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eboni-napalm · 6 days ago

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𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕠 𝕄𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕝 -- [𝟛]

SUMMARY: You've always been drawn to him, even when you knew you shouldn't be. But time passed, situations changed. You found yourself in his presence more often. Welcoming it. Craving it, even. And despite the burning, screaming sensation in the back of your head telling you that everything about this was so very wrong... ...you'd be a fool to deny that what your heart wanted was so very right.

aka; the five times when your nerves couldn't accept The Ring General's advances, and the one time where you finally embraced them. -- CHAPTERS: [1] - [2] - [3] (you are here!) -[4] - [5]

WORD COUNT: 3,396

WARNINGS: None for this chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fluff. Pure, tooth-rotting fluff. Gotta give you a dose of sweetness with some soft Gunther before we get back into the tension and utter FILTH that is coming your way in the next two parts... <3

TAGLIST: @eringobragh420 || @moonlight1254 || @void-detective || @imperiumbunny || @neurodivergentempress || @stanswifties || @ellswritings || @princessesareforsuckers || @if-weburn-blog || @greyghoulette || @stacys-momxx || @self-indulgent-fanfics (If you'd like to be added to be informed of future chapters, please let me know!)

The first time you held his hand, it was on pure instinct alone; a supporting gesture to combat his thoughts at one of his lowest points you've ever seen him in.

You'd been struggling yourself in a different way- Ilja had been taken out with a torn ACL at a house show during the last European tour back in September, and you'd be without the constant presence of your best friend for a good ten months at a minimum. You knew it would be a struggle, but with the other friends you had, as well as a few of the other wrestlers you'd managed to make quick friends with since your main roster call-up back in spring, you weren't super worried. Most people in the company and backstage otherwise liked you well enough and didn't have much, if any issues with you at all- aside from a small handful, but you couldn't be bothered to care too much about them- they didn't matter. Just your old and new friends to pass the time and keep you occupied.

Speaking of new friends... you'd surprisingly found yourself in the company of Gunther quite often as of late, whether it be just a quick greeting in passing or a full-on conversation with him at certain times. You were very aware that he kept a very small amount of people close to him, which, frankly, mostly just consisted of his Imperium stablemate Ludwig Kaiser and possibly Giovanni Vinci- despite his... excommunication of sorts from the group just before the draft, you wondered if the Ring General still had contact with his friend and former teammate. Still, you'd be lying if you didn't say you considered it an honor of sorts to be welcomed in to his circle. Over the weeks, you'd even formed an odd, loose acquaintanceship with Kaiser; the handsome German man was as elegant as he presented himself to be, but also shockingly polite and provided you with a constant source of entertainingly snarky comments about people not in his best graces whispered to you under his breath, which often resulted in a snort of laughter from you. He'd also end up joining you halfway through your workouts at the local gyms some days, and when he met you in catering one Monday afternoon with an extra Vanilla Chai latte he picked up for you just because, you knew you'd officially made a friend- and judging by the fact that you had begun to be welcomed by the two fellow Europeans to start moving your belongings into their locker room... you'd made teammates, as well.

It was a slow process of sorts; you and the Mad Dragon normally just stored your suitcases in the public dressing areas for the men and women, but the members of Imperium had a nicer, private one all to themselves. Kaiser had extended the idea to you as more of a suggestion one random day with a shrug, mentioning that it might be nice for you to have a slightly quieter space- but with you also not missing the subtle smirk present both on his face and in his voice when he added that Gunther also had wanted to bring it up to you as well, mentioning that he enjoyed your presence. You did your best to hide your blush, but took him up on the offer. Days passed where you occasionally joined them in their space, but then weeks and months passed, and now it was almost second nature to you to just head straight for their locker room. In a sense, you'd sort of unofficially taken Giovanni's place.

Unofficially.

Until the day you found a small black bag resting in your new locker (the writing on the tag easily identifiable to you as the Ring General's handwriting), which held a fitted t-shirt in your size with the classic Imperium logo on the front, and the sight brought a wide smile to your face.

You were now one of them. Accepted, fully welcomed into the fray.

A member of Imperium.

His aura had intensified since winning the World Heavyweight Championship at SummerSlam, that much was for certain. His suits were nicer. His moves in the ring were even more scathing and hard-hitting. His promos to his opponents were even more confident than before, if that was even possible. He played the part of the dominant, near invincible Heel so beautifully. So flawlessly.

