#anoa'i

[samoan-takedown]

Seems such a lifetime ago 😭

[acknowledge-reigns]

Sending love to Samu and the whole Anoa'i family ☝🏾❤

[indeedgoodman]

[foreverlyjay]

Roman:

“It looks like I'm in the middle of an orgasm here guys”

Please 😭💀😭💀😭💀

IGN new video

[whowrotethenote]

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer // Part Two // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building. 

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see. 

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music. 

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop. 

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me? 

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state. 

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent. 

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber. 

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison. 

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time. 

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer. 

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks. 

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to  unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running. 

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short. 

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him. 

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me. 

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position. 

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move. 

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited. 

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening. 

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him. 

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy. 

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose. 

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi. 

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I  weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake. 

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out. 

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him. 

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!” 

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower. 

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about. 

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response. 

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands. 

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking. 

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath. 

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short. 

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass. 

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove. 

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again. 

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently. 

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop. 

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear. 

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move.  Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips. 

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening. 

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him. 

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air. 

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me to descend to. 

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip. 

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin. 

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand. 

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe. 

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all. 

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious. 

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be. 

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name. 

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many. 

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again. 

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

banner credit:  @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[riruk4]

Hey uhhh let’s stop putting oc fanfics under the xreader hashtag please😔😭

[melissagot24]

no brotherhood

no sisterhood

[caramelcleopatraa]

"I want to sit on your face" ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

another porn with a atom's amount of plot

word count: 1,500~

x: !this is not proofread! 😭 please disregard any mistakes <3 I came up with this idea before my current series "suit & tie", but I never got to finish it.... until now 😏 hopefully you guys enjoy this (not quick) quick thing I whipped up.

content: oral ( f receiving )

“Baby…”

“Yes?” Roman responds with curiosity in his eyes. You had been daydreaming about a specific situation. It was almost disturbing the flow of your daily life. Your husband was always up for trying new things. You've brought up ideas to him that have led to countless nights of exhilarating love making. You didn't know why you were so nervous to tell him something so simple. Perhaps it comes with your own matter of insecurities that stopped you from telling him your newly proposed idea. “Nevermind, sorry to bother you.” You turned your back to his desk to walk out of the double doors of your home office. Roman noticed your sudden change in energy and decided to chase after you. His hand gently, but firmly, latched onto your wrist and tugged you towards him. Your back hit his sturdy torso and his hands interlaced with yours. “What’s going on? Y’know you can tell me.”

“U-uhm.. Uh…” Your heart was starting to race and your breathing became heavy. You tried to walk away from him, but you must have forgotten who you married. “Nuh uh, stay right here. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“Aren’t you in the middle of some work?” 

“Work doesn’t matter when my wife needs me.” He tenderly kisses the side of your neck and his hands rest on your hips. A tactic he used to calm you down when you're nervous. Just as he was about to console you, you spoke up. “Can we try something tonight?” Romans eyes locked with yours and he already knew what you were insinuating. He took your hand and led you upstairs to your bedroom. All of his movements were slow, but sure and tender. All thoughts of work were left downstairs. His focus was on making sure he could make your fantasies come true tonight. He sat on your bed and held both of your hands in his. His thumbs worked over your soft skin as his chocolate eyes looked up at yours. “Alright. What fun things have you thought of to try today, princess?” 

“I don’t know how to say this so that it sounds normal.” You nervously laugh and he joins you in laughter. Still massaging your hands, he says “Well you know i'm not gonna judge you.” “Yeah, I know” You took a deep breath and gathered the courage you needed to say the next sentence that came out of your mouth. “I want to sit on your face. But I don't really know how it’s supposed to work. Like am I supposed to completely sit or ho-” Your body was suddenly caged by Roman’s arms as he pulled you on to the bed. It wasn't long until your lips connected, cutting off your nervous rambling. Your lips danced in an intimate fight for dominance against him, in which you lost. Pulling away from him, you were finally able to get a glimpse of him. His once gentle eyes were low and dark, and laced with lust. He let go of your body, allowing you to rest next to him. He scoots all the way back to the headboard and puts his head on a pillow. He motions you to come over to him and you crawl to meet him.

‘Sit.” He says. You look at him with a surprised look on your face. Again, his hands imitate a “come hither” motion. You slowly straddle his chest and move to hover above his face. His hands dig into your plush thighs as he admires your body from below.

“So umm.. Am I supposed to-”

“Sit on my face”

“Like fully sit?” The tone in your voice shifts to a more confused one.

“Yes mama”

“What if I'm too heavy and you can't breathe?”

“Mama, I wrestle grown ass men for a living. And I'll tap your thigh if I need some air.”

His lips kissed and sucked at the inside of your thighs. “Stop worrying so much. Be a good girl and let daddy eat his pussy.” Soft moans escaped your mouth while he worked his way up your thighs. His thumb creeped up to your aching clit, softly rubbing up and down while continuing to kiss and suck on your thighs. Your head tilted back as you held onto his wrists. You started to grind against his thumb, but Roman grabbed your hips and held them in place. 

“Uh-uh. On my face.” His grip loosened, but his hands landed on your thighs and pushed you down. His arms snaked around your thighs, making it impossible for you to escape if you tried. You didn’t have enough time to process what happened, but a long stripe on your cunt fogged your brain in the best possible way. Once his tongue reached your clit, he planted a tender kiss before sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue. His hands massaged your thighs while he continued to work his magic. He rotated between teasing you with long stripes up your cunt and ruthlessly abusing your clit. 

Roman’s grip on your thighs still restricted much of your movement. You tried your hardest not to grind against his tongue, but the way he was eating you up made it damn near impossible. His hair laid sprawled out on the pillow below him. His right hand let go of your thigh and quickly slapped your ass, startling you and causing you to jump. “Fuck baby,” You moaned, loving the temporary sting on your ass. After a couple more slaps to your ass, his hand returned to its original place, hugging your thigh and holding you in place. His eyes would remain on you and momentarily close while he relished the taste of your pussy, and the loud slurping sounds he was making added on to your arousal. 

You finally succumbed and softly grinded on his tongue. A salacious moan from him vibrated your clit. In return, your moans started to get louder. You tilted your head down and locked eyes with your lover beneath you. You placed your hands on his while you continued to ride his face. You could see droplets of your juices running down his face. He gives you three taps on your thigh and you immediately rise off of his face with concern. He takes a couple of deep breaths while still keeping his hands on you. “I’m so sorry, did you not want me to do that? i’m sorry i got carried away-“

You take a moment to look at Roman. His beard is littered and decorated with your juices and he keeps eye contact with your pussy the entire time he wasn’t devouring you. “Just need a couple of breaths mama. That’s all,” He says, his eyes finally meeting your beautiful ones. The collective heavy breathing occupied the silence for a couple of seconds before you felt those same hands pulling you down to his mouth. “Don’t mean i’m done. C’mere, need to eat that pussy,” He says, before you’re forced to sit on what will be your new favorite seat. Your consistent babbles and whines only made him harder, making him eat your pussy like a starved man. He loves taking care of his baby. Whether that’s pounding you into the mattress or eating you out until you drench the sheets, it was his favorite thing ever. Seeing you lose your mind because of the things he does to you makes him so ecstatic. 

“Got me addicted to this pussy.” He knew that you loved it when he talked you through it. Every chance that he got, he was gonna talk his shit, and it never failed to make you weak. “aah- oohhh shiiiit daddy you finna- ffuuck make me cum.” He moans into your pussy, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hips were moving nonstop and you couldn’t stop calling his name. You pried his fingers off of your thighs and intertwined his fingers with yours. His arms were still hugging your thighs in place, and yes, you had the headboard to hold if you lost balance. You wanted to hold him instead. “Ohh myy goddd, daddyy. I’m cummin,” You said, slurring your words due to your mind fogging orgasm. Your movements became uneven and Roman’s hold on your thighs tightened to keep you in place. You let out screams of bliss while Roman lapped up your release, while any remainders he missed landed in his beard. Roman’s hands roamed your lower body as low whines escaped your mouth. He pushed up your hips a little to plant loving kisses on your pussy. “How did I do?”

“Fuck, that was amazing,” You said between ragged breaths. Roman’s deep chuckle vibrated through your body, adding to the intimate atmosphere. You attempted to lay next to him but his hands dug into your skin, preventing you from moving.

“I’m still hungry mama.”

finished this while I was at work :p (so happy that I work at a family business or I would've never finished this today)

🏷️ tags :) @harmshake @jeyusos-girl @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede

~ your hippie author

[ellswritings]

A Gift for the Victor

CM Punk (Phil Brooks) x Reader

TW: Lots of flirty tension, no smut but it gets pretty intense at the end, mild choking, swapping saliva, foul language, lmk if I missed anything.

Y/S/N- Your Stage Name

Y/H/T- Your Hometown

Y/W- Your weight

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

(I’m literally weak for this man. I was debating making a smutty part 2. Let me know if that’s something you’re all interested in 🫶🫶)

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

WrestleMania Forty.

One of, if not the biggest night of Y/N L/N’s career. She’s facing Iyo Sky to win the Women’s Championship. She had been fighting for this all year. Fight after fight, promo after promo, injury after injury, and she’s finally here. The entire trajectory of her career comes down to this moment. Comes down to the outcome of tonight.

She wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be. She worked hard to get here. Took on opponents that most people thought would crush her, but she persevered. Paul Levesque saw something in her. He still does and always will. She’s a fighter, she’s charismatic, the people love her. Over the past few years it’s been a battle between her and Cody Rhodes on who’s the most loveable face. Perhaps down the road there will be a different story lined up for her, but that’s for the future.

Right now, she has a match to win.

It’s Night Two and she’s going on right after Seth Rollins just lost his match to Drew McIntyre. The Scotsman got a bit too cocky for his own good though, the special commentator, CM Punk, beating the crap out of the heavyweight before Damian Priest came out to cash in his Money in the Bank. He stole the title from Drew, leaving everyone in awe.

However, Y/N couldn’t help but admire the way that Punk completely destroyed Drew after what the man did to him at the Royal Rumble. She and Punk have always had an interesting relationship. Flirty comments exchanged here and there, holding each other’s gaze for too long, teasing touches. It was all a part of their charm, their story.

She also really enjoyed getting under his skin, and he felt the same. Whenever they could mess with each other, in or out of the ring, they would.

Phil especially loved walking up behind her before she would go out for a match, whispering something in her ear to make her squirm, and then sauntering off like nothing happened.

Y/N was thrilled when she found out he would also be commentating on her match. They figured it would be best for press since they have such a close relationship, and their chemistry is off the charts.

She would never tell him of her excitement though. It would simply go to his head and give him a bigger ego than he already has. A small smirk covers her lips as she wraps her hands with white masking tape, putting a black X on each one. She knows this will get quite the reaction from him and the audience. Luckily, her cropped leather jacket covers them so it’ll remain a surprise until she takes it off before the match.

Paul Levesque had been nice enough to allow her new gear for this big match. He said it was time for her to get a bit of an upgrade. She wears a black, form-fitting sleeveless top, made from a breathable, flexible material that allows her to move with ease. The top has a high neckline but features cutouts along the sides, hinting at her toned physique without being overly revealing. Across the chest, her logo is subtly embossed in dark metallic silver, catching the light just right when she moves.

Her matching black shorts are a hybrid between tactical gear and athletic wear—snug but flexible, sitting comfortably on her hips with an angled, asymmetrical belt design. The fabric is reinforced with leather-like paneling along the outer thighs, giving her a sleek, armored look without restricting her agility. Subtle silver and deep crimson accents line the seams, adding just a hint of color while keeping the overall aesthetic dark and dangerous.

She wears sturdy knee-high boots with reinforced soles for impact protection. A few silver buckles line the sides of her boots, adding to the dangerous, almost mercenary-like vibe of her gear.

Her jacket—which is probably her favorite aspect of the new outfit—is a lightweight, cropped leather piece with spiked shoulder accents, a deep crimson lining, and her name stitched in jagged, metallic lettering across the back.

She felt dangerous. It really is true when they say dress for what you expect the outcome to be. And as far as Y/N’ concerned, she’s dressed to win.

She cracks her neck as Iyo Sky makes her entrance, the music blaring throughout the arena. She jumps up and down, warming up her body as she gets ready to take what’s rightfully hers. A small smile graces her face as Joe Anoa’i walks up to her briefly, patting her on the back with a small ‘good luck.’

She doesn’t let him leave without hugging him first. He’s still trying to remain in character like the professional he is, but he can’t help but soften under her arms. He’s watched her grow into the star she is, sometimes being the one to train her, so he couldn’t be more proud of how far she’s come.

“C’mon, don’t get all soft,” he tells her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He looks her dead in the eye, “Let’s see that angry face.”

Y/N laughs, “Joe–”

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head. “Your ass better start mean muggin’ me right now or I ain’t gonna let you go out there.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling silly as she does as he asks. She scrunches her face up the way Josh and Jon showed her she should and Joe nods his head. “There we go. Now you’re ready.”

As if on cue, her entrance music booms through the arena. Roman pushes her forward and she sends him a playful glare before walking out to meet the cheers and screams of her adoring fans. She immediately falls back into character, smirking at the attention. She revels in it, raising her arms up laterally as she spins in a slow circle. Her hips sway to the beat as she struts up to the ring, but not before stopping to interact with a few fans along the way.

She chuckles lowly, patting the face of one of her many overzealous fanboys. She can see the blush form on his cheeks as she walks away with a flirty wink before finishing her journey to the ring. Everyone in the arena screams the lyrics to her song out, making the moment even more special as she climbs up to the second rope, blowing a kiss out to each and every one of them.

She jumped down from her position and walked towards the center of the ring as Alicia Taylor found her place between Y/N and Iyo. The latter had the women’s championship draped over her shoulder, tapping the center plate with a small smirk. It wasn’t cocky, no, it was a challenge. A dare of some sort.

The stadium lights dimmed as Alicia raised the microphone up to her mouth “The following contest is scheduled for one fall…”

The audience screamed in unison.

“…and it is for the WWE Women’s Championship!”

Y/N shook out her hands as Alicia turned to her.

“Introducing first, the challenger… from Y/H/T, weighing in at Y/W, she is ‘The Untouchable’ Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted, the sheer volume vibrating through the air. Y/N exhaled slowly through her nose, soaking it in, smirking as she raised her arms and flexed her fingers, her body already buzzing with adrenaline.

The camera cut to the commentary desk, where Michael Cole, Pat McAfee, and CM Punk sat, all watching intently.

“Listen to this ovation for Y/N L/N!” Cole said over the noise.

“Philadelphia is in love with this woman,” Pat added. “I mean, can you blame them? Look at her—she was built for this moment.”

Beside him, Punk leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, Yeah,” he drawled out. “She might think she’s all that, but let’s see if she can actually get the job done.”

Y/N’s head turned sharply toward the commentary table, locking eyes with him. Her smirk deepened, a silent, wordless challenge of her own. Punk just raised an eyebrow, as if amused.

Alicia’s voice rang out again.

“And her opponent… from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 114 pounds, she is the WWE Women’s Champion… IYO SKY!”

Y/N started bouncing up and down once again as she put herself in the correct headspace for this match. It helped immensely hearing the scattered boos in the crowd that came after Iyo’s name.

Every ounce of training, every second of pain and sacrifice had led to this, and she wasn’t about to waste it. As she reached the steel steps, she grabbed the edges of her custom leather jacket, shrugging it off in one smooth motion before tossing it aside.

The second she did, the camera zoomed in on the thick, white wrist tape wrapped around her hands—bold, black X’s drawn over the knuckles.

The moment wasn’t lost on the commentary team.

Pat McAfee let out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Ohhh, would you look at that? That is a direct shot at our guy over here!”

Beside him, CM Punk, who had been lounging comfortably in his chair, suddenly sat up straighter. His eyes flickered to the screen, landing on the tape, and for a brief second, something unspoken crossed his face.

Michael Cole chuckled. “Now that’s interesting. What do you think, Punk?”

Punk exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Cute,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Y/N turned her head ever so slightly in his direction, smirk firmly in place, and tapped her fists together, making sure he saw the X’s clearly. The smirk on Punk’s face faltered for half a second before he scoffed, leaning back again.

“She must think she’s real creative for that one,” Punk snarks, but Y/N picked up on his attitude all the way from the ring.

She grinned. “Glad you approve, old man,” she mouths.

Pat snorted. “Oh, she’s good.”

Punk rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not impressed yet.”

The bell rang.

Y/N barely had time to react before Iyo Sky came flying at her, a devastating roundhouse kick aimed directly for her head. She ducked just in time, the force of it whipping past her ear, and immediately retaliated with a stiff elbow to Iyo’s ribs. The champion staggered back but recovered quickly, using the ropes to propel herself forward before slamming into Y/N with a handspring back elbow. The move connected cleanly, knocking Y/N back against the ropes, but she used the momentum to bounce off and hit Iyo with a running knee to the face.

The match quickly devolved into a brutal back-and-forth war. Every time Y/N gained an advantage, Iyo countered, the champion’s speed and agility making her nearly impossible to keep down. The strikes were stiff, each kick and punch landing with precision, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ringing throughout the stadium. Y/N could feel the welts forming on her ribs from Iyo’s brutal kicks, but she pushed forward, feeding off the energy of the crowd.

“Come on, L/N!” Punk’s voice cut through the commentary. “You gotta be faster than that!”

Cole chuckled. “A little tough love from Punk tonight?”

“Tough love?” Pat laughed. “The man sounds like a disappointed dad.”

Punk scoffed, arms crossed. “I just call it like I see it.”

Back in the ring, Y/N managed to catch Iyo mid-air as she attempted a crossbody, using her strength to hoist the champion up and slam her into the mat with a gut-wrench suplex. Iyo arched off the canvas, clutching her lower back, giving Y/N the opening to climb the ropes.

“She’s going high-risk!” Cole called.

Punk let out a breath. “Better not miss.”

As if hearing him, Y/N turned her head slightly toward the commentary table, locking eyes with him before blowing an exaggerated kiss in his direction.

The crowd reacted immediately, laughter rippling through the audience, and Pat lost it. “Oh my God! She’s making it her personal mission to mess with you!”

Punk’s face remained neutral, but the slight twitch in his jaw gave him away. “Focus on the match, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, though the mic still picked it up.

And she did.

All of her attention went back to Iyo as she landed a perfect cross-body. Unfortunately, it hadn’t tired Iyo as much as Y/N had hoped it would, but she didn’t give up. She never would. Not when the title is practically in her grasp.

