fizzzysodaa

[fizzzysodaa]

“Jayce will understand.”

And he did and he did and he did and he did.

[fizzzysodaa]

I m not crying, i m not-

[fizzzysodaa]

sevika finger-fucking you at a red light.

the red glow casts over you and sevika, adding to the sensual ambiance. ever since you left the house, she hasn’t been able to keep her hands off of you. light touches turned into lingering ones which led to stolen kisses and gropes. she knew with the way you were kissing her, the two of you were not going to make it to the car.

nor, did you guys make it to the house.

“fuck yeah, doll. spread that pussy for me.” sevika groans when the slick sound elicits from your core. her own fingers replace yours; her calloused palm grinding against your clit while she sinks two fingers into you.

“oh, sevi,” you moan out, your head falling against the headrest. your body moves in tandem with hers, your hips making small circles as her digits thrust in and out of your soaking cunt.

she watches you with a carnal need in her eyes. her mind becomes hypnotized by all of you. “mmh, yeah? you’re soaking me, making such a mess all over my seats.” she ends her sentence with a harsh slap to your pussy, causing a moan to tear from your throat. the area is quickly soothed by soft massages on your clit, almost making you forget what she did.

you nod dumbly at her words. too focused on the sparks of pleasure coursing through your body to process anything. your hand reaches down to guide two of her fingers in your hole. “need you here, vika. wanna get ffffucked…” your words slur and fade out as the sensation of her filling your cunt washes over you.

your walls squeeze her digits, the tip of them hitting that ridged spot inside of you with each thrust. you feel your orgasm creeping up. all your senses become heightened, each touch sends a wave of electricity through you.

“ngghhh—sevi, think m’ gonna c-cum.” you whimper, desperately bucking your hips up to chase your release. the moment felt so euphoric, if you could stay in it forever, you would. the mixture of your girlfriend’s lewd words and the sultry music playing makes your head spin.

“yeah, angel? take my fingers. wanna see you squirt, babe.” her gruff voice is what brings you to the edge. your body tenses up, preparing for the long awaited release.

but then, it’s gone.

it was right there. right fucking there, and then the light flickered to green. the traffic light shining through the windshield like a mockery. sevika’s fingers pull out of you as fast as they were in, leaving you unsatisfied and empty.

made this while i’m half asleep. okay goodnight.

[fizzzysodaa]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[fizzzysodaa]

HEADCANONS | SEVIKA × SLEEPY! WIFE! READER

notes : lol sorry for the long wait, i tried to make it quite long :3

content : pure fluff, the tittle it's self explanatory

You fall asleep in the car every time. Doesn’t matter if it’s a five-minute drive or an hour. Sevika drives with one hand and rests the other gently on your thigh, rubbing circles while you snore softly.

She’s found you asleep on laundry piles, the kitchen table, and even half off the bed. Instead of waking you, she just makes sure you’re warm and safe and takes a picture for her private album.

Sevika secretly times in her mind how long it takes you to doze off during movie nights. Your record is 52 minutes into the film.

You always insist you're not tired. While yawning and curled up in a blanket. Sevika raises one brow: “Sure, babe. Wide awake.”

She loves it when you nap on her chest. Your breath warms the space right over her heart, and she swears nothing calms her nerves like that.

Sometimes you fall asleep mid conversation, You were talking about how hard it was to make a perfect cake, then your voice went slower and lower till the room was in silence. Sevika just chuckles and finishes your sentence for you before covering you with a throw blanket.

She’s developed the stealth of a trained assassin. Walking around the house in near silence to avoid waking you, especially if you’ve been having light sleep.

You always nap after meals. Sevika picks up your empty plate, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “I’ll clean up. Just rest.”

She adores your sleepy voice. That soft, raspy mumble when you call her name with your eyes still closed makes her melt instantly.

You cling to her like a koala in your sleep. Sevika has mastered the art of staying still for hours just so you can rest peacefully.

You fall asleep in public. she just places her hand on your thigh and keeps talking like nothing happened.

She has to carry you to bed most nights. And she pretends to complain, but you catch her smiling every time, remembering how she walked with you in her arms the day of your wedding

You fall asleep while waiting for her to get ready for work, and she sneaks back to the room just to watch you rest ( she tells silco she's reaaaaaly sick that day just to get a whole day with you ).

When you nap on the couch, she watches over you like a guard dog. Anyone who even thinks about waking you up will get the glare.

You sleep with your hand on her chest or stomach. She won’t move a muscle until you shift first.

She has a soft spot for how you mumble her name in your dreams. “Vika…” and she’s feeling her cheeks hot in the dark of the room..

She keeps extra blankets everywhere. One in the car, two in the living room, one folded on her office chair, just in case her sleepy wife gets tired again.

She’s tried to tease you about how much you sleep. But you looked at her with half-lidded eyes and said, “You love it,” and she couldn’t argue.

Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night just to watch you breathe. Then, she kisses your forehead and goes back to sleep.

She’s your favorite mattress. Even in summer, even when it’s too hot, your head always finds her chest or thigh.

You always nap in her worn out T-shirts. Sevika pretends not to notice—but she keeps giving you more of them.

You fall asleep face down during massages. Sevika kisses the back of your neck, adjusts your pillow, and keeps rubbing your back until you start snoring.

