I. OWN. NOTHING.

Just so you know.

This is my first fan-fiction for anything WWE related. Please no hate mail. Kthnx.

Not sure what to rate this as of right now. There's a bit of language and there will be a few fairly... REALLY suggestive situations. Hehe.

ANYWAY. This is a CM Punk/OC fic. I do hope you enjoy. :)

CH 1

There's always been this stipulation behind the WWE. That age old debate about whether or not ANY of it is real.

"It's fake, you know those guys would be dead if any of that was real."

"It's all completely real, look at the blood!"

"It's fake, it's like a soap opera with sweaty half naked men!"

"Totally real, did you hear that guys collar bone break?"

Now, being employed by the lovely World Wrestling Entertainment, I suppose it's my job to tell you that all of it is completely and undoubtedly real. But come on, honestly? People are right. If half of those moves were real, we'd be left with a lot fewer wrestlers and not a whole lot of footage to put on TV.

DDT? Dead.

Superplexes? Paralyzed.

Kicks to the back? Failed kidneys.

Chairs to the head? Fractured skulls.

Heads in turnbuckles? Brain damage.

RKO? Back stabber? 720 DDT? Way of the warrior? Lie Detector? In Paradise? Skull crushing finale? GTS? Broken neck, broken back, broken neck, broken face, broken, broken, broken, broken.

Though in defense of the men and women that I work with, I will say this, it's not nearly all as fake as you think it is.

While the matches are fairly choreographed, titles planned months in advance, storylines all written down to a T and finishers practiced for days on end; I've seen the injuries that can happen.

Like the injury that happened on last week's raw that now has a certain Straight Edge Superstar popping up in front of my camera lens at any given moment.

"Having fun yet?"

Like right now…

See, last week our beloved Phil Brooks took a bad bump on his infamous "Go To Sleep" finisher. The collision of John Morrison's forarm- trying to protect his face in the practiced move- with CM Punk's kneecap, resulted in a pretty gruesome dislocation of said patella. I got pictures. Anyway, Punk, being the professional wrestler he is, continued on to pin Morrison. He won the match. However, in all the excitement, his kneecap popped itself back into place. Yay kneecap, right? But, on its way back into place, it took along a nice little bone shard with it, resulting in an excruciating walk back up the ramp. I got pictures of that too.

I take the time to tell you all of this so that you understand the reasoning behind Punk's recent surgery and recovery. And also his obnoxious infatuation with me and my camera…

"I would be if you weren't blocking my shot…" I grimaced, pulling my camera down from my face to frown at him.

Punk let that self-confident smirk spread across his face as he cooed at me, "You act as if you're not excited to see me again."

I let my lips purse and my nose wrinkle as I looked at him, my hip popping to the side as I let my camera rest gently on my stomach, hanging by the strap around my neck. "I would be so much more excited to see you again if I hadn't just gotten rid of you about 10 minutes ago, Phil." I emphasized his first name, knowing just how much he hated it.

And he let me know his distaste by the sudden upturn of his nose to the word, "Punk," He corrected me, "And it wasn't 10 minutes ago, it was 30 when you shooed me off." The smirk was back as though it had never gone away.

"Didn't I tell you to go get coffee?" I asked, taking the moment to tug at the ring in the left side of my lip. His eyes watched me and I fought the blood not to rush to my cheeks as I released the metal from the wrath of my teeth and crossed my arms casually under my camera. He watched that too and I sighed angrily as I let my arms fall limply at my sides.

His smirk turned into a full-fledged grin. A shit-eating one if I say so myself. And I do. "You did."

"So… Where is it?" My eyes wandered to his painfully empty hands.

"I heard tell you don't even like coffee." Punk said, it was his turn to cross his arms over his muscular chest. Did I just say muscular? Like I was looking? Because I was totally not looking… Kind of…

My face turned a bright shade of pink and I cleared my throat. He saw me looking. "Go away." I managed, finally, turning on my heel to walk away, cursing myself inwardly as I made an A-line for the Diva's locker room where he surely would NOT be able to follow me.