Madeline Christiansen vs. Armando 'Army' Rodriguez - Our Dance

[BlackAkuma]

Match Type: Mixed Match
Victory Conditions: 2 out of 3 falls. The first fall is under standard rules, the second is through hentai, the third, should it come to that, can be through either.

***

Yup. Army knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Being a wrestler in Japan these days, there were certain things you could avoid and certain things you couldn't, and hentai matches? That was inevitable.

This was set to be Army’s second in LAW, and that he’d been put in two within such a short amount of time was…troubling. He’d told management that they weren’t his forte, that he wasn’t good at them, that they would be best served to put him in a Standard match, maybe Hardcore. Maybe he should’ve just told them the opposite, because he couldn't shake the impression that his not wanting to do hentai matches made them want him in them even more. As if reluctant guys made for better victims.

…which, now that he thought about it, made perfect sense. Fuck.

He supposed there were worse things in life than being forced to sex-wrestle beautiful women in skimpy outfits, though, and from what he’d heard, the woman he was up against today was one of the better ones to do it with: Madeline Christiansen.

That was a name that had some weight to it, with her making a big name for herself in LAW as one of the top competitors in the sensual scene. Unlike a lot of those wrestlers, though, she had some actual skill to back it up. That made the special match type they’d gone for that much sweeter - at least he’d have the chance to take her on at the same level. He was feeling good about his chances, and even if he did lose, he was bound to come out of this with a good match—the most important thing, at the end of the day. Whatever was about to go down it wouldn’t be boring.

So, as Army emerged from the back and his

played, he found himself mostly good. Mostly. He came down to the ring with a bounce in his step, waving to the fans as he approached, even though he only got a mild response back. That, he was more than used to when it came to hentai matches. After all, they weren’t here to see him; they were here to see him lose and lose spectacularly. If he won, they wouldn’t be getting their money’s worth, and that was never going to make him popular.

Small things to a giant. He waved it off and made his way into the ring, where he proceeded to bounce on his heels all the way to the corner, getting limbered up. He took a moment to spin about and

, then proceeded to break into his stretches. He kept his gaze towards the ramp as his music faded away, waiting for Madeline to make her grand entrance.

[Lightman]

In the locker room, Madeline Christiansen was already feeling good, her body flexible and ready as she went through her usual stretching exercises before her call time. The habits of years of freestyle wrestling had become a part of her, with deep lunges to prepare her hips, slow bridges to stretch her spine, and shoulder rolls, which she controlled until she could move freely. She interlaced her fingers, pressed her palms, and lifted her elbows, maintaining the pose until the sensation of the stretch peaked and lessened. Games of this nature needed both nimbleness and might. Control was not simply a matter of power; it was fundamentally about comprehending how the body moved, yielded and then regained its ground.

A subtle smile appeared on her face as she stood up and glanced at herself. She was excited about this match. Genuinely. Her previous fight, against Yuto, a lacklustre opponent chosen more for his availability than his skill, hadn’t posed a real threat in any meaningful way. He capitulated and folded at the predicted moment, providing no resistance worth remembering.

This time felt different. Armando’s reputation preceded him: sharp hands, confident striking, a man who believed in the damage he could do. Madeline flexed her fingers slowly, already weighing angles and counters, wondering whether her own striking would hold up or whether she’d need to dismantle him through timing and control instead.

Safe to say, the uncertainty pleased her.

When her cue hit, the shift was immediate. Her

rolled through the arena, low and sultry, as

stepped through the curtain and into the flood of magenta and silver light. Rose petals drifted down around her, unhurried, deliberate, as though the moment itself was breathing. She advanced at her own pace, tall and unshakeable, letting the anticipation swell. With each step down the ramp, crushed petals beneath her feet, the soft resistance grounded her as thousands of eyes followed her progress.

Her gaze found the ring easily, settling on Armando as he waited inside. He looked prepared. Loose, springing lightly on his heels, carrying the restless energy of a man who trusted his hands to speak for him. Madeline noted it all with quiet interest. The crowd’s attention skewed predictably; they weren’t here for him, not really. But she understood matches like this thrived on imbalance, on spectacle orbiting a single axis. She mounted the steps, slipped between the ropes, and claimed the ring with effortless grace.

Inside, the atmosphere tightened. Madeline turned slowly, letting the lights trace the lines of her attire, before facing Armando directly. Up close, his reputation made sense: solid base, sharp eyes, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. She closed the distance just enough to make it deliberate, her expression calm, almost indulgent.

