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cowboyshit · 4 years

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starlight will be the only light when I can tell my heart to you... PART ONE OF ? future parts: two, three

Ship: Hangman Adam Page x Female OC (Hazel Baker) x Matt Jackson Summary: Hazel’s engagement ended awhile ago, and she’s finally decided she’s ready to jump headfirst back into the dating game by having a fun, carefree, no-strings-attached night with a handsome cowboy at the local rodeo. Instead, she finds something much, much more complicated and catches herself between two men and a whirlwind of feelings. Rating: explicit (part one only has a brief, heavy-handed make-out scene but it’s written explicit enough to elicit this rating, and the piece itself will become more explicit in the future) Length: 14,079 words Warnings: alcohol mention, brief descriptive make-out/verging on smut situation

author’s note: wow, this thing turned into a monster I didn’t expect. Initially, I just wanted to have a little fun and write the elite as rodeo cowboys in a rodeo au, but this fic sort of took on a life of it’s own. I will warn that not much happens in this part, despite how long it is. It’s just a bunch of FEELINGS. Look forward to part two, where things get even messier than they are here! And yes, I promise in the next one they’ll actually get together.

“Oh wow, look at that one.”

“Hazel, I told you I wasn’t going to bring you here if you weren’t going to behave yourself.” Her friend, Andrea’s playfully exasperated tone made Hazel grin wide.

“I know, but can you blame me?” She said and nudged Andrea with her elbow, jerking her chin toward the blond-haired cowboy dead ahead.

He was handsome in a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping kind of way, she thought. The late afternoon sun hit the edges of the blond curls that stuck out of his cowboy hat, making them look as if they glittered. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks pushed into them, a big smile on his face as he laughed. She could just hear the faint hint of it - that laugh - through the people passing between them and it sounded warm, and rich, and honest. She wanted to hear it closer.

He was wearing a bright pink, long-sleeve button-up with some sort of white pattern she was too far away to figure out. It was fine print, but looked like swirls. Maybe paisleys. The sleeves, upper back and chest supported bold, silver-white thread and patches sewn into it of varying sponsors and brands. Considering the multitude she could count, it was easy to guess he was one of the hot shots on the rodeo circuit. The money went where the winners were, after all. Plus the addition of that big silver, gold-trim belt buckle that was biting gently into the fat of his stomach had likely been won as a prize at another rodeo. It looked pretty fancy, even from this distance.

“Who is that?” She asked, and when Andrea didn’t answer she finally pulled her eyes off him and looked at her friend.

Andrea blushed and shook her head. “You don’t need to go near those guys.”

“What?!” Hazel exclaimed, frowning at Andrea and looking back at that beautiful pink-shirt wearing blond-haired cowboy. He was talking with two other cowboys, both with long, dark-brown hair. She looked from them, back to her friend and found Andrea frowning at her. Hazel rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! You know how long it’s been since Ethan and I called off the engagement and ended things. I’m finally feeling like me again, like I’m getting over that heartache. I could use some fun! The best way to get over someone is to get under someone, right?” She wiggled her brows and grinned playfully. “So, spill it, who is he? What’s his deal?”

Andrea worked the grounds when the rodeo pulled into town and had been doing it enough years that she was known and knew the folk who came to compete. It was a side-gig she had on top of working the cafe at the stockyards. This meant she often knew the rodeo competitors and other cowfolk who found themselves in Brimwood Creek. Therefore, she knew exactly who Mr. Blond Haired Angel Cowboy was and for some reason she was withholding that information. Andrea knew Hazel had a penchant for falling for those handsome cowboys and was enough of a confident little flirt to strike up some fun with one, but she’d never minded before. A thought occurred to Hazel as she remembered her friend blushing, and she looked both surprised at the realization and apologetic.

“Oh! Are you two a thing?” Understandably Andrea wouldn’t want Hazel making eyes at him if she was after him.

“What?” Andrea laughed and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with him then?” She was getting suspicious. She narrowed her eyes on him, trying to find the flaw, but just found herself more distracted by how handsome he was. She glanced at his hand, or tried to, but couldn’t see his ring finger from where they were standing. “Is he married?”

“No! Hazel, look. He’s not the kind of guy you’re after. He’s sort of a recluse. He comes out to compete and then disappears after hours instead of spending time hanging out with everyone. I’ve never once seen him with a girl. He’s not like the rest of them, at least from what I’ve seen.”

Now that was surprising. A lot of these cowboys were known to be roaming heart-breakers with a little lady in every town the rodeo made a stop in. That’s what Hazel had been thinking when she’d gotten Andrea to agree to not only bring her to the rodeo, but get her a little bright green paper wristband that’d let her stay once the rodeo wrapped up for the night and the citizens took off, happy and entertained. After her serious, four-year long relationship had ended over half a year ago she was finally ready to get out, but she’d only meant to find herself a good one-night stand. Her heart wasn’t ready to open up to anything more than that.

“What a shame,” she murmured, eyes still on him, “cause he is quite the looker.”

“Adam! Harper’s out, you’re takin’ his spot!” A sudden barking shout from an older, bow-legged cowboy to her right drew his eyes, and when he nodded and lifted a hand to signal he heard and understood, he caught her watching him. His gaze moved from the cowboy to her, lingering a little, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. Probably: Why the hell is this woman gawking at me?

His frown deepened and then he looked away as one of his friends - a handsome man with a dark beard and his long, equally dark brown hair secured in a ponytail, tucked beneath a black wide-brim cowboy hat - asked him a question. Hazel’s eyes jumped between them for a moment, admiring the view, before Andrea tugged her sleeve.

“Come on, quick gawking. You promised you’d help me work and not spend the entire day ogling cowboys, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Hazel said, dramatically overacting with a heavy sigh, “I did say that. What a bummer.”

“Shut up,” Andrea laughed and pushed Hazel’s arm playfully, to which Hazel gasped in mock offense, which quickly spilled into laughter before she pushed her back, the two turning to walk toward the chutes and figure out where they’d be best helpful. Neither girl saw the blond-haired cowboy, Adam, turn and watch them retreat with a curious, lingering, thoughtful frown across his naturally down-turned brows.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went by rather quickly. In between lending a hand wherever Andrea needed her, the girls propped themselves up on the metal fences and watched the rodeo events take place. It’d been a couple years since Hazel had gone to a proper rodeo, and her heart felt full to experience it all again. Even the way the crowd hollered encouragement for a particularly good ride, or how everyone lingered in groups and their familiar conversations drifted by her ears as she walked past them brought her back home. She’d missed it, every sense of it, and for a good moment during one of the last rides she let herself close her eyes and soak everything in as deep into her skin as she could get. For the most part she’d wanted to find some cute cowboy to hook up with after the show, but in reality she’d needed the entire day spent here more than she realized she would. She’d been away from this world for too long.

Eventually the citizens were gone, the gates were closed and security made their rounds past little encampments where friends had gathered around portable barbecues and bonfires to check and make sure everyone had the wristband saying they could stay. Hazel and Andrea were hanging out with a small group of workers like Andrea who saw to the set-up and tear-down of the chutes and paddocks, the feeding of the animals and the cleaning of their pens, the organizations of the rides and kept the level ground of the arena smooth for each competitor. One of the older men, a veteran of the rodeo, was telling a hilarious story about a mishap with an angry bull when Andrea gently nudged her elbow in Hazel’s side.

“I heard there’s a cowboy who was asking about you,” she whispered suggestively with a little wiggle of her dark, bold brows.

Immediately Hazel thought of him - blond curls, pretty eyes - and her heartbeat increased. She looked hopeful at Andrea. “Was there?”

“Mhm,” she nodded and tipped her beer bottle back, taking a slug and drawing out the anticipation. “One of the Jackson brothers. Matt.”

“Oh,” Hazel’s shoulders dropped as she felt a stab of disappointment that it wasn’t Adam. But then again, what had she been expecting? She’d only ogled him like a weird-o, then made sure to watch his ride and holler for him until she couldn’t breathe, wrapped up in watching him sit through each buck, knees bending in perfect rhythm with every jolting land and upward hop and twist the bronco put him through. He hadn’t even looked twice at her, but she’d hoped…

“Oh?” Andrea blew a breath from her lips and shook her head. “I thought you’d be all over that. He’s exactly your type and,” she tipped her beer bottle with her brows raised, “exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

No strings attached. Just adult fun with no expectations.

“Yeah, no, I am, believe me.” That was the dark-haired bearded cowboy Adam had been talking to. Hazel remembered thinking he was handsome, but she was so distracted by Adam that even in her mind she could barely remember him. “He’s hot. I was just… you know… hoping maybe Adam had said something?” She felt like she sounded pathetic, fishing desperately for some sign he’d thought something of her too.

“Adam? Adam who?” Andrea asked, perplexed.

“The blond haired cowboy we saw first thing today!”

A few curious eyes pulled their way as Hazel talked louder than a whisper, interrupting the old cowboy’s story. He set her with a heavy glare and she sheepishly shrugged her shoulders.

“Sorry!”

“Adam Page?” Andrea asked with a whisper once everyone had gone back to talking, then shook her head. “Honey, no. I told you, he’s not like the other guys around here. You could prowl the entire rodeo grounds tonight and you wouldn’t find him. He never sticks around here. Goes right back to his trailer, keeps his nose clean of trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be trouble,” Hazel retorted with a pout.

“Oh yeah, right.” Andrea snorted and slugged another swallow of beer. “Speaking as a friend that knows you, I’d say go find Matt. He and his brother have a little bonfire on the other side of the grounds, past the corrals. A few of their friends will be there too, so it won’t be too weird for you to drop by.”

“Won’t you come with me?” Hazel asked, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Andrea shook her head quickly, but even by firelight Hazel could swear she saw a little bit of color in her cheeks again.

Andrea was always so busy with work and her four younger siblings that she never found time to date, and normally because she didn’t have the time, she didn’t get boy-crazy the way Hazel always had. It was… interesting to see Andrea a little flustered.

“Alright, spill the beans. Why won’t you come with me to the Jackson brother’s little fire pit?”

Andrea glanced at the people they were sitting with, who were still engrossed in their own stories, and then back at Hazel.

“Hazel, it’s nothing.”

“Unless you tell me the exact reason I’m going to grab you by your wrist and drag you over there with me.”

“Hazel!”

“Don’t test me.”

Andrea groaned and set her beer bottle in the cup-holder of the camping chair so she could bury her face in her hands. “I kind of sort of have a crush on Nick Jackson.”

Nick Jackson, obviously the other half of the Jackson brothers.

“Really?!” Hazel was so enthralled by the idea of Andrea having a thing for one of the cowboys she immediately wanted to hook them up. “Well, come on! Come with me, come talk to Nick!”

“Hazel, no. I can’t. You know I can’t. I don’t want to do the whole one-night-stand thing with a rodeo cowboy I’ll have to see next time they come into town, and I have too much going on to add an attempt at a long-distance relationship to everything. He’s cute and he makes me feel tongue-tied and stupid when he smiles at me, but that’s just all it’s going to be. You, on the other hand,” she fixed her with a pointed stare, “should go get what you came here for before it’s too late.”

Hazel wanted to drag Andrea with her anyways, just to shove her in front of Nick and let the sparks fly, but she knew her friend and she knew what she said was right. Andrea’s life was already packed and bursting at the seams, the last thing she needed was a romance with one of these rodeo cowboys.

“Okay, I’ll go talk with Matt.” She said as she popped up, “and I’ll make sure to tell Nick you said hi.”

“Hazel!”

She smiled at Andrea’s frustrated, warning tone and gave her a wink before turning and heading off to make the walk across the grounds, past the corrals just outside the touch of the bright stadium lighting. Hazel was used to those kinds of slide-in conversations at these after-hours events. Everyone was everyone’s friend, and if a cowboy had been asking after you, all his attention would be yours the minute you were in that firelight. Honestly, was she really the kind of girl who was going to pine after some guy who wouldn’t give her the time of day or was she going to let loose, be free and have a little bit of fun with a totally handsome, dark-eyed cowboy who definitely wanted her? The decision was too easy to make.

She started to walk across the grounds and could just make out the horses in the pop-up pipe-fence pens, lined in a halo of white from the distant stadium lights. She could hear their soft breathing as she drew closer and the gentle swish of their tails as they flicked away late summer night flies. Her pace decreased until she stopped, turning toward the corral and watching the shape of a large golden palomino mare who dozed on the other side of the little one-horse pen. Noticing eyes on her, the mare's ear twitched and she shifted her weight, opening her dark eyes on Hazel. Her pale lashes looked gilded as they caught the light.

“Hey girl,” Hazel beckoned with a soft clicking under of her tongue, slipping her hand into the pen and holding the back of it out as a greeting. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” she talked gently, her voice just above a whisper. All the people were far from the pens, set up in little circles around their parked trailers, and their laughter and conversation was a happy, distant noise. It left Hazel feeling as though she were in some hushed, isolated place, somewhere special.

She’d always lived for these moments as a kid, these points in time where it was just her and a horse, and she could talk about everything. The things that she was going through, the dreams she had, or even all the places she’d love to go riding if she ever could.

The mare drew close at the sight of Hazel’s hand and brushed her velvet, whiskered lips over the back of it, huffing a warm breath gently that smelled like sweet hay. Hazel smiled. “Hello, beautiful,” she said, gently turning her hand and letting the mare sniff and lip curiously at it, testing her smell.

“You have a little snip on your nose!” she exclaimed softly with delight, seeing the oddly shaped little white mark between the mare’s nostrils.

“When I was a little girl I had an imaginary horse I used to pretend was with me when I ran around, and I always imagined she was a pretty golden palomino with a little white snip on her nose just like you, and one, two,” Hazel scratched beneath the mares chin and leaned to try and count the markings on her legs, “Oh, darn. Almost.” She looked back at the mare’s face and smiled. “My imaginary mare had three socks, but you’ve only got two. Well, you’re still beautiful anyways. Dreams can’t always come true, hm?”

She laughed gently under her breath as the mare stepped closer to the fence, stretching out her neck and as if to offer more areas to scratch.

“Her name is Dolly.” A warm, low, soft voice nearly startled her, but she kept herself calm so as not to spook the mare. The mare clearly knew this intruder, though, as she swung her head forward and pointed her ears, letting out a loud rumbling whicker in immediate greeting. She forgot all about Hazel’s scratches, clearly too happy to see whoever had joined them. Hazel glanced over her shoulder and saw him - Adam - with his blond curls tucked neatly beneath his wide-brim cowboy hat and a sheepish expression across his face. He almost looked embarrassed to have interjected. “Well, it’s Lil Dun Dolly, officially. But I just call her Dolly.”

“Oh! This is your mare?” She felt her face go hot. He was going to think she’d stopped here on purpose. Probably saw her lingering outside his mare’s pen and wanted to know why the weird-o who’d been staring at him earlier was now bothering his horse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to disturb her.”

“Ah, no, ma’am. It’s no trouble,” he laughed a little weakly and cleared his throat, waving his hand between them, “Dolly doesn’t mind the company.” He glanced at her and almost looked like he wanted to say something else, but lost the courage.

“So uh, how much of our conversation did you hear?” She asked, already cringing a little inside, but when she braved a peek at him, saw he was smiling a sort of lop-sided smile.

“Are you going to be mad at me if I say all of it?” That smile of his seemed to want to stretch a little wider.

“No,” she said, laughing, “but I am going to be embarrassed you heard me telling your horse about the fact that I had an imaginary horse when I was little.”

