a/n: i've actually wanted to write these two together for a while. my fanfiction partner in crime, dashinginconverse, beat me to it. this is for her because i missed her so much while she was getting a new computer. so this went a totally different way than i expected it too. hopefully it doesn't suck.

~*~my dear, we're star crossed~*~

the saddest word in the whole wide world is almost

he was almost in love

she was almost good for him

he almost stopped her

she almost waited

they almost made it

tiny stories – via unwanted and untamed, tumblr

He was intrigued by her, how could he not be; at one point or another she had Superstar after Superstar wrapped around her little finger. Even the so-called 'Devil's Favorite Demon' Kane had bowed before her.

But she was more than just a pretty face. Underneath that luscious curtain of silken dark brown hair was were wheels that were always turning. A calculating mind that would appreciate his own talent for strategy.

She is the kind of girl that comes with a dozen warning bells. The kind that would chew you up and spit you out, without batting an eyelash but blowing you a kiss while a mocking smirk graces perfect lips.

At the same time she's the kind of girl you want to be yours. With her on your arm, anything is possible.

X

All the girls in the locker room go ga-ga as soon as they – The Shield – make their debut. She doesn't giggle and swoon, acting like some pubescent tween screeching over a boy band.

Instead, she watches them; closely.

Their attractiveness is undeniable, individually, and together – combined with the SWAT gear – they're basically leaving a grave yard of ovaries in their wake. But there's more to them than just being so unfairly hot, they should come with a warning label – stare too long and your ovaries will explode.

They have talent. The kind of talent that makes legends in their business.

And yes, Roman is so heart-stoppingly pretty it makes her self-conscious and Dean's arms, somehow, look better [bigger] every day, but it's Seth – the so called architect – that captures her.

He has a mind not unlike her own; always spinning, never still, searching for an opponent's weakness and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Only a mind like hers could appreciate a mind like his.

X

"April O'Neil?" Tumbles out of his mouth, when what he really wants to say is you put on a great match, but the stupid fanboy in him takes over and it's ridiculous because of course she – AJ Lee, Geek Goddess – would call Renee April O'Neil.

Slowly, the petite Diva turns on her heel, and arches a smooth brow while brown eyes narrow with circumspection. Her spine arches like a cat, ready to brandish its claws, and immediately he holds up his hands in surrender.

"I thought it was funny. I totally get it, by the way. Renee reminds me of April, too."

"Oh, really?" Biting and dripping tart with sarcasm.

"Really. I mean, I'm not the biggest Ninja Turtles fan, but I get the reference."

"Is there something you need?"

It's amazing, he thinks, how she's able to make him feel about three inches tall when he's a foot taller than her and outweighs her by at least a hundred pounds. He pushes his gloved hand through his hair and tells her, "Other than to tell you, that was a great match you put on against Kaitlyn, no."

Her posture relaxes and her thin shoulders shrug nonchalantly. "I'm in Kaity's head. I have her wrapped around my finger. I put on better matches back when I was..."

He doesn't know why, but it spills from his lips, like his brain is too fast for his mouth, "Doing Women Superstars Uncensored matches as Miss April. I know."

She doesn't say anything. This enigmatic smile just crosses her lips while a glint sparkles in her eyes. And then she's turned on her heel and is skipping away, pigtails swaying with every bounce.

X

Superstar after Superstar is laid in front of them and each and every one suffers the same fate; SUPERMAN PUNCH, DIRTY DEEDS, CURB STOMP, TRIPLE POWER BOMB.

Impressed doesn't accurately express how she feels about watching them. Well... not them, exactly. Mostly it's him. Him because she still hasn't gotten over their run in backstage after he commented on her calling Renee Young, April O'Neil during an interview.

It was weeks ago, but she swears when she breathes in, his scent of sandalwood and sweat still lingers. Almost like, she'll never smell anything else. Just like the sight of his large cocoa eyes up close; being able to see the chocolate around his irises and a flash of caramel when he referenced her own independent career.

women superstars uncensored matches as miss april.

That low raspy tone haunting her.

And god she really is pathetic isn't she? She really is everything that Daniel, Dolph, John and Punk said about her. Clingy. Desperate. Starving for any scrap of affection. Seeing things that aren't there. Crazy.

She takes her anger out – because she cannot go down this road again – on poor Aksana. She could put her into the Black Widow in seconds and have her tapping easily, but she takes her time instead. The match is slow, methodical and calculating and a taunting voice in her head teases cruelly, just like rollins would; he likes to toy with his opponent's too.

