#will probably post to ao3 tomorrow at some point

[presumenothing]

so we all know the drill, yeah? my keyboard slipped etc etc and thus i present: 吉祥纹莲花楼 aka LOTUS CASEBOOK (the novel) CHAPTER ONE: TASTER EDITION further aka "the first chapter, but minus the Case Exposition bit because wow noooope". note also that this is not as serious nor thoroughly-edited as some of my other TLs (nif fandom alumni may remember me from known, unknown aka this absolute unit/research spiral of a post-canon fic; this is Not That and also, hi!!). and now with that out of the way, enjoy! ETA: fixed some missing bits that got eaten while posting to tumblr + only maybe 30% on-topic footnotes over here

PART THE FIRST: A GHOST, MURDER, IN THE GREEN GAUZE WINDOW

Changzhou City, Xiaomian Inn.

The seventeenth of the sixth month, just around midnight.

It had been two days since Cheng Yunhe, the head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company, started escorting these sixteen boxes of precious goods. Though all had been well so far, he felt tight-strung with exhaustion, and despite having fallen asleep he woke up without quite knowing why.

Silence permeated the dark room.

Outside the window… there was singing.

Faint waves of sound, barely discernible, as if someone was singing; and apparently quite in earnest, too, but in an incredibly odd tone… just as if… someone was singing with their tongue cut out. 

He opened his eyes, and looked at the window directly across from his bed.

Amidst the darkness, green flecks flickered dim and sudden across that window, now far then near, and only on this one window across from him.

Outside the window, the faraway song continued, that broken tongue singing a tragic melody that no-one living could possibly understand…

He’d already practised almost forty years of martial arts, and though his hearing and sight might not be the top in the jianghu, it could hardly be weak either, but he… could not make out the sound of anything human.

As the wind whistled through the slightly-ajar window, he stared at that window with its flickering green shadows – and for the very first time in his life, he thought of a word – ghosts?

–

ONE: LUCKY PATTERN LOTUS PARLOUR

The broad daylight of a sunny day.

Bingshan Town was not a remarkable place by any means; it had neither rare treasure nor great legends, and just like the vast majority of places in the jianghu, its denizens were a little boring, its crops a tad skinny, its rivers a tinge dirty, and its post-meal conversational topics a touch lacking… far too lacking, actually, so whenever there was something everyone had to delight in it for the longest time – not to mention how that recent happening was an odd one indeed.

The tale so far: on this day, the eighteenth of the month, when the people of Bingshan Town opened their doors to sweep their stoops, they abruptly found that their only-too-familiar main street had suddenly sprouted a two-storey wooden building. This building was hardly a short one, either, fully capable of housing people inside, and in spacious lodgings no less; it was made fully of wood, and engraved with patterns unusually fine and ornate, that even a blind person could recognise by touch – none other than lotus flowers and auspicious clouds.

After a good half-day’s worth of discussion, some eagle-eyed people recognised at last how this building had “suddenly appeared”: though its structure was that of a building, it turned out that it was not connected to the ground… at any rate, this building had been pulled by someone with a cart, here to the main street of their Bingshan Town, and put it there. Everyone expressed their amazement at this, but nobody could comprehend why anyone would bother dragging over such a large building in the dead of night just to leave it on the street, or what it could possibly be for. Perhaps as a shrine for their town god? Though speaking of which, their local shrine had indeed fallen into disrepair and gone unworshipped for many years now…

Such debate continued for three days straight, up until an express convoy working at some company who happened to be coming home was struck dumbfounded upon seeing it, screeched “The Lucky Parlour!” and there and then turned to run madly away without even returning home, still yelling “Lucky Parlour!” along the way – and thus the building abruptly became a haunted house, that would drive anyone who saw it right mad.

Only seven days later, when that express convoy suddenly brought the entire convoy company back to Bingshan Town, did the masses discover that said building was not in fact some haunted house. 

Not only was it not a haunted house, it was actually an auspicious building, a super-duper auspicious building. 

The “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” was a medical clinic.

Its master was of surname Li, named Lianhua.

What kind of a person was Li Lianhua? As a matter of fact, nobody in the jianghu knew either. Whether his master, his background, the level of his martial arts, his age, or even the matter of his looks: all of it was unknown. Six years had passed since this person appeared in the jianghu, and in total he’d done only two things, but just these two things alone had been enough to turn the “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” into the single most fascinating legend in the jianghu.

The two things Li Lianhua had done: the first was bringing back to life the martial scholar “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, who’d been buried for many days after dying from major injuries after a decisive duel. The second was bringing back to life “Ironflute Hero” He Lantie, who’d also been buried for many days with all his bones broken after dying from a cliff fall.

Just these two incidents alone had already made Li Lianhua the one figure in the jianghu that people most wanted to acquaint themselves with, but there was also the matter of his strange house that he always brought along with him – this only made Li Lianhua more of a legend amongst legends.

The head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company led every last one of his men on swift horseback to Bingshan Town, and after three days of clean baths and devout incense, finally delivered on great tenterhooks a letter of greeting to that building carved of precious softwood: Cheng Yunhe of Hexing Convoy Company wishes to consult on an important matter.

Said letter was pushed in via a window gap.

All forty-odd men of the company waited alongside Cheng Yunhe, as if it was the King of Hell inside of that building, passing judgement––

Soon after, that building that had been so silent as to seem unoccupied let out the faintest of creaking sounds. All of Hexing Convoy held their breath, and even the rubbernecking passers-by caught theirs, too, widening their eyes to better await whatever creature could possibly emerge from this building.

The door swung swiftly open, and not in the slow swing of everyone’s imagination.

A large cloud of dust burst forth with a bang, blowing all over Cheng Yunhe, and the figure in the door made a sound of dismay, saying with great apology: “I was tidying up odds and ends, and didn’t even realise I had guests, my apologies, apologies indeed.”

All of Hexing Convoy, now covered in dust and sawdust, stared in astonishment at the one who’d opened the door with a broom in one hand; the very same broom where that bright red greeting letter was now stuck on. He looked very young, no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and perhaps even a little younger than that if not for the much-mended grey robes he was wearing; his skin was fair and his looks refined, but neither was he so beautifully handsome as to be unforgettable from a glance. He held the broom in his right hand and a dustpan in his left, and looked out at the dozens-strong line outside his door with a face full of apology.

Cheng Yunhe gave a heavy cough, and saluted in greeting: “I, “Thousand-Mile Crane” Cheng Yunhe, humbly greet Li-xiansheng of the Lucky Parlour; may I perhaps request that you pass a message to him that there is a matter I wish to consult him on?”

“Ah,” said the grey-robed young man. “A message?”

Cheng Yunhe spoke gravely: “I fear we must meet with Li Lianhua, Li-xiansheng himself, for there is crucial business to discuss.”

The young man set down the broom. “I am indeed Li Lianhua.”

Cheng Yunhe’s eyes widened abruptly, mouth falling open, and in that moment every last bystander wanted nothing more than to toss three or five eggs into his mouth. Very swiftly he shut it again, and gave another heavy cough. “Your good reputation precedes you, Li-xiansheng…” 

And then he found himself at a loss on how to continue, for he had already detailed the ins and outs of the matter on the greeting letter, but that same letter was now stuck on Li Lianhua’s broom.

Li Lianhua said: “Apologies, apologies… my residence is covered in clutter at the moment…”

He raised a hand to invite Cheng Yunhe inside.

The Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour was indeed covered in assorted junk; from nails to hammer, saw to axe, dustcloths to broom, sawdust and dust everywhere, and a few boxes holding who-knew-what. The front room held only one table and chair each, both made of bamboo and not worth even twenty bronze coins. Cheng Yunhe felt heavy doubt in his heart, but what with the sheer reputation of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, and this grey-robed man to be sitting in it, he dared not to suspect him to be a fake, either; and thus he was left with no choice but to sit respectfully across from Li Lianhua and recount every part of those fearsome events he’d encountered a half-month ago.

[––CASE EXPOSITION CUT FOR SANITY––]

Such was the tale of the “Green Window Ghost Murder” that had thrown the martial world into heated debate over the last half a month. Yu Mulan, heartbroken over the senseless death of his beloved daughter, flew into a rage and commanded the death of all the swordsmen who had been escorting Yu Qiushuang that night, alongside a kill order for the entirety of Hexing Convoy Company. Cheng Yunhe, pushed to his wits’ end, had been about to bring his family and disband the company for a scattered escape when he heard the news of the Lucky Parlour.

Li Lianhua could bring the dead back to life – and so Cheng Yunhe suddenly thought: if Li Lianhua could resurrect Yu Qiushuang, wouldn’t that resolve everything? Resurrection was not something he would have ever believed in, just a half-month ago, but with matters the way they were now he could only work with what he had, dead or otherwise, and since the heavens had seen fit to let him come across Li Lianhua, why not give it a try? After all… if the legends were true, all could not but be well.

But even until he’d finished recounting the “Green Window Ghost Murder” incident, he hadn’t heard any startling insights out of Li Lianhua, only an ah and a nod of his head.

After finishing his tea, Cheng Yunhe had no choice but to leave. He truly could not think of any good reason to remain any longer in that empty building of Li Lianhua’s, full of assorted junk and Li Lianhua’s expression full of gentle incomprehension. 

Cheng Yunhe departed.

From the second storey of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, someone said, leisurely: “Even five years later, you’re still plenty famous, aren’t you…”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, drinking tea. “Ah…”

Who even knew what he was ah-ing about.

“Actually I’ve never been able to figure it out.” That figure descended slowly from the second storey. He was thin and pale, all skin and bones, and perhaps if he gained twenty pounds he’d be a elegantly beautiful young man, but as it stood he mostly just resembled a victim of starvation. Yet this particular hungry corpse also happened to be wearing a set of rich white robes of particularly meticulous workmanship, with the tassel and jade ornaments favoured only by those fine young masters untouched by worldly troubles, and a long sword with an unusually elegant shape to its hilt. “How could anyone in this world possibly believe in something like resurrection? It’s been five whole years, and yet nobody has forgotten those two scandals of yours…”

“Because none of them are as smart as you.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly, stood up to stretch, then picked up his broom and resumed sweeping the floor.

“Can you not sweep the floor?” The hungry corpse from the upper storey suddenly glared. “How can you possibly keep sweeping when I, the great Fang-dagongzi, am here right in front of you? Do you realise that if Cheng Yunhe had known I was in here just now, he’d definitely kneel down and beg me too ask that old geezer Yu not to slaughter his entire family? You have a young master of my handsome looks and eminent status in front of you, and yet you’ve been doing nothing but sweep the floor?"

“I can’t.” Li Lianhua said: “I haven’t cleaned and repaired this building in too long. It’s very dirty, and leaks when it rains, too.”

The white-robed corpse kept up the wide-eyed glaring for many moments longer, before suddenly letting out a sigh. “Someone like you who can’t fight and can’t treat diseases, who doesn’t plant crops or commit theft either – how have you even managed to survive all these years in such fame? I really don’t get it.” 

This white-robed hungry corpse was “Melancholic Young Master” Fang Duobing, the eldest son of the of the Fang martial family. He’d known Li Lianhua for an entire six years, long enough that he even knew exactly how this same person had come to fame – Shi Wenjue had suffered major injuries in his duel and used the Turtle’s Breath method to close his qi and recover, the local villagers had taken him for dead and buried him, Li Lianhua had gone to dig him up, and thus Shi Wenjue had naturally come back to life; He Lantie, on the other hand, had staged an entire cliff jump after failing in his pursuit of a wife, played dead and buried himself in the ground, and Li Lianhua who’d just happened to be passing by dug him out yet again. The whole world was wondering how Li Lianhua had managed to bring the dead back to life, while all Fang Duobing wanted to know was how he knew where on earth (or under it) there’d be a live person to dig up.

“I did still have some silver coins, a while ago.” Li Lianhua carefully swept the front room, then put away the dustpan. “As long as you plan well, you can still make do.”

Fang Duobing rolled his eyes. “And how much silver do you have now?”

“Fifty taels.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly. “That’s enough to use for a lifetime, to me.”

Fang Duobing tsked. “To think that there’s losers like you in the martial world, who only plan to spend fifty taels in their whole life, it’s practically a shame upon the jianghu. Had Cheng Yunhe known what kind of person you are, I’d like to see whether he still would’ve come asking for help… heh, asking a ‘miracle doctor’ who doesn’t know a drop of medicine and has to go everywhere with his house on his back because he’s too stingy to stay in an inn, to go treat the dead, I can’t believe he thought of that.” Fang Duobing rolled his eyes again for good measure, and eyed Li Lianhua up and down. “Though I can’t actually tell whether you are going to help him go treat the dead or not.”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, fingers still meticulously fiddling away with the interlocking joint on that squeaky bamboo table of his, and gave a small smile upon hearing this. “Why wouldn’t I go? After all, I don’t know how to plant crops, or sell vegetables, and I’m not in want of coin. Wouldn’t life be incredibly boring if I didn’t have something to do?”

“When that old geezer Yu finds out that you’re a fake miracle doctor and decides to kill your entire family, Fang-dagongzi is absolutely not going to save you,” Fang Duobing said, leisurely. “Go on then, don’t expect this young master here to see you off.”

And so it was that Li Lianhua spent a whole three days tidying up inside the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, packing who-knows-what into that small parcel of his, and after meticulously writing a lengthy missive temporarily entrusting the parlour to the care of “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, he set off at last.

He was headed to Yu Fortress, to see the corpse of Yu Qiushuang.

[hecatesbroom]

Another fic?? You bet! I almost finished this about 4 weeks ago, when I got sidetracked by the Dorothy gets dipped fic, so I finally managed to add the finishing touches here :) it's been in the works for about 3 months (off and on; many different projects got in the way) so I'm happy to finally be able to say it's done! (after that final edit at 3 am I posted about last night lol)

Summary

When Blanche announces that she thinks she's pregnant, each of the girls deals with it in her own way. (They find each other in Rose's bedroom in the end, for one reason or another.) // an exploration of S02E01: end of the curse, and what happens in between

[sparky-is-spiders]

Heeeeey. So. I did promise weird JE biting stuff huh? Well never let it be said I don't deliver. I mean sometimes I don't but this time I did. Anyway its just weird bitey stuff idk. Set sometime nebulously S3.

Warnings:

Gore a tiny bit? Much more mild than canon in my opinion.

Jon thinks idly about Elias killing him (in a "really really really likes being bitten and wants Elias as close as possible" way but could also be read in a "wants to be dead" kind of way.)

Ok now. Fic under the cut <3

The door had barely swung shut before Elias was upon him. Delicate fingers worked at his shirt collar and warm breaths stroked the space beneath his ear. “Someone’s eager,” he said, but his voice was trembling already.

Elias responded with a light nip to his cheek. “That-that better not have left a mark.”

“So demanding,” Elias chided. He bit down harder, closer to the jugular. His hands were warm, wandering things that Jon could barely feel, although Elias was hardly being subtle with his touches. The place where teeth had so briefly met skin burned so much brighter by comparison. Jon bent his neck back further.

Elias didn’t bother wasting time. As soon as Jon’s shirt could be slid to the side, he struck. The bite was rough, painful, a hair shy of breaking the skin. The sheer pressure of it soothed some of that awful, gnawing hunger, the sting made Elias’ hands more real.

It moved, then. Blunted molars and sharp canines sinking into the softness of his throat. Marking all those vulnerable, helpless places. Warm, bright fear trickled down from his neck to his chest, until it was so bright and loud he could barely think for the sheer weight of it.

Elias’ arms were wrapped around him, Elias’ body was pressed so close that Jon thought there could not even be room for air between them. Elias’ hands were gripping his shoulders with bruising force. Elias’ teeth were at his neck. Elias’ teeth were digging in to the soft, tender flesh. Elias’ teeth were pressing down towards the bone.

