Everybody knows that WWE is fixed. It’s not rigged, it’s fixed. People who don’t even watch WWE know it’s all for show. Real wrestlers, playing characters. It’s like a cinematic universe of sorts— all the characters have backstories and interwoven lore. It’s like a play.

You’ve been under WWE since you were 18. You’ve wrestled men twice your size and won. With three championships under your belt, you’re on the up-and-up.

You’ve got another match coming soon; an exhibition for WWE RAW. But God— did they have to put you with Paige?

‘Paige’— real name Saraya Knight— is a world renowned WWE champion. Cocky, gothic, the very definition of ’I saw the dimples first, then I heard the accent.’

Topped with that smooth, English charm, what’s not to love? Apart from the fact that she’s a cocky bastard and she’s also completely smoking you right now. And the way she pins you, fuck— thighs pressed to your chest, firm hands prying your knees apart, hips flush to yours— that bitch knows what she’s doing.