#vince's match-making

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART I

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

PART II ➡︎

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.4k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ and happy birthday to my channie! here's to another year of unhinged love letters. 🐺🖤

❥ okay so i'm moving this fully to tumblr as well as it being available on ao3 HOWEVER the entire fic is over the character limit for tumblr post so this one-shot has been divided into two parts. both parts are uploaded.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Dusk is a medley of tangerine and indigo. Peachy rays of the sun shine between drifting clouds. A quartered shadow of the moon makes a premature appearance. You breathe in the early October air, eyes fluttering shut with the exhale. Clutching onto the balcony’s rickety railing, the rusted metal so cold on your bare hands, you fill your lungs again, taking deep, slow breaths.

The world stops spinning. The muffled music, once pounding against your temples, fades away. Body steady, you sip on the fresh air and swallow away your nausea.

I can do this, you tell yourself. Just one last drop off. I hand it over and leave.

They probably won’t even recognise you. You let your hair grow past your shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. You changed your style, trading your baby pink and blue matching sets for muted mixtures of red and black. Fishnets, little gym shorts, a graphic KISS babydoll tee and an oversized, knock-off fur coat you nicked from a local bodega weeks ago, you transformed yourself into someone new.

You turn back to the glass doors now. Catching your reflection, you cringe at the smudged eyeliner and runny nose. You wipe your hands under your eyes and above your lip, sniffling your worries away. You fix your jacket, reapply your dark red lipstick, and frame your hair around your face.

“I can do this,” you mutter as you slide open the door and step back into the party.

You spot Vince by the DJ, Danni and Andrea lingering nearby. Your heart drops to your stomach. They once told you they hated Day-1 parties, yet here they are, taking shots of gin and robbing the entertainment of their equipment. They once told you they loved you too, that they would never leave you behind. All at once, the three of them turned their backs on you, forever haunting your every waking moment.

You push between bodies. Tonight is not about ghosts. You have a debt to settle.

“Name?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Vik.”

Viktor crosses his arms over his chest. “Think this a joke?”

You fight off a smirk. “Nah, that’s not what I think a joke looks like.”

He grits his teeth, tossing you a vulgar gesture before moving aside. “Bitch,” he hisses in your ear as you walk into the master bedroom.

Red lights, smoke, needles. Two topless women dance to the muffled music, bottles in hand. Three Day-1s watch, one with his hand on his crotch. The bed shakes by them, two junkies bouncing on it like children as another Day-1 makes out with their friend.

By the window, two more members stare out to the street.

Exit compromised.

Gagging erupts from the en-suite, coaxing your curiosity. Another topless woman hunches over the toilet. Horny Day-1 members crowd around the entrance, trousers around their ankles as they watch.

You redirect your attention to the table on the far right. Reggie, point-man of tonight’s drop off, sits facing the door. He flashes a toothy grin, racking his gaze over your curves.

Hands remaining by your side, you fight against the instinct to wrap your coat tighter around yourself.

Reggie calls you over with the curl of two fingers, puffing his cigarette smoke out through his nostrils. 

“Name?”

“Vinny sent me.”

The three men sitting around him exchange glances.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Reggie, dressed in a blood speckled undershirt and baggy cargos, sits up in his seat. “Is that what I asked?” He looks around his fellow members, drily chuckling with them before repeating, “Name!”

The rules for runners are very simple; there’s only one— Never state your name. It creates a trail and binds you to an affliction. Rival gangs won’t work with a spy, and your name will be the first they spill if caught. You’re simply a messenger, no different than the guy that delivers the same-day Amazon order, distributing grams of coke and meth instead of a Roomba.

Honour gangs, like Day-1, are tricky, however. They have a second rule:

“Never lie,” Vinny warned.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Figure it out.”

You shift your weight. His insistence on your name, knowing you will risk your safety, is simply a test of will and grit. You purse your lips, flirting your eyes over his all too arrogant, lanky frame, and reply, “Bitch.”

Reggie raises a brow. He stands, reaching a hand behind him.

“That’s what everyone calls me,” you quickly add, then you shoot him a wink. “Fat bitch, if you’re nasty.”

The room stiffens. Even the gags from the bathroom cease. You keep your attention tunnelled on Reggie. You watch as he fixes his shirt over his gun, holding your breath when he rounds the table.

Nearly an arms length away, a smile finally settles on his old face. “Where the hell did Vinny find you?”

You force yourself to return that same easy grin and peel back the lining of your coat. “Be sure to ask him that the next time you see him. I’m on a tight schedule.”

Reggie gestures for his members. You pull out the wrapped bags of crystal and pass them out, ignoring the way his eyes devour your frame.

“Are you handling the cash too, princess?”

You try not to cringe at the pet name. Licking your lips, you keep your features soft and peer at him from your lashes. “Not tonight. Vinny said you know where the drop point is.”

He hums. 

You pull your coat back around your body, resisting the urge to recoil under his glutinous gaze. He looks no younger than forty-five, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes not doing him any favours. Vinny warned you Reggie might get handsy. Under any other circumstance, you would have kicked him in the balls and spat on his face by now. But you’re in Day-1 territory and don’t have a gang of your own for support.

Reggie reaches his hand out. You take a step back.

Before the thrill of your resistance can poison his stare, you flash him a coy smile and playfully whine, “I’m working tonight.”

He nods towards the door, laughing to himself. “Go on then, princess.”

You turn your back to him, unable to force down a gag. Though you’re eager to escape, you keep your steps steady and even. You stride towards the door, knock thrice and shift your weight to make a show of your boredom while waiting for Viktor to respond.

A relieved breath topples out of you once the door shuts. You lean on your knees, shakily trying to catch your breath.

Viktor carefully scans your hunched frame. “You good?” He whispers, voice is strained, carefully void of emotion.

You nod, standing back to your full height.

Hazel eyes lock on you from the bottom of the stairs. Vince furrows his brows. Danni follows his gaze, Andrea already staring, lips moving.

Shit.

They can’t know it’s you, right? From the way Vince merely narrows his eyes, he must simply suspect something.

You turn to face Viktor.

He tosses you a cautious look, muttering, “I can’t help you.”

You know this, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Just tell me if they’re still looking.”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Viktor keeps his features neutral, posture stiff with his hands clasped before him. “They still got a hit on you, yeah?”

You nod.

“You packing?”

“You know I’m not,” you snap.

Non-members are not permitted entrance if carrying a firearm. You left yours with Vinny before running. Shoving your hands in your pockets, all you feel is your phone, lipstick, and switchblade.

“On the move,” he warns.

“Give me your gun.”

Viktor casts you a sidelong glare. “I can’t.”

You sneak a peek over your shoulder to find Vince halfway up the stairs. You see Danni reaching into her pocket, catching the glare of the lights against a blade. They’re in no rush, but if they make it to the landing before you can secure a proper weapon, you’ll be out of options.

“Do you have a knife?” you ask, taking a step back.

Viktor stiffens.

Shit, are they close?

“Last room down the hall,” Viktor mumbles.

You know you shouldn’t have, but fear triggers adrenaline and soon overwhelms your nerves. Panic binds to your bones, snapping tense muscles into action. You bolt— alone, alarmed. Pushing between drunks, jumping over junkies, you hurry to the farthest room and slam the door. It doesn’t have a lock so you tuck a chair under the handle. Rummaging through drawers, digging through the closet, lifting the mattress, you look for a knife, a gun, anything other than a three-inch switchblade to defend yourself.

The door trembles from the pounding of their fists.

“Come on out!” Vince shouts.

“It must be her! She’s always fucking hiding!” Andrea adds. “Get the fuck out here! Have the balls to face what you did, bitch!”

You find yourself warped in a memory—

“No one wants your boyfriend, Danni,” you shouted. “He came onto me.”

Her open palm landed on your cheek.

Tears gathered in your eyes, face stinging. You stumbled back.

“You’re a lying bitch,” she spat. “At least have the decency to face what you did.”

You blink out of your thoughts, dropping the mattress.

Dresser, closet , bed— Where else could a weapon be? You scan the room, heart hammering with every forceful knock of the door.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Reggie asks, voice muffled.

Your attention settles on the window in front of you. You hurry towards it to find the fire escape.

“Viktor, you sneaky fuck,” you whisper through a relieved chuckle. He wasn’t directing you to a weapon but rather an exit.

You quickly push it up, catching rumblings of orders to blow the door open. Up and out, you jump, sparing a second to shut the window behind you. It might be counter-productive to waste precious time on a window but you know that concealing your exits always gives you a head start.

Rushing down the stairs, you don’t look back upon hearing the loud blast of metal on wood. You just catch their commotion over the heavy bass of the music.

Jumping the final steps, you run.

The Underground sits on the corner of Bank and Third Avenue, tucked under a row of red-bricked townhouses. You lean against the wall, stowing yourself away in the alley to catch your breath. Sirens whirl down the street, casting red and blue lights over your sweaty face. A man of very little wealth stumbles by, clothes torn and stained, waving a sign that reads, JESUS LOVES YOU.

You roll your eyes, wondering where the fuck Jesus was when your parents failed you, when the bank repossessed all you had and when the system passed you from house to house.

The thick stench of sewage and rotten trash suddenly sets in, blighting your next inhale. Leaning over, you succumb to a gagging fit. Thankfully, only bile and saliva gather. You cough and spit it out, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. An annoyed sigh escapes you at the realisation that you fucked up your lipstick yet again.

“Just some drunken slut.”

You carefully redirect your attention to the far end of the alley. Two men stand a couple of inches apart. One of them wears a grey tracksuit, glaring at you under the light of the backdoor. He has a towel resting around his neck, just over a thin gold chain. Perhaps in his mid-twenties, his relatively handsome twists with contempt. The other one wears an oversized jersey and low-riding jeans. Though dressed like a boxing fan, you can tell by his rigid posture he’s anything but. No one who gambles their mortgage away on Underground matches stands that straight.

And then you catch it, in the glimpse of the light, the flash of his badge nearly slipping out of his pocket. You wish you were surprised, but you know all too well that it’s dirty cops like this legitimising gang activity.

He pulls his pants up, and continues to pace. “Is he gonna throw it or not?”

“He won’t,” Tracksuit replies, looking over his shoulder.

The dirty cop curses.

“You know how Bahng is,” Tracksuit explains. “He’s too prideful. He won’t ruin an undefeated streak for a few thousand.”

“It’s five hundred thousand, Mickey. Did you tell him that? Does he know?”

Mickey nods, readjusting the towel behind his neck. “And I’m telling you he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”

A shiver dances along your spine at the way the cop’s face hardens. Sinister desperation gleams in his gaze and he pulls out a long knife. In a single motion, he shoves Mickey against the wall and presses the blade against his throat.

Mickey chokes back a scream, throwing his hands up in surrender. “W-whoa, Andy! C-Come on, man.”

Andy bears his teeth, quietly laughing to himself. “Do you think this is a fucking joke? Do you know how fucked I am if he wins this match? Day-1s, Ravens, Siphons— they’re all after me, Mick. I have a family— a fucking career.”

“That’s not my pr—”

“Problem?” Andy finishes, his laughter becoming more manic. “You think it’s not your problem? What do you think I told them when I promised that Bahng would lose?”

Mickey’s face drains of colour.

“I told’em Mick with the little dick can fix it for us.”

Tears gather in Mickey’s eyes. He swallows thickly before shakily asking, “Wh-Why would you s-s-say th-at?”

“Come on, everyone knows you have a small—”

“You know what I mean!” He shouts.

Andy applies pressure with his knife. You catch a trail of blood running down Mickey’s throat.

“L-Look,” Mickey starts, screwing his eyes shut, lips quivering. “He’s hard-headed. The only way he’s not w-winning this ma-tch is if s-someone gets to h-him bef-ore he makes it to the r-ring.”

Andy smiles.

“He takes the long way ‘round. He likes the attention, c-can’t resist it, you know?” Mickey continues. “He goes thr-ough the back h-hall to circle the a-arena and enters the c-crowd from the fr-ont.” He takes a second to swallow before continuing, “It-It would be a real sh-shame if someone g-g-got to him before he can m-make it.”

You watch Andy nod.

“What did you do?”

You jump, hand already grappling for your switchblade as you turn to face your assailant.

Vinny glares back at you.

Giving him a shove, you clench your jaw and hiss, “Don’t do that!”

He corrects his stance, hands in his pockets, then spares a look over his shoulder. “Day-1s are blowing my phone up about some blonde bitch. Did you lock yourself in Tatiana’s room?”

You look back to the other end of the alley. Only flies circle under the backdoor’s light.

“Hey!” Vinny hisses, forcing your attention back to him. “Are you listening?”

“It wasn’t me,” you lie.

He deadpans. “You’re the only bitch I know who has a score to settle with Vince.”

You avert your gaze.

“What happened?” He repeats. This time his voice is less accusatory.

You’ve known Alvin “Vinny” Tucker since you were sixteen. He lived in the apartment above yours and later became your foster brother. You dropped out of high school together a couple months later to sell bootleg Marvel movies on Sixth Street. He really wanted to see Madonna in concert and promised you a front row seat with him if you helped. He was recruited by the Sixers around the time your foster mom came to collect you off the street and force you back to school. He told her where you were, you later found out, to spare you the violence the Sixers had in store for you. He never said it was a debt, though you did feel like you owed him something.

Things changed when Vince set a hit on you. Your description and name were on the radar of every gang, the reward being the acquisition of new territory. The left port is the most sought after piece of land, currently managed by Vince’s father, Vincent Jones Senior. Anyone able to deliver you back to your ex-friends alive suddenly has access to the docks and a monopoly on shipments.

With nowhere else to go, you turned to Vinny. He called Viktor, cashing in a favour, and got to work. The dyed hair, new wardrobe, change of address, it was all done in a matter of hours. And all you had to do was run, hand over the rocks and not attract attention— the goal was simple.

“So how the fuck did you manage to screw that up too?”

“I told you that it wasn’t me!”

“Say that again and I will lose my shit.”

“They can’t prove it was me, okay? Tell Day-1 Vince is paranoid. Run them my old description. Tell them he’s desperate. Let him clean that mess up himself,” you reply, rubbing your temples. “It’s not that fucking hard, Vin.”

You could use a hot bath right now. All you want to do is scrub off the stench of the alley and chaos of the night. For someone who swears he doesn’t want you, Vince took one look in your eyes and knew it was you. He always acted strange but you just thought he was being friendly. It wasn’t until he was rubbing your thigh between shots and rounds of cards that you realised he wanted more than friendship.

You cringe at the memory, pulling your coat tighter around your body, and push past Vinny.

He grabs your arm, yanking you back to face him. “Not that hard? Jesus, you’d think there isn’t a bounty on your head,” he hisses. “You need to be more careful, alright? This is my life too!”

Guilt gathers bile at the base of your throat. You let out a shaky breath, redirecting your gaze to the floor. “I-I know,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

Vinny grasps onto your biceps, lowering himself to meet your remorseful gaze. “You can’t panic like that,” he reminds, cutting you off. “The guilty don’t run. You know this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You hate the shakiness of your voice, the admittance of guilt. It’s fucking Vince and Danni and Andrea, the same fucking people that swore they were there for you. It’s their fault everything is falling apart. You’ve known Danni for five years, Andrea for three and both of them just believed Vince when he told them that you were hitting on him, even going as far as kissing him. Had they always suspected you to be a conniving whore, the type of malicious bitch that would risk five years of friendship, of real connection over some guy?

And you were too nice to him— a mistake that now could cost your life.

Vinny releases you with a defeated sigh, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Let me walk you home,” he offers, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

You nod and hug your coat tighter against your body.

He nods towards the entrance of The Underground. “After the match,” he promises. “Sixers have a bet to place.”

Bracing yourself, you follow him down the steps. “Against Bahng?”

“Boxing fan?” he half-jokingly asks, tossing you a confused look over his shoulder.

You shrug your reply.

The main hall smells of sweat and beer. One side holds five queues for refreshments and ticketing, while the other fosters chaos. Men clutching cash and shouting names crowd around the betting stands. Security struggles to keep them in line. Loud rap music plays over the looped announcement of tonight’s opponents — AIDEN MATTHEWS VERSUS CHRISTOPHER BAHNG. You watch their names flash over the screens, pictures of both boxers on either side of the doors. While Aiden is actively fit, muscles and abs on display, Christopher is the embodiment of perfect physique. Muscles defined, shoulders broad, chest puffed out, abs tight and chiselled, he stands with the grace of Adonis himself. Tall, confident, he leers over spectators through the screen with a cold-cutting glare.

Your knees almost buckle.

“It is the clash of titans! Reigning champion, Aiden Matthews, against the undefeated, the unstoppable, the undeniable, Christopher Bahng,” the announcer enthuses over the intercom before urging the audience to lock in their bets.

The only titan you see is Christopher, trailing your gaze up and down his televised body.

“You’re drooling,” Vinny teases.

You turn to cast him a sidelong glare to find he’s no longer by your side. His red beanie bobs in the crowd, through the doors and further into the arena.

“Vinny!” you call, trying to push your way through.

The crowd pushes back, almost throwing you against the wall. You curse under your breath, realising you might have to wait until the match starts to navigate through the arena.

Isn’t there a back hall that circles around, though? You recall Mickey’s words, scanning the crowd for that red beanie again. It still sits atop Vinny’s head by the ring on the other side of the arena. You look for a nearby door or access-point, finding a guarded door to his far left. If you can find the entrance on your end, you can skip through the large crowd and get to him easily.

You survey your surroundings. Another security guard stands before a door to your right. Pushing through the gamblers again and again, you force your way towards him.

“Authorised personnel only,” he gruffly informs.

“I-um—”

“You need to move, miss.” he cuts you off with a pointed look.

“I’m here to see Bahng,” you lie, letting your jacket drop off one of your shoulders.

He raises a brow. “Who commissioned you?”

“Mickey,” you reply before you can stop yourself.

There is much honour among gangs, this Vinny always makes sure you know. He always warns you against dishonesty, especially to certain gang members, since you have no affiliation of your own. But it’s just so easy when you have the right information and you like the way lies just happen to roll off your tongue, effortless and oh-so convincing.

The guard nods, much to your concealed surprise. “Just his type,” you swear you hear him grumble as he opens the door for you.

Hiding a smile, you make your way in without another word.

The back hall is dimly lit. The click of the door echos. Medleys of muffled bass and roaring fans only just seep through and bounce off the brick walls. You adjust your jacket on your shoulders and follow the turns of the hall.

DING!

You jolt, cinching a yelp at the base of your throat. Hastily, you dig into your pocket for your phone.

Vinny: where r u?

You: be there soon

“Lost?”

You look up at the sound of an Australian accent. To your left is an open door of a dressing room, casting a bright spotlight on you amidst the dark hallway. You put your phone away and take quick note of the bodies around the room. Mickey stands by some weights in the corner, eyes narrowing. A handful of medical professionals assess their equipment, rummaging through their kits and looking over clipboards just across from him. By the punching bag, right in front of a wall of mirrors, a couple of men, one with long, icy blonde hair and the other a short midnight black, evaluate your presence.

And there, in the centre of it all, stands Christopher Bahng. Jawline sharp, nose large and lips plush, those big brown eyes soften. You recall the way they were once glaring at his opponent on the screen, wondering what the hell it is about you that makes him opt for a gentler approach. Wrapping boxing tape around his hand, he approaches you.

“Can I help you find something, darling?”

The pet name sounds so casual, so natural, you wouldn’t have guessed that you just met. Your posture relaxes, coat falling off your frame, held up only by your arms. There is a softness in his deep voice that nurtures something forgotten deep within your soul. You feel it- whatever it is- sprout roots in your gut.

Searching his eyes, the cursed word escapes within a breath— “You.”

He smirks.

Does this happen often? Does everyone simply fawn over him?

He smells of leather and vanilla, towering over you. His minty breath fans your face. He rubs his thumb under your lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick from your chin.

You lean into his touch.

“You’re early!” Mickey shouts from his place in the back. “Sister Maria knows you’re needed after the match.”

Sister Maria can fuck herself, you think. She has tried and failed to recruit you one too many times. Though, if you had known that her clientele was anything like Bahng, you might have reconsidered.

Looking at him now, you can confirm that those screens barely did him any justice. He’s big. It’s no wonder he’s undefeated, the sheer size of him dominating enough. He barely even has a scratch on him, just a couple of cuts on his perfect cheekbones and a bruise that is well on its way to being fully healed, along his jaw. You resist the urge to trace the length of his shoulders, or the ridges of his abs all while leaning in to kiss his wounds away.

Instead, you swallow thickly and nod, “Yes, I-I just got confused.”

Bahng curls a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay, darling,” he smiles.

You bite back a moan. God, when did you get this pathetic? So what if he’s hot, and sweet, and beautiful, and huge, and—

“You can wait in here for me,” he nods back into his dressing room. “I won’t be too long.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. He flashes a cocky grin, knowingly gazing down at you. He really is prideful, a bit arrogant too, but you’re not quite sure it’s misplaced. Undefeated in the ring, the only chance anyone has at beating him is by planning an ambush before a match .

Shit.

Your eyes flicker to Mickey. He’s going to kill him. In a matter of minutes, Bahng and his team will circle the arena to enter the ring and get intercepted. And for what? A fucking paycheque?

You shift your weight.

“No!” you shout, starling the room.

All eyes snap to you.

What? You mentally scold. I can’t just shout ‘No’ and expect the entire fucking shit-show to be called off.

Bahng raises his brows. A smile plays on his lips and he lets a chuckle slip. “That needy?” he teases.

Fuck, he’s insufferable… You need to ride him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you force yourself to concede, “Mhm.” You grasp the waistband of his crimson silk shorts and tug him closer. He lets you, pressing himself against your stomach.

A trembling breath slips.

He holds back a chuckle.

Say something, your mind shouts.

“Fuck me.”

Not that!

