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deepdisireslonging · 1 month ago

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Reread this when going through my masterlist. Had to share a favorite I wrote for a beloved friend 😘

A Throne Fit for a Queen

The Reader escapes her own birthday with her lover to see what gift he’s hidden away for her. They put it to use, learning together only the beginning of its capabilities.

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, sex chair, oral (female receiving), creampie, cw Food mention

Word Count: 2500

Note: Happy birthday to my writing bestie, @neversatisfiedgirl! This was going to be a quick smutty fluffy ficlet… and then I fell down a research hole. Happy reading!

It had been a well-meant gesture. Kenny had planned everything. Had been since the beginning of the year, seemingly more excited for your birthday than you or your own mother. We’re talking the venue, the cake, the pile of presents in one corner. And what felt like hundreds of your closest friends and family from across multiple wrestling companies. All gathered together for you. The extravagance awed you.

“I just completed another orbit around the sun. I’m not retiring,” you muttered under your breath. Still, a smile wasn’t far off as you watched the master of ceremonies pelt Damian with a series of streamers, hopelessly entangling his victim. You giggled behind your hand as Rhea tried to help him out.

Then warm hands slid around your middle. A lingering kiss nestled into the curve of your neck. When you hummed and leaned into the strong torso behind you, a growl answered.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“As if anyone else would dare to hold me like this.” You turned in his arms, draping your own across his shoulders to play with the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Finn, darling, what are you up to?”

He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t wish my best girl a happy birthday?”

“I suppose.” You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip. “Your best girl, huh? How many girls you got in reserve there, Cassanova?”

“Ha. Ha.” He gave your hips a squeeze. “Just one. Even if I tried to have other girls, they’d always be jealous about how much time and affection I lavish on you.”

“Good to hear.”

Finn smiled into the kiss you gave him, smirking when a few whistles and hoots tried to distract him. “Looks like this party’s in full swing. Would you like your present before Kenny pulls us back into the fray?”

You rolled your eyes. “You already gave me my presents. They were lovely. I really don’t need anything-“

“I know. But,” he bobbled his head with a sparkle in his eye, “I’ve got something else that I hope you can use year-round.”

Intriguing. All of his other presents had been wonderful. Just what you wished for. Apparently, he had been keeping a list whenever you mentioned needing or wanting something, and taking note of things you let linger through your hands while out shopping. You wondered what this one could be, and when you had wished for it. “What is it?”

“Do. You. Want. Your. Present?”

With a big sigh, you dragged out your answer, “yes.”

Off to one side, a flash of red hair darted behind Kevin Owens. A slice of cake splattered all over his face a second later. You’d have to find out later if it was Becky or Sami from one of the closer witnesses. If anyone hazarded to squeal. Finn used the distraction to his advantage. He took hold of your wrist, deftly dragging you through the crowd of laughing and partying guests, until you made the escape to a back hallway. Like a child about to get into infinite trouble, he looked both ways before crashing through a door with you.

The lighting was dim. But candles flickered all around the small space that was probably nothing more than a large closet.

“How-“

Finn cut off your question with a smoldering kiss that made your knees wobble. “Kenny asked me for tips about celebrating you, of course. Originally planned today as a surprise party-“

“Oh, dear-“

“Exactly. But I talked him out of it. And set up my own party space while he was directing everyone else.” His hands lingered up your sides, leaving tingling, hot trails in their wake. You whimpered into his mouth as his touch toyed with the flowy hem of your party dress. “Liking everything so far?”

“Mhmm.” You caught his bottom of lip between your teeth, sucking on it till he pulled himself away to bury his face in your cleavage. “So… I get to use you year-round?”

“Mhmm.”

Then you caught sight of what was in the center of the room. You had wondered if a “pinned-to-the-wall” quickie was the present. Not that it was a bad thing, but not usually Finn’s detailed style. But the centerpiece, that made a lot more sense. How in the world had he gotten that thing in here without anyone noticing?

Finn felt your breath stutter under his ministrations. He followed your gaze. “Oh, yes. That. You are always welcome to use me all year, but I figured maybe you could use and be used on something ornate enough to enthrone my Queen.”

It was a King Edward chair. You knew the one. Designed for the “playboy prince” of the Victorian era. Scholars still didn’t know all the positions that could be accomplished on it. Now that you had your own, and a willing partner to experiment with, maybe you could find out. Already your imagination was swirling with the possibilities. How Finn could take you with you spread across it. Or vise versa. Whereas the original was in white and gold with floral cushions, this one was black and silver with red cushions. The perfect private throne for a Demon King or his Queen.

But Finn wasn’t letting you move. He sank to his knees, pinning you against the door by your hips while his head disappeared under your dress. You covered your mouth as his nose pressed into the front of your sensible undergarments. He nipped your inner thigh for it.

“Everyone’s at the party. No one around to hear you.” With a chuckle, he peeked out from under the fabric. “Unless we really get into it.” From one kneecap to the next, he placed a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don’t hold back, m'aingeal. It’s your day and I want you to feel everything.”

You nodded, letting your hand drop to his hair. With the other, you held back your skirt to watch what he was doing to you. With a pleased hum, he again pressed his nose into your sex, nudging about before catching the fabric waistband with his teeth. His nails and teeth lightly scraped against your skin as he desperately worked to bare you to him. The sight of your slick made him ferocious. He hiked one of your legs over his shoulder. Then, he really began to work. Tongue and fingers. Humming and sucking. You leaned your head back against the door, panting and doing your best not to thrust into his face.

All the while, you could see the chair. A pleasurable threat. A dangerous promise.

“Getting close, féileacán?”

You were. But all you could do was moan an affirmation. Your release was approaching. Fluttering nearer with each curl of his fingers, or jolting you with a nip to your thigh.

He added another digit to the ones already stretching you out. Then, when his mouth enveloped you, you fell apart. Your fingers shakily dug into his scalp, making him groan and prolong your pleasure with the vibrations. Those vibrations told hold of your whole body. Your lungs quaked in their cage next to your frantically beating heart, aiding the spotting of your vision. Your other hand dropped your skirt, reaching above you to claw against the door. You were aware of his movements to bring you down slowly, and to bring himself back into the flickering light. But mostly you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Then he was kissing at the underside of your jaw. He smeared your skin with the essence he had just drawn from you.

“We-“ you licked your lips, “we need to go back-“

“Do you really think I was going to show you your present… and then not use it with you at least till one orgasm? Oh, leanbh,” he tugged on your waist, “we’re just getting started.”

That promise dragged a whimper from your soul.

But once you stood in front of the chair, you had to wonder: how were you supposed to… mount this thing? Tilting your head, you considered a few ways. Maybe if you climbed up on it first, you could rotate to lay on your back?

You had just leaned over it to do just that when Finn flicked up the back of your skirt and began to knead the globes of your seat.

“Forget that iced monstrosity out there,” he gave your ass a slap, “I’ve got the sweetest treat right here.”

Another few slaps helped you up, where you could turn to lay on your back. The foot rests (stirrups?) did help you keep your position instead of sliding off. But they also arched your legs *way* open. Finn’s brilliant blue eyes were enraptured by the sight. Unblinking, he ran his hands up and down your thighs. Like a moth to a flame, he drew closer until the bulge trapped in his jeans was close enough for your sex to feel the heat. He took hold of the grips standing up next to your ribs. His knuckles turned white, the only evidence how much this man was holding back from blowing his load from the view alone.