Your naps are sacred to her. She rearranges her schedule so she can hold you when you need rest.

If anyone jokes about how much you sleep, she’ll glare at them. “She works hard. Let her rest.”

When you fall asleep in the bath, Sevika gently scoops you out, dries you off, and tucks you in like you’re made of porcelain.

She loves coming home to find you curled up on the couch, book forgotten in your lap. It makes her chest ache—in a good way.

She memorized your sleep patterns. She knows when you’re dreaming, when you're restless, and how to soothe you without waking you.

You always fall asleep first, but wake up with Sevika already watching you. She greets you with, “Hey, sleeping beauty,” and kisses your temple.

When she’s away on business, she knows you have trouble sleeping. So she adopted a fluffy pet for you. It's not the same as her cuddling you, but it works.

No matter how many years pass, she never gets tired of watching you sleep.

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @katarandaa, @starrycherie , @moonshimegf , @watermelonshine, @zombieeepup, @laviannasfanfics , @windytulips, @genderfluidlesbain999 , @dulcerbbns

[fizzzysodaa]

sevika inspects your pussy

"no one’s ever just… looked at me like that before."

"mm." sevika exhales smoke through her nose. doesn’t respond. doesn’t need to.

her thumb just presses, low and slow. right above your pubic bone, the thick callus dragging a lazy circle against your skin.

you're already bare. already trembling. your legs open, knees pulled up, thighs twitching with every second of silence.

she hasn't even done anything yet. just has you lying back on her bed, naked, soft under her hands, and watching you like you're a fucking science project she wants to dissect.

or a dessert she plans to take her time with.

“don’t squirm,” she murmurs, without looking up. you freeze. your breath catches.

her gaze is on your pussy now, half-lidded with interest, like she’s inspecting damage. or deciding how to ruin it.

“already wet,” she hums.

your cheeks burn. your thighs instinctively twitch together, but her metal hand is already there, firm and unmoving, keeping you spread with an ease that reminds you just how strong she is.

“mmn—sevika—”

“shhh,” she says, finally glancing up. that crooked smirk tugs at her mouth. “this part ain’t about you talkin’, doll.”

your breath stutters.

and then her fingers are back, so slow. just parting your folds with practiced ease. not even touching your clit. not even trying to get you off. just… looking.

examining.

“pretty,” she mutters under her breath, like she’s talking to herself. “tight little thing, too. fuck. look at her.”

you let out a shaky whine. your body’s hot all over. she's not even fingering you. not licking. not kissing. just spreading you open with her fingers and staring like she's memorizing it.

you feel like a specimen. a painting. a toy.

“she’s twitchin’,” sevika says, almost amused. “needy already?”

your face burns hotter. her fingers move slightly, just enough for her thumb to brush lightly over your entrance, like she’s testing the stretch, feeling how soft it is.

“bet you’d clench so tight around me.”

you gasp.

her eyes flick up, catching the way your stomach jumps, your nipples perk, your breath hitches.

“...that do something to you?” she leans closer. breath fans over your cunt. you shiver.

“me talkin’ about your pussy like i own it?”

your mouth opens. no words. just a sound.

"you like being inspected, huh?" she murmurs, voice lower now. darker. "like bein' spread open and praised for doin' nothin' but lay there and look fuckin’ perfect."

her nose brushes just barely over your inner thigh. you feel it. warm. intimate. almost gentle.

"don’t even need to touch you yet," she adds, voice rough with want. "just wanna learn how you react."

and then, one slow swipe of her tongue, not even your clit, just the underside of your folds. your back arches.

her smirk deepens.

"there she is."

you’re dripping.

she still doesn’t go in. still doesn’t finger you. just rubs two wet fingers together like she’s testing the texture, eyes locked between your legs.

“fuckin’ mess, already,” she mutters, almost proud. “and i haven’t even started.”

you make a sound that’s more plea than moan.

and she just laughs. throaty and dangerous.

“yeah, baby," she says, licking your slick off her fingers. “you’re so fucked.”

part 2

i cantttt shes so hot.

tt: sevikastr4p

[fizzzysodaa]

Jimmy Uso Saves Jacob Fatu

WWE SmackDown - June 20th, 2025

[fizzzysodaa]

18+ | roommate!vi x f!reader

being around vi is always messy—messy in the way that your panties are forever soaked.

it's horribly inconvenient, to be fine one second before your panties are flooded. because your roommate is too damn fine and insists on walking around your shared apartment in a sinful muscle tee.

just the sight of her biceps have you on your knees, mouth drooling as your cunt pulses.

it's funny how an obsession can overtake your life.

but it's also awful because you can't really control how you react to vi.

especially when she's smiling at you and being so attentive. like you're the only girl in her world, the only one forever in her line of sight.

it's devastating.

so when vi, one day, pushes you against the kitchen counter, lips hot on yours as she plunders your whining mouth, you're instantly deceased. and when her fingers slip into your dripping panties and dip into your soaked cunt, you're squirting before you can even think about it.

"fuck, sweet girl," vi chuckles breathlessly against your mouth, her fingers still drilling deep into your cunt. the filthy noises havs you rolling your eyes back. "so fast, huh. you must really like me."

you can barely answer before you're squirting again, shuddering harshly as you make a mess.

that's a good enough answer.

