Since you're taking imagine requests again: can you do one with Marty where you're a sweet as pie babyface and he woos and persuades you to be with him? Perhaps turning you a bit heel/tweener in the process? Thank youuu!!! -K
this is one of the best imagine requests i have pretty much ever had. if only all of them were like this. this was a joy to dream up. thank you.
@ The Villain: Disgraceful business that was. Pet, if you want someone to treat you better, come see daddy. @ (Y/N)Pro
“I know Kirby is your friend, (Y/N), but you’re allowed to be selfish. You’ve done so much for him, and what have you gotten in return? A chair shot to the head from Dunne. And did he get revenge for you? No. Because you’re expendable to him. He doesn’t care about you. You’re a means to an end, something pretty to distract his opponents at ringside.”
The rant continued to make my headache even worse, so I did my best to try to tun out the words. Marty had a point, as much as I loathed to admit it. He’d been making a lot of those lately.
How I got myself in this position was a mystery to me. I was a bubbly, happy go lucky girl, quick with a smile and even quicker to lend a helping hand. It didn’t matter what company I was in, on what continent, or what the political culture of the locker room was. I was well liked and made friends wherever I went. The opinions of the fans and my peers meant everything to me.
Marty was the antithesis of what I was. Marty was too intense, too brash, too everything. He was loud and dangerous, never above cutting corners to get what he wanted. He made the fine hair on the back of my neck stand up and gooseflesh break out on my skin. Marty honestly didn’t care what anyone thought of him.
So imagine my surprise when following my debut loss, he was there outside of my locker room with an ice pack and what likely was supposed to be gruff words of encouragement. The next show had him offering strategy. The one after, a joke or two. I thought it odd that no one in the locker room made note of it, but I brushed it off. He was just being nice. Possibly even turning over a new leaf.
He was a good… friend. Only a friend; Men like him didn’t go for girls like me. Even if they did flirt with me on social media. I tried to ignore the way his eyes would make me feel, the way my stomach would tighten in the most pleasant of ways when his hand accidentally brushed against mine, or how safe he made me feel.
I was still in my head when Marty grabbed my chin between his thumb and index finger and forced my attention back on him. His green eyes were dark with something indecipherable but nevertheless calculating.
“You haven’t been listening to me have you.”
It wasn’t really a question, but I shook my head anyway. He scowled, but continued.
“You have to look out for number one (Y/N). Kirby isn’t gonna do it for you, clearly.”
@ (Y/N)Pro: To err is to be human. To forgive is to be divine.
@ The Villain: *photo of Pete Dunne hitting (Y/N) with a steel chair* 👀 👀 👀
Those were the words that were ringing in my ears as I stood in Martin Kirby’s corner in his match against Marty Scurll for a shot at the WCPW title.
I did resent Kirby. I came to WCPW to win the women’s title, but somehow, I had been delegated to a valet, only competing in matches on the rarest of occasions. It was frustrating, then compounded with the fact that Kirby had done nothing to help me when I was caught alone in the ring with an irate Pete Dunne who was armed with a steel chair.
And then there was the time Kirby pushed me in front of Ospreay as the high flyer was going for the 760 Kick.
Or the time he super kicked me in the face, then didn’t apologize.
Maybe I should be selfish? Just this once?
I was conflicted for most of the match, And then, there was the golden opportunity if there ever was one.
The referee was knocked down and appeared to be out cold. Marty had slid out of the ring to grab his umbrella to use on a prone Matin Kirby. I slid into the ring and placed myself facing Marty, hands outstretched, between the two men, just has the Villain had raised the black umbrella for a swing.
The cheers from the crowd were so loud, I almost missed Marty’s words.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’ pet? I coulda knocked your damn head off.”
I shook my head, eyes pleading.
“You can’t do this Marty. You just can’t. Its not right.”
Marty was flabbergasted, his mouth opening but no words were coming out. At the corner of my eye, I could see Kirby starting to get to his feet and the referee just beyond him beginning to stir.
I blinked and then the super kick I had thrown at Kirby connected with a resounding crack along his jaw. He was knocked out cold.
The crowd screaming their displeasure at the sudden turn of events was thunderous as I turned back to Marty after admiring my handiwork. The Villain’s mouth was agape and the umbrella had been dropped in shock.
“Don’t just stand there and look pretty, Marty. Pin him.”
Marty scooped one of Kirby’s legs for the pin, him staring at me with a mixture of wonder and pride, as the referee who had come to slowly counted to three.
The bell rung and the Villain was victorious.
Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins and that’s what I blame my next action on next.
I took the few steps towards him, placed my hands at the back of his neck, and pulled him down to me for a rough kiss. Marty didn’t miss a beat, wrapping one arm around my waist and raising the other in victory as his mouth moved feverishly over mine.
@ The Villain: No one cares about the good guys. Its the villains that get the girl and the gold at the end.