“Armando.” She greeted him smoothly. “Puerto Rico’s pride, if the stories are true.” Her eyes flicked briefly to his hands before returning to his face. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the second fall. They say discomfort has a way of sharpening talent.”

[BlackAkuma]

Army would say one thing about Madeline, right out of the gate - the woman knew how to make an entrance.

He bobbed his head along as her music started, some catchy indie bop that he didn’t recognize, and watched as the woman herself made her entrance. She came through a shower of rose petals and flashing lights - god, Army didn’t envy the guys who had to clean that up before the next match started - and came down the ramp with a slow, proud gate. It wasn’t the easiest thing to see her from the ring, the lights were shining in his eyes, and it was impossible to make out more than a silhouette from where he stood. But it was a damn fine-looking silhouette.

And when she did enter the ring, and he finally had a good look… ”Phew.”

Yeah, that summed it up. That and a quick whistle summarized his feeling perfectly, as his bouncing slowed at the sight. Madeline was sexy, but then, this was LAW - sexy was the rule, not the exception around here. If she were just sexy, he wouldn’t have paid her too much mind, long past the point where an attractive woman could hold his eye for too long in the ring.

But she wasn’t just sexy. Madeline had this whole regal air about her. This dignified, posh way she carried herself. Not too haughty, he didn’t get the same vibe he would’ve from, say, Gwendoline Bettencourt or Ami Takeuchi. Friendlier than that.

He snapped back to reality when she spoke, bringing in a smile as she laid on the charm. ”Eh, that depends, rosa. What do the stories say, exactly?” He scratched his chin and snickered. ”And who’s worried? I’m not worried. I’m a goddamn sexual Tyrannosaurus, lady. I got this covered.”

He brought his arms up and did a few triceps stretches. He’d been needing his arms in top shape, he had a feeling. ”Call me ‘Army’, by the way. ‘Armando’ makes me sound like a porn star.” He looked off to the side as he tried to avoid staring at her for too long. He was fan of that asymmetric legging thing she had going on, in particular. ”Which I guess I am, technically. But still.”

[Lightman]

“Army?”

Madeline tasted the nickname as though weighing it. Her smile deepened as his words reached her, the bravado rolling off him in thick, colourful layers. She tilted her head slightly, emerald eyes bright with amusement rather than intimidation, and let a soft laugh escape her before she answered. “Far less dramatic than I expected, but I suppose it suits you. Short, direct, confident...” Her gaze flicked back to his face, unhurried, assessing. “…And far easier to say when I am pinning you to the mat.”

She took a few slow steps closer, posture tall and assured, the regal ease he had noticed now impossible to ignore. There was warmth in her expression, yes, but it was sharpened by something competitive, something hungry. “As for the stories, they say you hit hard, and you keep coming. I find that sort of reputation tends to earn itself.”

The English Rose wasn’t invading his space so much as redefining it, poise settling around her like a mantle. There was no haughtiness to it, only certainty. “...Sexual Tyrannosaurus…I suppose I can enjoy studying an extinct beast, finding weaknesses in its structure.” Her lips curved as she spoke. “Though I have found that the loudest declarations come from men who are still convincing themselves. Especially when the match asks for more than muscle memory.” Her tone remained cordial, almost friendly, but the challenge was unmistakable.

Madeline rolled her shoulders once, slow and controlled, as if loosening herself rather than posturing. She was well aware of the way his attention wandered, of how his eyes betrayed a curiosity he was trying not to indulge. “My eyes are up here~.” It pleased her. Not because she needed it, but because it gave her information. “You need not worry about staring.” Madeline said, glancing down at her own attire before meeting his gaze again. “Indulge all you like. It just means that it is another tool for me to use. Distraction is a skill, after all.”

She shifted her weight, feet whispering against the canvas, and let out a quiet breath. “Confidence is attractive, don’t get me wrong. It simply becomes far more interesting when it is placed under pressure.” She clasped her hands briefly behind her back, stretching her chest, perfectly relaxed. “And these rules have a way of applying pressure in unexpected places.”

There was no malice in her teasing, only anticipation. Madeline thrived on the exchange, on the subtle shift in energy that came from verbal sparring before bodies ever collided. She had faced men who shrank from the sensual aspects of the ring and others who overcompensated loudly. Army felt like a man standing somewhere between those extremes, and that intrigued her far more than certainty ever could.

“I am here because I want to be tested. If you can do that, I will meet you gladly. If not, then at least try to enjoy the lesson.” The words were not cruel, just matter-of-fact.