Adam had walked up to the fence and leaned on it while they talked, cheating his body toward her and glancing down beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. She could just barely make out the sinful blue-green of his eyes with the way the shadows and light played on either side of his bearded face. Dolly abandoned her interest in Hazel and was now affectionately lipping at the folds in his shirt with the arm he had leaning on the fence, clearly happy to have him in reach. He reached over and affectionately rubbed his palm over the bridge of her nose and up her forehead before he started talking again.

“Mine was a little bay paint.” He said, and she frowned at him, confused by what he meant. “My imaginary horse I had when I was little? It was a bay paint with a big white spot across it’s chest and one over its haunches. I called him Bandit. What’d you name yours?”

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, pushing high into her round cheeks. She wanted to worry over the way her heart started beating a little faster, but she couldn’t be bothered, trapped in those pretty, bright eyes of his. “Her name was Honey.”

“Honey, that’s a good name for an imaginary horse.”

“So is Bandit.”

They smiled at each other for a minute too long before they seemed to realize it, both clearing their throats and trying to jump into a different conversation, cheeks hot. They laughed awkwardly and Hazel shook her head. A change of conversation was probably for the best, so she grabbed at the first topic she could think of.

“I saw your run earlier, by the way. You were impressive! The way you sat that bronc despite his best effort to throw you was honestly amazing.”

He looked flattered and it endeared her how humble he was. Most cowboys at his level soaked in whatever adoration they could get. Damnit! Couldn’t he do something to make her not like him? This was becoming unfair.

“Ah, I owe most of it to that little firecracker I was riding,” he said, patting his hand against his mare’s muscled neck and gently ruffling her cream-white mane. “I’ve ridden him a couple times at past rodeos, but he was on something else tonight. He helped me get that good score.”

“Oh stop being so humble,” she laughed and rolled her eyes, “any cowboy or cowgirl who competes in the rodeo knows it’s the animal, the rider, and the rider’s understanding of that animal and their communication that makes the ride. No matter which sport it is. It’s about how you work as a team, you know?”

He was looking at her with an expression she’d describe as surprised understanding, like she’d just said something he thought of as important, too. Like they shared the same understanding of something a lot of people took at face value.

“Yeah… it’s... exactly that,” he stumbled over. “I haven’t seen you around before, how do you know so much about the rodeo?”

She felt her cheeks get hot and shrugged, choosing to look at Dolly just as an excuse to not see him looking at her like that. “I did some barrel racing a few times in my late teens and very early twenties.”

“You did?” He said with delighted surprise.

“Yeah! It wasn’t anything huge, just locals, qualifiers, and a few state shows. But I always enjoyed it.”

“Why’d you stop?”

She hesitated. “It’s… complicated.” Her eyes lifted slowly and apologetic to his. “Sorry,” she started, trying to explain it wasn’t something she talked about with practical strangers, but he held out a hand as if to stop her and gave his head a little shake.

“You don’t have to say any more.” He assured her, “I’m sorry if I touched a sore spot.”

“It’s okay,” she noticed the way his brows tilted downward a little harder than they were naturally set and it tugged at her heartstrings in a way she wasn’t ready for. “I don’t tell many people about that, actually. Although it figures that my rodeo past would come up at a rodeo though, so that’s kind of on me.” She laughed, and he grinned a little deeper.

“Man,” he said and sucked air through his teeth. When she looked at him he shook his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe you missed the opportunity to tell me this ain’t your first rodeo.”

For a drawn out second she just stared at him - the way a half-smile hung on his lips, just showing those slightly imperfect teeth; the way his eyes hung on her face, hoping she thought the silly joke was as funny as he did; the way one blond brow quirked higher than the other; the way that smile inevitably deepened as a couple more seconds crawled past.

And then, she laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you just made that silly of a joke.”

“Believe it,” he laughed and shrugged, warm southern accent merrily heavy as he talked. “I didn’t become a rodeo competitor to shy away from making rodeo-specific jokes whenever and wherever I can.”

“So that’s why you decided to compete in rodeos for a living, huh? Not the thrill of the sport, not because you’re good at it, not for the money…”

“Nope! Just the jokes.”

They laughed together in gentle breaths, their smiles still on their mouths by the time it stopped. She knew then exactly how dangerous this was for her. She needed to excuse herself and step away, because there was something between them that made her nervous and excited and painfully hopeful. Hopeless, more like. Everyone knew rodeo cowboys didn’t settle down; they traveled the road over half the year during the season and went from town to town, never too far from a pretty doe-eyed cowgirl in denim she’d cut into too-short Daisy Duke’s. After what Hazel had just gone through, the last thing she could afford was catching feelings for a rodeo cowboy.

“I should probably um-”

“Hey, would you like to-”

They had started talking at the same time and talked over each other, sharing an awkward laugh before he cleared his throat and tipped his head toward her with a smile. “Please, ladies first.”

“No.” She said it a little too breathlessly and cleared her throat when he looked at her with a curious expression. “Please, I want to hear what you were going to say.”

Carelessly, she mentally shut off the alarm bells blaring in her head and refocused on him.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to walk with me? I kinda like walking the corrals away from everyone at night. I normally do it alone but, if,” he glanced at her as if asking permission even as the next words tumbled out of his mouth, “if you wanted to, I’d like your company.”

“Yes!” She said, almost too quick, and then blushed and shook her head, heating up clear to her crown with embarrassment for how eager she’d just obviously been. “Sorry - erm - I mean yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

When her eyes darted to him, she saw he was fighting a grin. He jerked his head to the side and turned, starting to walk down the fence line. She fell in step beside him and for a moment they shared the quiet together. The crickets chirped in the tall grass outside the dirt grounds; the horses snorted and swished their tails, some of them lifting their heads and watching them curiously; the cattle flicked their ears and huddled close together, moving as a group wherever they went.

“What was your run when you were competing in barrels?”

Of course he’d ask a rodeo related question to break the ice and figure out what they should talk about. Typical cowboy.

“My mare ran between 18.3 and 19 seconds. My gelding was a little slower, he normally clocked solid 20.”

Adam sucked in a breath and released it slow, brows raised, he tilted his head toward her and appeared impressed. “Those are some good times.”

“Not World Championship times, a few seconds off, but yeah, I did pretty good in my local and state classes.” Wanting to shift the attention off herself and back onto him before he asked a question she wasn’t comfortable answering, she decided she’d throw a rodeo question his way. “So why bronc riding?”

He glanced at her a little sheepishly.

“Come on! Why bronc riding?”

“It’s just you have to really know a horse well when you’re riding them as they buck. It becomes a kind of dance; you need to anticipate every move, where that horse is going to shift its weight, making sure you’re as fluid with it as you can be so you don’t get dislodged. It’s about precision and timing, nothing can be off. It’s a constant attempt to achieve perfection in a narrow time window and it’s just you and that horse. You have to trust yourself to understand those animals so you can do it exactly right and not get yourself hurt, either.”

“Wow.” She was stunned, genuinely, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t unheard of for a cowboy to talk so highly and credit the animals he competed with, but there was something about the way passion bled into Adam’s voice the more he tried to break it down that really got her. “You really love doing this, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughed, and she decided she definitely liked the way a smile looked on his face.

“I love it,” she said, and tried not to pay attention to the way that made him grin a little more, scuffing the toe of his boot against the hard packed dirt ground they walked. “So why trailer in Dolly if you don’t compete in a sport you need your horse at?”

“Sometimes I help pick up, if something happens and they need someone to step in and help. Dolly’s been doing it for years and she’s a great little pick up mare, never lets the excitement from the broncs or the bulls rile her up.”

The cowboys who did picking up were the ones who rode in at the end of the eight second ride to offer a horse for the cowboy to safely jump off and onto. They’d take the rider away from the bucking roughstock and somewhere they could safely dismount and await their score. That required a sound horse who’d listen to its rider and not get carried away with the spirit and herd mentality of another horse kicking its heels up or a bull twisting and threatening to charge with angry snorts. Telling a horse to run toward another horse that was bucking like that was a whole other ordeal. Those cowboys needed people they could trust, and it said a lot that Adam paid the extra gas to haul a trailer and dealt with loading and unloading his mare here just in case he was needed.

“Plus,” he concluded, and looked almost a little sheepish, “I like having her company.”

“You really have to stop being so cute.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about the consequences, and he laughed. If not for the shadow beneath his wide-brim hat and the gentle haze of darkness they walked through, she thought she might have seen him blushing.

“Ah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck and stopped in his tracks, making her stop a second later and turn to face him, her head tilting curiously as she looked up at him. He knocked the brim of his hat back so it sat more slanted on his curls and let her see that handsome, blond bearded face more clearly, lit in gentle white-blue from the distant haze of the stadium lights. It caught one side of his face more than the other, and his eyes were such a dark, pretty grey-green that she bet they’d have her heart doing somersaults over how pretty they were in the daylight.

“Look, I don’t normally do this, but,” he started, pausing a little between his words, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. Her heart increased its beat, racing with anticipation, her full lips fell apart in a gentle break to let her suck in a sharp breath of air. His eyes fell dark down to them and he trailed off, looking intently. She was dizzy. Was he going to kiss her? Oh God, he was going to kiss her.

Please, she thought, kiss me.

No, she groaned inwardly, don’t kiss me!

If he kissed her, she wasn’t sure she could keep fighting off the chemistry that was obviously between them, and something was telling her it would hurt a little bit to see this one leave her bed in the morning and never call again.

He started to lean in. She caught her breath.

“Hey, Page! Finally coming to hang out with us or what?”

They both jumped apart and looked with wild eyes on the cowboy standing a few paces behind Adam, who must’ve just walked up from the glowing orange fire pit set up near the trailer at his back. She didn’t recognize him immediately, but Adam clearly did.

“Hey Nick, actually, I-” Adam had turned his body a little to answer Nick, and when he did it revealed her standing near him.

“Oh jeez,” said Nick, blinking, the wide happy smile he’d been wearing slipping away almost immediately, “I hope I didn’t just interrupt something.”

“No!”

“Nope!”

They were both too quick and too eager to jump in and defend themselves, as if they hadn’t just been seconds away from giving in to temptation.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, rushed, and tried to ignore the way Adam’s eyes shot back over her, and how he took a small step away, as if her words had repelled him back. She wished she could explain it, that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, but that she knew better than to. That she was guarded against any kind of hurt right now, even something as little as regretting the cold space that’d be on his side of the bed by the time she woke up the next morning.

“Right,” something in his tone told her Nick wasn’t buying it from either of them, and when she pulled her eyes away from Adam and looked at him, noticed he seemed to be struggling to keep from grinning again. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Well, things have wound down a little bit, but Kenny’s still hanging out and we’ve got food and drinks leftover if you guys want. Well,” he shrugged and held up his palms, stepping back as if to physically excuse himself from their space, “I mean, you guys probably want to get back to whatever you were doing out here all alone, so…” Did she sense a sort of mischievousness in his tone? Was he teasing them? Maybe she should have brought Andrea and sent her ahead to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t have interrupted them.

“No,” Adam was the one who spoke up this time, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I’d love to come hang out.”

“Really?” Nick said, “huh. That’ll be a first.”

He was definitely poking fun at Adam in the same way you’d tease a good friend. It occurred to her that if Andrea, someone who worked the rodeo grounds when they came into town, knew that Adam was the type to be a loner, the friends he had would know it even more. What had Nick thought when he’d seen that Adam was with her? Was he surprised? Glad that Adam wasn’t alone for once? Did he even care?

Adam shot him a glare she just caught as they started towards him, to which Nick bit into his wide grin and turned away, leading them both back toward the nearby fire with camping chairs strewn in a haphazard half-circle around it. She bit into the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, not wanting to give away that she’d seen the interaction between them and fought the urge to playfully bump her hip into Adam’s. The warm glow of the crackling fire and the light laughs and conversation grew louder as they came close.

“Found a couple wanderers near the corrals,” Nick announced as he made his way back to an empty chair, flopping unceremoniously down into it and grabbing a can of diet coke from a nearby ice chest. It made a soft pop as he cracked it, and Adam and Hazel were left staring at the little group.

“Adam!” Said a man with surprised delight. He was sitting in the chair beside the one Nick had sat down in, and made it look tiny by his mass alone. Even beneath his purple checkered pearl snap, she could see how big his arms and chest were. He wasn’t wearing a hat, though he must’ve been all day, as his tight wound dirty-blond curls had a slight crimp from where the band had sat. He had eyes a more vivid, concise blue than Adam’s could be. They were so blue that she could tell even in the orange glow of the fire. “Who’s your friend?” He asked, turning a politely curious eye and friendly smile on her.

“Oh,” Adam started and glanced at her, slight smile on the edge of his mouth before he looked back, “this is-”

“There you are Hazel. I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to come after all.” Matt Jackson had walked from around the trailer, chewing gum, returning and eyes all hers, not having noticed he interrupted Adam talking. His attention absorbed Hazel, like a dog trained on a scent, he wasn’t going to give up until his paws were on her. She’d seen that look before on a man, and normally it excited her, especially a man as handsome as Matt was. Alright, maybe it still excited her a little (she was only human), but Adam shifted ever so slightly beside her and she felt the change in the air around them and watched as Matt’s eyes jerked from her to him, and he looked genuinely shocked.

“Page?! Finally decided to be social, huh?” His smile showed teeth. “That’s great! Sit down and hang with us.” He waved toward an empty chair near Kenny, who was watching the three of them with a curious eye.

Matt’s attention was hers again, those brown eyes dark as sin, smile just the right level of smug that made her palm itch to slap it and grab desperate around his shoulders to pull him down into a passionate, heated, dizzying kiss. To spell it out in one word, Matt Jackson was one-hundred percent certifiable, damningly handsome trouble. It was the kind she’d been initially looking for, the perfect distraction from her broken heart… So why was her smile a little pained? Why did she want to turn toward Adam and ask where he was planning to sit so she could sit with him, put her hand on his arm, do something to let him know the only place she wanted to be was back to where they were? Why the fuck did it matter? He was just a guy; a guy who was trouble in a different way. That kind of trouble that meant broken hearts and burning aches in your chest for days; that kind of trouble was exactly what she was running away from.

Matt had moved closer to her while she was thinking, and she snapped out of it when his hand waved in front of her. He laughed softly, as though finding her momentary lapse in concentration adorable. Assuming she was so taken away with seeing him again and knowing he’d wanted her, she’d had her feet knocked right out from under her.

“Earth to Hazel!” He said, smiling. “Come on,” his head jerked toward a pair of chairs on the opposite side of the fire. Still a part of the group, but paired off a little separately. “I saved you the best seat in the house, right next to me.” He said, a grin growing before he winked.

Pretentious, egotistical prick. She nearly snorted. Fuck, he’s hot.

But she managed to pull her eyes away, intending to make eye contact with Adam and get help on what she was supposed to say here. Only… she didn’t meet Adam’s eyes. He had turned away from her and was already edging around the fireside to join Kenny and Nick opposite of where Matt was. He’d walked off without even waiting for her, or waiting to see what she’d say to Matt.

Hazel sucked back a sharp stab of disappointment and mentally chided herself immediately thereafter. What a fool. Just because he was cute and she was sure they’d been about to kiss didn’t mean anything. A momentary lapse in judgement where he’d been about to kiss her didn’t mean anything if there wasn’t going to be any follow-up. If he was willing to fold at the first sign of another man’s interest, it wasn’t worth her getting hung up on either.

But maybe she was being a little childish and spiteful when she turned a charming smile back toward Matt and made sure to speak loud enough that Adam would hear her, saying, “I’d be happy to sit with you!” She put a bright smile on her face she didn’t necessarily feel, and looked up beneath her mascara-curled lashes as she bit into the corner of her grin to match his smirk.