The match itself had been brutal, both women leaving everything they had in the ring. However, the next fifteen minutes of it had to have been the worst. The air inside Lincoln Financial Field was thick with anticipation, the crowd hanging onto every move, every counter, every near fall. Y/N’s body ached, her ribs screaming from the relentless kicks Iyo had delivered, but she pushed forward, feeding off the electric energy around her.

Iyo, for all her skill and championship experience, was growing frustrated. Y/N had withstood everything—the rapid-fire strikes, the high-flying assaults, the punishing submissions. And now, as the match neared its climax, Iyo was beginning to make mistakes.

The champion was perched on the top rope, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, eyes narrowed as she calculated her next move. Y/N was dazed, clutching her ribs, struggling to push herself to her feet. Iyo saw her opportunity.

With a determined yell, she launched herself off the turnbuckle, twisting mid-air for a moonsault.

It was mistimed.

Y/N had staggered to her feet just a fraction of a second too soon, her head still down as Iyo’s knee connected—hard—against her brow instead of the planned impact to her chest. The sound of bone hitting bone was sickening, an audible crack that made the entire arena wince.

Y/N dropped like a stone.

The referee immediately knelt beside her, checking for movement, but it was the blood—thick and dark—already dripping down her face that sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.

And through Punk.

At the commentary table, he had been leaning back, arms crossed, the usual smirk on his face as he quipped about the match. But the moment that knee landed, his entire body tensed. His smirk vanished. His hands slammed against the table as he pushed himself to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

For a split second, he wasn’t CM Punk, the commentator.

He was Phil Brooks, the man who had spent his entire career in this business, who had seen firsthand what a misplaced knee like that could do.

“She’s hurt,” he said, voice lower than before, tighter.

Pat McAfee blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in him. “Whoa, hey, man—where are you—?”

Punk had already taken a step forward, instinct screaming at him to move, to get to the ring, to do something. His fingers flexed at his sides, breathing shallow as he locked onto Y/N’s unmoving form.

Then, as quickly as he’d reacted, he caught himself.

Realized where he was.

What he was doing.

His jaw clenched, and slowly, rigidly, he forced himself to sit back down. But his posture was different now—leaned forward, elbows on the desk, one hand anxiously rubbing his jaw as his eyes never left the ring.

“She’s bleeding pretty bad,” Cole noted, though his attention had drifted toward Punk now, clearly sensing the change.

Pat, of course, couldn’t help himself. “Man, I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Punk here was about to—what? Jump in there and save her?”

Punk shot him a glare. “Shut up, Pat.”

Pat laughed. “I’m just saying! Look at you! Sitting here all stiff, like you’re about to sprint down the ramp any second!”

Punk exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he tried to settle back into his usual nonchalance. “She’s fine,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed him. They were locked on Y/N, watching as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blood that was beginning to seep down the side of her face.

Back in the ring, the referee hesitated, momentarily unsure if he should call for medical personnel, but Y/N pushed his hands away.

"I'm good," she gritted out.

Her vision was hazy, the pain sharp and unrelenting, but the last thing she was going to do was let this end with her lying on the mat, bleeding out.

Punk leaned in slightly at the sound of her voice, his shoulders still tight.

“Come on, Y/N…” he muttered under his breath, as if willing her to snap out of it.

Iyo hesitated, realizing her mistake now, but it was too late to take it back. And Y/N—still dazed, still blinking through the blood—was already pushing to her feet.

The sight of her standing, wiping the blood from her eye with the back of her hand, made the crowd erupt.

Punk let out a slow breath, watching as she squared her shoulders, forcing herself back into the fight despite the crimson streaks running down her face. The sight of it—the determination, the fire—made something flicker in his expression.

Cole chuckled, side-eyeing him. “You can admit it, you know. You’re impressed.”

Punk scoffed, but it was weaker than before. “She still has to win first.”

Pat grinned. “Oh, come on. You were two seconds away from running down there to help her! I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

Punk ignored him.

Back in the ring, Y/N caught Iyo off guard, ducking under a clothesline before hoisting her onto her shoulders in one swift motion. The crowd roared, the energy surging to its peak as she took a single step forward and then drove Iyo into the mat with her finisher.

The ring shook from the impact.

Punk straightened in his seat, fingers twitching slightly as he watched the ref drop to count.

One… Two… Three.

The bell rang.

A moment of silence passed before the realization hit.

She won.

The crowd exploded, the sound deafening as Y/N collapsed to her knees, clutching the championship to her chest.

And then, slowly, blood still dripping down her face, she turned toward the commentary table.

Her gaze locked onto Punk’s.

Tears were brimming at the corner of her eyes as she held her title over her shoulder proudly. She stood up, woozy and shaky as blood continued to trickle down her forehead, but her smugness never faded. The smirk was slow, knowing, as she tapped the title against the X’s on her hands.

Punk exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but he didn’t look away.

Pat leaned in, grinning wildly. “You okay over there, bud?”

Cole smirked. “Go on, Punk. Just say it.”

Punk rubbed his jaw, leaning back in his chair, and after a long pause, muttered, “She did alright.”

Pat snorted. “You are so full of it.”

But Punk said nothing.

Instead, as the cameras focused on Y/N standing tall, bloodied but victorious, the faintest ghost of a smile flickered across his lips.

That’s when a microphone is handed to the newest champion and it makes everyone in the stadium cry out loudly as she raises it to her lips. “How we feeling tonight, Philly?”

Everyone screams once again making the new champion nod enthusiastically. She didn’t know if it was the high she was on from her win, or the blood loss, but she was no longer concerned about how professional she appeared.

“Yeah, me too!” She calls out with a small chuckle. “Y’know I’ve gotta say I couldn’t have done it without all of you cheering me on like that.” The crowd once again goes ballistic at her kind words. “I also couldn’t have done it without the amazing Paul Levesque giving me the chance to achieve greatness, and for that I am so grateful.” She spins on her heel, walking slowly towards the edge of the ring that’s closest to the announcer’s table. “But there is one person in particular I owe a special thanks to…”

She leans on the top rope, looking over at Punk with the biggest shit-eating grin she’s ever sported. He can’t help but lean back in his chair, eyes bemused as he scoffs softly at her behavior. Blood still oozes down her face, but she couldn’t seem to care less.

“The man who pisses me off more than anyone else in the locker room. Who unfortunately taught me half of my move set, mostly because he’s ancient,” she mumbles the last part but the audience roars with laughter. “The best in the world… CM Punk.”

As the crowd begins to chant his name, Punk shakes his head at her antics. He watches as the woman makes her way out of the ring and walks over towards his side of the table. Her chest is heaving as she continues to try and replenish the oxygen her lungs have lost over the last half hour in the ring.

She looks good, he notes to himself. The new gear she’s sporting fits her body perfectly. It shows off her stage persona perfectly, beautiful but deadly. His eyes trail over her hands, growing slightly fond of the fact she’s rocking his signature look. If anyone else were to have done that, he might’ve lost his mind on the spot, but with her, it’s different.

“Without his incessant nagging, I wouldn’t be here today,” she says into the mic, stopping directly in front of him, never breaking eye contact.

She’s currently towering over him as he’s still sitting in his designated seat. But without warning, he stands from his spot, silently moving forward and wrapping his one good arm around her in a tight hug. Audible coos and whistles are heard throughout the arena as Punk leans forward to speak into her mic.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he tells her. “You worked hard for it. Paid your dues.”

The crowd was already losing their minds over the embrace—CM Punk, the surly, hard-nosed veteran, openly showing affection? That alone was shocking enough. But as Y/N felt the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the steady rise and fall of his chest, something in her buzzed with exhilaration. Maybe it was the fact he was trying so hard to remain in character, or maybe it’s because she was tired of this cat and mouse game they became so good at playing.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to catch the flicker of something in his eyes before he masked it. He was playing the role, staying in character, but she saw it—a crack in the armor. A slip.

A slow smirk curled at her lips as she tilted her head. “Y’know, Punk,” she drawled, deliberately stepping closer, toeing the line of personal space as she brought the mic back up between them. “I was thinking… since we’re so close and all… how about a gift for the victor?”

His expression didn’t change—at least, not outwardly. But she caught it. The subtle way his jaw tensed. The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips like he was considering something. The way his fingers twitched at his sides like he had to physically restrain himself from reacting too quickly.

Still, he played his part. He always did.

Punk should’ve seen it coming. Should have.

But the moment Y/N took that deliberate step closer, eyes gleaming with something far too playful, far too dangerous, he knew he’d walked right into her trap.

His lips pressed into a firm line as she invaded his space, the warmth of her body nearly brushing against his. He should move—he needs to move—but he doesn’t. He just watches her, that smug little smirk playing at her lips, the kind that made his fingers twitch with the urge to do something drastic.

Like kiss it off her.

No. No, he absolutely was not thinking that.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to roll his shoulders like he wasn’t already bracing for impact. “What did you have in mind?” His voice was smooth, controlled—CM Punk. But there was an edge to it, an almost imperceptible waver that Y/N caught immediately.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Y/N hummed, tapping her fingers against the mic as if she were thinking. She tilted her head, feigning innocence as her gaze dropped to his lips for just a second—a split second—before flicking back up to his eyes.

“Oh, you know…”

And then—she kissed him.