Jon whined, arched into it. His throat was wet with saliva or blood or both and every breath came choked and trembling. It was so easy to get lost like this. The world became weightless and foggy and so far away. He thought about Leitner with his skull caved in, the brutal swing of the pipe, the force it would take for Elias to tear into his throat.

He thought he might want that, in these moments. Elias’s teeth pushing deep inside to touch the bone. Smooth, solid bone brushing so tenderly against bloodslick muscles. Probably didn’t have the teeth for it though. Not long enough. Daisy had. Normal, but glinting in a strange way. Echos of something sharper and longer behind them. An afterimage of a wolf’s fangs hiding in her mouth. His terror had reached for her knife when she placed it to his neck, had pulled it in to meet it. So-close not-at-all to teeth breaching flesh. Her teeth were made for shearing. Would cut through the softness so easily. Would-

There was a sudden absence, when Elias pulled back. Just enough for the loss to jolt him out of his head, although Jon could feel the words as Elias murmured them against his skin. “I would prefer your attentions not wander too far.”

“Wh-” His hands had found their way to Elias’ hair, at some point. Were trying to push his head in closer, have his teeth back where Jon needed them.

“Thinking about someone else? If I didn’t know any better, I might be insulted.”

“Oh fuck- fuck you.” a sharp burst of pressure just under his chin sent him shuddering. “That’s not-” a harder bite just below it.

“Not what this is, yes, I know.” Teeth by his jugular again, sinking in and then twisting. Jon moaned.

Several moments late, the implication set off sparks in his mind. “A-and stay out of my head.”

“Perhaps,” Elias punctuated this with a bite placed just over his collarbone. “you shouldn’t leave it so…” over the scar on his throat, and held for a long, long moment. “welcoming.” Glorious pressure-pain-pleasure in that soft space a few inches below his ear. “Open for any visitor who wants a peek.” Each word followed by Elias’ front teeth snapping closed in another place. “All your gory little fantasies on display for anyone who so much as glances at you.”

“I- what,” a bite on the side of his jaw. The heady pressure stunting the shame trying to bloom in his gut. “and you just can’t restrain yourself?”

A hum, then a nibble just over the left side. “I suppose one of us has to.” Understanding took a few seconds to spark, followed sluggishly by offense.

“Wh- fuck you, you-”

Hands against his chest, crushing him to the door, canines pressing towards the place where his windpipe was nestled. “Fuck, Elias!” The weight of them intensified, jaws crushing until the skin broke and warm, slick blood could trickle down.

The infuriating bastard drew back again. “I’m sorry, what was it you were saying?” Smug indulgence dripped from his mouth, mixed itself with Jon’s blood.

“Just-” Jon’s voice had gone low and breathy and achingly desperate. “Just shut up and bite me.”

Elias pressed the shape of his grin into Jon’s throat, and Jon knew that the mark of Elias’ pleasure with him would be visible on his skin for days.

‘

[lawchwan]

do you like the sound of the music? (law, ace, sanji, zoro, kid)

summary: how the boys sound when they're getting pleasured. reader: gn!reader genre: smut disclaimer: not super detailed smut, but a grave detail on how these fine men sound like a/n: I know I haven't done an a/n, but it has been a minute since I posted here. I have been preoccupied (thanks to being a senior at uni) but now that I am done with everything, I hope I have more free time to post some fics and reignite my love for writing. I won't bore you much and we will proceed with more content (also my fem!law fic is in the works and it'll be put out sometime soon)

crossposted on ao3

Law

as much as i'd like to advocate for the whimper-whiny-loud-subby!law agenda that i have been adapting to my psyche while i was gone, he seems like the quiet kind while he's pleasuring you.

obviously not the type to be overtly silent to the point you won't hear a breath out of him. he's just simply a grunter and a light growler. he won't be very vocal unless you want him too.

when he comes, thats when you hear the magic beautiful sounds. it depends on the type of sex, dynamic, and/or pace you two have set in, he’ll either grunt a dragged deep moan or a slight whimper that cascades into your ears as he spills out his load onto you.

“mm, shit, fuck, y/n, you feel so fucking good…fuck~”

ace

oh that loud ass motherfucker. if you expect him to quiet down, well you’re out of luck. even if you placed a gag on his mouth, he’ll still spill out the loudest moan any human could produce (please gag him, he actually loves it).

ngl he kinda is the type to give exaggerated noises, like im talking those very exaggerated moans that you would hear in those shitty pornos (that ace may or may not unironically enjoy).

if you want to illicit the most hottest whimper that spills out of his mouth, simply just stroke and tug on his wavy locks—he will definitely go feral over this simple manuever. his mouth would probably be wrapped around your nipples, and his muffled moans could be heard on the outside, disturbing whoever’s nearby.

“mm—pfah! you think you can cover my mouth, baby?! huh?! think again—oo FUCK!~”

sanji

another loud boy. maybe not as loud as ace, but definitely can be loud if he needs to be.

he’ll honestly let out the most cutest and hottest moans any person can produce, it can even border into whimpering. he does get embarrassed when he gets super loud though, so keep a gag nearby if needed.

he’ll, however, take pride that only you can push him into the edge and let him produce music to your ears, much to the dismay of the crew. he’ll sometimes purposely moan out loud if it means to piss off zoro and keep him up from his slumber, leaving the green mosshead disgruntled and disgusted.

“oh~oh my god! y/n! you feel so—fuck!”

zoro

zoro’s a grunter. next.

no but in all seriousness, he does seem like a grunter and the type to give you dirty talk. he, like law, is not that talkative but he’ll say the most filthiest of shit in your ears that will leave you melting under his touch.

he’ll also maybe taunt you by groaning along with you with a smirk as he looks down at your wet parts.

“aww, you want my cock that badly?… well you might have to beg for it”

kid

jesus this man is crazy in bed. he strikes me as the type to be a growler. he seems to me to be very animalistic as he rails you like there’s mo tomorrow.

i can see him pinning your hips down as he thrusts himself into you, throwing his head back, letting out the loudest growls and groans as he speeds himself up. he’ll probably start talking in haste manner as well as soon as he feels himself getting closer to let his waterfall out.

“c’mon.. fucking, c’mon! you better come for me. come for me. come for me. come for me—grrr FUCK!”

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[c4t1l1n4]

Hey, so you know that post I made earlier today?

Twins in Time AU but instead of 1982!Stanley getting sent back to the past he gets set to Post-Wierdmaggedon 2012 because I need him to get love and comfort from Ford.

Yeah, I wrote it. You can find the not beta'd version under the cut and I'll probably post the still-not-beta'd version on AO3 tomorrow.

You're A Hero, Stanley

A not really at all, but inspired by, Twins in Time AU ----- Stanford Pines is disassembling the portal when it happens.

The kids have gone home after their 13th birthday, and Stanley is out at the store getting groceries. They decided to take a few months to plan everything before setting out to sea. With Bill Cipher defeated and the portal dysfunctional, Ford had no reason to feel uncomfortable being in the basement alone. He's down there, disassembling it completely so it can't be remade when it turns on. He stares at it for a moment, something like fear coursing through his veins as his worst dreams come true.

There's no way that it should work. Parts are missing. The energy source is gone. In fact, Ford was almost done. He stares at the bunch of wires in his hands and the tools on the floor, then back at the blue glow of the portal. Suddenly, a figure falls out of it and crashes to the ground. Ford reaches for his gun, pointing it at the figure as they groan. The figure rights themselves, standing to their feet and looking around. Ford can't believe his eyes.

"Stanley?" He asks in confusion, lowering his gun.

The figure—assumedly Stanley—stares at him in a similar state of uncertainty. "Ford?" His voice rings out hesitantly.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" Ford asks, rushing over to examine him. "Did something happen at the grocery store?"

"What are you talking about?" Stan says, reeling at the attention. "We were fighting, and I went through your weird portal thing, and now I'm here."

Ford frowns, the portal hanging emptily up above them like a threat. He takes in his brother's brown hair and thick jacket, tucking his gun away. "When are you from?"

Stan looks at him oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, looking at Ford as if seeing him for the first time in the dim light. "What happened to you?"

"Stanley," Ford repeats emphatically. "What year is it?"

"1982."

Ford's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales abruptly. His hands start the shake, and he feels the need to take a deep breath. This Stan is from 1982. 1982. Arguably the worst year of Ford's life. This is when it happened. But it seems that instead, Stan was pushed through and ended up here. He suddenly feels like he doesn't know what to do. He looks at this version of Stan and sees one so similar to his own and knows that this is how he looked and this is how he felt when he was left alone. It scares him, and it's sad. It takes him a moment, and there's a short period where he's just staring at him. He can tell that it makes Stan uncomfortable by the way that he squirms in place.

He then pulls his brother into a tight hug because there's nothing else to do. It's obvious that Stan doesn't know what to do either from the way that he tenses in the hold. Maybe Ford should've been more careful with his abrupt movements and constricting motion, seeing as this Stan is fresh from a life on the run. He knows he's made the right choice when Stan eventually melts into the embrace.

“I'm so sorry,” Ford says, apologizing for things in the past. “And thank you,” he says, apologizing for things in the future.

Stan doesn't say anything back, but Ford suspects it's because there are tears in his eyes. "Are you okay? You never answered my question about whether or not you were hurt.” Ford says, pulling back and holding him at arm's length to investigate him closer.

“I’m fine,” Stan says, “just got some dust in my eye.”

Ford nods knowingly.

"What is this place anyway?" Stan demands. "And why are you so old?"

"This is Gravity Falls, Oregon, and it's the year 2012." Ford grins as Stan's eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean to say my nerdy twin brother invented time travel?" He asks in disbelief.

Ford chuckles. "Not quite. I believe you're from an alternate dimension. If my theory is correct: My Stanley is at the grocery store, and your Ford is working furiously to get you back."

Stan scoffs, eyes dropping to look at the ground. "I doubt that," he says somewhat miserably.

Something sharp and painful pierces Ford in the heart. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes in the past, but seeing it spelled out so clearly in front of him is a special type of torture. "I know you don't believe me, but if your Ford is anything like me, he does love you. He's just an arrogant, ignorant ass about it."

“Hey,” Stan defends on reflex. “That's my brother you're talking about.”

It is equally heartwarming and pain-inducing to see Stan jump so readily to his defense when he knows that the Ford of that time would so easily push him to the side. “He's me,” Ford points out. "It’s just the truth.”

Stan frowns, like he's not happy about it.

"Just like I know it's the truth when I said he cares about you."

Stan eyes him skeptically. "He told me to take his journal as far away from him as possible," he deadpans.

Ford cringes. He doesn't really remember what he said to his brother in that paranoid, insomnia-induced haze, but that sounds pretty bad. "Fair," he conceded. Ford did think he hated his brother for the longest time, even if he really didn’t, so he supposes that Stanley isn't too far off. "Then I can't do much besides reassure you that I love you now."

Stan looks away again. "Not me though. I mean, some version of me, I guess. But yours is at the grocery store, or so you said."

Ford grins, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Stan, I love every version of you. Alternate dimension or not. If you can't find it in yourself to believe me, at least look at me. Am I lying?"

Stan studies him. “No,” He says, and something between disbelief and awe breaks out across his face. "You really love me?" He asks, a sound like hope ringing in his voice.

Ford continues to smile, wider this time, and pulls his brother into another hug. "Of course I do. You're my brother. Even more than that, you're a good person and a hero. Stanley.” he says as the young Stans in his arms tightens his hold around him. “You're my hero.”

The blue glow of the portal highlights Stan in his arms as it springs to life again. Ford rests his chin on top of his brother's head, allowing this younger version to take comfort in the moment. He stares up at the portal—the portal that in no way should work and yet does—and holds his brother tighter for a little longer. “I told you he was going to get you back,” Ford says, wishing he didn't have to let him leave. “Now, it's time for you to be his hero.”

Stan takes a step back and with a grin, turns to face the blue glow. He lets himself get sucked into the gravitational pull, floating up and disappearing. It doesn't get any easier or less terrifying to watch someone disappear into its gaping maw, but Ford is reassured that this Stan is going somewhere great.

The portal closes, dowsing the room in darkness once more, but as Ford pulls apart the last pieces, he is filled with hope.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"Did you lie to me?" Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F! Reader

Summary: The Daggers are about to embark on the most dangerous mission of their career. The odds are survival are slim. Too bad that your boyfriend Rooster has failed to mention that.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F! Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, lying, he's so pretty but that doesn't mean smart.

Cross Posted on AO3

“How you feelin’ kid?” Maverick sits at one of the stools, his hands tightening on the glass of bourbon before him, the glass sweating from how long he’s sat there. 

You glance across the room at Rooster, laughing with the rest of the squad, “I don’t really want him to go, but it’s his duty.” 

“You’re taking it a lot better than Penny,” he shakes his head, swallowing the last mouthful of liquor. Your brow furrows and you lean closer to hear him above the crowd, “I’m gonna do my best to bring him back home, but this mission,” he sighs, “this one I’m not so sure any of us are coming back from.” 

The glass in your hand shatters and his eyes widen as he stands, “I’m sorry kid, I wasn’t thinking…” Maverick starts apologizing but you put a hand up, and it visibly trembles. 

“It’s that serious?” You ignore the way he swears, obviously realizing that you have no idea. “Rooster didn’t tell me any details obviously,” you mumbled to yourself running over every word he’d said, “but he told me it was safe, a surefire mission, nothing to worry about.” 

You glance up at Bradley, his eyes meeting yours across the bar and the smile drops from his face. He hands the pool cue over to Hangman and quickly crosses to you, “You okay, baby?” he reaches a hand out for your shoulder when you take a step back, out of his reach. 

“Did you lie to me?” you whisper, the tears getting choked in your throat. From behind him the over aviators close in noticing the tension vibrating from your body. 

“What?” Bradley furrows, “I can’t hear you, baby.” 

“I said,” you raise your voice, other patrons turning closer, “did you lie to me?” His expression turns somber and you let out a sob, covering your mouth, “oh, my god,” you whisper, “you did.” 

“Robbie,” Bradley calls out, “can you cover?” his eyes never leave yours, “she needs to go home.” 

“Fuck that,” you shake your head, the tears falling down your cheeks, “you were just going to let me work till close while you drank a beer and played pool with your friends, knowing that you could be going off to die tomorrow?! You didn’t even have the decency to warn me.” 

“I didn’t want it to change anything,” he shouts back, his voice cold, “yeah,” he nods, “there is a strong probability if I’m chosen I don’t make it back alive. Is that what you wanted to hear?!” 

“Rooster,” Phoenix puts a hand on his arm, grimacing over at you, “calm down, man.” 

He pulls his arm out of her grip, turning back to you. “I saw what losing my dad, did to my mom. I saw how she would worry herself sick waiting for him to come back. I didn’t want that for you. I just wanted to leave you with a happy normal night, is that too much to ask?! But no, you have to go turn it into a goddamn soap opera. What?” he throws his arms up, “did you want to lay in each other’s arms and cry? Is that what you want?!” 

You wrap your arms around yourself, knuckles turning white with how hard you’re clenching, and the tears are silently spilling down your cheeks. He’s breathing hard, the anger seeping out as he takes in your trembling form, “fuck,” he whispers, pressing his palm to his eyes, “Baby, I-I didn’t mean it.” 

“Please just go,” you whisper, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie you stole from his closet before work. He lowers his hands, his eyes watching you but you refuse to meet them, focusing on a point on the bar. “I just want to get back to work, we’ll have a normal night, just like you wanted.” 

“Baby,” he reaches out but the others hold him back. 

