Hey guys, so when I made this post, I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. Now that I’m way more mellowed out and had the chance to read a lot of reactions and responses, let me act my age and actually clarify some things.
First, I want to apologize to those who were deeply upset by my post. My post overall was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with adding certain details to your reader, such as gender or body type. The issue comes in when you don’t properly title and tag it as so, or completely ignore it altogether.
If you see my post as an eye opener and want to change up your work, then you have every right to do so, but please do not think that this is an attack or jive directed at you. It’s just that some of us readers want exactly as promised. That’s like blindfolding someone, telling them that you’re gonna feed them an apple, and then making them bite into a banana - peel and all.
I know some writers have said that they want to be more inclusive in response to my criticism. If that is what you truly want, then by all means, but I cannot stress enough: write what YOU want to write. Do not feel as though you’re being pressured to change what you put out; it’s just a means of how you categorize it.
Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, respond, and engage with my original post. I truly appreciate the perspectives shared, they’ve helped me see things more clearly and refine my thoughts.
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."
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
Hiiii!! I hope you’re doing amazing! I’m sorry you’re having a bit of writers block at the moment as I know how difficult that can be!! I saw you opened your requests to see if that would help so I figured I would request something!
Maybe Rhea x Reader, where Reader is also a wrestler and her aesthetic is super girly and cute and bubbly (kinda like Tiffany Stratton) and something about it just draws Rhea in. Like she tried to act like she hates it and doesn’t like Reader, but eventually she just can’t and caves to how adorable Reader is and it brings out Rhea’s sweet side! 🩷
rhea ripley x reader
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
‼️nothing major, rhea’s sexual thoughts tho…a lot of fluff and sweet moments, reader being a tease (let’s pretend rhea is still champion here) ‼️
heartbeat
rhea hated when someone tried to take her title away. but she hated even more when you became her main opponent for a title run.
you and the dark haired woman were completely the opposite. you were a face, she was a heel. you wore pink, she wore black. you were kind and loved backstage, she was a menace with anyone who dared to even look into her eyes.
she hated the idea of having to fight with you. she already handled a liv morgan, a tiffany stratton and now she had to face you.
she absolutely despised having you as her main opponent and no matter how many times she tried to resonate with adam, he said that you deserved that title run more than anyone. and she knew it too. she observed you. you were good, you were smart, you worked more on psychological fights than physical fights and for the first time, rhea was afraid.
you and her never really talked outside of the company. she wasn’t in your group and you weren’t in hers.
so the first time you got to share a few words was when you two had a promo and even if rhea looked so intimidating, you were ready for a challenge and you showed her who you really were.
“so you think you can take my title?” she shouted into the mic, staring at you. she looked for something that could have scared you away but she find nothing.
you simply laughed, taking a few steps forward her “i’m damn sure i can” you stated making the crowd cheer.
she was ready to reply back. she was so ready to put you in place but having you so close to her made her freeze. your vanilla scent intoxicating her. your challenging eyes never leaving her face. something about you made her even more interested into this feud. you made her heart beat fast and she couldn’t understand why.
“cat got your tongue, mami?” you teased her, hearing even more chants from the crowd.
“stay out of my way” she said coldly before dropping the mic to the ground and leaving the ring.
as days passed, rhea moved cautiously around you. observing you at the gym, observing the way your body moved inside the ring as you trained. she couldn’t help the filthy thoughts running in her head when she saw the sweat dripping down your body.
watching you fight other opponents and she hated admitting it but she found you extremely attractive. she never imagined herself being attracted by some barbie doll prototype but here she was.
you, flaunting your pink gear, your perfect make up and curled hair, ready to fight liv morgan - once again.
you knew it was going to be an easy match. you fought liv multiple times and you always won but somehow it didn’t go exactly as you planned. sure, you got your win but liv managed to injury you.
rhea watched all the match behind the scenes and a lump form in her throat.
how the heck did liv manage to injury you? she was supposed to keep you safe inside the ring just like you did with her and instead she fucked up and probably costed you a title run.
she should be happy that you weren’t her opponent any longer but she was actually looking for a chance to fight you.
you struggled walking back, helped by some trainers, they let you sit comfortably in the medical area as a doctor checked upon on you.
sprained ankle.
a couple of weeks of no fighting, no training at the gym and no title run opportunity. this was definitely not what you were expecting.
as you slowly walked back to the locker room, you were stopped by the infamous rhea ripley.
