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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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Fall and Prey

This is the one I was mentioning that kind of got away from me. I seriously did not think it was going to get this long and when I first had the idea, it was really just the last part of it without much of the backstory. Sigh. Discipline is not my forte.

This is obviously set in a very specific time frame but for some reason, I waited until more than half way through the writing process before checking the exact dates. When I did check them, I realized that I’d completely screwed up the timeline and I had to go back and fix things. I did what I could but I have this awful feeling that I missed things and that I’ve ended up making it more confusing to read. It’s set between NXT War Games (2020) and the episode of NXT that aired the following Wednesday.

Ok... self-indulgent whining sequence ended, beginning basic details sequence.

Pairing: Karrion Kross x OC/ reader x Damian Priest

Word count: 18,322 (Ok, maybe I should have broken this one up)

Content advisory: explicit sexual content but the thing that’s most likely to make people uncomfortable is that it’s about an extremely unhealthy, emotionally and mentally abusive relationship.

“Hey, three,” you shout into your headset, “you don’t have anything like that kind of time to move between positions! And for the last time, the hard camera is losing focus when the lights shift. This is not a show where you can just check the fucking shot every two minutes. Do your goddamn job!”

A lot of people were surprised when you were hired as Floor Manager for NXT’s weekly shows. It wasn’t that you lacked experience, but that you lacked testicles, which had generally been seen as a prerequisite for bossing talent in an overwhelmingly male and masculinity-fixated industry. Even when the talent and behind-the-scenes workers had met you, they’d seemed a little bit surprised. You got it. You weren’t just a woman in a man’s world. You were quiet and thoughtful and didn’t come off as a masculine hardass the way that other women who’d pushed their way to the upper echelons in wrestling seemed to be.

It wasn’t lost on you that your position covered a lot more than what was usually meant by “floor manager”. Above you were the Directors, who theoretically controlled the look of the show, but who were really just concerned with getting storyline angles done properly and keeping everything on time. The responsibility for dictating the shots, the camera movements, and the look of the show had fallen on your shoulders. Unfortunately, all that would show on your resume was that you’d done a decent job keeping the ground-level details in order. So it was fortunate that you didn’t have any desire to move on to greater things.

Your coworkers had quickly discovered that your soft demeanour went right out the window when it was (literal and figurative) show time. You went from pleasant and understanding to barking orders like a drill sergeant in a snap and you did not tolerate fallibility in your ranks. You’d already fired two camera operators and one production assistant. People took your warmth and openness as weakness at their peril.

“What the fuck are you even doing, three? All I’m seeing is feet? Get your ass in position ten seconds ago at the goddamn latest!”

After the show is over, you’ll make a point of approaching Andre from Camera Three and you’ll tell him that you know it’s War Games and that it’s probably the most difficult thing to shoot in pro wrestling. But for now, you’re in the middle of one of the biggest shows of the year, you need to cut to camera three and all you’re seeing in your monitor is feet. Andre slides guiltily- you can feel it even through the lens- into his proper position and holds the line.

“Ok, two, I need you to start shifting left. We’re following you, so watch the focus.”

Whenever you have a second, you find yourself gulping water and croaking out orders so that the workers on the floor know what to do. Your own focus is so intense that it makes you dizzy and after two and a half hours of this, your head hurts.

“You make sure you caught my smile?” Damian jibes as he exits his dressing room, a towel slung over his shoulder to catch the moisture from his freshly washed hair.

“Oh of course,” you groan, sliding off the stool that’s supposed to relieve the stress on your back, but seems to do the opposite. “Your teeth were the only thing we focused on all night.”

You dodge the slap on the head he tries to give you, as both of you laugh. He knows his match was fantastic, a real star-making turn. And he knows that you know.

“Fine, Ms. Exalted Producer,” he groans, “just inform your lowly meat puppet what the plans are for the rest of the night.”

You giggle to yourself and immediately embark on the game of one-upmanship that the two of you are constantly playing. “I don’t have any use for you off camera. What makes you think I want to do anything now that work is over?”

“Well I’m pretty damn sure you haven’t eaten, Puss, so I’m guessing that both of us want to fill our bellies somehow.”

If anyone heard him use that nickname for you, they’d probably be shocked. They’d assume it was a misogynist slur and many people would want to punch him in the face.

In fact, it had nothing to do with sex or gender or anything remotely controversial. It had evolved from your obsession with pupusas, the central american wrap that occupied the space somewhere between a burrito and an empanada.

“I know what you want,” Damian would tease. “You have your pupusa puss on.”

“I can’t help what I love!” you’d retort. “I grew up in San Francisco. It was like a Latin American food fair. I developed particular tastes.”

Gradually, having your “pupusa puss” on devolved into just being a “puss” when Damian could tell what you were craving. That was fine as far as you were concerned because it showed a progression in your friendship that you’d been unable to reach with a man in a long time. It showed your ability to finally move on and accept that men could be people just like anyone else and that they weren’t automatically predatory and vicious the way your ex had been.

When you’d been hired to manage ground zero execution at NXT, you’d easily been able to make friends with the women there but you’d avoided the men. You were slightly more friendly towards the ones who you knew had partners within the company but just the presence of testosterone made you a little panicky. Anything with a Y chromosome immediately reminded you of Him and of the fact that you were eventually going to have to come face to face with the bastard who had ruined you.

You’d accepted your job offer from WWE just as the entire world had shut down, which meant that your first weeks had been like some nightmarish caricature, a sort of “dogma” challenge that no one could succeed at. At first, you’d bounced between Raw and Smackdown, assisting the executives in charge but after the big Summer Slam show, they had moved you to NXT, to a job that was more senior but less lucrative. You’d spent the entire first month convinced that you were going to be fired because what you were producing was so many levels below what audiences expected.

As much as you loved the idea of having the run of things, you never would have accepted the job if it weren’t for the fact that He’d been injured and was expected to be out of action for a year. A year was more than enough time to prove yourself and would allow you to return to Raw or Smackdown at a higher level. Neither your poison ex or his blonde trophy would be there. They couldn’t hurt you anymore than they already had.

Still, you’d felt a little nauseous in the presence of any man until Damian had managed to get you to chill the fuck out. It was weird, because he projected that alpha male persona that made your stomach churn. And at the same time he was such a nonchalant individual that his antics with groupies, trashy hot tub celebrations and cocky behaviour seemed more like a piss-take on masculinity. He’d also made a point of constantly trying to make you laugh, all the more so when he’d sensed your reluctance to give any man so much as a smile.

The first time he’d managed to get you to crack up had been a watershed moment in your relationship and you’d both felt it. It had been a sort of dumb, gross joke that had finally made you fall apart but the subject matter hadn’t been important. What was important was that Damian Priest was the first man to make you feel relaxed enough around him to really lose yourself. What better foundation for a friendship could there be?

Once you’ve wrapped for the night and debriefed the troops on a pretty positive outing, you gather up your belongings and find Damian, who’s flopped in a chair that would look comfortable for someone with a normal-sized frame but which seems to contour around all the wrong parts of his. You wonder if he has to special order all his furniture because the things they make for regular humans can’t accommodate him.

He pretends to be asleep, grunting when you shake his wrist to get him to move.

“Come on, I’m hungry and thirsty and impatient,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “Too late, I’m tired. I’m gonna sleep here tonight.”

“I’m paying,” you coo.

He jumps up from the seat and you’re so startled that you jump yourself. He laughs a little but looks for a sign that you’re alright.

“What can I say? I get excited when a lady wants to buy me dinner.”

He gives an exaggerated shrug and seems gratified when you smile and roll your eyes.

“Don’t you call me a fucking lady!”

As you turn to go, you catch a glimpse of a computer screen, a distorted black and white image of a raptor occupying the whole thing.

“What’s that?” You hiss, to no one in particular. Your pulse quickens and you feel a prickling sensation in your extremities. Only one person has that effect on you and that person has often used the imagery of birds of prey for his entrances and vignettes.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” comes the voice of the AV tech, a scrawny guy in a hipster beanie and worn t-shirt, as he returns to his seat in front of the computer. “It’s for Wednesday. Big surprise coming.”

You nod and even manage a weak smile as your insides melt like roads hit by lava. It’s not possible. It’s been three months. No one can recover from that kind of injury in three months. It’s someone else. You know that Aleister Black, also someone who uses dark-tinged imagery, has made noises about wanting to come back to NXT. There certainly hasn’t been anything official but it’s a possibility. It has to be more likely than a man recovering from a serious injury in a quarter of the projected time. You’ve seen the teases here and there but you tell yourself it’s misdirection. They want to make people believe it’s one person coming but it’ll turn out to be someone else.

“You ready?” You ask Damian, trying your best to ground yourself in the present again.

“Lead the way.”

It’s little things that make Damian the perfect guy to help you be able to deal with men again. He does a lot of quaintly gentlemanly things like hold doors or insist on walking on the side closer to the street, things his mother, aunts and grandmothers taught him that a mana just does. At the same time, he’s aware that women often have a rough time in this industry and that he’s a big, scary-looking guy, so he’s careful to maintain physical distance. He doesn’t try to hug you or lean into you or other things that you see male and female friends do all the time. You’ve seen him hug other women, but only if they initiate it. Sometimes, you’d really like to have a hug after a hard day, or bury your head in his shoulder when he insists on watching horror movies with jump scares. But then you think of the idea of being held, of feeling like you can’t escape, and at the same time of how detached those gestures can be, how they can make you feel like nothing.

That’s His legacy.

Damian knows that you had a “bad experience”. You’ve told him that much. You thought about saying that you were with someone who beat you but that was a lie. If you started lying about that sort of thing, it was an insult to women who really were battered. At the same time, what had actually happened between you and your ex felt complicated to explain. It was manipulation and dependence and cruelty and loss and it had left you feeling wounded from the inside out. But that sounded nuts, so you just told him that it had been a very bad situation and that you didn’t want to get into it. Somehow, not saying what happened seemed to convey the damage you’d sustained more than talking about it.

And Damian’s a good enough friend that he respects your injuries even though he can’t see them. He doesn’t fuss about the fact that you’ll sometimes see something that makes you go silent, or that you have to get away from. He doesn’t know who your ex is, or even that he’s a fellow wrestler let alone a coworker, but he’s developed a habit of steering you away from tall, shaven-headed men, or positioning himself so that he’s always between you and them. He’s never said anything, of course. Maybe he doesn’t know that you can tell he’s doing it. Hell, you’ve never specifically told him that your ex was tall with a shaved head. He just noticed how jumpy you got when you’d see one.

The two of you take a table close to the door at a hole in the wall place that has a couple of visible holes in the walls. Damian chooses the table. He knows you like to sit near the door. He holds out the chair closest to the wall because you hate having your back exposed.

You haven’t tried this place before but you know others who have and insist it has the best empanadas in the city. No pupusas, though. Those remain hard to find and you’ve already dragged Damian to the places that do have them on a regular basis.

“How’s the shoulder?” You ask, aware that he’s been trying to shake off a knock for the better part of two weeks.

“It’s a bit better. Been stretching it out more, yoga stuff.”

“Good.” You smile at him warmly so he knows you care about his welfare.

As usual, he’s kind of sprawled, trying to fit into a chair that is clearly not up to the task. His long legs project out from the table. You suspect he assumes that position because if he put his legs under the table like a normal person would, they’d be brushing against yours throughout dinner. You want to tell him that you don’t mind but the truth is that your response to even fleeting contact with a man is reflexive and visceral. No one’s touched you since He did and now every touch with a man seems like a threat.

The food is delicious and filling and it’s easy to enjoy a relaxed time together, gossipping a little about what’s happening backstage and imagining what’s coming in the near future. It is such a weird company to work for. If you didn’t have a friend you could vent to, you could see yourself becoming anxiety-ridden and bitter about the instability and contradictions.

“That graphic that was on the computer,” Damian muses, placing his napkin down. “Do you think it means Kross is coming back?”

All night, it’s been niggling at the back of your brain that he might bring this up. You know he saw the same thing you did. As much fun as you’ve been having, there’s been this undercurrent of dread. You’re not ready to talk about it with Damian or anyone else. You have an ex. It ended badly. No one has to know that it’s Karrion Kross, the one the company’s strapped a rocket to.

“Seems pretty early,” you grunt, shoving the last of your food into your mouth. This gives you an excuse to look down as you say it, so that Damian can’t catch sight of the fear you know is in your eyes.

“I know, right?” Damian scowls. “There’s no way. Someone would have said something.”

“I mean, I would hope so. Would be a pretty shit thing to do to just let this guy come back with no notice and everyone has to drop everything so we can focus on him.”

You feel a little guilty about that last bit. Damian has his own reasons for being anxious about Kross returning early. Right now, he’s the big man, both literally and figuratively. He’s finally getting a substantial push after a couple of years of lower-mid-tier work. When Kross comes back, he becomes the centerpiece just as he was before, and everyone gets kicked down a notch. So when you mention it, you know you’re feeding a real sense of insecurity that Damian has, and fueling the low-level resentment that he and others developed towards Kross during his meteoric rise. But it’s not like you’re saying anything he doesn’t already know, you rationalize.

“I haven’t heard anything,” he muses.

“Neither have I. And I’m not saying they’d tell me details but a head’s up that I should be planning how to do some segments for him… they’d do that for sure.”

No, you think, they wouldn’t. They drop things on you last minute all the time and Damian knows this because he’s the one you go to when you feel like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal who comes back. “Whatever. It happens when it happens.”

You mumble something reassuring as you go to pay the bill, which is shockingly low.

“Cool that we had the whole place to ourselves,” he says as you head out.

“I don’t know if they’re allowed to have any more people in there right now.”

“Yeah, that has to be rough.”

“Well you ate enough for a restaurant full of people,” you chuckle.

You’re not quick enough to dodge him this time and he taps you lightly on the back of the head. That’s the only way you touch, and even as he does it, he steps back a little so that he’s a full arm’s length away. You both joke and swat at each other and that’s as far as you’ve been able to progress. You’re exorcising the evil spirits of a mentally and emotionally abusive relationship through gestures that mimic physical violence.

You get the feeling that Damian would really like to hug you when you’re upset, to wrap you up in those long, muscular arms and cradle you so that you could feel safe, because he’s got a healthy streak of old world masculinity that dictates women should be protected. But he knows that you’d feel anything but safe with a man holding you. Doesn’t mean you don’t think about it, and wonder what it would feel like.

The two of you say your good nights and you crawl into your car. It’s a stupid car and you hate it, but you’ve had to haul gear around in the past and that means you need an SUV that makes you feel like a kid pretending you’re big enough to drive.

Your travel mug sits in the console with the dregs of your morning coffee still in it. You grab it immediately and wrench off the lid as your stomach and throat spasm. Nothing comes up but this continues for several minutes. It’s not food poisoning. It’s Him. He’s coming back and you can feel it.

He wasn’t Karrion Kross when you met him, he was Killer Kross but really, he was just Kevin, the big man with the shaved head and tattoos and the eyes of a soldier in the midst of a full-on flashback to a warzone. The first time you’d seen him had been at a show and you’d had the incredible honor of working the door.

It was the lowliest of the lowly jobs but you loved the atmosphere and the personalities and while you knew that in-ring work was never going to be your thing, you were desperate to be close to that world. So you were the door girl.

That first few times you’d been at the same shows, you’d definitely thought he was hot but in the way that a lot of guys at those shows were hot. People who take care of their bodies all the time tend to look good. And he wasn’t the handsomest. You’d found him too sharp-angled to be handsome and in the ring he was always making stupid faces.

It was him who had pursued you. Of course, he was as confident about winning you over as he was about everything but he wasn’t arrogant. He always found ways to talk to you without seeming desperate or awkward and by the time he’d suggested that the two of you go out for a drink sometime, you’d been so charmed by him that you hadn’t been able to sleep that night.

He didn’t immediately make a move, either. The two of you hung out, chatted a lot, and he would always suggest things that seemed novel for dates but that ended up feeling special and fun.

In retrospect, you wondered if he’d had a girl or two on the side when he was wooing you. His sex drive was always through the roof, but his self-control was impeccable. Whatever method he employed, by the time he’d taken you into his bed, you were desperate for it. But it wasn’t the sex, fantastic though it was, that fueled your addiction to the man. It was the whole package: the intensity, the ability to create unique experiences, the hints of inner darkness that he let you see, the way part of him remained perpetually out of reach.

And he loved having you around. You were smart enough and interested enough in the world of wrestling to be able to share that with him. You were crazy enough about him that he could convince you to do anything. He used the first aspect to make you feel like you were a partner on equal footing. That way, he could exploit the second, getting you to do absolutely anything he wanted while stripping away all the parts of you that existed independently of him.

Promoters or bookers that didn’t want to push him became your enemies even more than his because you were the one who took on the burden of confronting them. The friends and networks you had, you had together. Of course, you were on the fringes of that world because you worked as an agent (his agent) or as a part-time booker, or as a glorified roadie. He was the talent, not you.

And there was the sexual stuff. He loved the idea of watching you with another woman, so the idea of being with another woman excited you because of how much it would turn him on. The first couple of times, you’d even been the one to take the lead. Later, he also liked fucking other women while you watched. Every second of that had felt painful but seeing how much pleasure he took from it made it feel good at the same time.

It wasn’t until much later that you realized how much of what he’d done was a process of seeing how far he could push you, seeing how you’d shift your boundaries to please him. You’d figured that out in therapy and it was the first breakthrough you made, the first thing that made you believe that the money you were spending to put yourself back together might actually yield results.

There are still things you did for him that you can’t bear to think about. You’ve never told anyone, not a friend, not your therapist, you won’t even acknowledge them yourself. Any time certain memories poke their horrible snouts above out of the waters of your unconscious, you force them back down immediately. You know they’re there. You know what they are. But if you let yourself think about them then you’ll have to deal with the fact that you were the person who participated and that would be unbearable.

