#wwe smut

[wisteria-bae]

When I’m reading a smut fic and tryna figure out what position they’re in

[shes2real]

roman corrupting innocent!reader is my why 🤍

“but what if…i don’t think…”

“shh,” he shushes you by placing his fingers in your mouth while using the other hand to push inside of you.

he’d done a little convincing to get you on board w this. you were always begging him to practice safe sex, and after a while it started to bore him. he needed to feel you — not w some stupid latex getting in the way. little by little, he’d sprinkle in small phrases to ease your nerves, almost like he was soft launching his raging breeding kink.

“you do love me, right?” he would coo, his eyes darting between your rising chest and the innocent glimmer in your eyes. “you’d do anything to make me happy, wouldn’t u love? y’know you’d make daddy the happiest man alive if he could just make you a mommy. you’d be so beautiful,” he’d continue, pressing his hand against your stomach.

but his personal favorite? “don’t even have to work hard for it, angel. just hold still and take it, it’ll be worth it. i promise…”

he cups your chin, coaxing you to speak, but all that comes out are broken little whines. each slow, deep stroke leaves your eyes rolling back, your sweet body struggling to keep up with the way he moves inside of you.

he wanted you right there with him, feeling every inch instead of getting lost in it. he watched the uncertainty in your pretty eyes slowly turn into arousal as his pelvic bone graze against your clit, his hips rolling forward with steady, deliberate pressure. “hmm… wait, it feels so good. it’s…” you pant, your words breaking apart every time he bottoms out. he looks into your eyes, his pace never faltering as he shoved his fingers in and out of your mouth, muffling your pleas.

his gaze never leaves yours. it’s almost unnerving how calm he looks, especially when he’s literally fucking you stupid.

his praises were so effortless it almost sounded genuine as he used his fingers that were in your mouth to stimulate your clit. “mhmmm, i know baby,” he breathed, almost like he was answering both of you. “you’re doing so good.”

your hand lifts on instinct, fingertips weakly wrapping around his arm, you don’t even have the strength to push.

“move your hand baby…..you're okay.”

you let it fall back beside your head with a quiet whimper, your fingers curling into the sheets instead.

“you’re such a good girl.” he watches your face for the smallest reaction. “you like when i call you that?”

“mhm,” you answered quietly, your chest rose unevenly.

“do you believe that you’re a good girl?”

you nodded.

“then tell me.” he drawled, each word punctuated by the slow roll of his hips, never letting your attention drift.

“oh my gosh…” your voice caught on a shaky breath before you moaned out, “i’m a good girl, roman…” your legs lifted almost instinctively, crossing behind his back.

truthfully, you’ve never really fantasized abt this, abt him doing this to your body, but there’s something about having him inside you. you don’t think it’ll be too bad if he decided to breed you.

“what’s in that pretty head, angel?” he asks condescendingly, studying your face. “thinking of carrying my baby?”

you part your lips to answer, but he grabs your jaw in a firm grip, lips pressed together before a thin string of saliva falls onto your tongue. the sight alone has him cursing under his breath.

“mommy,” roman chuckles though the word leaving him breathless. “such a nice ring to it, huh?”

a whiny sound slips from your throat, “ro…” his hands steady your waist, keeping you perfectly still while he fucks you. every touch leaves your body feeling less like your own, your legs trembling hard enough that they’re slowly losing their grip.

“you said you wanted this," he growled lowly, “you told me you were a good girl… that you’d do anything to make me happy.”

you let out another helpless whine in protest, “please, i’m going-” you started as that familiar warmth begins to build low in your stomach.

“not yet, baby,” his fingertips colliding harshly with your clit, “daddy’s still fucking a baby in you.”

the intensity was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. you were used to the slow kisses, whispered reassurances, the carefulness that always came with a condom. but now, there’s that yearning to be bred.

so when the moment finally comes, there isn’t a single word that could describe the rush that crashes over you. it hits all at once, leaving your body trembling as you cling to him. your eyes squeeze shut as warmth floods through you, the feeling so overwhelming as you gasp, “i feel it!”

“that’s so good, baby,” he smirked, pulling out and inspecting your hole for himself. he took his time, admiring the sight before he absentmindedly pressed his fingers inside of you. a quiet hum left him at the soft, wet squelch… you caught yourself watching him as he watched his fingers fuck his cum back inside of you.

[passion4ruit]

jealous type. / jey uso

gif cred: @punksrhea

pairing: jey uso x black fem!reader

word count: 15k+ (idek i just see him and get inspired, lowkey blacked out)

warning: smut!!! MDNI. (for the love of god)

description: when you tell jey about a potential storyline with you and the scottish warrior, he gets a little out of character…

“I think Hunter is gonna have me start doing a thing with Drew, I dunno.”

You say this nonchalantly, flippantly, as you scroll through texts from your aforementioned boss, both of you spitballing potential ideas for a future storyline involving you, five years deep into your career and in need of a refresh.

Coming off of an injury is the perfect excuse for a revamp, showing a side to your character that the audience hasn’t seen before. Perhaps there’s something to this…

“Man, what thing?”

It’s the tone in which the question is being posed that has you lifting your eyes from the screen, the dull light illuminating your glossed lips as you raise a perfectly arched brow. “Like, maybe, something along the lines of a partnership.”

Jey Uso stands before you, unimpressed frown on his face as he shakes his head. The wild curls of that infamous mullet of his flinging with a boyish charm that warms your heart.

You two have been good friends, best friends, for a few years now—really almost ever since you debuted on the Raw roster—and by this point, it was not a surprising sight to see the both of you like this, sequestered in a dark, quiet spot of whichever arena was housing the latest live show.

He was always so easy to talk to, and fun to hang with. You remember being so damn scared finally being pushed into the spotlight with the biggest names of them all and expected to compete with them, but Jey had been there since day one. His deep voice and easy grin a balm on your nerves and a battery in your back. At this point, he was rivaling your own family for being your biggest cheerleader. He was damn sure the most reliable support system at work and beyond.

Even though you’d been adamant that Jey did not, under any circumstance, come visit while you were on the mend and instead lock in at work, there was not a single day—hell, maybe even hour—that he wasn’t calling, texting, DM’ing to keep in touch with you. The recovery process was overall steady but hurt like a bitch, and even though Jey respected your wishes to stay away, his love and support as you got through it never faded.

It’s a struggle to think what this all would feel like without him…

“You and…Drew?” You nod succinctly, wondering at the disgusted pull of his face. “Man, hell naw.”

And did you dare to think that he was your biggest cheerleader just a moment ago?

It stops you up short, his surprising disapproval. A spark of fear lights up inside your chest. Jey always supported anything that was for the betterment of your career—what was this?

Dropping your hand, you stand up straighter now. Your crossed arms versus the hands on his hips. The posture screams incoming fight. Harmless bickering is one thing but you guys don’t argue.

“What? Why not?” You, more defensive than you want to be. Showing your hand too early. Just basically shoving your hurt in his face. “You don’t think I could pull it off?”

Jey shoves off your rising insecurities by shrugging, which has your chest twisting in a weird way. Your cheeks are getting warm now under your perfectly set blush. Your nose itches as you all but glare up at him through your lashes.

“Baby, it just don’t sound right—not to mention, it wouldn’t look right either.”

It’s blunt—too blunt—but Jey has never withheld his feelings with you, nor anyone. A trait of his that you always admired, and a complete opposite to the way you sat on your thoughts and feelings most times. But, of course, Jey was good at making you open up and express yourself without abandon. There was hardly anything in the world you didn't tell him.

Which is why you thought nothing of this and was confident in sharing it before it could potentially take off. But the things he’s saying don’t sit well with you at all.

Look right? What the hell?

“Now, what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Jey?”

Jey barely flinches at your profanity but he’s not one to shy away from confrontation. If anything, he rises to it, a stank look in his eye. Not exactly directed at you—even through your rising irritation you can see that—but he does seem extremely annoyed overall.

“Girl,” he kisses his teeth, “Drew is a big ass Scottish muhfucka. What the hell he know about you?”

You, as in not exactly small by any means—hips wide, ass homegrown and toned legs that go on for days and definitely not Scottish. Safe to say, you and Drew McIntyre are total physical opposites. His pale skin and your milky brown complexion. Your wide chocolate eyes and his narrow icy blue ones.

So, what?

If Hunter and the rest of creative thought something could come from a duo with the Scottish Warrior, who were you not to give it a shot? Aligning with him would be one of the more interesting things you’d done since returning two months ago from your recovery off of a broken elbow.

You couldn’t believe Jey wasn’t seeing it.

“Are you serious right now?” If your face wasn’t beat right now, you’d be scrubbing it in frustration. “Are you forgetting that you had a little thing with Rhea? Yall couldn’t be more opposite!”

Jey and Rhea had your utmost support when creative got the exciting idea to try their hand at something between their characters. Two of the biggest stars in the company, beloved by the crowd. It was a no-brainer, even if it did fizzle out in the end.

But Jey clearly isn’t trying to hear you. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah but she’s Mami and I’m the Main Event,” he boasts, gesturing to himself, “it was gon’ be fire no matter what!”

And just then something hits you, with startling clarity. You are now truly, deeply offended.

“Wait—are you saying that I’m not a big enough star? Because we all know Drew is!”

The accusation is nasty but it sounds true to your ears. Still in your twenties—even though it’s late twenties now—everyone tends to treat you like the locker room little sister.

To be looked after and cooed over, even if you put your body on the line show after show. Even if you perform and entertain to the highest of standards. It’s not unappreciated by you, though, just a little irking sometimes.

Jey makes the souring mood starting to develop no better because has the nerve to laugh. “Now you know I ain’t said that,” he grins, as if you’re ridiculous. “I’m just saying I don’t see it, personally.”

“Well, maybe I do. Hunter does, and so does Drew.” You say this through clenched teeth, waving your phone in his face. “I’ve been talking with them about this for days. It’s going somewhere!”

Jey pauses, eyes dropping to the phone in your hand, the open display highlighting the blue and grey message bubbles, how long they are. Takes in the way your eyes instantly shift to the screen as the phone dings with another text.

Then he goes quiet for a while.

You scoff at him before responding to the text, trying to shake this off because even if he was pissing you off, it didn’t feel good to be doing this with him.

Just as your message goes through does Jey finally speak up again, a touch quieter. “Y’all be talking?”

And you know he means Drew, because of course you have correspondence with the boss—just about everyone does.

“I mean, yeah. This thing could really happen, not to mention he’s kinda cool. Funny, even.”

Another ding. Another lengthy grey bubble. Jey can see it, leans a bit more into your space to peer down at the phone. He can even see Drew’s contact name, how it has an actual emoji beside it.

If you weren’t replying with haste to Drew’s message, you’d be able to catch the way Jey’s entire face shifts into something dark and ugly. The way he stills at the sound of your breathy laugh.

He’s quick to fix his face when you lock your phone, still amused by whatever the fuck Drew said. But there is a heavy quiet surrounding him. One he cloaks himself in when’s trying to rein it in, keep his temper under check and controlled. Had you not been too busy with Drew, you would’ve picked up on that.

However you only sigh, lazily shifting your focus back onto him, tossing him a look through those mink lashes. A dismissal, he wonders?

“Look, Jey, I really don’t know why you giving me a hard time about this one. You’ve been so cool about literally everything else. What’s one little romance?”

Romance. You never said anything about romance.

Jey scoffs, the sound ugly even to his own ears. “Yeah aight, have fun witcho new lil’ boyfriend. Just know he be fuckin’ on half the women’s roster.”

You blink, almost cartoonishly, a few times in rapid succession as you try to take in what he said. A strange swirl of emotion hits you, then. Too confusing for you to even process. His tone. His snarl. Hell, even his stance.

What the fuck…?

You wrench your head back, hands raised because you just don’t know what to do with this. “You know what, Joshua,” and the serious use of his name—which you rarely call him—has him rearing his own head back, “I’mma just go because this is weird and something is off here. Talk to me when you wanna be my friend that has sense again.”

Before he can utter a breath in response, you’re spinning on your heels and striding down the shadowy hallway away from him. And no matter how far you go, his words still follow you, his resentment echoing in your brain.

Why the fuck would you even care about who Drew is or isn’t fucking? Why is that something he would even bring up? How was it relevant at all to what you were telling him?

You don’t have an answer to this but Rhea certainly does later and what she tells you has you all but yelling, “get the fuck outta here! Stop playing!”

She does not, in fact, stop playing. She only just stares at you with this knowing look on her face. How dare she look so certain after saying something so ridiculous?

You laugh in the midst of lacing up your boots for the night. “Rhea, sometimes I forget how funny you can be,” you snort again as you move from one boot to the other, “but, girl, you are downright hilarious. Jey is not jealous.”

“What? I’m not joking—everyone knows how he is when it comes to you. And I love my boy,” she proclaims with a solemn hand to her chest, “and I don’t wanna out him but it’s fairly obvious why he’s so mad.”

You ignore that, standing up and moving to your bag, fiddling with—well, you don’t even know. You just need to do something with your hands.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s everyone?”

“Me and Liv were just talking about you two.” Go figure—they talk about everyone. Still, not a big deal. “We saw you, holding hands.” Jey’s a touchy person. You, less so, but with him it’s second nature. What’s holding hands, a hug, between two people who cared for each other? “It was cute that he was holding your purse on the way in, too.”

You shrug at that, at the smirk on her face, trying to appear unaffected—this was the last thing you needed before your match—even if your stomach is starting to go haywire. Pre-matches jitters, to be sure.

“He always does that, nothing new.” Which, yeah, him carrying your bag whether it be a small handbag or one of your, in his words, big ass totebags was just a credit to him being raised to be a gentleman, obviously. “We came here together, so what?”

Rhea is relentless, though. Trying to prove some point. “That’s another thing!” she crows excitedly. “You guys travel everywhere together. You mean to tell me you never felt the tension in that tiny little Kia Soul?”

“Don’t you talk about my car, she’s small but mighty—and brand new.”

You won’t tell her who you brought along car shopping that day. Who went over all the details whether it be mechanical or financial with the dealership. Who ensured that you got exactly what you wanted, even if he hated the car itself.

Hell, you’re certain if you allowed it when he initially asked, he would’ve paid for the damn thing.

“Babe, you know how I feel and how anyone with eyes should feel about those fucking travesties.”

You mock scowl at her but forgo defending your choice of vehicle any further—haters gon’ hate. “Okay, so you’re basically telling me that you and Liv gossip over fake news and fairytales. Big deal.”

“Jimmy said as much too! His own twin!”

Which you do not find surprising in the least. “Jim is just as bad as the girls. He’s always trying to get the tea.”

“And spill it. He told us that Jey’s ex has been trying to get back in the picture and that while usually he’d be all for it, he basically told her to kick rocks,” Rhea shares wickedly.

Now this, you did not know. And Rhea can tell because when you freeze and turn to face her again, her black painted lips are stretched wide in a grin that can only be described as shiteating.

“Mina hit him up again?”

Rhea nods, still cheesing.

Oh, Mina…

Beautiful. Successful career in sports journalism. Well off. Fit. And crazy as hell.

Jey hadn’t brought her up in a while, now that you think about it, but usually that was a sign of him entertaining her again. You learned early on in your friendship that it was best not to get involved when they were on. It’s not like Jey ever listened—whether it be you or his own family. No use in beating a dead horse.

“But he’s crazy about her…”

A fact you quietly bemoaned once or twice. Jey and his damn dating life was just as entertaining as any live show, and a total train wreck. There’d be many nights when he would ask you so, I was in the wrong? (usually, yes) or text you a long ass paragraph describing Mina’s latest antics—his ass being thrown out again for whatever she deemed him guilty of doing or her cussing him out in public without shame.

You’re sort of embarrassed to know even you had been responsible for some of her blow-up’s at Jey.

Even if you felt her and Jey weren’t a match by any means, Mina had a charm to her that inspired you to try to befriend her. Each time fell flat, though. The woman just did not fuck with you, period.

“Was crazy about her. Hasn’t been for a long while, so I’ve heard. Hm, I wonder why…” Rhea trails off, lips puckered to the side. Trying to appear innocent as if she’s not just full of surprises for you tonight.

You shake your head. All of this being too much. Your phone dings with two messages simultaneously and you feel a wave of relief to not have to keep this conversation going for the split second it takes to see that one’s from Drew asking about your dinner plans for tonight and if you'd like to carry the conversation further—yes, you respond quickly, just pick the spot and i’ll come—and another is from Jey and that’s he’s so sorry and can you guys just talk?

“I bet that’s him.”

You blow out a frustrated sigh before shoving the phone into your bag and going into deep stretches in the next breath.

This is all bullshit. None of this matters because none of it is true. You know Jey better than most people, if he harbored any sort of feelings for you it wouldn’t be hard to tell.

…At least, you think.

“If you’re tryna throw me off my game so I don’t whoop yo’ ass tonight, this is a good attempt.”

Rhea laughs, getting to her feet before shouldering her gleaming championship gold. You eye it thoughtfully.

If this Drew thing took off, could it possibly mean being lined up for another title shot? Gold came into your hands twice now, once through winning in an upset against Becky and another after challenging Bianca.

You’ve been on a string of matches/encounters with or against Rhea ever since coming back, and the reception to it all has been fairly positive. There’s no denying how fruitful it’s been to work with her. Perhaps it could turn into the most gratifying of fortunes?

It would be nice…

The other woman notices your focus, her trail to the door stopped short. “Uh oh, you gunning after me now? I promise not to keep teasing you about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—”

But the protest falls flat as she just laughs again and departs, leaving just you, the empty locker room and your muddled brain.

Like a lost little puppy, you trudge over and slump down into one of the cubby holes, blowing a stray bang out of your eyes.

Why would she even say that? You came to her to rant in confidence and hopefully have her back you up—not to have her laugh in your face and blatantly tell you that Jey was jealous.

That he, in her crazy words, has the hots for you.

Now, look, you aren’t blind.

Jey is…well, Jey.

Fine as hell. Talented. Funny. Charming. Older. A grown man unlike the “men” your age that still seemed to be catching up to you.

To be honest, you genuinely might’ve only thought about him in ways friends shouldn’t think of each other a couple of times. Moments of weakness, of desperate selfishness on nights when the hotels felt cold and lonely, the car rides long and unending, the flights nonstop and draining.

And maybe when you were in the ring sometimes. When you took a harder bump than expected and it felt like you never knew how to breathe at all, knowing he was most likely worrying. You wondered if he felt pride when you went all in on a promo and the crowd was alive and hanging onto every word, that you wanted to do good just to show him.

In a way, deep down, you know that you crave his attention. That you love when he calls you his favorite girl and always attaches himself to you whenever he can. It’s thrilling to be known as best friends because that simply means that you have some sort of ownership over him, and he with you.

But why did it feel so good to be in his proximity and him in yours?

It isn’t his star power you crave. Funnily enough, your paths barely crossed in the ring. So, it’s not like you were trying to gain favor through his fame. How far you’ve come, no matter who your support system was, has been off your own strength and willpower.

Maybe it’s just due to him being so good to you. You don't know about him having the hots for you, or whatever, but you do know that Jey cares for you.

Anything you need is addressed and handled often before you can get to it yourself. Many times you never even have to say but he tends to be attuned to your wants, needs and fanciful little whims and provided whatever it was that you desired.

Your checks hadn’t been nothing to sneeze at since making it onto the main roster but Jey didn’t care. When it comes to money, it was near useless to protest him spending his on you.

But it’s not even about the money—that is the last thing that matters as far as Jey is concerned. He understands your life. What you do, why you do it. The hunger you have to succeed. He knows the ups and downs of being a pro-wrestler all too well, and how refreshing is it to be with someone like that?

Someone that, despite his many years of experience over your still budding career, feels like an equal.

Goosebumps rise and with them a buzz along the entirety of your skin. An understanding of what this is in reach as you slowly crawl to it.

But you’re still in disbelief, and none of this will feel real until you talk to him. You’re just not sure if you want to.

—————

As promised, you do whoop Rhea’s ass and the crowd had been roaring at the chemistry between you two as you fought and scraped in the ring with each other yet again. Coming off of the win is a nice little high, just what you need to push through the rest of the night and confront whatever would unfold.

“Yo, killer, great match,” comes the praise from none other than The Tribal Chief, his fist outstretched to you in the midst of gorilla.

With an appreciative smile, you knock knuckles with him, chest still heaving with exhaustion as the adrenaline shoots throughout your sweat-slick body.

“Thanks—didn’t know you were watching.”

Roman shrugs, tall and strong, radiating silent power even just standing still. “I catch most of your stuff.”

News to you and nice to hear. You’d be slightly embarrassed to tell him just how often you studied his matches.

“What’s this I hear about you and Drew?”

The question is posed more quietly and after he nods for you to step to the side into a darker, isolated corner with him away from the hub of the blue-lit monitors and gaggle of overseers.

You’re surprised at the genuine concern in his eyes, in the furrow of his brow. He’s no stranger to you, but he’s not as close a friend like his cousins are, though there is a mutual fondness.

And, honestly, if he didn’t look so concerned you’d feel more annoyed, but then you also feel partially bad—did Jey come to him in confidence like you had Rhea? Was he upset?

“Just ideas being thrown around,” you try to come off as casually as you can, forcing yourself to not look away and meet his steady gaze. “Ways to bring in a new dynamic, I guess.”

Roman hums, eyes drifting off contemplatively, before he flat out states, “you don’t need Drew for that, though. If anything, you really don’t need anyone for that. You’re solid. If you do truly wanna go the romance route, though—and with a real star, mind you—it’s crazy creative ain’t consider Jey.”

Two things: the way he says Drew’s name as if he thought of him in the same realm as an insect was more amusing than it had any right to be, and the unflinchingly honest opinion that Jey would be a better option.

“Oh, um…” And you really don’t know what to say to that, to the twist and turns of your gut.

Roman is highly intuitive, though, and takes the wide-eyed hesitation as permission to further state his case. “I mean, look, I know y’all are close and maybe it’d be too weird for you, but Drew is definitely not the draw.” His eyes are wide as he gestures, clearly amused by Drew, in general.

“At least with Jey you’d be working closely with someone you know, someone you trust and there’s nothing better than that, believe me.”

You don’t know why but you feel the need to debate, to ask: “What’s so bad about Drew, anyway? He seems nice.”

“Yeah, I bet he does—and don’t get me wrong I enjoyed sonning his ass time and time again but I can’t imagine what a man like him could possibly offer you. And imagine this: you and Jey do a tag thing, romance, whatever and it’s hot? Gets you into the mix with us, with the Bloodline. We could use a fresh face around…”

What an odd thing, to see Roman Reigns so impassioned over hypotheticals that involve you. You wonder if Jey thinks the same but it seems obvious. He usually believes in his cousin’s vision for anything concerning the Bloodline.

And it is slightly flattering to be considered for such a thing.

You huff a laugh through your nose. The grind truly never stops with this family. “Feels like you tryna recruit me, and here I thought you were here on account of your cousin’s feelings.”

Roman shrugs. “I mean, I kinda am but it also really ain’t my business. I know y’all are gonna be good, even if he’s looking all sad and shit.”

Sad?

You crane your neck around, involuntarily searching before you can catch yourself. “Any idea where he is?”

And you quickly realize that’s a stupid question, you look at the clock on the wall and roll your eyes—he should be approaching gorilla any second now to meet Roman before they went out for the show’s final segment.

“Nevermind—look I gotta go, got plans,” and you carefully choose not to mention your future dinner companion, “but I’ll think about what you said.”

Roman nods, watching as you move quicker than expected after taking such hard bumps from Rhea, but you are keen to get out there and just get on with your night. You’re not avoiding anyone nor are you shifting your eyes around in fear of crossing paths with anyone, either.

Before you can fully disappear into the shadows, Roman calls out to you: “Aye, you still coming to the spot after!?”

And damn, you forgot about that. Roman can tell, too, because he looks highly amused at the guilty look on your face once you turn around. “Wow…forgot my birthday, huh.”

“Of course, I didn’t.” Not technically, anyway—just in the moment. With your un-ending thoughts. You even got a gift for him, tucked away in your bag. “Happy birthday, Ro,” and it’d be bad of you to not crawl back and give him a hug, so you do.

“Totally gonna be there after dinner,” you promise, pulling back but not too far with the arm he has slung around your shoulder.

Roman peers down on you, almost like he has something he wants to ask you but refrains for your comfort. In short, he just says, “I’ll be waitin’. Now, go on,” and nods towards the exit.

Grateful, you slink from his grasp and shyly wave bye before actually leaving gorilla this time.

It makes no sense how wired up you are now. You really hadn’t planned on doing much tonight but now it’s looking like you’re all booked up. Which is good, because it affords you to pay less attention to the roar of the crowd when Roman’s music hits, knowing who's gonna be by his side as he walks out.

Thankfully, no one is around when you come back to the locker room to watch you hastily unzip your bag and anxiously grab your phone. Only an address from Drew and nothing else worth noting.

You remember you were supposed to go to Roman’s birthday party with Jey, but now that doesn’t even feel like an option. He’ll most likely be showing up with Jim and Roman himself now. But the silence is as much as addling as the idea of a response.

I don’t have time for this, you succinctly tell yourself and go through the motions of packing your shit up and getting back to tonight’s hotel.

Getting ready takes a bit longer due to your plan of going straight to the club hosting the birthday festivities rather than just back to your room. But it’s worth it because you just know you put that shit on.

Face beat and hair curled perfectly. Giuseppe heels and blood-red vintage Hervé Leger bandage dress that hugs your body just right. With a fly ass Chanel bag to boot.

Look, this is the Tribal Chief’s birthday—no way are you going to half-step.

Dinner with Drew goes by pretty quick and pleasantly. He’s funny with that Scottish charm and nice to talk to. He doesn’t pressure you into deciding if you truly want to try the new angle with him but has many ideas to share that you expand upon yourself. He even picks up the entire tab with not a single thought and asks if you’re going to the party, whether you’d wanna ride together.

You utimately decide against that—Jey’s stupid, irrevlevant he be fuckin on the half the women’s roster in the back of your brain—but say yes to trailing his car through the city streets and walking in together, because why not?

The club is one of the more up-scale clubs you’ve ever stepped foot in and Drew makes a show of whistling at the grandeur of the place, how it’s all decked out for Roman Reigns.

It’s not surprising that basically the entire roster and crew is here. Say what you want about the character he portrays, Roman is loved by the company and respected by its workers.

“This place is crazy,” Drew scoffs, shaking his head. “Anything for the Tribal Chief, eh?”

You wonder at the underlying bitter in his tone, why he even actually came. From Jey to Roman, it doesn’t seem like there’s much fondness between any of them.

You shrug, gift in hand. “He’s earned it. Speaking of him, I gotta find him and give him this,” you shake the ribbon-wrapped box at the Scotsman, yelling over the pounding music as you step further into the lights, “I’ll find you later!”

