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Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black F! Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Some Suggestive Language, Angst.. That’s All, Slight Asshole Roman

A/N; It’s Honestly Taken Me Forever To Put Something Out Because I Haven’t Been Feeling My Writings 🙈, But I Hope You Guys Enjoy 🫶🏽

You and Roman had been together for four years. Four years together that had been a whirlwind that was exhilarating and heart-wrenching, sometimes simultaneously. The intensity of your relationship mirrored the explosive nature of the WWE universe itself. For a long time, you had embraced the chaos, the thrill of being as much in love with a superstar as you were with the man behind the persona. But love requires reciprocity, understanding—things that felt increasingly absent.

You felt as though you’re now walking a tangled path woven with love, pain, heartbreak, and an insatiable hope for change.

The air in the locker room felt heavy with unspoken tension, a tightrope stretched thin between You and Roman.

You felt like you were spiraling downwards. You were secretly proud of his achievements, but it felt like a parallel world now—a reality you could barely touch.

You sat on the edge of the bench, your fingers digging into the edges of the metal seat the only thing keeping you grounded, glancing up at Roman every few seconds.

Roman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression a mask of indifference. The faint sounds of the arena buzzing beneath them seeped in, but it was a distant hum, like a memory of laughter he no longer cared to recall.

“Roman,” you started, your voice trembling slightly, “we need to talk.”

“Talk?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What more is there to say? We’ve been through this.”

A sharp breath hitched in your throat. “You can’t just act like this is normal! You’ve cheated on me—again! How can you just stand there, arms crossed, like it doesn’t matter?”

He shrugged, a careless smirk playing on his lips. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You could have left anytime.”

“Stop.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife. “Just stop with the games. I’m done being hurt. I can’t keep doing this.”

“No, there’s no stop, because you know I’m right sweetheart.” He replied, the nickname that once gave you butterflies now making your stomach ache “You could have left the first time, I knew you were going to leave the second time, but where are you now… right here. So can we stop with the theatrics and just move to the part where I bend you over this couch and you forgive me.”

“No Roman” your heart racing as you fought back tears of frustration. “I can’t do this anymore! I’m done being hurt. You’re nothing but toxic, and I’m leaving … for real this time”

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall to close the distance between you. “You think you’re going to leave me? You’ve said that before. It’s just words.”

You stood, heart pounding like the crowd at WrestleMania, but this wasn’t a show. “ No! I’m done, Roman. I can’t keep doing this. I’ve stayed through the hurt and heartache, but you never learn. You always come crawling back with excuses, and I—a fool, am always here,” you spat, the words feeling both liberating and terrifying.

A fire ignited in your chest, anger mixing with hurt. “I mean it this time. I’m done. I deserve better than this.”

“Better?” He laughed, a deep, mocking sound that echoed in the small space. “You think you deserve better? Look around, Yn. You’re not going anywhere. You need me.”

“Need you? Or need the idea of you?” You shot back, your voice rising. “You’re not the man I fell in love with. You’ve become someone I barely recognize.”

Roman leaned into your space more, arms crossed, an unsettling indifference etched on his face. “You say that now, but we both know you’re not going anywhere,” he replied coolly, not even attempting to mask the boredom in his tone. It was a statement devoid of remorse—no pleas, no arguments. Just a calculated, toxic dismissal.

And You felt it; the hollow truth twisted within you despite your words. He was right. You had faltered before; in your heart, you had acknowledged the struggles countless times. Underneath all that bravado, this blow struck and you felt your heart splinter, the walls that had once protected it crumbling down. He was right, and the realization twisted like a knife in your gut. Why hadn’t you left?

This was a question not only you asked yourself countless times, but your friends also. Bewildered by your loyalty to someone who had brought you so much pain.

“You're better than this, Yn,” they urged, their concern evident in their voices.

“You deserve someone who respects you!”

Each time, you brushed it off, offering excuses for his behavior. But as you replayed the moments of hurt in your mind, the love that had once enveloped you had grown bitter, tainted by betrayal and neglect.

Numbness began to settle in, creeping over you like shadows at dusk. Each betrayal was a stone you carried, and you had grown accustomed to the weight.