He cups your face. The way you instantly melt into his hands is truly pitiful, your chest raging with humiliation. But then his lips meet yours and those roots that grew deep in your gut begin to blossom up through your rib cage and around your lungs. Absolute serenity blinds whatever contempt took purchase in your chest. You try to grapple onto that anger, that disdain, finding this sudden light feeling much too foreign.

But just as his lips cradle yours, this incomparable feeling of pure contentment soothes your panicked instincts. And it’s as though those roots, those branches that sprouted around your lungs, bloom petals of… Acceptance? Approval?

The feeling of his hands trailing down your spine ground you back to him. You wrap your arms around his neck. Cheek by cheek, he cups your rear and squeezes, pushing your hips up into his.

You moan, the muffled sound so frail. His tongue slips through and, for a boxer, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. He lets you take the lead, following your tongue round and round until you release another fraught groan.

And then he’s torn away.

Mickey stands between the two of you. He shoots you a nasty look before pushing Bahng back into the room. You can tell Bahng allows the meek force of his coach to overtake him, lazily stepping back.

The ease of his movements is not what arrests your thoughts, however. It’s the mess of red lipstick around his mouth, of which he makes no effort to remove.

“… and I’ll say it again!” Mickey shouts, his voice finally registering. “No sex before a match!”

You blink your attention off Bahng as Mickey moves to shut the door in your face.

“Let her in,” Bahng orders.

Mickey turns to give him a look. “She’s a distraction.”

You catch Bahng walking towards the weights along the back brick-exposed wall, effectively ignoring Mickey’s protests. “Don’t make me come over there, Mick,” he playfully warns, taking a seat on an inclined workout bench, “Let my girl in.”

You’re in the midst of wondering whether he’s merely his coach, a friend, or both when his final words set in. You hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over. His girl? You’d turn yourself in, confronting Vince, just to hear those words in that Australian accent again.

“You commissioned her for me, didn’t you?”

Right, you think to yourself as you will strength back to your legs. You’re his sex worker. This is nothing personal.

You roll your shoulders back and adjust your stance, channelling bored seduction, as Mickey begrudgingly opens the door.

Bahng calls you over with a nod. He has heavy weights in each hand, curling slow reps.

You lick your lips and force one foot before the other. But his biceps are flushed, flexing with every lift. You can’t help gawking, bouncing your attention from arm to arm, and almost run into one of his men.

“Jacket,” Midnight-hair says, positioning himself between you and Bahng with an outstretched hand.

While there isn’t anything of value left in your jacket, you know that if they find the lining is removable, your cover will be blown. You cannot deny them it either, especially if you want to get close enough to warn Bahng.

So you slowly peel the jacket off, sticking out your chest in hopes of distracting Midnight-hair. He keeps his eyes trained on you, gaze hardening as if he is struggling to commit to his choice. From the corner of your eye, you see Icy-hair push himself off the wall to carefully watch. If they refuse to get lost in your show, you’ll have to switch gears. In one swift motion, you whip the jacket off and roll it to a ball.

Midnight-hair glares. He unfolds the jacket as soon as he takes it– a detail you should have anticipated. Rummaging through your pockets, he announces, “Switchblade, lipstick, phon—”

You freeze.

Though it is quick, occurring in a blink of an eye, you know he sees it, cutting himself off at the realisation.

The lining flaps open.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi—

“Hang it by the door, Seungmin,” Bahng orders.

You meet his gaze. That easy playfulness that once danced within it, now dims into calculated intrigue. You spare a quick glance at Mickey. A relieved breath escapes at the sight of him muttering into his phone, alone in the corner.

Looking back at Bahng, you finally see it. There, sprayed on the back wall in black and silver paint, is a three pointed crown. In the middle, drawn with jagged, lazy lines, are three letters— SKZ.

Of all the fucking gangs.

Stray Kids, speculated to have immigrated from Australia or Korea, have slashed their way to the top of the city’s food chain. The chambering of a round— chk chk boom — shoot first and ask questions later. It’s how they’re known. Notorious for money laundering, drug trafficking, vandalism, extortion, arson, street racing, they’ve swept the city up from the coast to the police department. You’ve witnessed gangs fall silent at their mention, caught the way they would take hold of their weapon.

While there have been whispers about the members, the leader remains faceless. Vinny once informed you that no organisation can become this connected without someone calling the shots. At the time, you wondered if that was the most terrifying thing about them— how unknown they really are.

Staring at Bahng now, white canines on display behind a wicked grin, you realise that his leader’s anonymity is futile compared to the intimidation of their members. It’s their silent power, the ease in which they can rattle bones with a single look, perhaps even crack them with a single blow. You are not sure who Christopher Bahng is to Stray Kids— the muscle, the brains, some money pawn as they infiltrate the underground boxing scene, but you know he is dangerous.

Arousal dampens your shorts.

“Take a seat, darling,” he purrs.

He’s lethal, and your lies are unravelling. If you are going to make it out of here alive, you must reassess your information. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with wavering courage, and move towards Bahng.

Step.

Mickey is a rat.

Step.

This is Stray Kids territory.

Step.

Bahng knows you are not a sex worker.

Step.

Exits are compromised, Icy-hair now standing at the door.

Step.

Your life is now in the hands of an unrivalled boxer.

Bahng nods down to his lap. You carefully straddle it when it dawns on you— His life is in your hands too.

Half-hard, his cock pokes at the clothed apex of your thighs. Your lips quiver as you try to fight back a pathetic whine.

“My pecs tend to ache after working out,” Bahng sighs, continuing his reps. “Won’t you be a doll and massage them for me?”

You don’t need to be told twice, shifting yourself closer.

His jaw sets at the gesture.

Pecs of pure muscle, big and tight, you take a moment to gawk. They extend beyond the span of your palms, pale skin flushed under your touch. He’s sweaty but cold, nipples hard. You hold his gaze and kneed the heel of your hands into his chest. Again and again, you apply gentle pressure, watching as his brows furrow, large nose scrunches and full lips curl into a pleased sneer.

He hisses between breathless gasps. You resist the urge to catch another kiss at the sound.

“How does that feel?” you ask in a whisper.

Bahng sets his weights down. You notice Seungmin straightening his stance in the corner of your eye. Though your hands start to tremble, you continue massaging, knowing sudden movements might trigger a bullet.

Hands on your waist, he pulls you closer into him. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t do much massaging in your… line of work?”

You mentally curse. He knows you’re a runner.

“This is not the body part most people want massaged.” You try but cannot keep your lip from slightly curving, the thought of servicing him on your knees all too captivating.

He presses his fingers into your skin and parts his lips. You can tell from the force of his grip and shape of his mouth what he’s about to ask.

Sparing a quick glance at Mickey, you find he is still tied to his phone, muttering quietly into the receiver.

But then he catches your eye.

“Who—”

You throw your body over Bahng’s, exaggerating the force with a whip of your hair and a loud, erotic yelp to cut him off. You wrap your arms around his neck, press your lips to his ears and whisper, “Mickey is a traitor.”

While he originally hugged your waist to keep you from falling, Bahng now stiffens.

“Alright, whore,” Mickey shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

You spot him stomping towards you through the mirror. The collided image of your body intertwined with Bahng’s then overwhelms your attention. You have never felt small a single moment in your life, yet in his arms, you are minuscule. Your body relaxes into his, despite the chaos that ensues around you.

“…a fucking distraction, Chris,” Mickey argues. “You can fuck her after the fight.”

Chris. You like the sound of that, can see yourself moaning it as you bounce on his cock. You clench at the thought.

“Go back to your little corner, Mick,” Chris nods. “Don’t interrupt us again.”

“You want to win, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back your scoff. You can see the room stiffen at the sound through the mirrors. Peeling yourself from Chris’s strong frame, you fake a string staggered cough. The physicians ignore you, Mickey dismisses you, but Chris and his other friends remain observing, analysing.

“I’ve fucked plenty o’bitches before a match,” Chris confesses, flashing a smile so dazzling you almost abandon the jealousy that plagues your chest. “I always win.”

Mickey looks between your tangled bodies. His jaw sets, throat bobs. He wipes his face with the towel around his neck and forces a smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but it’s the thin scab on his neck that leaves you queasy.

Chris’s legs bounce beneath you, beckoning your attention. You grip onto his shoulder to maintain your balance as you meet his gaze. Wetness pools at the sight of his mischievous eyes. He peers at you under his brows, quirking one at your enamoured silence.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

What if you just kissed him again? How would he let it go? Knowing you lied and now leveraging information, would he be outraged if you closed the distance between you and played with his tongue? You know he enjoyed himself from the grip he had on your ass alone, not to mention the bulge pressing against your stomach.

You lean forward, leaving one of your hands rested on his shoulder, and brush your nose against his. He remains still, letting his gaze fall to watch your lips. While oh-so tempting, you don’t press them to his. Instead, you knead into his pectoral muscles deeper with your other hand, pushing into his skin with the heel of your palm. You’ve made sure to angle your head towards the mirror to gauge the distance of the other bodies in the room— particularly Mickey’s. Back in his “little corner,” he resumes his phone call.

Chris’s soft groan redirects your gaze to his features, contorted in relieved pleasure. Is he really tense or is it simply your touch?

Seungmin clears his throat from his place in front of the mirrors.

Chris shoots him a warning stare before offering you a softer version of one too. “Tell me what you know, runner,” he orders, voice quiet but full of command.

“I know he came to you with an offer to fix the fight,” you reply, keeping an eye on Mickey’s pacing frame. “I know you declined.”

His hands find a comfortable place on your thighs, and begin to glide up and down, soft and slow. Calloused, bandaged in boxer’s tape, they somehow provide tender care. You relax into him once again, resting your forehead against his.

“I know Mickey sold you out. I know he cut a deal to save himself and they’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

You nudge his nose with a shake of your head.

A ghost of a smile hovers over his plump lips at the gesture. He breathes half a chuckle and presses his fingers into the fat of your thighs, between the diamonds of your fishnets.

“You don’t know?” he practically coos. “Did you happen to catch a name, little one?”

Your attempts at pressing your legs together are pathetic. Instead of subtly easing your clenching desire, you squeeze his sides with your knees. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks.

Chris lets that smug smile settle on his lips, tonguing his cheek. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “You like it when I call you that?”

“I like it when you talk to me like that,” you stupidly confess. You switch sides before he can reply, turning away from the mirrors to face Mickey’s corner, and kneed his other pec with just as much pressure, perhaps adding a bit more to combat your embarrassment.

He allows you, leaning back and watching.

He’s so patient, you fondly think, avoiding his gaze. Won’t he let you suck him before his fight? Even allowing you a little taste would suffice. Swallowing, you cannot stop thinking how empty your throat is, how wonderfully agonising it would be to try to accommodate him.

You spare a sidelong glance at Mickey, snapping yourself out your lustful yearning long enough to ensure you aren’t being overheard. When you find he is tapping away on his phone, you press your lips to Chris’s ear and whisper, “Andy.”

Chris continues rubbing your legs, asking, “What do you know about him?”

“I think he’s a cop.”

“You think?”

“He never said it.”

“So how do you know?”

You force your hips to remain still even as goosebumps rise in the wake of his risky touch, inching closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

“His posture, he said something about his career being on the line, and I think I saw a badge. I just–” you pause to swallow the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. He’s barely even touched you and you’re already drooling. “I just connected the dots.”

Chris hums.

You lean back to get a better look at his face. His features are compressed in thought, brows knitted and eyes uncertain. Your hand has a mind of its own, abandoning its task on his chest to comb your fingers through his dark hair. Leisurely, he meets your gaze, even leans into your touch. You graze his scalp with your long nails, soft and slow.

You have had sexual partners. You have allowed your lust to cloud your judgement, tossed back drinks and spread your legs quite a few times between parties and side-jobs. But you have never been able to hold someone down, however. You have never been able to consistently see the same person over and over or even call them yours.

Here is Christopher Bahng— undefeated boxing champion, the best The Underground has seen. Sitting beneath you, erection pushing against your clothed crotch, he contently sighs. His hands move up to your hips, rubbing, soothing, adoring the shape of your curves and rolls. And his gaze gleams with admiration, bouncing around your features as if looking for a flaw.

You allow yourself to forget the world, the distant chants of fans and gamblers alike eager for the show to start. You forget the bounty on your head, your ex-friends, Vinny, Viktor, Seungmin lingering around the door with Icy-hair, Mickey texting in his sad little corner. You forget who’s territory this is and the title of the man sitting under you. You allow yourself to isolate this tender moment and pretend that Christopher Bahng is yours.

Your man, your protector, your love. He’d crush skulls between his fist and snap spines over his knee. He’d make sure you’d never have to run again. He’d make sure you’d never have to fear for your life. He’d hold you when you’re tired, and carry you to bed when you’re too lazy to make the trip yourself.

You wonder what that’s like— Love. You remember your mother once said something about it when you asked about your father.

“Love is a lie men created to seduce women,” she said while heating the bottom of her spoon. “Any man telling you otherwise is just desperate to fuck you.”

You mentally roll your eyes. You also remember instantly regretting your mention of it. You were about eight years old when she shared that nugget of knowledge. She then wrapped the conversation up by telling you the heroin she was preparing was her “special medicine” and you shouldn’t, under any circumstance, touch it when she passes out.

If that’s not motherly instincts, you’re not sure what is.

“How can I trust you?” Chris asks, lulling you out of your thoughts.

You make sure Mickey is still preoccupied with his phone before joking, “The word of a whore isn’t worth much anymore, is it?”

He cracks half a smile before leaning his head away from your touch. You take the hint, retracting your hand from his hair.

“You’re not a whore,” he states, voice gruff but quiet.

You swallow thickly. “I could be.”

“Yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Tell me what you’d do right now if you could.”

You wonder how honest you should be. Vinny always said that lying would get you killed, but you have an audience. Looking over your shoulder, you find Seungmin alone by the door. Icy-hair must have left when you let your delusions engulf you earlier. The physicians are desperately trying to look busy, sneaking glances at your proximity with their client. Everyone, save for Mickey who seems the most peeved by your presence, is already uncomfortable by your position on his lap.

How dangerous could the truth really be?

Meeting Chris’s playful stare again, you rest your hands on his tight abs and let a shy smile tug on your lips. “I would ride your thigh,” you confess. When he raises his brows, a surprised smirk gracing his lips, you explain, “They’re just so big and strong. I’m just curious to know what it would feel like on my clit.”

The transparent vulgarity of your confession dries your throat. Your chest heats, humiliation trembling your fingers. You part your lips, wishing you can take it back. But your voice fails you, as if standing firm with your statements.

“Interesting,” he muses. “Do it.”

You clear your throat, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“You want me to trust your word?” he asks.

He lets his hands fall to his sides. Your legs suddenly feel so cold.

“In—” you cut yourself off, taking another quick look around the room. “In front of everyone?”

He shrugs. “You told me you would do it.”

You projected two outcomes the moment they discovered you’re a runner and you decided to exchange information for your life.

One — You get laughed at and kicked out of the establishment.

Two — Chk chk boom.

You might have hoped that Chris considered fucking you before discarding you to the streets, wishful for a good orgasm or two. But you did not expect him to order you to grind on his leg in front of his team.

“Match starts in five,” Mickey announces.

While you turn to acknowledge the warning, Chris keeps his attention on you.

“It starts when I say so,” he replies.

Mickey grumbles profanities under his breath before turning back to his phone. You start to wonder what the fuck has held his focus all night when Chris cups your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“I’m beginning to lose my patience, darling,” he warns. “You’re either telling the truth or you’re not.”

You lick your lips. Of all the things you thought your life would depend on, you did not think it would be an orgasm.

Inhaling deeply, you adjust your stance and straddle his thigh. Your lips tremble at the sheer strength of his leg, so tense and taut under your wet shorts. You couldn’t have been more thankful for laundry day and the lack of clean panties available. With nothing but your tiny gym shorts between your crotch and his leg, you can feel every mighty muscle.

You notice movement in the mirror from the corner of your eye. One glance and you find Seungmin has turned to face the door. How often has Chris played with a whore in front of his friends? You clench your jaw as envy pesters your heart. What the fuck did those other girls have that you don’t? Why did he pick them? Why—

“Look at me.”

You obey, meeting his pacifying gaze. He curls your hair behind your ears, the gesture gentle and genuine.

You suck in your bottom lip, eyes wide as jealousy transforms into wonder. He may have picked others before you, but he chose to let you in now. He had a chance to turn you away and he fought to have you in this specific position, all to himself. And maybe he wants others to know that. Or maybe he really does have a fucked up way of verifying his sources. What matters is this time, it is you. And you’ll be damned if you don’t take advantage of that.

Hands on his stomach, fingers sliding between the ridges of his abs, you thrust. The first jut of friction is tentative. Hiccups of pleasure spark from your bundle of nerves and you wobble over his leg. Chris grabs your waist simply to steady you, and retracts once you regain your balance.

You continue, jaw dropping at the constant surge of satisfaction. Wetness gathers and stains your shorts, making the glide of your hips all the more effortless. One look in his eyes, and you know Chris feels it too. However, that wicked smile of his does not overwhelm his features until you moan.

Strained, frail, the sound cuts over the ruckus of the physicians. The room falls silent as you ground yourself hard against his thigh and release another fraught moan of pure enjoyment. Your hands travel higher on his chest, and you lean forward into him, keen to gain more leverage to arch your back.

Chris catches onto your intentions, his attention all too consumed by the curves of your rear. He grabs your waistband and pulls on it, tightening the fabric to sharpen the friction of the thrusts.

“Fuck!” Your voice breaks from bliss, orgasm already festering in the base of your gut.

It’s all too hot. Face, arms, legs, your skin burns, blood racing, nerves jittering. You need everything off. You need his skin on yours, his body engulfing you with more pleasure, more attention.

Lips quivering, breaths shaky, you sit back. You continue to chase your high while grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off. Your hips don’t miss a beat as you reach back to unclasp your lace bra in a few simple manoeuvres and toss it aside as well.

Chris lowly groans. His eyes flicker between each bouncing breast, hands finally finding their rightful place on your backside. He digs his fingers into the fat of your cheeks and helps you with your final few thrusts.

“Can you go a little faster for me?”

You enthusiastically oblige.

A powerful smack, landing on your left cheek, triggers your most erotic moan, voice laden with submission. He issues another on your right and you whine this time, squeaky and breathless.

Chris leans forward so your breasts bounce against his face. He doesn’t bury his face between them however, eager to watch your face eventually contort in ecstasy.

“Good girl,” he praises. “That’s right, keep looking at me.”

Twisting and turning, your arousal gathers.

“You’re doing so well, riding my thigh just like you promised, yeah?”

His voice is condescending, almost making a mockery of your whimpering. He even momentarily mirrors your rounded eyes and slightly pouty lips, looking up at you tauntingly. So why does it fuel your desire, motivate your hips?

You nod, despite your humiliation, voice whiny as you confess, “I’d do it again too.”

A growl of approval resonates from his chest and into yours. He kneads your cheeks, letting a deep groan of his own escape and collide with yours.

“That’s my good girl,” he affirms. “Don’t stop, darling. You’re almost there.”

Your toes curl, tight in your platform boots. Your eyes roll back, twitching when you throw your head back. Your jaw drops, a loud, shattered moan escaping. You cum between sporadically clenching, pathetically gyrating on his firm thigh.

Chris holds you still, mumbling quiet affirmations between your breasts. He presses wet kisses on each one, pulling you back into him. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you fall limp against him. He moans from his smothered place in the valley of your breasts and rubs soothing circles around your backside.

Head foggy, chest heaving, you let your eyes flutter shut. You know you won’t be staying here for long, either meeting the barrel of his gun or the side of the street. There’s no harm in soaking in this moment then, is there? You pretend he is your boyfriend, issuing tender aftercare as you attempt to collect your sanity. You don’t have to try so hard to keep up the delusion with the way he delicately wraps you in a warm hug and comforts your hammering heart with his lips. He peppers kisses up your collarbone, neck, then jaw before meeting the shell of your ear.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re cumming,” he teases. “Does your right eye always twitch like that? Or was that just for me?”

You open your eyes, squinting against the brightness of the room. Nuzzling the bridge of your nose under his jawline, you whisper, “Do you really need more convincing, Chris?”

You like the way his name rolls off your tongue.

The widening grin on his face tells you he likes it too. “I might,” he replies.

You tell yourself that it just slips, but you’re only lying again. You just want him to know. You want him to imagine you when he jerks off later, when he pounds that traitor to a bloody pulp, when he’s standing in the ring and winning his fight. You want him to be thankful for your presence tonight. You want him to repeat it over and over, to tell his friends about you.

So, shifting back enough to whisper in his ear, you offer your name.

Chris moves back to meet your gaze. He scans your features, his own a blanket of neutrality.

The weight of your action does not settle upon your shoulders until his eyes meet yours again, and you realise you cannot decipher them. Swallowing thickly, you blink back tears. How could you say that? Vinny just warned you against being this reckless. Your new image is tied to him too. You’ve been running around town, disturbing drugs on his behalf or Viktor’s. And you just offer your name, for what? A second of appreciation from a pretty face?

It’s my life too, Vinny’s voice quietly returns. He reminded you of that not even half an hour ago. Why the fuck would you tell some Stray Kids member your darkest secret? Why would you gamble the lives of your only remaining friends?

“I’m—”

Chris cuts you off with a shake of his head. So, you swallow your words.

He reaches for your shirt and helps you put it on. You don’t have the courage to tell him he forgot your bra. He then gestures for you to stand, and fixes your ruined shorts so they’re not riding up anymore. You watch as he studies the damp spot and clenches his jaw to force back a smile.

“Seungmin,” he calls, standing up and towering over you again.

You wonder how tall he is but know better than to ask now.

Seungmin reports to Chris’s side. Chris nods to your fur coat, “Grab it and escort her to the stands.”

“You’r—”

“Now,” he reaffirms, cutting you off again.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you accept your coat and follow Seungmin out. You shouldn’t have, but you sneak a glance at the mirror eager to catch his reflection one last time.