You’d spent your entire relationship thinking that the two of you would be together forever and that he was about to leave you at any moment. He’d encouraged you to think that he was in it for the long term but you never quite believed it. As far as you were concerned, he was the most talented man in the business, capable of anything he wanted. You thought that someday you could play a strategic role. But you’d never be on his level.

You met Scarlet before he did and the instant you saw her, you hated her, because you knew what was coming. As soon as they met, you could feel what was between them. You could barely even speak when she was around. You made no secret of your feelings about her to him. You couldn’t stop from spilling gallons of bile about how disgusting you found her and the fact that he didn’t seem to agree with you felt like a betrayal.

He’d started talking about breaking up in the most nonchalant way, like the two of you were roommates. You weren’t, because you weren’t living together despite the fact that he was at your place all the time. He needed to know he had his own place and increasingly, he spent time there. You knew it was because he was seeing her. You felt it on a level beyond the rational and that was what he said you were being- irrational.

So one night you’d gone by his place with takeout Chinese from a restaurant you’d loved for ages. You’d walked into the building as another person was leaving and knocked on his door for what seemed like an eternity. You could hear movement and murmuring inside, including the sound of someone stepping into clothing.

He’d answered the door looking annoyed and tired, shirtless and with his belt still undone and you’d been able to catch a glimpse of her inside. And just like that, your relationship was over. More or less.

He’d ghosted you for a few weeks. You’d pathetically tried to reach out under the guise of asking him to pick up the stuff he’d left at your place. You’d resorted to joking that you couldn’t move on with your life because it looked like a man lived there. You both knew that you weren’t moving on with your life.

Then he’d turned up, cool as ever, asking you to meet him for coffee. He’d apologized without hesitation for cutting off contact and said he felt terrible about the way you’d found out he was with Scarlet, but that he’d worried about telling you that he was leaving you for someone he knew you hated. He’d told you that you meant very much to him, and that he hated the idea of losing what the two or you had beyond “just the couple stuff”.

How you made yourself believe him and not seen his actions as those of a man who wanted to keep things as smooth as possible within the business was a mystery to you. You were certain that there were four year olds who could have seen that he was just making sure that he wasn’t going to get punished for ditching you. It was much later that you’d realized that you were much more respected in the scene than you’d thought. People loved working with you because you were no-nonsense, because you were resourceful, and because you worked hard. But when you’d listen to Kevin telling you how important you remained to him, that was all you could hear.

So you’d tried to stay his friend and that was when things truly went to hell.

You told yourself and him that you could just flip the switch and have a new kind of relationship. The truth was that you were desperately trying to find a way to be part of his life and that you did so hoping that the Scarlet infatuation would just blow over. Perhaps he’d helped you believe that. He’d certainly made you feel like you were the most important person in his life every time the two of you were alone together.

You hadn’t handled things well. You’d go to pieces every time he would leave you to return to the woman who really was the most important to him. You did whatever you could to make him feel responsible for you or afraid to leave you, threatening to harm yourself or to do something to put yourself in danger. It didn’t matter. He still ended up leaving.

Worst of all was your idea to run yourself down as unattractive, as ugly, as undesirable when evaluated among women who worked in the industry. He’d reassured you, of course, and it wasn’t long before reassurance started to take on a physical form. He’d buried his head in your neck and whispered that it was unthinkable that you couldn’t see how desirable you were. When he casually mentioned that he and Scarlet were fine keeping things open, you’d immediately taken him back into your bed.

Secretly, you’d hoped that keeping things open meant that there wasn’t any real connection between them. In fact, it had meant the opposite: they both felt confident that what they had couldn’t be diminished by just having sex with someone else. And for him, that’s all it was: fucking a random person because he could.

Once the two of you started sleeping together again, you’d assumed that it was only a matter of time until things went back to the way they had been. It had never occurred to you to question your ability to put everything behind you. If you got him back, nothing else was important.

But no matter how you sobbed and begged, oh how you’d begged, for him to take you back, he had no interest. He’d moved on. Yes, he was happy to have your support professionally. Yes, he was happy to put his dick in you since you were so eager to offer. But as far as he was concerned, things were over.

You shuddered to think of the number of times you’d called him crying and screaming, demanding that he come and talk things out. Or the number of times you’d gone to pieces in public, slapping him and telling him that you were never going to speak to him again, even though everyone knew it was a lie. You’d put your pain and vulnerability on display. You’d made yourself pathetic.

Finally, he and Scarlet had had opportunities that led them to another city and after that, you didn’t hear from him. He was gone from your life, or what was left of your life. As you soon realized, if you weren’t his sidekick or his supporter, you didn’t know what you were. You’d puttered around doing the same things you always had and finally had shown that you were capable of running shows. At the same time, you’d gotten a diploma in communications that trained you in television work, among other things. That was something that was uniquely yours, you told yourself. He’d had no hand in making the decision to do that.

You sit in your stupid car, parked in your driveway, for a long time before you finally go inside. In your fantasy, he wouldn’t have arrived in the WWE until you were established as a senior producer. You’d loved the fantasy of him having to kiss your ass to get ahead, and of denying him opportunities he felt he was due.

As much as you might want to deny it, the man who’d torn your heart out was coming back early and you were going to have to work alongside him. Your perfectly laid plan lacked a safety net.

You don’t have to wait long for your worst fears to be confirmed. At the next morning’s staff meeting he’s there, showing off how well-recovered he is for several of the trainers.

He sits in on the staff meeting but no one says anything beyond acknowledging that he’s there and way ahead of schedule. You hang near the back of the room and flee as soon as the meeting is over. No reason to hang out, where you could accidentally get roped into a conversation with Kevin and his wench. You run back and report the necessary information to your troops.

You’re going over the shot list that your assistant has prepared, having locked yourself in a literal closet, still nursing the remains of your coffee that you’ve had to reheat three times in the microwave when Damian finds you.

“Did you get demoted or something?” He queries, leaning into your tiny space.

“I had to find a place where no one was going to bother me. Guess I didn’t do a good enough job.”

You screw up your face in an exaggerated display of annoyance, but you push the door open to allow him in. He stays pressed against the wall, which is as much space as he can give you.

“Seriously, why are you in a closet?”

“Seriously,” you mimic, “I wanted some place where I could focus on the shot list and make sure that we’re going to have enough coverage on Wednesday.”

“Sorry to bother you.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out that the shot list is pretty straightforward and that I just like being by myself, so I’m stretching this out for as long as I can.”

“I feel like they were really weird about what segments they needed me for.”

“Weird how?”

“I mean, they told me what bits I’m in but everyone was really concerned that I was aware I could be called in for an extra bit at the last minute.”

“Ugh,” you groan, running a hand through your hair, “that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“The program looks to be short. Like they’re planning on throwing something in at the last minute. If they’re telling you and other people that there could be something else, then that’s probably my missing time.”

“And it’s probably a massive headache for you because you don’t know what to expect.”

“Why are you the only person who ever listens when I talk about the problems this sort of thing causes?”

“Because I don’t like seeing you upset any more than I like having some weird surprise pulled on me at the last minute.” Damian folds his arms and exhales pointedly, like he wants you to know that what he’s about to say is important. “You think all this is because the big man’s coming back?”

“You’re bigger than he is,” you sniff. “I don’t know, maybe. I figure they don’t know how they want to reintroduce him so they’re leaving their options open.”

“If he’s back, he’s basically going straight into a feud with Balor for the title, though.”

“That would be my guess. He never lost it, so his only focus is going to be getting it back.”

Damian stares glumly at the floor and for an instant he looks so hurt that you want to grab his hands and ask him what you can do to help.

“I’m supposed to be in a bit this week where I’m one of a few people asking for a title shot. I guess that’s not happening.”

“Well it’s on my breakdown, so it’s happening whether or not Kross makes an appearance. Besides, you’ve earned a shot. You had the North American title, you looked like a total badass at the last Takeover. You took Balor to the limit once already. You should damn well be getting a shot.”

“But I’m not The Guy,” he grumbles, and for that you have no response. People way above you in the food chain think Kevin is the Next Big Thing and have pushed him ahead of everyone else in the queue. A year would have given a lot of people a chance to flourish, but apparently that’s not what fate has decided.

You want to get in the faces of your superiors and make a case for staying the course, for delaying Kross’s big comeback a while, maybe until a crowd can be present. And there would be some logic to that, but you know damn well that Kevin and Scarlet would be happy to brand you as the “crazy ex-girlfriend”. They’ve done it before. Maybe they weren’t wrong, either, because looking back on that whole episode in your life, it feels like you weren’t in control of your own mind.

The worst part about that now is that it robs you of an opportunity to help Damian. Yes, he’s your friend but he’s also really good at what he does and everyone else is always pimping their favorites but you can’t because you can be dismissed as the dreaded crazy ex. Years after your last contact, the sociopathic bastard is still able to control parts of your life and it’s unbearable.

The rest of the day made up of running through camera angles and cuts, making decisions, making new decisions when things get changed from above, and identifying as many escape routes and hiding places as you can. Whenever you catch sight of Kevin or his princess, you slip away like a ghost and reappear somewhere you won’t have to risk coming face to face. You’ll have to eventually but you need to build up to it. You need to feel more secure, more content, and more sane than you do right now.

You splash some water on your face, staring at the edgy woman in the mirror, wanting to tell her she needs to switch to decaf or something. No, that woman is decidedly not ready for a casual encounter with her toxic ex, especially not in the workplace. That’s why she’s using this bathroom in the bowels of the building, rather than one of the ones conveniently located on the ground floor. It was a great find, right next to the staircase, so you can slip away and reappear like it’s nothing unusual. If you feel really trapped, you can scurry off and take another staircase back upstairs, like how a mouse learns to navigate the inside of walls in a house so she doesn’t get caught by the people. She adapts because she knows in the open that she’s easy prey.

You dry your hands fastidiously and smooth your shirt down. As you leave, something moves on the edge of your peripheral vision but before you can turn to see what it is, you feel a thick arm around you, pulling you into the adjacent men’s lavatory. At almost the same moment, you get angry at Damian playing a prank on you and feel a little sick because the feeling of that arm is so familiar and you know it isn’t Damian’s.

He places you back on your feet as soon as he has you through the door and you spin away like a cyclone.

“Don’t you touch me!” You spit, waving your arm in front of you to establish your space.

And there he is, leaning back against the wall with a snide expression on his face, black jeans, unadorned black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black predator’s eyes and the same black heart. He raises his eyebrows a little, looking at you like you’re a child throwing a tantrum, which immediately makes you feel like that’s what you are.

“Don’t touch me,” you repeat, most of the fire gone from your voice.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he drawls.

You tilt your head as it dawns on you: he thinks you’re angry because you’re startled, not because it was him grabbing you. It hasn’t occurred to him that you’ll be angry, that you might hate him. It’s been a while. It’s ancient history. Nothing that happened was that big a deal. You aren’t the crazy ex who is going to try to bring him down. You’re a girl he used to date in the Before Scarlet era. You’re part of the BS era.

“Can I get a hug or a hello or something?”

The gleam in his eyes betrays that he’s sounding you out: trying to figure out if you’re still an ally and how much of an ally if so. If you wanted, you could just laugh and say hello, welcome him aboard, express how remarkable his recovery is. And maybe that would be safer: if you reassure him that you can be useful, he has no reason to pay much attention to you. But if you do that, you’d also be validating his narrative that you were no big deal.

“You can get a go to hell, Kevin, that’s what you can get.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” You snap, aware that there are tears rippling through your voice. “I get it. You’re here, I’m here, we have to work together. Let’s go to work and avoid each other as much as possible and we’ll both be fine.”

“Well I won’t be fine with that,” he retorts, scowling.

Ah, yes, you think. Kevin’s world. There is no such thing as a neutral party. He needs to put you in his camp or in a ditch.

“Grow up,” you mutter.

“I’m serious. I’m not ok with us acting like we barely know each other or like we hate each other.”

You’ve fallen into one of his traps and hate yourself for it, because it’s one you’ve found yourself in before. You knew that in order to heal, you had to cut things off, as painful as that was going to be, but if you tried to do that, and you had a few times, it meant that you were an icy bitch who didn’t place any value on your friendship.

You want to say that he’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it. You want to tell him that if he wanted the two of you to be friends, he should have stopped putting his dick in you when he dumped you for another woman. You want to tell him that his feelings aren’t important because they’ve never been very deep.

But you know that if you start to say something like that, you’re going to really start crying and that would be worse than anything, so you stand still with your hands on your hips, consciously avoiding eye contact with him.

“Come here,” he says softly.

When you don’t immediately react, he holds his arms out and beckons you forward. “Come here,” he repeats, a little more insistently but still gently.

Seeing those arms reaching out to you churns up a lot of feelings at once: fear, longing, anger, sadness, nostalgia, and more. Your mind remains oddly clear, repeating the thought that moving even an inch closer would be dangerous, but your body feels like it’s caught in a tractor beam, and you step into his waiting embrace fully aware of the terrible mistake it is.

When you’re close enough for him to get a grip on you, he pulls you flush against him and wraps his thick arms around you. You don’t return the embrace. You rest your hands against his chest so that you can push back at a moment’s notice. But you don’t push back. You let him hold you and nestle his face in your hair, lips grazing your ear when he speaks.

“I missed you,” he whispers, closing his arms tighter around you. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. You won’t commit to anything more than that.

One of his hands finds the back of your head and the fingers wind softly through your hair.

“I mean it. I like the shorter cut.”

Like almost every broken-hearted woman in history, you’d dealt with your pain in part with a new hairdo, a sort of messy layered bob that looked kind of chic but was also easy to take care of on those days when you couldn’t manage to do anything to make yourself feel human. He runs his fingers through it, humming a little in appreciation.

“So what’s with the cold shoulder? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

You pull your head back a little and stare at him incredulously. There’s no way he can be that thick.

“Kevin, you really messed me up.” It comes out much gentler than you wanted, more like an excuse for not calling someone back than telling a man he tore your heart to pieces. “I thought it was better if we had minimal contact, at least for a while.”

“How many times have we gotten in screaming fights? How many times have we sworn that we weren’t ever going to speak to each other again?”

You give a noncommittal grunt in response. It’s more times than you can count and you both know it.

“And haven’t we always ended up talking things out?”

“Yeah, I just don’t know if it’s been very healthy.”

“Well I think that ignoring each other and pretending we’re strangers is a lot less healthy.”

He loosens his hold a bit more and you step back, but he places his rough hands on either side of your head, cupping your face and making you look at him.

“I mean it,” he says, his lightless eyes boring into your soul. “I really missed you. You must have told me a dozen times that I was going to regret hurting you and treating you the way I did and you were right. I want you to know that.”

You shiver at his words, remember every tearful incident where you promised him that he’d feel miserable for his actions. You hadn’t ever believed he would. You don’t know if you can believe him now because you’ve never met anyone so capable of seeming sincere as he can.

He doesn’t wait for you to think of an answer. He leans forward and pulls your face up to his, lips melding into yours for a few moments before he eases his tongue through them. You hate yourself for it, but you return the kiss and slide your hands up around his neck. Sensing his victory, he pulls you closer and his movements become more passionate until you both break away, gasping for air. Once again, he wraps you up in his arms, trailing kisses over your hair and forehead.

“I don’t know if your girl would approve of this,” you grumble.

He laughs a little. “She wouldn’t care. She’s probably getting her pussy eaten by some eager recruit at the Performance Center.” He plants a firmer kiss on the crown of your head. “I told you, things are open between us. She’s my soulmate. We both have other people in our lives.”

As soon as you hear the word “soulmate”, you feel your heart going through the meat grinder again. You hadn’t realized that you’d let yourself hope that him saying he regretted hurting you meant that he wanted to give a relationship another try. No, what he wants is a side dish. What he wants is to have all options available to him. Nothing has changed. Your whole body stiffens and he senses it, holding you tighter.

“You think me being with her means I can’t have feelings for anyone else?” He grasps your chin and forces you to make eye contact once again.

Finally, your sense of self-preservation kicks in. “Yes, that’s pretty much it.”

“Stop it,” he gasps. “I care about you so much.”

You’re kissing again, greedily, sensually, grabbing at each other, animal noises coming from both of you. You run your hand between his legs, taking a sick kind of pleasure in how much you obviously still excite him. It makes you smirk a little watching his head fall back, eyes closed, and hearing the needy moans coming from him as you run your hand over his rapidly hardening length, so familiar and yet so thrilling. That sudden adrenaline rush, that feeling of pride and power, drives you onward, and without reflecting on it, you undo his belt buckle and loosen his pants enough that you can slide his cock out. It’s like nothing ever stopped between you. It’s natural.

You stroke him, twisting your hand around the swollen head of his dick, exactly the way he’s always liked, elated as he shudders and curses, face twitching in a way you know means he’s already in ecstasy.

“You missed me?” you tease, crouching down on the floor in front of him.

He’s about to say something when you slide your mouth around him, and his words are lost to a sharp little cry of pleasure. His moans get louder and you’re just conscious enough to be worried that someone could just walk in to see what the commotion was, but it’s too much of a rush, feeling how much he wants you right now.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “that feels so good. No one is as good as you.”

You glance up, quickening your pace a little and basking in the look of pleasure and gratitude in his eyes as he stares down at you.

“Oh sweetheart, I was not expecting this,” he moans, one hand lightly playing with your hair.

He doesn’t need to guide you to do what he wants. You know what to do. You’ve never forgotten. You loosen his jeans and boxers a little more so that you can gently stroke the seam between his balls, making them twitch in your hand and drawing the most forceful groan yet. You keep teasing him this way as you press him further back into your throat, drawing your tongue down his length and moving your free hand along the portion of his shaft that you can’t swallow. An increasingly disconnected flow of thanks and praises passes his lips.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, but you knew that was imminent. His body language hasn’t changed a bit. And when you do feel that hot liquid filling your throat, you suckle and lick to clean every drop off him.

