The arena lights dim. A sultry pink spotlight begins to spin over the entrance ramp. “Sexy Diva” – WWE 2K13 Theme
The seductive beat hits, and the crowd immediately reacts with a mixed eruption of cheers and whistles. Spoiler
Rianne Evans steps through the curtain with a confident strut, her blonde locks flowing and her glistening red gear hugging her sculpted frame just right. A pearl necklace rests around her neck like a bold statement of class and arrogance. Her posture? Straight, poised, and radiating with a blend of sensuality and athletic power.
She slows her walk at the top of the ramp, looking side to side with a smirk. Then she runs one hand through her hair and trails it down the side of her body as she begins to walk, hips swaying deliberately with each step to the seductive rhythm.
The camera gets a close-up of her smirking at ringside.
Rianne (under her breath, into the camera):
"Keep yer bleedin’ eyes peeled, Domino… wouldn’t wanna miss the lesson that’s gonna change your whole bloody life."
She climbs onto the apron and bends through the ropes with practiced flair, giving the fans something to cheer—or jeer—about. Once inside the ring, she spins dramatically and lands in a dominant power pose, fist on her hip, one leg forward, flexing just enough to remind the world she’s not just a model—she’s a damn threat.
Rianne stalks to her corner, resting her arms on the ropes, watching the ramp. Her smirk sharpens.
She’s ready.
The world is watching.
And she’s about to show Drake what happens when you underestimate a diva.
The irony, of course, being Rianne is the entire reason this is happening; her mouth running, throwing shade on people minding their own business. Refusing to back down when it was obvious where continuing the insults would lead.
And here we are.
Because Rianne needed someone to step on to make herself appear legitimate.
Domino hasn't forgotten. He isn't going to let her forget, either. This is going to be a lesson in humility and pain, in front of the audience she tried to bury him with. He deals with enough stereotyping nonsense. There's no shot he's going to tolerate it from someone in the same damn boat. And that's why, when his music hits, the audience isn't met with his usual easy-going confidence. Instead, they're met with a stern, firm-jawed glare directed upon the ring. Intro Music
His music, an anthem. A testimony. A warning. No amount of doubt, no amount of ridicule, no number of professional or managerial setbacks is going to stop him. He made the conscious decision that this was going to be his life, the duality synergized into a single, driven purpose; that's the Domino effect. And it's emblazoned upon the shirts of a few screaming fans in the audience.
As Domino steps out, his sleekly-toned body is highlighted in every sculpted, streamlined contour under a spotlight. Brilliant white bursts of sparks ignite along the perimeter of the stage, but Domino maintains that glower on the ring. He can see her already; undeniably beautiful with an incredible body, but he's going to break her. He has to. Domino in full gear!
"And her opponent!," begins the announcer. "Standing at a height of 5'10", and weighing in at one hundred eighty-eight pounds! DOOOMINOOO!"
The roaring fans are eager for this fight, this clash. Two prides on the line, one going to lie humbled beneath the other. The tension could be cut with a spoon.
Domino makes his way down the ramp at a march, but seeing fans reaching out over the rail softens his approach until he's finally drifting to either side, slapping high-fives and accepting hugs of encouragement from the more zealous female fans. Upon reaching the apron, he grabs onto the middle rope and smoothly swings his way up onto the ring's edge, then a smoothly assertive step between the ropes to enter the ring.
It's a sudden burst of speed to follow, racing up the next turnbuckle to stand on the middle ropes. Arms swing high, ushering in a new wave of cheer and support - acknowledged immediately after with a couple firm thumps of his fist against his heart, and a sweeping point out at the audience.
Finally, he drops to land on the mat, leaning into his corner for the possibly overly-handsy inspection from the female referee. Normally Domino might've quipped at her. But tonight, his eyes are already settled on the blonde across from him. There's no invitation to apologize. He wants this. He wants to pin her down. And he knows she wants the exact same for him.
