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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

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chain breakers (a wrestling au) - simon 'ghost' riley

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x reader rating: 18+ summary: You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You're telling me, the new Austrian guy whipped you with a CHAIN.” You sighed and put your hands on your hips, “I'm pretty sure when Mister Price said that was going to happen you went 'sure, I can take it!', and now you're on MY couch with a fuckin' whip mark on your back.” tags: wrestling au, injuries, angst/smut/fluff, oral sex (f receiving), scar kink/worship, kitchen sex, there's a lotta smut, possessive behaviour, semi-public sex, minor violence (wrestling duh), cowgirl position, there are three smut scenes in this thing, big dick!ghost, 8k words a/n: inspired by this! if you want more wrestling content, lemme know! (this was originally supposed to be a spicy pwp, but then it got outta hand). I look at Ghost's ass and go "Itadakimasu" join the my discord (18+)

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You're telling me, the new Austrian guy whipped you with a CHAIN.” You sighed and put your hands on your hips, “I'm pretty sure when Mister Price said that was going to happen you went 'sure, I can take it!', and now you're on MY couch with a fuckin' whip mark on your back.”

”But it's all part of the-“ John started.

You held up a finger to him, “Johnny, shut up.”

He grimaced and looked to his friend, ”I can't help ya, good luck with the misuses.“ Then took it as his chance to leave before you turned your fury towards him.

The door clicked behind you but your gaze was on the man laid out on the couch. You didn't even want to see the damage done to his back. He was only hit once with the metal, but you could only imagine what had been done to your lover's back.

You approached closer, you seated yourself on the arm of the couch and reached for Simon's short hair, ”You're an idiot.“

He sighed, ”It made for a good show.“ His voice was low. He knew what he did was possibly unsafe. Wrestling may be 'fake', but the damage he came home with was very real.

You reached over and lifted the bottom of his fitting black t-shirt. The current reigning champion in the 'Modern Warfare' season, he basically had a target on his back for the other cast of characters that made up the league.

”Tell me if it hurts.“

”You could never hurt me.“ He said quietly.

You sighed, ”Simon Riley, this is not the time to play up the character. There's no one else here but us, now tell me if it starts to hurt.“

”Yes ma'am.“ He buried his face further into the pillow under his head. He soon partially lifted his body so you could get the shirt over his broad shoulders.

You held your breath as you saw the thick mark on his back. You could see every link in the chain imprinted on his skin. You were thankful that John didn't lie to you and he was only hit once.

You exhaled deeply, ”Si.“

”I'm sorry.“

You tossed the shirt to the side and got up from the edge of the couch. You were tempted to touch the bruise, but you didn't want to hurt him.

But you knew pain would come soon, ”Simon, I'm going to get you some ice. I need you to be still for me when I apply it to your back.“

He nodded, ”Thanks, love.“ Then exhaled deeply as well.

You smiled at his exposed, toned backside before you headed to the kitchen and grabbed one of the ice packs from the fridge.

You had met Simon a few years prior, the wrestling thing didn't start until two years after you got together. You encouraged him in whatever he needed to do, but to see him so hurt broke your heart.

It didn't matter how many times he or Soap or even Mister Price assured you it was safe, you couldn't help but worry. Because if something happened to your Simon, you'd be beside yourself.

You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel and brought it back to him. You returned to your seat on the couch and leaned over. You hovered the ice pack over his back and sighed, this was at least better than the military.

“Stay still, my love.” You said softly.

He hissed through his teeth, but didn't move an inch as you applied the cold to his back.

“I know, I know.” You said softly, “It hurts like a bitch every time.” You moved the ice across the length of the mark.

He groaned into the pillow and you were trying so hard to be as delicate as possible.

You stayed like that for sometime, there was no saving his back from the wicked bruise he was going to have come morning. Soon your hand was starting to feel the chill of the ice pack. For extra measure, you leaned over to his back and placed a soft kiss against his skin.

“I'll live.” He said.

“Oh, I know. I can't get rid of you THAT easily.” You remarked as you got up, “I suggest you go get ready for bed. Do you want to stay on the couch or come to bed with me?”

He pulled his head up from the pillow and his dark eyes met yours. He looked exhausted on top of being in pain. He nodded and got up, “Affirmative, love.”

You chuckled softly and gave him your hand, “Then c'mon Ghost-y, let's get you to bed.” Then led him upstairs to your shared bedroom where he could get some sleep.

He slept on his stomach, there was no way he was getting to sleep on his back. He kept his head close to your chest and held your hand while he drifted to sleep. You forced yourself to stay awake until you heard his soft snoring.

This was your man, laid out beside you in bed. Fast asleep with the promise of pain in the morning. You reminded yourself that this was all a show, but yet you still worried.

You wanted him to be alright, you didn't want Simon to come home beaten and bruised in the name of entertainment. He wasn't some show pony that could have pain inflicted upon.

But there was little you could do. He was an adult man, and could make his own choices. So you found comfort in holding his hand as you curled up next to him and finally fell asleep.

Simon was up early, but laid in bed until you woke up. You thought he was still asleep so you started to kiss his face until he started to kiss you back.

He pulled away and gazed down at you. He smiled gently, that scar that ran down the right side of his lip, paired with another one just next to his lip. You cupped his face and he leaned into your touch.

His eyes opened and he looked at you, “Good morning'.”

You smiled at him, sleep still foggy in your mind. You kissed him once more, “Good morning my all-star.”

He chuckled quietly, “Pancakes?”

You snuggled up closer to him, “I have something else in mind. Your favorite meal... Unless your back is in too much pain.” As much as you loved having your pussy ate, you needed to make sure that Simon was comfortable as well.

He nodded, “Of course.” He placed a hand on your side and trailed it down to your ass before he pulled you even closer to him and squeeze your ass, “Anythin' for ya.”

You smiled then pulled away then guided his hands to pull down the sweatpants you slept in. Then you kicked the covers off of you as you kicked off your bottoms.

Then he kissed you. But it was hot and heavy as he grabbed your ass once more. He felt the heated flesh under his rough fingertips. Your ass was impressive, but your cheeks felt small compared to his large hand that was gripping them.

He groaned, “I love how ya feel. You're fuckin' perfect. Every time I get put through hell in the ring, I always come home to my girl.” His voice was low as he massaged your cheeks. He went back in for another kiss and felt you moan against him.

You clung onto his shoulders, thankfully the injury was closer to the middle of his back. However, you had to be careful of the healing of the older bruises on his face.

The kiss was deep between two lovers as he got on top of you. He then pulled away and went down between your legs. He pulled your underwear down as well and kissed your pussy.

He looked at you from between your legs, “Now be careful, I know how you like to... kick.”

You held the pillow under your head and squeezed your thighs around his head and draped your legs over his shoulders, “I'll be a good girl.” You giggled.

He groaned against you and felt heat radiate from his core and through his body. You gasped when you felt his tongue brush against your wet sex.

“Fuckin' hell.” He grumbled against you before he took another soft lick. His cock strained in his pants, even if the aches in his body were fighting the urge to get aroused.

“I love it.” You remarked, “Shit, Simon, your tongue.” Love dripped off your tongue as he began to pleasure you at a faster rate.

“God, you taste good, love.” He grumbled before he continued to lick at you cunt. He felt your wetness got all over his lips and chin. As well as on his scar.

You thought about that scarred lip touching your pussy that a heat flooded through you. It made your face flushed at the thought. You clung onto the pillow under your head and gently rolled your hips against his face.