“She needs some space,” Bob puts a hand on his chest, “just give her some time.” 

“Yeah,” Phoenix nods, “that was a lot Rooster.” 

You can’t listen to them anymore so you switch sides with Robbie, his hand softly pressed to your shoulder. “You can head out,” he nods toward the door, “I can handle the rest of the night by myself.” 

“I’m scheduled to close,” you remind him, “and besides, I don’t have anywhere I need to be right now.” He lets go with a nod and takes his place before the others, Rooster arguing with them. 

“If you’re not ordering a drink, then get the hell out of the bar before I ring the bell on your sorry ass,” Robbie puts his beefy arms over his chest. 

You tune the rest out, making drinks and focusing on the routine and pattern. Rooster is eventually pulled away from the bar and back to the pool tables but he stays in a hightop in the corner watching your every move. His eyes burn as they follow you but you don’t have the heart to even glance up at him. 

Robbie clocks out, giving you a wave and glaring over at Rooster before he locks the door behind him. Everyone else is long gone, leaving just the two of you alone at the bar.

“Please just go,” you finally turn towards him when you hear the chair being moved out at the bartop. His eyes are bloodshot and he swallows hard, as you turn your back to him. 

“Are you coming home?” he asks, his voice trembling. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m going to stay at Penny’s. I sent her a text a few hours ago and she said it was no problem.” 

“Baby,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” you walk over to him, “Sorry for yelling at me in front of an entire bar for giving a shit? Or sorry for lying to me about how you're going on a suicide mission?” 

He goes to answer when you cut him off, a hand to your chest, “Oh, I’m sorry,” you gasp, “is this too much of a soap opera for you?” 

“I deserve that,” he nods, “and all the rest of it. Baby,” he holds out a hand, “I’m so fucking sorry for all of it. I should never have lied to you, I was just trying to spare you.” 

“Spare me?” 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he stands, coming over to the opening of the bar bending down to get in and walk to your side. “I was so fucking scared that if I told you the truth, you would spend the next few days worried sick. And when I didn’t come back-” 

“If,” you correct him taking a step closer, “if you didn’t come back.” 

“If,” he puts his hands gently on your waist, “I didn’t want your last memory of me to be sick with worry. I was trying to keep everything normal to spare you the pain.” 

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, Bradley Bradshaw. I love you, I should be given the choice of whether I get to worry or not. And for the record, we’ve only been together a short time and I already know I’ll ALWAYS worry about you when you’re gone.” 

He’s gone slack-jawed, and you realize what you’ve said. “You love me?” he whispers and the tears stream down his cheek, he clears his throat before asking again. “Do you love me?” 

“I do,” you whisper, “I love you so fucking much, Rooster.” He grabs the back of your head and pulls you close, your back digging into the bar as he devours your mouth. 

You come up for air a few minutes later and he holds your face keeping your eyes on him. “I love you,” he mumbles between kisses, “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. But I didn’t want to scare you off.” 

“Well you need to get used to something, Bradley Bradshaw, if we’re going to be together forever.” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“And what’s that?” he leans back and forth taking you with him as he rocks you both to the jukebox still playing in the corner. 

“You don’t spare my feelings, or try to protect me. I can make up my own mind.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, “noted.” 

“Now Bradshaw?” you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Yes, ma’am?” he grins, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Take me to bed, or lose me forever.” 

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ooh how abut number '11. toothpaste kisses' for soft prompts! Love your writing

Send me soft prompts! Ao3 collection post here!

Eddie is going to make everyone late.

Look: he really thinks most of it isn't his fault. He'd covered for somebody on B shift Tuesday, so he'd only had 24 hours off and he'd had to sleep through a good chunk of it, so laundry went a little by the wayside, leading to him tossing a frantic load into the washer at 5 am when he realized he had no clean work clothes. And, again, he’d covered that Tuesday shift after a 12 hour on Monday, so it’s reasonable that he forgot how dire the toothpaste situation was. The look Chris had given him when he said they needed to run to the store right now at bright and early 6 am would have withered a lesser soul, so at 6:04 Eddie, still in sweatpants and wearing ratty old slides is running down the block solo to grab whatever they have at the nearest corner store. He winces as he grabs the baking soda kind (Chris hates it) and books it back to the house, trying to breathe through the waves of oh god I’m a terrible father who left my kid alone and forgot about dental hygiene.

The house is considerably more crowded when he gets back to it. First, Chimney is lugging a dresser up the front stairs.

“What- hey- what-“ Eddie grabs the bottom of the thing, hastily shoving the toothpaste in his pocket. “What’s this?”

Chim tilts his head at him. “We were getting rid of it and you said you could use a new dresser, remember? I texted you I was coming to drop it off.”

Eddie’s phone is probably dinging away uselessly on his bedside table. “Right, yeah, sorry. There was a toothpaste emergency. Uh, thank you, we can just-“

Before he can come up with some way to finish that sentence, Carla opens the door. He hadn’t even seen her car, shit, he hopes there’s no calls right away when they get to work because he’s clearly not slept enough and should lay down again as soon as possible.

“Oh!” She says, surprised and cheerful. “Why don’t you bring that into the living room. I put your clothes in the dryer, Eddie, I figured if you were running the wash this early it was an emergency.”

Well thank god somebody has a plan and knows whats happening. He and Chim set the dresser next to a wall someplace as out of the way as they can get, and then Eddie points at Carla. “Thank you,” he says, trying to put as much sincerity into the words as possible, before pivoting to head down the hall to find Chris. Its not a long journey, the kid standing right around the corner. Eddie hands him the toothpaste. “There you go.”

Chris scrunches his nose. “Baking soda kind. Gross. And I don’t need it, Dad, Buck brought the good stuff.”

“Buck?”

“Hey.”

Eddie pivots again to look in the kitchen, where the man himself is leaning against the counter drinking a cup of coffee out of his current favorite mug, the one with the squiggly little drawing of a frog and a chicken dancing together. “Hi.” Eddie supposes he isn’t exactly surprised he’s here, Buck is a feature of their household as much as the mug he’s holding is, but he is a little concerned about the amount of people popping out of the woodwork without him noticing. “Anybody else here? Why’d you bring toothpaste?”

Buck grins. “I think you’ve seen everybody now. And you were running out when I was here last, you’ve been busy, figured it might be helpful.”

Eddie nods, a little… wordless, maybe, a little bowled over. “I’m gonna…” he gestures towards the bathroom and limply leaves the conversation. By the time he’s brushed his teeth (it is the good stuff, the pricier name brand arctic fresh, Eddie usually goes for generic spearmint) Chris and Carla are ready to head out the door. Eddie is glancing at the clock and nervously calculating exactly how wet the clothes he’s about to put on are going to be as he says goodbye, leaning to kiss Carla, Chris, and Chim’s cheeks. “Ok, thank you, have a great day at school, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It takes a few seconds of staring at Chimney’s trying not to laugh face, and listening to Chris’s not-trying-not-to-laugh-at-all guffaws before his brain catches up to his actions. “Oh my god.”

Chimney grins and Eddie shakes his head futilely against the oncoming barrage. "I always knew I was your favorite." He smacks a hand to his cheek and swoons, and Eddie rolls his eyes. "Everyone said it was Buck, but I knew the Han-Diaz love connection was just waiting to happen."

Buck is laughing somewhere behind him, and Eddie wants to see what look is on his face, but instead he rolls his eyes again, harder, and says "I'm going to check on the laundry," and shoos his son out the door before fleeing to the dryer.

Of course it's all still fucking damp. They're already pushing it on time though (maybe if all three of them are late they can unionize against Bobby?) so he shucks his sweats and shimmies his way into the unpleasant cool of his pants. When he emerges from his shirt, wincing, he finds Buck in the hallway with him.

“Chimney says we’re running late and if you don’t hurry up he’s leaving you for dead, no matter your new found love.”

“I know, I know, I just need to find my shoes-“

“I put ‘em by the door,” Buck smiles, and then the smile becomes a grin. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says with the right amount of apprehension for the situation.

“No goodbye kiss for me?” He tilts his head, grin thoroughly classifiable as shit-eating.

“We’re going to the same place, Buck. I’m probably gonna ride in your car.” He’s absolutely going to ride in his car, they both know it.

“Ah, so is Chimney, he got one.”

And Eddie could defend himself with the reasonable explanation that he just happened to be standing in a row next to the people he’d meant to press his affection onto, or the less reasonable explanation that he only gives goodbye kisses to people whose names start with a C, but instead he says “You want a kiss, Buck?”

And he’s moving before he loses nerve, and Buck is also moving, laughing at him, so again Eddie feels like it’s not entirely his fault when his kiss lands sort of on his cheek but mostly- it’s mostly on his mouth, which is soft and exhaling a little surprised sound against Eddie. They both pull back but maybe not as far as they probably should, if they weren’t them, if Eddie hadn’t spent the last few weeks or maybe years wondering how he could ask Buck to live on the shelf with all the mugs he’s cycled through as favorites. Then Buck darts his head forward, pecking another little kiss to his mouth, and Eddie chases him for a third, and Buck’s hand tangles in his shirt and he says “Oh” into Eddie’s mouth because the fabric is wet under his touch.

“Buckley, Diaz, I’m getting in my car, and I’m not going to defend you to Cap!”

Even at Chimney’s words they don’t entirely jump apart, just slide back a little, stand more firmly facing each other as the front door distantly opens and shuts.

“We’re gonna be late,” Buck says, an awed little smile pulling at his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, a little breathless. Maybe he can blame that on the cold clothes. “We should probably get going.”

Buck nods, and barely finishes the motion before Eddie puts his hands on his face and pulls him in for another minty kiss, firm, a promise. Buck is grinning when he backs off and Eddie is sure his face is a mirror image as he ducks around him to go find his shoes.

They’re late. But as Buck settles next to him on the couch, all pressed along his side despite the still damp clothes, Eddie thinks it was worth the wait.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer , @beezusvreeland , @indestructeible , @what-i-call-men , @reblog-reblog666 , @flynnethenerd , @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment , @yarrystyleeza , @bellaxgiornata Also posted on AO3

June 8: Attempting to fix the tags along with tagging those I missed after temporarily misplacing my tag list.

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ���It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

.

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appalled by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 4

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader nicknamed "Juni"

Word Count: 4800+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I've had this idea in my head for well over a year and with the Fallout show being dropped (and absolutely AMAZING), I figured now was the time to post it! So this is a Triple Frontier/Fallout crossover au. Huge shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to probably hours of audio at this point of me talking myself through this fic. And to @deathbecomesnerds for listening to me prattle on about video game fics and giving me her own advice.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

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I Don’t Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) Masterlist

Suddenly, I feel a cold, metal cylinder push against the back of my neck and I realize with horror that it’s the barrel of a gun. It clicks, a round sliding into the chamber and my heart feels like it’s going to beat through my chest. Is this the Nightshade? I can’t believe I let my guard down.

“Where the fuck did you get this jumpsuit?”

The voice runs a chill down my spine, fanning out to the edges of my body, of my mind as it tries desperately to cling to it. My voice catches in my throat, momentarily unable to respond or move, which the man perceives as defiance. He presses the gun barrel into my neck harder.

“I won’t ask again. Where did you get this vault suit?”

My mind is a whirl of emotions, hope and disbelief surging forward, pushing through the fog to allow me to choke out one word. One simple word that means everything.

“Benny?”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath before the barrel is removed and I’m whirled around, my world momentarily continuing to spin. But then our eyes meet, his bright blue ones boring into mine, my vision becoming cloudy with tears as I finally see what I almost didn’t believe I’d heard.

Benny, in a dark long coat, dark clothes underneath it, what exactly I’m not sure because my brain simply refuses to process it. A cowboy-esque hat nearly obscures his face, his beautiful face that has aged some, crinkles in his skin that weren’t there before, a prominent white scar slashed into his skin over his left eye and another across his right cheek. His gloved hand comes up to cup my face, a soft movement from someone so formidable in appearance. 

“Juni?” he whispers in disbelief, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

I let out a short chuckle, nodding as I bring my hand up to cover his. “It’s me, Benny. It’s me.”

His hand slides to the back of my head, pulling me to him as I push his hat off, our lips meeting in a frantic desire for more. My fingers tangle in his hair that now brushes the top of his shoulders, feeling him tighten his grip on mine. Benny’s other arm wraps around me, pulling me as close to him as I can get, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. 

He spins us then, never breaking our making out, his arm stretching to find the wall, pressing my back gently against it, till protecting me after all these years. Our hands move in a frenzied manner, touching, sliding across our clothed bodies. Desire burns hot in my lower belly, a feeling I’d nearly forgotten about. I hitch my leg over his hip and he links his arm with it, tapping my other thigh to do the same. As he pulls me away from the wall, his hands slide down to grip my ass, squeezing a little and I moan into his mouth. 

He sets me on the counter, breaking the kiss for the first time as we frantically try to remove bits of armor pieces, holsters, canteens, anything standing in our way. He grips his belt in his hand and in one fast movement, yanks it from the belt loops, dropping it onto the counter next to me. Fuck, that was hot. I blink rapidly, momentarily stunned by hot fucking hot that was and undo the clasp on my jumpsuit at my neck, quickly sliding the zipper down all the way between my legs. I look up at Benny, who’s eyes are sliding down the exposed part of my body before coming back to my eyes. I hear his zipper and I wrap my leg around him, pulling him closer. He plants one arm on the counter beside me, the other gripping his hard dick, lining up with me. He moves my panties aside as he thrusts into me hard, his desperation taking over and I cry out, half in pain but half in ecstasy at a feeling I never thought I’d have again. Not with the man I loved with everything I am. 

I throw my arm out behind me to brace myself, my other hand gripping his shirt. I feel his hand on the counter slide over mine, locking fingers with me as best as we can. My legs wrap around him tighter, begging him to go deeper, faster, harder, whatever he can give me. A loud moan escapes me but then Benny is there, his lips pressed to mine as he devours it, continuing to pound into me. My body is on fire, tears sticky on my cheeks as I feel my husband, his muscles tightening and pulling with every thrust, his breath coming out in short pants, the dry, cracked skin on his lips making mine a little bit sore. He’s here. He’s alive and he’s here! I cry into his mouth as I pulse around him, his hand squeezing mine as he guides me through my release, his own right behind me. Our breaths are loud, panting and gasping for air. He cups my face in both hands, tenderly kissing me while still inside me.

He pulls back, his bright blue eyes scanning mine.“You’re really here?” 

I lightly grip his wrists, giving them a squeeze. “I’m really here. And you’re really here. Together.”

BARK BARK!

A low growl follows 2 warning barks and I pull back, looking down to see Dogmeat in an attack position, ready to jump. Benny reaches for his gun, but I grab his hand, pushing it down while turning to Dogmeat.

“It’s ok, boy. He’s a friend.” I pat Benny’s chest without looking at him, trying to convince Dogmeat that he wasn’t a threat. His haunches still raised, Dogmeat stops his growling, his eyes never leaving Benny.

“Maybe I better…” Benny glances down where we’re still very much attached.

“Oh. Right. Dogmeat, it’s ok. Give him a moment.”

Benny keeps his eye on Dogmeat as he pulls his hips back, tucking himself away with a grunt. I manage to zip my suit back up, feeling sticky between my thighs. Benny reaches a hand out, palm up, and waits. Dogmeat glances back up at me as I hop down from the counter. He sniffs Benny’s outstretched hand, walking around him, as if judging every inch of him. Apparently satisfied, he stands next to me, putting his body against my thigh, a slight wag of the tail to indicate that Benny is approved. 

“Good boy,” I scratch behind his ear, reaching into my side bag and tossing him a bit of molerat jerky, which he gobbles up in an instant. 

