a/n: [takes a deep breath] this is my first wrestling fic, so hopefully it works out. i was inspired by 'the vow' starring channing tatum and rachel mcadams and the head canon of ramenreignss for this pair, which you can find on her tumblr typhoidcandy obviously, i don't own any of the superstars or divas featured in this.


~*~i promise i won't forget who you used to be~*~

prologue -

there will come a time in your life when you become infatuated with a single soul. for this person you'd do anything and not think twice about it, but when asked why … you have no answer. you'll try your whole life to understand how a single person can affect you as much as they do, but you'll never find out. and no matter how badly you hate it or how badly it hurts … you'll love this person without regret, for the rest of your life.

anonymous -

A year and a half ago if you told Seth Rollins he wouldn't be traveling from arena to arena with Roman and Dean, he would've told you to have your head examined. They always traveled together. In either a black SUV or a black mid-sized car that they'd pick up from a rental shop in town. They didn't need fancy tour buses like Cena or limos like Evolution.

They just needed to get there.

But that was then, and this is now.

So instead of Dean incessantly tapping on the dashboard to the manic rhythm in his head or Roman snoring in the back, there are a pair of [surprisingly] dainty feet resting on the dashboard. Manicured toenails painted black just like her trimmed nails are revealed because at some point, she discarded the clunky Doc Martins she favored to wear with her street clothes.

He has to admit, lips curling slightly, the soft curve of her cheek and the gleam of her lip ring is a much more attractive sight than the masculine cut of Dean's chin and his messy curls that he's constantly pushing back.

"And I thought you staring at me while I slept was weird." There's teasing in her tone, and he shakes his head, grumbling, "That was one time, and you had a concussion. I wasn't watching you sleep, I was making sure you were all right. There's a difference."

"Suuuuuure," She elongates the word, the syllables rolling off her tongue, and the tip peeking out of her lush mouth catches his attention; his body warming at the sight.

[boy, this is all for you, just walk my way/just tell me how it's lookin' babe/just tell me how it's lookin' babe]

The strong bass of hip-hop comes through the radio's speakers, not the metal they prefer and as she lunges for the dial, he assumes she's going to fiddle until she finds a song more suited to their taste, instead she turns the volume louder.

He arches a curious brow, lips quirking in amusement as she begins singing along and swiveling her body in her seat.

[high like treble, puffin' on them mids/the man ain't never seen a booty like this/and why you think my name keep rollin' off the tongue?]

He stops at a red light, the hotel all the divas and superstars are staying at growing closer and closer, and now that they've stopped, he can turn his full attention on her. He laughs as she gets lost in her own little world, swiveling and moving her arms, singing growing just a little louder. His eyes are drawn to her hips, how they gyrate from side to side, and though she's not the curviest, what's there – the hint of flare – reminds him of how his hands can span the width of her entire waist and how that's where she's her softest.

"Cameron and Naomi would be proud." He observes, large brown eyes growing just a hint darker.

"Ha-ha, ha-ha." She sticks her tongue out at him, resuming her dancing and singing.

Though, she had fun with the two funky divas after a house show back in London a year ago, this is a side of her most don't get to see. They see the fierce, driven, vicious side that she displays in the ring. The Anti-Diva. But this – the girl that's dancing and singing along to some hip-hop song – that's something she saves just for the select members of her inner circle.

And mostly him.

He's seen her without her signature black eyeliner, her raven hair twisted into a messy braid, slim but still strong frame drowning in one of his old Nightwish t-shirts. He knows she's seen every adaptation of Jane Austen's novels that have made it to the big screen. That Love Actually is her favorite Christmas movie. That she's jealous of and longingly looks at the Chinese characters on the back of his neck – tracing them with reverence when they're alone – because she's afraid of needles, the only thing she's afraid of.

That even though she's tough, she still misses her family in Norwich, and tears are usually shed when she talks to her mom.

And when she hangs up, she glares – her doe eyes turning into harsh slits – as she makes him promise [again] not to tell anyone she cried. He always makes a show of zipping his lips and before she lets him kiss her, she makes him promise once more, threatening that 'i'll never let you Aussie kiss me again,' and now that he knows what it means, he retorts with, 'isn't that more of a punishment for you than me?,' which always ends with a pillow being harshly thrown at his head.