Your wetness soon reached all the way to the apples of his cheeks, not to mention how he was nose deep between your folds. He inhaled your musky scent and melted against the bed, even as his legs hung off the edge. The sounds of sloppy oral sex filled the air and you squirmed against him. It felt so erotic for him to be so close to you.

“Shit! Simon, fuck!” You whimpered, “That goddamn tongue.” You felt the heat in your body as the pleasure pumped through your veins. His tongue danced along your clit. His hot breath against your sex made you quiver.

“Good girl.” He said in that low voice of his. His stomach was in knots the more the pleasure you had. He got pleasure out of your pleasure and soaked in all the sounds you made. It sounded erotic as all hell, the thought that he was doing this to you got a rise out of him. He squeezed my thighs around his skull the quicker he licked your pussy. Making sure every inch was covered in his spit.

Your hands then reached down to his hair as you held onto it tightly. You yanked on it roughly as another hot feeling of pleasure raced through his body. You arched your back and moaned loudly. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest.

He practically melted against you and the bed the most he took pleasure in eating you out. His eyes shut gently and he held onto your legs as he tried to go deeper. He breathed deeply through his nose and his body was starting to heat up. He loved the taste of you on his tongue, it made his heart race at the feeling of you so close to him.

His head was starting to feel hazy with the lust cursing through his body. He groaned into your cunt and felt the most relaxed he had felt in DAYS.

“I love ya.” He said quietly before he went back to what he was doing.

The room grew hotter the more he pleasured you. The sound of his devouring you pussy whole and your accompanying noises filled the room. Two lovers getting intimate with Simon engaging in his favorite pastime.

You rocked your hips against his face. His nose was against your clit as he played with your hole. You tried your best not to kick out your legs too much and his his sore spot.

The noises you made drove him crazy. The heat in his body was amplified by those sweet noises. You sounded like a dream to him.

Your leg muscles tensed more and you gripped onto his hair tighter. Yourbody tensed as you got closer to orgasm. You panted wildly as your boyfied pleasured you like it was his sole mission on his planet.

“Shit, Simon.” You moaned loudly. You couldn't believe this was the same guy who threw other men through folding tables and put on a show almost every night. Here he was between your legs making sure that you knew who you belonged to.

That at the end of the day, you were his. And only his, there was no denying that he was quite possessive of you. He always wanted you and others to be aware that you were his and nothing was going to change that.

He was your lover, he was your soul at times. Despite all the brokenness in him. You pieced him back together and gave him a warm home to come back to. He loved you like the moon loved the sun, and you returned the love.

Those dark eyes were haunted by something, and when he was in the ring it was like he became fully possessed. And as he licked your pussy, you wondered if something else was possessing him.

You moaned loudly into the bedroom and continued to rub your clit against his nose. He groaned into your pussy and you knew he was aroused. It was plain obvious.

You'd return the favor afterwards, but for now you were trying to achieve your own climax. The heat of sex filled the room as you and your lover made love on your shared bed.

The curl of pleasure grew tighter as you felt yourself get ever so close to climax. You moaned out loud, not even trying to hide it.

“Ah! Ah!” You gasped as you felt the tension in your body the more that he pleasures you. You weren't going to last long at this rate.

“You taste so fuckin' good.' He purred the more he licked and sucked at your sex. Your muscle bound hottie of a boyfriend who could slam people down on the mat. He was between your legs and being as sensitive as he could be, he didn't want to bruise his loving girlfriend.

You moaned one last time before you let out a sharp inhale as you climaxed on his tongue. You kicked out your legs a little as you climaxed. It felt so good that it made your head spin. The euphoria of climax made your heart race as you tensed. But then you relaxed against the bed and panted wildly.

He stayed between your legs for a little longer, licking your overstimulated clit to get a few more noises out of you. The bottom half of his face shone with your wetness all over it. He was a man who devoured his lover.

You let go of his hair and laid there on the bed rapidly panting. You pushed the hair out of your face and felt the sweat on your forehead. You gazed at him still between your legs. You said, “Holy shit.”

He pulled away and looked down at you. His face was flushed with the pleasure that raced through him. His heart was hammered in his chest and his cock was painfully hard. He deeply exhaled, “I think I need a little help, love.”

Your eyebrows rose and you watched him move, you saw the full outline of his thick cock through his sweatpants. If your pussy could get any wetter it would have from the sight of his cock. You looked at him once more and opened your arms, “Well then, come and get it, Mister ghost.”

It took Simon days to convince you that the bruise wasn't as bad as it could be. Before he left for the gym after two days of you keeping him inside, he kissed you on the lips and said, ”No more chains, unless it's you and I.“

You blushed a little and pushed him away, ”Oh shush. You gave him a small smile, ”Tell Price if I see one more dangerous move, I'm going to his office to tell him off.“

He chuckled, ”I think you're the only thing that would scare him.“ He lifted his face mask over his mouth and nose before he headed to the car with his gym bag in tow.

You watched him pull out of the small driveway and head to the gym in town. You bit the nail of your thumb nervously before you headed back inside.

Your walk was a little staggered after two days of nothing but sex as a means to entice your boyfriend to stay home and not get his ass kicked once more. You knew the storyline for him in the ring, but it still didn't make you less nervous.

”Fuck.” You grumbled to yourself as you went to the kitchen to get breakfast before you headed to work. You sent him a quick text message with a bunch of hearts then put it down to grab what you needed.

That evening, you were tired after work but in an act of goodwill, John Price offered for you to come to the ring to watch Simon perform that night. You knew it was a way to prove that your boyfriend was not being beaten with a metal chain anymore.

When you got home, Simon was home. He was at the kitchen table with a plate of leftovers. You had made enough lasagna to feed the whole circuit, but Simon was greatly enjoying it.

You went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. You leaned over and kissed on the cheek, “Do I need to examine you for more bruises or?“

”Nothing' happened, love. I was a good boy.“ He smiled a little, ”Johnny did get a good slap on the bruise.“

”Do I have to kill that Scottsman?“ You asked, semi-serious.

He chuckled, ”No, love. If I need to strangle him, I will. No need to get your hands dirty.“ Simon and John were as thick as thieves, the only time they seriously did damage to one another was in the ring.

He moved the chair back to let you sit in his lap. He smiled at you, you saw how the scars on his face moved with it. You delicately sat down on his large thigh and cupped his face. His eyes closed for a moment as he relaxed into your touch.

The ultimate sign of loyalty. His devotion to you ran deep. A lot of people loved the character of Ghost, but only you loved the man under the mask. You loved Simon Riley and for the rest of time, he was thankful for that.

You kissed the corner of his mouth where the scars were and he wrapped his strong arms around you. You felt content in his grasp as you continued to kiss his face.

“How is it?”

“Perfect. I was starvin'.” He remarked before he kissed you fully on the lips, he soon pulled away and as he did so he said “I like when my wife cooks me dinner.”

You looked him in the eyes, “I'm not your wife until I see that ring.” Then gave him a playful pat on the cheek.

”Soon, love. I'll give ya all the diamonds you want." He brushed his nose up against you, “Anything for my girl.” Then kissed your neck. He exhaled deeply against your skin, “Feelin' ya against me, has me all riled up.”

You giggled, “I'm still in my work clothes.” You pulled away and looked down at him, “Unless you want them on the floor.“

He smiled up at you, ”Of course I do. I want ya naked and bent over this table.“ Those dark eyes carried lust in them, you knew how worked up he got after a day in the gym. The blood pumping did things to him, and paired with you in his lap. It didn't help in the slightest.

You got up from his lap and took off your jacket. It was simple office clothes, you worked in front of a computer most days.