“You got yourself a fantastic protector.”

I look up at Benny who is smiling down at Dogmeat. “Will you take snacks from me too?” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out some cooked mystery meat, holding a piece out for him. Dogmeat glances up at me and I nod, giving him a quick pat on the back to further confirm my approval. He sniffs at Benny’s hand, his dark eyes scanning Benny’s blue ones before he licks the meat off his hand, quickly chewing it. He sniffs his hand, looking for more. 

Benny chuckles. “We buds now?” Dogmeat gives him a friendly bark, his tail wagging. “Alright then.” He tosses him some more of the meat chunks, Dogmeat eating every last morsel. As he sniffs the ground, licking it when he finds some small pieces that had fallen, I straighten, looking up at Benny. 

“Are you Nightshade?”

The smile falls from his face as he looks at me, nodding. “That’s me. Wait…are you from Sanctuary Hills?”

I nod, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. “I have your supplies outside.”

His eyebrows pull together, worried. “Why…why did you come here? Put yourself in danger?”

I chuckle. “Because I thought maybe The Nightshade would have some information about other vaults. Something that could bring me closer to finding out what happened to…well, you.”

He chuckles. “Well, you certainly got that.”

“Did…will you come back with me?”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyebrows pulling together. “To Sanctuary Hills? I doubt they’d want me there. I have a..reputation.”

I wave my hand. “I’ll vouch for you. They’ll just have to deal. It is my land after all.”

He smiles. “Your land? Isn’t it your parents’?” He realizes what he’s said the second the words leave his lips. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Juni.”

I give him a small smile. “It’s ok. I’ve come to terms with a lot over the last year.”

His eyes go wide. “Year? A whole year?”

“Seems like we have a lot to catch up on.”

Benny and I split the supply bags after some arguing. He finally gave in when I grabbed 2 of the 4 large bags and hoisted them over my shoulder. I carried them here, I can certainly carry half of them back.

It’s quiet, an odd nervous tension settling between us that sends my mind spiraling. How long has he been around? Does he have someone else and now feels guilty for fucking me against the counter? I don’t know if I’ll survive him having moved on. I mean, I’d be glad he wasn’t alone, but the thought of him in the arms of some other woman turns my stomach in knots. 

He lightly bumps into me, his hand brushing against mine. “Oh. Sorry. Balance is off.”

“Yeah. No problem. The bags are…weird.” What the fuck is happening? We used to tell each other everything with no issue. 

We walk for several more minutes in silence, Dogmeat’s feet padding against the broken pavement. Benny bumps into me again, his hand brushing against mine. Is he trying to hold my hand? No. He’s just not walking straight.

We continue on like this for the entire walk back, saying only a handful of superficial things to each other, Benny bumping into me from time to time. I swear I feel him staring at me through the corner of my eye but when I look at him, he’s looking forward, fixed on some point ahead. 

The gates guarding the small bridge leading into Sanctuary Hills come into sight as we round the corner. I see Preston at the top today, scanning the area from his spot on the lookout. He sees us and shifts in his spot, obviously on alert with Benny next to me. Nightshade. They know him as someone very different than I do. But do I know him anymore? What if he’s not my Benny?

“Hey, Juni,” Preston calls down to me, cradling his laser musket, his finger a little twitchy next to the trigger. “Everything alright?” His eyes shift to Benny next to me. 

I nod. “All good. The, uh, Nightshade, needs a secure place to camp down a few days. Looks like a good rad storm coming.” That last part had been sheer luck, the green storm clouds gathering in the distance, heading towards Sanctuary Hills. 

Preston studies Benny, who’s hat is pulled down low, his demeanor still intimidating. “That wasn’t part of our original deal.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not about to let someone stay out in that storm when we can help them, are we?”

Preston looks down at me. “No…but-”

“I’ll owe you a favor,” Benny says, his voice a little more raspy than I remember.

Preston looks back over at him. “A favor? From Nightshade himself?” He thinks for several moments before nodding, coming down from the lookout and cracking open the gate, walking up to us and sticking his hand out. “Deal.” Benny moves forward and shakes his hand, sealing the deal. Preston takes the bags from me, Benny picks his back up as we head through the gate, Preston closing and locking it behind us. 

“I should warn you, many here won’t be happy with your presence.”

“Nothin’ I’m not used to.” They set the bags down at the house across from mine, both of them shaking out their limbs when done. 

“We don’t really have any spare beds. You mind the floor?”

Benny chuckles. “I’ve slept on worse.”

“Well then, you’re welcome to set down in the living area inside.”

“Thank you. Anything I can do to help? Not part of the favor.”

Preston chuckles, but the smile fades fast. “Actually, I think you’d better make yourself scarce. My people love to help but they aren’t exactly welcoming of new people. Especially not of one with your…reputation.”

Benny nods. “I get it. I’ll just..make myself scarce.” He nods to Preston and turns, his eyes lingering on me for a few moments before he turns and somehow just disappears into the neighborhood. How the fuck did he do that?

“Watch yourself, Juni. That guy-”

I hold up my hand. “I’m a big girl, Preston. But thank you.”

“Did you get any information from him? About the vaults?”

Right. The vaults. “Uh sort of? But now we have more time so maybe I’ll get a chance to ask him some more questions.” I don’t know why I’m lying about his identity, but I’m following Benny’s lead. 

“Just…be careful.”

“Thanks, Preston.” 

I end up being roped into helping with dinner, ladling out some tato soup to everyone. Benny doesn’t show, taking Preston’s word of warning to heart. I know he has to be hungry. I save a bowl aside, sneaking an extra roll and head out of Preston’s house where everyone was eating. The air smells charged, like it always does just moments before the radstorm comes. I remember the first one I ever encountered, the skies turning a dark green, rain coming down in waves with just a hint of radiation to go along with it. The rad meter on my Pip Boy went crazy, the cracking warning sound staying consistent until I was under enough cover. I have no idea where Benny even went, so I jog across the street, heading inside my house just as the first drops of rain hit the pavement behind me. 

I set the bowl of soup on the counter, pulling out the roll from my bag and set it down as well. I don’t hear Hawthorne, but he had mentioned something about spending extra time at the houses at the end of the cul de sac, as they were still needing repairs. I take off some of my pouches and makeshift armor, heading back to my bedroom as I do so. I set them on the dresser, the rain outside hammering against the roof. I’m grateful we were able to patch it up as well as we did. No leaks are a win for me. I head back out into the living area, intending to read a little more from a book I had managed to scavenge from a neighbor’s little backyard vault. It didn’t end well for them, but their supplies were still good. I sit down on the couch, worn from 200 years in the elements. At least it holds me up. I open my book, not really focusing on the words, my mind going back to Benny. How awkward it was between us walking back here. Does he regret what happened? Does he have someone? Will he just sneak out in the middle of the night after the storm, run to his apocalypse wife, and leave me here, a relic from his past? 

“Thanks for the food, Juni.”

I come unglued from my seat, my heart leaping from my chest as Benny somehow materializes from the dark corner of the room, walking towards the counter where I had set the food. I clutch my chest.

“Fucking hell, Benny! How long have you been there?”

He takes a sip of the soup, his eyebrows raising as he licks his lips. “A bit. This is really good.”

“A bit? How long’s a bit?”

He shrugs, taking a bite of the roll. “Saw you come in.”

“No wonder everyone is terrified of you.”

He takes another sip from the bowl, setting it down and wiping his face on a handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket. He looks up at me, his face neutral. “Are you?”

I take a breath. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He looks back down at his bowl, taking another sip. “Maybe you should be,” he slurps.

“Why?”

He’s quiet for several moments, taking another few slurps of his soup. “I’ve done some bad shit.”

I scoff. “Haven’t we all? It’s not exactly an easy life these days.”

He pushes the now empty bowl away from him, wiping his face with the kerchief before stowing it back in his pocket. “You have no idea.”

I shift my body towards him. “Then tell me.” I pat the couch, inviting him over. He looks at me before coming over and sitting, the light from my candle illuminating his face and I can see him more clearly now. The scars shine prominently on his face, despite having faded to white with time. He’s older, crinkles by the sides of his eyes and mouth when he speaks, his gaze much harder than the last time I saw them. My eyes find his and I realize he’s been studying my face as well. 

“So,” I say hesitantly. “Who wants to go first?” He furrows his brow in confusion. “Telling the other what happened.”

“Ah,” he nods. “Ladies first.”

I launch into my story, about how I went over to my parents for a surprise breakfast, but they had gone to Boston for some sort of appointment. Hawthorne made me breakfast before…well before the news report that would change the future. I explained to him how I’d run to the vault, how people were fighting and begging to get in. How I got on the platform just in time to see the bomb hit Boston. How the scientists had us change into the vault suits, one of them promising me that we would contact other vaults to find Benny as soon as I left decontamination. How that was really cryo and I woke up 200 years later, all alone in the vault as everyone else had died. How I came back to Sanctuary Hills and found Hawthorne, Dogmeat, and the Minutemen. What I had done over the last year with growing crops more efficiently, scavenging for things but also for information about other vaults closer to the city. That I went nearly every day to Vault 111 to see if I could find someone on the coms. 

“And then I went to the Red Rocket Station to meet up with Nightshade. Who turned out to be the exact person I was looking for.” 

His hand reached for me but then he pulled it back, looking uncertain. “Fucking hell. I am so sorry I wasn’t there, Juni. I should’ve been there-”

“No.”

“No?”

I take a deep breath. “Look, when I woke up, everyone was dead. The scientists had all killed each other long ago and the rest of the pods’ life support had malfunctioned. If you had been there, you..you probably would’ve been dead too.”

Silence settles between us for several moments. “Ok, your turn.”

He takes several moments to start, obviously trying to figure out where. “I was in the city at first, our team guarding some fancy senator or some shit. Anyway, the next day, we went somewhere out of town, just on the outskirts, but opposite from where we lived. Next thing I knew, we were all being quickly ushered into a vault. I tried to fight it, but it was too late. The door had closed. Fish talked sense into me, told me the only way to make sure you were ok was to get settled and use the coms. But, like you, they put us in these pods. We didn’t really question it, simply got in. And then…” he gestures vaguely with his hand. “We all woke up, stumbling around confused. Pope found a computer and figured out that it was 190 years later.”

I gasped. “190? You’ve been out for ten years?”

Benny looks down at his hands, picking the skin around the edges of his dirty nails. “Yeah….anyway, I…was not handling it well at first. I was convinced you’d either died in the bomb or you’d survived but had died decades ago. Somehow, we all managed to survive. Well, most of us. The senators and all them died pretty quick when faced with it all. I eventually tried to find information out about the vaults. Took a few years but I finally found some vault dwellers on the surface who were nice. They used their radio to try and contact Vault 111, but nothing. No response, just static. They tried for a few weeks, which was more than I could ask for. But by then, all hope had left me. 

I…it got dark, for me. For a while. But whenever I thought about just letting some deathclaw take me, I’d see your face. Hear you beg me to live a life, do something with the time I was given. So I became a merc. Got in with some people but then I figured out a new position: I’m still a merc but I’m also a liaison and messenger between all the Raider factions and the settlers. This way, no one was getting killed, or rather, less people were. And the ground would still stay fertile for more crops, animals wouldn’t be needlessly slaughtered. The Raiders weren’t real good about keeping shit long term, you see. So I’ve been wandering the Commonwealth, bartering deals between groups for…whatever they might need. I’d never made it back this way. Couldn’t. But I found tracks leading out from Quincy and followed them here. Told myself it was time.”

“And then you found me.”

“And then I found you. And your dog. Where is he, by the way?”

“Ah, he’s probably bumming food off Mama Murphy.” Benny raises his eyebrows in question. “An older lady that came with the Minutemen. She’s actually pretty cool. Although mostly high as a kite.”

He chuckles, but then silence settles between us again. “I’m proud of you for being the barter person.”

A hard look passes over his face. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen some of the shit I’ve had to do.”

“Benny,” I lay my hand on his leg, stunned by my boldness. “You were a soldier long before all of this. I know you’ve had to do some…unsavory things. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His bright blue eyes snap to mine, that little pull between his brows still killing me after all these years. Like a damn puppy. “Love? You…you still love me?”

I tilt my head. Does he not know? “Of course I do. But I understand if you…if you’ve met someone else. It has been 10 years and-”

“I haven’t. Met someone else. Never saw the point. My ability to love lies with you.”

My heart soars and I feel my cheeks heating up, that warmth from before starting to simmer low in my belly. 

“Have…have you found someone?” Benny asks, attempting to keep his tone neutral.

I gasp, exaggerating it. “Me? No way. I am a married woman, good sir.”

Benny smiles, an actual smile. “You must see somethin’ in him to have such loyalty.”

“Well, you see, this man had my heart the day he said hi to me under a juniper tree.”

“Lucky man.”

“I think I’m the lucky one.”

His face hardens again, his eyes going away like he used to do, when the shit he’d had to do in Delta Force piled up too high. I scoot closer to him, hesitating a moment before cupping his face. He blinks several times before looking at me, giving me a small smile.

“Can you take your hat off?” I ask.

He hesitates a moment. “I..I look different than when we last saw each other.”

“I don’t care. I want to see my husband.”

He nods, long fingers reaching up to take off the black, cowboy-esque hat from his head. He gently tosses it on the coffee table before turning back to me, the glow from the lanterns illuminating his face. His bright blue eyes are on mine, worry etched on his brow.

He’s older now, of course. It has been 10 years since he’s woken up. His eyes crinkle by the sides when he smiles, the same with the sides of his mouth. He has several faded, minor scars, white with age. There is another faded scar above his left eye, a gash that starts above his brow and ends halfway down his cheek. The other is on the opposite side, running down his face at a diagonal cut from under his eye to his jawline. Tears well in my eyes thinking about what must have happened.

“Told you,” he chuckles sadly. “I know I’m not what I used to be, Juni.”

“I..what?”

He gestures to his face. “I know what I look like. You don’t have to spare me.”

The tears fall then, splashing down my cheeks and I reach for his hand. He squeezes it. “No tears for me, sweetheart. I’ve made my peace with it.”

No. No, that’s not it. “No, I..” I wipe my cheeks to rid them of my tears. “You’ve lived a whole 10 years without me, the story of which is written on your face. I wasn’t there for any of it. Not there to patch you up, or talk you out of something stupid. Not there to take care of you.” I cup his face. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, Benny. Always have been. I’m just sad I wasn’t here to see these age lines come on.”

He smiles. “You mean, you’re not scared off by my scars?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. They’re you, Benny. And I love all of you.”

I drop my hand to his chest as he brings his up to touch my cheek, tracing lines over my face. “You’re still so fucking beautiful, Juni.”

His large hand wraps around the back of my head, pulling me slowly towards him. My hand fists his shirt, his rough, sun worn lips pressing to mine. As he explores my mouth, my fingers make their way into his hair, twisting and pulling, the groans he makes fueling the fire growing in my lower belly. His lips leave mine, kissing and nipping a patch down my jaw, pausing on my neck to leave a mark. I gasp his name, pulling him closer to me. Suddenly, he stands, pulling me with him, my legs wrapping around his waist. His hands squeeze my ass as we walk down the hall to the bedroom, Benny kicking open the door once we get there. 

He lays me down gently on the bed, his body pressing into mine as we make out, his fingers digging into my hips. He kisses another path across my neck, pulling the zipper of my jumpsuit down and kissing the skin that gets exposed. He helps me to undress the rest of the way, my suit getting tossed haphazardly on the dresser. His eyes darken as he looks down my body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He shrugs off his overcoat, reaching over his head to grab his shirt and yanks it off in one movement. Fuck, he’s so hot, the spattering of scars and healed burns that adorn his chest making me appreciate how much I missed, but also how lucky I am to be here, with the man who holds my heart. 