As the referee moved closer and the moment edged towards its beginning, Madeline took a small step back, posture tall, eyes never leaving him. Whatever nerves he carried about the nature of the match, she could sense them now, subtle but present. It only sharpened her anticipation. She was smiling still, calm and inviting, a woman entirely at ease with what she was and what she intended to do once the bell rang.

“Oh, and for the record, we’re not pornstars. We’re competitors. I personally loathe that description.”

[BlackAkuma]

Yeah, Army was a little bit cocky. It came with the territory. Wrestling and boxing had many differences, but one thing they shared was the importance of confidence. He’d know boxers who liked to be quiet and humble, who didn’t come into matches with the fire burning—cold fishes, his Dad called them. As far as he could remember, none of them ever had any real success, inside the ring or out of it. You had to carry yourself like a champ, really believe it, or you’d never get anywhere.

Madeline understood that well enough, because she was carrying herself with no small amount of swagger. While he didn’t have a reputation for cheap shots, most opponents kept their distance from him, at least near the start of a match - getting in a boxer’s range was a bad idea. She, on the other hands, entered his personal space like she owned it, as if she didn't have a thing to worry about. Which, being, she didn’t until the bell rang, but it was still ballsy of her to assume that from the jump.

”Well, I guess you’ll know if the stories are true in a minute. Can’t promise you’ll remember it, though.” He cracked his knuckles with a wild grin, promising all kinds of violence. If Madeline was bothered, she did a good job of hiding it.

Madeleine was chatty, he noticed that. Kind of hard to miss. But if she was trying to unnerve him with the talk, it was having the opposite effect. Trashtalk was right up Army’s ally, and the more she threw out, the more his barriers came down. He was a competitor, first and foremost, and seeing the same edge in her eyes stirred those feelings up.

She wanted a challenge? She’d get one.

He shrugged at the comment, not bothering to hide his gaze at her chest as she put it on display. Given what they were about to do, he didn’t see much point in acting like Madeline wasn’t one of the hottest women he’d shared a ring with. ”I know where your eyes. It’d be weird if they were anywhere else.” He leaned to the side and enjoyed another angle. ”And don’t worry, I can handle pressure. Hell, I’ll tell you what…”

Army stepped back and rubbed his chin as an idea occurred to him. It took him a moment to properly process it, but he finished with a snap and leaned forward. ”How about we add some? For the third fall, if things get that far, I’ve got to win with an orgasm, you’ve got to win the standard way. Whoever pulls it off gets…something from the loser, didn't think that part through yet. Maybe, like, a ‘One Wish’ sort of thing.”

He folded his arms and leaned back, smiling, happy with the gauntlet he’d thrown down. ”How’s that sound? You game?”

[Lightman]

The Englishwoman pondered in her mind - if this was someone else that stood before him, cracking his knuckles and promising violence with a grin that belonged to a man who had lived his whole life believing in his own hands - would they retreat right there and then? Madeline did not retreat when he spoke of confidence. If anything, that certainty in him only sharpened her focus. It’s something she can recognise immediately - that kind of self-belief. Champions carried it differently from pretenders, and while bravado alone meant little to her, the way he inhabited it suggested substance beneath the noise. Her posture remained open, relaxed, her presence steady as she met his eyes without flinching.

She stepped into his space again, close enough to make the point unmistakable, chin lifting slightly as if daring him to test the distance before the bell. “If I forget…” she replied smoothly, voice calm and faintly amused, “…it will not be because you failed to try.” There was no fear in her expression, only interest, the sort that came from a woman who had never needed to be loud to feel secure in herself.

His inattention was obvious when it drifted, and Madeline did not rush to correct it. Instead, she allowed a small smile to form, one that acknowledged the look without granting it power. “No need to apologise. Part and parcel. I would be far more disappointed if you pretended otherwise."

When he spoke of pressure, of handling it easily, Madeline gave a soft laugh that carried no mockery. She rolled one shoulder, loosening it, every inch the seasoned competitor. “Everyone says they thrive under pressure.” She answered. “The truth tends to arrive later, usually with an audience.”

Then came his proposal, thrown out with the casual confidence of a man convinced the world would bend to his ideas. Madeline listened without interrupting, her expression thoughtful rather than shocked. When he finished, folding his arms and waiting, she considered him for a long moment, eyes searching, weighing not just the words but the intent behind them.