You placed it on another chair by the table. It was then followed by your skirt and white button up shirt and soon you were left in your drawers. A mis-matched pair of bra and panties, and black pantyhose.

You started to take them off, but Simon reached out to stop you. He placed a hand over top of your hand and gazed up at you.

”Let me, love.“ He smiled before he pulled your hands away gently and then got up. He picked you up with ease and placed you on top of the study dining table

He admired your beauty. He had seen a lot of nice things in his life. Sunsets in Barcelona, the thick beauty of flower fields in the Netherlands, the way the sun shone over blankets of untouched snow in Russia. But never, in his entire life, had he seen something or rather someone as beautiful as you.

”Si.“

”Yeah?“

”Is everything okay?“ You asked, becoming a little self conscious at the way he was staring at you. You blushed more when he put both hands on your thighs. Even with a bit of chub to your thighs, his hands made them appear small.

He smiled at you once more before he leaned in and pulled at the pantyhouse. He felt every inch of your legs as he pulled them down. Your soft skin against his hands.

You moaned once they were off and he was back at your lips once more. The kiss was tender even as his hands worked their magic to get your bra off. He loved undressing you, it was a gift to each other.

You whimpered against the kiss as you helped him get your bra off and on the floor. You then wrapped your arms around him as you moved on the table to get closer to him.

He groaned into the kiss and held you by your bare shoulders. You looked divine, like an angel out of heaven. Sent down to make sure he was safe in the ring. His cock twitched in his loose pants.

”Fuck.“ He grumbled.

”I love you, Simon.“ You said partially out of breath as you broke the kiss, “I love you more than any woman could love a man.“ You lifted your hips off the table to help him get your panties off.

He replied as he pushed them down to your left ankle, ”I love you more than you know. If I lost you I don't know what I'd do.“ He exhaled deeply, ”If someone took you from me, I'd rip them limb from limb until they were nothin' but a bloody pulp.“

You smiled at his harsh comment, always with the violence. But you assumed that would make sense. It was Simon's whole world for a long time. Even now it was to an extent.

You cupped his face once more, ”If I lost you, Si.“ You pulled back the left side of his lip to reveal his teeth, your heart raced, ”If I lost you. I would make sure there was no peace ever again.“

He chuckled as he pressed his forehead against yours, “Boil the seas and level the mountains.” Then went in for another kiss. Hopelessly devoted to one another.

The two of you made out on the kitchen table for a while, feeling each other's warmth in the home you shared. Your heart was a rabbit's pace in your chest as you held onto the front of his shirt.

His dinner was long forgotten, he thought just this once he could have dessert before he finished his meal. His hand cupped the back of your head and he titled his back to expose more of your neck, where he laid kisses on your skin.

“I wish we had all night, I'd take ya apart piece by piece.” He growled, “See what would make ya scream.“ He chuckled softly.

You held onto his hair, feeling the soft locks through your fingers, “Next time.” As if you two hadn't spent the previous two days having sex.

Even with you sitting on top of the table, he still loomed over you. He was close to six foot three and broad. Everything about him was big, and you knew if he didn't have to shave for wrestling, he'd be hairy too.

You swallowed back the arousal of your lover's body. He was all yours, from those dark eyes to the broad muscles, to every nick and scar on his skin. It was all yours, and you couldn't have been happier.

He took a hold on your chin gently, “My girl.” Then kissed you on the lips gently. He exhaled through his nose as he felt arousal build up in his body.

You pulled away and he started to pull his shirt off. You gazed at his form with lust in your eyes as he revealed himself to you. The icing on the cake was the impressive snake in his pants.

He held his cock in his hand as you spread your legs a little further for him. He nodded his head slightly, his breathing became heavier, ”Such a good girl for me, ya know exactly how I like you. Legs spread open and ready to take me all.“

You nodded and leaned back on your hands to keep yourself steady. You felt so exposed to him as you said there bare in front of your lover. Your cheeks felt hot as he closed the gap between you two and hooked one of your legs around his waist.

”Fuckin' amazin'.“ He purred as he slotted his cock inside of you. The stretch made you clench and he soaked in your sweet sounds. Divine.

He pressed his forehead up against you and got your other leg around him. He held you by the hips, feeling your softness against his rough hands, and started to thrust his hips. He rocked your body back and forth onto his cock.

”That's it, that's my girl.“ He groaned, ”If anyone ever tried fuckin' you like this. I'd kill 'em.“

You giggled and then wrapped your arms around him. You laid back onto the table with him close to you. Your bodies moved together, two pieces meant to fit together. You replied, slightly out of breath, “Like I'd ever fuck another man after you. It would be a vow of celibacy if you left.”

He chuckled, “I'm not goin' anywhere. You're stuck with me, love. Until the earth explodes. You're my girl till the end.”

You moaned, “Please, Simon.” You clung onto him as he thrusted his hips against you. His cock hitting all the sweetest parts of you. The space between you felt hot from the friction of your movements. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Yeah, that's it. That's my girl. Beg.” He panted.

“Please, Simon. Give it to me. I want you to fuck me until I can feel you for days after.” You panted, you felt sweat begin to stick to your back.

You squeezed your thighs around his hips and leaned your head back. You gazed at the far wall of the kitchen. For a moment you realized that you hadn't closed the blinds on the kitchen window.

For a moment you wanted to close it. But there was no way Simon was going to let you get out of his grasp before he finished you both off. You were pinned under him until you were screaming.

Your hands went to his shoulders, you dug your nails into his back as he loved.The pleasure made you see stars when he his against your cervix.

Part of you was surprised that he could even fit inside of you.

You held onto him tightly and rocked against the table. Having a house with him was much better than when he was roommates with John. You swore there were some times when the Scotsman wanted to kill Simon for being so loud at such strange hours.

Now the two of you could be as loud as you needed to be. Your back arched when he picked up the pace and you tighten your legs around him. He leaned over you, hands spread on the table above your head as he drilled his cock into you.

“Ya like that, love?” He asked, his lips so close to your ear. He sighed happily as he felt your cunt clench around his cock.

You nodded, “Yeah, fuck. Yeah.“ You dug your nails into his back and he hissed from the feeling.

“Fuck, you're perfect.“ He chuckled as he dipped his head down to your neck once more. What little restraint he had was gone and he started to kiss at the soft flesh. But soon they turned into his blunt teeth digging into the skin on your neck. Which left behind a wake of purple bruises.

Of course he had to mark you up before the match. He held onto the table for support but moved one hand to your left breast and started to knead at it. His rough hands on sensitive flesh almost made you kick out your legs.

”Fuck!“ You whimpered.

He groaned, “That's it, love. Get tighter around me, fuckin' milk me dry.” He panted against your hot skin and felt hot all over. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back as he continuously thrusted into you.

“Please, ah, Simon!” You gasped.

He sealed his lips against yours once more and continued to massage your breast. It was a combination of pleasure and pain, a world you were far too familiar with.

“My girl.” He whispered against your heated skin. He could feel your pulse as he ruined your neck. Good luck covering the damage he made.

You retaliated by leaving nail marks on his muscular shoulders. He really was perfect, the kind of man who made your heart race. He was a beast in the ring, but with you he was something completely different.

His devotion was undying, his love was unwavering. You were his as he was yours. Intertwined till the end of days.

And you were content with that.

“Please.” You gasped. The pleasure was becoming unbearable. It wasn't long before you were a moaning mess on the table, barely making coherent words.

And Simon thought that was the most arousing thing he had ever seen. It only fueled him to keep going. Soon you were practically a ragdoll under his touch. A toy to fuck and bring to climax.