“hey…” she greeted you, making you look at her with a confused expression.
“i’m out of your way now, are you happy?” you sarcastically asked her but you saw how serious she was.
“no, not really…i was really looking forward to fight you, can’t believe im stuck again with that mid morgan girl” she said, clearly mad.
her words made you laugh “it won’t be for too long, give me a month to recover and then i’ll happily pin you down the floor” you teased, seeing her blush.
her strong facade fell when you talked dirty to her. she felt her cheeks burn but she tried to keep up with you “i can’t wait for that moment to come then…”
you were absolutely in for whatever rhea was trying to do with you “challenge accepted then, see you in a month” you winked but as soon as you tried to walk again, a sharp pain rang through your foot, making you flinch a little.
“hey, you okay?” rhea immediately asked when she saw the pain expression in your eyes.
“i have to get used to walk with just one foot” you laughed.
“here, let me help you…” her hand softly moved around your hip, helping you back to the locker room so you could gather your belongings and then go straight to the hotel. she walked slowly, never forcing you or your body.
“i didn’t know rhea was a kind one” you joked, making her laugh.
“i’m not. i never liked you y/n…this bubbly energetic person you are, i always hated it…too much pink, too much kindness” she whispered.
“why is it in the past?”
“because somehow your annoying personality caught my attention” she confessed, making you look at her with a teasing face.
“that’s good to keep in mind next time i’m facing you in the ring…” you said making her roll her eyes.
once you got to the locker room, rhea packed all of your stuff. your make up, your clothes, your perfume - the vanilla perfume - and she took the bag over her shoulder.
“do you need a ride to the hotel?” she offered and you couldn’t turn her offer down so you agreed.
as you were settled in her car, you found her to be a comforting presence. maybe she really wasn’t the mean one everyone talked about.
before you could speak, metal songs blasted through the speakers and it took you a couple of minutes to realise that you and rhea couldn’t be more different “do you really listen to that?” you asked, a little confused.
“yeah…it’s amazing” she happily said as she drove.
“it’s giving me a headache” you complained, making her roll her eyes for the second time that night.
“what do you listen uh? let me guess? taylor swift?” she said almost too annoyed.
“hey! she’s a good artist! and no, i listen other people too! i listen to people who actually make music and not scream into a microphone for three minutes straight” oh you were so in for a tease right now and seeing how she scrunched her nose made you feel like you were hitting the right buttons.
“let’s not start or i’ll drop you here in the middle of the road” she joked, clearly amused by the whole situation. you ended up sitting there and watching her driving fast around town.
she helped you with the bags and only left your hotel room once she made sure that you were okay. she even left you her phone number so you could call her in case something happened - as she said.
a week has passed and you couldn’t even lie to yourself - you were actually enjoying texting rhea and having random conversations in the middle of the night with her. you remember texting her once you got home and asked her if she wanted to come over as you were bored and reluctantly she accepted.
she would be lying to herself but you attracted her. you were like a magnet and she couldn’t get enough of you. she would help you any time you asked her.
randomly going through your tiktok, you heard the bell ringing and without thinking twice, you slowly got up and opened the door, finding an adorable rhea ripley with junk food in one hand and a pink fluffy blanket in the other.
you looked at her for a second, too stunned to speak.
“you letting me in or are we going to stare at each other all day long?” she asked, her usual sarcastic tone lingering with some sneaky jokes too.
