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onlyangel4 · 2 days ago

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in your corner. roman reigns.

roman reigns x reader.

synopsis: you were cm punk’s sister. you were supposed to stay away from roman reigns. but what started as backstage tension turned into more and when things bubble over between your brother and roman, you are left not knowing what to do.

warnings: cursing. smut. angst with a happy ending. 18+

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you never meant for it to happen.

it started small, casual glances backstage, a shared smirk during catering, the brush of his hand a little too close to your waist as he passed behind you in a hallway that was definitely wide enough. you didn’t think much of it at first. roman reigns had that kind of presence. intense. charismatic. impossible to ignore. you figured he was just like that with everyone.

until he wasn’t.

until he started seeking you out, finding excuses to be where you were, lingering a little too long in doorways, catching your eyes from across gorilla with a look that made your stomach twist.

you tried to ignore it. you really did.

especially when punk, your brother, made it very clear where he stood. roman was off-limits. end of discussion.

"he’s manipulative. he’s dangerous. he’s not who you think he is.", your brother had previously warned

"and what if i can make that decision for myself?" you’d challenged.

"i won't let him hurt you"

it should’ve stopped there. but it didn’t.

because one night, after a show, you found yourself in an empty hallway behind the curtain, lights still dim, the crowd’s energy still buzzing through the walls and roman was waiting there, arms folded across his chest like he’d known you’d come.

"you always sneak off like that?" he asked, eyes glinting in the dark.

you swallowed "just needed some air."

"or maybe you knew i’d be here", he pushed "maybe", your mouth moved before your mind could stop it.

he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in three slow steps. not touching but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his skin. your pulse kicked.

"you know what your brother would do if he saw this", he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "we’re not doing anything", you said, though your voice had gone breathless. "yet"

his fingers brushed yours, soft, deliberate, like he was testing the water. you didn’t move away.

you should have.

instead, you whispered, "you think you’re dangerous?"

roman smiled. that slow, wolfish curl of his lips that made your knees weak.

"i know i am."

then he kissed you.

it wasn’t sweet. it wasn’t careful. it was heat and frustration and weeks of tension finally snapping. he kissed you like he’d been holding back for too long, and when his hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you closer, you let him. You kissed him back just as fiercely.

by the time you pulled away, breathless, lips tingling. your head was spinning.

"we shouldn’t", you whispered.

"say the word and i’ll stop", he said.

but you didn’t say a word.

and neither did he when he walked away a moment later, leaving you standing there in the dark with your heart pounding and your hands shaking.

it wasn’t the last time. it was just the beginning.

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it wasn’t supposed to go past that kiss.

you told yourself that every time it happened again, every time you found yourself tucked into a shadowy corner backstage, pressed against a wall with roman’s lips on your throat and your hands tangled in his hair.

but it kept happening.

quick moments. secret touches. just enough to drive you crazy, never enough to satisfy. the fire between you and roman simmered beneath the surface, unspoken but ever-present. and every time your brother was nearby, laughing with paul, barking orders in the locker room, you felt the weight of it. the guilt. the thrill.

the danger.

one night, after the show

you ducked into the trainer’s room late, already knowing who’d be in there.

he was sitting on the edge of the table, shirtless, his ribs wrapped and sweat still slick on his skin. He didn’t look up right away, but his voice gave him away.

"you keep finding me."

you smiled faintly, shutting the door behind you. "you keep getting hurt."

he finally looked at you then, really looked. there was something softer in his eyes tonight. less edge, more weariness.

"does it bother you?", he asked.

"what?"

"that we’re hiding."

you hesitated. the truth tasted like betrayal, but it also tasted like him. "sometimes."

he nodded slowly, jaw flexing. you crossed the room, gently placing your fingers on the edge of the tape wrapping his ribs.

"does it hurt?" you asked.

"only when i breathe", he muttered, then cracked the smallest smile. "or when you look at me like that."

you tried to roll your eyes, but your lips curved anyway. you were already close, too close. your hand slid up his chest before you could stop it, your fingers brushing his jaw. and then you were kissing him again.

slower this time. deeper. His hands gripped your hips like he needed something to hold onto, like if he let go, you’d disappear.