Chris’s features harden as he faces Mickey. His fists clench.

Mickey stiffens, all previous irritation dissolving into fear.

The door shuts.

Waves of painted faces and torsos, endless banners, and flashing lights— the arena succumbs to insanity. Roars of chants echo upon the ring announcer’s behest. The thick stench of sweat and spilled beer is what overwhelms you, however. Scrunching your nose in disgust, you try to swallow your nausea.

You wonder how anyone here can stand it, turning back to take a final look at Seungmin. He stands at the doorway, arms crossed, gaze lingering around your rear. His ears flame a hot pink at the realisation he’d been caught.

A lazy smirk plays on your lips. He didn’t get a good enough look before?

Seungmin mutters something to the security guard stationed at the door then hurries back into the hall. You wonder if the guard is a Stray Kids member too. Is the ring announcer? What about the employees behind the stands? Or do they simply work for the gang?

“Runner!” Vinny’s voice cuts through the crowd. You turn at the call of your position, finding him standing on his seat and waving you over.

A relieved smile spreads across your lips. He meets you halfway as you push between rowdy spectators. He takes your hand firmly in his and leads you back to your seats.

“Where the hell were you?” He asks over the commotion.

“It’s complicated.”

Vinny’s face darkens with scepticism. “What the fuck did—”

“Who did you bet on?”

He clenches his jaw. “Matthews,” he practically screams.

So the Sixers are in on it too. You wonder if the gangs are onto Chris, knowing he might be affiliated with Stray Kids, and are working together to bring them down.

“Change it.”

“The bell rings in less than a minute,” Vinny shouts before looking over his shoulder to the front doors. He meets your gaze, uncertainty flooding those cerulean eyes, and mouths, It’s fixed.

You shake your head.

Vinny rolls his eyes shut, teeth grinding. He swallows his anger, knowing he cannot hurl insults right now with such an audience. Unlike you, he knows better than to call attention to himself. Exhaling sharply, he harshly holds your gaze and parts his lips.

Profanities? Threats? You expect both, bracing yourself with a clench of your fists.

But Vinny merely shakes his head in disappointment. He pulls out his phone and begins dialling. While waiting for someone to pick up, he yells, “If I die, I’m going to kill you!”

You suppress a smile and stifle the urge to respond with a joke. You fear you might have reached his limit. You’ve dragged him into your dark vortex of despair, endangering his life again and again. You should reach out to him now, pull him into a tight hug and offer endless apologies. You should have taken the chance he gave you when he called your foster mom, and stayed off the streets. You should have finished high school, applied for colleges outside of the wretched city of Crimson Heights, and never looked back. Instead, you continue to test his patience. 

Side-jobs were simply more lucrative. You have a talent for blending in too, a permanent look of indifference plastered on your face. No one ever suspects some girl, twirling a joint between her fingers, to be running or organising hits on corner stores and local diners.

The first time you held a gun, power ignited through your veins. You carried the weight of life within a bullet, finger teasing the trigger. The first time you pointed it at some store clerk, black ski mask over your face and tongue swirling around a pink lollipop, you felt that stone cold power of metal and powder snake along your spine and caress the nape of your neck.

You rolled your shoulders back, angled your head and smirked.

The clerk soiled himself, hands up in surrender.

You pressed the barrel to his head anyway, boring your wild eyes into his fearful ones.

“Well, this is awkward for you, isn’t it?” you giggled before cocking your gun.

The memory lures a smile. While you didn’t shoot him, provided he was very cooperative, it was fun toying with him.

The lights begin to whirl around the arena, snapping you out of your thoughts. Vinny hangs up the phone, and though the crowd is deafening, you can still hear his heavy, nervous breaths beside you.

All lights converge in the centre of the boxing ring. The cheers increase, crowd buzzing with anticipation. A tall, slender man dressed in a clean, glittering suit enters and takes his place in the middle of the ring. He holds a hand up and waves, encouraging excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to The Underground!” He shouts into the microphone. Cameras capture his perfect white smile, projecting the image on the large screens hanging over the ring.

“My name is Jackson Wylder and I will be your ring master this evening. Now, I have an important question for you tonight.” He scans the audience, displays a look of curiosity and asks, “Are you ready to rumble?”

The cheers surge.

“I said,” he starts before darting around the ring, “ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?”

You clap your hands over your ears at the thundering roars of the fans. A group of manic men jump behind you, almost pushing you off your seat and onto the spectators in front of you.

Vinny links his arm with yours and pulls you into his side. You turn to give him a thankful look, but he avoids your gaze.

“Tonight, we have a clash of titans!” Jackson continues, turning to point to his left. “In this corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and hailing from our very own, Crimson Heights, give it up for the man who’s always up for a fight— the skilled and tenacious, Aiden Matthews!”

Aiden emerges from a dark hall closest to his corner. He wears a blue silk robe and white gloves, bouncing on his toes as he makes his way through the unruly crowd. They holler at him, either tossing praises or insults, and bump their hands against his fists. He waves his arms up to encourage their hectic energy then finally enters the ring. His coach unfolds a chair and then helps him out of his robe.

Jackson shakes Aiden’s hand. He mutters a few words before returning to the centre of the ring.

“And in the opposite corner, we have a fighter who needs no introduction—” Jackson starts again. A childish smile plays on his lips, like he’s a fan, himself. “A crowd favourite, a sensation, and the undefeated champion who makes every match feel like a blockbuster!” He’s giddy, practically giggling his words. “Standing tall at a staggering 6 feet 9 inches and weighing in at an impressive 215 pounds, please put your hands together for the man who’s taken the boxing world by storm, Christopher ‘The Phantom’ Bahng!”

The roars bellow deep from the crowd as they cheer and chant, “Bahng! Bahng! Bahng!”

Everyone, even Jackson, turns to the front door, waiting for Chris to emerge.

You swallow thickly.

The lights then shift to the other end of the arena.

Your heart already falters at his height. He’s still almost a foot taller than you in your thick platforms. You stand to see him, legs almost giving out when you spot his large figure appear through the back door. But it’s the mess of red lipstick still smeared on his lips, the blood speckled like freckles on his cheeks, and the dark patch on the leg of his shorts that wrings your soul. He didn’t even give you a chance to be grateful that he trusted you, slaughtering your sanity with such a dishevelled look.

Decorated in you, he enters the ring and shakes the hand of a bashful Jackson. No one seems fazed by his appearance. Jealousy pangs your chest at the thought of him being drenched in his past whores, the admittance of his pre-match rituals returning to you.

One look from Vinny might indicate otherwise. He glares at your smudged lipstick.

You roll your eyes and lean into him, too breathless and trembling to fight off his wrath.

“Tonight,” Jackson smiles, raising his hand to redirect the crowd’s attention. “Tonight, we’re in for a spectacular display of skill, heart, and,” he shoots the fans a little wink, “perhaps a bit of humour—because let’s face it, if you can’t have fun while throwing punches, what’s the point?!”

He takes a moment to laugh at his own joke.

You keep your eyes on Chris. Mickey does not unfold his chair and take his robe. Instead a shorter, just as muscled, man does. He gives Chris a weary look, of which Chris ignores, and squirts some water in his mouth.

You force yourself not to focus on the droplets that drip from his pouted, stained lips.

“This is not just a fight, folks,” Jackson informs with a raise of his brows. “No, no! This is a showdown!”

He lets the crowd go crazy before continuing, “Aiden Matthews is ready to prove that he’s a force to be reckoned with, but Christopher Bahng,” he turns to his favourite star and grins, “has captured the hearts of fans everywhere. Can Aiden dethrone the giant, or will Bahng continue his reign of dominance?”

You suck in a shaky breath and blow it out. You fill your lungs of tainted sweat-slick air, fighting the urge to gag, and release it once more. Looking around the arena, you swallow the growing lump in your throat. All these fans have come to watch Chris win, and have no idea that he almost died.

“So, buckle up, ladies and gents! Keep your drinks close, your snacks handy, and your eyes glued to the ring! It’s time to witness boxing history unfold right before our eyes!” Jackson’s eyes twinkle with astonishment and wonder. He holds his arms out and turns in a slow circle. “Are you ready for this showdown?” He asks as if truly probing for a personal answer.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!”

Mouth guards in, both fighters stand.

Aiden, while built and tall in his own right, looks like an ant compared to Chris. He pounds his fists together and grunts to assert his dominance. He bounces on his toes and shoots Chris his most menacing glare.

Chris flashes a lazy smile. He rolls his shoulders back and holds his fists up. He peers over his gloves at Aiden like a predator stalking its prey.

The bell rings.

“And here we go, folks! Round 1 is officially underway! Aiden Matthews is looking to prove himself against the undefeated giant, Christopher Bahng!” Jackson comments ringside.

Aiden cautiously circles the ring with Chris. He maintains a safe distance, the heat of his gaze wavering under Chris’s relaxed stance. Testing the waters, he tries his luck with a quick jab.

Chris has the height advantage, however, effortlessly leaning back to dodge. The punch barely grazes the air before him.

Aiden narrows his eyes.

“Ooo,” Jackson hisses. “So close!”

The crowd laughs, almost as one, before splitting between chants for each boxer.

Aiden, eager to recover, steps in quickly, unleashing a flurry of body shots aimed at Chris’s midsection.

You hold your breath and tighten your grip on Vinny’s arm.

But, Chris doesn't flinch. His arms, long and strong, keep Aiden at bay with precise blocks. The controlled ease of Chris’s movements highlight Aiden’s childish, tantrum-like fighting style. You can’t help wondering how the fuck Aiden made it this far. Perhaps other boxers can’t track the chaotic jabs as well as Chris does. Maybe they didn’t even try.

“Matthews is coming in hot, throwing quick combos, but Bahng is as cool as ice—deflecting every shot with ease!”

Chris, ever patient, waits for an opening. He keeps his elbows tucked in, movements minimal, letting Aiden expend energy. He evades each punch with swift swerves of his head, taking small steps back. Even hunched, crouched inwards, his frame still looms large over Aiden.

The majority of the crowd now chants Chris’s name, flooding the arena with jittery admiration.

Like a trigger, fast and smooth, Chris snaps forward with a sharp jab. The blow lands against Aiden’s guard, but the sheer strength of it forces him back.

“Bahng with the first real strike of the night!” Jackson shouts.

Aiden’s eyes widen. He finally feels the power, you realise, and his gaze floods with fear.

Jackson tosses the crowd a giddy look and gushes,“That jab was like a freight train!”

The crowd clamours with laughter in agreement.

You catch a ghost of a smile hovering over Chris’s lips. Is it insane that you find him even more attractive when he’s menacingly playful? An image of his face inches from yours, that same impression of a smile unable to settle on his lips, surfaces. Those feline eyes, teasing, daring, coaxing you to ride him.

You bite your lip and refocus your attention on the match.

Aiden resets and presses on. He bobs and weaves to avoid Chris’s long reach. Ducking low, he slips inside Chris’s defence to unleash a rapid combination of punches to the torso and a hook aimed at the chin.

Chris blocks the body blows then, all too calmly for someone being beat up, rolls with the hook, avoiding the brunt of it. That sinister smirk settles, oh so cunningly, curving the corners of his lips. Without delay, Chris counters with an uppercut from the right, the snap of his arms swift and steady.

Aiden only just manages to block it in time, but the impact leaves him rattled. He stumbles back with a loud grunt. Wheezing and regaining his footing, his eyes betray him, glowing with newfound respect for his towering opponent.

In awe, Jackson remarks, “Bahng is a mountain of patience—waiting for just the right moment to strike! Matthews is going to have to dig deep if he’s going to find a way in!”

You glance at the final seconds of the first round, glowing red above the ring. Less than thirty seconds remain.

Aiden, perhaps knowing he has to make a statement, launches a last-ditch effort. He levels a heavy left hook aimed at Chris’s side, almost mirroring the speed Chris recently displayed.

But Chris, as if seeing it in slow motion, smoothly side steps.

You gasp with the crowd.

He counters with a punishing fist aimed at Aiden’s temple. The punch connects cleanly, the crowd choking on their cheers. The thick sound echoes between the staggered shouts, twisting your stomach with unease.

Aiden stumbles towards the ropes, using their stability to keep himself standing.

The bell rings before Chris can issue another attack.

Jackson steps back into the ring. He eyes Aiden with wide eyes before sharing a look with the audience. “What a way to end the first round!” He laughs. “Bahng’s precision is something to behold, and Aiden Matthews has already felt the sting of that power! Can I get…”

The rest of his words fade as you fixate your attention on the boxers. Aiden returns to his corner with a shuffle of his feet. He’s drenched in sweat, face red and eyes tired. His coach wipes his face then squeezes some water into his mouth.

Chris leisurely walks to his seat. He wipes nose with his arm as he sits. Composed, unbothered, he stares his opponent down.

Aiden shifts in place.

You can’t help but do the same.

You’ve been wanting to leave since the fourth round.

You thought it was over when Chris landed an uppercut so sharp, you swear you heard Aiden’s jaw shatter. You watched as his eyes rolled back and he met the floor with a loud, echoing thump. Aiden’s team flinched, leering over the ropes only to be scolded by the referee.

Chris’s eyes gleamed with something ominous, standing over Aiden’s limp body. He tilted his head and tongued his cheek, lips heavy with the impression of a smirk. He doesn’t merely look proud, but gratified. You wondered at the time if he loves the splitting sound of a bone breaking just as much as you love the chambering click of a loaded gun.

But the crowd remained in the arena. Vinny gave you a reassuring look as if silently telling you it won’t be much longer, and the fifth round commenced.

Jackson returns ringside now, two more rounds later, announcing after the signal of the bell, “Round seven, folks, and this has been an all-out war! Aiden Matthews has been relentless, but Christopher Bahng’s defence is like a fortress!”

The crowd roars as Aiden and Chris step toward the centre of the ring again. Aiden, slick with sweat, jabs at the air, his face tense and determined. Chris, towering over him with his eyes ever so calm and calculating, bounces lightly on his feet.

As the audience resumes their chants for Chris, Aiden charges forward. He jabs with considerable speed and aggression. His punches are fast but painstakingly desperate. It’s almost embarrassing to witness, and you’re not even a fighter.

One glance at Chris and you catch his mask of cool flicker with hushed notions of pity, as if feeling sorry for his opponent. You scan his fighting stance, devouring his toned body with your eyes. His skin gleams with sweat and blotches of forming bruises. His left cheek holds a patch of purple; right brow split.

You swallow thickly, watching his muscles twist as he effortlessly weaves. He slips left, right, then ducks under an all too wide hook.

“Stay still, you fucker!” Aiden orders through gritted teeth, the microphones hovering over the ring catching every spit-splattered syllable.

Chris faintly smiles, eyes locking on Aiden's. He moves just enough to miss another jab by mere inches, dancing around the ring like he has all the time in the world. He then jumps high, resembling a kangaroo, once, twice, only to circle the ring again.

The buzzing energy of the crowd grows, their cheers building as if Chris’s little gesture is any indication of a shift in the round.

The screens cut to Jackson. He swallows thickly as his eyes track Chris’s movements then comments,“Matthews is giving it everything he’s got, but Bahng…” he takes a moment to let out a whistle, “Bahng is like a ghost out there! Just out of reach!”

Aiden presses harder, frustration creeping in as he tries to close the distance. He throws heavy hooks and uppercuts.

You almost scoff, wondering why he hasn’t learned yet. His efforts are useless against someone as skilled as Chris. Truly a phantom in the ring, Chris’s footwork is flawless, always just a step ahead, and he barely reacts.

He then ever so slightly adjusts his stance, leaving an opening wide for Aiden to pounce.

You furrow your brows.

Jackson voices his concern too, narrowing his eyes. “Is Bahng showing weakness?” He asks as if he cannot believe it himself. Then his eyes widen. “Matthews sees it—he’s going for it!”

Aiden lunges forward, hurling all his power into a swift right hook toward the exposed side.

However, as steady as his opponent commits to the punch, Chris sidesteps with speed that rivals lightning, and counters with a sharp left jab that snaps Aiden’s head back.

You stand again with Vinny, both gasping with the crowd. A hand flies to your mouth as you watch Aiden stagger back.

“OH!” Jackson beams, “Bahng saw that coming from a mile away!”

Chris is relentless. He moves in smoothly, landing a quick, precise combination—jab, cross, uppercut—that sends Aiden stumbling backward.

Aiden’s guard falters.

Chris steps forward. He drives a thunderous right hook straight into Aiden’s gut.

Aiden gasps for air, the force buckling.

Chris, collected and focused, steps back, allowing Aiden a moment to gather himself.

Your eyes widen at the pacifying gesture, wondering what he has to gain by giving his opponent a chance to strike again.

All thoughts cease within seconds as Chris feints an attack. It draws Aiden’s guard up high only for Chris to slip low and deliver a devastating body blow, placed perfectly under the ribs.

Aiden groans, dropping to a knee. The air is completely knocked out of him.

The referee stands over his kneeling frame, counting, “One!”

The crowd erupts with excitement, some jumping as they cheer for Chris, while others remain shackled in disbelief as Aiden tries to regain his strength.

“Two.”

Jackson is rocking in place, jittery with joy as he enthuses,“Bahng is not just beating Matthews—he’s outthinking him! Every move is a step ahead, like he’s reading Aiden’s mind!”

“Three.”

Aiden is wobbly, but pulls himself back to his feet. He shakes his head, attempting to refocus. You suppose that Jackson’s comment must have struck a cord because Aiden looks as though he is done thinking. He lunges again, impulsive and messy.

Chris is undeterred by the chaos Aiden becomes, this time feinting a right cross.

Aiden’s guard flies to the right. Then, Chris pivots and delivers a clean left hook to his temple.

“What a move!”Jackson praises. “Bahng’s precision is surgical!”

Aiden collapses against the ropes.

Chris steps back, watching, waiting.

The stillness of Aiden’s muscular frame worries the referee. He steps in, leaning by Aiden’s side to get a better look.

The camera pans over his swollen, bloody face. You cringe.

The referee stands back to his full height to wave his arms, calling, “It’s over! It’s over!”

The crowd explodes into catastrophic cheers upon the referee’s decree.

Chris raises his gloves in triumph and pride. While he is well within his right to gloat, and perhaps has done so before based on the fact that you know he likes to show off, he remains composed. The only emotion hinting towards elation is in the lightness of his gaze as he looks around the arena at his fans. He nods to them, lips finally curving into a smile.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was shy.

Jackson returns to the centre of the ring. He gestures his hands towards Chris, encouraging the howls of the crowd. “Christopher Bahng has done it again!” He says, smiling fondly at Chris. “Not just with power, not just with speed, but with pure brilliance in this ring. He’s shown everyone why he’s the undefeated champion!”

You don’t get a chance to revel at the sight of Chris stiffening as Jackson holds his arms out wide for a hug. Vinny tugs on your arm instead, nodding his head towards the exit. You keep your arms linked and stay close as he pushes between the manic crowd for you.

“Explain yourself,” Vinny orders the moment you’re back on the street.

You look over your shoulder at the entrance of the arena, then whisper, “Not here.”

Vinny rolls his eyes but starts walking towards your apartment. After three blocks of silence, he says, “Talk.”

“I was looking for yo—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he seethes, cutting you off. “How the fuck did you know Matthews would lose? It’s been fixed for the last week.”

“Just listen to me,” you plead, raising your voice. “When I was waiting for you in the alley, I heard some things.”

Vinny shoots you a nervous look.

You continue, “One of those things was that there were back halls that go around the entire arena. I really was looking for you in there, Vinny. You left me to fend for myself and those people were hard to squeeze through. So, I found one of the doors. And— listen, I know you’re gonna be mad at me, but I really thought it would be easier this way.”

His face falls into disappointment. “You lied.”

“I lied,” you confess, avoiding his gaze as you continue down the street. “I told the guy at the door that Chris—”

“You call him Chris?” Vinny interrupts, voice heavy with astonishment.

“Well—”

Vinny cuts you off with your name and a shake of his head. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he humorlessly chuckles. “No one but his inner circle calls him Chris. What the fuck did you do?”

“I told the guy at the door that I was his prostitute. It was only supposed to get me in so I could find you.”

“You didn’t,” Vinny says. Upon the guilty look in your eyes, he closes his own and sighs, “You fucked him?”

“Not exactly,” you hesitantly correct. “He’s really hot, okay? And he was really nice to me, and I don’t know if you know this,” you sarcastically start. “But not many people have been lately.”

Vinny offers you a vulgar gesture.

You roll your eyes. “I just told him what I heard and he needed convincing.”

“You fucked him,” Vinny concludes.

“Do you think I would be able to walk right now if I did?”

You try not to laugh as Vinny’s features coil in disgust. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that it doesn’t matter now. Chris is fine, the Sixers didn’t lose a dime and you can finally get that bath you have been craving earlier this evening.

However, the shriek of tires pierce through the silent night instead.

Vinny reaches for his gun, pushing you behind him. You go to grab your own only to remember you don’t have one. The switchblade will have to do if running is not an option.

A black van speeds down the street, darting past you to swerve onto the sidewalk and block your path. Seungmin jumps out of the passenger seat. Icy-hair and another tall, dark haired man, whose features remarkably resemble that of a fox, emerge from the back.

Vinny cocks his gun.

“Wait,” you shout, stepping between them. You hold your hands up, giving Vinny your most reassuring look. “I know them,” you explain.

Looking amongst the intruders, Vinny furrows his brows and asks, “How?”

“They’re Chris’s friends,” you reply, quietly adding, “I think.”

Vinny glares. “You think?”

“Walk away,” a deep voice orders.

Icy-hair steps forward with a gun of his own. However, he is not aiming it at Vinny.

You deadpan. “Did he tell you to do this? God, is he always this dramatic?”

“Tell me about it,” Seungmin mutters, then nods towards the van. “Get in.”

Turning to Vinny, you offer him a small, assuring smile. “I’m fine, Vin. Just go.”

Vinny scoffs, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at you. “He has a gun to your head.”