[fizzzysodaa]

CM PUNK & THE SHIELD WWE TLC: Tables, Ladders & Chairs, December 15th, 2013

[fizzzysodaa]

[fizzzysodaa]

okay girl she sees your abs

[fizzzysodaa]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒜𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒟𝑜 | Roman Reigns Smut

*I do not own the gif or pictures*

Main Mainlist ৹ Join My Taglist

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC (Shiloh Lucero)

SUMMARY: The world sees a warrior. She sees a man who only exhales when she touches him. After a brutal match ends in chaos, Roman sends nothing but a room number. No words. No apology. No warning. But Shiloh comes anyway. And in the silence that follows, she gives him what no one else ever has—peace, softness, and a body he can lose himself in.

🥀 Emotional aftercare. Sacred-level smut. And a man who doesn’t know how to let go—until she shows him he doesn’t have to.

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes graphic smut (oral, vaginal, size kink, overstimulation, creampie), strong language, emotional vulnerability, references to violence (in-ring), and intense aftercare. If you like your smut dirty and your emotions raw, this one’s for you.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

A/N: This one did something to me. We might have went a little overboard with the smut. 😭 It’s filthy, yes—but also soft in a way that feels sacred. Roman is raw and wrecked, and Shiloh is the calm he didn’t know he needed. If you’re new here and want to keep up with all my Roman Reigns fics—drop a 💬 in the replies to join my Main Taglist, or fill out the Google Form in my pinned post. There’s a whole masterlist waiting to ruin you softly.

The world saw a warrior. She saw a man who only ever exhaled when she touched him.

She shouldn’t be here.

That thought echoed through her mind with every step she took down the carpeted hallway, her hoodie sleeves stretched over her palms, her heart thudding too loud in her chest. The hotel smelled like bleach and dust—clean but hollow. The kind of place where things came to rest. Or fall apart.

Her footsteps felt like thunder even though she moved quietly. Carefully. The closer she got to his door, the more her stomach knotted.

Room 815.

She’d stared at the text for ten minutes before even leaving the house. Just those three numbers. He didn’t say come. Didn’t say don’t. He just sent the room number, hours after the fight. After whatever had been clawing at him finally broke loose in the ring.

Shiloh had watched it on her phone. The clips. The commentators’ stunned silence when he didn’t stop swinging after the bell. The way security had to pull him off the guy. The way Roman didn’t look like Roman.

She’d seen that version of him before.

The version with the split knuckles and the cold stare.

The one who walked into the recovery room months ago with blood on his hoodie and pain in his bones and nothing left in his voice.

Back then, she hadn’t flinched.

And she wasn’t going to now.

Still, when she reached his door, her hand hovered.

She wasn’t scared of him. That wasn’t what this was.

It was what she carried for him. The tenderness, the ache. The way she saw through him even when he tried to disappear into silence. The way she knew—deep in her chest—that he needed softness more than he’d ever admit. That tonight, he didn’t need discipline or space or distance.

He needed to be seen.

To be held.

To be touched like a man, not a monster.

So she raised her hand and knocked. Softly. Once.

No answer.

Not for ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.

Then the lock clicked.

And the door opened.

The hotel room door shut behind him with a weight that had nothing to do with hinges.

Roman didn’t speak.

He dropped his gym bag by the dresser and let the silence settle over the room like fog—thick and slow, clinging to everything it touched. The air still carried the echo of the fight: adrenaline, frustration, sweat. That unshakable feeling of being full of everything and nothing at the same time.

He should’ve gone to the trainer. Should’ve iced his shoulder. Popped something for the swelling in his knee.

But he didn’t.

Because she was already here.

Shiloh sat at the edge of the bed in one of his hoodies, legs crossed, back straight but not tense. His gaze dropped, caught on the full curve of her hips, the way the oversized hoodie clung to her like it knew exactly what it was covering. She was thick in the kind of way that made a man lose his damn mind. Plush thighs. Fat ass. Built like comfort and chaos. He bit the inside of his cheek just to keep still. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves, her lips glossed with something soft and pink. The glow from the cracked bathroom door behind her lit her skin in warm gold.

She didn’t flinch when he walked in.

Didn’t rise or rush him.

She just looked at him—quietly, gently—like she was counting the parts that made it back whole.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low. Careful. Not tiptoeing—just attuned.

Roman’s gaze dragged up her body like it hurt to look too long. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—but because she was. And he didn’t know how to hold something like that without feeling like he might crack it open by mistake.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally. His voice sounded rough, like it had been scraped across gravel.

Shiloh blinked. She didn’t look away. “I came anyway.”

That did something to him.

He crossed the room in three slow steps and dropped to his knees in front of her. The sound of it wasn’t dramatic—just real. Solid. His hands found her thighs, palms warm even through the fabric, and then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her stomach like he was begging for silence.

She didn’t expect the way her chest ached just watching him breathe. Didn’t expect how warm he still was—even after the world tried to make him cold.

She touched him anyway.

Her fingers slipped through his damp hair, down to the back of his neck, tracing the line where tension still lived. Her touch didn’t ask for anything. It simply said: I’m here. I see you. I’m not leaving.

Roman exhaled like he hadn’t done that since the fight.

“You’re the only one who sees me like this,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Shiloh’s hand stilled, then moved to his jaw. She tilted his face upward until his eyes met hers.