You rock back on your haunches and take in the expression of surprise and bliss on his face as he tries to catch his breath. Rising to your feet, you gently tuck his member back inside his clothes, zip him up and refasten his belt. It makes him laugh a little, how coolly you set everything back in its proper order.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, hand in your hair once again. “No one does that like you. No one.”

In one smooth movement, he turns so that you’re pinned between his massive chest and the wall.

“I want to return the favor,” he hums, sliding his hand easily inside your leggings and your panties.

Having him touch you is not at all the same as touching him. His fingers connect immediately with your most sensitive places, trailing paths to the apex of your opening, lightly pinching and pressing on your clit before he presses two just inside your opening, so very close to the place he could always find with eerie precision. In this position, you have no power. You’re the one whining and desperate and the extent of your vulnerability crashes over you like a wave.

“Stop it,” you hiss, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

“Let me do this,” he purrs. “You can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

He pumps his fingers quickly inside you that amplifies the wet sound of your aching folds and at the same time makes you gasp with pleasure.

“You deserve it.”

He gives your neck a sharp little bite, just below your ear, forcing another little cry from your throat, which in turn encourages him to intensify his touches. It’s frightening how he’s forgotten nothing about where and how you like to be touched, every motion perfect. How is it that the connection between you is so automatic, so instinctive?

“No,” you whimper, “you have to stop, we can’t do this.”

He doesn’t even pause, but pushes his face close to yours so you can feel the heat and moisture of his breath against your skin as he whispers, “You’re holding back. Don’t. Just let yourself go, let everything go. No more pretending like we don’t know each other.”

“I can’t.” You feel yourself tearing up in frustration that you can’t make him do what you want and that you can’t commit to making him stop. You wriggle a little to get free of his grip but at the same time, you’re moving in such a way that it increases your pleasure, madly chasing something you know is poison.

Endless hours of therapy, cutting off contact with people from your past, assiduously avoiding physical or emotional contact with any male. It’s taken him seconds to dissolve all that. The last years of your life might as well not have happened. You’re still the pathetic girl begging for scraps that will never be enough to fill her need.

Finally, one determined gesture: you dig your nails into the nail bed of his thumb, the only digit you can reach. Doesn’t matter size or strength, it triggers a sharp pain in anyone and it makes him pull back enough that you can slide away from him.

“That shithead doesn’t deserve your loyalty,” he growls.

“What?”

“That dollar-store wannabe playboy you’ve hooked up with. Not even close to your level.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s talking about Damian and you have no idea how he’s worked out that the two of you are close. Clearly, he thinks you’re more than friends and that seems to bother him.

“You don’t even know him. At this point, you barely know me.”

He strolls the few feet you’ve put between you and cages you against the wall again.

“Oh I know you.” He trails a finger down your throat pausing at the hollow at its base and touching his lips to the same spot. “I might not know what you do every day, or what book you’re reading right now, or what kind of apartment you have, or where you like to eat in town, but I know,” he taps lightly on your breastbone and once again kisses the spot he’s touched, “what’s in here.”

The look that passes between you seems almost cinematic; smouldering, fraught with sexual tension, ravenous. He gives a queer, cautious little smile, able to tell that he’s winnowing through your protective layering to your core. Yes, dammit, he does know you very well. He knows how to turn you against yourself.

So if denying him won’t work, you have to try for mercy.

“Please, Kevin, I can’t handle going through this again. And it’s not that I don’t care about you, you know I do. I care too much. I lose my head when I’m with you.”

“You’re obsessed with being in control all the time. And I’ll bet your new boy is great at doing what he’s told. I’ll bet he does everything you want without you even asking because you, my darling, are terrifying. But you also need to get away from that. I know you were happy when we were together.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. And I am not a control freak. I’m not some sad, uptight head case who needs to cut loose and run with the bulls or some bullshit.” You bury your head in your hands, trying to clear away the fog of emotion, the warmth of his body and his subtle, familiar scent that evokes all those happy memories you had together. “And you’re wrong about Damian. We’re not even a couple. We’re friends.”

“Sure. You’re friends until you decide differently. He’s just waiting for instructions.”

“You know what? Just leave him the hell out of this. This is about me and you and what happened between us. And I’m telling you that it’s over and it has to stay over.”

“Are you seriously going to tell me that there’s not still something between us?”

And you’d love to snap back “just air” but it would be the least truthful thing you’ve ever said. So you decide to embrace the stupidity for another few moments and run your hands up his chest and around his neck again, eagerly leaning in when he presses his lips to yours. He seems completely unbothered that the taste of his cum still lingers in your mouth. The kiss starts slowly but starts to build again, the low, soft moans both of you are making rising in pitch and intensity until your brain intervenes again to pull you back from the precipice.

“No, I can’t do this, not now.”

He runs his hand along your jaw and gives you a final kiss. “Well, when the time comes, you know where to find me.”

Your skin is prickling all over, like you’re having a heart attack, and from the way it’s beating, you can’t be sure that it won’t just give up. But you back slowly away from the scene of the crime while he stands motionless, watching you go.

You walk back to your office in the most straightforward way and sit with the door open enough that people can see you’re there. No point in using secret passages and hideaways now. You read through the revised script that’s been left for you and try to focus on comparing it to the last iteration of your shot list. A few changes to be made, here and there… You can still smell him on you, that mix of leathery cologne and sex that was once such a normal part of your life. Thinking about it causes your already aching, unsatisfied core to quiver. For all that happened, you might as well have let him finish you off. It’s not like he could be in any doubt as to how you felt about him.

No, you tell yourself, pay attention to the work in front of you. This is what’s important. You had a naughty little incident and that’s all. Looked at another way, he’d observed you and stalked you and trapped you like some sort of obsessed fanboy. He’d been obviously jealous of Damian. Was it possible that his feelings for you were deeper than you realized? You force yourself to think of the moment he called Scarlet his soul mate. It was fine for them to have little side flings. He was going for you because it was easy. You wouldn’t even last as a sideshow because he’d find a new challenge. You were a landing pad. A safety belt. In case of emergency horniness, break this woman.

You scan over the same eight lines for the third time because you haven’t taken in a word of it when something further down the page catches your attention.

“Kross appears, attacks Priest from behind and throws him to the floor.”

That sure as hell wasn’t there earlier but it’s so eerily tied to what’s been happening in your head that you wonder if you’re imagining things. Regardless, it’s a segment that wasn’t even in the damn show eight hours ago and it seems like it might be pretty significant.

Rather than bother trying to get someone to pick up a phone, you head straight over to the room where the show execs are having coffee and joking like they didn’t just spring something like this on you.

“Brian,” you address your direct boss, “did you add a whole new angle to the show?”

“We added a run in from Kross. It’s not like a segment or anything.”

“It is a segment. I know you think that it’s only important to let me know if you add a part with dialogue but I keep telling you: if it’s a series of shots that need to be blocked and if it adds time, you need to give me some warning.”

“That’s what the updated script is for.”

“I meant you have to tell me more than twenty-four hours before we go live. I have to figure out how to shoot this and I need to cut something back to make room for it.” You feel like you’re being a petulant child, all the more so because this happens a lot and their reaction is always to pat you on the head and send you on your way. “You know by this time of day that I’m up to my neck.”

It’s pointless, of course. The powers that be have spoken and all you’ve managed to do is eat up precious minutes begging for a reprieve. It’s completely unfair because Kross’s return to television is a big deal and you should have time to think of how to play it up. His return is a big deal for everyone. But you can’t start changing things around just yet because there’s someone else you need to talk to.

“D?” You lift one of the headphones off his ear, which makes him start.

“Oh hey, Puss, what’s up?”

“Chaos and destruction loom, the usual. I just found out you got a new bit for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he answers with a bewildered shrug. “Kinda came out of nowhere.”

“I mean, this looks like it could be something big.”

“I don’t know. I think it looks like Kross wants to blow through a jobber before he gets the title back.”

“Don’t you ever call yourself a jobber in my presence.” Something else occurs to you. “Wait, what do you mean “he wants to”? I thought this came from Brian or one of those guys.”

Damian shakes his head and for the first time you realize that he’s feeling quite dejected about this. “Nope. All Kross’s idea.”

You sit down next to Damian and try to collect your thoughts. It’s not possible, you tell yourself. But that’s stupid. It’s not only possible but probable. Kevin was the one who brought Damian up to you. He’s the one who chose him as a feud. Everyone had assumed that the second he was back, he was just going to stake his claim to the title and that would be the story. He doesn’t have to insert a stepping stone story, but if he does, it’s a given that he has to win. And that means that Damian has to lose, effectively killing off the momentum he’s built up. This is your fault.

“Well it’s a stupid idea and they shouldn’t be letting him make changes this late.”

You can’t tell him anything beyond that. Part of you wants to put your hand on his and since you’ve apparently gone from barely being able to stand close to a man to being able to blow one in a basement bathroom, you think that maybe you should indulge that urge. But that’s when Kevin’s words creep up on you: Damian is your friend until you tell him to be more, which means he’s not really your friend at all, just a guy waiting for the green light to put his dick in you.

Kevin saying it doesn’t make it true, you tell yourself. And yet, there’s something about it that haunts you. So you place your hand next to his on the table. He glances at it and looks even more glum. Does that mean that he really is just waiting for his chance to make a move?

“I’ll see if I can get it changed,” you promise.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Taking one hit and landing on my ass isn’t exactly a difficult night.”

The truth is that you would have precisely no chance of changing anyone’s mind about this but you wanted Damian to know you were willing to try.

“Hey,” he calls as you head for the door, “wanna come over tonight? Hang out or something?”

You wonder what that means, if invites to his palace have always been made in the hopes of getting more from you or if they were exactly what they appeared to be on the surface, and you wonder if you should decline the invite until you’re more certain about the intent behind it. But you don’t want to go rushing headlong into crazyville, so you just say, “Sure, that’d be fun.”

You leave work late and so you show up at Damian’s with apology pizza since you know he won’t have eaten without you. He gives you an appreciative grin as he ushers you inside. You catch your brain questioning if you can see any lustful intent behind that smile and order it to stop. Besides, Damian always looks a little bit lustful, even when he’s being a complete goof. He constantly has women trailing after him because the man just exudes sexual energy. It’s just never something you thought about before because it wasn’t part of your relationship.

You set about unpacking the pizza while he grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, opening them effortlessly and placing yours in front of you rather than making you take it from him. That’s something he does because he recognizes your discomfort with physical contact but now you wonder if he does out of respect or because he’s sensing some kind of directive from you.

He flashes you another smile and heads to the living room and you follow, plates of pizza in hand. You sit on the sofa with him, he’s given you plenty of room on one side, as he always does. At some point, you’d been able to move from sitting balled up on the adjacent chair to sharing the lengthy sofa but you can’t remember what brought that on. He never mentioned it, you’re certain.

You eat and joke a little about work but by the end of the meal, you notice that he’s uncharacteristically quiet and fiddling with the label on his empty bottle like a shy girl going to a bar for the first time.

“Ok, mister,” you say jovially, “spill it. Something’s bothering you.”

He screws up his face, aware that you’ve caught him. “I don’t know, it’s kind of weird.”

Is this it? Is the man about to confess feelings for you? You’ve only thought about the possibility for a few hours and suddenly it’s going to come to a head.

“Tell me,” you croak, unsure you want to hear what comes next.

“I never ask you about your previous… about your relationship before.”

This is worse than hearing he has feelings. A lot worse.

“Sorry,” he stammers, tearing away at the beer bottle label. “I know you don’t want to talk about it and I’m not asking you to share anything but… I know it’s Kross. I know he’s the ex.”

You feel your insides tremble. “Was I that obvious?”

“No, not at all. This wasn’t from you at all.” He shakes his head a little and the motion ripples through the dark tendrils of hair hanging around his neck. “Thatcher said… he always thought he knew you from somewhere but today he realized that he’d seen you at some shows on the circuit and that you and Kross were a couple then.” He looks a little panicky. “I’m not trying to pry. It’s just that when he said that, I realized that the bits you’ve mentioned about your bad ex, it made sense that it was him.”

You take a long swig of your beer, trying to figure out what you should say and wondering why this is even coming up. “I didn’t want to make it awkward at work or anything. Not for you.”

“For me? Puss, don’t even think that way. You owe me nothing. Besides, I thought he was kind of a dickhead anyway.” He winks at you. “And she’s not all that either.”

“It’s ok, it’s… I guess it was rough for me and I don’t like to talk about it because I feel like I was an idiot. These things happen and it’s not like-”

“I think I wanna hurt him.”

He arches his neck back and looks at you as if he’s waiting for validation.

“Hurt him?” you echo.

“Yeah. If he’s the bastard who fucked you over I want to hurt him for that. Too bad our spot has him knocking me down.” His eyes narrow a little. “How made would Brian and them be if, rather than go down at the first hit, I turned around and punched him?”

“I think they’d be livid. And I would be tearing my hair out in handfuls because that would make the segment a couple of seconds longer and I am already shaving everything ridiculously close. The show might end in the middle of a word, it’s so tight.”

“That’s why I’m telling you. I’m serious. I wanna fucking punch him.”

“Stop being such a guy. I don’t need you to fight my battles. I don’t need you to punch my ex. Yes, I do think it’s kind of adorable that you want to but just get that idea out of your head.”

“It’s not just for you,” he mutters.

“What does that mean?”

“I want to hit him because you’re an awesome person and it makes me angry that you’re so shaken up by what he did to you. That shit makes all men look bad and how am I supposed to get anywhere with awesome women if pieces of shit like him are ruining it?”

It’s not lost on you that “shaken up” is the gentlest possible way he could have described your behavior. “Traumatized” would have been appropriate. But he uses words that are unlikely to make you feel badly about what’s happened to you and the sweetness of that makes you want to hug him, more than ever.

“D, please don’t punch him… or anything that’s not on the script. I don’t need him thinking he’s more important than he is. And by the way, I think it sucks that you’re the one that has to take the L, if that’s what’s happening. But, you know, I don’t think that the existence of assholes is stopping you from getting any women.”

He laughs, the deep baritone sound rising from his chest. “Well, the ladies aren’t made of stone. They see this and…” He waves his arm along his body and cracks up laughing.

You laugh too but at the same time, your eyes move over his long frame at their own pace. It’s amazing how much of him there is. WWE seems to prize men that look like shaved bison, and compared to them, Damian looks lean but when the two of you are alone, it’s almost intimidating how large he is. The bottle in his hands looks like it’s part of a child’s restaurant playset. And it’s not the first time you’ve thought about what it would feel like to have those hands on you but you don’t remember ever feeling your temperature rise from thinking about it the way it is now.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“For what?”

“For wanting to kick my awful ex’s ass. For not insisting that we talk about it because we both have to work with him. For being ok with all my weird hangups.”

“My Great Aunt Gloria used to insist that we all pray for the soul of whatever animal we ate at dinner when she cooked. That is a weird hangup. Yours are nothing.” He leans his head forward a little, the way he does when he wants you to know what he’s about to say is serious. “And hey, I might not know exactly what happened, but I can see enough to know it’s bullshit what that asshole put you through.”

“It’s in the past,” you sigh, shifting a little, and as if on cue, you catch a whiff of Eau de Kevin that was apparently trapped in your clothes.

Acting on impulse, you reach out and squeeze Damian’s shoulder. His head snaps towards you but he immediately smothers the look of surprise he has. He doesn’t want to make you feel awkward. You do feel awkward, but not as much as you thought you would, so you let your fingers graze along his bicep like you’re following a pattern. He gives a little laugh under his breath and maybe, just maybe, a bit of colour appears in his cheeks.

So was Kevin right? Did Damian have a crush on you that he’d been hiding? Now that you’re thinking about it more, though, you’re wondering if there’s something you’ve been denying to yourself. His arms look smooth, the way that one defined muscle curves gracefully into the next. You’ve never noticed it before, or at least, you’ve never had this sort of feeling in your stomach when you have.

You press your hand against his and lace your fingers together, resting your head on both of them.

“Cool,” he says quietly, smiling.

“What?”

He nods in the direction of your hands. “I know you’re a bit put off by affection. So it’s cool. I’m flattered.”

“You really do have the kindest ways of describing my compulsions. Because I am not ‘put off’ by affection. I was actually a pretty demonstrative person. Now I avoid affection from my female friends and I’ll go out of my way to avoid any kind of physical contact with a man.”

“And that’s why I’m flattered by this.” He lifts your hands a little.

“It’s not that I don’t want affection, you know. I want a hug after a rough day the same as anyone. I just don’t want to… I feel like keeping my distance is safer. I feel like I’m dumb enough to get into the same situation.”

“You’re not dumb.”

If you only knew, you think, images of your afternoon indiscretion flashing through your mind.

“When you think, do you hear it as a kind of monologue in your head? Like you’re telling yourself what to do, or talking to yourself about what you think?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He furrows his brow a little.

“When Kevin- when Kross and I were going out, the voice in my head turned into his. To this day, when I’m thinking about anything, it’s like I can hear him telling me how full of shit I am, or how I’m wasting my time trying to get ahead at work, or that I’m the sort of person that people settle for.”

“He said that?”

“No, never in so many words. But it was there. I was a girlfriend. This one is his soul mate.”

Saying the words out loud feels bitter. You’d’ actually never heard him say it before this afternoon. Maybe that was his version of being kind: sparing you that truth when you were so distraught over him.

“Damian?” You ask meekly.

“What?”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Shit, of course you can, Puss.”

You release his hand and he opens his arms for you to position yourself in them as you wish. It’s strange at first because you can’t really remember how to do this well, or you can’t figure out how to do it without seeming too impersonal or too forward, especially because you can’t figure out what’s too impersonal or too forward for you. So for a few seconds, it’s like you’re trying to squirm into a complicated sleeping bag in the dark. But then you settle against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and you feel his arms close around your back, hands on your shoulder blades, and his biceps tense just enough that you really feel held. So you incline your head against his, enjoying the scent of his shampoo and the unexpected silkiness of his dark locks. Your heart races a little at first, that sense of being trapped kicking in again, but you’re able to dismiss it and just enjoy.

