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msbigredmachine · 6 hours
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Power Couple: The Aftermath (Roman Reigns)
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When the Tribal Chief falls, no one helps him back up better than you do. Set after the epic main event of Wrestlemania XL.
Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC
Warnings: Excess fluff and of course, smut.
Word Count: 3.3k
A/N: Yes, I'm still in my feelings, and there was only one pairing I could properly convey my feelings with, because this has also been their story all along. For new readers, I strongly suggest reading the first two one-shots before delving into this one. Hope you enjoy!
Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs
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1,316 days.
All wiped away with three slaps of the referee’s hand to the hard canvas.
Even after Cody rolled away from him, Roman could not move. Hell, he couldn’t breathe. Not when the air had been punched out of his lungs, literally and figuratively. It was only when Dwayne pulled him out of the ring by his pants leg that his body managed to kickstart itself into some sort of motion. And even then, all he could do was turn his head to look back and watch as Cody celebrated in the ring with his wife Brandi, holding his title belt aloft for the whole world to behold as the ultimate symbol of his victory. 
It should have been you and him up there. It should have been him. Again. But it wasn’t. Because the one time he got careless in battle, it cost him everything. Throwing years of hard work down the drain.
And it made him sick to his stomach.
The sound of ‘Kingdom’ blaring through the Lincoln Financial Field Stadium was torture to the former champion’s ears. His legs felt like lead as he dragged his battered body up the ramp, ignoring Dwayne’s baseless, performative complaints about nothing, as he put distance to the tableau of triumph of his opponent. The weight of this defeat was heavy, suffocating even, and he was desperate to get the fuck out of there, to get out of Philadelphia, out of Pennsylvania and all its environs. As he reached the top of the vast WrestleMania stage, pain surged through his abdomen, forcing him to recoil into himself and double over in pain. 
His Wise Man noticed his plight and paused to observe his charge. "My Tribal Chief, are you alright? Do you need-"
Roman shook his head. "I'm fine,” he snapped, willing himself to keep walking until he made it past the curtain. He leaned against the wall and bent over, resting his hands on his knees.
“What can I do, my Tribal Chief?” Paul implored.
“Just…get my wife on the bus and make sure everything’s ready to go. I’ll be there soon."
“Right away my Tribal Chief,” Paul replied eagerly, scurrying off to do as he was told.
It was a good long minute before Roman managed to pull himself back upright, staggering towards his locker room. Walking was so hard, his body hurt so much, but none of it hurt as much as the gut punch of failure. Much worse than any of the bumps he took was the shame, the disappointment engulfing him; so much so that he couldn’t bear to look anyone else in the eye right now.
Because he had failed everyone who cared about him.
He had failed you.
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All good things come to an end. That’s how the saying goes, right? The interesting part of that was that on the surface, it was a throwaway little trope, harmless and benign, until something that meant a great deal to you got taken away in the blink of an eye, or in this case, a three-count. The moment the bell signaled the pinfall that confirmed your husband's time as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion had come to an end, you knew he would never be the same again.
It wasn't unlike Roman to be a little on edge weeks before a big premium live event. And given the nature of the two main event matches he was locked in for the fortieth annual WrestleMania, you expected he would be grouchy. But this time around seemed different, and not in a good way. He’d been surly towards everybody, including you. He disappeared for hours working out obsessively. He’d even thrown out a female member of the press who had dared to boo him at the press conference on Saturday night. Now, despite the final match of the weekend concluding nearly an hour ago, Roman was yet to return to his tour bus. That only meant one thing; he was not taking this defeat well, and it was up to you to lift him up, like you always did.
When you found the door boasting your husband's name, Heyman was outside, pacing back and forth. The Undisputed title, which you had grown accustomed to seeing on his shoulders on behalf of his Tribal Chief, was missing; a stark, prickly reminder of the outcome of tonight’s proceedings. 
"That bad, huh?" you asked, reading the Wise Man’s expression in a second. In fact, he looked on the verge of tears, his shoulders sagging with despair. The weekend had taken an emotional toll on him, too.
"He won’t come out," he informed you, his usually confident voice shaky and helpless. “He won’t let anyone in and he won’t speak to anyone…”
You raised your index finger to cut him off. "Correction, he won’t speak to anyone that’s not me," you stated, shooting him a warm smile, one among countless others you had shared with him since burying the hatchet after years of friction between you. "Go be with your family, Paul. I’ll handle my husband.”
“He’s my family, too,” he declared softly, the conviction in what you used to call his beady eyes, palpable and heartbreaking, “Both of you are.”
Touched and at a loss for words, you could only look on as he turned around slowly and made the lonely walk down the hallway. Turning back to the locker room door, you sucked a breath between your teeth and blew it out, mentally preparing to confront this task head-on.
You knocked timidly and stuck your head inside. If Roman was in as foul a mood as Paul let on, even you did not want to be there. It had taken a few unfortunate incidents over the years for you to learn that even a kiss from his wife wasn't enough when he got too stressed. It never stopped you from trying, though. Kissing was one of your favorite things to do with him after all.
"Knock, knock," you called out softly, listening for signs of movement as you stepped inside and closed the door. The room that was bustling just a few hours ago was now stripped bare and cloaked in dead quiet. It was an eerie contrast to the majestic, sweeping grandiosity that encompassed his entrance to the ring tonight. “Babe?”
Venturing further inside the room, you found him on the couch, his strong, broad back to you, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table in front of him. His ula fala was draped over the headrest, where his title belt would surely have been. 
This was the reality no one warned you about after a monumental loss. It plunged you into a cold, dark abyss, wrought with biting silence and dreary loneliness now that the show was over and the lights were no longer bright. The what ifs, buts and maybes crooning in your ear like a morbid symphony. It was an experience all too familiar to you unfortunately, and recently, too; you and your husband had traveled down this terrible road following the tragic miscarriage of your son in the summer of 2022.
Stepping in front of him, you wiggled into his personal space and made yourself at home on his lap. Gently wrapping your arms around him, you sighed with relief when he instantly melted into you and his huge arms enveloped your waist, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 
“My baby,” you cooed soothingly, the sound of your lips meeting the side of his head piercing through the emptiness of the locker room. “My love.” 
The audible hitch of his breath at your soft words was expected. In the course of your lifetime, those two little phrases had garnered a poignant significance. As words of comfort and solace first uttered by your mother when you were a child, you murmured those words regularly to Roman between sweet, playful kisses when he was courting you, basking in the bliss of newfound love, and again as part of your wedding vows as you became man and wife. They were the first words you whispered to Laleia the first time she was placed in your arms. They were the words that you had cried yourself to sleep with as you mourned the baby boy you had lost. You and Roman had seen each other at your absolute best and worst, and now, in the isolation of this room, with just the two of you and nobody else, this was another bad moment you had to overcome.
“On Matt’s birthday, too,” Roman finally spoke, wiping at his nose with a sniffle. “Fuck, man.”
“I know,” you replied, running your hand comfortingly up and down his upper arm. As he met your gaze at last, you saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing him like this broke your heart afresh. You held him as close as possible, willing all his pain and his hurt into your soul, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.
"I fucked up," he breathed, his voice raw and choked with misery, "I fucked up out there, babe...I let Dwayne down...I let y'all down. I lost the title and I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what? Over thirteen hundred days as champion?" you countered, "Nine WrestleMania main events? Billions of dollars in revenue? A roof over your child's head and three square meals a day? One loss will never wipe any of that away, don't ever get it twisted."
He exhaled tiredly as he hugged you tighter, resting his head on your shoulder. "I really wish I felt that way right now," he mumbled.
"It'll take some time, but you will," you asserted, running his fingers through his loose hair before tugging it lightly, making him look at you again. "Roman, you changed the industry, just like you said you would when we started this. No one will ever, ever forget what you've done these past four years. Be proud of all of it. You've been through so much, you sacrificed too much to not be proud."
Roman nodded in understanding. He just wished he didn't feel so down. "Baby, I...I want you to know how sorry I am. I know how much you wanted this. And I've been such a dick to you lately-"
You kissed your teeth and waved his apology away. "Nah. That don't matter no more. And I don't care that you didn't win. All I care about is you being safe when you're out there. Being healthy for our family and our daughter, who will be very happy to have her Daddy home, by the way. So we took an L. Okay, we'll only come back stronger. We had one bad night. Guess what? I plan on giving you a better morning, if you know what I mean." You rounded off your words with a wink, your heart blooming when he chuckled in response. "See, there's that smile I love so much. Keep your head up, baby. You did so good tonight. I couldn't be more proud of you."
Roman leaned into you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in and filling his head with your scent. It was like breathing fresh air. “I love you, Y/N. I love you with all of my heart. I don’t deserve you, I never have.”
The tears you'd been fighting all night resurfaced, but you blinked them away as you captured his lips with yours, your hand sliding over the back of his neck. He clung to you, a different emotion quickly overtaking him as he returned your kiss with a bit of aggression, his tongue whipping hungrily against yours, savoring your mouth as though he was tasting it for the very first time. You surrendered to his every whim, your other hand raking through his hair then caressing gently down to his chest, resting your palm over the spot where his heart pumped for you. You could feel how much he needed this moment of intimacy, and you had no qualms giving him anything he asked for.