“Chris is an egoistic, attention-seeker,” you dismiss. “If they wanted to shoot me, they would have done so already.”

“How can you be sure?” Vinny shouts.

Chk chk boom, you think. Your brains would have already been splattered on the sidewalk.

Nodding behind him, you repeat, “Go. I’ll call you later.”

Vinny shakes his head, clenching his jaw and directing his frustrated gaze to the ground. As if wrestling his intuition, he resentfully lowers and uncocks his gun. He takes another look around at the men, swallowing thickly.

You wonder if they know he’s trying to memorise their faces. You wonder if they care.

“If you die,” Vinny says, voice wavering. “I will kill you.”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips. “Good.”

He breaths a baffled chuckle, gives you one final look, then forces himself to walk away

You turn to face the others, or at least you’re in the process of turning.

A black bag slips over your head. Arms pulled back, hands bound, you attempt to struggle against their grip. Too slow, your squirming does not distract them. Someone hooks their arms under your shoulders, another scoops up your legs. Heart pounding, you release a searing scream, attempting to wrangle your way out of their grasp. You kick and try to flail your arms, grunting as you fight against their hold. The three men look strong, but they are nothing compared to Chris. You doubt only two of them can maintain their grip this well when you feel another set of hands, then another.

Vinny shouts your name.

Your body is tossed into the back. You land with a loud groan, cursing at the impact of the pain.

He shouts your name again, the hard stomp of his feet echoing in the street.

A bullet sounds.

No, no, no—

“No!” You desperately scream. “Vinny!”

Tears gather in your eyes. This is all your fault. It goes beyond sticking your nose in business you had no right knowing. Since that day he found you back on the streets, hustling scammers out of their well-stolen money, you have dragged Vinny into your hole of reckless misfortune. You asked him to bail you out of one too many fuck-ups, forcing him to further implicate himself in your thoughtless schemes, often against the advice and support of his gang. He has risked his reputation, relationships, money, his good fucking sense, all in the name of childhood friendship.

And how do you repay him?

With a bullet.

Lip quivering, you ask between sobs, “Did you shoot him?”

You never deserved kindness. You never deserved freedom. You never even deserved compassion.

You are a tornado of vile anguish, a chaotic force of impulse and betrayal. You are a waste of space, your very existence is a curse set upon your parents. You should have known as much when the universe tore them away. You are not worthy of connections— all your friends withering in the wake of your misfortune.

What compelled you to believe that Chris would be any different? He might have been devastatingly beautiful and the look in his eyes might have continuously hinted at something tragically scarred. His kisses might have breathed new life into your soul, hands might have cradled every nightmare to rest. But he is still a victim of your calamity. You should have known a good feeling never lasts.

The back door slides shut. The engine revs, jolting the van into motion.

“Did you fucking shoot him?” You cry, voice breaking as a sob overwhelms you. “Vinny!”

Please forgive me, you want to scream.

“Shut up!” Someone shouts over you. You move to kick the speaker only for someone to grab hold of your ankles and bind them together too.

“He shot at us.” The same speaker clarifies. “And he has terrible aim for a self-appointed hero.”

Relief washes over you, ice-cold upon your trembling bones. You lean back, embracing the pain of the awkward position of your hands under you.

“He told us to knock her out,” Seungmin says, voice slightly distant. He must have returned to his place in the front seat.

“He did?” Icy-hair’s deep voice replies.

“I don’t think so,” someone else adds.

You lay limp amongst the shuffling of movements, ignoring their argument, too lost in thought to care. Though Vinny is alive, it does not alter the epiphany that has just dawned upon you— You inevitably ruin anyone foolish enough to come too close.

The edge of the bag lifts and a damp cloth presses against your mouth.

You embrace the darkness.

PART II ➡︎

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[teamchasezwrites]

The Ride

Word Count: 6,802

Characters: Roman Reigns (minor appearances from others)

Genre: Smut

Summary: A tight fit leads to an interesting ride.

Author's Note: Not very good at writing smut, at least not like some of the great ones I've read on here. Hope you all enjoy!

THE RIDE

“Try it now!”

She heard the muffled voice as she walked through the parking lot toward one of the few remaining vehicles. A black soft side suitcase rolled along behind her; a matching black book bag slung over one shoulder. A yawn escaped and she wished she was on her way to the hotel, but it was a travel night.

Hershey to Columbus.

A five and a half hour drive.

Not bad in the grand scheme of things, but it was nothing like the other night when it was Philadelphia to Hershey. A quick two hour ride. She was still wired when she arrived at the hotel. Now though…

She was thankful it wasn’t her turn to drive. She was tired and worn out after her match with Dana Brook. If she were being honest with herself, a little sore too. She took a helluva spot into the steel steps.

The whining of an engine trying to turn over broke through the silence. A few empty parking spaces down from the Toyota Sienna rental she shared with the rest of the faction she was currently a member of was a silver colored hatch back. The hood currently up; the driver’s side door hanging open.

A leg clad in black joggers hung out the open door. Black and white Jordans pressed against the asphalt. The cotton material of the joggers clung to a muscular thigh. The owner of the thigh sat in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the ignition turning the key.

“I don’t fucking know…” Dean Ambrose appeared around the front of the car leaning his arms across the open door.

“Call the rental place, Ro.” Seth Rollin’s head appeared over the hood to look at the remaining member of The Shield through the windshield.

Roman, the owner of the muscular thigh, sat back in the seat. The whine of the sickly engine ceased. “I did when it wouldn’t start the first time. It’s closed.”

“Call them again.” Dean pestered.

“What part of closed don’t you understand?”

“What are we supposed to do?” Dean’s voice rose. His hands jerked in agitation.

The pending argument between the faction was interrupted as laughter echoed across the parking lot. She watched as their heads turned toward the sound as the rest of her team finally appeared.

The Royals.

The name caused her to make a face, but that’s what Creative – Vince – wanted.

Wrestling royalty.

Charlotte Flair.

Natalya.

Tamina.

Her.

All bloodline to top wrestlers from the past. Charlotte to Ric. Natalya to The Harts. Tamina to The Rock. Then there was her. Descended from a secretary and a plumber. Bloodline to no where. Fortunately for her, she was popular with the crowd in NXT and had the right look the powers at be were going for. So she became a Piper.

She supposed if Kane and The Undertaker could be brothers, she could be related to Roddy Piper. She didn’t care. She would do whatever she needed to do to make it on the main roster. Wrestling was her dream.

With her being the lone team member not truly with the proper lineage, she was the outcast of the group. Sure they played their parts well, but once the cameras were off, she was the leper. A lonely girl sitting at the lunch room table in middle school by herself all over again.

Not that she didn’t have friends. Naomi and Bayley were warm and welcoming. They clicked so well she wished creative would let them team up. In the meantime, she worked out like hell. Worked on her mic skills with anyone willing to help bounce word battles. Took notes on who was kicking it, what was causing the fans to react. Anything to get ahead for the moment the hammer dropped and she was kicked out of the group.

It was coming, she knew. The whispers and meetings that didn’t include her were a dead giveaway. When it came she wanted to be ready.

“Perfect.” She heard Seth mumble. “Hey!

The yell caused her to jolt but she watched from her spot leaning against the van. It was locked and Charlotte had the keys.

“What are you doing?” Roman whispered as he climbed from the car.

“Getting us to Columbus,” Seth answered. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Hitchhiking,” Dean mumbled under his breath.

“Pretty boy like Roman would get us far,” Seth ran a hand over the man’s chiseled cheeks. He grinned when it was slapped away.

She giggled watching the antics of The Shield. A sense of longing moving through her wishing her own group was the same way. These long drives wouldn’t suck so much.

“What’s up boys?” Natalya asked as she, Charlotte, and Tamina came up to them. “Car trouble?”

“Ro got us a lemon.”

“Man fuck off,” Roman snapped, glaring at Dean. “Next time you can get the car.”

“I can’t do any worse.”

“Can we squeeze in with you?” Seth asked, ignoring his brothers. “Rental place is closed and I don’t even know when we can get another car.”

She watched the girls look at each other. The silent communication used to get under her skin but now it just is what it is.

“Should be plenty of room with the six of us even with our bags…” Seth continued.

“Uh… seven…” she said speaking up for the first time. Heads whirled in her direction and she raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in a little wave.

“Jesus Christ, when did you get here!”

“Right before you were prostituting Roman out...” Even from the distance she could see the blush on Roman’s cheeks.

“Well that makes it a little more crowded but it should work.” She could practically see the gears turning in Seth’s head as he worked out the logistics of seating and suitcases. “Someone might have to sit on a lap…”

Heads turned in her direction again and it was her turn to blush. If someone needed to sit on a lap, then it was obviously her with her small frame. Barely five foot four. She almost wished it was her turn to drive, but knew there’d be concessions made to the travel rules if it was.

She bit her tongue to make a snide remark about the number of suitcases each of the other women had. It wouldn’t get her anywhere. The rest of the members of The Royalty did not travel lightly.

“I’m cool with it,” Tamina said exchanging looks with Charlotte and Natalya.

“Sure,” Charlotte shrugged. “No big deal.”

Of course. No skin off their backs. She planned on passing out across the back seats for the whole ride. Not anymore.

Expectant eyes turned toward her. Well three sets anyway. Her faction already started walking toward the van as if it was a done deal.

Of course it was.

“Sure. The more the merrier,” she pasted a smile on her face.

“Great.” Seth moved quickly to shut the hood of the car then scooted around to the trunk.

In the cluster of doors opening and closing, came the sound of wheels moving over asphalt. She climbed into the van and over the collapsed middle seat and into the back. She put her suitcase on the seat opposite her and stuffed her book bag on the floor in front of it. She let everyone else deal with their own luggage.

She wasn’t sure how it happened but suitcases and bags were passed to her to stack on the seat alongside her own. Biting her tongue she just stacked them trying to give her as much room as possible.

There was plenty of room for her and another person until she watched with wide eyes as Roman climbed into the backseat with her. Large and impersonating Roman Reigns. All three members of The Shield were big but she thought Seth would be squeezing in with her. Out of the three, he was the smallest and even then, not by much.

“Fucking Dean and rock, paper, scissors,” Roman grumbled catching her look. He shrugged and carefully turned to sit on the seat. It was a snug fit. His thigh pressed right up against hers. He reached forward and pulled the seat in front of him back into its upright position. The space got even smaller.

“You’re just pissed I always kick your ass.” Dean was grinning as he climbed into the seat Roman just popped up.

She watched as the rest of the crew filed into the vehicle. Natalya next to Dean in the middle seat with Seth on her other side behind the driver’s seat. Charlotte in the driver’s seat with Tamina riding shotgun. There was a few moments as everyone got situated and fought for phone chargers.

It crossed her mind to raise a complaint with the seating assignments. Roman and his big bulky self should be driving or at least in the passenger seat. She and Charlotte would be the best ones to squeeze in the back. While Charlotte towered over her in height, the woman was skinny. Before she could though, the diva was backing from the parking spot and pulling away.

Tense didn’t describe the atmosphere in the back of the Sienna. She held herself pressed against the luggage pile, trying to put as much room between her and Roman as possible. She wasn’t even buckled. Didn’t even know where the housing was. Probably beneath Roman. He hadn’t buckled either, she noticed. She sent a quick prayer Charlotte would drive save.

“I don’t bite…”

The voice startled her and she turned her head to meet Roman’s gaze. His eyes were dark. Every so often the headlights of a passing car would reflect in the brown orbs. “What?”

“I said, I don’t bite.”

“He will if you ask,” Dean turned his head around to look at her with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” Roman slapped the back of Dean’s head. He turned his attention back to the woman next to him as Dean turned back toward the front laughing. He gave her enough room as possible, scooting himself as close to the interior panels as he could. With his wide frame it wasn’t much.

“I’m okay,” she told him, determined to keep herself against the luggage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bigger man shrug.

The hum of the vehicle and the low tone of the music playing through the speakers lulled her. She wasn’t sure about Tamina in the front seat, hearing low chatter every so often, but Dean was out; his head against the window, thick headphones settled on his ears. Seth mirrored his friend on the opposite side of the seat. Natayla’s head rested against Seth’s shoulder in apparent sleep.

A couple hours already passed and the time was getting to her. Every time she felt herself relaxing, she’d snap back up. Her posture on point as any woman who attended and graduated etiquette school. Luckily the ride was easy on the Pennsylvania turnpike then to I-70. The late night hour held less traffic. Mostly tractor trailers.

The next time her eyes drifted closed and she slumped, arms grabbed her.

“Wh-what?” Her eyes shot open and her breath grew heavy as panicked eyes looked around. The bodies in front of her were still in the same position as they were earlier.

“This is ridiculous,” came the whispered growl in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms at the deep sound. A hand gripped either of her biceps. Then she was plucked and unceremoniously dumped into the lap of Roman Reigns.

“I’m tired of watching you try to keep from touching me,” Roman murmured in her ear, aware of close by ears. “We’re touching. Now get over it. Relax and get some sleep.”

She sat frozen in his lap. His left arm fell to the vacant seat besides them while his right hand stayed on her thigh keeping her stable. Her ass pressed into his crotch. Her legs fell on either side of his left thigh. She wasn’t relaxed. Not even a little bit.

“If you don’t relax, I’ll make you.” Roman spoke directly in her ear. His hot breath moved across her skin and she shivered.

It took a few minutes before she started to move. Then they both started shifted in the seat, moving together to find the most comfortable position for them both. As she angled herself more toward the interior panel and less against the hard chest behind her, he moved with her. He sort of wedged himself in the corner where the seat met the panel, slouching a little. In doing so, he was able to move his left thigh more up onto the seat.

“Sorry,” she murmured when she noticed her hands were gripping his thighs. She blushed feeling his muscles flex beneath her hold.

“Just relax,” Roman rolled his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady as she finally relaxed back into him. He accepted her weight. What there was of it anyway. “Isn’t this better?” He whispered in her ear. He was able to finally relax himself. Her sitting next to him on edge had him on edge. He hoped to catch at least a couple hours of sleep during the drive.

A shiver worked its way through her feeling the hair on his chin tickle the sensitive skin of her neck. His hot breath brushing over her ear. Her face flushed red feeling wetness pool at her center and she pressed her thighs together.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. Cold was the furthest she was feeling. Roman’s body heat invaded her space chasing the chill from body. Every part of her body that touched his felt on fire. She quietly released a breath she’d been holding. Closing her eyes, she let the tension melt from her body. Her head lobbed to the side; her temple resting against his chin.

Looking back she’d probably blame the late hour combined with exhaustion. She felt a sharp pinch at the crease where her thigh met her center. She bit her lip and shifted her hips slightly, hoping the movement would scratch the section of skin and bring some sort of relief.

It didn’t.

The itch persisted.

Without thought she reached down between her thighs and rubbed a finger over the itch. A strangled noise sounded in her ear and she froze.

“If you need help with that…” Roman spoke quietly in her ear; the sound so quiet he barely made a sound. He was caught somewhere between awake and dozing. Drowsy but hadn’t quite fallen asleep when he felt the movement on his arm. She had both her arms resting on his over her belly. It was the loss that alerted him. Focusing his eyes, he watched her left hand reach down and he nearly swallowed his tongue when she touched herself.

“Just an inch…” she hissed just as quietly, snatching her hand back, trying to cover her embarrassment. “On my thigh. I shaved the other day and forgot my lotion at the last hotel.” She still smarted about that too. Left the nearly full bottle she religiously applied daily after shaving her bikini line and the rest of her pussy bald to ward off the irritation.

“I can scratch it,” Roman murmured. His right hand left her belly and slowly moved south toward the apex of her thighs. He had no idea what he was doing. Why he hadn’t pretended he didn’t see her hand. Maybe it was the drowsy state he was in. Maybe it was the sweet smell of her hair permeating his senses. Maybe it was the firm ass pressing into his crotch making him work to keep himself contained.

Seeing her hand on her center, blew his concentration. His hand kept moving. The touch of his fingers light over the spandex of her leggings as they moved down her thigh dangerously close. He felt more than heard her breath hitch. Her hips shifted in his lap and he bit back a groan as her ass rubbed against his cock who was taking interest in the situation.

Roman continued to move his fingers up and down her thigh. His left hand dipped down and found the soft skin of her belly. He brushed his fingers against the taunt skin warm beneath his touch. Because of him? He didn’t know. He brushed his nose across the side of her head; from her temple back to her ear. He nipped the lobe causing her to jump. He soothed the bite with the soft stroke of his tongue.

“Roman…” she whispered her hand falling onto his on her thigh stopping his movements.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered in her ear. He would have stopped if she told him. Pulled his hands back to a neutral position, leaned his head back and caught some z’s to the hotel. This wasn’t even on his mind when he climbed into the van hours before. Now it was the only thing he could think about.

His hand started on its path down her thigh again, this time her hand didn’t stop him. He grinned against her ear; victorious. “Good girl…” her breath hitched and he filed the information away. “You gotta be quiet.” He thought he could smell her arousal and he quickly glanced to the other patrons in the van. They still appeared to be sleeping. “Promise to be quiet…”

She nodded against his shoulder. Her legs widened, giving him more room and her hips shifted chasing his hand. “Please…”

“This would be easier if you had your ring gear on…” He placed damp kisses on her neck. Her ring gear… a dangerously short red plaid skirt where he could easily slip his hand underneath to reach his prize.

“I’ll remember that for next time I’m stuck in the back of a van sitting on someone’s lap…”

He growled at the thought of someone else in his current position. A random flair of anger ripped through him. On the next pass of his fingers, he moved them just enough and he was running them up the center seam of her leggings. He felt her heat and he released another low growl. “I bet you’re soaked.”

She whimpered and pressed against his hand seeking relief. She felt like a bitch in heat.

“You need me Baby?” He asked softly. His tongue traced the outer shell of her ear. His fingers still completing the ministrations over the leggings, up and down her center. Her hips started moving back and forth in his lap. His cock filled and pulsed inside his joggers. He gripped her hips with either hand and pulled her firmly into his lap and he flexed his muscled and pressed up into her.

A full body shiver worked its way through them both. He clenched his eyes shut and breathed heavily pressing himself into her ass again.

“Ring gear would come in handy right now, huh?” Came her teasing whisper in his ear, complete with a wiggle of her hips.

“You’re not so innocent,” he grumbled as his mind exploded with images of her sinking down on his cock with that little tantalizing skirt on her hips. “Stop moving.” His hands gripped her hips tightly. He shuddered again wondering how the tables were turned. He gave his head a shake and got back with the program.

His fingers trailed across her belly along the hem of her leggings. Her belly quivered beneath his touch and her breath caught when his fingers dipped beneath the fabric. “Quiet,” he whispered before sucking her lobe into his mouth. It was his turn to moan softly when his fingers encountered smooth, bare skin. “Fuck...”

She shifted against his hand trying to get his probing fingers where she wanted them. In her hot, wet center. “Roman,” she moaned softly, barely making a sound.

Her pleading had the desired effect. Roman’s fingers moved down over her outer lips. The black spandex of her leggings pressed uncomfortably against his wrist, but he didn’t let that hinder him. He gave teasing strokes before he pressed a finger between her folds. He nearly came in his pants feeling how wet she was. She was a dripping mess.

“You need my fingers, don’t you?” His left hand came down and shifted her left leg over his knee, opening her up more for him “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered working his fingers through the slick folds. He pressed his face against her neck and shuddered.

A moan had him slapping his free hand over her mouth. They both froze as Dean shifted in front of them, but the man never woke.

“Quiet,” Roman commanded roughly. “If you don’t stay quiet, I can’t do this,” as he spoke he pressed a finger deep inside her. “Don’t you want me to do this?”

She nodded her head frantically. She squirmed in his lap. An ache built deep in her belly and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she would be coming all over his fingers.

He started moving his finger once it was clear Dean wasn’t going to wake. Withdrawing his finger only to slowly press it back in. He pressed hot kisses along her neck. This time when he pulled out, he ran his finger up her center finding her bundle of nerves. He circled it with his fingers and he breath caught. He pressed his finger on it, causing the back of her head to hit his shoulder with a sigh.

She bit her lip in order to keep sounds from spilling out. Her eyes drifted close as she kept moving her hips in a circular motion seeking his fingers. Her fingers gripped his right thigh, the muscles hard in her palm. She could smell her arousal and was concerned everyone else could as well, but she was beyond caring.

She was inundated with a kaleidoscope of emotions. They all swirled within her. Swirling and churning. The want. The need. The naughtiness of being so brazen in a semi-public place. At any moment a head could turn around and catch Roman’s hand down her pants. Her flushed skin. Blown pupils. She almost relished it.

Roman brought his fingers back to her entrance. This time sinking two digits deep inside her. He felt her wetness gush over his fingers and he wanted to pull them from her and bring them to his lips where he could taste her. His mouth watered at the thought. He found himself thinking about more. Instead of licking her taste off his fingers, pressing his face between her legs and going right to the source.

“I wonder what you taste like,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “I bet you’d taste sweet on my tongue… shhh….” He hushed her moan. “You’d cling to my beard, driving me crazy for hours after.”

His fingers continued to piston in and out of her. She heard the squelching of her juices. They rang loud in the quiet of the van but she was unable to put a stop to anything. She was too far gone. Her hips moved with his fingers, seeking more. His cock pressed against her ass. She clenched around his fingers, wishing his cock would replace them. He felt big and she nearly wept with need.

She panted behind his hand still covering her mouth as if he didn’t trust her to keep quiet. She wouldn’t trust her either. She wanted to wail loudly especially when his thumb found her clit. Her limbs tingled; goosebumps peppered her skin. Her stomach churned with a ball of want and need.

“You’re so tight around my fingers,” Roman murmured, continuing to work his fingers in and out of her. She clenched each time he pulled out as if attempting to keep him inside. He groaned against her ear. “I keep imaging you on my cock. Ripping your pants off and lowering yourself on my cock…”

She nodded desperately. Fuck yes. She wanted that too. Sinking down on him and bouncing with wild abandon bringing them both to a frantic finish.