You panted rapidly and let out a sharp noise as you held onto him tightly and climaxed. It felt like a shock to your system as you finished. It shot wired your brain and then you went laxed against the table with your hands spread out on the table. Your bare chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to use your tongue to form words.

Simon smiled to himself as he pulled away. He grabbed your legs around his waist and pulled them so your ankles were at his shoulder and with the new position, he took you blissed out to achieve his own orgasm.

He bullied your pussy for a lack of a better word. He felt your tightness around his hardened cock as kept thrusting. He maintained eye contact. He even noticed how your tongue was partially sticking out as you gasped for air.

“Droolin' little girl.” He chuckled, 'Fuck your brains out.“ He admired his work as he felt himself experiencing bliss. His thrusts were quick and short with machine precision.

He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand as he continued. He grunted as his cock touched the deepest parts of you. It felt like he was in your stomach.

”Fuck, love. He groaned as he gave one last hard thrust and finished inside of you. He relaxed a little and let out a small noise as he felt a headrush, “FUck.” He panted.

He pulled out and had to sit down on the nearby chair to pull himself together. It wasn't that his body was exhausted, it was the sheer force of pleasure tickling a part of his brain that made him partially dizzy.

He patted your leg that was dangling over the kitchen table and nodded. He exhaled deeply, “Oh yeah, good girl.“

You slowly propped yourself on your elbows and looked at him. Your chest was still rapidly rising and falling, “I don't think I could ever get bored of this.”

He chuckled and leaned over to kiss your thigh, “Good to know. I'd hate for my girl to get tired. I only wanna see her worn out after I fucked her.” He got up, “C'mere, love. Let's get some dinner in ya.”

“As if I'm not full already.“ You remarked, coming back to your senses. You were able to sit up properly as Simon dressed you so you didn't have to eat dinner with cum leaking out of you.

He rubbed your head before he helped your back in your bra, “Sadly, my swimmers won't keep ya full during the match.“ Then kissed your cheek.

You chuckled, ”God, don't call them that.“ Once partially dressed you managed to be able to get onto your feet. You gave him one last look, ”Cut me a slice of the leftovers, I'm going to change into something more comfortable.“

As you started to wobble your way upstairs, in a moment of cheekiness, Simon reached over and slapped your ass. You turned your head to look at him.

You saw that look in his eye, the look he got when he was a man possessed. You reached over and slapped his ass in return before you headed to your bedroom. Two could play at that game.

Simon may have been the precious boyfriend who came home to you every night. But when you headed to the location of the match, you saw something change in him as you got through the door.

The Ghost was out to play.

And in tonight's match, he was going to defend his title. No one was taking his title of the Champion of the Modern Warfare Season. You took his hand for a moment after you got through the front door.

He looked down at you, and you looked up at him in return. The bottom half of his face was covered as you couldn't make out a lot of his expression. But you've gotten pretty good at reading his eyes.

He wanted to win. Even if the match was decided, his goal was to put on this most convincing show he could.

You smiled, and you brought his hand to your lips. You held his hand facing up and kissed the inside of his wrist. Your kiss lingered, then you closed his palm and held it close to your chest.

”If that fucking Austrian comes near you again, I'm going to beat him with a chain.“ You promised.

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the material of his mask against the top of your head, ”No need, love. Just Soap and I tonight.“

You pulled away, ”Good. Go put on a good show.” Then winked at him before you turned away to go find your seat up at the front.

He watched you walk away, his eyes were on your backside. He rolled his shoulders then turned away to the changerooms to get ready for the match.

Ghost was a fighter, he wasn't the flashiest performer, but he made for a good 'heel'. The masked wrestler knew how to throw his body and as a result held the title of champion.

“How's the lass?” John asked as he took off his jacket.

“She's well. Behavin'.” Simon remarked.

John laughed, “Oh silly Ghost, you don't have her on a leash. She has YOU on a leash.” He went over and slapped his friend's back, mindful of the bruises, “Surprised she didn't tear ya limb from limb when she saw this mess.”

Simon took off his face mask and looked over at the other man, “There's a reason why I wasn't at the gym for two days.”

John nodded, “Whipped man.” He laughed before he went to change.

Simon opened his locker, on the inside part of the door were a few photos of you. He smiled to himself as he threw his clothes into the locker.

The match was the highlight of the evening. Simon spent most of the evening lingering around backstage. He shared a shot of tequila to calm his nerves with John, he forgot how much he hated the stuff.

The announcer called out his name, he got up from the folding chair and grabbed his championship belt and headed to the ring.

Per usual, the crowd booed him as they did for most heels. He smiled under his mask and held the belt over his head. He caught you staring at him, practically the only person cheering him on.

John was soon called on stage as well. And the two looked like they were going to exchange a friendly shake of hands, before Simon went in for the punch.

Let the match begin.

Simon used to think that wrestling was real, when he'd watch pay-per-view matches when he was in ROTC as a young man. But now he thought anyone who thought wrestling was a hundred percent real were idiots.

He was an actor, an actor who got hit over the head with a folding chair by his good friend. He hit the mat but got up before John could jump off the ropes.

The two men flipped between who was on the floor of the ring and who wasn't. At one point John had him in a headlock, but an elbow to the face allowed Simon to get out from under him.

At one point John stomped on the bruise from the chain and Simon cursed to himself. But the crowd was going wild for the display of violence. He did get his revenge by throwing John to the mat and throwing an elbow drop onto him.

He could hear John swear and wheeze from the pain.

“Ya think you're that good, Ghost.” John asked, his accent grew heavier the more they brawled.

Simon nodded his head. He didn't speak much when he was in the ring. It was all part of the act. Both men threw themselves at one another and scrambled for dominance.

But soon Simon slammed John's head against the mat and held him down there. He said, “Give it up, Soap. You'll never win this.” He made his voice purposely deeper.

That was the word that their little performance was done. And in John's opinion, he was beat.

The referee counted down and at ten, John goes laxed on the mat. The bell rang and the match was over.

Simon got up from being on top of John and grabbed the belt from the referee. He held it over his head and the crowd booed.

To be a heel meant having thicker skin. The crowd would never cheer for him, no matter how many times he defended the title.

But he licked the blood from the corner of his lip under his mask and made eye contact with you. You smiled at him as you clapped for him.

You were just thankful that he wasn't beaten with a chain AGAIN. You blew him a kiss and laughed, he may be the ghost of the ring but he was you Simon.

Simon headed to the changeroom. He winced as he got a good look at the boot print on his back. Fuckin' Scotsman.

He knew you were going to have to get some ice packs ready when you both got home. He took off the mask and placed it on the counter in front of the mirror.

He noticed a cut on his cheek,the blood had mostly dried but there was a big bruise forming around it. He sighed, you weren't going to like that.

“Oh God.” He groaned as he stood under the spray of the shower. He braced both hands against the tile as he stretched out his body. He rolled his shoulders under the hot spray of the water.

“How ya holdin' up?” He heard John ask.

He looked over and pushed wet hair out of his eyes, “Been better. Ya didn't have to kick my bruise.“

John chuckled, ”It was in the routine before you got whipped.“ He pulled away from the tiled wall, ”I think yer girl wants to see ya. She wants to make sure her big bad Ghost is okay.“ His chuckle turned into a laugh.

Simon narrowed his eyes, “Still, you could've moved it a little.“ He turned off the tap and went over to where his towel was.

John shrugged, “Got a rise outta the crowd.”

“Fuckin' Scotsman.” Simon said as he went to grab his clothes.

John laughed, “I'll go get yer girl.” Then headed back towards the exit of the changeroom.