And just like that, a memory bloomed.

The first time Shiloh saw him, he didn’t speak.

He walked into the recovery room with a scowl on his face and blood drying on the collar of his hoodie. His knuckles were split, and his right arm hung lower than his left—like even lifting it would cost too much.

She glanced up from the file in her lap. Her supervisor wasn’t in yet.

He noticed her—but barely. Like he was scanning for threats, not people.

He sat on the padded table with a grunt and pulled the hood lower over his face. Not a word.

Shiloh stood slowly, walked to the counter, grabbed an ice pack, and brought it over.

Still no eye contact.

“Your shoulder,” she said softly. “Right side?”

He didn’t nod.

Didn’t deny it either.

She reached out and laid the ice against the swelling—lightly, gently, not forcing it. His flinch was instinctive, but it passed. And then he finally looked at her.

Eyes sharp. Quiet. Heavy-lidded like they’d seen too much.

She met his stare without dropping hers.

“You don’t have to explain pain to me,” she murmured.

He blinked. Just once. Like he wasn’t expecting that.

Like maybe he didn’t even want to be understood—but now that he was, it made his whole body settle just an inch.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the session. She taped his wrist and iced his ribs. He didn’t make a sound, but his breath hitched once when her hands brushed lower than expected.

She apologized. He didn’t say anything.

But when he stood to leave, his voice was deep and low.

“You always this calm?”

She gave a half-smile. “You always this grumpy?”

And for the first time, Roman Reigns—fight-hardened, blood-smeared, silent-as-the-grave Roman—grinned.

Just a little.

He came back three days later. Asked for her by name.

And over time, something started to form.

No flirting.

No games.

Just longer sessions. Longer silences. Until the silences weren’t empty anymore.

Until she started waiting for the sound of his boots in the hallway.

Until he started staying five minutes after. Then ten. Then walking her to the parking garage.

Until the night he looked at her and said:

“I don’t usually let people touch me. But you… I feel like I’d stop breathing if you didn’t.”

And maybe that’s when he knew.

Maybe she did, too.

She still remembered that first night. The blood on his hoodie. The way he couldn’t meet her eyes until she told him he didn’t have to explain pain. The way he looked at her now was different—but the man underneath hadn’t changed. Just the way he let her hold him.

“That’s why I don’t look away,” she whispered.

And that’s when he kissed her.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It didn’t demand or dominate. It opened.

Warmth bled between them as her lips moved against his—slow, sweet, and sure. He tasted like iron and something tired. She tasted like ChapStick and vanilla and something his.

Roman made a low sound in his throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite a sigh. Something in between. A sound that meant thank you for touching me when I feel like a monster.

He deepened the kiss, just enough to feel her breath change.

One hand cradled her jaw. The other moved to her back. He held her like a man holding the last soft thing in a hard world.

When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse.

“Take it off, Shy.”

Her throat went dry. The syllable of her name felt heavier when he said it like that—slow, deep, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She nodded, fingers curling around the hem of the hoodie.

It wasn’t modesty. It was vulnerability.

Being bare around Roman was different. He didn’t just see her. He memorized her. Devoured her with his eyes like he wanted to be fluent in her skin.

Still, she peeled it off.

Underneath: soft bralette. Cotton shorts. Bare thighs. Gold anklet.

The shorts clung to her like a second skin, cinched just under the swell of her ass. Her hips flared, thick and smooth, and her thighs jiggled just a little as she moved—soft enough to sink into, strong enough to ride him into the mattress. Roman swore under his breath again, because fuck… she was thick and beautiful and everything he didn’t deserve.

Roman swore under his breath. In English first. Then Samoan.

“You don’t even try to kill me. You just do.”

He took off his own shirt—slow, deliberate. The bruises on his ribs bloomed deep purple. A long, angry cut ran beneath his collarbone. He didn’t flinch.

But when she reached for him, he caught her wrist.

“Don’t fix it,” he said. “Just be here.”

Shiloh’s eyes softened. She touched his chest anyway—right over the cut—and whispered, “Okay.”

And then his mouth found hers again.

Slower this time. Hungrier.

Roman’s mouth never strayed far from hers, but the kiss shifted—lower, deeper, more possessive. His lips dragged along her jaw, then lower, biting softly at her neck.

Then he sat back, gaze dark and unreadable.

“On your knees, mama.”

Shiloh’s breath caught. Not from fear. From the sheer weight in his voice.

She moved without hesitation. Slid off the bed onto the carpet, the press of the cool floor grounding her even as heat licked up her spine. Her body was buzzing—raw and worshipful. Being in front of him like this didn’t feel small. It felt powerful. Sacred. Like her mouth was the only place he wanted to lose control.

Roman leaned back slightly, legs spread, watching her with a hunger that almost made her ache. His cock strained against his sweats, thick and already leaking. And when she reached up to free him, his eyes fluttered closed for a second—just one.

“You know what I like,” he said, voice gravel. “So don’t tease me, baby. Not tonight.”

She pulled him out, her hand not even able to wrap fully around him. God, he was heavy in her palm. Warm. Veined. His tip was flushed and dripping, and she licked it once—just a flick, just to taste him.

Roman’s hips jerked.