With one quick tug of your legs, Roman had you straddling him on the couch, bringing you chest to chest with your lush backside resting on his growing bulge. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, then sealed your mouths again, his tongue invading, probing, a moan rumbling in his chest when you matched his energy, the emotions take over this loving embrace. He could never get enough of you, of the passion that overwhelmed him by your mere presence, immersing him in a love and gratitude he would always feel for you no matter what state of mind he was in.
Eventually, you pulled away from each other, breathless, panting, lips glistening with each other’s saliva. His heart raced at the familiar gleam in your darkened eyes. You weren’t done with him, not just yet, and this was confirmed as you slowly slid off him and sank to your knees between his spread thighs, pushing the front of his shirt up to expose his newly honed six-pack abs.
“Do you know how fucking hot you looked tonight, Daddy?” you purred to him, leaning in to run your tongue over the ridges of muscle on his taut belly. “Last night? All week? Do you have any idea of all the nasty shit I’m gonna do to you on the bus?”
Roman’s dick jumped in his joggers as his imagination ran wild. He squirmed in his seat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth as your tongue lapped at his belly, your mouth warm on his skin, all while you rubbed the fullness of his bulge straining eagerly against your touch. “Baby girl…” he choked out, as your fingers peeled the waistband of his pants, unveiling his big, beautiful brown dick. 
“Hmm, commando. I like it,” you commented with a smirk, curling your fist around his turgid length.
“Babe, wait…ain’t Paul outside?”
“I sent him home. Plus, won't be the first time he's seen me suck you off.” Your small hand massaged his blunt, plum-shaped head as you licked a trail along the underside of his dick, enjoying the gasps of pleasure that he made. Licking up the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip, your mouth opened wider to take him in. He stared you down with an intense look in his dark irises, which soon fluttered shut as your lips wrapped tight around his flesh, his stomach tensing as he felt himself slide deeper inside. “Awww, fuuuck,” he moaned.
Pulling back for a second, you held his lust-filled stare and stroked his dick a little harder, giggling when it twitched in your grip. A defiant look clouded your eyes as you licked at his tip before pushing him back into your mouth. It was enough for him to nut by just watching you, the visual of your lips sliding slowly up and down his length, that sexy mouth of yours making sweet love to his dick. It felt so good that he sank further into the plush leather of the couch, his head rolling back lazily against the headrest, his toes curling inside his brand new Air Reigns sneakers. All the pain and punishment his body had endured tonight melted away and was replaced with much more pleasurable sensations.
“I love the way you suck my dick, wifey,” he praised you, forcing himself to observe you through his barely open eyelids. “Mmm, that slutty little mouth is warm as fuck…You so sexy, baby, keep lookin’ up at me like that...” 
His raspy growls had you glancing back up at him, batting your pretty eyelashes as you sucked him off. Wetness pooled between your thighs at his famished expression. Completely aroused, you picked up the pace as your hands and your mouth worked in tandem, sucking and stroking his dick, pleasuring him from tip to base. His breathing became heavier as he throbbed against your tongue, his hands finding the back of your head as he got lost in the paradise of your warm, wet mouth. 
“Damn, baby. I bet that pussy leakin’ for me right now. You gettin’ wet sucking Daddy off, beautiful?” he taunted, his tongue swishing over his bottom lip at the same time your tongue swirled around the base of his shaft. The little moan that escaped your throat told him he was right. Of course he was; he knew his wife better than anybody else. “Good girl. Keep goin', I want that pussy extra wet. I’ma lick all that shit up when we get on the bus.”
With another soft moan, you crawled closer to his body and bore down on him, bobbing your head up and down that long, fat cock. Scooping your hair up into his large fist for leverage, Roman rocked his hips upwards from his seated position, thrusting in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat to take him deeper, moaning around his dick and letting him know how much you were enjoying him fucking your face. You rolled his balls in your hand, caressing the heavy, tightened sac to send him over the edge. It was working, as he began thrusting faster, his husky groans of pleasure amplifying as he neared his release.
“Unnnhh, baby, here it comes…Fuck, open your mouth,” he gasped, not waiting for you to do so as he yanked you by your hair to free himself from your intoxicating mouth. You quickly opened wide as he grabbed his cock and jerked it desperately against your tongue. He caught sight of the glazed-over quality of your gaze, and he knew that your panties were completely ruined, your pussy dripping with your need for him. He planned to take care of that very soon.
It was a show more spectacular than Mania, the sight of his gorgeous face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back, eyes rolled to the heavens as his orgasm washed over his big body. Your moans harmonized together with each spasm of his cum down your throat, making you swallow every drop he unleashed. His grip on your hair was tight and almost painful, but you were turned on anyway, aroused by the knowledge that no one brought him to this state of paramount pleasure like you did. Licking your lips, you scooped him back into your mouth to clean him up, released him with a soft pop when you finished, and tucked him back inside the confines of his joggers. You giggled as he stared dazedly at the ceiling, licking his lips to catch his breath, his big frame slack and helpless as he recovered from the intense orgasm.
"Goddamn, baby...Shit," he groaned.
Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stood up and sat back on his lap, welcoming the gentle press of his mouth to yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. “You feel better, Daddy?” you asked.
"Much better. I needed that so much. Thanks, baby," he smiled up at you, his stomach doing flips as you smiled back. He truly was the luckiest man in the world.
“Mm-hmm. Luckily, there’s more where that came from,” you assured him with another kiss before getting to your feet and pulling him up to his. “Come on, Daddy. Let's go home. We got a toddler to take care of. We'll figure out all the other stuff when it's time."
He nodded in agreement and squeezed your hand. “Okay, baby. Home it is.”
A new chapter in your story had been opened tonight, and the path ahead seemed uncertain and even scary. But you both took pride in the fact that as long as you kept writing it together, your love story was going to remain as beautiful as it already was.
But make no mistake about it; Roman Reigns was going to rule the wrestling world again. That was one story that was never going to end.
THE END
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Thoughts? How sappy was this😢Was quite cathartic for me, loved writing it.
Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!
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msbigredmachine · 18 hours
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This is still so surreal.
Tribal Heir
Right Hand man
Missing one piece
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msbigredmachine · 2 days
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I’m sooooo happy that Big E has found love!
On the New Day Pod back then, he swore up and down that he’d be single for the rest of his life. Then Mia Yim’s sister showed up 🤣
Wishing them nothing but the best!
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msbigredmachine · 3 days
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Lol I see the Tama Tonga fics coming in thick and fast now 🤣 Calm down ladies
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msbigredmachine · 3 days
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Nope. I think this is all Solo.
My theory is Roman’s loss has all but confirmed to Solo that the man who he used to follow is weak and can’t get the job done on his own.
Remember that Solo was screaming at Roman in the ring to finish the job and Roman kept saying “I know”.
That was not the first time Solo saw weakness in Roman. At MITB last year, Roman got emotional because he couldn’t pin the twins. Solo looked at him like he was crazy.
I don’t think Solo was ever listening to Jimmy. He doesn’t even accept his handshakes. Solo was doing what he wanted.
I think Solo has taken matters into his own hands now that the Tribal Chief has run off to lick his wounds. He’s recruited Tama, he’s taken Heyman hostage and exiled Jimmy. I think he’s bringing in Jacob Fatu next.
It’s going to be another fantastic Bloodline chapter. Can’t wait.
Nah this wasnt roman....
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msbigredmachine · 3 days
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Can we get some Tama Tonga Imagines now please 🥺🥺
Lol I’ll think about it.
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msbigredmachine · 3 days
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New To This Masterlist (Jey Uso)
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Jaded by her fiancé’s disinterest in her ambitions to become a professional wrestler, Delilah Parrish’s life takes an interesting turn when one of WWE’s top names offers her the support she’s not getting at home.
Pairing: Jey Uso/OC
Warnings: As we go along…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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msbigredmachine · 3 days
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New To This - Chapter 2
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A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful response to the first chapter, I really appreciate it!
Enjoy Chapter 2!
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Home for Delilah was a small, aging modular house tucked away in an urban suburb in eastern Pensacola. It previously belonged to Andre’s father, and it served as a fairly decent abode for the young couple ever since they got engaged nearly two years ago. Andre had been living there for a decade, moving in to work at his uncle’s auto shop immediately after graduating from high school. It wasn't the most luxurious of dwellings, but it beat the miniscule space she’d been crammed in with her father, mother and older sister for years, so Delilah really couldn't complain.
Rolling her eyes at her mother’s wedding-laden text message, she pulled her keys from her pocket, guided it into the lock and pushed open the door. Closing it firmly behind her, she leaned back against it, shutting out the rest of the world for the rest of the day. Hanging her hooded jacket on the hook by the door, she kicked off her sneakers and dumped them in the corner along with her gym bag, knowing she put them in their proper place, but was too tired and hungry to worry about that right then.