You sat up. And reached for his front button. His hands met yours there. Together, you raced to release his cock into the open. When it finally sprung free, he gave a gasp of relief. The eagerness of it, warm and stiff in your hand, made your mouth water. But leaned over you, making sure to place your hands on the grips firmly enough to tell you that you needed to hang on.

Murmuring filthy Irish curses under his breath, he toyed with you further by sliding his cock through your slick. The head bumped your clit from time to time, making you whine.

“Please. Don’t make me wait.”

“Of course not, Love. I just- hmm. I can’t get enough of you being so wet for me. So ready. Making those sounds of yours. Calling out for me like you do when you beg. But you’re right. I can’t make the birthday girl wait.”

Inch by glorious inch, he filled you. You fully leaned back into the chair, hanging onto the grips for dear life. When he was fully seated within you, and panting with the feel of you around his length, his own hands joined yours on the grips. Thankfully, he started slow. You would have flown apart instantly at that angle if he’d pounded into you immediate like he wanted to. Faintly you could hear the music of the party still going on beyond the walls. But soon, all you could focus on hearing was the slapping of Finn’s hips colliding with yours. His grunts and gasps as he speared deeper and deeper. Your own cries and jumbled words as you pleaded with him to move one way or the other. And the creaking of the chair. The faster he went, the more his hands slid down the grips until they rested over yours. That slightest contact of skin dazzled you.

“Please, please, please-“

Whatever you were begging for, Finn answered in full force. It didn’t take long, despite feeling like you’d been dangling on the edge of a precipice for an eternity, before Finn’s thrusts stuttered. He reached for your clit, thumbing over it until you were weeping his name. He watched, enraptured, as you came apart. Chest heaving. Hair plastered around your forehead. And he watched your lips murmuring like he was waiting.

Your grip on the bars faltered as he kept moving, chasing his own release. “Come on, mo rí diabhal. Fill me, possess me, like only you can-“

With a roar, he did just that. He pumped all he had to give into you. When he was finally spent, he fell over you, his head resting on your breasts.

Again, the distant drifting of the party sounds found you. And, despite the incredible desire to stay just where you were, curling your fingers into his hair, you eventually made the first move to leave. He groaned, irritated when he had to pull himself out of you. He fixed his pants, but stood in the way of your dismount. You cradled his head to your shoulder, wondering if he could still smell the post-orgasmic kiss he gave you earlier.

“We need to go back.”

“Yeah.”

“We smell like sex.” You shot him a playful frown when he seemed unperturbed. “What are going to tell people when they ask where we’ve been?”

“The truth.” He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I had to give the birthday girl her present.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Oh? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And if they ask what the present was?” You gripped his wrist, but he refused to budge.

“We’ll tell them, ‘what do you think’ and leave it at that.” He quickly kissed you before letting you go. “You don’t think I’d tell them about our new toy, did you?” He helped you off the chair and back into your panties, not missing an opportunity to feel you up again. “I would never. It’s our secret. Though we’ve got to end this shindig quick. I’m not through with you.”

You rolled your eyes, starting to wonder who the present was actually for. “No?”

“Not in the slightest. And it’s portable. I’m thinking about attaching wheels to the bottom so we can move it around.”

You startled. Then grinned. “It might look a little odd… rolling this thing around the airport.” You giggled when his surprised face matched yours at what he had insinuated.

“I was thinking-“ his voice cracked. After clearing his throat he tried again, “I was thinking about moving it to different rooms in the house.” He stepped close, once again pinning you to the door so he could whisper in your ear. “Perhaps tie you down to it. Cover those pretty eyes of yours so you’re disorientated. Only able to think about what I’ll do to you.” He snickered and stepped back. “But I like the way you think. Maybe I can borrow someone’s jet sometime and really take you higher than the mile-high club. Remember that flight to Toronto?”

Your pussy threatened to gush again with the memory. “Maybe.”

A wicked gleam filled his gaze. “Then let’s finish up this party quick so I can get you home.”

___

Masterlist

Wrestling Masterlist

Other Finn Fics:

Fright Club (Fluff)

The Forbidden Door (Stripper!Balor, Smut)

Dangerous (Smut) [Prince Devitt]

#also this reblog is the 69th note #nice #reader insert #wwe x reader #finn balor x reader #finn balor smut #finn balor fluff #writers writing for writers

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deepdisireslonging · 1 month ago

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Scheduled Maintenance: A Short Play

AO3: We will be down for two hours for scheduled maintenance in a couple days. Just wanted to warn you.

ME: Ok, fine.

AO3: We’re just reminding you because in the past sometimes people get upset but really, it’s scheduled maintenance, everything is still there, you just won’t be able to access it for two hours. It’s only two hours. We planned this. It will be OK.

ME: I don’t know what you’re reassuring me for. I’m a rational adult. I have object permanence.

AO3: Are you sure? Here’s another reminder.

ME: Jesus, AO3, I got the message. Leave me alone. I’m fine here. I’ve got work to do.

AO3: All right then. Here goes. Scheduled maintenance starting…

[AO3: goes offline

ME: checks AO3, gets error message]

ME: WHERE IS IT WHERE IS MY FIC WHERE HAS IT GONE WHY CAN’T I SEE IT

#lol

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deepdisireslonging · 1 month ago

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me, rereading my own fic after crashing out an hour ago about how it sucks and nobody should read it: actually you guys this is like, really good

#me rereading 'thicker than blood' *5* years later #might actually manage to finish the last 2 chapters #no promises

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deepdisireslonging · 2 months ago

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🤯💀😵‍💫😵😵‍💫💀🤯

Ugh could you imagine telling Buck that you’ve always just wanted to be fucked. Like no thoughts, thighs shaking, forcing you to cum multiple times, manhandling, rough sex. Like a book girlie telling bestie!Bucky she doesn’t think the stories she reads are realistic. I’m a total over-sharer so having Buck as a bestie is like total ranting about everything. Ps, I loved what you did with that last bestie!Bucky story! You’re such an amazing writer, one of my all time favs

Oversharing book girlie and best friend Bucky who’s trying so hard to be respectful until she breaks his brain with one too many spicy book rants? Say less. I’m so fucking into it.

———

You didn’t mean to make it weird. Honestly, you’d just been ranting—curled up on Bucky’s couch with a glass of wine, legs draped over his lap like always, both of you in sweats, a dog-eared romance novel in your hand.

“I mean, come on,” you groaned, gesturing wildly. “No man actually fucks like this. Multiple orgasms? Legs shaking? Getting thrown around like a ragdoll until she can’t even remember her name?”

Bucky blinked hard but you kept going.

“I’ve been reading this shit since high school, Buck, and never—not once—has any guy even come close. Like, Ugh—I just wanna get wrecked.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, shifting under your legs.

You took a sip of your wine, blissfully unaware. “No thoughts, just—ruined. Y’know? Just once. Is that too much to ask?”

He stared at you. You stared at your book.

And then the silence hit.

You looked up, blinking. “What?”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His hand flexed on your thigh.

“You really think no man can do that to you?” he asked, voice low, steady, dangerous.

“I mean—”

“You ever think maybe it’s because you’ve been letting boys try?” His hand slid higher, slow and deliberate. “Not someone who actually knows what he’s doing?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, frozen.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You wanna get ruined, sweetheart?” His voice was pure sin. “I’ll give you no thoughts. I’ll give you shaking thighs and a fucked-out smile. I’ll give you every damn thing those books promised.”

You gasped as Bucky’s lips crashed against yours—no more teasing, no more boundaries, just heat and hunger and years of tension finally snapping.