Not at the music. Not at the sparks. Not even at the way Domino stares her down like she personally burned his house down. If anything, that smug smirk of hers only grows sharper. Because she sees it—that fire, that frustration, that white-hot need to prove himself. And she loves it.
"Looks like I touched a nerve. Good."
She pushes off the turnbuckle, the faint glisten of oil still catching under the arena lights as she steps forward, arms loose at her sides. Her hips sway slightly as she walks, but her eyes are locked on Domino the same way his are locked on her—two apex predators circlin’ before the bell.
When the referee motions for them to approach center-ring, she don’t hesitate. She steps in with purpose, stoppin’ just short of him, eyes risin’ to meet his.
She gives him a slow once-over—real slow. Then that smirk twists into something even cheekier.
"All this over a lil’ bit o’ truth, is it? Bloody hell, you are soft."
She leans in, trying to cut the tension like a knife.
"Let’s get somethin’ straight, yeah? I didn’t step on ya to get noticed. I stepped on ya ‘cause you were already flat on the ground, beggin’ for someone to walk over you."
She tilts her head with mock sympathy.
"But don’t worry, love. After I’m done makin’ a right fool of ya, you can crawl back to yer mirror, fix your hair, and pretend this never happened."
The referee’s eyes flicker between the two—both ready to explode.
Rianne backs up one step, nodding to herself, licking her lips slowly before whispering:
"Let’s dance then, pretty boy. Let’s see if that face still looks good on the mat."
And with that, she turns and heads back to her corner, gripping the ropes behind her as she starts bouncing in place—sharp, focused, unbothered. Her smirk never fades.
The referee signals them close, and Domino proceeds. His gaze doesn't waiver from hers, letting her say what she wants. It steels his resolve further, confirms what it is he needs to do here tonight. He's had matches in his past filled with animosity, even under similar circumstances. And it digs under his skin. But it always gives him a laser-like focus and determination. But something she says all but demands a response.
A simple one. Not overwrought.
A quick one. Straight to the point.
An earnest one.
"Keep telling yourself that."
He returns to his corner. Why the referee called them together, he's not sure. Some referees are quirky. Maybe she had something important to say? He wasn't hearing it, whatever it was. This wasn't a stipulation match, was it? ..No. He's pretty sure it wasn't. He wanted this straight. No excuses.
Unless she went and changed something behind his back?
...Whatever. That's a potential concern for Future Domino. Present Domino just has a single purpose in mind.
Upon reaching his corner, he swings his arms to limber himself up from shoulders down. One arm crosses his chest while the other blocks it off at the elbow, before alternating arms.
Then, the referee raises an arm. And with a swing, she signals the bell. *DING*
Domino wastes no time in leaving the corner and approaching the center of the ring. His stance is simple; feet a shoulders' width apart, hands raised at shoulder height at the ready to meet her in grapple. His steps are light, precise as he circles with her, sizing her up like a lion preparing to pounce prey. And finally, he makes his move. A swift, fluid motion forward, hands seizing for the girl's toned frame, one hand at her collar, the other hand likely seizing her elbow to immediately lock up with her.
Rianne meets him dead in the center, locking up with zero hesitation—collar and elbow. The moment his hands grip her, she lets out a sharp grunt and drives forward, feet digging into the mat. Muscles flex under her glistening skin as she tries to force him back, testing his strength with a wicked grin.
"What’s the matter, pretty boy? That all you got?"
She pushes harder, aiming to bully him straight into the ropes.
Grappler meets grappler in the purest sense of a wrestling entanglement, the classic visual between two bodies vying for dominance. Domino's fingers dig into the girl's smooth skin, at first matching her strength. The muscletone throughout his arms tense and flex, from biceps firming to pectorals tightening, thighs pushing to meet her head-on.
She pumps up the effort, and he decides it's time to lean into it hard. No words are spoken just yet; his full concentration is on her, keeping the focus on gaining this critical opening to control the pace of the match. He steps into the hold, arms folding with her and bringing his face just inches apart from hers. Not in a staredown this time, but watching her bright, hawkish eyes nonetheless. His heated breath whisks against her lips, and he begins attempting to take steps, muscling her in the opposite direction.
