➔ Pairing — Gunther ♡ f!Reader
➔ Summary — Gunther and his longtime friend finally make their fantasies a reality.
➔ Word Count — 3.2k
🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Wall sex, semi-public, dirty talk, fingering, super minor blood, cum 18+
➔ Notes — Dedicated to the Gunther lovers, especially the ones who go into this not liking him and come out wondering wtf they were thinking 🤷♀️
➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!
➔ Requested By — @eboni-napalm Thank you so much for your patience and your awesome idea! Happy Birthday!
➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕
➔ MASTERLIST
She watched on one of many TVs backstage as Damian Priest defended his title against Gunther. Some days she couldn’t believe she and Gunther were in WWE at all, on the main roster no less, but then she saw him in the ring, and she saw exactly what everybody else saw: a superstar. Of course, she’d known how special he was for years beforehand, having come up with him in NXT UK, so it was really no surprise to see him in a match competing for the World Heavyweight Championship. And her idolization had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she may or may not have had a crush on the man since the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him. It didn’t. Really.
The two gigantic men in the ring, each going pound for pound, exchanged chops, and she couldn’t avoid even the tiniest reaction every time Gunther was on the receiving end. These men, at least some of them, had to be masochists. She was a wrestler, yes, and there was hardly ever a contest that was pain-free, but she never went into it wanting to be hurt. When these men were chopped or suplexed or Pedigree’d, she swore she saw their eyes dazzle, some of them even smiled or laughed. And was she really thinking about whether or not Gunther was a fan of pain while standing amongst dozens of other people watching the same match?
She gasped along with everyone else when Priest rolled Gunther onto his back—I could just ride him right there … I bet he’d forget about losing—and laid over him for the pin. A collective hush fell over the group, however, upon witnessing Finn Bálor’s betrayal, which consequently kept Gunther in the match. Her body was absolutely thrumming during the next sequence, watching with rounded eyes as Priest tried twice to get at Finn before Gunther locked in the chokehold. She was the loudest one cheering when the Ring General was declared the winner, and the new World Heavyweight Champion. Smirking, she shook her head as Gunther snatched the golden title from the ref and held it in the air, and she could tell he was emotional, but he did well hiding it, playing the perfect heel to the perfect end to a kind of perfect night—at least for her, she hadn’t much interest in the Cody versus Solo match.
She started to say goodbye to those around her, hugging a few, intricate handshakes with others, well wishes to everyone. She gathered her purse and suitcase-on-wheels, turned, and made it only a few steps before pausing. Gunther was exiting Gorilla position, blue Ring General jacket on—he really needs to wear the blue more often—gilded title adorning his waist, and he was headed right for her. How the hell long had it taken her to say goodbye? She looked behind her to see who he might actually be targeting, but everyone had dispersed. When she turned back around, Gunther was only a few feet from her, his eyes rising and falling over her thin tank top, pleated skirt, and Nike sneakers, and her brain was inundated with every memory she had of the Austrian, like she was dying and her entire life was flashing before her eyes. The crush she may or may not have had blossomed within her, growing somehow from the deep, dark, secret place she’d buried it long ago. Entombing these inappropriate and, she assumed, unrequited, feelings for a coworker had allowed her to function like a normal human, and not a lovesick schoolgirl.
“What do you think?” he asked, or shouted, slapping the title against his abs, and she almost, almost, averted her gaze to look, but she caught herself at the very last second. She focused on the blood spatter on his cheek and jaw.
Blood?
There was a sizzling in the ether, a hum almost, like the sound of current zooming through a power line, and she felt it in her very core. She could smell him now, the closer he came, and his scent had to be pheromonal, because her panties were suddenly soaked and her legs felt heavy. Her arms and hands were numb, so it was quite confusing for her to watch her arm rise of its own volition, hand reaching for Gunther, and she screamed for him to move or slap her hand away, but no sound came out and her lips never moved. Her hand kept lifting until it came in contact with a spot of blood on his chiseled jawline, and now she had sensation in her fingertips, but still no control.
“Are you okay?” she asked, absolutely no recollection of planning to say anything at all.
“You’re worried about me,” he said loudly, grinning, boasting his sexy accent. Those goddamn dimples sank into his cheeks, and his smile, even when he was being evil on the microphone, was genuine and happy, and wait just a damn minute …
Her lips pursed. “Congratulations,” she deadpanned, finally in control of her hand, which she pulled from his face. She glanced at the vermillion liquid on her thumb before idly smearing it on her light-colored tank top, treating it like any other unwanted substance. She looked back up at him, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now a blazing inferno and zeroed in on the stain on her shirt just below her breasts. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She spun on her heels, twirled her suitcase on its wheels, and she started off in the opposite direction. He might have been just teasing, and that was the most likely scenario, but that didn’t make her feel any less embarrassed. She’d shown genuine concern for him, and he’d cracked a joke about her being worried? It didn’t matter that he was correct—he didn’t have to be a dick about it.