Your wine glass hit the carpet but he didn’t care. Didn’t even look, just acknowledged the sound of shattering glass. His hands were everywhere. One gripping your jaw, tilting your head back so he could bite at your neck, the other sliding up under your shirt, rough and possessive. You barely registered being lifted until your back hit his mattress, your shirt gone, your thighs spread.

“I should make you say it again,” he growled, eyes raking over you, dark and dangerous. “Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”

“I want you,” you breathed. “I want to be ruined. No thoughts, just—you.”

He chuckled low in his throat, dragging his metal hand down your stomach until it rested between your legs.

“Good girl. I’m gonna make you cum so many times you won’t be able to walk, doll. I’ll make your little book fantasies come true.”

You whined when he pressed down, through your panties, slow at first—teasing—until you were squirming, hips lifting off the bed.

Bucky tore your underwear like it offended him, flipped you onto your stomach, and hauled your hips up. You barely had time to brace yourself before he thrust in, deep and hard, a filthy groan tearing from his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped. “Bucky—!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He pounded into you, strong hands bruising your hips, your body jolting with every thrust, your moans getting louder, messier, until you were nothing but sound and sensation.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growled, leaning over you, his hand tangling in your hair. “Wanted to get fucked so dumb you couldn’t remember your name.”

“Y-Yes—please, don’t stop—!”

His hand slid down your front, finding your clit with ruthless precision.

“Come for me, baby. I want you shaking. I want you so fucked-out you can’t speak.”

And you did. Hard. Your vision went white, your whole body trembling as he kept going, chasing his own release, pushing you over again.

And again.

He growled, his eyes were still dark, still full of hunger. „Oh, I’m not stopping until you’re nothing but a mess.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #writers reading writers

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deepdisireslonging · 2 months ago

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dark mode galaxy-themed ao3 site skin

Since the frog theme I made earlier was light mode, I decided to make a dark mode skin as well. This one is galaxy-themed and in shades of purple, pink, and blue.

You can get the code under the cut.

I've put my skins on github now. It's a lot easier to copy from there.

Here's the link!

#ao3 things #ao3 blog skins

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deepdisireslonging · 2 months ago

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Friendly reminder that AO3 is fighting AI data scrapers on behalf of all fanfic writers!

According to the post below, AO3 issued a DMCA takedown after finding out that all works before March 2025 were scraped and uploaded as a dataset to potentially train AI. The ability to take legal action against scum like this is the direct result of people donating to AO3 so they can keep functioning and they don't pocket any of it because they are a non-profit organization.

So when you see the AO3 donation drives, please remember that this is what the money is going toward and support it when you can!

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deepdisireslonging · 2 months ago

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"Bongos" 😂 I lost it ong

Can you write how the AEW guys would react to the reader playfully smacking their ass like Bucky did to Seth Rollins that one time (please include MJF hehe)

AEW Stars React To: Their S/O Smacking Their Butt

Pairings: MJF x Reader, Max Caster x Reader, Christian Cage x Reader, Eddie Kingston x Reader, Nick Wayne x Reader, Ricky Starks x Reader, Hook x Reader

Word Count: 750

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, here you are and i hope you all enjoy it. I should have another react post by tomorrow. lemme know what else yall want to see. please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: none i think, suggestive content

Taglist: @wwenhlimagines @hooks-martin @hookerforhook @eddie-kingstons-wifey @triscillal @batzy-watzy @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff

I think this is the most I have ever written the word ass

MJF:

Mans would feel accomplished

Like that finally, someone has acknowledged his ass is on another level

We all know how much pride he takes in his ass just look at the edits on TikTok

If you do it in private, he will definitely laugh and try to slap your back

(Honestly he might twerk like a drunk girl)

If in public, he might be embarrassed or confused for a split second…but he’ll go right back to being arrogant

He’ll tweet about it, tagging Max Caster so he can get jealous

Will start wearing more tight-fitting pants so he can tease you more

Eddie Kingston:

Mans finds it funny but is always confused about why/how you do it before he can do it to you

Full-on laughs and cracks a smile when/after you do it

Now you two are in a competition to see who can smack the other’s ass more often

You typically drive-by slaps or wait until he’s reading/watching wrestling to slap it

He does it when you are on the phone or talking to friends

Eddie loves it because it’s y’all’s way of PDA or showing good vibes

I don’t think y’all would do it out in public like in front of fans

But the one chance you did…boi was he a mess

Christian Cage:

Christian would just stare at you with no expression

He was just looking at you as if he was saying “Really”

OR he’ll stare at you in an offended way

He’s surprised that you did it

“How dare you?”

I can totally see him “scolding” you

Says his ass is off limits and promises to “punish” you the next time you did it

To test your luck…you did it again…and let's say you couldn’t sit down for a good while

Nick Wayne:

Lil boi is so cute and he gets all shy

Immediately he blushes and gets all whiney

Face all red while saying

“I can’t believe you did that”

I think he would be too shy to smack yours back

Prolly would chase you around

Would stop after you smacked his ass twice more

Ever since then, he just accepted the smacks….with a red blushing face of course

Hook:

Nonchalant as a mothafucka

But to him, it’s a normal thing, so he doesn’t care

He just continues talking to his friends after he smacks yours as you walk away

To Hook…it’s equality

Mans just loves to have his hands on you in general

If you did it to him while y’all were in the ring…he would break character and laugh

The internet would have a field day with the clip, making it go viral

Now if you slap it extra hard, Hook would just simply pick you up and show you how a real master of the booty slapping arts does it

Ricky Starks:

Alexa…play Bongos by Cardi B

Like Hook, Ricky’s not fazed

In fact, he eats it up and then some

I can see Ricky just winking at you..and ever so gently…SPEARING YOU ON THE BED

He slaps yours back twice as hard

In public….he would pull you towards him and tell you all the things he’s gonna do to you

Particularly finds it funny when you continuously smack his ass while ya’ll are laying down

I def see it as a postcard or a couple Christmas card (merry smackmas)

Max Caster:

THIS HORNY FUCK

Would deadass put his ass out even further for you to slap again

“I can see you’re getting a little handsy”

Looks at you suggestively, probably would moon you

Probably would chase you down just to slap your ass back

If you do it in public, he’s throwing ass like a real one

OOOOOOO I BET HE WOULD LET OUT VERY LOUD AND EXAGGERATED HIGH PITCH MOAN

Which causes you to become embarrassed and swiftly leave the scene

He would at the rest of The Acclaimed and wiggle his brows…looking for someone else to smack his ass

bonus: I truly think he would be like Richard from Wasabi Productions (back from like 2011)

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew hook #eddie kingston #ricky starks #max caster #maxwell jacob friedman #christian cage #aew fanfiction #writers reading writers

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deepdisireslonging · 3 months ago

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So I came up with a little something...

To the Victor…

Hai. I just wanted to know if we are going to get another Ricky saints x reader 😋

😅 I don't have anything planned at the moment, but I can't ignore how I feel about the guy. I'll probably write about him more in the future, just don't know when that'll be. Keep an eye out 😉

#ricky saints #ricky starks #reader insert #ricky saints fluff

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deepdisireslonging · 3 months ago

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To the Victor...

Ricky just lost the NXT Intercontinental Championship. The Reader does her best to make him believe he is still the better man.

Pairing: Ricky Saints x Reader

Warnings/Promises: mention of canon-level violence/injuries, fluff

Word Count: ???

Note: For that one anon who asked if I was planning on writing for Ricky ever again. I still don't take requests, but when the muse inspires... what's a little writing between friends? Also, almost every time I write about Ricky he gets hurt. It's about time I give him some gentle love. Happy reading!