They sat in the two camping chairs, pointed inward toward one another, though hers damnably kept Adam in her sights too, just beyond Matt. She could avoid looking his way, she thought, focusing on Matt’s smile and his appreciative dark eyes, wondering what the hell was wrong with her that she’d waste her chance for some fun with a guy this handsome over one she barely knew.

“You seem to know your way around a rodeo, huh?” Matt asked her, chewing thoughtfully on his gum after pushing his hat back on his head so the firelight would catch his face and reflect the warmth and hunger that was in his eyes. His long dark hair was tied back, a few wispy strands caught the soft night breeze and stirred. She wondered what it looked like down, around his shoulders, curtaining his face.

“Do I?” She asked him, and remembered how she’d told Adam about her former barrel racing days. She didn’t volunteer that information here.

“You do,” he said, and reached lazily between them to tap a long finger playfully on her knee. An excuse to touch her. “You don’t seem that green to me, little filly.”

Alright, maybe she swooned a little bit at that, and maybe the smile on her mouth was a little more honest than before, and maybe her focus sharpened on Matt and Adam became a soft, firelit blur of pinks and blues and golden blond in the background. She laughed and didn’t notice the way Adam stiffened at the sound, and how his eyes shot fast over to see her grinning at Matt, and Matt’s finger on her knee. She didn’t see Nick frown and glance between herself, his brother, and Adam. She didn’t notice any of it but Matt. There was something… commanding about his charm.

“Well, you haven’t even tried to ride yet, cowboy. You don’t know how hard I can buck.”

The smile he wore stretched wide enough it showed his teeth. Endearingly she noticed his bottom teeth were crooked; it softened her to see something human peek through what had so far only been arrogance wrapped in a damningly handsome package. A little imperfection. Cute. He laughed loud at that, too, and his brows shot up with surprise.

“Alright!” He laughed again and his hand smoothed over her knee. It’s weight was heavy with intent, and warm.

Adam came a little more into focus past him. She could see how he tilted his head toward them. Was he listening?

“Do you have any experience riding a wild filly? Can you manage to stay on?” She barely managed to get the words out, and she wished she was looking into those soft grey-green-blue eyes, and that she’d get to see the wrinkles push up his hat when his eyebrows shot up after she got the words out. She wondered what sweet-seeming Adam was like when faced with bold, flirtatious advantages. Instead, she refocused on Matt, and she saw the self-assured expression cross his face at her tease. He slid his fingers off her knee and leaned back in the chair, gesturing down at himself.

“You’re talking to the top number one PRCA Team Roping Header champion, sweetheart.” He scoffed playfully, jokingly offended she’d question his skills. She wished she didn’t feel the need to press her thighs together and adjust her seat, or the way she wanted to take in a sudden, sharp breath when his eyes pinned hers. What was it about a cocky man that made something inside her come alive? That’s why he was fun to play with, but she’d never make the mistake of dating someone like him. That ego was fun in small bursts, but too much was liable to get you burned.

Somehow she managed to cover the jolt of attraction with a soft laugh and a jerk upward of one of her brows. She knew she was smiling too much into her words and couldn’t stop herself. “A roper? That doesn’t tell me you can ride a bucking horse, cowboy. Maybe I should go find myself a champion bronc rider, then I’ll be sure he’ll stick the ride.”

And she hoped Adam was eavesdropping and heard her say it, but she couldn’t look away from Matt to check.

Something in that dangerous look that flashed dark in his eyes told her he caught on to exactly what she was trying to do and say. It was a challenge, and she was quickly learning Matt was the type of man to grab on to a challenge with everything he had. He had a boldness that matched hers, and it invited her to play along. They continued to flirt and talk, weaving around and through topics, using little chances here and there to lay a hand on an arm, or a knee. She danced a dance she knew well, avoiding giving pieces of herself away she assumed a man like him wouldn’t actually care about. He was just trying to get into her pants, not her heart.

That was a good thing, she reminded herself, once again trying to resist the urge to let her eyes find Adam. They’d made eye contact by accident a few times that night as she talked with Matt, both catching the other trying to sneak a glance and looking away just as quickly. Matt had noticed a time or two as well, but he never made a comment or said a thing. Instead, they kept talking, kept flirting, and eventually got on the topic of his recent, most impressive roping championship run.

“That’s where I won this buckle,” he said, tapping the shiny, gold-filigree decorated silver buckle with it’s bold writing proclaiming him as champion of that specific rodeo.

“Is there a replay of the run?” Hazel asked curiously, wanting to see the way he and his brother worked in-tandem to rope a calf in less than six seconds.

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped away, and she used the chance to look at Adam. He wasn’t paying attention to her this time, but was nodding and talking to Nick, moving his hands. Expressive. Nick had his hat in his lap and was stretched out, boots propped on the ice chest the sodas had been. He was nodding in agreement. She blinked, watching Adam’s hands… and then Matt leaned over to show her the clip and drew her sharply back to him. Suddenly, with his free hand he reached up, fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he’d breathed softly near her when her eyes darted to him and she noticed how close they were. She’d barely have to move to put her lips on his darkly bearded cheek.

“No you’re not,” she said.

“No, I’m not.” He agreed, and she noticed his eyes had fallen to her lips, which ached and wanted all at once after having been denied earlier.

“Alright, I’m going to call it quits.” It was Kenny speaking up and moving out of the chair that made her jump and glance toward the rest of the group. He somehow came across as even larger when he got out of it, and she briefly wondered what the hell his workout routine was like. It was then she noticed the light had died down, the fire was burned to coals glowing a soft orange-red among the black. It’d be safe to put out, clean up, and leave. Nick had popped up as Kenny edged around the fire, and was starting to grab up empty soda cans and whatever other trash they had to throw out. They made quick work of taking care of things before she could even offer.

“I’m heading out too,” Adam volunteered quickly and without a glance in her direction. “Night guys, see y’all in the morning.” He didn’t linger, lifting his hand in a slight, dismissive wave before he took off and didn’t let his eyes touch her again. He was avoiding acknowledging her existence entirely. Where did that nice, genuine sweetheart go that he’d been earlier? The one that’d made her heart skip in a way it never had, not even with her recent ex.

The way Adam was treating her stung, and she was, yet again, angry that it did. He’d chickened out of making the move on her and let Matt step in. That was on him. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t deserve to be treated like shit for getting attention from someone who wanted her and was willing to do something about it. She didn’t deserve to feel guilty for flirting with Matt.

That’s what she told herself as she watched Adam disappear into the night.

“I’m going to get a ride back with Kenny,” Nick said as she and Matt stood up from their chairs and started folding them, helping each other shove them into the canvas bags and handing them toward Kenny’s outstretched hand.

“Alright,” Matt nodded, “see you guys in the morning.”

Today had been the qualifying runs, tomorrow they’d have to compete with the best in their sport to try and win both the purse and the added points to keep them at the top of the yearly rankings.

“Nice meeting you, Hazel.” Nick smiled kindly, and Kenny bobbed his head of curls in her direction with a smaller, shyer smile before slinging three of the canvas bags with camping chairs on his back and grabbing up the ice chest in the other. Nick grabbed the other ice chest and the remaining two chairs, leaving nothing for her and Matt to take back but themselves.

“You too!” She said politely in return, and then they left and it was just she and Matt, completely alone.

“You want to come back to my hotel room?” The blatant invitation was asked without hesitation, wasting little time, and the look on Matt’s face was unmistakable. He’d reached out between them and grabbed one of her hands to pull her body in a little closer to his, and she realized the calloused pad of his thumb was gently skimming her skin and making goosebumps rise up along her arm. Her heart even started beating a little faster in her chest, making her pulse jump.

So why wasn’t the obvious answer so… obvious? Why did she look in the face of that handsome man she’d been flirting and talking to for hours and not find the word yes leaping off her tongue?

“I-” she struggled with the hesitation, and a slight frown disrupted the predatory expression he wore. She saw confusion, and knew he had every right to be. Up until this point she’d been giving him every sign that he would have her in his hotel bed with her feet pointed up to heaven by the end of the night. “I want to say yes…”

“But…?” he volunteered softly, watching her. There was something suddenly gentle there in those brown eyes and across his face. It made something stir in her. Something she’d been reminding herself all day and all night to be wary of.

“I’m in a weird place right now,” she felt guilty, like she’d led him on, and hated that she did, immediately jumping to explain herself in a rush. “I was in a relationship for a long time and our break-up has me kind of messed up, I thought it’d been enough time and I could just have some fun but, I’m just… struggling. I’m so sorry Matt.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He sounded even more confused that she had, and chuckled softly just once before giving her hand a little comforting squeeze. “I’m not pissed at you just because you don’t want to fuck me.” He laughed a little dryly and shook his head. “Come on, let me walk you to your car sweetheart.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Okay,” she said, and tried to shrug away the anxiety that told her somewhere, deep down, he probably was. He just didn’t want to be an asshole, so he’d said that to make her feel better. He’d probably noticed how many times she was paying attention to Adam instead of him.

After a lengthy period of silence filled only by their boots scraping the packed dirt ground, Matt tugged her gently by their joined hands, pulling her off balance to crash lightly into his body.

“Hey!” She said in surprise, jerked out of the anxiety spiral her thoughts were becoming, blinking rapidly at him.

He was grinning.

“Earth to Hazel,” he said, echoing that same phrase he’d had to use to pull her out of her thoughts earlier. They didn’t even know each other, how did he know to do that?

“Sorry, I’m such a basketcase today, I swear I’m not normally like this.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, exasperated with how much she was struggling.

“Aw, you’re fine.” He reassured and smiled at her. “Get out of your head, wild filly.”

Butterflies in her stomach at that little pet name he’d decided on after their earlier conversation and she blushed, looking away from him to gather her thoughts on a safer topic. She was thankful she saw her vehicle and could avoid answering altogether. “That one’s mine,” she said, pointing toward the little bright blue Ford Ranger waiting in the dimly stadium-lit field where they’d been parking cars throughout the day. They walked toward it, just a few paces away.

“I didn’t think you drove a truck.”

“I mean,” she laughed, “does a Ranger really count as a truck?”

He laughed and pulled her to a stop beside her truck, turning her to face him. He still held her hand and grinned down at her. “I was right. This definitely ain’t your first rodeo.”

And just like that, she remembered Adam’s joke, the same one he’d made earlier when she’d talked about her past. She hadn’t told Matt about that. She inhaled a sharp breath and blinked, but Matt was leaning in, pulling her close, and pressing his mouth hot against hers. And her lips were moving, forming to his, opening, her tongue prying at his mouth, his sliding into hers. And he was pushing her up against the side of her truck, jean-trapped cock rubbing against her thigh as she opened her legs to give him better access. And his breath was a hot hiss of air from his nose, and his beard scratched her skin as he moved his mouth hungrily over hers. His hands pinched her waist hard, trapping her at the angle he wanted to fit best between her legs. She spread them wider, and he dipped, fitting his hips up so he could rub the swollen, hard lump of his need and want more firmly against her. The pressure just barely teased her, enough to make a needy, whiny moan crawl up from her lungs and push desperate into his mouth.

He pulled his mouth off of her like he’d had to be forcibly removed, his arms shaking, fingers curled tight around her hips, hard enough she wouldn’t be surprised to see little finger-print shaped bruises on her skin later on. He tried to laugh, but was too breathless to do even that, and he hadn’t moved his body away from hers. He was struggling, trying to catch his composure.

“Sorry,” he said, and flashed his eyes toward her, “I just… meant to kiss you. I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay,” her voice barely had any volume to it and she was dizzy. Her lips were tingling and the breath she sucked in with need tasted like him. Like the faint mint from his gum.

“You are something else,” he murmured in a warm breath, grunting as he seemed to all but force himself to step off of her, peeling his weight away from her and letting her settle flat on her feet again. The night felt so much colder, all of the sudden. Her hips ached pleasurably where he’d been holding her. She flushed under the compliment, and the stare in his eyes that was still eating her up. It was killing him not to take her back to his hotel room, but he wasn’t going to cross that line again unless she gave him the invitation.

“You too, cowboy.” She said, and her voice sounded dazed. Her blood was rushing in her ears.

“Drive home safe now, alright?” He said, and his hand moved at his side, like he’d wanted to reach out and grab her again but had to remind himself not to. It fell back down again.

“Okay,” she said, heart aching suddenly, confused on why she was still deciding not to say fuck it and throw caution to the wind. She pushed herself off her truck and turned to fish her keys out of her pocket. She’d turned it in the lock to pop the door open when Matt spoke up behind her.

“Actually, can I get your number? You can text me when you get home so I know you’re alright?”

It was a cute, classic excuse to hide the real reason he wanted her number, but she didn’t mind. She assumed he likely wanted to have her number on hand in case another rodeo brought him close enough to justify them meeting up and, maybe, he’d get lucky to actually sleep with her the next time they did. It wouldn’t surprise her and she wasn’t offended, in fact… she was more than interested. If he got her that crazy just kissing her up against her little truck… Wow.

“Yeah,” she said and smiled so he’d know she knew what it was about. She didn’t expect good morning texts and long conversations late into the night. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and pulled up her contact screen, passing the phone to him as she pulled her truck door open and hopped into the cab. He finished typing his information in by the time she turned to look at him. Matt extended her phone toward her with one hand, and leaned his forearm on the roof of her truck with the other.

When she grabbed the other end of her phone, he didn’t let it go. Instead he dipped down, and he pulled her toward him (though really she leaned up of her own volition) so their lips could meet for another kiss. He started to press in hard, to smear his lips against hers, the energy building back up inside him again, and pulled back with a sharp inhale. He released a slow breath through his nose, lips pressed together as he looked down at her.

“Are you planning on coming back tomorrow?” He asked, voice warm and smooth, his finger skimming her jawline after he let her take her phone back, thumb resting at her chin and keeping her face pointed up at him. Tingles spread from his touch. “I’d love to know there’s a pretty little thing like you in the audience cheering as me and my brother win the championship.”

There it was, that big ego that was all too natural and he couldn’t help flex with such confident casualness and a knowing grin shortly after. He might as well have winked when he took his fingers away from her chin. She playfully pushed her hand lightly into his chest as if to shove him off her truck, and he stumbled back.

“What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” She teased, pushing the key into the ignition and turning it over to start the engine. He flattened his hand on her still-open driver’s side door.

“Oh please,” he laughed and rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow night,” he tapped the belt buckle that currently clasped the belt slung through his Wrangler’s belt-loops. “I’ll have a shiny new buckle on my belt.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it, she didn’t question that he was probably right. He slid his hand down her driver’s side door and slowly started to close it, but before he was shut out, he arched a brow beneath the shade of his hat.

“So, am I going to see you cheering me on tomorrow?” Something hung in his tone. Something that told her he actually cared if she’d be there or not. Funny… but she decided to not let herself wonder about it for too long.

Her smile pushed high into her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said with a nod, “I’ll be there to cheer you and your brother on tomorrow.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she suddenly felt dizzy all over again.

He gave her that damnable wink, as though he knew the exact effect he’d had, with a smile pushing a little higher into one side of his bearded cheek than the other, and gently closed her truck door, stepping back to watch her drive away and giving her a wave in the rearview mirror.

**********

She chucked her keys on the side table, pushed the door shut behind her and half stumbled, half kicked off her boots as soon as she got home. The scrabbling of dog nails on hardwood from the kitchen alerted her that her two golden retrievers, Callahan and Carson, were about to rush around the corner to greet her. Hazel pulled her phone out of her pocket, typing across the touchscreen with one hand as the pups came panting and wagging their entire bodies, dancing and prancing around her, pressing their nose to her clothes and demanding attention for having left them alone all day.