She squeezed his fingers at his words and he pressed his face against her neck to muffle the moan he couldn’t hold at bay. His fingers left that warm, wet cavern causing her to moan behind his hand. He hushed her once more and moved his fingers to her clit. The bundle of nerves pulsed beneath his fingers. He moved his fingers in a circular motion. He was done teasing. He wanted her to fall apart in his arms.

“I want you to come for me…” he licked a strip up her neck to her ear where he blew softly. He felt the tremor work through her body. He pressed two fingers back inside her and pressed as deep as he could. He curled them forward, searching for that elusive spot.

Her legs snapped shut, trapping his hand, stopping most of his movements. Her eyes wide. “You want me to scream… do that again…”

Roman’s grin against her neck was predatory-like but he backed off the spot. Now was not the time nor were they in the right location. He set an easy pace moving his fingers in and out. Her body relaxed in his lap and her legs spread back open giving him access once again. Using the hand across her mouth, he tightening his fingers moving her head away from him. Once her neck was bared to him, he bit down on the curve on her shoulder. He soothed the sting with a couple soft licks.

She clenched her eyes shut. Her breath heavy against his hand. She licked her lips, feeling the rough pads of the palm of his hand. She felt the hiss of his breath and she gave another teasing lick to his palm.

“You need something in your mouth, Sweetheart?” Roman said gruffly. He adjusted his hand sliding it further up her cheek. His thumb caressed her glistening lips. When her tongue came out to tease the tip of the digit, he wished for another hand to shove into his mouth to bite down against the groan threatening to release. A bead of cum drippled down his cock at the teasing ministrations; a perfect imitation of what it would be doing on another part of his anatomy.

She sucked at his thumb, nipping at the tip before allowing it to slip into the wet heat of her mouth. His fingers picked up their pace. Heat coiled deep in her belly threatening to release. His hips gave short thrusts against her. His hard cock digging into the cleft of her ass. Her hips chased his fingers giving teasing rubs against him. Her mouth watered and she sucked his thumb harder. Her tongue teasing the underside.

“You want my cock don’t you,” Roman whispered hotly in her ear. At the mention of his cock, she squeezed his fingers nearly trapping his movement and it took everything he had not to release a sound. “Fuck…I want you on your knees in front of me so I can sink my dick in that pretty little mouth.”

With his fingers covered in her wetness, he drug them up her slit once more to her clit. He rubbed her clit with perfectly measured strokes.

She surrendered to the feelings he was bringing her to. Pure euphoria. She raised an arm behind her, wrapping it around the back of his neck. With a quick pull, his hair fell down from the bun it was pulled back in to. The long dark strands fell down tickling her neck. With her fingers buried in the strands at the back of his head, she pressed his face against her neck.

“You gonna cum for me?” Roman growled into her ear. Her hips moved with wild abandon, undulating in his lap. If he wasn’t careful he was going to end up coming in his pants. Something he hadn’t done since was a teenager. His hair pulled tight from his scalp, clutched in her fingers.

Nodding her head furiously, she swallowed a gasp as his fingers pushed back into her straight to the hilt. They slid in with ease, slicked with her excitement. He pumped them feverishly. His thumb pressed against her clit.

Her hand slapped against his over her mouth, holding it tight, trapping the cry wanting to escape.

“Cum all over my fingers,” he whispered, the movements of his fingers and thumb unrelenting. “Don’t make a sound Sweetheart…” his teeth sank into the tendon on her neck and that was it.

Her body jolted hard. Her eyes clenched shut as white light burst behind her eyelids as her climax slammed through her. She wanted to wail uncontrollably, but his hand pressed hard over mouth suppressed any sound she might have made. Lightning raced through her body as she rode his fingers until the waves ended.

“Fuck,” he growled in her ear. She clenched so tight around his fingers, it nearly drew a moan from his mouth. Juices coated his fingers and he rode her climax, continuing to pump in and out of her until her legs clamped around his hand. Then her body slumped back on his chest. Her chest heaving rapidly. The hold she had on his hair loosened, but her fingers never quite untangled from the strands. A blissed out look on her face, he caught in the headlights of a passing car.

He was poised for release himself. His cock hard and pulsating almost to the point of pain. Wouldn’t take much for him to shoot off. Just a quick reach down and squeeze. He’d pop off like one of those toy rockets.

He placed light kisses up and down her neck. He licked at her pulse point, beating rapidly on the side of her neck. A trail of wet kisses to her ear, he growled softly, drawling in his breath through his teeth. Her body shivered in his lap and she clenched around his fingers, still deep inside her channel. “That was so fucking hot…” he breathed. “Gushing all over my fingers like a good little girl.” He nipped at her ear before suckling the lobe between his teeth. “You almost made me cum in my pants…”

The words roused her. Her head rolled across his shoulder so her temple met his chin. Her laxed fingers start to tighten in his hair. Her hips rolled in his lap. The movement caused them both to hiss. His thumb still pressed against her sensitive clit.

He removed his fingers from her, causing her to moan softly behind the hand that still covered her mouth. When he was free, he used both hands to grip either side of her hips to stop her movements. “It’s okay,” he whispered in her ear. He had a helluva case of blue balls, but he’d live. He’d take care of that particular state later on in the hotel room when he called dibs on the shower first. It wouldn’t take long. All he had to do was draw up the sounds of her breathy moans, muffled by his hand. The feeling of her firm ass pressed against his dick. The way her body clenched and the wetness coating his hand when she came apart on his fingers. He’d blow his load in no time.

His words had the desired effect as she relaxed once again on him. This time her hand fell from his hair to her stomach. He lowered his own hand from her mouth – worried for a second he left a mark behind – but that thought caused his cock to twitch, still very much interested in the body in his arms. He shifted in the seat into a better position and a smile graced his lips at her soft moan of protest. Her hands grabbed his as if to stop him from removing her.

“Just sleep,” he whispered and pressed a kiss into her hair.

It was all she needed to hear. Her body went lax. His arms tightened around her for she would melt right onto the floor.

“I knew I could get you to relax.”

~

The door to her hotel room shutting behind her echoed through the quiet of the night. The strap of her backpack fell off her shoulder as she dropped it to the floor next to the generic table that sat along the wall. Turning around she wheeled her suitcase further into the room. She collapsed the handle and picked the suitcase up, sitting it on the end of the bed closest to the door. Then set about unpacking the items she needed.

The first thing she plucked from the luggage was her toiletry kit; crammed so full the zipper nearly burst. It took everything she had to zip it after each hotel stay. Absentmindedly scratching an errant itch at the base of her head, she rifled through her clothes in search of the oversized t-shirt she slept in. Armed with her sleep shirt, a clean pair of panties and her toiletry kit, she walked into the bathroom.

The exhaust fan blew loudly when she turned the light on. The hotel was on the average side of the echelon than where wrestlers usually stayed. Ultimately she didn’t care. As long as there was a bed, hot water, and a working A/C unit she was good. While she waited for the water to warm for her shower, she scrolled her phone. A message waited.

‘Staying with Char tonight.’

The message from Natalya didn’t surprise her. Most times she had hotel rooms to herself.

Whatever.

Walking from the bathroom, she knelt at the floor next to her bag and dug into the outside zippered pocket for her charger. Unearthing the cord, she plugged it into the outlet attached to the lamp next to the bed. With her phone charging, she pulled the hoodie over her head and pushed the joggers and underwear down her legs, letting the articles of clothing pool on the floor.

Dropping her bra to the pile, she turned to walk naked back to the bathroom when she spotted a box sitting on the table.

She frowned.

The table was empty except for the box, a desk lamp, the tip envelope, and a pad of paper with the hotel letterhead on top and a pen.

She cautiously approached the table. Her steps slow and pointed. A quick glance around the room told her nothing else was out of place. Both beds remained undisturbed. The TV, sitting on a long dresser with drawers stacked two by two, was black. The remote sitting right in front of it. The curtains pulled closed, blocking the parking lot lights but did very little to block the sound of the expressway beyond.

Now upon the box, she stared down at it. A simple square brown box, no bigger than six inches tall. A plain white label held the top flaps together and she further frowned seeing her name. It obviously didn’t come through the mail. Someone from the hotel staff must have placed it in her room.

Holding a breath, she lifted the edge of the flap, ripping the label right down the middle. She paused and counted to ten in her head. If it was a bomb or another type of exploding device, ten seconds was a long enough window. Obviously nothing was going to blow up in her face.

Pulling back the flaps, she peered into the box. Her shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes at her silliness. A three by five white cardstock laid on top of another box. The card blocked the information of the product so she lifted it out. Her eyes bulged seeing the item laying by itself in the box.

Coochy Plus.

The four ounce bottle lay on its side. The bottle clear with a silver screw top and a black dispenser. Another clear cap on the dispenser. A white label faced up. A purple line drawing a square lined the label with black letters depicting the product.

Intimate After Shave Moisturizer.

“What on earth…” she murmured staring at the item. She didn’t order anything of the such. Her own lotion was currently tucked in her toiletry kit in the bathroom. The hot water steam leaking out of the bathroom. The mirror already fogged over.

Lifting the card in her hand, she stared at the writing.

‘For when I’m not there to scratch that itch.’

Her face flamed bright red in embarrassment. The car ride with Roman a couple weeks ago was never far from her mind. She still found it hard to believe it truly happened. Thoroughly embarrassed when she woke up when the car stopped near the West Virginia-Ohio border for fuel – for the vehicle and its occupants. She could almost believe she dreamt Roman’s hand down her pants if it wasn’t for the slickness she still felt in her underwear and the knowing wink he sent her under the bright lights of the gas station awning.

No more car issues arose. The Shield traveled together while she was left feeling noticeably empty with her own faction. He never sought her out backstage nor did she look him up. Earlier while backstage for Monday Night Raw, she thought she felt eyes on her, but no one was ever around when she looked.

That night became fodder for her bedtime activities. She pulled up that delectable growl in her ear. A proper mix of breathe and sound that made her instantly become a poodle of goo. While she brought herself to orgasm every time to his voice demanding she come on his fingers, her fingers were never enough. Even with three stuffed inside her, they never felt like his. Her dildo paled in comparison to what she felt pressing into her ass. Her orgasms always left her feeling empty and unfulfilled.

With him on her mind, she placed the items back in the box and went into the bathroom to shower the show away. She didn’t linger like she planned on the way to the hotel. Her dildo might be shut away in the drawer next to her bed back home, but she had her fingers, his acknowledgement of their titillating coupling, and a sexy day dream of her in her ring gear on her knees in front of him his fingers tangled in her hair while his other hand unbuckled his belt to feed her his cock.

Back in the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body and one in her hair, she glanced at the box once more. Her cheeks heated at the intimate item inside. She picked up her suitcase and put it on the floor against the wall, out of the way. With a tug on the blankets, she pulled the blankets back, revealing the crisp white sheets.

The bed turned down, she went back to the bathroom to hang her towels up. Using the one in her hair, she rubbed it through her hair one final time, removing any of the lingering water clinging to the strands. Tomorrow was a travel day back home for a few days. Her hair was going up on the top of her head in a messy bun. She could sleep with it damp.

When she shut the bathroom light off, the room was encased in darkness. Using her hands, she checked to make sure the latch was on the door before shuffling her feet back to the bed. She slide beneath the covers, the sheets cool on her skin. Her phone beeped with a text notification, the display coming to life.

‘Did you get my gift?’

Her eyes widened at the message. Her eyes shooting toward the box on the table. The shadow just noticeable in the darkness of the room.

Roman!

How did he get her number? Beyond that, how did he even get her room number to leave the gift?

‘Roman?’ She tried to be coy.

‘Someone else scratching your itches?’

‘Just me currently.’

‘Currently? You got your fingers deep in that pussy?’

‘Not yet.’ She bit her lip, debating on her next text.

‘Show me.’

‘Come see it in person.’ She held her breath at the text, not believing she could be so bold. Then again, she let the man bring her to orgasm in the back of a van traveling down the interstate with three of their co-workers a foot away.

‘Where’s your roommate?’

‘Sleeping elsewhere.’

‘If I come to your room, we won’t be sleeping.’

A shiver of delight worked through her body, starting and ending at her center. Her legs shifted listlessly. She rubbed her thighs together trying to relieve the pressure building.

‘Good.’

[tameodesza]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐂

╰┈➤ ❝You're the WWF’s new commentator, and Shawn has a crush on you. ❞

╰┈➤ a/n: this my first time doing x reader, so i'm very rusty! made this longer than intended, but i hope you enjoy the ride. AO3.

╰┈➤ disclaimer: fluff, jealousy, slight angst, a smidge nsfw, brief vince mentions 🙃

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𓏧♡

You came to the WWF in 1994, making history as the first female commentator to join the company. You had a lot to prove in such a male-dominated field, but your hard work and extensive wrestling knowledge earned you the respect of your peers.   ‧₊˚ You rose in popularity due to your looks, personality, and unique style of commentating that kept viewers glued to their TV screens. You were witty, quick on your feet, and a natural on the mic. Vince didn't truly know your worth until the ratings took a dip one week when you were out sick. From then on, he made it a point to have you on commentary for the more important shows and PPV’s.   ‧₊˚ You had just as much buzz with the men backstage. You were stunning, humble, and carried yourself with class. You kept your nails done, hair did, and had an impeccable taste in fashion. You were alluring, but you kept to yourself, not letting many people in. You’d seen so many careers crash and burn in the business due to failed relationships. You refused to be added to that list.  ‧₊˚ Even if you were open to dating, you never found anyone worthy of your time. The guys were either horny bastards looking for something to brag to the boys about, or they were nice guys that you weren’t attracted to. That all changed when you met Shawn.   ‧₊˚ You’d caught his eye your first night on commentary. Throughout his match, he kept looking your way, nearly breaking his neck to catch a glimpse of the new girl. He later watched a tape of his match, something he usually did to see what he could improve on. Except instead of focusing on his performance, he was captivated by you. He listened intently, rewinding the tape just to hear you compliment him again.   ‧₊˚ You two finally crossed paths one night after a show. “Hey, y/n. Thanks for putting me over last week.”   ‧₊˚ You blinked in surprise, it being the first time a wrestler thanked you for doing your job. If anything, you were used to them complaining that you hadn’t put them over enough. You gave a soft smile. “It’s no problem. You put on a good show. Lawler was obviously trying to bury you,” you rolled your eyes. “It wasn't right. I was so close to saying something that would’ve gotten me suspended.”  ‧₊˚ Shawn chuckled, holding your gaze. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. TV wouldn’t be the same without you.” You raised your brows, causing Shawn to stutter, “Uh...for the fans, I mean! They would surely miss you.” Right.  ‧₊˚ You hadn’t seen this side of Shawn – nervous, shy, fumbling over his words. It was a vast contrast to his ‘boy toy’ persona, but it’s what sparked your interest in him. When you were about to leave, he mustered up the courage to ask, “are you doing anything tonight?”   ‧₊˚ The two of you talked all night at a local bar, your cheeks hurting from how much Shawn made you smile. You were obviously attracted to him, but you were more drawn by his personality. He was sweet, attentive, and so damn funny that your stomach ached from laughter.   ‧₊˚ Shawn was just as smitten, if not worse. Admittedly, he’d initially asked you out in hopes of sleeping with you. With a body like yours, it was hard not to imagine what was underneath those clothes. But you were so much more than a one-night stand. You were smart, adorable, and matched his goofball energy. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𓏧♡

Your friendship became platonic the more time you spent together. When you weren't working, you were either hanging out in Shawn’s locker room, eating together at catering, or sharing car rides between towns.    ‧₊˚ The chemistry between you two was undeniable. You played off each other well – the obnoxious heel getting put in his place by the babyface commentator.  ‧₊˚ It took some time for you to realize Shawn was using his boy toy gimmick as an excuse to flirt with you. He’d lay it on thick, sitting uncomfortably close as he called you cringe-worthy pet names. “You know you want me, baby girl” (think Massimo from 365 days 🤢 iykyk) . You’d remain in character, playing up your disgust for the cameras as you brushed him off with quick-witted remarks.   ‧₊˚ Shawn made it a personal challenge to see how much he could throw you off your game. He’d blow you kisses at ringside, mention you in promos unprompted, babble random things into his headset, twirl your hair, play footsie with you under the table. He'd even hopped on the table once, shedding his jacket to show off his body. You acted annoyed, but he usually got you to crack a smile.  ‧₊˚ Shawn really liked you and wanted something more. But because he sucked at ✨ communication✨, he resorted to more extreme measures. Like the time he stripped extra provocatively in the ring as if it were a mating call. You could only hang your head in shame when he almost flashed his dick.  ‧₊˚ He was sure you’d be his girl after that, but when that didn’t work, he moved on to his next dumb bright idea. He got into a short fling with Sunny. They were all over each other, sometimes flirting right in front of you. Shawn had hoped it’d make you jealous enough to ask him out. But all it did was make you confused. He’d be sweet talking you one minute just for you to catch him making out with Sunny in a broom closet the next. He was sending mixed signals, and it made you wonder if he was playing you. If he wanted her, fine. The last thing you were going to do was chase after a man. ‧₊˚ This game of cat and mouse lasted for some time until Shawn's own jealousy came to surface. He’d seen you getting ‘cozy’ with Bret Hart in catering. In reality, Bret had been leaning over your shoulder, checking out your plate to see if the food would be edible that day. It was innocent, but it looked like flirting from Shawn’s vantage point.  ‧₊˚ Shawn’s match with Bret that night was brutal. He was being extremely difficult, overselling his bumps, and even stiffing Bret a few times. You could tell this wasn’t a work based on Bret’s reactions, but you stayed professional on commentary, emphasizing how competitive athletes were in the WWF.  ‧₊˚ You’d barely made it backstage when a pissed off Bret stormed your way: “Tell your friend the next time he decides to stiff me, he won’t leave the ring alive!” He meant every damn word of it.   ‧₊˚ It wasn't the first time you’d gotten dragged into Shawn's bullshit, and you’d had enough. You headed to Shawn’s locker room, finding him aggressively packing his gym bag. “Hey, what the hell was that out there?” Shawn sneered, “What, you didn’t like me throwing your boyfriend around?” You took a pause. So Shawn was in one of those moods.   ‧₊˚ Had it been any other night, you would have walked away to let him sulk to himself. But your frustrations from being constantly dragged into his backstage drama and your conflicted feelings over him and Sunny had reached a boiling point. The two of you got into a heated argument, each letting out your personal gripes. That’s when Shawn confessed. Well, it was a slip-up:   “Why do you even give a damn about me and Bret?! You and Sunny-”  “I don't want her, I want you!”  ‧₊˚ Shawn poured out his feelings to you, telling you everything he should have said a long time ago. You’re honest, too, opening up that you’ve liked him for some time but wasn't sure what he wanted. He cleared up any confusion right there as you shared your first kiss. 

𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𓏧♡

Shawn flaunts you around loud and proud once you're official. Everyone knows. He doesn’t shut up about it. The word gets out to smart fans who circulate the rumor on the internet. The WWF doesn’t confirm nor deny your relationship status, but it becomes an open secret. Whenever Shawn’s in the ring, fans would wave around signs saying ‘Y/N’s Boy Toy.’ Shawn held that title with pride.   ‧₊˚ You kept kayfabe alive, acting confused anytime someone alluded to you being involved with the insufferable Shawn Michaels. It became a running joke, fans actively participating by chanting your name when Shawn was in the ring. Shawn began color coordinating his outfits to match yours, knowing the fans would eat it up.   ‧₊˚ Now that you’re his girl, Shawn gets bold under the announce table. His hands would caress your thigh, playing it off as him rubbing his own leg. On the days you wore a skirt, he’d find ways to discreetly slip his hand between your legs. Shawn was a kinky man and would sometimes ask you not to wear underwear for easy access. ‧₊˚ On the few occasions you conducted backstage interviews, Shawn would feel you up, rubbing a hand on your ass while you struggled to rush out the question without stuttering. Your only saving grace was that the camera shot you from the chest up. Shawn considered it foreplay, and made quick work of fucking you before you were needed back at ringside. He secretly got off on seeing you walk stiffly in your heels back to the table, your hair hastily restyled and eyeliner slightly smudged after getting your back blown out. ‧₊˚ Shawn’s down bad for you. He wanted to be around you at all times. The kliq often joked, “don’t forget to grab your balls from her purse on the way out”   ‧₊˚ You thought Shawn was sweet before, but he’s tooth-rottingly sweet once you’re together. He waited on you hand and foot, took the time to buy thoughtful gifts, helped you organize your notes for the night, and was there for you when things got tough. You're each other's support system, Shawn often leaning on you when he needed a voice of reason. You’ve talked him out of so many fights, you lost count.  ‧₊˚ Whenever you’re mad at Shawn, he’d find any reason to be on commentary. At least then you’d be forced to talk to him (and you’re too nice to chew his ass out on live tv 🥺 👉👈)  ‧₊˚ When Raw was filmed on Valentine’s Day, Shawn came out in his usual strut, handing you a single rose before making his way inside the ring. There were aww’s and a few jealous boo’s from the ladies in the crowd, but you didn't care. You were on cloud nine, but you still kept kayfabe: “a rose? how original” You hoped your sarcasm hid how gushy you felt inside.   ‧₊˚ You were there for Shawn’s accomplishments. From ladder matches with Razor Ramon to his Iron Man match with Bret, Shawn looked at you for strength before wrestling those history-making matches. You were teary eyed the night Shawn won the WWF title, silently cheering your boyfriend as he achieved his childhood dream. 