It was painful to watch. The match, yes, but also the sad way that Ricky kept watching Ethan Page walk around backstage with his belt. Despite his protests, you kept close when the medical team finally let him go.

He was silent on the way to the car. He loaded the bags, despite your protests. But he gladly slid into the passenger seat so you could drive to the hotel. When your bags eventually settled onto the hotel room floor, Ricky finally let you hold him close.

The ginger way he sat on the edge of the bed was a familiar sight. Good match or... less than good. You took you position: standing between his legs so his forehead could rest on your stomach. Your fingers curled through his hair. Gently you stroked his scalp with one hand, while the other smoothed at the space between his shoulder blades. Ricky's hands slid up and down the back of your thighs, teasing the bottom hem of your skirt. You could feel the callouses. When his hands changed direction, you could feel the broken cusps of skin around his knuckles. His hands were capable of incredible violence. You reveled in watching him win and dominate matches. But you also felt your chest tighten with the soft motions from those same hands on your skin.

"That was a hard bump," you murmured.

His head nodded, ruffling the front of your shirt.

"Is your throat okay?"

"Yeah."

His voice had a bit of rasp to it, but nothing to be truly worried about. You breathed deeply. "Ready to get into comfies and sleep till next week?"

The little humored puff of air through his nose was warm on your stomach.

You took your time. Gentle around his aching muscles, you helped him out of his post-match clothes. The hotel you had chosen was because it had a true bath. The water you drew was warm enough to steam, but not too hot so as to hurt. You helped easy Ricky into it. He groaned first, then hummed his thanks. Shedding your own clothes, you joined him, sliding in behind him. Soap, warm water, and gentle hands, you used them all to help Ricky down after his match. When the water began to cool you wrapped him up in a fluffy towel. He glared you when you joked about his looking like a child.

"What?" You gently toweled his hair dry. "I can't help it if you're cute."

Ricky slid his hand around your waist, tugging you close. When you playfully tried to push him away, he grinned. "What? I can't help it if you're beautiful." He nuzzled his nose under your jaw. With tiny kisses, he worked his way from one side of your neck to the other. He was only slightly distracted as you helped him into sleepwear. And he took long, lingering gazes as you slipped into yours. But he paused as you turned back to the suitcases.

When you returned, you had the Intercontinental Championship in your hands.

"Ma Cher..." he cleared his throat, "where'd you get that?"

You grinned. "Don't worry. Page still has his; I didn't steal it. But I made sure the replica crew was ahead of schedule." You ran your hands over the gold disks on the sides. "These are your plates. And all of this is yours to keep." Feeling the warmth rise in your cheeks, you let your eyes drift to the floor. "I've already made a spot on your wall for it."

Ricky snagged your wrist, using it to pull you close. He took the championship from your hands. He weighed it, comparing it to the original. Then he set it aside. He cupped your face, smoothing his thumb across your cheek. "I've got all I need right here."

You placed your hands over his. "That's all well in good, but you'll be champion again. And soon. I know you've got plans. You were a great champion. It's only a matter of time before you're ruling the ring again."

He nodded. "One goal at a time. Now... I believe you promised me the chance to sleep into next week?"

"That I did." Smiling into the kiss, you guided him to lay back. It took some maneuvering to get you both under the sheets, but Ricky was out like a light within seconds.

***

Master List

Wrestling Masterlist

Other Ricky Fics:

Sundress Season (Smut, Fluff)

Mark You as Mine (Smut)

Necklace (Smut)

#ricky saints x reader #ricky saints fluff #ricky starks x reader #ricky starks fluff #reader insert #wwe x reader

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deepdisireslonging · 3 months ago

Note

Hai. I just wanted to know if we are going to get another Ricky saints x reader 😋

😅 I don't have anything planned at the moment, but I can't ignore how I feel about the guy. I'll probably write about him more in the future, just don't know when that'll be. Keep an eye out 😉

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deepdisireslonging · 3 months ago

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Coffee and Knives for Two

The Reader runs a “coffee shoppe” that is actually a weapons distributor for hunters. The Winchesters are frequent customers of hers, and she does her best not to show that she’s got a crush on one of them. But both of them notice, and Dean won’t stop pestering his brother until he asks you out.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings/Promises: cw food, fluff, weapons mention

Word Count: 2740

Note: This has a really slow, easy pace. It was nice to take a fluffy break. Let me know how you guys enjoyed it with comments and reblogs <3 Happy reading!

The conversation bustling around the room piddled off when a cute couple walked in. From the way they spoke, the rest of the occupants knew these were civilians.

You tossed on a smile. “How may I help you?” You kept your smile in place as the first woman looked over the menu.

“I’ll have – well, what’s a Black Dog?”

The pair of brothers sitting in the corner of the shoppe snickered. You ignored them. “In mythology they are sometimes the consequence of paying a life-debt. In others, they are the guardians of a graveyard. Here, they are a dark chocolate mocha latte with pomegranate cold foam.”

“That sounds intriguing! I’ll have that, iced please.”

The other woman ordered as well. Within a few minutes they had their drinks and went back out into the world. As the front door closed, the conversation picked up again. You weren’t listening closely, but you occasionally caught your customers talking about demons, witches, and even one mentioned a rugaru. The brothers finished off their drinks. The taller one took an extra few minutes to pack up his computer. The slightly shorter one, but well taller than you, walked over to lean on your countertop.

“Tell me again why you tell customers what your drinks are actually based on?” Dean shot you a smile, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rested on your elbows to meet him in the eye. “Because maybe some poor fool will remember what I tell them when they’re out there in the big scary world and not do something stupid.” You grinned back at him. “And I make a killing during October because of the spooky vibes.” When Sam came to Dean’s side, you stood up. “Can I get you anything else? I uh- I got some special ingredients in last week.” You dropped your voice low. “A couple of guys traded in some silver knives. How’s the Impala’s armory doing?”

Sam was about to speak but Dean thumped him on the back. “We could always do with one more; right Sammy? Hey, I’m gonna hit the head. Why don’t you go check in on those, what does your menu call them?”

“Moonlight croissants. If a civilian asks for one, it’s an almond croissant. Right this way.’

Dean gave his brother a shove, then headed down your back hallway towards the restrooms.

You placed the “be right back” sign next to the register and gave a nod to the hunter by the door. There had been an instance where some runner tried to rob you. But only once.

The back room was a broom closet according to the shoppe plans that you gave to the city. What they didn’t know, or care about, was that it backed up to the cavity under the stairs to the businesses above. You pulled down on a bucket hook while Sam kept look-out. The wall popped open. Swinging it wide, you revealed the wall of guns, knives, confiscated hex bags, silver jewelry, and other hunter paraphernalia. Sam frowned at you to see the hex bags.

“You probably shouldn’t keep those in your shop.”

“That’s what the lead clamps are for. Keeps them from activating.” You rummaged around in the box you hadn’t had a chance to display yet. With a hum, you pulled out a box. “Here they are. Twin silver knives. Perfect for a pair of hunting brothers.” You held out the decorative box they came in. It was dark wood with a pentagram burned into the lid. Inside, the knives sat on dark blue velvet. Their hilts were carved with runes, and each was set with a carnelian pommel.

Sam puffed air between his lips instead of whistling. “They’re beautiful. Do they have to stay as a set?”

