”
you beamed excitedly and offered a toothy grin in return as you made your way to the back room, a more private area reserved for more intimate piercings and tattoos
rhea made her way to the back room, stencil drawn up in hand.
her eyes rose from her hands to see you lying on your back, expectantly awaiting her arrival,
shorts disregarded, leaving you just in your panties
“all ready for me i see?” rhea teased, a flirtatious undertone in her voice
“always“ you remarked as you mimicked her tone, eyelids heavy with a sultry gaze.
rhea hummed in response, her eyes fluttered down to the black lace, thong that adorned your pristine skin
gods, how rhea just wanted to rip it off with her teeth and devour your heavenly cunt right then and there.
rhea lined up the stencil as she tried to get precisely the right angle before she adhered it to your skin.
“you, know what, you're gonna have to take ’em for me, sweetheart.”
she tried to play it off as casual, but on the inside she was dying to just get a glimpse of your cunt.
her means were not nefarious in truth, she did need you to remove them to place the stencil on.
“forward arent you? at least buy me dinner first”
the playful words leaving your lips as you slide your panties dow your thighs as you threw them to the same spot where your shorts lie.
“spread ‘em for me a bit”, she manouvoured your thighs slightly after sticking the stencil to your stink, to gain better knowledge of how it would look from different angles
she caught a glimpse of a pearlescant bud between your thighs
“what’s this?”, rhea cocked her head in faux suspicion.
she new it was a clit piercing, the metal shimmering against your slick folds
clit still slightly puffy and swollen, the piercing only being applied recently
“cheating on me now? naughty girl”
“surely you don’t mind, damian did it for me last week”
your words only roused dangerous thoughts in rhea’s mind
sure damian was like a brother to her, and the relationship between the two of you was strictly professional
rhea could not help but let the jealousy overcome her over the fact damian has seen your precious cunt
“oh, so you let a man see that pretty cunt but not me?”
rhea’s eyes stalked across your cunt, her tongue parted her lips, licking the bottom one as her mouth watered with arousal
“i’m offended, sweetheart”
she leaned in closer, her hand resting atop your thigh, lightly massaging the supple flesh, she adored how it would fill the gaps between her fingers as she pawed at your skin, so soft so pliant .
“you know i only got eyes for you”
your response was somewhere half between the truth and a joke
rhea has always been someone who caught your attention,
you’ve always been hesitant to explore your desires with woman despite your attraction to them
“i know, pretty thing.”
rhea’s lips ghosted yours
“but i still gotta punish you for letting a man touch you”
her fingers dip lower, tracing around your piercing, clit still sensitive against her touch
your soft whimpers flooded her senses, a wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins as her fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit
“i can fuck you better than a man ever could, you know that, sweetheart?”
you whimpered out a small “yes”in response, already completely enamored with the way she was making you feel
small jolts of pleasure rushed up your thighs with each subtle stroke of her fingertips
“men dont know how to touch please pretty girls like you”
her tongue lopped out past her lips, licking and sucking small shapes into your jawline and neck
“when was the last time a man even made you cum, huh?”
it took you a while to think, her worlds spiralling in your mind.
upon your recollection, you came to notice that not a single one of your male partners ever had the decency of allowing you to orgasm
you’d come close but it would never reach its peak, it would always end with them leaving and you having to finish the job beneath the sheets, fingers buried deep in your cunt and a vibe against your clit
yet with rhea, even with her fingers languidly stroking your aching clit, you’d never felt more pleasure in your life.
“can’t think of any, huh?”
a smirk crossed rhea’s lips as she gazed upon your bewildered expression, a cocky chuckle leaving her throat
“don’t worry, pretty girl. i’ll make it happen”
her lips attacked yours in a flurry of feverish kisses. A mixture of lips, teeth and tongue colliding together in heated passion
her fingers dipped between your folds, gatherling your slick on the pads of her index and middle fingers, feeling you out to see just how deep you could take her.
“so wet for me”
her words buzzed against your lips, an ecstatic moan ripping through your throat as she inched her fingers deeper inside you
your gummy walls clenching around her inked digits, squeezing and pulling her in, welcoming the force that she brought along with it.
“shh not so loud” she scolded, biting your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough fo you to heed her warning.
her free hand fell to your breast, palming the mounds of fat and flesh in between her slender fingers, feeling the swell of your nipples graze against the fabric,
“take this off” she groaned, the hand once on your breasts not tugging up your shirt.
her wording more or less a reminder to herself than direct intrusion.
your breasts not exposed, the swell them freely bouncing against the force of her fingers, shee leered down at them, her gaze predatory as she examined the small bars that pierced both your nipples
“these have healed nicely havent they?”
she licked a stripe against your nipple, her tongue twirling around the pebbled bud, a deep moan reverberated through her throat
leaving your skin, bursting and bubbling with arousal
“mhm…”
the sound left your lips in a mere hum of response, barely able to open your eyes to gaze upon her as she worked you over
her fingernails, coffin in their shape, painted black with an iridescent shimmer each time the studio lights would reflect at certain angles
the sight itself vampiric in nature, her especially, hovering over you like a succubus ready to claim what is hers
her fingers tugged and toyed with the bar, twisting it.
the sensation riveting, like volts of pleasure directly to where she touched
and combined with the feeling of the metal, so delicately pierced through the sensitive skin
it was nothing short of extraordinary
“good girl” rhea mused, her words muddled within a mixture of tongue, flesh and lips
sucking and biting your skin
spit dribbling from her lips, across your nipple and down the underside of your breast
all the while her right hand filled and fucked you cunt much like a cock would
not that a cock could ever compare to rhea’s fingers
“gonna give mommy a taste hmm?”
her words like honey, so sickly sweet on the tip of your tongue
you nodded, bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth a desperate and futile attempt to stifle your moans
you felt empty within seconds, your void now free of her fingers
staring up at her through half-lidded eyes, already so worn and fucked out despite the silent denial of your orgasm
her fingers made contact with her lips, grool and spit dripped from them, her tongue working around the digits just how she did your nipple mere moments ago
parting them with her tongue, licking slowly upwards, until her fingers were clean, only how you wished she’d taste your cunt
your taste lingered in her tongue, a mixture of tangy and sweet. perfection.
you could not help but admire how she towered over you, so dominant despite doing nothing of that nature in the mere seconds between actions
she kneeled before you, palms smoothing across your inner thighs, the tip of her nose grazing against your clit
she smiled into you, her breath fanning against your cunt
your thighs shook with wondrous tremors at the feeling
your back arching slightly, a small whimper catching in your throat
“easy pretty thing. relax for me”
she kissed your inner thighs letting her tongue lay flat against your cunt
allowing your taste to mingle with her tastebuds
“fuck..mmm” your thighs almost instinctively clenched around her head as her tongue danced around your clit
your skin heated, burning like furry embers as a blush crept upon your cheeks
almost embarrassed to look her in the eye as you let her tongue explore every crevice of your sweet void
she smirked against your folds
hands placed on your inner thighs, pushing them down to reveal her gaze to you once more
“dont get shy on me now, sweetheart”
she littered kisses against your clit, tongue swirling around the piercing
“wanna see you fall apart, cum all over my tongue…”
she dove into you, biting, licking, sucking, kissing any part of your juicy pussy her mouth made contact with
your taste euphoric on her tongue, ascending her beyond this mortal realm
“wanna see how good i make you feel…”
your hand weaved into the died tendrils of your hair, the black, choppy strands being tugged and pulls by the roots as she continued to consume your sweetness
“oh fuck…that’s it sweetheart, pull it harder, mommy likes that”
the sound of slick and spit accompanied her ravenous words, each syllable, each breath drawing your orgasm closer and closer
“m-mommy” you whimpered, the honorific so foreign on your tongue is almost sounded like a question
she only responded with a simple hum, far too preoccupied for ilde small talk.
your taste was too sweet to ignore
her lipstick smeared, streaks of burgundy stained your under thighs, skin to blood as it the pigment mixed with your slick
not that you minded
“gonna cum? hmm?” her voice like liquid velvet, lowered an october to display her dominance
“i can feel how close you are..mmm…you’re clenching around my tongue baby.”
you gave a meek nod, tightening your grip on her scalp
your breath shudder, release nearing, a moan ripped through your throat, so load that you immediately had to clasp a hand one your mouth
forgetting momentarily that you were still in her place of work
a sight that made rhea chuckle.
“god you taste so fucking good”
she kissed around your folds before returning to your clit
“want be to put my fingers back in, sweetheart? make you feel nice and full again while you cum? you’d like that hmm?”
“mhm…please” your chiseled out through a broken moan, feeling two of her finger slip past your folds, pumping into your at a ravenous pace
“oh fuck mmm…mommy that feels so good-“
her fingers curled up into you, tracing imaginary shapes into your cunt.
“c’mon baby, cum for me.”
she could feel your walls tighten around her
sweetness gushing around her fingers, clit sparking against your tongue, the piercing only heightened the sensation
“that’s it baby, taste so fucking sweet for me”
she pried her self away, allowing your a moment of respite as she gingerly stroked your thighs
“my pretty girl, you made such a mess”
she placed a kiss to you cunt, once which made you involuntarily shudder
“how’s about we get you clean up and finish that tattoo of yours huh?”
(f!reader, fluff, language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, smuttish, i've lost my touch i fear)
⏾ you didn't really care for hunter when he first joined the wwf. you didn’t exactly know who he was, you just saw him around backstage. he wasn’t exactly memorable to you, he had the basic wrestler look. 6’3, blond, muscular. not much to think about.