She wandered into the kitchen, ignoring the small stack of unopened bills on the countertop, and opened the refrigerator. The three pieces of leftover chicken and half-full bottle of red wine wasn’t going to cut it. Sadly, ordering takeout was a bit of a luxury right now, so she had to make do with whatever she could find in the refrigerator and the pantry. Luckily, her mother had ensured that both of her daughters became creative enough cooks to see through any food shortage, which, these days, occurred more often than Delilah liked to admit. So, retrieving as many ingredients as she could find, she set about making dinner for herself and Andre, a peace offering of sorts after their turbulent morning.
It had been a stressful last few months, combining her wrestling classes with numerous double shifts at both her jobs to make ends meet. Adding the equally demanding task of planning her wedding was not helping. More frustrating, at least, according to Andre, was the fact that their nuptial plans were being delayed by her so-called ambitions, chipping away at what little income they both earned. Delilah truly wished he could see the big picture, or at the very least, show a little more support. He, of all people, should have her back. That the rest of the townspeople thought she was out of her mind didn’t mean that he had to agree with them.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the front door open. Knowing who it was, her insides clenched a little with apprehension, wondering, perhaps hopeful even, that her fiancé would be in a reconciliatory mood. The footsteps coming from the living area got louder as they got nearer. Delilah diverted her focus from the saucepan to watch Andre stroll into the kitchen. and despite the tension that had been brewing between them all day, her heart couldn’t help but welcome the affection that rushed over her for him.
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Andre Gibson had been every girl’s fantasy once upon a time. Still was, if Delilah was being honest. He was yet to lose any of the physical traits that made him so desirable back in high school. Just hitting six feet, his body was lean and toned from years of doing most of the heavy lifting at his father’s landscaping business. They were inseparable when they were younger; the best thing about school for her was sneaking out to hang out with him, making out with him in the bleachers after basketball games. It was like Heaven for Delilah, elated to be in a spot so many girls were dying to be in. The romance continued after high school, to Delilah’s pleasant surprise, culminating in his proposal two years ago on her twenty-second birthday. And now here they were, living together as soon-to-be man and wife.
“Hey,” he mumbled, rubbing a dirt-streaked hand over his tired face. His worn shirt was unbuttoned with his toned abs on display, and he dumped his backpack on the ground against the wall by the back door.
“Hey,” Delilah returned his greeting. “You’re home early. How did your day go?”
His tired sigh preceded his reply. “Same old, same old. We had one breakthrough though. Pops and I finally completed Mrs. Whelan’s garden.”
“Oh yeah, I remember you talking about that,” she said, stirring the contents in the skillet. “That’s great. I’m glad to know you finally pulled it off.”
“Same here, babe.” He came up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “What’cha got cookin’?”
“Improvising a little with the leftover chicken,” she started, pausing when his hands cupped her hips and his lips met her shoulder. And right away, she knew what this was. This was his way of apologizing about this morning; showing her affection without saying a word. That was the thing about her relationship with Andre. There was something special about the way that they didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking. They fought, then acted like nothing had ever happened when they got back together. She felt he was in the wrong for this argument, but she wasn’t expecting an apology…no apologies were ever really exchanged afterwards…Everything just went back to normal, seemingly papering over the cracks, in Delilah’s humble opinion. But it kept the peace, so it was better if she kept that little discrepancy to herself.
“Now that we know how your day went, you wanna hear about mine?” she asked.
Chuckling to himself, Andre pushed gently away from her. “Sure, babe,” he said, “How was training today?”
“Tough as fuck,” Delilah grumbled, as Andre grabbed a glass and held it underneath the kitchen faucet. “Tank’s not letting up, even with two days to go till my match. But you’ll never believe who showed up at the warehouse today.”
“You really want me to guess?”
“Maybe not,” she conceded with a giggle, her eyes brightening with excitement as she recalled their brief meeting. “Jey Uso! Jey Uso of all people, Dre!”
Andre raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“He’s a big shot in the WWE. One of the top guys in the entire company,” she explained, even though it would most likely fall on deaf ears. “And the coolest part is he’s from right here. Raised in Pensacola just like we were.”
“That’s nice,” Andre responded with a nonchalant, almost bored tone as he settled down at the kitchen table. Delilah was well aware that Andre didn’t watch wrestling. He always called it fake and childish, but that opinion changed slightly when Delilah returned home from her very first class with bruises all over her body. She’d hoped he’d take interest in it, if only for her sake, but that didn’t look like it was happening anytime soon.
She finished making dinner and set a plate in front of him, shredded caramelized chicken with white rice and fresh tomato salad. It wasn’t gourmet, but Delilah had done what she could with what little they had. “Mm, smells good,” Andre complimented, grabbing his cutlery to dig in. Delilah sat beside him, casting pensive glances at him as she ate, pondering the right time to ask him a burning question. It was a few bites into her meal when she decided now was the right time.
“You know, you still ain’t told me if you’re coming to see my match or not,” she spoke up.
Andre’s cutlery ceased their skittering across his plate, and he averted his gaze. Delilah detected his answer right away, and her shoulders dropped. “You’re not,” she sighed, shaking her head.
“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly, “But you do understand why I won’t be able to make it, babe. You know what work is like for me these days.”
“I’ve been talking about this for weeks, Dre! You know how important this is to me! It’s my very first match! It’s in two days. Or did you forget that too?” Angrily, she stabbed her fork into a piece of chicken, trying not to imagine it was her fiancé’s eyeball. “You know what? Forget it. You don’t gotta come if you don’t want to.”
Andre started to counter her, but stopped, thinking twice about it. The last thing he wanted was yet another fight, because this was exactly how it always started. They’d been arguing a lot lately, and honestly? He was already over it. “Look…I’ll do my best to make it to your match,” he said.
“Yeah right,” Delilah rolled her eyes, ignoring the glimmer of hope that bloomed within her. “I ain’t holdin’ my breath, that’s for sure.”
“Come on, babe, I’m for real. I’ll clear out my schedule. I’ll set a reminder on my phone and stuff. I promise. Just gimme the details and I’m on it.” He stared at her with pleading eyes, determined to keep the peace between them. It had been a long, tense day, and in-house tension was the last thing he needed.
Delilah smiled, finally. “Fine. I can work with that,” she agreed. “Now finish up. Your mom sent me a few ideas on places we can have the reception. And after that…If you’re a good boy, maybe later, I’ll show you a new move I learned today.” She leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear, “In bed.”
The hand she’d placed on his thigh suggested volumes, and the tantalizing prospect made Andre smile, “Sounds like a plan, babe.” And with that, things were back to normal.
Or so they both wanted to believe.
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The next morning…
Good thing she didn’t hold her breath in the end.
As Delilah dumped the heavy weights on the ground, she let out a loud growl, trying to release the tension surging through her body. She paced back and forth frantically as she glanced around the small gym, looking for what else to take out her anger on. Every muscle in her body was begging for mercy, but she couldn't stop. She had to take her frustrations out on something, otherwise she would take it out on someone, preferably Andre. Luckily, the gym was relatively empty, sparing some poor soul from her unwarranted wrath.
Fucking coward. He couldn’t even tell her to her face that he’d changed his mind about coming to her show. If that was even his intention in the first place. He’d scribbled some lame ass excuse on a piece of paper while she slept, and left it on his side of the bed before scurrying off to work. He was long gone by the time she woke up, presenting her with fewer reasons to trust her future husband.
The music blaring in her ears made it impossible for Delilah to hear or see anyone around her. And the anger she was feeling made her essentially ignore her surroundings. So it took her completely aback when she turned towards the direction of the punching bags only to run smack into a brick wall. "What the fuck!"
Josh smirked slightly as he took a step back, watching her yank the buds out of her ears. "Ay, my bad, on me," he apologized, chuckling at the discombobulated look on her face. "Thought you saw me comin’."
"Clearly not. You ain’t that hard to miss," Delilah snapped, tearing the fingerless gloves off her hands. "What are you even doing here?" she shot, noting vaguely that he didn’t look dressed for a workout. The man who had, just the day before, seemed imposing and breath-taking, was now just another testosterone-filled asshole standing in her way, like her fiancé.
Josh crossed his tattooed arms and stared at her. "Relax," he smiled. "Thought I would stop by and see how you were feelin' about tomorrow night, but I guess that's pretty obvious," he said, eyeing her up and down. He’d been on the mark about her body…bangin’ was an understatement. He forced himself to maintain eye contact to avoid staring at her nipples protruding through her sports bra.
Delilah grabbed the bottle of water sat on the nearby bench, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps. There was more than one reason she was feeling the way she was, and none of them put the butterflies in her stomach at ease. "I don’t even know why I’m trippin’," she shrugged. "I'm only jobbin' out anyway. Why would I want him to see me lose?"
“Want who to see you lose?” Josh inquired.
Delilah pursed her lips, contemplating whether she should answer or not. “My fiancé.”
He regretted asking. “Oh. Right. Tank said something like that,” he mumbled.
Delilah stared up at the huge man with narrowed eyes. “You and Tank talked about me?”
“Not the way you think,” Josh quickly clarified at her suspicious expression. “He has a lot of faith in you, which is why you ain’t gotta worry so much about tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”
"You make it sound so easy-breezy,” Delilah groaned, shoving her sweaty hair away from her equally sweaty face. “Maybe if one of us got hurt, the fans will have something to remember the match by."