“oh sorry, yeah, come in…i wasn’t expecting you with food and a pink blanket…i actually wasn’t expecting you at all” you joked, trying to ease the tension a little bit because you had no idea why was rhea in your living room now.
“i was at the supermarket and i had my day off, i saw the blanket and i thought you would like it…here” she handed you the blanket almost as she was annoyed by it, trying to maintain her dark and mean side but deep down you knew that she was a softie.
you gladly accepted the gift and invited her to sit on the couch with you “what about the food?” you teased her, seeing her rolling her eyes at any remark you made was now a habit.
“i was hungry and i thought you would like some food too…” she tried so hard not to go soft with you but your smile and bubbly personality were making it hard for her.
“rhea ripley thought of me? i feel honoured” you laughed making her giggle.
“shut up and eat while i pick a movie…” she stated as she started swiping movies catalogue on netflix.
she chose something fun, something romantic, knowing that it was your favourite genre of film.
“i’m pretty sure you’re studying me so in two weeks you know how to make me lose against you for the title run” you joked, making her laugh.
“honey, there’s no way you’re gonna beat my ass during that run, that’s my title and my title only but i’ll happily pin you down” she turned her face to you, a sneaky smirk on her face as her mind fantasised about the idea of having to pin you down, under her body.
“you so sure about that ripley?” you tested her “what if i am the one to pin you down?
rhea wouldn’t mind having you over her to be honest. in any other situation she would have let you being in charge but not when there was her title on the line.
“we will see in a couple of weeks” she winked “now watch the movie before i put some freaky horror on” she teased you knowing how much you hated horror movies.
“okay mami” you whispered making her roll her eyes - again. you displayed the pink blanket over your body and over rhea’s body too “before you say anything, it’s cold outside and i don’t wanna hear you complain for the next two hours” but rhea definitely wasn’t going to complain. she never had you so close, your body was like a magnet and was so close to hers that it was enough to keep her warm. your head softly laid over her shoulder and even if you couldn’t see her, you felt her body relax against you.
maybe she was going to pin you in the ring but you knew who was really in charge outside of the company and seeing her so calm and relaxed in your presence made you feel something different about your friendship, as if there was something more but you couldn’t really point it out.
spending the rest of the night in each other’s company, joking and laughing about the smallest things.
as the second movie of the night ended, you really needed to stretch yourself out as you grew a little uncomfortable sitting for almost four hours in the same position. she helped you standing up and you slowly tested the water, instead of putting your hands around her shoulders as you always did, you put them around her waist.
the height difference between you two was pretty obvious but that didn’t stop you to have your way with her “i have a feeling you feel something for me” you teased her watching her in her eyes.
“i don’t know what you are talking about…” she tried so hard to maintain her composure but she was struggling, especially when she had you so close.
“so what if i asked you to kiss me? would you back up?” you always been a tease but this was something else even for you.
“no…” she whispered, her eyes softly looking down at you.
before she could make any move, you kissed her. your lips meeting her soft ones, a smile pressed on her face as you kept kissing her “i’m definitely gonna pin you rhea” you whispered, making her chuckle.
“keep dreaming barbie” as she grew more comfortable, her hand moved behind your back and pressed you against her body “remember, it’s always monday night mami…” her devious look was back as if you helped her gain her confidence back around you.
“you know…i’m always in for a challenge…”
yeah, maybe she was the rhea ripley but you knew how good you were and being able to tease her and make her so flustered around you was definitely a weapon in your sleeve.
“we will see pretty girl…” falling in love with the enemy wasn’t definitely her plan but somehow you managed to make her heart beat faster anytime you were close and now she felt like she couldn’t get enough of you.
————————————-
i’m receiving a few requests and i’m trying to overcome my writer block 🤞🏼🩷 thank you for your patience and kind words 🩷🩷
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.
a/n— My first Cody blurb, I need him so bad, had to whip this up rq.
Your boyfriend Cody, spent the entire day rehearsing his match and promos. You stood at ringside, watching on as his muscles flexed each time he moved. He was so fucking hot, and you couldn’t help but admire him. You needed him, but was in his element, you couldn’t distract him.