⏾ hunter, on the other hand, had his eyes on the prize way before signing with wwf. you had been established in the company as women’s champion at the time, the company heavily relied on you as their top female draw. you were great, the fans loved you, and your merch sold.
⏾ after he was signed, he’d just admire you from afar, you were so effortlessly cool. you've always been his wrestling crush. you were beyond talented, bombshell of a beauty, so, so sweet, and well liked by everyone. of course everyone liked you, look at you. the things he would’ve done to even be near you.
⏾ hunter began hanging out with shawn (who had essentially recruited him for the kliq) almost immediately. you and shawn were really good friends at the time, as vince had put the tag team belts on you and shawn as a joke. shawn could immediately tell that hunter had a thing for you, the way he could barely pull a proper "hello" when you're around immediately gave it away. hunter's eyes would be glued to your face, and up and down your body, he'd immediately smile and look away, slightly blushing when you'd even glance at him.
"dude, what's all that about?"
"don't. don't even, I just-.. she's.. wow."
"do you want me to introduce you-"
"yes, please."
⏾ you were somehow, magically, (backstage politically, shawn michaels sends his regards) dragged into a romance angle with hunter. he was the new signing, and the company wanted to give him a little push. so, now you two were forced to be around each other a lot. you dropped the tag belts soon there after, but kept the women's championship.
⏾ he had kept his french aristocrat gimmick from wcw, but instead of Jean Paul Levesque, he was now Hunter Hearst Helmsley. you were his ‘wife’, y/n y/l/n-helmsley, you escorted him into the ring, interfered in his matches, and cut promos with him. you spent a lot of time on and off the road with him, it's not like either of you had a choice.
⏾ you two slowly became friends, though the dynamic was a bit weird at first since he seemed to be a big fan of you. he kept up some of his 'aristocratic' behaviours, he was trying so hard to win you over. he'd hold doors open for you, always keep as seat open for you, push chairs in and out for you, carry your stuff whether it's a bag or a championship belt.
⏾ and warm up to him, you did. you thought he was really sweet, even though he'd give you 'funny eyes' when you worked out together. hunter was always complimenting you, your matches, your gear, your looks, anything. if he could find a way into your heart, he sure was going to sweet-talk his way there.
"your match was so good earlier, I watched the whole thing."
"yeah, I know. I saw you at the commentary table, burning holes into my body."
"how could I not? you're so talented, and you looked so damn gorgeous."
⏾ a friendship was beginning to blossom between you two, he was actually genuinely so lovely. it was nice for once to not be the only one sober when the rest of the kliq were either drunk or stoned off their mind. you two became the friend groups 'parents', and were often left alone when shawn, kev, scott and sean were passed out.
⏾ you could talk to him for hours about the most random things ever, whether it was wrestling, music, life, ways to get the idiots on the floor to sober up, it was just so easy to talk to him. you two had a whole lotta chemistry in real life, and it translated into the ring.
⏾ having you almost as a 'mentor' to his french gentleman character was constantly messing with his brain. it was like the really hot, popular girl tutoring the new guy in class.
⏾ you were trying to hard to teach him how to cut a babyface promo, but he just couldn't do it the way you wanted him to. he was just a natural heel. you ended up convincing vince to turn you both heel, as it would've been better for him. but, as you turned heel, vince wanted you two to turn up the sexual element of your on screen relationship.
⏾ you were now all over each other at all times, you were wearing shorter dresses, unbuttoning his white shirt before matches for him, he was constantly groping you and kissing your neck, just touchy.
⏾ you two immediately became significantly closer. the tension from your fake relationship spilling into your friendship. it was obvious, something was happening here.
⏾ you two were now hanging out without shawn, or the chaos of the kliq, just one on one. you work out together in hotel gyms, go on coffee runs because the coffee in the arena sucks, eat together in catering way before or after lunch breaks so you can be with each other in peace. sometimes, you'd just sit together just to be in each other's presence.
⏾ you and hunter were entering the mutual crush phase, and it was so beyond obvious to everyone around you.
⏾ shawn was your biggest fan, no one wanted you two to get together more than he did. he was always teasing you two, making loud kissing noises when you and hunter were doing literally anything, 'your girlfriend' to hunter's face when you were right there. shawn would even purposefully create situations where you and hunter had to be basically breathing each other's air. whether it's him taking up more space in cars so you'd be forced to sit on hunter's lap, or talking one of the boys who didn’t need much convincing into locking you two in a a tiny closet.
⏾ then degeneration-x formed, you two couldn't escape each other now.
⏾ shawn lobbied hard for you and hunter to be in the faction, and it was immediate perfection. it became a public secret that you and hunter had something going on, everyone backstage was so aware of it, and the fans began seeing it during shows. it was obvious it wasn't just the 'y/n and hunter are married' thing, even commentary would make jokes about it.
⏾ it went from casual friends, to close friends, to no one really knows what's going in with you two. now became stolen glances, hidden touches, whispered words, longing looks, painful yearning. hunter was always hugging you, his arms were always around your shoulders or you waist, hand glued to your hip, heart eyes.
⏾ you two were almost always cuddled up, hunter didn't care if people talked, he was obsessed with you. he wanted to always be near you, to be the one who made you laugh, to be the one who made you feel safe and love. he would even kiss your head and cheeks, he didn't care who saw. the relentless teasing was worth it, all the jokes and the stares. it was all worth those couple minutes of intimacy.
⏾ but he wanted more, both of you did.
⏾ it all boiled up to a moment when are four of you were on the road. shawn had stopped the car, and him and chyna went into a convenient store to buy some snacks and drinks. you and hunter were sitting in the back seat when he turned to you, and asked;
"why aren't i your boyfriend?"
"you haven't asked me-"
"can you please be my girlfriend? like please?"
"yeah, i would love that."
⏾ by the time shawn and chyna came back, you two were busy making out, not paying attention to anything but each other. shawn loudly knocked on the window, "happy for you, idiots, but not in my car." he said, chyna laughing in the background.
⏾ hunter is so obsessed with you.
⏾ hunter is also such a jealous boyfriend. it took him so long to finally have you all to himself, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you get away from him. he fucking hated the way some wrestlers backstage looked at you, sometimes even the fans at ringside pissed him off. you were his, and his alone.
⏾ he would possessively show you off. if someone in particular was annoying him, he'd pull you as close as possible to him, sometimes on his lap if he could. he'd hold and kiss you while holding eye contact with that person. he didn't give a fuck, you were his.
⏾ he'd also refuse to let you out of his sight. if you had a match, or a promo, he's there watching, the furthest he could be was gorilla. if you had to change, he was in your locker room. he was always there, but he had limits, of course. if you wanted to be left alone, he respected your boundaries.
⏾ he was so protective of you, so, so protective. he hates seeing you upset, or bothered. he would do anything to make his girl happy. he didn't care if he had to spend his entire cheque spoiling you, hunter would go to hell back to see you smile.
"is that a diamond fucking ring?"
"anything for my baby."
⏾ loves, loves, loves when you ask him to give you head. that man is a munch, i don't care what anyone thinks. especially as he gets older, baby, that alone gets him off.
⏾ absolutely adores seeing you in his clothes, specifically in his leather jackets.
⏾ super touchy. whether it's a hand around your waist, around your shoulders, finger hooked on a belt loop on your pants. hunter always needs contact, especially when emotions are high. you're the only person who he could feel genuinely and wholly vulnerable with.
⏾ huge on cheek and forehead kisses
⏾ genuinely, has a sexual thing for you sitting his lap. has something to do with him being so much bigger than you.
⏾ massive daddy kink, even worse sir kink.
⏾ also has thing for seeing you in his merch, or anything with his name on it.
⏾ literally gets so annoyed and straight up upset when you have to do anything. he wants you to just sit back and relax, he wants to take care of you all the time. hates seeing you up on your feet doing something he could do for you. he gets borderline embarrassed.
“where are you going?”
“to get.. water..?”
“water? mhm, what else do you want?”
“uhm.. a sandwich…?”
“seat your ass the fuck down, then.”
⏾ you’re so beyond spoiled in this relationship. want a sandwich? he’ll start with making his own bread from scratch. need a change of clothes? here’s his comfiest hoodie, while he does your laundry. want to paint your nails? gel, or regular polish? you want a diamond ring? do you want that lab grown or naturally mined?
⏾ when he began growing his beard, he became absolutely in love with you trimming and cleaning it up for him. he closeness, having you on his lap, the bathroom smells like aftershave and your perfume, your clothes are slightly damp and he can’t get that silly smile of his face for you to actually work.
⏾ you’re his bestest friend :(
⏾ constantly reminds you that he loves you, mostly because he’s loves hearing you telling him you love him back.
⏾ gets the most raging boners when you tug on his hair. like, this man is borderline whimpering when your fingers barely graze his scalp.
⏾ the second you’re on your knees for him, he loses his mind. it’s like he can’t breathe anymore.
⏾ LIVES between your thighs. his eyes barely open, licking and sucking, he’s humping the bed beneath him. it’s gets him off so much. (i’m obsessed w this can u tell)
⏾ sit on his face, smother him. his nose takes care of your clit. (iykyk)
⏾ “angel” and “baby” are his favourite nicknames for you.
⏾ one of his favourite things to do was to rub the fact that you’re his in the faces of your fanboys. he lived for it, it gave him an excuse to be all over you on national television. the explicitness of dx also added to him being just inappropriate on live television.
