Risk It Roulette: Keith Fox vs. Roulette [D]

[HotWheels]

Roulette Match
Participants pick three stipulations/match round types on a coin flip. The winner of two of the three rounds wins the match.

Dinah Barbeau's leg bounced like it had a mind of its own, the small heel of her boot tapping a frantic rhythm against the concrete floor in gorilla position. Three weeks. Three goddamn weeks of nonstop bullshit - her agent firing off emails like confetti at a funeral ("This is career suicide, Dinah!"), her manager pacing Zoom calls with that pinched-face worry ("Think of the endorsements!"), and even her mom piping up on a rare family group chat ("Honey, you're a singer, not a boxer - please don't get hurt."). Crazy, reckless, a phase she'd outgrow. As if any of them got it. As if they understood the itch under her skin, the one that said do it bigger, do it louder, or don't bother at all. She didn't care. Not then, and sure as hell not now, with the roar of the LAW crowd vibrating through the walls.

...The match itself, however, worried her. Strap match first. Jesus, why'd he pick that? The thought sent a fresh jolt up her thigh, but she shook it off, rolling her shoulders under the weight of her leather jacket. Keith had snagged two out of three in that viral coin-flip circus - strap to start, then last man standing, which sounded like a nightmare on legs after getting tenderized by leather for who knew how long. She'd clawed the last one for herself: hands bound behind their backs to kick things off, either win like that or claw free to win.

But the order? Roulette's cruel joke, starting her off leashed, no room for any mistakes. Failure on pay-per-view? The girl who'd built her empire on nailing every note, every step, every dare? It clawed at her gut, a cold whisper that told her she could look stupid by the end of this and prove all the doubters right.

Excitement won out, though, as it always did. It bubbled up hot and fizzy, turning her restless arm swings into near-misses; she almost clocked a stagehand hustling cables, yanking back at the last second with a breathless "Shit, sorry! Too hyped." He waved it off with a grin and a glance below her skirt, but her cheeks burned under the layers of stage makeup. It didn't matter. The spotlight was coming.

And then it did. The opening synths of "Nice Type" hit like a sugar rush, bass thumping through her bones as the gorilla curtain parted. Dinah stepped out - blonde twin-tails swinging, red shades perched like a dare, the black leather jacket slung open over her clinging top and its healthy boob window, short skirt riding high over wet-look tights that melded into boots with just enough heel to make kicks hurt without tripping her. The crowd erupted, a wall of sound that crashed over her: cheers, whistles, a few scattered chants of "Rou-lette! Rou-lette!" She soaked it in, hips swaying to the beat as she belted out the chorus in her cutesy stage-siren voice - raw and electric, mic'd up for the whole arena to hear - one gloved hand trailing the barricade while she bounced and danced her way down the ramp, turning the aisle into her personal runway. Phones flashed like stars; she blew kisses, flashed peace signs, let the energy coil tight in her core.

This. This was why she put up with the shit and the risk.

The ring loomed ahead, strap waiting on the mat. She vaulted the ropes with a springboard flip - easy, showy, landing light on her boots - and peeled off the jacket, tossing it to ringside with a wink to the timekeeper. The music faded as she sauntered to center ring, skirt swishing, hips cocked while she scanned the ramp, one hand on her hip as she toed the strap with her boot.

"Keith! You gonna make me wait all night, handsome?" she called out, voice carrying sweet and sharp over the din, grin flashing bright for the hard cams.

Spoiler

[BlackAkuma]

that boy is gonna get steamrolled. Have you seen Roulette go? She’s a real fighter, not some fake actor

wrestling IS real

Sure, and so is the Tooth Fairy. Women can’t beat men in a fight, it’s a matter of anatomy and science

God, Keith needed to get off Twitter.