Now it was Josh's turn to roll his eyes. Damn rookies. "Yeah, then you’ll be the fragile weakling nobody wanna work with. I know Tank taught you better than that," he countered. "Look, it ain’t all about winning and losing, not right now anyway. It’s about making an impression on your audience. The fans need a reason to keep watching you, and the suits need a reason they should hire you to wrestle. So everything you do in that ring matters. As long as your match is entertaining as fuck and you don’t kill anyone, that’s all they’ll care about."
Raising an eyebrow, Delilah chuckled. "Right. I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow," she said. Biting her lip in contemplation, she met his eyes again and fought the urge to swoon.
"Ay, it’s okay to be nervous. You gotta phase that out, though,” he added. “And whatever you got going on at home, put that shit aside until after the match." 
It was a little unnerving how well he’d read her. “Easier said than done,” she scoffed.
For a second, Josh thought about prying, but decided against it. "Wanna know what I was like the morning of my very first match?" He watched her countenance perk up, giving him a curious half-smile that he thought was insanely attractive. "I got so nervous, thinkin’ and worryin’ about the match and shit, that I forgot my bag with my wrestling gear in it. Boots and all. I didn’t realize it until I got to the arena," he explained. “I had to rush back home, and the traffic was so crazy, I didn’t get back to the arena until about ten minutes before my match. That shit sucked ass, man.”
Nibbling on her bottom lip again, Delilah eyed Josh with awe as he spoke, his understanding words and softer eyes putting her more at ease than before. To think that the great Jey Uso had felt this jittery before his first match made her feel like they had a little more in common now.
"I really want this, ya know?" she said, relaxing some more as she confided in him. "I've always wanted this. I had a later start than most, I’ll admit, and I’m playing catch-up. That’s why I'm busting my ass so hard," she admitted. "There’s no room for error, Jey. I gotta be perfect."
Licking his lips subconsciously, Josh watched her take another sip of her water, some of it escaping her lips and trickling down the valley between her breasts, and felt a tightness deep in his gut. "Perfection don’t exist, baby girl, not in pro wrestling," he pointed out, his eyes reactively sweeping down the curves of her body before he spoke again. "Look, if Tank thinks you ready for this, then you ready," he said.
Delilah sighed heavily. She could only hope Tank was right. As she picked up her towel and bag off of the floor, she stopped short, and then turned to face him again. “Wait…Did you just call me baby girl?” she asked him.
A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. “Sorry. Bad habit. I meant no disrespect. If I offended you, I'm sorry.” He stepped closer to her. “Forgive me?”
Delilah swallowed, taking a few steps of her own backwards. She noticed his lips twitch again in amusement. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” 
Josh smiled. “Preciate that, Delilah.” He backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Think about what I said, a’ight?”
She watched him walk away from her and out of the gym, so many questions on the tip of her tongue. Her hand tightened over her water bottle, and she suddenly felt the need to take a cold shower, or two.
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Thoughts?
Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.
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msbigredmachine · 4 days
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😍😍😍😍
My Samoan Daddy and My Tongan Daddy will be on the same show!
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That's too much sexy at one time!
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msbigredmachine · 4 days
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TAMA FUCKING TONGA IS IN WWE!!!!
IN THE BLOODLINE!
LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!!!
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msbigredmachine · 5 days
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This is what happens when you jump on a bandwagon with no concrete evidence.
Zelina has posted her receipts online.
Soooo Zelina Vega has now been called out for not paying an artist that did her costumes and she offered “Exposure” as a payment offer.
Zelina, why the FUCK would you do that?
The artist's Instagram page, with the IG Reel they posted:
instagram
Twitter post with more info:
https://fxtwitter.com/wrestleops/status/1778495244784287780
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msbigredmachine · 6 days
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That stunt AEW pulled has further confirmed why I can never and will never take those people seriously.
Letting another company dominate their show and their content on tv instead of focusing on their own talent.
Rolling out footage of an incident from EIGHT MONTHS AGO involving a former employee who it turns out was telling the truth in his interview.
Then that other silly boy cut a whole promo on Triple H when his name was never even mentioned by Hunter. Rent free and then some.
All for ratings 😬😬😬
Sorry to all you poor fans that watch those dweebs. You deserve better. They’re meant to be an alternative but all they do is talk about the opps 🤦🏾‍♀️
That company is second rate, a glorified WWE tribute show. That is all they’ll ever be and they know it.
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msbigredmachine · 6 days
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Power Couple: The Aftermath (Roman Reigns)
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When the Tribal Chief falls, no one helps him back up better than you do. Set after the epic main event of Wrestlemania XL.
Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC
Warnings: Excess fluff and of course, smut.
Word Count: 3.3k
A/N: Yes, I'm still in my feelings, and there was only one pairing I could properly convey my feelings with, because this has also been their story all along. For new readers, I strongly suggest reading the first two one-shots before delving into this one. Hope you enjoy!
Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs
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1,316 days.
All wiped away with three slaps of the referee’s hand to the hard canvas.
Even after Cody rolled away from him, Roman could not move. Hell, he couldn’t breathe. Not when the air had been punched out of his lungs, literally and figuratively. It was only when Dwayne pulled him out of the ring by his pants leg that his body managed to kickstart itself into some sort of motion. And even then, all he could do was turn his head to look back and watch as Cody celebrated in the ring with his wife Brandi, holding his title belt aloft for the whole world to behold as the ultimate symbol of his victory. 
It should have been you and him up there. It should have been him. Again. But it wasn’t. Because the one time he got careless in battle, it cost him everything. Throwing years of hard work down the drain.
And it made him sick to his stomach.
The sound of ‘Kingdom’ blaring through the Lincoln Financial Field Stadium was torture to the former champion’s ears. His legs felt like lead as he dragged his battered body up the ramp, ignoring Dwayne’s baseless, performative complaints about nothing, as he put distance to the tableau of triumph of his opponent. The weight of this defeat was heavy, suffocating even, and he was desperate to get the fuck out of there, to get out of Philadelphia, out of Pennsylvania and all its environs. As he reached the top of the vast WrestleMania stage, pain surged through his abdomen, forcing him to recoil into himself and double over in pain. 
His Wise Man noticed his plight and paused to observe his charge. "My Tribal Chief, are you alright? Do you need-"
Roman shook his head. "I'm fine,” he snapped, willing himself to keep walking until he made it past the curtain. He leaned against the wall and bent over, resting his hands on his knees.
“What can I do, my Tribal Chief?” Paul implored.
“Just…get my wife on the bus and make sure everything’s ready to go. I’ll be there soon."
“Right away my Tribal Chief,” Paul replied eagerly, scurrying off to do as he was told.
It was a good long minute before Roman managed to pull himself back upright, staggering towards his locker room. Walking was so hard, his body hurt so much, but none of it hurt as much as the gut punch of failure. Much worse than any of the bumps he took was the shame, the disappointment engulfing him; so much so that he couldn’t bear to look anyone else in the eye right now.
Because he had failed everyone who cared about him.
He had failed you.
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All good things come to an end. That’s how the saying goes, right? The interesting part of that was that on the surface, it was a throwaway little trope, harmless and benign, until something that meant a great deal to you got taken away in the blink of an eye, or in this case, a three-count. The moment the bell signaled the pinfall that confirmed your husband's time as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion had come to an end, you knew he would never be the same again.
It wasn't unlike Roman to be a little on edge weeks before a big premium live event. And given the nature of the two main event matches he was locked in for the fortieth annual WrestleMania, you expected he would be grouchy. But this time around seemed different, and not in a good way. He’d been surly towards everybody, including you. He disappeared for hours working out obsessively. He’d even thrown out a female member of the press who had dared to boo him at the press conference on Saturday night. Now, despite the final match of the weekend concluding nearly an hour ago, Roman was yet to return to his tour bus. That only meant one thing; he was not taking this defeat well, and it was up to you to lift him up, like you always did.
When you found the door boasting your husband's name, Heyman was outside, pacing back and forth. The Undisputed title, which you had grown accustomed to seeing on his shoulders on behalf of his Tribal Chief, was missing; a stark, prickly reminder of the outcome of tonight’s proceedings. 
"That bad, huh?" you asked, reading the Wise Man’s expression in a second. In fact, he looked on the verge of tears, his shoulders sagging with despair. The weekend had taken an emotional toll on him, too.
"He won’t come out," he informed you, his usually confident voice shaky and helpless. “He won’t let anyone in and he won’t speak to anyone…”
You raised your index finger to cut him off. "Correction, he won’t speak to anyone that’s not me," you stated, shooting him a warm smile, one among countless others you had shared with him since burying the hatchet after years of friction between you. "Go be with your family, Paul. I’ll handle my husband.”
“He’s my family, too,” he declared softly, the conviction in what you used to call his beady eyes, palpable and heartbreaking, “Both of you are.”
Touched and at a loss for words, you could only look on as he turned around slowly and made the lonely walk down the hallway. Turning back to the locker room door, you sucked a breath between your teeth and blew it out, mentally preparing to confront this task head-on.
You knocked timidly and stuck your head inside. If Roman was in as foul a mood as Paul let on, even you did not want to be there. It had taken a few unfortunate incidents over the years for you to learn that even a kiss from his wife wasn't enough when he got too stressed. It never stopped you from trying, though. Kissing was one of your favorite things to do with him after all.