“Alright, alright!” She laughed gently as they pushed at her, and abandoned finishing the text message to give them affection and apologize for not being able to take them to the rodeo. They followed her as she made her way down the hall and toward the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom. She finished typing the text message and hit send.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Made it home in one piece!

She gently tossed the phone atop the fluffy comforter that lay over her bed, letting it land with a soft thud. It chimed with a returned text message as she rummaged through her drawers just as Callahan and Carson jumped up onto the mattress, flopping down with huffs. Carson perked his ears and glanced toward the phone as it buzzed again, then glanced over at her.

“I’ll look at it in a minute, Carson.” She chided, unbuttoning her long sleeve shirt and pulling it off, unclasping her bra and barely suppressing the relieved moan as she took it off. She slipped a soft, large shirt over her head, it’s hem just brushing her mid thigh. She unbuttoned and stepped out of her jeans, tugged off her socks and padded barefoot to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash the rodeo dust off her face.

And of course Callahan and Carson got a few more cuddles before she finally reached for her phone and swiped to see Matt’s reply.

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Glad to hear it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

She smiled and reached to flick off the lamp on the side table, typing away into the white-blue glow of the phone screen.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON In case I’m too busy working and don’t see you before your run, good luck!

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Didn’t we already discuss that I don’t need luck, because I’m definitely winning? Anyways, hope I do get to catch you before the run, I’d hate to not get a little good luck kiss.

At that she rolled her eyes, but pressed the button to give a “heart” reaction on his text.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Goodnight, cowboy. Rest up. 💗

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON You too, wild filly. ❤️

**********

The second day went by quicker than the first. Maybe it was because they were busier, with more people to watch the championship runs than had come for the qualifiers. Maybe it was because she threw herself wholeheartedly into her work to keep her distracted so her wandering eyes wouldn’t pull toward every blond haired cowboy she saw out of her peripherals.

Not that she had to worry. Either Adam was avoiding her, or there were just too many people to single him out, because even ducking along the chutes and helping sort and load the roughstock for the upcoming rides, she didn’t catch sight of him once. She thought it was peculiar, especially given that she crossed paths with Matt and his brother Nick at least four times that day, and had even run into Kenny once.

But never Adam.

“Ash! Give us a hand!” A shout from Andrea distracted her, and she shook her head as she glanced down the lane of pipe-fencing. “Stand by that gate,” Andrea pointed at a gate near her, “and swing it shut as soon as we push Bueno away from Brisket! Don’t let Brisket bully by you, cause he’ll try!”

They were trying to separate two of the bucking horses in the pen, Bueno, a big seal bay gelding, needed to be sent down the lane to the chutes where he’d get tacked up for the ride, but Brisket, the dun bay, needed to stay in the pens behind. Brisket was running as though stuck to Bueno’s side, as if he knew they were trying to separate them and he wasn’t interested in doing so.

Andrea and the young volunteer that’d stepped up to help her shouted and raised their hands, sending the big horses thundering in bouncing trots toward her. They were picking up their gait, coming faster. Hazel planted her boots firm and lifted her chin, getting ready to spook Brisket so he’d turn about, but keep Bueno running forward. However, as they got near, Brisket pinned his ears and lurched toward where she was standing, lips peeled and flat, yellow teeth showing.

“Hey!” She shouted, jumping back to keep from getting snapped by the grumpy horse, though, at the same time someone else shouted loud over her.

Whoever it was reached to wave a hat over her head, spooking Brisket into pulling his gait up and jerking his head upwards over his withers, ears flat and eyes rolling white. It had the needed effect, as Bueno jolted forward down the lane he was meant to go and Brisket back-stepped and turned about, releasing an angry, loud snort as the gate closed and he didn’t get his way. Whoever behind her had scared Brisket off swung the gate shut, and the automatic lock secured it.

“You alright?” He said.

She glanced toward the familiar voice and found herself trapped in pretty eyes that looked more blue than green today, framed by gold ring-curls that had a soft impression from the hat he’d taken off to shake in the horse’s direction. The mid-afternoon sun was beating down and made his hair look as though it were gilded, like he was some creature of heaven. She could have rolled her eyes at how stupidly romantic that thought was. He raised a hand to shake through his hair and set his hat back on his head, frowning with concern down at her.

“Adam,” She said his name on a breath, exhaling slowly, her entire body suddenly on fire, standing so close to him. She blinked, and her brain caught up through the surprise at seeing him to remember he’d asked her a question. Heat flushed her cheeks immediately. “Uhm, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t get me, just tried to intimidate me. I don’t even think he was going to bite.” She glanced toward Brisket, who was being guided back through the lanes toward the holding pen where he’d wait for Bueno’s return, his ears perked and posture far less aggressive than before.

“Glad you’re safe.” Adam’s tone was dismissive and she whipped her head around to see him turning away, planning to walk off.

“Adam, wait-” She said it before she knew what she was going to say next. Adam paused and looked at her, though she could easily tell he didn’t actually want to. “I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.” She blurted it out and immediately felt embarrassed. Heat crawled up her neck and flushed her cheeks as she fought to keep looking at him and not fall to the cowardice that wanted her eyes at his boots instead.

A look crossed over his face, but before she could wonder what it meant, it was gone and a polite expression was in its place. Despite his cordial look, his voice that’d been honey warm the night before was cold when he spoke, and it sliced right through her. “That’s not really any of my business.” And I don’t care, seemed implied. He reached up to pinch the brim of his hat and tip it to her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Baker.”

Miss Baker, now. No longer Hazel.

Those eyes lingered on her a second more, and then he turned away and walked off to prepare his bronc rope and get ready for his ride, his shoulders tense and back a little hunched.

She was hurt by his dismissal, and she was angry that she was hurt. What was he supposed to have done? Walk over and kiss her? Admit that he’d been jealous and that he wanted her?

Yes, her heart whined.

Fool, the scars across it mocked.

Maybe she wasn’t even ready for casual fun like she’d thought she was. How could she have been so affected by him? They’d only talked for a little while. Maybe there were still some things she needed to work through from her break-up instead of trying to bury that pain in attention and sex. Maybe she was just shaken because she’d been open with him, vulnerable, only to have him treat her poorly after she’d trusted him so quickly.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Hazel shook her head and closed her eyes, taking a breath and giving herself a moment to try and breathe and get out of her head.

“Up next, Adam Page’s ride on Brisby’s Bueno! This young man has had a stellar career this year, after running mid-rankings the last few years he’s risen to the top this year and is definitely this announcer’s must-watch kind of ride!” Kenny’s voice crackled over the announcer’s microphone, and she found herself mildly surprised to learn he was an announcer. He didn’t exactly have the look of an announcer…

Adam’s ride. His championship ride.

For some reason, despite what had just happened between them, she couldn’t help but wander toward the arena. She couldn’t deny herself wanting to watch his ride.

He rode beautifully, with his free arm raised, moving fluid as the rest of his body did with every twist and hard kick and upward hop the bronc gave underneath him. She watched the determination on his face, the way his chin bowed to his chest, and how hard his gloved hand wrapped around that bronc rope. Bueno kicked hard and jumped high for a horse as tall as he was, earning delighted and excited gasps from the audience at the show unfolding in the dirt ring in front of them. No matter what the horse threw his way, Adam stuck on, his legs moving in perfect synchrony over and down Bueno’s withers with each leap. The counter ran up, and Kenny’s voice excitedly crackled over the speakers, growing more and more heated as the ride progressed through snapping bucks and high-spirited kicks.

The buzzer hit eight-seconds. It’d felt like time stood still.

The pick-up riders charged their horses up, one took Adam as he took his hand off the rope and leapt over the pick-up horse’s haunches. The rider turned the horse away while the other pick-up rider unbuckled the snap on Bueno’s flank strap. He gave a few more excited, hyper bucks before slowing to a trot and allowing himself to be guided back toward the chutes. Meanwhile, Adam slid off the horse that’d taken him a slight distance away and landed with a thud onto the dirt, getting a supportive cheer from the crowd as he finished his ride safely. He didn’t even soak them in, but immediately turned his eyes toward the scoreboard, waiting for the judges final call.

89.6 point ride.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and she saw him glance down at his boots and smile, as though soaking it in himself, trying to believe it before he finally let himself look up at the crowd. They hollered even louder. She realized she was screaming for him too.

“89.6!” Kenny’s voice crackled excitedly over the speakers. “With that score, ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a champion! Raise a hand Adam, give them a wave!” He encouraged from the announcer’s booth, earning a glance and almost bashful smile from Adam before he shook his head and waved a hand at the audience, making his walk back to the chutes. Back toward her.

She was smiling when their eyes met, and he smiled too. It turned a little apologetic. A little sad.

She decided he was something of an enigma, and she would never understand him or these feelings she had for him. She shook her head and turned away, knowing she’d be needed in the holding pens as hands always were and deciding she’d rather throw herself back into work as a distraction to keep her mind from mulling. Unsurprisingly, it worked. Needing to stay alert while helping work around the animals and being a willing hand kept her busy and unable to pay attention to much else than what needed done and she could help with.

The only time she let herself stop again was to get herself a cold water bottle and perch up on the top of the fence to watch the Jackson brothers have their final run. She watched as they rode toward the box, the young white and grey-roan speckled roping steer loaded in the chute and ready to run the moment those gates flew open. Hazel caught sight of Matt glancing Nick’s way, Nick giving a reassuring nod before the pair separating to load up in their separate boxes. Matt hadn’t been putting on a front with his confidence; they gave the signal, the man pulled the chute latch open and the calf sprung forward, the brothers in quick pursuit. Matt, the header, threw his lasso over the steer’s horns and turned his direction. Nick, without hesitation, threw his lasso straight through the air and looped it perfectly around both back legs. He did it so quickly and so flawlessly, he made it look easy. Wrapping the rope around his saddle horn, he leaned back, holding tight as his horse dropped its haunches and pulled the steer taut. A cheer rocked the stands as the boys let the ropes go and the calf was able to kick free. The timer buzzed as they gathered and looped the slack of their ropes, still sitting on their horses.

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and shook her head in disbelief. It’d been over so quickly, with such precision, she found herself gaping as she watched the little speckled calf trot with a bleating cry back toward the pen to be with the other calves.

“And with that impressive time rounding out their final roping session of the evening, the Jackson brothers have done it again! Matt and Nick Jackson everyone, your rodeo tag roping champions!”

She screamed with the rest of the folks in the stands, jumping up and down and hollering enough to make her voice go out. The brothers shared broad grins and Matt turned his horse to ride alongside Nick, giving his younger brother a quick pat on the back and another happy smile. Nick returned the gesture of affection and waved toward the crowd as Matt rode off back toward the gate they were swinging open for him.

He saw her, and his grin slipped a little higher up one side of his bearded cheek. She noticed when he’d ridden, the tie on his hair had come loose not quite enough to be completely undone, but enough to give her a hint of how handsome he looked with it loose around his face. He shrugged as he pulled back the reins and stalled his sleek, bay roan roping horse to a halt beside her.

“What did I tell ya?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled still.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

He leaned in the saddle, the leather softly creaking. She smelled the faint cologne, a damp of sweat, a little rodeo dust, horse and leather as he reached and ran his calloused thumb gently along her jawline. Tingles again.

“Good girl.” His smile showed teeth before he winked, slipping his hand away, leaving her skin warm. He gave a gentle squeeze of his knees, getting his horse to walk back to where he could dismount and tend to it. Along the way she watched him pause to clap hands and receive congratulations from his fellow rodeo buddies, a fond smile resting gentle over her lips.

“You guys must have had a good night,” Andrea’s familiar voice broke her from staring after Matt and she shook her head, focusing on her friends grinning face.

Hazel laughed. “We didn’t hook-up.”

“Don’t lie to try and impress me or make me think you’re some innocent angel. I’ve known you too long for that.”

“I’m not lying!” Hazel protested, “Honestly! I… got myself confused.”

“What? Like lost your way across the rodeo grounds?” Andrea frowned at her.

“No, I… ran into Adam, and we talked and I opened up to him like…” Hazel glanced around, looking for anyone overhearing, then back at her friend's expectant, curious face. “Like no one I’ve opened up to in a long time. He was going to kiss me, but then Nick interrupted us and assumed we were coming to their little fire. Matt was there and he assumed I was there to see him and Adam got pissed off and now he’s acting like an asshole and Matt and I made out but I didn’t fuck him and now I’m more confused than I was coming into this mess.”

She’d talked fast, and her pleading eyes looked desperately at Andrea, who blinked rapidly.

“Wow, a hell of a lot more happened last night than I thought.”

“Yeah!”

“Don’t bother with Adam getting his panties in a bunch. Like I said, he’s a keep-to-himself kind of guy. If he was so upset with you and Matt flirting maybe he should have spoken up.”

“Thank you!” Hazel exclaimed with frustration.

“Still, I can’t believe you didn’t sleep with Matt.”

“You and me both.”

**********

Fire in his belly, it licked hot at the insides and spread over his skin like an itch he’d never scratch. In his mind, as he loaded the trailer and collected his winnings, preparing to leave the rodeo, he just kept seeing them.

Matt, leaning down on his horse to gently, affectionately hold her face. Her, looking up at him with a smile that he would like to have had reserved for him.

It was stupid, he told himself for the hundredth time as he climbed into the cab of his truck and started the engine, letting it gently rumble to life. It was stupid because she wasn’t anything to him.

Only that he’d felt like he’d been struck by lightning the moment he overheard her talking to Dolly. Only that he’d found a funny little smile on his face as he stayed quiet and listened, feeling bad for eavesdropping but finding a foreign, comforting warmth settling inside him the more he listened to her talk. Only that he’d thought the wind had been knocked out of him, like he got kicked in the gut by a bronc, when that soft light lit her profile and showed him the most gorgeous woman he could ever remember lying eyes on. Only that when her eyes had gotten sad, and she’d said she left competing for a reason she couldn’t share, he wanted her to trust him to take on that pain with her, and help her heal from it. Only that he’d shut himself off to the possibility of romance years ago, but when he talked to her he felt like every second of their time together was the most important moment of his life…

And then came Matt.

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and squeezed hard enough to turn the knuckles white. His jaw clenched as he glared at the open road, turning truck and trailer onto it, leaving the rodeo grounds behind. It wasn’t Matt he was angry with, or her for that matter, though he might as well have been with how he behaved.

It was himself.

The tension in his body slowly leaked out, color returned to his knuckles, and his shoulders sagged. It pierced right through him, remembering that look across her face this afternoon when he’d dismissed her. As he’d walked away he’d called himself every name in the book, begged himself to turn around and grab her and ask her what it was about her - a stranger - that made him feel so many things he hadn’t felt in years.

And how much that scared him.

And how much he let that fear control his life, removing the chance of losing her by driving her away before it could happen.

Driving her into Matt’s open, eager, waiting arms.

I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.

Why had she told him that?

He knew why. He only wished she hadn’t. He only wished she hadn’t looked up at him with those big, amber-brown eyes that made him ache to his core like he’d always known them. He only wished she hadn’t kept reaching for him with that longing he felt an understanding of, that made the defenses guarding his wounded heart snap and snarl and drive her away. It’d been bruised again and again and again, it no longer knew how to accept even the gentlest touch without fearing pain that might follow.

It was better this way.

He’d been telling himself that since the night prior, since watching her eyes light up as she talked with Matt by the fireside, and still finding himself aching for her company. He hadn’t been able to follow Nick and Kenny’s conversation, because any time her giggles swelled a little in volume his eyes shot to them, and jealousy was something bitter in the back of his throat. He had a feeling he hadn’t been subtle about it, because eventually they stopped trying to include him in their conversation and kept talking to one another, instead.