Simon took his time drying off. He was always achy after a match. He got lost in his thoughts as he dried his face and hair. It wasn't until he felt a familiar touch that he came back to reality.

“Hey, Ghost.” You said.

He pulled the towel away from his face and looked down at you. The corners of his mouth curled at the sight of you. He dropped the towel and turned to you.

You gazed up at him, without thinking you reached out and touched the cut on his face, “Simon.”

“I know.” He said, ”He knows how to throw a punch.“ He leaned down to kiss you gently on the forehead. He watched you wrap your arms around him and he placed a hand on your upper back.

”The match was good, you did a great job keeping your title. You really are the best.“ You chuckled, ”I hate seeing you get hit in the face though, but... I'll live.“

He kissed you again,”Thought about ya the entire time I was in the ring. Knowing my number one fan was watching.“ He chuckled.

You leaned up to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was hot, your smaller hands grabbed onto his strong biceps. You really were so much smaller than him. As the kiss deepened, he held your chin and tilted your head back.

”I hate to admit it.“ You said as you pulled away, ”I find it hot when you punch the lights out of someone.“

He chuckled, “I knew that a long time ago.”He stepped back and sat on the bench. He spread his legs, “We have about ten minutes.” He knew exactly what you were thinking of.

You chuckled, ”Perv.”

He leaned up against the metal of the lockers, the cool surface against his bruises made his lip twitch, “Only for you, love.”

“Aren't you a sweet talker.” You went over to him. You sat down on the bench beside him and got your shorts off, and then your panties, “So enough chit chat and lets get going.”

Simon's cock twitched. He was definitely a shower. You touched it carefully and he quickly grew hard. You watched his face grow hot as you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him.

You looked in his eyes as you rubbed your pussy up against the tip of his cock, “Think you'll last nine minutes?”

He replied, “You always make me cum fast, maybe I'll get two loads in ya.” Then hissed through his teeth as you sank yourself onto his cock.

“God.”

“It's Simon, love.” He chuckled as he rested his head against the locker behind him. His hand gravitated to your hips and started to roll his hips in time with your thrusts.

It was risky to do in the changeroom, but Simon was certain every performer brought their catch of the week in here after a match. The only difference was that you had been Simon' girl for some time now.

Your bodies moved together. Simon's hands dug into the meat of your hips and he leaned into you to kiss you deeply. The thrill of sex after the thrill of a match only made him more erect. He was obsessed with you, he thought you were God's gift to him.

He pulled away slightly and gazed at you, “You're mine. Got it? I don't give a shit who says otherwise. If any guy tries to get between us, I'll fuckin' kill 'em.” He panted.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and gazed into his dark eyes, “That's assuming any man would come near me.” You rolled your hips more, “No man shines a light to you.” You yanked on his hair a little, “You are the most impressive man I've ever seen. I only want you, Si.“

He groaned, ”I love you.“

You pulled his face close to yours, ”Not as much as I love you.“

He dug his blunt nails deeper into your hips, ”You're mine, love. And I'll fuck ya every day to remind you.“ He kissed up at your neck, over the bruises he had left earlier.

You had sex earlier that evening and here you were fucking one another once again. Love ran hot between you two.

”Shit.“ ”Fuck.“ ”Simon, PLEASE.“ Were shared between you two as you thrusted your bodies together like a pair of horny rabbits.

”Mine.“ He groaned.

You held onto his shoulders and bounced on his cock the more you put your full force behind your movements. You felt sweaty all over, your heart was pounding and you felt the shivers of pleasure through your body.

”Fuckin' obsessed with you. Want you until the day I die. You're my girl. My everything.“ He panted. He gritted his teeth and soon held onto the edge of the bench to let you ride him.

”Ah, shit.” You moaned, “You feel so good.” You panted, “Who allowed you to have such a big fuckin' cock.” You pushed the hair out of your face as you continued to move your hips against him.

“Made just for you.”

“Oh shush.” You giggled as you continued to rub up against him. You felt your heart thump in your chest. You clung onto him as you moved your hips against him. It was so arousing for you to be so close to him.

He pressed his forehead up against you and held onto you tightly once more as he thrusted up into you. He felt heat in his body as you fucked against one another.

“You're so fuckin' hot.” He said.

“Not as hot as you. Punching Johnny in the face and throwing him down to the ground. It is almost funny. But there's something hot about that.“

He chuckled, ”Yeah, you like when men beat each other up?”

You kissed him once more, then when you pulled away you answered him, “Yes.” As you thrust your hips, you practically bounced on his cock.

Pleasure raced through both of you as the two of you fucked in the middle of the changeroom. He found your movements so erotic, his eyes for a moment were on your breasts.

How they looked under the over-sized shirt you wore. His name was printed on it. He felt proud of himself, of his girl wearing his shirt. That you'd always be his number one.

Soon your lips were against his again. You held onto his strong shoulders tightly as you rolled your hips. You panted into the kiss and you could hear his chuckle against you.

“Please.” You moaned.

He grabbed onto your ass, feeling the soft flesh. You moaned into his mouth from the pressure that he was putting on your ass as his cock slid in and out of your pussy.

You pulled away and held onto his shoulders. You put all of your energy into it. Your mouth hung open as you gasped for air. You felt the electricity of pleasure course through your body.

“Aw, fuck.” He panted. He landed a hard smack on your left cheek. He then groaned against you as he thrust his hips up into you to get further into your pussy.

You felt the urge to orgasm come closer. You held onto your lover's hair and continued to move against him. You felt your heart hammering in your chest. It wasn't long before you felt the urge to climax. You kept up the pace you were working with and your legs started to feel like jelly.

You felt love for Simon, you took in the scent of him. The Old Spice he was content with. You leaned in and kissed the top of his head. You inhaled and moaned as you continued to rut against him.

It didn't take long before the two of you finished. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you rode out your orgasm while Simon had to bite his fist.

He painted your insides white and you went limp against him for a moment, He then stroked your back and slowed down till he stopped. He wrapped those strong arms around you and kissed the side of your head.

“That's my girl.” He said with his voice steeped in devotion. He kissed you once before he slowly got you off his cock. He looked at you as you put your shorts back on.

Your eyes met, you reached out and touched the scar on his face. He could see the love in your eyes. He may have lived many different lives before you. But this was the one that he loved the most.

You were his home.

xoxo, bunny

#bunny writes #cod ghost #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #wrestling au

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mew-ya · 8 months

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wrestling au??

#katakuri #maren #katamaren #luchadore katakuri #wrestling au #mew doodles

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vicsy · 8 months

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maxiel wrestling au ✨ 2.7k words that boinked me in the head cause i miss the good old days.

The new guy is way too green to be fit into a match right before the main event and Daniel voices his genuine concern with zero hesitation. It's his reputation at risk. Christian claps him on the shoulder assuredly, paints the guy — his name is Max and he goes by Super Max until creative will have something to do with that, fuck's sake — in the brightest colors. Tries to make a sell, a corporate rat in and out of the ring.

And the thing is, the new guy is sort of gloomy, doesn't smile much even when Daniel offers his signature greeting. He's not a fucking asshole, he won't tell a rookie to go to hell for that. They've all been there, first day jitters and all. But, man, this new guy. Something is off about him.

His ring gear, for starters, and Daniel shouldn't be the judge since his mom made him his first ill-fitting set back in Australia when Daniel was seventeen and scrawny, fresh-faced with crooked teeth and the energy of three hundred power plants. So, yeah, it's bad wrestling etiquette or whatever but the outline of a lion in the middle of the rookies' — sorry, Max's — ass is… something. The blue and gold shorty shorts fit alright, though, Daniel does give them an appreciative look. He prefers pants and shin guards, that's all.