However, something felt off. A foreign sensation of sorts, bubbling slowly to the surface, seeping through the cracks of his near perfect persona, bit by excruciating bit. Slowly at first, sporadically, almost; it came off as more of a fleeting glimpse of something off in his eyes, only for it to disappear before you could really put your finger on what it was. You'd tried to ignore it as much as possible- Gunther was a grown man, after all, mentally and physically stronger than almost anyone you've come to know in your entire life. He was quite possibly the last person you or anyone would expect to dwell on any matter he would deem even remotely trivial, brushing it off and gong about his business as per usual.

But it kept happening. And you finally figured out what it was.

It started with Damian. Then it was Finn Balor. Making snide comments about his reign, whether out of jealousy or anger you couldn't place right away. And now, along with them, came Sami Zayn- the man who had dethroned the Ring General of the Intercontinental Championship at the last WrestleMania, now setting his sights back on him to take his current title away. Understandably so, Gunther had denied him a match- compared to his last few opponents he feuded with, Sami wasn't quite at the level of World Champion material in his eyes, and he wanted to fight the best the company had to offer in order to make the prize he held stay as prestigious as possible. But the Canadian didn't seem to agree, and since then, had been confronting the leader of Imperium on a regular basis. Besmirching his name. Calling him a coward. Calling him soft. All in an attempt to throw him off and plant seeds of doubt in his mind.

And you couldn't believe that somehow... it was actually working.

The fact that words from people who had either never beaten him or only had one lucky victory over him had begun to affect him this way completely boggled your mind. Someone of Gunther's caliber believing he was losing his edge, becoming afraid of losing what he earned and cherished to someone so far beneath him skill-wise? That didn't seem even remotely possible. But it was happening right before your very eyes.

What was even stranger was the fact that you were actually quite worried about him.

You'd mentioned this to Ludwig one Monday night while the two of you were sitting at a farther back table in the catering area, drumming your fingers on the polished wood as you spoke. "I just don't understand it," Voice low so that as little attention as possible was brought to you, the words tumbled from your lips as you rested your chin on top of your hands. "Es ist verrückt, Kaiser. In all my years of seeing his matches and knowing what kind of wrestler he is- what kind of man he is- this shouldn't be a thing."

"It's definitely out of character for him," He nodded in agreement, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I've tried to find a proper time to bring it up, but with how busy all of us are, it hasn't been easy. Plus, with how the situation is, I somehow wouldn't doubt him shutting that topic down around me." With a small flourish, the German man pulled his jacket off from the back of his seat as he stood. "It seems to be bothering you as well... if you said something to him, perhaps he might make an exception for you?"

Stopping mid-bite of a strawberry, you looked at him with a mildly shocked expression before it shifted to one of almost sarcastic disbelief, swallowing the small piece of fruit before replying. "Oh, sure, vent your issues to the new Imperium member who he's only talked to on a regular basis for maybe five months versus your best friend who you've been almost like brothers with since 2008," your comment allowed Ludwig to crack a smile. "Somehow I have a hard time believing that interaction will turn out how you think it will."

He chuckled, patting your shoulder as he walked past you. "Call it a hunch," You scoffed lightly in good-natured dismissal, but before he left and bid you farewell for the moment, he leaned in closer to you to add on to his previous statement in a whisper. "Besides, I believe it could do the both of you some good."

You said nothing. You didn't need to; even though no response followed your friend's words, he knew the thought that simmered at the back of your mind.

Deep down, you hoped he was right.

WWE had revived Saturday Night's Main Event for the first time in almost fifteen years, and Gunther was scheduled to defend his championship against not only Damian Priest (for the second time), but also Finn Balor, who had weaseled his way into the match by proxy of his own rivalry with the Archer of Infamy. During this whole debacle, the Ring General had been almost closed off in a sense, not really speaking much to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. While still walking tall, you could tell he was masking something, and it made your heart ache for him- and you made it a goal that night to be there for him. While you weren't on the event card, he and Kaiser were, so you obviously showed up to support your teammates and friends despite the sting of the cold December winter.

And one of them was in a definite, desperate need of support. Even if he didn't say it.