“Not necessarily. I sold them to the Muriels a few months ago, and they came back in this nice box.” You hesitated to provide more information, but Sam looked down at you with further questions. “I asked why they didn’t want to keep them. You and Dean, you’re not superstitious, are you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good.” You gasped a breath. “The hunt they tried to use them on went bad. It wasn’t the knives’ fault, but they traded them back to me for a pair of guns anyways. So… do you think you and Dean could use them? If not, I’ve got a box of silver bullets that I know won’t go to waste.”

Sam took the box out of your hands. He picked up one of the blades, turning it in the sparse light of the closet, and testing the weight. “They’re well made. You don’t want to keep them for yourself?”

You almost didn’t reply. Your gaze was too focused on Sam’s fingers spinning around the hilt. “Huh? Oh, no. The salt shotgun under the bar and the holy water I use to make the coffee has been plenty. No monsters have been stupid enough to try anything here.” As Sam replaced the blade and closed the lid, you knocked your knuckles over the pentagram. “Not to jinx myself.”

He traced his thumb around the branded emblem. “I’m sorry to say, but Dean and I are actually pretty set up.”

“That’s okay.” Inwardly you groaned at how disappointed your voice sounded.

“But I’ll buy them anyway if you promise to take one.”

When you looked up, he wasn’t smiling like Dean would after a joke. His face was softly set with determination. He snagged a spare leather sheath off the wall, handing you the box to silence your protests. It was a perfect fit for one of the knives. He pressed the box into your hands, letting his own linger where his thumb was resting over yours.

You stammered out, “what am I going to do with a knife? The salt buckshot is best for me because my aim is shit. I don’t let anything get close enough to me that I need a knife.”

He shrugged. “Better to have it and not need it—”

“Than need it and not have it. You sound like Bobby.” His laugh that followed made your face break into a bright smile. “Alright. I’ll keep one.”

He paid you back at the front in cash while Dean smugly watched. You tried to distract him with a free pastry, but even as he devoured the treat, he never took his eyes off you and Sam.

“Thank you for your business. I’ll see you two around for a while?”

Sam’s face fell at the hopeful glow you turned up towards him. “Ah, no. We’ve got a hunt out in Fenwick Island.”

“Pirate ghost,” Dean excitedly added.

You glanced at the hilt barely visible above Sam’s pocket. “You know you’ll have avid listeners to your stories when you get back.” You wanted to add including me, but you refrained. “Stay safe out there.”

“We will.” Sam held out his hand to shake yours. It was warm and strong. Despite fighting your inner demons to not let go, Sam gave into his and held on for a few more seconds than normal. “We’ll be seeing you.”

“See ya.”

In a moment, they were out your door and into town. You watched them walk away until they were out of sight. Carefully, you looked around to see if anyone had seen your worry. But your patrons were deep set into their drinks or piles of research. You set yourself to wiping down the countertops and beginning to clean up for the night.

***

At the car, Dean bumped his shoulder into Sam’s. “We don’t have to go on that hunt. We could tell Bobby to send in someone else.”

Sam scrunched up his nose. “Why? We’re halfway there.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean unlocked the car. They slid in at the same time. He watched Sam hide the knife in the glove compartment. “Because you could do some hunting of your own here. I could do some hunting of my own here.”

He knew what his brother was implying. But Sam pulled up the map app on his phone, feigning ignorance. “There isn’t a hunt here. There’s too many hunters for a monster to try anything.” He eased out a sigh of relief when the Impala roared to life.

“She’s into you. You’re into her. Of course there’s a hunt here.”

“De-“ Sam laughed. “She’s a coffee shoppe owner. Not a deer. Besides, I think she’d stab me if I implied I was going to hunt for her attention.”

“That she would.” He grinned lasciviously. “Then you’d have the fun of her patching you up, and there’s all the hands moving over each other, and-“

“Stoooop.” Sam couldn’t hide his grin.

Dean turned the corner, slowing to let a few people cross the street in front of him. “We’re going to drive by the shoppe. You could go in for a few drinks for the road and get her number.”

“No.”

“Or you could give her yours.”

“Would you just drive?”

All the same, Sam glanced out his window as Dean drove past your shoppe, hoping to catch another glimpse of you. But the windows were tinted to keep everyone inside safe. He couldn’t see a thing.

***

It was a month before you saw them again. In that time, you found yourself smoothing your palm over the hilt of the silver knife. Most of the time it was cold under your fingertips. But others, you were surprised to find the hilt warm as if it was held in a large, warm hand. You convinced yourself if it was warm, Sam was using his matching knife, and he was safe. You were worried for a few days when the hilt stayed cool. Then the Winchesters rolled back into town.

When they walked through your front door, you gasped and launched into a bunch of questions. Dean looked about his normal self, littered in random bruises and looking exhausted but with a wide smile on his face. But Sam came in with a cut over his eyebrow that looked fresh. You made him sit down at the far edge of the bar while you tutted over him. “What’s the point of me giving you a knife if you can’t use it to defend yourself?”

“I did!” He whined with a wince as you dabbed rubbing alcohol over the wound to properly clean it. “It came in handy, actually. Wasn’t a ghost. We thought it was a ghoul because it kept targeting older widows and widowers who had just lost their spouses. But it was a shapeshifter kidnapping people too old to fight back, and then using them to get money out of their partners. The silver wouldn’t have worked otherwise. Ow!”

You glared at him. “See: guns are better. Keeping whoever or whatever too far away to hurt you.” You glared up at Dean too.

He pouted. “We used the gun eventually. Just took us a minute to figure out what was actually going on.”

“Am I going to find a news story with your faces on it?”

They both avoided looking at you. “No,” Dean grumbled. “We didn’t have our faces stolen. This time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I should give you guys my number so I can keep an eye on you.”

Sam closed his eyes and let his head drop forward as Dean beamed. His brother smiled boldly. “Yeah. That would be great. Give it to Sam here while I figure out what we want to drink.”

You finished patching Sam up with a butterfly band-aid. “So which would be best, giving you my number, or you giving me yours?”

He smiled in that boyish way of his. “I hand you my phone, you hand me yours, and we swap numbers at the same time?”

Dragging your phone from your pocket, you handed it over. He did the same. It only took a second, but your chest felt both tight and light upon returning his device. “So, what’s next for you two? Do you already have another hunt picked out?” When Sam shook his head, you let your gaze angle towards the corkboard at the back of the seating area. “I’ve been thinking about creating a hunt-board. So anybody drifting through can find a hunt, or people to go with them here. What do you think?”

Sam’s eyebrow arched. “What about the non-hunters that walk through here?”

“It’ll match the spooky aesthetic.”

“Hmm.” His head tilted. “It’s half a plan. It would certainly give us a reason to drop by more often.” When his eyes drifted back to you, they lingered. His lips parted like he wanted to say something else, but the words had difficulty forming.

Your reply was slow in coming too. “Yes. Half a plan.”

Down the bar, Dean squinted at the menu. “Hey, what’s a dead-man’s blood?” Dean’s question broke through the moment, making you and Sam quickly move apart. The elder brother pretended not to notice.

“It’s, uh,” you heavily blinked to bring everything back into focus. “It’s a double shot of espresso, americana style, but made with Red Bull. I only let people order one a week.”

Sam watched Dean’s face light up. “No. Don’t make him that.”

“Hey, it’s my drink order. It’s not alcohol, so I’ll still be able to drive.”

“You’ll vibrate us into a ditch. Get something normal. Please.”

“No. You always get your hippie green tea spinach smoothy or whatever and it looks disgusting. Let me live a little.”

Sam rolled his eyes, joining his brother in front of the menu. “Right. Because either of us has such an issue with that.”