Frankly, he wished he’d dropped the app years ago, but it was far too late, now. This was one of the prices you paid for being a social media star, being forever tethered to whatever app was most popular at the moment, forced to ride whatever trend was going. Honestly, he’d never liked the app that much even before he got famous and needed it for his work. So much drama, so much noise, so little positivity, and it could just suck you in if you let it…

Like what was currently happening to him. He’d been checking online all week, getting a pulse for where things stood with his fanbase. Predictably, they’d gone to war with Roulette’s fans - the Cub/Spinners War, as it had been dubbed online. A conflict played out across Reddit threads, Instagram posts, and, of course, Twitter. It had even gone on to Sora, where there were disturbingly lifelike versions of him and Dinah - or Roulette, he needed to get used to calling her that - duking it out in the ring. They fought like dolls on strings in those clips, AI hadn't quite figured out how to make people look like they were really fighting, but it creepily realistic otherwise.

Oh, and there was the occasional smattering of antisemitism and ragebaiting. But that was just the default with anything he did. He’d learned to tune it out.

Keith was busying himself checking the feeds, monitoring the back-and-forth online. As toxic as it was, he couldn't help but have some morbid curiosity over the way things were playing out between their fanbase, like watching crabs going at it in a barrel. He was so wrapped up in the discourse, idly humming along with Roulette’s catchy-as-hell theme, that it took him a moment to notice that it had stopped and his own

had started, and the stagehands were looking at him with awkward glares.

Right. Go time.

"I told a lie when I was 17
You took my hand and stole a car
And now you′re on the run for holding up a late night bar
Now I'm afraid you′ll go too far..."

Keith emerged from the back as strobe lights flickered around the ramp, heralding his approach while the synthetic beats thumped across the arena. It was a fast-paced and frenetic beat, and he bounced along every beat and slapped hands along the way, all the while making sure the cameras got a good look at the back of his jacket - it was super important they got a good look at the Jimmy Johns and Snickers logos at the center, something that Aika had reminded him approximately 1,091 times in the last 24 hours alone.

Keith made his way down to the ring, but he didn't enter just yet. Instead, he flashed Roulette a quick wink, held up a finger, and made his way over to the announcer’s desk, where a cart of his Nexus energy drink were set up. He picked out one of each flavor - Lemon-Lime, Grape, and whatever Cherry Melon was supposed to be - and football tossed them into the waiting audience, taking care to only throw them at people who looked ready to catch them—all successful, no lawsuits today.

And that satisfied his shilling quota. Finally, the fun part.

Keith tossed his jacket over beside Roulette’s, hopped up on the apron, and turned his back to the ring with his fists raised, getting them pumped up. After they cheered back, he reached behind, grabbed the ropes, and entered the ring with a backflip, a move he’d practiced far more times than he’d ever care to admit. He smirked as he turned her way and sauntered over with no small amount of swagger.

”My bad, sorry to keep you waiting.” He picked up his end of the strap as the referee came over to fiddle with it and make sure it was secure. While he did, he took the time to enjoy the sight of her in that outfit. ”You look ready to go. Hope you don’t mind starting with the strap, wanted to try this one for a while.”

[HotWheels]

Dinah had been mid-pose - hip cocked, arms loosely folded under her chest, trying to look bored and untouchable - when Keith’s music hit.
And then… the pose drooped a touch as she watched him before collapsing altogether.

Her mouth actually parted a little as he came bouncing down the ramp like a walking clickbait. The strobes caught every logo on that jacket - she was only surprised she didn't see something for crypto. That would have left her gaping in something like morbid curiosity well enough, but he also had his drinks ringside. She really should try one of those. She really should have noticed that it was propped there. She felt entirely thrilled that she was only selling herself tonight and not four hundred products. Her carefully curated TikToks and “come watch Keith get whipped lol” interviews suddenly didn't feel so soul-sucking. For a second, the nerves went quiet at the sheer absurdity of it all.

The second his eyes flicked to her, though, muscle memory snapped her back into gear. Shoulders rolled, hips shifted, one hand sliding down to rest on her thigh as she arched just enough to make the designs of her top strain against the fabric. Zero to sex-bomb in 0.2 seconds. Keith sauntered over with the strap dangling from his fingers like it was a designer accessory, and Dinah finally found her voice again - sweet, sharp, and dripping with mock pity.

“Wow,” she drawled, letting her gaze drag from his boots all the way up, slow enough to be rude. “Did you rehearse that entrance in a mirror, or does corporate just beam the choreography straight into your brain now?”