He had enough to deal with from helping his dad with the family tobacco farm, to trying to raise, train, and sell his own rodeo circuit horse stock, to trying to make a name for himself as the top, undeniable bronc bustin’ champion. There was no place, no room in his life for a woman that made him feel like loving her would change how he saw the world. Especially not one who lived a good six hours from where he did. Especially not one he’d hardly ever see as he traveled town to town to compete in the rodeos. It would never work, and the pain it’d cause when it didn’t wasn’t something he was brave enough to risk.

No matter how he tried to justify himself walking away from her, every piece of him screamed and rebelled against what he’d done. It was an exhausting spiral from want to anger to anguish to disappointment and he hoped it’d leave him soon.

The more miles he put between her and those damningly beautiful eyes and that pretty little smile that made his heart skip a beat in his chest, the better.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

#hangman page #matt jackson #hangman adam page fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #matt jackson fanfiction #aew fanfiction #mine: fanfiction #my fics: hangman adam page #my fics: matt jackson #me? throwing this up at 3am? so I can just. run away? and pretend I didnt??? YEP #anyways this might be the Most self indulgent piece I've ever written #and that SCARES ME to share it but HERE WE GO #my fics: starlight

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creativeskullcreations · 4 years

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HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 3)

In all seriousness, I'm really sorry it took so long to update anything. I had a sudden loss of motivation to do anything productive. I think it was caused by stress and burnout. So I'm gonna try and work on schedule, and hopefully that will help a bit.

Basically, one fic will be updated every Monday! Which fic will it be and Monday? Idk, it's a surprise! But actually it'll be Outside next week, and hopefully for at least a few weeks after that. And then I've got video uploads on Fridays and live-streams on... Idk yet. Just whenever for now I guess.

"What do you mean she's missing?!" Came a shout as Mary stormed out of her office. "How long has it been since anyone's seen her?!" "Mrs. Stein, please!" Johnny, the poor assistant that had been sent to tell the head writer about what happened struggled to keep up. He found himself having to jog to keep pace with the tall woman. "We're looking for her now. Nobody saw her leave the building, so she's got to be here somewhere...!" Mary turned, giving the poor guy a death glare. "That's not what I asked." She ground out. He gulped. "U-uh, t-two hours, ma'am. A-a-and it was Riley and Nick who saw her last!" 'Please don't kill me!' He thought as he looked everywhere but at her. 'I have a family of shrimp to feed!' "Two. Hours." She repeated calmly. "And those two didn't think to tell anyone between then and now." She turned, stalking down the hall at an even faster pace. "They'll be sawdust by the time I'm through with them." Johnny watched her go, then turned and sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction. He'd done his job, and there was no reason to stick around to see the fallout. In Mortimer's office, the Puppets were gathered. While Mortimer himself was at his desk, Daisy was pacing in front of him. Riley and Nick were glaring at each other from opposite sides of the small room. While neither said anything, it was clear to the other two that they blamed each other fro what had happened. "Oh, that poor girl!" Daisy fretted, twisting her apron in her fists. "I do hope she's okay." "Oh please, what danger could possibly be in here?" Nick said, finally pulled away from his glaring match. "She's probably raiding the kitchen or something like the others like to do. I'm sure she's fine, and this whole fuss will be for nothing." "The kitchen has been searched and she was not found there! Who knows what secrets she could see or hear!" Riley scolded. She rubbed at her temples, look pained. "This whole day has been a disaster! Thank god it's almost over!" "Riley, please calm down." Mortimer told her, trying to head off any possible arguments.. "Nick is right, there's no reason to worry or frown." "I-I apologize, of course you're right." She sighed. "The contract she signed is surely air tight." "Er..." Oh how would he explain this. His hesitance was noticed, and Nick and Daisy both turned to look at him the longer he took to agree with Riley. "She did sign the non disclosure, right Morty?" Daisy asked. Everyone was looking at him, and he found himself clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Technically, I cannot force anyone to sign. Even for me, that would be crossing a line." He told them firmly. Instantly their faces turned to looks of shock, and anger in the case of Riley. "She didn't sign?!" Riley exploded, slamming her hands on his desk. Mortimer resisted the urge to flinch back and nodded. "We're doomed!" Nick bemoaned, clutching his head. "Our show is over, canceled, caput!" Mortimer went to scold the artist for pessimistic thinking, but was cut off by the door swinging open. "Would you two shut up!" Mary hissed as she entered the room. She carefully closed the door behind her, then turned to face the room. "Now, would one of you kindly explain how you managed to lose my stepdaughter!" "It wasn't our fault!" Nick was quick to jump in. "Riley and I were simply trying to get Scout, when your daughter had some sort of attack and ran off!" "Indeed, it was really quite strange." Riley agreed. "It was almost like she was afraid..." Mary almost scoffed at the idea. "Stacy, afraid? Please, she's only doing this to be a nuisance." She refocused on the two Puppets. "Where were you when this happened?" "By the cafeteria." Nick told her. "Just outside it in the dead end." "Then we'll start there, and work our way through." Mortimer told them. "And yes, you'll be helping out too." "Fine." Riley spat, wheeling out of the room. Nick Nack followed her, as did Mary. Only Daisy and Mortimer stayed behind, with him catching her as she went to leave. "Ah, Daisy my dear, a moment if you please. Might I have a word, before you as well leave?" He asked. She stopped and turned back, wheeling back to the desk. "Of course, Morty! What's wrong?" She asked, gripping her apron. It's about Stacy, and how you're the best to help her. You know this place best, both under and over." Mortimer said. Daisy nodded, slightly confused. "Well, yes. But I don't see-" "Since she's a child, and a frightened one at that, I expect you to search the hiding places of your brats." Daisy blinked and almost protested(Hand Puppets or not, they were still her children, and he shouldn't call them brats just to make a rhyme), but then stopped to think about it. "You know sugarplum, you might actually be on to something there." She said, missing Mortimer's approving look as she turned. racing out of the room. "And I think I know exactly where I should look." Half and hour later, and Daisy had steadily worked her way through all of the Hand Puppets' hiding spots. While they technically had hundreds, she had managed to shrink the list to just a fraction by eliminating the places Stacy wouldn't be able to fit in. She'd shrunk it even further by getting rid of the options that neither the girl or Scout would know about. The end result was a very small list of possible locations for a human child to hide. She had searched all of them and Stacy was nowhere. As of now she was out of ideas, and had decided to search the by now very empty Sound Stage. Most everyone having already gone home. She knew Lydia was still around, but other than her, a few senior assistants, and Mary and her son, the studio was devoid of any humans. Daisy really hoped Stacy hadn't noticed this, as she didn't want the girl panicking over it. Based on what Riley and Nick had described, the poor dear was probably terrified out of her mind by now. That thought is what kept the homemaker from giving up, determined to find her before one of her "siblings" did. She loved them, she really did, but neither of them were really all that... good, with the kids, and she worried what might happen if either of them found Stacy first. So she worked her way through the Sound Stage, checking inside each set and looking in each door to make sure she didn't miss anything. However, as she made it to the prop closet that specifically held her props, she heard a noise from inside. She pressed her ear against the door, and felt her heart sink when she heard a quiet sniffling from within. "Stacy? Honey, are you in there?" She called out, only to be met with complete silence. "Sugar I know you're in there. You've got everybody awful worried about you." No reply, but she did hear something shifting around inside. Boxes being moved, fabric rubbing against itself. It sounded like she was coming out of hiding, and Daisy couldn't help the small smugness she felt at accomplishing that. "Stacy, you have to come out of there. Everybody's awful worried about you. Your mother-" "She's not my mom." Stacy interrupted, throwing the Puppet off with how angry she sounded. "Step-mother then." She corrected herself. "Please, sugar, Mary's worried about you too." "She doesn't care. Not really." "Oh now, don't say that. I'm sure she cares a lot." Daisy tried to assure her, grabbing the door knob, pausing when Stacy answered. "If she really cared, I wouldn't be here." A pause. "I definitely don't want to be here..." "What do you mean by that?" Wouldn't be here? According to Mary, Stacy loved the show, and watched the new episodes every week with her brother. Why wouldn't such a loyal fan of the show not want to be here? "I don't know what she told you, but this job is supposed to be a punishment." Her voice was quiet, but Daisy could tell she was on the verge of tears again. "What?!" Daisy felt faint. Surely Mary wouldn't...? She yanked open the door, finding Stacy hidden behind a stack of several boxes. Her face was tear stained, and her eyes were red and puffy. "Oh, sweetheart..." She sighed, then backed away from the door. "Come on sugar. Let's go tell the others you're alright..." Stacy came out of the closet, following Daisy as she wheeled back to Mortimer's office. She paused at the door, unlatching it carefully before backing up and charging through it. "Mary Stein, what is wrong with you?!" Everyone in the office jumped, and she too notice that the other Puppets were there. Ignoring them for now, she extended her stand to get into the human woman's face, putting on her best Daisy Danger Death Glare. "How dare you use us to punish your step-daughter!" "Punish?" Nick questioned from behind, but the baker ignored him. "I don't know what you're talking abo-" Mary said, but Daisy pushed on. "Really? Because Stacy told me everything. And now, I want you to tell me what ever possessed you to use fear to punish a child? And you had better have a really good answer." Whatever Mary was going to say was never to be heard, as she was cut off with another question from behind. "She's afraid of us?" Riley asked in a small voice. She looked more upset than Daisy had seen her be in a long time, and Nick, standing beside, had a similar expression. For a moment, "Of course not!" Mary insisted. "She watches your show all the time with Danny. She wouldn't do that if she was scared of you!" "Or maybe she would, if she cared what her brother thought of her." Mortimer pointed out. "The siblings are quite close, you've said so yourself many times before." "Yes, well-" Mortimer cut her off again. "You told me before that her working here was to keep her out of trouble, give her a fun Summer. Had I known that to be a lie, I'd never have agreed to hire her." Mortimer sounded genuinely mad for the first time in years. Mary went to protest, but the Puppet held up a hand to stop her. "I will allow her to continue to work here." He told her. "On the condition that us, she doesn't have to go near. There are plenty of other jobs for her to do. Sound control, editing, writing too." He said to the room at large. "I'll talk to Lydia and have her choose where she can stay. In the mean time, take her and Danny home, you've all had quite a day." "Of course." Mary said, turning to leave, but was stopped by Mortimer. "Oh, and one more thing." He waited until she'd turned back around. "If you ever pull something like this again, your time here with us will come to an end." His tone remained calm, but even Mary could tell his was still angry. So she simply nodded and hurried out of his office, closing the door behind her. Stacy was sitting beside the door, arms on her knees as she stared quietly at the wall. If she had been listening or not, Mary honestly couldn't tell. She thought about saying something, anything, about what had happened. The words "I'm sorry" came to her mind, but she couldn't figure out what to be sorry for. In the end, she simply sighed and gestured towards where the door was. "Come on Stacy. Let's go get your brother and you guys' stuff. We'll talk about this when we get home." She told her. The girl didn't answer, but did stand up and follow her step-mother down the hall. Her hands were shoved in her shorts pockets, and her head was down, but at least she was moving.. 'Tomorrow will be better.' Mary assured herself as they picked Danny up from Lydia. 'I know better now, and Stacy won't have to be around the Puppets. We'll have a nice talk about everything when we get home, and things will be fine. They have to be.'

#hello puppets #htahhq #fanfiction #happy times at handeemen hq #stacy stein #mortimer handee #daisy danger #riley ruckus #nick nack #mary stein

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broccolianddandelion · 6 years

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13 Todobaku Fic Recs

I’ve been following the BNHA fandom for approximately two seconds, but within this time Todobaku has become my indisputable OTP. (The evil soul who introduced me to the fandom via her divine artwork (@anatchie) favors Bakudeku, and I feel a little disloyal now, but what can you do?) Over the past months I’ve read a lot of Todobaku. My gift to you is a baker’s dozen of my (admittedly idiosyncratic) favorites, the ones I return to time and again. As always, check out the author’s tags before reading. They’re there for a reason.

The indelicacies of nitroglycerin (T, 50.2K) by yeetin. - “Don’t you think Bakugou is pretty?”

Todoroki looked up, after having apparently caused the untimely deaths of his three friends. Uraraka was doubled over, clutching her throat as bits of food sprayed from her wheezing mouth, Iida had somehow mini-Recipro Bursted his way through the floorboards and was struggling to get back out of the crater, and Midoriya… Midoriya looked like he needed an ambulance. Or an immediate blood transfusion at least, his face was so white.

This fic has one of the most indelible scenes of drunk Todoroki I’ve ever read. A little angsty, a lot funny.

I want to reconcile the violence in my heart (T, 28.1K) by @callalilalma - You had one job, you piece of shit! his brain yells at it. Just pump fucking blood in my veins, don’t fucking give yourself to half and half!

This fic got me fascinated with the idea of Bakugou as an unreliable narrator. I may be halfway done with a remix from Todoroki’s point of view. I’ve probably listened to the Muse song thousands of time by now. (I’m a slow writer.)

i want you (to want me) (T, 18.5K) by shaekspeares - “You know what,” Bakugou exhales angrily, more to himself, and then suddenly is leaning over Todoroki where he sits, arms by his sides and face close to his. “It doesn’t fucking matter. I can think whatever the fuck I want of you. I’m gonna beat you no matter how much better than me you think you are.”

“When you’re not having a tantrum, I actually respect you a lot,” Todoroki corrects. Mainly because he means it, but also because he’s starting to know how to get Bakugou to pull the face he’s pulling now. “You’re an admirable person in some ways.”

“Fucking hell,” Bakugou says, his shoulders sagging and his expression comically disheartened. “I- what’s next? You gonna declare your love for me mid-battle?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Todoroki replies, instinctively, then freezes, thinking about it.

“I’m fucking- going,” Bakugou continues, undeterred and jittery. “Fucking weirdo.”

He hastily grabs his bag and stomps off, and Todoroki sits very still.

Oh, dear.

He thinks he may have missed a few things while redefining his feelings.

One of my favorite characterizations of Todoroki. Hilarious and sweet getting together fic.

Lock and Key (E, WIP) by @autochorystalize - Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot. - - - A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity. It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega. - - - - - - - - - Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

The fic that changed my mind about abo. The world building is mind blowing. Delves deep into social issues that are all too real. This can be a hard read at times (check the tags) but is absolutely worth it. Also I’m dying for Bakugou and Todoroki to get together.

nothing lingers passively. (E, WIP) by @ii-mo - A faint tickling sensation under the bridge of his nose was all the warning he received before Bakugou gripped the lapels of his uniform and hauled him in. The scent of the Alpha's peaking rut shot through him like a bullet, ricocheting off his insides and settling to quiver at the bottom of his gut, still warm.

Cross- eyed, Todoroki wrinkled his nose where it nearly met his classmate’s. He should have expected that reaction, honestly.

Alpha Bakugou Katsuki is allergic to suppressants, and Todoroki Shouto is a Beta with a grudge. Together they strike a deal that swiftly becomes more than either of them had bargained for.

As of this writing there is one more chapter left in this story, and I can’t wait to read it. Fascinating take on the biology of alphas and betas.

Proximate Cause (T, 5.3K) by @daddyissuesandgrenadehands - “It seems our dear Bakugou has punched a teacher.” Shockingly, there’s no sarcasm in Nedzu's voice. “Midoriya was involved somehow too, but we aren’t sure how just yet. This is quite serious, as you can imagine.”

Aizawa wouldn’t be opposed to a Nomu slamming his head into the ground a few more times. Maybe one could just come and finish the job for good this time. All he wanted was one freaking day of peace. Goddamit Bakugou.