Drew nods, eyes trailing you as you envelop yourself into the party. Immediately, you’re accosted by all sorts of shouts and hugs, trying to move deeper into the club.

“I thought you weren’t coming!” Bayley, as she scoops you into a crushing hug.

“Nooo, she was. She just had to finish her dinner date with Drewww. See, they even came in together and he’s watching her.” Liv, grinning evilly with a straw between her teeth.

“Ohhh shit, sis, I ain’t know you got down with the milk!” Je’von, his eyes shifting back and forth before hugging you next. For his comment, you poke him hard with your nails in his side, to which he cries out, “my bad, my bad, my bad!”

“Uce bouta be hella mad...” Montez, sharing looks with Rhea and Angelo.

You suck your teeth, pushing past them to scan for the man of the hour. Unsurprisingly, you find him sequestered with his cousins, and more cousins, in a dark section some feet away. Inwardly, you snort as you think about how this is his night and he’s barely interacting with the people here for him.

“Can y’all shut up and move out the damn way?”

Montez raises his hands up as in surrender and steps to the side. When you stalk by, Rhea says nothing but her eyes say too much as she looks between you and the section.

You’re too sober for this shit, which you don’t realize you say out loud but you must’ve because immediately Liv is yelling for shots! and, magically, Dom appears with a tray of foreboding shot glasses, filled to the brim.

“Let’s goooo!”

You take another look at the section, who’s in it, before happily accepting a glass as Dom brandishes the tray towards you. “Tequila?”

“The only way!” Dirty Dom shouts, grinning in that mischievous way of his. “You gonna need two, girl—get another!”

You start to protest but then they start chanting—double shot, double shot—and it’s, like, well…mama ain’t raise no bitch.

The first shot goes down nice and smooth, everyone around joining you and whooping crazy after. But then you’re alone for the second, eyeing the glass between your fingertips warily. Just as you think you’ll have to take it alone, Drew reappears, his huge body sliding just a little too close behind you as he plucks a glass off the tray, but you like him enough so it’s fine.

“What are we cheers’ing to?” He asks you specifically, and it doesn’t take long for you to shout almost as loud as the bass, “to the OTC!”

Everyone cheers and laughs as you and Drew throw back the shots and you pull a face at doing two back-to-back. Dom disappears into the crowd, probably returning the tray and glasses, making way for Becky to slide into the small little circle that’s been made.

Immediately, she’s smiling, her eyes wide as she notices you and you're just as delighted to return the hug she’s wrapping you up in. Becky’s cool—you’ve always liked working with and talking to her.

“Oh my gosh, girl, you look stunnin’!” Her accent is more pronounced and when you pull back, you notice that glassy look in her eye as she gives you the once-over. But you’re starting to feel warm yourself and less nervous than before, so you repay the compliment loudly. “Oh pssshhh, everyone here looks like chopped liver next to ya—this dress is perfect on you!”

“And I had the pleasure of sharing dinner with such a fine lady this evening,” Drew brags, looking high and mighty.

Becky makes a sound of affront. “Ya lucky bastard—Uce’s gonna have you for that!”

You frown while everyone laughs, all of them in on some joke that you aren’t. Did they all share the same opinion as Rhea?

“I’ll take Jey down,” Drew boasts jokingly—you think—before slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders, “don’t care.”

Liv gives you a look, eyes wide before gesturing behind her with her head, towards that section. You look, simultaneously noticing the newly vacant spot on Roman’s right and the man now pushing through the crowd. Coming closer and closer.

Fuck.

“Aye, man, hate to do this to you and everything,” you’re slightly horrified as Jey shoulders in, past a knowing Rhea, and leans forward to grasp your arm, pulling you away from the burly Scotsman and into his side, “but she’s needed over here with me, uce. C’mon, baby.”

You truly hate that the first thing you notice, other than the blatant irritation in his eyes, is how good he smells and how warm his body is next to yours. And, strangely, you missed him.

Only a few hours, in which he was responsible for making you anxious and confused and overall upset, but you missed him.

“Why?” Drew dares to challenge, something tense building here that you did not like. “To say happy birthday? She already did. She told me—over dinner.”

And, ew.

Jey might’ve upset you earlier and you still don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but you know you don’t like Drew’s tone as he speaks to him. You don’t overly care for how Montez and Angelo make a yikes face to each other, or how Liv says uh-oh under her breath.

Jey doesn’t care for it either because he actually looks two seconds from flipping this damn club upside down if Drew implies anything else. And the last thing you want is for Jey to get active. Because, trust, he’ll get active.

“You know what,” you cut in with a false smile, moving closer into Jey’s side, his arm automatically wrapping around your waist, “we’re actually gonna go so I can give my gift to Roman. Y’all done held me up too long, anyways.”

“Yeah that’s probably for the best,” Bayley says diplomatically, suspiciously maneuvering her body between a jaw-clenching Jey and a smug Drew. “Have fun, guys.”

Not much more needs to be said after that. Jey is quick to whip your bodies around, arm still firmly around you, hand on your stomach as he steers you towards the VIP section—the touch truly nothing new but, tonight, it feels…

“Fuck he meant by dinner?” And it’s said with such a tone of disgust that you cannot help but to laugh, further pissing him off. You don’t wanna piss him off. It’s just—is he serious? “Oh, okay—yeah it’s funny. We gon’ talk about this shit.”

But not any time soon because as soon as you start heading up the tiny amount of stairs into VIP, you hear, “Oh shit, now! They lettin’ baddies into the section!”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Jey scowls at his twin, letting you go in favor of plopping back down in his original seat.

You roll your eyes at his attitude before grinning back at Jimmy, arms wide out for a hug. “Jimmmm! How are you?”

“Man, I’m good—got Big Uce out with us for once.” He jabs a thumb over to Big Uce. “You know his ass a damn hermit.”

Roman, from where he’s been sat in the center like a king presiding over his court, echoes Jey’s earlier statement. “Shut up.”

You chuckle at their antics, pulling back to reveal your present to the birthday boy. He looks genuinely surprised, “oh, so you didn’t forget.”

“Of course, I ain’t forget.” You watch with eager eyes as he takes it. “Now, come on, open it.”

Roman shakes his head, smiling as his fingers undo the bow. “You didn’t have to,” he laughs when you, hands on you hips, give a yes, I did look, “but I appreciate it.”

“That’s better,” you tell him, stepping further in to shoo Jey over.

He smacks his lips but does so, anyway. You take in the hard line of his jaw, how hard he’s clenching his teeth. You don’t know what comes over you but you whisper don’t be like that before raising a hand to smooth over his jaw. He relaxes but only a little, side-eyeing you for a moment that seems to linger before sliding his gaze over to his cousin.

The wide stretch of Roman’s grin has you smiling too as he opens the box to reveal a very nice, very expensive watch. “I know how much you love ‘em, so here’s another for your collection.”

“And I helped her pick, too.” Jey pipes up by your side. “So really you should thank me.”

You roll your eyes. “Boy, no you didn’t. You was looking at some bullshit actually.” Jey, predictably, smacks his lips at the sound of Jimmy’s cackle. “I have good taste.”

Roman chuckles, still appraising his newest timepiece, whistling in appreciation at the way the diamonds dance under the blue lights. “You sure do—this is fire,” he nods in approval before smiling your way, “and this ain’t cheap, too. Thank you.”

“Anything for family,” you say now, shyly shrugging, a little tipsy from the shots, warm with Jey’s body heat bleeding into your skin.

And Roman’s eyes grow warmer at that, a quiet fondness there that he only does look at those he deems family with. A step up in your relationship.

“You hear that, uce?” Jimmy nods over to Jey, eyes wide with secret meaning that’s slowly starting not to feel so secret. “She family.”

You look over your shoulder but now his shades are on and he says nothing, just nods impassively. Roman is standing when you turn back, stomach twisting, pouring a drink which he hands off to you.

“Now, that’s something we gotta toast to.” His words make you, and all his cousins, come to your feet. He raises his glass, everyone in the section following suit. “To The Bloodline! To family!”

“To family!” Everyone cries in unison. Roman leans forward to clink your glasses together, signaling you to drink the dark liquid with him.

It burns going down but it’s good. One of Roman’s younger cousins you’re not familiar with approaches you with a friendly hug and then Jacob, who you actually do know better, is wrapping a strong arm around your neck, yelling in your ear about how he loves you and that you’re good for Josh.

You return the sentiment but altogether bypass that other statement, which Jacob notices. “Aye, sis, lemme holla at you real quick,” and then he’s escorting you off to the side, his eyes strangely serious for someone intoxicated. “When y’all gon’ stop playing?”

Your first instinct is to deny, deny, deny. To act dumb. To shrink down whatever this is. But then your eyes are catching Jey gazing your way, obvious even behind those shades, and you can’t stop the exasperated laugh that falls from your lips.

“I don’t know,” you say plainly, honestly. Throwing your hands up because you cannot believe you’ve been so willfully blind. It’s a testament to how much you truly like Jacob, being so open about it for the first time.

“This is all catching me off guard, to be honest. It’s, like, I’ve always, always known that Jey cares about me. He took a chance on me, from day one by my side. Not only being my best friend but guiding me, being invested in my career. That means, well, everything.”

“But he’s always been in a relationship. Even when that shit was off, it was on, you know?” Jacob nods, listening earnestly despite his glazed over eyes. “And I care too much to risk anything. Whatever this is, it’ll fizz out and it’ll blow over and we’ll still be just us. It has to, Jake.”

Jacob hums, amusingly contemplative with a drink in his hand, before saying, “Look, I love my uce, man. And I know him, too. Just like you do. And he loves the fuck outta you, girl. You can’t tell by now?”

With that, you can’t help but glance back over to Jey, standing away, sipping his drink. Still watching. You don’t even have to see his eyes to feel him. Feel what he’s feeling.

You shake your head, blinking over at Jacob. “I can’t do this. I’m not good at relationships. Neither is he, to be honest, and we’d only just ruin it. Like I said—this’ll blow over.”

Jacob looks like he wants to say more but you don’t, so you polish off your drink and politely excuse yourself. Instead of going back to your seat, it’s the dance floor you turn to.

Liv is excited to see you again, grabbing you up and screeching out a, “finallyyyy! Let’s dance, bitch!”

And dance, you can do.

Shaking. Twirling. Gyrating.

The liquor for sure has kicked in because you don’t give a damn who sees, you’re doing all of it. Your work family takes turns spinning you, touching you, grinding on you—it’s so fun, you barely care who it is just as long as the music keeps jumping and the drinks keep coming.

Shit, you’re so lit right now you’re pretty sure the body behind your whining hips is Je’von—who damn near feels like a little brother to you—but you’re unbothered and feeling better than you have all night.

But, then, you're being spun around by Je’von…who actually turns out to be Drew. “Oh, shit—my bad!”

“Why’re you apologizing?” he smirks, big hands on your still moving hips, bringing you closer. He leans down so his voice is in your ear. “I have nothing to complain about.”

“Right…” you trail off, unsure, eyes anxiously darting over to the VIP area, to Jey standing at the front of it. His eyes are most likely shooting flames behind those shades, threatening to light Drew’s ass up. Jimmy in his ear, no doubt telling him to chill. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

The Scotsman snorts, peering over his shoulder to Jey. “He got a claim over you now?”

In a way, you think. But not entirely.

“I don’t wanna step on any toes,” Drew is saying now, gathering your attention again. His blue eyes are fierce and slightly unnerving as he admits: “I just can’t deny that I’m eager for you to say yes to working with me, not only ‘cause you’re good but also because you are beautiful. I want a chance to prove myself.”

The admission makes you a little dizzy, though you’re not dumb—Drew has been clearly attracted to you from the jump. You just didn’t expect him to say as much, and so soon.

“Prove yourself…to me?”

Drew nods, sincere, squeezing your hips. “Don’t you know half the boys are dying to get with you, but don’t even try because of your Samoan bodyguard?” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. “Jey’s a fool for not giving you what you deserve.”

He gives me everything I deserve, is what you would say had you actually possessed the capability to continue speaking. But you don’t.

“Tell Hunter yes and I’ll give you more than he ever could, sweetheart.”

Your face pulls, affronted by the pet name. “Like I said before, Drew, I’ll think on it. Excuse me, I’m tired and need a break.” From you, you tactfully leave out.

Drew makes a noise of protest as you break off from him, sliding through the sea of bodies and huffing to yourself as you all but stomp back over to VIP. Jey’s there at the top of the stairs, still staring down your former dance partner.

“These heels are starting to kill me,” you tell him by way of greeting, “and I need some damn water.”

You don’t see Jey behind you grabbing a bottle off a nearby table as he follows you back to the now abandoned couch. Roman is some mere feet away, laughing at something Jimmy and Jacob are saying when you plop back down on the velvet couch.

Jey settles right next to you, holding out the water which you gladly take and guzzle down. Big arms crossed over his chest, his voice is dry and unamused as he narrows his eyes. “Tired from shaking ass on everybody?”

Not willing to play into it, you coolly nod. “Something like that,” you shrug, sipping some more.

But he’s not content with that. He forces you to play his game.

“You fucked him?”

It is a close thing to not spit your water out everywhere but you certainly choke a little. Jey lets you recover while pushing his glasses onto his head, so you can see just how serious he is. His eyes are hard and unforgiving.

If there was ever a world that existed in which you did have sex with Drew, it wasn’t this one but he didn’t seem convinced of that.

You wipe at the sides of your mouth, forcefully putting the water bottle down, making the small remnants splash on to his dark wash jeans. Not that he cares. He’s still staring hard, daring you to confess.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” The volume of your shriek managing to reach the ears of his family even over the music, gaining their wary attention. “Why would you ever think that?”

Jey shrugs, hands folded, uncaring of the looks. “I said we was gon’ talk about this shit. Y’all came together. Had dinner together. Your fuckin’ phone was on DND for two hours while I was tryna get in touch with you. He was over there hugged up on you and shit, you grinding on him. Probably got him bricked. Genuinely, what the fuck are you doing?”

“One thing I’m currently not doing,” you jab a finger in his face, truly hot now, “is fucking Drew McIntyre—are you insane!?”

But, of course, Jey just has to be a stubborn ass hothead and not even listen to you. Getting in your face as he raises his voice a fraction, “currently? So there is a chance, then! I’m not fuckin’ stupid!”

“What does it matter to you!?” You shout, arms stretched out. “It’s never mattered to you who I’ve fucked before. For all you know, I could’ve fucked anyone we work with.” His eyes flash in anger but you have a point to prove. “I’m a grown ass woman, in case you forgot! If I wanna fuck any one of these niggas, that’s my business!”

“You better not be—you don’t even get down like that,” he sneers with a disgusted frown. As if casual, consensual sex as an adult should be beneath you. It is not. You do, in fact, get down like that but haven’t ever since you’ve been injured and recovered to return to work.

“And everybody know better, anyway,” Jey goes on, bragging his supposed ownership over you. “They know not to even think of you like that.”

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh loudly, maybe even immaturely but you’re past caring. If he wants to go there, you’re right with him. “Drew told me a lot of the boys want me but yo’ ass is cockblocking which, you know, is pretty upsetting because,” you pause to tap your chin as if in thought, “now it’s coming back to my attention that I ain’t had none in a while. At least Drew’s not afraid to try it. Kinda sexy of him, actually…”

The words land, of course. You watch smugly as Jey’s eye actually twitches, his top lip pulling back into that signature snarl that displays the gold in his mouth before he scrubs a hand down his face. He takes a long moment to stare up at the ceiling. If he’s smart, he’d be wisely considering his next words to you.

When he looks at you again, it’s still heated but there’s a different glint in his eye now. One that makes you subtly shift in your seat and blow out a nervous breath through your nostrils.

“You got this tight ass dress on,” he sucks his teeth, reaching up to tug at a strap, the sting that comes with it snapping back against your skin making you gasp in light outrage. “Dancing on dudes and ignoring me. What is it, huh? Why you actin’ out?”

Acting out? You huff out an unimpressed breath, eyes shifting before returning to stare at him in disbelief. Slowly, confusingly, he grins like the Cheshire cat—gold fronts glittering deviously.

Backing down isn’t an option for you, but somehow you can feel that you’ve lost.

“If all you wanted was some dick, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

Not the words you were expecting to hear in a million years.

The reaction is instant. You gasp quietly but you know he can hear it, too close to you not to. Your cheeks flush as your eyes widen, staring at him in shock. Your head feeling fuzzier for more reasons than the alcohol.

“Yeah, shut that shit up.” Jey commands, leaning forward to grab your chin and make you look him directly in the eye. Not allowing you to shy away or hide from it.

“Don’t I give you everything you need?” Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, you nod dumbly underneath his palm, his gaze approving. “Don’t I always take care of you?” Another nod because he does, he does it the best. “So, why you going to other muhfuckas like you need something from ‘em? Do you?” A shake of the head. “So get yo’ fine ass up, go wish uce happy birthday again, and meet me at the door.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A part of you is terrified, heart beating fast as hell, but the larger part of you is so turned on you could genuinely moan right here and now. Jey is gone before you can approach Roman again but you’re quick to do what he says, lowkey cursing yourself with every step that makes it blatantly obvious how wet your panties are.

Roman and Jimmy must feel the nervous, frantic energy coming off of you because in unison they ask with worried gazes: “Y’all good?”

You giggle anxiously, wringing your hands together. “Y-yeah, we just, um, realized that maybe we shouldn’t be doing all that in front of everyone at your birthday party,” you wince apologetically at Roman. “So, uh, yeah…we’re gonna take our conversation elsewhere like adults.”

Behind them, Jacob is watching you with a knowing smirk but doesn’t say a word. Roman does, though, coming forward to embrace you and thank you graciously for coming along with the gift. Jimmy, however, narrows his eyes suspiciously at you and then back towards the direction his twin vanished to. Which has you thinking in a panic fuck, fuck, fuck, he knows…

“Well, be safe, girl,” is all he says after hugging you too, still regarding you with a glint in his eye. “Don’t hurt him too bad, now. I need my tag partner!”

Laughing again, you depart the section with waves to everyone. Once you disappear onto the dance floor, does Jimmy plainly state: “Oh, they finna fuck.”

Roman nods, going back to his drink. “Fuckin’ finally.”

“He gon’ do her in, too,” Jacob adds, locs swaying while he shakes his head, as if pitying you.

Had you been there you would’ve been mortified by their blunt observation but you’re not. Your heels currently clack viciously along the floor as you near the doors. You manage a few rushed goodbyes but don’t make the time to stop for anyone, not wanting to make Jey, or yourself, wait any longer.

Like he said, Jey is there at the doors when you approach, casually standing off to the side as the bouncer talks to him about something you genuinely can’t care less about. Once he sees you, he holds his hand out, gesturing to your purse. Mutely, you hand it over, coming close to hug his arm to your body, already simpering with need as he grabs your keys.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to you and then raises a hand to dap up the bouncer. “Aye, man, don’t work too hard. Have a good night, uce.”

The bouncer returns the sentiment but it barely matters when Jey is already tugging you out of the building, your purse slung over the shoulder you’re not wrapped around. You shiver as the cool night air hits your bare legs, burrowing closer into his side as the two of you make way to the parking lot.

“You cold, baby?” Baby. He always calls you that but it sounds different now. Full of meaning that actually does feel like a claim. You bite your lip, nodding up at him. He brings you closer into his side, moving to wrap his arm around your shoulders. “We gon’ get you warm real soon.”

Another rush of heat goes through your veins at the double meaning of his promise. Your treasured candy red Kia Soul comes into view and Jey hits the button to unlock the doors. You break away from him, going to the passenger side but he’s right behind you, quick to open the door for you before you can.

“Thank you,” you peer shyly up at him before sliding into the seat and quickly bringing your legs in so he can close the door.

Jey rounds the front of the car to slide into the driver’s side, using the push to start to bring the engine to life. While he backs out of the parking space, your head is spinning with so many thoughts and questions, mainly—are you really going to do this? Could this not ruin everything?

You’ve been quietly fretting so long that you didn’t even realize you’re on the road until he speaks up, one hand on the wheel, the other a warm balm on your knee that was just bouncing a second ago.

“Aye, baby, do me a favor?” You gaze at him in wait, his side-profile so handsome under the city lights that streak through the glass over his face. “Answer me a question.”

“Okay...”

Jey nods, taking a left turn before speaking. “You said you ain’t had none in a while—how long?”

The question has your heart beating fast again, the pulse of it rivaling the one between your legs. “Since before the injury.”

More nodding, as if he thought as much. “And in all that time, what did you do to blow off steam? Did you touch yourself?”

And, Lord, what a question. You rarely talked about sex with Jey. If there were any discussions about it, it was him telling you about a past experience or him casually asking if you’d been recently entertaining anyone in that way. But nothing so forward.

You try not to blush—you are grown, for fuck’s sake—but Jey makes it hard to remain cool. “I mean, yes, but that’s normal.”

“Okay, cool—so put your hand in them panties and do it for me.” You stare at his face in shock but he only glances at you before turning his attention back on the road. “It’s aight, mama, I just want you to be ready for me.”

If he weren’t operating a moving vehicle, you might’ve actually jumped on him. Instead, you refrain from your baser urges and tell him with a breathy whisper, “I been ready for you.”

It’s Jey’s turn to tell himself to chill, you can tell by the way his eyes flutter shut for a brief second and how knuckles turn damn near white on the wheel. You’re delighted by the effect you have on him. You have to give it to Rhea—Jey did have the hots for you.

“How long that pussy been wet for me?” he asks as calmly as he can. His restraint only makes you hotter.

“Honestly?” Jey nods, glancing at the Apple Maps as it guides him closer to the hotel. “Probably ever since you snatched me up from Drew.” Because that shit was sexy. In a stupid, man-cave way. How he mean-mugged Drew, how tight his arm round its way around your body. How his entire body language said mine, mine, mine. “And there’s been other times…”

He can’t help the way his head snaps to your face, at the glossed lip underneath your teeth. That doe-eyed innocent look you perfected and only looked at him with. “That I got you wet?” You nod, batting your pretty lashes at him. “What you do then?”

“This.”

Spreading your legs, you follow his instruction and dip your hands in between the rucked-up hem of your dress. The breath of relief and pleasure is immediate once you push the lace to the side and feel your arousal, how it clings to your manicured fingertips.

Jey is trying his hardest not to crash the damn car but, fuck, if you don’t look good as hell right now. Sound good, too. Not just your hypnotizing breathy moans and whimpers but the actual sound of that dripping pussy being played with ricochets throughout the small enclosed space of the car.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Jey,” you breathe out, clit underneath your fingers, more moisture pooling with every circle and stroke. “I actually wanna make it to the room so you can fuck me.”

“Girl, keep playin’ and I’ll pull over right now and make you take this dick on the side of the road. I don’t give a fuck.”

The blunt statement incites you to pick up speed, openly moaning now because it feels too fucking good to do anything else. So many nights you’d done this, secretly thinking of him the whole time, the pleasure in the moment too good to feel the guilt that would come soon after.

But now you don’t have to feel guilty because the feeling is mutual. Always has been. You’re allowed to take. To have him. “Jey, baby, I’m already so fuckin’ c-close—shit,” you whine in warning, leaking more than you ever have, belly tight with the too fast rising of your climax. “Fuuuuck, I’m gon’ come!”

Jey is so grateful for the red light that comes up, completely forgoing looking at the road in favor of your pretty face all scrunched up and your desperate hand working away between your legs. His own hand comes up to the back of your neck, maneuvering your head in his grasp to meet your heavily-lidded eyes with his sharp ones.

“Go ‘head, bae, get that fuckin’ nut and come for Daddy.”

And that’s really all you need.

It’s a fucking miracle, with how hard you come, that you don’t squirt all over your seats. Instead you just shake and shout so loud your throat feels raw as you quite literally experience heaven on earth, Jey a greedy voyeur at your side.

“Fuck, baby, gimme some,” and your head is still reeling so you don’t even have time to register his words before your hand is being snatched away and your fingers are in his mouth in record time. He moans so damn loud between sucks and licks, you would’ve thought he was the one that just came.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.”

A loud, abrupt honk interrupts you, bringing you back to reality. Oh, god—you really just came at a stoplight. “Hurry, baby, it’s green.”

Jey takes your fingers out his mouth but keeps a firm grip on your hand as he accelerates a touch too fast. Hazy with the orgasm, you thread your fingers in between his, neither of you caring about the dampness of your touch.

You quietly watch him the rest of the way. It’s just about three minutes but it’s three minutes spent with quiet shared looks between you and him, both of you marveling at each other, reveling in the newfound change in your relationship.

“C’mon, ma, we here,” Jey tells you while throwing the car in park in front of the ritzy hotel. He remains seated, however, when he glances over at you, eyes roving over your flushed face, lingering on the softness of your lips.

“I had you come for me but ain’t even kiss you yet,” he chuckles a touch boyish, bringing a smile to your face. “Shit hella backwards.”

You lean forward over the console, emboldened by his pure, honest desire for you mixed with that sweet earnestness you always loved. “You should fix that, then.”

Jey doesn’t need to be told any more. He leans forward, his big hands enveloping you, cradling your head to bring you closer and hold you as your lips finally touch. It’s automatic—how easy it is to kiss Jey.

Of course, it is. The rhythm unhurried and full of promise. His lips so soft and pliable upon your own. The pass of his tongue to get you to open up. How both of you moan at the meeting and slide of your tongues, the wetness there.

You reach up to grip his biceps that strain under his white tee, desperation keying up to an all-time high to feel how strong he is, how big. His hand drops down to the back of your neck, gripping there as your heads tilt to get deeper into the kiss.

“Fuck, Jey, I need you so bad,” you plead with a heaving chest as you break for air, his eyes so dark and pretty, “I can’t wait no more.”

On cue, a knock at your window has you turning to see a polite-looking valet trying peer through the tint. “Alright, shit, let’s go,” Jey agrees before bestowing another peck on your lips.

Both of you exit the car, you shyly nodding at the young valet as Jey comes around and hands your keys over. He grabs your hand, nodding his thanks at the man before tugging you along. Equally still intoxicated and riding the high of Jey has you stumbling once or twice after him but he only laughs and brings you closer, not so sober himself.

The elevator ride is unshockingly spent with him in your space, crowding you against the wall as his lips trail dizzying kisses along your neck, the line of your clavicle, licking into between your cleavage. You hold him close, fingers embedded into his mullet as you spread wide for him and grind onto his pelvis, feeling what lies underneath those pants for you.

“You don’t know how bad I want you, baby,” Jey says into your skin, his eyes low just like yours. “How sick I was when you were gone and recovering at home. How sick I get when someone thinks they can touch you. Can have you.”

You shake your head, messy bangs creeping into your eyes. “They can’t,” you avow faithfully, “not now. Not ever.”