She stepped in until the toes of her boots almost touched his, tilting her head so the twin-tails brushed her bare shoulders. Up close he was… bigger. A lot bigger. Bigger than he had been sitting across from her on his show. Shoulders that could block doorways, arms that looked like they’d been carved for protein-powder ads. The kickboxing girls she’d fought had been scrappy, wiry. Keith looked like he ate scrappy, wiry girls for breakfast. A tiny, traitorous flutter tried to start in her belly - fear or thrill, impossible to tell. She crushed it with a smile.

“Hope you brought extra cans of that Nexus stuff,” she purred, reaching out to grab her end of the strap and flicking it so it snapped gently against his wrist with a soft thwip. “Because after I’m done painting your back red, you’re gonna need the electrolytes, sponsor boy.”

She felt less certain of that threat as she felt the referee positioning to check her wrist as she pulled the strap onto it, and after one small tug, it locked her in. Breathe in, breathe out.

[BlackAkuma]

Now that he’d done his thing and sold off the daily recommended minimum of his soul, Kieth could finally focus on what he was here for in the first place - Roulette, who…wow. Was looking extremely good tonight. Not that she hadn't looked good before, what she wore to the interview had popped just fine. But the woman before him now just hit different. It was the outfit by itself, no, it was the whole demeanor, the way she carried herself, the way she approached, that flicker in the eye. She might laugh, she might joke, she might smile, but there was a tiger in that stare. He was already being hunted.

Strong body, too, and he took his time looking her over as she did the same—especially those legs. Yeah, he would be avoiding those as much as possible.

”I’ll have you know I didn’t use a mirror at all, thank you very much.” He turned his nose up at her in mock-derision. ”We just did a couple of practice runs yesterday. Wanted to get the timing right.”

Keith had no shame. Wrestling was all about the presentation, after all.

At the mention of his drink, Keith couldn't help but let out a quick, sharp laugh, though probably not for the reason she realized. He’d never drink a drop of the stuff if it weren’t on camera. He didn’t know the formula or anything, but from what he could tell, Nexus was nothing more than Gatorade with more sugar. It wasn’t indigestable, sure, but he’d sooner drink a glass of Kool-Aid. Or hell, Flavor-Aid.

”Aw, man, you don’t even know why that’s funny.” His snickers died down as he waved it off. “I’ll tell you later.” When there weren’t any cameras around that could pick him up.

”But that’s fine, red’s my best color. Hope it’s yours, too.” Coincidentally enough, it looked like it did. Their colors matched well. He hadn't planned that out, but he was happy with it.

The referee finished her checking, then backed off and called for the bell, kicking things off in earnest. Keith held back instead of charging in, circling the ring as much as the strap would allow. He kept it pulled tight, though, tugging it a little bit, testing Roulette out to see how well she could handle the strain.

[HotWheels]

Rehearsals!? For that!?

Dinah snorted, a very un-ladylike sound that she immediately tried to turn into a scoff, though her eyes danced with amusement. “Jesus. Please tell me there’s footage. Did you knock out an intern with a stray can, or did you just pull a hamstring trying to look cool? Were those the risks?”

She was stalling, just a little. Her eyes flicked past his shoulder to the turnbuckles on his half of the ring and felt the ones behind her without looking like a weirdo to turn around and look at them - one, two, three, four. They looked miles away. And attached to her wrist was a slab of beefcake who probably weighed as much as her Honda Civic. The physics of this were... daunting. She bit the inside of her cheek, pushing down the sudden wave of 'what have I done' and replacing it with 'watch me work.'

She rolled her shoulders back, giving a little shimmy that sent ripples through her twin-tails and, more importantly, drew eyes to the way her top clung to her chest. If she was going to be tethered to a bigger man who could probably yank her around wherever, she was going to look good doing it. The crowd popped for the movement, and that sound served as fuel. As he offered his parting words before the bell, she stepped in close, rising up on her toes until she was invading his personal space, close enough to smell the sugar from his energy drink and feel the heat radiating off him. She looked him dead in the eye, dropping the smile for a split second of icy seriousness, her breath hitching against his chin.

“Don't count on it.” The bell rang.