A serious catalyzing event, yet some of the best wry humor I’ve encountered.

rule 02: stay (M, 23.6K) by @altinsky - The vampire leans in close, expression utterly business-like in its seriousness.

And the last thing Katsuki remembers is the feeling of a tongue touching the bleeding wound at the juncture of his throat, the feeling of inexplicable anger, the fleeting thought of — this guy is so fucking dead — and then, nothing.

(or: katsuki is a vampire hunter who, thanks to a series of misfortunate circumstances and his potent werewolf's blood, somehow ends up striking a deal with the most aggravating vampire in existence)

As I rule I don’t particularly like creature!fics, but this fic, perhaps inspired by the BNHA Halloween art, captivated me. Great use of canonical elements in an AU.

Starting Over From Ground Zero (E, 38.5K) by @xenophonspeaking and HyacinthAtropa - What would their relationship have been like, if Bakugou’s pride hadn’t stood in the way? Would they have been friends, or would things have mostly stayed the same? Would Bakugou have been happier, more open and honest about his feelings and wants and needs as a person? Would he have accepted and even appreciated the comfort others offered him, rather than always keeping people at arm’s-length in an effort to maintain an image of independence and strength?

Todoroki didn’t know.

He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Abruptly, like a bolt of lightning, he realized he actually had the chance to find out.

(Or: that one where Bakugou has temporary amnesia and Todoroki is tasked with caring for him until his memory returns, but ends up falling in love with the part of Bakugou that Bakugou has always kept hidden away instead.)

For obvious reasons XenophonSpeaks was one of the first Todobaku writers I discovered, and this is one of my two favorite fics from a talented writer. I’ve been pleased, though not surprised, to see its kudos steadily rising over the months. A sweet getting together story, great use of the amnesia trope, hot lovemaking.

then, be mine. (M, 32.5K) by TDRKBKGO - The way things always trucked onwards despite the ruthlessness of it was a constant fucking boulder in Katsuki’s smooth machinery because he had no time. One thing happened after another and he was content, of course - he didn't want to stand still. In fact, that was probably the one thing he couldn't stand the thought of doing. But it meant leaving things behind.

This fic should have hundreds more kudos. I want to write a love letter to this writer, if it wouldn’t be super creepy. One of my favorite tropes — getting back together — angsty, some of the best-written (though not necessarily the smuttiest) smut I’ve read in BNHA.

Tracing the Sharp Edge of You (T, 4.7K) by hellsinki - “Why do you hate Midoriya so much?”

“Why do you fucking ask? Why not just assume?”

Why not just assume? He had tried that, but something just didn’t add up.

“Because it doesn’t fit your profile.”

This is my take on the reason behind Bakugou’s rocky relationship with Deku based on their canonical interactions, set in a soft todobaku narrative. It’s not what you have been reading up in the fandom, but this is what I think could be a very plausible reason. Fair warning: Not exactly Deku-friendly.

This is a Todobaku fic, but it is actually a fascinating take on Bakugou’s relationship with Midoriya. If you read the comments you can see that a lot of readers didn’t understand (or appreciate) what the writer was doing. A refreshing read that I return to when I want something different.

Without Hesitation (T, 8.2K) by @xenophonspeaking - The first time Bakugou told Todoroki he was in love with him, he thought he’d die.

My other candidate for favorite fic from XenophonSpeaks. This fic makes my angst-loving heart sing, and there are some great ensemble comedic moments.

Yellow Umbrella (G, WIP) by veemon - When Todoroki’s interest finally catches Bakugous attention it may be too late for them to make up.

I adore this fic, and it launched my obsession with manipulative!Midoriya. I eat that shit up now. A rare G-rated abo story. I can’t wait until it updates.

you are my sun. (T, WIP) by TDRKBKGO - “‘Why’d he have to go and become the Moon’, he said" Shouto leans forward where he sits in a cherry tree on the verge of springing into full blossom, rubbing his temples.

“Because he went and became the Sun.”

This fic blew my mind, and it’s breaking my heart that it hasn’t been updated in months. I was speechless when I finished the first chapter. Bakugou’s the sun, and Todoroki’s the moon, and the way the story maps onto canon is extraordinary.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakutodo #todobaku #bktd #tdbk #Todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha fic rec #fic rec

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toukabunni33 · 7 years

Text

Secrets

“Good evening, M’lady.” Came the familiar voice, though it lacked the usual cheery tone. Ladybug turned her body to face him, watching her partner force a smile for her sake. A frown graced her lips, tugging her the corners of her mouth down. She eyed him warily, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong, minou?” She asked, cocking her head to the left. His eyes seemed dull, no longer holding that shine that she had fallen in love with. “What makes you think something is wrong?” Another forced smile. He was holding back, something he hadn’t done for two years. She stepped closer, a light sigh escaping her as a hand made its way to his cheek. “Chat, we’ve been partners and friends for almost five years now, I know when something is on your mind…” Her brows pulled together, her eyes searching his for any indication as to what had been on his mind. He merely shook his head, pulling himself away from her touch. The warmth from her hand lingered, though he couldn’t say for sure if it was that or the light blush that painted the skin beneath his mask. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Ladybug. Really, I will be fine. I just need time.” His eyes shifted, allowing him to take in the city beneath them. He knew that if he held her gaze, he would give in and tell her. He would break and confess what he has been hiding for a year now. He knew who she was, under that mask that he adored. He knew what she was really like. And after his discovery, he had started to visit her. He got to know her, and before he could stop himself fell in love with her a second time. As Adrien, he made more of an effort than he already had to get closer with her. He would make stupid excuses to hang out, and even started cutting his college classes short here and there just to be by her. He wasn’t, however, blind to her emotions. She had someone else. So, for the last six months, he had been trying to distance himself as both Chat Noir and Adrien. “If it’s hurting you, then it is reason to be concerned. Come on, Chaton, is it that bad?” He only clenched a fist, his vision blurring as soft booms began to echo in the distance. Damnit Adrien, don’t cry in front of her! He scolded himself mentally, claws digging into his palms as he tightened his fists. “Please, M’lady, drop the subject.” Chat’s words held an edge, sharp enough to cut through the false façade he had put on for her. Ladybug stared, mouth falling open in light surprise at his tone. It was rare he was like this with her, and when he was, she knew he was really hurting. Steeling herself, she pulled him by his tail and drew him close to her body, sliding her arms over his chest and encasing him in a hug. “Please talk to me, Chat. I’m your partner.” Adrien clenched his jaw, silent tears falling to the metal beams beneath them. He twisted and writhed himself free from her, his resolve cracking and chipping away. Marinette was beginning to panic on the inside, unaccustomed to the blonde forcefully keeping distance between them. “Just stop, Ladybug!” He shouted, turning to face her. The dam holding back his emotions was splitting, breaking apart and letting the flood dominate what little control he had tried to keep. She gasped, taken aback by the outburst. “You can’t help this time damnit! Just leave it alone!” Ladybug blinked, clenching her fists as the pain from his words stabbed through her chest. “I can’t help because you’re not letting me, Chat! You’re shutting me out!” Her own words were full of spite, a bad habit of hers to cover pain. “You can’t help because you’re the problem, Marinette!!” Silence. She gawked at him, fury making its way into her eyes. Seconds had passed before Chat realized what exactly he had said. With a defeated sigh, he turned away from her, bracing himself for the fight to come. “So that’s it… how long have you known?” Rather than the anger he was prepared for, he was hit with a solemn tone. He had expected anger, screaming, hitting. Not… this. Not the saddened, brokenhearted girl he knew was behind him now. Adrien tensed, feeling a dainty hand rest on his shoulder. “How long, Chat…” She repeated, voice cracking. With hesitation, turned his head to glance at her. “I’ve... known for a year now.” He cringed inwardly, feeling her hand tighten slightly before trailing down over his shoulder blade and falling free of his body. “I see… this is why I didn’t want to tell you, Chaton. I knew this is what would happen. I tried to tell you. Under the mask, I’m just this clumsy, stupid girl that can hardly do anything right. I have no confidence in myself without Tikki’s help, without the suit or the mask. I’m not this grand, dazzling girl that you thought I was. I knew you’d react this way…” Tears dripped down her cheeks as she closed her eyes, fists clenched as her head dropped. “I knew I would be just some big disappointment to you, I knew it would do this to us! But no, you couldn’t let it go… despite how desperate I was to keep you in my life because you give me the confidence to be stronger than what I really am! Because regardless of what I’ve said, you’re my best friend! And you…” She paused, drawing in a shaky breath as colors lit up the sky behind her, followed by thundering booms and echoes from the amusement park beginning their widely known fireworks display. “And the worst thing you’ve done in this… is make me fall for you, after everything… I gave up on Adrien for you, Chat! And now I’m your problem?!” She was all but screaming now, shaking visibly. He stared at her, unable to find his voice as everything hit him at once. She loved him? She gave up… him, for him? “Wait… you… you liked me… before you liked me?” He muttered, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions beyond his comprehension. Ladybug paused, confusion molding her features as she stared hard at him. “What?” Chat Noir gave a weak, yet delighted smile. “It was me… I’m such an idiot…” He chuckled bitterly, then turned his attention to her entirely. “Do you really feel that way about yourself? Because if you do, it’s bullshit. You are strong, beautiful, talented and more confident then you believe. You’ve stood up to Gabriel Agreste to defend me! To give me a fair chance and a break from everything he had me doing… you are so much more than Ladybug. You’re Marinette, fashion designer on her way to the top, artist extraordinaire, not to mention one of the best bakers I’ve ever met next to your parents. You are nothing like you’ve described. A mask and a little touch of magic only does so much, the rest is all you. And I’ve fallen for you just being you.” He took her hands into his, pulling her closer as he laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been this big of an idiot these past few months… Marinette, I love you. The reason I’ve been distant is… well… I thought you loved someone else. And I just wanted you to be happy. But I didn’t want to get hurt, so I… I ended up hurting you, instead. I’m so, so sorry Mari…” His ears flattened against the golden locks, emerald green eyes brimming once again with tears. She stared at him, more confused than she was before. As he went on, though, her anger dispersed, replaced with her heart thrumming against her ribcage at his view of her. Then the rest of his words hit her. “Wait, what do you mean I’ve stood up for you to Gabriel? I’ve on-“ Before she could finish her sentence, he silenced her by connecting his lips with hers. She tasted just as he’d imagined so many times before, sugary with hints of mint and cinnamon. He could get drunk off of her kisses, intoxicated by the softness of her lips, enticed by her taste, addicted to the warmth. One clawed glove caressed her cheek, the other sliding down her side and coming to a stop on her hip. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss, the hand on her hip adjusting itself to the small of her back and tugging her closer. Marinette’s cheeks flushed brightly with a crimson hue, her eyes widening at the sudden kiss. Her mind went blank, void of what she had been on the verge of asking her companion. He tasted of wine, strawberries and what she could only guess to be vanilla. His lips were surprisingly soft, yet she could feel faint traces of cracks on the skin. She paid no mind, losing herself in what has plagued her thoughts for months. Her hands pressed against his chest, drifting upwards and entangling themselves in his hair. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, pulling away cautiously as he peered at her through half-lidded eyes. Releasing her, he gave that familiar flirtatious smirk. Dazed, she grabbed him by his bell and tugged him back into another kiss, this one more hungry and desperate than the last. Marinette held him against her, as if loosening her grip meant he would disappear. Adrien returned her affection, matching it with equal desperation and longing. Minutes passed before the two broke apart for air, gasping at the sensation of their burning lungs finally getting the necessary oxygen. They met each other’s gaze, the hunger evident in their eyes. “I love you, M’lady…” He whispered, lips brushing against her own as he spoke. “As both Chat…” He paused, taking a step back. “Plagg, claws in.” He spoke calmly, yet nervously as a green light danced its way down his body. “And Adrien.” Marinette gazed at him for several minutes, A slow smile tugging her lips upwards. “I had a feeling it was you… I just could never be sure… you’re always so different with me that I thought it was impossible, that maybe I was just crazy.” She giggled, kissing his cheeks as new tears slid down her own. “I’m so relieved that I didn’t have to choose after all. I’m so happy it’s you, mon minou…” Marinette released her transformation, taking his hand and carefully sitting on the edge of the metal beam. “Please be careful Princess, one slip from this tower and I’d be a lonely cat.” He slid an arm around her waist, keeping her close to ensure her safety. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Kitty.” Resting her head against his shoulder, Marinette thinks over the argument and frowns. “I’m sorry for what I said. I never should’ve snapped at you like I did.” Adrien chuckled, placing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s my fault too, Marinette. Had I just told you in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. I should’ve just came clean.” A light sigh escaped him as he looked to the fireworks blooming across the horizon. “How did you find out anyway?” “Uh… well… it was by complete accident. I was in a hurry to get home, and as I was leaping over an alley, a bright flash blinded me momentarily. I hit a chimney, and when I looked to see what the hell it was, I saw you speaking with your Kwami. I never meant to see it, really. But… I’m glad it did. Because of it, I got to know so much more about you. And every bit of it was worth it.” This made Marinette smile, a new warmth spreading within her. “I think so too, Adrien.” Maybe secrets weren’t always a bad thing.

|||||||

Something I made for @shadowtsukiyo, cross posted to AO3 <3

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11406693

#Miraculous Ladybug #adrinette #ladynoir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #romance #fanfic

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insomniaacs · 7 years

Text

Last Call (part 1) - Sherlock x reader

A/N: Hello, everyone! So, this is my first time ever writing anything Sherlock related, and I've also never in my life written anything with a reader, so excuse my ordinary attempt at it... This supposedly takes place during 2x03, but I've changed some things to fit the plot, so the timing is a little bit different. Also, this is a new writing blog, so if you want to read more like this, don't hesitate to follow me!

Word count: 4252 Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide

[Part 2]

"(Y/N), are you safe?" John's voice came out like a whisper through the cellphone's speaker. He sounded tired and out of breath, and you could hear the faintest hint of a busy street on the background.

"Yes. Are you? What the hell happened?" you tried to speak calmly, but your voice cracked during the last two syllables. The clock hanging next to your dining table ticked seven past nine in the evening, distracting you the tiniest bit.

Time was of essence, you were aware.

"I can't really say much right now," rushed footsteps on the other end. He was running, you deduced, "but we're fine for now." You knew John was trying to be reassuring, but there was still a pang in your chest at the thought of him and Sherlock being on the run.

Sherlock...

"Is Sherlock there with you? Are you coming home tonight?" You asked in a rush. There was no telling how much time you had until John had to hang up or how long it would be until the next time you got to speak to each other.

Your eyes traveled to the newspaper in your hands, Sherlock and John's names printed on the first page; their photographs big and out of focus right above it. 'Brilliant detective or undercover criminal?', said the headline. What a bunch of nonsense.

"Yes, and I don't know," John said quickly, his voice disappearing so the only thing you could hear was the faint sound of the soles of their feet hitting the floor. It took him a moment to talk to you again, "I think we should probably stay away from Baker Street for a while, though. Wait for things to cool off a bit."

Yes, that made sense. As far as the police was concerned, they were fugitives. There was absolutely no reason for them to come back to the flat now. That was what the rational part of your brain was telling you.

The other more vulnerable part - the one you tended to forget most of the time - was suggesting otherwise.

"Can I talk to Sherlock?" You heard yourself ask against your better judgement. There was no use in talking to him. He was probably busy trying to figure out what to do next; assessing his mind for a way out of Moriarty's scheme. They were out on the streets and doing so would be risking their safety for a chance to talk to him, and yet you did it anyway. Something about the situation they found themselves at had your stomach turning with fear.