You began to make two drinks: Sam’s usual iced matcha with maple cold foam, and Dean’s hot mocha that said “black coffee” on the side. “Technically you do have an issue with that. It’s just you have the connections to bring you back.”

They continued their petty argument while you shook your head. Armed with their drinks and something from the pastry display, they drifted into their back corner table. Other hunters drifted in and out of the shop, and a few people from around town who knew that your shoppe was different, but not why. Quickly, your closing hour turned up. Your patrons drifted out, thanking you and wishing you well. Soon, only the Winchesters remained. Dean thumped his hands on the table before he stood.

“Hey, I’ve got a couple of things to do. Can I leave him here until I finish?”

After rolling his eyes, Sam dropped his head forward into his hands.

You sighed instead of giggling. “Sure, I guess.”

“Great. See ya!” He rushed out the door, pulling it shut before Sam could follow him out.

With a sigh of his own, Sam waited for your nod before locking the door. He turned around your sign, marking the shoppe as officially closed for the day. Without you asking, he began to buss the tables. You cleaned up the countertops. And put away your coffee-making utensils. Sam rolled by at one point with the mop and bucket, and he gave your seating area a thorough cleaning. The music that usually drifted through the shoppe during the day continued to play. You and Sam worked and cleaned around each other, occasionally humming along and shooting each other a smile of the other’s sing-a-long choice. Together, you cleaned in record time.

“How long do you think Dean will be?” You leaned against the bar as Sam gathered his things.

“He could be all night honestly.” Sam winced apologetically. “I think his ‘things to do’ was find a date for the night.”

“Oh.” You giggled. “Wanna come up to my place for a movie and some take-out?”

Sam paused. “If you’ve got a stocked fridge, I could cook for your trouble.”

You scrunched your nose at him. “Well, no. My fridge is a wasteland.”

“What? You don’t cook after a long day of watching the shoppe?”

“Hell no.”

“Alrighty then. What’s good around here?”

While the other Winchester was out on the town, you ended up at your apartment with a huge bag of greasy food Dean would have been proud of. Sam was impressed by your movie pick. And also by the second one when neither of you felt like getting ready for bed. Within another hour, both of you were asleep on the couch, snuggled next to one another.

***

Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Other Fluffy Sam Fics:

Need a Lift? ( SPN Fluff Appreciation Day 2017)

Short and Short Tempered (F, Implied S, Drabble)

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fluff #winchester fluff #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert #hunter!reader #cw food

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deepdisireslonging · 3 months ago

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This series has been fantastic. So dark and you can really see the reader being twisted, but also released at the same time. The soft moment with Rhea hurt so good too! Loved the angle of his possessive nature being mutual at it's core <3

on his radar. karrion kross. final part.

dark!karrion kross x reader

synopsis: as the shiny knew toy transferred from tna the raw locker room are desperate to get to know you, only to find out that you despite your in ring skill outside of work you are rather quiet and reserved. a lot of your new co worker's decided to give you space. but karrion kross craves closeness.

warnings: 18+. smut. exhibition (kinda). unprotected smut (please wrap it up). fingering. kissing. dark themes.

author's note: this is filth

part one // part two

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you didn’t have a match this week.

you were fine with that. more than fine, actually. the phantom ache in your thighs and the deep, slow throb between your legs made you glad for the break. even now, nearly a week later, you could still feel him. like he was living under your skin.

but the second you walked through the back doors of the arena, you knew rest wasn’t in your cards.

because he was already there.

leaning against the far wall of the corridor, hood up, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting hours. like he knew down to the second when you’d arrive. other wrestlers passed him with wide berths and nervous glances. no one said a word.

karrion didn’t move. not until you got close enough to feel it, that low, simmering hum in your gut. the way his presence made the air tight and charged and unmistakably his.

"you’re not on the card tonight", he said, voice low.

you shrugged. "didn’t stop me from showing up."

he stared. slow and full, taking you in like he was drinking from the sight. your gear was casual, joggers, your merch hoodie, gloves still tugged tight over your hands. the same gloves.

his gloves.

and the moment his eyes dropped to them, you saw it.

that shift. that hunger. that need.

"you wearing them for me?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.

you didn’t answer.

didn’t have to.

because he was already moving, pushing off the wall and crowding into your space until your back hit the nearest locker room door. his hand found your hip. the other came up to your throat, slow and firm, not squeezing, just holding. like he needed to remind himself you were real. here.

"you don’t fight tonight", he murmured. "but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong to me."

you nodded. swallowed. "i know."

he stared down at you, unreadable. then he leaned in, slow, so slow and pressed a kiss just beneath your ear.

"then stay close."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you were halfway to catering, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of your hoodie, when you heard it.

"guess all it takes to stay on the roster these days is a good pair of kneepads."

the words weren’t meant to carry, but they hit like a slap anyway.

you froze. didn’t turn. didn’t speak. but you knew who said it. grayson waller the guy who used to look through you like you didn’t exist. the guy who only noticed you now because of who walked you to your car. who waited for you by the lockers. who kissed the back of your gloved hand like it was sacred.

you should’ve kept walking.

but your feet were planted, jaw tight.

and then, behind you came a shift in the air. a ripple of silence. something cold and electric that made the whole hallway pause.

karrion had arrived.

you didn’t even have to see him. you felt it, that sudden gravity, that crackling fury like lightning about to strike. a few people scattered. some didn’t even try to hide it. they knew better.

he was next to you in seconds. close enough to feel the heat rolling off him in waves. his eyes locked on waller and didn’t move.

"say that again", karrion dared.

grayson laughed. nervous. "man, i was just kidding. come on. everyone’s talking about-"

"say it. again."

karrion stepped forward.

you saw it then, not just anger, but something deeper. a kind of terrifying calm that only made it worse. he wasn’t shouting. he didn’t need to.

he was claiming.

right there. in front of everyone.

grayson backed up a step. "look, i didn’t mean anything—"

karrion’s hand was around his throat in an instant. not enough to cut off air. just enough to make it real.

"you look at her again, you breathe her name again, you even think about her in the wrong tone" he leaned in, voice pure venom, "and i’ll rip your fucking jaw off. understood?"

there was no answer.

just a nod. wide-eyed. shaking.

karrion let go.

the guy stumbled back, clutching his neck, and disappeared down the hall without another word.

you stood there. still. breath tight in your lungs. and then, slowly karrion turned to you.

"you okay?" he asked, like he hadn’t just threatened permanent damage.

you nodded.

but he stepped closer anyway. hands bracketing your face, gentle this time. thumbs stroking your cheeks. that lethal, beautiful contrast of who he was the chaos, the comfort.

"he won’t ever look at you again", he murmured.

"i don’t care about him."

"you care about me", he said, quiet now. "and that’s why i care. you wear my gloves. you walk through these halls with my scent still on your skin. and anyone who can’t respect that" his gaze burned, "gets taught how."

you leaned into him, breath shaky. "karrion…"

he kissed you then.

right there, in front of anyone left watching. no hiding. no hesitation.

his mouth was soft but firm, claiming you like a promise.

when he pulled back, his hands dropped to yours. fingers curling around the leather of your gloves.

"these mean something now", he said. "to everyone. not just us."

and god help anyone who forgot it.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the adrenaline wore off slow. like sap. sticky and clinging in the hollows of your limbs.

you hadn't had a match, not tonight but the weight of it still clung to you. karrion had pulled you into the dark backstage corridor after the blow-up earlier. his mouth had been bruising. his hands had left impressions. he didn’t care who saw.

you weren’t even sure you did, anymore.

but now he was gone, called into some production meeting and the quiet crept in.

that’s when rhea found you.

she didn’t say anything at first. just appeared beside you in the hallway, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a cold equipment case like she’d always been there.

you glanced over. she was still in her gear. smudged eyeliner. bruised knuckles. a few strands of hair stuck to the sweat at her temple.