Since you figure there aren’t any rules for your first hug after so long without contact, you stay like that until you feel like you’ve had enough, until it feels kind of normal.

“Thanks,” you say as you rock back.

“Any time.”

And when you meet his eyes, you can see it there, that spark. He likes you. You haven’t seen that spark in anyone in a very long time because you’ve carefully avoided looking for it. It’s thrilling to think that someone can desire you but it’s even more thrilling because you realize you want him too. You want him a lot. What the hell have you been doing? And how the hell did your ex know how you felt when you didn’t even know yourself until this moment?

“You want another beer?”

Still off in the clouds, you nod and watch as he gracefully rises from the sofa, collects your empty bottle and goes to forage for more.

“You can do better than him,” he drawls, giving you a wink.

“I know.”

Show days are always frantic but in a positive way, like you’re a bunch of children about to go to the beach for the first time in months. People are wound up and sometimes there can be little outbursts of tension but they dissipate quickly the closer it comes to zero hour. Of course, you’re more aware of that manic energy today because you have so much of it yourself.

You arrive early but not as early as you usually do because, for the first time since you started working for the company, you had a crisis over what to wear. You always try to look good but today, it was very important that you look a bit sexy, or at least kind of fetching. But you didn’t want to make it noticeable. You didn’t want people guessing that something different was going on in your head, or that something had happened, or that you wanted eyes on you. Balancing those things turned out to be more difficult than you remembered and the more you thought about it, the worse your ideas seemed to get and by the time you did find something that you liked, you were worried that people were going to get suspicious because you were later than usual and you looked different.

No one notices. You’re still there ahead of most people, for one thing, and for another, it’s not like you’re wearing a clown outfit. Besides, the talent is running around in athletic wear that shows off huge swathes of tanned skin and taut muscle. It is not scandalous that you’re wearing a skirt that falls above your knees and tall boots.

“Get away from me, you’re sweaty!” You dodge Damian’s mocking attempt to wrap an arm around you, both of you laughing. He loves to bug you that way but this time you wonder if he’d actually go in for the hug, now that that wall has been breached.

“You are in the wrong industry if sweat is a problem for you,” he grins, his voice seeming deeper and smoother than ever.

“I worked in a restaurant when I was in college,” you reply tartly. “Doesn’t mean I wanted to have someone pour soup on me.”

This sort of playful interaction between the two of you is normal, although it feels different now. Does it feel different for him? Did it feel this way for him before?

Much less welcome is how often Kross seems to pop up in your field of vision. Frequently, he has Scarlet pulled close to his side, and he doesn’t even acknowledge you. Based on their body language when they’re together, it seems unreal that the day before the two of you were… You tell yourself not to think about it. But you can’t stop yourself from looking at him, looking more powerful and more dominant than ever. You wish that didn’t make you feel the things it does.

“So is the cute outfit for me?”

You grab your chest because for a second you think your heart has stopped when the voice comes out of nowhere in your makeshift office. You turn to see that Kevin’s installed himself in a chair like he belongs there, eyeing you with a self-satisfied look on his face.

“Sorry, did I startle you?”

“Screw off. You know how high strung I am. You did that on purpose.”

He smiles and advances toward you, maneuvering himself between you and the door when you instinctively back away.

“OK, maybe I wanted to see if I could still make you jump like that.” The back of your legs hit the desk and he comes to a halt a couple of feet away from you. “And you do look really good.”

“So you automatically assume it’s because of you.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many men did you have encounters with yesterday?”

“That was a mistake.”

“You know I was thinking about you all night.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

He arches his neck a little and you see a slight palpitation in the hollow of his throat, below the Adam’s apple. You can remember very well how sensitive that spot is for him, the kind of appreciative sounds you’ve elicited placing your lips and tongue there, the way he’s dug his fingers into your skin from the sensation. Unwittingly, you press your thighs together, trying to fight the reaction the memory stirs in you and you can see that he notices.

“So, if this,” he waves a hand to indicate your clothes, “isn’t for me, does that mean it’s for your little friend?”

“Little? He’s taller than you are.”

“Well, stature isn’t just about height.”

“Ugh, your ego. Have you considered that maybe what I’m wearing is just what I felt like wearing? Maybe I’m not trying to impress a man? It’s not like I’m walking around in a bikini.”

He steps closer, looming over you like a storm cloud. “I know you.” He brushes a calloused thumb over your cheek and you’re incapable of reacting, caught in the thrall of those dark eyes.

“Did you finally make a move on him?” he goads with a sinister smile. When you don’t respond, he raises his eyebrows a little. “Was I right?”

“You… this is not your business,” you croak. You hate how he always seems to get you to talk about other men, almost as much as you hate the fact that you really want to talk to someone who knows you about what you should do about Damian.

“Whatever,” he says breezily, “I just hoped you brushed your teeth first.”

You backhand him so quickly it takes both of you by surprise. He grabs hold of your wrist and for a second you’re actually scared by the look on his face.

“This again? Seriously?” he snarls.

He takes hold of your other wrist, digging his fingers into the pressure point there and making you yelp.

“You have a problem with violence.”

“Only with you,” you spit back. It’s hard not to feel humiliated that he’s made you lose control again, that he’s still able to make you lose control in every way. “You need to get out of here and we need to stay the hell away from each other when it’s not absolutely necessary.”

But no sooner are the words out of your mouth when you’re kissing again, coming together like you’re pulled by a magnetic force. You slide back so that you’re seated on the edge of your desk, which allows you to wind your arms and legs around him. The low groans and growls he makes as he feels you wrapping yourself around him are enough to make you see fireworks on their own, let alone the sensation of his hands running down your body, grabbing hold of your ass and pulling you against him like he wants to devour or possess you.

You’re so consumed with desire that you only notice the voices in the hallway when they’re right outside the door.

“No, sorry, I haven’t seen her.”

“No big deal, she’ll turn up.”

You’re not entirely sure whose the first voice is but the second is definitely Damian’s. There’s a light knock on the door and Kevin looks like he’s about to say something, which makes you press your hands over his lips.

“Don’t you make a sound,” you whisper harshly. “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs quietly, licking and nipping at your fingertips. The shadow at the door moves away and it feels like you’re going to faint with relief.

“Dude’s a loser and there is no reason why he should get a say in what you’re doing.”

“Jealous much?” you snap.

“It’s not jealousy. I have a wife, remember? I just think you could do a lot better and I think it would be a shame if you let a guy like that prevent us from having some fun together.”

“Well I’m not going to kick him aside because you don’t like him. Maybe I’m not just looking for someone to have fun with. Maybe I’d actually like to find someone who wants to be with me.”

He wraps his arms around you again, nuzzling against your cheek with that tenderness he fakes so well. “Do you know how irresistible you are to me?”

Light as butterfly wings, his lips move down your neck, ending in a kiss at the tender point where your collarbone meets your shoulder. Instinctively, you dig your fingers into his arms and gasp. He hasn’t forgotten anything about your body and what drives you crazy. It’s infuriating.

“When you make a decision about what you want, let me know,” he murmurs.

And then suddenly you’re alone in the office, lips burning from friction and your core pulsing with want.

You return to your desk and start responding to emails, approving changes, and making notes with a dramatic flair, like the work you’re doing is the most important work ever done by a human being ever. It’s the only way you can think of to relieve some of the pressure in your head, of clearing some of the haze that’s developed in the last twenty-four hours. Everything you’re doing is very, very important and requires extra hard hammering on the keyboard or extra firm pressure of pen on paper.

The fact is that none of this needs to be dealt with today. You’ve done everything you need to do. You’re completely prepared. But you need to take a bit of the edge off or else you’re going to explode. When you finally run out of things to distract you, you find yourself brooding. Had your ex given you an ultimatum? Had your hug with your closest friend the night before changed things between you?

Without even thinking, you find yourself standing and wandering out into the hallways, no conscious destination in mind. Your body seems to know where to go and you’ve learned that sometimes it’s best to just allow it to do what it wants. A few minutes later, you find yourself entering one of the lounges where the wrestlers relax before the show. It’s a sort of an antechamber to the dressing rooms, which you would never enter uninvited. And, as you somehow knew he would be, Damian is draped over one of the chairs, fiddling with his phone.

“Hey, Puss,” he greets you, a warm smile spreading across his face, “I was looking for you before.”

“Yeah, I was just, you know, last minute shit.” It’s a bit embarrassing that that’s the best you can come up with.

He adjusts himself on his chair, obviously expecting that you’ll sit in the one opposite him. Instead, you walk over to him and place your hand on his shoulder, leaning in for another hug. He doesn’t hesitate, sliding his arms loosely around your shoulders, but it’s clear he’s not about to take any further liberties. He knows your limits, he just doesn’t know that they’ve shifted.

With a hard gulp, you crawl onto his lap and without pause press your lips against his. There’s a tremor that runs down his body and after a couple of seconds he pulls back from you, a confused expression on his face.

“Oh my god,” you rasp, “I’m so sorry. I thought you were… I thought you wanted me to… D, I’m sorry.”

You move to stand up but he locks you in place with his hands on your hips.

“This is what I want. I just didn’t think you did.”

“Really?”

“Oh hell yes.”

You kiss him again and this time there’s no awkwardness or hesitation. It’s amazing how everything about him has a serpentine grace: the way his long arms coil around you and pull you closer, the easy way his tongue glides and flicks against yours, the way that the muscles of his chest undulate under his touch. It doesn’t have the ferocity of that kiss from earlier but it’s perfect in a different way, in a way you haven’t experienced before with anyone.

“Pfft,” comes a man’s voice, “about damn time.”

You and Damian pull apart awkwardly and it takes your eyes a minute to focus on the two figures who’ve entered the room. Tim Thatcher and Tomasso Ciampa are both chuckling and the warm grins on their faces reassure you that there’s no ill-will behind the teasing.

“Guess this means we don’t have to lock them in a closet together,” Ciampa jokes.

“I always figured you guys talked about weights and reps and that kind of thing in your spare time.”

“Nope,” Thatcher grins, “all gossip all the time.”

You smile, partly because bantering with these two gruff guys is amusing but also because you’re enjoying the fact that Damian’s kept his arms slung around your waist. Like this is something he wants the guys to notice. Like it’s real.

A couple of hours later, though, perilously close to Go Time, you’re thinking that maybe you should have locked the damned door behind you because even though no one says anything, it’s obvious that word of your little romantic encounter has spread like fire in a match factory. People give you little smiles and winks and by about the fourth time, you’d like to box someone’s ears and scream that the two of you haven’t even done anything that warrants all these mischievous glances.

Instead, you turn your focus to the show, getting everyone in position, drilling the sequences into them so that everything up to the first commercial break can unfold like it’s automatic. And maybe you have just a bit more of an edge to you because you’re uncomfortably aware that being the subject of romantic scuttlebutt calls attention to your femininity and that that could undermine you with some of these people.

When it comes time for Damian to enter, you feel your stomach flip. You’ve never liked the idea of what’s coming but now you like it even less. But it’s one hit. The monster reappears, the shocked audience sees his return (so much earlier than expected) and you cut to ads.

You smile a little when Damian comes out, all bravado and confidence, smack-talking the guy who cost him his match at War Games. You wish he could be that guy for longer. But then Karrion Kross appears from the shadows and, as planned, nails him, dropping him to the floor. The blow looks hard, harder than it needs to be, but you tell yourself that you’re letting your own fears put thoughts in your head.

The plan, what you’ve gone over with everyone, is that you linger on Kross standing over his fallen enemy for a long few seconds, letting the announcers’ patter trail off and giving a pause for the audience to take in what’s happened. But that’s when things go haywire.

Rather than standing, Kross leans over and hauls Damian to his feet, throwing him into the set. Damian slumps down again and it’s impossible to tell from this angle if he’s playing along or really hurt. Your face feels hot and you notice Luis, your assistant, staring up at you with a slack jaw.

And it’s still not over. You see Kross going in again.

“Go to ad?” Brian’s voice sounds like he’s choking on something, so what should have come out as an order is a question.

“No,” you blurt, shocked at the volume of your own voice. You’re hating this but you’re also mesmerized by the look on Kross’s face, the personification of rage. It’s very good television. The bastard knows it, too. “Camera two, stay steady where you are. Camera three, start moving in to get a closer shot.”

It shocks you a little that Brian isn’t cutting you off to insist you go to ad but maybe he can see what you do. Or he’s so livid about Kross changing plans on the fly that your insubordination seems minor in comparison.

As you feared, Kross goes back again, hauling Damian’s carcass up just enough that he can get him in position for a power bomb maneuver. It’s always been a move you liked for its simple brutality. Once long ago, you’d gotten him to do it to you, so you could see if it felt as bad as it looked. You’d taken lots of moves before, because you were always curious, but even though he told you what to do, when to exhale, how to ensure you landed correctly, you’d bitten your tongue and the landing had knocked every bit of breath out of you. You’d hit the mat in a shower of purple sparks and flashes of black and Kevin had actually been mortified that he might have hurt you. If Damian is half as out of it as he looks, he’s liable to end up in the same position you had.

It’s not possible, you tell yourself, there’s no way he remembers your penchant for the move. There’s no way he’s doing this for your benefit. It’s just that it is a powerful move.

Damian’s a big guy and you can tell it takes every bit of strength in Kross’s still recovering body to lift him into position but once he’s there, rather than slamming him down to the floor he pivots and you see with horror what’s about to happen.

“Camera Three, step to your right. Focus on the table.”

Luis turns to look at you again but you close your eyes, reopening just in time to see Damian hurled through the table adjacent the ramp. The table shatters on impact and he’s lying motionless, unconscious.

“Ok, three, push in a little. Close on Damian.”

On your monitor, you see Kross finally turn to leave and before Brian can get in another desperate plea to cut to an ad, you issue the command.

“Two, follow Kross, now. Stay behind him but stick with him.”

You can’t imagine what your team thinks of you right now. You’ve hung them out to dry on live television. They’re flying blind. Then again, so are you.

Kross rushes down the hallway towards the exit and the cameraman dutifully tails him right out the door where there’s a car waiting.

She’s inside. The woman whose very presence unleashes all of your insecurities. The person you blamed for your own unhappiness for months because it meant you didn’t have to blame him. She’s laughing in a way that’s halfway between glee and madness in the passenger seat. He slides into the driver’s side and smirks a little before taking off. He never acknowledges the camera.

“Ok, cut to ad. Team two, get ready for the interview segment, we come straight to you when we’re back.”

You breathe heavily and look around for water, coffee, anything at all to drink. Meekly, Luis pulls a bottle out and offers it to you. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“You want to explain what all that was?” Brian’s voice, still sounding a little shaken, crackles over your headset.

“Evening at the improv?” You take a long gulp of water, trying to hide the sound because you’re not supposed to drink near the equipment even though everyone does. You don’t want to advertise any other rule violations at this moment.

“You two didn’t plan that?”

“You don’t seriously think I’d keep everyone in the dark about that. Please tell me you don’t think that.”

“But you didn’t cut.”

“It felt like it was working. I went on instinct.”

There’s a long, painful pause before he responds. “Good call.”

Luis raises his eyebrows and mimes applause. Overriding a director and delaying an ad break is the sort of thing that gets people fired. You might be a woman in a sea of testosterone but right now you have the biggest balls in the building.

It’s a hollow victory, though. You can’t see what’s happened to Damian. All you know is that he took a beating he wasn’t expecting. Worse still, you feel like an imposter because it didn’t feel like you’d made a brave decision at all. It felt like you got wrapped up in a moment with Kevin, as you always did, and that you’d ended up giving him what he wanted.

The rest of the show feels like it stretches out for a day. All you want is to find out if Damian’s ok and take him somewhere you can take care of him. Or at least, that’s what most of you wants. A small part of you wants to find Kross and smash a chair over his head to see how he handles taking a move unprepared.

By the time things are over, though, you can’t find Damian at all. One of the production assistants informs you that he was taken to the hospital for observation. Which hospital? She has no idea. Why? Not sure but it looks like he smacked his head when the table broke.

Sadly, that’s all anyone seems to know. All this happened in the middle of a show. People were doing other things. The doctor would know, but the medical staff are gone by the time you emerge from your booth. So all you now is that Damian is hurt. All you can do is text him and beg him to let you know he’s ok. You also want to beg him not to blame you for what happened. In his position, you’d probably blame you.

It occurs to you that, from Damian’s perspective, your decision to keep rolling rather than just cut away looks kind of exploitative. There he was getting beaten down way beyond what was planned and rather than just putting an end to things, you started shifting your cameras around to get a better look. Maybe he’ll assume that call came from above you. But it didn’t. And it was exploitative. You wanted to get that close up look at his battered body. In that moment, you were just following the action and it was exciting.

You retreat to your office and prop your legs up on the desk. If you had a bottle of liquor stored in your desk, this would be the time you brought it out but you’d never thought you’d feel like you needed one. So you sip on the can of ginger ale you grabbed in catering and sit by yourself. You don’t even turn on the light because you only want to concentrate on your phone, to know if Damian’s alright and if he hates you for the fact that your ex attacked him or that you made it into a TV moment.

At some point it goes from waiting for a message to staring at your phone as the battery slowly drains. Nothing is coming. If he’s injured, he’s in no shape to assuage your guilty conscience and if he’s fine… well, maybe it’s best that he does stay away from you.

You scroll randomly through social media and a few apps without really noticing what’s there. What you’re really thinking about is the feeling of Damian’s lips, the way that his long fingers pressed into your back. If that’s the only thing that ever happens between you, it’s a beautiful memory but it’s also a painful hint of what could have followed.

“I can’t tell if you haven’t seen me or if you’re just ignoring me.”

The voice makes you jerk upward, almost tipping yourself off the chair as your feet slide from the desk and hit the floor with a thud. There’s a horrible, guttural chuckle as you try to catch your breath. He can hear it.