X

Why it's her and not any of the other women that throw themselves at him on a daily basis, he can't really explain.

She's beautiful, there's no denying that.

That long silken curtain of dark brown hair that flows to the mid point of her back. High sculpted cheekbones. Perky breasts. Flawless skin. Hard yet, somehow, soft brown eyes. Tart cherry lips that look like they taste so sweet but can cut even the tallest of men down to size.

But he's surrounded by beautiful women. Being beautiful is a prerequisite for being a WWE Diva. Even someone as intimidating as Tamina Snuka is beautiful in that aloof and exotic way of hers.

April – and, seriously, when did she become April and not AJ – is different.

There's no simple explanation as to why she's different, he just knows she is.

X

He – Punk – just walked out. Without even telling her, and how could he not tell her?! He was everything to her, but apparently she was still just the crazy chick who proposed marriage on live television after several dates.

Apparently she wasn't high enough to rate even a text. No, she found out like everyone else. Waking up one morning to find that he had basically destroyed the internet by walking out. Intending to never set foot in a WWE ring again.

It happens – before she even realizes it – this devastating screech of anger, starting from the very tips of her toes and reaching all the way to the roots of her hair, which is in the process of tearing out.

"Awww," Comes the mocking of the Bellas as they step into the locker room. "Your precious Punkers didn't tell you he was walking out?"

"I don't know how you couldn't have seen it coming," Nikki sneers. "I mean, Daniel kicked you to the curb, John dissed and dismissed you, Dolph called you trash and even Kane thinks you're a psycho. It was only a matter of time before Punk realized what they all did and cut his losses."

"He probably didn't tell her he was leaving because he was afraid she would stalk him." Brie snickers, elbowing Nikki in the ribs as they both start to laugh.

Red. All she can see is red flash across her vision. Intense and burning. Without a second thought, she lunges for the twins, another screech of anger being ripped from her throat. All she does is punch and kick and claw, her fists swinging and her legs kicking, until they all end up in the hallway, a tangle of arms and legs.

She doesn't register being pulled away from the twins until the smell of sandalwood hits her and she feels the solidity of his chest behind her while his arms tighten around her waist.

"OMG, YOU REALLY ARE A PSYCHO BITCH, AREN'T YOU?!" Nikki shouts. "LET GO OF ME, REIGNS!" She pushes her way out of the Samoan's arms and grabs for Brie who is struggling in Ambrose's grip. "Brie, come on, you have to get me to the trainer's. I might have caught rabies. I swear that wackjob actually bit me."

"Hey," Raspy and warm, touching her cheek so gently, all she can do is push him back with all her might, shoving him hard in his chest. "Get away from me." She snarls and then in a curtain of dark hair, she's gone, sprinting in the opposite direction.

X

Little things suddenly start appearing in her locker and in the various cars that she takes to arena after arena.

In Milwaukee it's a Hulk figurine. Detroit is the latest Iron Man comic. A plush spider is waiting in her rented Toyota. Then there's a steaming cup of her favorite coffee in the rented Nissan.

When she finds the Funko figure of herself in Newark, she marches into The Shield's locker room, not caring if they could be naked, because she knows it's him who's leaving her these little gifts or whatever.

"WHAT THE FUCK, LEE?!" Ambrose's gritty voice rings out as he reaches for a towel, but with a dismissive wave, she says, "You don't have anything I haven't seen before, Ambrose. Besides, I'm not even here for you."

"AJ," Roman's tone borders on exasperation. "You can't just barge in here..."

"I can and I did. This isn't what it looks like, okay? I'm not Eva or Summer who are always clamoring like dogs in heat, panting and trying to hump your legs. I just need to find..." Her voice stops when suddenly sandalwood creeps up her nose, and somehow, she tears her eyes away from Roman's very pretty face, and oh god... She feels her world slowly tilting off its axis, because there is Seth Rollins in... ONLY. A. TOWEL.

And she swears her brain stopped functioning because all she can register is skin; a beautiful tan all wrapped around an amazingly ripped body and sweet jebus cross fit is magical. And oh is that water droplet slowly disappearing beneath the towel after taking its time to slide down the magnificent sculpt of his six pack? Why, yes, yes it is.

Seriously, can she sue for ovary destruction, because they're basically useless now.

"I know it's you." Not nearly as menacing and demanding as she originally thought it would be.