The line went mute for a few seconds, and for a scary, dreadful moment you thought the call had been interrupted. Then there was a fumbling noise at the other end of the line and his voice came streaming through your phone, low and deep and oh so beautiful. "Hello," Sherlock mumbled formally, and you felt like smiling. His voice was enough to lessen the panic rising on your stomach. Now all you needed was some sort of reassurance, something to help with the pain in your chest at the prospect of them not returning.

"Sherlock," you exhaled, a little more relieved; a little less on the verge of a panic attack.

"(Y/N)," he said even lower, and she could almost see the rise and fall of his chest as he heaved from the run.

"I absolutely prohibit you from dying, do you understand?" You tried to sound angry, but heard the slight waver of your voice and immediately knew he had noticed it too. "If I don't see both you and John walk through this door in one piece, I will make sure to murder you two all over again."

You heard him sigh on the other end, and kept a sob from coming out of your mouth. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible. You can't kill someone that's already dead," he said as a matter of fact, but you heard the smile on his lips. This was his reassurance. It was his promise, however shallow it might be. It would have to be enough.

"I'll see you soon, then," you replied, leaving no space for further discussion.

"See you," it was the last thing you heard from them in days.

...

You swallowed your tea with a painful cringe, coughing a bit afterwards. It burned your mouth and left a tingly, uncomfortable sensation on your tongue.

"Careful now, darling," Mrs. Hudson offered you a tight smile as she blew on her own cup before taking a graceful sip. Her hands were shaking slightly when she set it back on its matching saucer.

You were the only ones in 221B that morning. It was a particularly gloomy Sunday, with dark grey clouds hovering over London and no promise whatsoever of a clear sky for the rest of the week. There was a chilly wind coming from the open windows, and you got up with a screech of your chair to close it. Your eyes lingered on the empty street outside, and you didn't even realize the heavy sigh that came out of your lips.

It had been one week. They hadn't come back.

You turned away from the window forcefully. It was becoming a burden, this sick, constant worrying.

You had been trying to interpret the lack of news from the boys as a good sign. The fact that their bodies had not shown up in the papers and their names hadn't been mentioned in Scotland Yard's death certificates had to mean they were okay, hadn't it?

And yet not having anything concrete to hold onto was driving you insane. The days seemed to drag themselves into weeks. Your mind kept imagining different scenarios.

On the good days, you would daydream about a reunion. Sherlock and John would come striding through the door, their faces tired and their bodies drained, but then they'd both see you, and you'd embrace each other with the promise that they would never have to leave again.

And then there were the bad days. On those, your fantasies would turn to full blown nightmares. You'd imagine coming back to your apartment just above theirs and find their bloody bodies thrown across your living room, still and lifeless. Those were the days you stayed locked up in your room, refusing to eat or drink anything.

Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough not to disturbe you on those days, but the disapproving stares she threw your way showed just how much she was opposed to your behavior.

You couldn't help it though. There was something inside you that had crumbled the day they both left. Something tiny, almost imperceptible that lied deep beneath your skin and that had disappeared along with them. It was small and it had seemed meaningless, but its absence had caused you to collapse.

It had taken you just a few days to fall into a deep, dark state of desperation.

Oh, just how disappointed would Sherlock be if he knew how weak you had become?

"Your tea is getting cold, dear," Mrs. Hudson's voice cut through the silence like a knife cuts through someone's flesh. You hadn't been aware of the heaviness in the atmosphere around you until you looked up at her sad eyes and realized they were red from her lack of sleep.

It then occurred to you that she was definitely much stronger than she seemed.

The woman had been in this situation god knows how many times. Sherlock was never really the type of guy that left a note before he stormed off somewhere, and though John usually did exactly that, they never really had a date set to return.

Several times Mrs. Hudson had found herself completely alone, fearing for her own safety as well as theirs. She had spent several nights with bloodshot eyes and a racing heart every time the phone rang.

And you couldn't, for the life of you, comprehend how she did it.

How could she still smile despite it all? How could she find the motivation to get out of bed in the morning when she knew the possibility that they'd return was close to zero?

God, you envied her. You envied her strength and you envied her positivity.

You were never an optimistic person. There was nothing particularly awful about your childhood and adolescence, yet a lot had gone wrong in your early adulthood.

Put a few abusive boyfriends and a couple of problems with the law in the mix, and one would end up pretty beaten up.

You were lucky to have rented the flat directly above Sherlock and John's. You were lucky they had offered you the chance of a new beginning. Building a reputation took time, and you had managed to recreate one for yourself. There wasn't much need for a computer rat in the market nowadays; at least not one that also offered a good paycheck. It had to be a miracle when the boys invited you to work with them. Another miracle that you all happened to become important to one another.

John had been easy to befriend. He was kindhearted and easygoing. Conversation seemed to flow between you and him, especially when the topic of choice was your shared interest for the doctor's beloved blog.

Sherlock, however, had been a harder target. He obviously had no interest in anyone's friendship. How John had managed to sneak into his heart had been a complete mystery to you back then.

That is, until you found your way in as well.

Sherlock was good at many things, and one of them was hiding his feelings. John liked to say he sometimes thought he didn't have any, because he was not human. You knew better. To you, he was just very, very good at suppressing them.

And good God, did he do so until the very last ounce of his body couldn't bear to restrain them anymore.

He'd been angry the night everything had changed between you and him. You were trying to solve an exceptionally tricky case. There was little to no evidence to lead you, and things didn't seem to be going anywhere.

He'd lost his temper that night. Had screamed at your face until his voice became raspy and his cheeks turned a bright shade of red. You remembered having stood in front of him, too close for comfort and somehow farther then ever before. You had looked him in the eyes and had pulled him by the collar with such force that when your lips met, there was the distinctive clatter of teeth echoing in the silent room.

The kiss had been wild. There had been almost no contact between your bodies except for his rough, almost possessive grip on your jaw to bring you closer, and yet it had been brutal. There had been something animalistic about the way your mouth granted entrance to his tongue; something primal and irrational in the desperation of your mouths as your fingers turned almost white while they gripped his previously unwrinkled shirt.

You had tried to hide the hurt in your eyes when immediately after he became distant. His pupils had still been dilated and his mouth was still red and plump when he looked into the distance and seemed to finally figure something important about the case.

He'd walked straight out of the room without another word; had left you standing in the middle of it with your breath ragged and your pride hurt, and you had decided then and there to never mention it again.

It had worked out until now, but the thought of it still haunted you. His lips had never left your head, and you were afraid they never would.

Mrs. Hudson watched your every move as your eyes became distant. She knew you were thinking about the boys; thought you were probably worrying about their safety. What she didn't notice was the slight change in your posture. Sherlock certainly would have been able to see the dilation of your pupils, but Mrs. Hudson didn't so much as spare a second glance at the way your breath quickened ever so slightly, or the way you unconsciously lifted your fingers to your lips, as though they were actually tingling like they had all those months ago.

...

You were determined to make it stop.

The worrying had to stop, otherwise there wouldn't be anything left of you when they returned. And they would return.

Truth be told, you were tired of feeling useless. And for the span of a week, that was all you had been.

It had taken you some time, but you had finally comprehended that doing nothing was definitely not contributing to anything. Crying yourself to sleep or sulking on Sherlock's chair wouldn't help bring the both of them back, and however painful it might be, you had to get a move on.

Life would go on wether they came back or not, and you decided to be prepared for either one of the scenarios.

So you did the only thing you could to try to feel at peace: you grabbed your computer and you worked. You worked until your hands felt like falling off and your eyes were red and dry from staring at the blue light of the computer screen. You worked so much that at the end of the day, you couldn't bare doing anything other than falling into your bed and sleeping, feeling satisfied and grateful that you had no energy left to even think of your two missing friends. For the first time you didn't wake up in the middle of the night with the sound of a car outside or the ruffling of keys, and you didn't feel disappointed that it wasn't them at the door.

You woke up the next day feeling replenished and ready to do everything once more. It was the first day in a week that you emerged from your room for breakfast, and you were feeling proud and motivated.

Your apartment looked brighter than it had the past few days, and you wondered if it was because you had finally stopped making a total ass of yourself. You entered the living room and saw that, actually, it was because you had left the door open the night before.

With a sigh, you motioned to close it, but before you could do so, a voice from downstairs kept you glued to your spot.

"Oh, for christ's sake, Sherlock, it's eight in the bloody morning. Let me at least have some coffee."

It was John. His voice was unmistakable, it was him.

You had tried to be prepared for this moment, but the only thing you could do was stand very, very still, afraid that it would turn out to be some sort of trick from your mind. But the voice was getting closer, and soon an ashy-blonde head was coming out of the door downstairs, and the only thing you could do was throw one foot after the other until you reached the lower level and could hug the figure lingering outside.

"(Y/N)!" John yelped as he embraced you, holding you in one arm as he balanced a cup of coffee with his other hand.

"You bloody arse!" You punched his back slightly, afraid to let go. "You could have called!"

John merely laughed, releasing you and looking at your face. "I'm sorry. Our phone had a tragic end," he explained vaguely, but you didn't press the issue. Instead your feet dragged you inside the apartment.

The living room looked pretty much the same as it had before, except now there was someone other than Mrs. Hudson and you in it. Climbing the bookshelf on the farther corner of the room, Sherlock had his feet perched on two of its shelves, causing several books to fall to the floor.

He seemed to be searching for something on the top shelf, completely transfixed. His feet touched the ground with a thump as he jumped down; a green covered, heavy looking book held between his fingers.

For a moment you thought he didn't see you. His eyes were scanning the insides of the book; his mouth mumbling seemingly incoherent phrases to no one in particular. "What are you so stupefied at?" A few moments passed in silence, and it wasn't until he lifted his eyes at you that you realized he was talking to you.

You chose not to answer his question, simply marching towards him and stopping at an arms length. His face held a hard expression. It was like he was schooling his features, trying not to really show what he was feeling. He also seemed tired. Sherlock had always had a habit of staying up for nights and nights on wake, not bothering to close his eyes until he was finished with whatever he was doing. This tired looked different, though. His eyes seemed sunken into his skull, the lines of his face more prominent. The week had taken a toll on him, you could see.

A sigh that you didn't realize you were holding escaped your lips before you could contain it. Sherlock must've realized that you looked relieved when you rubbed at your face with your hands, because his face softened. He looked much less superior with the slight preoccupied frown of his eyebrows.

And that was just too much for you to be able to control yourself. Your arms wrapped around his waist on their own accord and you pressed your cheek to his chest, tightening your grip on him until there was no space left between your bodies.

You felt his sharp intake of breath rather than heard it- the fast rise of his chest that you interpreted as one of surprise. This was the most intimate kind of physical contact you two had shared ever since the kiss, and you knew it would probably be too much for him, but you couldn't find it within you to actually care. He was there in flesh and bones, and God only knew when would be the last time that would happen.

It felt like ages after that you felt him move, and if you'd surprised him before, his next movements shocked you beyond imagination. His arms that had been limp on his sides moved to hold you as well, and something in your belly stirred.

His embrace felt like a warm cup of tea in a stormy morning, or like the first rays of sun after days of clouded skies. It felt like certainty and safety altogether, and you melted into his arms until it was no longer appropriate.

Someone cleared their throat behind you.

Your arms reluctantly released Sherlock's shirt, and your turned to see John and Mrs. Hudson bearing baffled expressions on their faces. You felt the almost uncontrollable urge to laugh, but kept it to yourself as Sherlock moved toward the desk, seemingly unaffected by everything.

The room grew awfully quiet, and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of pages being turned and fingers pressing into a blackberry's keyboard. Sherlock typed furiously into his phone like there was no one in the room, and when he stopped, there was an empty expression on his face that left a dreadful feeling on your chest.

Something was wrong.

"I have to do something," he confirmed your suspicions, and you felt your heart squeeze painfully. John made to take his jacket from the hanger, but Sherlock stood up and held out a hand to stop him. "Alone."

No one said anything as he grabbed his overcoat roughly and went for the door in large steps, and no one tried to stop him as he barged out of the room and ran down the stairs.

From your place by the window you could see him getting into a cab, but found no strength to follow after him whatsoever. Instead your knees gave in and you had to seat on the nearest chair in order to keep from falling to the floor, while John simply left the apartment to stand outside on the street looking lost and distant.

"I'll go make some tea," Mrs. Hudson declared quietly, and suddenly it was only you and her again.

...

Two hours later, your phone buzzed in your pocket and you stared silently at the caller ID.

You had spent the entirety of those hours sitting on the same uncomfortable chair in front of the desk, staring absently out the window, sighing every now and then and ignoring the sad looks Mrs. Hudson was throwing your way.

It was Sherlock's name shining on the cellphone's screen.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. You were angry. God, you were bloody furious. At Sherlock, at life, at yourself... Why couldn't things be easier for once? Why did he have to be so distant?

The phone buzzed again and this time it was the worried side of you that spoke. What if he was in trouble? If you ignored this call and something happened to him, it would be entirely your fault.

The thought of losing him had your fingers swiping desperately on the green button on the screen.

"Hello?"

"(Y/N)," he said breathlessly, and the way he pronounced it made you frown.

"What's wrong? Where are you?" you asked and heard him draw a shaky breath at the other end of the line.

"I- This is going to be difficult to hear, but please let me finish before you speak," he pleaded, and you noticed the slight edge to his voice. He had said 'please'. You had never heard him say that before. "I need you to know how important you are... to me." A pang in your chest. What the fuck?

"Sherlock, you're not making any sense-"

"Ah, ah! Let me finish!" His voice came out stronger than before. He sounded desperate. "(Y/N), I'm not... I'm not who you, or John, or Mrs. Hudson think I am. The newspapers were right, I-" he trailed for a moment, and it occurred to you that whatever he wanted to say was hurting him immensely. "I'm a fake."

The phone almost fell from your hands. His voice was thick with what could only be tears, and you felt your own eyes water. "What? Sherlock, I-" your hands trembled as you spoke, "what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Everything, (Y/N)! Moriarty, the deduction thing... I made it all up!" He yelled, but the sound came out muffled to your ears. Your head had started ringing. You felt like throwing up.

"No... No!" you shrieked, your vision fogged and blurry by the unshed tears. "You're delusional! I know you, Sherlock. I- you're lying!" It was the only reasonable explanation. You got up from your chair in one swift motion, the force of it sending it tumbling to the floor. "Where are you? Let me help you."

You heard him laugh humorlessly. "It doesn't matter where I am," he sighed, shaky and weak. "I need to ask you something, (Y/N). I need you to do something for me." He took a few shaky breaths, trying to control himself. He was crying, you knew it. The thought of it was scary. "I need you to keep on living. To move on." Sherlock asked and your frown deepened. He was talking nonsense. Perhaps he had been drugged? You opened John's computer in front of you and clicked on the button to locate his phone.

"Stop it, Sherlock. Where the fuck is all this coming from?" the computer beeped with a result. An icon with his initials was placed on the map indicating Bart's Hospital rooftop, and you closed the laptop with a thud before grabbing your coat. He didn't answer. "Sherlock?" Please be there. Please don't hang up.

"This is it, (Y/N)," he said after a while. "I can't run anymore, and I don't expect you to understand it." His voice was thick with tears. Yours wasn't much better.

"Taxi!" you yelled, then pressed the phone to your ear again. "Sherlock, tell me what's happening... Tell me the truth!"

He sighed. "This is a goodbye," he said, and you stopped dead in your tracks. No. No, no, no, no, no, "and an I'm sorry."

"Shut up," you sobbed. "Just shut up."

"I'm sorry for all the pain that I've caused you," he continued as if he hadn't heard you, and you pressed your free hand to your face with such force that when you opened your eyes afterwards, there were black spots in your vision. "And I'm sorry that I'm not courageous enough to say it to your face."