You headed down the hallway back towards Imperium's locker room, sporting a form-fitting, lantern-sleeved ivory blouse and lace-up black leggings, your ankle-high boots clacking softly against the floor as you walked. A small water bottle in one hand and a yogurt cup in the other, you slowly pushed the door back open, expecting to find the room empty as it had been when you left a few minutes prior- but were met with the sight of the leader of your new faction, dressed in that familiar beautiful deep blue trench coat as he slowly paced back and forth in a small line some feet away from the lockers. Hands behind his back, expression neutral despite his slightly pursed lips, head tilted down just enough to where you weren't entirely sure if he was still staring straight ahead or more at the floor. When the door closed behind you, the click of the lock made him stop and look up at you, his eyes meeting yours and causing your stomach do to a flip- even after months had passed, nothing was going to change the effect he had on you.

Nodding at him in silent greeting, you made your way over to the small couch off to the left of the room, sitting down and setting your treat on the table in front of you. Twisting the cap off of your water bottle, you lifted it to your lips to take a quick sip, but paused as you felt the cushions next to you dip slightly, turning to see the Austrian man occupying the seat to your left with his hands on his legs as he let out a low sigh. There wasn't much space between the two of you, maybe about a foot at the very most.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you focused your gaze on him as your drink remained in your lap. "...Nervous?"

The one-word question left your lips in a soft tone, and when he turned to meet your eyes, he blinked but said nothing. The expression on his face wasn't a glare by any means, but you could tell it wasn't necessarily one of a positive emotion. In response, you shook your head in slight embarrassment, placing the plastic bottle on the table. "Sorry, probably a stupid question to ask considering it's you."

Surprisingly, your words finally allowed a faint smile to cross his face, his shoulders raising and falling slightly as if he had let out a short, silent chuckle. "You're alright," his voice too, was low, the smoothness of it reaching your ears with a pleasant tingle as he spoke your name. "Nervous, no. Frustrated and annoyed, however? Definitely."

It was understandable and completely justified for sure. Even you thought by now that with his skills and prestige, Gunther would be moving up even more and facing opponents more along the lines of Seth Rollins or John Cena, not being forced to defend multiple times against the same two or three people. Still, you gave him a tiny smile and sat somewhat farther back on the couch. "Don't even get me started on those completely stupid comments Sami's been making about you, either. Das kann nicht sein Ernst sein. You, going soft? Ridiculous."

Despite the very well-indicated supportive tone and meaning of your words, you saw the Ring General's eyes gloss over for a split second with an expression akin to reliving a bad memory, and he hesitated to reply back to you.

You noticed the shift in the air immediately, turning back to him and blinking in surprise. "...Gunther," his name left your lips in an almost sad tone of voice, your body turning to face him more fully as your legs still hung over the cushions. "Please don't tell me you actually believe him. Him or anyone else saying those things you know for a fact are completely untrue." In your own bout of frustration, you slapped one of your hands onto your thigh, shaking your head. "How does Sami think that's going to go for him in the long run, anyway? Lying to your face like that? The man is jealous of you and he's still trying to cling onto the victory over you back in April like- like he's entitled to something, now? No!"

One of your hands moved up to rest at the area where his upper arm met his shoulder, secretly relishing the feeling of the soft, thick cotton of his coat under your fingers. "Don't you dare," your voice was close to shaking, your eyes firmly locked onto his hazel orbs with conviction. "Don't believe a single god damn thing they say. They don't know the kind of talent and dedication you have for this sport. You say it yourself all the time-" Your other hand now clasped at his other shoulder. "Die Matte ist Heilig. The Mat is Sacred. You show that with honor and without fail every single time you step foot in that ring. Even when I was opposing you and siding with Ilja throughout our days in NXT, I still knew just how amazing you were- and still are."

Without consciously realizing it, your hands had slipped from his shoulders down to his left hand, taking it within your right and clasping at the back of it with the other one, raising it up to chest level. "Listen to me, Gunther," your previously loud volume had since subsided, not looking away from his face as you spoke and gave his hand a squeeze. "You are one of the most incredible wrestlers alive. Not only in this company, but in the entire world. You're called der Ringgeneral for a reason, and you deserve to be champion- wear both of those titles with pride and prestige. Now go out there, give Priest and Balor what for, and show them and everyone else just why you are the greatest performer to hold the prize they're all vying for." Boldly, you briefly pressed your forehead against his knuckles as you whispered one final sentence, your breath warm against his skin. "Believe in yourself... and even if only once, believe me."