“see this? see all of this? *actively groping you*, i get to have this gorgeous, sexy woman all to myself *more groping ofc*. and you pathetic scums can’t have her, you can just watch. *groping intensifies*”
“suck it? i mean, as long as it’s this pretty little thing”
⏾ (stupidly) flirts with you like his life depends on it
*Hi, it's me again. Back with my Penta bullshit. I appreciate y'all playing along with me while I hyper fixate lol. One day I'll get back to my regularly scheduled writing but until then... I hope you enjoy this one!*
You can read more Penta stories here: Master List
_________
The crowd pressed in on all sides, Allora stood in the margin, stripes crisp, arms folded in a manner calculated to suggest she didn’t care whether the house burned down around her. She let the noise wash over, gritted her jaw. Breathed. She bit down on the impulse to smooth the loose strand of hair that always wriggled free at her temple. Professional. Centered. Here for one reason.
The bell rang, sharp, and the energy hitched up another notch.
Penta was already at the ropes, making a production of rolling his shoulders, flexing the tattooed geometry of his arms. His mask was blue and black tonight. He did that thing with his jaw, the twitch that preceded every escalation, and Allora realized with a flick of annoyance that she’d been watching for it. She’d seen him last week in Amarillo, this week in Denver, she’d even seen him in catering, hunched over a paper plate of food with his mask pushed up like some medieval crown. She should have been immune. She was not.
His stare cut the ring in half, carved a line that landed dead on her. She squared her stance.
“Watch me work, princesa,” he called, not bothering to drop his voice. Allora snorted, soft but sufficient. “I’m not here for you.”
He grinned beneath the teeth painted over his mouth, the heat of the moment transforming the sneer into something nearly feral. “Everyone’s here for me.”
She stalked to center, ignoring the cameraman squatting at her three o’clock, the dull ache beginning in her calves. Her mouth was dry, which was stupid, she’d done this hundreds of times, half-asleep, hungover, once with a broken wrist that no one knew about. Penta had a way of making the familiar strange, of refracting the event through himself until the whole building felt like an appendage of his ego.
Allora hated that she understood it.
She barked instructions at the men, keep it clean, break on her count, the same preamble she said every week and refused to let her gaze stray toward Penta again. The other guy tonight was a newbie they’d thrown to the wolves, so to speak. He nodded, all earnest tension, and Allora gave him a fractional smile in return. Penta rolled his neck in contempt.
They circled. Allora tracked them in tight steps, always just out of the periphery. The first lockup was textbook, but Penta, true to form, wrenched it into something ugly, an elbow jammed under the rookie’s chin, the casual torque of his wrist skirting just this side of legal. Allora dropped to her haunches, snapped a warning: “Watch the grip.” Penta didn’t even look at her, just growled, “Ay, relax,” and bullied the kid into the ropes.
They broke, and Allora, already irritable, flicked her fingers at Penta’s shoulder as a gentle rebuke. He let the contact linger, rolled the muscle beneath her touch in a slow, knowing way. Her own skin went cold, then hotter. She snatched her hand back.
The match proceeded in surges, flashes of technical competence interrupted by spasms of aggression. Penta played to the crowd, of course, every gesture a challenge to decorum, while the rookie tried valiantly to remember his moves and not get beheaded. Allora’s job was to keep the show moving, bleed off the excess, and if she caught herself anticipating Penta’s moves with an accuracy that bordered on intimacy, she kept it to herself
They tumbled, rebounded, locked and reversed, the ring a crucible for their egos. Penta threw an illegal forearm and Allora, this time, didn’t warn, she bodily interposed herself, palm planted against his chest, pushing him off. She could feel the heat radiate through the thin fabric, could smell the faint ghost of whatever cologne he’d drowned himself in. She’d meant to say something, give him a penalty, assert her dominion but what came out instead was, “I said, keep it clean.”
He tilted his head, slow. “Or what?”
“Or I make you.”
The rookie, stunned by his own survival, blinked in the corner, half-forgotten. Penta leaned in, voice pitched low so only she could hear, “You want to try?”
She let the moment hang, then, “Keep talking and see how fast I shut you up.”
He blinked just once then gave her the smallest of nods, as if acknowledging the gambit. He backed off, hands in the air in surrender, swagger momentarily dialed down. The crowd, oblivious to the nuance, chanted his name.
The match resumed, but the dynamic had shifted. Penta moved with a new caution, testing boundaries, while Allora tracked every gesture, every flick of the eyes, every calculated hesitation. When the rookie pulled off a miracle reversal and sent Penta sprawling, Allora felt a surge of vicarious pride, tempered instantly by the sight of Penta’s face as he rose. The smile was gone, replaced by something flat, analytical. He was recalibrating.
They went three more rounds, sweat pooling on the canvas, before Penta finally pinned the kid. Allora hit the mat, counted fast, and called it, slapping the canvas with finality.
The bell. The roar.
As the victor peeled himself up, Allora expected the usual gloat, the signature celebration. Instead, Penta stalked over, looming close. For a second she thought he might say something, maybe even thank her, but instead he lifted her hand in his, squeezed hard enough to bruise, if she let him. The contact was intimate, almost tender, and when he let go, the tips of his fingers lingered a split-second longer than strictly necessary.
She glared up, refusing to blink.
He gave her that half-smile again, this time with something like respect. “You got it right this time, ref.”
She wanted to say something scathing, something that would puncture the moment and restore her equilibrium, but nothing came. Instead she held his gaze, chin lifted, daring him to make a scene. He didn’t. He just turned, raised his arms to the crowd, basked in their adulation like it was sunlight.
Allora exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders in a single wave. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the errant strand back into place. She could still feel the imprint of his grip, the phantom heat where their skin had touched.
The crowd was already shifting its attention, greedy for the next spectacle, but Allora lingered. She watched Penta from the edge, cataloging every tick and tremor, every concealed glance he cast back at her.
She felt the thump of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears, and she shifted her weight as fatigue began creeping into her limbs as she exited the ring. It was always like this, a gradual build towards exhaustion, but she refused to let it show. The match had barely scratched the surface of what the night would hold. This was merely the prelude to something bigger, a drama that was bound to unfurl as the night wore on.
The parking lot was dim under the flickering lights, and Allora leaned against the side of a light pole, arms folded tightly over her chest, spine pressed into the cool metal. The night air was still thick with the remnants of adrenaline, the pulse of the crowd still resonating in her bones, but now it was just her and the shadows that stretched across the asphalt. She glanced at her phone again, biting down on her impatience, the Uber app blinking its frustrating countdown.
“Waiting for my autograph?” That voice caught her off guard, drawing her attention.
Allora’s heart quickened as Penta emerged from the building, wearing fresh clothes, the mask pushed back on his head. The glow from the lot illuminated the contours of his face. He stepped closer, a predator lured by the scent of something intriguing.
“Hardly,” she replied, irked by the way it sounded so rehearsed, like he said the same lame ass line to everyone who waited outside arenas, desperate for a scrap of his attention. She straightened, keeping him in her periphery.
He was less a mask now, more a person, mussed hair and tired eyes, the sloped nose broken some number of times before. A crisp white t-shirt with the ghostly shadow of his tattoos beneath; black jeans, ripped at the knee.
She kept it neutral. “I’m not a child. Or a ring rat.”
“Cuenta tu chiste,” (tell your joke) he said, the Spanish tumbling easy and fast. “I’m listening.”
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move away as he closed the gap, hands jammed deep in his pockets. The overhead bulbs blinked an uneven rhythm along his cheekbones.
“Oh, did you want my autograph?” She teased.
He clicked his tongue. “Is it worth getting?”
A passing car sent a wash of white light across them, and Allora watched the momentary uncertainty cross his face. A small storm passed through her. She could turn and leave, ignore this small intrusion, pretend she didn’t care about the weird gravity between them but something made her stay rooted and, instead, flicked the top of her water bottle with her thumb. It broke the tension with a hollow snap.
Penta rocked forward onto his toes. “You don’t like to talk?”
“I’ve got an early flight.” She took a slow pull from her water. “And you’re not half as interesting out here, trust me.”
He tilted his head, measuring. “You want an apology for earlier?”
Allora huffed. “I want you to save the theatrics.”
He shrugged, a gesture that looked less like capitulation and more like he was rolling off a burden. “Sometimes the ref needs to be reminded who owns the ring.”
Allora felt the heat rise along her jaw before she could clamp it down, the blush crawling up her throat and pooling somewhere beneath her cheekbones. She’d spent years learning how to keep her cool, how to deflect with a look or a joke, but Penta’s words, the smooth lack of effort in them, always found a way to cut beneath her guard.
“Certainly not you,” she fired back, sharper than she meant.
He didn’t flinch. If anything, the insult seemed to amuse him. He let the silence hang, twirling the mask in his fingers now, then he gave her a look that was half appraisal, half challenge. “You sure about that?” he said, voice pitched just shy of gentle mockery. The smirk at the corner of his mouth was dialed down, but it didn’t blunt the intensity in his eyes. “You think they come to see you, princesa?”
Allora barked out a laugh, abrupt and unsparing. “Oh, you got jokes.” She refused to let him see how much the nickname stung, the way it branded her as less than, despite everything.
He nodded, solemn as a priest, then arched one brow in a practiced gesture. “I’m a funny man. The people expect it. You, though?” He leaned in, closing the distance just enough for her to catch the faint trace of sweat and cologne, the mix oddly intoxicating. “You don’t even try, do you?”
She snorted. “Maybe I don’t feel like playing for the camera twenty-four-seven. Some of us have dignity.”
He spread his hands, made a show of it. “That's for losers. You win, you get the right to be ridiculous.”
“Is that what you call it?”