"Knock, knock," you called out softly, listening for signs of movement as you stepped inside and closed the door. The room that was bustling just a few hours ago was now stripped bare and cloaked in dead quiet. It was an eerie contrast to the majestic, sweeping grandiosity that encompassed his entrance to the ring tonight. “Babe?”
Venturing further inside the room, you found him on the couch, his strong, broad back to you, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table in front of him. His ula fala was draped over the headrest, where his title belt would surely have been. 
This was the reality no one warned you about after a monumental loss. It plunged you into a cold, dark abyss, wrought with biting silence and dreary loneliness now that the show was over and the lights were no longer bright. The what ifs, buts and maybes crooning in your ear like a morbid symphony. It was an experience all too familiar to you unfortunately, and recently, too; you and your husband had traveled down this terrible road following the tragic miscarriage of your son in the summer of 2022.
Stepping in front of him, you wiggled into his personal space and made yourself at home on his lap. Gently wrapping your arms around him, you sighed with relief when he instantly melted into you and his huge arms enveloped your waist, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 
“My baby,” you cooed soothingly, the sound of your lips meeting the side of his head piercing through the emptiness of the locker room. “My love.” 
The audible hitch of his breath at your soft words was expected. In the course of your lifetime, those two little phrases had garnered a poignant significance. As words of comfort and solace first uttered by your mother when you were a child, you murmured those words regularly to Roman between sweet, playful kisses when he was courting you, basking in the bliss of newfound love, and again as part of your wedding vows as you became man and wife. They were the first words you whispered to Laleia the first time she was placed in your arms. They were the words that you had cried yourself to sleep with as you mourned the baby boy you had lost. You and Roman had seen each other at your absolute best and worst, and now, in the isolation of this room, with just the two of you and nobody else, this was another bad moment you had to overcome.
“On Matt’s birthday, too,” Roman finally spoke, wiping at his nose with a sniffle. “Fuck, man.”
“I know,” you replied, running your hand comfortingly up and down his upper arm. As he met your gaze at last, you saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing him like this broke your heart afresh. You held him as close as possible, willing all his pain and his hurt into your soul, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.
"I fucked up," he breathed, his voice raw and choked with misery, "I fucked up out there, babe...I let Dwayne down...I let y'all down. I lost the title and I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what? Over thirteen hundred days as champion?" you countered, "Nine WrestleMania main events? Billions of dollars in revenue? A roof over your child's head and three square meals a day? One loss will never wipe any of that away, don't ever get it twisted."
He exhaled tiredly as he hugged you tighter, resting his head on your shoulder. "I really wish I felt that way right now," he mumbled.
"It'll take some time, but you will," you asserted, running his fingers through his loose hair before tugging it lightly, making him look at you again. "Roman, you changed the industry, just like you said you would when we started this. No one will ever, ever forget what you've done these past four years. Be proud of all of it. You've been through so much, you sacrificed too much to not be proud."
Roman nodded in understanding. He just wished he didn't feel so down. "Baby, I...I want you to know how sorry I am. I know how much you wanted this. And I've been such a dick to you lately-"
You kissed your teeth and waved his apology away. "Nah. That don't matter no more. And I don't care that you didn't win. All I care about is you being safe when you're out there. Being healthy for our family and our daughter, who will be very happy to have her Daddy home, by the way. So we took an L. Okay, we'll only come back stronger. We had one bad night. Guess what? I plan on giving you a better morning, if you know what I mean." You rounded off your words with a wink, your heart blooming when he chuckled in response. "See, there's that smile I love so much. Keep your head up, baby. You did so good tonight. I couldn't be more proud of you."
Roman leaned into you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in and filling his head with your scent. It was like breathing fresh air. “I love you, Y/N. I love you with all of my heart. I don’t deserve you, I never have.”
The tears you'd been fighting all night resurfaced, but you blinked them away as you captured his lips with yours, your hand sliding over the back of his neck. He clung to you, a different emotion quickly overtaking him as he returned your kiss with a bit of aggression, his tongue whipping hungrily against yours, savoring your mouth as though he was tasting it for the very first time. You surrendered to his every whim, your other hand raking through his hair then caressing gently down to his chest, resting your palm over the spot where his heart pumped for you. You could feel how much he needed this moment of intimacy, and you had no qualms giving him anything he asked for.
With one quick tug of your legs, Roman had you straddling him on the couch, bringing you chest to chest with your lush backside resting on his growing bulge. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, then sealed your mouths again, his tongue invading, probing, a moan rumbling in his chest when you matched his energy, the emotions take over this loving embrace. He could never get enough of you, of the passion that overwhelmed him by your mere presence, immersing him in a love and gratitude he would always feel for you no matter what state of mind he was in.
Eventually, you pulled away from each other, breathless, panting, lips glistening with each other’s saliva. His heart raced at the familiar gleam in your darkened eyes. You weren’t done with him, not just yet, and this was confirmed as you slowly slid off him and sank to your knees between his spread thighs, pushing the front of his shirt up to expose his newly honed six-pack abs.
“Do you know how fucking hot you looked tonight, Daddy?” you purred to him, leaning in to run your tongue over the ridges of muscle on his taut belly. “Last night? All week? Do you have any idea of all the nasty shit I’m gonna do to you on the bus?”
Roman’s dick jumped in his joggers as his imagination ran wild. He squirmed in his seat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth as your tongue lapped at his belly, your mouth warm on his skin, all while you rubbed the fullness of his bulge straining eagerly against your touch. “Baby girl…” he choked out, as your fingers peeled the waistband of his pants, unveiling his big, beautiful brown dick. 
“Hmm, commando. I like it,” you commented with a smirk, curling your fist around his turgid length.
“Babe, wait…ain’t Paul outside?”
“I sent him home. Plus, won't be the first time he's seen me suck you off.” Your small hand massaged his blunt, plum-shaped head as you licked a trail along the underside of his dick, enjoying the gasps of pleasure that he made. Licking up the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip, your mouth opened wider to take him in. He stared you down with an intense look in his dark irises, which soon fluttered shut as your lips wrapped tight around his flesh, his stomach tensing as he felt himself slide deeper inside. “Awww, fuuuck,” he moaned.
Pulling back for a second, you held his lust-filled stare and stroked his dick a little harder, giggling when it twitched in your grip. A defiant look clouded your eyes as you licked at his tip before pushing him back into your mouth. It was enough for him to nut by just watching you, the visual of your lips sliding slowly up and down his length, that sexy mouth of yours making sweet love to his dick. It felt so good that he sank further into the plush leather of the couch, his head rolling back lazily against the headrest, his toes curling inside his brand new Air Reigns sneakers. All the pain and punishment his body had endured tonight melted away and was replaced with much more pleasurable sensations.
“I love the way you suck my dick, wifey,” he praised you, forcing himself to observe you through his barely open eyelids. “Mmm, that slutty little mouth is warm as fuck…You so sexy, baby, keep lookin’ up at me like that...” 
His raspy growls had you glancing back up at him, batting your pretty eyelashes as you sucked him off. Wetness pooled between your thighs at his famished expression. Completely aroused, you picked up the pace as your hands and your mouth worked in tandem, sucking and stroking his dick, pleasuring him from tip to base. His breathing became heavier as he throbbed against your tongue, his hands finding the back of your head as he got lost in the paradise of your warm, wet mouth. 
“Damn, baby. I bet that pussy leakin’ for me right now. You gettin’ wet sucking Daddy off, beautiful?” he taunted, his tongue swishing over his bottom lip at the same time your tongue swirled around the base of his shaft. The little moan that escaped your throat told him he was right. Of course he was; he knew his wife better than anybody else. “Good girl. Keep goin', I want that pussy extra wet. I’ma lick all that shit up when we get on the bus.”
With another soft moan, you crawled closer to his body and bore down on him, bobbing your head up and down that long, fat cock. Scooping your hair up into his large fist for leverage, Roman rocked his hips upwards from his seated position, thrusting in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat to take him deeper, moaning around his dick and letting him know how much you were enjoying him fucking your face. You rolled his balls in your hand, caressing the heavy, tightened sac to send him over the edge. It was working, as he began thrusting faster, his husky groans of pleasure amplifying as he neared his release.
“Unnnhh, baby, here it comes…Fuck, open your mouth,” he gasped, not waiting for you to do so as he yanked you by your hair to free himself from your intoxicating mouth. You quickly opened wide as he grabbed his cock and jerked it desperately against your tongue. He caught sight of the glazed-over quality of your gaze, and he knew that your panties were completely ruined, your pussy dripping with your need for him. He planned to take care of that very soon.
It was a show more spectacular than Mania, the sight of his gorgeous face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back, eyes rolled to the heavens as his orgasm washed over his big body. Your moans harmonized together with each spasm of his cum down your throat, making you swallow every drop he unleashed. His grip on your hair was tight and almost painful, but you were turned on anyway, aroused by the knowledge that no one brought him to this state of paramount pleasure like you did. Licking your lips, you scooped him back into your mouth to clean him up, released him with a soft pop when you finished, and tucked him back inside the confines of his joggers. You giggled as he stared dazedly at the ceiling, licking his lips to catch his breath, his big frame slack and helpless as he recovered from the intense orgasm.