Jey pulls back to look at you, unblinking. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, baby,” you reassure him easily, caressing his bearded jaw. Chest feeling like it’s gonna cave in with how fast your blood is pumping. “I’m yours, and I’m not doing that stupid storyline with Drew. I’m not doing it unless I can do it with you.”

Jey presses his forehead to yours, staring down at you so intensely, your toes curl in your heels. “You want that? You want the world to know you mine, mama?”

“‘Course, I do, daddy,” you tell him just as the elevator dings with the arrival to your floor and the doors slide open. “I want everybody knowing who I belong to, and who belongs to me.”

Jey mutters a fuck under his breath before taking your hand and leading you out of the elevator to your room with haste. You giggle as he struggles with the keycard, kissing along the back of his neck in the meantime before he eventually gains access to the room and snatches you into it.

As soon as the door slams, he’s on you again. Hands everywhere. Lips everywhere. You can barely keep up. He succinctly decides that he’s, “gotta taste you for real,” before putting his hands on your hips and guiding you towards the plush bed.

Before he pushes you down on it, you stop him with a hand to chest, the other hand reaching around for the zipper at your back. Jey is quick to help when you fumble, admiring the smooth skin of your back that gets revealed to him inch by inch the further the zipper goes down. You shift so he’s in front of you again, a sly smile on your lips as you shimmy out of the straps and drop the dress altogether to let it pool at your feet.

You’re naked as the day you came into this world with the exception of your panties and heels and Jey is eating you up with his eyes.

“Damn, baby—it ain’t fair how fuckin’ beautiful you are.”

You can't help but grin bashfully, especially as you coyly request, “if you’re gonna eat my pussy, can you at least take your shirt off for me, daddy?”

“Hell yeah, girl,” his overzealous agreement makes you giggle before taking your lip in between your teeth as his skin comes into view. Your eyes greedily rove over the ink, seeing it with new eyes. Taking in how fine he is. He notices your desire, how you unabashedly check him out, and nods towards the bed. “Sit that sexy ass down for me.“

You obey, excitement ramping up to see him kick off his Forces, his pecs flexing as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down. The sizable print he sports in his boxer briefs has your mouth watering instantly. If you were wet before, you were soaked now.

“Lay back, beautiful,” he says, approaching the bed. Which you do, head still spinning from the drinks and giddy as ever. Jey drops down to his knees, eyes greedily drinking in your bare skin from the length of your smooth legs all the way up to your round tits sitting on your chest, the brown nipples peaked and hard.

“Let me take care of you…”

And then your panties are coming down your thighs to be tugged off past your feet and thrown elsewhere. You’re more eager than you realize, spreading your legs without him having to tell or coax you. Pussy on display as Jey grips your hips to pull you closer, more open and wide for him.

You have the audacity to blush at the look of awe on his face as he studies the arousal threatening to drip down to your ass at this point. How soft and delicate you look in this special place.

“Pretty ass pussy,” he salivates over it, breath fanning your mound and clit in a dizzying manner. “You been hiding this from me, huh.” His thumb comes up to lightly circle that pearl, coaxing more cum out and making you whine already. “Hiding such a perfect pussy, knowing I be fiendin’ for it.”

He’s going to kill you before his mouth even touches you. “Baby—Jey, please.” The desperation bleeding out of you must work—you don’t even have to beg that much before he’s gripping your thighs and pushing them back to give one searing lick from hole to clit. “Oh, shit…”

He’s relentless after that.

He chooses to immediately focus on your still sensitive clit from the car orgasm, flicking and lapping at it with his tongue. You cannot help but to start twitching already, not when his mouth feels so fucking good. A mouth you imagined on you countless times but the dreaming pales in comparison to the real thing.

“Relax for me, baby,” his voice muffled by your wet cunt, a hand coming up to rest on your belly.

But that’s easier said than done. Jey is on a mission to make you feel good, kissing and licking your pussy with finesse and hunger. You helplessly run your fingers through his hair before gripping the curls for dear life, moaning and writhing on his mouth as he groans from your touch.

Jey rears back to spit on your pussy, not because you weren’t wet enough but because he’s nasty as hell, and the smug twinkle in his eye as he looks up to see your eyes rolling back after witnessing his filth is proof of that.

“Always knew you’d be so sweet,” he slurs in awe, lips messy and wet with you. “Can’t let nobody else taste it now.”

Instantly you’re shaking your head with the sheets in a death grip under your hands, voice guttural as you choke out, “nobody ever. Just you.”

Because it’s true. Just one taste of Jey, along the night’s revelations, already has you inwardly swearing off any other man.

“Oh, yeah?” Jey hums, greedy gaze drinking up the sight of your swollen clit under his thumb, the clear sticky fluid drooling out of you with every twist of his skilled finger down to the crack of your ass.

He decides your hole looks lonely and shifts his thumb so his other hand can enter the fray, two thick fingers tunneling their way in. Fucking through the tight grip that chokes them and makes his dick jump beneath damp fabric.

“You promise?” His voice so sweet even if his fingers were doing bad, bad things to you.

Embarrassingly and weakly, you nod down at him rapidly, making you look like some dumb bobble-head as your eyes widen and your grip tugs at the bleached ends of his mullet. “I promise, baby, I swear. It’s so good—don’t want no one else.”

Which he knows now. But the words are still validating as hell to hear. Jey needs you. Has needed you for a long, long time even when he was being stupid and fucking around with people that didn’t matter.

And nothing matters more in this moment to him than you and the pleasure you’ve been silently craving. His own desire intertwined with yours.

Eager to make you feel good, Jey’s mouth latches on your clit and he sucks hard while the tip of his tongue twirls in vicious, tight circles. Nevermind his fingers that still thrust and dig in you, hitting a spot that you’d often found difficult to reach with your own fingers. The sudden intensity sends you crying out, soles of your feet bearing down on Jey’s upper back as you try to not fucking explode in his arms.

Being so attuned to you, Jey senses the fraying restraint on your part, secretly thrilled to watch you try to fight it from between your thick thighs. “Yeah, mama, I know,” his smug yet soothing voice muffled against nothing but wet flesh, “can feel you squeezing my fingers.”

Blood rushes to ears, your face frowned up due to the relentless onslaught of Jey’s skilled mouth. You swear you’re not trying to tug his damn hair out but your grip does become firmer once you start lifting your hips to essentially ride his face. Not wanting the sensation to stop, getting so close…

“Jey—Daddy—oh my god, please.”

And he loves it—groaning loudly, still flicking that wicked tongue before using his free hand to crack you on the side of the ass to encourage the eager thrusts against his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” you moan into the air, head thrown against the fluffy covers. “Baby, s-shit—I think it’s co—unhhh—coming!”

Another hard swat to your ass. The curl of his fingers and the way he rubs against that one spot. Ramping up the pulling on his sucks that echo throughout the entire room and the speed of his tongue.

All that combined with his domineering order for you to, “gimme that shit,” into your over-heated, drenched skin and you’re gone.

The entire room feels like it splits open. You try to scream but the sound gets caught, trapped in your throat. Hips buck and toss against the overwhelming feeling. Thighs tense up and squeeze as your feet shake and your eyes slide back into your skull.

Jey doesn’t move. Holds you through it. Licks and kisses you through it. His handsome face set with determination in the midst of your thighs that has you finally mustering a weak sob that gets bulldozed by drawn out moans.

“Oh, fuck, I can’t…” And you start to push at his shoulders, oversensitivity rushing through your entire frame.

Kindly, Jey rears back and takes a moment to admire your gushy cunt before glancing up to your flushed face. The rapid speed of your blinking at the ceiling convinces him to take pity and come to his feet rather than attach his mouth back to his new favorite place.

“Did so good…” his voice sounds far away and you claw at any strength you can to look down and see his hands at his waistband.

Before you can really register that what he’s doing is taking his underwear off, the entirety of him is free. Hard, long, and thick. Hanging heavy between his tatted tights. So brown and pretty.

Goddamn.

Now, look, subconsciously you were aware, in a way, that Jey wasn’t small or even average. With certain men it’s just obvious. The way they walk, the way they talk. You remember having a conversation like this with Trin—her not outright saying that Jimmy was gifted but that he wasn’t being called Big Jim for no reason. Which got you thinking. And what a coincidence it was that Jey just so happened to walk in the room, Trin raising her brows and glancing at her brother-in-law and then to you, pointedly.

So, yeah, you knew but it still makes your heart skip a beat and has you rearing up onto your elbows, getting a better look as his right hand comes up to start stroking the length of it. Maybe you look horrified to Jey because his other hand comes up to your ankle, thumb brushing over the diamond anklet. “We’ll go slow, baby,” he murmurs, a sweet offer and promise. “I got you.”

Though it’s funny he thinks you’re scared—initially startled, yes—and not as terribly horny as you are. You leer at him under the dark fan of your lashes. “Give me that dick,” you drawl lustfully, spreading your legs even further. The surprised flash of his eyes only further emboldens you, lights a fire in your chest. “I ain’t fuckin’ scared.”

Because you’re not—this is Jey. He would never hurt you. He’s gonna take care of you.

“Shit, girl,” he exhales breathlessly before bringing his knees up to the bed, scooting your bodies further into the middle. Right hand still stroking his dick and making your tongue dart out to your lips as you peek.

He sees the pink wetness of it and hungrily claims your mouth with his own, the kiss quickly turning wet and filthy. Twin moans fall out of you that only stretch further at the sensation of that mushroom tip sliding against you.

“Can’t be talkin’ like that—what if I wanna be a gentleman, huh? Take my time with my favorite girl?”

Any other time, that’d be good and wonderful but the liquor is flowing through your veins and you’re in the arms of this sexy man who is yours after so long. So, you take matters into your hands, knowing how stubborn Jey can be.

You laugh cruelly, gazing up into his glazed over eyes. “Drew wouldn’t be gentle.”

The fire instantly ignited in his gaze is your fault, you know it, and so is the way he cocks his hips back, tip pressing into you faster than you’re prepared. “Wait, wai—” But it’s too late, thundering heart coming to a halt as the breath in your lungs is pushed out of you the same second he pushes all the way in. “Fuck!”

“Shut that shit up, lil girl,” he growls, eyes fluttering at the tightness enveloping him. “Been waitin’ too fuckin’ long and yo’ ass wanna play.”

You did want this, you did but Jesus.

Unable to do much else, you wrap your legs around Jey’s waist and clutch at his broad shoulders as he starts the punishing pace he sets to pound you into the mattress. Squirming and twisting under his strong hold doesn’t do anything other than make him grip your waist and pull your hips into his. The meeting of your bodies borderline painful but so good.

All you can do is take it, and he says as much, spitting down at you, “been bad all fucking night, you gon’ stay here and get this dick.”

It’s getting to be too much, and too quickly. A deep sense of fear is building within—there’s no way you can be coming again so fast. He barely just started.

“S-s-shit, Joshua, I’m f-finna…fuck!”

Above you, chain swinging in your face, Jey nods cockily, gaze darting between the disbelief on your pretty face and the hypnotizing bounce of your tits. “Talkin’ shit but already nuttin’ on Daddy’s dick?” he huffs out, reaching up to grasp your chin in his warm palm. “Did I say you could do that?”

You shake your head under his hand helplessly, pathetically. “No b-but I still gotta! Can’t fucking stop!” Hard rhythmic clenches around him to prove your point. Desperate hands clawing and scratching at his skin. “I-I’mma nut on that dick!”

If he wants you to stop, he’s certainly not helping by latching his wet mouth onto your left nipple, sucking and tugging the brown peak between his teeth. “Jey, oh shittt…!”

That's the last of any warning you’re able to give him before crashing headfirst into another orgasm, shaking throughout the process, only seeing white and feeling Jey’s touch.

Rather than slowing down and letting you come down softly, he rears up off your body a little, snaking a hand up to your throat. The wet slapping noise of your fucking ramping up as Jey only swings his hips harder and applies the right amount of pressure at the sides of your neck.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” Lousy pleas through gasps and eager sucks of air that he’s controlling. Jey is blurry through your tear-pooled eyes but you can see the gold in his mouth when he grins at the feel of your hand scrambling up to grip his wrist.

“This what you wanted?” he teases, a little mean and absolutely perfect. You’re unsure if you nod or don’t but he laughs all the same. “Never woulda thought my baby was a slut.”

Degradation isn’t always your cup of tea but Jey does it so good that it’s hard to do anything but be just that—a slut.

His slut.

Something is brewing deep down, in the lower pits of your heaving stomach. That initial discomfort that bleeds into an urgent feeling that feels like oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

You’re thrashing now, as best as you can, head tossing left and right. The heels of your feet kick at his ribs but he still doesn’t slow down. Panicked, you push at his chest, his belly, anything.

“Don’t fuckin’ run,” Jey snarls, fingers flexing at your throat, digging into your guts. “Lemme stroke this pussy the way I want.”

But he doesn’t understand. “Jey, s-slow down—I gotta pee.”

These sheets are nice and soft, an expensive cotton—probably Egyptian—and you’d really hate to ruin them.

But, of course, Jey couldn’t care less about the sheets. He leans down right above your face, warm breath mixing with your puffy gasps. “You not gettin’ outta this, baby. Ion give a fuck if you piss, just as long as you come on this dick some mo’.”

That vulgarity paired with the way he shifts into you, ramming into a very delicious spot, is more than enough to have your back arching painfully beneath his big body, a wild screech climbing its way out of your lungs, nails digging deep in his wrist and the poor sheets you’re about to destroy.

“Wet that shit up, mama. Right now,” he barks roughly, his voice the trigger on making your pussy gush around him, spraying onto his lower belly and even reaching up to his chest the more he keeps fucking you. “That’s right…”

Mercy is granted once the last weak pulses die down. Jey carefully slides out of you, him wincing and you whimpering at the loss. The whimpers tumble into low sobs and shakes. Curling up on your side, he’s quick to follow, shushing you and pushing hair out of your face all the while.

“Baby, you okay? Did I go too hard?” His warmth envelops your body, the mass of him curling around you, his eyes scanning your damp face. “Please, say something.”

You remain quiet for another few seconds, blinking yourself back into reality. “I’m good,” you finally say after some time, moments full of his soothing caresses and slightly anxious gazing. “That was good.”

Jey studies your features a little longer, and when he is convinced that you’re not lying for his sake, he’s careful in nudging your bodies over and out of the wet spot. “Yeah, you right—it was good,” he agrees, in between your legs again with a thumb brushing over the line of your smooth jaw. “Squirted all over me like a good girl. Shit so sexy.”

You let out a bashful laugh, eyes sliding over to some random unfocused point in the room. “Made me do it harder than my toys.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” When you look back over, he’s grinning eagerly, making you snort a little with a roll of your eyes. “I knew I had it like that but damn.”

Jey laughs when you push at his shoulder, dropping a tender kiss to your collarbone. “Whatever, Joshua.”

Now, this is what you’re used to. Pure comfort with your best friend. Not whatever messy bullshit you two were doing earlier.

Gazing up at him, those big brown eyes, his beautiful wide nose that you trail a fingertip down, you register he is still very much hard between your thighs. “You know what would really be the last and final step to making me yours?” you muse softly, making his brows rise in question. “Coming inside me.”

The softness of the moment bleeds into that earlier heat. Jey’s eyes darken and he inhales deep, as if to steady himself. You are still awed by the effect you have on him, how you haven’t seen it all this time.

Shaking his head but smiling all the same, he tells you, “you got a wild mouth, girl,” and starts rubbing along your thigh, your ass.

You smile back, raking a hand through his sweat-damp, frizzy curls—there’s no telling what your blowout looks like right now. “I dunno know ‘bout all that…”

“Uh-huh, and what do you know?”

“That I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

How can Jey refuse that sweet wish?

When he slides back in it’s with you folded in half, ankles by your ears and him breathing deep into your parted mouth. The moan that breaks out of you both is one of shared satisfaction.

Your eyes never break away from his, even as the first long strokes turn into something harder and a little reckless. Desperate and maybe a little unhinged, driven by the need to claim you. His eyes dance with the challenge. Like he can’t help it.

It punches the air out of your lungs. Already so good again, already so… “…deep. You’re so deep in me—oh my god!”

Jey groans above the sounds of wet pussy squelching filthily in the air. “Take my dick so good, baby. Only like you can.” The praise has you dripping down his balls. “Tight as hell, too—what you got all this good pussy for, hm?”

The answering cry is instinctual, automatic. You don’t even have to think about it. Your body knows. “For you! It’s f-for you!”

Still staring deep into your eyes, Jey nods approvingly, cockily, “Yeah, that’s right. Grippin’ me like you own me. This your dick? Tell me.”

With every eye-rolling thrust, you have no choice but to chant, “yes, yes, yes.”

Jey is grinning but you can barely see it, eyes blurred by mind-numbing pleasure. He takes it in the way your legs start to shake on his shoulders, the desperate way you claw at his skin and the whites of your eyes proudly. He’s doing this to you, and no one else.

Seeing you so fucked out has him silding a hand underneath your neck, scooping you up to urge your plush lips back to his for a downright nasty kiss that you both moan loudly into. The kind that makes your brain all floaty and your body numb. When he breaks away, you start to whine, blindly pawing at him. You’re already the closest you can physically be to him, and still it’s not enough.

If he wasn’t so hellbent on proving to you why he’s the only one you need, Jey would’ve been come. But he is—there’s no way y’all are leaving this the same way before. He’s going to make sure of that.

“That shit feel good, don’t it? I know you wanna come again, leaking all over me and shit.”

The mention of another orgasm has you slightly panicking—you didn’t think you could come again—because once he says it, you start to feel that impending rush, deep in your belly. Your soul.

Snapping back into clarity, you look up at Jey beeseechingly, hair wild with the way you shake your head. “No, I can’t, Jey.”

“Then why you gettin’ tighter?” He asks in a mocking tone that does indeed have you clenching and pulsing like your life depends on it. “Why you been creamin’ on Daddy’s dick?”

You try to protest again but any defiance is snatched out of you by the feel of his big hands coming up to grip your thighs as his thrusts become even more intense, hitting that sweet spot that has your chest damn near caving in.

Jey can sense your disbelief and panic, dropping his forehead down to yours. How can he look so sweet while beating your pussy up? While snaking a hand down to touch and circle your clit with deadly precision?

“It’s okay, baby, you don’t gotta fight it. Show me how good I make you feel. One more time, so Daddy can nut in his pussy. One more time, so I can make you mine.”

That last sentence has it ripping through you. Stars burst behind your eyelids. You actually think you can see heaven. Overstimulated isn’t even the word. You’re on the fucking moon.

“Aw, shit, bae—squirting all over me again.”

And you didn’t even know that. Too busy caught up in the earth-shattering waves of your orgasm to catch Jey craning his neck down for a better view of your gushing pussy, how his eyes roll back up into his head as he drills into you.

“Tell me you love me.” It’s not just a command but it’s a need. One that tethers you back to Earth, to him.

Slightly taken aback, your gaze sharpens to see his laser-focused on you. Waiting. Pleading, almost. As if you could love anyone else. He’s entirely ruined you in the best way.

He did all this to you, and still doesn’t know it?

Overcome, you slide your hands into his hair, softly scratching at his scalp. He moans at the sensation. “I love you, Jey. I do, so much. Only you, I swear.”

Your confession of long felt feelings has him groaning loud, teeth gritting. “Fuck—I gotta come.”

It makes the taste of your pleasure even sweeter, feeling him shake over you, his muttered curses rumbling in your ear as he holds you close. The heat of his body bleeding into yours. At this point, your bodies were one and nothing could feel better.

“Please come, Daddy,” you mewl up at him, exhaustion creeping in on you under all the pleasure-pain. “Come inside me, I need to feel it.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

It’s not long before he does as you ask of him, sitting deep to shoot thick rope after thick rope of his warm cum into your willing body. The feeling so good and dizzying that it has you giggling, eyes pooling with unshed tears.

Even through the ebbs of his pleasure, Jey cracks an eye open to check on you. However crazy you look, it makes him smile.

When the last ebbs of his orgasm fade, and it’s just you and him slowly careening back to the present, Jey rears up to hover above, watching you still giggle.

And, of course, because he always has to play.

“Damn, my dick was that trash?”

He joins in your laughter when you playfully slap him upside the head, eyes bright and beautiful. “If you call four orgasms trash, then sure, yeah,” you snort, pushing him off of you once he pulls out.

Without a lick of shame, you get up and traverse the span of the floor all the way to the bathroom, not a stitch of fabric on you. However, before you get there, Jey is calling your name, making you look over your shoulder.

He looks so good there, just as nude, just as shameless. Head propped up on his elbow as he watches you. Teeth gleaming with a grin that screams, just got laid. “By the way? I love you, too.”

And when your eyes soften a certain way, just for him, under the lights…Jey has to wonder to himself why he was even jealous at all.

a/n: holy shit whyyy did i write all that??? i be fiendin’ for his fine ass, that’s why 😵‍💫 plus the jey tag was looking a lil dry, so why not 🤭 anyways, this is my first time posting any smut on tumblr even tho i lurk on here allll the time, so pls share anything nice if you’re willing and able! likes and comments are appreciated, please! byeee gonna cleanse my soul now!!!! 🤍

[mytribalnightmare]

I need you NOW

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After a show, Roman doesn't wait a second to take what he needs

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT 18+, locker room fun, semi public sex, daddy kink, dirty talk, slut shaming (blink and you will miss it lol), unprotected sex, creampie, oral (man giving), rough and deep sex

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.9k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I had this one sitting in my wips for almost a year now and thought I'd finish it for the birthday man! I changed a couple of things, this isn't exactly where it was supposed to go but it's what I came up with. It wasn't a birthday fic but I made it to be. Kinda. I hope you enjoy, I know it's been a little while since I shared something. Love y'all 💋

A/N 2: I had to reedit and change the picture/gifs set up because Tumblr flagged the post and hid it for everyone... 🙃 but now it looks fine! 🤞

Oh and Happy Birthday Roman or whatever 🙄 I love you even though you have big ears, teeth for days, you're a sexy DILF and you're somewhat of a good wrestler (kidding, you're the best) ❤

Credits: Roman pictures and gifs from Tumblr, text picture from Pinterest, lace divider from @anitalenia, MDNI divider by me, blue gradient divider by @omi-resources

Main masterlist | Roman masterlist | Taglist

The locker room was silent, apart from the TV mounted on the wall, that only minutes ago broadcasted Raw, but now was broadcasting a random show I didn’t care about enough to remember the name.

I could hear the wrestlers and various crew members moving around in the backstage of the arena, sometimes catching a little bit of conversation here and there. People coming and going in the hallway, making me stare at the door as if it would suddenly open and welcome the man I am waiting for.

The man of the hour, the World Heavyweight Champion—Roman Reigns.

Once again tonight, he was advertised on the show.

The attraction of the night because let's be honest, everybody talks about him, whether they like him or not. The Tribal Chief is the star, the main event, the head of the table.

The ring is and forever will be his home.

Nowhere else is he more comfortable than in a ring, under thousands of people's eyes—and millions watching from the comfort of their home.

The day he finally leaves that ring, a long period of grieving will follow.

Nothing will ever be the same.

There was a before Roman Reigns and there will be an after.

The latter being harder to replace, to forget.

Roman Reigns will never be forgotten, nor will he ever be replaceable.

Because Roman is not just a pleasure to the eyes, leaving anyone jealous of his physique and his handsome features, but he is an incredible athlete with undeniable charisma.

A 6'3 man and 200 something pounds of muscles and hard work. 41 years young and still killing it in a ring, as if he was still 20 or 30 years old. Superman punches and spears done to perfection, putting each of his opponents at the back of the line, after the 3 counts.

1. 2. 3.

The ring bells and the champion is crowned.

Still the Heavyweight Champion, he can hold his title proudly in the air until the next man decides to challenge him.

A fighter in and outside of the ring. Every single time.

Defeating other wrestlers and defeating cancer, his lifelong battle—one he will never truly be done with, always having to keep beating its ass.

No questions asked.

He can turn the whole arena into a cult, thousands of people lifting their ones to the sky, acknowledging and serenading him with OTC chants and calling him the Tribal Chief and the Head of the Table.

It's so easy for him to grab a microphone and cut a promo, making everyone sit down and listen to him, drinking in each and every single words that he speaks.

His presence is felt, not just seen.

When he enters a room, everyone stares.

When he's there, everyone knows without even having to look.

The air shifts, the energy changes.

That's the effect he has.

The night is over, but you can still feel the chills on your body, his entrance music never forgotten in your brain and you never seem to be able to keep your finger down when anyone mentions him because this is more than wrestling.

This isn't just a promo, it's a show of respect. It's legacy. Family. Bloodline.

It's so many things at once.

What a privilege to be in the front seat of it all, to be the woman he always comes back to and have the chance to be called his.

Although, I have to admit, it is hard for me to stay focused on what he does or says out there.

He's too much of a distraction himself.

Growls and grunts while in the ring resemble the same ones he makes when he's doing another stipulation of a wrestling match.

Only exception, this type of match doesn't take place in a wrestling ring.

Anywhere else but there.

Similar actions but different scenarios.

Different finishes.

Him on top, while I'm under him, sometimes switching to spice things up.

He has the upper hand, sometimes I do, the same way it works in that ring.

No belts to win. No opponents to beat. Not even a bell ringing signaling the end of the match.

None of that.

The goal is simple.

Conquer each and every curve and crevice of my body.

Two winners but no loser. Everyone wins in this game for two.

Claiming my body with what God blessed him with, marking me as his as we both unravel together. Him feeding me through ropes and ropes of his love while I take all he has to offer me.

Watching him wrestle or even just stand and look handsome in the center of the ring as he delivers greatness, baritone voice echoing through the microphone, never fails to leave me wanting more.

Craving the same kind of energy.

The same force.

Raspy and husky voice whispering dirty and nasty words in my ear. Praising my submissive self, letting him use my body as he pleases. Hands and dick claiming my body like no one has ever done before.

Dominating me.

Taking what’s his while giving me what I need. Wanting him to manhandle me, maneuver my body in any way and all the positions imaginable. Body at his full disposition, ready to please and obey all his commands.

I want to be his good girl.

Heavy footsteps stopped in front of the door, before I even had the time to think, it opened, revealing a tall and imposing 6’3 man in all of his glory, his title in hand.

“Hey, bab-” I barely had time to greet him accordingly, the energy shifting. Roman’s eyes locked on me instantly, wandering up and down my body and making me feel like a piece of meat. I felt shivers run down my body, my pussy starting to show appreciation and need for the man in front of me, now licking his lips and reaching behind him, making sure the door was locked.

Intruders and unexpected guests weren’t welcomed to our little private after party.

“Perfect. Exactly the person I need right now,” he smirked, beckoning me over with his pointer finger, carefully putting his title down. “Come here lucky girl…”

The look he gave me just now, I recognized a little too well. Seen it plenty of times before.