And, shit, looks like this Super Max, for crying out loud, designs his gear himself, judging by this very self-indulgent print. People are gonna tear him to shreds, like vultures; crush his spirit, knowing how this biz works when you're twenty-five and still wide-eyed, full of dreams of making it big, becoming the next Shawn Michaels or The Great Senna.

Max is surely no wrestling royalty, no Rosberg or Flair or Schumaher. His dad was some midcarder in the late eighties back when FWF was at the cusp of breaking viewership records. And, surely, Max is a texbook continuation of his father's unfulfilled hopes. Daniel can read it in the way Max held himself, in the way his arms fidget when he talks and beside him Christian nods, proud, like it was his son making his big screen debut.

Daniel wonders, why him. Putting Max against younger guys would have been more plausible. Putting a company rookie against an established champion definitely seemed like a choice.

"Don't forget that I make the calls, Daniel," Christian says, the finality in his voice clear as day when Max steps away to put his signature on a contract for the night. Then the suit-and-tie fucker gives him a cunning little smile and Daniel swallows a witty response stuck on the tip of his tongue. "Besides, he asked very, uh, insistently to pair you two up. How could I have been in the right mind to say no to the future of wrestling wanting to take on one of the crowd favorites?"

Well. Fuck. Daniel would know how, being an absolute gem on the mic but nobody's asking, so he's shit out of luck in that department. And currently booked in match with a guy who apparently admires him. Same height and, what? Eight years younger? Daniel tries not to read it as a sign for retirement.

They settle on a cage match and, surely, it means essentially throwing Max into the deep end from day one but his eyes shine eagerly and he goes on a tangent, dissects the match step by step as if he's been running with the FWF for as long as Daniel did. Ten fucking years, thank you very much, and he knows damn well how to put on a show without some jobber — alright, sure, Daniel isn't supposed to squash him but still — running his mouth with a wrestling for dummies kind of talk. But Max didn't look like the same person who glowered at Daniel minutes before. He seems like someone who loved wrestling with all his being, lived and breathed the craft, came alive with the sound of the bell, the boos and cheers; the bruises and tore muscles, broken bones and bittersweet victories.

"We doing the spot?" Daniel interrupts but in good nature, stretching his shoulders one by one, wearing a lazy smile to hide his annoyance. He half expects Max to refuse, back out of it. Wouldn't blame him, really. "Top of the cage, before the bell."

"Of course," Max answers too quickly, voice croaky, his chin lifted high as if Daniel offended him. Doubted him on the spot; doubted his hunger to make a name in the biggest wrestling federation known in the world. "It's a cage match after all. We have to make a good show."

We, huh? Perhaps the kid knows a thing or two.

"Yeah, cool," Daniel tugs his Beats on, cues a special playlist in a pre-match ritual. "See ya in the ring, Super Maxy-Max."

He walks off to warm up as the show begins but not before noticing a sudden blush on Max's pale cheeks, his chest puffing with a response that he breathes out in a language Daniel can't place. He bounces around backstage, high-fives miserable-looking Charles on his way from the ring. His chest is streaked with red lines. Poor guy took the brunt of Fernando's chops. Daniel could still hear his music playing as he celebrated a win accompanied by heartfelt boos of the crowd. Eh, fucking marks.

Daniel makes a point of not acknowledging Max at gorilla position, adjusting his shockingly colourful ring gear instead, slinging the FWF championship belt over his shoulder. It's childish to use it as a shield and Daniel is the nicest guy to his core, cross his heart, but the wrestling biz is cutthroat. And even Max's music is not on par with the standarts when it plays after Daniel finished making his way to the ring, greeted the crowd and sent the shirt he wore flying towards the grabby hands of his faithful fans. They are, truly so, booing loudly along with the generic entrance song, letting Max feel their disdain from the start, not letting him mistake it as a warm welcome. Not against their favorite Badger.

And yet, Max's face remains blank. The way he slowly removes his own t-shirt and neatly leaves it on the side of the ring pulls a chuckle out of Daniel. God, he's so spectacularly green.

Simply on the grounds of Daniel being a fucking face, he reaches his hand out after the bell dings and the metal cage above them descends agonizingly slow, inviting Max to lock up; a class act. Max knocks his hand away, expression scrunched in a mask of disgust. Daniel takes every assumption he made back; they're about to have a grand ol' time.

Max's style is a bit choppy but he doesn't strike Daniel as a high-flying type. Mostly old school moves, orchestrated to a precision not every rookie has. They exchange a couple of blows and Daniel takes initiative for the time being. He ducks away from a spear and Max hits the turnbuckle shoulder first, turning with a grimace of pain. He doesn't oversell, a great fucking sign for them both, and Daniel bounces off the ropes to deliver a flying knee to the side of Max's jaw. He takes it magnificently, falling to his knees completely unbalanced.

Maybe, just maybe, he owes Christian the benefit of the doubt. At very least, their styles are a match, perfect opposites to elevate each other's strengths. Max's brawler against Daniel's technician; a study of contrasts between the brawn and the showmanship.

He ends up putting Max in a figure-four smack dab in the middle of the ring so he can’t reach for the ropes to save himself and, shit, he sells so wonderfully that Daniel's mind wanders. There is something in the bend of Max's neck, in the strength of his entire figure — built but limber, writhing under Daniel's scrutiny, completely at his mercy. The give Max's body begs to be molded in his hands and, suddenly, a startlingly clear image surfaces at the back of Daniel's mind. Tag matches turning into tag titles, titles turning into a betrayal to feed the storyline; and then the redemption arc.

Then, a reunion. Full circle. Squared circle.

It's breathtaking, in truth. The easy push and pull, the synergy buzzing in the air between them, Max struggling out of the submission hold to pin Daniel's shoulders against the mat. A brash fucking attempt for a pin; he kicks out at one and rolls some distance away, eyeing Max to add to the dramatic of their unlikely clash.

The crowd goes wild. Daniel stretches his lips in a smile, sharp like the jagged edges of the glass they pour out for hardcore matches. He catches himself thinking that he'd go for one with Max. Maybe just to see those lips bloodied, returning his smile tenfold.

Time's almost out, the referee lets them know discreetly. Daniel lets Max turn the tide, drive him head first into the wall of the cage, hitting through the ropes with a clang. Daniel's head gets beaten against the turnbuckle, his back slammed against the mat with a perfectly executed chokeslam and the crowd gasps with sympathy. Max busies himself with prying the gate of the cage open, acting the heel part eerily well as Daniel catches his breath, sells Max's beating appropriately, without an overkill.

He pulls Daniel outside of the cage, outside the ring, dragging his face against the barricade towards the commentator table. Max makes sure to interact with the crows, give them an opportunity to hate him, call him names. Something akin to adoration swells in Daniel's chest; he doesn't understand where it's coming from and then Max clotheslines him hard and he crumbles onto the floor lined with thin mats.

Good move, that. Suits the set up right.

Max almost throws a middle finger to the crowd and starts climbing the side of the cage with a single intent, much to the horror of the arena. Yeah, real fucking marks but Daniel wouldn't have it any other way. He counts to thirty in his head, sprawled flat on his back near the commentator table, having one of their tiny screens jammed in his midsection before by Max's enthusiastic efforts. He counts and follows the lines of Max's body, the broadness of his shoulders and the paleness of his skin. It makes Daniel's mind wander anew, in a direction it shouldn't, not in the middle of a high-risk match.