He shrugged. “I call it survival. You know how many people in there even remember who reffed the match tonight?” His gaze flicked upward, as if searching for something on the roof of the nearest parked car. “Zero, probably.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you think they’ll remember you forever? You’re not that special, Penta.”
He braced an arm against the light post, trapping her between the cold metal and the long shadow his body cast. “I’m special enough for right now.”
If she wanted, she could have ducked away. Instead, she stayed, stubborn and unblinking. The longer the standoff lasted, the more she could feel the thrum of something electric beneath the surface, annoyance, maybe, or desire, or the line where they blurred together.
She let out a breath, tried for a dismissive scoff but it came out as something softer. “You’re like a bad penny. Can’t get rid of you.”
He grinned, the old swagger back in force. “You keep flipping me, though. Maybe you just like the game.”
Allora opened her mouth for a retort, found nothing, and settled for a glare. It was enough to make Penta straighten, just a little.
He stepped back, gave her the space she hadn’t asked for. “You know, princesa, you’re welcome to come out with us. The crew’s hitting up El Búho. You ever been?”
She shook her head. “Not my scene.”
“Could be.” He tilted his head, watching her for a long moment. “Could surprise yourself.”
She doubted it, but the invitation lingered, sticky and persistent. She looked down at her phone, at the Uber ETA that now read nine minutes, then back at him. “If you’re trying to impress me, you’re doing a shit job.”
He laughed, genuine this time, the sound low and rough. “No need to impress. You already noticed, didn’t you?”
She felt the flush again, spread wider, but she refused to let the silence do the talking. “You think you’re so fuckin’ special, don’t you,” she shot back, and this time her smile was the real thing, crooked and unguarded, as if they’d both finally admitted the terms of engagement. Penta made a little flourish with his fingers, clowning, but there was an undercurrent there if you knew where to look. She did. A twitch of the lips, a sidelong glance at her water bottle, the familiar way he weighed the space between them, little tells. She could call him out on it, but just as easily could let him keep pretending this was all a joke.
She let the seconds drag. He looked restless, but not in that dangerous way, just kinetic, like a dog straining at leash. If she closed her eyes, she could convince herself she didn’t notice the way the air shifted when he moved.
She popped the cap off her water again, took a long, slow drink, then bared her teeth in a too-bright smile. “You’re gonna be late to your own afterparty. Go on, get,” she said, shooing him away.
He grinned wider, wolfish, and stepped back, giving a little two-finger salute. “Maybe see you there. Or not.”
“Not,” she said, without conviction.
He walked backwards, keeping her in sight for a few steps. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up again. But when the car finally rolled up and the driver glared at her over a trash-filled dashboard. “Where to?” he asked in a voice that sounded like he was chewing tin foil for fun.
She gave the hotel name. The car pulled away from the curb, tires hissing on the broken blacktop.
-----
Allora showered and collapsed onto the bed, arms splayed overhead. Somewhere outside, a distant motorcycle ripped through the silence and her phone buzzed against her thigh.
Unknown number.
The message was waiting on the lock screen, a bland little bubble that might have been from any of the dozens of numbers she’d picked up over the years, colleagues, promoters, ex-lovers, people with too much time and not enough boundaries, but this one had the stink of recent history on it.
You handled Penta good tonight. 😉
Eyebrows raised, she thumbed it open and weighed the odds. A fan? Someone trolling her? But she knew better, she could almost hear Penta’s voice in the phrasing, the lazy confidence, referring to himself in third person… but she refused to give him the satisfaction of being right.
She typed a curt, Who is this? and sent it, then tossed the phone onto her chest and stared at the stucco ceiling like it might reveal a pattern worth following. The reply was instant, smug: u know
Of course she fucking knew. Allora let the phone rest there, pressing into her ribcage, as she debated letting him stew in his own self-importance. She should block him. Delete the thread. Instead she found herself typing, You’re an ass. The words hung there, insufficient and childish. She pressed send anyway.
The typing dots flickered to life, then: u luv it princesa
Allora hurled the phone across the bed and flopped onto her side. The comforter snagged her elbows. She closed her eyes and counted the pulses in her throat. She couldn’t tell if she was pissed, flattered, or both.
The phone rattled once in her hand, tacked on a second buzz for emphasis. Another message, barely a minute after the last.
What r u wearing? 🥵
It was so perfectly him, no lead-in, no explanation, just the laser focus on getting a rise. She set the phone on the pillow, glared at it, then shut her eyes. In the vague fizz of exhaustion, her brain replayed the sequence in the parking lot, over and over, each time with a new retort she could have landed. She hated that he took up this much bandwidth. She hated that she had let the banter escalate, hated the bit of her that wished she’d called his bluff.
A chastity belt.
She let the words stand, a twisted little amuse-bouche she could drop into his lap and walk away from. Penta’s response came back almost instantly, as if he’d been lying in wait for a counterpunch: Que?
It was gratifying, the way she could still catch him flat-footed. She could imagine the exact shape of his frown as he tried to puzzle it out, the childish impatience that always gripped him when he sensed a joke just out of reach. For a few seconds she said nothing, savoring the image of his hands hovering over the keypad, probably flexing his jaw in annoyance.
Then another message, even more desperate: is this a kinky thing?
Allora grinned at the ceiling, feeling the fatigue melt off her shoulders. Some days, she wondered if he’d ever met a woman who could talk circles around him; most days, she suspected he’d just been waiting for someone to try. She thumbed out a reply, taking her time.
Google it.
The line landed with the finality of a dropped gavel, and she didn’t even need to watch the typing dots to know he’d be searching, the gears in his head spinning furiously right up until the punchline hit.
Princesa, I have a key for this belt. 🗝
The audacity. Allora propped herself up on the pillows and eyed the phone. She could almost feel Penta’s grin radiating through the screen, two time zones wide and twice as shameless. She let her fingers hover over the keyboard, willing herself not to give him more fuel, but fury and entertainment were a potent blend. She could practically see his stupid face as he typed, expecting her to fold.
You wish! she shot back.
The dots blinked, then froze. She pictured him in some shitty afterparty bar, surrounded by fans and swooning women who thought they stood a chance with him, but with his full attention pinned to the way she moved inside his head. The image was almost enough to make her smile.
No, that is your wish.
He couldn’t help himself. Every line from him was a test, a challenge to see if she’d flinch or double-down. Allora refused to let him set the tempo. She took her time with the next reply, building it carefully, each word a little landmine:
You don’t even have the right tools.
This time the response lagged. She pictured him reading it, parsing it, trying to figure out if it was a tease or a threat or both.
I have many tools. For professional use only.
She barked a laugh, then dialed it back, conscious of the thin hotel walls. God, he was relentless. She almost admired it. Almost.
You couldn’t open a can of beans. she wrote. But if you want to embarrass yourself…
The dots paused. When his reply finally landed, it was longer, and somehow almost earnest:
Maybe is good to embarrass yourself sometimes. Maybe that is strength, no? You should try.
Allora stared at the message, something in her chest going weirdly sideways. She thumbed a quick, lighter reply to cover the crack: Save the therapy for the ring. And try not to choke on your next promo.
Maybe you show me how to choke. 🍆
She groaned. But there was no denying it, he got her, even if she hated admitting it. For a while she let the silence stretch, picturing the way he’d be drumming his fingers, waiting for her to slip. She wouldn’t. Not tonight. She turned the phone over, screen down, and let herself drift for a minute in the quiet, but the buzzing started up again.
don’t fall asleep or you’ll miss me. come party.
U scared?
come out or you have to listen to the stories they say about you
Allora snuffed a disbelieving huff. She could picture the table of wrestlers, half of them nursing injuries, drunk, the proud congregation of beautiful, sad boys who only functioned as a collective. She’d spent years learning how to bounce off the perimeter long enough to not matter, never quite fitting in or out. She wasn’t scared. She just didn’t want to see what kind of mess she’d make of herself off the clock.
But she ordered the car anyway, and when it came, gave the address. El Búho used to be a auto shop, she’d heard, now all concrete floors and high ceilings and echo. The bouncer checked her ID with a tedium that implied he already knew she was coming, then waved her past like a traffic cone.
The wrestlers stuck out, not because they were huge, mostly they were just broader and less comfortable in their clothing, as if muscles pressed too eager against polyester. Penta was easy to spot. Mask on, spun sideways over a new crowd, he held court with two other guys from the card, a couple of hangers-on, a brunette in a leopard coat and a blonde who wore a mini dress, who kept trying to slide into his orbit. He met her eyes right away and raised his glass.
Showman.
She made a beeline for the end of the bar, half out of stubbornness, half because she was thirsty and didn’t plan on spending the evening wedged among fame-drunk idiots. The bartender didn’t even bother with a menu, just slid over a bottle and a single-serve tequila, as if he’d been briefed on her arrival by central command. Allora wrapped her fingers around the glass rim, rolled it between her palms, then steeled herself and shot it.
From the corner of her eye, she tracked Penta’s progress as he maneuvered through his admirers. He had crowd control down to a science, a few words for the eager autograph seeker, a little flash of teeth for every selfie, a promise whispered to the brunette that made her bite her lip and collapse into the stage-whispered giggle. Allora could map the next five minutes with her eyes closed. It would have repulsed her if it hadn’t been so expertly performed.
By the time she reached the table, the blonde with the mini dress was already trying to sit in Penta’s lap. Penta palmed the offending thigh and somehow without missing a beat in conversation or even a sip of his beer, redirected the blonde onto the adjacent chair.