The moment her lips pressed against his, CM Punk ceased to exist. There was no more character to hide behind. Just Phil Brooks.

A deafening roar swept through the stadium, fans screaming, chanting, reacting with sheer disbelief at what they were witnessing. The cameras caught it all—CM Punk, the man who prided himself on being untouchable, who never ever strayed from his carefully controlled image—being kissed, in front of thousands, by the newly crowned champion.

Phil. Was. Stunned.

For the first few seconds, he didn’t even move. Didn’t even process it. He had anticipated her usual antics—teasing, pushing his buttons, making him squirm—but this? This wasn’t scripted. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t supposed to happen—but then her hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and suddenly, he was forgetting why he was supposed to stop this at all.

Her lips were soft but commanding, determined, and goddammit, he should push her away, should pull back and scowl and play it off like she hadn’t just sent a bolt of electricity down his spine.

But he didn’t.

For a second—just a second—his hand twitched at his side, instinct screaming at him to cup the back of her neck, to deepen the kiss just enough to make her regret thinking she had the upper hand here.

But then she was gone.

The absence of her warmth made his body lurch forward slightly before his brain caught up, before the noise of the arena came crashing back down around him.

She turned on her heel, already stepping back toward the ring as she raised the mic again, her voice ringing through the chaos.

“See you later, old man.”

The crowd was losing their minds.

Pat McAfee was practically feral beside him. “OH. MY. GOD. SHE DID IT! Y/N L/N JUST KISSED CM PUNK ON LIVE TELEVISION! WHAT UNIVERSE ARE WE IN?!”

Michael Cole was just as incredulous. He was barely able to hold himself together as he laughed loudly, “I– Punk? Any comment? Anything at all?”

He grabbed his headset, sliding it back on with forced nonchalance. “Shut up, Pat.”

Pat cackled. “OH, HE’S FLUSTERED! HE’S SO FLUSTERED! HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO RIGHT NOW!”

Cole grinned. “Are we witnessing the beginning of a WWE power couple?”

Punk pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to god, both of you—”

But it didn’t matter.

The damage was done. The moment was out there, in front of thousands. There was no walking this back.

His eyes were locked on Y/N as she stood at the top of the ramp, championship over her shoulder, owning the moment like she’d planned it all along. She looked so damn proud of herself.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even be mad.

The next few days were nothing short of exhausting. He hadn’t had a quiet moment since what happened at the main event. Whether it was questions from his coworkers, his bosses, or the public, it was never ending. He, of course, handled it with the utmost professionalism, never breaking character, but it was starting to irritate him the way Y/N was handling it with such ease. Like she hadn’t completely blown up both of their careers. Not in a bad way, but the scandal in itself was enough to keep all attention on them for the next few months. Yet she acted like she didn’t have a care in the world.

She easily deflected probing questions and didn’t appear flustered by the event at all. It was infuriating. His jaw ticked as he watched her from the other side of the Gorilla, laughing at something Dominick Mysterio said. Once again, acting as if nothing happened. He watched as the younger male wrestler’s eyes flicked over to him and Phil could only assume the next question that came out of his mouth was about the kiss.

Once again, she deflects the question without much effort. Y/N simply bat her eyelashes at the boy, placing her hands on his chest as if she were fixing his gear before saying something slightly flirty and walking off. Her strategy changed with everyone who asked, and it worked every time.

His feet start moving before his mind can even register what he’s doing. Y/n rounds the corner to no doubt head out to your trailer, but he manages to grab her wrist before she can make it out. Her eyes widen in surprise, but they quickly calm when she realizes it’s him.

“Hey stranger,” she grins cheekily. She made no effort to pull away from his grasp, instead shifting her weight slightly, subtly closing the distance between them.

Phil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have to say?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, voice low, sharp, “maybe something about how you’ve spent the last few days dodging every question about what the hell you were thinking?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his irritation flaring. “You blindsided me. In front of the entire world. And now, you’re walking around like you didn’t just blow up both of our careers.”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. “That’s funny… last I checked, the crowd seemed to love it. I mean, the reaction was insane. Even the higher-ups don’t seem to mind all that much.”

“That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point, Phil?”

His grip on her wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. “The point is that you—” He huffed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re just—”

Y/N’s smirk widened. “Oh, come on, old man. Spit it out.”

His jaw ticked. She was enjoying this way too much.

And worse? He knew exactly what she was doing.

She was trying to get under his skin. Trying to make him crack first.

But Phil Brooks wasn’t so easily unraveled.

He took a deliberate step closer, forcing her back until she was against the cold concrete wall. His hand finally released her wrist, but before she could so much as breathe another teasing remark, his palms pressed flat against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.

Y/N’s eyes flickered with amusement—but also something else. Something darker.

She licked her lips. “You know you want to do it again.”

Phil’s brows lifted. “Do what again?”

She didn’t falter. Didn’t waver. Instead, she reached up, trailing a single finger along the collar of his hoodie. “Kiss me.”

His lips pressed into a firm line, his heartbeat betraying his otherwise composed exterior.

“Admit it,” she murmured. “You’ve been thinking about it.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been thinking about wringing your neck, does that count?”

She laughed, soft and sultry, before tilting her head slightly, eyes locked onto his with laser focus. “Come on, Phil. The people want us together. I want you. And we both know you want me.” She leaned up, voice a whisper against his lips. “So what’s stopping you?”

Silence.

For a moment, Y/N thought she had won.

That she’d finally broken him.

Then, he moved.

Leaning in—so, so close—until their noses brushed, until she could feel his breath against her lips.

But just as she started to close the distance—

He smirked. And pulled back.

Y/N blinked, stunned, her lips parting slightly as she tried to process what just happened.

Phil tilted his head, eyes dark, mocking. “You really thought that was gonna work, huh?”

She scowled, irritation flickering across her face for the first time all night.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, before ducking down just slightly, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“You got lucky when you caught me off guard at Mania,” he murmured, voice a velvety rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. “But it’s not gonna happen again.”

Then—because he was an asshole—his lips barely ghosted along her jaw, just enough to make her shudder. His hand skimmed her waist, squeezing just once, before he pulled away completely.

Y/N swallowed, hard, struggling to keep her expression neutral as she forced herself to meet his gaze again.

Phil smirked. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to impress me, sweetheart.”

Then—just as calmly as he’d cornered her—he turned and walked off.

Leaving her there. Flustered. And seething.

“Touché…” Y/N grumbles as she watches him walk off, not bothering to hide the fact she checks out his ass due to the form fitting jeans he’s wearing.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N had slowly been losing her control over her situation with Phil. Originally, she held him in the palm of her hand, she was the one making him flustered, but now it seems he was reclaiming some of that power. She finds herself looking for him in any crowd they’re in and he knows it. He smirks when he finds her eyes searching for him, sending her flirty winks, whispering filthy things in her ear when she’s least expecting.

He’s letting her know that she never truly was the one with the upper hand. He just needed time to adjust and make a game plan, and boy he did.

She remembers one particular instance where she was talking to Damian Priest backstage when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out, giggling at the joke Damian made, but it was short lived as the breath was stolen from Y/N’s lungs.

Oh.

The image staring back at her was sinful.

Phil. Fresh out of the shower.

A towel hung dangerously low on his hips, water still beading down his sculpted torso. One hand was running through his damp hair, pushing it back, while the other held his phone in the mirror. His expression? A cocky smirk, one that screamed I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

And as if the photo itself wasn’t bad enough, the caption?

“Hope you’re staying focused, sweetheart. See you at the interview. ;)”

Y/N’s face ignited.

Her grip tightened around her phone as she struggled to process the absolute audacity of this man.

She must’ve gone silent for too long because Damian furrowed his brows, concern flashing across his face.

“Hey, you good?” he asked, nudging her lightly. “You just turned, like… bright red. Do you have a fever or something?”

Y/N let out a choked sound, hastily locking her phone and shoving it back into her pocket. “I—I’m fine. Just—uh—hot in here.”

Damian raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but before he could press further, one of the producers walked by and called out, “Y/N! You’re on in an hour for your interview. Punk’s already getting mic’d up.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Of course he was.

Damian patted her back. “Good luck with that. You look like you need it.”

She glared at him before storming off toward the interview set, her mind still short-circuiting from the damn picture.

The interview was with Cathy Kelley, who greeted them both with a bright smile as they settled into their seats. Y/N knew she was supposed to be professional—that was literally her job—but sitting next to Phil, who was clearly feeling himself today, was making it impossible to focus.

He was too close, his body angled toward her, his scent still faintly fresh from whatever expensive body wash he used.

Kelley beamed as she turned to the camera, perfectly composed and ready to dig into the interview fans had been dying to see. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with two of the most talked-about names in WWE right now—CM Punk and Y/S/N.”

Y/N barely managed a smile, still recovering from the photo Phil had sent her. She’d tried to push it out of her mind, but the smug look on his face told her he knew exactly how much he’d rattled her.

“Thanks for having us, Cathy,” Phil said smoothly, his voice dangerously casual.

Y/N forced herself to focus, nodding along. “Yeah, should be fun.”

Phil’s hand slid onto her thigh.

Y/N tensed, resisting the urge to slap it away.

Cathy, oblivious to the slow psychological breakdown Y/N was currently experiencing, launched into her first question.