With a shaky breath, you said nothing else, and walked past Roman, leaving his locker room. Tonight would became the silent goodbye you’d never vocalize.

Throughout the rest of the night, his words replayed over and over in your head, highlighting how his tone was almost dismissive, as though your pain held no value to him.

And In that moment, something inside you shifted. It was as if his words had stripped the very essence of your determination, leaving behind a cold, desolate emptiness. You felt numb, suddenly aware that he was right in a way. After enduring so much, you had lost the strength to fight, and He didn’t even know it.

As days went by & then days turned into weeks, you pulled away. You went through the motions of your daily lives, but the light in your eyes faded. You laughed but didn’t feel the joy. When you had the time to be home you cooked meals that went uneaten, and when you and Roman shared the same space, you were there but not really there—your laughter a façade, your smiles mere echoes of the person you once was.

You bid farewell to the emotional connections that had held you hostage all this time. You continued yourbroutine—getting ready for work, attending wrestling events, living your life in the background. But the spark was gone. You were here, physically, but mentally, you had withdrawn. The vibrant glow you once had was snuffed out, leaving a shadow of your former self.

For Roman, the change was palpable, but he mistook it for a development of maturity, perhaps a stoic acceptance of the realities of your guys tumultuous relationship. His world revolved around the ring, where battles were fierce and triumphs celebrated. He didn't realize the significant emotional loss he had endured until he caught glimmers of your stifled laughter, absent from its usual exuberance.

“Something’s off,” he confessed to his cousin Jimmy, one night backstage.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, “You mean besides the fact that you keep screwing things up?” Roman brushed off the comment, irritation sparking within him. “No, I mean… she’s not the same. She’s withdrawn. It’s like I’ve lost her.”

“Maybe you have Uce.”

Weeks turned into months as Roman tried to break through the wall you had built around your heart. He watched you at the events—your smile forced, your laughter distant, your once vivacious spirit now a mere shadow. He tried to connect over shared memories, but every attempt was met with a steely indifference.

One evening, after a show you guys were sitting in silence across from each other when he finally spoke.

Yn… we need to talk.”

He Sighed when he was met with nothing but silence, but he still pushed on.

“You’re… different.”

“When did you start caring?” You replied, your tone flat, the hurt etched into your very being. “It’s too late for that.”

“What’s going on with you?” He studied you intently for the first time in a long while, something almost resembling concern darkening his features.

“I’m just tired, Roman. I’m tired of being hurt and ignored. I thought you’d care more about us.”

You met his gaze, and for the first time, your walls slipped just a fraction, revealing the vulnerability beneath the numbness. “You have no idea what you’ve lost, do you?”

Realization washed over him like a cold wave. He had taken you for granted, always believing you would stay no matter how far he pushed you away. His heart sank as he understood the truth: he was losing you.

“I didn’t mean for things to end up like this,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I... I do care.”

“Caring isn’t enough anymore. You don’t even see me anymore.” You fought the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, refusing to show the brokenness you felt inside.

The weight of your words struck him like a harrowing realization. This was the point of no return. This wasn’t just about the betrayals or his toxic habits; it was about your irrevocable decision to shield your heart from further wounds.

In that moment, something shifted within Roman. He was finally confronted with the urgency of your pain, the reality of what his actions had wrought. For the first time, he felt the real weight of losing you—a loss that could break apart his seemingly unshakeable world.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though it felt inadequate. Because in the end, “sorry” had never been enough for you , and now, amidst the wreckage of your fractured love, he realized the true cost of his indifference.

“I just .. i can’t keep doing this” you said as you stood up to leave the room, Roman felt panic rising within him. “Yn, wait. Please don’t go. Can we try again?”

“It’s too late”

You turned to walk away, a single tear trailing down your cheek, carving a path through your mask of indifference. You were still standing with a semblance of strength, but deep down, you were fragile, teetering on the edge of release.

In that moment, you both understood: the man who had once held your heart now stood as a weary ghost in your closed-off world.

And as you walked away, fully embracing the numbness, your heart echoed with a mix of sorrow and relief. The door closed behind you softly, and the sound signaled the end of your tragic love story, one that had been thrilling yet, ultimately, unfulfilling.