As she closed in on the cluster of chairs, Penta caught sight of her and, seizing the moment, sent up his hands in mock benediction. “Mi princesa is here!” he announced, voice ricocheting around the cinderblock walls like a thrown bottle. Every head at the table swiveled as if on cue, the blonde’s expression going instantly wary, the leopard-coat woman offering Allora a once-over with the cool efficiency of a TSA agent. Even the two wrestlers flanking Penta; his brother Rey Fenix and the new rookie he’d beaten earlier in the evening, paused their small talk to see what the fuss was about.
Allora didn’t even slow her pace. “Not your princesa,” she shot back, deadpan, grabbing the nearest open seat with a scrape that set the blonde’s teeth on edge. She planted her elbows on the table, a clear declaration of territory, and let Penta’s gaze linger on her for exactly one second before she turned to the others. Social physics dictated that someone would now introduce her to the other women, and she waited just long enough to enjoy the awkward dead air before one of the other guys coughed and supplied, “This is Allora. She’s the boss.”
“Just bossy.” Penta grinned, wide and unrepentant, but Allora noted the micro-expression, the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes before he turned the charm back up to full blast. He gestured for the bartender, ordered her a tequila without asking, and for a moment there was only the low throb of reggaeton from the speakers and the click of glasses hitting the table.
Allora leaned back, doing her best to appear unmoved by the spectacle. The blonde made a half-hearted attempt to re-enter the conversation, but Penta’s attention was locked onto Allora, as if the rest of the table had faded to grayscale.
The brunette blurted a laugh, but it sounded flat. “You’re the ref, right?” she asked, loud enough for the table and three onlookers at the bar. “That’s like…the judge?”
Allora just nodded, and let the silence do the work for her.
“Is it true you hate all the wrestlers?” the blonde pressed, making a big show of what she hoped was playful aggression. “I heard you pull the new guys aside and warn them not to fuck with you.”
She could feel the heat from Penta’s stare, but she kept her eyes angled toward the table. “Some guys need very direct instructions,” she said, letting it dangle whether she was joking or not. The tequila arrived, sloshed almost to the lip. Allora licked salt from her thumb, drank, grimaced. She could already feel the flush working up her throat. Not entirely unpleasant.
A beat, then the rookie, poor bastard tried to wedge in a compliment about her technique on the three count earlier. “You have a really fast hand, Miss…” Lame. But he meant well; she softened just slightly as she corrected him, “Allora is fine.” She did not look at Penta. It defeated the purpose if she did it deliberately.
Fenix (both friendly and genuinely harmless) offered an olive branch in the form of a lime wedge. “Taste’s better this way.” he winked. Allora took the wedge, bit down, and let the sting and acid burn clear the taste of easy talk away. “You at the house show tomorrow?” she asked, keeping her gaze on Fenix, ignoring the way Penta kept drumming the table with his index finger like he was itching to cut in.
Fenix shrugged, knocking back the last of his drink, “Yeah, you working it?”
Allora gave him the up-and-down, then turned just enough in her chair to lock eyes with Penta, who was already watching her over the rim of his glass. “Always. Maybe I’ll ask to ref the match myself,” she said, letting the words linger like confetti after a parade. The suggestion was what it was, a provocation, a dare, a line in the sand, and she saw exactly how it landed on Penta, whose left eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly before he covered it with a smirk.
Penta set his glass down a little harder than necessary. “I think you just like to be in charge,” he said, smiling too wide to be entirely friendly.
“I love power.” she winked at Penta and then, instead of looking at the table, at her sleeves, at the sweating bottles on the scarred wood, she looked at him. She saw the hunger, the way his teeth pressed to his lip, the calculation running in the moment of pause. He was going to say something lewd, she could see it in his posture; “Say it.” she leaned in.
“I say nothing.”
“Oh, but you want to.”
Penta cocked his head, a slow, feline motion that was theatrical even by his standards. She could see the showman’s impulse at war with whatever flicker of caution he still possessed. The moment hovered, bright and precarious, as if everyone at the table was waiting for him to go one syllable too far
The two other women, sensing a power shift, tried to cut in with a laugh, but it landed limp on the concrete floor. The rookie looked like he wished he could teleport out of the booth and into traffic. Even Fenix, king of refusing to take anything seriously, was glancing between them now, trying to decide if he was supposed to intervene or just spectate.
She let the moment hang, savoring the way it tasted, hot, risky, the kind of thing you remembered in a week when you were back to living out of a suitcase and wondering what the fuck you were doing with your life. “Maybe you should practice saying what you want,” she volleyed back, her voice pitched just loud enough for the nearby tables to tune in but not so loud that it turned the moment into a bit.
He smiled, but it was a different smile this time, less teeth, more threat. “Not here,” he warned, pushing his chair back a fraction. “Unless you want everyone to know.”
A pause, then, “Maybe I do,” Allora deadpanned, and for a second she thought he’d really take the bait.
But instead he just raised his glass in a lazy salute and said, “You first,” and Allora could feel the table’s collective disappointment that the fireworks hadn’t gone off yet.
Instead she leaned in, close to his ear and whispered, “You want me to fuck you.” Her lips against the shell of his ear, the hot lap of tequila on his cheek, the drag of her denim thigh pressed casual but firm to his knee under the table. She felt the tremor run through his face, the smallest convulsion, there and gone, more animal than man. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, for one beat. Then he grinned, as if what she’d said had been a punchline only he understood, and whispered back, “Entonces hazlo.” (then do it) He dared, the words sharp as gravel in his mouth, this close and not backing down. She could feel the burn in her cheeks, the little jump in her pulse. Time slowed to a flicker.
She drug his earlobe through her teeth, not a peck, not a desperate thing, but a calculated press, lips parted just wide enough she knew he’d feel the shape of her teeth when she closed them around the delicate tip. His hand found her thigh under the table, not tentative but not groping, either, palm wide and hot even through denim. She let him squeeze, let him own the space for half a second, then pulled away, teeth bared in a smile.
Allora topped her drink, tequila rough now but necessary, ballast against the swelling pressure in her chest. Penta mirrored her, barely breaking eye contact. His other hand drummed the rhythm of her pulse on her thigh; two quick, two slow. She wondered if he knew what it did to her, if he registered the thermal spike up her spine, the way she’d felt her hips clench under the white-hot attention. A familiar urge, viscid and reckless, pooled somewhere below her navel and crystallized into a dare.
The conversation at the table ambled forward but it was pure background hiss, washed out by the feel of Penta’s fingers curling once, hard, into her thigh, a clear message: I see you, I know you’re watching me. The dare of it rang in her insides. She didn’t flinch. Instead, on one pulse of music, she slid her hand under the lip of the table and let her knuckles drop to his denim, the backs of her fingers grazing the inside of his knee. He jerked, maybe not visible to anyone else, but she watched his breath catch, the dilation of his pupils. She traced the seam of his jeans, slow, deliberate, thumb rolling up until it caught the bulge rising there, pressed her knuckles in as punctuation.
He exhaled a ribbon of Spanish too fast to catch and set his glass down with a thump, and for a second she thought he’d break. But he gripped her wrist under the table and twisted, not enough to hurt but enough so she knew it wasn’t a courtesy. It was expectation. Ownership. He used his grip to drag her hand up another inch, just enough to give himself away without looking at her, without flinching in the theater of the moment. There was a blood heat under the denim, a tension that left nothing to mystery; her fingers lingered, mapped him, let the heel of her hand compress the ridge.
He held her there, his eyes unreadable behind the mask until his thumb did a thing, a pulse at the base of her palm and then she got it, the message: not here, not now. The anticipation was its own pleasure, like the moment a wrestling hold stretches before the joint pops or the breath before the airplane falls from turbulence. Allora let her hand rest where he wanted, no more, no less.
At some forgotten cue the table rose and scattered to the bar, Fenix off to claim shots, the rookie peeled away in defeat, even the two women gone, one to the bathroom, the other to the DJ corner. They were alone now, sort of, the emptying space a vacuum press around them. Penta didn’t let go.
He leaned in, the words bouncing off her lower lip so only she could catch them, “You like this game?” His fingers were a vise and a question. She answered by scooting closer, so their knees bracketed each other. She pressed her knee in between his, crowding the already-warm air between their bodies.
“I like beating you at it,” she said, louder than before.
He reached for her jaw, let his fingers frame her chin, a cage at the hinge of her jaw. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t rough either; it was principled, like showing off a submission hold without cranking it for pain. He kept her face pointed at his, lined up, pupil-to-pupil. Even this close, she couldn’t see anything but the blackness behind his mask.
“You hate to lose,” he said, almost admiring.
She tongued a grain of salt from the seam of her lips. “You’re not winning.”
It was supposed to be a checkmate, but he laughed, shoulders shaking. “I don’t need to win. Only need to see how far you go.”
She waited for him to move first. He didn’t. The standoff had a weird purity, two stubborn creatures, neither sure who would flicker first. It could have been adolescent, maybe it was. But it belonged to them, the sweat and the want and the humming current between bodies trained to channel energy until it burst. Allora felt her pride scrape raw in her chest; she was aware of every millimeter their skin touched, the arc of her cheek under his palm, the crush of denim on denim under the table. He pressed his forehead to hers, the hot arc of their faces brushing before he yanked the mask up, rolling it to his forehead, exposing the soft, dark stubble from jaw to cheekbone. He looked younger without the mask and face paint, or maybe just more breakable.