The war here is psychological. Show her he's stronger. Show her he's in control. All while looking her in the eye. If he can pressure her back into the ropes, he knows the referee will break them up. But that's fine. The point will have been made.
Rianne grits her teeth as she feels herself being muscled back—inch by inch, her boots slide along the canvas, her body grinding against his as the crowd senses the shift. She can feel the heat of his breath against her lips, the silent message in his stare: I’m stronger. I’m in control.
But she’s not rattled.
Her back hits the ropes. The ref is quick to step in.
"Alright, break it up—clean!"
Rianne’s hands go up innocently, palms open, a sly little smirk curling on her lips. She even leans her head back, as if to say
“Okay, okay…”
And then—WHUMP!
Her boot drives hard into Domino’s gut the moment the ref starts pulling him off.
"Oops,"
she sneers, wasting no time. She snatches his head under her arm and yanks him into a tight side headlock, her arm clamping down around his neck like a vice.
"Still think you're callin' the shots, do ya, love?"
She gives the hold a firm wrench, her toned bicep pressing tight against his cheek as she starts dragging him away from the ropes, center-ring—her pace, her rules now.
Back bit by bit, inch by inch, the audience soaking in the visual of the two colliding and Domino taking the advantage. While both physiques are chiseled and well-refined athletic machines, he edges out on size and strength. And finally, he pressures Rianne's back into the cables. He means to make sure she's pressed in, too. Just to assert himself, so the moment gets to sink in.
As Domino leans his frame against hers, unrelenting and unabashedly pressing unyielding masculine contours into feminine curves, the referee begins demanding to break it up. Without fail, Domino steps back with his hands raised as well, signaling a full break in contact with her. And for his trouble, he's promptly booted in the abdominals.
"Guh!"
Domino pitches forward, arms briefly wrapped around himself. But soon, the right arm is looping her bare waist, the left hand set to her hip as she sinks on a headlock. On one side, the press of her arm. On the other, the feel of either the side of her breast of the smooth curve of her waist. Either way, Domino's tugged along for the moment, unwillingly following her lead to the middle of the ring.
Rianne’s grin widens the moment she feels Domino try to steady himself in the headlock. That’s her cue. Quick as a flash, she twists out, snatches his wrist, and slips behind him, yanking his arm up into a tight hammerlock.
"Awww, what’s the matter, Dom? Arm not bendin’ the way ya like?"
Her chest presses into his back, one hand pinning his wrist high between his shoulder blades, the other arm reeling back just enough to drive her elbow right into the middle of his back!
"C’mon now, love. Thought you was a big strong lad. You lettin’ me twist you up like laundry on wash day?"
She lets out a cheeky little giggle in his ear, hot breath brushing the side of his neck as she leans in closer.
"An’ I must say—"
she purrs through that thick, unapologetic accent,
"—you feel lovely up close. All tight n’ tense… wonder what else I could make twitch, if I really wanted to."
The crowd hoots and whistles at the flirt-laced mockery, while Rianne wrenches the hold tighter, her hips nudging against him just enough to make things extra annoying.
This wasn't going as well as Domino had hoped. But it was still early enough that he hadn't lost his wherewithal. However, the arm looping her waist is quickly cinched up behind his back, feeling Rianne's breasts against his back - incidentally with his hand trapped there as well. Not that even a ghost of the thought of copping a feel entered his mind here. There was plenty of ire still stoking his flames, and it only rekindles when he feels the elbow thump against his back.
"Agh-!"
He arches, albeit minutely while in the hold.
Jaw firmed, seething between teeth, he hears her kind-of-sort-of flirt - and that's definitely not something he was expecting from her. And feeling her hips nudge up against him, even moreso. His free arm flails a bit, trying to reach back and hook her head over his shoulder. The goal is to pull her forward into a tumble, a snapmare over the shoulder to free himself of her!
