What Tangled Webs We Weave

[BlackAkuma]

Army didn’t have much of a plan when he charged forward. Then again, if planning was his thing, he wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.

Right now, his one thought - the only thought worth thinking - was making Veronika hurt as much as she was currently hurting him, which was no small amount. It felt like she was on the verge of ripping his arm clean out of the socket, and that very well might have happened if he succeeded in ramming her against the turnbuckle. Fortunately - or maybe unfortunately - they would never find out, either way.

She dislodged before he could smash her, leaving him to smack up against the turnbuckles with his barely-functioning arm. Army spun about to face her, but she was still one step ahead, already on the attack. Her legs wrapped around his shoulder, he was pulled forward, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back with her on top.

Wrists? Pinned. Arms? Also pinned. Veronika didn’t weigh all that much, but in a position like this with his arm wrecked and his body still recovering from a knockout, she might as well have weighed a ton. He wasn’t getting up. Not anytime soon.

”Fuck!” Didn’t stop him from trying, though, as he made a supreme effort to buck her off, only to fall flat. ”Okay, okay, enough! What do you want, lady?” He glared her way and made another futile escape attempt. “Trying to prove a point, some kink shit, what’s the deal?”

[Weonna]

Veronika sat still atop his chest, pinning his wrists beneath her knees, watching him squirm, curse, and buck like a wild animal. It amused her—how much fight was still in him, even now. She let it ride out for a moment, like watching a fly struggle against silk.

Then—it was time.

In one deliberate, fluid movement, she lifted herself just enough to slide forward, shifting her hips, adjusting her angle. Her hands gripped his wrists and pulled them along with her as she rolled onto her back, keeping him close. Her toned legs rose up, smooth and sudden.

SNAP

Her thighs coiled around his head, locking him in a tight, frontal headscissor. His face was engulfed between her inner thighs, her body stretched out flat while her grip on his wrists pinned them low near her hips. She had him. Fully. Completely.

No more games. No more act.

Spoiler

Her voice came low and commanding, edged with breath and heat—stripped of playfulness, but dripping with control.

“I saw you today. First time. And I knew.”

Her thighs flexed slowly, a deliberate grind of muscle against his neck, her heels shifting just a bit to pull him in tighter.

“You looked strong. Proud. Stubborn.”

Her breathing slowed, measured, almost serene as her fingers curled tighter around his wrists.

“And I needed to destroy someone like that.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes lidded, her expression one of complete satisfaction.

“I don’t care about your record. Your rank. I didn’t come here for clout..I came to own someone. To break someone.”

Her gaze burned straight ahead, unfazed, unmoved.

“And today... it’s you.”

[BlackAkuma]

If his sister and cousin ever found out about this - which was never going to happen, if he could help it - he could already guess what they would say. Probably chiding him for not being more aware of his surrounding and getting suckered in by a pretty face. This sort of thing was common with wrestling, he should know better, think with your head, not your dick, blah blah blah.

And they’d have a point, sure. In his defense, though, Veronika had planned an exceptionally good game, keeping her real self sheathed well until now, when it was far, far too late to do anything about it. He was trapped, completely, and his futile struggles only drove that point. Army wasn’t going anywhere she didn’t want him to, and at the moment, she wanted him underneath her.

That changed in a flash, as she spun about and wrapped her legs tight around his neck, giving him another headscissors and trapping his wrists. This one was different from before. Not her full power, not yet, but a long ways from being pleasant, either. Slow, grinding pressure, chewing on his neck like a dog with a bone.

She didnt leave him hanging on an answer, either, though what she spoke veered deep into creepy territory. It was definitely close to ‘kink shit’, though he was willing to guess that wasn’t totally it. No, she just seemed to like dishing out the pain. A sadist, a real sadist, not the ones who played at it for sexiness, like most domme-types in wrestling. This was her happy place, and he just had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

”Lucky…me.” He tried his hand at lifting her up again, but he wasn’t going far with his arms trapped. ”Not broken yet, though. This all you got?”

Probably not the smartest thing to say to the woman who’d already knocked him out, but like she said: Proud and stubborn.

[Weonna]

Veronika remained calm, perched on her back with her thighs steadily grinding into his neck, his wrists still pinned beneath her gloved hands. His resistance hadn’t stopped—if anything, his stubborn defiance only made her more focused.

But now?

Now it was time to finish him.

Without a word, Veronika slowly released her grip on his wrists—not out of mercy, but necessity. Her legs briefly loosened around his neck, only for her to twist her hips sharply to the side and rotate her body, swinging herself in a controlled pivot until she was facing the opposite direction.