“So, Punk, you made your big return last year, and a lot of people wondered if you’d still be able to keep up with the current roster. But after the fight you put up in the Royal Rumble match, I think it’s safe to say you haven’t lost a step. How do you feel about your performance?”

Phil pretended to think about it, shifting slightly so his fingers inched higher on Y/N’s thigh. “You know, Cathy, I think I did alright. Besides tearing my tricep, I’d say I held my own. I mean, I’m me. It’s not really a surprise, is it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Phil grins, squeezing her thigh out of spite which makes her gasp slightly. She feels a chill run down her spine as he looks completely unbothered. “What? You disagree, sweetheart?”

Cathy laughed. “Y/N, what was it like for you, being part of WrestleMania? And not only that, but winning the Women’s Championship?”

Y/N opened her mouth—only for Phil’s hand to start massaging her thigh ever so slightly, working its way inward.

She barely stopped herself from choking.

“I—it was—uh—” She cleared her throat. “It was amazing. One of the best moments of my career, for sure. I’m really grateful that I was presented with the opportunity.”

Phil hummed in agreement, tapping his fingers against her leg. “Definitely one of the biggest moments.”

Y/N refused to look at him.

Cathy moved on. “Punk, since coming back, you’ve had some… let’s say, heated interactions with some of the younger talent. Guys like Seth Rollins and Cody Rhodes haven’t exactly been welcoming. Any thoughts on that?”

Phil shrugged. “Look, I don’t expect everyone to throw a party just because I’m back. Some of these guys have been carrying the company for years, and suddenly, I show up and steal the spotlight. But hey—” He smirked. “If they don’t like it, they can try to do something about it.”

Y/N muttered, “Cocky bastard.”

Phil heard her.

And instead of ignoring it, he leaned in just enough for his breath to tickle her ear.

“You like it, though, don’t you?” he whispered.

Y/N nearly jumped out of her damn seat.

Cathy, unaware of the absolute war happening beside her, chuckled. “Well, speaking of heated interactions…” She turned her attention fully to them. “We can’t ignore the elephant in the room. The moment at WrestleMania. The kiss.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Cathy smiled knowingly. “The fans have been going wild, and the speculation is at an all-time high. So, I have to ask…” She turned to them expectantly. “What exactly is going on between you two?”

Y/N braced herself, ready to deflect, when—

Phil beat her to it.

“Yeah, Y/N,” he said, voice thick with mock innocence. “What are your thoughts?”

You smug, evil little—

Y/N shot him a look that could kill.

Phil? He just smirked, his fingers idly tracing circles against her thigh, his expression pure amusement as he watched her flounder.

Cathy raised a brow, intrigued. “So, there is something going on?”

Y/N forced a tight-lipped smile. “I think… I think what happened at Mania was—”

Phil’s hand slid higher.

Y/N lost her train of thought entirely.

Cathy tilted her head, waiting for her to finish, but Y/N’s brain had short-circuited.

Phil, meanwhile, just relaxed, completely at ease, knowing damn well she was falling apart.

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists.

He was enjoying this.

Finally, she somehow managed to bullshit her way through a vague answer about the unpredictability of wrestling and keeping the fans entertained.

Cathy nodded, sensing she wouldn’t get a real answer, but her amused expression said it all. “Well, whatever’s going on, I think I speak for everyone when I say we’ll be watching closely.”

The interview ended, and the second the cameras cut, Y/N grabbed Phil’s wrist and yanked him toward the nearest empty hallway.

He let her, still smirking.

Once they were alone, she whirled on him, shoving his shoulder hard. “What the hell was that?”

Phil barely stumbled, still annoyingly amused as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What was what?”

Y/N let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping closer, her frustration boiling over. “Oh, don’t you dare. You were messing with me the entire interview!”

Phil tilted his head like he was actually considering her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Y/N let out a growl of frustration before shoving him again, her hands flat against his chest. “Bullshit, Phil! You—” She gestured wildly, completely losing it. “You—your hand, your voice, that stupid smirk, and then the ‘Yeah, Y/N, what are your thoughts?’ Like you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes scrambling my brain!”

Phil barely reacted, just staring down at her like she was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His voice was mocking, his lips twitching with a lazy grin. “Did I distract you?”

She groaned, shoving him again. “You were being a little—”

“Careful,” he warned, low and teasing, as he caught her wrists.

But Y/N didn’t care. She ripped her hands away, pacing as she fought the urge to scream. “You’re playing hard to get now? Now?! After everything?” She turned back to him, rage and frustration and something dangerously close to desire burning in her expression.

Phil just leaned back against the wall, completely unfazed.

And that made her snap.

She grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward, her teeth gritted. “You think this is funny?”

His grin widened.

“Oh, I think it’s adorable.”

Y/N pushed him again, but Phil caught her easily, his hands gripping her waist as he let out a low chuckle. “You thought you could outplay me, princess?” He clicked his tongue. “How cute.”

Y/N’s breathing was heavy, her hands shaking as she glared up at him, her face inches from his. “You are such an—”

He cut her off.

Not with words.

With his hand, pressing firmly over her mouth.

Her eyes widened, a muffled sound escaping.

“Stop talking,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something dark and smooth.

Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers slid down, palm curling around her throat. Not tight—just there, warm and commanding, his thumb brushing against her pulse point, feeling how fast it raced.

Then, finally—

He kissed her.

It was hot, consuming, and completely overwhelming. His lips moved against hers with absolute confidence, taking what he knew she’d been begging for. His fingers tightened, his other hand gripping her hip, pulling her flush against him.

Y/N melted for half a second—then fought back, her hands fisting in his hoodie as she bit his lip, just to be a brat.

Phil let out a low groan, then snapped.

He pressed her hard against the wall, his grip on her tightening as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing hers, swallowing the smallest whimper she let out.

By the time he pulled back, Y/N was breathless, her knees weak, her entire brain fried.

Phil smirked, his thumb brushing over her jaw. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight. Be ready by six.”

He goes to walk off with that same smug grin, but Y/N catches him again. He turns around, raising a questioning eyebrow as he watches her usually bright (e/c) darken. She yanks his arm back towards her before slamming her lips into his again. His hands move back down to her waist, squeezing the soft flesh there as her hands shoot up into his hair, lightly tugging at the strands which makes him groan into her lips.

The two of them slowly pull apart, a small strand of saliva connecting them, but Y/N raises her finger up, breaking the string. Phil watches as she sucks her thumb into her mouth, cleaning their shared spit off her finger. He feels his jeans tighten uncomfortably as Y/N leans up to whisper in his ear.

“Only if you promise to have me for dessert.”

[samoan-takedown]

[acknowledge-reigns]

14 years ago the usos signed to WWE after their Uncle who we know as Umaga convinced them to give a wrestling career a shot.

Jey is dedicating his World Heavyweight Championship match against Seth Rollins tonight to the late great Umaga who also passed away 14 years ago today, on the very day that the usos were signed.

Significantly heavy night of importance for Jey.

Sending love to the whole Anoa'i/Fatu family today. Especially Zilla, Mrs LT aka Mama Zilla, Arthur, Ejay and Sauce.

RIP Umaga, thanks for all the memories and thanks for helping to give us the usos.

[thesamoanqueen]

The Wild Samoan - Sika Anoa'i

[foreverlyjay]

Thank you whoever took this picture!

🤭🤭😮‍💨😏

[whowrotethenote]

Write a cm punk x reader x Roman smut but they’re basically Paul Heyman in the situation

Disclaimer // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist

A/N // Thank you to the anon for that creative ass request. @novamystxcxox sent me something similar, but I had already started this💗 Hope you both like it!

I did not make this x reader because I'm not good at those. I have to give my characters personality, backstory & physical characteristics. That's just my preference.

Also, the smut is reserved for the OC & Roman because... that's my man and I love him.

I do not take requests yet. Mostly because I barely have the time to write as is and I know they would just be sitting in my asks collecting dust like this one was for so long. This was just too good to not pursue. One day. Just not today lol. Okay, bye.

Pairing // Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC (Paula Heyman) x CM Punk

Warnings // Profanity // Smut [minors DNI] // Toxic behaviors // Age Gap

Word Count // 6.5k

“It’s going to be five versus five…”

Paula watched in the adulation that replaces the smug pride after waiting for his music to play. The entirety of Green Bay, Wisconsin buzzed with every emotion given to the human race as they recognized the infamous theme song.

Nothing feels like this. No amount of alcohol. No drug. Nothing can mimic this feeling of a live crowd giving back tenfold what’s given to them. 

He brushed past her, wrapping his hand to meet the rest of them inside the ring. A full on war breaking out the minute he slid inside. Five exceptionally large men, all cleared out the ring by her boys. With ease. It's how she knew she made the right decision. She knew no one else would carry it out like he would.

She made her way to the side of the ring just in time for their stare down. All the faces in the stands losing their minds.

CM Punk! CM Punk! CM Punk!

The pressure of the cheeky grin pushing through was heavy. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen Roman in months. Hadn’t seen Punk even longer. But as soon as she called—he came. 

“Why are you here?” She read Roman’s lips as he squinted. 

“To save your ass,” was his reply. 

He was pissed. His pinched brows. The tension in his broad shoulders. The tightness of his mouth. The flexing of his jaw. His hand, opening and closing in a tight fist. No—he was fuming. But that’s only because he couldn’t see the bigger picture right now. That’s where she came in. That’s what warranted her presence in his life a necessity. If it wasn’t more obvious before tonight—amongst all the chaos that had ensued in her absence— it was now shoved in his face.

“Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Punk smiled unwrapping his hand. “That was only half the job.”

Her head swiveled slightly watching the hustle of the backstage crew. Gathering equipment, everyone mic’d up and moving with a purpose. She missed this. 

She nodded. “He’ll come around. Trust me.” The pressing matter of Roman’s disapproval of his presence was heavy. It lingered above them like a storm cloud. It put the biggest wedge between them. Something that was never there before in their relationship. “I just have to talk some sense into him. He’s emotional right now.”

“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you, Paula.” His eyes, sincere—always opposed to his appearance. The tattoos, the foul language, the attitude—none of it ever complimented his kind eyes. “I’ve seen the way he talks to you. The way he talks to everyone he loves.” He raised his brows.

Immediately defensive and strangely protective of her current client, she shook her head. “He’s just…used to betrayal. He keeps everyone at an arm’s length. It's his way of keeping control.”

“It doesn’t make it right.” He stood firm. The affection for his best friend and former manager, overriding any excuse she felt compelled to give him. He didn’t care for any of it.

“I guess I’ll let you go, then.” She scanned him once more, already thinking of her next phase of business. She didn’t have the luxury to sit and tangle in emotions. She was a woman working in sport’s entertainment. They already looked at her as if she was Barbie dropped in the jungle. And they expected her to get invested in her work in a way that was overlooked in men. Flirting and sleeping around and whatnot. But that wasn’t Paula Heyman.

She vowed to never get entangled with clients. It was business first, always. She was about business. That’s what they loved about her. The men—charismatic and dominant as they are—were off limits. But every now and again, she found the lines between client and manager blurring. Things get sticky. Lines get crossed.

Her first blurred line—Phil Brooks. Best in the world. And to the world he was CM Punk. The bad ass that swept the WWE universe off their feet.

They developed a friendship that transcended client and manager. An intimate kiss between the two, one drunk night celebrating another victorious defense of his title reign—almost led to something more. Thankful for the little voice in her head, she stopped it. Things were different after that. She put up boundaries, but it did nothing to ease the ache of what if. That same ache presenting itself right now, like it did every time they found themselves this close and secluded.

“Thank you, Paula.” He held a hand out. A spot in WarGames benefited him as much as it benefited the Bloodline and she made that possible. She gladly took his hand, until he pulled her all the way into him—foreheads kissing. “You think about what I said the other day?” He whispered. 

She sighed deeply. “Punk…”

“I know you remember what it felt like. All those years ago. Just the two of us. Young, wild, and hungry as hell. Kicking ass and taking names.” She released air from her nose reliving the memories. She had never felt more alive than she did with him. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit to missing those days—and him. But that was then. This was now. She wasn’t that girl anymore. So, she kept that sentiment to herself. But he didn’t need to hear it. Because the same way she was now in synch with her current client, she once was with him. He could still feel it. “It’d be just like that. But better this time.” She opened her eyes that were met with his—specks of olive always so alluring. 

“Just think about it…Alright?” He pulled away as she nodded. Their hands lingering before he completely turned and left her there. 

She looked around, now aware of the world around her again, hoping no one saw their moment. Everything gets back to him here. Him.

Paula swallowed knowing she’d have to face him. She made a menacingly slow stride to his trailer after leaving the arena. She knocked twice. Then three more times, before she heard the familiar voice tell her it was open. 

She walked in the small but familiar space as he removed his OG Bloodline shirt with a heavy sigh, releasing all the weight that’s been dumped on him since losing his title. You’d think the load would be lighter now. The saying is supposed to go—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He had given his crown up, or rather it was stolen by the American Nightmare, and yet he still felt like the King. On top looking down at everyone else, even in his untimely absence. And Solo had presented him with an entire new set of weight with this whole New Bloodline mess. 

The muscles in his back flexed as he slightly stretched and rolled his head. The silence was agonizing. Gnawing at her because she could already feel whatever he wasn’t saying. 

“Where have you been?” He finally questioned. His back still to her. “I’ve been calling.” He took a sip of whatever he poured. 

She squinted at him once he finally turned to face her. His chest—one she’s seen plenty of times—still, a distraction as she attempted to just zero in on his static expression.

“That’s funny. Considering you went M.I.A. long before I did.” She crossed her arms, causing her full breast to push up, catching his attention for a split second. “My calls fell on death ears as well.”

“I asked you a question.”

“After Mania you vanished. You left me here. Vulnerable. Alone. Defending you. Fending for myself—”

The cup met the counter harder than he intended, summoning dead silence again as she swallowed the remainder of her rant. He had already lost his Bloodline before all this—then his title. He didn’t need another crash course on all the ways he’s fucked up. 

“I’m here now.” She spoke again when she felt it was safe enough to. “You’re here. Jimmy’s back. Jey’s back. Sami’s here. Things are back to normal.” As close to normal as possible without Solo and that belt hanging from his waist. 

He gradually nodded. Her words sinking in. He didn’t want to fight. He fought enough tonight. She turned to leave, knowing he preferred solitude at the end of the night.

“Don’t forget who you work for.”

She scoffed. Only Roman would leave her to fend for herself after he lost his little title and decided to tuck tail, just to come back and want to run shit again—as if he never left. But that’s just the kind of man he was. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it and he didn’t care who he had to run through to get it. That’s what drew Paula his way in the first place. Her contract was ending and she was looking for some else to counsel on the roster. There was not a single person that housed half as much charisma and hunger as the Roman Reigns. 

Their journey has been the epitome of a rollercoaster. By his side in feuds and every climb of the ladder. Reaping the benefits of accompanying such a charismatic figure in his own right. Her life went from great to legendary. Now, she sits on the Island of Relevancy as they call it—pockets as fat as they had ever been, and her life looks exactly the way she’d dreamed. 

But no good deed goes unpunished.

“How could I?”

Roman checked the time on his expensive watch again—only moments after the last check. Leg bouncing, jaw ticking, with that infamous stone cold exterior, that screamed he was not to be fucked with. Long fingers smoothed the hair above his plump top lip, until he reached the dark and greying hairs of his chin.

Whatever he was feeling, Paula felt in her bones tenfold. She shifted in her seat, unable to keep still. In the dark room, the only thing they could hear was her irregular breaths and his less than impatient sighs. 

She couldn’t explain it if someone were to ask her. It was as if signing the dotted line and agreeing to manage him put a hex on them. This invisible string—this unimaginable force pulling them together in every instance of every universe formed. She felt this burning,  unwavering loyalty to him. It was sick and twisted. The lengths she’d go to please him—to carry out his wishes. How empty, aimless and useless her life had felt these past months without him. Not even so much as a text from him. It took every fiber of strength to not answer that call. But she needed him—if only for a second—to feel what she had felt since Wrestle-mania. 

His brown eyes pierced her, feeling like another beam of light in place of the one they sat under at the stretched table. Three seats. One at the head where Roman sat of course. Another next to him, always reserved for her. Lastly, a vacant one at the other end. 

She knew what was coming next.

“Paula.” His deep voice made her heart stutter. Out of fear, relief and every other emotion in between.

“Yes, My Tribal Chief?” She answered trying her best to keep her voice steady amidst the storm of emotions brewing inside of her. 

“Where the fuck is he?”

Turning to meet his hard stare, she hesitated. Raking through her brain to find the words that wouldn’t tick him off. But considering the flex of his jawline, she could tell it was too late and it didn’t matter what she said—he was already at the edge of the cliff. 

“He’ll be here,” she assured. Only she hoped. Punk just like Roman liked to play mind games. Toy with his prey before he caught it. Please not today, she thought. She prayed their years of friendship and building a bond outside of their old contract was enough to get him to pull through for her. 

“I don't understand. He’s going around calling you his Wisewoman. He’s butting in on family matters. And now he’s got me waiting like I’m some errand boy. As if my time isn’t valuable.” The legs of the chair made a violent shriek as his towering frame began to rise. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t a question, nor was he looking for her opinion, but Paula still placed a hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Roman—”

On cue the slam of the heavy door that granted entry to the empty vast room sounded. Paula’s heart sighed watching him make his way to the empty seat. Looking back at Roman she silently challenged him to sit and he obliged. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Punk checked the time on his watch. Paula rubbed her forehead feeling an oncoming migraine. These two men—with the whose dick is bigger games—were going to be the death of her. She had never faced a bigger challenge in all her years in the business. They were going to collectively chase her into an early retirement at the ripe age of thirty-one. 

Just get through the weekend, she thought. Then it’ll all be over…right? A dream. That’s what she was selling herself. As long as that hex she spoke about was still alive between her and her current client, she’d never know peace. With the fuck you, pay me attitude he rendered and big bully on the playground persona he carried with him like a purse, pissing anyone within a five mile radius off—it’ll never be over.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at your watch for. We’re on time. You’re the one that’s late, Junior.”

“Yeah, well I’m here. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But you need something from me. So, I’d think you’d turn your asshole down just a little bit.”

“I don’t need shit from you.”

“You sure about that?” A snort pushed through his throat. “Cause the way you’ve been face down on the mat every week at the hands of your family says otherwise.”

Paula sat back like a child witnessing her parents have their first post-divorce argument. It was no point in getting in between these two. She knew better. They had to figure it out.