She wondered if he knew what that meant, to lower the armor. Allora didn’t give him time to overthink it. With the calculus of impulse and alcohol, she slid her hand up his thigh, fingers teasing the dividing stitch of denim. She felt the hitch in his breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He said something in Spanish, croaked almost, just a syllable. There was a private, charged comfort in the way he let her see him, not just the persona, but the man; sweaty, a little unsteady, amused and aroused in equal measure.
Still pressing her jaw, he kissed her, reckless. It wasn’t pretty. Teeth clicked, noses jammed. She tasted lime and salt and the background hum of panic at how little she wanted to stop. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in, nearly lifting her off the chair. Her knees bracketed his hips now, and she shoved back, palm flat on his chest, pinning him in place. She liked the way he took the pressure, not yielding but accepting it, as if every escalation was something to be absorbed, banked, and weaponized later.
His hands were on her hips, then her ass, her mouth found the edge of his jaw, a slow, dragging kiss. Nothing showy, nothing rehearsed. He let out a sound, quiet, desperate, so real it scared her, just a little. She felt the old panic crowd her lungs, the urge to bolt.
But he stayed so still. He just waited. Any other guy would have ruined it, forced it, made a joke. Penta just let the thing live.
She pulled back, searching for the mask of swagger. It was gone. He blinked, lips swollen, caught off guard, blinking at her as if someone had just peeled away the last shield. For one, two, three beats, he didn’t say a word, just watched her face, mapping every twitch of her mouth, every ragged swing of her chest. Without the façade, his eyes, caged in thick lashes, looked almost gentle.
There was a joke in there, so obvious she almost groaned aloud, but she saw the way he braced for it, the way the joke would have glued the mask back in place. So she held his gaze, let her palm rest on his jaw, fingers tracing the sticky heat of his skin. They sat like that, neither moving, until his lips quirked; tentative, then certain, as if discovering he still owned them.
She quashed the tremor in her fingers and slid in closer. His hand, greedy now, hooked at her waistband, thumbs pressing into the quick pulse at her hips. How long since she’d wanted something this much? She’d gone a full year, maybe more, on self-control alone; it was her single superpower, the talent to freeze everything in a lockdown of wit and precision.
He rolled his jaw, a bruised grin threatening. “You’re dangerous,” he said, still breathless. She pressed the flat of her hand against his chest, felt the rapid percussion of his heart, the way the heat collected just under the collar of his shirt. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” She let him have it, the loaded pause, the challenge hummed out in every cell of her, the wreath of sweat and aftershave and triumph on his skin. Allora let her thumb brush his throat, a slow, up-and-down stroke over the lump that bobbed when he swallowed. It felt like holding a living threat.
"Yeah. Dangerous," she said, voice stripped all the way down, ruinous. If she looked left or right she'd see the crowd, their own little planet of heat, and she suspected that's what he wanted, if not a full spectacle, then at least the surety that this wasn't a secret, this wasn't a thing to be hidden. She yanked him by the shirt collar, lips mashed to his, and it was clumsy but she didn’t care, she liked the way it crashed.
He made a sound, open-throated, a flare of want that felt too intimate, but didn’t break. His hands kept to her waist and her lower back, tight and then tighter. She let him squeeze, let him try to communicate with the absurd pressure of a grip strong enough to move mountains. He could leave a mark. Allora wanted it.
She twisted away long enough to drag him off the chair and toward the corridor at the back, not looking to see if anyone watched, to see if anyone cared.
She shoved him first, backwards, into the Cinderblock wall. He made a moan around the force of it, teeth bared. She grabbed for the waistband of his black jeans and found the button already popped. He’d known. He’d hoped. Fuck it.
It was movie lighting in this corridor, puddles of shadow and the spill of gold from the street light above them and in it she saw him not as a mask but as a body, lean and carved, a sum of bones that somehow asked for more punishment. She pressed him back with her hips and undid the zipper herself, forcing fingers down, into the heat, finding bare skin where there should have been boxers, the expectation of sweat and the steely pulse of him, raging and urgent.
He bit her neck, but softly. Teeth glancing the edge but not breaking the skin, just holding her there, a brand. His hands groped up under her t-shirt, seeking skin, and Allora let him, her own body starved for the full-body press of another person. He dragged the waistband of her jeans lower with frantic, uneven jerks, fingers too thick to finesse but persistent, unyielding. When her bare thighs caught the draft of air it sent a shudder up her spine hard enough that she gasped. He caught the sound with his mouth.
She craved friction, the rub of heat to offset the chill on her bare skin, so she braced herself on his chest with both hands, flung her knee up to ride even with his. The angle was stupid, desperate. She didn’t care. She clawed his jeans past the resistance and shoved at the denim until he was half-exposed, cock rigid and leaking, propped in the hollow her palm made as she seized it. Allora swore, a half-laugh, half-groan. She squeezed just hard enough for him to feel her intent.
Penta muttered a rush of Spanish she barely understood. He cupped her ass with one hand, the force of it hurt but it also made her bite down on her own tongue to keep from moaning. She let her hand slide up and down the length of him, slow at first, watching his face slacken and tighten with each pass. The subtle power of it was a shock; all her, her rhythm, her control, the way she could change his breathing with a flick of her wrist. He jerked against her grip, the skin fever-hot and silken. She wanted to see what it did to him, really see, the arch of his neck, the way his lips twisted, the way his hips bucked when her thumb rolled in the right spot.
She pressed her forehead to his, a hard knock, not romantic, just bracing. "You wanted this," she muttered, and he nodded, pressing his hips into the vee of her thighs, his hands digging under her shirt and up her rib cage, thumbs skittering to the sides of her breasts. Allora never let go, not once, even as he kneaded her with a pressure that bordered on pain. She liked it. She rocked into him, denim scraping denim, the sound sharp and ugly, all friction and no grace.
He brought his mouth to her ear, his breath fast and ragged now, said her name almost like a question: "Allora,” He reached between them and thumbed her clit, two fingers precise, zero hesitation. Electric. She bit down on his shoulder and threw her hips into him, not soft, not gentle, just a hard, shuddering push. His cock rode the seam of her palm, then the angle changed and he pressed brutally tight to her pubic bone. The friction, their bodies mobbed in sweat and adrenaline, sent a sharp sting in her core that made her almost dizzy. He groaned, head thunked back against the wall, open-mouthed, and kissed her like he had to tear her open from the inside.
“Yeah, like that,” she rasped, and took his cock in a fist, stroking in rhythm, the two of them lurching with the pulse and squelch of skin. Every stroke lined up with his thumb and fingers slick between her thighs, obscene, mechanical, perfect. He groaned and shifted his stance for better leverage, hand fully under her shirt now, mouth at her collarbone, sucking small, brutal marks as though intent to tattoo his presence. Her own body; traitor, weapon, whatever, responded with a full-body surge, legs bracketing him, shaking.
The world funnelled down to fingertips; hers on his skin, his slipping up under and inside her, no stutter, no asking. She gritted: “Wait-” but he kept rubbing her clit, ring-callused fingers, rubbing circles that made her knees threaten collapse. She let out a sound, too loud, and he clamped his hand to her jaw, squeezing the noise into something feral.
He had her jeans shucked halfway down her thighs before she’d even realized. Denim bunched under her ass as he hooked her up, lifting so her pelvis found the perfect counterpoint to his. The wall was cold, gritty against her bare skin, but the friction between them, the heat of his body, made everything else irrelevant. She let her head drop forward, could smell the musk of him, the kind of scent that burrowed and stitched itself in for weeks. His hands found her ass, kneaded, then parted her, two fingers touching and testing, then sliding in, and she didn’t want measurement or preparation, she wanted to be filled so full it erased every other thought she’d ever had. She shifted, opened her legs wider, letting the denim twist and bite behind her knees, and Penta lost no time; he lined himself up, holding her thighs as if he was wrestling her into place, every inch of him hot and hard against her.
“Do you want me.” he grunted, a dare, not a question. Allora didn’t bother responding; she let her body answer, rolling her hips forward until she notched him exactly where he needed to be. The first push hurt, she had forgotten, somehow, how sharp it could feel, how the burn of stretching and filling and total loss of control could scrape every nerve raw. She sucked in a breath, braced herself with both hands on his shoulders. Penta watched her face, just for a moment, not checking for a green light so much as gloating in the way she shuddered and forced herself to take every inch he gave her.
He pumped slow at first, shallow, like he was showing off his self-control, but Allora saw the lie; his hips twitched, the muscle at his jaw working overtime, his fingers went white-knuckled where they clamped her ass and the back of her thigh. She wrapped her calves around his waist, locked him in, and pulled him deeper. He felt so big inside her it emptied every thought she’d ever had. The stretch wasn’t just sharp; it was total, a pulse of hurt and blinding want. Allora locked her ankles at the small of his back, all leverage, and bore down with a twist that was ugly and exact. He reeled forward into her, head knocking the concrete above her shoulder. She caught the thick rope of his hair in her fist, and arched until her spine was scraping cinderblock, hips grinding up to match every shove.
Penta whispered her name, not the joke version, not the arena growl, but the real one, whisper-rasped with awe or need or pain, she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. He pistoned into her, breath coming hoarse and hard against her cheek, hands bracing her as if he worried she’d splinter apart from the force. Maybe she would.
Allora rode the line between pleasure and something darker, a hair-trigger place where even the smallest shift could tip her over. She clawed his shoulders, which only made him thrust harder, eyes squeezed shut, jaw locked in that stubborn hinge she already knew by heart. The friction was too much; she fought to keep it together, to hold off, but he slid forward faster, harder, her whole body boiling up against the block wall. Then she let go, all at once, head thrown back, and made a noise so wild it echoed against the painted cinder. He didn’t stop, even as she came, in shuddering, ungraceful bursts, nails digging into his biceps. She wanted to mark him, wanted him to wince next time he flexed.
