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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