"you good?" she asked, finally. not soft. just real.

you nodded. then hesitated.

"i think so."

rhea didn’t push. she never did. but her eyes moved, from the marks on your neck to the gloves still tight on your hands.

"looks like someone’s been busy."

you gave a huff of a laugh. "you could say that."

she tilted her head. "you okay with it?"

the question cut through the noise. the buzz. the heady pull of something dark and dizzying that hadn’t stopped since you let karrion put his mouth between your thighs and his hands around your throat.

"yeah,” you said quietly. "i’m more than okay."

rhea nodded. like she understood. like she’d been there once, claimed, owned, adored in a way that didn’t ask for permission but gave you everything anyway.

she leaned her elbows on her knees. looked ahead.

"he’s not like the others", she said after a pause. "kross. he doesn’t just want someone next to him. he wants someone with him. that can be… heavy."

you glanced down at your gloved hands. flexed your fingers.

"it is."

"but you’re strong". she said. matter of fact. "i see it. always have.”

you blinked hard. that stung more than it should’ve.

rhea stood, stretched, then tossed you one last look, half smirk, half warmth.

"you ever need to breathe", she added, "you find me. gloves or not."

you nodded again. choked on the quiet gratitude trying to climb up your throat.

then she was gone.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you were still in the hallway, the scent of sweat and metal thick in the air, when you felt it.

the shift.

that slow-crawling shadow that always preceded him.

you didn’t turn.

not yet.

boots echoed. leather creaked. and then

his voice.

"you spoke to rhea."

not a question. just a fact he already knew.

you finally glanced over your shoulder. he was leaning against the wall like he hadn’t just come from a war council, black shirt clinging to him, hair a little damp, eyes darker than usual.

"she found me" you said, voice steady.

karrion’s gaze dragged over you like a hand. slow. heavy. "she still soft for you?"

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to.

he pushed off the wall and came to you, close. one gloved hand slid up your throat, not choking, just there. a reminder. a weight.

"she means well", he murmured, thumb brushing your jaw. "but she doesn’t know what you are to me."

"and what’s that?" you asked, low.

his smile was a thing of nightmares. and devotion.

"everything."

you shivered. it wasn’t fear. it was never fear.

he leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear.

"i got you something."

your heart jumped. "what?"

karrion pulled back just enough to look at you and god, the pride in his face could’ve cracked bone.

"you’re facing lyra next week,” he said. "intercontinental title match."

silence.

it hit you like a steel chair.

"what?" you breathed.

"i watched the way they looked at you tonight", he said, his voice sharpening. "the way he spoke to you. they still don’t fucking get it. so i made them understand."

"you got me a title shot?"

he smirked. "i got you what you already earned. all i did was remove the obstacles."

your knees almost buckled.

not because of the opportunity, though it was massive. but because of him. the way he moved through the world like a god of war. and now that power had turned inward, toward you. lifting you higher. locking you closer.

your breath hitched. "why lyra?"

"she’s good" he said. "and you deserve to beat someone good. publicly."

there was something vicious in that. something beautifully cruel. but beneath it, deeper , you felt it. pride. obsession. love, in its most unhinged, glorious form.

you didn’t speak.

you just reached for him. gloved fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt. pulling him down. kissing him like he was the only oxygen you had left.

when you broke the kiss, you whispered against his lips

"i’ll win it for you."

his hands tightened on your waist. possessive. worshipful.

"no", he murmured. "win it for us."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the following week it was time.

your first promo since putting those gloves on.

the first time the fans were going to see who you really were.

the lights dimmed as your music hit, but it didn’t feel like it used to.

not like fanfare. not like nerves.

now, it felt like an omen.

you stepped onto the ramp slow and deliberate, dressed in black from boots to gloves. no smile. no acknowledgment of the crowd. just a stare sharp enough to draw blood.

the gloves caught the spotlight first, glinting as you lifted the mic to your lips.

you didn’t speak right away.

you let the silence stretch. let it settle into their skin.

and when your voice finally broke through, it was quiet. measured. but lethal.

"i’ve spent the last year breaking myself in half for this place."

your gaze swept the crowd. the camera. the locker room. you knew he was watching you could feel it.

"trying to earn your cheers. trying to play nice. be humble. be grateful."

a humourless laugh left your lips.

"but when i bled, you looked away. when i cracked a rib in that ring, you called it a fluke. when i won… you said i got lucky."

You let the silence return for a breath.

"so now i’m done asking for respect."

you raised your gloved hand. flexed your fingers. made them all see it.

"these gloves were a gift. from the man who showed me that it is okay to be the real me. but they are not just from him they are from pain. from every week i fought like hell and still got told that was not enough"

your voice dropped, like a blade slipping from its sheath.

"you wanna know what changed?"

another pause.

"i stopped pretending to be one of you."

the crowd reacted like you’d slapped them a mix of cheers, boos, stunned silence. you welcomed it all.

"lyra", you said, your eyes dark and still. "next week you’re going to walk into that ring thinking you’ve got another title defence."

"you’re wrong."

the camera zoomed in, tight on your face.

"you’ve got a reckoning."

a final beat.

"and when you’re laid out, staring at those lights with nothing left in your lungs but the sound of my name… i want you to remember one thing."

you lifted the mic one last time.

"i didn’t become a monster because of kross. i became one because none of you gave me another choice."

you dropped the mic. the thud echoed behind you like a closing door.

and as you walked back up the ramp, you didn’t look back once.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the night before the match the training ring was silent, save for the sound of your breathing and the echo of your boots hitting the mat.

you’d been at it for nearly an hour , drills, holds, transitions, full-sequence counters. karrion pushed you harder than anyone else ever had, and he never apologised for it.

he circled you now like a predator at rest, his shirt long discarded, sweat slicking the lines of muscle down his chest and stomach. the black gloves never left his hands.

"you’re slow on the drop", he said, voice low, calm. "again."

you didn’t argue.

you came at him, hips low, centre of gravity tight but he still reversed you like it was nothing. one second, you were lunging the next, he’d caught you, spun you, and slammed you down onto the mat beneath him.

the air left your lungs in a grunt.

he straddled you, knees pinning your thighs, and leaned over, his face inches from yours.

"too easy", he muttered.

"then make it harder", you shot back.

that grin spread across his face. feral and dark.

"careful what you wish for."

you should’ve known.

his hand, gloved, hot. slid up your torso. over your ribs. between your breasts. not rough. not yet. just claiming.

you didn’t stop him.

didn’t want to.

"you’re already wrecked", he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, "and we haven’t even gotten started."

you moaned before you could stop yourself. a quiet, wrecked sound that made his eyes blaze.

he crushed his mouth to yours.

the kiss was brutal. devouring. all teeth and heat and breath.

you clawed at his back, gloves scraping down muscle. he groaned into your mouth and rocked against you, hips grinding into the apex of your thighs, and suddenly you didn’t care about the bruises. about the soreness. about anything but him.

he pulled back, breathing hard, dragging your top up over your chest in one rough tug. your nipples peaked in the cool air, and he didn’t hesitate he just bent down and took one into his mouth, sucking hard enough to bruise. his gloved hand rolled over the other, slow and possessive.