She moved with him as he circled, light on her feet, a dancer following a lead. The leather strap pulled taut between them, already making its presence known as he kept it tight without hauling her closer. Testing her, definitely. Okay, sure. She let her arm go with the motion, refusing to play tug-of-war with a guy whose biceps were the size of her head. She kept the arm loose, dangling it out in front of her to save her strength and energy for when she needed it.

Hmm. She probably needed it promptly. She shouldn't wait for him, should she? She had won her kickboxing matches by being manically aggressive.

She gave the strap a violent, snapping yank back toward herself - not to overpower him, but to jerk his balance forward just an inch or, at worst, get his eyes focused on the strap. In the same breath, she propelled forward on her toes. Dinah launched herself low, sliding across the canvas like she was stealing third base, and tried to scissor her thighs around his left knee as she passed through the space he occupied. If she dragged him down, great. If he dodged and she got behind him... less great, but workable.

[BlackAkuma]

Keith jumped back at the snort - both because he was surprised to hear it coming from her and just taken aback by the audacity. Oh, she wanted to do a little verbal sparring first, then? He could work with it. ”I’m a ‘measure twice, cut once’ sort of guy, okay? It’s important to get this sort of thing down.” He waved it off with a dismissive shrug. ”Besides, betting odds have me going two in a row and taking this early. Gotta make sure we eat up enough time.”

Joking, of course. He never checked those things, had no idea what they said.

Despite all the teasing, he was keeping a watchful eye on her face to get a read on her. She seemed confident, despite the size advantage being in his favor. He was frankly afraid she might put up a fuss about the straps, and he was willing to negotiate if push came to shove, but she was toughing it out. Good on her, she was ready.

Maybe more than ready, hell. Keith’s eyebrow shot straight up as she moved in and got in his face, deadly serious all of a sudden. Ivan Drago energy. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, except take it as a sign - play as they might, have fun as they do, this was a serious fight with a serious person.

He kept that in mind as the bell rang and the fight commenced, with the two of them kicking things off with a fun little dance around the ring. He kept things at a distance for the moment, keeping it taut but not pulling her in as hard as he could. He wanted to play this like the frog in hot water - raise the temperature, bit by bit, until she was well and truly cooked.

Roulette, as it turned out, had other ideas. She came in fast, and the sheer alacrity of her movement took him wholly off guard - by the time he realized what she was trying to do, she was already doing it. His leg was snatched, he was tipped over, he was falling.

Reflexes took over, and he came down on his hands, then slipped his leg free, rolled forward and popped to his feet in a single motion. A good save, or it would’ve been, save for one problem: the strap. It tangled around his head in the process, and he had to take a precious moment to unravel the damned thing. With that out of the way, he turned about with his guard up, hoping he could get a lock on the little speed demoness before her next move.

[HotWheels]

The slap of her thighs closing around thick denim and muscle sent a jolt straight to her chest. Toppling the giant thrilled her far more than it should have. Gravity and leverage conspired with her, and seeing him crash to the mat validated every ounce of her bravado. The crowd’s roar washed over her, a physical wave of noise that drowned out any lingering doubts about her weight class compared to his.

But she couldn't leave the exchange there. A legscissor takedown wouldn't exactly get her where she wanted to be. She scrambled, boots digging into the canvas to propel her from prone to kneeling. Her right leg twitched, a reflex honed by the striking training she had undergone for kickboxing, screaming at her to drive a shin into his exposed ribs while he rolled. She killed the impulse instantly. In a ring without ropes, that worked; here, the leather tether snaking between them promised only a tangled disaster if she lashed out blindly.

Keith, fortunately, lacked that foresight for a moment. He popped up with athletic grace, sure, but he forgot the leash. Dinah watched, delighted, as the leather looped awkwardly around his head, turning his smooth recovery into a clumsy fumble. A bright, sharp laugh bubbled up from her throat. He looked ridiculous, like a puppy tangled in its own lead, and that meant she looked better.

She surged to her feet, snatching the slack of the strap with both hands. She wound it once around her palm for grip, turning the tether into a whip. With him still disentangling himself, she didn't hesitate. She threw her entire body weight backward, snapping the leather taut. The strap hissed through the air before cracking against his shoulder and chest with a sickening, satisfying thwack.