Finally, she nodded once, decisive. “Well. Someone enjoys raising the stakes.” She said. “Very well. I have never lacked for imagination. And if a wish is to be granted, it will be one you remember long after the bell.” A faint smile returned, slower this time. “You may pursue your victory however you see fit. If it comes to that third fall, I will not be playing along for spectacle alone. I will take what you offer with intent.” She stepped back a few steps, turning just enough to meet his gaze again.

She rolled her shoulders once more, lowering her centre of gravity, hands rising naturally as her elbows tucked in. Her stance displayed her grappling skill, working well either to close the distance securely or prevent it altogether. Now, there was no wasted motion or needless extravagance. Though present, the swagger was now refined and directed. “As for the prize…” she added, “…we shall decide it when one of us has earned the right to ask.”

[BlackAkuma]

Madeline was cool. Army liked her.

Maybe it was too early to be making judgments, sure - God knows, it would be the first time he got suckered in by a nice smile and sensual words, just ask Veronika. But there was something about her that was putting him at ease right out of the gate, and it wasn’t just that sexy accent or the slick outfit - though, yes, those were helping.

She had confidence. The right kind of confidence. She clearly believed she was coming out on top of this, but she wasn’t treating him like some dumbass simp, as a lot of the women tended to do with guys in the hentai league. It was refreshing. He didn’t get the chance everyday to mix it up with a woman who was treating him like an equal and not a potential sub.

He was fairly sure she would take what he was throwing down, but there was still a tense moment where she was rolling around the idea - or appearing to, at least. Army stood with his arms folded, holding the pose, and he’d just started to hum the Jeopardy theme song when she finally answered.

”Damn right, I like raising the stakes.” He smirked as she moved back and gave him space, looking like she was ready to end the courting phase. ”And that works for me. I’ll have something real fun thought up by then, don’t worry.”

Army took note of her stance. Traditional grappling, meat-and-potatoes, nothing too fancy. He lowered into a mirror of the stance, and he started bouncing on his heels as the bell finally rang. It was tempting to start with the strikes - and he would get to those eventually. But he figured it was better to go with classic wrestling at the start. While he wasn’t super-good at it, people expected him to throw hands from the start, so this was a good way to mix it up and suss them out before he brought in his biggest guns.

Army came in step by step, slow at first, before he rushed in with arms up and wide, attempting to catch Madeline and forced her into a collar-and-elbow tie-up.

[Lightman]

Even before the echoes of the bell died away, Madeline picked up on the change in his demeanour. A calm intensity replaced his usual smirk, and she liked it. Confidence was one thing, but this was intent. With her feet lightly balanced, she shifted her weight and rolled her shoulders again, establishing her position. His eyes met hers, and while friendly, they now held a distinct sharpness. The previous easygoingness of their dealings had turned into competition.

Madeline caught a hint of his movement as he closed the distance, not rushing to meet him but not yielding ground either. When his arms came up wide for the tie-up, Madeline stepped in on her own terms, turning her body slightly off line rather than squaring up. Her left forearm threaded inside, not high on his neck but lower on the collarbone, denying him leverage. Her right hand settled not on his elbow but just above it, guiding rather than gripping, keeping her hips back and her spine aligned. It was a small adjustment, but a deliberate one.

She could feel the difference in strength immediately, the density in his frame, the potential force coiled in his upper body. Instead of contesting it directly, Madeline sank her weight subtly, knees soft, head positioned tight beneath his chin rather than alongside it. Her footwork shifted a half step to the outside, toe angling inward, denying him a clean lane to drive forward. The contact became less about power and more about balance, about who controlled the axis between them.

A faint smile touched her lips as she spoke, breath steady despite the pressure. “Straight to business, then.” She said, voice calm, almost conversational. “Good. I was hoping you would not waste time.” Her grip adjusted again, elbow tucked, wrist firm, creating a frame that absorbed his forward momentum without giving him the satisfaction of movement. She was close enough now to feel the rise and fall of his breath, close enough to read him.

As he pushed, Madeline yielded just enough to make him commit, then pivoted her hips a fraction, redirecting the force across her centre rather than into it. Her head pressed lightly against his jaw, not to strain but to occupy space, to remind him that position was being negotiated with every second. Her feet traced a shallow arc, circling rather than retreating, keeping the tie alive while stripping it of dominance.

“Strength is impressive. Structure is decisive.” Madeline continued softly, tone still amicable. She tightened her frame for a heartbeat, not to overpower him but to let him feel the constraint, the way his options narrowed without him quite realising how. Her posture remained tall, regal even in the clinch, eyes focused, attentive.