"Goddamn, baby...Shit," he groaned.
Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stood up and sat back on his lap, welcoming the gentle press of his mouth to yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. “You feel better, Daddy?” you asked.
"Much better. I needed that so much. Thanks, baby," he smiled up at you, his stomach doing flips as you smiled back. He truly was the luckiest man in the world.
“Mm-hmm. Luckily, there’s more where that came from,” you assured him with another kiss before getting to your feet and pulling him up to his. “Come on, Daddy. Let's go home. We got a toddler to take care of. We'll figure out all the other stuff when it's time."
He nodded in agreement and squeezed your hand. “Okay, baby. Home it is.”
A new chapter in your story had been opened tonight, and the path ahead seemed uncertain and even scary. But you both took pride in the fact that as long as you kept writing it together, your love story was going to remain as beautiful as it already was.
But make no mistake about it; Roman Reigns was going to rule the wrestling world again. That was one story that was never going to end.
THE END
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Thoughts? How sappy was this😢Was quite cathartic for me, loved writing it.
Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!
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msbigredmachine · 8 days
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Ross is a G. I love his stuff.
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Acknowledging the Greatness that is the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table, the Foundation of the Renaissance Era, The Conqueror of Leukemia (sending it into the Multiverse)..........Roman Reigns.
Video created by Kickin' it with Ross
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msbigredmachine · 8 days
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One year anniversary! Enjoy, for those who haven’t read this!
On Sight - Part 1 (Jey Uso/OC)
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The fact that we hate each other don’t mean we can’t fuck. Just don’t fall in love with me. Jey Uso/OC 4-part series.
Warnings: The usual smut, angry sex, toxic behavior, angst
Word count: 4.9k
A/N: A fellow reader/writer suggested an "enemies to lovers" trope. Well, here is part 1! Let me know what you think.
ON SIGHT MASTERLIST
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PART 1 - HATE?
His big, callused hands clutched your hips and yanked your ass closer to him. He sank himself back into you, uttering a low moan. You spread your legs wider for him, feeling his pelvis nudge against your backside. He squeezed your ass, giving the juicy skin a hard slap before rapidly thrusting into you.
With your face pressed to the mattress, you bit into the bedsheet to contain your moans. Your toes curled, tensing yet again from his forceful movements. You felt him shudder inside you and you arched your back some more, wanting him deeper.
"You're fuckin’ impossible," Jey growled, smacking your ass again.
"Ion wanna hear it, just fuck me." Your voice was supposed to come out angry and impatient, but instead it was high-pitched and pleading. 
He leaned down to kiss on your neck, the feel of his gold chain on your skin causing your nipples to strain against the soft sheets beneath you. You clung to them as he yanked your ass up higher and drove deeper into you, making you take all his dick. He smacked your backside again, and a muffled squeal of pleasure escaped you as your pussy squeezed his dick. Immensely turned on, you reached between your legs and touched yourself, your fingers brushing over his thrusting cock, increasing stimulation. His roughness and dominance was exhilarating. He was excellent at controlling your body, amplifying your pleasure to the max. You would never admit it to him, though, cuz you would never hear the end of it.
Without warning, he shoved your hand away from your pussy. In retaliation, you reached back and hit him in the torso, hard, your fist bouncing off the ridges of his abs. He spanked your ass repeatedly as punishment, at least ten times, grinning when you cried out from the stinging pain. He ran his palm over the curve of your ass, his thumb teasing your asshole with your juices before pushing inside with relative ease. Your muscles contracted and twitched around him, heightening both your pleasure.
"Damn you, motherfucker, fuuuck," you groaned, rolling your hips in time with his, rocking up and down his dick and his thumb simultaneously.
Jey exhaled a breathy moan. "You know how good I make you feel," his thumb curled inside your tight asshole, causing you to clench around him yet again, "Yet you keep callin’ me out my name."
"Don’t flatter yourself. You ain’t all that,” you lied, “That dick is better when I fantasize about it.” Pushing up on your elbows, your upper body twisted to face him, and you almost took your words back. He looked so sexy; his naked body was slick with sweat, his beard gleamed with your essence, having buried his face in it minutes ago. The look of pure pleasure on his features had you itching to touch yourself again.
Jey’s smirk was sinfully ice-melting. “Still talkin’ shit, huh?” 
"Damn right," you said through gritted teeth, "That’s what you get for being so fuckin’ arrogant, it makes me so-" 
Your words evaporated when all of a sudden, he pushed himself all the way inside you and held himself there. As he did, a lewd, loud squelch echoed around the bedroom. The sound came from your pussy.
"Wet?" he finished smugly.
He did that shit on purpose, but damn it, he was right. You were literally dripping down your legs and you were only going to get wetter. You would have been annoyed if it didn’t feel as amazing as it did.
"You’re so fuckin pretty, princess. If only your words weren't so ugly."
He resumed thrusting, fucking you harder. Clearly determined to drive you insane, and it was working. His groans blended with yours as the speed of his thrusts increased, and you knew he was just as close to climax as you were.
“You think you so much better than me, huh,” he snarled. He removed his thumb from your anus and squeezed your ass cheek in his rough palm. "Yet here you are, soaking wet for me, moaning my name, about to come all over my dick.” 
He throbbed inside you as he spoke, and, as predicted, it made you wetter. Every limb and muscle you owned thrummed with pleasure. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling hard enough to force a deeper arch to your back. His heavy balls slapped your clit repeatedly, drove you mad with need, the need to release. 
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you voiced out breathlessly, fingers digging into the blankets in front of you. His strokes were god-tier, hitting all the right spots. The man was in your stomach and you were seeing stars. "Mmmm, right there, right fucking there…”
"Shit feel good, don’t it?” Jey bragged, “You love this dick, that’s why you keep runnin’ yo mouth, you want me all up in them guts just like this."
"Fuck you," you repeated, tears springing to your eyes when he started to ease up out of nowhere. "Damn it, go faster, I’m so fuckin’ close," you whined.
"Shut the fuck up. You come when I say you come," he snapped. His thrusts slowed, and he swiveled his narrow hips, dragging his dick along your inner walls. Taking matters into your hands, you bounced yourself on his dick, fucking him right back. Grunting in frustration at your stubbornness, he grabbed your waist and tried to hold you down, but you would not be denied your nut, or his.
“Damn, girl, damn,” he gasped. It sounded like gunshots going off from how hard you were throwing it back, bouncing your thick ass noisily and forcefully on his dick like you had a point to prove. His grip on your waist slackened, his grunts softened into higher-pitched, intimate moans as his body gave in to numbing pleasure. 
"Don't you dare come before me," you warned, capitalizing on his moment of weakness by grinding your ass on him, creating more of a thrust with your combined movements. Jey held you down against the bed with his big body, smothering you in the best way. His fingers found your pussy folds, applying firm and rapid pressure as he drilled you into the mattress. His touch kindled your blazing fire, the dam within you waiting to burst and release all the tension inside.
“You close, baby?” Jey asked you. When you didn’t reply right away, he brought his hand down hard on your butt. “I asked you a question. Answer me!”
“Mmm, nghhh, yes, baby, I’m about to come. Fuck!”
“Ya damn right. You gon’ come for me like the slut you are." He rubbed your pussy faster and kept pounding into you, hearing you whimper as you both neared the precipice.
You couldn’t stop the chorus of curses pouring from your lips as the wave of indescribable ecstasy rose, peaked, and then plummeted. You came hard on his dick, your body melting and trembling all at once. His already sloppy thrusts now sounded wetter than ever as your cum dripped between you, adding more friction to his deadly strokes.
"Aww, fuck..." he moaned, suddenly pulling out of you and jerking his dick in his fist. His entire body stiffened, and with a strangled groan he exploded all over your backside. A tired purr escaped your lips as you felt his warm seed spill onto your skin. Your pussy clenched from the added sensation as you struggled to recover from the intense orgasm.
"Shiiit," Jey drawled as he rested his drained dick between your ass cheeks, thrusting briefly to ensure he was all done. He gave your ass one last squeeze and dropped back down to the bed with a sigh of satisfaction. His body was warm next to you, and you fought the urge to move in for a cuddle. You never cuddled or kissed afterwards. Not when you hated his guts and he hated yours. You both lay side by side, breathing hard, basking in the aftermath of yet another bad decision.
He climbed out of the bed to retrieve his clothes. You fished out a blunt from your side drawer and lit one up, the first puff soothing your lungs. As you watched him get dressed, you found yourself regretting your impulsive decision to fuck him. You then wondered why you even bothered with regrets - you and Jey fucked practically every day.
Buttoning up his denim shirt, Jey glanced your way and then crooked his index finger at you. Rolling your eyes, you begrudgingly tucked your blunt between his waiting lips, watching him take a long drag and shorten your ration. Greedy fucker.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, standing up from the bed. 
You let out a derisive snort, blowing out a ring of smoke. “No. Fuck off.” 
A knowing smirk crossed his lips as he headed for the door. That was always your answer, but you both knew better. “Tomorrow it is. I’ll see you then, baby.”