The air surrounding you both wasn't necessarily thick or heavy like how it had been in your previous interactions, but there was still an underlying level of tension present- although now, it was laced with genuine concern and care. In a sense, you'd basically opened your heart to the Austrian about just how much you respected and appreciated him- not only because of the fact that he didn't have very many fans due to his strict, no-nonsense persona, but he didn't have very many true friends, either. It was basically just Kaiser, and now, you. You'd worked your way into his life in more ways than one, and with that declaration of support you had just given him, it was obvious that he'd done the same to you.

This was confirmed by the sight of a genuine smile crossing his face for what was most likely the first time in at least two weeks, his dimples sinking into his cheeks as he exhaled quietly through his nose and allowed his eyes to soften, placing his free hand over one of yours. "...So schön wie du inspirierend bist," he murmured almost uncharacteristically softly as he never averted his gaze from yours. "Jetzt weiß ich genau, was er in dir gesehen hat."

His words, entirely in his native tongue, weren't foreign to you in the slightest; you understood them immediately and your chest felt tight with something warm that gave your stomach butterflies. With a subtle, slow wink at you, he stood up, bringing you up to your feet along with him before bringing your joined hands closer to his face to press a delicate, chaste kiss to your knuckles. "...Then I'd best not disappoint."

You couldn't respond back to him even if you wanted to. Your voice was caught in your throat, your mouth was dry, and you were firmly rooted in place by the firm, yet gentle grip of his hands. Only when he slowly took his free one back to drop it to his side did you finally loosen your own grip on his other and let go yourself, nodding at him in affirmation. After he gave you one last wink and a brief flash of his gleaming white smile, he headed for the door, lingering there for one or two extra seconds to stare at you before he slipped out and began to walk down the hallway towards Gorilla- he didn't notice that you had stepped out into the hall a few seconds after he had left, watching him disappear around the corner with a just barely-there more confident aura in his step once again, and you smiled to yourself, letting out a soft, silent exhale.

And then it hit you.

Realization.

Revelation, even.

That feeling in the back of your neck and in the tips of your fingers; an unfamiliar, but pleasant warmth that you could feel flowing through your veins, sending your blood alight with heat. That sensation of your heart pounding wildly, beating out of your chest in elation and euphoria, but also combined with the sudden urge to cry in overwhelming confusion and overstimulation. It captured you, completely swallowed you whole, consumed your entire state of mind and state of being.

Even as you snuck to Gorilla to watch the Ring General take out both Damian and Finn to retain his championship, the title in mention held high with his confidence returned in full force, that combination of every emotion inside of you only heightened tenfold. And as you pressed a hand over your heart and felt the tears stream down your face, you knew exactly what it was. That thought you had since the first moment you laid eyes on him that you had tried to push to the back of your mind had reared its head once more- and this time, you allowed it to come back. You didn't fight it. Because you knew you could no longer deny it.

It was no longer just a silly little crush. No longer just an infatuation.

You weren't falling little by little anymore.

You had fully fallen in love with Gunther.

-- [1. "Es ist verrückt." - It's crazy/insane.] [2. "Das kann nicht sein Ernst sein." - He can't be serious.] [3. "Die Matte ist Heilig." - The Mat is Sacred.] [4. der Ringgeneral - the Ring General.] [5. "So schön wie du inspirierend bist..." - As beautiful as you are inspiring...] [6. "Jetzt weiß ich genau, was er in dir gesehen hat." - Now I know exactly what he sees/saw in you. || (he, referring to Ilja.)]

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #gunther #gunther wwe #gunther x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #x reader #reader insert #gunther imagine

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eboni-napalm · 1 month ago

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𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕠 𝕄𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕝 -- [𝟚]

aka; the five times when your nerves couldn't accept The Ring General's advances, and the one time where you finally embraced them. -- CHAPTERS: [1] - [2] (you are here!) - [3] - [4] - [5]

WORD COUNT: 3,760

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood and sexual themes/thoughts- nothing outright explicit, but proceed with caution to be safe.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The tension's starting to build. It's going to be agonizing, but I can promise you it's gonna be worth it in the end. <3

TAGLIST: @eringobragh420 || @moonlight1254 || @void-detective || @imperiumbunny || @neurodivergentempress || @stanswifties (If you'd like to be added to be informed of future chapters, please let me know!)