Unfortunately for her, she had no idea where the exit was in this direction, and she couldn’t very well ask someone while on her angry walk-away, so she stuck her chin in the air and continued on, confidently taking a turn down the next hallway. Her pace slowed then. This concourse was dark save for the light from the corridor that T’d at the end. And she didn’t see an exit sign.
“Shit,” she whispered.
A barely audible thud sounded behind her, and she spun around, releasing the handle of her suitcase, instantly hoping for an employee or maybe someone who was also lost. He was mostly a silhouette, but she knew exactly who it was—she was familiar with his size and the haircut and even his squared shoulders under the Ring General jacket—but for a new reason. His scent. It was the sour aroma of sweat, the copper tinge of blood, and tiny remnants of whatever body wash he’d used recently. She inhaled as much as she could, inflating her lungs until they nearly burst, packing them full of her new favorite flavor, and she felt a little dizzy. The man was a goddamn vape pen.
She attempted to recover, “I think I made a wrong—”
Gunther wrapped a long, strong arm around her middle and lifted her in the air with maybe a little too much vigor—she saw the top of his head for the first time in real life before gravity snatched her and yanked her back to earth. Gunther’s arm tightened around her, halting her progress, crushing their chests together, and she intuitively wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt the outline of the World Heavyweight Championship title belt between her legs and underneath the surprisingly soft fabric of the blue jacket. She clutched at the lapels to steady herself upon landing back in his arm—because it had been so fucking easy for him to nearly launch her into space and catch her with only one damn arm.
Their eyes met, and their noses were brushing, and they were passing oxygen back and forth between them. She’d never been this close to him before, not like this, and his scent was much stronger now. Fuck, she’d waited so long for this, but here? Now? His body was firm, muscles dense, and for some reason, this Austrian Adonis was wholly enchanted by her. So yes—here. Now.
“Gunther—” she whispered, having no idea where this sentence would end up.
“You didn’t answer me,” he cut her off. She blinked at him. “I asked you what you think.” Sometimes his THs came out as Fs and it was the most endearing quirk in the world. He nodded at the title, nestled in the comforting embrace of his jacket and her thighs, and they both cast their eyes downward. She swallowed, looking at her skirt, remembered she was wearing a skirt, and also the opulent title that was only a few inches from an aching, soaking pussy.
“I’m happy for you,” she whispered, hands still fisted in his jacket.
“No,” he growled, kicking her suitcase out of his way with a blue boot. Her grip tightened and her thighs clenched as he pressed her against the nearest wall, his free hand cupping the back of her head as a shield. “I’m only gonna ask you … one more time,” he said, his eyes burning a hole through her very soul, and his hand came out from behind her to hold his finger up. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he tilted his head. She gulped down absolutely nothing, and the hallway was so quiet that the action was actually audible. “So no lying,” he advised, eyebrows lifting. His face closed the space between them, and she couldn’t regulate her breathing as it came out in hot puffs of desperation. “What … do you think?”
Boy, was she done thinking. “Well …” she trailed off, fingers releasing the lapels of his jacket so she could flatten her palms on his chest. She licked her lips, massaging the hard planes of his pecs, and she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. His eyes darted down to watch. “I think you look like a fucking champion,” she murmured. If he wanted to play a game … let’s play a game. Her thighs tightened as she locked her ankles behind him, spine straightening. Her hand slithered up his neck to his incredible jaw where she gently clutched his chin between her forefinger and thumb so she could turn his face slightly away from her, freeing the route to his ear. Smirking, she pressed her lips to his lobe, and his arm still around her middle tensed. “And I think you look like a champion I’d like to fuck,” she purred, punctuating her statement by biting the lobe and sucking it into her searing mouth.
Gunther leaned back, stealing his ear from her, and he then pressed their foreheads together. “Yeah?” he taunted. She nodded, their noses grazing. “You wanna fuck the champion?”
“For so long,” she sighed, practically clawing at the jacket. She glanced down, their faces mashed together, a memory slapping her in the brain. She opened the garment and raked her nails down his bare chest, over the marks of Damian’s chops, and it wasn’t the hardest she could go, but his groan was primal, and she knew the pressure was just right. “You should know,” she went on, “if you’ve been watching me like you say you have.”
“Oh, I’ve been watching,” Gunther assured her. His hands were under her arms and he pressed her into the wall, locking eyes with her before he released his grip on her. She kept her shoulder blades and arms flat against the wall, back straight, legs nice and tight around Gunther’s waist, and she was perfectly stable without his assistance. He leaned back, and this new position presented him with the chance to leer at her, gaze inspecting every inch of her, and he leisurely began to lift her shirt. His brows rose and his mouth opened when he came to a barely-there built-in bra. “Look at you,” he said. “You don’t even bother, do you?”
She regarded him with a wicked smirk, half his face a shadow, and she couldn’t fight the urge to roll her hips against him. The title didn’t feel particularly good when pressed to her pussy, but the thought of humping it, covering it with her juices, was something she never thought would turn her on. “Maybe I hoped you would be looking,” she whispered. He slid the bra, which was basically just thin fabric and elastic, torturously slowly up over her breasts where it stayed, and his eyes met hers once more.