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God, you hated him. 
You despised him with every fiber of your being. He was the bane of your existence. You hated his chiseled face. You hated his cute ass dimples. You hated the way he wrestled in the ring. You hated his breathtaking smile. You hated his high-pitched, funny laugh. You hated that everyone thought he was so cool. Basically, you hated everything about Jey Uso. Each time you laid eyes on him, your blood always boiled from just how much you despised his sorry ass. 
Like now. As you glared at the back of his head while he went over the upcoming backstage segment with the director. He was wearing that crop top again, showing off his lean body and the new tattoo on his rib cage. The art was loud and garish, yet all you wanted to do was run your tongue over that same expanse of skin and make him moan for you.
Yeah, these mixed feelings were not helping at all.
You jumped when the director called your name, informing you that filming was about to begin. You caught a glimpse of Jey’s smirk as he entered the Bloodline’s locker room, knowing damn well he was the reason for your distraction. Fighting the urge to throttle him, you focused on the director’s countdown which was seconds away.
“And…go!”
“We are here in front of the Bloodline’s locker room, just moments after Roman Reigns suffered a beatdown at the hands of Cody Rhodes, Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens earlier tonight. He’s refused to be treated in the trainer’s room, choosing instead to remain in his locker room where the doctors are attending to him.” You tried to look concerned, immersing yourself into your role as backstage interviewer. “I’m hoping I can catch one of the members of the Bloodline for an update on the Tribal Chief’s condition.”
On cue, Jey emerged from the locker room, shoulders squared, trademark sneer on his face showing off his grill. Your mouth watered against your will. 
“Oh, joining us right now is one half of the undisputed Tag Team champions, Jey Uso. Jey, what can you tell us about Roman’s current condition? And can we get a comment on Sami’s remarks about putting an end to the Bloodline once and for all at Wrestlemania?”
Shit, he smelled so good. You were barely listening to his promo, mesmerized by his soft lips and the way they moved as he spoke. But professionalism came first, and so you motored on, finishing the segment without a hitch.
“And cut! Great job, guys!”
Flustered, you quickly backed away, keeping your distance as the crew dispersed. After a quick parting chat with the director, you then  pulled out your phone as you started to leave the area. You had barely taken two steps when Jey appeared in front of you, blocking your path.
“What the fuck was that?”
You made a show of rolling your eyes. “What the fuck was what, Uso?”
“That last part. That wasn’t how your lines were in the script. You was tryna trip me up!” he accused, glaring down at you.
“How? I couldn’t remember a part of it so yeah, I improvised. If you still don’t understand the concept after fourteen years in the business then that’s your problem, not mine.”
“No, my problem is you making me look bad with your bullshit. Stop playin’ with me, woman!” he shouted, pointing all five fingers in your face in that annoying way he did when he was arguing.
The nerve of this motherfucker. “News flash, uce, I don’t need to make you look bad. You do that all by yourself, with ya bra top-wearing, mullet-havin’ ass! This ain’t the eighties, homie.”
Letting out a scoff, he moved just a little closer to you, looking you up and down. “You ain’t have a problem with my mullet when I’m eatin' that pussy, though,” he leered.
Your mouth dropped open in shock. You looked around hastily, hoping no one had caught that. Luckily it seemed to be only the two of you in the vicinity. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” you retorted.
“Takes one to know one, bitch,” he snarled, looming over you, eyes wide and dark and menacing. “Look at you. Walkin’ round here like you own the damn company. You don’t own shit, princess. You’re a wannabe Renee Young, a dime a dozen and you can be replaced like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
You raised your eyebrows with a smirk. “Ooh, so much anger. Did Roman bitch you out again, huh? That why you so mad? Maybe you’re looking for someone to take out your anger issues on. So go ahead, Jey. Hit me.” You stepped right up to him, getting in his face. “Ain’t that what you want? To punch me in the face? To wrap your hands around my throat and choke me?”
For once in his life, he was speechless. He was stunned by your audacity and you reveled in it. Your smirk darkened. “Then do it. Do it out here where everyone can see you. I know you want to.”
The Tag champ leaned even closer, and for one terrifying second, you thought that he was going to do it. You could see the wheels turning in his head and braced yourself for another verbal assault, or worse.��
What happened next, however, came out of left field. He snatched your phone right out of your hands and darted into his locker room, slamming the door shut. For a long moment, you stood there out in the hallway, dumbfounded. And then, the rage took over, sweeping through your body, and you threw the door open, almost breaking off the handle as you charged inside. The room was empty, meaning you could throw hands with zero innocent casualties. 
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“Gimme back my phone,” you demanded, holding your hand out. 
Jey held up the device, dangling it temptingly above him as he backed away. “It’s right here, come get it,” he taunted, yanking it out of reach right as you made a grab for it. “Come on girl, you can do better than that.”
“Jey, give me my goddamn phone!” You lunged again, and he twisted away from you and tossed it blindly over his shoulder. Your heart was almost in your mouth as you watched it barely miss the glass coffee table and land safely on the couch. You glared at him incredulously, your hands clenched into fists. “You are the most childish, immature person I have ever met! You’re infuriating!” you yelled.
“Careful princess, that’s a mighty big word for you,” Jey mocked. The glee in his eyes was almost disturbing.
“You fucking asshole!” You took a swing at him, but he caught your wrist before the blow could connect. In the same move, he shoved you roughly, an audible ‘oof’ expelling from your lungs as your back collided with the wall. Before you could strike again, he seized both your hands and pinned them together above your head with his much larger hand. You struggled against him, your feet and knees a blur, trying to get a shot in. You were no match for his strength, but that would never stop you from trying.
"Let go of me you dickhead...let me go!" You accentuated your demand with a strong tug on your immobilized hands. Your chest heaved angrily as you looked into his eyes. What stared back at you was a mix of fury and lust and need that you had never seen before. The sexual tension crackled in the air between you like electricity.
Uttering a soft growl, Jey dipped his head and kissed you. Hard. His mouth working yours as though he owned it. You bit down on his lip equally hard, drawing blood. Jey jerked back in pain and touched his mouth. If looks could kill, you would both be dead.
“Do that again and you'll regret it,” he snarled.
“Try me, bitch,” you spat, your words cut off by his lips crashing back onto yours. Your teeth scraped briefly right before his tongue slid inside your mouth for an earth-shattering, toe-curling kiss. His large hand seized you by the throat, keeping you pinned to the wall. You moaned into his mouth, mad at him and at yourself for how aroused you were by his aggressiveness. That, along with his tongue darting in and out of your mouth and his groin grinding against your center, made your pussy throb. You arched again with another moan, still pulling on your hands, this time wanting to touch him instead of pushing him away.
"You just love testin' me, don't you," he spat, finally releasing your hands to reach under your short dress. He located the edge of your black thong, and with a swift brutal movement, tore the skimpy lace off your body. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you up effortlessly, slipping his body between your legs. He fumbled briefly with his sweatpants, and you couldn't keep a moan from escaping your lips as he entered you, hard. Speechless, eyes dilated, you were certain you were about to combust already. Each press of his hips slammed you spine-first into the wall, but you absorbed it all, processing the pain to pleasure.
“I fucking hate you,” you murmured.
“You hate me, but you love how good I fuck you,” he countered, bending his knees and powering deep into your warm depths, “You hate me, but you in my bed every other night, givin’ me this pussy. So why you lyin', huh?”
His glazed eyes remained on your features as he pumped into you with long, exquisite strokes. A shiver passed through him as your tight little cunt squeezed and moistened around his pumping cock, demanding more of the sinful pleasure he gave you. You threw your head back with a whimpering cry as he started to fuck you harder, the wet smack of your bodies echoing around the spacious locker room. Your arms and legs tensed around him, holding on tight as he punished your pussy without mercy. It was the same salacious cycle. Below-the-belt verbal attacks, prodding and provoking each other until you were fucking each other’s brains out. A unique version of foreplay that never failed to get you or him off.
Pushing off the wall, Jey carried you further into the locker room, still inside you. As he walked, you squirmed out of his arms and pushed him onto the nearby couch, straddling his lap before he could regain his bearings.
"Aht aht, don't fuckin' move," you commanded, grabbing his dick and sliding it back inside you in record time. You both moaned as your walls stretched around his impressive girth. You bounced on it, gasping loudly as you picked up speed. Jey tugged the front of your dress down to cup your exposed breasts, fondling them, pinching your nipples hard. Your pussy rippled in response and you started to grind on him, working your clit against the base of his cock and stimulating you to no end.
Jey’s hands found your hips, watching your slick flesh slide over his own in an enticing rhythm. Teasing your right nipple with his tongue, he sucked it into his mouth and reveled in your high pitched moan. “Fuckin’ good pussy,” he breathed, “Fuck me, baby. Ride my dick just like that.”
Too turned on to reply, you settled for kissing him passionately, your fingernails raking his heaving chest. He moaned against your lips, his large hands patrolling your back and your ass. Tucking your face into his neck, you gripped the armrest for leverage and rode him harder, your ass slapping loudly against his lap as you dropped your pussy aggressively on his hard length. 