She locked tight around him, and he grunted, pumping ragged and desperate, and then he was shoving even deeper, the flex and throb of him inside her a singular, shattering side effect of the ugly, beautiful friction. He finished, full and violent, hips jerking with each pulse. She felt it, the slick of heat.
It was over as fast as it started, the tunnel vision snap-shotting itself into memory. His hands kept holding her, holding, holding, like there would be a next round, like he didn't trust gravity not to peel them apart. For a moment, that was enough.
Then he slid out, slow and careful, as if to apologize for the abruptness. Allora bit back a whimper. Her whole body throbbed, the outline of his fingers a fresh galaxy of bruises and sweat. She staggered, pitching forward until her face was braced against his neck. Her lips grazed the patch of flesh under his jaw, still slick with sweat. He laughed, or maybe sobbed, a sound so raw she felt it in her own chest. His arms stayed hooked around her until their breaths fell into the same halting cadence.
Neither said anything. She could hear the DJ booth a hundred feet away, the bass notes tunneling through the floor and up her spine. Somewhere outside, car alarms rippled, a pack of dogs howled at the moon.
His fast fingers were already yanking her jeans back up, clumsy but efficient. She caught a glimpse of her own body; belly slick, thighs red-raw from the friction, a vague ache spreading up her hips and out. She pressed her palms to her eyes, felt the pulse behind her eyelids go sharp and star-shaped, and let out a laugh so surprised it hurt.
Penta caught the edge of her shirt, wiped the sweat from his lips and gave her a look so hooded, so high and distant, it was almost a mask itself. He buttoned up, rolled his neck, then leaned forehead-to-forehead with her, thumbs braced to either side of her jaw, anchoring them together.
"You okay, princesa?" he whispered, like a punchline after the fact.
Allora didn't trust her voice. She nodded, the movement blurring her vision. She waited for the shakes to stop, for something like equilibrium to return, but her knees kept forgetting how to work.
Penta nuzzled the side of her temple, lips soft where he'd only ever used words to bruise her. The empty corridor felt weirdly tender, shame and pride drowned in the same afterglow. She pulled at her waistband, gave herself a perfunctory clean-up, not dignified in any sense. Her hand shook as she straightened up.
He saw it, that tremor, and caught her hand, held it steady for a second. "You win," he said, mock accusing, but the joke crooked at the end, left unfinished. She looked up at him, really looked, at the sweat stuck in the grooves of his forehead, at the ugly-hot desperation in the slump of his shoulders.
She tried to speak but the first attempt was a cough, embarrassingly small and girlish. She bit her tongue and exhaled in a laugh, the noise damp and shaky. She felt high, like all her skin had been set on fire and left to smolder.
Penta grinned, raking his hand through his hair, mussing it until it looked somewhat straight. He pressed his nose to the side of her face, just under her eye, and made a sound, almost a purr, but with the edge of a threat. Then he, with a kind of resigned care, wiped her lips with his thumb, like anyone could erase the mess they’d just made. The thumb lingered; she tasted salt, and herself, and him.
Maybe she’d been shaking since the moment she entered the car, or maybe she’d always been like this, all nerves and impatience and iron-cased stubbornness. He pressed her hand to his lips and grinned, as if the taste of her on his mouth was currency, proof that she hadn’t won so much as tied.
She supposed there were worse things.
He spoke first, low, as if keeping a secret just for them. “You going to call me tomorrow?” He said it with a smile stitched on, semi-dumb, voice still stripped by the gravel of sex and tequila.
Allora had to think about it, how long since she’d even wanted to call someone after, to admit their existence carried across the boundary of her own? “You’ll call first,” she said, and hated how it sounded in her own mouth, fragile and fanged at once.
He tapped the side of her cheek, soft as a brush of air. “Maybe I just wait and see you in the ring.” His thumb still drew circles at the point of her jaw, hypnotic, gentle. “Or maybe I kidnap you, and make sure you remember who you belong to now.” He grinned. And she couldn’t even argue the point.
A voice filtered down the corridor, his brother calling his name. The hollow scrape of a backdoor door opening, and they both startled back, the spell interrupted. Allora tugged her shirt down, friction, raw at the hem, and shook her hair loose, half-heartedly reconstructing the image he’d so perfectly destroyed. Penta fumbled with his mask, pulling it over his face in one motion. She watched the way it snapped back into place, the sudden cold iron of his persona locking in. It was almost sad, the way it had to end.
He turned to walk away, throwing a look over his shoulder, "You win...this time."
I have been behind this bar for damn near a decade. My bar. The Dead Rabbit. I bought this bar over a decade ago and it is the best thing I have ever done. I have seen every kind of person. From the loud ones to the heartbreak ones. Until tonight. Until he walks in. Black leather jacket, jeans that fit just right and big rings on most of his fingers.
Damian Priest.
He slides onto a stool in front of me and looks at me while I'm cleaning some glasses.
"Surprise me."
I quickly look at him then look away grabbing a glass.
"Dangerous thing to say to a bartender."
I start mixing him a drink when he leans forward on the counter. I get a whiff of his cologne and it makes my head spin. I look at him as his dark eyes bore into me.
"I like danger."
I smirk, staring straight back at him leaning on the counter towards him.
He laughs, deep and rough. “You always this bold?”
"Then you'll love your bill."
He laughs, deep and rough as he moves back from me.
"Are you always this bold?"
"Only when someone flirts on my clock."
He lets out a little laugh and grins.
"Oh you noticed?"
"You're not exactly subtle."
"Wasn't trying to be."
“Only when someone flirts on my clock.”
That grin of his gets wider. “So you noticed.”
You arch a brow. “You’re not exactly subtle, Priest.”
“Didn’t want to be.”
I stand there examining his face to see if he is bluffing at all. He is not. He lifts his drink at me then takes a sip. I raise an eyebrow at him but before I can say anything, another customer calls me over for a refill. I quickly refill his glass when I feel my body start heating up. I can feel his eyes watching my every move. I come back over washing a glass when he lets out a little laugh.
"Ya know, normally most people get nervous when I flirt with them."
I shrug and lean on the counter looking into his eyes with a smirk.
"Maybe you haven't met someone like me."
He runs his tongue across his top lip like he is fighting a smile causing me to smirk more.
"Oh man. I like you."
"Pfff everyone likes me."
I lean in close and whisper just loud enough for him to hear.
"Only some can really handle me."
That earns me a look. A dark, amused and maybe a little dangerous look. The kind of look that says he isn't used to being challenged but he might just enjoy it.He taps the bar twice.
"Another round, miss bartender. Lets see how long you can keep up."
I pour him another drink, very slowly, not breaking eye contact with him smirking.
pairing: roman reigns x angel (fc: miss lexi) x tiana (fc: yung miami) black!ocs
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The sun-kissed tropical island, a private paradise, set the stage for an unforgettable erotic encounter. Angel, Roman Reigns, and Tiana, three individuals with an insatiable thirst for pleasure, found themselves in a secluded beach cove, where the sand was as bright as the smiles on their faces.
It was a vacation like no other, and the trio was about to create memories that would forever be etched in their minds.
Angel, a stunning dark-skinned beauty, stood tall at 5'9", her long straight black hair cascading down her back. Her slim yet athletic figure, with just the right amount of curves, left little to the imagination, especially when she wore her skimpy bikini.
As a renowned Instagram model, she knew how to capture attention, and her presence exuded a captivating energy. Roman, her boyfriend, was a towering Samoan-Italian man, standing at 6'3" and weighing 265 pounds. His muscular physique, adorned with a large tribal tattoo, made him a force of nature, both in the wrestling ring and in the bedroom.
Tiana, Angel's friend and fellow model, had a different kind of allure. Her 5'5" frame boasted a slim-thick curvy build, accentuated by her caramel complexion and long curly black hair. Her playful personality and infectious laughter added a unique spice to the group.
As the day heated up, so did the desires of the trio. They had been flirting with the idea of a threesome for a while, and this private island seemed like the perfect place to indulge their fantasies. Angel and Tiana had always shared a playful sexual tension, and Roman was more than eager to explore the possibilities.
The beach provided the perfect backdrop for their fantasy to come into fruition. The white sand was soft and warm, and the gentle lapping of the crystal-clear water against the shore created a soothing soundtrack.
They laid out their towels, and the sun caressed their skin, making them even more aware of their bodies. Roman, ever the gentleman, offered to apply sunscreen on the ladies, an offer they eagerly accepted. His strong hands glided over their smooth skin, leaving a trail of warmth and desire.
Angel and Tiana lay side by side, their bodies touching, as Roman knelt between them. His fingers worked the lotion into their skin, starting from their shoulders and slowly moving downwards. With each stroke, the tension between them grew, and they couldn't help but let out soft moans of pleasure. Roman’s touch was firm yet gentle, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as he witnessed the growing arousal of the two women.
As his hands reached their lower backs, he paused, letting his fingers linger on the sensitive skin just above their buttocks. Angel and Tiana arched their backs slightly, inviting him to continue. Roman smiled, his dark brown eyes filled with lust, and he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Angel's ear. "You two look so beautiful together," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. "I can't wait to taste both of you."
His words sent a wave of excitement through Angel and Tiana. They turned towards each other, their faces inches apart, and shared a passionate kiss. Roman watched, his desire growing with each passing second. He reached down and untied the strings of Angel's bikini top, revealing her full, dark nipples. Tiana's hands mirrored his, and soon, both women were bare-breasted, their nipples hardening in the warm breeze.