The crowd gets antsy, urging Daniel to get the hell up, and so he does, Max halfway up on the cage, unknowing, with a sinister plan of his own. His muscles protest but it's hardly anything new. Daniel manages to catch up to Max in a flurry of adrenaline-addled motion, reaching up to hook his hand in Max's ridiculous shorts. Max looks down at him, expression purely shocked to satisfy the crowd and Daniel counts again as he tugs. Once, twice.

It's never pleasant, plummeting down and straight onto the commentator table. It breaks with a horrible sound under Max's back and he lies there, unmoving, the commentators standing not far away, still doing their job. Daniel hangs onto the slippery metal of the cage, listening to the crowd yelling and frothing at the mouth for him to do the thing they all came here for. He raises one hand and pumps his fists in the air twice, eliciting a reaction that makes his mind go into an overdrive.

He takes a breath, bending his elbow for his signature move and jumps.

The Ricciardo Special lands beautifully on Max's midsection, making him yelp and seize from the pain. Daniel is so used to hitting the ground this way but the calmness that comes hand in hand with the fall is forever unsettling. Max breathes raggedly underneath him, limbs akimbo and his eyes half-shut, eyelashes fanning his splotched cheeks. From Daniel's point of view he looks like someone gave him a fuck of a lifetime. The sight makes Daniel's heart skip.

In the wreckage at the ringside, the perpetual hunger Daniel left unsated stirs impatiently, awakening from a famished slumber.

Max's body under his own feels like it belongs; feels like a missing piece finally fitting. It hits Daniel like a freight train, the all-encompassing normalcy in the midst of controlled chaos.

He squeezes Max's wrist twice in a silent question, their limbs tangled together on the broken bits of the table. Max's fingers twitch against his hold — yes, I'm okay.

And the show goes on towards the long-awaited climax.

It takes Daniel thirty seconds to peel Max off the floor by the back of his neck, squeezing tight and roughly hauling him back inside the cage, rolling them both into the ring. It's a whole ordeal, his body exhausted and Max matches him there, too, playing the beaten to the pulp heel as if he's been doing it since he learned how to walk. Daniel drags him to the middle of the mat again, admiring the pliancy with which Max follows. There's a persistent ringing in his ears and an electric shock wracks through him when he gets his hand's on parts of Max's body he managed not yet to touch, no resistance as he bends him in half, Daniel's palm sliding against the sweaty skin under Max's knees. The referee appears next to them, slamming his palm against the mat.

One. Two.

And when Max eats the pin like he's supposed to, like they've settled in the pre-match booking with Christian, Max's prominent mouth pressed into a thin line making Daniel think who the fuck does this jobber think he is, all the sounds of the packed arena rush into his ears as the bell rings and the cage finally lifts, freeing them. The crowd erupts and Daniel rolls over onto his back, gulping air, Max's arm pinned under him, sweaty skin sticking together. His music hits like a fucking tornado; another win sequred under his belt but all Daniel can muster at that moment is to turn his head against the stiffness in his neck, catching Max's gaze already trained on him. Mouth open, chest rising up and falling so rapidly Daniel seems to lose his breath again.

Or perhaps it's the shine in Max's eyes, their color clear-blue like the spotlights above. Daniel finds it hard to look away and he desperately needs to drag himself to his feet, clutch the championship belt to his chest, an assurance of his stature; something solid to hang on to.

Max asked to wrestle him first. Daniel grasps at the foreign feeling blooming behind his ribcage.

His win doesn't feel like one. Not with Max suddenly so close to claiming a space for himself, claiming what's his and he's so damned good it scares Daniel momentarily. But the fear dissipates as quickly as the pain does when someone lands a chair shot just the right way. A satisfying kind of pain. With a slight twitch of his mouth, Max is the first to move away, further to the ropes. The skin of his back is angry red, the mess of moles speckled with blood where the impact from the commentator table scratched and tore into his flesh.

Max rolls off the ring and limps up the ramp, holding his ribs gingerly. He turns when the referee raises Daniel's hand and he manages to straighten the other one with belt in it, showing it off as you still got it echoes in a thousand voices. For the first time he doesn't revel in the outpour of love and adoration, the crowd clapping and chanting his name. He doesn't look them over with a smile and his chest still feels caged, much like he and Max were moments ago, locked in what wasn't just a match.

Something snaps; something ends. Daniel feels the shift clear, like the Earth tilting on its axis taking him with it and leaving Max standing still, his scuffed, golden boots rooted firmly to the ground. The weight of the championship belt turns laden, drags Daniel deep into the uncharted waters as he stares Max down, challenging and unabashed, blood thrumming with adrenaline. The bundled tightness in his chest lingers and lingers and lingers.

A corner of Max's mouth quirks up, eyes crinkling; no real malice behind them, just an answer to a soundless call, a promise for more.

Daniel feels like he's the one plummeting down from the cage, from the top of a tower he built in his own name, not with stone but with blood, sweat and tears. Max follows suit, crashing into him without reservation, raw talent and blunt force, the soft edges of him breaking through skin and bone going straight for the heart; straight for the pin.

The count follows, inescapably.

In his mind, Daniel doesn't kick out.

#vicsy writes #maxiel #waves hands vaguelly #this is very poorly put together and i haven't written so deliriously in months #serves me right to remember that wrestling is my first love #daniel/max #maxiel fic #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #f1 rpf #333 #apologies for all the fucking mistakes I surely missed #i just need to get it all out #wrestling au

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bongwater777 · 6 months

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a misc compilation of some of my volkov AUs from over the years, names of the AUs are in ID

#doodles #mgs #metal gear solid #volgin #raikov #volkov #tretij rebenok #revolver ocelot #young volgin #old raikov #blood #family au #occult au #age swap au #zombie au #wrestling au #elemental au #the fact that this isnt even all of them.... lol

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kevinraganit · 9 months

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Gjallarhorn and her 16 “wolves” behind the scenes.

Fun 41 minute morning sketch. Color of puppers not yet finalized.

Name of the Sunglasses bean is Orange Cassady.

Plus: Their local veterinarians are Saladin and Jolder 🙂

#destinythegame #destiny2 #destiny2art #destiny 2 art #destiny 2 wrestling #destiny2wrestlingau #puppies #wrestling au #wrestling #conceptart #gjallarhorn

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batneko · 11 months

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Another thread I wrote on twitter a while back.

Wrestling au: Saitama was never formally trained in sport wrestling, but he taught himself from books and videos. Nobody believes he wasn't at least on a high school team because he's just that good.

On the indie entertainment wrestling circuit he made up a pretty generic character. Good guy, friend to children, wrestles for the love of the "sport." But somehow the audiences always turn on him, and he's openly advertised as a heel whenever he doesn't write his own copy.

Mumen has nearly the exact same character but he's universally beloved despite being a jobber. He shows up and gets his ass kicked to show how tough the latest heel is before they're challenged by the local face. Once he and Saitama had a tag-team. It's still circulated online.

Genos actually started off as a heel but he's so damn pretty that it didn't stick. He was a little disgruntled about that - especially since he's disabled and wanted to show he can be a heel without being a stereotype. He's been Saitama's fan for years and wanted to fight him.

Faces CAN fight each other, of course, but it's not the same. He wanted Saitama to really GIVE IT TO HIM. Beat him until he begs to tap out. Mop the ring with him.

Genos has not unpacked these desires.

Once he's revamped as a babyface (it doesn't take much, even his cold perfectionist persona gets to stay) Genos is so popular he doesn't have to travel much. Local shows are built around him. New fish are on waiting lists just to be defeated.

Saitama, on the other hand, travels all the time. His best feature according to the managers is that he doesn't have a dayjob and is always free to fill in. Despite living in the same city, he and Genos rarely cross paths.