"Shut the fuck up, Sherlock!" You screamed, not bothering to restrain your voice in public. "You're lying! You're fucking lying, and no matter what you say, I will never believe you!" You were crying freely now, the sobs mingling with the angry words coming out of your mouth. A taxi finally pulled up in front of you and you didn't even register telling the driver the address.

You heard Sherlock exhale shakily on the other end of the line; heard his unfeeling mask slipping right out of his face as the both of you just listened to each other's painful ragged breaths.

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," was the last thing he said before the line went mute, and you had to clasp a hand over your mouth to keep from breaking down.

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#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock one shot #sherlock holmes x reader #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock angst #sherlock fanfic #sherxr

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gwensparlour · 8 years

Text

All that there's in a name

Title: All that there’s in a name

Rating: Teen and Up audiences

Characters: Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Katsuki

Pairing: Victuuri

Summary: "Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis."A story about how names can affect a relationship.

(As a writer I need to spam my works wherever I can)

AO3 link

“Tell me, Yuri,” Victor begins, one anonymous morning, while pouring milk in his morning coffee.

“Yes?”

“We’ve been together for a while, right? Then why you never call me Vicchan?”

Because calling you with the name of my dead dog would be inappropriate.

Hiroko is the only one to call Victor “Vicchan”. It’s her prerogative. It’s something she and only she does. When the nickname exits her mouth it feels natural. From others’ lips, even Yuri’s, not so much.

Vicchan is Hasetsu. It’s spending a week of summer holiday in the onsen. It's helping around with the business of the Yu-topia Katsuki. It’s Victor aiding in the kitchen, fringe held by a pin, or at the front desk with the possible foreign guests. It’s Hiroko thanking him, a happy look on her face. She dries her puffy hands on the oil-stained apron before serving him the third bowl of katsudon.

Vicchan is Hiroko speaking on Skype to his soon-to-be son-in-law. They chat in a broken mixture of English and Japanese, always pausing to search this word or that on the dictionary.

“What about Vitya, then?”

Yuri sighs, shaking his head. He has tried to call Victor "Vitya", but the word on his tongue feels always wrong.

Vitya is Victor’s life in Russia, before and without Yuri. It's stopping while buying groceries to chat with the old and gentle baker round the corner. She has always flour in her blonde crown-braid. She and Victor speak in a Russian so quick Yuri can grasp only few words here and there.

Vitya is St Petersburg’s rink with Yakov shouting from the early morning. The poor man deserves a monument. The old coach calls his oldest pupil Vitya even when he's mad and on the verge to send him to Siberia

Vitya is Mila skating toward Victor. She giggles with the phone in her hands, shouting about some funny meme or instagram picture.

“Vityusha? Vitenka?”

“I thought you hated when they call you Vityusha!”

They are Victor’s maternal grandparents. It doesn't matter that he's Victor Nikiforov, twenty-eight years old legend of figure skating, fifth time Grand Prix champion and as much World champion. For them he'll always be Vityusha. Little Vityusha. Especially since his grandma suffers from dementia and is sure beyond any doubt that her only nephew is six. Vityusha is Victor bending forward to let his granny kiss his cheeks, leaving a faint mark of cheap reddish lipstick. It's wrinkled hands on his shoulders and comments on how much he has grown. Vityusha is double portion of hot borscht "for special occasion".

Vitenka, yet, is sex. There's no other way to say it. It's one of the things that should never exit the bedroom. It's private, like their sex life; like, you know, lube and condoms and kinks and all the thing strangers are not supposed to know about. Supposed is the key word, as some suck marks are always a little too visible.

Vitenka is flushed skin against skin, nails biting into flesh, intoxicating warmth. It's Victor on his knees, hands tied behind his strong back, and eyes full of adoration.

Vitenka is pure submission, something a stranger would never imagine from Victor the champion or Victor the coach.

The name rolls rarely out of Yuri's mouth, but when it happens it's solid power, dark and velvety. A power is careful not to abuse.

"Why can't I call you Viktoru?" Yuri asks, indulging in that final extra vowel out of habit. Despite having spent five years in America, he had never truly learnt to pronounce names the Western way. Even when he's speaking English, although in the latest months they have set for a strange mix of Russian and Japanese, with a prevalence of the former, Victor is always Viktoru.

Always the Japanese way.

Here in St Petersburg it becomes part of Yuri's identity. Despite all the stereotypes of Japanese people being overly formal with new acquaintances, he has been on first name basis with Victor since the very beginning. Looking back he notices he has never called him Nikiforov coach, not even once. It has never been necessary.

Even before the sentiment in his chest bloomed in full love, it was already Viktoru.

And still, as weeks pass, even that Viktoru starts to be unsatisfactory. It remembers Yuri too much of the times when there was still a wall of unspoken words and unshared memories between them. Miscommunication.

The wall hasn't completely disappeared yet, but now it's thinner, like a rice paper panel, a see-through when the light hits it with the right angle.

With the right word, the right gesture.

***

It isn't something Yuri has planned when the nickname rolls out of his tongue one Sunday morning. He's been studying Russian for months now and of all the people is Georgi that explains him the subtitles of affectionate diminutives. When the man isn't whining about his ex girlfriend, he's a surprisingly exquisite person.

"Looks like I won again, Vitechka," Yuri says. He and Victor are playing rock, scissor, paper to decide who has to clean the bathroom. Yuri has a special talent for this kind of hazard. He hasn't planned the nickname and when realization hits him in the form of Victor's head tilting on the side with curiosity, he frantically waves his hands.

"Oh, sorry! Don't tell me it's something your mother calls you with. Or, worse, a relative you hate."

But Victor shakes his head. "Actually, no," he assures. "Believe it or not, nobody has ever called me Vitechka. I like it," he adds.

Yuri feels like something is locking in his chest. Not in bad way, though.

So be it.

It repeats the word once, twice, feeling the way it makes his lips curl and stretch, the way his tongue moves around vowels and consonants.

It's his. It's the everyday non-sexual intimacy of laundries and chores. It's Victor pouting.

"Do we have to do this every time?" He protests, as his rock is promptly wrapped by Yuri's paper.

"Yes, Vitechka. It's fair."

And then he giggles. He knows that soon Victor will pretend to change the game to divide the chores.

"I'm looking forward for the next season. Two weeks of housework if I win gold!" He beats one afternoon, in sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. Yuri smirks. "I wouldn't brag. I don't think Yurio will be so wiling to leave you the highest place on the podium."

I am not willing to leave you the gold.

"Fine. If I place highest than you –“

“If.”

***

When Yuri was nineteen Phichith told him that he could have won first, second, and even third place in a quiz about Victor and Yuri used to believe so. At nineteen, he had already searched all that was available about his idol, putting together official interviews with badly translated Russian sentences of dubious accuracy.

He used to believe he knew everything about Victor Nikiforov.

From the very first weeks of Victor staying in Hasetsu, however, Yuri discovered how wrong he was.

Like, once in an interview a journalist had asked a fifteen-years-old Victor if there were any downsides in figure skating. Victor had chuckled, before proceeding in saying that it was all-nice, besides bruises, but he couldn't stand the broccoli Yakov insisted to put in his diet.

And there was Yuri, eleven at the time, with a big, glass heart, Ice Castle Hasetsu stickers plastered all over his notebooks, and sudden concerns with broccoli.

"I thought you hated broccoli," Yuri says, seeing his fiancé putting a package in the shopping cart. Victor freezes, his brain probably dealing with plus information at the same time. Namely Yuri's being the fanboy he is and why on earth should he has to have a problem with any vegetables.

Besides the carrots of aunt Katja, but everybody hates the carrots of aunt Katja.

It takes a while for the right memory to set in.

"Oh, right!" Victor exclaims, both amused and a little disconcerted that Yuri remembers something from so long ago. "It's not that I don't like them. Well, I don't dislike them anymore. But there was this woman who used to babysit me when I was little and she was a nice person but her broccoli soup was disgusting," he concludes, a whining note in his voice. Yuri can't help but laugh.

He knew Victor is a dog person, but then he discovers that his very first pet was a golden fish that died soon after having been bought because a child Victor gave him too much food.

He knew about the piano lessons his fiancé undertook to improve his already good sense of rhythm, but not that they ended up being a completely disaster. Apparently Voctor has never been able to play more than some Russian equivalent of Neko Funjatta.

Yuri knew already so many details of Victor’s life, but they were empty. Now there’s a strong and stable ground behind them. Day by day he ends up discovering also Victor’s flaws, the little bad habits it’ll take years to correct. He finds himself not caring a little bit.

Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis. He acts differently based on how people call him; he anticipates what people expect from him.

That’s why, when the question pops out, Yuri knows he should’ve expected it.

“What do you want me to call you?”

Yuri shrugs. “Vitechka, you already call me cutes names.”

Victor waves his hand, dismissingly. “They don’t matter. I’m talking something about your name. I –“ he stops, letting his hands fall down in his lap. His fringe moves a little to the side. There’s a sparkle of sad nostalgia in his blue eyes. “It’s just that now it’s so strange to call you by full name. Nobody here in Russia would ever call the person they love by its full name. It feels so off," he continues explaining. As Yuri seems ready to say something, Victor makes a gesture meaning he's not finished.

"I can't call you Yura. That's for Yurio."

"Yurochka?" Yuri proposes.

"That's for little kids. It would be inappropriate after having seen what you can do in bed," Victor shoots back, a mischievous note in his voice and eyes. He buries fingers in his silver locks, combing hair from his forehead. Yuri has already seen Victor like this, struck by an inspiration he can't quite grasp. He mutters under his breath, tossing away options with a tilt of the head.

Yuri goes behind him, wrapping carefully his arms around Victor's shoulders. He let his head rest on Victor's.

"Why does it have to be so important?" He hums, hands draping lazily on his fiancé's chest.

"I told you."

"There's more, I can tell."

Victor sighs, the way he does when he accepts to have been exposed. He reaches back a hand to caress Yuri's cheek. "You know me too well.”

"I do. So, what's the problem?"

"You see, when you're famous you start to cherish all the little private moments other can't see."

Yuri emits a little chuckle. He tells Victor he has no right to talk so seriously.

"Just let me finish! So you have Vitechka. It's not common. Or, nobody I know uses it. I probably wouldn't allow anybody besides you to use it! I need a nickname for you with the same meaning!"

Something that talks about home and family; the place where you can forget your troubles.

“Well, in Japan we have the chan suffix for people you’re intimate with,” Yuri begins, voice slow as he puts together the sentence words by words. “But Yu-chan is something I already use for Yuko, so you won’t get the exclusive.”

“So it’s not use,” Victor finishes for him. They stay in silence for a while, biting lips in concentration, with fingers almost rubbing temples in the hope to be struck by the idea of the century.

And then everyday life reclaims their attention and the problem is postponed to another day.

Yuri lies awake. His eyes are wide open in the dark, fixed on the ceiling. For how cliché and silly it may be, he remembers that overused quote from the" Little Prince", the one about the rose. It’s been years since he’s read the book – he isn’t even sure if he has read it in Japanese or English – but somehow he recalls something about names and identity.

If you give me a name, I'll be your rose.

A rose by any other name.

He grunts, but let his mind wander nonetheless through fictional scenarios.

In the end the issue drops almost completely in the span of a couple weeks. It's not that Victor has stopped caring - Yuri has seen him browsing websites about Russian and Japanese name conventions - but there's more pressing subjects that need to be handled.

Worlds are almost there and Victor is so desperate to save time that he ends up practicing his step sequence while cooking. Yuri hears him counting time under his breath, the familiar "un, deux, trois" from the ballet days.

It doesn't take long before Yuri starts to imitate him.

They must appear crazy, totally crazy, to an outside eye.

Sometimes, despite his words, Victor calls Yuri Yura; never with Plisetsky present, though. Then he starts calling him Yuriusha. Or Yurechka. Yurenka. And at least other five ridiculous diminutives Yuri's pretty sure Victor's making up on the moment.

Yuri lets him do it. Victor's voice is soft and tender and Yuri hears it more than any nickname.

He stops thinking about it without even noticing. He stops waiting for Victor to pick out just one nickname out of the dozens he has discovered lately. He gets used to be called a different diminutive each day.

At the rink the Russian skaters start to call him Yura. Even Yurio.

***

A year passes like nothing.

It's soon before the beginning of the GP that Yuri brings up the issue once again. He approaches it sideways. They are in the locker room of St Petersburg rink, carefully polishing their blades.

“Do you remember when you asked me if I wanted a photo with you?” Yuri asks, almost nonchalantly. Victor nods, a twinge of regret in the form of a little wrinkle just above his eyebrows.

“Too bad, yes.”

“Well, do you know why I was staring at you?”

“Because I’m handsome?” Victor jokes. Yuri gives him a little, soft punch in the forearm. “I’ve thought you were calling me.”

Yuri remembers it far too well. It remembers it because he’s still afraid that one day he’ll be drained back to that starting point, all that has happened next obliterated. He remembers hearing that “Yuri!” and his heart skipping a bit and his body starting to turn, before discovering that it wasn’t meant for him.

He remembers the little “oh” escaping his lips, full of disappoint and regret. How silly he has felt just thinking that Victor Nikiforov was calling him. How pretentious.

It’s strange to tell Victor about it after so long time. “I miss hearing you calling my name, my real name. Don’t get me wrong, I think the diminutives are cute, but I preferred the way things were before,” Yuri finally says.

“Yes. Sure. Whatever you want.”

There’s a sad look on Victor’s face, the one that follow the discovery to having hurt a loved person without wanting to.

Yuri can’t pretend that Victor drops the habit immediately. He doesn’t even correct his fiancé when he continues distorting his name in all those silly ways. It takes time.

Meanwhile the assignments come. Yuri will compete in the Skate America and Cup of China; Victor will be at the Skate Canada and NHK Trophy.

It’ll be a mess.

***

Yuri knows when he’ll land a quad without falling or messing it up even before having touched the ice. It feels it in the way his body turns in mid-air, the tension of the muscles, and the pull in his stomach. At this speed, without glasses, it’s all blurry and he doesn’t even dare to breath, too afraid that a sigh will be enough to ruin everything.

It’s only when the blade collide with the ice, strong and clean, that Yuri allows himself to breath again. He knows too well how his body and brain need oxygen to finish the FS.

There’s a dull ache in his limbs, what has been left of months of training. It’s the awareness that the choreography’s now embedded in every fibre of his being. He doesn’t quite let his mind wander – Yakov has been very strict about “being focused” and “having always a back-up plan” – but he’s pretty sure that if he ever does it, his body will know the steps nonetheless. As strange as it may be, Yuri feels sure.

So when he stops twirling, coming out from the last combination spin, and hears the crowd roaring with enthusiasm, he knows he’s done well. He knows he’ll have a good score.

He skates to the exit of the rink, wiping sweat from is forehead before it falls in his eyes. With his surprise it’s Mila and Yurio the first one to welcome him.

“It wasn’t a complete disaster, Katsudon,” Yurio says and it’s his way to compliment him.

“Well done, Yura!” Mila adds and it’s there, with the Russian team that seems to have all the intention to keep him from Victor, that Yuri understands.

He notices how, while his fiancé was slowly abandoning any nickname, the other Yakov’s pupils were going in the exact opposite direction.

It’s like they have adopted him.

Now nobody of the people he knows in St Petersburg calls him by full name anymore. Nobody, except for Victor.

So when he hears a voice sing-songing “Yuuri” he knows exactly who’ll be there waiting for him when he’ll turn.

#yuri on ice #yoi #yuri on ice fanfic #victuuri

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