[we ain't gonna even make it to this club/now my mascara runnin', red lipstick smudged]


In all of his internal musings, Seth didn't notice Paige had stopped her dancing. He didn't hear the click of her seatbelt, either. He felt the firm squeeze of his thigh through his jeans, however. Then he felt her warm breath against his ear and he was definitely aware of her slender fingers sliding along the waistband, teasing the stripe of skin that she found between where the hem of his shirt ended and his jeans began.

"Paige..." Her name was little more than a hiss leaving his lips.

[oh he so horny, yeah he want to fuck/he popped all my buttons and he ripped my blouse]

Somehow, he gained enough control of his faculties to pull over onto the side of the road. Pushing the seat back was all the invitation she needed. Even if it was a bit presumptuous on his part. Just because she was teasing, didn't actually mean she was going to do what he thought she was.

Once his lap was filled with her and her lush lips were twisted deviously and she murmured the lyrics to the song in his ear with lusty intent, 'he monica lewinsky'd all on my gown/oh, there daddy, daddy didn't bring the towel/oh, baby, baby better slow it down,' he knew he hadn't been presumptuous at all.

Watching her wiggle around, biting down on her lip, as an internal debate raged within her, was the hottest damn thing he'd seen since earlier that night when she did her signature 'paige turner' in the ring, pinning Aksana to win her match. He bit down on his own lip, eyes rolling back, as she palmed him through his boxer-briefs. The heat of her small hand was wonderful and when she dipped it into the slit, the silk skin of hers coming in contact with the rigidity of his, his hips bucked upwards, and she let out a throaty giggle.

"Excited, are we, Mr. Rollins?"

"Don't be a fucking tease."

"Ooooh."

She'd made up her mind and thanks to her flexibility, she was able to remove her own pair of jeans and panties, despite his groaning about wanting to do that himself. She stopped his whining quickly by teasing herself open and then sinking down on his length in one swift motion.


As their breathing returned to normal and sweat began to cool on their skin, Paige sighed in bliss as Seth peppered the slope of her neck with warm, open-mouthed kisses. She swore she could stay like this forever. Just him kissing her neck, in this car, and god when had she turned into such a sap?

Next they would be holding hands when they walked into the arenas together, like Brie Bella and Daniel Bryan.

A slow bloom of warmth took over her body at the thought. But she quickly dismissed it. Neither of them were necessarily the hand-holding type. Though, now that the thought had entered her mind, she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea. As long as he did it first.

"Did you just pocket my panties?" Paige was brought back to reality, a scandalized look on her face, as she realized the thin black material she was about to reach for was gone.

"Maaaaaaaybe." Seth sing-songed, shit eating grin on his handsome face.

"Why do you men do that? It's not like you're going to wear them. And I know," Her eyes grew dark and fierce, narrowing harshly. "You're not going to show off with them in the locker room like they're a championship belt."

"I can give you my boxer-briefs and then we'll be even."

"Ew!" It was uncharacteristically girlish squeal and that made him burst out laughing. She didn't sound unlike most of the divas when there was a spider in the locker room or when they noticed one around the arena.

"You'll get them back," He leaned over, his voice darker than its normal happy tone, his tongue slipping to lick her ear as his teeth nibbled. "You just don't need them now. We've got an off day tomorrow, and I plan on taking full advantage of that once we get back to the hotel."

His large palm cupped her through her jeans, emphasizing his point, and her eyes fluttered as she breathed out his name, "Seth."

There was a soft kiss and an affectionate rubbing of noses, making her giggle and shove him away as she mumbled, 'girl move,' before they straightened themselves out.


What happened next couldn't be helped. There wasn't anything either of them could do. The large mack truck collided with the back of their rental before either of them could feel the impact of the collision.

To them the sounds of the glass shattering or of their screams, didn't register.

There was only silence.

And everything fading to black.


note: soundtrack to this chapter 'yonce/partition' by beyonce and aussie kiss is british slang for going down on a girl – credit for it goes to peevish uk, which will be my frequent british slang resource