“Twice in one day,” he hisses. “You really should cut out caffeine entirely.”

He moves into the office at a deliberate pace, a snake lazily getting into place to trap its prey. You can barely make out his face as he reclines into a chair that barely holds his hulking frame, but you can make out the triumphant sneer.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever with that stunt tonight.”

“Actually yes. I look like the toughest bastard in the company, I turned a ten second hit and run spot into a great segment, and I have a warm-up opponent before I take my title back.” He leans towards you with a leer. “Of course I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Brian’s the director. He decides when we cut.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he purrs, “I’ll bet you think you’re a good liar right now. Brian’s thinking about a show that’s packed too tight and keeping everything moving. That bit was done on the fly by someone who knew it was exciting. Someone who was excited by it. It was like some kind of understanding. A partnership. Like magic.”

“Shut your damn mouth. No understanding. No partnership. No magic. Ever. Yes, since you want your ego stroked so badly, it was a compelling bit. My job is to make good television and I went with my gut. I wish I hadn’t. So the next time you feel like seeing how far you can push things without getting fired, I’ll stick to cheering you on from the sidelines.”

“You know, we watched that whole bit back two or three times, Scarlet and me. Couldn’t get over how well it turned out, how ever detail was just exactly the way we envisioned. Even down to where you can see Scarlet in the car. She figured you’d do something to cut her out of the shot.” The hint of a cold laugh creeps into his voice. “She thinks you don’t like her.”

“Right then. Good show all around. And now this conversation is over, so you can just go back to roaming the halls or playing hide-and-go-seek with your girl or whatever the fuck it was that you were up to before you came to harass me.”

You’re surprised when he stands but then he circles around the desk as he speaks.

“Harass? Now that’s uncalled for. I came all the way back here to congratulate you on a job well done.”

He towers over you and as small as you feel, you wish you could be even smaller, small enough that you could just fall to the floor and slip away like a silverfish. You know he’s waiting for you to look up at him but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. It’s a tense minute of this standoff before he huffs exasperatedly and just plucks you out of the chair, setting you on the desk where you’re almost at eye level with him.

“Let me put this another way: I came back here because I couldn’t wait to see you. And you can act all tough and snarky because I don’t care. You know there’s a connection between us as well as I do.”

“You made your choice.”

“I chose someone who understands that strict monogamy isn’t an indicator of a healthy relationship on its own.”

“Oh so if I was fine being part of a harem, you would have stayed with me?”

“One never knows.” He kisses your forehead. “How’s your friend?”

“Why ask? You don’t care.”

“You’re right, I really don’t. But I know it’s bothering you and I care about that.”

“I don’t want to discuss anything about him with you.”

“Aw, has he not called or texted you to tell you that he’s ok? That it’s no problem that your awful ex beat him down and humiliated him on national television?”

“What you did was unsafe and unprofessional. You could have really hurt him.”

“Yes, I could have. Did I?”

You squirm in position as he trails a finger along the shell of your ear and down your neck and under your jaw, pushing your face up so that he can see it full on.

“He hasn’t called, has he? You have no idea if he’s alright.” He drags his lips along your throat. “He needed to stay in his league anyway.”

You’re feeling more than a little intoxicated by the scent of his skin, the traces of cologne, the leather of jacket. You can feel your breath getting choppier and that toxic desire raising its ugly head.

“You don’t get to decide who I do and don’t get involved with. I’m quite capable of attending to my own happiness without your assistance.”

“He won’t make you happy. He might make you feel like you could be a nice girl with a nice relationship and you think that sounds like a great idea because it’s what you think you wanted and couldn’t have with me. But that’s not who you are.”

“Oh please. You’re trying to warn me off him because you’re a complete hypocrite who doesn’t want anyone else playing with your toys. If there’s a man around who makes me feel good about myself, it could undo all that work you put in making me think that the best I could aspire to is to be your side hustle. One of them. Stop that!”

Very delicately, he’s started swirling his fingers around one of your nipples, teasing the bud so that it protrudes from your shirt like a button.

“Stop it.” This time, it comes out as a soft moan as your back arches and pushes you further into his hand. You can’t help it. Your moans rise in volume and he seizes the invitation to caress both of your breasts, gently, the same way he always starts, the way he mows drives you crazy.

“You think he’d be ok with this?” He hisses.

“God you ruin everything,” you snap, pulling back a little.

He leans over and presses his lips to yours, still softly, sweetly. “Is he ok with this?”

He catches your head between his paws as he sees the indignant light flare up again.

“Is he going to be ok when he hears that five minutes after you saw me again, you were on your knees in front of me?”

“He’s not going to hear that, ever. He doesn’t need to know about all my stupid mistakes.”

“I disagree. If he can’t love you when he sees all your flaws, how do you know he loves you at all?”

“He is not going to hear about that.”

“Maybe not from you. But I think he should know.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

Something sparks in his eyes, that same triumphant look he had before but it’s more. You run through the scenarios in your mind. Of course he’d tell Damian what happened between you. Because Damian would hate that. And he’d retreat to safety because he’d be able to see you for the head case you really are, the one who acted so traumatized by her ex that she wouldn’t let a man touch her and then couldn’t keep her hands off him once they were in the same room. Even if Damian didn’t give up entirely, it would eat away at him, it would be in his head while the two of them sparred in the ring.

“You want to get him riled up like that when you have to fight him? You don’t think that could get a bit dangerous?”

“I can take care of myself. He’s a big boy. He should be able to focus on his work no matter what. If he doesn’t, he could get in an accident.”

“Is that a threat?”

He can’t be serious, except that he is always serious and this is exactly the sort of hideous trap he likes to set for people.

“Forget him. You know your instincts are good. You knew it tonight on air. What happened yesterday happened because you were acting on instinct the same way.”

“I need you to promise me no matter what happens that you’re not going to tell him anything happened between us. Please, just do that for me.”

He pulls you off the desk and turns you around, and you brace your hands against it, thinking that he’s about to bend you over and bring this to it’s awful conclusion. But instead he wraps his arms around you and slides a pen into your hand.

“Here,” he murmurs in your ear, pushing a piece of paper in front of you. “You’re going to write down your address. We’re going to meet there in twenty minutes and then we’ll have a nice discussion about what you’re willing to do to convince me to keep your little secret.”

And there it is. You care about Damian far more than you realized. You can’t maintain any kind of separation with Kevin. And you hate the idea of Damian thinking of you the way you’re thinking about yourself. The trap snaps shut with a sickening finality and you’re the one who’s put yourself in it.

#karrion kross imagine #karrion kross fanfic #killer kross imagine #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic #nxt fanfiction #nxt imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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daddyhausen · 3 years

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• streetlights and stop signs — karrion kross •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ request for : @killer-fucking-kross }

{ word count } — 1.9k

{ genre } — smut

{ warnings } — fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!karrion, public teasing, female + male masturbation, mild degradation, dirty talk, oral sex { f receiving } daddy kink, praise, asphyxiation, breath play, choking, car sex, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, penetrative sex , rough sex , squirting, multiple orgasms

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

pleasure had no bounds in your relationship, you found yourself across from him, the restaurant crowded, far too crowded for his liking, too many people for such an intimate evening between the both of you. you could sense his agitation from it, how his eyebrows remained slightly furrowed, eyes scanning silently around the booth for no apparent reason. mouth knitted tightly shut with a scowl, almost hesitant to speak. you were in no mood for silence far from it actually, a rather playful mood you were in come to think of it despite your husband’s annoyance.you kept your actions subtle, only giving him the smallest hints into your true desires. throughout the meal you mostly kept your eyes locked on him, a flirtatious stare riddled in your irises, glowing with lustful intent under candle light, he had not seemed to notice much at the moment, it was only just the beginning. slowly you’d let down a strap from your dress, the plunging neckline accentuating the curve of your full breasts, leaning in the slightest so that he had an almost full view of your cleavage to the untrained eye it merely seemed that the strap had accidentally fallen, but he knew better, slowly catching on to your little game.

“just what are you doing, princess?” his voice was deep, quiet with the slightest hint of a growl underneath. his eyes hungry and lust filled, yet he kept to himself, trying not to cause a scene in the middle of the restaurant. you did not adjust the strap of your dress, simply leaving it there and letting his eyes linger for a while, knowing how desperately he must be craving your touch at this moment, yet he could not even do so much as lay a finger on you.

“nothing” you batted your eyelashes in an oh so innocent fashion, a devilish smirk creeping upon your lips, accentuated and outlined in scarlet red. he thought nothing of for the moment.

slowly as the night progressed your options became more risky. you’d start by slowly running your foot up his shin, it caught his attention momentarily. he shot you an accusatory look, an eyebrow cocking up is suspicious, you simply smiled back. cautiously you brought your foot up, teasing his clothed cock, gently pressing your foot, feeling him grow hard under your touch. a small growl emitted from his lips, staring you down with a despite unmatched to any other. his cock throbbing through the restraint of his suit pants. chuckling internally, you knew exactly how frustrated he was, still so helpless at the fact he can’t fuck you in the middle of the restaurant.

“we’re leaving. now” his voice clouded with lust, the outline of his cock prominent as he stood up, grabbing your wrist to leave. quickly paying the bill as he did so. he held a death grip on your wrist, practically dragging you to the car. your cunt almost dripping with anticipation, walls thoroughly soaked with want for his cock.

“you got some fucking nerve teasing me in public like that, princess.” his knuckles bone white due to the death grip on the steering wheel, much like he had on your wrist before. you sat in silence, quietly giggling to yourself, loving the way your husband became so aroused with the slightest of touches. you felt like teasing him more, quietly shifting in your seat to lift up your dress, your fingers slipping into your lace panties, the fabric soaked with your juices. he had to strain to keep his eyes on the road, it pained him, knowing that he could not exactly fuck you while on the highway, as much as he wanted to right now. you dipped a finger into your dripping cunt, teasing and swirling two digits around your clit, the sensitive nub feeling so delicate between your fingers. you hummed a soft moan, catching his attention for a split second, before quickly realising that he was indeed still driving. but quietly thanking the fact that you were almost home.

“fuck, your cunt looks so fucking good right now, princess.” his voice lulled with he slightest moan, your eyes peered down to notice him palming his size though his pants. “i can’t wait to devour you”

“eyes on the road, daddy…” you whined, practically breathless from your own touches, no matter how feather lightly they were. you just imagining his large hands duping your cunt, his fingers filling you so thoroughly, fucking you with such intense pleasure, it almost made your reach your end right there. you were so enthralled with your own pleasure you did not even realised he had parked the car, let alone realised that you were already in the driveway.

“fuck it…” you heard him mumble from you side. in a matter of seconds he had you both in the back seat of the car, his lips feverish and heated against yours, fingers tearing at the layers of your dress, ripping it in two, exposing your perky breasts to his vision. you gasped with slight shock, having only brought the dress a week ago.

“i’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, princess” he chuckled. “but now, i need to taste that sweet cunt of yours”

he had you positioned in the back seat, legs spread with feet resting on each front seat as he sat in between them, having already stripped himself of his clothing, pumping his sizeable cock in his palm. his fingers manoeuvred in between the fabric of your panties, tugging them down your legs. he licked his lips feverishly, giving one last lustful look in your direction before diving between your thighs. his tongue lapping up your sweetness. he moaned into your pussy, gripping your hips tightly to keep you on his lips, his tongue swirling majestically around your clit, the bundle of nerves already so sensitive from your own fingers. your legs trembling with pleasure as he devoured you, moans spilling from your lips like sinful prayers, he merely chuckled into your cunt.

“fuck you taste so fucking good, my princess” his tongue dipped into your cunt, exploring your sweet walls with a deep, guttural moan. he brought his thumb up, rubbing fought circles into you clit only adding to your pleasure, and inevitable orgasm.

“daddy, fuck-“ you whined, only to break your sentence with a moan. “fuck i need your cock, please can i have your thick cock?’

he would not stop, not even to answer your pleas, he loved the sound of your voice begging him for more, begging him to send you over the edge with such wondrous pleasure. he kept you still on his tongue, flicking it teasingly around your clit, sucking roughly at the sensitive numb as he drew you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“not yet love, i want you to cum all over my tongue first” he growled into your warmth, lips gliding through your sweet folds, glistening with his spit and your sweetness. “will you be a good girl and cum for me, princess?”

his words like venom against your cunt, the vibrations of his voice left your thighs trembling. you could only nod as a reply, far too breathless to even utter a verbal response besides a chorus of moans. your felt yourself tighten around his tongue, your cunt pulsing thickly around air, your orgasm soon rising to the surface, your cried out his name with a mixture of moans and screams as he coaxed your orgasm out of your, sweetness coating his lips and chin as he drank you in greedily. he pulled away for a moment, giving you a second to catch your breath, still keeping you in that same position, he stood up as much at the car would allow him, his cock bouncing against his stomach, you could not help but stare. this thick shaft litters with veins, the most prominent one wrapping around his tip, swollen and red, dripping with his hot seed. he smirked at the sight, his cock resting him his palm as he began to stroke himself, his tip glossy with his pre-cum.

“p-please, daddy-“ you whined breathlessly, unable to even form a coherent sentence. his stance, so dominant and towering over your already ruined frame and he had not even gotten to his favourite part yet. a chuckle left his lips at your feeble attempt at begging.

“i’m not sure you even deserve my cock princess, what with all that trouble you caused me at the restaurant” his words felt like red-hot knives digging into your skin, made your belly tighten with anguish. you wanted, no! needed him so bad, it was almost a painful attempt to even resist.

“please please daddy! i’ll be a good girl from now on! i promise” you cried out, hot ears welling in your eyes from the lack of friction you so desperately craved. he hovered over you momentarily, lining up his cock with your tight entrance, teasing your warmth.

“well, since you asked so nicely,” he slid his cock into you with ease, the moment rough and heated. he halted his movements and his sentence for the moment, staring down at you with lustful intent. “but mark my words, princess i wont go easy on you”

he gave a single thrust, before wrapping a hand around your throat, squeezing tightly yet still leaving enough room for you to breath. using his free hand to stable use himself on the back seat.

“i’m gonna fuck you like the little slut you are” his voice almost a semi tone lower than normal, a sadistic chuckle left his lips as he soon began to move his hips at a relentless pace. the sensation overriding your brain, far too pleasurable for you to even think.

you hummed out a moan, body succumbing to his wonderful touch, the sheer feeling of his cock entering you, stretching out your soaked pussy, each movement was like lightning erupting under your skin, every jolt and convulsion of pleasure had your body feeling as if you were floating on clouds. he kept his hand around your throat, your eyes glassy with want as you peered up at him. his gaze, so passionate, so protective. never had you felt so loved like you did in this moment, despite getting absolutely ruined like the good little slut you were to him.

“such a good little slut.” he bent down the slightest, his lips mere millimetres from yours, his sealed the gap with a rough kiss, your lips moulding into one, he brought his body closer, angling your hips upward slightly, fucking deeper into your tight cunt. you moaned against his lips feeling your walls succumbing to his cock once more. “you’re cunt feels so perfect, princess”

“can i cum…p-please daddy?” you crooned into his neck, gently nipping the tattooed skin of his shoulder, feeling his size twitch deep within you. his orgasm close, yours was too. he tried to prolong the inevitable, just on the cusp of release.

“cum all over my cock, love. drench my cock with your sweetness” he lulled deep within your ear, holding himself close to your body, feeling your tight walls collapse around his size succumbing to your own pleasure. your juices drenching his size, making a mess of the back seat in the process. he found himself chasing his own release, making the best use of his time before the inevitable, his final thrusts were rough and slow. he gave a final thrust, burying himself deep in your cunt, his hot cum coating your throbbing walls, he gave a guttural moan with release, slowly fucking his hot sweet deep into your cunt.

he pulled out of you slowly, savouring the feeling of your pussy clenching tightly around his cock, he did not want it to end but he always had the possibility of continuing later.

“we should get inside before the neighbours get suspicious, my love”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

#wwe #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wrestling imagine #nxt fanfiction #nxt x reader #nxt smut #nxt imagine #nxt #karrion kross

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cutierocker202 · 3 years

Text

Look at my NXT Champion Jeff Hardy 😂😂

#wwe #wwe smut #wwe headcanons #wwe imagine #wweuniverse #wwe lb #wwe liveblog #jeff hardy #karrion kross #nxt #wwe nxt #raw liveblog #wwe raw lb #raw lb

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bellalutionn · 3 years

Text

hi! i’ve been on tumblr for about a year and a half now but i’m officially starting to write!! i’ve been watching wrestling for a pretty long time now and i’ve always been interested in it. so, as of now requests are OPEN.

i’ll pretty much write anything except for nsfw stuff, for now. once i get more comfortable on this app i think i’ll maybe start writing nsfw😉 it’s also only headcannons and drabbles, not full imagines.

MASTERLIST.

here’s who i write for:

ALL ELITE WRESTLING MEN:

- jon moxley

- eddie kingston

- kenny omega

- the young bucks

- christian cage

- chuck taylor

- trent?

- santana and ortiz

- tony khan

- hangman adam page

- andrade el idolo

- austin gunn

- cody rhodes

- ethan page

- joey janela

- ricky starks

- scorpio sky

- frankie kazarian

- hook

- preston vance

- lee johnson

- brian pillman jr

- will hobbs

- mjf

- cm punk

- jeff hardy

ALL ELITE WRESTLING WOMEN:

- bunny/allie

- brandi rhodes

- britt baker

- penelope ford

- red velvet

- anna jay

- jade cargill

- kris statlander

- ruby soho

WWE MEN:

- drew mcintyre

- randy orton

- dolph ziggler

- big e

- roman reigns

- baron corbin

- cesaro

- seth rollins

- the miz

- finn balor

- damian priest

- john morrison

- the street profits

- edge

- karrion kross

- marcel barthel

- corey graves

- dexter lumis

- ricochet

- elias

- la knight

- fabian aichner

WWE WOMEN:

- bayley

- paige

- carmella

- liv morgan

- sonya deville

- charlotte flair

- alexa bliss

- naomi

- mandy rose

- maryse

- the bella twins

- toni storm

- bianca belair

- zelina vega

- candice lerae

- lacey evans

OTHERS:

- cassie lee

- jessica mckay

- chelsea green

- cj perry

- mickie james

- renee paquette

- matt cardona

- fandango/curtis hussey

- tyler breeze/matt clement

- nia jax

- scarlett

- keith lee

as you guys can see, i write for a lot of people. so you all have many, many choices to choose from! request away, loves💟

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asenkaengel · 3 years

Text

Imagine getting rid of the only interesting thing about Karrion Kross.