Eyes undressing me. Permanent smirk staying on his plump and delicious lips.

I knew exactly what he wanted.

What he needed.

Those eyes hid absolutely nothing about his real intentions, brown orbs now looked nothing like it.

Now dark and filled with something else.

Lust? Need? Love?

Probably a mix of the three.

That dangerous tongue of his, teasing and demonstrating what plans it had for me later against his own lips.

Long fingers making my body miss the way he touches me. Pleasing me with only a brush of them. Long digits entering my holes, playing tricks only they knew how to master.

The lack of privacy and intimacy this room provided and the fact we were now done here for the night, asked for me to try and bring some common sense back into the situation.

“Roman! You really can’t wait until we’re back home?” Seeing as I didn’t move from my spot—sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room—he slowly strutted his way to me, making my pulse quicken and panties moisten.

We had a comfortable bed waiting for us at home and I wanted nothing more than to have him all to myself but not here.

To be fair, I knew we wouldn’t make it home anyway. The ride home required us to take his private jet. And knowing how impatient and uncaring he is about fucking me anywhere he wants to, it was certain we would reach our highs while being high up in the sky.

Still, I preferred fucking in a jet then here, providing us more privacy and intimacy.

I had other plans but I guess he also had plans of his own.

It was a special day for him.

His birthday.

I didn't want to celebrate it in a locker room.

“Do I look like someone who can wait?!” Voice husky and deep with need and lust, my body instinctively responded, preparing to receive whatever he felt like offering me tonight.

Pointing down to the evident bulge in his pants, indeed it looked like he couldn’t wait any longer.

Roman—like the impatient man he is—had to take matters into his own hands.

In one quick motion, expertly grabbing the back of my thighs, he picked me up, hands gripping the meat of my thighs, securely keeping me in place.

I yelped, eyes wide, not expecting him to do that. Instinctively, my thighs wrapped around his waist, the grip on his fingers almost bruising on my skin from how tightly he held onto me.

Low moans left my parted lips but that’s all that came out.

The rest was stuck.

Words caught in my throat, blocked and unable to come out. A switch he didn’t yet turn on.

Soon, though, I’ll be trying to lock it back again.

If he even allows me. I doubt it.

Turning around, he nearly pushed me into the wall, right next to the door he erupted in seconds ago. The wall was cold and rough against my skin. Air almost suffocating, tension high, a lethal combination making it pretty much impossible to get out of this situation with clothes on.

The warmth of his body, the feeling of his rough hands on my legs from under my dress, the feeling of his skin, of his muscles as I grabbed his biceps, it was all too much.

Lips and teeth attacking my neck with open mouthed kisses and nibbles, like he wanted a taste of me. His cologne and faint smell of sweat from his earlier action in the ring, were the last things my body needed for all my senses to be filled with him everywhere.

Like a drug, it gave me a rush, a need.

I craved more, drunk off of him.

More kisses. More touches.

Now, all of him had invaded each and every one of my senses, unable to focus on anything else but him.

That’s the usual effect this man has on me.

I’m used to it by now. Losing all sense of control and common sense when he claims my body with the slightest of actions.

Wearing a dress tonight was definitely a good idea, Roman easily making his way in between my legs. His throbbing cock knew exactly where to go, finding the treasured land easily as soon as it was released from the constrict of his pants and underwear.

The surprise when he pushed my panties to the side and pushed—shoved—his dick all the way inside my pussy.

I gasped loudly at the welcomed but unexpected intrusion. Eyes squeezed shut at the stretch, nails digging into his arms, clawing and marking the skin.

This comes with no surprise with the amount of time he and I have fucked—this man has one hell of a dick and he knows how to use it.

Except, his cock isn’t only long but also very thick.

Adjustment needed for me when he feels like coming inside to play.

But not like he cared about that little detail right now.

One way or another, he will find his way in.

He always does.

Tight pussy pulled him in, locking him in place but still, it didn’t stop him from pushing and trying to thrust his way fully inside, making himself at home.

My breath caught in my throat, already feeling full and I could tell—and feel—he wasn't even half way inside.

Stern eyes and commanding voice, Roman wasn’t worried about me.

He knew his pussy and memorized the way it felt and how it fitted his size perfectly.

“You know it fits, just take it,” he growled, hissing at the way my tight cunt fluttered around him. He tried pushing himself inside again, groaning desperately. “Come on, lemme in…”

Perfect dick making me feel like I was about to be split open. Legs widening, pussy squeezing and spasming, wanting to welcome him inside but barely hanging on with that much hardness to deal with.

And God knows, that was almost impossible to achieve.

Roman usually makes sure I'm ready, fully prepared to take him by using some foreplay.

Not tonight.

Not when he's that horny and he can't control himself.

Moaning loudly, I whined, looking up at him with hooded eyes, holding onto him for dear life. “...So big-mhmm-full—”

Still wondered how the hell he managed to fit all of him inside of me. He’s some kind of magician for sure because there is no way.

I could feel his burning gaze on me, eyes locked on the way my face contorted in both pleasure and discomfort, my cunt still trying to make him fit inside my tight opening.

Thank God I never had any problems getting wet with him, helping him move in and out, lubricating and facilitating the passage of his huge cock in my tight pussy.

Roman let out a groan again, getting frustrated at my greedy pussy that wanted him inside but wasn't quick enough to get used to his impressive size.

Patience was never his biggest quality.

When he wants something, he wants it now, not later.

“What did I just say?! You know it fits!” I cried out as he fed me one deep thrust, nearly feeling him in my stomach. “Stop whining and fucking… take… it.” Three deep and strong thrusts made me see a glint of the stars and successfully managed to turn me on even more, wet pussy seconds away from turning into a Slip N’ Slide.

It's a good thing Roman loves those.

“Ro-Roman…” I managed to let slip from my mouth, voice strained. Whimpers followed soon after as his tip started teasing my hidden and spongy spot deep inside of me.

With the pleasured sound he just let out and the way I felt even fuller, I think he had managed to force his way inside, losing control of my pussy.

The sounds coming out from down there were nasty and nearly pornographic.

Sounds of skin slapping on skin, his balls ricocheting against my ass each time he pushed back. My pussy joined in on the concert too, mixing in some of its very own sounds—squelching sounds.

The whole mix created the perfect mixtape for a good time.

Whoever was to walk by at this instant, would know exactly what kind of game was being played on the other side.

Not only was it hot in here, but the room, filled with moans, grunts and whimpers, only added to the arousal of us both.

“That’s it…” he growled, feeling my cunt clenching and squeezing his meat, trying to accommodate his size. “Perfect pussy, remembering me each time like I never left…” he leaned down and bit my earlobe. “And if I could… I’d stay buried in it all day long…”

Deep thrusts and rolls of his hips followed his words. My ears almost went deaf, overwhelmed with the intensity of it all.

Unable to focus on anything else but the way he was taking possession of my pussy and my whole body, with each snap of his hips on mine

“See this shit?” He looked down at where we were connected, one hand reaching behind my neck to make me look too. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect," he closed his eyes and bit on his bottom lip before looking down again, “Like always, this pussy welcomes me in like second skin.”

The sight alone almost made me gush out on his big cock instantly. His long length drove in and out of me, eaten up by my tight and wet pussy. Glistening in my juices, he was moving fast and with purpose, hitting all the spots with perfect precision.

Eyes moving up on me, on the way I was falling apart in his arms, he chuckled.

“You love this shit don’t you? Daddy’s dick splitting you open and turning you into a slut for me... I know you love this, sweetheart,” he chuckled some more when I answered him with a loud whiny moan and breathless cry of his name. “Shit-you’re squeezing the hell out of me right now…” He hissed, leaning to stay inches away from my face, our lips teasing a kiss.

Words were unnecessary.

My pussy was doing all the talking anyway.

Growling again, Roman smacked my ass, making me whine and almost lose it right here and there. “Babygirl’s getting close, huh?” He mewled in my ear, “Wanna cum? Make a mess on daddy?”

Feeling me clench and dripping down on him, he went even deeper, helping me bounce back on him, meeting him in between his thrusts. His baritone and raspy voice drove me insane and made my eyes roll to the back of my head. “Cum for daddy.”

It was all I needed.

My body started shaking, eyes squeezed shut as he made me cum hard. I felt like I was screaming but nothing came out. Mouth hung open, eyes closed.

My pussy was so tight and gripping him so hard, I felt him twitch.

“Lemme get a taste of this juicy pussy…” Opening my eyes as I felt the material of the leather couch under me, they quickly rolled to the back of my head.

Feasting on me like he hadn’t eaten a full meal in days, Roman's mouth was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Licking and exploring my pussy, he had just fucked so, so good seconds ago.

My clit, my lips, even my asshole.

Nothing was left untouched.

I felt empty. No longer feeling the hardness of his sex inside of me. It was a weird feeling considering how only minutes ago, this very same pussy was struggling to even make him fit.

Now, it didn't want him to leave. She wants him back.

Although, I'm not one to complain about some cuni.

Neither did this pussy.

It's disgusting to hear and feel how drenched my pussy is, knowing Roman didn't give a damn about it, not letting his mouth and tongue miss a single spot.

I could picture the whole scene and how it would look like it was taken from a porn scene.

My whole sex life felt like a porn scene at times with Roman. The amount of filth and freak it combined was almost embarrassing.

I can't get enough of him and he can't get enough of me.

We ruined each other for anybody else.

The softness of his lips around my clit contrasted perfectly with the roughness of his beard scraping my inner thighs. As instinct, my legs locked around his head and my hands reached for his hair, uncaringly tugging and pulling at the strands, making his manbun look a mess.

None of us cared about it for now.

He groaned into my cunt at the feeling and quickly pulled his face away, still a glistening mess covered in my juices. He didn't care, acting like it was nothing and swapped my hands away from him to bury himself in between my legs again.

Legs spread wide by his hands, he went back into driving himself inside of me, drilling my pussy in fast and deep strokes, penetrating not only my cunt but my whole soul.

Now he was going to chase his nut, clearly on the verge of erupting inside of me after all that.

“ROMAN!” I cried out in pleasure, shutting my mouth quickly in embarrassment, my hand barely containing my voice echoing inside the locker room.

I was sure everyone in the arena heard me.

Of course, Roman didn't give two fucks about it.

For all I know, it only encouraged him.

“I know… feels good, huh?” Removing my hand from my mouth he shook his head with that damn dangerous and wicked smirk of his. “Nuh huh. Don’t hold back, babygirl. Wanna hear you… Whose dick is it?"

I was a fucking mess.

My head was spinning, on cloud nine. Breathless, I struggled to find the strength to use my voice cords but I managed to answer him. "M-mine. It's mine. M-my dick."

“Damn right babygirl, it’s all yours… and you know how to make it yours," he licked his lips and moaned at the taste of myself on his lips, igniting his own arousal even more.

“Daddy…” I whined loudly, feeling that familiar feeling building up inside of me again.

He grabbed my body and nearly made me dizzy from how fast he maneuvered me and forced me on my knees. Pushing me against the arm of the couch, I didn’t have time to breath, that he was back taking my breath away.

“Oh-FUCK! D—DADDY!”

“You’re doing so good babygirl… Taking daddy so well… I’m gon’ give you your prize, pretty girl… You gon’ lemme cum in this pussy, huh? My pussy?”

All I could do was nod.

Throat dry from all the screams and moans that came out of me and an overexposure to good dick—to him.

“Use your words, baby… You know daddy don’t like feeling ignored, I need to hear you…”

“Mhmm-yes,” I muttered under my breath. I felt the grip of his hand on my hair tighten.

"Yes what?"

"C-cum. I w‐want your cum," turning my head to look at him, it was now my job to get what I wanted. "Give me my cum. Give me all of it, daddy. Don't leave me empty. I want it s-so bad."

My pleas and desperation every time he's about to cum, always drives him crazy.

He loves this shit.

Loves knowing how badly I want to feel his warm seed inside of me.

I turn feral at this point each time.

Starving, I need him to feed me with his white and sticky cum, an evidence of how much he loves me and I gave him pleasure.

Make a mess everywhere, I don't care, as long as I get filled by him.

A stuffed babygirl, is a happy babygirl.

Roman nearly collapsed on top of me, followed by a deep grunt and one last snap of his hips against mine. Buried to the hilt inside of me, his whole body shook and I shivered as soon as I felt the first spurt of cum. "Yes, yes, YES. Give it to me-fuck."

Breathless and bodies sticky with sweat, we stayed connected together for long minutes trying to catch our breaths and recover from our respective orgasms.

"You okay?" Roman asked, pecking my shoulder. He always hated how carried away he can get at times, too horny and in need of feeling my pussy around him that he doesn't take the time to do foreplay and ask me if I'm ready to take him.

"Y-yes."

"Promise? That was a lot," his hands went straight to work, caressing and rubbing my body.

I smiled and lifted my head to look at him. "That was fucking amazing," he leaned down to kiss me and I pulled away after. "Happy birthday, champ."

Roman instantly relaxed, a smile forming on his handsome face. "Thank you, baby."

[minteagalaxea]

full throttle | r. reigns

roman reigns . world heavyweight champion

genre ⇢ smut (minors dni) . some plot  content warnings ⇢ car sex . sir kink . semi-public sex . hair pulling . unprotected sex (use protection!!) . cockwarming . praise kink . tears . overstimulation . age gap (reader is in twenties) . afab reader (she/her pronouns) . mild dissociation/sensory overload word count ⇢  3.7k inspiration ⇢ roman winning the whc . cars . that one scene in fast five (the one with han and giselle in the car) songs ⇢ "dfmu" by ella mai (x) . "bonnie and clyde" by dean (x) note ⇢ sorry i've been a bit mia! i've had some stuff go on in my life, and it has made it hard for me to write and post. thank you always to @spiicii, who has kept me motivated, supported, and encouraged. i love you lots, and this is for you 🩶🍵

the first thing she thought was that she won, and that she was too spiked up on adrenaline to really process exactly what just happened.

her holding a championship belt—a world championship belt, she should have added—was one of the more surreal things for her that weekend. as attention-grabbing as it was for her, she could barely remember all of the events that transpired after. she could recall posing for the photos with the championship for social media and the website, but she couldn’t remember explicitly doing it; she recalled her mouth moving as she answered the questions in the post-show, but she didn’t think that she actually did that. the words sounded like hers, but she didn’t think it was her mouth that was moving.

wrestlemania weekend, no matter how exhilarating it was, always tended to leave her overstimulated in the bad way. she couldn’t keep track of how everything was going, even if she was certain that she was the one performing the motions. she remembered being in the audience for the second night, flexing the championship belt on her shoulder and smiling with that high fashion beam. the moment the camera pivoted to other things, she allowed that ironed grin to falter just enough, even if she couldn’t completely shut it down. she did her job well. after all, so much of wrestling to her was performing, and at the very least, she could perform attentiveness and wonder. her mind continued its cocooning while she allowed herself to continue watching the main event, even as she gasped on cue when the announce desk broke or at the false pin.

in some twisted way, she could feel herself grounding back reality as they watched the match. roman was the person she could easily track, because she was absolutely abysmal at avoiding his gaze. he was magnetic in the way that only somebody who was the main event of wrestlemania for the 11th consecutive time could be. he felt larger in life, elusive, and rightfully so. they hadn’t spoken, but she knew that her admiration of him wasn’t a well-concealed secret among the roster. she was only fortunate that nobody ever made it clear to him. not that that mattered, since roman was part-time anyways. she was certain he wasn’t even aware of her existence. that was fine with her—at least then, she wouldn’t be able to embarrass herself in front of him.

she did come to the realization that the match was veering towards the end sooner than she would have wanted it to. apparently, a thirty-minute match would not help her get back into herself; she considered that a bit foolish of her. she found security escorting her to gorilla again for more press photos now that they had all of their crowned champions for the weekend. she shook hands with everyone, smiled graciously, and posed. the only thing she hadn’t anticipated was pr telling her to stand next to roman for the photo of the new champions for monday night raw.

at first, she made an attempt to stand a respectable distance from him, enough to portray as close. “get closer,” she heard someone say. her eyes, wide and dazed, wasn’t sure if she caught that correctly. before she could react, though, his hand (an admittedly large hand she definitely hadn’t fantasized about several times in an attempt to get off after watching his title matches), tugged her by the waist, placing her right by his side. both of them raised their belts high, staring down the camera with precision and no shortage of cockiness. at least, she attempted to emulate that.

the first thing she registered was that he smelled good, even through all the sweat and exhaustion. she deciphered notes of sandalwood and something that was distinctly roman reigns. the other thing she could process was how warm he was compared to her cold skin. “overwhelming, isn’t it?” he murmured through the static of her mind and the shutter of the camera.

her answer didn’t feel as automatic as perhaps it should have been, her voice foreign to her own ears when she responded, “how do you ever get used to it?”

even when all of the press shoots were done, he kept his hand on her waist, helping the two of them make their way to the dressing rooms. he answered as they walked, “you just do. take the loud with the quiet—it gets easier over time.”

she didn’t know if she could believe him. the entire weekend wasn’t even really loud anymore, now veering into overload as he dropped her off at her room, which granted barely enough privacy to take a moment to breathe before more celebrations began.

she knew that a few glasses of champagne slid down her throat a few times throughout the evening, but not enough to warrant being any way incapacitated through alcohol. she knew that she shook her head and said something about excitement and gratitude for being given the opportunity. she knew that she was smiling. yet, she couldn’t really register that the alcohol was going down her throat, that it was her head moving, that it was her muscles contorting into that beam, that it was her feet guiding her towards the corner. she wasn’t sure if she could properly breathe, even though she rationally understood that her body was able to breathe on its own, and could handle it just fine.

“you look like you’re five seconds from tapping out to an anaconda vice,” a voice dryly remarked. naturally, she turned her head up towards the direction of the voice’s owner. she most likely couldn’t keep the shock off her face when her brain finally managed to process (however slowly) the present visual and auditory stimuli that roman reigns was addressing her. but, this time, of his own volition.

she technically felt more than properly realized that his expression shifted from amiability towards concern—more specifically, that it was her fault. her breath hitched, pondering if she did anything wrong. did she not answer fast enough? did her smile seem too off? or worse: did she make it too obvious she was into him? the hypotheticals had her lungs struggling for air. not that she could entirely register it, because one moment, she was in the corner of the room with the otc, and the next moment, he had his hand on her waist, escorting them both out to the elevator.

“let’s get you some air,” he murmured, keeping his voice that unwavering baritone as he closed the elevator door, forcibly shutting the door before anyone else could enter and overwhelm her further. once the doors closed, he cautiously pulled her in, strong arms caging her into him. his voice broke through the fog, “it’s alright. deep breath in for me, yeah?”

her lungs followed, matching his pace as the elevator rode all the way down to the resort’s car garage. every instance the elevator door opened and stopped at a floor, roman immediately pressed it shut, ensuring total privacy and external insulation for her with every shiver she gave. each descending floor granted her another breath to return to herself.

by the time the elevator reached the intended destination, she felt mostly back. she regained enough clarity to realize that she was in a parking garage, following roman reigns to his car, an admittedly nice one. her steps began trailing behind his, hesitant while he guided her to the passenger seat, opening it for her to slip into. the moment he shut the door and joined her in the driver’s seat, she closed her eyes, shuddering an exhale so large, as if she was atlas and the belt was the entire planet on her shoulder.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i’m sorry you had to leave the party ‘cause of me.”

he extended his hand, leaving his palm up for her to take if she wished. she took it, allowing his hand to dwarf hers. “don’t apologize,” he said, unrepentant about affixing that heavy gaze on her erratically panting chest, “first one’s always the one that hits the hardest.”

“didn’t want to take you from the party though,” she murmured in apology, shuffling awkwardly in her seat to evade enough of the heat of his eyes. “you deserve to celebrate.”

“got my celebration right here, babygirl.” his free hand brushed her cheek, gently tugging her face up. she couldn’t avoid the sensation of heat on her face. her eyes frantically flitted anywhere but him, though he seemed to know what she was attempting to do in the first place, because he leaned in enough to rest his forehead against hers. roman’s tone took on a more impish foundation as he mused, “you’re cute when you’re trying to be subtle.”

“i’m sorry,” she squeaked out again, “it’s unprofessional, and i know it’s probably creepy for a twenty-something to be having a crush on you. i promise i’m not a stalker or anything like that.”

roman tilted his head forward enough to rub his nose against hers, lips curled into an amused smile. “now, who said anything about stalking?” her eyes bolted wide open to that, pulling away to make some sense of his mirthful eyes.

“i mean, it’s weird, ain’t it?” she mumbled, “you’re like…a superstar. i didn’t wanna make it weird for you ‘cause you’re not always here. i didn’t wanna make it unpleasant or uncomfortable for you every time you came back.”

roman chuckled, breath fanning against her lips and retorting, “trust me, angel, i wasn’t ever uncomfortable with you staring at me.” he didn’t have to say much else then, his insistence enough for her to brush her lips against his for a tentative peck. roman deepened it, shifting his hands to tug her closer past the console.

“fuck,” she moaned against his lips, fingers brushing his beard firmly. she leaned further over the console, shifting herself on the passenger seat to rest more of her upper body against his.

he groaned, amused still, yet more fond as they continued to make out, “sweet thing, aren’t you? all soft and needy from some kissing?” her cheeks flared, though she didn’t deny it when she kissed him again, squeaking when he forcibly maneuvered over the console functioning as a barrier.

her mind blanked out from being shifted however awkwardly from the passenger seat to be on roman’s lap—at least she figured this time it was from something pleasant rather than dissociation. she squeaked as he pressed her form up against his, allowing him to take all of her weight while she straddled his hips. “fuck, you’re adorable,” he cooed against her lips.

“thank you, sir,” she responded, voice growing shriller as she realized what she just said and what she just called him. for all of her troubles, she earned a deep-bellied rumble that let her know that she probably didn’t have to stop calling him that. if anything, he was turned on, if the growing bulge pressing into her clothed heat was any indication.

“call me that again, babygirl,” he growled against her mouth, the same way he did when he demanded acknowledgement.

“yes, sir,” she repeated, earning a heavy spank on her ass, “fuck!”

roman swallowed her sounds with a guttural groan, pressing her closer. his other hand came to cup her sex through her panties, shifting the skirt of her dress up to give him better access. naturally, she ground down on it, rocking back and forth against the weight and heat of his palm. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he breathed into her ear, allowing her to move her own hand down to fully grasp just how hard he was at the sight of her. she nodded, skin gently flushed from want and his attention.

tentatively, she palmed him, applying just enough pressure to not seem shy, but not being overzealous and presumptuous about how much pressure he would maybe like or want. roman responded beautifully to her touch, groaning especially husky when her finger rubbed the tip of his length, swirling the budding beads of precum around. his own hand shifted so that he could slip right through her panties; her own arousal coated his fingers in an unabashed, honeyed gloss. “sorry,” she mumbled, though she only sounded semi-repentant.

roman smirked against her skin, wetly smacking her pussy; she could only squeeze his dick harder for that. “cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he mused mirthfully, spanking her again, “but, i can’t blame you, can i? that’s how you got that championship.”

there was a part of her that lit up embarrassingly at the mere prospect that roman reigns watched her championship match, however short it was. when she mustered more courage to look up and gauge his reaction, she could only see pride reflected in his gaze, but also an awareness that he knew she wasn’t expecting it. “of course i watched, baby,” he chided fondly, kissing her forehead and then her pout away, “wanted to see you win your first world championship—the first of many. now, up you get, ‘cause i want you sitting on my cock.”

sue her. she was eager, exuberantly eager while she shifted her hips, allowing him to remove her panties. her own fingers worked to quickly undo his pants, pushing them and his undergarments far down enough to unsheath his length. she adjusted so that his tip brushed her slit, whining pleasurably every time the mushroomed head brushed her sensitive clit. “shit,” she whispered, overstimulated, “how are you gonna fit, you’re so fucking big?”

“don’t worry, baby.” his voice was cocksure, self-assured the only way a multi-time world champion and someone completely aware of his looks and its effect on other people. he nearly knocked the breath from her lungs with his cocky smirk as he promised, “i’ll make it fit.”

in one fluid motion, he effortlessly transitioned to slipping the tip inside her gummy walls, engendering a broken moan past her lips, arguably loud enough to shatter his eardrum. roman didn’t seem to care as he gripped her hips firmly, gravity taking over to have her impaling herself onto his dick. “holy fuck,” she gasped. her lips furled into a needy pout, one roman indulged with a searing kiss to her lips, enough of a distraction for the overwhelm that was just him filling her. she shivered and pulsed when she realized that he wasn’t even entirely in yet. that caused roman to groan, an animalistic sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“such a good girl,” he growled into her mouth. his tongue swiped the roof of her mouth, absorbing her squirming and pants with relish. roman’s other hand wandered down to rub tight circles at her needy clit. naturally, her walls spasmed; naturally, he reacted accordingly by spanking her with his heavy hand. it resonated within the metal confines of the car, and her own noises immediately followed suit.

“sir, please,” her voice was wrecked, as it only could be, but still, there was a dreaminess that roman found endearing as he set the pace for her—slow, but thorough. insistent, though not forceful. he only lifted her off half of his length, keeping her full at all times. roman kept his lips on her, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. his hand continued their marking endeavors, heating her ass in rhythm with his hips.

he sounded smug as he wondered, “yeah, baby? ‘please’ what?”

her breath faltered, fingers curling to undo the neatly tied bun of his mane, raking her nails through his illustrious mane. she didn’t yank. he seemed to appreciate that she only tugged with minimal pressure. he smiled against her lips, rewarding her with a steeper bounce, pulling out so only his tip remained before impaling her again and again. any time she attempted to formulate a comprehensible word, he swallowed it with a heady kiss and smack to her asscheek, which made her forget what she wanted to say in the first place.

not that she had much he could parse to begin with other than saying “please” and “sir” like they were the only two words remaining in her lexicon. even then, she wasn’t able to even manage a syllable that simple. that was how he seemed to prefer it based on the thorough thrusts of his hips against hers.

he groaned in her mouth just right when she tugged his tresses again, twice in quick succession and one longer tug. she wasn’t sure if she could explain to him if she was close with how he kept subsuming her mewls and starts of words into his groans and grunts. at this point, she wasn’t sure if she could call what they were doing really kissing so much as a mashing of tongue and teeth. she figured he could tell she was reaching the edge to her climax through the fervent way her walls pulsed around him like a butterfly struggling to escape its cocoon.

“close, aren’t you, babygirl?” he chuckled, her nods rapid and messy. she gripped his hair firmer, more demanding now that she teetered on that edge of release.

she begged, eyes welling with unshed tears from overstimulation, “p-please, sir! wanna cum!” her lungs gasped for oxygen when he delivered on her request, transitioning into thrusting more calculatedly, angling right up at the spot that had her seeing stars.