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞𓏧♡

As your relationship with Shawn strengthened, your friendship with Bret deteriorated. It was sad, really. You and Bret were once close. He was the first person to welcome you to the company. You were an honorary Hart, a title given to you by Owen. But when the hatred brewing between Bret and Shawn leaked over into your friendship, it was hard to remain neutral, especially when they bad mouthed each other so openly. You could only straddle the fence for so long until you were forced to pick a side.  ‧₊˚ You were there the night of Montreal. You watched Bret’s face drop as the bell rang. Watched him realize he’d been screwed. Watched him tear the place apart. Looked him in the eyes, seeing the betrayal behind them. “You knew, didn’t you,” he accused. “No, Bret. I swear I didn’t!” But he’d already walked off, leaving a path of destruction behind.   ‧₊˚ You felt horrible. Shawn had told you some shit was going to go down, but you had no idea this was what he meant. Bret didn’t believe you. You had to have known. With how close you and Shawn were, there was no way you weren’t in on it, too.  But you didn’t know. Shawn had kept you out of the loop, wanting to keep you as far away from this mess as possible.  ‧₊˚ That night was rough for everyone, especially Shawn. You had so many questions, but it wasn’t the time to ask. You were there for him, holding him throughout the night as he cried from the immense guilt he felt. With you, he could be the most vulnerable. He opened up about how he felt like he didn’t have a choice. How he felt indebted to Vince. How they all thought Bret would take the belt to WCW. You didn't agree with everything he said, but you listened. And that’s all he could ask for. You two became even stronger after that. 

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬𓏧♡

Things got easier after the noise died down. DX was on top, ratings were through the roof, and your relationship with Shawn was flourishing. But one call from Eric Bischoff threatened to change everything. He wanted you as a commentator on WCW, offering a large sum of money that far surpassed what you were currently being paid.   ‧₊˚ You sat on the information for a few days, not knowing how to bring it up to Shawn. It was a lot to process. You weren't hurting for money by any means, but it had always bothered you that you were paid less than the men. You even made less than the new guy, Michael Cole. You knew your worth, and it seemed like Bischoff did, too.  ‧₊˚ But you couldn't leave. Not now. Not when Shawn was still hurting over the loss of Kevin, Scott, and Sean to WCW. You, Hunter, and Chyna were all he had left. News of you leaving would devastate him.  ‧₊˚ You didn't have to say anything for Shawn to know something was bothering you. He'd been waiting for you to come to him, but decided to ask what was wrong as you made your way to the hotel. You were hesitant to tell him but decided to rip off the band aid. Shawn was pissed, his jaw clenched as he said, “I guess money means more to you than our relationship.” You scrambled to explain that it wasn't the case. That you hadn’t even made a decision yet. "There shouldn’t even be a decision to make!”  ‧₊˚ Things were icy between you two for a couple days. Shawn didn't eat with you in catering. He left arenas early. He slept in Hunter's hotel room. You started having doubts, fearing Shawn was either cheating or about to break up with you.   ‧₊˚ Truth was he needed time to think of a way to fix this. After what he did for Vince, the man owed him a few favors. But you didn’t have time to wait. Bischoff was putting the pressure on you to make a decision. But you didn’t feel comfortable giving an answer without talking to Shawn again.   ‧₊˚ You were unexpectedly called to Vince’s office. “I heard about the offer”. Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything Vince raised a quieting hand. “I’m not mad. I get it. You’re a great commentator. You’d be valuable to any company. But I want to keep you here.”  ‧₊˚ He amended your contract, giving you a salary even larger than Bischoff’s offer. You didn’t need much time to think on it. The WWF had been your home for so many years. You’d made friends. You’d even found love. And with the bump in pay, staying was a no-brainer.   ‧₊˚ You left his office feeling a million pounds lighter. A knowing smile graced your lips as you headed towards Shawn’s locker room. “Any idea why Vince just gave me a pay raise out of nowhere?”  ‧₊˚ Shawn may have let it slip that you were leaving for WCW and threatened to leave too if you weren’t offered more money 🥺 👉👈 ‧₊˚ You didn't know whether to be mad at him for telling your business to Vince or impressed that he’d gotten you a better deal. The fact that he fought for you this hard, even foolishly putting his career on the line, made you want to spend the rest of your life with him. 

𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𓏧♡

You went on hiatus when Shawn injured his back. You were with him every single day from the time of surgery to his bedrest in Texas. You unofficially moved in, going above and beyond to make sure Shawn was taken care of. The months Shawn spent with you made him realize he needed to put a ring on it.  ‧₊˚ Hunter's the best man at your wedding (shocker).  ‧₊˚ You and Bret get your friendship back after his reconciliation with Shawn.  ‧₊˚ You retired from announcing the same year Shawn retired from wrestling. Years later, you were inducted into the hall of fame. Shawn gave the sweetest induction speech, going into how you two met, how you fell in love, how he’s your biggest fan. Everyone’s crying by the end of it.  

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Randy Orton x f!Reader (mentioned past Miz x f!Reader) 🖤 Summary: Takes place in late 2010. Randy’s had feelings for Kelly Kelly’s cousin, a new interviewer for WWE, but she’s been dating The Miz. Following their breakup, and a monumental cash in on a random episode of Monday Night Raw, Randy doesn’t want to pretend anymore. 🛑 Warnings: None 🖤 Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend If you'd like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By: Anonymous. Hope you enjoy! (I also had to take a few liberties with the idea to make it work, so I hope that’s okay.) 🖤 MASTERLIST

She stood waiting patiently as the hair and makeup artists put their final touches on her camera-ready face. She clutched the microphone with the iconic WWE logo, a company she’d never dreamed of working for, her palm still sweaty even after nearly a year working here. She was becoming more and more comfortable with each passing week, and less and less depressed about the break up with Mike. And she wondered, like everyone else, why she’d even been depressed in the first place, considering the asshole had cheated on her. She looked up toward the ceiling as the makeup artist applied some last minute touch ups to her eyeliner. She couldn’t thank her cousin, Kelly, enough for getting her foot in the proverbial door, but she would surely hold a grudge against her for the foreseeable future for also introducing her to the Miz.

She heard a familiar voice nearby and her heart began to gallop. Why couldn’t Randy Orton have been the one to sit next to her and her cousin in catering on her first day instead of Mike? Not that anything would have happened between them necessarily, but if he’d been sitting there, maybe Mike wouldn’t have stopped, introduced himself and laid those baby blue eyes on her. Oh well, none of it mattered now. The only thing weighing on her shoulders was conducting this interview as professionally as possible. When she was finally able to look straight ahead again, she spotted the WWE Champion headed toward her in all his six foot five inch, 250 pound magnificence. He wore his trunks, and his tanned, sculpted body had already been lubed up to accentuate those muscles. The title was slung over his shoulder proudly, just where she and everyone else expected it to be after the upcoming match with Wade Barrett.

Peeling her eyes away from Randy, she went over the questions she was supposed to ask him once the interview started. There wasn’t much room for improv or interpretation, not with Vince around, so their interaction had already been laid out in front of her in black and white. She anticipated no issues. And when she anticipated no issues, in her experience, that’s usually when the issues arose. She turned the page of her script, and a pair of black boots stepped into her line of sight. She could smell him—cleanliness mixed with whatever he’d doused his body in to make it glisten. Her gaze rose from his boots to his dense thighs, to his trunks and a bulge she instantly looked away from, only to land on his six pack. She then followed those muscles outward to the tattoos on his arms, his well-defined biceps. His chest was ample and solid, half covered by the sparkling title belt, and she wasn’t sure she’d make it out of this interview with dry panties.

This wasn’t the first time she’d conversed with Randy, on camera or otherwise, but there seemed to be an aura of unrealized tension between them. Was he simply in his head trying to prepare for the match? Was he somehow unhappy with her work? Would he rather have had someone else ask the questions? He’d always been cordial to her, joking, and sometimes she thought he might have been flirting with her, but then she realized she was her and he was Randy and no way would he ever be interested in her, especially with all the gorgeous Divas running around half-naked.

Oh well, she thought, whether he likes it or not, the show must go on. She handed her script and notes to a nearby producer as she was told the time they had left before the commercial was over and they were live again. 

“So,” Randy spoke, voice deep and quiet, not interested in having the rest of the world hear their conversation. She looked at him, thinking for sure he wasn’t speaking to her, and so she looked behind her, finding nobody there. She turned back to Randy, he was smirking, and she felt her cheeks ignite. “I’m talkin’ to you,” he assured her. “How are you?”

“Oh,” she stammered, swallowing thickly. “I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m great,” he replied, nodding at the belt over his shoulder, “but I meant more like … how are you? I heard you and Miz broke up.”

She gaped up at him, eyes round and drying quick. It was true, everyone knew―not that she’d been the one to tell anybody, no, that had been Mike. The man was actually proud he’d cheated, blaming it on her and telling anyone who would listen how terrible of a lay she’d been, so naturally he’d had to seek out other women to satisfy his physical needs. Or some dumb shit. The last thing she wanted to do while in the company of Randy Orton was think about Mike or talk about Mike.

“Of course you did,” she sighed. “Honestly, I really don’t wanna talk about it—”

“Oh, I don’t either,” Randy cut her off. The producer warned them they had thirty seconds before they were to go live. “Just wanted to be sure you’re okay.” 

Her head tilted, and after a moment she smiled. “I’m okay,” she replied softly. “You’re actually the first person to say that, aside from Kelly. So thank you. It means a lot.”

Randy massaged the back of his neck, and were his cheeks tinged in pink? “Yeah, well, uh,” he stammered, and she hid her grin behind the microphone. “Miz is an ass. You deserve better.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor momentarily as her body waged a Great War with her mind. Her body wanted to fling itself at Randy in the hopes that he’d catch her, dip her, and kiss her, like they did in the old movies. Her mind screamed that she was a moron and if she did throw herself at him, it would likely end badly, both with Randy and the WWE. It was a quick battle, her mind coming out victorious when she convinced her body that the man was probably just being polite, and there was no double meaning behind you deserve better, no matter how bad she wanted there to be.

“That’s really sweet,” she resigned to say. “I appreciate it. Maybe someday I’ll meet a guy as charming as you are.” Although Mike had been quite charming in the beginning, he was more of a creepy charming, in that he would say something cute, but finish it with something dirty.

“Actually—” Randy started, but he was cut off by the producer with another warning about time. 

The interviewer and interviewee both checked themselves for anything out of place, and Randy readjusted the title on his shoulder before they were given the countdown from ten. When the camera went live, she forgot all about Mike and even the sweet thing Randy had said to her, as she focused on remembering the questions and her proper responses and reactions. But Randy was different. She wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, but he seemed to hold her gaze for longer than he normally would when replying to her interrogation. He even reached out and touched her arm a few times during the segment, and she had to steel herself to keep from actually, physically, literally swooning. 

It had been so long since a man had handled her so softly, and that’s why her reaction had been overdramatic, she reasoned. He was just a nice guy, trying to make her feel better. Nothing more, nothing less, she thought, just as she sent the broadcast back to Michael Cole, Jerry Lawler, and the newest commentator to the team: CM Punk.

“So, listen,” Randy started.

“Sorry, we have another quick segment to film,” the producer interrupted.

The interviewer turned to Randy. “Thanks again,” she said. “Have a good match. Kick Barrett’s ass.” 

She was whisked away to another room backstage, and it was in this room, after taping the segment and toward the end of the show, where she would watch on the hanging television as the members of Wade’s faction, Nexus, attacked Randy as he was headed to the ring for their title match. She was all but biting her nails through the contest, which already saw the Viper at a disadvantage, and her heart stopped when John Cena interfered, consequently allowing Randy to RKO Barrett and retain the title. She jumped from the uncomfortable couch, clapping, and her heels clicked as she jumped up and down.

Sensing a presence and noticing something out of the corner of her eye, she glanced through the opened door to the hallway. Mike stood there in full gear, Money in the Bank Briefcase in hand, and his entire body was trembling. His once crystal clear eyes were now overcome with absolute abhorrence, and she tried to do some quick mathematics to see if she’d have enough time to close and lock the door before he could get inside. Hearing the commentators erupt on the television, she impulsively looked to see what was going on. Nexus was again battering Randy, and her body deflated as fear overwhelmed her. She remembered Mike. Looking back to the hallway, she found it empty.

“Mike!” she yelled, running into the hallway, but it was too late. She took her heels off so she could jog a little faster, taking a different route than Mike had to get to the ring. She stood in the background, powerless, as Mike cashed in, as Randy received a skull crushing finale, as Randy was pinned, and as Mike became the new WWE Champion.

Back in Gorilla, she waited, bouncing from one bare foot to the other, as Randy carefully made his way in her direction. Mike, however, came through the curtain first, brandishing the title and that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.

“What do you think about that?” he taunted, shoving the belt in her face. “Huh? Who’s the man now? I got—”

A fist came out of nowhere, clocking Mike right in the temple, and he toppled to the floor, landing on the belt. She barely had time to look from the mess of Mike on the floor to who owned the face before Randy was wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pulling her lips to his. He was sweaty and bloody, skin the temperature of lava, and he was huge and imposing, but his kiss was soothing and adoring. Her arms snuck around his neck as she returned the gesture in kind, although her kiss might have been a little more desperate. She felt his lips curve into a smile just before he wrapped one arm around her waist, hoisting her into the air, and she threw her legs around him before she fell back to the floor. They separated to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together.

Replying to Mike’s earlier question, Randy rumbled, “I’m the man,” and kissed her again as she giggled.

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god V x loser darling would be a ship made in hell two deranged idiots together causing untold destruction

As mentioned in this post, V and Loser Reader seem to absolutely fucking despise each other on the surface, but while Reader might actually hate him - V is crushing hard and his feelings show when they attempt to leave his presence or talk to someone else. I imagine they met somewhere online- their first encounter being some dumb comment war beef between them or screaming match in a game lobby and when Reader roasts his ass, not realizing he's a serial doxxer and will release someone's address just for saying his favorite anime is mid, V gathers their information and starts to stalk them planning on ruining their life - but once he finally sees a picture of them his stupid ass immediately starts crushing on them and uses the information he's gained to scare them into dating him

-

V: Your argument falls through as you clearly have the vocabulary of a middle schooler. Even a literal child would be better at getting their point across that you. Can you even form one coherent sentence, you fucking parasite-

Loser Reader: Kys. Freak.

V: I'm going to dox you and your entire family. We'll see how brave you are when your address is posted for everyone to find

Loser Reader: Here's something to help you out, bitch. [Sends him a private message of themself giving him the middle finger]

[V quietly removes their username from the folder titled "hitlist" and saves the picture they sent him - adding it to different folder titled "Homework"] (spoilers: it ain't homework in that folder)

-

Loser Reader: I'm heading out!

V: Who the fuck said you could leave without me?

Loser Reader: Kiss my ass, Vince.

V:

V: I mean I'll do it, but you're still not leaving this house.

-

Loser Reader: Vince, can I use your credit card?

V: With the way you treat me? Fuck no.

[Loser Reader pulls out a pair of cat ears and puts them on]

Loser Reader: Vincey....

V: No, Y/n.

Loser Reader: but your kitty needs it. 👉👈 You don't want to have a sad kitty do you? Sad kitties don't buy maid dresses and cute lingerie with your money to make themselves cute, and submissive and breedable for you-

[V sighs and hands them his wallet]

Loser Reader, tossing the cat ears into the trash: Thanks, Virgin. Would've offered to suck you off if you held out a bit longer, but oh well~

V: ....I will report all of my cards as stolen if you aren't on your knees by the time I count to three

[bisexual-kane]

So, some insight about why so many older dudes on Reddit and such viscerally hate the Young Bucks is that the Young Bucks make them feel stupid and uncool.

Like, even as late as the 1990s, even when wrestling was the most popular thing during the Monday Night Wars and the Attitude Era, you would still get people who would laugh at you for being a wrestling fan because, dur, don't you know it's FAKE???

So part of the response to that is to insist that you're not a mark, you're a smart fan, someone who is hip to how the business works. Instead of getting caught up in the magic of kayfabe, because you're too smart for that, you analyze matches and assign them star ratings based on performance. You cheer the heel because you get they are putting in the work to add heat to the match. You obsess over TV ratings. You speculate on where storylines should go to build heat. You insist you know better ways to get people over and complain that Vince or Bischoff or Russo is not using someone who is so obviously the next big thing correctly.

It's very much an "I Enjoy the Muppets on a Much Deeper Level Than You" vibe.

But the most important thing of all, though, is that you must always be one step ahead of the wrestlers, bookers, and storytellers. See, you're a smart fan. So you must never, ever, get worked. Because that would be very uncool and lame.

And that's where the Bucks come in.

Maybe it's less obvious now, but after the Bucks left TNA/Impact, part of their brand was to very specifically get heat from all of us dorks on the Internet. These "smart" fans are the ones who are most likely to be going to PWG shows or following NJPW. So how do you get heat in your match? You have to piss off the smart marks.

I think the most obvious example is the Superkick Party. The Bucks start absolutely spamming a move that is usually a protected finisher. They get accused of exposing the business. They are upsetting people who obsess over start ratings and post on Reddit. But they are doing a classic heel move--they are working the audience. And of course, this pisses these people off even more because it reveals that they aren't as "smart" as they think they are. Which just builds into the Bucks' heat even more.

It's why they named their finisher the Meltzer Driver.

It's why they stole the NWO's "Too Sweet" and DX's "suck it."

It's why Matt Jackson kicks out of everyone's finisher like he's John Cena or Roman Reigns despite looking like a doe-eyed pretty girl.

It's why the Bucks became such successful independent wrestlers that they were able to build the second most-successful wrestling company in North America on the back of their YouTube vlog.

But again, the main people they are working are dudes who hate getting worked. And the Bucks are very good at this.

Just, as a personal anecdote, The Bucks are one of my favorite tag teams ever (if not my number one). At their Revolution 2020 match against Hangman and Kenny, I was in the crowd, and I was cheering for the Bucks. But then they grabbed Kenny's arms--Kenny who is supposed to be their best friend, Kenny who they didn't really have an issue with--and they hit him with the Golden Trigger--Kenny's finisher with his soulmate Kota Ibushi. The crowd turned. I turned. I was so infuriated at them, and I realized--they totally got me. For a great moment, I believed wrestling was 100% real, and I hated them so much, and the magic was there, and it was awesome.

Because, actually, it's not more fun to be smarter than the magician. It's not better to be cynical. It's actually pretty cool to not understand how the trick works, to get caught up in the wonder and possibility that just maybe magic can be real.

Wrestling is more fun when you get worked and let yourself enjoy it.

And the Bucks are always working this certain set of fans that are trying aggressively to not enjoy wrestling, not get sucked into it, to show that they are "too cool"--but the Bucks actually reveal that isn't the case. They are marks just like the rest of us. And they hate that.

But, yeah, TL;DR: The Bucks are amazing at specifically working Internet fans for heel hit, but these fans need to prove they are "too smart" for that. But the Bucks are smarter than them, so it makes them feel stupid. Hence all the outrageous hate.

[unknownperson246]

Can you do something where Vince starts to flirt with reader and Nikki gets jealous so he grabs readers arm and drags you to the bathroom to show the reader and everyone else who the reader belongs to?

hiii sorry for this being late but hope you enjoy it!

Shes All Mine

Words: 538

Warnings: *smut* *p in v* *jealous sex* *angry sex* *exhibitionism*

You, Nikki, Vince, and Tommy are at a bar in L.A. Mick was at home because he wanted a chill night at home. You are wearing a gorgeous red dress it's not too flashy but has some glitter on it and the beautiful red dress goes to your knees. Tommy is in the corner of the bar enjoying his drink and talking to women with his drumsticks. Vince's eyes are glued on you and he has a devilish smirk on his face. He comes over to you and starts to talk to you.

Nikki hears what Vince says to you but he decides to ignore it for now.

“Y/N you look so sexy today your so goddamn beautiful” Vince Hollars at you. 

Vince decides to smack your ass in front of Nikki which was a huge mistake. Nikki suddenly is overcome with anger and jealousy from what Vince did when he smacked your ass. You start to freak out.

“Vince, get the fuck away from me you asshole,” you yell as you are mad at Vince for smacking your ass especially when you were Nikki’s woman.

Vince smirks at you and Nikki as he comes over to you. Vince knows what is about to happen to you.

“Come with me,” Nikki's voice is full of jealousy as he grabs your arm harshly.

He shoves you into the bathroom stall it was co-ed. People were concerned as they saw Nikki shove you into the bathroom stall 

Nikki whispers in your ear, his sweet voice sounds like it's full of lust in the passionate and heat-full moment.

“You are mine Y/N. You belong to me let me show you how you belong to me” 

You don’t say anything as you are scared of what he is about to do to you. He takes off your red dress and he hangs it on the hook. He roughly slides your red panties off he unclips your red bra that matches.

“Nikki,” you say gently trying not to push his anger further.

“Y/N let me show everyone that you are mine. Let me show people that your my slut.”

Nikki takes his pants off. He slides his erect cock in your wet pussy. Nikki has the intention of showing everyone in the bathroom that you are his. 

“Oh Nikki”  you start to moan out. His hips grind with your hips in sync he starts to go faster and faster. He hits your soft spot multiple times and it causes you to make a lot of noise causing a lot of attention.

“You hear that everyone? Y/N is mine she's all mine. Stay the fuck away from her Vince!”

More heavy moans escape your mouth, with Nikki's name coming out.

He starts to pull out of your warm and juicy wet pussy after he finishes giving both him and you enough pleasure for the day. He puts your bra and your panties back on. He slips your red dress back on you and he pulls his pants back on. Nikki comes out with you from the bathroom stall. It seems like people are looking at you with concern. You get all embarrassed and your cheeks start to turn red. 

[bignickrgxa2]

Wrestlemania 40 spoilers:

SPOILERS FOR THE MAIN EVENT OF WRESTLEMANIA 40!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Cody Vs Roman match was the perfect ending to not only Roman's story, but really is next level, 1000/10 smartest booking I've possibly ever seen.