Especially when the missing component is SINGING HIS THEME SONG.

#monday night raw #wwe raw #wwe #wwe raw lb #wwe raw liveblog #raw lb #raw liveblog #wwe raw liveblogging

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domesticblisss · 3 years

Text

Näher | PT.07

Walter x Axel Dieter Jr x Fabian Aichner x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 1848 Warnings: Very tiny bit of angst and a whole lot of smut. It’s a foursome my dudes, oral (female and male receiving), fingering, PiV, cum play. Summary: Walter has some secretive business and Hase is not happy. A/N: Well, blame this lmao. Pt.01 | Pt.02 | Pt.03 | Pt.04 | Pt.05 | Pt.06

Things with Walter has been going great after he came to Miami to be with us. The business is once again thriving and my counselling work with them was downgraded to a two day of the week thing. Walter says it is better for me to focus on the record store and that he worries about me after the whole Bobby Gunns incident, which, very reluctantly, I agree with him and decided to not argue about it.

The record store was going great, to my surprise. With the resurgence of vinyls and cassette tapes, the store became a hit with the locals and a must go to for the tourists. I am lucky to have built a trusty team to work with me and to have Shotzi as my manager, best friend and confident.

Today was another busy day at the store until Walter FaceTimed me.

“Hi, honey.” I greeted him, he smiled at me but had a serious face on. I knew something was happening. “Is everything ok? Why are you in your car?”

“Hi, love. Everything is fine, I’ve got some business to make and I need you to close the store.”

“Walter! The store is full,” I changed the camera for him to see, “I can’t just close it like this.”

“Yes you can. Ask Shotzi for help.”

“Walter, is this another Bobby thing?”

“Hase...” He sighed, running his free hand through his face, “No, I don’t think so. It’s just a precaution thing. Close the store, tell everyone to go home. Go home. Axel and Fabian are there. I love you.”

He turned the call off before I could even say goodbye.

I made some lame excuse about urgent family matters but Shotzi got right away what was happening, and helped me with the customers, who were understanding enough.

Getting home was nerve wrecking. I found Axel and Fabian arguing in german in the living room, about how stupid Walter was to go where he went alone. I couldn’t help myself and barged in on their conversation.

“What do you mean with Walter going alone? Where are Tim and Alex?”

“In the office.” Fabian blurted out getting a slap on the head from Axel and a “Dude”.

“Where did he go?”

Silence

“Who is he making business with?”

Silence

“Why did he make me close the store?”

Silence

“Fine, since you want to treat me like a child, I’ll just throw a tantrum like one until I get my answers.”

Three crystal vases, one guitar, a Matisse painting, Axel and Fabian shouting, asking me to stop as I made my way to Walter’s Farbegé eggs collection, and grabbed one. Raising my hand, I asked “Are you telling me where he is?”.

When they were about to open their mouths to answer, I felt a presence behind me, his hand softly engulfing mine, taking the egg away from me.

“Hase, was ist das?”

“Where were you?” I asked as I turned to face him.

“You need to calm down, Hase.” Walter said and gave me the look. The look he would always give me when he knew I wanted to hook up with Tim. “She needs to relax, boys.” with that, I felt Fabian’s and Axel’s presence circle behind me.

“Yeah, I need to relax.” I said smiling. See, Walter and I have talked about this several times before but never made a move to invite them over. I guess he was saving it for a special moment, i.e., when he fucked up like he just did.

Walter kissed me, and I felt a new pair of lips on my neck. Fabian’s. Just as soft as I always imagined it would be. Axel was getting eager behind me, squeezing my ass and nudging Fabian so he could get a little bit of me for himself. Laughing at his antics, I disentangled myself from Walter’s hold on me and turned around to meet the blonde man.

“Always so needy, huh Axel?”

“The only needy hure here is you, babe.” he got back at me as I took his lips in mine.

A few minutes later and Walter instructed us to take it to our bedroom, making a show of carrying me bride style as the boys followed behind. He helped me take off my sundress and took his shirt off, lying in bed and positioned me between his legs, making me use him as a pillow. Axel didn’t waste any time, took his clothes off and laid between my legs, eating me out. Fabian was shy, having only taken off his shirt and was fumbling with his belt.

“Come here, don’t be nervous.” I tried to calm him down.

“Are you sure it’s ok?” he asked, his hands holding my hair into a ponytail as I took his pants and underwear down in one swift move. His cock was beautiful. Average length, thick and girthy. I let him have his way with me. He was slow, too careful, as if I were some sort of porcelain doll that would break if not handled well. Walter noticed his hesitation and pushed my head forward. “She likes it rough, fuck her face.” I smiled as wide as I could with Fabian’s thick meat buried in my mouth. Walter’s words awakened something inside of him and his actions took a 180 turn. His hips started pistoning, fast and rough, hitting the back of my throat each time. Axel got faster too, sucking my clit and fingering me like there was no tomorrow. All of this combined with Walter’s big figure behind me, holding me, caressing my breasts, and kissing my neck while he sang his praises to me was enough to make me cum in no time. I had to push Fabian away so I wouldn’t choke on his dick as my orgasm took over my body.

“Are you ok?” Fabian asked worried.

“FUCK! Yeah, I’m good.” all I could do was nod and laugh, asking them to wait a little.

Walter noticed that Axel was grabbing a condom, and quickly intervened. “Axel, up here. Let Fabian do it.”

“But? Why? I want-“ Axel started to protest but Walter was fast to dismiss his complaints.

“This is about her, about what she wants, not you. You already made her cum once, let Fabian do it. Besides, Tim is not going to be happy if he finds out Fabian touched her, let him have this one, Ax, he probably won’t have another chance.” Fabian tensed and I laughed, murmuring “I’m sorry” to him.

“Fine” said a very reluctant Axel, throwing the closed condom to Fabian.

“Don’t be a piss baby, Axel. I’ll let you cum in my face.” I told him and got a very excited smiled in return.

Meanwhile, Fabian was lining himself in my entrance, slowly inserting his cock in my pussy, getting used to it.

“She’s really tight, isn’t she?” Walter asked behind me and Fabian eagerly nodded back.

His thrusts got faster quickly and his thumb never left my clit.

“Come ‘ere” I asked Axel, taking his cock into my mouth. Walter took it in his hands to help me, moving my head up and down Ax’s dick, the motion and sensations making him cum in record time. Following what I had promised him, he was quick enough to pull out and come on my face and tits. Fabian and I didn’t last much longer, the way he filled me up and how he thrust in me sent me into over drive, the second orgasm stronger than the first, my walls squeezing him so hard that he came too.

I was too weak to say anything and Walter knowing how I usually get, told the boys to leave us alone.

He kept holding me, shushing me and rubbing random shapes on my stomach until my breathing evened out.

“Are you ok?”

“Mhm” was all I could say, blissed out.

“Did you enjoy it?” he kissed my forehead.

“Yeah, I loved it. But there’s just one thing missing.”

“What is it?”

“You.”

“Hase, you’re worn out. We can do it later.”

“No, now.” I whined. “I can feel how hard you are on my back.”

“Fine, get up.” I did as he told me, lying stomach down as soon as he was off the bed. Walter grabbed a pillow and put it under my stomach to make it more comfortable for the both of us.

As always, he started slow, kissing the whole expanse of my back, my ass and slapped it, kneading it as he made his way inside me. He was relentless, fast, and rough, making me cum even faster. He kept fucking me through my orgasm, the way my walls squeezed around him made him slow down a bit, the sensation so out of this world that a fourth wave came, bringing Walter to the edge with me this time.

His knees gave in and he fell on top me, laughing. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until he asked if I wanted him to run us a bath, to which I agreed to. He was gentle when he took me off the bed, helping me walk slowly to our suite’s bathroom. He made sure to clean my face of Axel’s remains before we got in on the tub, with him behind me once again.

“Are you happy?” he asked

“I am. Will be even more if you tell me where you went alone today that made me close the shop.” I pressed on. He sighed in defeat and answered me.

“I had a meeting with Malcolm Bivens.”

“You had a meeting with Malcolm Bivens?! Alone?! Walter, what the fuck?!” I shouted.

“Hase, calm down. It’s fine. I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“Well, but you couldn’t be. You were worried enough to call me and asked me to close the store! What do you want with him anyway?”

“Did you know he’s like, this really tiny guy? I thought I was going to meet this huge man that was stronger than me but no, very tiny guy. Looks like a little ant.” “Walter...” I sighed “He’s still dangerous.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I found out him and Tim worked together before Tim went to Germany and they ended things in good terms. I offered him an alliance. That Karrion Kross guy is trying to expand his business and thinks he is a threat to us. With Malcolm’s support, we are bigger and stronger than ever, Kross will think twice before trying anything.”

I looked up at him, his eyes were closed and a relaxed smile on his face. I kissed him and laid my head back down on his chest.

“Next time just tell me where you’re going, ok?”

“Why? So you are worried about me?”

“I was worried today and you saw what happened. Next time, you will tell me, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” he gave in.

“Good. I need to clean the mess I made in the living room.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you, liebe. Now relax.”

---------

Translations

Hase, was ist das? - Hase, what is this?

Hure - Whore

#walter wwe #marcel barthel #fabian aichner #walter x reader #walter imagine #marcel barthel x reader #marcel barthel imagine #fabian aicher x reader #fabian aichner imagine #wwe imagine #nxt imagine #wrestling imagine #DB Writes

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dirtywrestling · 1 year

Note

Hi there. Could I request a male reader x Karrion Kross fic?. Maybe Skarlet brings the reader into the fold as a gift for Karrion as she notices the way the two have been looking at each other and senses the potential of an alliance between the two.

Pairing: Karrion Kross x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Blog, Alliance, Pet Play

Follow My Side Blog!: @dirtywresling102

"What's this all about?" You asked in a yawn. Raw finally came to an end. You were about to leave the arena until Scarlett asked to see you for a quick second.

"Well, I have a little plan in the works and wanted to see if you two." She looked at you and then at her husband. "Wanted to join?"

"To become tag team champs, I'm hoping?"

"Better, which in the future will help you get there."

"Baby, what's this all about?" Karrion arched his eyebrow and arms crossed.

"I've been seeing the way you eye fuck my husband." Scarlett said flat out which made your eyes go wide.

"N- No! I- I would nev-"

"Shh, Y/N it's okay. I'm throwing this out there, maybe you can come by our hotel a few nights out of the week and I don't know, be there for Karrion. Take care of him." Scarlett shrugged.

"Baby?" Karrion cocked his head to the side.

"What? We talked about wanting a fuck toy in our relationship, surprised I picked Y/N?"

Karrion swallowed and nodded. "Awe, my big man deserves it after all." Scarlett walked towards Karrion, cupping his cock and massaging it through his pants. "So, what do you say Y/N, want to please myself and my husband?"

Your mouth watered at the sight of the married couple. Pleasing them and being their pet made your cock instantly grow hard. "Hell yes."

#karrion kross #wrestling blog #wrestling imagines #wwe #wwe karrion kross #dirty wrestling #wrestling stories #karrion kross x you #karrion kross x reader #karrion kross x y/n #imagines #karrion kross fanfic

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itsadamcole · 3 years

Text

i might fall apart

fem!reader x finn balor

Finn gets injured during a match, and he is being forced to relinquish his nxt title, and reader tries to do everything she can to help him, including giving him his Christmas present a little bit early ... "if you don't hug me right now then i might fall apart"

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: sad!finn, a scene where reader gets unintentionally hurt by finn, crying, angst, fluff, smut

— meant to get this out yesterday but oh well. i was busy with classes and my birthday dinner so here this is —

masterlist || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You sit in the backstage area by the medical area. You are praying that the injury that Finn sustained in his match isn't as terrible as it looked.

Finn was in an NXT match with Karrion Kross, and Kross powerbombed Finn onto the apron. As soon as Finn landed on the ground, he grabbed at his previously injured shoulder. The shoulder that was injured against Seth Rollins at Summerslam 2016 for the Universal Championship. He looked like he was in actual pain, not just kayfabe. You've gotten good at realizing what was real and what wasn't.

This seemed extremely real.

The door to the medical area opens and you see Finn come out. His arm is in a sling and he looks upset.

You run over to Finn and you say, "Hey, what did they tell you?"

Finn looks at you and says, "The same thing happened tonight that happened at Summerslam against Seth. I dislocated my shoulder, which I knew because of the pain. They told me I tore my labrum again, and I need surgery again, and I have to give up my damn title again."

He's angry and he's upset, you can hear it in his voice. You say, "You've worked through it once. You can do it again, and I'm right here to help you, Finn."

"I didn't get my title back last time," Finn says. "I might as well say goodbye to this one forever too." He takes his NXT title and throws the belt across the room. It bounces off a wall and lands on the floor. The noise of the belt hitting the wall makes you flinch.

You stare up at Finn and say, "They didn't know how to book you on Raw, Finn. They know how to use you here in NXT. You'll get your title back."

Finn looks down at you and you can see tears forming in his blue eyes.

"This is the second title I have to relinquish in WWE," Finn says, voice cracking. "This is the second time I've had to deal with his injury. Y/N, what if I can't do it again?"

His words break your heart and you take the hand that's not in the sling. You look into Finn's eyes and say, "You can. I'm here to help you. I'm here to make you feel better when you're feeling down."

You try to give him a reassuring smile. Finn says, "If ya don't hug me right now then I might fall apart. All I want is a hug from ya right now."

Careful not to hit his injured arm, you wrap your arms around Finn's neck. He wraps his free arm around your waist and buries his face in your neck.

Finn sobs, just once, into your neck. The sound alone is enough to make you tear up.

He's hurting, mentally and physically, and you have no idea how to help. You hate that Finn's feeling like this. He just got the NXT title back in September, and here he is four months later. He's relinquishing when he had so much planned for his reign. He had a goal of beating Adam Cole's 403 day reign.

All of that is gone now because of his injury.

"Finn!" you hear Karrion Kross say behind you. Finn looks up, his cheeks wet. "Oh, no. Finn, I'm so sorry. I added too much power. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry that this is happening to you again. It's my fault."

You look up at Finn and he says, "It's not your fault at all, Kross. Ya executed the move perfectly. My arm was just a little too high and I dislocated my shoulder. I shoulda learned from last time. Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

Scarlett walks over and looks at me. "Is he okay?" she asks, referring to Finn.

"Dislocated shoulder and torn labrum," you say. "He needs surgery."

She looks sad as she says, "I'm so sorry, Finn."

Finn shrugs with his good shoulder and says, "It's fine. I'll be fine. Make sure Kross carries that title with pride because we all know who will become the fourth two-time NXT champion."

All of you give a little laugh before Finn walks over and picks up his title. He looks at the belt and looks at you. You watch and wait to see what he does.

Finn walks away from you, Karrion, and Scarlett. You look at Karrion and Scarlett in confusion before following Finn.

You find him knocking on William Regal's office door. You keep your distance as the door opens. "Mr. Regal," Finn says. "This doesn't belong to me anymore."

Regal looks at the title that Finn is holding out to him before he says, "You have to relinquish, don't you?"

Finn nods as he says, "Dislocated shoulder and torn labrum, which needs surgery. I'll be out for a while." Regal takes the title from Finn's hands.

A soft tsk comes from Regal and he says, "Such a shame. You've been a good champion, Finn. I can talk with Hunter and we can work something out for when you come back. Maybe work you into a storyline where the title is involved."

You listen to the conversation as Finn nods. "That sounds good," he says. "Thank you, Mr. Regal."

"Best of luck in your recovery, Finn," Regal says. "Please keep us updated on when you'll be back."

Finn says, "Of course. Have a good holiday, Mr. Regal. I'll see ya very soon."

Regal gives him a curt nod and walks back into the office with Finn's title. The door closes and Finn looks down.

He walks away, walking toward you. He has no idea that you're standing there. Well, until he looks up at you as he walks away from Regal's office. "How long have ya been standing there?" Finn asks, approaching you.

"I followed you when you walked away," you explain. "I wasn't being a stalker, I swear."

Finn looks upset as he says, "So ya heard the whole thing." It wasn't formed like a question.

You nod and say, "I saw you relinquish your title. I know how much that had to hurt but I'm proud of you."

He sighs and says, "This isn't the first time I've had to relinquish a title, Y/N. It hurts but not as bad as the first time I had to."

You've never had to give up a title because of injury so you can only imagine the pain Finn is in right now, either mentally or physically.

Then an idea pops into your head. You have a way to make Finn feel better. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and you're planning on going out to attend the annual WWE Christmas party at the Performance Center with Finn. You can give him one of your presents a little earlier.

"I know," you say. "Why don't we go home and watch some movies? I can make whatever snack you'd like, like popcorn or cookie dough." You smile, trying to help him feel better.

Finn says, "I would love to but I'm beat and really just wanna sleep. Rain check?"

Your smile fades and you nod. "Yeah," you say. "Of course."

The car ride home is quiet and you can almost feel how upset Finn is. You drive and Finn sits in the passenger's seat. You steal a couple glances at him at red lights or stop signs and find him staring out the window.

You pull up to the house and watch as Finn walks inside, not saying a word to you. You sigh and walk inside behind him.

Finn lays on the couch and puts something on TV. You make your way upstairs to the bedroom.

Maybe you won't be able to help Finn. He's completely shut you out and you don't know what you can do to help since he won't talk to you or accept any help.