“Oh my god,” Jey groaned, feeling his orgasm creep closer. Your mouth wreaked havoc on his neck, your inner muscles clenched around him with each downward motion you made, causing him to grunt and jerk his hips up into you. His hand then scraped downwards to your ass, holding you in place as he started to thrust up into you from his seated position, taking back control. Your moans and his grunts got louder, the heat ratcheted up, ever closer to what was sure to be a mind-blowing climax.
“You comin’ for me, baby?” he hissed, slapping your ass and tugging your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I can feel you, tell Daddy that you’re comin’.”
“Fuck! I'm comin', I'm comin'!” you whimpered, your eyes in the back of your head. You tried to move again, wanting to regain the upper hand, but his grip was too strong, holding you hostage as he thrust deeper, right up against your g-spot. "Fuck, Jey!" 
"C'mon," he rasped, teetering on the brink.  
The orgasm that tore through you left you gasping for air, riddling your body with tremors. Your pussy squeezed his dick so hard that it triggered his own release. His other hand shot down, gripping your ass cheek as he emptied his load with a breathless groan.
Weak and boneless, you collapsed on his chest with a deep sigh. Jey enveloped your prone frame in a hug and you both stayed silent for a few minutes, waiting for your hearts to stop pounding. When your breathing was back to normal, he guided your face to his and kissed you, his lips sweeping gently over yours. This took you by surprise. You never kissed after sex. But you embraced it, embraced the surprisingly tender gesture that made your bones melt. You gasped softly, your heart raced as he tugged your bottom lip between his teeth and then sucked it back into his mouth, his lips caressing yours in teasing strokes.
"I still hate you," you said, your voice soft and small despite the harsh declaration.
Jey chuckled, nuzzling the curve of your neck and dropping a soft kiss there. “I know. I hate you too,” he murmured, sliding his lips northwards until they met yours again.
“I fucking knew it.”
The new voice spun you around, the horror visible on your features. Roman Reigns stood across the room, wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. You’ve never moved so fast in your life, scrambling off of Jey and hurrying to fix your dress.
“You didn’t lock the damn door?” you hissed at him.
“What? You came in after me!” he squeaked, pulling his pants back up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m so sick of your shit!” Snatching your phone off the couch, you scampered out of the locker room, not daring to make eye contact with Roman as you passed him. How fucking embarrassing, getting caught in 4k like this. You knew you should have been more careful, but it was much easier to put the blame on that ass Jey Uso. He couldn't do anything right, anyway!
Annoying ass punk. Dude was lucky he could fuck.
———-------
All alone in the bowels of his cousin's tour bus, Jey watched you chop it up with Kayla Braxton and special guest Cody Rhodes on the latest livestream of The Bump on YouTube. Your work on the show and on other WWE platforms, aided by your magnetic personality and penchant for randomly wearing the merch of your favorite Superstars and legends, earned you millions of admirers from around the world and backstage. It was probably why you thought you were the shit, with your fancy ass Masters Degree and Ivy League training. If only your beloved fans knew what a bitch you really were.
Several months on, he still couldn’t figure out what it was about you that made him so irritated, yet so attracted to you at the same time. When you first met, you were rude to him over a misunderstanding and had an attitude ever since. That encounter ignited a fierce rivalry that scorched earth in the workplace and eventually...shockingly...in the bedroom.
He remembered it like it was yesterday, the first time you kissed him. Or he kissed you. He still wasn’t sure who made the first move, but his life has not been the same since then. Now, everything was a competition between you, behind the scenes and between the sheets; every kiss, every time you tumbled into bed together, his desire matching yours step by step, daring each other to keep up with the other. Sex with you entailed getting pushed beyond his limits, with you doing things you knew would piss him off such as scratching the hell out of him, biting, and/or fighting him. You had a potty mouth and a mean streak a mile wide, and honestly, that shit turned him on. Yes, some of your verbal jabs cut deep, but he realized, quite morbidly, he would gladly endure them if it guaranteed he would be left weak-limbed, drained and satisfied when you were through with him. And he was. All the time. He hated how much he craved you, and to know that the feeling was mutual made his days that much more exciting. 
“So, how long have y’all been fucking?”
Roman came into his view, a trademark smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. Twenty-four hours had passed since the Tribal Chief’s…discovery…in his locker room, and he hadn't said a word about it. Until now. Exhaling heavily, Jey grabbed his beer for a long gulp, deciding there was no point in lying. “About six, seven months,” he disclosed.
“Deadass?”
“Uh huh.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off the TV. He noticed how close Cody sat next to you, noted the way you entertained his little flirty gestures. It was public knowledge that Rhodes was down for the swirl. For all he cared, you were probably fucking him too, and for some reason that irked his soul.
Roman joined his cousin in the lounge area. “I always knew you'd either end up killing each other or fucking each other. It makes so much sense now. The tension between y’all was giving sexual vibes more than anything.” The Undisputed Champ smiled and shook his head. "So when you gon’ tell her you have feelings for her?"
Jey nearly choked on his beer. "The fuck?! What feelings? We hate each other! We always have!"
Bullshit. He had seen the way Jey looked at you yesterday and it definitely was not with hatred. He wondered how he had ever missed it. “Right. Humor me then. Why do you hate her? Do you even know?”
“Easy. She’s a bitch.”
“That’s Jey-speak for she’s pretty as fuck,” Roman dismissed.
Jey’s lip curled with disgust. “She’s obnoxious!”
“A.K.A. I like how she don’t take shit from nobody, especially my sorry ass.”
“She thinks she’s so much better than everybody else,” Jey argued.
“That’s Jey-speak for she's too classy for my country, ghetto ass.” Roman chuckled heartily. His boy was down bad. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d have been shocked. Remember Kendra Jones from high school?” When Jey averted his eyes, he pushed on, determined to make his point. “Yeah, I remember. Your punk ass teased her for months and it turned out you were crushing on her the whole time. This is exactly how you were, all flustered like this. You a grown ass man now, Jey. Quit playin' games and tell that girl you’re in love with her.”
Oh, hell fucking no. “I am not in love, stop puttin' shit in my head!”
Roman shook his head. “For real though, you two are weird. You ‘hate’ each other yet you’re sleeping together. That’s some toxic shit.”
"Ay yo, mind your damn business Uce. I won’t tell you again," Jey spat, getting agitated.
"It became my business when y'all fucked in my locker room!"
"Look, I’m sorry about that, a'ight? It was in the heat of the moment."
“I’m sure it was,” the Tribal Chief smirked.
“Whatever, dude.” No longer in a talking mood, he stood up and headed for the sleeping area.
“By the way, you should do somethin' 'bout that hickey on your neck!” Roman called out.
Ignoring him, Jey shut the door and climbed into his bed, weary and conflicted. His thoughts kept returning to you, and he hated it. His cousin was dead wrong. Everything he said about you was true. 
So why couldn't he stop thinking about you? Why did he always dream about you whenever he fell asleep? 
Forcing his eyes shut, he tried to block you out of his mind as he drifted into a fitful sleep.
At the same moment, as you lay in your own bed, you were staring up at the ceiling, imagining what Jey might be doing, and wondering why the fuck you cared.
Because you’ve caught feelings, girl…
Panic set in, and you shook your head adamantly. "No, no I’ve not. He don’t even like me,” you said aloud to yourself, in the emptiness of your hotel room. “This has to stop. I have to stop sleeping with him. It’s not healthy for either of us."
Yet, all you can think about is his eyes…and his mouth…and the way it feels when he touches you…
You sighed and tried to go to sleep, hoping your dreams would not be invaded yet again by the one man in the world you detested the most.
In your dream, you and Jey were a big happy family, living in a big beautiful house in a lovely suburban neighborhood. Your baby daughter sat on his lap as the three of you enjoyed dinner together.
END OF PART 1
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Surprise!
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msbigredmachine · 8 days
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This “Hogan record” thing is eye rolling. It would have only taken him to third place, behind Backlund and Sammartino. Why drag it all the way to September for 3rd, especially after he’s beaten nearly all of the roster?
This was a perfect sendforth for Roman’s title reign. If there was anyway to go, it was the way he did last night.
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1,316 days of pure greatness.
I don't think anyone would have ever predicted in August 2020 what we were going to experience for the next four years.
This man, this professional wrestler that I grew to care about more than any other wrestler ever, risked his health, left his young children and newborn sons to transform himself, his character and give us the cinema and storytelling that the WWE sorely needed.
No reign will top his in a long, long, long time and as time passes, it will get the respect it always deserved.
I am emotional as I type this even though I knew it was coming. And I'm glad this day has come. It was time for Roman to step down.
Thank you, my wonderful Tribal Chief. I acknowledge you, now and always.☝🏾
Dear Cody. Congratulations. Please note that you have big, BIG shoes to fill.
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msbigredmachine · 9 days
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An entrance fit for the biggest wrestling star in the entire industry.
Aura personified.
The wide pan shot of the mighty orchestra occupying the entire stage at the very end of the clip. The sweeping, Endgame-esque remix of the theme song. The lighting. The production. The silent countdown to the match that was about to unfold. I had chills the entire time.
An unforgettable last ride for the Tribal Chief as we knew him. I will remember this entrance for a long time.
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