"you know this isn’t just messing around anymore", he said against your lips.

"i know", you whispered back.

"and if he finds out"

"then he finds out.", you finished the sentence for him.

he pulled back slightly, searching your face. "you’d choose this? over him?"

that made you pause. the silence between you went heavy.

you didn’t have an answer yet.

but you were already there, weren’t you? already choosing, every time you showed up at his door, every time you let him touch you like this.

so you kissed him again.

"let me worry about my brother", you murmured. "just, don’t stop needing me."

his response was a low groan, and the way he kissed you then? it was closer to worship than want. like he knew he shouldn’t have you, and still he just couldn’t let go.

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you were standing just behind the curtain, headset hanging loosely around your neck, pretending to look busy. pretending not to watch roman.

The crowd was white-hot. as the three of them stood in the ring, Roman Reigns, flanked by paul heyman, staring down seth and punk, both with mics in hand.

the energy felt dangerous.

you weren’t even supposed to be watching. you told yourself not to care. Not to feel. but you were already standing by the monitor, arms crossed over your chest, heart hammering in your throat.

you watched the monitors as transfixed as the rest of the crowd. your own brother had not told you what the favour was going to be.

you had no clue that it was going to be something as insane as this.

the words being thrown around by the men in the ring became a blur.

that was until you heard the shift in your brother's tone.

that made you really tune into what he was saying.

"cause at wrestlemania. in the main event. in my corner. your wiseman. my best friend"

you gasped cupping your mouth

"paul heyman"

your brother had done it. he had stripped roman of his wise man.

you watched on as the men exchanged heated words but eventually paul admitted that he was going to be in punk's corner.

you watched on with devastation etched on your features and your brother delivered a devastating gts to the man you had been seeing for the past eight months.

you couldn't watch.

so you left.

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you didn’t go back to the locker room. you couldn’t look your brother in the eye. couldn’t bear to hear him justify what he just did. you didn’t even know where roman went, security said he left alone, bruised, silent, furious.

but you had to see him.

you needed to see his face.

needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

even if it meant breaking every rule.

even if it meant choosing him.

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when you got to the hotel you basically knocked his door down. "roman, it’s me."

silence.

then the door creaked open.

he stood there shirtless, wrapped in bandages, jaw bruised, eyes glassy. you’d never seen him like this, not broken, no. roman reigns didn’t break. but he looked, lost.

"what are you doing here?"

"i saw what happened. i had to see you"

"you shouldn’t be here."

but he didn’t close the door. and you didn’t leave.

he turned away, running a hand down his face as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

"he was all i had left. paul. jacob's gone. solo’s gone. now him. just." he shook his head. "gone."

you walked in slowly, gently shutting the door behind you.

"you’re not alone."

he laughed once, dry and bitter. "aren’t i? you’re his sister. you’re supposed to be on his side."

you knelt in front of him, your hands settling on his thighs, fingers brushing over bruises. "i’ve been on your side since this started"

he blinked, startled by the words. you kept going before you lost your nerve.

"i tried to stay away. i tried to do what he wanted. but i can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter. that you don’t matter."

his voice cracked.

"don’t say it unless you mean it."

you reached up, brushing a thumb under his eye where a bruise was forming.

"i love you."

he inhaled like he’d been drowning.

then he pulled you into his arms, and didn’t let go.

the clothes came off slowly. one layer at a time, like unwrapping something fragile. he touched you with reverence, like memorizing every inch of skin beneath his fingertips. like if he just touched you long enough, maybe the rest of the world would fade.

when he finally pushed inside you, it wasn’t rough, it was steady. deep. like he needed to be there. like he needed to feel every part of you wrapped around him, holding him together.

you moaned softly against his mouth, arms looped around his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground you both.

his forehead dropped to yours, breathing heavy, jaw tight.

"you feel like peace", he whispered, voice raw. "and i haven’t had peace in a long, long time."

you cupped his face again, eyes locked on his.