Madeline subtly adjusted her position when the time seemed appropriate, gauging whether he would react with aggression or composure. Whatever came next, she was ready to adapt.

[BlackAkuma]

In boxing, they had what Army’s dad always called the ‘Data Rounds’. The first round or two wasn’t about going hard, but figuring out who you were dealing with. You threw out the light punches, tested their reactions, saw how well they defended certain things. Experimenting, pretty much - at least, that was what his Dad wanted him to do. He didn’t always listen.

Wrestling didn’t have rounds, but the idea was much the same, Army’d learn. It was tempting to rush in and start wailing on Madeline, and with some opponents that might even be the smart play…but not her. Even though they’d just met, there was something in that look of hers that was telling him to play the long game, suss her out before he committed to anything. If he tried to rush this, she’d make him pay.

Which, considering the rules of this match, might not have been the worst thing.

His suspicions were confirmed right away. Army came in to lock horns, and to Madeline’s credit, she didn’t back off - hell, she came towards him, which was a rare thing. It locked her up in a way that favored her, making it hard for him to use his power to overpower her.

”That’s me.” He spoke through grunts as she continued to adjust her position. ”Mr. Business. All the time.”

This was getting tricky. While he wasn’t in any danger of getting overpowered, Madeline’s positioning was top-tier. Every time he tried to adjust, she seemed to have an answer for it, as if she knew what he was trying to do before he did, like she’d memorized the script he was only just now reading.

If that was the case, maybe there was the answer. How well would she handle a last-second change?

As the two continued to circle, Army abruptly broke away and pulled his arm out of the clench. He reeled back, tightened his fist, and began to bring his arm forward, looking like he was going for a surprise uppercut to her breadbasket.

Maybe she could’ve blocked it, maybe it would’ve landed. They would never know, because it wasn’t a real punch, but a feint, trying to draw her attention. He stopped it halfway, then abruptly slipped out of the tie-up and pushed her to the side as he tried to maneuver around her, hoping to transition to a waist lock before she could adjust.

[Lightman]

Usually, big brute guys are seen as strong, but easy to out-technique if you know what you’re doing. Guys that Madeline knew enough - the type to only rely on strength, but then gas out when the match requires something more. Thankfully, Armando wasn’t that kind of guy, at least, from what she’s seen thus far.

There was patience in him now, a careful restraint that told her he was thinking rather than simply reacting. And Madeline appreciated that. Matches were conversations, after all, and the early moments always revealed how fluent an opponent truly was. Her eyes stayed level, attentive, reading the micro-shifts in his shoulders and hips as easily as words on a page.

“Hmmhmm…” Her tone carried approval without softness, an acknowledgement rather than praise. She felt him searching for solutions, felt the way his pressure changed as he tested different avenues, and she adjusted in kind, never panicking, never forcing.

The feint came quickly, sharp enough to demand respect. Madeline reacted instinctively, core tightening, elbow dropping to guard her centre even as her eyes remained on his shoulders rather than the fist itself. The movement was economical, drilled into her through years of grappling. She recognised the deception almost as soon as it began, and when he disengaged and surged around her side, she was already turning, but not quite fast enough to deny the grip entirely.

Armando's arms locked around her waist, solid and confident, and for a moment, Madeline allowed herself to feel it. The strength, the intent, the promise of what he could do if she fought it the wrong way. Instead of resisting upward or trying to peel his hands apart, she dropped her weight immediately, widening her base and sinking her hips low. Her hands shot down to his wrists, not to pry but to pin, anchoring them against her body to limit his ability to elevate or transition.

“Clever, Mr. Business.” she murmured, breath controlled, almost pleased. She shifted her feet again, stepping one leg slightly forward to create a staggered stance, then twisted her torso just enough to break the symmetry of his hold. Her hips pressed back into him, not inviting, but obstructive, forcing his grip higher than he wanted. At the same time, she slid one hand free and reached back between them, fingers hooking behind his thigh.

With a sharp exhale, Madeline dropped her centre further and rotated hard to the side, using the grip on his leg to, hopefully, off-balance him while her other arm threaded inside to create a frame across his chest. She kept her movements fluid and decisive, turning his forward drive into lateral instability. If his hold loosened just enough, that was all she needed.

Once that’s done, The English Rose would slip out to the side, spinning to face him as she’d clear his arms, maintaining contact rather than retreating. Her palm pressed briefly against his shoulder to keep him from immediately reengaging, eyes bright with competitive fire.