He removes his belt with one hand like he’d done earlier, kicking off the rest of his clothes, revealing a few more scars and random nicks and burn marks, more reminders of time I’ve missed. He crawls back over me, but pauses between my legs. He lowers his head, but I reach out, lightly gripping his hair, turning his face up to me.

“I need you inside of me, now, Mr. Miller.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yes, Mrs. Miller.”

He crawls up the rest of the way, kissing and licking and nipping his way up. He looks at me, his bright blues sparkling as he slowly pushes inside of me, my body more than ready to take him. He watches my face, lightly gripping my chin as he bottoms out, pressing sweet, soft kisses to my lips. We aren’t rushed, hands exploring each other like our first time, finding new scars and old sounds we hadn’t made in years. His hand finds mine, linking them together as he slowly presses me into the bed, our bodies slick with sweat. His nose traces a line up my cheek, slotting his lips over mine, his other hand slowly rolling my hard nipple between his fingers. I hitch my leg up further on his hip, my body running towards the edge. One last snap of his hips and I leap over, his name chanting from my lips as my body pulls him in, begging him to follow me. And he does, his own soft grunts and whines following mine as he leaps over his own edge. 

We stay like that for several moments, still attached, holding each other somehow, after all this time, at the end of the world. I wish we could stay like this forever.

But deep down I know, it won’t last forever. 

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticGeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @Greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @Hauntedmama @Icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @Sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @PaintballKid711 @harriedandharassed  @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @Withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk  

[inawickedlittletown]

Just Let Me Adore You (BuckTommy) - 9/10

Summary: What if…instead of Chimney taking the role of interim Captain of the 118, Tommy is asked to take on the role.

Or, what happens when Buck meets Tommy in S2

Words: 3.4k

Notes: Title from Adore You by Harry Styles

Next chapter is the epilogue, so I updated the chapter count. Will probably post tomorrow or the day after.

Read on Ao3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Part Seven - Part Eight

-

Chapter Nine

In all the time that he’d been going over to Evan’s to keep him company, Tommy had always left at a certain point no matter how late it got. It had always felt a little imposing. It still felt that way, he discovered, even after they started dating. He wanted to take things slow and let Evan set the pace and that meant that he left every night even if he intended to come back the next morning. Not only was Evan new to being with a man, but he was also just getting better from the crush injury. There was no reason to rush anything. Being around Evan was enough. Kissing Evan was enough. Cuddling with Evan was enough. 

He had been expecting things to keep going that way, for them to keep everything at a slow pace. Tommy should have known that Evan would get impatient. 

The night he took him out on the helicopter, after they returned to Evan’s loft, it was as if he’d released an animal because Evan practically jumped him. It was as if he couldn’t hold onto it anymore. He kissed Tommy to within an inch of his life and then tugged at him until they started up the stairs and there Tommy had been shoved onto his back on Evan’s bed and Evan had straddled him and having Evan loom over him a little flushed and panting had been enough for Tommy to know that there was no way he was stopping anything that Evan offered. He pulled Evan right into a kiss that left them both panting. 

Evan was enthusiastic and hungry. If he was nervous about any of it, it didn’t show past the way that he looked at Tommy like he could just stare at him for hours. When they were both naked and sweaty and sated, Evan’s head on Tommy’s shoulder, Tommy could tell he was smiling. 

“Now why haven’t we been doing that all along?” Evan asked. 

Tommy laughed. “Your leg for one.” 

Evan hummed. He pressed his lips to Tommy’s skin and then his tongue darted out. 

“Evan,” he groaned. 

Evan lifted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I know you’re older than me, but I wasn’t expecting you to say no to a second round.” 

The second round was as good, if not better, than the first. 

Tommy had had plenty of sex. He couldn’t look like he did and not be capable of finding a partner, it was just that it had always been about getting off. The faster the better sometimes in those early days when he was still deep in the closet and as desperate as he’d been to both indulge in what he wanted, he’d also known the risk of being outed or the wrong person seeing him at the wrong place. So it was quick and meaningless with guys that were seeking their own pleasure without much care for Tommy’s. 

Later on…well, later on he’d been so much freer and it had meant wanting to experience the things he missed out on in his youth. Apparently, he hadn’t missed out on much…but then Tommy just couldn’t quite find anyone that saw him and expected more than a romp in the sheets. Part of it was his job — some of them found the idea hot but not in a way that meant they wanted to stick around. The closest he’d ever gotten to what might be called a relationship was one-night stands turned two-night stands. Intimacy in that way, it left a lot to be desired. 

With Evan it was so different that Tommy was finding himself downright emotional. The gentle touches and the way that when their eyes met and their gazes held there was no denying their emotional connection, how giving Evan pleasure was more than enough and how it felt when Evan slowed their kisses or how Evan said his name. The way that despite Evan being the one new to this, he still took moments to check in with Tommy. 

Tommy was used to leaving after. Either him picking up his stuff after being asked to go or doing it on his own. He was used to barely a kiss goodbye. He was used to being told they could do it again sometime. 

Evan clung to him. 

Evan said, “stay” like he meant it for longer than just that night. Evan wrapped himself around Tommy and Tommy realized that he had never been held that way. 

“Sleep,” Evan said to the nape of his neck, drawing the sheet over them. 

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, but he relaxed into the mattress and into Evan and listened to Evan’s breathing slow and even. He drifted off still being held happier and warmer than ever before. 

Tommy woke up to a heavy weight on his chest. They had moved in their sleep and Evan was tucked right into him, arm thrown across his chest and head under Tommy’s chin, his curls soft and ticklish. Tommy held himself still, basked in the moment while he could, glad that he didn’t have a shift to get to and that he could linger there. 

He must have drifted back off, because the next time he woke up it was because he heard Evan leave the bed. He opened his eyes and spotted him stretching his arms. 

Tommy must have made a noise, because Evan turned. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“Not really,” Tommy said, sitting up. 

Evan looked like he was debating getting back into the bed with Tommy, but then he cocked his head to the side. 

“What?” Tommy asked. 

“Just thinking about what you’d look like in my shower,” Evan said. 

“Is that an invitation?” 

Evan extended his hand to him. Tommy slipped out of the bed and grasped it. Evan led him down the stairs. That had to be a pain, he realized, to have the bathroom be downstairs. There was no debate on whether the apartment was nice, but it certainly had its inconveniences. 

The bathroom wasn’t big and neither was the shower, but that didn’t stop Evan from pulling him into the shower with him. Crammed just meant that they had to wash each other and Tommy had absolutely no problem with that.

There was a different intimacy to it and Tommy could tell that Evan felt it too and not just because they were practically on top of each other. There was a shuffle for them to get under the water and — not that it was a hardship — they washed each other’s hair and bodies and only halfway through did Tommy realize he was going to smell a little like Evan from using his products. 

Evan offered him perusal of his closet and while Tommy did put his pants on from the day before, he opted for stealing a short sleeved purple t-shirt that was only a little snug on him. Evan seemed to appreciate it, going by the sound he made when he saw Tommy and how he wrapped his arms around him and brought him into a kiss. 

“So, you have one last day of freedom,” Tommy said. 

“You know I can’t wait until tomorrow,” Evan said. 

“I know, Evan, I just mean we can have this whole day to ourselves. So, what do you want to do?”

Tommy was aware of Evan’s dedication to getting back to the 118. He admired it, even. It was just that he also knew that once Evan had gone through the recertification process and he was back at work that they would have less time together if their schedules didn’t match up. 

“I was thinking yesterday I hadn’t gone to the beach in a while,” Evan said. 

“Beach it is,” Tommy said easily. 

—

Buck had known it would be good. He had known that he was going to love it. Sex with Tommy was mind blowing. Tommy’s body was something to be admired and worshiped and Buck thought that he had done plenty of it the night before. All morning he was distracted by visions of it. Tommy spread out on his bed and the way that he looked at Buck like he was something precious. 

Any concern that Buck had had going in faded the moment that he felt Tommy’s touch or his encouragement. The noises that came out of Tommy and the way that he whispered Buck’s name again and again. Buck had plenty of experience — some might say too much — but the male body outside of his own had felt a little daunting. As it turned out, it really wasn’t and part of that was maybe to do with how hot Tommy was and how much Buck wanted him that he didn’t even have time to think about it. 

Even after suggesting that they go to the beach, Buck knew he could easily be convinced to just go right back to his bed. 

They picked up breakfast on the way to Tommy’s and after Tommy changed into shorts — keeping Buck’s t-shirt on — they were on their way. 

The sun felt amazing and Buck made himself not care about the way that his leg looked. He hadn’t really thought that part through and the scarring was there for anyone to see, his skin still a bit discolored in comparison to the rest of him. 

“Alright?” Tommy asked as they sat down on the blanket Tommy spread out for them. 

“It’s always going to look bad, isn’t it?” 

“What is?” Tommy asked. 

“My leg.” 

Tommy immediately frowned. “Hey, that’s not true. Scars tell a story and yours is a story of survival. All these months spent in recovery…that you are starting the process to get back to work. You’re amazing, Evan.” 

“But—”

“That’s what it looks like to me and to your friends. Other people don’t matter, alright? Now lets put some sunscreen on that.” 

They didn’t go in the water, but they did walk the shoreline, letting the water lap at their bare feet. 

“I was a lifeguard for a bit,” Buck told him. 

“That’s not a longshot from firefighter,” Tommy said. 

“I guess not. It didn’t stick, though. I mean, the whole idea of being one of those guys felt like it would work for me. I was really impressed by them. Their strength, the way they were always seemingly training. But then the girl I was seeing broke up with me and it felt like it was time to move on.”

“Oh,” Tommy said. “And you got into it not to save lives but because of the other lifeguards? The male lifeguards?” 

Tommy’s tone was teasing. 

“I — looking back it’s possible I was a bit oblivious to some of the choices I made,” Buck said. 

Tommy asked about Buck’s other jobs and Buck got a few laughs out of Tommy as he explained about the dude ranch. And then about going to Peru on a whim and following Connor back to LA. 

“Evan, I really love that I’m the one that finally opened up your eyes to your blatant attraction to men,” Tommy said, laughing. 

Buck hit his chest. “Stop,” he said. 

“In all seriousness,” Tommy said, “I am honored and last night was amazing.” 

Buck knew he was blushing. It was just hard not to when Tommy was looking at him the way that he was with so much adoration and maybe a hint of heat. Buck didn’t think he could have gotten through his recovery without Tommy. Or he would have, but maybe he would have wallowed more. 

Tommy didn’t come up to his apartment when he took Buck back home. 

“If I go up there, are you going to let me go?” 

“Hmmm, probably not,” Buck admitted. 

They still shared a kiss right by Tommy’s car and Buck let the moment linger. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, but he did send Buck on his way after a while. 

—

Evan was recertified in no time at all. 

Maddie was the one to reach out to Tommy a few days earlier about a party to celebrate. At first they had thought about doing it on his first day back right at the station assuming that he would be returning. It reminded Tommy of his going away party and the cake that they’d surprised him with. It’d be nice to do something like that for Evan, he knew that Evan would appreciate it. He’d been putting on a strong front when it came to his recovery, but Tommy had seen how difficult it had been on him and how much at least a part of it was that he was away from everyone. 

It didn’t help that everyone was so busy. Tommy didn’t really blame them — knew that they had a lot of their own stuff going on on top of their job. The last time he’d talked to Hen, she’d mentioned Karen would be starting IVF treatments. Eddie was still dealing with the death of his wife and what that grief did to his son. So, it was nice that they were trying to find a way to welcome Evan back. 

A few hours later, the party was moved to Bobby and Athena’s house instead because everyone could make it the night of the last recertification test. 

“He’ll get recertified, don’t worry,” he responded when Hen brought up the possibility that Evan would need to go through some more training. 

“We just need you to bring him to Bobby and Athena’s,” Hen responded.

“And what am I telling him is the reason?” 

At that Hen laughed. “Bobby and Athena got married secretly, just tell him it’s for that. He won’t suspect a thing. Don’t even mention a party, just that Bobby and Athena invited you guys to dinner.” 

“Wait, they got married?” 

“They did,” Hen confirmed. “Didn’t bother to invite any of us.”

Tommy found that shocking, considering everything he knew about the 118, and yet he figured that Bobby and Athena had their reasons. If he remembered correctly, Bobby had been planning out the wedding while Tommy was Captain of the 118, but maybe they had both decided they didn’t want to bother with all of that. It sounded romantic more than anything. He wondered if Evan even knew about the wedding. 

When Evan texted him that he’d gotten recertified, he texted Hen before calling Evan. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he told him. “I was going to suggest going out tonight—”

“Staying in is good too,” Evan said quickly. 

Tommy chuckled even though yes it did sound good.

“No, I — we have an invitation for dinner with Bobby and Athena,” Tommy said. 

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds great. I can ask Bobby about how soon he can get me on the schedule. Haven’t seen either of them in a while.” 

It really was that easy and Evan really suspected nothing. They agreed to meet at the loft that night to drive over together and he congratulated Evan again. 

“Knew you could do it,” he said. 

“Yeah, it just feels better to have done it,” Evan said. 

He had a steady line of texts from Hen and Maddie throughout the day right up until he texted them that he was picking up Evan. 

“It really has to be tonight?” Evan asked when Tommy arrived. 

“Yes, they’re expecting us,” Tommy said. 

Evan grabbed him by the hips and pressed himself into Tommy’s front. “But what if I just want to celebrate a different way, what then?” 

It was tempting. So very very tempting. 

“That can wait until later, alright?” Tommy pressed a kiss to Evan’s lips, keeping it short and sweet. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise,” Tommy responded, as if he could respond any other way. 

For that he received another kiss and Tommy would have needed to be superhuman to resist the way that Evan tasted and the way that he nipped at Tommy’s lip teasingly. They lost several minutes that way, until Tommy’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he pushed Evan back. 

“We gotta go, Evan.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Evan said. 

On the drive over Evan told him all about the final test and the records he’d broken. 

“Well, you didn’t have to go that far,” Tommy said. “Remember you’re still just coming off of months of recovery.” 

“Why not? It was fun,” Evan said. “And I’m really back to almost 100%.”

It was a wonder that Evan didn’t figure out the whole of the 118 was at Bobby and Athena’s based on the cars parked down their street. When they rang the doorbell, Athena answered with a big grin. She smiled at Tommy and gave Evan a quick hug. 

“Thank you for having us,” Buck said. 

“You know you’re always welcome here, Buck,” Athena said. “And it’s so good to see you back on your feet.” 

Evan was beaming at her. She led them in and it was after the bend of the stairs that everyone shouted “surprise”.

“What?” Evan exclaimed looking at all the people gathered and then back at Tommy. “Wait, did you know about this?” 

Tommy just nodded. 

“Wow,” Evan said, huge grin spreading over his face. 

Tommy stayed by the stairs next to Athena as Evan was hugged by his sister and then Eddie. He was clapped on the back by Chim and then hugged by Bobby. When he looked back towards Tommy he was beaming. 

“He looks happy,” Athena said. 

“He didn’t even suspect a thing,” Tommy said. “He’s going back to work soon, his leg has healed well. I don’t think he has a reason to be unhappy.”

Athena nodded and led him further into the house. 

“Your house is lovely,” he said, admiring the decor and how open and homey it was. 

“Thank you,” a man Tommy had never met said. “I did a lot of the work myself. She even got it in the divorce and somehow I didn’t get an invite to the wedding.” 

“Michael,” Athena said with just a touch of annoyance. 

“I’m just saying,” Michael said and then his eyes found Tommy. “Now, you I haven’t met.” 