"karrion", you gasped, arching up into him.

"shut up", he growled. "you don’t talk. you take it."

you did.

every bite of his teeth. every grind of his hips. every rough drag of his tongue across your skin like he was licking salt from a wound. you were shaking under him, writhing, completely at his mercy.

his hand went to your gear next he yanked it down, tore the seam.

"always in the way", he muttered.

you were already soaked.

and he noticed.

he slipped two fingers through your folds and groaned like it physically hurt him. "fuck, baby. always so ready for me."

you spread your thighs wider without thinking. offering. begging.

"you know what happens when you get like this", he said, voice dark.

you nodded.

he shoved his fingers into you, deep, and watched your face the whole time. he loved the way you fell apart, the way your body lost all control. he fucked you with his fingers like he was memorizing it curling, pressing, rubbing that spot until your thighs were trembling.

but he didn’t let you come.

not yet.

instead, he pulled back, unbuckled his pants, and lined himself up.

he slid in deep and slow, all the way to the hilt and stayed there, forehead pressed to yours.

"you feel that?" he whispered. "how perfect this is? how right?"

you nodded, dizzy from it.

then he started to move.

it was feral. fast. he fucked you like he was staking a claim. like this ring, this place, your body all of it belonged to him. and it did. you were nothing but his at this point.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, your body a mess of moans and curses, and he ate up every sound.

"come for me", he growled. "let them hear you."

you did.

loud. shaking. crying his name.

he came a second later, deep, possessive, teeth clenched and body locked over yours.

when it was over, he didn’t move. just buried his face in your neck and breathed you in.

you stayed tangled, a mess of sweat and bruises and something much, much deeper.

finally, he whispered against your skin, voice raw.

"you’re going to destroy her."

And god help lyra valkyria because you believed it.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the hallway was chaos, production crew moving like clockwork, lights pulsing, voices buzzing through radios. but the moment karrion stepped into your space, the noise died.

it always did.

he found you tucked just off gorilla, gear on, gloves tight, eyes locked on the curtain. focused. composed. almost.

he didn’t say anything at first. just looked.

and you felt it, the way his presence sank into your skin like heat, like gravity. the way it pulled at the version of you still trying to play by the rules.

"don’t do that", he said lowly, stepping close.

your jaw flexed. "do what?"

"hide." his hand came up, cupping your jaw. firm. reverent. "don’t play small. don’t pretend to be palatable for them."

his thumb brushed over your lower lip. a slow drag. "they want a champion. give them a goddamn reckoning."

your breath caught. his touch burned not just on your skin, but deeper. in the bone. in the blood.

"you remember who you are?" he murmured.

you nodded.

"say it."

"i'm yours."

a groan left him. dark and broken. he pressed his forehead to yours, both hands gripping your face like he needed to hold you together and tear you apart at once.

"they don't deserve to watch you become what i already know you are", he whispered. "but they will.”

you kissed him, brutal, desperate and he drank it like it was his last salvation.

then, voice rough, lips still touching yours, "go ruin her. and don’t fucking look back."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the lights hit white-hot as your music blared through the arena.

you didn’t blink.

didn’t smile.

didn’t play to the crowd.

you walked gloves on, eyes locked, the storm behind them simmering. every step was deliberate. every breath controlled.

and behind the curtain, you felt him.

watching. waiting. burning.

when you entered the ring, lyra was already there, cool and focused, stretching out her shoulders, jaw tight. you didn’t blame her. she’d seen the way your matches had changed. what you’d become.

but she didn’t know the half of it.

the bell rang.

and you exploded.

first hit, a vicious forearm that snapped her head back, followed by a brutal spinebuster that shook the mat. the crowd roared, but it was all static behind the rush of blood in your ears.

lyra fought back hard. she was technical. clean. sharp with her strikes, almost surgical. she caught you with a roundhouse to the ribs that made you stumble, then followed up with a dropkick that had you in the corner.

you grinned.

because pain didn’t shake you anymore. not since him.

she came at you again, flying knee, and you caught her. mid-air. one arm around her waist, the other slamming into the back of her knee to drop her hard. you didn’t let her breathe. mounted strikes. sharp elbows. fast, mean.

the crowd was on their feet, split between awe and disbelief.

lyra rolled you, a desperation counter but you reversed it just as fast. you had her arm. twisted. contorted.

and you paused.

just long enough for your eyes to find the hard cam.

just long enough for karrion to see.

then you snapped her down into a modified ddt, transitioned clean into your finisher, and pinned her in a flash.

one. two. three.

the bell rang.

the crowd roared, but it all sounded distant, like it was happening behind glass.

you stood in the centre of the ring, chest heaving, every nerve still lit up from the fight. your gloves were smeared with sweat, maybe blood, and your jaw ached from the last shot lyra had landed. but none of it mattered.

because the ref was holding up the title.

your title.

the intercontinental championship gleamed under the lights, polished silver and leather, heavy with history.

you stared at it like it wasn’t real.

and then you reached out and took it.

your hands shook. just for a second. but once the leather met your palms, that tremble turned to steel. you clutched the belt to your chest like it was a heartbeat, like it had always belonged to you and the world was just now catching up.

the crowd chanted your name.

and for once, you heard it.

you tilted your head back and let it wash over you, eyes fluttering shut, not with peace, but with power.

everything you’d buried. everything you’d burned. it had all led here.

you looked down at the belt again, then slowly sank to your knees in the middle of the ring, the title in your lap, gloved hands pressed flat to it.

the camera zoomed in, catching your smirk. that knowing, dangerous curve of your mouth that said this wasn’t the end.

it was the beginning.

you rose back to your feet slowly, lifting the title high above your head with one hand, the other still balled into a gloved fist. the lights painted you in gold, in glory, in fire.

and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

you weren’t just a contender anymore.

you were the champion.

his champion.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the second you stepped through gorilla, the noise of the arena muffled behind thick curtains, he was there.

he was waiting in the shadows like he always did, still in his gear, black shirt clinging to him, hair damp, those eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world worth watching.

your chest was still rising and falling like you were in the ring. like the match hadn’t ended. like your pulse hadn’t slowed since you pinned lyra to the mat.

the intercontinental championship was clutched to your side, your glove pressed tight to the leather. you didn’t know if you were holding it or if it was holding you.

he crossed the space between you in two strides.

ripped the title from your grip — not to take it, not to claim it, but to look at it. hold it up like it was holy. his gaze flicked from the plate to your face, then back again, like he couldn’t decide which one made his blood burn hotter.

"you did it", he said, voice like gravel and smoke.

your breath caught.

"i told you i would.”

he grinned, slow and wicked, and before you could brace for it, he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you.

hard. deep. desperate.

it wasn’t celebration. it was devotion.

when he finally broke the kiss, his forehead stayed pressed to yours, breath ragged, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw like he needed the reassurance that you were still real.

"look at you", he rasped. "they’re all gonna kneel now."

You smirked. "just like you?"

his eyes darkened.

"no", he murmured, lips ghosting yours. "not like me. i don’t kneel. i worship."

his hand slid to the belt slung over your shoulder. tightened there.

"this is just the beginning", he said. "and i'm going to make sure they all remember how it started."

with you.

with him.

with the war you were about to wage together.

you didn’t need fireworks or speeches or the roar of the crowd.

you had him. his mouth on yours. his hand fisted in your gear. and the taste of victory between your teeth.

the title was yours.

but you?

you belonged to him.

and karrion never lost what belonged to him.

#writers reading writers #karrion kross x reader #karrion kross smut #wrestler!reader

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