A blush stains those perfect cheekbones and he's looking at her through his stupidly long lashes, and omg how is it even possible to be so heart-stoppingly gorgeous and an actual puppy at the same time?! Weren't there laws against this?! Shouldn't a SWAT team come barging in to arrest him for crimes against a woman's sanity?!

"I don't need you leaving me little presents, like I'm five seconds away from losing my mind. No matter what anyone says," She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine. I'm not going to curl up in some ball and tear my hair out."

"That's not why I was leaving you the presents. You deserve better..." One of his large hands pushes through his wet two-toned locks, bicep bulging and flexing, and it's not faaaaaaaaair! "April."

And suddenly it's really not fair because there's her name – not AJ or Lee – but April tumbling from those perfectly lush lips and in that raspy tone, and he's standing there in that towel and fuck, she is only human.

So before rational can take hold, she does what she's always done, gives into her heart – which is singing for her to kiss him – and she does, she kisses him. It catches him off guard and for one painfully slow beat of her heart, it's just her lips that are moving while his remain still, and she feels her stomach start to drop and then, his lips begin to move; firm and sure against her own, drawing her in and submerging her in passion.

Tongues tangle, effortlessly and sensually, as strong hands lift her from the tips of her toes, gripping her ass firmly and instinctively her legs wind around his waist, pulling him tighter against her.

He's so wonderfully firm and solid. Gripping his shoulders, broad and taut, grounds her while the way he kisses her makes her feel wanted.

It's perfect.

X

Silver was around her tiny waist as the longest reigning Diva's Champion in the company's illustrious history, and yes, The Shield was on top of the business – having bested their biggest rivals to date in Evolution – but he wanted more. He wanted to achieve the heights she had. To know what it was like to have gold around his waist.

And he couldn't do that with Dean and Roman.

He could only do it on his own.

But he didn't expect her to recoil at the sight of him in the aftermath. He didn't expect those doe eyes of hers to be shining with tears while disgust marred her beautiful features.

He expected her to understand because if she didn't understand then who would?

X

She wouldn't humiliate him like she had been humiliated so many times before. Oh, how she wanted to, to skip out to the ring, Roman and Dean, flanking her before stepping inside and delivering cutting words that would slice him in half, but she couldn't.

She couldn't bring herself to.

Because she still felt everything. Still felt his hands – so skilled and warm – roaming over her every inch. His lips caressing every dip and curve of her body. The scratch of his beard against her inner thighs. The rasp of her name at the height of his passion, "April."

How they would geek out over comics. How he would tease her about knowing the words to all of Britney Spears' songs. How he would still be leaving little things around for her to find.

How the night before Payback he toyed with her left ring finger, paying it special attention as he whispered, "Silver looks good around here," His other hand dipped to caress her waist. "But it would look better here."

The next night, as she made the walk down The Banker's Life Fieldhouse steps, joining all three in the ring, she never expected him to be taking a steel chair to the backs of the men he called brothers. And there she was, backed into a corner, frozen in shock; staring blankly, unable to actually register what was happening around her.

When it was over, all she could do was run.

And when he found her backstage, all she could do was pitifully whisper, "Why?"

X

The rumors were flying as Wrestlemania was approaching faster and faster, that she was going to leave, that this Wrestlemania – Wrestlemania 31 – would be her last. He knew the injury she suffered to her neck was legitimate and it had taken everything inside of him not to call her, to make sure she was all right and healing, but The Authority had eyes and ears everywhere, and he couldn't risk what he had worked so hard for.

But when she returned to stop Brie and Nikki from attacking Paige, she had been at the top of her game. Like she hadn't lost a step.

And yet... Here he was, standing outside her hotel room, desperately hoping the rumors weren't true. That she wasn't leaving. At least not without telling him.

"I won't hesitate to put you in the Black Widow if you don't move." There was her voice, cool as ever, turning his bones to ice.

"April..."

"There's nothing we have to say to each other. Your steel chair said everything."

"Please." Wrenched from his throat and just a note of begging, his eyes silently pleading.

"You should get all the rest you need. Randy's back and I know you're not stupid enough to believe he won't come after you. You nearly ended his career, and Randy won't stand for something like that. He's going to make you pay. It's just a matter of when."

"I thought you would understand why I had to do what I did."

"I never thought you would be capable of something so despicable. So I guess we didn't know each other as well as we thought."

X

Every part of her body is screaming to jump into his arms, as she watches, him execute his cashing in of the Money In The Bank briefcase perfectly. The curb stomp to Roman ends the match and with a hook of the Samoan's leg, he has the title in his grasp.