By the time Raw had began airing, he was out cutting a promo, the fans just as wild as you. Except, something else was wild for him. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you watched him pace in the ring, his neck tattoo you craved to lick on full display.
When the bell rang, he immediately got the upper hand, dishing out punishment on his opponent. Punishment you craved for your pussy. Maybe it was your ovulation—whatever it was, it had you feeling like you’d die without his dick inside you.
Cody won the match and the referee held his arm up in victory. Your core throbbed in anticipation as he made his way to the back, his steps deliberate. As soon as the door to the room opened, you pounced on him, your lips all over his face and lips.
“Baby, what’s gotten into you? I’m all sweaty,” Cody muttered into your kisses.
“I don’t care, I need you. Sweat and all, let it drip all over me, I don’t care, just fuck me. Please,” you pleaded.
His eyes darkened at your words, he could practically smell you dripping for him. “So fucking desperate for me, I’ll give you what you want.”
And that’s exactly what he did.
Cody had you bent over a chair, his gear ripped off by you and his hard cock buried inside you. Your panties were ripped and he slammed into you from behind, his cock stretching you out. You hoped the distant cheering from the fans masked your loud moans as he absolutely ravished you.
“This is what you wanted? Huh? To get fucked like a slut?”
You nodded frantically, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock as he angled into you even deeper. If it wasn’t for his grip on your curls, you would’ve toppled over.
He slapped your ass and you cried out. “Y-yes sir! This is what I wanted.”
You knew he was smirking behind you and in your last act of boldness, you pushed back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.
“That’s a good girl. You should see how your pussy’s just creaming on my dick.”
His words sent a ripple through you and your body convulsed, an intense orgasm hitting you like a truck.
“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, but he wasn’t finished with you.
He lifted and carried you to the couch in the corner of the room. A cry left your lips as he sank into your pussy once again, immediately finding your sweet spot. You drooled as he hovered over you—Cody was a greek god, one you would be happy to worship every single day. The sweat made his muscles glisten and he wrapped a large hand around your neck, making your pussy twitch in excitement.
Your body jolted as he slammed into your pussy and his grip around your neck tightened. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet, fucking perfect for me.
You held his dark gaze, wrapped your arms around his neck and grinding against him, meeting his thrusts. His sweat dripping all over you made you moan and you reached up, licking the tattoo on his neck.
“My dirty fucking girl,” he said, darkly.
One of his hands pressed against your abdomen, making you moan so loud, you knew anyone passing by would hear. “Feel how deep I am inside you? Only my cock can get that far. I fucking own you.”
“You own me,” you echoed, your nails now digging into his back.
“Cum on my cock, cum with me.”
With a loud cry, you squirted on his cock, soaking both him and the couch as he continued to pound into your aching pussy.
“Fucking hell, what a good girl just squirting for me like that.”
His orgasm followed immediately after and he pushed deep inside you, his cum filling your ovulating womb to the brim.
He leaned down and whispered in your ear, his thrusts slower and deeper. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant.”
heyyyyyyyy. this is dedicated to @harmshake for inspiring me. love ya twin. ty always <3 ty for getting me out my funk and inspiring me.
and @shes2real. loveeeeeee ur fics. gotta go check em out if you haven’t.
warnings: pure smut. no plot. nun. just freakayyyyy. no one under 18.
parings: roman reigns x black!reader
“ah!” your fresh manicured white toes popped as your leg laid over your man’s shoulder
“i know, babygirl, i know…” he sighed into your neck as his hips continued to snap towards your pussy, “been a good girl all day for me…gotta give my baby her reward.”
roman loved being vocal during sex. he loved making your head spin and your heart swell with his words making you speechless. well…you were already speechless but yk what i mean.