"then take it. take me."

he moved inside you with a rhythm that was slow and deliberate, hips rolling into yours like he couldn’t get close enough. like it wasn’t about getting off, it was about holding on.

each thrust, each breath, each soft moan between you, it built not toward a climax, but toward something bigger. something almost holy.

and when he came, it was with a low groan pressed against your shoulder, arms locked around your waist like a man anchoring himself to the only solid thing left in his life.

you followed right after, trembling in his lap, heart pounding against his chest like a war drum. but it wasn’t chaos this time.

it was peace.

you stayed like that for a long time. just breathing. tangled together.

eventually, his voice came, low and gruff against your hair, "you meant it. when you said you loved me.”

you nodded.

"i did. i do."

he exhaled.

"then i’m not letting you go. not for him. not for anyone. because i love you too"

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It was well past 2 a.m. when the silence finally wrapped around you both like a blanket. the air in the hotel room was warm, soft with the rhythm of your breathing, your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets. his arm was draped across your waist, fingers gently tracing circles against your hip, like he couldn’t quite stop touching you.

you could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against the back of your neck.

"you’re thinking too loud", you murmured.

he chuckled, barely.

"can’t help it."

you turned to face him, noses nearly touching. "talk to me."

his eyes searched yours like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

"i don’t know what to do now", he said honestly. "this, you. it’s the only thing that doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart."

you rested your hand against his chest, feeling the slow, heavy thump of his heart. "then hold on to it."

"It’s not just that", he said, eyes flickering between yours. "it’s the way you look at me. like i’m not just what i’ve built. like i’m not the crown or the gold or the image heyman polished for the cameras."

he swallowed hard.

"i don’t even know who i am without all that."

you leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

"you’re the man who stood by everyone, even when it cost you. you’re the man who led because no one else could. but under all of that, you’re roman. you’re joe. and i love him."

his breath hitched at your use of his real name. no stage lights. no persona. just him.

"you’re not afraid of him?"

"no", you said gently. "because he’s the one who lets me in."

he closed his eyes for a long moment, forehead resting against yours again. you could feel him surrendering, not to defeat, but to trust.

"if i let you in i don’t think i'll be able to shut you out again."

"good", you whispered.

he pulled you closer until your leg was hooked over his waist again, your head tucked beneath his chin. and he held you there like you were a lifeline. like you were all that kept him tethered to the world.

"you’re not just in my corner now", he murmured into your hair. "you are my corner. my only safe place."

you didn’t respond. you didn’t have to.

you just held him tighter.

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you barely heard the knock at first, just a dull thud against the wood. you were half-asleep, curled into roman’s chest, his arm heavy around your waist, the sun bleeding in through the curtains.

it came again.

he groaned low in his throat. "ignore it."

but something in your chest said don’t. something in your gut knew.

you slipped out of bed quietly, wrapping the hotel sheet around your body as you padded barefoot to the door.

another knock. this time harder. angrier.

you looked through the peephole.

shit.

you turned to roman. "it’s him."

his eyes opened slowly. "who?"

you hesitated, heart kicking up.

"my brother"

roman sat up instantly.

"don’t open it."

but it was too late.

the second you cracked the door open, punk shoved it wide.

he took one look at you, hair a mess, bruises on your collarbone, wrapped in a sheet and then at roman, shirtless, sitting up in the bed behind you.

his face turned to stone.

"you’ve got to be fucking kidding me."

"phil, don’t", you started

"don’t?” his voice rose, sharp and cruel. "don’t what, y/n? don’t be pissed that my sister is sleeping with the guy i’ve told her a hundred times to stay away from? the same guy i just humiliated in front of the world?”

roman stood, slow and steady. he didn’t reach for a shirt. he didn’t flinch.

"get out."

punk ignored him completely, eyes on you like roman wasn’t even there.

"you chose him? after everything? after i told you what kind of man he is, what he’s done?"

"i know who he is", you said quietly. "better than you do."

"bullshit", punk snapped. "he’s using you. he’s trying to get to me."

that made roman laugh, low and bitter.