After you get changed into pajamas, you crawl into bed. You end up crying yourself to sleep, frustrated and slightly upset.

***

A noise in your bathroom wakes you up. Finn is cursing up a storm and you get up to investigate.

You stand in the doorway to see a soaking wet Finn Balor on the bathroom floor. A towel is around his waist. He's gripping his injured shoulder.

"Finn!" you say, running over to him. You kneel beside him and make sure he's okay. "What happened?"

He looks up at you and says, "I fucking slipped and fell, that's what happened. I fell and hit my shoulder on the ground." His voice is cracking and you can tell he's trying not to cry.

You wipe away some of the water droplets that are falling down his face and you say, "You're okay." He looks away from you. "Hey, look at me."

Finn takes a second before turning his attention back toward you. "Tell me what you need," you say. "I want to help."

"Can ya magically fix my shoulder so I can go get my title back?" Finn asks, accent getting thick with anger. "No? Then I don't want your help."

He pushes you off of him, puts his arm back in his sling, and walks into the bedroom. You fall back against the glass door of the shower, hitting your head on the door lightly. When you tried to brace yourself, you fell on your wrist awkwardly and now it hurts. You probably sprained it.

You sit on the ground and hold your wrist. You sigh, trying not to cry.

After holding back the tears and the sobs for a few minutes, you just give in. Finn's never pushed you away like he has. You're starting to doubt your relationship with him and wondering if you can survive this.

It's Christmas Eve and instead of spending time with the man you love, you're sitting in the bathroom crying because you don't know if your relationship will last to tomorrow.

After you don't emerge from the bathroom after a few minutes, Finn comes back to check on you. He finds you curled up in a ball, crying softly. Your knees have been brought up to your chest and your forehead rests on your knees. You hold your possibly sprained wrist.

"Y/N," Finn says softly. His voice startles you and you look up at him. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying. Finn's heart breaks at the sight. His moment of anger hurt you, emotionally and physically. He can tell by the way you're holding your wrist.

Slowly, he approaches you. He kneels in front of you and says, "Y/N, baby. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt ya."

He reaches out to touch your knee but you flinch away from him. You know what happened was an accident but you're terrified to let him touch you.

Finn drops his arm and looks down. "I'm so sorry that this happened," he says. "I really didn't mean to hurt ya. I would never intentionally hurt ya. I'm so sorry."

Tears continue to fall down your cheeks as you cry, "I just want to help you, Finn. I want to help you get through this and I want to help you feel better."

He says, "I know ya do. I acted in a moment of anger. I was frustrated and in pain. I know ya are trying your best and I'm not making it very easy for ya. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

Quickly, you crawl over to Finn and hug him, crying into his good shoulder. Finn wraps his free arm around your shoulders.

The two of you stay like that until your knees begin to hurt. When your knees begin to hurt, you stand up and look down at Finn. "If you don't want to go to the Christmas party then I understand," you say.

Finn gets up and says, "Let's get a brace on that wrist before we talk about any Christmas parties, okay?"

You nod in agreement before Finn grabs an old wrist brace out of the cabinet under the sink.

He leads you out to the bedroom and you sit on the bed. Finn undoes the brace so you can slide it on the injured wrist. It's a fully metal brace so the wrist is completely immobilized and you can't move it. You look up at Finn and say, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he says. "I caused this. I hurt ya."

You say, "Not intentionally. You didn't mean to do this, and it's my own fault for trying to brace myself."

Finn looks away from you and says, "I pushed ya. It's my own fault."

Shaking your head, you say, "Do not blame yourself, Finn. This was neither of our faults, okay? It just happened. I'm braced up and I'll heal in a few days."

He nods and stays quiet. You take his free hand and play with his fingers. Finn watches you as you play with his fingers.

After a second of silence, Finn says, "I'm gonna call the day after Christmas to get a surgery scheduled that way we can get that done with and I can start my physical therapy and I can get back in the ring sooner rather than later."

You nod and say, "I'll be right here if you need anything, Finn. You tell me what you want and I'll be willing to help you."

Finn intertwines his fingers with yours and says, "How about we spend the day together since it is Christmas Eve? We can bake cookies or watch Christmas movies. Or we can go to the Christmas party. Whatever ya want to do today since I was being difficult this morning."

"All I want is for us to spend the day together," you say. "Baking cookies sounds fun. We don't have to do to the Christmas party. I'd much rather stay in anyway."

Finn pulls you up and says, "Then let's go bake some cookies. I've never baked cookies so I'm excited."

You stand in front of Finn, looking up. "How have you never made cookies before?" you ask, surprised.

"I've been training to wrestle since I was young then I travelled the world," he says. "I never really got the chance to bake cookies."

Almost running out of the room, you say, "We're baking cookies. Right now. Let's go."

Finn lets out a soft laugh. It's a laugh that you've missed in the past 24 hours. You make your way into the kitchen. You're wearing a black crop top with red and black checkered pajama pants. Probably not the best thing to be wearing when baking cookies. Especially when things can get a little ... messy.

You rush to get all the ingredients out, putting them on the kitchen island counter. This counter is the biggest and gives both you and Finn some extra room to move around.

Finn walks into the kitchen as you get out the ingredients out. Eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla, baking soda, baking powder, chocolate chips, salt, brown sugar, and butter. You grab a bowl and a spoon to mix everything together. You grab measuring spoons and measuring cups.

"So," Finn says. "What do we have to do?"

You look at Finn and say, "I can measure out ingredients and you can put them in the bowl. You can mix if you'd like too. I'll hold the bowl."

A smile spreads across Finn's lips and he nods. He joins you at the counter.

You start with sugar. You measure it and hand the cup to Finn. He takes it and pours the dry ingredient into the bowl before handing it back to you.

This goes on until you get to the flour. You decide to be a little dirty and fake a sneeze, sending flour into the air. Finn says, "Y/N! This is my favorite shirt!"

You look at his black t-shirt and say, "You have tons of shirts that are black."

Finn says, "Yeah, but this one was my favorite."

Laughing, you brush the flour away. "Okay, crybaby," you say. "I'll make sure it's nice and clean."

While you clean up Finn's shirt, Finn takes a handful of flour and throws it at you. Your face and shirt is covered in flour. Finn lets out a chuckle.

Your jaw almost drops and you say, "Finn! I was being nice and cleaning up your shirt for you."

He smiles and says, "Oops. I'm sorry, Y/N."

You grab a handful of flour and throw it at Finn, dirtying his shirt again and now he has flour all over his face and in his hair.

"Oh," Finn says. "That's how ya wanna play, hm?"

You've realized what you've done as Finn takes another handful of flour. "Finn," you say. "Don't you dare. I swear to Go-" Before you can finish the sentence, flour flies at you. You're now basically covered in head to toe with flour. "Okay. I see what you wanna do."

You scoop flour up in both your hands before throwing it at Finn. You giggle and start to back away as Finn takes another handful of flour.

By this time, you're on the other side of the counter. He throws it at you and it makes it to you. You reach across and grab flour, throwing it at Finn before running out of the room.

"Come back here!" Finn calls. You giggle and hide behind the wall that separates the living room and the kitchen.

Footsteps lead from the kitchen into the dining room. "Y/N?" Finn says in a singsong voice. "Come here."

You cover your mouth to keep quiet.

Finn walks past you into the living room from the kitchen. He doesn't see you and that gives you the opportunity to sneak attack from behind. You wrap your arms around Finn's waist. You're met with flour. You laugh and look up at Finn.

"You're cleaning the flour up in the living room," you tell Finn.

Finn's taken off his sling at this point. You notice when he turns in your arms. He asks, "What if I don't?"

You smirk a bit and say, "Then you don't get your Christmas present later on tonight."

He smiles and says, "Oh really? Hm, then I might clean it up since I won't get my present if I don't."

"You better," you say, leaning up and pecking his lips. "Now let's go finish these cookies then we can go get cleaned up."

Finn smiles and walks back into the kitchen with you.

The two of you finish the cookies. You clean up the flour around the kitchen and Finn disappears into the living room while the cookies are in the oven.

Once they're done in the oven, you lay them out so they can cool down.

Footsteps enter the room and arms wrap around your waist from behind as you lay out the cookies on a cooking rack. "So," Finn says behind you. "What's my Christmas present since I cleaned up the living room?"

You giggle and say, "Patience, Finn. We still haven't talked about that Christmas party and if we wanted to go."

Finn says, "I'd rather stay in tonight. I really don't feel like putting a smile on my face when I don't mean it, especially for a whole night."

You turn in Finn's arms and says, "Whatever you want to do. Today's about you, Finn. If you wanna stay in then we'll stay in."

He smiles and says, "You're the best, Y/N. Thank you for trying to be here for me even though I know I'm probably not making it very easy."

"Injuries are never very easy to go through," you say. "I've had my fair share of knee injuries so I understand. I'm just trying to make it a little easier on you."

Finn brushes some flour filled strands of hair out of your face. "Ya are the best," he says. "I promise to be easier on ya and I won't take my frustrations or anger out on ya like earlier."

His hands move up to cup your face and you say, "Take whatever you want out on me. Anger, frustrations, or whatever it is."

Finn smiles and says, "So, Christmas present?"

You laugh and say, "Relax, Finn. We still have to get cleaned up. Showered and changed because I'm not eating a meal with you while you're covered in flour."

His hands leave your cheeks and he says, "Then let's go get showered and changed."

You smile and say, "I have to finish getting everything ready for dinner. I'll shower later."

Finn pouts and he says, "Come on, mo gra. Come shower with me." He smiles trying to convince you to come with him.

"Finn, I have to get dinner ready," you say. "If I don't make dinner now then it won't be ready before dinnertime. And I have things planned for later."

Your boyfriend sighs and says, "Dinner better be amazing since ya won't shower with me."

You giggle and say, "Dessert will be better. Now go get cleaned up."

"Fine," Finn whines, pouting as he walks off. You smile and get dinner started.

You make lasagna with a special meat sauce your mom always made. Finn takes about 45 minutes upstairs.

Dinner is in the oven and that's when you go get showered and cleaned up.

It takes a while to get the flour out of your hair. At least twenty minutes and three washes. Then you wash and shave the rest of your body.

Finn got a little dressed up for dinner so you decide to get into the dress you bought for the party tonight. It's a tight red dress. Long off the shoulder sleeves, and the skirt ends right past your butt.

You would usually wear a bra and panties with the dress, but because it's just you and Finn tonight, you decide to just go completely commando.

You dry your hair and you tie it up in a tight ponytail on the top of your hair. You smooth out the dress before walking downstairs. You go barefoot as you walk down the stairs.

Finn's setting up for dinner, his arm in his sling. He wears a white button up with black dress pants. He's wearing socks but not sneakers or any other shoe. He even put on cologne.

You smile and watch from the doorway of the dining room as he lights a few candles. That's the only light in the room, plus the light coming into the room from the kitchen and foyer.

The living room is lit up by the Christmas tree and the lights lining the fireplace. There is a fire going on the fireplace.

Finn finally looks up at you and he smiles when he sees the dress you're wearing. "Look at ya," he says, walking over to you. "Ya look stunning, Y/N."

You smile and say, "You don't look too bad yourself, Finn."

The oven starts to beep, signaling that the lasagna is done. You made meatballs to go with the lasagna and you cut up some Italian bread you bought at the store the other day. You serve the lasagna and the meatballs with the bread. You say, "Dinner is ready."

Finn sits at the table and helps himself to some lasagna. You smile and start to eat dinner.

After a few minutes, Finn says, "Ya look beautiful, Y/N. Seriously. Just seeing ya in that dress makes me feel better."

You giggle and say, "I'm glad you like it. I was going to wear it to the party tonight."

"Well I'm glad ya decided to wear it tonight," your boyfriend says. "It would have been a shame if I didn't get to see it on ya."

You smile and say, "Well now you get to see it on me."

Finn smiles and the two of you continue to eat the dinner.

After dinner, you wash the dishes. You hum quietly to yourself as you do. Finn stands behind you against the island counter in the kitchen.

As you finish up the last dish, Finn comes up behind you, putting his free hand on your waist. He squeezes gently, making you squeal a bit under his touch. "Finn!" you giggle. "Please. I'm doing the dishes."

Finn smiles behind you and says, "I can't help myself. Ya just look so good, mo gra."

You finish up and turn the water off. You turn in Finn’s arms and say, “I have a surprise for you, Finn.”

His eyes almost light up and he asks, “Christmas present?”

Giggling, you say, “I have to go get it. Wait for me in the living room.”

Finn nods and walks into the living room. You walk upstairs into your bedroom. You look through your closet for Finn’s surprise.

In a box is the surprise.

It’s a lingerie set. A sheer red top with a very low cut neck, revealing most of your cleavage. There are thin white straps on your shoulder and the neck is lined with a fluffy white fabric. The bottom of the sheer top is lined with white lace. There is a pair of almost sheer lace panties that go with the top. A thin black belt wraps around your body right under your breasts. You take the Santa hat that goes with it and put it on your head after you take your hair down out of the ponytail.

You smile and take the brace on your wrist off, throwing it by your bedside table.

Sighing, you walk downstairs. “Close your eyes Finn!” you call.

You hear him laugh and say, “They’re closed.”

After he says that, you walk into the living room. You see his eyes are closed so you stand in front of him.

Smiling, you say, “Okay. Open your eyes.”

Finn’s eyes open and his blue eyes are immediately on your body. He smiles and asks, “Is this my surprise?”

“It is,” you say, twirling around. “Do you like it?”

He gets up and he says, “I love it. Ya look beautiful. Ya can pull anything off.”

You giggle and look up at Finn. “I’m glad you like it,” you say.

Finn’s eyes are on your body and he says, “Ya always know exactly what I want for Christmas.”

“That’s because I know you very well, Finn,” you say, untucking his shirt. “And I know exactly where your mind is right now.”

He gives a little laugh and he says, “Then I assume ya know where I would rather be than right here.”

You take his hand and say, “Only if you promise to be careful and not overwork yourself.”

Finn nods and says, “I promise. Let’s go.” He walks off and you follow behind him. The two of you run upstairs and into your shared bedroom.

His lips are on yours as soon as you step over the threshold into the room. You pull off the hat and throw it to the floor.

Your fingers work at unbuttoning his shirt. He takes off the sling and you get his shirt unbuttoned.

Finn throws the sling to the floor and you pull off his shirt. You run your fingers over his abs and his fingers hook onto your straps. He pulls them off your shoulders and you pull your arms out of the sleeves.

He pulls the top down and it falls to your feet, leaving your upper body exposing to Finn. Finn’s lips attach to your neck and you sigh. “I love you,” you say.

Finn pulls back and makes eye contact with you. Your fingers have started unbuttoning his dress pants as he says, “And I love ya, mo gra.”

You kiss Finn, slowly and more passionately than the kiss you shared with him earlier. You get his pants unbuttoned as Finn slips his fingers into your panties, his fingers run through your folds. You gasp against his lips and sigh.

Gently, you push Finn onto the bed so he’s sitting on the mattress. You lean down and pull off Finn’s boxers. His semi erect member pops up against his stomach and you bite your lip as you get on your knees in front of him. You take his member in your hand and start to pump him.

Grunts and groans leave Finn’s lips as he gets harder in your hand. You soon replace your hand with your mouth. You bob your head up and down. Finn’s fingers are in your hair, grasping a bit as you move your head. You suck gently as you move, earning some groans from Finn. “That’s it, baby,” he moans. “Just like that.”

Finn’s praises motivate you and you moves faster and suck harder.

Right as Finn begins to twitch, signaling that he’s about to release, you pull back from Finn. He lets out an unintentional whine and you smirk. “Don’t worry, Finn,” you say, standing up. “I’ll take good care of you.”

You pull off your panties and Finn moves back on the bed. You crawl up to him and kiss him as you straddle his member. You slowly grind against Finn and sigh softly against the soft kiss.

Finn grips your hips and mumbles into the kiss, “If I’m not inside of ya in a few seconds, I will actually lose it.”

You giggle and push Finn onto his back. You leave kisses on his chest and you sit up. You position him at your entrance before lowering yourself onto Finn’s erect member. You sigh as he fills you up.

Once completely inside you, you begin to move your hips so he moves in and out of you.

The room slowly fills with the sounds moans coming from you and Finn. More from you than him. You throw your head back and close your eyes.

Finn’s hands are on your thighs as yours rest on his chest so you can keep your balance.

“God,” you moan loudly. Your breathing becomes labored and quick the faster you move. “Fuck, Finn.”

Finn helps you move your hips. “Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Ya move so well. Ya fuck me so good.”

His praises make you smile as you move faster. “You’re still my champion, Finn,” you gasp. “Always.”

A smile forms on Finn’s lips as you both climb higher and higher toward your orgasms.

Your walls begin to clench around him as you reach your high. “Finn!” you cry out. “I’m about to come.”

As soon as you say that, Finn moves so he’s on top of you. He’s holding himself up by one arm, his good arm, as he begins to thrust roughly into you. You moan and scream Finn’s name as he slams into your g-spot every time he moves.

It doesn’t take long for both of you to reach your climax. You come around Finn as he releases his seed into you. He falls over onto his good shoulder, pulling out of you. You smile and roll over, kissing Finn softly as you both catch your breath.

After messily making out for a few moments, you pull back and meet Finn’s eyes. You smile and ask, “Did you enjoy your present?”

Finn smiles and nods. “Always.”

“You can have your present anytime you until midnight tomorrow night,” you explain. “That’s the second part of your present. Whenever, wherever. It’s all up to you.”

Your boyfriend smiles and says, “I like that present. It’s my favorite present.”

You giggle and kiss his lips. “I hope you’re feeling better now,” you say. “About the whole relinquishing your title.”

Finn meets your eyes and says, “With ya by my side, I know I’ll get through this. I was upset about losing my title because of my injury but I realized that I never needed a title to be happy. I just need ya.”