In terms of Roman, Roman was booked as he always is: Dominant. He didn't look weak in defeat, the Bloodline interference never made him look weak, just smart. But he outsmarted himself, the Bloodline rules shit, getting the Rock involved, pissed off the wrong people. Cody kicking out of the move that ended WM39, showing how much stronger he is. Solo taking out Cena coming back to haunt the Bloodline. Taker having his status as the Final Boss of WWE threatened? As Luke Owen from Wrestletalk said "The Dong is loose!". Cody essentially being endorsed by three of Vince's most successful creations, securing HHH's future face of the company, the first HHH guy?! Fucking perfect. One last massive moment for The Undertaker, some retribution for Cena, and Roman taking the pinfall. Vince McMahon's era is completely over. Long live the King of Kings.

Really though the true masterstroke? Seth "Freakin" Rollins.

Seth knew he was fucked. He knew he couldn't actually make any physical difference in the match because of how beat up he was. Thing about Seth though, is that he knows Roman better than ANYBODY. He didn't have to throw a single punch to turn the eye of Sauron from Cody to himself. The fucking Shield theme, the gear, the chair, the blonde hair. The eternal feud between Seth and Roman was enough to cost Roman EVERYTHING because Seth KNEW that Roman would not be able to help himself, the situation was too similar, the opportunity too juicy to turn down. Seth knew he was going to end up with a chair to the back, and he KNEW it was going to cost Roman his championship.

Absolute fucking perfection.

[mythicalcowboyatheart]

Slashers - "I want a baby" (part 2)

»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►

»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►

Warnings: none

Characters:

Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair

»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►»»———-►

🎃Bo Sinclair:

• he'd be 50/50 Depends on what mood you catch him in

• if he's good mood he'd be over the moon with excitement

• he'd mainly be excited about the making the baby part

"oh sugar will have a baby in no time" he winks "matter of fact youll end up with twins or triplets when I'm done with you" he gives you a cocky smile.

• he'd probably be hella nervous about it tho when you find out your pregnant

• I feel he'd be a pretty good dad tho if he actually trys

• definitely would buy himself a #1 dad hat and matching mug probably

🎃 Vincent Sinclair:

• he'd do his little head tilt

• he's kinda confused at first but probably will come around to the idea

• when he finds out your pregnant he never leaves your side won't let you do anything yourself

"Vince I love you but I can walk up the stairs by myself you don't need to carry me" he gives you a grunt in response and a shake of his head and carry you upstairs.

• he'd be amazing with the kid

• super protective of the kid and you

• (OMG i love this man)

[sixxrock666]

Can I please ask for more Mötley Crüe with a platonic reader, it was surprisingly really wholesome but yet really creative and energetic, please and thank you, love <33

thank u sweets<33 of course here u go more mötley crüe shenanigans :))

Part 2

can you tell I’m a little Tommy biased (￣ω￣;)

• you would love to braid their hair, especially Tommys, since he was always eager to get it done. You usually had some problems regarding Nikki and Mick but at the end of the day they would let you anyways

• since Nikki and Tommy get into a lot of arguments just pissing each other off all of the time, when a physical fight would break out you would always have to be the one to pull them apart. When they would finally settle down you’d scold them, and they would just sit there like sad lil puppies

• late night talks with Mick on your bed while you are painting yours and his nails, his strictly black. He would always grumble about it but would secretly enjoy it

• i feel like Tommy would get slightly possessive over u sometimes, he just wants to spend time with you in peace without others interfering, jealous boy :o

• clingy Tommy when drunk>>> hed be all over you ,Nikki, Vince and Mick, would lean on your shoulder and even fall asleep in your lap sometimes

• Vince would adore taking care of you, just random acts of service here and there like bringing you a glass of water and some pills and setting them on your nightstand whenever you’d get drunk

• you’d borrow their t-shirts all the time

“is that my shirt”

“might be yours Vince, might be Nikkis”

• once in a while you’ll all gang up on mick and tease him or some shit till he ends up chasing you all and cursing the shit out of you

• impulsively getting matching tattoos in the middle of the night, drunk with the boys

• inside jokes with Mick>>>> you’d randomly say something only you two would get and you’d just start laughing like two crazy idiots. The rest of the boys would just sit there and stare confused

• the only time they would eat homemade food is if you’d cook because they would be helpless, they would either burn the whole kitchen down or make so much mess while trying to make eggs and bacon -_-

They loved it when u did cook for them tho-Tommy’s for sure licking that plate up

• alright hear me out, movie night but it’s pure chaos

☆ you’d take forever trying to pick out a movie, you would end up arguing and pulling and chasing until one of you eventually won. Not everyone would be happy about it and would just complain throughout the whole movie

☆“ you can’t be serious this is so fucking predictable”

“ Vince shut it and watch the movie”

“ but look i fucking told you he’s gonna-“

Would get a pillow in the face so he’d shut up

☆if you’d watch some romantic shit Vince and Tommy would end up crying openly over it, and then you’d catch Nikki and make fun of him, until he would literally tackle you on the couch so you’d shut up

☆Tommys picking some sappy romance, a cartoon or some sex related shit, there’s no in between

• the boys can never say no when you do the puppy eyes except Mick of course, he’s a little devil

• you’d help them die their hair, but it would just end up with you all messing around and in the end the hair dye would be everywhere except where it’s supposed to be-the hair

Part 3

☆彡𐬾𐮚✧✯⁂☆

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.

[saintsir4n]

CALM DOWN

in which brian gets mad!

___

“Hey! Hey! Back off — Vince outside, put down the vase, you’re not breakin’ shit in my house. Brian go upstairs, Summer you go with him, clean those bruised hands,” Dom’s voice carried through the living room that was practically turned on its head. One small conversation turned into a big argument and then it eventually got physical. “What did I say? No fighting on Sundays. It’s a day for family and you two do the exact opposite, so now everyone cool off until dinner's ready.”

Vince scoffed, his glare never left Brian’s retreating figure until Leon and Jesse pushed him outside. Letty followed Dom, deciding to help him with the rest of the food prep, whilst Mia and KeKe helped pick up anything broken to toss in the trash.

Carson rolled her eyes as she joined Brian in the upstairs bathroom. Her dress would’ve gotten ruined if she hadn’t moved away from her boyfriend who had tussled with Vince until Dom got involved and pulled them apart with Jesse and Leon’s help.

Brian was against the sink, watching as she pulled out the first aid kit in silence, brows pinching together when she didn’t say anything to him, and just sighed to herself.

“You’re gonna give me the silent treatment, really?” He exacerbated, as she pulled out bandaids, cotton pads and hydrogen peroxide.

“Just stop movin’,” she muttered when she got him to wash his hands.

“He insults us and I get the cold shoulder? I don’t believe this, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

She frowned, “There are no sides Brian, and drop that base from your voice, I’m not the problem here.”

He laughed in disbelief, “Oh, and I am?”

“I never said that," she sighed, trying to wipe the cuts as he winced at the pain.

“You’re not denying it," Brian stressed, annoyed that she didn't have a problem with it.

“You didn’t have to react," Carson hated violence and her boyfriend seemed to be constantly around it.

He scoffed, “So I’m just supposed to take his shit.”

“I never said that either," she retorted, "Hold still." Brian cursed when the hydrogen peroxide coursed over his open wounds, "Sorry."

“Then what are you sayin’? ‘Cause to me it just sounds like you think I’m in the wrong," he gritted out, body digging into the sink as he felt some pain. "That I’m the issue, and I should just sit back and let guys like Vince walk all over me.”

She rose a brow, “Guys like Vince?”

He rolled his eyes, “Here we go.”

“Here we go what?” She looked at him, seeing how heated he was getting about this.

“You’re focusin’ on that, really?”

“He’s my family so watch how you talk about him," she exclaimed.

“I’m your boyfriend and you’re actin’ like that don’t mean nothin’”

“You know that’s not true," her shoulders slumped. "You mean so much to me. Brian, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“You know you do.” She paused, pulling out a large bandage and cut it in half, “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“You didn’t have to punch him," she stressed, applying some cream before wrapping his wounds.

“Yes, I did," he groaned, as she took a step back, “We hold hands and it’s a problem, we smile at each other it’s a problem, You sit on my lap and we kiss suddenly he can’t take it anymore and makes digs. If it’s at me I get it, he hates me, but the second he calls you naive, or an idiot, I'm not gonna sit back and do nothin'."

"Well I can see that," Carson gestured to his sore hands, "and I'm not some pushover, I can handle Vince, I'm just tired of the drama."

"He's the drama," he said, calmer.

"Says the guy with bloody fists," she teased, putting away the first aid kit and coming to stand between his legs.

"Well, they match his busted lip."

She couldn't help but laugh, "I appreciate you defending me, I do."

"I'll always defend you, you know that," Brian wouldn't let any harm come to her, even if it was just stupid words.

"But you need to keep that temper under control, you could've ripped my dress."

"Let me see," he cooed, trailing his hand down to the hem, "Sorry baby."

"Yeah I know, it's fine just calm down sometimes," she pleaded, with a pout.

"I'll calm down when he learns that I can kiss you whenever I want," Brian said, sternly, snaking his arms around her waist, "touch you, take you out and he can't do a damn thing because we're together alright? or I'll start thinkin' he's actin' more like a jealous ex and less like a brother."

"Alright, alright, you’re all cleaned up," she gently patted his chest, "lets go."

"Wait, wait, wait, let me kiss you, before we go down stairs, couldn't wanna get interrupted again would we?"

Carson laughed into the kiss.

—

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hc of Ingrid and the teens she knows please

Dirtbag has recently brought Little Vince home and at first Ingrid was worried that Dirtbag wouldn't be a good pet owner but she's so diligent with her kitten and is constantly making sure he's comfortable and happy and is genuinely treating him like a little prince

Ingrid used to warn Mapi a lot not to challenge Pumpkin to any video games. She tried to warn Pumpkin to go easy on Mapi but Pumpkin refused and Ingrid had to settle for comforting a pouty Mapi every time

Ingrid really enjoys Klumpig's company since she moved from Sweden and Klumpig enjoys Ingrid too. She's strictly 'Frido's friend' but Ingrid knows Klumpig secretly considers her a friend too

Hermana is a centreback like Irene and there was a brief period of time where Irene and Mapi were injured at the same time so Hermana and Ingrid built up a really good relationship on the pitch together

Ingrid is very impressed by Menor's dedication to tennis. She went to one of her matches when Alexia (very much a bragging big sister) invited everyone and she got to watch Menor absolutely demolish her opponent

Tontos is practically Ingrid's kid. She cares so much and loves Tontos so much. If it was up to Ingrid, Tontos would be her daughter officially and she'd never have to see her parents ever again

Mignon doesn't really prank Ingrid. Patri, yes. Pina, yes. Mapi, yes. Ingrid never really gives her a reaction apart from clear disappointment and the funny reactions is the best part

[riptideripley]

His daughter.

summary:You and Dominik have a daughter together. He finally decides to bring you and the baby to a show for your comeback.

(story)wordcount:760

“Oh my god!” Rhea squeals as she sees you and the baby,Zelia(or your own name),sitting on the couch. You smile as Zelia babbles reaching out for Rhea,Rhea scooping her up giggling. “Hi ZeZe! You excited to see your favorite aunt huh” she says smiling as she walks off with your baby. “Hey Dam,hey Finn” you spoke as the couple arrived(big finn n damien shipper). They greeted you and smiled,noticing Rhea at her vanity with the baby. “Oh I see you brought mini mysterio today?” “Yea,Dom and Vince wanted to include her in a interview today since it’s also my first time appearing back” you responded to Finn,smiling.

“Hey baby you ready?” Dom asked you,kissing your forehead while holding the baby. You fixed your makeup and checked your outfit(matching flannel with Dom,black crop top and black jeans),”Yea I’m ready. Can you check her diaper and make sure she’s ready? I put her outfit over on Rhea’s vanity as well” you told him and he nodded,walking off to go change her. “Can I hold her during the promo? pleaseeeeee” Rhea pleaded,she was the baby’s favorite and she enjoyed holding her. You giggled,”I’ll hold her for the first half,you hold her for the rest ok?” “Ok!” she smiled and looked over at Dominik.

You smiled at your daughter‘s outfit,a mini flannel to match you and Dominik with a shirt to match Rhea pairing the outfit with some black shorts and custom judgement day themed shoes Dominik got for her. “Awww she’s wearing my mami shirt!” Rhea smiled at the outfit,checking the time. “Ok guys we have 5 minutes before our interview. Everyone ready?” Damien spoke as everyone nodded,heading out the dressing room.

The interview

The camera panned over to Rhea and Priest first,you finn and dominik soon appearing. The crowd went crazy when they saw you and the baby,making you smile. “Well hello everyone,today I am here with the Judgement day and the newest addition to the group” Cathy Kelley spoke,the camera panning over to you and the baby. “Yes Cathy,this is Zelia Mysterio.” you spoke making Dominik smile at the last name. The interview went on and you passed Zelia over to Rhea after 2 minutes. Dominik had his arm around your waist the entire interview,Damien doing the same to Finn while Rhea stayed close to you with the baby. Once the interview finished,you all headed back to the dressing room.

After

Rhea sat on the couch playing with Zelia,making you smile. “Ok Lia I think that’s enough of auntie for now,she has a match.” you spoke reminding Rhea of her match in 10 minutes. You took Zelia and went out of the locker room to find the Usos. Once you found their dressing room,you knocked and smiled when they opened the door. “Aye Uce! We got a little visitor” your brother Jey spoke as the other popped up behind him. “Hey lil sis” Jimmy spoke hugging you as you walked into their dressing room. “Hey guys,I just came to check on y’all before I have to go out” you said checking the time realizing you have 6 minutes left. Jey planted a soft kiss on Zelia’s forehead,Jimmy doing the same to her cheek before passing her back off to you. “I’ll see you later ZeZe” Jey said wiggly his fingers at your daughter as you walked off to catch up with the rest of the Judgement day. Rhea won her match while you watching ringside with the baby,letting Zelia crawl into the ring as Rhea picked her up to celebrate her victory.

After the show

You and Dominik headed home,once arrived you set your daughter down to crawl around on the living room floor. You checked your twitter to see your inbox and notifications flooded,most being fans being supportive and excited about your appearance. Since it was the first time everyone had seen your daughter they were excited. You smiled at all of the comments and posted a few pictures of you and the judgement day with the baby. Including the one Rhea told you not to post which made her mad in the comments but you laughed at it. (The picture being her with the baby on her chest as they were both sleeping) You then posted on your instagram story,a picture of Dominik and Zelia playing on the floor captioning it ‘Mysterio Family💕’

A/n:Just some small fluff while I work on a request😁

[jackiequick]

Meet The Crew | Fast Five Fanfic 🇧🇷

Pairing: Brian O’Conner x Mia Toretto, Han x Soffi

Pre-relationship: Valentina Toretto x Deckard Shaw

Setting: Fast Five (2011)

Summary: Being the run for more than 2 years going from country to country, city to city, just to run away and survive. But what happens when Dom comes up with a plan to get their lives on track? Steal from the biggest man in Brazil. Then your gonna need a crew.

Characters: Dom, Brian, Mia, Tej, Roman, Val and etc.

Click here to see information for the rest of her story.

——

The last few days have ran cold. After arriving in Brazil, everything took a turn and keeping bigger lives at stack.

First with Val finding out what Mia is pregnant, having not told Brian yet. Then the heist they went on that Vince planned going haywire with Val, Dom and Brian getting caught then running to the safe house. To the argument between everyone on Vince not playing fair, where he left to go do his own thing.

And now!

They were being chased by policemen and Reye’s men across the streets and on top of the building finding themselves hiding out. Dom wanted to spilt up until Mia announced that it wasn’t the best idea.

Brian agreed with Dom, until Val said, “Tell ‘em sis..”

“I’m pregnant.” She said with a smile, out of breath from running across the bay.

Dom and Brian were shocked but happy. Hell, Brian was overwhelmed with joy fulling his best girl into a kiss. Val told them that they needed to stick together cause they’re family just got bigger.

It was settled that night by the boys while the girls slept that they had to stop running now. Make a life for themselves. So it was made to get their earning attention and some cash. Buy they’re freedom.

But they needed a team.

The next day, they planned as well as they could looking above the city.

“Okay let’s run through the basics.” Brian said leaning against his girl with a smile.

“First we need a chameleon. Someone who can blend in.” Dom said winking at Val and added, “Anywhere and can handle themselves.”

Soffi and Han were on they’re mind from the last heist.

“What else?” Mia asked.

“Hmm. A fast talker.” Dom said, “Someone who can bullshit they’re way out of anything.”

“I got that!” Brian announced with a smile.

His mind went to Roman.

“This guy has a lot of surveillance, so we need someone who’s good with circuits.” Mia added, meaning Tej could do the job.

“And with those circuits, Reyes is gonna have walls. We’re gonna need guys to punch through those walls.” Val told them with a nod.

Leo and Santos could do it.

“Hmm. Weapons and utilities.” Val added smiling.

Giselle was skilled for that.

“And last but not least. Two precision drivers. Two guys who won’t crack under pressure.” Dom said with such pride in his voice and a grin at only grew by the second.

“Oh you know we got that!” Brain repiled with a teasing grin that match his friends.

That left Val and Mia with research and experienced planning.

———

24 hours later. The team came together.

Roman and Tej walked in jokingly insulting each other.

“When you gonna give Martin Luther King his car back?” Roman asked, putting his bag down.

Tej scoffed, “As soon as you give Rick James his jacket back.”

They both cracked a smile, giving one another a bro hug. That was when a motorcycle rolled in, parking right in front of them. It was a women who was riding. The said women got off, removing her helmet as she shake her hair with hearing the guys.

“Sexy legs babygirl, what time they open?” Roman asked with a half smirk.

That was when a handheld gun landed right in between they’re faces, resulting in both men to back up a second.

“They open the same time i pull this trigger. Want me to open them?” Said Giselle with a small grin.

As if on cue, Leo and Santos walked in joking around in Spanish. Roman felt offended as him and Santos started bickering. Tej and Leo brought themselves into the conversation too as Giselle rolled her eyes.

“I thought cock fight were illegal in Brazil.” Han said walking with his girlfriend who smiled at his comment.

“I guess not.” Add Soffi with a smile, glancing up at Giselle.

That was when Dom announced himself with a smile, “I see you all met!” Mia, Val and Brian walked in behind him greeting they’re friends.

Val and Mia ran into Leo and Santos arms for a tight hug, having not seen each other in a while. Brian noticed Soffi standing off to the side, grinning to introduce himself.

“Hey.” He said with a toothy grin, welcoming her to the group.

“Hi..” She replies with a soft smile, noticing a warmth to the blonde that eased her.

“I heard about you.”

“R-really? F-from who?”

“Dom. He talks a lot about his time in the D.R. He said you and Han help him pull a heist there.”

“Oh yeah! It was burning there but we got the job done. I just don’t know why we were called here. I mean, what can i do to help?”

“Dom and his sister said you were like a chameleon. Trying to handle the situation and blend into the crowd?”

That was when Dom spoke over them saying they got a job to do, leading them to a group to debrief. Brian and Dom explained their target along the issues as everyone cut into the conversation.

“Sounds crazy. You brings us to a whole other country so we can rob the dude who runs it? I thought this was business, sounds personal to me. Is this was it is? I got love for y’all but personal ain’t good business. I can’t do this homie.” Roman said turning to walk out.

Val shared a smirk with her brother as she said, “So what we’re talking about is 100 million dollars.”

That’s when Roman stopped in his tracks, spinning around flabbergasted as he exclaimed, “Y-you say wha-? A-a-huna—you see sometimes i be overthinking man. And i know we just met girl, but you just kinda gotta..”

“Roman stop talking.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Soffi couldn’t help but snort at his reaction, being a little surprised herself by the announcement of that much money. Brian shared a smile with Mia as Dom kept explaining saying whatever they can take, they split it evenly. It surprised everyone.

Then Soffi stopped to think and spoke up, “As soon as you hit the first one. They’re gonna do everything they can to protect them.”

Giselle and Han added something else, as everyone nodded to their reason.

“Exactly.” Dom simply said with a smile, planning on what to do.

With that being said, the guys went to Reyes underground place to make themselves known, that they mean business. Burning his money and coming up with the next part of the plan. As well as keeping eyes on the police department scanners. Then the plans were set into motion.

The guys did the heavy duty part like breaking into police station to see the safe they would steal, placing extra cameras around town, and searching for extra ways to get around the city. Han and Val even ordered in a replica of the safe to replace with during the heist.

Because he’s hella rich.

Roman was eating while watching them work. Tej looked over his shoulder to see Val sitting by the stairs holding a pin and needle. She was pulling some fabric together, having a placement made for their safe.

“Girl what are you doing?” Tej asked, holding up his stack of paperwork.

“Isn’t it obvious? Tini is going to the beach later haha!” Roman exclaimed with a laugh, which earned him a glare.

“Who told you that nickname?” Val said glaring at him playfully.

“Brian. I think he told the others too.”

“Remind me to whoop his ass later.”

“What? Its cute!”

“What’s cute?” Said a voice that belong to Soffi, who was snacking on a bag of chips.

“Tini!” Roman yelled.

“Who’s Tini?”

“Vally over here!”

Val groaned shared a look with Tej who snorted at her annoyance.

It clicked for Soffi as she gasped with a smile, “That’s you nickname? I didn’t know that!”

“I’mma kill Brian..” She muttered, “Only he ever used that nickname before. Now y’all know.”

Tej chuckled, “Welcome to my world! Roman will never shut up about it now.”

“It’s cute! I-I like it.” Soffi said, noticing the fabric in her hand, “Uh, w-what’s with the bikini? A-are you going to beach?”

“That’s what i said!” Roman yelled once again chuckling, “If so babygirl, can i come?”

“No, I ain’t going to be beach. Someone else will. Since Tej said the safe needs Reyes fingerprints, and we can’t exactly get them..” Val said, looking at the tech genius.

“…you’re gonna swipe his handprints to use it against the piggy bank’s system. Smart girl!” Tej said, finishing her sentence.

“Exactly! Han and Soffi are up.”

“Wait seriously? R-right now?” Soffi said, looking over her shoulder to see Han.