“Fuck—”

Shiloh looked up at him through her lashes, her lips wrapping around the head. She sucked him in slowly, relaxing her jaw, inch by inch, until she couldn’t take any more. She gagged softly—his size never stopped being a stretch—but she pushed herself down again, letting her nose brush the firm line of his abs.

His groan was guttural.

“Jesus, Shy…”

She held him deep, her throat tightening around him, breathing through her nose. Her palms rested on his thighs, grounding herself in his warmth. Her eyes watered—but not from discomfort. From the rush. The intimacy. The way his whole body shook beneath her.

Roman’s hand found the back of her head—not rough, just firm.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Givin’ me this sweet fuckin’ throat like it belongs to me.”

It did.

Every part of her did, and he knew it.

She moaned around him, letting the vibrations travel through him like lightning. He bucked once—just once—and then forced himself still.

“Shit, baby. I’m hangin’ on by a thread.”

He was unraveling, and she felt it.

And God, she loved it.

Loved that this man—this warrior, this myth, this fucking machine of violence—was coming undone because of her. Because of her mouth, her patience, her devotion.

He looked down just in time to see her spit slick down his shaft, her lips glossy, her eyes wild with heat. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, then pulled back and stroked him with both hands, spreading her spit all the way to the base.

Roman was breathing like he’d just run five rounds.

“Fuck. You tryin’ to make me bust in your mouth, mama? That what you want?”

She nodded, then swallowed him again.

Deeper this time.

Sloppier.

More desperate.

Her throat worked around him, each bob messier than the last. Her tears smeared down her cheeks. And still—she didn’t stop. She gave all of herself, like worship, like penance, like prayer.

Roman’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Shit—Shy—you gotta stop—fuck—you gon’ make me—”

He pulled her off, fast but careful, panting like he just survived a war.

His cock was dripping, shiny and soaked, twitching in her grip. And her lips—God—her lips were swollen and slick with him.

She looked ruined.

And he’d never seen anything more perfect.

“Get up here,” he growled, low and urgent. “Now.”

Shiloh climbed onto the bed, flushed and breathless. Her thighs were trembling, her body dripping. She looked like she was ready to burst.

Roman dragged her into his lap, every part of him still shaking from the feel of her throat.

Shiloh was already straddling him, bare thighs spread across the thick muscle of his lap. Her ass settled heavy against him, thick and plush, the kind of weight that made his pulse throb. Every time she shifted, he felt her softness drag along his skin like a slow tease. That ass had a rhythm of its own—one he’d memorized, one he craved. It wasn’t just how she moved—it was what she made him feel when she did. Her softness against him made his whole body tense. He gripped her hips, thumbs pressing slow circles into her skin like he was mapping her, muscle by muscle.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice low and gritty, jaw tight with restraint.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Nah, baby. I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” she breathed, lips brushing his. “I want all of you.”

Roman’s nostrils flared.

“You got me.”

He nudged the tip against her entrance. Just that—no pressure, no push—just enough for her body to remember what it was like to be stretched by him.

She inhaled sharply. Her hips twitched, needy already.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “She already opening for me.”

He gripped his cock at the base and slid it against her folds, teasing. Her slick coated him instantly. He didn’t even push in yet, and she was already dripping.

“So fuckin’ wet. All this for me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “It’s yours, Roman.”

“Damn right it is.”

Then he sank into her.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.

Shiloh’s mouth fell open, eyes squeezing shut as he filled her inch by inch. The stretch was insane. Her walls fluttered around him, barely able to take it.

Fuck—he was huge.

Every goddamn time, it felt like he was breaking her in from scratch. Like her pussy forgot how to handle him the second he pulled out. And now—now he was splitting her open like he owned the right to ruin her.

No one else had ever felt like this. No one else had ever made her gasp just from the first few inches. Roman filled every part of her—thick, heavy, perfect—and still had more to give.

It wasn’t fair. How the stretch made her ache and gush all at once. How her walls clenched like they were desperate to hold onto him. How her pussy went dumb the second he bottomed out.

She was fucking addicted to it.

To him.

To the way he made her feel small, stuffed, ruined…

And God help her, she loved it.

Loved being the only one who could take it. Loved knowing this dick—the biggest she’d ever had—was hers.

Roman groaned, head falling back. His voice cracked when he said:

“Goddamn, Shy. I forget how tight this pussy is ‘til I’m back inside it.”

She whimpered. Tried to breathe. Failed.

“That’s it, baby. Ride it. Ride this dick like it’s yours.”

She rocked forward and down—shaky at first, then stronger. Her rhythm built, hips moving in rolling waves, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room.

Roman didn’t stop watching her.

Her tits bounced with every grind. Her nails raked his chest. Her head fell back as she moaned his name, again and again, like a prayer unraveling.

“Look at you,” he gritted out. “You fuckin’ takin’ it. So pretty. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Fat fuckin’ ass takin’ this dick like it was made for it,” he growled, gripping both cheeks hard. “You feel what you’re doin’ to me, baby? Bouncin’ like that, makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

His hand moved to her ass. SLAP.

She gasped, clenching hard around him. It sent a fresh bolt of heat through her core, her pussy tightening like a vice, sucking him in deeper.

“You like that?”

“Yes—Roman, please—”

“You gon’ make a mess all over this dick, huh?”