Roman sat alone, enveloped in the chilling silence of the room, staring into the void of what he had taken for granted, He was lost, and as the echo of your absence reverberated through the air, leaving him with a profound emptiness he was left grappling with a painful truth—he had taken the love of his life for granted, and he may have just lost you forever ,—a lesson learned too late in the WWE universe where nothing was ever guaranteed

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jaethaone · 6 months ago

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Featuring: Damian Priest x Fem Reader Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, and soft (and briefly rough) dom play. This is my first Damian one shot, please be nice about it, omg. 🫣 And thank you to @joannasteez, @theninthwonder, and @southerngirl41 for inspiring me to finally write for Goth Papi. Y'all are the best. 🥰

Happy reading! Read my other WWE fics here, if you'd like. ✨

Such pretty things were meant to be admired.

The soft locks of your hair framing your pretty face. The gloss glimmering on your pretty, thick lips, a hint of pink on them. The pink and leather collar laced around your throat, a gold heart charm dangling from it with your name inscribed upon it in cursive. Not the one your mother gave you, but the one Papi did.

“Mi cosa bonita.”

A pretty thing you were to him. His slant eyes shone deep brown and full of admiration for the way you perched yourself on the floor between his thighs. He was still fully clothed in his black t-shirt, matching jeans, and leather vest but demanded you to be bare, appreciating your curves and how obedient you were as you sat with big, precious eyes gazing up at him. He would adorn you, certainly, reward you for being such a good girl for him.

His long and thick fingers came down to fondle the side of your face, watching you nuzzle your cheek into his large palm with eyes closed and cherishing his warmth before he combed those fingers through your hair. A thumb returned to your cheek with a caress and brush along your bottom lip, smudging the gloss to his skin that he brought to his mouth to taste. Sweet like cherry, sweet like you, sweet like your eyes beholding the flash of his tongue as he appreciated the flavor he picked for you. Wishing he would appreciate you the same way and soon.

The plush carpet under your knees was comfortable enough but would begin to nip and gnaw at your skin the longer you remained on them, the longer he made you wait. And yet you’d remain on them and wait as Papi wouldn’t like you to fidget...and he would make it worth your while. You just had to sit pretty for a little while longer.

Wait even when the minutes crawled and stretched like time was in no hurry to bring you to your desires. Even when the air in the room became thick and sultry with your and his body heat trying to melt and meld together as his hulking thighs closely surrounded you without touch. Even when his fingers fondled the back of your head, massaging to your scalp as his other hand fondled your chin. His thumb dipped in for another taste of your gloss but let you taste it this time, a sweet, gentle sweep at your tongue until you nestled your lips around him. A sweet adornment to hold you over but for how much longer? How much longer for a sip of him, for him to sip on you?

His eyes were steady on your plump lips suckling with the softest hum of a moan for him, his teeth softly sinking into his own lip at the pretty sight. At his pretty thing. He’d keep you waiting if only to admire you like this. His desperate, little thing.

“So eager,” he said with a quiet laugh and a shake of his head. Was it so obvious the silent tremble that danced with goosebumps on your naked skin before him? Was the hushed heat in your eyes so telling as it burned lower and throughout you? He studied you and the slip of spit that followed his thumb as he retrieved it from your mouth, placed it on his tongue to admire your taste before he spoke knowingly. “You would lose yourself in seconds. Can’t have that.”

“Papi—”

“Patience, hermosa.”

His fingers didn’t dip where you gathered with slick that threatened to drip to the floor, wearing nothing but the collar he’d bought you, but they slipped along the leather, a slight pinch of the charm between his thumb and pointer. He used it to lure you up as he leaned down, his lips a warm whisper against yours with an even warmer breath becoming your own as you gasped with eyes falling shut. Waiting for at least a kiss and yet he only gave you a stroke of his fingers in your hair and a husky murmur, “Gotta learn to take your time. Nothing worth having comes so easy.”

And you murmured back in a whine, “But you take too much time, baby. I’ll still be good if you—”

His fingers abandoned your charm to seize your throat, just beneath your jaw. Cool silver from his heavy rings pinched to your skin, grip gripping in tight and leaving only a sliver of space for a subtle whimper to leave your lips. No longer did his fingers carefully stroke your hair but rather cinched in with a fist, yanking back to fill your view of him above you, making you witness his patience abruptly run out.