“right there, baby?” he murmured, repeating that particular thrust. her frame vibrated atop his lap as her climax washed over in unceremonious, reckless fashion. she wailed, throat ripping itself out from the weight of her scream. roman didn’t take that much more to follow after her, spilling those pearlescent ribbons deep inside her cunt with a deep roar briefly reminiscent of the ones preluding his spear. “fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he praised heavily, “sweetest fucking pussy for me.”

he continued thrusting through the aftershocks, arms firmly locked around her while she vibrated in his arms. “i got you, honey,” roman promised, kissing the side of her head while he tempered his pistoning down. he kept her on his lap, letting her tug on his hair enough to anchor her to this plane of existence. her breath fanned against his lips as she stole a kiss from him. he didn’t say much other than repeating his promise, forcing her lungs to follow his cadence until she could do it on her own.

when she did recover, she whispered, “sir,” her voice cracked at the edges from practically screaming herself hoarse.

“you did so good for me, baby. i’m so proud of you.” he punctuated his praise with a kiss to her hairline, not minding the sweat pearling there from exertion. from how he looked at her, how he sounded, she knew he meant it. she smiled, the first one she could feel from the past two days—she knew his pride went beyond her performance on his lap and extended to the two belts stacked atop one another in the backseat.

“thank you,” she responded with a shy heat to her cheeks. her hand moved away from his hair, resting on his heart while her fingers twirled some strands of his hair. roman smiled, one of the softer ones he reserved for his family, mainly. she flushed at the honor of being one of its recipients.

she gasped when he shifted just enough to start the car, accidentally shifting her hips to roll just right against his own. he groaned, sending her a raised eyebrow and barely contained mirth in his eyes. she shrugged, semi-apologetic. roman merely adjusted her positioning so they were both more comfortable as he started reversing out of the parking space and out into the vibrant vegas streets.

“you’re crazy,” she murmured, breathless as she glimpsed outside the window, allowing the oversaturated nightlife to consume her vision while he drove them both back to the hotel.

“yeah, well,” roman responded with the assurance of a champion, of being her champion, “i’m the tribal chief.” he said it like it was simple.

maybe it was to him. her thoughts, naturally, swirled around to the aftermath and to what monday would bring. New challengers, new threats, the inevitable paranoia—she wasn’t sure where she would stand as the weight of the belt grew more prominent on her shoulder, the responsibility chipping at the wide-eyed woman who only ever dreamt of carrying something as prestigious as the women's world championship. as if that wasn’t enough, her mind fabricated worst-case hypotheticals about their nebulous relationship given her feelings and how roman reciprocated, apparently. she wouldn’t be able to look at him without thinking of the mindblowing and grounding sex they had after wrestlemania. She didn’t factor that he would be there more frequently now, either. She could easily visualize the inevitable wetness growing at every instance. To make matters worse, she wasn’t sure what he wanted beyond just the celebratory sex, on the minuscule chance he would change his mind. or—worse—if he only did it out of pity.

before she could fret herself into the next century, roman cut her spiral short with a firm remark, eyes focused on the road, “don’t worry about tomorrow, baby.” at the red light, he tilted her chin towards him with a thumb and index finger. “just focus on me, alright? i got you. i promise. i’m not going anywhere.”

it suddenly struck her that he perhaps meant it beyond just trying to tether her back into her own body at this point, even if that intention still stood. her eyes peered up at his features as he returned to focusing on the road, applying gradual acceleration on the pedal as the car continued along the route. she parsed the relaxation in his posture, paired with the understated confidence that things would work out in their favor. her eyes flitted back to the two belts, resting like a perfect match, a picturesque display of harmony.

shifting just a little more, she rested her head along his heart, listening to his heartbeat while her own rammed at full throttle in anticipation of what the future brought her. starting with, naturally, the growing hardness still inside her.

taglist ⇢ @yana3sworld . @fearlesschimera . @theusotwinzcom . @acute-crashout-jeyuso . @geekinstilettos . @pr0wlerpunk . @miss-kuki-nz . @kelbrave . @romanswifey . @psilovey0u . @flyygirlmia . @lov3rla03 . @zillasvilla . @loreofsarai .

[ellswritings]

Getting Even

CM Punk (Phil Brooks) x reader

TW: Lowkey emotional y’all. It’s basically Y/N avenging Punk losing his title at SummerSlam. Regular wrestling violence. SMUT!!! MDNI!! Oral (m & f receiving), pnv, creampie, use of nicknames (slut, whore, etc.), praise kink, choking kink, rough sex, fingering, hair pulling, marking, just lots of smut lmao. Also, I had a request that was somewhat similar to this, but I forgot to add it. So I’m so sorry to the anon that requested it 😭

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N watches on from backstage nervously as Phil continues on with his match against Gunther. Her match isn’t until tomorrow, a triple threat against Naomi and Rhea for the Women’s World Championship, but she wasn’t going to miss her man’s match against the Ring General.

Phil hadn’t told her anything about the match. She has no idea what the outcome will be, but just watching the first few minutes, she knew it was going to be brutal. She watches as Phil gets his hits in, the match clearly in the shine stage. However, when the cutoff comes, she flinches as Gunther’s chop echoes off Phil’s chest.

They’re both professionals. They wouldn’t sandbag each other on such an important match. But that still doesn’t mean Y/N doesn’t get squeamish seeing him get hit so roughly. She’s taken her fair share of chops, but none of Gunther’s caliber.

“C’mon baby…” she mutters under her breath, biting her nails.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous,” Pam says teasingly as she walks up to Y/N, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. “Not even for your own match.”

“I just don’t want him to get hurt,” Y/N admits, her eyes never leaving the screen, but she does lean into her friend.

“Well, I can’t promise he won’t,” Pam says softly. “But I know his main goal is to get back here to you in one piece,” she rubs her shoulder reassuringly. “You scare him more than anything, and you were very adamant about him making it back to you.”

Y/N laughs softly, looking down briefly before glancing back up to the screen. Phil lands a good strike making her grin. It was one she remembered running through with him. “I trust him. I know he’ll be okay. But…” she exhales loudly, “Doesn’t stop me from worrying about him.”

“You’ve always been a worry wart,” Pam chuckles. “You should try relaxing every now and again. It’s good for ya.”

“I’ll relax once this match is over,” Y/N huffs out.

Pam pats Y/N’s back, “Well, don’t give yourself wrinkles. At least not before tomorrow.” She pats her back before taking off towards production, one of the writers calling out to her.

Y/N zeroes in back on the match. She watches her boyfriend and Gunter climb on top of the announce table. A gasp leaves her lips when Punk takes Gunther down, the man hitting the table face first before falling down behind it. Phil falls to the floor, crawling across slowly. She knew he was selling, but part of her knew some of him was hurt.

That’s when Gunther emerges from behind the table, blood cascading down his face. Y/N covers her mouth, feeling terrible for the Ring General, but mostly just grateful it wasn’t Phil in that position. If she saw him emerge with that amount of blood on his face, she would’ve lost her mind.

Punk slides over to the corner of the ring, wincing as he catches his breath. Y/N can feel her heart rate increasing, waiting and hoping this match is nearing the end. She despises the fact he wouldn’t tell her the way this match was going to go. What was going to happen.

Punk scrambles to pull himself up the side of the ring. Gunther manages to stumble to his feet, rushing into the ring before Punk can. Eventually, Phil gets to his feet, pulling himself inside. The sweat matted his hair to his forehead. He winced once more before cornering Gunther at the turnbuckle. He throws a few strikes before hitting him with a running knee. Y/N holds her breath as Punk climbs up to the top rope before delivering a flying elbow to the Ring General.

He’s tired, she can see it. But he uses the crowd to his advantage, taking their cheers and morphing it into energy. He makes his “go to sleep” hand gesture before turning his attention back to Gunther. He tries to pick him up, but the larger man manages to slip off Punk's back before locking in the sleeper hold.

“Damn it…” Y/N mumbles, foot bouncing rapidly. They’re nearing the end, she can feel it. But Punk has never been the type to tap. He wouldn’t lose this match to the sleeper. It’s not in his blood. Creative would never book him that way.

Punk claws at Gunther’s hands, the blood on the Austrian man’s face blocking whatever sight he had. She exhales loudly as Punk makes it to his feet, fighting out of the hold. Her jaw drops slightly as Phil gets Gunther on his shoulders before delivering a perfect GTS.

She shakes her head when Gunther remains on his feet. He staggers, clearly not fully present in the moment. Punk’s chest heaves with each difficult breath before he finds the strength to hoist him up and hits him with a second GTS.

Gunther falls to the floor, allowing Punk to dive in for the cover.

1…

2…

3…

CM Punk is the new world champion.

Y/N feels her heart practically leapfrog out of her chest. She smacks a hand over her mouth, eyes welling with tears. “He did it…” she mumbles. There’s a short pause before she laughs joyously. “Oh my fucking gosh. He did it!”

She feels her feet carrying her to gorilla before she can stop herself. She can see in passing monitors the emotions on her boyfriend's face. The way tears fill his eyes as he clutches the title he so desperately wanted to win. He hugs it towards himself like if he were to hold it any looser, it might disappear from his grasp. He deserves this. Out of everyone she knows, he deserves this win. Over ten years he’s waited for this moment, and now he finally got it.

She’s about to run out there to celebrate with him in the ring, kayfabe be damned, when the familiar scream of Seth Rollins music hits. Y/N pauses, her blood running cold as she sees the back of Seth’s man bun disappear from behind the curtain.

There’s no way. He’s hurt. That’s what he and Becky have been telling people. That’s why he hasn’t shown up to work. He wouldn’t be cashing in. He couldn’t be. Not when Punk just won. Not when he just fought like hell to get a title he deserved. After losing to John Cena at Night of Champions, this had to be his moment. They wouldn’t take it away from him.

Y/N slows, her footsteps bringing her to the edge of the curtain as she peeks out from behind. She can hear people whispering for her to move away, but she didn’t care. She had to see for herself. Seth strolls out with his crutches, Paul holding his money in the bank briefcase. Punk looks gutted for a moment before covering it back up with his tough facade. For a moment, Y/N thinks it’ll be okay as Seth turns back around to head backstage. It’s just a warning. That he’s still lingering in the background.

…Until he drops the crutches.

“No,” She shakes her head in disbelief.

Before she can even blink, Rollins is darting down the runway, knee completely fine. Punk grips his title as tightly as he can, crouching down to prepare himself for the fight of his life. He’s beaten down, broken, emotional from finally winning the world heavyweight championship. Of course Seth would cash in now.

Y/N feels her blood boil, grinding her teeth together. She can’t interfere. She can’t do anything. Not now. Maybe if she had known before, she could’ve pulled some strings with creative. That’s why Phil hadn’t told her. That’s why he held the title as close to him as he could because he wouldn’t have it for long.

Seth slides into the ring, Punk dropping the title to punch him at full capacity. He tries to lift Rollins up for a GTS, but Seth elbows him in the perfect spot, causing Punk to drop him. Seth manages to get Punk down on the mat, landing haymakers on the back of his head. He grasps his briefcase before slamming it onto the Voice of the Voiceless’ back. One after the other. Y/N watches in anger as Rollins spins around and hands his briefcase to Jessica, officially cashing in.

Seth Rollins is cashing in his money in the bank contract.

With Punk practically defensless, Seth lines up in the opposite corner, gaining momentum before stomping his head into the ground. Phil falls face down, selling the hell out of the move. Seth drops to his knees, rolling Punk over before hooking his arm under Phil’s leg and pinning him.

1… 2… 3.

And just like that, Punk is no longer the champion.

Watching Seth celebrate killed Y/N. She wants nothing more than to run out there and kick his ass for what he just stole from Phil. She understands it’s part of the business. But after all this build up, all of the “almost times” creative gave Punk, they took it away again.

It’s like every time Phil gets close, it’s taken away from him. And ninety percent of his failures have been caused because of Seth. She knows that Seth has say in his storylines. He has pull with creative. He didn’t have to do this. He chose to.

Seth sits down right in front of Punk’s limp body, title slung over his shoulder while Bronson and Bron continue to rub it in. Eventually, the camera cuts and the show ends. The fans in the audience are all reeling. Seth and his faction are the first to stand up, sauntering backstage with all the power they could want.

Y/N doesn’t move away from the curtain, her feet planted firm as everyone goes about their business. She continues staring at her boyfriend who is just now struggling to his feet, leaving the ring completely deflated.

Her jaw clenches as Seth and the rest of his posse push past the curtain. Seth stops abruptly, coming face to face with the ball of fury standing in front of him. She’s not showing it, her outward appearance remaining composed, but being the manipulative man he is, he can see exactly how she’s feeling.

He tilts his head, smirk ever so present. He pats the title on his shoulder, “Do me a favor Y/N/N… thank your man for keepin’ it warm for me while I made my way out. Really appreciate it.”

He lets out that obnoxious cackle, nodding for his henchmen to follow after him. She inhales sharply, fighting every urge to turn around and get herself suspended. The only thing that stops her is when her boyfriend stumbles through the curtain, practically almost falling into her arms. She wastes no time in pulling him close to her. If this hurt her as much as it did, it must’ve felt like torture for him.

Phil stumbles into her arms, his weight heavier than she expected. His chest is heaving, the sweat on his skin still warm from the lights and the fight. Up close, she can hear how ragged his breathing is, not from the match alone, but from everything that just happened. His hands clutch at her sides like he’s trying to ground himself.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just wraps her arms around him tighter, resting her chin on his damp hair as people walk past, crew members, talent, agents, all of them casting sympathetic glances his way but saying nothing. This wasn’t their moment to intrude on.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she murmurs finally, her voice low, meant only for him. She shifts, hooking her arm around his back, guiding him away from gorilla and deeper into the maze of hallways. He doesn’t resist. His head is down, shoulders rounded, the championship dream slipping further behind with every step they take.

She keeps walking until she finds an empty corner near one of the unused dressing rooms. It’s quiet, just the faint hum of a vending machine and the muffled chaos of backstage somewhere far away.

“Phil…” she says gently, stepping in front of him. She takes his face in her hands, thumbs brushing the damp strands of hair off his forehead. His eyes meet hers, and it’s like looking at a man who just got the air punched out of his soul.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, not accusing, but pained.

His jaw works, but no words come out at first. She can see him swallow hard, his throat bobbing. Finally, he exhales, voice cracking on the edges.

“Because I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he admits, eyes darting away like he can’t bear to see her reaction. “I came back to win. To prove I could still do it. And tonight… I had it. I finally had it.” His voice breaks on that word. “And the second I did, they told me I wouldn’t keep it for longer than five damn minutes.”

Her stomach twists. She’s angry—white-hot angry—but her first instinct is to wrap him up in her arms again. So she does, pulling him against her chest, her hand stroking the back of his neck. “I’m not disappointed in you,” she says firmly, pressing her cheek to his temple. “I’m pissed for you. You’ve fought like hell to get here. You’ve eaten more crap from this business than anyone else would’ve survived, and you’re still standing. If anyone deserves that title, it’s you. Not Seth. You.”

His arms tighten around her, like her words are the only thing holding him up. He breathes out slowly. “I know I’m closer to the end than the beginning. And the time to win titles… it’s running out.” His voice is quiet now, almost a confession. “Every time I get close, it gets ripped away. Makes me wonder if it’s ever gonna happen.”

She pulls back just enough to cup his face again, forcing him to look at her. “It will. And I’ll be here every damn time it does or doesn’t. But don’t you ever think you’ve got nothing left. Not to me.”

He tries to smile, but it’s faint, like the muscle memory is there but the joy isn’t. She leans in, pressing her lips softly to his. It’s not a heated kiss—it’s steady, grounding, a promise she can’t quite put into words yet.

When she pulls back, her mind is already working, already sparking with an idea. Something he doesn’t need to know yet. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

Confusion flickers across his face instantly, and his hands tighten at her waist. “No. Please… don’t go. Not right now.”

She smiles, leaning in so her forehead rests against his. “Five seconds. That’s all. And when I come back, I’ll still be yours.”

It’s the way she says it, soft, certain, that makes him reluctantly let his hands fall away. She kisses him again, slower this time, before stepping back. He watches her go with tired, wary eyes, still not sure what she’s about to do.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s boots hit the concrete with purpose, every step echoing in the narrow hallway. The buzz of backstage chatter, the crackle of radios, the distant thud of someone’s theme music, it all blurs into white noise behind the pounding in her ears. She’s not walking so much as cutting through the space, weaving between production crew and talent like a blade through fabric. Her jaw is locked, and her hands are fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Phil’s face, defeated, exhausted, trying to hide how much it gutted him, is burned into her mind. It fuels every ounce of her anger, stoking it into something sharp and focused. She’s not just mad for him. She’s furious at the system that keeps doing this to him.

She spots Paul Levesque a few feet ahead, leaning against a road case while talking with a stagehand. Without hesitation, she calls out, her voice cutting through the noise.

“Paul.”

The way she says his name, low, firm, edged, makes him turn instantly. His brows lift slightly when he sees her expression. The stagehand mutters something about getting back to work and quickly disappears, sensing the shift in the air.

Paul holds his hands up slightly, like he’s already trying to head off whatever is about to happen. “Alright, kid, slow down—”

“No.” Her voice cuts clean through his. “You don’t get to ‘slow down’ me right now. You owe me.”

That gets his eyebrows up. “I owe you?”

“Yes.” She closes the distance between them in a few quick strides, staring him down like she’s daring him to deny it. “Royal Rumble—you remember? I was supposed to go over. But you wanted Charlotte’s big return to be the thing everyone talked about. So I waited. Then Elimination Chamber—you kept me out of the win because the Bianca, Rhea, and Iyo story needed another month of oxygen. And I waited again.” Her voice sharpens with each word. “I’ve been patient, Paul. That patience is gone.”

Paul exhales slowly, running a hand over his face. He does love her. Hell, he’s the one who’s always said she’s money for the business, and yeah, he owes her. He knows it. But her eyes right now? They’re dangerous.

He inhales sharply, long and slow, rubbing his beard like he’s stalling for time. “You’ve had good spots, Y/N—”

She cuts him off with a look that could slice steel. “Don’t. Don’t give me the company line right now. You know damn well you’ve been holding me in place because it suited the board, the booking, the storylines. Fine. I played the game. But you promised me a favor. And I’m cashing it in.”

He shifts, arms folding across his chest. “Alright… what is it you want?”

“I want to interfere in Becky and Lyra’s match tomorrow.” She says it like she’s dropping a grenade at his feet.

His brows furrow. “That’s after your triple threat with Naomi and Rhea.”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna go out there twice? Right after wrestling?”

“Yes.” Her tone is so even it’s unsettling.

He shakes his head slowly. “Becky’s supposed to win, Y/N.”

“I don’t care.” The words are quiet, but they hit harder than if she’d shouted them. “You’ll figure out how to fix it. Bayley can challenge Lyra after for the title. Hell, I’ll challenge her if I have to. But I’m not asking you, Paul. This is the favor you owe me. And I’m calling it in now.”

Something in her expression makes him pause—it’s not reckless rage, it’s cold, calculated certainty. He studies her like he’s trying to figure out what the hell could be worth her burning her one piece of leverage.

“You sure you want to use it on this?” His voice is quieter now.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He sighs, heavy, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re gonna make my life hell, you know that?”

“Probably.” Her lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “But you’ll thank me later.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, before finally meeting her eyes again. “Alright. We’ll figure out the right angle.”

“Good.” She doesn’t wait for him to say anything else before turning on her heel, her mind already assembling the moment she’ll make it happen. She doesn’t need him to know why she’s doing this. He wouldn’t understand anyway.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N had barely said a word the entire walk back to the hotel. She didn’t need to. Her hand stayed looped through Phil’s arm, her thumb brushing absently over the inside of his wrist in a rhythm that was more about grounding him than guiding him. When they reached their room, she quietly pulled out the keycard, pushed the door open, and gave him a soft nudge inside.

Phil moved on autopilot, shoulders still hunched, his jaw tight. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the way he was still replaying the loss in his head.

“Sit,” she murmured, pressing her palm to the center of his chest and guiding him to the edge of the bed.

He didn’t argue, but he didn’t look at her either. Y/N crouched down in front of him, tugging at the laces of his boots. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do,” she interrupted quietly, glancing up at him. Her voice was gentle, but there was no room for debate. “Let me.”

One boot, then the other, sliding them off with care. She reached for the jacket next, easing it from his shoulders, and then peeled away the black tank top he’d thrown on over his bare torso. She folded each item and set them aside neatly, not because it mattered, but because she knew the orderliness might help him breathe easier.

He huffed out a small, humorless laugh. “You treating me like I’m a hundred years old?”

“No,” she said simply, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I’m treating you like I love you.”

That shut him up for a second.

She took his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom, twisting the knobs until the water came out hot enough to fog the mirror. Phil leaned on the doorframe, watching her. “You seriously don’t have to do this, sweetheart.”

Her nails grazed his scalp as she scratched the back of his head. His breath hitched — not in a way he could control. He felt that familiar sting behind his eyes again, and it pissed him off because it meant he was gonna cry.

“You’re right,” she said softly, “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Phil just let her undress him the rest of the way, the steam curling around them, and when she stepped in behind him, it wasn’t about anything physical, it was about keeping him upright when the weight of the night was threatening to crush him.

She lathered shampoo into his hair, her nails scratching lightly, and for the first time since the match ended, his shoulders dropped. “God, that feels good,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“I know,” she said with a faint smile. “You always tense up after a loss. Like you think you’re gonna carry it forever if you don’t keep it in your muscles.”

“I am gonna carry it forever,” he muttered, voice low.

She didn’t argue. Instead, she rinsed the suds from his hair and reached for the body wash, her touch steady and deliberate as she worked over his chest, arms, and back. “You don’t have to win every title for me to be proud of you, you know.”

“I know,” he admitted, leaning into her hand as she washed his neck. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss me off.”

“I’d worry if it didn’t,” she teased, and he almost smiled.

When they stepped out, she wrapped him in a towel, drying his hair with another before pulling him into clean sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He made a face when she reached for the moisturizer.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she said, dabbing it on his cheeks before he could escape.

“Feels like I’m in a damn spa.”

“You’re welcome,” she shot back, and that earned her the smallest of smirks. “Making sure you don’t look like a leather belt by the time you’re sixty.”

She got him into bed, tucking his water bottle on his nightstand. It’s freshly filled with ice because she knows that’s how he prefers it. As soon as she slid in beside him, he pulled her into his chest like he couldn’t stand the space between them any longer.

They stayed quiet for a while, just the hum of the AC filling the room. Finally, he spoke. “What’d you have to do before we left?”

She tilted her head up to look at him, kissing the tip of his nose. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. You’ll see tomorrow. Tonight’s about you.”

His voice was hoarse when he said, “What I need is you.”

Her chest tightened. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ll always have me. And not just tonight. Until the I take my last breath.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I hate losing. I hate watching opportunities slip. But… I’m not stupid. I know how lucky I am to have you in my corner. Hell, half the time you are my corner.”

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his damp hair. “And you’re mine. Which is why I know your time’s coming, Phil. Because you’re you. Not because you’re CM Punk. Because you’re Phil Brooks — the most stubborn, determined, amazing man in the world.”

He chuckled quietly. “Careful, you’re making me sound like a Hallmark movie.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Then maybe you’ll remember it.”

Phil kissed her temple, lingering there. “I don’t forget things like that.”

“Good,” she echoed, and they stayed wrapped together, the quiet settling into something soft and safe, a place neither of them needed to win to deserve.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stood in front of a mirror in the bustling backstage area, tugging her gloves tight as she checked her gear one last time. The black-and-gold ensemble hugged her in all the right places, glinting under the fluorescent lights, her hair pulled back in a sleek style that screamed confidence. She smiled at a passing production assistant, exchanging a quick “good luck” with another wrestler who slapped her arm as they walked by.

But then her smile shifted when she caught sight of him.

Phil.

He was moving slower than usual, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders slouched, still carrying the weight of last night’s loss like it was chained to him. But the moment his eyes landed on her, his entire face softened. Pride replaced the heaviness, his lips twitching into the faintest smile as if the sight of her knocked the air right out of him.

“You look… Jesus,” he breathed as he stopped in front of her, eyes dragging from head to toe. “...You are not walking out there looking like that,” he said finally, voice low, a little rough.

She raised a brow. “Why’s that?”

“Because, sweetheart,” he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, “if you do, I’m gonna end up jumping that barricade, dragging you backstage in front of twenty thousand people, and finishing what this outfit’s already starting.”

Her mouth twitched into a smirk, but she didn’t flinch when he got close — close enough that the heat from his body cut through the cool air of the locker room.

“You know the camera’s gonna be right in your face,” he went on, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “And all I’m gonna be thinking about is how fast I can get you out of this when it’s over.”

She fought the shiver that ran down her spine. “I’ve got a match to win, Brooks.”

“I know,” he murmured, thumb skimming along her hip. “And I’ll be out there cheering for you, like a good boyfriend… but don’t think for a second I’m not gonna be picturing you in that gear under me the whole damn time.”

Her breath caught before she shoved his chest lightly. “You’re disgusting.”

He leaned into her touch, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment. “I mean it. You look ready to steal the whole damn show. Hell, they might as well not book the rest of the card after you go out there.”

Her grin was warm, but her eyes searched his face. “You okay?”

“I’m better than I was,” he admitted, rubbing her hip. “Still pissed about last night, still wanna punch a wall about it, but… seeing you like this? Knowing you’re about to go out there and own it? Makes it a little easier to swallow.”

“Good,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Because I need you supporting me. I need you loud.”

“Loud is my specialty,” he said with a smirk. “You know I’ll be yelling my lungs out for you.”

“Perfect.” She straightened his hoodie, her voice dropping just for him. “When this is over, we’ll figure out how to get that damn title around your waist. One way or another, it’s gonna happen.”

His hands slid down, gripping the back of her thighs just enough to make her laugh. “Don’t go making me promises I’m gonna hold you to.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

For a second, they just stood there, locked in their little bubble while the chaos of SummerSlam prep swirled around them. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes locked on hers like he wanted to memorize her face before she went out.

“You’ve been patient,” he said quietly, like it was something only she deserved to hear. “Too patient. You deserve this win tonight, Y/N. And I hope to God you get it. Not because I’m biased—well, okay, I am—but because you’ve earned it ten times over.”

Her chest tightened, and she pulled him in for a slow kiss, not caring who saw. “You’re my favorite thing in this business, Phil. Win or lose.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers.

“Yeah.”

He smiled, that rare, real smile that only came out when she got past all the walls. “Go out there and make ‘em remember why you’re the best. And, uh…” he squeezed her butt, earning a playful swat from her, “kick their asses for me, too. At least one of us should come home with gold.”

She was still smiling when Rhea’s music hit, the bass thundering through the arena. She kissed him once more, quick but full of intent, before pulling away.