Another slap—harder. Her thighs jolted. Her back arched like she couldn’t help it. The sting of his palm only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“You better fuckin’ cream on me. I wanna see it.”

She didn’t even realize she was crying until her vision blurred—tears sliding down her temples, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming stretch of him inside her. Every time she lifted and dropped her hips, she felt her body split wide open, clenching just to survive the next thrust.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

It was obliteration.

He filled her so deep her guts throbbed. Her belly felt taut from how far he reached, the tip of his cock dragging along every soft, swollen nerve that had already been fucked raw. Her clit throbbed just from how full she was. And she couldn’t stop—didn’t want to.

“You feel what you do to me?” Roman groaned, voice cracking. “You ridein’ me like that and expect me to hold on?”

He grabbed her hips tighter. Forced her to grind deeper, slower, harder. The friction made her eyes roll back. Her pussy fluttered, soaked and messy and milking him with every bounce.

And then he looked down.

“Oh fuck—look at you.”

His jaw dropped. His voice dropped lower.

Her slick coated him in white, a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock every time she bottomed out. Her juices smeared his thighs. The air smelled like sweat, sex, and something dangerously addictive.

“Fuck, baby—you see that shit?” he growled. “You fuckin’ drippin’ down my balls.”

Shiloh whimpered. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She was seconds from losing it, thighs shaking, pussy clenching in rhythmic spasms around him.

“I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“You better fuckin’ cum,” he said, voice low, wicked. “Let me see you lose control on this dick, mama. Let me feel all of it.”

His hands gripped her ass, slammed her down—and that was it.

She shattered.

Her body jerked forward like something had snapped inside her. Her scream tore from her throat, raw and helpless. Her walls convulsed. Wetness exploded down her thighs in hot, pulsing waves. She squirted around him, again and again, coating his lap with a slick, chaotic mess.

“Fuck you’re squirting for me, huh?” he hissed. “Look at that. Look how wrecked you get for me.”

And still—he didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it, his cock dragging slow and deep through her still-gushing pussy. Her head fell back. Her mouth stayed open. Every nerve was on fire.

“You want another?”

She whimpered. “Roman—I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

He flipped her.

One motion—gripped her waist, laid her back, and lined himself up again.

“Legs open. Let me see that pretty pussy I just broke.”

He slid back in—no resistance now. Just slick heat.

“Mmm. Still twitchin’. She not done yet.”

He put her ankles on his shoulders. Bent down. Kept all of him inside her.

Then he moved.

Deep, grinding thrusts that made the bed creak. His moans got rougher. His lips brushed her ear.

“Cum again, babygirl. One more. Just for me. Let me ruin you soft.”

Her hands gripped the sheets. Her body shook.

“Roman—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Let go. Let me feel everything.”

She came again. Loud. Messy. Writhing beneath him as her body gave out. And that broke him.

He grunted. Cursed. Slammed into her twice more before groaning into her neck.

“Givin’ you all of it. Take it. Take it.”

His cock jerked deep inside her as he came—hard. Long. Gut-wrenching.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even move.

Just lay over her, shuddering with every pulse.

“You okay?” she whispered, dazed, breathless.

Roman chuckled, voice still ragged.

“Baby… I think I saw God.”

Shiloh didn’t remember collapsing.

All she knew was that her body had given up. She was boneless, limp, ruined in the best possible way. Her legs trembled with aftershocks. Her skin tingled from every place he’d touched. And her pussy—God—her pussy throbbed, stretched wide and still pulsing, warm and wet from him.

Roman hadn’t moved.

He was still deep inside her when the last tremor rocked through her hips. Still pressing his forehead to hers. Still breathing like she was oxygen and the world had left him breathless.

“You okay?” he rasped.

Her voice was hoarse. “I think… I can taste colors.”

He chuckled. Deep. Warm. A sound that made her want to kiss the corner of his mouth just to feel it again.

“That good, huh?” “You ruined me.” “Good,” he said again, this time darker. “I like you ruined.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled out slow. She whimpered at the drag—how empty she felt the second he left her. The wet sound of him slipping free echoed between them.

He looked down.

And groaned.

“Fuck. Look what you did to me.”

His cock was slicked in her cream. The base was messy with it, sticky and glistening. His cream smeared down the backs of her thick thighs, leaving glossy trails on skin that still twitched from overstimulation. Her ass—red from his palms, soft from the way she molded into his lap—looked like it had been claimed. Marked. Remembered. There was a milky trail between her thighs, seeping onto the sheets. He brushed his thumb along her slit and watched her body twitch.

“You still sensitive?” “Roman—” “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Still flutterin’. She not ready to let me go yet.”

Then he moved. She thought he was going to tease her again, but instead—

He left the bed.

The absence of him made her cold.

She heard water run. A drawer open. The rustle of cloth. The quiet click of the light dimmer.

When he came back, he knelt at the edge of the bed. Warm towel in one hand. Tenderness in the other.

“Open your legs for me, mama.”

She did.

Because her body always listened to him before her brain could.

He wiped her clean—slow, reverent. Cupped her thighs, spread her gently, ran the towel between her folds with care so tender it made her chest ache. She winced once.

He paused. Kissed the inside of her knee.

“I got you. I’ll be gentle. Just wanna take care of my mess.”