Her thighs re-tightened just as quickly, now locked around his neck from behind. She bent one knee, hooked her ankle behind the opposite knee, and snapped in the figure-four configuration.

CLICK

The hold was secure.

Her glutes now pressed firmly into his face as she leaned back on her palms, arching her hips for maximum pressure. The reverse figure-four was tight, coiled like a steel trap, the pulse of her thighs squeezing with each breath he took—and making each one shorter than the last.

No more pinning his arms.

No more restraint.

Just Veronika, seated like a throne on his face, watching the tension drain from his body bit by bit as her legs did the work. Her abs tensed slightly, controlling the squeeze, adjusting the angle until she felt the right amount of resistance—then slowly, steadily, increased the pressure.

Spoiler

[BlackAkuma]

\It was, in fact, not all that Veronika had.

Army wasn’t sure what he was hoping to accomplish by egging her on, especially now that she firmly had him under control. Call it stupidity, call it defiance, call it struggling to take at least something back in all of this craziness. Whatever the case, it wasn’t getting him any closer to escaping this mess, as her thighs worked away on his neck, pressing deeper and deeper, grinding away.

And then she wasn’t.

Army sucked in fresh air as she whipped around him, but he had little time to do anything more than that, certainly not enough to escape. A scant second later and she had him locked in again, this time with her body draped along his front and her legs pushing his face forward, clamping tight on his throat and giving him the perfect view of the backside he’d been admiring only a few minutes ago.

This was worse than before. The first scissorhold had all been about torture. This was about that, too, but it was also about depriving him of what little air he’d been able to store up. Choking him, denying his every breath.

Army pried at her thighs at first, and when that didn’t work, he tried to beat at them, jabbing away at the steely thighs. It probably wouldn’t have done much damage from this position in normal circumstances, but now, he was too weak to generate any real power, making them little more than taps. Taps that were getting weaker by the second

Again, his body slacked. Again, his eyes drooped. Again, he found himself fading beneath her, dragged off into an agonizing slumber.

Going, going…gone.

[Weonna]

Veronika felt it.

The shift in his breathing. The way the resistance in his body faded from tension to twitching, then to nothing at all. The moment he stopped pulling at her legs and started pawing. The way his face softened beneath her, slackening into unconscious surrender.

Her thighs gave one last squeeze—firm, final—before releasing.

She unhooked the figure-four and slid off him with practiced grace, rising to her feet in a single, fluid motion. Standing over him, Veronika gazed down at the crumpled figure beneath her. The proud man from earlier… reduced to silence, laid out, helpless.

It made her smile.

She turned her back to him and slowly ran her gloved hands up her sides, across her stomach, along the curve of her chest, and down again over her hips. Her breath came steady. Measured. This was where she thrived—where she played.

And she wasn’t done playing.

Veronika turned on her heel, walked to his side, and crouched over his torso, eyes scanning his unconscious form.

Then—bam.

She dropped a sudden, sharp knee right into his midsection.

Not enough to do lasting damage—but more than enough to shock the breath back into him. A rude awakening. The kind that hurt.

The moment his body twitched, the moment she felt movement—she moved again.

Veronika slid behind his head, laying across the bottom ropes, and quickly snaked her legs around his neck once more. This time, she crossed one ankle behind the other, locking in a tight figure-four headscissor from the corner.

But now, she had leverage.

Her gloved hands gripped the middle rope on either side of her, arms stretched and planted firmly as she pulled against it, using her full body weight and the resistance of the ring itself to add brutal pressure to the hold.

She leaned back with control, her thighs flexing harder than before, squeezing him between muscle and momentum.

He had nowhere to go.

Nowhere to run.

She smiled again—calm, quiet, and wicked—as she waited for the gasps, the panic, the tapping.

[BlackAkuma]

Army had been knocked out a few times, but most often, he had the option of coming back peacefully. His opponent gave him space, backed up, and someone who helped rouse him back to consciousness in such a way that he wasn’t hurting himself. Safe and controlled.

It wasn’t a surprise that Veronika wasn’t the least bit interested in that. In fact, she was keen on making the return trip from Dreamland as painful as humanly possible.

A knee in the gut. Brutal, precise, deadly. It shot deep into his chiseled abs, cut right through them, and churned up all of his insides. Army’s body jackknifed, his eyes flew wide open, and he came back to life with a noise that had no business coming out of a human body, somewhere between a cry and a croak, a hoarse and harsh sound. His natural reaction was to curl up and take the fetal position, but that was quickly robbed from him as those slim, iron thighs shot out from behind and wrapped around his neck, forming an iron seal.

