Categories > TV > WWE
Southern Charm
1 reviewIn which CM Punk realizes that he has been turned into a sap. CM Punk/OC
1Funny
“You're turning me into a sap. I am not okay with this.” CM Punk frowned down at his girlfriend, who was presently sprawled across his unmade hotel bed. She was clad in a pair of his black silk boxers, a gift given to him by her when they'd first started dating, and his favorite Cubs t-shirt. Her shoulder length brunette hair was twisted up into a messy half ponytail, and a few errant strands curled around her face. In Punk's eyes, his girlfriend had never looked so sexy.
She was effortlessly beautiful, and as he adopted a white-knuckle grip on the tray of food in his hand, Punk contemplated just tossing the food he'd prepared to the side and ravishing his girlfriend, the way he'd wanted to this morning. But with Wrestlemania came an insane amount of press and radio interviews, and he just hadn't had the time.
“Aw, pobrecito,” his girlfriend teased, not looking up from a copy of Cosmo. “You love that I'm making you a sap, Phillip.” She peeked over the top of her magazine and shot her boyfriend a devilish grin, then resumed reading.
“Do you purposely try to get under my skin, or does it just come naturally?”
The magazine was placed to the side as the younger woman pulled herself into a sitting position. She regarded the man known as the Straight Edge Superstar with mild amusement as his eyes bore into hers. In the time they'd known each other, their relationship had experienced nearly every possible emotion, often resembling that of a roller coaster ride. They'd ridden out highs, lows, came together, fell apart, only to find each other again, and they'd both loved every moment of it. Neither of them were particularly easy to love or even get along with, but they always made it work. Suffice to say, their relationship was unconventional, but it worked for them. They had an understanding.
“Are you complaining?” his girlfriend retorted with a smirk. “Because if you are, I can stop. I can be Little Miss Perfect, girlfriend of the year, whatever.” She paused for a moment, and then added, “But that also means that all those methods of torture that you love? Will be gone. And you wouldn't want a vanilla sex life, would you?” She tilted her head questioningly. “I didn't think so.”
Punk could do nothing but stare in amazement at his girlfriend. She drove him him absolutely bonkers sometimes, and he'd be lying if he said that his inability to figure out just what she was thinking at any given time didn't bug the crap out of him, but he loved her. Love. Though Punk had been in many relationships in his adult life, he'd never really been in love with any of the girls he'd dated. Not in the way he loved his girlfriend, anyway. There was just something about her that made Punk want to be a better person. In the past, he'd cringed when other people had said similar things about their wives, girlfriends, or fiancees, and he'd even openly mocked these people for falling in love. But now, he was on the other side of the fence, and truth be told, it felt good. Knowing that someone loved him exactly the way he was, in spite of all his faults (and Punk would be the first one to say that being around him wasn't easy at all, let alone dating him) gave Punk a sense of pride. Though his girlfriend never openly said it, Punk also knew that she needed him. He'd never actually been needed before, and now that he was, Punk felt the instinctive need to protect his lady.
“Hello, earth to Phillip.” Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What are you daydreaming about?”
“Nothing,” the Chicago native stared intently at the woman in front of him for a few seconds, chewing on his lip ring as he pondered whether or not the two of them should go out for breakfast or stay in. Personally, Punk was in favor of the latter. Staying in gave them more freedom to do whatever they wanted, and right now, he wanted to see his girlfriend cooking for him, as she often did, naked. A wolfish grin spread across his lips as Punk bent over his girlfriend.
“What are you doing?”
With one swift movement, Punk successfully pinned his girlfriend beneath him and leaned in even closer, his lips grazing the woman's neck for a moment, eliciting a shiver from her. Before she had time to react, Punk's teeth were grazing the skin, softly at first, and then he was biting her neck. She opened her mouth to protest, but the only sound that came out was a moan.
Punk pulled back for just a moment. Smirking, he replied,
“Having breakfast.”
She was effortlessly beautiful, and as he adopted a white-knuckle grip on the tray of food in his hand, Punk contemplated just tossing the food he'd prepared to the side and ravishing his girlfriend, the way he'd wanted to this morning. But with Wrestlemania came an insane amount of press and radio interviews, and he just hadn't had the time.
“Aw, pobrecito,” his girlfriend teased, not looking up from a copy of Cosmo. “You love that I'm making you a sap, Phillip.” She peeked over the top of her magazine and shot her boyfriend a devilish grin, then resumed reading.
“Do you purposely try to get under my skin, or does it just come naturally?”
The magazine was placed to the side as the younger woman pulled herself into a sitting position. She regarded the man known as the Straight Edge Superstar with mild amusement as his eyes bore into hers. In the time they'd known each other, their relationship had experienced nearly every possible emotion, often resembling that of a roller coaster ride. They'd ridden out highs, lows, came together, fell apart, only to find each other again, and they'd both loved every moment of it. Neither of them were particularly easy to love or even get along with, but they always made it work. Suffice to say, their relationship was unconventional, but it worked for them. They had an understanding.
“Are you complaining?” his girlfriend retorted with a smirk. “Because if you are, I can stop. I can be Little Miss Perfect, girlfriend of the year, whatever.” She paused for a moment, and then added, “But that also means that all those methods of torture that you love? Will be gone. And you wouldn't want a vanilla sex life, would you?” She tilted her head questioningly. “I didn't think so.”
Punk could do nothing but stare in amazement at his girlfriend. She drove him him absolutely bonkers sometimes, and he'd be lying if he said that his inability to figure out just what she was thinking at any given time didn't bug the crap out of him, but he loved her. Love. Though Punk had been in many relationships in his adult life, he'd never really been in love with any of the girls he'd dated. Not in the way he loved his girlfriend, anyway. There was just something about her that made Punk want to be a better person. In the past, he'd cringed when other people had said similar things about their wives, girlfriends, or fiancees, and he'd even openly mocked these people for falling in love. But now, he was on the other side of the fence, and truth be told, it felt good. Knowing that someone loved him exactly the way he was, in spite of all his faults (and Punk would be the first one to say that being around him wasn't easy at all, let alone dating him) gave Punk a sense of pride. Though his girlfriend never openly said it, Punk also knew that she needed him. He'd never actually been needed before, and now that he was, Punk felt the instinctive need to protect his lady.
“Hello, earth to Phillip.” Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What are you daydreaming about?”
“Nothing,” the Chicago native stared intently at the woman in front of him for a few seconds, chewing on his lip ring as he pondered whether or not the two of them should go out for breakfast or stay in. Personally, Punk was in favor of the latter. Staying in gave them more freedom to do whatever they wanted, and right now, he wanted to see his girlfriend cooking for him, as she often did, naked. A wolfish grin spread across his lips as Punk bent over his girlfriend.
“What are you doing?”
With one swift movement, Punk successfully pinned his girlfriend beneath him and leaned in even closer, his lips grazing the woman's neck for a moment, eliciting a shiver from her. Before she had time to react, Punk's teeth were grazing the skin, softly at first, and then he was biting her neck. She opened her mouth to protest, but the only sound that came out was a moan.
Punk pulled back for just a moment. Smirking, he replied,
“Having breakfast.”
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