She whimpered at how soft he was. How filthy his voice still sounded even when he was trying to be delicate.

“You always this sweet after you cum?” he murmured, brushing her skin with the backs of his knuckles. “Goin’ quiet on me like I ain’t just made you squirt on this dick twice?”

“You’re cocky.” “I’m correct.”

Once she was clean, he stood and scooped her up.

Roman didn’t ask. Didn’t warn her.

He just wrapped her in his arms like he was reclaiming something that already belonged to him.

“Can’t walk yet, huh?” he teased, lips brushing her temple.

“I might fall face-first.” “That’s alright. I’ll carry you every time.”

He tucked her into the bed gently, like he was setting something delicate into silk. Draped the sheet over her legs. Then slid in behind her, chest to her back, wrapping an arm around her waist.

But she twisted.

Rolled into him.

Tucked herself under his chin and pressed her lips to his collarbone.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Room service trays now sat mostly ignored. Her stomach was full, her thighs sore. She was wrapped in one of his hoodies now—nothing underneath but warm skin.

Roman fed her sushi with his fingers. Held her ankle in his lap, massaging her calf.

“You always this quiet?” “You always this soft?” she asked back.

His eyes lingered on her for a long beat. Longer than she expected.

“Only with you.”

She turned her face into his chest. Breathed him in. Then asked softly:

“Do you ever let anyone else see you like this?”

His answer was immediate.

“No.”

“Why me?”

He didn't rush the answer. He trailed his fingers along the seam of her thigh. Thought for a long time. Then:

“Because you don’t try to fix me. You don’t treat me like I’m some fucked-up legend. You just… show up.”

“I’d keep showing up if you let me.”

He looked down at her. For once, no smirk. No armor. Just a truth sitting heavy behind his eyes.

“You already do.”

He kissed her slow. Not sexual. Not even possessive.

Just like he couldn’t believe he got to.

And when he pulled away, the room was quiet again—except this time, the silence felt earned.

Safe.

Shiloh was already half-asleep, lips brushing his chest, hand resting over his heart.

But before she drifted, she heard him say—voice low, almost to himself:

“I sleep better when you’re the last thing I see.”

The room was still dark.

Early morning light hadn’t breached the curtains yet—just the faint blue hush of pre-dawn that settled across the ceiling like a sigh. The air was cool. The sheets were warm. And Shiloh—bare and curled beside him—was breathing slow and even, her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder.

Roman was already awake.

Had been for almost an hour.

But he hadn’t moved.

Not because he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t want to.

There was something sacred about this—about watching her sleep, soft and safe in a bed that had seen violence hours before. Her cheek rested on his chest, her lips parted slightly, and one thigh was draped over his waist like she had no intention of letting go.

And God… he didn’t want her to.

He ran his hand down her back. Barely a touch. Just enough to feel the curve of her spine. Just enough to remind himself she was still there.

Still here.Still his.

He leaned forward—careful not to wake her—and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. Then another, lower, just above her shoulder blade.

His lips lingered.

And then, in a voice no louder than breath, he whispered something no one else had ever heard from him. Not his family. Not his friends. Not even himself, in the mirror.

“I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

The words didn’t scare him.

What scared him was how true they felt.

He kissed her again—one more time, just because he could—and let his forehead rest against the space between her shoulder and neck. She stirred lightly, but didn’t wake.

Roman closed his eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like years, he didn’t feel like he had to armor up when morning came.

He didn’t feel like the fight would start again as soon as the sun rose.

He just felt... safe.

Because she was here.

Because she came anyway.

Because maybe—for once—he didn’t have to be anything more than this.

Just a man.

Just hers.

Author's Note ✍🏽:

If this one gave you feelings, made you squirm, or had you whispering “oh my God” to no one—please tell me everything. I live for your reactions. 💭 What line did it for you? 💭 What part made you feel soft? 💭 Should I write a morning-after continuation? 💭 Do you imagine this Roman existing in the same universe as any of my other stories?

Let’s talk about it in the comments or in your tags—I always read them. Your reblogs, reactions, and love keep me inspired. 💌

Slide into my inbox with your thoughts, keysmashes, theories, or thirst. I love getting asks and screaming with y’all about these characters—it makes sharing my work feel even more special. 🖤 If you want to be added to my Main Taglist, just drop a comment or fill out the form in my pinned post. And if you're looking for more emotional smut, messy love, and slow-burn softness… my masterlist has you covered. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. You're seriously some of the coolest people I know.

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[fizzzysodaa]

RHEA RIPLEY WWE SummerSlam Kickoff, June 21st, 2025

[fizzzysodaa]

6'1...

You should’ve known something was up when Sukuna wore the boots. Not the casual ones. The loud ones — black leather, combat-style, definitely adding unnecessary height to his already skyscraper frame.

The group outing was supposed to be chill. Your friends, their boyfriends, some drinks, good food. You didn’t expect war.

“Hey, how tall are you again?” one of the boyfriends asked, half-smiling, trying to make small talk.

Sukuna sipped his drink, leaned back in his chair like he wasn’t 6’5 of muscle and chaos. “Me? I’m like 6'1.”

You immediately blinked. “What—?”

But it was too late. The room shifted.

One boyfriend, who claims to be 6'1, suddenly adjusted his posture. The other two were already side-eyeing each other like it was a standoff.