The first time you touched him, it was after he had earned and solidified his place at the top of the world.

You were just as excited as everyone else was as the weeks went by; SummerSlam was drawing closer and closer with each passing day- surprisingly much faster than you thought it would. Before you knew it, both Clash at the Castle and Money in the Bank had come and gone, and now, 'The Biggest Party of the Summer' for professional wrestling was just around the corner. During that time, despite your loss at the previous King and Queen of the Ring event, you were still prominently featured on nearly every episode of RAW as an up-and-coming future Main Event level performer, as was Ilja. He'd been firmly cemented as a top contender for the Intercontinental Championship, whereas your skills and prowess helped to slowly but surely begin your rise towards the top of the Women's Division. Similarly to what happened during the Saudi Arabia event in mention, you and your best friend were given the opportunity to qualify for your respective Money in the Bank Ladder matches- while Ilja had lost his Triple Threat with Sheamus and Drew McIntyre, you won over Dakota Kai and Zoey Stark, earning your place on yet another significant event. Despite your best efforts, however, you just weren't quite fast or resilient enough to climb that ladder when it most mattered, and the popular and beautiful Tiffany Stratton had snatched the women's briefcase. Still, that didn't deter you from continuing with your consistently great matches and performances, and you knew dozens people were now watching you with plenty of positive intrigue and interest.

The Ring General was one of them.

He'd asked you for your name one day. You weren't completely certain as to the reason why; he knew who you were- you and Ilja were basically attached at the hip, how could he not? Despite that, you humored him and told it to him. And when he said it back to you, repeating it once more, slowly, almost as if savoring the sound of it lingering on his tongue, committing it to memory, you felt a surge of heat paint itself across your cheeks and knew painfully well that from that point onwards, you were a goner.

Since your first true interaction with him back when he won the coveted crown, you'd noticed Gunther's presence around you had begun to increase steadily over the past few weeks- whether it was as simple as a smirk and a nod in your direction or an exchange of sentences laced with a now quite common flirtatious undertone, he'd worked his way seamlessly into your day-to-day work life.

And you still weren't quite sure how to truly feel about it.

It was certainly strange, to be sure- up until that one point, while absolutely respecting his work and who he was as a wrestler, he was not in your best graces. After all, he and Ilja had been bitter enemies and rivals for the better part of five years, and of course you were going to support and side with your best friend when it came to any and all feuds they had. You remembered every strike, every chop, every powerbomb, every elbow to the head and tightly-locked sleeper submission the Austrian had given that broke Ilja's body down, with you being nearly driven to tears in fear of just how badly injured he was after every single fight between them. It made your stomach lurch.

But it was also... pleasant, now, somehow? Despite all the negative memories from the past that still lingered in the back of your mind, the day you had officially met each other two months ago had almost rewired a circuit in your brain. The very sight of his tall, built frame standing close to you, mischievously evil twinkle in his deep golden-brown eyes, his signature cologne floating through the air that surrounded you (on top of the fact that you could absolutely tell he had been wearing it more often on purpose)... it infuriated you to think so, but your routine felt off whenever you didn't see him at least once a night at the show's arena. Dare you say it, you almost wanted to see him. You were happy to see him.

And you hated it.

At least, you thought you did. That's what you kept telling yourself; that you hated how he made you feel things other than anger and annoyance, that you hated how he made your heart flutter like a lovesick puppy. God help you for even thinking of describing yourself as the word, 'lovesick'. You were nothing of the sort.

That's what you kept telling yourself.

But you knew it was a lie.

The second largest live event for WWE at beginning of August was a warm, bright day, and you were positively beaming with excitement for what was to come. While you weren't fortunate enough to have a match this time around, you were still present to watch the matches and support your coworkers and friends who were on the bill for tonight. You cheered and booed with everyone else watching the show in the back with you, jumping up and down with particular glee when LA Knight had successfully dethroned Logan Paul for the United States Championship- which he very much deserved after all his years of hard work and absolutely brilliant promo skills; the man never failed to make you smile and laugh whenever you saw him in the halls or in the ring.