“This is what you want?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. She nodded, lost in his murky eyes. “Say it,” he commanded, and there was no mistaking that tone.
She gripped his shoulders and pulled herself against him, her newly exposed nipples making contact with his jacket and his smooth chest. “I want you to fuck me, Gunther,” she told him, lips massaging his thin ones. Her eyes passed back and forth between his, and she knew he needed something else, just a little bit more. “Think you can handle that?”
He smashed her between himself and the wall, his lips finally covering hers, and the desperate moans from both their throats would have been embarrassing for them had anyone else heard them. Her hand on the back of his shaved head was an interesting level of eroticism, and he must have agreed, if his tongue in her mouth was any indication. She felt him unstrap the belt, and he returned one arm around her so he could lift her off the front of it, then he dropped it to the floor. Never once did his lips leave hers or even stop moving.
He repositioned her lower on his body this time, throwing his jacket around her legs, and she gasped, grip sliding from his shoulders back to the lapels as he ground his impressive manhood on her soaking panties. His hand slithered along her thigh, finger dipping under the side of the garment, which he then lifted away from her throbbing pussy. Her eyes were slits as his thumb slid along her dripping folds, relentlessly teasing her before it finally sank within and began massaging the slippery nub. His straining cock was still pressed against her, and if he didn’t fuck her now, she knew for sure they’d be caught. People were still passing by the end of the hallway they’d come from. Had anyone seen them enter? Had anyone seen them not leave?
“Please,” she whispered, not sure how long she would survive without his cock inside her.
“That’s what I wanna hear,” he mumbled, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. Her back arched and she slammed her hips into his thumb. “You wanna fuck the champion, you have to beg the champion.”
“Please,” she repeated, and somewhere along the way she’d lost the upper hand. Or … had she ever really had it?
“Please what?” he pressed. “Hmm?” He was on her neck now, all teeth and tongue and lips, and her eyes rolled back.
“Please fuck me,” she begged, hand cradling his neck. “Please?”
“Fuck,” Gunther whispered.
There was brief movement, and suddenly, the thick head of his dick poked at her hole, and she cried out. Gunther was quick to cover her mouth with his hand, holding it there as his other hand gripped her hip, supporting her weight and sinking her down onto his cock. She continued to squeal, muffled by his hand, until he was buried to the hilt inside her, and then she was breathing in and out quickly through her nostrils. She rolled her hips, sucking him deeper, and she groaned this time. As he started to slowly fuck her, she reached up to squeeze his meaty forearm, opposite hand fisting in his jacket again. He picked up speed, rocking her body up and down on the wall, and she couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Was she dreaming? That’d be cruel.
“You’re taking me so well,” Gunther praised, and she whined, squirming in his embrace. “This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”
She nodded, a stifled yes caged in her throat. She wouldn't argue the point even if she could. Her pussy was full, fuller than it ever had been, wetter, and she felt her orgasm building, but that couldn’t be right because no man had ever made her cum simply by penetration alone. Her entire being was vibrating with the quickness of Gunther’s pumps, still grasping his forearm and jacket, holding on for dear life and that ever elusive orgasm-that-she-wasn’t-responsible-for.
“You’re perfect,” he mumbled into her ear. She almost wilted in his possession, but if her body slacked even a little bit, Gunther’s cock would never again find that spot inside her.
“Please,” she begged. “Please … I’m gonna cum.”
“All over my cock, dirty girl,” he panted. Had someone else called her a dirty girl, she might have laughed at them, but with Gunther’s accent and his tone and just the fucking breathlessness loaded her orgasm from 28% to 99%. “So your pussy will get even tighter,” he went on, “so you can make the champion cum.”
She screamed, a literal scream, and Gunther squeezed her mouth. She did exactly as she was told, clenching around his dick as she came for the first time by a dick, body shuddering while she rode the waves of ecstasy. She was able to experience most of it before Gunther grunted, pulling out with a nasty pop, and he set her carefully back on her feet.
“Down on your knees, dirty girl,” he said, his hand lifting from her mouth.
She licked her lips, tasting him, and she slowly descended to her knees, which she had to spread to avoid putting any weight on the belt Gunther had discarded earlier, hands sliding down his chest and abs as she went. He jerked his glistening cock over her face, leering at her, and she grasped his thighs. Every instinct told her to stick her tongue out, and what kind of human would she be if she didn’t follow her instincts? He placed his hand on the top of her head seconds before he launched cum on her tongue and across her face, rope after rope, and it was salty and warm and her new new favorite flavor. She couldn’t read the expression on his face anymore as he used his thumb to slide all the cum from her skin into her mouth. She happily accepted all of it, sucking his thumb and cock clean for good measure. When he finished, he tucked himself back into his trunks and held his hand out. She almost placed her hand in it. Almost. At the last second, she reached between her knees for the belt and held it up for him. His chest puffed out as he accepted it from her, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he held his other hand out for her.
“We should do that again,” Gunther said.
She grinned, her cheeks getting hot, and she pulled her top back down. “Call me when you win another championship,” she winked.
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