“Don’t backtalk me. Do I make myself clear?” A firm tug at your throat, the charm of your collar jingling at the swift punishment. The demand on his lips grazing yours as you attempted to nod once.

Yet the bulk of his grip limited the movement and he didn’t let go until he hoisted you onto your feet, standing with you and standing tall like a mountain you could not pass or go around. A mountain that wanted you to run like a river beneath it, your body cascading onto the bed behind him after he laid you there, your thighs flowing apart with his hands to guide them, his eyes taking in your essence flowing and glistening to the sheets.

And where you thought his patience had been lost, he restored it merely to watch you struggle with those silent trembles and hushed heat. Watched how it made his pretty thing try to writhe in his hands, thumbs digging into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, yet too far away from where you craved them to make you blossom, make room to plant his tongue. Taste his sweet, little thing.

“Por favor.” A short, shudder of a plea, touching the ceiling as you couldn’t bring yourself to look down at him and his beautiful aura at the edge of the bed with his luscious touch edging closer without you running the risk of imploding. Too eager, he called you, and perhaps he was right as the simple thought of his full, pink lips meeting yours, glossing themselves with your nectar, kissing softly and lapping messily—“Mmnh. Papi, I’m sorry…please.”

Your back curled with a little arch, a quiet tremble suddenly loud and needy when you felt his blunt nails at your skin, fingers squeezing in to command future bruises when they lifted, and his breath a subtle lick to your yearning that he was almost ready to indulge. Almost.

For you were at your prettiest when you were falling apart before he had even adorned you properly. His sweet, pathetic girl. It softened his ire already fading because he couldn’t hold it against you, not when you begged for him so sweetly like that.

“¿Por favor que, mi cosa bonita?” A purr as soft as it could be with his bellowing tone, his eyes admiring how his voice stirred you, your pretty pussy clenching at nothing. The same nothing that would hold true if you even thought to rush him again.

“Taste me. Please.”

“Promise me you won’t cum. Not ’til I say.”

“I-I promise.”

Another breath of his rolled over you, a contented sigh from the sound of it, a relieved one escaping your lips when his fingers soothed the ache he created on your thighs, smoothing closer with wide thumbs gently pulling and parting your slick, soft folds which were the same pretty pink as your collar that felt too snug when you swallowed a sob rather than air.

How could you not prefer pleasure over breath when he stole it, anyway, with lush licks from the tip of his tongue growing thicker the deeper it sank inside you? Your pussy expanded around him thrusting in, slurping sticky, searching lazily for your sweet spot that would make your knees buckle and shake around his head. Your body was already coming undone at the seams, your chest rising and falling with the prettiest cries, your arms stretching over your head with nails clawed into the sheets, and your hips grinding down on the length of his warm, wet tongue.

And you didn’t mean to lose yourself. You didn’t mean to lose your mind when he let two fingers delve between your folds, just above his nose, to spread you for his tongue to flick up, long and fat with filthy noises. Soft, suckling sounds when his mouth closed around your delicate, little nub before you felt his palm pressing the back of your thigh, pinning it to the bed and out of his way when you tried to close it on his head. You didn’t mean to let that hushed heat devour you like flames, pussy fluttering and dripping even when he pulled away too late to tame the fire that claimed you. You didn’t mean to break your promise.

One of your hands released the sheets to find its way to your essence, sliding over the tender throb of your clit with fingers that swirled heavy and frantic until you uttered his name, until the heat took its time to lull into a simmer once more. And despite his own judgment, he observed it all, wanting to find frustration in you doing precisely what he warned against, yet finding fascination, instead.

Fascinated with the pretty sound of you, the slosh of your fingers and your little huffs and moans. Fascinated with the pretty sight of you, the fanning of your hair above the twist of your body like a painting on the canvas of sheets. His mouth was still hungry to feast on you, his delicious, pretty thing. Beckoning him to forsake his patience again, condone your bad behavior, as his every limb and muscle longed to taste you deeply, adorn you wholly.

For such pretty things were meant to be admired.

. . .

His Pretty Thing

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