When the time came for your newest acquaintance to make his way into Gorilla for his entrance for his long-awaited World Heavyweight Championship match against Damian Priest, you watched as he was about to pass by you, but paused for a brief second to catch your gaze with his out of the corner of his eye. Quickly, so as not to avoid suspicion from others, you gave him a soft wave with your fingers and mouthed "good luck" to him, the ends of your lips curving up into a barely-there smile for the Austrian man. In response, he grinned at you, the glint in his eyes seeming to say that he didn't need luck, but still thanking you anyway- giving you a quick wink and reaching up to grip at the lapels of his navy blue Ring General trench coat to pop them out slightly at you... was this man peacocking?

You fought the urge to smack him as your face heated up from the implication of his wordless response. Ass.

Still, you couldn't hold back the chill that shot up your back when the first sting of his music hit, the entirety of the lights in the stadium going pitch black, and his illuminated silhouette standing tall and proud at the entrance ramp. The look of pure, laser-focused determination set in stone across his face causing a singular butterfly to flit about in your stomach. If there was one thing you had come to know about Gunther in the time you'd known him, it was that he rarely ever got emotionally caught up in the moment when it came to his matches- and that was showing in spades with every strike delivered to the current champion; every elbow, big boot, chop (you found yourself freely moving to clutch at your chest after each one given) tiring Priest out more and more by the minute, but the Ring General was also being worn down just as much with every move thrown right back at him. You winced at the moment the taller man delivered a Hurricanrana from the top rope before accenting it with a swift spinning kick to the side of Gunther's head, but it wasn't enough to keep him down for long. At one point about seven or eight minutes into the match, the Austrian successfully performed a powerbomb on Priest, immediately moving in for a pin cover that looked suspiciously similar to a modified missionary position- splayed across the mat, folded in half, legs bent up, and the Ring General positioned firmly on top.

The amount of butterflies in your gut multiplied by five, your body temperature seemingly shot up by about ten degrees, and a sharp, electric tingle pulsed through the junction of your thighs. Imagine if you were the one pinned like that underneath him...

An immediate, almost violent shaking of your head and a self-induced slap to the face brought you out of your thoughts. Don't you dare. Don't even think about that.

There were a couple sets of eyes that drifted towards you at the sound of you lightly hitting yourself, but after you silently assured them that it wasn't something major to worry about, they nodded and turned back to the screens everyone else was focused on- just in time for you to notice something that the Ring General himself also caught at around the same exact moment- the force of Priest's attacks that were targeted at Gunther's chest had caused a decently sized welt to form on one of his pectoral muscles, and he'd since been cut open, now bleeding from the wound. When he caught eye of the damage, you watched with bated breath and widened eyes as he raised a hand up to roughly wipe the majority of it away, smearing the stain onto his trunks before rising to his feet.

Lord have mercy on your soul, why was that so hot?

Everything started to change when Finn Balor made his presence known at ringside in an attempt to rally behind the champion and throw Gunther off, the fellow Judgement Day member paying for it when the Austrian taunted him and sent him flying away from the ring with a kick to the head. By this point, his chest had started bleeding again, a long stripe of the liquid trailing down his chest like a soft red waterfall, falling just shy of the dip of where his abdomen met his waist, and you bit your lip in response to the sight. However, that expression didn't last long- after Priest had delivered a series of kicks and a South of Heaven chokeslam to his opponent, your mouth fell open in shock when Finn broke the pin by hoisting Gunther's leg over the rope, effectively cementing his betrayal of the champion and screwing him out of a sure victory. With the straps of his gear having been shed from his shoulders a few minutes ago, the look of utter rage on Damian's face spoke volumes without saying a single word- he bolted for his former friend only to be caught in a sleeper submission by the Ring General, only to successfully fight out of it and reach for Balor again to grip him tightly by the throat. But once again, fate reared its head as the King of the Ring pulled him back with one more powerbomb into a sleeper hold, dragging the fading champion into the center of the ring, and seconds later, any remaining energy left his eyes, and the bell rang to signify Gunther's win as the new World Heavyweight Champion.

You smiled to yourself, applauding softly for him as the large, golden belt was handed to him, watching the ear-to-ear grin that adorned his face as he fastened it around his waist and struck the classic Imperium pose on the top rope to a mix of boos and cheers from the large SummerSlam crowd, hiding a blush as the cameras took in the new top man in all his glory- and only one thought crossed your mind at that moment as your heart began to race in your chest.