“Be right back,” she promised. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”

He watched her walk toward the curtain, pride radiating off him even as that ache from last night lingered.

“Go get ‘em, champ,” he called after her, his voice low but firm.

And she didn’t even have to look back to know he’d be right there, front row, making good on his promise to be loud.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The arena was already buzzing from the last match, but the lights suddenly cut, plunging the crowd into darkness. A heartbeat thumped over the speakers, slow, steady, then built into a rapid pounding as golden spotlights swirled through the arena. A wall of smoke rolled across the stage, and a giant LED screen lit up with Y/N L/N in bold, metallic gold lettering.

Then her music hit. The first beat sent the entire crowd into a frenzy — chants of “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” echoing from the rafters before she even stepped through the curtain.

She emerged slowly, bathed in golden light, draped in a dramatic floor-length jacket that shimmered with rhinestones and metallic threads. A championship-caliber entrance without even holding the belt. Her hair was perfect, makeup sharp, and her ring gear matched her larger-than-life presentation, sleek, black-and-gold with intricate designs that glittered under the lights.

Y/N paused at the top of the ramp, smirk tugging at her lips as she looked over the roaring crowd. She lifted her arms, fingers splayed wide, as pyros exploded from both sides of the stage, golden sparks raining down behind her. The smoke curled around her boots as she began her walk.

This wasn’t a walk. This was a strut.

Every step said I own this place.

Fans leaned over the barricade to reach for her, some holding handmade signs with her catchphrases, others just screaming her name like it was a prayer. She tossed her head slightly, smirking at the camera that panned low, catching her gear sparkle with each stride.

Halfway down the ramp, she stopped, turned to face the hard cam, and pointed directly at it with a devilish smile. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch her mouthing: Watch closely.

When she reached the ring, Y/N grabbed the middle rope, leaned back in a teasing stretch, and then slid under the bottom rope in one smooth motion — straight into a kneel. She popped up fluidly, discarding her jacket, and locked eyes with Naomi and Rhea, who were already waiting.

Naomi leaned against the ropes with a cocky smirk, tilting her head as if to say, cute entrance, but it won’t help you. Rhea cracked her neck, pacing like a predator waiting to pounce.

The three of them began to circle. The energy was tense, the crowd buzzing, each woman looking for the slightest opening.

DING DING DING.

Y/N and Naomi lunged first, locking up. Naomi tried to overpower, but Y/N transitioned instantly into a deep arm drag. Naomi popped back up — only to be met with a spinning heel kick from Y/N that dropped her to a knee. Rhea came charging, looking for a clothesline, but Y/N ducked under, springboarding off the middle rope to hit her with a flying forearm.

The crowd roared.

Rhea rolled to her feet, smirking like she appreciated the fight. She swung wide with a lariat — Y/N ducked again, grabbed Rhea by the arm, and launched herself into a tilt-a-whirl headscissors, sending the eradicator sprawling into the corner.

Naomi took advantage, yanking Y/N down by the hair. The boos from the crowd only made her grin wider. She stomped Y/N into the mat, then dragged her up for a snap suplex, following with a quick cover.

1! Kickout.

The match quickly turned chaotic. Rhea bulldozed both women with a double clothesline. She hoisted Y/N up for a delayed vertical suplex — holding her there long enough to let the crowd count — before slamming her hard to the mat. She went for Naomi next, driving her into the corner with shoulder thrusts.

Y/N came flying in from behind with a running knee strike to Rhea’s back, sending her stumbling forward. Y/N grabbed Naomi and hit her with a flawless rolling German suplex, bridging into a pin.

1! 2!

Rhea broke it up with a boot to Y/N’s ribs.

From there, the momentum swung wildly — Y/N countering Rhea’s Riptide into a DDT, Naomi countering Y/N’s springboard crossbody with a mid-air dropkick, Rhea catching Naomi out of the air and throwing her like a ragdoll. The crowd ate up every reversal, every near-fall.

Then came the final sequence.

Rhea had Y/N in her sights, charging for a big boot — and connected. Y/N went down hard, the crowd gasping. Rhea tried to drop into the cover.

However, Naomi slid in at lightning speed, using her momentum to push Rhea into a roll up pin. Normally, Rhea would kick out of that easily, but Naomi grabbed Rhea by the waistband of her gear and yanked it just low enough to force her to stop kicking out or risk giving the crowd a full moon. The crowd erupted in a mix of shocked laughter and boos as Naomi stacked her up.

1! 2! 3!

DING DING DING.

Naomi popped up, smirking like the devil as she clutched her title to her chest. The boos rained down, but she just held the belt high and mouthed “Still your champ” into the hard cam.

Meanwhile, Y/N sat up slowly, huffing, one arm wrapped around her ribs. Across the mat, Rhea was glaring daggers at Naomi, but when her eyes shifted to Y/N, something unspoken passed between them.

Rhea had never pinned or submitted her. Not once. Tonight was supposed to change that. It hadn’t.

Y/N gave her a slow, knowing smirk, like she’d just silently reminded Rhea: You still can’t beat me.

Rhea’s jaw clenched. The war between them wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The second she stepped through the curtain, the roar of the crowd still ringing in her ears, Y/N was met with a line of crew members, producers, and fellow wrestlers, all throwing her smiles, fist bumps, and quick congratulations.

“Hell of a match out there,” one of the camera operators said as he passed, still shaking his head like he couldn’t believe some of the spots she pulled off.

“You looked like a damn superstar,” one of the makeup artists chimed in.

Y/N offered a polite nod and a small smile to each person, slowing only when she reached Paul Levesque.

Paul’s arms opened before she could even speak, pulling her into a solid, fatherly hug. “I’m proud of you,” he said in that gravelly tone, giving her shoulder a pat before pulling back. “You’ve got the TLC match to get your bearings before you head back out for the Becky and Lyra match. You good?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Paul.”

He gave her a knowing look, like he was reading between her words, then let her go. She continued down the hallway, her ribs aching from that brutal whip into the turnbuckle earlier. All she could think about was getting some ice and a moment to breathe.

But when she rounded the corner toward the locker room, she froze. Phil was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the hallway like a hawk. When his eyes landed on her, his expression shifted instantly, softening into that rare, unguarded smile he saved just for her.

He pushed off the wall and walked straight to her, pulling her into his arms before she could even say hello. His hand slid up the back of her neck, holding her close. “I’m proud of you, kid,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, the kind of tone that didn’t invite debate. “And… I’m sorry you didn’t get the title.”

She shook her head, pressing a kiss to his cheek like it was nothing. “Phil, it’s all storyline. I’m good with it. Honestly? I’d rather build the suspense.”

He smirked faintly but his eyes softened. “Yeah, well, suspense or not, you just put on the match of a lifetime. People are gonna be talking about this for years.”

That pulled a genuine exhale of satisfaction from her. “Hope so.”

It was then that he noticed the deep purple marks already beginning to bloom along her ribs. His brow furrowed instantly. “Jesus, babe, you’re already bruising. How hard did she hit you?”

“Phil—” she chuckled, resting her hand on his arm, “—I’m fine. A little banged up, sure, but that’s nothing new after a big match like that. You know that.”

“I know it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He eyed her like he was considering wrapping her in bubble wrap before every match.

She laughed, cupping his jaw in her hand, her thumb brushing along the edge of his scruff. “Tell you what… after this is all done and over with, we’ll grab dinner, go back to the hotel, and just… relax.”

His expression softened immediately, his shoulders loosening. “Yeah… I like that idea.” Then his eyes narrowed as she stepped toward the locker room door. “Wait– what are you doing?”

Her smirk was borderline mischievous. “Got something to take care of.” She opened the door halfway, glancing back over her shoulder. “You might wanna hang out by a monitor.”

His brow shot up, arms folding across his chest. “Should I be worried?”

She just winked. “Always.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“And you love it,” she shot back before slipping inside, leaving him in the hall with a grin tugging at his lips despite himself.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The arena air buzzed with electricity, the steady roar of the crowd mixing with the faint metallic scent of pyros long burned out. Under the shadow of her black hoodie, Y/N moved like a phantom through the narrow backstage corridor, every step fueled by a dangerous cocktail of focus and fury. She kept her head low, strands of hair peeking out just enough to disguise her features from passing crew members.

From somewhere up ahead, she caught Phil’s voice, loud, tense, and scanning the area like a man who had already been searching too long.

"Hey, have you seen Y/N?" he asked a stagehand, the irritation under his words barely restrained.

The guy shook his head. “Nah, man. Not back here.”

Phil swore under his breath, his footsteps moving off in the opposite direction.

Y/N didn’t slow. She couldn’t. The pounding of the crowd beyond the curtain was calling to her. But before she could hit the opening that led to the arena floor, another voice cut in, sharper, cockier, and laced with that infuriating arrogance she could recognize anywhere.

“…I’m telling you, it was worth it,” Seth Rollins was saying, his tone smug and conversational as if he were discussing what brand of coffee he liked. He was leaned casually against a road case, talking to Bron and Bronson Reed, both of whom looked entertained. “Faking the injury? Oh yeah, absolutely no regrets. It was never about the title for me, boys, it was about making sure Punk didn’t get it. That was my mission.”

Bron chuckled. “Pretty ruthless, man.”

Seth smirked wider, the glint in his eyes pure malice. “Yeah, well… if keeping him down means keeping his little girlfriend out of the spotlight too?” He gave a little shrug, feigning innocence. “That’s just a bonus. Why should she get her moment if it kills him to watch?”

The words hit Y/N like a match to gasoline. Heat surged in her veins. Her fingers flexed at her sides, itching to grab the nearest object and smash it over his head. She didn’t. Not yet. Instead, she let that fire simmer, let it curl through her chest until her pulse matched the deafening thrum of the crowd outside. This– this was the fuel she needed.

By the time she stepped through the curtain, the noise doubled, wrapping around her like a tidal wave. The match outside was chaos. Becky Lynch and Lyra Valkyria brawling on the floor near the timekeeper’s area, the referee distracted, the crowd rabid for every hit.

And then it happened. Becky grabbed a steel chair, raising it high above her head, about to crash it down on Lyra’s ribs. Y/N didn’t think. She ran. Charging down through the audience, weaving between stunned fans, she vaulted over the barricade just as Becky’s arms began their swing. Her hands shot out, snatching the chair mid-air.

The crack of metal stopping echoed.

Becky’s head whipped around, fiery hair swinging, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What the—?!”

She didn’t get to finish. Y/N yanked the chair from her grip and slammed the edge into Becky’s gut, sending her stumbling back into the barricade. The crowd exploded into a chorus of shock and cheers, camera flashes strobing across the chaos.

Corey Graves’ voice rang out from commentary. “What the hell is Y/N doing here?!”

Becky shook her head, still processing, but Y/N was already on her. A swift forearm to the jaw snapped Becky’s head sideways, and then Y/N was unloading. Kicks, punches, a vicious elbow that sent Becky sprawling to the floor. She didn’t stop. She grabbed a kendo stick from under the ring, the hollow rattle of bamboo promising pain, and cracked it across Becky’s back once, twice, three times, each hit more brutal than the last.

The stick splintered in her hands.

The audience was on their feet now, the roar deafening.

Michael Cole’s voice cut through, speculative and sharp. “I don’t know what’s going through Y/N’s head right now, but this… this could be revenge for Seth Rollins lying about his injury!”

Y/N grabbed a steel chair again, unfolding it just enough to slam the seat into Becky’s spine. Lynch let out a guttural cry, collapsing to her knees. Y/N didn’t hesitate, she hooked Becky’s arm, spun her around, and drove her down onto the chair with a snap DDT that left Becky motionless.

With Becky down, Y/N turned to Lyra, who was still slumped near the barricade. She reached down, grabbed a fistful of Lyra’s gear, and hauled her up with surprising ease. “C’mon, champ,” Y/N muttered, almost taunting. She shoved Lyra under the ropes, then physically dragged her over to Becky’s prone body.

“Cover her,” Y/N ordered, voice low but picked up by the camera mics.

Lyra blinked in disbelief, but her instincts kicked in. She hooked Becky’s leg. The referee slid into position.

One. Two. Three.

The bell rang, the crowd going ballistic as Lyra was handed the championship. Becky rolled onto her side, groaning, her eyes glassy with disbelief.

Y/N stood outside the ring, chest rising and falling with adrenaline. A slow, almost unhinged laugh rolled from her throat. The camera zoomed in on her face just as Becky’s realization sank in… she had lost the title, and Y/N was the reason why.

Y/N started walking backward up the ramp, her gaze locked on the nearest camera. She leaned in, pulling her hood back just enough for her smirk to show. “Oh,” she said, her voice dripping venom, “was some of my passive behavior misleading?”

The crowd roared at the callback to Becky’s words from the night before.

Y/N took a few more steps up the ramp, then glanced back at the lens one last time. “Tell your husband, Big Time Becks…” she said, her smirk widening, “I’m just getting started.”

With that, she disappeared backstage, leaving destruction, confusion, and the echo of her laughter behind.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The second Y/N stepped through the curtain, the energy backstage was a live wire. Heads turned. People stopped mid-sentence. Agents, production crew, even the camera ops had that what the hell just happened? look on their faces. No one had been told. No one had seen it coming.

No one except Paul Levesque.

He was standing off to the side, headset half off, that small smirk tugging at his mouth when her eyes found him. They didn’t say a word, didn’t have to. Just one sharp nod from him, one from her, and the silent acknowledgment hung between them: Yeah… we pulled that off.

She kept walking, chin high, the chaos swirling around her like a storm she’d just set in motion.

She was three steps from clearing gorilla when it hit — the stomping, rapid sound of someone coming fast.

“HEY!”

Seth Rollins, with Bron Breakker and Bronson Reed flanking him like muscle, stormed toward her. Seth’s eyes were wide, jaw tight, the kind of furious where you can’t even blink without it shaking through you.

“You outta your damn mind?” he barked, voice already loud enough to pull attention from everyone nearby. “Who the hell do you think you are, getting involved in my wife’s match?!”

Y/N stopped mid-step, slowly turning toward him. Her smile was thin, razor-edged. “I think I’m the woman who’s man you screwed over when you decided to lie your ass off just to keep him from holding his title.”

“Ohhh, here we go,” Seth laughed, except it wasn’t amused, it was sharp, mocking. “You really wanna play the victim here? Your boy got outplayed. Simple. You don’t get to come sticking your nose in MY business because you can’t handle it.”

“This became my business,” Y/N shot back, taking a step toward him, “the second you made it personal. You couldn’t screw him out of a championship clean, no, you had to try and drag me down with him.”

Seth tilted his head, grin curling like he was daring her. “Oh, I’ll drag you down any day of the week, sweetheart. You wanna play in the big leagues, you better be ready to get knocked on your ass.”

Her voice dropped lower, dangerous. “Say ‘sweetheart’ again. See how quick I put you on your ass right here.”

The air between them went tight.

Bron and Bronson shifted, ready to step in if this went sideways, which, by the way Y/N moved in closer, nose almost brushing Seth’s, it was about two seconds from happening.

“You think you’re some kind of hero for this?” Seth sneered. “Newsflash — you just painted a target on your back so big, I could hit it from the parking lot.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. “Good. Makes it easier when I swing back.”

The tension spiked. Seth’s smirk faded into that slow burn glare, and his shoulders squared up. Y/N mirrored it, neither willing to break eye contact.

That’s when Phil appeared.

It was like he came out of nowhere. One moment Seth was in her face, the next, a hard shove sent Seth staggering back a step.

“You wanna fight somebody, Rollins?” Punk’s voice cut through the shouting. “Try me. I’m not hard to find.”

Now everyone was yelling. Agents moving in, Bron barking for people to calm down, Paul stepping forward to keep things from boiling over. Seth was still jawing, trying to get around the people holding him back, while Y/N stood there breathing hard, eyes locked on him like she’d finish this right now if they let her.

Finally, someone managed to herd her and Punk out of gorilla.

They stormed down the hallway in matching, wordless anger. Her hands were still clenched. His jaw was still tight. By the time they hit an empty stretch of hall, Punk stopped, dragging a hand down his face before running it through his hair.

“You are gonna give me an ulcer,” he said finally, voice still sharp but laced with something almost — almost — like laughter. “I can’t get any more gray hairs, Y/N. I’m maxed out.”

She smirked. “You love it.”

“No,” he corrected, stepping closer and pulling her into his chest. “I love you. You stressing me the hell out? Not so much.”

She shrugged against him like this was nothing. “I couldn’t just sit there and watch him brag about screwing you over. Not happening.”

“I mean– Y/N what the hell were you thinking?” He pulled back enough to look at her. “How the hell did you even…? Paul doesn’t just hand people a green light for something like that.”

Her grin was pure mischief. “I cashed in my favor.”

He blinked. “What favor?”

“The one from Rumble. And Chamber.”

Punk’s face went slack. “No. You didn’t.”

“Yeah,” she said lightly, like she’d just told him she bought milk on the way home. “Guess I’m fresh out now.”

His hands dropped from her shoulders in disbelief. “Y/N, that’s… you could’ve used that tonight for the title. For literally anything. Why would you burn it on—”

“You,” she cut in simply. “Because I don’t care about a title. I care about you. And it was worth it to wipe that smug look off Seth’s face.”

He opened his mouth to argue — but she kissed him before he could. When she pulled back, she was smiling. “They wanted to screw with you, so I screwed with them. Simple math.”

That fire in her eyes hit him like a freight train. It made his chest tight, and, if he was honest, his pulse a little faster for entirely different reasons. “You’re insane,” he said finally, smirking despite himself.

“You’re welcome.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he leaned in and kissed her, slow, lingering, because yeah… she was insane, but she was his.

“Come on,” he said finally, voice low. “Let’s get the hell outta here before I start a fight I can’t finish.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

They barely made it halfway down the hallway before Phil’s fingers found hers again — not the casual, fleeting brush they sometimes shared, but a deliberate grip, threaded tight like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go. His hand was warm, solid, the kind of hold that tethered her to him no matter how many people they passed. The corridor stretched on, but the air between them was heavier than the carpet under their boots. He didn’t even try to disguise it — the way his gaze stayed locked on her profile like a predator who had already decided the kill was his.

They passed a couple of people in the hallway to their room. One offered Phil a quiet nod. He didn’t return it. He wasn’t looking at anything but her.

By the time they reached the room, that look had only deepened. The second the door shut behind them, the quiet was deafening. Y/N turned, half ready to speak, but froze. That stare rooted her to the spot.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t the kind of heat you saw in the ring. It was quieter. More dangerous. His hoodie was still unzipped, hair a little mussed, eyes darker than they’d been under the arena lights. “You know,” he murmured, stepping forward at a pace that forced her to back up a fraction, “I still don’t get you.”

Her brow arched. “Don’t get me?”

“Yeah,” he said, head tilting slightly, gaze dragging over the curve of her mouth like he was memorizing it. “How someone like you could love someone like me this much. After… everything. The messes, the screw-ups, the nights I’m more of an asshole than I am a boyfriend.”

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You think I’m just here for the highlight reel?”

“I think you’re here because you’re out of your damn mind,” he shot back — but there was no bite, just a strange mix of disbelief and raw awe that she could feel in her chest.

She stepped closer, fingers catching the lapels of his hoodie and tugging gently. “I’m here because you’re mine. Good nights, bad nights… win or lose, you’re it for me, Phil.”

Something in him flickered, like she’d just touched a locked part of him no one else had ever gotten near. His hands slid onto her waist, fingers curling over her hips as though anchoring himself.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low, almost gravel. “Talk like that, I’m gonna forget why I was pissed off.”

“Maybe I want you to forget,” she teased, leaning in until her lips brushed his but didn’t close the gap. “Maybe I like you better when you’re only thinking about me.”

A breath of a chuckle escaped him, dark, quiet, before he closed that space, catching her mouth in a kiss that was slow but bruising, the kind that left no question about who she belonged to.

When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for his breath to mingle with hers.

“You know,” he murmured, thumb tracing her jawline, “we’ve been at this for years. No titles. No rules. Just us. But every time I’m with you… it feels like we already own the place.”

She smiled against his lips. “We’re not stopping until we actually do.”

His eyes burned hotter. “And when we do, every single person’s gonna know you made me a king.”

“And you made me your queen,” she said without hesitation.

That snapped the last bit of restraint in him. His grip on her hips tightened, pulling her flush against him. “You have no idea,” he murmured against her ear, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that made her skin prickle, “how many times I’ve thought about you like this. No cameras. No crowd. Just you telling me I’m the only one who gets to put their hands on you.”

Her smirk was a slow burn. “Why tell you… when I can show you?”

His jaw tightened. She could feel it under her lips as she kissed along his jawline, lingering just under his ear. He swore softly, catching her mouth again, the kiss rougher this time, the kind that stole every ounce of air from her lungs.

“You love me like I’ve never been loved before,” he muttered against her lips, his hand sliding under the hem of her shirt to splay against warm skin.

“Good,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. “Because no one else is getting the chance.”

That was the breaking point. His hands roamed higher, slow but certain, his mouth finding the line of her throat while she leaned back just enough to let him. The world outside their room didn’t exist anymore. Every touch, every breath, was him claiming her all over again, and her letting him.

Phil pressed her back until she felt the wall behind her, his mouth slanting harder over hers, his tongue teasing at the seam of her lips until she opened for him. She tasted faintly of the powdered pastry she snaked from catering earlier, but underneath was just her. The taste he knew better than his own damn name.

When his hands slid down, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him, she gasped against his mouth. He didn’t let her pull away; he chased that sound like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against her lips, each word brushing hot over her skin. “And I swear you fucking love it.”

“I do,” she whispered back, her smirk barely there before he kissed it away.

His hands roamed — over her waist, up her spine, back down to the curve of her thighs. He lifted her without breaking the kiss, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The wall supported her, but it was him that held her there, solid and unshakable.

They were both breathing harder now, heat curling in the space between them. His mouth trailed from her lips to the line of her jaw, then lower, nipping lightly at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She bit back a moan, but he caught it anyway, smiling against her skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice rough. “That’s mine.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Damn right,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “You’ve been mine since the day you walked into my life. And nothing — nothing — is ever gonna change that.”

The way he said it made her chest ache in that dangerous, beautiful way. And when he kissed her again, slower this time, there was no mistaking it, he wasn’t just claiming her body, he was laying his whole heart out in the open.

Y/N laces her hands through his hair, the unmistakable feeling of his erection grinding directly against her core. She gently massages the back of his head, a small moan escaping his lips. She swallows it with a need one could only consider primal.

She reluctantly pulls her lips from his, Phil opening his mouth to protest but is cut off as she maneuvers her way across his jaw and down his neck. Each kiss she leaves sends a round of chills down his spine. His chest rises and falls rapidly as his girlfriend skillfully traces shapes with her tongue along his perfectly salty skin. He gasps when she bites the connecting point between his neck and collarbone before marking him as hers.

“Makeups gonna have fun with that tomorrow,” he murmurs, not able to stop the way his hips continue grinding into her.

She hums before looking up at him and sucking another mark on the opposite side in the exact same spot. “Good… let it serve as a reminder.”

Without much warning, she unwraps her legs from his waist. Phil can’t bring himself to do anything besides watch his girl as she drops down to her knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. Her fingers trail up to the waistband of his pants before dipping below, just barely, but it’s enough to make his dick twitch behind the fabric. She licks her lips, tugging at the clothing.

“I know this weekend was hard for you,” she says, barely above a whisper. “But if you let me… I wanna take care of you. Make you forget all about the sting of what happened. Show you that you’re the real champion. And that everyone else is just existing on borrowed time.”

Seeing the way she’s so willing to do whatever it takes to stroke his ego, makes his cock grow even harder. Y/N licks her lips at the wet spot forming at the crotch of his pants. She doesn’t wait for permission, the needy look in his eyes communicates it enough for her. She hooks her fingers through the waistband of both his pants and his underwear, sliding them down his legs with ease. Punk helps her out, stepping out of the leg holes before discarding them to some random corner of the room.

He tilts his head with a smug smirk as he watches his girlfriend salivate over his dick. The tip oozing with precum, bright red and ready for whatever she wants to do with it. Her lashes flutter as she looks up at him, leaning forward ever so slightly. Her tongue pokes out of her barely parted lips as she kitten licks his aching tip.

“Fuck…” he exhales shakily, the minimal contact still feeling like everything he could ever want.

Y/N smirks before trailing her tongue from the base to his tip, taking her sweet time, relishing in the way his toned stomach clenches from the sensation. He tilts his head, hand lacing through her hair as she leans forward and takes the whole length of him in her mouth. He tries not to yank her hair from the sudden wave of pleasure, but Y/N pulls back off of him briefly.

“Don’t be gentle,” she commands. “I can take it.”

Phil raises an eyebrow, “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I can take it,” she reiterates. “Use me. I know you’re still angry.” She grips the base of his cock with her hands, pumping slowly as she leans forward to suck on the part of his dick not covered by her hands. She bobs up and down, speaking when she can. “Take it out on me.”

Phil stares at the beautiful woman below him, moaning softly as she takes his entire length, drool pooling at the corner of her lips. Her bright eyes are begging him, pleading with him to lose control. His grip on her hair tightens, “If I do this… there’s no turning back,” he warns, voice dropping an octave. “No begging me to stop–”

“Fine,” Y/N nods, pulling off of him with an obscenely pornographic pop. “Deal. No begging. I can do it.” She nods, never more determined to do anything. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

She surges forward once again, his tip hitting the back of her throat. Phil’s eyes roll into the back of his head as she manages to take him deeper, forcing herself to gag on his length. “Jesus,” he praises. There’s nothing hotter to him than his woman forcing herself to gag on his cock. Not because she’s forced to, but because she wants to.

He wastes no time after that. He fully grips her hair in his hand, holding her head in place as he pounds into her mouth at a relentless pace. She uses her tongue, working it around him like a professional. Like she was made to suck his dick. All of the anger he felt, the frustration that’s been building up is all coming to a head, and she’s taking it like a champ.

He feels himself twitch in her mouth as he sees a small bulge at the bottom of her throat. Her eyes are watering, mascara leaking down her cheeks, but she’s never looked so damn satisfied. She likes this. Her nails are digging into his thigh as she silently begs for more.

He pulls her head backwards, “Get up,” he commands.

The gravelly tone of his voice shoots a jolt of arousal straight to her core. She stares at him, never breaking eye contact as she maneuvers to her feet. That’s one thing she’s always killed him with, the way she can always keep her focus solely on him. He smashes his lips to hers, bruising and a lot less controlled. She wants him to let go, to use her, that’s what she’s going to get.

Y/N moans into his mouth, his tongue sliding past her lips and intertwining with hers. He can taste his own residue on her mouth and it makes him all the more impatient. He swats her ass, telling her to jump. She does as she’s told, only removing her lips from his so he could see where he was going. She continues kissing down his neck, leaving another mark or two in her wake. There was no getting around this tomorrow night for Raw. Everyone is going to know. And truthfully, he doesn’t care.