They shook hands and Tommy found out that Michael was Athena’s ex husband and also an architect and also very gay. Tommy was a little confused about the dynamic especially since he seemed to be very supportive of Athena and Bobby’s relationship.

“Are you a firefighter as well?” Michael asked. 

“Firefighter pilot,” Tommy offered. 

Michael made an appreciative humming noise. Evan returned to his side. He looked the very definition of a puppy with the way that happiness seemed to radiate off him. In his hand he held what looked to be a handmade card. 

“From Christopher,” Evan explained. 

Tommy had met Christopher a couple of times. He was a nice kid, kinda funny too, and a little bit obsessed with Evan not that Tommy could blame him. 

“That’s sweet,” Tommy said. 

“Oh. Hi, Michael, thank you for being here.” 

“I was glad to be invited,” Michael said. 

Tommy snorted a laugh. 

“What?” Evan asked. 

“Bobby and Athena didn’t invite him to the wedding,” Tommy said. “Well, they didn’t invite anyone.” 

Evan nodded. “I think they just couldn’t wait anymore. I get that.” 

Their eyes met and in that moment Tommy knew without question that he and Evan were it. It hadn’t been very long since they got together, but it had been months leading to it and they had both known it. So maybe it was far too early to think so, but one day he would marry Evan and he didn’t care if everyone at this house was there or not. Evan would care, though, and for Evan he would do just about anything. 

It was wild for him to just jump right to that, except that he knew he wanted his future to have Evan in it. They hadn’t even said I love you yet. There were probably so many things they had yet to learn about each other and yet Tommy knew without a doubt that there would be no deal breakers. 

“When you know you know,” Tommy said. 

“I like that,” Evan said. 

Tommy beamed at him and without caring about anyone seeing them, Evan tipped his chin and kissed him. In the next moment they heard whooping and clapping. When they pulled away, Evan hid his face in Tommy’s neck, but he was smiling. 

Tommy kissed the top of Evan’s head. He hadn’t said it yet, but he did love him. He loved Evan Buckley and he thought that Evan loved him too. 

[yournowheregirl]

thank y’all for your patience for this part and as a treat it’s an extra long one and posted just in time for dolly’s birthday (today, the 19th) and my own (tomorrow, the 20th). see you around for part 6!

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 5: baby i’m burnin’ 

For a just a moment as he looks into Steve’s big hazel eyes, Eddie’s entire world stands still and just two questions echo through his mind.

One: what the hell is Steve doing here?

Two: how much of that song did Steve hear and will he be able to connect the dots?

Okay, technically he has three questions but he doesn’t have time to think about any of them because the longer he’ll stay here, the longer Steve will have time to decipher the puzzle that’s lying right in front of him, right there in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie obviously can’t have that, so he stands up, drops the guitar onto the floor, pushes past Steve and heads towards the exit. He hears Pat and Tish say something, some kind of protest but it doesn’t register in his brain as he slams the door shut behind him.

It’s still coming down in buckets once he steps outside, but it still better than staying inside, to be in the same room with Steve and those damn puppy eyes of his. He jogs to his van, patting his jeans pockets in search for his keys, only to come up empty. 

Fuck. The keys must still be in his leather jacket. Which he left upstairs. Inside the bar.

For a moment, Eddie contemplates just walking all the way back to Hawkins but the continuous rain pour stops him from doing yet another incredibly stupid thing. He kicks the side of the van - it already has enough dents so what’s one more? - and turns on his heel to go back inside.

Only to be once again greeted by Steve.

“Get lost, Harrington.” Eddie bites out before Steve can even get a word in. He pushes past Steve once again, not-so-accidentally bumping into him to really get the point across. 

“Eddie, wait!” Steve grabs him by the wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. 

“Let. Me. Go.” Eddie’s eyes are flaming with anger as Steve nods slowly in response, fingers releasing their grip but lingering just a moment before they completely move away. 

“Eddie, please, just listen to me for one second.” Steve pleads. “I came here because you didn't show up at my place tonight and I was worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” Eddie snaps. “You should’ve thought about that before you ditched me for some fucking date. Thanks for the heads up by the way, really appreciate it.”

Eddie’s already moving back towards the bar when Steve speaks up again, annoyance written all over his voice. “I ditched you? You were the one who didn’t show up at my house in the first place!”

Is this guy for real? Does he really not see the problem of having a friend over during a first date? Eddie feels his blood boil hotter by the second, and since Steve is probably staring at him with those big doe-eyes of his, like he did nothing wrong, something inside Eddie just snaps. He whips his head around, his wet hair flinging water droplets through the air. 

“Yeah, because you had a goddamn date coming over and so excuse me for not wanting to be a fuckin’ third-wheel with the guy I’m in love with!”

The silence that follows is deafening as Eddie slowly realizes what he just said. 

Oh fuck.

This was not how this was supposed to go. He had a plan, he had moves, he had this whole thing figured out before Dustin dropped the bomb about Steve’s date. Then the plan changed and Eddie made a vow to never say another word about his feelings for Steve to anyone. 

Until now, apparently.  

“You… you’re in love with me?” Steve asks, his voice almost a whisper over the sound of the pouring rain. 

There’s no use in lying at this point, Eddie’s pretty sure that his face is saying everything that Steve needs to know right now. He could deny it all he wants, but deep-down he know that Steve’ll see right through him. He always has. 

Eddie nods slowly, his anger making way for embarrassment and anxiety. He looks away, his racing heart prevents him from looking Steve in the eye. His shoulder sag as he somehow finds the courage to talk again. 

“Just… just go. Go be with your date or whatever. I’ll.. I’ll just back off. We don’t need to see each other if you don’t want to and- and I totally understand if you don’t wanna be friends anymore. I mean I get it, totally get it and-”

But before Eddie can finish his sentence, Steve interrupts him, suddenly standing much closer than before. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “Why not?”

“Oh my God.” Steve almost whines. “Because you were my date, Eddie!”

Wait, what? That can’t be right.

“I… no. No, we weren’t going on a date, we were having a movie night.” Eddie stammers. “A movie night that you forgot about and- and- no, this wasn’t a date.”

“Tell that to the freshly made pasta and wine I had to put in the fridge because you didn’t show up.” Steve scoffs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, then over his face, shaking off the remainder of water. “Or the dozen roses I bought to put on the table because this-” He gestures between them “-was supposed to be a date.”

The roses. Those goddamn roses that Dustin told him about, they were for him? Eddie’s mind is reeling with all this new information, unable to form a coherent thought. 

“Wait, did you forget that we were going on a date?” Steve asks. He ducks his head in an attempt to force Eddie to look at him. When Eddie finally does, he’s taken aback by how soft Steve’s eyes are, how surprisingly amused he looks by all of this.

Eddie thinks back to earlier that week, when he was loitering around Family Video after his shift at the garage. He and Steve had been talking like any other day, though Eddie had been particularly flirty in that moment, teasing Steve till his face was beet-red and followed by a bright smile and a quiet ‘shut up, Eddie’. 

Customers had come in then, demanding Steve’s attention. But right before he attended to them, Steve had turned around, almost looking shy.

“What are you doing on Friday?”

Eddie shrugged. “Other than contemplating my existence and overthinking all of my sins? Not much.”

“Good.” Steve had laughed. “You wanna come to my place for dinner and a movie? I’ll be making my Nana’s pasta primavera.”

“Ooh, you know how the way to my heart, Steve.” Eddie said, dramatically lying a hand over his heart. “As long as you provide the food, I’ll be there.”

Steve had beamed at him right then and there, like Eddie had personally handed him a ten-thousand dollar check. “Great! It’s a da-” 

The sound of a customer repeatedly dinging the bell on the counter had interrupted the rest of his sentence and Eddie hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now… now he knows exactly what Steve was going to say. 

It’s a date.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. The downpour muffles the ringing in Eddie’s ears as he tries to wrap his head around all of this. 

Steve wanted tonight to be a date.

Steve wanted to go on a date with him.

Steve likes him. 

What the actual fuck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Steve mutters. He grabs Eddie’s hands, thumbs softly running across his knuckles and it’s only then that Eddie realizes that his hands have been trembling all this time. “You wanna go back inside? The rain-”

“You… you like me.” Eddie chokes out.

“Yeah, thought that was kinda obvious at this point.” Steve laughs. “But apparently, it wasn’t so I’m sorry, I should’ve-”

Eddie shakes his head, squeezes Steve’s hands a little tighter. “No, no way. If anyone should apologize it’s me. I should’ve just called you when Dustin told me about your date and I should’ve noticed that you were asking me out and I-”

“Eddie…” Steve says softly. 

One of his hands lets go of Eddie’s, only for it to move up to his face. His thumb softly brushes away the droplets of rainwater on his cheek, on his jaw, on his lips. There’s an unspoken question in Steve’s eyes, asking for permission as they wander down to Eddie’s lips, then back up again. 

A simple nod from Eddie is enough to answer that silent question.

Steve’s hand comes to join the other on Eddie’s jaw, cradling his face so gently, like he’s holding a precious gemstone. The way he pulls Eddie towards him, however, is anything but gentle and Eddie almost trips over his own feet, grabbing onto Steve’s waist for balance. And despite the coolness of the rain water, Steve feels warm underneath the soaked pink fabric of his button-down.

There’s a second where Eddie thinks he sees Steve hesitating - his breathing heavy, eyes once again asking for permission, as if Eddie’s ever going to back away now. Eddie fights the urge to roll his eyes and leans in, pressing his lips against Steve’s.

As far as first kisses go, Eddie has had a few. Always rough, always rushed, always dirty. Never with anyone that mattered, never with anyone that cared, never like this.

Because this isn’t anything like those other first kisses, because Steve’s kisses are soft, gentle even. It’s like he’s saying sorry over and over again against Eddie’s lips and it’s this soft gesture that somehow manages to set Eddie’s entire body on fire, burning from the inside out in the best way possible. 

The rain water makes it easier for their lips to glide against one another and it instantly makes Eddie crave more. His grip on Steve’s waist tightens, making Steve gasp in response and Eddie makes good use of that split second to lick his way into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve tastes like rainwater and mint and Eddie fights back a smile - he must’ve taken a breath mint before coming here, a boy scout always comes prepared after all. The taste of it, of Steve, is frankly addicting and Eddie kisses back harder, but still as slow as before, reveling at the soft sounds Steve’s making at the back of his throat. 

They have to pull away for air at some point and Eddie groans in annoyance. He needs to make up for lost time and this wasn’t nearly enough, oxygen be damned.

“As romantic as this is-” Steve laughs when Eddie places kisses all over his face - his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. “-can we please go back inside? This rain is ruining my jeans.”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Eddie grins and with a final kiss to Steve’s lips, he pulls away to go back inside and escape the rain.

-xxx-

Pat and Tish are a bit weary when Eddie walks back inside the bar with Steve in tow and even Steve’s usual charming smile doesn’t seem to deter them from glaring daggers at him. 

Eddie’s heart melts a bit at their protectiveness, but he assures them that they talked things out, that things are good now. Pat nods approvingly and invites Steve to come talk to her later and even though her glare has faded, Eddie is still a little scared of her on Steve’s behalf. Tish, on the other hand, immediately squeals with joy and tries to pull both of them in a hug, only backing away when she realizes that they’re soaking wet.

“We need to get you boys some dry clothes.” Tish says.

“No, no, we’ll be on our way.” Steve shakes his head. “Don’t wanna be any trouble.”

“Nonsense. You’re one of us now.” Tish lovingly pats his cheek. “C’mon, we got plenty of clothes in the lost and found and if that fails, we always got Pat’s closet to dig around in.”

Steve looks so very confused and Eddie just laughs, head thrown back as they follow Tish back upstairs. She hands them a cardboard box filled with various clothing items that had been left in the bar over the years and directs them to Pat’s part of the closet.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Tish says, walking back to the hallway. She turns around in the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh and by the way, these walls are pretty thin, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Okay, bye Tish!” Eddie says quickly, face turning pink at the implication of her words.  He clears his throat and turns to Steve. “Sorry about her.”

“Nah, it’s alright. She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Wow, we’re, what- ten minutes into this whole relationship crap and you’re already saying you don’t want to jump my bones?” Eddie asks, mock-offended. “Not off to a great start there, Steve.”

“Oh, I’m not saying that.” Steve cocks his head to the side, smirking. “Just saying that I’m not that easy.”

Eddie scoffs. “What? You need winin’ and dinin’ to get in the mood?”

“Certainly helps.” Steve shrugs. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite explain. That is until he remembers what Steve had told him earlier - about the wine and the roses and the dinner in the fridge - and he suddenly feels his face heat up again. There’s a lot you can say about Steve, but he’s definitely a man with a plan. 

“Anyway…” Eddie clears his throat. “Let’s find some clothes yeah?” 

Lucky for them, the clothes in the lost and found box actually fit them pretty well. Sure the jeans are a bit baggier than both of their usual styles, but at least they don’t need a belt to keep it from falling off. But much to Eddie’s dismay, Steve has to take off his button-down since it’s completely drenched

That moment of dismay is short-lived because now Eddie is faced with Steve’s bare chest on full display. He’d seen it before, way back when at Lover’s Lake but he didn’t allow himself to spare Steve a second glance. Didn’t allow himself to look, but oh boy is he looking now. Even with all the scars swirling around his skin, he’s still one the most beautiful men Eddie has ever laid eyes upon. Plus, there is that chest hair that had been torturing him since the moment he spotted it peaking out of that same pink button-down.

Steve catches him staring, right when he’s about to pull on some bland white t-shirt over his head. He stops, lowers his arms and smirks at Eddie. “You do know you’re staring, right?”

“I know.” Eddie nods, smiling. “Think I’m allowed to at this point, don’t you?”

He watches as Steve lets the shirt drop to the floor and his heart speeds up when he notices that Steve is staring right back at him, dark eyes roaming up and down his body. But it’s the look that does it, that look of hunger and desire in Steve’s eyes, that sets Eddie’s insides aflame.

It’s as if Steve can read his mind, because soon as Eddie takes a step forward, Steve does as well, meeting him halfway. There’s a moment where they both just look at each other, waiting who’s going to cave in first. In the end, Eddie isn’t really sure who was the first to lean in, all he knows is that this kiss is vastly different than their first.

No longer soft and tender, the kiss is feverish and frantic with hands roaming over damp, bare skin, pulling each other flush against each other. Their first kiss made Eddie’s brain go all soft and gooey, but this kiss... This kiss makes it go static. Hyper aware of every single one of Steve’s movements, every swipe of his tongue, every bite of his teeth, every nail that digs into his skin.

Steve seems to have a similar reaction, judging by the way he’s desperately moaning when Eddie’s hands find their way into his hair and pull his head to the side for better access to his mouth.

“Be quiet.” Eddie pants against Steve’s lips. “Thin walls, remember?

Steve whines, face scrunched up in annoyance and pulls away. “Fine.”

“Aww Stevie, what’s wrong?” Eddie teases, nails scratching against Steve’s scalp. “You seem a little worked up but… didn’t you say you ain’t that easy?”

Steve’s eyes darken, his breathing heavy as he takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. It’s literally unfair how hot he looks when doing that and Eddie just wants to pull him right back for more. 

“You… you must know what you’re doing to me with that damn accent of yours.” Steve croaks. He looks flustered, even though he definitely had his tongue halfway down Eddie’s throat just moments ago and it makes the flurry of butterflies inside Eddie’s stomach grow ten sizes.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what you mean.” Eddie winks.

He hears Steve cursing under his breath as Eddie turns around to dig through the lost and found box again. All of the shirts are objectively terrible or don’t fit him at all and even though he knows he’ll just need to pick something dry to wear, he still wants to look good. He has a reputation to uphold after all.