He leaning against the wall with a smirk hearing his name as he chatted with Giselle.

“Nice. I like the easy stuff.” Han added with a smirk and kissing his girlfriend’s cheek, “See you outside babe.”

“I-i-wait! Han! Ugh!”

“Time to work our magic baby!”

He walked out with a grin that made her blush. Roman and Tej teased the girl for blushing. Soffi was a little confused about the actions she would take until Val pulled her aside into a room to change. Soffi was gonna wear the purple bikini and Giselle was gonna be there in the background as back up, just in case.

But it was her case to do.

She was a little worried it won’t go well however she saw the look in Val’s eye. A look of bravery and courage that would result in confidence for the task.

Val even joked, “Honey i seen you in action. It’s easy.”

“Alright, alright. Give me the towel.” Soffi replies joking, snatching the towel out of her hands and run out.

All Val can do was laugh as she went back to hanging out with Tej and Roman. She knew Soffi, Han and Giselle would get the job done they’re own way, but it was time for that to wait.

However that didn’t mean Val wasn’t gonna have some fun herself, heading out to buy extra drinks and catching a ride to the exact spot where Giselle told there they would be.

She stayed nearby the palm tree with Giselle watching them, reading the room then quickly walked away.

Han was snacking on some chips and chatting with Soffi who sipped her drink. They were eyeing Reye and the group on the high deck of the guesthouse across of the low end the beach. The pair were flirting and chuckling, wondering what was the man’s plan.

“I make six bodyguards.” Han said, glancing over his the guest shoulder.

“Seven.” Soffi added watching them, “The guy with the fanny pack is a tourist.”

“You think we should stay here after this is over?”

“Sure! I like the beaches here but you should watch your habits first.”

“Huh? What did i do?”

“You quit smoking, babe. I’m happy you did! But the snacks you were eating today, a lot more than usual.”

“I know. I’m handling it. I’m getting better.”

“I know and I’m glad you are.”

Han noticed the men on the stairs and sighed, “Well this is a real bust. We can’t get his fingerprints out here. Call Val, do some more reconstruction on the plan.”

“No..I don’t want to do that.” Soffi said, looking at the house and her outfit for a moment.

“She will understand. Giselle is here, we can try to do something else as we figure something out.”

“Or..um..uh-l-let me t-try something here. P-please?”

“Y-you sure?”

“Y-yeah. Watch out for me.”

Soffi took a breath, not wasting a second as she let the towel fall off her body and onto the floor. She smiled to herself feeling good swaying her hips walking away from the table in her purple bikini.

At that same time, Giselle followed beside her with a wink wearing her own valued bikini.

Han was left with his jaw dropped onto the ground, his fingertips stopped before ever reaching his mouth with the bag of nuts. He smiled softly to himself, biting his lower lip chuckling.

“Damn.” He muttered to himself.

The man speechless in place as both women walked over to the open house party, past the guardsmen smiling.

Soffi sat on the armrest of the chair where Reyes sat with a smile, as Giselle rested her hands on the shoulder of Reyes friends. She laughed at his jokes. Meanwhile Soffi smiled chatting with Reyes as he placed his hand on her bottom against the fabric of the bikini.

Han raised an eyebrow at his movements, rolled his eyes at the action with a grin.

She got the handprint.

“Nice.” Han muttered with a nod, waiting for them to finish to head over to the beach.

———

Later on the trio returned back to the bunker to find Roman and Tej working on the vault. They were confused once they returned with nothing but two bikinis in hand. One purple and one red.

Both men looked confused. Until Soffi lit a flashlight over the bikinis Giselle and Han were holding. Two handprints for extra measurements. In result the guys smirked and joked.

Tej smirked, “So did he just smack the ass or did he grab and hold on to it?”

Roman laughed as Soffi smirked waving the flashlight at both men jokingly.

————

Some stuff happened afterwards. Almost getting caught by the cops resulting in them putting a tracking on their trucks and testing how fast they were in the cars for the heist drifting away as quick as possible. But no one was fast enough, but it’s because they need certain cars to get past the city with ease.

Police cars.

So the boys went off, expect for Santos and Leo, to search for them. Meanwhile the girls stayed by relaxing, chatting about what they would do with their money.

Giselle wanted to go sightseeing without watching her back. Valentina wished for the ability to travel the word and have her own small adventure. Soffi wanted to open up a small shop to bake and sell her favorite treats, using the money left over for something special. Mia just wanted to relax at a small beach house and have her own little thing going on before she left to go to the store.

If only they could clear they’re names just as quickly.

By the same time she returned from the store as the boys did. They were racing in cop cars, with Brian winning against Dom. But Mia returned with a certain someone. Vince.

Everyone stood up in defense and confusion about his return. Some didn’t even know who Vince was but stood up to protest against against the man. Mia was trying to explain what exactly happened as they thankfully listened.

But Val was ready to pounce at Vince, it took Soffi and Tej to hold her back as she yelled at her oldest friend. Brian was about to get in Vince’s face wanting some more answers until Dom shut both of them up. Calling his oldest friends over to help him fix the car to talk, letting everyone cool down and allow Vince to eventually join in their plans.

Eventually everyone did. Cooking dinner for one another, bringing out more chairs and couches to sit on, extra tables and a radio. Some sat around tinkering with items, Dom was fixing one of the cars with Vince and Brian meanwhile Roman, Tej and Han talked. Everyone was speaking with the idea what would they do with their millions of dollars.

—————

Everyone had plenty of ideas. Some traveling, going to Las Vegas, getting cooking classes, buying houses and so much more. Tej wanted to start his own business to fix cars and not let people get ripped off.

“You peoples dreams are to start day jobs?!” Roman exclaimed, looking at them like they crazy.

Mostly looking Tej like he was just talking crazy for suggesting that idea in the first place.

Soffi crossed her arms, “What’s so wrong about that, Roman?”

“Everything! Y’all got money, use to the buy luxury gifts and items like you couldn’t afford before.” Roman said, sipping his drink.

“So what will you do then, Roman?” Valentina added, standing next to her friends with Giselle behind her grinning.

So in result the man explained how he do plenty of things, from buying himself suits to his very own plane. All the girls smirked and laughed, teasing Roman that they will try to steal the planes and jets for they’re own plans. Tej and a few of the others rolled their eyes chuckling.

Val grinned saying she will use Roman’s jets to travel the world and such. From Italy to Cuba to Hawaii and a sweet return to the Dominican Republic. Soffi and Giselle saying they will join her, suggesting France as well. A mini girls trip, including Mia and the others.

Roman jokingly got offended and rolled his eyes teasing them back, going to get everyone refills as they waited for dinner to be served. However once he stopped at Brian and Mia, he got hella confused. Mia kept saying she can’t drink and Brian insisted, leaving Roman with odd look on his face.

Until Brian rubbing his girlfriend’s nonexistent bump as Roman’s eyes lit up. It clicked.

“Ohh! Are you serious right now?” Roman exclaimed with bug eyes and a cheeky grin turning to Dom, “Is that the reason you let him beat you in the quarter mile? Hahaha that was a baby gift!”

Mia was giggling brightly.

Brain looked at his best friend, trying to defend himself and said, “No, that’s messed up.”

“That was a baby gift.” Roman repeated with a growing grin

“No, your not taking that from me.”

Tej walked up with a smirk acting all chill and asked, “Wait wait wait, hold on a second. So, did he just smack that ass or did he grab it?”

Val smirked bursting into laughter as she rubbed Brian’s shoulder jokingly and walked over to Dom. She grinned seeing they’re friends all congratulate Brian and Mia on the pregnancy.

Mia stayed hugging Soffi and Giselle the longest.

“Baby gift, huh?” She asked teasing him smiling, “Wanna explained?”

Brian followed behind her giving Dom a look, wondering the same thing as they both shared a matching smile.

“Baby gift?” Brian repeated.

“I have no idea what they’re talking about.” Dom replies with a smile, shrugging.

“Yeah sure.” Val added.

Once everything died down still celebrating the new, Dom called everyone to circle back for he can give a small toast.

Everyone chuckled, giving small smile to each other and leaned against the other person enjoying the moment.

Each member had a drink in their hands as they looked up to listen to the man who put all of this together.

Dom took a breath took as he look around the room and then spoke, “Money all come and go, you know that. But the most important thing in life will always be the people in this room. Right here. Right now. Salute mi familia.”

“Salute.” Said everyone raising their beer bottles, as you heard the light cling once they were brought together in a circle.

Everyone smiles, some sipping their drinks and others lean against the person next to them for a tight squeeze.

It was real.

They’re all here in Brazil.

Together.

And they’re finish off the week pulling off an heist.

It’s gonna be nuts.

Thank you so much for reading this fic! It’s one of my favorite films and it was a great treat to toss theses characters into it.

What did you think about it? Let me know in the comments below.

Please reblog, like and share for more stuff like this

Tags; @hanlueluver @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @whitewiccan @msrochelleromanofffelton @starkleila @thisgirlisonfayeeer @meiramel @gcthvile @yetanotherwells @rooster-84 @rickb-chaos @mandylove1000 @sherloquestea and etc

[fan-fantasies]

Learn to Love (p.3)

A/N: this is the final part, I hope you enjoyed the mini-series!

Pairing: Rhea x Reader

Warnings: swearing probably, smut, fingering, oral/69-ing

Part two

Your nerves were increasing as the day went on, not quite sure how the crowd was going to accept yours and Rhea’s partnership. You knew they loved her and they seemed to love you, but would they love you together?

Rhea stayed close to you throughout the day and you actually didn’t mind. While she calmed your nerves in some ways, she made them worse in others.

Now wasn’t the time to deal with those feelings bubbling up inside. You had bigger fish to fry and matches to win.

“You ready to go, babe?” Rhea asked, grabbing her bag to head to the show.

“Yeah, ‘babe’, I’m ready,” you laughed.

“I have an idea. Come here real quick,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Put this on.”

She handed you her hoodie and you slipped it on. She pulled the hood up and turned you toward her so your back was facing the mirror on the wall. She snapped a quick picture and posted it to her Instagram with the caption “big surprise coming tonight 😈”

No one could possibly tell it was you in the picture but you enjoyed the comments of people speculating what was going on.

Someone commented “Rhea’s new gf?” to which you noticed Rhea had liked.

“So I’m your new girlfriend then?” You asked, showing her your phone.

“Sure are, sweetheart,” she said with a smirk.

“That escalated quickly.”

“What did?” Dom asked, coming over.

“Rhea’s my girlfriend now,” you said, jokingly.

“Took long enough,” he said with a big smile. You were too confused by his reaction to notice Rhea’s, who was behind you waving her arm and signaling for him to shut up.

He looked at the confused look on your face and noticed Rhea’s panic and realized he may have messed up.

“I’m just saying…enemies to lovers is a very popular trope nowadays and that would be an interesting storyline for the two of you,” he quickly covered.

“Maybe we’ll run it past Vince,” she said, quickly stepping in front of you. She motioned for him to leave and he thankfully for the hint.

“Well, uh, good luck tonight!” He said before running off.

“What a weird kid,” you sighed, making Rhea snort.

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you said. She turned to face you fully and came closer.

“Try me, sweetheart.”

You knew she was trying to be menacing but she never scared you. You straightened yourself out to stand taller, leaning in so you were only inches apart.

“Maybe I will,” you whispered.

“Don’t tease me now.”

You weren’t quite sure where your little exchange was going but it was pumping adrenaline through your veins.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Damian had taken a picture of the two of you and sent it to Rhea.

She felt her phone buzz and decided to step back with a small smirk on her face.

“Just kiss her already,” he wrote. Rhea looked up and saw him staring from down the hall.

You followed her gaze and he waved when he noticed you looking.

“Did I miss something?” You asked.

She turned her phone toward you so you could read his text with the picture attached.

“It looks like we’re about to kill each other, not kiss,” you laughed nervously. There was obvious tension between you, you just weren’t sure if it was sexual or otherwise.

“Would you rather kill me?”

“No?”

“So you’d rather kiss me?” She asked, stepping closer once again. Your eyes widened and your heart was racing.

“That’s- that’s not what I said,” you stammered.

“But you said you didn’t want to kill me.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to kiss you either,” you argued.

“Do you want to?”

“Kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Well-“

“Ladies! You’re up next!” The producer interrupted, making you jump back from her.

“Let’s go kick some ass,” Rhea said, grabbing your hand to pull you along.

How could she just be so calm when you were left reeling? You’d have to figure that out later, after the match.

To say the fans loved the two of you together was an understatement. They went nuts when you were announced as her partner.

The match was just a warmup to see how you worked in the ring together and it went surprisingly well. You played off each other’s strengths and made up for weaknesses. When Rhea made the pin and the final bell rang, you ran into the ring and into her arms. She lifted you with ease and spun you around.

You made your way backstage and you were ecstatic. Rhea was looking at you with such adoration in her eyes; what a change from just a few days ago. Rhea was beginning to think Vince was a genius for teaming you together.

Rhea’s bliss was cut short when she saw Shayna coming over and scooping you up.

“That was awesome! You guys did so well!”

“You watched?” You asked, finally being set back down.

“Of course, I watch all your matches,” she answered.

A sour feeling was settling into Rhea’s stomach as she watched your exchange. She was jealous; there was no way to deny it. She brushed past the two of you and went into the locker room. Your smile fell as you noticed her walking off. You thought she’d be happier after your win.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s alright,” you said, giving Shayna another hug.

“No worries- go get your girl,” she said with a smirk.

You went into the locker room and found Rhea scrolling through her phone. She didn’t even look up at you when you walked in.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she mumbled, still looking at her phone.

“You don’t seem fine,” you said.

“Well I am so why don’t you run back to Shayna,” she snapped.

“Seriously? We’re back to this? I thought we were past that,” you sighed.

“I’m just saying, you’d obviously rather be with her right now.”

“If that were true then I wouldn’t be here…with you,” you said, sitting down next to her. She finally looked up with regret in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m gonna need more than an apology to understand why you get so weird when I’m around other people.”

“I can’t explain it.”

“Try. Please?”

“I just don’t like how it makes me feel…”

Part of you, deep down, hoped it might be jealousy- a feeling you could easily relate to. It was how you felt every time you watched her be flirtatious with other women or even Dom. You figured that’s where part of your animosity toward her came from and you were hoping it was the same for her. Then the two of you could put those nasty feelings aside and admit to one another how you really felt.

“What does it make you feel, Rhea?”

“Confused, I guess,” she said quietly, looking down at her fidgeting hands in her lap.

“Can I maybe help un-confuse things?” You asked.

Rhea took a deep breath before looking up at you. Before you knew what was happening, she grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss. You were frozen at first, but you quickly reciprocated the kiss. You were certain your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You wanted to badly to deepen the kiss but before you could, Rhea pulled away.

“I have to go,” she said, quickly getting up and running out of the room. You were stuck in your spot- your mind racing with what just happened.

When your body finally caught up to your mind, you were racing after her. You weren’t sure where she went so you were looking anywhere you could think of.

You were running out of areas when you were stopped by the interview crew.

“Could we ask you a few questions about your new tag team with Rhea Ripley?”

“Oh um sure,” you said, bouncing back and forth and looking around for her.

“When did the two of you decide to be a team? It always seemed like the two of you were at odds with one another.”

“It was a recent decision actually. We’ve been getting to know each other inside the ring and out. I think we work pretty well together.”

“That’s an understatement! You guys were amazing out there; I think you might have something special on your hands.”

“Yeah, I agree. Rhea is definitely very special and I think we have a bright future ahead of us,” you said with a genuine smile. You excused yourself from the interview to continue your search.

You didn’t realize, however, Rhea had been watching the interview with Dom and Damian.

“She obviously likes you,” Damian told her.

“I don’t think so. She’s been pretty friendly with Shayna lately- and then I just go and kiss her and mess everything up!” She whined.

“First off- Shayna isn’t in the picture like that. She knows you like her and wouldn’t get between the two of you. Second- kissing her was probably the best idea you’ve had so far. Now she knows how you feel. Your only mistake was running away from her!” Dom said.

“How does Shayna know how I feel?” She asked.

“I may have mentioned it at the gym the other day,” Dom said quietly, looking at his feet.

“Is that why she canceled dinner?”

“Just so the two of you could have some time together,” he defended.

“I should kick your ass, but I’m too shaken up still,” she sighed.

“Why don’t you go find her? I know you’re worried things are gonna go wrong, but just remember, Mami always gets what she wants,” Damian chuckled. Rhea sighed and hanged her head in her hands.

“I think I’m just gonna wait for her at the hotel,” she said.

She quickly gathered her things and went back to your room. You searched the arena high and low and with every failed turn, your frustration was building. How dare she give you attitude, then kiss you, then run off?

You needed answers and you wanted them now. You finally found Dom who was packing up his gear.

“Have you seen Rhea?” You asked without greeting him.

“She left already. She said she was going back to the hotel,” he said.

“Seriously? Oh I’m gonna kick her ass,” you snapped.

“Is everything okay?” Dom asked cautiously.

“No, everything is not okay. You’re gonna need to find yourself a new Mami by the time I’m done with her!”

“I know she hasn’t always been the best at expressing herself, but she really does care about you,” he told you.

“Then why did she run away from me?”

“I think she’s scared- but you didn’t hear that from me!”

“Well off to the hotel it is then,” you sighed.

“Want a ride? I’m heading out now too,” he offered.

“That would be great,” you smiled.

The ride was quick and you tried to pry more information out of Dom but he didn’t let anything more slip.

Once back at the hotel, you practically ran to your room, hoping she was there. Thankfully, she was sitting on her bed when you went in.

“Are you done running from me?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of you.

“I’m not sure, are you going to yell at me?” She asked.

“I have half a mind to! First, you get an attitude when I’m with Shayna. Then you won’t tell me why. And then…and then you kiss me and run off to hide from me. Why shouldn’t I yell at you?”

She got up from the bed and stood in front of you. Your arms dropped to your side, subconsciously opening yourself up to her.

“I’m sorry for everything. And I’m sorry for kissing you. I was out of line and it won’t happen again,” she sighed. Your heart broke a little when she said that.

“I’m not mad that you kissed me,” you mumbled.

“You’re not?”

“I’d be more mad if you never kissed me again,” you admitted. A small smirk was playing on her lips.

“Is that so?” She asked, taking another step toward you.

“Yes, but you still need to tell me why you get so upset whenever you see me with someone else,” you said.

“I get scared. I get scared that they’re going to take you away from me- which I know sounds insane- but you’re mine, no one else’s.”

“Is that so?” Now it was your turn to smirk.

“Yeah, it is.”

She closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you again. This time you were ready for it and immediately deepened it. The kiss was full of passion and heat, each of your pouring your desire for one another into it.

She slid her tongue into your mouth, easily winning dominance over yours. She spun you so your back was to the bed and she laid you down, not once breaking the kiss.

She hovered over you and began to kiss down your jaw and neck, leaving love bites in her wake.

“Rhea, please,” you whined.

“Please what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you. I want you to touch me,” you said.

She pulled your bottoms off quickly, sliding her hand in your panties.

“You wanted me to touch you here?” She asked, sliding her fingers through your folds.

“Fuck, yes!”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, babygirl. I’m gonna make you forget anyone who isn’t me,” she said.

“I’m yours, only yours.”

“That’s right, sweetheart; good girl,” she said, circling your clit.

Your body jolted as she slid two fingers into your entrance, slowly pumping them in and out. Her thumb was still circling your clit and you couldn’t help the moans falling from your lips.

She quickened her actions when she felt your pussy gripping her fingers more, signaling you were close to your peak.

“Gonna cum for me, love? Cum all over my fingers,” she told you, sucking another hickey onto your neck.

“Fuck, Rhea, I’m cumming,” you moaned. You reached your climax moments later and you swore you’d never felt better in your life. She circled your clit slowly, allowing you to come down from your high once she was certain you were satisfied.

She pulled her fingers from you and licked them clean, moaning at the taste.

“I think I need more,” she said, smirking at you.

She tore your panties off and threw them across the room.

“Wait, it’s your turn though,” you said, tugging at her pants.

“I have an idea then.” She quickly pulled her pants and panties off, crawling over you once again. “Are you okay with this?”

“Of course, only if you are,” you replied.

“Okay with it? Sweetheart, I’m in love with it. Besides, Mami is always on top.”

She quickly turned herself around and knelt over your face. Her pussy was only inches from your tongue and your mouth was already watering.

“You ready, love?” She asked.

“So ready,” you sighed happily.

She lowered herself onto your face and leaned down so she was now level with your pussy as well.

You beat her to it, your tongue diving between her folds first. You felt her jump at the feeling before she quickly began to devour you as well.

It was hard to focus when she was making you feel so good, but you could tell she was enjoying herself as well by the noises she was making.

You could’ve sworn you had died and gone to heaven, with her body pressed to yours and being able to pleasure her just as much as she was you.

Your hips began to move, your climax approaching once again. But you were determined to get Rhea there first. You focused your attention on her clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her legs began to shake slightly and you knew she was close. It was as if she caught onto the secret competition because she doubled her own efforts between your legs.

Before you realized it was even happened, your orgasm crashed over you in waves. You let out a whine but continued to lap at her pussy. Knowing she gave you your own climax sent her into hers. She continued to lick at your clit as you both rode out your orgasms together.

When you were both satisfied, Rhea got off and laid next to you. She pulled you in for another kiss, the taste of the both of you mixing on your tongues.

“So is it safe to say you’re mine now?” She asked, finally pulling away.

“I’m most definitely yours,” you said with a smile.

“Remind me to thank Vince,” she chuckled. “This may have been his best idea yet.”

“I definitely don’t think this was his idea,” you laughed.

“No, but still, if he hadn’t forced us together, I probably never would’ve worked up the courage to tell you how I feel.”

“Well I’m glad you did. And now we can move forward and be happy,” you said.

“I promise I’ll do anything to keep you happy.”

She kissed you once more and you sighed contently. Things may have gotten off to a rocky start, but everything works itself out eventually.

——————————

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