Army’s weak gasps were caught in his throat as she pulled him back and pulled up, increasing the pressure with leverage. He didn’t quite have the mental capacity to process how she was doing this, and it didn’t much matter. All he knew was that he couldn't breath. Not one whiff. Nothing. Which meant his return to reality was going to be a short one.

First came the taps, even though he knew they wouldn’t get anywhere. Then came the slaps, smacking her thighs. Then came the blows, jabbing at her legs, but he was so weak that they might as well have been more taps. He thrashed around, did a lovely dance for her, but it wasn’t getting him anywhere, and his efforts grew weaker once again.

Eyes rolling back, body shuddering, mouth agape. Fading. Fading...

[Weonna]

Just before the final drop into unconsciousness, Veronika released the hold, letting her thighs slowly unravel from around his neck. His upper body slumped to the mat, limp and wheezing, barely clinging to awareness.

She rose, calm and collected, brushing back a few strands of hair from her face as she circled around his form.

Still breathing.

Good.

Veronika bent down and slipped her arms under his, lifting him up with deliberate care—not out of mercy, but like a spider repositioning its prey for the final strike. She hooked one arm around his head, pulling it close against her ribs while her other arm looped his near leg, securing a tight cradle around his frame.

He was barely upright, practically draped in her grip.

And then—she dropped.

With one sharp pivot and explosive motion, Veronika twisted and fell backward, driving the crown of Army’s head into the canvas in a brutal cradle DDT—her signature move.

Widow's Drop.

The impact was sharp, violent, final. A clean spike that sent shockwaves through his entire body.

Spoiler

Veronika remained seated after the slam, one hand planted on the mat beside him, the other resting lightly on his chest.

There was no need to check if he was out again.

She already knew.

[BlackAkuma]

…not gone?

Just before the final plunge, Veronika released the hold and gave Army his freedom, letting him suck in lungfuls of air and come to consciousness. He hacked and wheezed like he’d just come up for air after a long dive, sputtering as his world filled with a haze. The oxygen deprivation, the constant changing, the trauma, it was all taking a toll. He could scarcely tell where he was, anymore.

Even through it all, though, he had the wherewithal to know he was in serious trouble. She hadn't knocked him out again, and he wasn’t nearly naive enough to think mercy had anything to do with. No, if she was easing him up, it was for one reason only: She had a better idea in mind.

Training took over, reflexes won out, and Army began a fruitless effort to stand up, one that put him right in Veronika’s arms. For a fleeting moment, he relaxed in her hold - she was warm, after all. Welcoming. Maybe he was just delirious after being tortured, but the change to a pleasant situation was then welcome.

So, of course, that meant it wasn’t going to last. ”Wait-”

Veronika didn’t wait, didn’t pause didn’t hesitate before she fell back and rammed his skull into the canvas at Mach speeds. No subtly, this time. No slow sleep. Just a rough, hammering rush into the canvas, and then all the lights switched off.

[Weonna]

Veronika didn’t move for a moment after the Widow Drop.

She lay beside him in the aftermath of the spike, his body folded beneath her, limp and still. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising in slow, unconscious rhythm—eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. Out cold. Again.

Perfect.

With slow, fluid motion, she slid over his body and straddled his chest, her knees framing his sides as she adjusted herself into a tight, dominant pin. She didn’t bother hooking the leg. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she leaned forward, her lips hovering near his ear as she pressed her palms flat against his shoulders and whispered, breath soft and sultry.

“One… two… three.”

There was no referee.

But there was no question who had won.

She stayed on him for a beat longer, soaking it in. The sight of him beneath her, completely defeated. The sound of his breathing—soft and broken. Her eyes roamed over the rise and fall of his chest, the tensionless state of his limbs. Ruined. Crushed. Claimed.

Her hands trailed down his body. Over his sweat-slicked abs. Along his ribs. There was reverence in her touch—but possession, too. A final indulgence.

She leaned in close, brushing her lips just barely over his cheek.

Then, she kissed him.

A seal.

Rising to her feet, Veronika stood over him for one last glance—admiring the stillness of her work, the absolute silence she had left behind. Then, without a word, she turned and stepped through the ropes.

No celebration. No smugness.

Only satisfaction.

She left him to sleep in the ring—alone and broken.