And it’s like the universe is smiling down at him because at the very bottom of the box, Eddie finds a black button-down. A Western cut shirt, in fact, complete with contrasting red piping and embroidered roses underneath the collar. 

Oh, Steve’s gonna love this.

He’s rolling up the sleeves as he turns around, only to find that Steve’s too busy looking in the mirror and messing with hair to notice him. Eddie clears his throat and Steve finally tears his eyes away from his reflection 

“Well, fuck.” Steve groans once he notices what Eddie’s wearing, unable to keep his eyes off Eddie for another second. 

“I believe that now it’s you who’s staring, darlin’.” Eddie smirks

“Oh, I think I’m allowed, don’t you?” Steve says, parroting Eddie’s words back to him. He closes the distance between them again, pulling Eddie by his belt loops. “We better go back downstairs.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not sure how much these walls can drown out if we stay here much longer.”

-xxx-

The bar is open once they get downstairs and Tish immediately pulls them aside and puts two plates of spicy fried chicken and cornbread in front of them.

“On the house.” Tish smiles. “It’s your first date after all.”

Right, tonight was supposed to be their first date. Eddie had almost forgot about it with all the hassle that happened earlier. But it’s clear that Steve hasn’t because he picks up their plates and redirects them to a booth in the far corner of the bar. He’s a real gentleman too, offering to let Eddie slide into the booth first, only to squeeze against him as soon as he sits down. 

Eddie realizes then and there that he’s never been on a date before. 

Not a real one at least, and despite his usual skepticism, it’s actually pretty nice. Now that most of the awkwardness is out of the way, the conversation flows easily, the flirting too, actually. Mostly because Steve continues to be enamored by every vaguely Southern-sounding thing that rolls off Eddie’s tongue while Eddie only pretends to be annoyed by Steve’s cheesy pick-up lines, even though he secretly loves them.

It’s…

It’s easy.

Just like Steve said all those weeks ago, when he broke up with Emily. And then again after he saw Eddie perform right there on that stage. Eddie hadn’t really believed him back then, but now… now, he’s might just start to believe it.

Believe that loving Steve is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Eddie’s leaning against the wall, with Steve nestled in between his legs when he hears it. A familiar beat, followed by some piano and brass instruments. He immediately pushes Steve out of the booth, scrambles to the feet and pulls Steve towards the dance floor.

“Wha- what is happening?” Steve stammers.

“You look at me that way. I know what your eyes say, your eyes reflect love and desire.” Eddie sings along, a bright smile plastered onto his face. “I see that you need me, I need you to please me. You touch me and set me on fire.”

He pulls Steve closer to him, swaying his hips along to the music. It takes a second for Steve to get the memo but then he’s slinging his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and beaming right back at him.

“I cannot resist you, each time I kiss you, then everything goes up in flames.”

Now Eddie’s not much of a dancer but he can move his hips alright and the sweet sounds of this particular Dolly Parton song will get him moving any day of the week. And the same goes for Steve so it seems, as the smile on his face doesn’t fade once. 

In fact, only grows larger and larger when Eddie grabs his hand and spins him around, his head thrown back with joyous laughter when he falls back into Eddie’s arms.

“Baby, I’m burnin’, out of control. Baby I’m burnin’, body and soul. Hot as a pistol that’s flaming desire, baby, I’m burning you got me on fire.” 

Steve suddenly changes course, one hand snaking around Eddie’s waist, while the other is holding Eddie’s hand tightly. Before Eddie knows what’s happening, Steve dips him, actually dips him like some professionally trained dancer, to the beat of the song.

“Where’d you learn that?” Eddie pants as Steve is still holding him in place.

“What, you thought you were the only one with a secret past?” Steve asks smugly

Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to answer the question because Steve’s lips are back on him in a split second. Not that Eddie minds of course. He could stay like this for hours, safely wrapped in Steve’s arms, feeling warm all over as their lips move in sync against each other.

“Baby I’m burnin’, you got me on fire…”

Eddie’s outfit is inspired by this amazing fanart by themdelakrem!

tag list: @cheatghost @henderdads @unclewaynemunson @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @legitcookie @gothbat99 @fandomcartographer @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @this-earlobe-is-naked @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinsthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @starrystevie @magipemuseum @mightbeasleep @corrodedcoughin @linkydinky06 @hardboiledeggs @gamerdano @limpingpenguin @blackpanzy @piningapple @teelagurl558 @theokatz @moonlightmirrorball @milf-harrington @raisedbylibrarians @eddiemunsonswife @catateme9 @stranger-poets-society @munsonsduchess @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @uwujinniee @bejeweledbaby @hardboiledleggs @hamiltonsteele @edgelordesworld @quickenedheartbeat @episcogoth @purplepluviophile @bornonthesavage @ninjapirateunicorns @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @medolie71 @knitsforthetrail @dilutedpondwater @he-she-steveharrington @plasticcrotches @smallspaceplant @mandalynn @m-owo-n @ceaselessly-watching @aralana765 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @occasionalartthings @lucasrightarm @punctualhowell @sultrypickle @spicemallow @platinum-sunset @batxsignalsx @lovelyscot @sillysparrow @freyaforestafay @im-justatrashcan @airiervessel

[heartfeltcierra]

Dude where's my submarine? Part 1 of Isekaied Law X Female Reader

AN- This will be a multiple part series. I should have the second part up by Sunday night. This was a change of pace from my normal writing so I hope you all enjoy :)

Masterlist

Part 2- Here

Part 3- Here

Word Count 4.8K, Lightly edited

Summary- A familiar man finds himself in your strange land, so what do you do? Give him unrestricted access to the internet, hope for the best and pray he doesn't see your AO3.

Warnings~ Mentions of being sick, Light cursing, Suggestive content, Angst, Fluff, Modern World AU, Y/N is a huge simp for Law and has a hard time hiding it

 “I am so sick of being sick.” You groan out before blowing your nose into a tissue. “If this keeps up my nose is going to fall off.” You throw the used tissue into your bedside trash can that was home to a million more just like it.

 You’ve been sick for the past week and no matter what medicine you’ve taken nothing is helping you get better. At this point you'd do just about anything to be able to breathe out of both nostrils again.

 You look over at your alarm clock through your glassy eyes and see the glowing red numbers. Crap, it's already midnight?

  The familiar sound of your text tone fills the silent room. Who's messaging me this late at night? After unlocking your phone you see a text from an unknown number saying. “What do you wish for?” 

 After looking at it for a few moments you chose to ignore it thinking It’s some type of scam. You lean over to plug your phone to its charger, causing the screen to light up. A smile forms on your lips seeing the familiar fictional man you simp for as your wallpaper, Trafalgar Law. A thought crosses your mind. If I could make a wish……

 “I wish you were here Law, I bet you could help me get better in no time.” You laugh at yourself as soon as the words left your dry lips. “I sound crazy, but i guess It was worth a shot. I should probably go to a real life doctor tomorrow.” You turn onto your side and curl up next to a pillow before closing your eyes.

 Thump

  The unprompted noise causes your body to tense up. It almost sounded like someone or something fell. Slowly, you turn around on the bed and look into the pitch black area where the sound came from.

 Thump

 “What the….” Your racing heart stops in your chest hearing a man's voice followed by an irritated grunt. 

 “Who’s there?!” You grab your phone off the bedside table and turn the flashlight on while getting into a defensive position.  “No way.” Your eyes nearly fall out of socket. In the middle of your room, clear as day, was a very realistic looking Law. I have to be hallucinating. You blink a few times, but he was still there, giving you a confused look. “LAW?!” Your legs give out thanks to the cocktail of shock and adrenaline , causing you to fall into the floor a few feet away from him.

 “Where am I and who the hell are you?” He quickly stood up from the floor and held the handle of his sword like he was going to attack. “I’d answer quickly if I were you.” His golden eyes were sharp and serious. 

 “No need for that!” You stick your hands up showing you have no weapon. “Trust me when I say I’m not stupid enough to fight you. Nor would I anyways.” You can’t help but smile like an idiot, completely enthralled at the fact he was in your room. “You're like my favorite character Law!” You cringe at yourself the second the words left your mouth. Be cool Y/N, be cool.

 “Favorite character?” He removes his hand from the sword and surveys the unfamiliar room. “Care to explain what is going on?” You stand up from the floor and turn the bedside lamp on.

 “Well if I’m being honest, I’m not so sure myself.” With the room better illuminated, you get a good look at Law. He was wearing his signature post time skip hat, dotted jeans and a hoodie with his jolly Roger on it. I don’t think I’ve seen that one before. “For starters, you are currently in a different world.” You watch as Law’s brows furrow in confusion. “What I'm about to tell you may be alot to take in, so you may want to sit down.” You motion towards an empty spot on your bed. “My name is Y/N by the way, Y/N L/N.” 

 “I’d introduce myself, but it seems you already know me.” Law props his sword up against your bedpost before sitting down. “Go on.”

 He follows along as you summarize your world to him and how you know who he is. 

 “So in your world I’m from a book series and tv show called ‘One piece’.” You nod your head. “ And in this world there is no ‘one piece’, devil fruit abilities, or pirates?” 

 “Well there are pirates, but they aren’t a big threat like they were in the 1700’s. That was this world's golden era of piracy. Right now the year here is 2023, so it was a long long time ago.” 

 “I see.” Law props his chin up on his hand. “So what did you mean when you said I was your favorite character?” You give him a nervous smile. 

 “Oh well you see. I just think you're really cool.” The complement causes a smirk to form on his lips. “Let me show you something.” You jump up from the bed and walk over to your closet. You dig around until you find what you were looking for. “Tadah.” You turn around to reveal the replica of Law's hat placed on your head “ROOM……..SHAMBLES “ You do the hand movements for his attacks. “Pretty impressive huh?” I look like a dork.

 “Yeah, good job.” Law deadpans. “My turn.. ROOM.” The air in your room grows dense as the blue film spreads across your bedroom. “SHAMBLES.” You felt the hat on your head shift before it transferred into Law's hand, meaning the one you wore now was the real thing. 

 “Yours is a lot better quality than mine. But it’s the real thing so that makes sense.” You hold the hat and study its fine details. “And it’s a lot fluffier.” 

 “Oh yeah?” He took the lesser version of his hat off and spun it around in his hand. “Yeah this one is pretty crappy.” “SHAMBLES.” The knockoff hat was sadly transferred back into your hands. You place it back in your closet before sitting back down on the bed.

 “I know you just met me and I’m sure you're overwhelmed right now, but can I ask a favor of you?” To your surprise Law nods his head. “I’ve been sick for the past week and I feel like crap. I’ve taken every medicine under the sun and I’m still not better. Do you think you can help?” 

 “I figured you were from the sound of your voice. I should be able to.” Law got off the bed and pulled his sword out. “Lay back.” If only that was in a different context. You lay down and watch as his sword waves over your body. “SCAN.” 

 “Did you see anything?” Law nods before putting his sword down. 

 “It’s right here.” Law places two fingers on a spot above your chest. The gesture causes your heart to flutter. “You have a virus of some kind. I’m not familiar with it, but I can take it out.” You feel blood rush towards your cheeks as his fingers brush against your skin. “Do you trust me Y/N?” He said my name!

 “I do.” You nod confirming.

 “Good. It may hurt for a moment. Just close your eyes, and it will be over before you know it.” Law's voice was smooth and calming. You slam your eyes shut and felt a sharp pain, but it was gone just as quick as it came. “Done. You will still have some drainage for a few days, but the virus itself is gone.” He places his sword back into its sheath and props it back up against your bedpost.

 “Strangely enough I already feel a little better, thank you.” You weren't lying either. The heaviness in your chest was gone and the pressure behind your eyes was dwindling away.  “So...” Law hums to let you know he was listening. “I’m not really sure how you got here, and I’m not really sure how to get you back if I’m being honest. I’m still having a hard time believing you're actually here.” 

 “Yeah. It’s pretty strange.” Law takes his hat off and leans back on the bed. “One minute I was walking around the submarine and the next minute I had some weird girl asking for favors and copying my moves.” You gasp at his audacity.

 “Is that so? Well this ‘weird girl’, is the only person you have in this strange world you’ve found yourself in, so maybe you should be nicer.” You cross your arms over your chest defensively.

 “You know I did just heal you.” He says in a matter of fact tone. “Was that not nice enough for you?” 

 “No, it was very nice. But…” You grab your nearest squishmallow and chuck into Law’s face. “What kind of doctor calls his patient a ‘weird girl’.” 

 “What kind of patient throws a..?” Law grabs the stuffed animal and examines it. You watch as a small grin forms on his lips after giving the plush a small squeeze. 

 “They are called squishmallows.” You point over to a shelf that’s filled with them. “I really like them as you can see.” 

 “I won't lie... It's kinda ugly."

 “He is not ugly!” You grab the squish from his hands and hold it against you like a child. “Instead of putting my son on blast, how about we talk about the elephant in the room.”You take a deep breath and lean against the head of your bed. Having Law here was a dream come true, but at the same time you knew he needed to go back. “Tomorrow I’ll try to figure out a way to get you back to the one piece world. I’m sure Bepo and the rest of the crew miss you.” You stood up from the bed prompting Law to follow. “In the meantime, let me give you the grand tour of my place and I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

 “Lead the way.”

~~~~

 “So this is my kitchen.” You show him all of your snack cabinets. “I don’t have a whole lot right now, but I’ll go shopping in the morning.” You trail off as you rummage around cabinets. “I know you hate bread, but you like grilled fish and rice balls…”

 “You even know that?” Law cocks his head to the side. 

 “Of course I do!” As much as you want to tell him everything you know about him, you also don’t want to overwhelm the poor guy with fun facts about himself.

 “Well Y/N. What’s your favorite and least favorite food?” His question catches you off guard. He wants to know?

 “My favorite food is (F/F), and my least favorite is (L/F).” You make a gag sound at the mention of your least favorite food. “It’s so gross.”

 “Now we are even.” You blush seeing the small smirk on his handsome face. 

“I guess so.” You smile nervously. “So anyways, on to the next room."

~~~~

 “You can sleep in here. It's my spare bedroom/office area.” You open the door and  flip the light on, revealing the bed, computer desk  and two large bookshelves filled with anime figurines. “Oh and those are here too, haha.” Please don’t walk over there.

 “Thank you.” Much to your horror the pirate waltz straight over to the shelves. He picks up the figure of his pre timeskip self. “How interesting. These are pretty accurate.” He places it back on the shelf before reaching for another. “I’ll be damned.” Oh no, it’s that one. “I really am your favorite character aren’t I?” His coy smirk never faltered as he held up the shirtless figure of himself. 

 You turn your head away, hiding the embarrassment written all over your face. “I think that’s enough boosting your ego for one night.” You look over at the wall clock in the room and see it’s almost 2AM. I need sleep. “There is a bathroom connected to the room over there and if you need anything let me know. Goodnight Law.” You ran out of the room and to the safety of your own. How am I going to survive this?

~~~~

 The next morning you woke up feeling alot better. The soreness in your muscles went away and the fatigue you felt was replaced with energy all thanks to Law.

 “Wait..Was that real or did I hallucinate?” You get out of bed and walk towards your spare room. The door was cracked open just enough for you to peak inside. Shockingly you see Law standing up in the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. So it wasn’t some fever dream, he really is here. You watch as droplets of water fall from his dark hair and down his tone, tattooed back. It was mesmerizing to say the least. 

 But what you couldn't figure out was what he was looking at. You adjust your angle and notice what he was holding. A pang of sadness jolts in your chest, he was holding your Corazon figure.

 “Is spying on someone a custom here in your world Y/N?” You freeze up thanks to him calling you out. Law puts the figure back onto the shelf and walks over to the door that he surprisingly opens all the way.

 “No it’s not like that. I was just getting ready to go out and wanted to see what all you need?” Your eyes give him one rundown before you close them and look away.

 “Sure that's what it was.” The familiar smell of your strawberry shampoo invades your nostrils as he leans in closer. “So tell me Y/N?” His voice was right up against your ear. “Do you prefer the real thing or the figure?” Your brain hotwires at his words. 

 “Unless you want me to bring back nothing but bread, I’d suggest you stop teasing me.” You take a few steps back to create some distance. I’m so not enjoying this. “I’m going to go make some breakfast before I go. Come down when you're ready.” You walk away and turn back around to get one more glance, only for him to be staring right back at you. He gave you a small smirk before shutting the door. 