He looked damn good as a champion.

Without realizing it right away, you'd ended up being in the same vicinity as he was during a post-show interview.

Just down the hallway from where the majority of the roster locker rooms were situated, you'd been saying your goodbyes to a few others for the night before you caught eye of him some feet away, standing next to Cathy Kelley with the belt still sitting perfectly against his hips- almost appearing as though it was made for him- and you couldn't deny that one bit. After thanking him for his time to answer her questions about the match and its aftermath, the Ring General lightly strode away from the younger woman to make his way down the hall- and shortly after, he caught eye of you.

You gave him a nod of acknowledgement, which seemed to give him the unspoken permission to approach you with long strides of his legs until he was once again within your personal perimeter, and you had to unconsciously steady your legs so you didn't buckle underneath them. "Congratulations," your voice, which was barely above a whisper, already making the tension present in the room amplify itself more.

He gave you a genuine grin, nodding back at you in an almost bow. "Danke, mein Freund," he replied back, his tone similarly quiet to match yours as the smile on his face almost broadened after he addressed you. "It was an inevitable fact that I would emerge the winner, but still, your praise is appreciated nonetheless."

A quiet chuckle disguised as a short breath left your lips as your head tilted downwards to briefly gaze at your feet before shifting back up to lock eyes with him again- his chest must have been cleaned up by the medical staff, but the large welt still remained; the redness had dulled slightly but was now accented with spots of purple, indicating some areas of bruising. The mark of a fighter, the mark of a champion. One you were silently, but still wonderfully eager to support and watch what legacy he made as the new top of the totem pole-

One misplaced dart of your eyes brought any remaining thoughts you had about that to a screeching halt, blinking as your orbs zeroed in on a sight that made the ringing in your ears go quiet.

Blood. A singular droplet of it was still present on his face, painted right where his chin met his cheek.

You hadn't even realized immediately that you had moved closer to him then, your arm moving of its own volition before you could stop yourself from ceasing the action. "H-Here," you tried not to stammer the first word that escaped you, catching yourself as you nearly did. "You've still got a little..."

Slowly, slowly, agonizingly slowly, you raised your hand upwards and gently pressed your palm against his jawline; fingers skimming his throat as your thumb rested on his chin, and you swore you felt the heat of his skin crashing unto you from just a single point of contact. He was still somewhat damp with a mild sweat from his match, his body warm and tingling under your touch, and you could have sworn that for just a split second, your pupils dilated at the same time as his when you brushed away the small red stain; the gesture soft, a barely-there touch akin to a butterfly kiss of his jaw against your fingertips. For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, close enough to where your simultaneous breathing could easily mingle and mix with each other's, but still at enough of a distance to where he couldn't quite hear the violent, frantic drumming of your heartbeat threatening to burst out of your ribcage. You could almost count each individual fleck of light shining from his hazel eyes, dancing around slowly like the glow of a group of fireflies.

His gaze darkened as it remained locked on yours. Your throat tightened and it became hard to swallow. Your mouth felt dry, aching for something, anything to remedy the yearning for moisture and friction on your lips.

And then, as if the universe was playing a horribly cruel trick on you, his brow furrowed, and he smirked. That damned, mischievous, shit-eating grin of a smirk.

Fuck.

"Are you concerned for me, schatz?" The tone of his question, while not mocking or demeaning, was still definitely laced with a hint of teasing, albeit good-natured- you also weren't too oblivious as to catch the pet name of sorts he'd given you, your ears turning bright red in response. "Goodness, I don't believe this is something I'm used to from another wrestler."

Your hand dropped back down to your side like it was made of lead, resisting the urge to grit your teeth and puff your cheeks out in embarrassment as figurative smoke shot out from your ears. The absolute nerve of that man. "Well then," you attempted to recover as fast as you could, placing your hands on your hips with a quiet scoff. "Yes, Gunther, excuse me for being a little worried and wanting to help out. The next time you've got blood on you, don't expect me to offer to come to your aid, sir."

It took only a second before realization set in from the last sentence you spoke, and you swore you felt your skin turn pale.

What the hell did you just call him?