"trust me, man", he said, stepping closer, "if this was about you, i’d have finished it in the ring. but it’s not. she’s not yours to control."

punk’s jaw clenched. "and you think you’re better?"

"i’m not trying to own her. i’m just not letting her walk away."

you stepped between them then, hands on roman’s chest to steady him, voice firm.

"I’m not leaving him."

punk looked at you like you’d slapped him.

"so that’s it?", he said. "you’re just gonna throw me away for him?"

you took a breath.

"no. you decided that you had a say in the guys i date. i am an adult and i can make my own choices, you just look right through me, like i'm not here."

his expression faltered. for just a second.

but you weren’t done.

"i've stood in your shadow for years. done what you asked. been quiet. been good. but this?", you reached for roman’s hand. "this is mine. and i’m not hiding it anymore."

roman laced his fingers through yours without hesitation.

punk stared at the two of you, face blank, rage seething just beneath the surface.

"fine", he said at last, voice like a blade. "but don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart."

with that he turned and walked out.

the door clicked shut, and roman didn’t say a word.

he just held you.

no big, cinematic moment. no speech. just the solid weight of his arms, the warmth of his chest, the quiet pulse of his heart against your ear.

for a man known for power, for dominance, for the way entire arenas bent to his will, he held you like you were everything.

"he’s not wrong", roman murmured, voice low. "i’ve hurt people. i've made choices i'm not proud of."

you looked up at him, fingers sliding along his jaw. "so have i"

he studied you for a moment, then leaned down and kissed you, slow, careful, like he was still asking if it was okay to want you like this. but you kissed him back with no hesitation. because this time, there were no secrets. no hiding. just you and him, the quiet, and the bed you’d already made together.

this time when you made love, it wasn’t desperate.

it was intentional.

roman laid you back on the bed with reverence, like you were something sacred. his fingers slid over every inch of skin with slow, practiced care, as if he wanted to memorize you in this light. with the sun streaming in, with no shadows left to hide in.

"i never asked what you wanted", he whispered as he kissed down your chest. "always just took what i needed. but you’re not just comfort. you’re not a secret. you’re mine. and i wanna give you everything."

you smiled, breathless, as his mouth found the curve of your thigh.

"then shut up and do it."

he growled against your skin, and then his mouth was on you, tongue slow, deliberate, teasing in the worst and best ways. his hands held your hips down while you writhed beneath him, moaning his name, fingers clutching the sheets like they were the only thing keeping you grounded.

when he slid into you again, it was different than before.

this time, it was a promise.

every thrust, every kiss, every breath was slow and drawn out, a rhythm just for the two of you. he took his time, not because he was unsure, but because he could. because the storm had passed, and now you were both just home.

when you came, it was with his name in your mouth and his forehead pressed to yours.

"i love you", you whispered again, and this time, he didn’t freeze.

"i love you more", he breathed back, and you felt it down to your bones.

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you didn’t expect him to knock again.

but a few hours later, there he was.

punk.

no fury. no yelling. just him, tired, red-eyed, arms crossed over his chest.

roman stood back when you opened the door. he didn’t interfere. he just watched.

"can we talk?" your brother asked quietly.

you stepped out into the hallway, arms crossed for protection you weren’t even sure you needed.

he rubbed the back of his neck. "i was outta line. i know i was.”

you didn’t say anything yet.

"i don’t get it", he said. "why him. why now. but i saw the way he looked at you. and i saw the way you stood up to me."

his voice cracked just a little.

"you looked happy. for once. really happy."

you swallowed hard.

"i am."

punk nodded slowly. "then that’s all i care about."

a pause.

"but if he hurts you"

"he won’t", you cut in.

he sighed. "guess we’ll see."

and then, he reached for you. pulled you into a tight, quiet hug. the kind you used to get when you were kids. the kind that meant sorry and i love you all at once.

"still hate that it’s him", he muttered.

"i know."

"still hate it."

"i know."

but when you stepped back, he was smiling, just a little.

and for now, that was enough.