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me. I came here for two things. One,” he held his pointer finger up, “to make it very clear that I’m not doing this for you.” He nodded in Paula’s direction. “I’m doing it for her. I’m not here for you—it’s all for her.”

Roman smiled so deeply his dimple showed as fine lines creased around his mouth. He sat back in the chair eyeing them both. Paula could feel the heat radiating off his body as she fiddled with the Bloodline ring he gifted her years ago, refusing to return eye contact. 

“I’m happy for you two. Really, I am.” Whatever feeling was opposite of happy on the spectrum, was what he was actually feeling inside. “Finding each other again after all these years. The story’s lined up perfectly. It’s beautiful. Poetic almost. But, that also has nothing to do with me. That’s y’all shit.” His hand shifted between the two of them. Paula flinched at the heightening aggression she recognized as a precursor before he usually put his hands on someone. “I don’t want—need—whatever you wanna call it—your help tomorrow night.” He spoke like a dragon emitting fire with his every word. 

Over his antics and borderline temper tantrum, Punk adverted his gaze to the only person in the room he deemed worthy of any acknowledgment. She took the deepest breath before finally speaking up for the first time since he entered. 

“My Tribal Chief.” She placed a dainty hand in front of where he sat on the table to disarm him first. He looked down at it as if it was a cuff restraining him. “With the way Solo has gone about things—especially after Crown Jewel—it wouldn’t be very wise to turn down a helping hand.” She spoke like a circus tamer trying to calm the big cat before it went rogue. “Now, I can find someone else. But there’s no one I trust to do this as much as him.”

Roman tried his hardest to accept her words, but the smug smirk on Punk’s face was pulling him in the direction of irrationality. 

“And you.” She continued only turning her head in Punk’s direction. “You think Solo is just going to forgive and forget what you’ve done?” The smirk vanished. “You speak like someone who has a choice, but let’s be all the way real here. If you don’t help, you’ll just move up on the list of people he plans to run through after he wins. We can do more together than apart. You mean to tell me the two of you can’t put these petty ass differences aside for just one night, to conquer a common enemy?”

Both men regarded one another. A silent battle that couldn’t have been louder in the ears of the woman between them—who knew both like the back of her hand. Punk was the first to come forward as he slid his forearm on the table.

“You don’t like me and I don’t like you. That much is clear. But Paula’s right. We can get through one night. One common enemy. One win. One time.”

“One time,” Roman agreed. 

“When it’s all over and done—you and I can have a different conversation in the ring, maybe.” He smiled pushing the chair back.

“What was the second thing?” Roman interrupted his attempt to remove himself from the meeting. The room grew eerily quiet. “You said you came here for two things.” He clasped his fingers together. “What was the second thing?”

Paula’s relief was short-lived as she watched the look he always had when he was up to no good present itself. “To make sure I get what I’m owed when it’s all said and done with,” he revealed. 

Roman scoffed with wide eyes. “I’d owe you a favor?” Punk immediately shook his head. 

“No—no, you don’t owe me anything.” His eyes flicked longingly to his best friend who he’d been removed from all these years. “My best friend—our Wisewoman will owe me a favor.” 

Paula subtly shook her head, hoping her eyes could relay what her mouth feared to speak. She remembered the conversation after he came out to help the Bloodline. How he begged her days before to just consider the idea of coming back home—as he referred to it as. In his corner, supporting him and counseling him. Keeping him on top. Although she never gave him a direct answer, she knew after tomorrow night, it’d go from an inquiry, to something owed—just as he spoke of now. 

Oh, but she was so wrong. About everything. While Punk did yearn for his friend to come back and play for his team—he had a bigger picture in mind. One he didn’t plan on revealing until every thing was all over, to eliminate the risk of this said favor not being carried out. 

Joy reflected in his eyes as he watched the shift of tension build within the two other parties at the table—but that wasn’t his problem. So, he got up and left them to deal with the mess. 

“Wisewoman,” his authoritative voice called to her. 

She winced. Her wish that he would just leave it alone until after WarGames, completely in vain. 

“Yes, My Tribal Chief?”

She met his dark eyes. “What is this favor he’s talking about?” He pressed.

“Uh—” Paula didn’t truly know and she knew that wasn’t an answer he was going to accept. She was only guessing that the favor had to do with their previous conversations. A topic way too touchy to present to Roman. He was already hanging onto his sanity by the thinnest thread. The contingency of losing his Wisewoman after just gaining her presence back, would sever that thread completely.

“Let’s just get through tomorrow night. Okay?” She flashed that pretty smile. Not at all ready to become the object of his wrath—like she’s been plenty of times before. “We can talk about it after. I promise.”

Again, she twisted the band gifted to her by the man seated next to her. Always by his side. Always the master pulling the strings to ensure him and his family stayed out in front. What she tried her best to conceal, was that she needed him as much as he needed her. It was a two way street. It wasn’t just the inevitable betrayal that she anticipated. It was the unprecedented emptiness she’d feel again without him.

WarGames was its namesake. A full on fucking war. A civil war amongst men of the same Bloodline, which made it that much more brutal—because it was rooted in love in place of hate. But in the throws of the obvious war between the original Bloodline and this new one—there was an equally intense war within what was supposed to be two men playing for the same team.

Every side eye and hateful glare that transpired, she shifted and sighed to herself. Anxiety growing until she had a garden full of concern and angst with her at the ringside table with the announcers. Two bombs that always seemed to be ready to detonate at any given moment.

She paced. She ran hands through her blowout frustratedly. She had to do away with the suit jacket. She was hot with worry. She didn’t know which was worse. Them in the confines of a cage outside the ring, or them inside a bigger cage in the heat of battle. She just kept praying that they made it through the night without killing each other and winning of course. 

When Roman wedged a hand out to prevent Punk from entering the match, Paula nearly lost it. She was sure they were going to kill each other before even stepping foot inside the ring, then. Mean ass, she thought as he waved a hand at an exhausted Punk whom he disregarded to help the rest of the Bloodline on their feet.

Proud. That’s what the pinball of her emotions landed on at the end of the night. Her boys fought valiantly and the win was well deserved. Punk and Roman even shook hands. Two of her favorite men, now coming to an understanding. A mutual respect. She did that. 

At the end of it all, Roman met her down the steps of the ring—a strong hand cupping her face. His thumb grazing her cheek three times. I love you was the hidden significant message. Something he started years ago. Too prideful to speak it, he’d stroke the words with his thumb. On her wrist, her arm, her knee. Today, her face. It’s when she knew she made the right decision. The war was over. 

In the wee hours of the night, she found herself in his trailer. He called her over and offered a bottle of champagne that they popped open together in celebration. Things were finally looking like they were coming together after being abruptly dismantled. 

On their second glass now, they stood reminiscing on all it took to even get to this point. How far they had come and how much further they planned to take it. Somewhere in the expensive champagne and the fog of taking a jog down memory lane, Roman was feeling more sentimental than usual.

“You know I appreciate you right, Paula?” Thank you would’ve been too much. But even him extending his appreciation was something she didn’t see often. It had her momentarily melting like ice cream on a stick in ninety degree weather. 

He knew he lashed out more than what was needed. Talked to her like the shit on the bottom of his shoe at times. He threw more than enough responsibility in her lap. Threw a fit when things didn’t go his way. Created more problems for Paula to come behind and clean up, instead of solutions. But his worst crime of all—leaving her alone after losing at Mania. He was ashamed. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ready to face the universe of WWE yet. More importantly, he wasn’t ready to face her. She worked her ass off, day in and day out, to guarantee he made it to the top of the mountain—and he lost it all in one night. 

“Next phase of business—putting that Ula Fala back around your neck where it belongs.” Already onto the next phase—moving the goal post back. “Only halfway there, Chief.” She offered a half smile.

Always so professional—so well put together. Composed. He always yearned to see her come undone. Touched himself to vivid imaginative flashes of what that must look like. Loose curls cascaded around her, head rolled back and moth agape. Him beneath her, admiring his new canvas—her. He couldn’t help but to paint a picture of what Paula Heyman would look like as a mess, losing control—just for him. Desperate. Begging.

She was strong. Resilient. But even the most unwavering women—solid as a sculpture in Italy—could always use the reactive force of a stronger man. 

Those lips. They were naturally pouty and plump. Every time she talked, he found himself drawn to them and how they curved at certain letters. He deemed them perfect. Only able to use his imagination, he thought about how they’d feel wrapped around him. How’d they look. 

“When’s the last time somebody fucked you?” He blurted out. She nearly choked on the bubbling champagne. He stood unmoved, expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” He placed his glass down. His dick pressed uncomfortably against his pants. He was losing every ounce of patience and composure he had. He was done playing games. He respected her and her hustle, but it did nothing to put out the fire inside of him whenever he watched her interacting with other men—especially that motherfucker Punk.

“And I’m not talking about the last time you had sex—no. I mean the last time somebody fucked you so hard, you forgot to breathe. So good you felt it everywhere. It was all you could think about after the fact.” 

Her skin heated up to an uncomfortable degree. The kind that warrants tiny tingles and possible rashes all over your body. Her breathing pattern kicked up at the smoldering look in his eyes. She couldn’t mistake his intentions now. Especially after her eyes flickered to the bulge in his pants. 