Genos's manager (Kuseno) pretty quickly figured out the link between Saitama and shows Genos wants to take part in. He follows Saitama's social media so he can anticipate those requests. Genos honestly thinks it's a coincidence and Kuseno is just looking out for his career.

Saitama and Genos don't fight each other, though. For Away shows Genos is usually scripted to lose against the hometown face in an honorable match. Despite his popularity this doesn't upset the fans, because icy precision losing to firey passion is more satisfying anyway.

Backstage, Genos always introduces himself to Saitama and then follows him around like a duckling during all his downtime. Saitama only actually forgot his name that first time, but Genos doesn't want to take the risk. Saitama doesn't think it's weird. Genos SAID he was a fan.

Saitama is usually scripted to lose, eventually, but good managers always make sure to include a REASON for it. Dirty tricks, threatening the audience or his partner, distractions. Saitama isn't popular, but he's so damn GOOD that seeing him lose can break the fans' immersion.

The first time they fight each other, Saitama is supposed to lose to Genos because a heel wanted to fight Genos in the next round and sabotages Genos's equipment backstage so he will hurt Saitama for "real." It's a good story and would really inspire Genos's character.

But during rehearsal Genos is so excited he can't concentrate. Even after he takes a cold shower (or two) he can barely hide it. And when it comes time to "hurt" Saitama Genos gets so upset he nearly cries. HOW can he hurt his HERO?

The managers are like, "Fine, fuck it, this is the story now" and tweak Genos and Saitama's dialogue to imply they've secretly dated. Saitama doesn't figure it out until he's actually saying the lines. Genos gives the most convincing performance of his life, but never realizes.

The in-character backstory is now Saitama and Genos have A History. What that history IS is kept ambiguous, and the fans that don't like shipping tend to interpret it as Genos training under Saitama.

The managers like it because it gives both of them depth.

When Genos takes part in a show he's not supposed to win, but they haven't booked a popular enough heel or hotheaded enough face to beat him, they just put him up against Saitama in the quarter-finals and down he goes. And Genos showing an emotional side gains him even more fans.

But it gets harder and harder for Genos to fight Saitama. He thought he'd get used to it, but every time is more thrilling than the last. Not even Saitama can stay oblivious when Genos pops a boner in Every. Single. Rehearsal.

They start meeting up outside of work. Saitama originally invited him to go jogging, Genos automatically replied that he does all his training at a gym, and then realizing he'd missed an opportunity invites Saitama to join him THERE.

on the "backyard" wrestling circuit (a misnomer, they usually rent event spaces, often indoors) kayfabe isn't really enforceable. Performers are EXPECTED to have outside lives. But Genos has a lot of fans, and people know he goes to this gym.

Word gets out. PICTURES get out.

Now people are wondering - how much was character and how much was real? Are Genos and Saitama really friends? Really DATING?

And the answer is no, not yet, but the barrage of questions when Saitama rarely gets ANY on his social media is kinda scary.

it's hard enough starting a new relationship without randos asking you personal questions. So... Saitama draws back. He keeps Genos firmly in the Friend category. He ignores the way he looks at him.

Genos, thankfully, didn't even know Saitama HAD been considering dating him.

So time passes. They keep wrestling, keep building their storylines, make friends and alliances and have a good time. If it wasn't for those sad puppydog eyes every time Saitama makes an excuse not to get dinner with Genos, it would be great!

Then a rumor starts going around that a scout from a tv stable is coming to matches. REAL professional wrestling. That, in fact, it's Amai Mask, who used to do the backyard circuit before he was scooped up, and after only a few years he's already started getting acting work.

Everybody brings their A Game, putting more effort into costumes and gimmicks, trying to sell their characters. But it seems pretty obvious that if anyone will get offered a job, it's Genos.

The local indie league's championship is a mess. Everyone is going WAY too hard and coming up with new ideas last minute. They want to put on the best show possible and it's too much all at once.

Nobody gets seriously hurt, at least. And the belt goes to Genos.

Afterward, Amai Mask approaches Genos and Saitama. They were talking together, laughing. Relaxing, for once, after the stress of the day. But Amai is there, and he doesn't just have an offer, he has a CONTRACT.

For Saitama.

Genos and Saitama had talked about the rumors earlier, and Genos said he thought he'd turn an offer down. He's still very young, and indie wrestling is FUN. He likes the freedom and creative control.

Saitama had agreed and said he'd probably turn it down too. But that was then.

The network doesn't NEED another pretty face. What they need is someone solid and dependable, who can take a hit safely, who can play any role a story calls for. Amai encourages Saitama to look at the contract and think it over, then leaves them alone again.

Genos appears to be genuinely excited for him. He knows that Saitama doesn't even have a manager, so he tells Saitama he'll ask Kuseno to represent him. Saitama agrees. But he tells Genos he doesn't want to think about the contract right now. He's got bigger plans for tonight.

The next morning Genos can't think about pretty much anything except how thoroughly his world got rocked, but Saitama does manage to meet up with Kuseno and go over the contract. It's pretty standard, not UNfair, but there's an expectation that Saitama will negotiate for more.

After a couple days of thinking, and a lot more time with Genos, Saitama finally calls the number Amai gave him.

Saitama will accept the contract, as-is, no negotiating, but ONLY IF they also hire Genos.

Honestly it's a bluff. Saitama expects them to say no. What he doesn't know is that Amai has been trying to quit and do movies fulltime, so oops it turns out they DO need another pretty face after all.

(this was probably Amai's plan all along)

It takes some time. Saitama doesn't hear back for a week. And when he does, GENOS'S contract negotiations take at least twice as long. But in the end they've both got offers they're happy with. They've got to move to a new city, but that's not so bad. They can move in together.

And that's the end! More or less. Genos stays in wrestling for the rest of his working life, both in and out of the ring. Saitama is the one who ends up with an acting career, though pretty much always as a goon or mook. He still enjoys it.

They're together. They're happy.

more characters

Sonic is a heel of the Fighting Narcissist/Gorgeous George mode. Since this is 2020 him being androgynous and sexual doesn't make the audience hate him though, they think he's GREAT. His social media has almost as many followers as Genos.

He's popular enough that he could flip to a face, but he never would. He loves dirty tricks and flirting with the refs too much.

He and Genos only fought a couple times but the videos are super popular

King is a manager both in and out of character. He also plays the ref a lot, and sometimes a masked wrestler if they need to fill out a tag team. He's not strong enough to lift any of the other wrestlers so he's not interested in playing one more often.

He actually does the booking for a lot of the local shows, and he knows who will work well together (or not). As a character, he most often plays the manager for Tatsumaki and Fubuki, with a running gag that they fight over his attention. IRL Tatsu does their personal booking.

I've already talked about Mumen - he works hard and has a decent amount of fans but he can't seem to stand out and gets injured whenever he tries a risky stunt. He's often squashed in the first round to show off how tough another wrestler is.

Garou's a heel and he LOVES being a heel, but he's unfortunately gained a reputation as a jerk because his in-character trashtalk is a bit too... accurate. Just because a wrestler relies on a particular move all the time doesn't mean they want it pointed out.

He's good at what he does though, and audiences love him. He's still a newbie but he's picking up fans FAST. So despite opponent objections, he keeps getting booked.

What none of the other wrestlers know is he's also a face. When he puts on the mask he goes FULL method.

As the masked wolf he's calm and cool and heroic. He fills in, saves tag teams, exposes heels who have distracted or bribed refs. Backstage he NEVER removes the mask, and never breaks character.

That's part of why he keeps getting booked. Two characters for one appearance fee!