He tosses her on the bed, Y/N wasting no time as she scoots her way up to the pillows, her smile the most tantalizing thing he’s ever seen. He hadn’t even realized she’d been fully clothed the entire time. He can still see the way her gear pokes out from underneath her sweatpants and tank top. The image of the gold and black fabric clinging to her skin making him more turned on than before.

“Strip. And do it slowly.”

Y/N just grins all innocently as she reaches for her top first. The way she looks at him, all cute and soft, acting as if she isn’t the filthiest woman he’s ever met. She does as he asks, slowly pulling the top of her head to reveal that same gear piece he’d been thinking about all night. She loops her hands behind her, untying the back which allows the entire thing to fall off her body. His attention is suddenly only focused on the perked nipples staring directly at him. His tongue darts across his lips, and before she can even start at her sweatpants and bottoms, he’s lunging forward.

Y/N moans, hands shooting up to his hair as Phil sucks her right nipple into his mouth. The sensitive peak causes another wave of arousal to crash over her. She knows she’s soaked through her gear and most likely her pants. There’s no way the cloth has been able to hide how hot and bothered she gets by this man.

Her head flies back as he sucks a mark into her breast before moving over to the next and repeating the same process. She enjoys the way his teeth graze the flesh. She gently massages his head like she always does, hands running through his hair. It only spurs him on more as he starts grinding his still thick erection against her thigh.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He mumbles against her skin, kissing down her stomach until he reaches her sweats. He slides them off, leaving her just in her gear bottoms. “Going out there and getting involved in Lynch’s match. All for me.”

Y/N nods, “All for you,” she agrees. “Wanted everyone to know I did it for you.”

Punk laughs, dark and almost evil. He moves a hand up, cupping her pussy with his hand. He can feel the heat radiating off her, the way she’s dripping and begging to be fucked. “You’ve always been a cock slut, haven’t you? I knew you were wet before, but after you get my cock in your mouth, you turn into a fucking drinking fountain.”

Y/N moans at the words. Some nights she adores it when they make love, but other days, she really does need it rough. And quite frankly, so does he. He slowly pulls her bottoms off, loving the way her pussy clenched around nothing when it’s exposed to the air. Once he gets them fully off, he lifts the fabric up to his face, shoving his nose into the wet spot where she had been dripping for God knows how long.

“So fucking sweet,” he mumbles. He glances at her, watching as she tries her hardest not to move without his permission. She’s always been such a good girl. He grins, looking directly into her eyes as he sticks his tongue out, licking the remnants of her juices off the bottoms.

Y/N moans at the sight, growing more and more needy. He doesn’t make it any better when he groans lowly, closing his eyes as he relishes in her taste. She doesn’t have to say anything though as he’s suddenly crouching down, grabbing her thighs forcefully. “That was good, but I think I want it directly from the source.”

Without warning, he shoves her legs further apart, diving face first into her aching heat. Y/N arches her back without prompting, careful not to close her legs. She’s learned the hard way not to move unless he tells her to. His tongue probes in and out of her perfectly, he knows her body better than she does. She whines as his finger finds that rosy bud that makes her see stars. “That’s right whore,” he chuckles against her core. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

He was relentless with his ministrations. Y/N couldn’t keep quiet even if she wanted to. She knows their neighbors can hear exactly what they’re doing, but the thought of people hearing how good Punk is with his mouth turns her on even more. “Shit,” she says in a breathy whisper. “Feels so fucking good.”

Her pleasure only intensifies as he buries a finger inside her pulsing core. His tongue moves up to her clit as he starts pounding into her with his finger. He wastes no time before shoving a second and then third finger inside of her. He lifts his head, beard drenched in her juices. Seeing her this fucked out just from his tongue and fingers is enough to make him cum on its own. “You’re such a good girl. Goin’ out there and getting even for me,” he praises her. “And now you’re letting me use you how I please. How did I get so lucky?”

Y/N’s always been a sucker for his praise. Phil simply groans into her core when he feels more of her arousal gush around his fingers. He knows her inside and out. She’s never been able to resist how he talks to her. She always said her favorite thing about him is his mouth.

“I’m the lucky one,” she finally manages to gasp out as he starts pistoning his fingers in and out of her. “So lucky.” The next sound that comes out of her is a mix between a scream and a moan. “Fuck! I love you.”

Phil licks one more stripe up her pussy, pulling his fingers out as he crawls up to her. He smashes his lips to hers, Y/N moaning as her own arousal spills into the mouth. She loves the burn his beard leaves on her face. “I love you too,” he mumbles against her lips.

Y/N loses all sense of the world around her as he slides his dick inside of her. Phil curses lowly, enjoying the way she encases him perfectly. “You’re so tight f’me,” he whispers against her jaw. “Fitting me like a fucking glove, princess.”

She can feel every part of him splitting her open. He’s buried to the hilt inside of her and she knows what she’s in for. She feels him slowly pull out, both of them watching his dick slide out of her, coated in her slick. Both of them are entranced by the sight until suddenly he’s shoving himself back inside with no remorse.

Y/N gasps but it’s cut off by Phil’s hand curling around her throat. It’s not enough to hurt her, but it’s enough to make her feel lightheaded, amplifying the pleasure she’s getting from the man above her. “Stupid fucking Rollins,” he growls. “Thinkin’ he can take my championship.” He leans down, sucking a ready nipple into his mouth, biting down slightly. “He has no idea what’s coming to him, does he? Has no idea how crazy my girl is. How far she’s willing to go to get me what I want.”

Y/N tries to nod her head, eyes hazy. Phil just smirks at the blissed out look on her face as he plows into her. His pelvis practically meets hers with how deep he’s going. She knows she’s going to bruise, and part of her wants them to be the deepest and most colored bruises she’s ever had. She wants people to see how he owns her.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Y/N mewls, voice raspy from the way he’s still constricting her airways. “I’ll burn it all down for you.”

Punk chuckles, leaning down to kiss her once more. “That’s my girl…”

He pummels her pussy, finally removing his hand from her throat so he can place it on her lower stomach, amplifying the pressure his cock is providing her. Y/N’s mouth falls open in a silent scream. Her hands shoot up towards his back, her nails raking perfect lines down his skin. Punk groans, loving the way it feels.

“God, I’m obsessed with you,” he grumbles, each thrust hitting her cervix harder. He nuzzles his nose into her neck, breathing in the aroma that’s so specifically her. He kisses the sensitive spot behind her ear, a rush of chills forming on her skin. “You don’t even realize what you do to me. What runs through my mind when I see you walking backstage in the skimpy shit you call gear.” Y/N cries out as he hits that spongy spot inside of her over and over again without stopping. “My perfect slut.”

Y/N rolls her hips back into him, moaning into the now humid air. She pulls him closer to her, his chest now pressing against hers as he continues thrusting into her. “You like that?” He asks mockingly. “You like knowing how fucking crazy you drive me?” He sucks another mark on her neck this time, the fingerprints from how he was choking her still present. “And that sometimes I just can’t help myself. I’ll go back and watch some of your old matches just to jerk off at how fucking sexy you look.”

And just like that, the coil inside her snapped. Her entire body shudders, pussy clamping around his cock as if it was trying to suck all the life out of it. However, he didn’t lighten up. She said he could use her how he pleased, and he planned on it.

Punk curses, pounding into her faster now. The overstimulation makes tears brim at the corner of her eyes, but she knows better than to beg him to stop. She wanted this and he needs it. He reaches up, groping her breast roughly as his thrusts become sloppy.

“I’m gonna cum inside this pussy,” he pants, sweat forming at his brow. Y/N arches her back, nodding frantically. “That’s what you want, huh? Want my seed so fucking deep that everyone will know who you come to bat for?”

Y/N gasps, silently affirming everything he’s saying. She can feel her second orgasm building as he pounds into her a few more times. It only takes one more look at her completely undone form for him to explode inside of her. He yells out a string of curses before leaning down to kiss her bruisingly, hips stuttering. He barely pulls away, glancing down at where their bodies are joined, his cock covered in cum, glistening in the light like the most holy thing he’s ever seen. She winces slightly as he starts pulling out, but part of him can’t resist. He slowly brings his hand up, fingering her clit that’s still pulsing between her folds.

Y/N flinches, another wanton moan escaping her lips. Her pussy lips are puffy and perfectly coated in the cum that’s slowly dripping out of her. He doesn’t let much escape though before shoving his finger back inside of her, not letting a single ounce of his spunk go to waste.

Y/N pretty much falls limp, her body sinking further into the mattress beneath her. Her chest rises and falls with every bated breath. She’s been in a lot of taxing matches before, but none of them have taken her out more than this.

The room’s still thick with heat, the sheets a mess of tangled fabric and flushed skin. Punk’s breath fans against her neck as he slowly pushes himself up, bracing his forearm against the mattress while the other stays lazily draped over her stomach.

"Jesus," he murmurs, still catching his breath, his voice rough but threaded with amusement. "You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?"

Y/N smirks, eyes still half-lidded. "You’ve been saying that for years. Still kicking though."

Punk chuckles low in his chest, brushing damp hair from her forehead before pressing a kiss there. "Barely."

He sits back, taking a long look at her like he’s trying to burn the image into his brain. She doesn’t flinch from it, she’s long past shying away from the way he watches her.

"Y’know… you might think you’re slick, getting off on my ring gear," she teases softly, fingers dragging down his arm. "But I always knew. I just liked it too much to call you out."

That earns her a lopsided grin. "Should’ve known you’d turn my creepy into romantic."

"You make it too easy." She leans up, brushing her lips across his jaw before pulling back. "Now help me up before I actually melt into the mattress."

He rolls his eyes but slips an arm under her legs and one behind her back, lifting her with an ease that makes her roll hers right back. "Show-off."

"Shut up and let me take care of you."

In the bathroom, steam curls up from the tub he’s already started filling. He lowers her in slowly, like he’s afraid she might bruise if he moves too fast. The water laps against her skin, and before she can tease him again, he steps in behind her, settling so her back rests against his chest.

"Comfy?" he murmurs against her ear.

"Mhm. Could get used to this."

"You should," he says, like it’s a promise.

For a while, they just sit in the quiet, the only sounds the water shifting when he drags his hands lazily along her arms. "So," he starts, breaking the stillness, "about the whole Becky thing. Interviews, fan questions… what’s the game plan?"

She tilts her head back enough to meet his eyes. "Easy. I tell them I did it because it was fun, and because messing with people is one of my hobbies."

Punk snorts. "Cute. But you know they’re gonna try to spin it into some big dramatic storyline about me not being able to fight my own battles."

"Let ’em," she says, without missing a beat. "You don’t need to prove anything to them. And for the record? I’d do it all over again. Ten times. Just to watch their faces when I walked out there."

Something shifts in his expression then, softer, almost reverent. He kisses her temple, lingering a little longer than necessary.

"I love you… more than anything," he murmurs.

Y/N smiles, her cheeks flushing from how soft he sounds saying it. “I love you too.” Her fingers find his under the water, tangling together. "I hope you know you’re stuck with me forever, Punker. No matter what.”

He doesn’t say it, but the thought hits him like a freight train. Yeah… Forever sounds about right.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The crowd was still a roar in her bones when she stepped through the curtain. Signs with her name and Punk’s blurred together in a neon sea, some praising her, others cursing her, but all of them loud. Y/N didn’t rush. She let the reaction breathe, soaking in the split of cheers and boos like they were oxygen.

Her and Paul agreed for her to cut a promo about why she did what she did. It was a perfect way to set up a feud and explain storyline wise why she did what she did. While it was more personal than it was for work, they had to find a good way to intertwine the two.

She slid under the bottom rope, straightened to her full height, and leaned against the ropes with the mic in hand. The noise swelled again.

"Y’know…" She took a deep breath, letting her gaze drift over the arena. "I’ve never liked liars. Not in my personal life, not in this ring, not anywhere. And lucky me, I work in a place where the biggest liar of them all holds the World Heavyweight Championship."

A fresh wave of boos rained down at the not-so-subtle shot.

"Seth Rollins," she said, pacing the ring now. "A man who spent months… no, years… talking about hard work, about earning your spot, about fighting with honor. A man who loves to preach about being the standard in WWE."

She stopped dead center, smirking without humor. "And yet, the second CM Punk claws his way back to the top after ten damn years… the second he earns his shot fair and square… Rollins throws every word he’s ever said into the trash because he’s too bitter, too jealous, to let someone else shine."

The crowd roared again — some agreeing, some trying to drown her out. "Punk deserved that title more than anyone in this company," she continued, her voice sharpening. "And Seth couldn’t take it. Couldn’t handle that maybe, just maybe, someone was better than him. So he cheated. He played dirty. He took something he didn’t deserve."

She paused, adjusting her grip on the mic. "And when someone like Seth wants to fight dirty? Well… I can do that too. I didn’t get revenge. I got even. And you can cry about it on Twitter, you can chant about it in this arena, but the fact is—"

Cult of Personality hit like a thunderclap. The crowd exploded.

Her head snapped toward the stage, expecting Becky, maybe Seth — definitely not him. Punk stepped out in his classic tee and jeans, hair damp, smirk carved across his face like he’d just won the lottery.

"What the hell…" she muttered under her breath as he started down the ramp, slapping a few outstretched hands along the way.

When he slid into the ring, she leaned toward him, mic lowered. "What are you doing out here?"

He just grinned wider, like he was in on a joke she hadn’t heard yet. Punk took the other mic from the timekeeper and turned to face the crowd. "I wasn’t gonna come out here. Figured this was your moment to talk your talk. But, uh…" He glanced at her, eyes glinting. "Turns out I’ve got a couple things to get off my chest."

The arena quieted just enough for him to start pacing. "First of all… yeah, I lost. Seth Rollins beat me. You can call it skill, you can call it strategy, you can call it whatever helps you sleep at night. But here’s the thing — I don’t stay down. I’m not done. I’m getting that title back, and when I do, there’s not a damn thing Seth can do about it."

The crowd popped. He pointed toward Y/N. "And I’ve got her to thank for reminding me what kind of fight I’m capable of. ’Cause she didn’t just watch from the sidelines. She didn’t let someone she loves get screwed over and shrug it off. She went out there and made sure they knew there are consequences for screwing with us."

Y/N smirked a little at that, but before she could respond, Punk’s voice shifted. Lower. More deliberate. "But there’s something else," he said, stepping closer until they were just a foot apart. "Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Because the truth is… I’ve had a lot of fights in my life. In this ring. Outside of it. But the best fight I’ve ever been in was keeping you."

Her chest tightened. This was not where she thought this was going.

"I’m not an easy guy to love," Punk went on, eyes locked on hers. "Hell, I’ve spent most of my life convinced I didn’t even deserve it. But you… for some reason I’ll never understand, you’ve been here. Through every high, every low, every self-inflicted mess I’ve made. And not only did you stay… you made me better."

The arena was pin-drop silent now, thousands of people watching a private moment unfold under the brightest lights. "You make me want to be the guy you already think I am," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "And you make me feel like maybe… just maybe… I’ve got more to fight for than titles or glory or proving people wrong. Maybe the whole point was just… finding you."

Her eyes burned, and she shook her head slightly, trying to blink it away. And then Punk reached into his pocket, and the crowd lost it.

Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth as he dropped to one knee, mic still in hand, holding out a ring box. "I could’ve done this last night, or in a hotel room, or somewhere quiet where it was just us," he said over the deafening noise. "But I want this on record. I want this on tape so we can play it back when we’re old and cranky and yelling at kids to get off our lawn. I want every single person here to see what you mean to me."

He flipped open the box. "Y/N… will you marry me?"

The pop from the crowd was deafening. She was laughing through the tears now, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it. But she was nodding before she even realized it. "Yeah," she breathed. "Of course I will."

Punk stood, sliding the ring onto her finger, and they kissed dead center in the ring while the place absolutely erupted.

When they finally broke apart, she grinned at him through glassy eyes. "You are such a sap."

"Yeah, but I’m your sap," he shot back without missing a beat. "And now everybody knows it."

cmpunk

liked by y/nwrestles, americannightmarecody, roxanne_wwe, and 150,456 others

tagged: y/nwrestles

cmpunk: She said yes 💍

View all 10,125 comments

y/nwrestles: about damn time, old man. 08.04.25 ❤️

619iamlucha: Congrats, you two! Couldn’t be happier for you both 🙏

charlottewwe: Finally!!! Love this so much. You’re perfect for each other 💕

uceyjucey: Happy for you, Uce. Lock it down. 🔐

biancabelairwwe: This is the CUTEST 😭 so happy for y’all!!

tripleh: Congratulations! Now let’s get this wedding booked before your next match. 😉

mikethemiz: Congrats! Can’t wait for the bachelor party. 🍻

roxanne_wwe: my parents are finally getting married 😭😭😭

rhearipley_wwe: This is actually adorable. Congrats.

wrestlingfangirl93: this is literally my roman empire 😭😭😭

cmpunkspromos: NO WAY?? THE POWER COUPLE IS ENGAGED 😭🔥

wrestleobsessed: I’m crying in the club rn.

straightedgearmy: Congrats to my fav wrestler and the only person cooler than him 😎

lariatlover88: the way he looks at her >>>

heartbroken_hogan: Damn, was really hoping I’d be the one marrying Y/N. Guess I’m screwed 😞💔

cmpunk: Damnnnnn, nice try though. She’s. mine, but keep practicing.

wrestlingwithmyfeelings: CM PUNK… SOFT?? never thought I’d see the day

steelcagequeen: I’d let y/n suplex me any day but she’s taken now 💔 congrats tho

crowdpopmaster: this better be the wedding of the decade

[elus1ve8utterfly]

Daddy's Lap

Summary: You cross a line you know you shouldn’t, slipping into Daddy’s office, aching for nothing more than a place in his lap.

Warnings / MDNI (18+): Smut; sexual content; *implied age gap; power dynamics; teasing; daddy/kink dynamics; orgasm denial (don't worry, daddy always finishes what you start)

Word Count: 2.2k

Credit: Divider by @cafekitsune, GIF by @fabxpunk, photo from Pinterest

A/N: This time I wrote in 2nd person. Not sure if I love it, but I’m always open to experimenting. Obviously. Had to post before Easter Sunday to ease my conscience, so as usual, please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. Loosely inspired by this post. Thank you for reading, muahh ʚɞ ᥫ᭡.

You reach for the doorknob, creaking the door open gently. Passing a barrier you know you’re not supposed to. Yet desire emboldens you to try your luck without a second thought to the consequences.

Your breath catches when you lock eyes with him. Leaning back in his desk chair. Radiating authority. Like a predator catching you in his trap. A window of light reflects off his black-rimmed glasses. His large palm hovering over his mouse, broken from its trance. He blinks expectantly, wondering why you’re looming.

His tank clings taut to his body, firm pecs protruding through the sheer fabric. Further encouragement for your mission.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here," Roman says sternly, peering over his glasses.

You nod once. “I know…. I just wanted to see you,” you whisper, a little breathless. Your voice a fragile thread, vulnerable yet insistent.

Roman doesn’t like to be bothered while he works. He takes his responsibility as a provider seriously. Tending to his work the best he can. At whatever cost. Hard work, a sturdy foundation on which he’d built his lifestyle after all.

His brow furrows as you stand in the doorway, delicate digits frozen over the cool metal doorknob, taken aback by your interruption. Clearly, no emergency apparent. Though he can see how apprehensive you are to cross the threshold.

Could see your shadow lingering outside his doorway moments ago before you finally pushed through. Expression softening, his eyes journey from the sheen of your chest, to your bare thighs, down to your manicured toes, and finally back up to the coy expression on your face.

He has a soft spot for his baby girl. Would do anything to make you happy. Most days, all it takes for his fulfillment is seeing you smile.

“Come here,” he finally says, swiveling in his chair.

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe, eager to obey.

A swell of excitement ignites in your chest as you promptly shut the door behind you. Footsteps light as you approach the edge of his desk. Like a tardy student summoned to the principal’s office. The verdict still out on how he’d handle your intrusion.

Butterflies swirl inside you as your fingertips tentatively trace the wood surface, following the natural swirls in its design. Wanting to look anywhere but at him. At his stern face. His authority pressing down on your soft frame.

He breaks your trance, reaching a long arm out. Amnesty. Grasping the hem of your pink nighty, he pulls you toward him. You oblige without protest as his firm hand guides your waist into his lap.

Like you belonged there. Like he’d wanted you there all along. A welcome relief from the long day of virtual interviews and emails.

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, giving affection freely. Rough beard prickling the soft of your skin. Blasting a cool jolt through you. An instant reward for the risk you’d taken.

Satisfied, you relax against the firmness of him. His embrace a safe haven. A place where you feel completely acknowledged and worshiped.

That is, until Roman’s hand returns to his mouse.

You still. Eyeing his movements suspiciously as his free hand rests on your belly. The warmth of his large palm beaming through your nighty.

Leaning forward slightly, he reaches around. Rests his other hand on the keyboard.Doing your best to stifle a protest, you eye him as he toggles the mouse.

His grip practically swallowing the grey-black. Each click pounding like a heartbeat, syncopated with the shiver running down your spine. Clicking. Toggling. Clicking. The sound echoing in your chest.

Your attention fixates on his movements, longing resurging at your core. Still hungry. You shift slightly in his lap as his hand dances over the keyboard.

Yours move to his forearms. Enjoying the sensation of smoothing your fingers up and down their length. Soothing contact to hold you over while his attention remains fixed.

The glow of his monitor reflects off your skin as your fingers ghost over his hands as he types. Then trace down his long, tattooed arm. You peek below the desk top, a sliver of tanned skin catching your eye.

Instinctively, your hands slip downward to the meat of his thighs. The firm muscle calling for your attention as his remains preoccupied. You grip them, relishing their shapeliness. Emboldened by their owner’s apparent distraction.

Roman makes no indication that he’s noticed. Though an urge courses through you. One that requires stealth to satisfy, so as not to raise any alarms.

You raise your chin, peeking up at him for any clear signs of disturbance. His focus remains sharply fixed on the glowing screen. Seemingly unaware of your gaze until he gently pecks a tender, sideways smooch at your temple. Acknowledgement. Barely.

It only deepens your hunger for more. Motivating you to push further. Your eyes flutter back down to his thighs as your fingers stretch toward the hem of his shorts.

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you wrap your fingers around them. Breath hitching, you torture yourself with a painfully slow pull of the fabric, further revealing his meaty thigh. A considerable reward for your efforts. Your tongue darts over your lips as you brush delicate circles into his skin. Tanned and supple.

Roman returns the favor. Almost subconsciously. Free hand rubbing gentle circles into your belly. But his other continues clicking. Typing. Scrolling.

A pout begins to tug at your lips. His lack of response thwarting your ego. Emboldening you to stop suggesting and get to demanding.

Determination in your eyes, you lean back further into him. Spine flush against his chest, your hips shift gently around his manhood. Once. Twice. Feigning innocence as you repeatedly make contact with his bulge.

The clicking stops. Silence. The air now mute, save for the swirling of the fan overhead. That got his attention.

His arms come pulling around you as his head dips to your ear. His grip a tight bear hug you don’t want to be freed from.

“What are you doing, baby?” he murmurs playfully.

His baritone voice rippling through your core, causing an involuntary giggle to erupt.

“Nothing,” you protest, weakly attempting to pull his arms away.

Secretly, you revel in his sudden attention. The intensity and anticipation of waiting for his permission coming to a head. Thrilling you. Exciting you.

Your own desperation arouses you as you continue to gyrate to the best of your ability in his lap. Your range of motion now limited by the constriction of his firm embrace.

He hums against you, squeezing you tighter. A subtle cede. Then loosens his grip and leans back against his chair.

Body relaxed, his hands fall to your waist as he peers up at you. The corner of his lip curls into a smirk as he opens his legs wider. Urging you to continue.

Your pulse quickens at the thought of getting what you want. Now feeling naked under the spotlight of his gaze. But you’re a big girl, so you refuse to run.

His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm as your fingers trace down his abdomen. Over his hands. Finally back down to his thighs.

His eyes anchor to yours as he allows you to explore his broad, muscular frame. An air of amusement on his handsome features. Your hands tremble against his skin as you force yourself to slow down.

You continue kneading, your bare foot dragging up and down his thick calf as your arousal grows. All the while, he sits back. Unnaturally still.

His gaze never leaving yours. Like a cobra calculating the correct time to strike. You exhale slowly through your nose. Preparing for it.

In a white-hot flash, his patience breaks. One minute he’s sitting back cordially, obliged to your touch. The next, he shoots forward, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you flush against him.

He groans in your ear as his arms tighten around you again. This time, it’s him gyrating his hips into your backside. Thrusting roughly as you whimper. You feel him, hard beneath the fabric between your bodies.

Your pussy already slick before you can even register his excitement. His palms grip your waist tightly as he bucks and snaps his hips against yours.

“Ahhh, Romann-,” you manage, desperately griping his hands as he thrusts against you.

Flustered by his excitement. Then the wetness on his crotch momentarily breaks his attention. A brief reprieve from the onslaught.

His thrusts halt as he looks down to inspect himself. Eyes jumping from the damp on his shorts to the damp at the center of your nighty.

He looks back up at you, pulling your head toward his. Temple resting against yours. He searches your face as his hand roams under the pink fabric.

Gaze darkening just as his digits find the source of the puddle in his lap.

“No panties, baby?” he asks, his thick tongue making a tsk sound before jutting out and dragging across his lower lip.

Your heart thuds in your chest. Before you can respond, he pulls your leg up to rest higher on his.

The sudden cool air from the ceiling fan hits your searing core as he pulls your hips back, exposing you to the open air.

You nuzzle your temple against his chin as he makes work of your slick folds. Removing his glasses with one hand to set them on the desk as he peers down between your legs. Continuing slow circles with the other.

You writhe and moan as he rubs voraciously. The dominating, punishing thrusts of earlier now replaced by a focused devotion to your clit.

Your legs splay open. One ankle resting on his thigh, your other foot propped on his desk. Toes curling, you suddenly become so aware.

Almost embarrassed by the naughtiness of the scene. Except the pleasure is electric, overriding the indignity.

You gyrate your hips against his as he pinches and flicks your clit between his warm fingers. Your pussy clenching onto nothing but air and opportunity as you squirm in his lap.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” he rasps, voice laced with taunt. “This why you came to interrupt daddy’s work?”

“Y-yessuh..pleasee-,” you whisper, quivering against him.

Your voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat.

He nuzzles his head against you. Watching your eyes roll back in pleasure. Your mouth agape. The soft cries that escape your lips further fuel him as his fingers circle your center. Then dip inside you.

“Mmmphh,” you cry out at the intrusion. 

But he mercilessly grips your waist tighter against him. Continues to move his finger in and out of you. One thick digit turns into two.