He made a step toward her. The heavy thud of his giant boot meeting the floor sounding as a doomsday soundtrack for her professionalism. She knew she was in trouble. “Roman—”

“Shh,” he hushed her and smiled wickedly. His sharp canines on display. He relieved her of the glass and sat it on the counter her ass was rested on. She didn’t even understand how he’d gotten so close so fast. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat, as it was booming in her own ears now. “Relax,” he whispered. “Let me thank you properly.” The wicked smile had vanished in a flash and in its place was an intense concentration. His brown pupils blown and trained on her lips.

He was going to kiss her. And as much as Paula’s head screamed no—her body conforming to his and her mouth falling open before he even reached her, told a completely different story.

The air around them was so charged, if anyone else walked in they’d be electrocuted on sight. His fingers found their way into her hair, tangling and fisting it, earning a gasp from her. Leaning in, his tongue swept her mouth fiercely. He didn’t need to test the waters with a timid peck. For what? She was his Wisewoman and he planned on making that very clear tonight. In the sickest part of his membrane, he wished he could sit Punk down and make him watch what he planned to do to her. 

Paula’s hands found his muscular and tanned arms as his free one roamed the meaty flesh of her ass though her skirt. Always galloping about in the highest heels, shortest skirts and tightest dress pants. He craved to know what it felt like under his palms. To squeeze and knead it as he was now. His dick was so stiff, it was almost painful. 

The eruption of their kiss quickened. It was messy now, as they couldn’t even keep up with their own lust—passionate and scorching with the heat of hell. 

“How long?” He mumbled in between the kiss. Still, expecting an answer. 

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had blown her mind in bed. She tried for years to make some sort of connection, but it was pointless. This job—governing Roman, had become her life. It consumed her and men could see that. She opted for the occasional fling here and there, but they were all pointless. Always leaving her dissatisfied and half full. So she scrapped the idea of men and dating altogether. 

Roman roughly turned her by the hips. Pushing his pulsing member on her ass and growling in her ear at the friction of her writhing against him. She was soaking and he barely touched her.He could smell her and it ignited the beast in him. 

This was a new frequency of intimacy for her. No man had ever been so exhilarating and demanding in his approach. He commanded things from her body without even speaking a word. It was sorcery, really. 

She felt his hands next. Big, calloused, and firm. They slithered over her thighs as his warm breath and facial hair tickled her ear. Under her skirt, they disappeared until it was bunched around her waist. She got lost in the heat and hardness of his body. Her eyes popped open after hearing the violent tear of stocking material. The cotton of her panties snapped next. 

“Ro—Unnh!” 

She gasped violently at his entry and he wasn’t even halfway in yet. No condom. Nothing between them except passion and the longing of two people who underhandedly craved each other for years and couldn’t do anything about it. Hatred and frustration, that only two people who loved one another could muster—sprinkled on top.

He eased his length in, inch by inch, watching the pinched look on her gorgeous face. This was better than he had imagined. Crinkle between her curved brows, hands spread on the wall, mouth as wide as it can go. All because of him.

He stretched her out to his liking, until he reached the end and then pulled back. He slammed back in almost losing his nut at the squeeze she granted around his thickness. It felt like the best hug he ever received—warm, wet, and tight as fuck. A small hand slithered between them, to which he easily caught. Using one strong hand to pin both her wrists together above them on the wall. 

Leaning back slightly, he admired the view. Her round ass perked up and pushed out. Puffy lips  wrapped tight around him, glistening under the lights of his trailer. The deep line in the center of her arched back with a thin layer of sweat.

“You’re perfect. Just like this.”

“Roman,” she whined. Frustrated and helpless to move as he had her trapped. 

He smiled against the side of her face. “You feel so good to me.” Another gasp as he began to push in and out at a steady pace. Squishy and sloppy sounds filling the small space around them. “Can’t believe you kept this shit from me for so long, baby.” His free hand came down on her left ass cheek before he dug his finger in her hip, guiding her up and down his massive dick. He let her adjust and find her own rhythm—too fixated on the little sounds from her mouth and the contortions of her pretty face, to do anything himself. “Yeah. Keep throwing that pussy back on me.”

“It's so big,” she moaned. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He talked too much shit to not have the means to back it up. He grinned smugly.

“You can take me. Right, baby?”

Struggling to locate her voice she just nodded against the wall profusely. Afraid he might stop and put an end to this immeasurable sensation he awakened. It hurt so good. He was creating a monster and he didn’t even know it.

“Keep them hands right there. Don’t move,” he instructed. He used his own to grab handfuls of her ass in both palms, stretching her wide so he could get a clear shot of her wetness pulling on him. Every time he withdrew she sucked him back in. A trail of white stuff lingering as evidence to how good he was making her feel. “Making a fucking mess,” he grunted. He let his possessive hold go, loving the recoil of her ass on his pole. It was hypnotizing. He questioned how long he could hold out like this. 

Against what his body was advising him—which was to pace himself—he violently pounds into her drenched hole over and over and over again. Beating her up. 

“Oh my—fuck! Yesss.” She was a glutton for punishment. His punishment disguised in gratitude. His frustrations took control of the wheel. Her going ghost on him was unacceptable. He was losing his fucking mind. A fact he’d never admit out loud. It didn’t go well with his, I don’t need anybody—head of the table—persona. 

Teeth barred down and upper lip curled into a snarl, he continued his assault, but that little pussy packed some power. It fought back. A fight he wasn’t prepared for. She was leaking. Juices running down her toned leg and his balls that hit her clit with every connect. 

“Damn, girl.” His head falls back for a second. 

“Right there—oh my goddd!”

“He can’t help you right now.” He teased huskily. 

“Please, Ro.”

“Please what? Huh?”

She didn’t even know what she was pleading for. Mercy? Release? She wanted more of everything. More of him, if possible. 

They found themselves in the space of his bedroom. He wanted to try every position, but he knew he’d have her in here until this same time the next day to fulfill that fantasy. So he opted for the position where he could see everything.

He had her on full display. Button down now completely off, her breast hung freely over the lace bra after he pulled them out. Stockings still obliterated, the hole he made had grown. He could see everything. Her swollen lips surrounding her poking clit. The tight ring of her ass that he vowed to play with later. The wetness smeared everywhere. 

He gripped himself—heavy and strong—at the base to ease back in where they both needed him, but not before slapping it down twice, loving how reactive she was to every little thing. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she hadn’t been touched in years.

She was enamored with his body. The way his smooth bronze skin stretched over every defined line and cut. How his tattoos—reflecting the armor of a Pacific warrior—danced with every flex of muscles. He had the body of a god. If only it wasn’t attached to such an asshole.

His hand found her breast. He pinched the chocolate nub until it hardened again. 

“Push ‘em together for me.”

Hastily, she cupped both D cups together. Her chocolate peaks to the forefront as they bounced with every salacious thrust of his hips. 

He planted two swollen fists on either side of her head to lean all his weight down. His mouth latched onto her, igniting a tingle in her clit as she clenched around him. 

“Mmm,” he hummed like he was tasting the most delicate and richest piece of chocolate straight from the factory. Flicking, sucking and swirling. He was in heaven as she watched in awe. The most dominant man on the current roster, feasting on her. He bit down on one nipple causing her to jolt up slightly. One last suck as he pulled back, releasing her, and leaving her nipples tender. “Tastes sweeter than you look.” He bit down on his bottom lip. 

He hooked his hands under her knees and pushed until they met the bed to get a deeper angle. The sounds—loud and erotic slapping of flesh, as he buried himself inside of the softest place on earth. She fit like she was molded specifically for him. And in this moment, you couldn’t convince him that she wasn’t.

“You’re mine.” He growled in between pants. “You belong to me. You hear me?” There it was again. That deadly sense of loyalty encompassing her. The looming of Punk’s claim and this damned favor, hanging above his head. 

“Yes,” she barely whispered. 

“Yes, what?” He pushed. Thrust growing erratically sharper and more intense.

“Yes, My Tribal Chief.” 

Satisfied, he rewarded her with another overpowering, sloppy kiss. His hair covered them both. Her hands came up to cup his face—grabbing desperately at his beard as their tongues tangled. But his mission was only halfway complete. He wanted that nut. She earned it. She made him feel like a winner even in the absence of a title or Ula Fala. 

He didn’t want to, but he rose up breaking the intimate kiss. Picking his pace back up. All the way in and all the way out. Hitting that spot that had her pulling at her own hair. Eyes rolled back into her brain like she was possessed.

“I wanna feel you cum on this dick. Come on,” he begged. “Cum for me Paula. Cum for Your Tribal Chief.”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Like an unforgiving flood coming through a broken dam, she exploded on him just as he requested. Forgetting to breathe. Shaking uncontrollably—she felt him everywhere. 

Attentively, he ogled at every change in her beautiful face, every shake of her body—as she unraveled on him, shedding every bit of composure she had left. “That’s it,” he commended breathless. Loving the scene before him. His big palms, rubbing up and down the length of her soft thighs and stomach, to help her come back to center. 

She was shook. World completely knocked off its axis to the point where tears threatened to spill from the corners of her almond eyes. 

She knew working for him came with its perks—but this? This shot straight to the top of the list of all the benefits that came with being his special counsel.

A/N // Of course, if you read it or even a portion, thank you. Feedback is always welcomed💗

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[galina1987blog]

Aww so cute that Roman knows how to deal with children 🤍!

[melissagot24]

His smile is so cute 🥰🥰❤️❤️