he grabbed you other leg hiking it up further around his waist allowing you to feel him deeper, “why are y—you fucking me like this?” you strain latching your hand onto his back, digging ur nails into it attempting to relive the pressure in your center
“why not? tight ass pussy always ready for me. you hear her crying for me? let me show her daddy’s home.”
squelching noises echoed from around the room. you could feel yourself dripping down roman’s dick right onto the bed sheets creating a wet spot. your pussy swollen and worn out yet still squeezing down on him pulling him back inside for more. he loved you like this for him—a babbling, dizzy, dick drunk mess. you loved it even more.
he pampered you in and out of the bed room; this all starting from coming home to a hot bath waiting with candles and pink rose petals scattered around. you let him wash your body down, an intimate act all too familiar, before his washcloth covered hand got closer towards ur aching pussy—washing rubbing you there letting the heat from the cloth bring you towards your first orgasm of the night. you both quickly took it to somewhere it wouldn’t turn into a slip n’ slide…well?
that familiar feeling for the 4th time tonight pulsed inside your belly again ready to gush out onto your man’s dick.
“shit! You gotta stop scratchin’ me baby…” he hissed before throwing ur legs over his arms, pushing them towards either side of your head
his movements sped him, continuing to dig at your pussy making a mess in the middle of your thighs. bad choice.
you lived for your man’s back. the way his body loomed over yours like a shield felt nearly romantic. and it was beautiful to say the least. you knew if you kept leaving marks, he’d kill you for it in the morning. he’d have to cover up again, which would make him loose out on money. roman knew his fan base, the ladies wanted what they wanted. but fuck those hoes…you’d give them something to stare at for-sure now. you’d carve ur name with your nails if you could.
your nails caved inwards again in his skin dragging all around to relieve both the pain and pleasure your man was creating with the swivel of his hips. the vein in his dick pulsing against ur spot with the new stroke. your hips attempting to buck into the mattress to escape the new rhythm.
“you feel me baby? right in that pussy? right where i need to be, baby. you wetting it up so good baby. i’m not stopping till you cum on it.”
“f-fu-uckkk! i can’t roman, ah!” you sobbed out sinking ur teeth into his shoulder. your pussy clenching and unclenching, his dick desparate to find its hiding place in your pussy.
“why not baby? fuckin’ good ass pussy. gimme what i want, babygirl. get that nut.” he roared into your ear
not for the first time, you felt the white flash behind ur eyes as heat radiated from ur toes right towards your pussy. with a loud whine of incoherent words, your cum gushed out around roman’s still thrusting cock now with a new layer of your cum coating it, fucking your through it. you let out a mixture of screams and sobs as he chased his nut, fucking into you faster, the stimulation becoming too much to bare. your nails scratching roman anywhere it could, clawing at him.
“where can i cum baby? where you want it at?”
“in my pussy..” you whimper out hoarsely
“nah, speak up. Where you want it at, baby? i can come in this pussy? My pussy?”
“in my pussy! fuck! cum in meeee, roman. cum in me, pleaseeee.” you beg with a pout, he leaned down connecting your lips together. his strokes becoming erratic before you felt the long hot spurts of his cum spraying your walls.
“shit! fuck! i can’t stop, baby. ahh!” he moaned in your ear as his thrust slowed down. your breaths both racing to pull it back into your lungs
roman continued to feed you small soft thrust before pulling out. he eased your legs of your shoulders to watch the mixture of your cum oozing out of your pussy and dribble onto the bed sheets. he lowered a thumb to your clit to rub small circles, causing your pussy to convulse and push his cum out in bubbled pools. after, he used his thumb to finger fuck it back into you with a small whimper, he got up to grab a towel to clean you off.
“damn, baby!” you hear him call out from the dark bathroom
“what?” you strain out, still trying to catch your heart rate back to normal
“we gotta invest in some gloves or something for you, when we fuckin’ baby girl.” he reemerged from the bathroom with a towel in hand. you took the time to notice all the bright red scratches that coated his tanned arms, and the teeth marks in his neck. he did a small spin, to show you his back.