“…Wait. I thought you were taller than that?” one of the girls said, tilting her head.

“Nah,” Sukuna said smoothly, eyes locked on the guys. “Everyone says that. Must be my energy.”

One guy fake-laughed. Another subtly kicked his shoes off under the table like the inch mattered now. Someone even stood up under the guise of “stretching,” clearly just trying to gauge where they stood next to Sukuna — and failing.

You leaned over and whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

Sukuna didn’t look at you. “Shh. Watch.”

The girlfriends started questioning everything. “Wait… you told me you were 6'1?” “Yes I am!” “Are you sure?” “Why does Sukuna look taller than you by like, a lot?” “Babe… were you lying to me? Hold on, stand next to Sukuna. Stand up right now.”

One guy pulled out a phone and typed something in a panic. Another tried to slouch next to Sukuna, then realized that made it worse.

“I swear I’m 6'1!” one finally snapped.

“Same,” Sukuna said, not even blinking, sipping his drink like it was tea and not the blood of his enemies.

You're just sitting there in secondhand embarrassment, fighting the urge to say something, while your man caused a full-blown masculinity crisis.

Later that night you asked, “Why’d you do that?”

Sukuna shrugged, smug. “They needed to be humbled.”

“Do you feel better now?”

He kissed your cheek smiling. “Yeah. A little.”

Unhinged. Irredeemable. Insane.

[fizzzysodaa]

[fizzzysodaa]

vi biceps need more attention guys.

dom!vi x sub!fem!reader || nsfw ;; arm kink ;; muscle worship.

the first time you noticed her biceps—really noticed them—you swear your soul left your body.

they weren’t just muscular. they were devastating.

taut and cut with the kind of definition that screamed years of street fights and prison time, her biceps weren’t for show. they were for breaking people. thick, powerful, with a hardness that barely fit beneath her shirts. when she rolled up her sleeves, the swell of her arms became a slow-motion distraction you couldn’t tear your eyes from. veins popped prettily beneath the skin, twitching whenever she clenched her fist or flexed just slightly. and god, she always did it so casually—like her arms weren’t the seventh deadly sin.

running from the edge of her shoulder and disappearing just behind the curve of her bicep was a black ink tattoo, something tribal and bold, trailing down the back of her arm like a secret meant to be followed with your tongue. when she lifted her arms, that ink peeked out—shimmering over muscle, stretching with every move like it wanted to wrap around your throat.

you couldn’t stop looking. and she had no idea. …or maybe she did.

the room was quiet—too quiet. sweat clung to your skin like a second layer. you were already trembling when she leaned in.

“you keep starin’ at my arms like that, baby…” vi’s voice dipped low, gravel-slick and cocky. “you wanna ride ‘em or somethin’?”

you didn’t answer fast enough.

so she flipped you over.

you yelped, palms scraping against the sheets as she straddled the back of your thighs, her weight pressing you down. her hand—that huge, calloused hand—came down flat against the mattress beside your head. then the other. she locked her arms straight and lowered her chest to yours, the muscles of her arms tightening above you like fucking marble.

“feel that?” she whispered, dragging her lips across your cheek.

you did. oh, god, you did. her biceps were pulsing on either side of your head, caging you in like she was showing off, flexing just to let you know she could break the bed—or your mind—if she wanted.

and then she bent her elbows.

the second she dropped to her forearms, her biceps flexed wide—hard, solid, right against your throat as her arms bracketed your head. it wasn’t enough to choke, but it was enough to make you whimper. enough to make your thighs twitch open.

“you wanted this, huh?” she murmured, licking a slow stripe along your neck. “all that time eye-fucking my arms like a lil’ slut. now you’re under ’em.”

you nodded—frantic, shaky.

and vi grinned.

she slid one arm beneath your head, bicep pressing right against your jaw, and locked it tight. not around your neck, no—under you. like a pillow made of tension and heat and filthy promise. her other hand? it slipped between your thighs, fingers thick and soaked, curling up until you sobbed.

every time she curled her fingers inside you, her bicep tensed beneath your face. you could feel the way it flexed, could see the veins bulge in the corner of your vision when you dared to look down. she was doing it on purpose.

every stroke, every thrust—her arm flexed just a little more.

“you’re grindin’ on my arm,” she panted against your ear, voice gone husky. “you that desperate, baby? fuckin’ yourself on my bicep?”

you didn’t mean to moan. but it ripped from your throat like a confession.

she pushed deeper.

and then she did it—flexed her whole arm. deliberately. slowly. the muscle under your head thickened, bulged, raised your chin like you were a doll being lifted by brute force alone. your mouth dropped open. you nearly came just from that.

“god, you’re so cute when you whimper.” vi laughed, breath ragged now. “might start sleepin’ like this. keepin’ you on my arm, real nice. no pillow, just me.”

she thrust harder. the bicep twitched. you broke.

legs spasming, you came with a cry muffled against her shoulder, trembling all over her arm. she didn’t stop. not until you were gasping, teeth bared, pleading for her to ease up.

but vi just nuzzled into your temple and cooed, “nah, baby. you asked for this. now you’re gonna come again. on my arm this time.”

and you did.

again. and again. and again.

[fizzzysodaa]

RHEA RIPLEY WWE SummerSlam, August 21st, 2021