She doesn't know how it's possible but her heart rises and falls at the same time.

In another world, she would be out there with him, celebrating.

Instead, she's backstage, sadly looking on as he swings the title around in triumph.

This is all he's ever wanted, to become WWE World Heavyweight Champion, and instead of being by his side as he enters his first reign, she'll be home; watching, but most likely not because why would she want to torture herself?

"AJ?" Paige's throaty voice enters the fray, vaguely concerned and before the Brit can appear by her side, the tiny brunette, wipes away a stray tear falling from her eye.

There's only one decision to make; it's time and turning, she gives the younger woman a soft smile, "You're what the Diva's Division needs right now, so make sure you give The Bellas and those other Total Mannequins hell, okay?"

X

He could've stopped her, he should've stopped her, because in all honesty that's what he wanted to do, stop her. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted, with every fiber of his being, for her to stay.

And just as he was taking those tentative steps toward her petite figure, a familiar deep baritone stopped him, "You could stay, ya know? It's not like the other Divas have passed you by. You've been medically cleared. You have all the time in the world ahead of you, Peanut."

He stops, dead, Roman's tone affectionate and there's a flush of her cheeks as she looks down at her Converse clad feet, a tell-tale sign that she's nervous, and what the actual fuck?!

Slowly, a pair of long fingers reach out to tuck strands of silken hair behind her ear, lingering along the slope of her high cheekbone. "This place ain't gonna be the same without you, skipping around, wreaking havoc."

He sees her suck in her bottom lip and watches as a tremor rushes through her petite frame, and suddenly a title that felt weightless, feels like it's crushing him. "Does that mean you'll miss me, Romie?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"I don't know," Coy as she bounces on the tips of her toes and there go her lashes, batting furtively. "Maybe I do? How am I supposed to know," Giggle and a tug of black locks. "What's going on underneath all that perfect hair, huh?"

"You gotta do what you gotta do, and if you think it's time, I respect that. You've done amazing things here, AJ. You'll be walking across the stage as a Hall of Famer in no time. Don't," Lower and a timbre of something more than just affection, and he feels his blood turning to ice, as green colors his vision. "Be a stranger."

"As if I could stay away. You're much prettier," A sigh as slender fingers reach up to trace the Samoan's straight nose. "In person than on TV."

X

It was Bayley's shirt she planned to wear during her last match on RAW, the night after Mania, but instead of I'M A HUGGER emblazoned across her chest, it's I CAN. I WILL.

She thought if she ever wore another Superstar's merchandise again it would be his, but it's not. Her very last match ever, and it's Roman's t-shirt that slides over her skin.

She thought her last night would be spent with him, but instead of big cocoa eyes waiting for her, backstage it's beautiful slate grey. There's the tell-tale shiver going down her spine and a tremble in her step. Her heart's beating like she's run a marathon and it's not the adrenaline from the match against The Bellas and Nattie.

No, it's because of Roman Reigns.

Who is staring at her like she's worth more than she's ever thought of herself.

"That's the way you end a career, Peanut."

"Paige and Naomi deserve their shot. I had my turn, it's theirs now."

"April Jeanette Lee, saying other girls deserve a shot? Have I stumbled into an alternate universe?"

"Stick to being pretty, Romie. It's what you're best at. Let Ambrose be funny."

There's no presence that she feels, even though, someone is watching. All she feels is Roman. Warm, deep, easy and smelling like the beach; the perfect mix of sun, sand and water.

Everything is in slow motion, as he bends forward, while she rises and it's not the most perfect kiss. Their noses bump and she's straining her neck because, ugh, why does he have to be so tall?! And he does bite her tongue by accident and she grips his hair too tight, pulling several strands out.

But it's everything there never was with Punk or John or Dolph or Daniel. Everything there never was even with him, and yeah, she's getting ahead of herself when she whispers, breathless, "So I guess you'll be the moneymaker and I'll be the adorably evil trophy wifey then, huh? Like, that's the most perfect plan ever, don't you think Romie?"

He laughs, low and rumbling, but bright at the same time while yellow, sunny warmth flashes across her vision.

Hair is tucked behind her ear, a thumb lingering along her earring and then her bottom lip. That panty-melting smile comes next, and well kids aren't happening because her ovaries are dead, as he says, "I like the way you think, Peanut."

And there she goes, skipping away, the big man nipping at her heels; not the man she thought would be following her off into the sunset, but why have almost when you could have forever?