Roman’s mouth watered at the sight. He leaned forward, taking one of Angel's nipples into his mouth, while his hand cupped and squeezed Tiana's breast. The women sighed in unison, their heads falling back in pleasure. He alternated between them, suckling and nibbling, his hands exploring their bodies, until their moans became more urgent.
"Roman, please," Angel pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire. "I want to taste you."
Tiana nodded in agreement, her eyes locked on Roman’s thick, erect dick, which strained against his swim trunks. He obliged, standing up and removing his trunks, revealing his impressive manhood. Angel and Tiana's eyes widened at the sight, and they both leaned forward, their lips meeting at the tip of his shaft.
They kissed each other as they took turns licking and sucking Roman’s dick, their tongues intertwining with each other and with his glistening head. Roman groaned, his hands resting on their heads, guiding them in their passionate oral dance. He reveled in the sensation of their soft lips and skilled tongues, as they took him deeper into their mouths, one after the other.
After several minutes of this heavenly blowjob, Roman pulled away, his thick shaft glistening with their saliva. He wanted to return the favor, and he gently guided Angel and Tiana to lie down on the towel, their hands resting on each other's thighs. He positioned himself between their legs, his face hovering over Angel's glistening pussy.
He inhaled her scent, a heady mix of the sea and her natural musk, and then dove in, his tongue seeking out her clit.
Angel gasped, her body trembling as Roman’s skilled tongue flicked and teased her sensitive bud. He licked her in long, slow strokes, occasionally dipping his tongue into her wetness, savoring her taste.
Tiana, not to be left out, reached down and began to finger herself, her eyes never leaving the erotic scene before her. She matched her rhythm to Roman’s, her fingers plunging in and out of her pussy in time with his tongue on Angel.
The sight of Tiana's self-pleasure was almost too much for Roman, but he focused on Angel, determined to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.
Angel's moans grew louder, her hips bucking against Roman’s face as her orgasm built. Sensing her climax, Roman increased the pace, his tongue working feverishly on her clit, while his thumb massaged her G-spot from within.
With a cry of pleasure, Angel came, her juices flooding Roman’s mouth, which he eagerly lapped up.
Roman turned his attention to Tiana, who was more than ready for his touch. He kissed a path up her inner thigh, his breath hot against her wetness. Tiana whimpered, her fingers still working her clit, as his tongue replaced them, sending electric shocks of pleasure through her body. He ate her out with the same fervor he had shown Angel, his tongue delving deep into her folds, tasting her sweetness.
Tiana's moans grew more urgent, and she reached down, pulling his face closer to her, urging him on. He obliged, his tongue working her clit in quick, short strokes, while his fingers plunged into her wetness. Her orgasm built quickly, and she cried out, her body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over her.
As Tiana's climax subsided, Roman rose to his knees, his dick standing proudly before him. Angel, still riding the waves of her own orgasm, reached up and guided his shaft to her pussy, positioning him at her entrance. Roman needed no further invitation, and he thrust forward, filling her in one smooth motion.
Angel gasped at the sensation of being stretched around Roman’s thick dick. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her, as he began to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Tiana, not wanting to be left out, crawled up behind Roman, her hands caressing his muscular back, adorned with the intricate tribal tattoo.
Roman set a steady pace, his dick sliding in and out of Angel's warm, wet sheath. Tiana leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his back, and whispered in his ear, "Fuck her hard, baby."
Roman obliged, his strokes becoming deeper and more forceful. Angel cried out with each thrust, her nails digging into Roman’s shoulders, leaving temporary marks on his tanned skin. Tiana reached around, her hands finding Angel's nipples, and began to pinch and twist them gently, eliciting more moans from her friend.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mixing with the trio's passionate cries. Roman’s balls slapped against Angel's ass with each powerful thrust, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He wanted to bring Angel to the edge again, and he reached down, his fingers finding her clit, and began to rub it in circles.
Angel's body tensed, her pussy clenching around Roman’s dick as she soared towards another climax. "Oh God, Roman!" she cried out, her voice hoarse from the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum again!"
He felt Angel's pussy pulsate around his shaft as she came, her juices flowing freely. This was too much for him, and with a final, powerful thrust, he exploded, filling Angel's pussy with his hot cum. He groaned, his body trembling as he emptied himself into her.
As his orgasm subsided, he pulled out of Angel, his thick dick glistening with their combined fluids. Tiana, her eyes sparkling with desire, positioned herself above Angel, their pussies aligned. Roman watched, his dick still semi-erect, as the two women began to scissor, their legs intertwining, their clits rubbing against each other.
Angel and Tiana moved in sync, their bodies glistening with sweat, as they rode each other's pleasure. Roman couldn't resist joining in, and he leaned forward, his mouth capturing one of Angel's nipples, while his hand reached down to finger Tiana's wet pussy. The women cried out, their pleasure intensifying as his fingers and mouth worked their magic.
The trio's moans and cries filled the air, a symphony of pleasure on the secluded beach. Roman’s dick, now fully erect again, throbbed with need, and Tiana, sensing his desire, disengaged from Angel and positioned herself on all fours, her ass raised invitingly.
Roman didn't hesitate, positioning himself behind Tiana, and in one smooth motion, he plunged his dick deep into her wet heat. Tiana gasped, her back arching as Roman’s thick shaft filled her completely. He set a relentless pace, his balls slapping against her clit with each powerful thrust.
"Fuck me, daddy!" Tiana cried out, her voice thick with desire. "Fuck me like you mean it!"
Roman obliged, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her, his dick hitting her sweet spot with every stroke. Angel, not to be left out, crawled forward, her mouth finding Tiana's pussy, and began to lick and suck on her clit, adding to the overwhelming pleasure.
Tiana's body trembled as Angel's skilled tongue worked her clit, while Roman’s dick pounded into her from behind. The sensations were too much, and with a high-pitched scream, Tiana climaxed, her pussy clenching around Roman’s dick as waves of pleasure washed over her.
He felt Tiana's orgasmic contractions around his shaft, and it was enough to send him over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he came, his cum shooting deep inside Tiana, filling her with his seed. He collapsed onto her back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Angel, not yet satisfied, crawled up to Roman, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She straddled his face, her pussy hovering over his mouth. Roman, eager to please, wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulling her down onto his waiting tongue. Angel sighed in contentment as Roman’s tongue began to explore her wet folds, his fingers finding her G-spot.
As he ate Angel's pussy with abandon, Tiana recovered from her orgasm and positioned herself above his dick, her pussy still glistening with their combined juices. She lowered herself onto his shaft, taking him deep inside her once again. Roman groaned, his mouth filled with Angel's sweetness, as Tiana began to ride him, her breasts bouncing with each downward thrust.
The sight of Tiana riding his dick, while Angel rode his face, was almost too much for him to bear. He focused on Angel, his tongue working her clit, his fingers plunging into her wetness, as Tiana's pussy milked his dick. Angel's moans grew louder, her body trembling as Roman’s skilled tongue brought her closer to the edge.
"I'm cumming, Roman!" Angel cried out, her voice filled with ecstasy. "Oh God, I'm cumming!"
Roman felt Angel's pussy clench around his tongue as she came, her juices flowing freely. He lapped at her eagerly, savoring her taste, as Tiana continued to ride his dick, her own pleasure building once more.
As Angel's orgasm subsided, Roman pulled her down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing together. Tiana, her eyes locked on them, increased her pace, her pussy gripping his dick tightly as she rode him harder. Roman’s hands found her nipples, pinching and twisting them gently, sending Tiana over the edge.
"I'm cumming again!" Tiana cried out, her body shaking as another orgasm claimed her.
Roman held Angel tightly, his dick still buried deep inside Tiana, as he felt her pussy pulsate around him. He groaned into Angel's mouth, his own pleasure building as he watched Tiana climax. With a final, powerful thrust, he pulled out of Tiana, his dick glistening with their combined fluids.
Roman stood up, his dick pointing towards Angel and Tiana, who were still entwined on the towel. With a wicked smile, he stroked his shaft, his cum-covered hand adding to the slickness. Angel and Tiana, their eyes locked on his dick, leaned forward, their lips meeting at the tip, licking and sucking his sensitive head.
He groaned, his body trembling as the two women took turns licking and sucking his dick, cleaning it of their combined juices. Their tongues intertwined, their lips meeting in sloppy, passionate kisses, as they shared Roman’s taste.
As Roman’s dick twitched, signaling his impending release, he pulled away from their eager mouths. He aimed his dick at their faces, his hand stroking the base, and with a final, powerful spasm, he came, his hot cum spraying across Angel and Tiana's faces. They cried out in delight, their eyes closing as they savored the sensation of his warm seed on their skin.
Roman’s cum dripped down their faces, mixing with the sweat from their passionate encounter. Angel and Tiana, their bodies still trembling with pleasure, opened their eyes and smiled at each other, their lips glistening with his essence. Without a word, they leaned forward, their lips meeting in a sloppy, cum-filled kiss, sharing Roman’s taste between them.
Their tongues danced, their hands exploring each other's bodies, as they savored the aftermath of their incredible threesome. Roman, his body spent but satisfied, watched as the two women made out passionately, their hands roaming freely, exploring each other's curves.
The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the beach, as the trio lay exhausted but content on the sand. Their vacation had only just begun, and already they had created memories that would forever be etched in their minds, and on their bodies. The private island had provided the perfect setting for their erotic adventure, and they knew that this was just the beginning of an unforgettable journey of pleasure.