You smile as Finn speaks. You lean in and kiss him, sparking the second round of sex that you’ll have over the next twenty four hours.

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

You’re Invited

Is Karrion Kross going to walk out of Takeover XXX as NXT champion? Given how NXT seems to be keeping their championships on heel characters (Cole, Ciampa, Bayzsler, O’Reilly/ Fish, Andrade, and even Io was technically a heel when she won) whereas babyface characters are lucky to get more than one successful defence (Gargano, Black, McIntyre, Ember Moon, Sane, Ripley, Zayn), I’d say that there’s a very high probability that we’re looking at a new champ this weekend.

So in anticipation of that, I thought it was a good time to post a fic I wrote featuring Kross and, of course, Scarlett. Mind ye the content warnings, for there is much filth to be found within.

Pairing: Karrion Kross + Scarlett Bordeaux x reader

Word count: 3,980

Content warnings: graphic sexual content

It was bad enough when all you had to deal with was hearing them but now they insist- she insists- on leaving the door at least partially open so that you get an eyeful every time you head back to your glorified cupboard at the end of the hallway. Anyone could see them, of course, and you know that others have. Even people who have no business wandering down the dimly lit passage get drawn there by the noises, the desperate moans and animal grunts that echo there every night, sometimes more than once a night. With the number of couples working at NXT and the number of gorgeous singles besides, outbursts of passion are pretty common but no two people are as proud, as horny or as crazily into each other as Karrion Kross and Scarlett Bordeaux. Their lascivious teasing in the ring is the mildest type of foreplay for them, practically Victorian compared to what they’re like backstage. They spend so much time banging each other you’re amazed they can walk, much less wrestle. Every time you notice them at the Performance Center gym, you wonder why they bother because it’s pretty clear they’re getting a more intense workout elsewhere.

Everyone is aware of what they’re like, either because they’ve “caught” them in the act or because they’ve heard the stories from half a dozen people who have. But no one’s quite as aware of it as you are because you’re the one who’s job actually requires you to walk past their shared dressing (more like undressing) room. It’s no surprise that management stashed them away in a place where almost nobody had to go. They clearly knew what they were in for and figured they’d give them what privacy they could. Unfortunately for you, you’re the “almost” in “almost nobody” and somehow every single time you shuffle or scurry past, they’re going at it like they’re in heat.

At first, you figured that they just spent every minute they weren’t in the ring or on camera fucking. It seemed possible. But lately you’ve come to realize that part of what they’re doing is for show and the show is intended for an audience of one. An audience of almost nobody.

For about the first week, you’d hear what was going on and creep past the door, shame coating you like you’d just sneezed all over yourself. You’d take extra care with your little tray of specimens as you slunk into what was fancifully referred to as your lab before you closed the door, letting it shut millimeter by millimeter so that even dogs couldn’t have heard the latch click. But somehow, she’d heard. Perhaps she could just sense you there, the weird little lab tech testing the blood and spit and urine to make sure everyone is healthy and no one was juicing. (Unofficially, you also test to make sure no one’s picked up anything communicable because with the amount of hookups that happen between employees, anything of that sort could become an epidemic in short order.)

So it wasn’t long before you found yourself making your way down the hallway with your usual mix of shame and dread only to find the two of them going at it with the door partway open, She was on his lap, riding him like she was trying to pump water out of a leaking boat, like lives depended on her success. Her back was pressed to his chest, his teeth gnashing against her milky flesh, every muscle and vein in his powerful neck defined. One of his arms was wrapped snugly around her tiny waist while he furiously manipulated her pussy with the fingers of his other hand. Snarls and growls that sounded like something rising from the dark center of the Earth emanated from him while she moaned in a perfect mix of ecstasy and desperation. She clung to the door handle with one elegant, white-knuckled hand and as her keening began to reach what you already recognized as its final stage, she tilted her head towards you and opened her eyes. She stared directly into you where you had stopped, frozen and mesmerized by what you were seeing. She hitched her hips just a little, delaying her climax a moment and giving you a good look at the size of him as he drove into her, giving you an opportunity to marvel that her petite, doll-like frame could even accommodate him. Finally, she let out a sort of yowl, loud even for her, as she shattered around him, eyes still fixed on yours. Her tongue passed hungrily over her bee-stung lips that curved into a knowing, sadistic smile. His pace, already punishing, became frantic and your natural self-consciousness overtook you and propelled you into your airless closet. You barely managed to get the box of samples you were carrying to the table before it slipped from your hands. You were gasping for air as if you were the one would been getting fucked by a wild brute, hands shaking and wondering why the hell she’d felt the need to involve you, however indirectly, in their intimate moment.

Possibly, she’d found it curious that someone as resolutely unglamorous as you had found her way into a business like this. You weren’t ugly and you liked to think that you jazzed up your unremarkably pretty features by being a little hip- shaggy asymmetrical haircut, layers of vintage clothes that exaggerated your dowdiness to the point of eccentricity. Perhaps she found you funny and peculiar and that made her curious to see how you’d react to getting a close look at their godly beauty and passion.

Perhaps she’d heard that you’d recently broken up with your wrestler boyfriend, who was way too hot to be with you to begin with, that he’d dumped your ass by telling you that he’d been banging someone else for the last four months of your seven-month relationship, and she figured that it would be fun to tease you or to remind you of where you stood on the beauty scale in this place. Maybe her bitchy character wasn’t an act.

More likely, she’d figured out that you were a captive audience and the idea of having another set of eyes on her, a witness to just how unbelievably gorgeous she and her husband were, was a turn on. Maybe she’d even calculated that someone like you was likely to have a bit of a perverted voyeuristic streak and figured that she might be able to blackmail you if she needed something from you in the future.

If that was what she’d figured, you’re embarrassed to admit how right she was. You’ve taken to bringing a change of underwear to work because seeing them leaves you soaked every time. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the way the electricity shoots through your body and once your work is done, once you’re confident you’re alone and they’ve gone, you’ve frequently taken to getting yourself off to relieve just a bit of the pressure building up inside you. You come so fast it’s humiliating, like you’ve turned into a pubescent boy, going off at the moment of contact. You don’t want to think about how much trouble you’d be in if you got caught like this, fingers buried in your pussy, thumb feverishly swirling around your clit, the room filled with filthy, slurping sounds as you give yourself that little release.

You’ve tried just slinking past the door without pausing to admire them, watching their amazing bodies writhe and smack against each other, but you can’t. The second time you saw them, he had her splayed out on a table on her stomach in front of him, massive hands curled around her thighs as he slammed into her with such force you couldn’t fathom how the table didn’t collapse, You drank in the expanse of his back, how the lines of his tattoos subtly highlighted the muscles underneath, his sculpted ass, his perfectly round balls as they slapped against her again and again, the sinful, wet sound making you dizzy. Aware that you were on the verge of collapse, you’d quickly tried to walk away but an upward shift in her mewling as you made to leave had you turning back. Her face was flat on the table, turned back so that she could see him taking her but also, although you couldn’t figure out how, so that she could see you. She wanted you there as she came, screaming, on his cock, a perfect flush creeping up her neck and onto her creamy cheeks. This time, you stayed to watch the full performance, falling back weakly against the wall. You imagined yourself underneath them, tongue working over their joined sex, the feeling of both of their juices coating your face as they cum.

While you wouldn’t characterize yourself as vanilla, exactly, the fantasies you have about being with the two of them are like nothing you’ve ever dreamt. In those fantasies, you’re the kind of person who’s bold enough to just walk in as they’re giving you their regular show, confident that this is what they’ve been wanting from you. You picture her rising to greet you, easing herself off his engorged cock and pushing you to your knees in front of him. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, she stands behind you and pushes your mouth down on him, rocking you back and forth, having you suck the taste of her off him and forcing you further down until you’ve taken all of him in, your throat constricting, tears and spit leaking from you as you cast your eyes up, wanting to know that you’re doing a good job. And the fiery look in his eyes would tell you that you are doing a very good job, and he’d give an almost imperceptible nod to her, which she understands as a sign to slide her hand between your legs, where she starts fingering you with the skill of a concert violinist. The fantasy ends as you cum, your whole body shuddering in waves that roll from the inside out, which triggers his release, the liquid pouring into your throat with such force that it backs all the way up into your mouth. Behind you, Scarlet gives a satisfied purr and pushes all her fingers inside your engorged pussy, rocking deep into you and letting you ride out the cascade of aftershocks of your orgasm.

Tonight, you’re worked even harder than usual. Not only is there the standard battery of post-match tests but you’re given a list of secondary tests done by an outside lab that need to be checked against yours. This is always a pain, lining up one set of numbers against the other, checking for inconsistencies in the columns of results. At the best of times, this is challenging because of the attention to detail required but tonight, as if she knows what you’re facing, Scarlet decides to make it even more difficult for you to think about your work.

You can hear the sounds from well off and your feet grow heavy, like you’re walking through treacle, desperately wanting to get to your safe room but knowing that you’re going to be transfixed as you always are. And she’s truly pulled out all the stops. She’s completely nude, draped over a chair, legs open wide so that you have your first clear view of her pussy, as perfect and manicured and velvety as the rest of her. She’s shockingly quiet, which is even more unnerving than her being loud, as he kneels in front of her and buries his face between her legs.

Almost immediately, she shifts so that you can have a better view of what he’s doing, his tongue swirling around her opening and then thrusting inside her, languidly at first and then with increasing force, her jaw dropping as if she’s about to scream, but only strangled sounds come out. Then she’s staring at you with a crazy, lusty expression, playing with her nipples and bucking her hips against his mouth.

“God it’s so good,” she squeals, pinching and twisting her little red orbs hard enough that you can feel a ghost pain in your own. “Fuck it’s so good.”

Her husband gives her an appreciative growl but it’s you she’s staring at when she says it. Without shifting her seductive glance, she runs her fingers down her body and gently separates her pussy lips, giving him greater access and giving you an even better view as his mouth and tongue- no less impressive a muscle than any of the others in his godlike body- work their magic on her, moving inside and out like quicksilver until she practically levitates from the chair and releases an obscene kind of howl.

He makes sure she’s good and finished before he rises, fist already pumping his impressive erection, twisting and jerking until he releases over her face and chest. Seeing her there, running her fingers over the liquid on her skin, her eyes cast lovingly up at him, and her lips, glazed with his cum, settling into a blissful smile, you think she’s the most desirable thing you’ve ever seen.

This time when you stumble back into your office, there’s no waiting, you push down your pants and your underwear and fuck yourself to orgasm three times in quick succession, your mind so full of the disgusting things you want both of them to do to you that you can hardly separate one image from the next. You lay on the floor panting and trying to collect yourself for an indeterminate period of time before you hear a strange thud against the door. It doesn’t sound like a knock but you open the door anyway, only to be greeted by Scarlet’s confident, smiling face only inches from your own.

“I’m so sorry, I tripped on my heel,” she tells you. He’s standing a few feet away, eyes zeroed in on you and smirking, confirming that he’s fully aware of what’s been going on, even if he hasn’t been as obvious about it as she has.

She keeps smiling and you see her nostrils twitch just a little, painfully aware of what scent she’s picking up. Her pink tongue flashes quickly over her lips. Then she turns and leaves without another word, murmuring something to him as they make their way down the hall, something that makes them both giggle. You don’t want to imagine what that could be.

Before you get down to the work you still have to finish, you clean and disinfect your entire workspace. You don’t have any active tests, of course, but you’re terrified that some stray molecule is somehow going to find its way into a test tube and your horrible secret will come out and everyone will know what a little pervert you are, something even you didn’t know until they showed you. It’s past midnight when you finally drop off your annotated files and slump into your car.

The next day what you see and hear in the hallway scares you half to death. Their door is closed. It’s quiet. You’ve seen their car in the parking lot, so you know they’re there but there’s no performance. You’ve been cast out. Immediately the panicked thoughts start piling up: you completely misinterpreted, nay, you imagined their interest in having you as an audience. It’s a horrifying thought and for the life of you, as you replay the images in your mind, you’ve no idea how you could have been that wrong. The best you can hope for is that they’ve only asked to be moved to another locker room and that they haven’t gone to management railing about the little freak with the office next to them.

Checking your emails, you note with some surprise that the work you submitted last night was flawless, but you’re too terrified of what might be about to happen for that to give you much relief. As you try to sort through what you have to deal with today, tears keep welling up in your eyes. You’re a weird little creep.

It’s a few hours later when he walks into your office, closing and locking the door behind him. That only ever means one thing and so you stand with your hands raised, determined to head him off at the pass and hoping he’s not going to blackmail you.

“Look, I only get numbered samples, never anything with a name. I have no idea who belongs to what, so if there’s something in any of them that’s going to get you in trouble, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

He scowls at you before speaking. “Is that seriously what you think I’m here for?”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug in response. You’ve had a half a dozen guys come to you like this, locking you in as if that can change anything, and it’s always been for the same reason. But apparently this time is different.

He casually beckons you over but you stay rooted in place, afraid once again that you’re about to be blackmailed.

“Come here,” he snaps impatiently.

“Why?”

He huffs and crosses the distance between you in two steps, his hand gripping your wrist with awesome power even though you can tell he’s not exerting himself whatsoever. He starts to pull you from behind your desk and that’s enough to make you acquiesce, scurrying around so that you’re standing in front of him, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body.

His fierce eyes bear down on you, calculating and evaluating.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

Very unsteadily, you comply, giving an undignified little squeak when he pushes you forward against the desk. Immediately, you feel the weight of him against you, holding you in place but also holding you upright as your head spins. He dips his head down so that his breath roars into your ear, condensing against the delicate skin. His hands press against your hips and he leans in further, drawing his tongue lightly up the column of your neck. You’re shaking uncontrollably, which makes him give a soft laugh. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, snaking around to the front. One ghosts down over the little ripple of fat on your imperfect belly and over your too-sharp hip bone, drifting into your panties with the touch of someone who knows he’s welcome.

“You like me too, don’t you?” he rasps.

You wonder whether he means that he likes you and knows that you like him, or that he knows you like her but that he’s sure you like him as well, but the thought disappears as he curls two long fingers into you, slowly pumping them in and out. You feel him give a knowing, almost sinister smile against your neck as he brings his other hand to your lips, pressing his fingers into your mouth. Instinctively you suckle on them, lolling your tongue over them as he mirrors what he’s doing to your pussy, needy little moans leaking from you.

“Poor little hungry baby. So fucking hungry, aren’t you?”

You nod vigorously and he picks up the speed of his fingers in your sex.

“And we’ve been so mean.” He chuckles at this and presses his thumb hard into your clit, almost enough to drive you over the edge.

Sensing how close you are, he withdraws his hand and you sob, wondering if he’s going to leave you like that. He lets you wait a beat or two, stepping back from you entirely, and you can feel his eyes on you as you tremble with need but then he hoists your skirt up over your hips, slides your panties down your thighs a little and roughly grabs your ass with both hands. He makes a low, pleased sound.

“Oh yes,” he hums, pinching the flesh hard on each cheek. Then you hear the rustle of him undoing his pants and the realization comes that, yes, the man is going to fuck you out of your misery, it’s not just more teasing.

“Take these off,” he orders, jerking at your already half-removed panties. You hurriedly comply and he immediately whisks them away from you, pushing you roughly over the desk and kicking your legs apart.

There is still some teasing left in him, you realize, as he presses the crown of his cock against your aching flesh. He drags it between your ass cheeks pressing just a little against the hole, and for a moment you’re terrified that that’s how he’s going to take you, because while you certainly don’t hate anal, you know that you can’t possibly stretch to accommodate his size, even more imposing now that you can feel it against you. Without meaning to, you let out a terrified little mewl and he laughs.

“Don’t worry, not this time baby. I know what you need.”

And with that he takes a few shallow thrusts inside you before burying himself to the hilt and beginning in earnest.

“How many times have you thought about this?” he growls, increasing his pace slowly and steadily, hand pressing down on your back to hold you still, so that each stroke hits your g-spot. His other hand connects with your clit, fingers twisting and pinching like nothing you’ve ever felt and you have to bite down hard on the fleshy part of your own hand to keep from wailing. There’s still a steady stream of whines and whimpers that escape you, sounds that seem to please him.

“You have to be quiet now but next time I’m gonna make you scream.”

You’re surprised to hear that there’s going to be a next time and you can’t help but wonder, can’t help but hope that “next time” she’ll be joining you.

“Can you cum like this?” he hisses.

“Yes,” you gasp in response as he increases the intensity of his movements.

It takes seconds only before you feel like your body turns inside out with pleasure, like you’re split open and something completely new unfurls its wings, ecstatic at being free. He keeps fucking you through it, his dark laughter sounding distant as you try to come to terms with your new body, quivering and boneless, all raw nerves and bliss. You feel your new self coalesce and contract around his cock inside you, closing around him as his orgasm follows in the wake of yours. He falls over you, bracing himself on his forearms so that he continues to hover above you. As he comes down he bites into your shoulder, forcing you to stifle a scream.

It’s a long moment, thick with the sounds of your breathing, before he pulls back and out of you. You roll yourself over against the desk, knowing that there’s no chance your legs will support you.

He gives you a cocky almost-smile as he tucks himself back into his pants, apparently amused by your helpless state. He stands silently until you awkwardly raise yourself and smooth your skirt down. Then he steps close to you and kisses you, softly and sweetly, his tongue flicking along your lips but no more, and you’re more confused than ever.

He goes to leave but fixes you with a piercing gaze before he opens the door.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to fuck her. But this-“ he gestures to you and him, “this is just me and you.”

And it’s then that you can see it: he knows that it’s her who’s seduced you, that both of you are drunk on her charms, and dangerously so. This is his little way of keeping his bearings and helping you keep yours because you’ll both be safer if you’re there to steady each other.

#karrion kross imagine #killer kross imagine #scarlett bordeaux imagine #wrestling fanfic #nxt imagine #wayward wrestle writing #karrion kross x reader #scarlett bordeaux x reader

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