It felt mean. She liked it.

She liked it so much that she pivoted on her heel, using the momentum to arc the strap back around. She aimed high, looking to paint another red stripe across his chest before he could fully reset his guard.

[BlackAkuma]

Yeah, the strap was going to be a problem. It would’ve been for anyone, but Keith could already tell it was going to be more of a liability for him than most. His style revolved around a lot of movement - he wouldn’t call himself a ‘high-flyer’, whatever that was supposed to mean, but he did like to use his speed and agility. Doing that sort of thing with the tether wasn’t impossible, but he would need to compensate for it. Keep it in mind. It was a complication for him to deal with.

But he would deal with it. He would just need some time, and in that time, there would be pain. As he rose to his feet, he did so with a strong guard, expecting strikes to come his way. That was what he prepared for. That was what he trained for.

Instead, he got strapped in the chest. He would’ve preferred the kicks.

”Fffffffffffffffuck!”

Keith made his displeasure known with a long, drawn-out, hissing curse, as that blow sliced into his skin through the clothes. While it was hardly the first time he’d been whipped, there was a difference between some light, kinky fun and someone legitimately trying to hurt you. That stinging pain would be with him for a while.

He had to admit, while he suspected she would try something like that, he didn’t think Roulette would go for it so soon. Credit where it was due, she was already taking well to wrestling.

But the good news was that it woke him up, made him fully aware of her next move, as she came swinging around for seconds. He held his ground, then threw his upper body back at the last moment, pulling off a last-second Matrix dodge. The strap whizzed past his chest, and he straightened up in a flash the moment it was clear. As he lurched forward, Keith shot his hand towards Roulette’s chest at full speed, looking to deliver a powerful palm strike and create some distance between them. Distance he could use for more…creative things.

[HotWheels]

Okay, she kind of saw the appeal of this strap now. If Keith brought size and speed - perhaps more of both than she herself had at this point or would ever have given she was a pop idol, and he did a lot of this for a living - this strap brought the mean streak she needed to bridge the gap. She gripped it like a terrier with a new rope toy, practically vibrating with the need to hear that crack again. She ripped her arm upward, anticipating the crack of the impact, the roar of the crowd as they "oooh"ed in response to that crack, and another hiss of pain from her target.

The strap whistled, slicing through empty air.

The lack of resistance threw her equilibrium into chaos, the leather snapping back with enough force that she nearly flinched from her own weapon as it aimed back toward her own chest before falling slack again. But the real threat came from the void she’d just created. Keith’s palm shot from behind the flopping strap, a blur of motion that connected squarely between her breasts before she could even think to dodge.

“Ah!”

The air left her lungs in a rush. Pain radiated from her sternum, a dull, throbbing ache that instantly killed her momentum. Her top jumped with the impact, the tight fabric doing nothing to absorb the shock of both bouncing breasts as she staggered backward. One step, two steps, boots scuffing against the canvas until the leather snapped taut between them, transforming instantly from her weapon back into the tether that bound them together.

[BlackAkuma]

Keith drove that blow straight into Roulette’s chest, and it immediately drew more than a few chuckles from the audience, no doubt criticizing his particular choice of target. The outfit his opponent was going with definitely drew attention to that specific area, but he’d long since gotten past the point where that sort of thing could distract him in a match.

He drove the palm in hard, right into the chest, and to Roulette’s credit, she took it a lot better than he would’ve expected and managed to stay on her feet. Hurting, but still solid. So far, her rep was holding up, but he would be testing it much, much more before this match was done.

He braced himself as the strap went tight and kept his footing. From this position, there were so many ways he could’ve taken advantage and employed the strap…but, more than anything, he found himself wanting to get a little payback for the blazing pain on his chest.

Keith stepped in, creating slack on the tether as he approached, until he hand just enough to ball up in hands and make a decent lash. He juked to the side before they could collide with each, spun about, and swung as he pivoted, attempting slice into her lower back with the strap, whipping that well-defined midriff of hers.

He probably could’ve gone a little lower, but decided against it. He’d keep things relatively cordial, for now.