The Cocky and the Cruel: "Pretty Boy" Blake vs Esma Martin

[Weonna]

He charged like a missile—eyes locked, breath steady, body primed to split her in half. He had her.

He had her.

Until—

CRACK!

Her knee slammed into his chest and chin, snapping his head back mid-run. The impact was like hitting a steel beam at full sprint.

His legs gave out for a second, and Blake stumbled sideways, arms out, feet dragging across the floor as his body veered from the collision path.

“Ghh-”

He clutched his ribs with one arm, staggering near the barricade, jaw clenched tight. His back hit the rail, and for the first time all match, his breath came short.

That knee? That one took something out of him.

[Dwrites]

Esma breathed a sigh of relief as Blake staggered into the barricade, glad her running knee had bought her some breathing room. Clutching her still aching stomach esma began to ponder her options “I don’t know how much more I can take maybe I should get back in the ring and hope for a countout?” Esma thought before remembering their pre match meeting and Blake’s cocky assertion that he would make her scream “Hell NO! He needs to suffer!” Her rage and confidence revived she ran towards Blake before performing a dropkick hoping to send Blake over the barricade.

[Weonna]

He was still catching his breath, one hand braced on the barricade, jaw tight, ribs screaming.

Then he heard the boots.

Too late.

Esma’s feet drilled into his chest with vicious precision. His eyes went wide as the air shot from his lungs—then his whole body lifted off the ground and crashed backwards over the barricade, slamming into the cold concrete just beyond the front row.

CRACK.

He landed hard on his back, arms flailing for a second before he laid there, stunned, gasping for air as the crowd around him erupted in disbelief. Fans stepped back in shock as Blake writhed in pain on the floor, clutching his side.

The referee leaned over the ropes and threw up a hand.

“ONE!”

Blake blinked hard, trying to gather himself.

“TWO!”

His fingers twitched.

“THREE!”

He rolled onto his side with a grunt, face twisted in frustration.

“FOUR!”

The pain was real—but so was the fury.

“No… not like this…”

“FIVE!”

He grabbed the barricade and began pulling himself up, one slow breath at a time.

[Dwrites]

Esma had let her rage get the better of her and now she was paying the price. Yes she had sent Blake over the barricade like she intended but she in hast had forgot that not having your feet under you sends you crashing into the ground and she hadn’t stuck her arms out to at least cushion her fall so she ended up falling face first onto the outside of the ring. Head bouncing off the floor like a bouncy ball esma howled in pain clutching her nose as she crawled on her knees to the ring trying to pull herself up with the bottom rope as the ref continued the count “SIX….SEVEN”

[Weonna]

“SIX!... SEVEN!”

Blake’s breath came in short bursts as he leaned on the barricade, jaw clenched, eyes squinting through the pain. But then—he saw her.

Esma.

Crawling.

Desperately pulling herself toward the ring apron, one hand clutching the bottom rope, the other holding her face.

“She’s still in this?”

he muttered.

His lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl.

“Not for long.”

He pushed off the barricade, still aching, still sore—but moving now. Fast. Controlled.

He closed the distance just as the ref raised his hand.

“EIGHT—”

Blake reached down, grabbed Esma by the leg—and yanked her backward, dragging her off the apron like a predator pulling prey back into the dark. She would hit the floor with a thud.

“Nuh uh,”

he growled.

“You’re not crawling away.”

He turned, slid into the ring quickly, then just as smoothly rolled out the opposite side to reset the count.

“ONE!”

Back outside again, he gripped Esma by the arm and shoulder, forcing her up to her feet.

“Time to break something…”

Then with a grunt, he rushed forward, attempting to ram her lower back first into the steel post!

[Dwrites]

As Blake charged toward the pole dragging esma by her shoulder and wrist esma gritted her teeth, she knew that if Blake succeeded in slamming her into metal pole it would drastically decrease her chances at winning but she couldn’t hope to compete with Blake in a battle of pure strength so she decided that if Blake wanted to break her she would make sure he got broken as well. Esma would grab Blake’s hair with her free hand and pull it towards the pole while also sticking the foot on the same side of her free hand out towards the pole to at least temporary halt her advance towards it.

[Weonna]

He had her.

She was in his hands, practically dead weight, ripe for the steel.

He could already hear the impact in his mind—

But then her hand clamped into his hair, yanking hard, and her boot braced against the post-

CLANG!

His world snapped white.

Blake’s face slammed into the steel with full momentum behind it, the metal biting into his brow. The force sent him stumbling backward, one hand flying to his forehead, the other reaching blindly for anything to catch himself.

“Ghh—shit!”

He staggered to one knee, blinking fast as the pain bloomed across his skull, a small thin line of blood already beginning to trickle down his face.

His chest heaved. His jaw clenched.

And for the third time tonight—

Esma got him again!

[Dwrites]

Esma may have avoided the worst case scenario and even managed to do major damage to Blake but she didn’t escape unharmed. “Merde” Esma mutter as she rubbed the foot that she braced against the post. It was sore and while it wasn’t injured Esma would have to be careful when she uses it. Seeing Blake on his knee and bleeding Esma decided to pounce of his vulnerability and hammer at his face with her fists. While she did so she would taunt Blake about his earlier words “You’re a headliner? You look more like a headbanger to me.”

[Weonna]

His vision swam. The blood running down his brow stung his eye, and the pounding in his skull echoed louder than the crowd around him.

Then came the fists!

Esma threw herself at him, fists raining down on his face and shoulders. He could barely raise an arm to guard—still reeling, still stunned.

Blake grunted through gritted teeth, each blow jolting his body, his pride taking just as much damage as his face. He stayed on one knee, absorbing it, holding back—not because he wanted to—but because he had no choice.

And over the chaos came the referee’s voice again—

“SIX!”

Another fist cracked against his jaw.

“SEVEN!”


He planted his free hand on the floor, breathing harder, the haze finally starting to clear.

“You done yet…?”

he muttered under his breath.

His fingers flexed, knuckles whitening as the fire inside him stirred again, just beneath the surface.

[Dwrites]

Esma would have liked to continue beating on Blake for hours but decided winning was more important than a getting a few extra punches on her cocky foe. Turning to the ring as the ref shouted “EIGHT” Esma grabbed the bottom rope ready to roll herself in and secure a count out victory but Blake wasn’t out of it just yet. He reaches out and grabbed on of Esma’s legs, a jolt of pain struck Esma as he had grabbed her hurt leg before he pulled it out from under her making her head hit the ringside. Esma yelped in pain as she backed into the post completely missing the ref shouting “NINE”.