His rhythm quickens. Coated in your slick essence, they curl up toward your spot before pulling away ruthlessly. Again. And again.

Your cries turn feral as the sensation coaxes you closer and closer to your climax. He holds you steady as you writhe against him.

Greedy for every reaction as he pins you, keeping you from escaping the wave of pleasure he’s building. His patience and attention steady as he ravenously witnesses you come apart in his lap.

Roman isn’t ashamed to admit he loves to take you over the edge. To tease you to the brink of sensation overload before finally pushing you over. Nothing brings him more pleasure in the bedroom.

And so, to add insult to injury, he begins thrusting up against your pussy. Resuming his circular onslaught on your clit.

Your body vibrates at the delicious friction of his thick mound teasing your center as his fingers stroke you. Breath coming out in jagged hitches, your vision blurs.

Sensation luring you to give in to the pleasure. Every thrust, every flick of his fingers pushing you further. Climax a foreseeable promise as sparks begin to dance behind your eyelids.

And just as you reach your edge --

He stops. His grip loosens. The warmth of his fingers replaced by an unforgivable, empty cool. Your eyes snap open in shock.

“Go wait for me,” he whispers evenly in your ear.

You shoot up in his lap, looking back at him like he’d sprouted two heads. His big arms rest against the pads of his chair.

He bites his lower lip, as if stifling a laugh, taking in your disheveled appearance. His eyes like a cold-blooded predator, admiring his work, before he coolly nods toward the door.

Stunned, you finally rise to your feet. Fingers gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The stickiness of your nighty clings to you as you squeeze past his leg.

The tent at his crotch still erect and intimidating, you eye it as you reluctantly move toward the door. But then he adjusts himself and rolls his chair closer to his desk. His hands resume their position on his keyboard and mouse.

At the door, your heart almost drops as you reach for the knob. But you glance back at him once more, only to find him watching you with a terrifyingly calm intensity.

He slowly brings his fingers, still coated in your wetness, to his mouth. Tasting you with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

His amber eyes never leave yours as he tracks the tremor in your knees, a dark, satisfied smirk telling you exactly who owns your next breath.

“Don’t make me wait,” he asserts.

His low voice reverberating through your center, right where he just left you empty. And then, he turns back to his screen, as if you hadn’t just been coming apart in his hands.

[dpriestxripleysgirl]

burning up

pairing — jey uso x fem!reader word count — 5.7k summary — you try to calm down after having a wet dream, but you just can't help yourself... jey is right beside you and you know he can be the solution to all your problems. warnings — soft dom!jey, sub!reader, wet dreams, degradation, unprotected sex, tooth rotting sweetness, marking note — this is actually the very first concept i had when i started fanfiction, but it never seemed to come together. i decided to come revisit the idea and i'm so glad i did. enjoy :) general masterlist jey uso masterlist join my taglist here ♡

You moaned, loud and broken, legs locked tight around his waist as he fucked you deep and mean. His mouth was right at your ear, voice low and cruel. Hot breath against the shell of it.

“Listen to that sloppy fuckin’ pussy.”

He was growling. Hips snapping hard enough to make the bed creak underneath you. 

“You creamin’ all over my dick. You really needed this, huh? Just spread them legs and took it.”

You moaned louder, nails digging into his back as your walls clenched around him. He just felt so thick. So hot. Stretching you open with every rough stroke. 

Every thrust making a loud, rhythmic plap. The heavy, fleshy collision of his hips meeting yours. The slick friction echoing sharp and constant in the room.

It was all so much— your thighs shook beneath him, arousal coating his length and dripping steadily down to soak the sheets. Every time he bottomed out, you could feel it deep in your stomach.

“Jey— fuck!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he rasped, teeth scraping your ear hard enough to sting. “You better say my name. Ain’t nobody else fuckin’ your shit up this good.”

His weight pressed you deeper into the mattress, chest slick with sweat. Sliding heavy against yours. You could feel every inch of him. The thick stretch, him grinding on your clit when he rolled his hips, the heat pouring off his skin like a furnace. Your pussy was fluttering and clenching helplessly around him.

You were so wet. Embarrassingly wet. The lewd squelch of it was louder than your own moans.

He shifted, hooking one of your legs higher up over his shoulder, so he could fuck you deeper. The new angle made you cry out. His voice dropped even lower, right against your ear, mean and filthy and relentless.

“Look at you— can’t even talk. Taking this dick so good you ain’t thinkin’… Mhm, all you know how to do is let me use you.”

You were burning up. Skin sticky with sweat. The heat between your bodies was almost unbearable. His perfect cock was dragging against your walls with every thrust, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You were so close. So fucking close. Thighs shaking, pussy clenching tighter and tighter around him as you felt that hot pressure build low in your belly.

“J-Jey, please—”

He laughed low and dark against your ear, his hips snapping harder.

“Yeah? You gon’ cum for me like a good little whore? Do it.”

Everything tightened. The heat, the stretch, the drag of his cock, his voice growling filth right into your ear— until it snapped.

Your eyes flew open with a sharp, desperate gasp.

The bedroom was dark and quiet. The only light was a thin sliver from the cracked bathroom door. For one disorienting second you had no idea where you were.

The dream was still clinging to you, thick and heavy and far too real. Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. Your skin was on fire, actual fire. A deep, feverish heat radiating from the inside out.

Sweat had already cooled on your chest and the back of your neck, leaving your thin tank top plastered to you like a second, sticky layer. The sheets were twisted around your legs, clinging in damp patches to the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

You rolled onto your side, breathing fast and shallow, trying to calm down. But your body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

Between your thighs, you were soaked. Truly, embarrassingly soaked. Your panties were drenched, the fabric cold and tacky where it sat clinging to your swollen folds. Your clit was throbbing so hard it almost hurt. Each pulse sending sharp little shocks of need straight up your spine.

Your pussy felt empty and aching. A deep, gnawing itch you just couldn’t scratch, clenching uselessly around nothing. That imaginary stretch and fullness from the dream was still there, echoing between your legs like a cruel joke. 

You could still feel the heavy drag of his cock, the way it split you open, the way it bottomed out so deep you could feel it in your stomach.

But there was nothing now.

No weight pinning you down. No hot breath in your ear growling filthy things. No thick stretch and pulse of him buried inside you.

Just sweat, the tacky cling of your skin, and the humiliating wetness soaking through your panties and leaking onto the sheets beneath you.

Oh my god.

The thought hit you like a slap. Your face burned hotter than the rest of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, mortified, thighs pressing together so tight that it only made the ache worse.

You could still hear his cruel voice telling you how sloppy you were, how greedy, how pathetic you were for needing him that bad.

That wasn’t him.

That wasn’t your Jey.

Your Jey was soft and patient and gentle. Even when he was in control. He didn’t talk to you like that. He never has.

And yet… some traitorous part of you had liked it. Liked the edge in his voice. Liked the way he used you. Liked feeling small and filthy and completely owned.

You pressed your face into the pillow. A tiny, frustrated whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

You turned your head just enough to look at him in the low light, and the sight of him made your chest tighten.

Jey was sprawled on his stomach, limbs thrown out everywhere, taking up more than half the bed like he always did. One arm was stretched toward you, the other bent awkwardly under the pillow. His long legs tangled in the sheets, one knee hiked up, the other kicked out toward the edge.

His cheek was smashed against the pillow, face turned completely to the side, lips parted just a little. A thin string of drool shone at the corner of his mouth, slowly stretching toward the fabric. His curls were a wild mess across his forehead and the pillow, and his chain had slipped slightly so the metal rested against the pillowcase instead of his collarbone.

He looked… messy. Human. A little ridiculous.

And he was still the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Your throat tightened.

How could I dream him like that? 

Mean and cruel and using you like you were nothing. 

This was your Jey. Soft and open and safe. Drooling on the pillow like a big kid, limbs everywhere. Breathing slow and steady like the world could end and he wouldn’t even notice.

This is the man you loved. The one who held you like you were his favorite thing in the whole world world. The one who never said a harsh word to you unless it was wrapped in so much love you couldn’t breathe.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, shame and affection crashing together so hard it almost hurt.

God, I love him. I love him exactly like this.

The thought twisted sharp and guilty in your stomach. How could your own mind twist him into something so mean? How could you want that version of him even for a second? 

But you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t even try to deny it.

Your skin was burning up from the inside out. Sweat beaded along your hairline again, trickling down your temple. Your thin tank top was now cold and damp against your breasts, sticking to your back.

Every shift of your hips made the ache worse. Every breath made the emptiness throb harder. It felt like a fire you couldn’t put out. The only thing that would make it stop was him— his hands, his mouth, his cock. Anything to fill the burning void.

You tried to ignore it. You really did.

You rolled onto your other side, pressing your thighs together as tight as you could, hoping the need would fade.

You could handle this. You could just breathe through it and go back to sleep.

He was sleeping so peacefully. He was a heavy sleeper. He deserved the rest. You didn’t want to wake him up just because your stupid brain had conjured some filthy version of him and left you wrecked and dripping like this.

But the ache only got worse.

It pulsed deeper. Hotter. More insistent. Your pussy clenched again, another rush of wetness soaking your panties until the fabric was completely useless. The burning was too deep. The emptiness hurt.

You bit down on your lip until it stung, trying to stay quiet, trying to be good, trying not to disturb him. You tried breathing slow through your nose, counting to ten, then twenty, then thirty.

You told yourself it would pass. You told yourself you didn’t need to bother him. You told yourself you were being ridiculous— it was just a dream, just your own twisted imagination, and you could handle it like a fucking adult.

But your body refused to listen.

The burning only spread, crawling under your skin, making your nipples harden against your thin top and your thighs quiver with the effort of keeping still. Another helpless roll of your hips made fresh slick leak out of you, soaking the sheets beneath your ass in a warm, humiliating patch.

The need was too strong. 

You needed him inside you. You needed him to stretch you open and fill you up and make the fire stop.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Your hand reached out before you could stop yourself, fingers brushing his shoulder. His skin was warm, solid, so familiar it made your chest ache even more.

“Jey…” you whispered, voice small and shaky, barely above a breath. “Baby…?”

He didn’t wake up right away. Of course he didn’t.

Instead he made a low, grumpy little grunt in the back of his throat, the sound coming out muffled against the pillow. His face scrunched up for a second, brows pulling together like the sound of your voice was annoying him in his sleep.

One of his long arms flopped heavily across your waist, pulling you closer on instinct, but he still didn’t open his eyes. His breathing stayed deep and even, lips parted, drool still shining at the corner of his mouth.

You felt another wave of guilt crash over you. He looked so peaceful, so soft, so completely unaware. And here you were, burning up and dripping because your brain had decided to turn him into some filthy, mean version of himself in a dream.

But no matter how much that deep, dark part of your brain might want him to be just that— he wasn’t. This was a big, sleepy, ridiculous man you were talking about. One who took up half the bed and drooled on the pillow like a giant toddler.

How could you wake him up just because you were aching like this?

But the throb between your legs only got stronger. Your pussy clenched again. Another rush of wetness soaking through your panties until you could feel it starting to drip down the inside of your thighs.

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and tried again, voice even smaller this time.

“Jey… baby, I’m sorry. I just— I don’t feel good.”

He made another sleepy grunt, this one deeper, almost a groan. His arm tightened around your waist for a second, pulling you closer, but his eyes stayed closed.

You bit your lip, mortified, but the ache wouldn’t let you stop. Your hand shook as you reached up and gently brushed your fingers through his curls, trying to wake him without being too pushy.

“Jey… please,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I really need you right now.”

He finally stirred a little more. A long, dramatic groan rumbled out of him as he shifted, face scrunching up like the idea of waking up was personally offensive.

One eye cracked open just a hair, hazy and unfocused, then the other. He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of you in the dark, his voice thick and raspy with sleep.

“…Baby?” he mumbled, sounding half-confused, half-concerned. “Wha’s wrong? You okay?”

You felt your face burn even hotter. You couldn’t just say it. Not outright. Not when he looked like this.  Soft and sleepy and so completely your Jey.

“I… I had a dream,” you whispered, the words coming out shaky and embarrassed. “And I just— I woke up and I’m— I’m really hot. And I feel… I don’t know. I just, I need you. Please.”

He blinked again, slower this time, still trying to wake up fully. His brow furrowed as he studied your face, the flush on your cheeks, the way you were pressing your thighs together like you were trying to hold yourself together.

His hand slid up your side, warm and careful, palm resting on your stomach like he was trying to figure out what was going on.

“You burnin’ up,” he murmured, voice still rough and sleepy, but the concern was already there, soft and genuine. “Like, actually hot. You feelin’ sick, baby?”

You shook your head fast, ashamed, the words sticking in your throat. You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him you woke up from a dream where he was so mean and using you and that it left you dripping and aching so bad you couldn’t even sleep.

“I’m not sick,” you whispered, voice barely there. “I just… I need you. I need you to, to fix it. Please, Jey.”

He was quiet for a second, still half-asleep, but you saw the exact moment it clicked. His eyes widened just a fraction, the sleepy haze clearing as understanding settled in.

His hand stilled on your stomach, thumb rubbing one slow, soothing circle like he was trying to calm you down even though he was the one still waking up.

“Oh,” he said softly, voice dropping low but warm, nothing cruel in it at all. “A dream, huh?”

You nodded, face flaming hot. You couldn’t say anything else. How could you possibly explain that you’d dreamed about him degrading you and using you like a toy, when the real him was lying here looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world?

He smiled then— small, sweet, and so completely him. The corner of his mouth lifting in that lazy, boyish way that always made your chest feel too full. No smirk. No edge. Just soft affection and a hint of sleepy concern.

He shifted closer without hesitation, wrapping you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, pulling you flush against his chest so your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered against your temple, pressing a gentle kiss there, then another to your hairline, then one more to the tip of your nose like he couldn’t help himself.

His voice was still rough from sleep, but it wrapped around you like a blanket. “I got you,” he repeated. “Let me take care of my girl.”

You melted into him instantly, the guilt and shame and desperate need all tangling together as his big, warm hand rubbed slow circles up and down your back.

He smelled like sleep and his cologne and home, and you felt so safe it almost hurt. This was your Jey. Not the dream version. Not the cruel one. Just this— soft and patient and so ready to give you whatever you needed, no questions asked.

He kissed your temple again, slow and lingering, then gently rolled you onto your back so you were lying beneath him. The sheets were pulled back just enough for him to see you clearly in the low light. He hovered over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other resting warm and steady on your waist.

Jey looked at you like he had all the time in the world.

His eyes moved over your face, down the flushed column of your throat, across the way your thin tank top clung to your breasts, damp with sweat. His thumb brushed slow circles over your hip bone, and when his gaze finally came back to yours, it was so soft it made your chest ache.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice still gravely but full of nothing but warmth. “Look at you… all pink and pretty for me. My girl.”

You made a soft, shaky sound, half-embarrassed, half-melting, and he smiled. He leaned down and started kissing you again, slow and gentle, starting at your temple and working his way lower. His mouth brushed your cheek, the corner of your jaw, then trailed down the side of your neck in a warm, unhurried path.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, soft at first, then a little firmer, sucking lightly until a small, dark mark bloomed under his lips. You let out a quiet, sweet little whimper, tilting your head to give him more room.

He nipped gently at the same spot, just enough to make you gasp, then immediately soothed it with a slow, warm stripe of his tongue, licking over the fresh mark. You could feel him smiling against your neck, the curve of his lips warm and happy.

He did it again. Another soft nip. Another slow lick. Another little love bite that he kissed and licked until it felt like he was worshipping every inch of skin he could reach.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured between kisses, voice low and tender. “Lettin’ me take care of you like this… so pretty when you all needy and soft for me.”

You made another soft, sweet sound, fingers threading into his curls as your back arched just a little under his mouth. He was so gentle. So careful. The complete opposite of the dream version you created.

He was slow and loving and so happy to spend all night kissing and marking and taking care of you. It was like nothing in the world mattered more than making you feel good.

Jey smiled again against your neck, pressing one more open-mouthed kiss right below your ear before he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and warm and full of that quiet adoration.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he whispered, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “I’m right here. I got you.”

His hands slid under the hem of your tank top without waiting for an answer, palms gliding slow and warm up your stomach, fingertips brushing the undersides of your breasts. He paused there, eyes locked on yours, voice soft and patient.

“This what you want?”

You nodded so fast your head spun, cheeks burning, desperate little whimpers already slipping out as you leaned into his touch. Jey’s eyes softened even more. He didn’t tease you. He just pushed the thin fabric higher, slow and careful, until your tits spilled free. Heavy, flushed, nipples already painfully hard and tight from how worked up you still were.

He let out a low, appreciative hum, eyes locked on your chest like he couldn’t look away.

“Arms up f’me,” he murmured, voice so gentle it made you chest pang.

You lifted them immediately, and he peeled the tank top the rest of the way off, tossing it somewhere off the side of the bed without even looking. The cool air hit your bare skin and you shivered, but Jey was already moving, leaning down and latching his mouth onto one of your nipples.

The wet heat of his tongue was immediate and perfect. He sucked slow and deep, lips sealed tight around the sensitive peak, tongue swirling in lazy circles that made your back arch off the mattress.

A soft, needy sound slipped out of you before you could stop it, your fingers threading back through his curls as he switched to the other breast, giving it the same slow, worshipful treatment.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling straight down between your legs, and you felt him smile again. You whimpered, hips shifting restlessly beneath him. The ache between your thighs was only getting worse with every slow pull of his mouth.

But Jey took his time, switching back and forth between your breasts. He licked warm stripes over your nipples, nipping gently, then soothing each one with his tongue like he wanted to memorize the taste of you.

He lifted his head just enough to look at you, lips shiny, eyes dark and full of nothing but love.

“Still need more, baby?” he asked, voice tender, thumb brushing over one wet nipple. The touch sent sparks straight down between your legs, making your pussy clench hard around nothing. “Tell me. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

You nodded so fast your head spun, cheeks burning, the words catching in your throat. Inside your head it was a desperate frantic chant.

Dick, I need dick, I need your dick right now. Please, please, please make it stop hurting. I need you inside me so bad it hurts.

But all that came out was a shaky, embarrassed whisper.

“I just…I need you,” you breathed, voice cracking. “I need you, Jey. Please. Please make it go away. It hurts…I need you so bad.”

Jey’s eyes softened even more. He didn’t tease you. Didn’t make you say the filthy words your brain was screaming. He just nodded, already knowing exactly what you mean, and scooped you up under your arms with those big, strong hands.

In one smooth motion he flipped you both. He sat up against the headboard and pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him, facing him, your knees on either side of his hips. He held you close, one arm wrapped around your back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

He pulled you in until your face was tucked against his neck, your chest pressed to his, and he just held you there for a moment. Stroking your hair slow and soothing while he kissed the side of your neck.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m gon’ take care of you,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You whimpered, hips shifting restlessly in his lap, the soaked front of your panties dragging against the hard line of his cock still trapped in his boxers. The friction was maddening. Not enough. Never enough. But it still made your clit throb harder, another rush of slick leaking out of you and soaking your panties even more.

Jey reached down between you without a word, hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and tugged them down just enough for his cock to spring free. Thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. It slapped warm and solid against your inner thigh, and the feeling of it made your pussy clench hard around nothing. A fresh wave of desperate need rolling through you so sharp it stole your breath.

He didn’t rush.

He slid your soaked panties to the side with two fingers, the cool air hitting your drenched folds for only a second before his fingertips were there instead. He felt how wet you were– how your pussy fluttered and pulsed at the lightest touch– and he let out a soft, soothing hum against your neck like he was proud of you for being such a mess for him.

Then he started rubbing slow circles over your clit with the pads of his fingers, gentle but firm. The perfect pressure made your hips jerk forward on instinct. You whined loud and broken against his neck, the sound cracking in the quiet room as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap.

Every slow stroke sent sparks shooting up your spine, but it still wasn’t enough. It only made the emptiness inside you ache worse, made you clench and leak even more, made you feel so empty you could cry.

Please, please, please, your mind chanted, the words too embarrassing to say out loud. I need you inside me. Need your cock. Need you to fill me up right now.

“Jey– please,” you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop it. “Please… it hurts. Please.”

Jey made a soft, soothing sound, still stroking your clit in those circles, his other hand still cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing your neck again, sucking a gentle mark there. “I know it hurts. I’m gon’ fix it. Gon’ give you what you need.”

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, and you felt him smile against your neck again.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “I got you.”

Then he pushed inside you– slow, steady, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. The relief was instant and overwhelming.

You cried out, the sound cracking in the quiet room as your walls fluttered and clenched around every thick inch of him. He filled you so perfectly, so completely, pressing against that deep, aching spot that had been throbbing for what felt like forever.

The burning eased, the emptiness vanished. It was replaced by the heavy, delicious fullness that made your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut. You could feel every vein, every ridge, the way he throbbed inside you. Hot and solid and real.

Jey groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your neck as he held you close, arms wrapped tight around your back.

“There you go,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “You feel that? I’m right here.”

You whimpered, burying your face in ish neck, nails digging into his shoulders as your pussy fluttered around him again. You easily adjusted to the stretch, to the way he filled every empty inch of you.

The ache was still there, but now it felt good. Deep and warm and satisfied instead of painful. You rolled your hips once, experimentally, and then the drag of his cock against your walls made you moan again. It was softer this time, almost relieved.

Jey let out a quiet, happy hum, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other stayed splayed across your lower back, holding you flush against him.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck again, slow and sweet. “Takin’ me so well. My perfect girl.”

He didn’t move yet. Just stayed buried deep inside you. Letting you feel him. Letting you adjust. Letting you breathe through the overwhelming fullness. His thumb stroked gentle circles on your back. His lips brushed your skin in soft, lazy kisses, and you felt so safe, so full, so completely taken care of that the last bit of embarrassment melted away.

He slid an arm down to cup underneath your ass, big palm spreading wide and warm over the curve of it. He lifted you just enough to shift you higher in his lap, then slowly guided you back down onto his cock, bouncing you in a deep, unhurried rhythm that made your breath catch every time he bottomed out.

Jey didn’t let you do any of the work. He just held you there, strong muscles doing all the lifting. All the guiding. All the moving while you melted against him.

Your forehead pressed to him. Your noses brushed with every slow rise and fall of your body. His lips hovered so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. Every few seconds he’d lean in and give you the softest, barely there kiss. Just a gentle press. A light brush. A sweet little peck that made your chest flutter even as your pussy clenched around him.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered against your mouth, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face. “Just let me take care of you.”

He lifted you again, slow and steady, then eased you back down until every thick inch was buried deep inside you again. The drag was perfect– slow enough to feel every ridge, every vein, every subtle throb of him stretching your walls.

You whimpered softly, the sound swallowed by another one of his gentle kisses, your forehead still resting against his. Noses brushing. Breaths mingling.

You were so full.

So perfectly full.

Every time he guided you down, the ache eased a little more. The burning turned into a deep, warm pleasure that spread through your whole body. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in just a little, but he didn’t mind. He just kept that same slow, controlled rhythm, lifting and lowering you like you weighed nothing. Like he could do this all night if that’s what you needed.

“You feel so good,” he whispered between soft kisses, lips brushing yours, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth again. “So warm and wet and tight ‘round me. My perfect girl.”

You made a soft, broken sound, forehead pressed tighter to his, noses still brushing as he bounced you gently on his cock. The closeness was overwhelming in the best way. His breath on your skin, his eyes so close you could see every fleck of color in them.

He kissed you again, barely there, just a sweet press of lips that made your heart stutter. Then another. And another. Slow and lazy and full of love while his hands kept guiding your hips, filling you over and over.

You were still burning, but now it felt like the fire was being soothed from the inside out, replaced by something warm and safe and so, so good.

He kept the same slow, steady pace for a while longer, pulling you up and down on his cock with those big, strong hands. Forehead pressed to yours. Noses brushing. But the need inside you kept building, the ache turning sharper, hotter, needier.

Your pussy fluttered tighter around him, walls clenching with every deep stroke, and you felt yourself getting closer, the pressure coiling low in your belly.

“Jey…” you whimpered against his mouth, voice shaky. “I’m– I’m getting close…”

He made a soft, encouraging sound, eyes still locked on yours, forehead still touching.

“Go ahead, baby,” he whispered. “Cum for me. Let me feel you.”

He picked up the pace then, bouncing you a little faster, a little harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting growing louder in the quiet room. His hands gripped your ass tighter, lifting you higher before pulling you back down onto his cock with more force, the head dragging perfectly against that spot inside you every single time.

You moaned, the sound breaking against his lips as your whole body started to lock up. Jey leaned in and bit your bottom lip gently, just enough to sting, then soothed it with a deep, slow kiss as your orgasm crashed over you.

Your pussy clenched hard around him, pulsing, the pleasure rolling through you in hot, overwhelming waves. You cried out into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs shaking on either side of his lap as you came hard, soaking his cock even more.

Jey groaned softly against your lips, staying buried deep inside you the whole time, holding you close while your body trembled and clenched around him. He kept kissing you through it. Deep, slow, loving kisses, noses still brushing– like he wanted to feel every second of it with you.

When the last aftershocks finally faded, he stayed right where he was, cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapped tight around you as he held you against his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“You feel better?” he asked quietly, voice warm and a little raspy. “The burnin’ gone?”

You nodded against his neck, still catching your breath, body limp in his lap. “Yeah… it’s gone. Thank you.”

Jey smiled, the curve of his lips brushing your skin, and he pulled you even closer.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to your shoulder. “Think I’ll just keep you here a little bit longer. If that’s okay with you.”

You let out a soft, content little sound, nuzzling into his neck, arms wrapped around him as you settled against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice sleepy, eyes already drifting shut. “I’d like that.”

Jey let out a low, amused little chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He kissed your forehead, slow and lingering, then pulled back just enough to look at you with that sleepy, playful glint in his eyes.

“Besides,” he added teasingly. “You owe me, little girl. Wakin’ me up in the middle of the night just for a good fuck… it’s a damn shame.”

Your eyes fluttered open for a second, cheeks burning hot as a shy, embarrassed smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t believe he’d just said that. So casually. So playfully. But the way he said it, with that soft smirk and the gentle way he was still holding you, made warmth bloom in your chest instead of shame.

“You’re terrible,” you mumbled, half-laughing, half-blushing as you hid your face against his neck again.

Jey laughed quietly, the sound warm and fond, and pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

“Nah,” he whispered, lips brushing your hair. “You know you love me.”

Kept you right there, cradled close against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you, warm and full and perfect. His hand stroked slow, soothing lines up and down your back while your breathing grew softer, slower, heavier.

The last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under was the gentle press of his lips to your forehead again, and the quiet, steady beat of his heart under your cheek.

A tiny bit of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth onto his skin as you finally drifted off completely.

Jey just smiled, holding you tighter, perfectly content to stay exactly like this for as long as you needed.

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