Gunther's hazel eyes bore into you, twinkling with an almost malevolent glee at what had come out of your mouth. "Is that so?" He asked you, his voice a low whisper, a hint of something deliciously dark and foreboding thick on his tongue as your name fell from his lips. "Somehow I'm not inclined to fully believe you... would you perhaps care to repeat what you said?" As he spoke, he closed the gap between the two of you even further to where you could feel the solid gold metal of the championship belt still secured around his waist press slightly into your hips, the toned firmness of his abs meeting your clothed torso- even in just a thin, sleeveless hoodie and denim shorts, you felt hot, like your skin was burning beneath your singular layer of clothing.

"...I said, 'don't expect me to help you the next time you're covered in blood', herr Ringgeneral," While not shaky, your reply was quiet, only audible enough for the two of you to hear your voice in the currently quiet hallway- you just hoped that it stayed that way.

Still smirking at you, the male shook his head. "Not that part," his accent seemed thicker as his voice grew lower, and you noticed his own arm starting to lift up towards you from where it was initially at his side. "I think you know what I mean. What I'm referring to."

Oh, you knew exactly what that handsome, smug bastard was talking about. Though, you weren't about to admit it out loud- but you also weren't about to play dumb; he'd see right through it in an instant. There was no way in hell would he believe you if you attempted to pull that stunt on him- because you'd also be lying to yourself, and you were absolutely certain that he knew that fact. So instead, you said nothing. No witty response, no snappy comeback, not even a shake of the head in denial to try and save face. You simply stood there as you were, pulse quickening as his gaze remained locked on your own, heart plunging into your stomach, then shooting up into your throat when Gunther gently took your lower jaw in his hand, your chin gripped almost delicately between his fingers as he tilted your face up towards his, and you felt so vulnerable, so inferior underneath the glint of his sharp, burning eyes.

"Der Name, mit dem du mich vorhin angesprochen hast..." The husky rasp that was present in his voice was even more so audible now; it switched off every once working source of power in your brain and threatened to light your core ablaze like a searing wildfire, hot and slick and burning with a need to have him claim you violently and messily against the wall barely three feet behind you- and that need was only amplified by him raising his thumb to your mouth and softly brushing the thick digit along your lower lip. "...Sag es mir zurück. I want to hear you say it again."

You were frozen in place like a frightened rabbit. Pupils constricting now, shrinking into pinpricks as that dizzying feeling in your temple washed over you like a tsunami-induced tidal wave; lips parted, legs shaking, fingers twitching- god, you knew you were an absolute mess right now. How badly you wanted to call him that again. How horribly you wanted to reach for him with desperate, frenzied hands and crush him to your frame. How vehemently you wanted him to devour you with his mouth, break you with his hands, bend you in half and claim you with his thick, throbbing, straining-

With a sudden burst of energy, your fight or flight response kicked in at the very last second, and you screwed your eyes shut as you ducked under his arm and away from him with a sharp inhale. "I have to go," your words were hurried, rushed almost, falling from your mouth in a barely coherent manner as you blindly reached out to grab the handle of your small suitcase-on-wheels and tried to walk away with as much dignity and composure as you could attempt to maintain. Despite every cell in your body telling you not to look back at him, you briefly turned around to gaze at him once more. "I- I'll see you on Monday."

From that one quick moment you decided to lock eyes with him again, you thought you saw the look in his gaze soften for just a second, but then, that same dark glimmer was back in his hazel orbs, his smirk widening as his smile lines appeared deeper onto his cheeks. When you turned back around, your stroll was calm but brisk to begin with, soon becoming frantic the moment you were far enough away from him to where you hoped he wouldn't hear your quickly retreating footsteps. You finally reached the arena's back exit with slow, panting breaths, running a hand down your face and swallowing heavily before slumping against the door, white-knuckle gripping your suitcase handle.

There was no more denying it now. You couldn't, no matter how hard you tried. You knew what he did to you. He knew what he did to you.

He had you firmly under his skin.

And he wasn't letting you go.

[1. "Danke, mein freund." - Thank you, my friend.] [2. schatz - (my) dear/darling.] [3. herr Ringgeneral - (mister) Ring General.] [4. "Der Name, mit dem du mich vorhin angesprochen hast..." - That name, what you called me before...] [5. "Sag es mir zurück." - Say it back to me.]

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #gunther wwe #gunther #gunther x reader #wwe fanfiction #WWE fanfic #reader insert #x reader #Gunther imagine

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