 ~~~~

 “Here you go.” You give the now fully clothed Law a pen and notepad. "If you don't mind, make me a list of things you need."

 “Okay.” Law sat down at the kitchen table and started to jot stuff down. “I’m not sure how sizing in this world works, so I’m just going to put my measurements down.”

 “That works for me.” You grab a spatula from a drawer and close it with your hip. “I may be out for a while at the store, but I want to show you something before I leave.” Carefully you use the spatula to transfer a fried egg to a plate and paired it with some fresh cut fruit. “Breakfast is served.”  

~~~~

 “This is what we call a laptop. It is a device we use for multiple things, but what I want to show you is a magical but equally horrifying thing called the internet.” You place the laptop on the kitchen table “The internet is a huge database filled with all the knowledge and information you can think of.” Law leans in closer to watch you navigate the strange device. “I’ll show you the basics. First let's start off with google. It is a search engine and you can ask  just about anything. For example.” You type in 'Trafalgar Law One Piece' and it pulls up his character info page.

 “So that’s how you know so much about me?” He reads over the screen with an interested look on his face. “Interesting.” 

 “Yeah. But there is a lot more to the internet.” You click away from the page and pull up youtube. “This is where you can watch different videos. Anything from music, tv show clips, documentaries and even surgeries. You can watch it all here!”  You find one of the one piece openings and play it for him. “I don’t know if I told you this or not, but Luffy is the main character.”

 “Straw-hat? That figures.” He rolls his eyes and judging by his tone…..

 “Are you jealous that it’s not you?” After all the teasing he’s inflicted on you, it’s time the doctor tasted his own medicine.

 “No!” 

 “Yes you are~”

 “I am NOT.”

 “Are too~” 

 “ROOM.” The blue film engulfs your kitchen. “So remind me who’s jealous?” The devilish smirk on Law's face sent a chill down your spine. 

 “Certainly not you.” You stand up from the chair and inch your way to the front door. I’d rather not die today. “I guess I’ll get going, try not to miss me too much emo boy.” You grab your keys and purse before you run out the door, leaving a very confused Law behind.

 The first thing Law googled by himself was “What does it mean to be an emo boy?”

~~~~

 As you shop around the store you look over the list of things Law wanted. He didn’t ask for much besides clothes and a few necessities. You go to the mens clothing section and pick out a few button ups, t-shirts and some jeans. The colors and style you pick seem to match his typical color pallet and aesthetic. 

   You wander down the book sections of the store and come across a book titled “How to shift into a different universe.” You glance through the pages without finding any clues or hints. How did he end up here? How was it even possible? How can I help him get back? Will he ever be able to go back? Your thoughts swirl around as you think of last night. What was I doing before he showed up?

 “Wait.. the text message!” You blurt out in the middle of an aisle, earning a few awkward glances from fellow customers. You mouth a “Sorry” before scurrying away with the shopping cart. For now you decide to focus on the task at hand to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. You grab the rest of his requested items and a few extra things to keep him occupied until you figure something out.

~~~~

 “Law I’m home!” You kick the door open and walk into the kitchen with the grocery bags. “Want to come see what I got you.” You yell out.

 “No need to yell, I’m right here.” Law pokes your shoulder causing you to yelp out. When did he get in here?

 “Are you trying to give me a heart attack??”  An amused chuckle leaves his lips as you slam a hand over your racing heart. “Anyways, I got you a few extra things besides what was on the list...” You pull out a mens body wash and shampoo. “I doubt you're enjoying smelling like a field of strawberries.” 

 “I appreciate it..” Law grabs the bottle and smells it. “I like this, but.” He looks at the label on the bottle with confusion written on his face. “Why is it called bear fighting in a snowy tundra?” 

 “Your guess is as good as mine.” You shrug and Law does too. “Welcome to my universe, Law.”

~~~~

 “So the internet…” The look on Law’s face can only be described with one word. Disturbed. Oh no. “I found some very interesting things. But what stood out the most was the things you’ve googled.” You clear your throat realizing you made a rookie mistake. I didn’t delete my history before I gave him the computer. You were sweating bullets at this point. “My favorite was “Law one piece smut”, that was quite interesting~”

 “Not another word from you.” You turn away from him and grab your chest in relief. At Least it wasn’t worse like ‘Law rule 34’.

 “I also saw you googled ‘things to do when you feel lonely.” The playful mood in the room dies and is replaced by an awkward silence.  

 “Way to kill the vibes Law.” You deadpan. “But yeah I did, what about it?”

 “I’ve not seen any other people here besides us, so I take you live by yourself?” You nod. “Don’t you have any family or friends?” His question opens up an old wound that you never wanted to revisit.

 “Well no, not really.” Saying that stung. At one point in your life you had both, but as you grew up people grew apart. “In this universe it's normal for family and friends to grow apart. But it’s okay.”

 “I don’t mean to pry, but it clearly is not okay If you look something like that up.” You know he’s right, but there’s not much you can do about it. “Doesn't it make you sad?” You go silent, unsure how to answer. “You don’t have to answer that, I apologize for overstepping.” 

 “No, it’s fine. But to answer that, yeah, sometimes it does make me sad.” You smile thinking of what you do when you feel down. “This is going to sound strange but when I feel sad or lonely I like to watch one piece.” 

 “Does it comfort you somehow?” 

 “It does and I know how Silly it sounds.” You let out a nervous laugh. I need to change the subject. “Anyways, do you want to watch a few episodes with me? I’m sure you're curious.”

 “Sure.” Law smiles

~~~

  You flip on the T.V and pull up one piece. Scrolling through the hundreds of episodes you decided to watch the Sabaody archipelago arc considering it was when Law was first introduced. 

 “This is very strange.” Law watches the screen while scratching his goatee. “I remember that.” Law smirks, seeing himself cut up a group of marines.

 “That is one of my favorite moments.” You couldn't help but laugh. “You were such a menace pre time skip.” 

 “You say that like I’m not currently a menace…. “ROOM.” The blue film fills the living room. “SHAMBLES” The fuzzy blanket you were curled up with is replaced with a piece of lint. You look over and see the blanket now covering Law. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this.”

 “Give me that back!” You try to pull the blanket back over but Law overpowers you. “You're such a brat.” 

 "First I'm a emo boy, now I'm a brat!?” You smile triumphantly seeing how his face has offended written all over it. “That’s no way to talk to your favorite character Y/N.” Time to hit him where it hurts.

 “I think I changed my mind. I think Kid may take your place.” You hear a quiet, but audible gasp come from Law.

 “I’ll believe that when you show me a shirtless figure of him.” He recovers quickly with a wink before turning his attention back to the tv. I can't win with this guy.

 You both watch the show in a comfortable silence. Every now and then Law would point something out or add in something about a scene. You smile watching as his tattoo hands move explaining something to you.  Despite Law being a little despicable, you were enjoying the comfort that came with being around him. 

  After hours of watching your eyes became heavy.  For a few minutes you fight it wanting to stay up with Law, but you lose the battle and succumb to a much need rest.

~~~~

 Law found it hilarious watching you fight the urge to fall asleep. He was about to tease until he noticed you were lightly snoring. So she fell asleep? His brow raises seeing the uncomfortable position you were in. Your head was leaned on the back of the couch and it looked like your neck was going to snap in two. Your body must have realized this, because you shifted until your head fell against Law’s leg. He oddly enough, didn't mind. He threw the blanket he stole back on your body. You subconsciously nuzzle into his thigh causing the teeniest tiniest blush to form on his cheeks.

 “Enjoy your nap, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

 ~~~~

 A few hours later you wake up disoriented and in a strange position. 

 “Did you enjoy your nap?” Your head whips around to see Law above you reading one of the Modern Medicine books you got him. 

 “I’m sorry.” You lift up from his lap and scooch back over to your side of the couch. I was sleeping in his lap!

 “You weren't bothering me.” He shuts the book and places it on the coffee table. “I’m sure you didn’t get the best sleep last night considering I showed up all of a sudden.” Wait, that’s right.

 “That reminds me! I think I know why you got brought here.” You grab your phone and unlock it. “Right before you showed up I got a weird text on my phone.” 

 “Text?” Law raises his brow.

 “So this is my cell phone.” You grab your phone and hold it up. “It is this world’s equivalent to a transponder snail. You can call, video, take pictures and receive/send written messages on it.”

 “How convenient.” He grabs it and sees his picture as your background. “You really are something else.” You roll your eyes.

 “Stop acting like you aren’t eating it up.” You grab your phone and pry it out of his hands. “So back to what I was saying. That night I received a message saying ‘What do you wish for?’ I didn’t really think much about it, but I did say I wished you were here because I was sick.” You pull up the message and show it to him.

 “It has something else written underneath it.” You lean in with Law to see the text. 

 “Wish will expire one week from now at midnight.” Your heart drops. It’s nice knowing you have more time left with him but you know this whole ordeal has to be a big inconvenience for him.“ I can't help but feel guilty. I pulled you away from your crew for my own selfish wish. I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay, my crew can handle themselves for a few days.” Law props his feet up on the coffee table. “This is like a vacation for me, plus I find this universe interesting. The medical knowledge here is very advanced and I’m sure there’s a lot I can learn.”

 “I’m glad you see it that way.” You stand up from the couch and head towards the kitchen. “I’ll make us some dinner.”

~~~~

 After reading a recipe online you made tuna filled rice balls. They ended up looking good thanks to the mold you bought that shaped them like bears. You just pray they taste good.  If anything he’ll at least find them cute. 

 “You're no Sanji, but I’m proud of you Y/N.” You pat yourself on the back and smile seeing how adorable they turned out. “They look like Bepo.”

 “They do look like him.” Law yet again sneaks up behind you, causing you to jump out of your skin.

 “I’m starting to think you enjoy freaking me out.” You gave him a playful smack on the back.

 “It’s becoming my favorite activity~.” He grabs one of the rice balls and takes a big bite. The look on his face was hard to read. Did he like them? “Was this your first time making them?” 

 “Yeah why? Are they bad?” You're mentally preparing yourself for negative feedback.

 “No, they're actually really good.” He shook his head and swallowed the last bite before grabbing another one. “The rice was cooked perfectly, and the filling.. Is it tuna?” 

 “It is! I figured that would be a safe bet. I made sure to stay away from the umeboshi recipes.” You grab one and take a bite. They are good.

 “You're a very considerate person Y/N.” Law walks over to your fridge and pulls out two bottles of water. He hands you one before sitting on the countertop. “With that being said, it’s a little unfair how much you know about me versus how little I know about you. So tell me Y/N.” You turn your attention to Law. “What makes you, you?” 

 “What makes me, me.. Hmm.” You lean against the countertop beside him and ponder the thought. “I’m not really sure.” Your mind went completely blank being put on the spot.

 “Is that so?” Law finishes off the last rice ball and takes a drink of water. “I guess that leaves me six days to figure you out.” 

[spine-buster]

portofino ft. kenny omega

gif credit @/stukky

Length: 23k Summary: You and Tyson have history.  Lots of it.  When you met, you could have never envisioned he would be in your life the way he still is.  But things get complicated, and tricky, and complex.  Things hurt – lots of things hurt.  And things can only get worse before they can get better, right? A/N: my first wrestling fic since 2017. The formatting and spacing on this is super fucked up and not idea and I apologize for that, but Tumblr's new and "improved" text editor is literally the fucking worst and glitches SO much that the most I could do was this. This will also be posted on my AO3 (@/spinebuster) if you prefer there!

10th May 2023

it only hurts this much right now was what i was thinking the whole time

You were crying again.

At this point, you were basically just leaking.

You didn’t want Tyson to find out, so you tried with all your might to stop yourself, rubbing away your tears with the back of your hand and trying to steady your breathing.  You breathed in and out, in and out, in and out.  You hoped no-one else around noticed.  But it was hard when there were so many people, hard when you were friends with practically all of them, hard when any little hint of water or redness of your eye could cause someone like Austin or Hikaru or Dustin to speak up and ask you what was wrong.  You almost wanted to hide in a closet until you calmed down, but that was childish. 

You went into one of the washrooms backstage anyway, not bothering to go into a stall but checking them all quickly anyway to ensure nobody else was with you.  When you knew you were clear, you stood in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror.  Your cheeks were red, your eyes were watery.  You sighed.

“Get it together, Hazel,” you mumbled to yourself.  You so desperately needed to get it the fuck together.  “Stop crying.  You’re such a baby.”

The pep talk didn’t help much.

***

“Have you seen Hazel anywhere?” Tyson asked Nick as he unraveled the tape around his wrists.

“Nah,” he answered, shaking his head.  “Probably went back to the hotel a bit early.”

“Why would she do that?” Tyson asked.  Matt, from behind his brother, gave one of his best friends a look.  “Oh.  Right,” Tyson realized.

“Don’t think she wants to hang out here anymore than she needs to,” Nick commented.

“Can you blame her?” Matt asked his brother.

“Not in the slightest.”

***

You had the TV on for background noise as you went about your routines and wandered aimlessly around the hotel room.  It was pitch black outside in Detroit; you couldn’t even see anything out the window besides the lights from the hotel parking lot.  What a view.  You tried to distract yourself with the TV, sitting down on the suite’s couch, but you couldn’t even do that.  Your legs pushed you back up to wander more.  You’d check your phone and texted your mom back.  You texted Hikaru that maybe brunch would be a better idea tomorrow instead of meeting her in the lobby for the continental breakfast, knowing what tomorrow morning would probably look like. 

At some point, you heard some noise and voices from outside your room.  Not long after, the sounds of a key card swiping, and finally the turn of the doorknob.  You were greeted with Tyson – or, more so, Tyson was greeted with you, since you were the one in his room.  It wasn’t a surprise that you were there, but it was still a welcome sight.  It was better than being alone.

“Hey,” you greeted him.  It had been about an hour since you stopped crying, so you hoped your eyes and face had stopped showing it.

“Hazel, hey,” he said, smiling at you, despite what he had just been through.  He wheeled his bag in behind him before the door shut on its own.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied.  “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” he shrugged.  He’d been saying that a lot lately.  You hated when he did.  “You left early.”

You nodded quickly, apologetically.  “I didn’t want to stick around.  Knowing that he’s lurking around, you know…I just didn’t want to have to deal with it.”

“I didn’t even see him, for what it’s worth.  If you stayed in our locker room you would’ve been good.”

The two of you didn’t even have to say his name for you to understand.  In some ways, you were glad he acted as a buffer, an excuse you could pull, that way you could hide why you really left early.  “I watched most of the match, I swear.  Until I couldn’t anymore.”

“When was that?”

“When you guys broke the cage,” you were finally honest, just slightly.

“So you didn’t see Don stab me with a screwdriver.”

You winced.  “No.  But you at least told me about that.  You didn’t tell me the cage was going to break.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice solemn.  “You know how these matches get put together.  Things get added.  Things get taken out.”

Did you ever.  But you still couldn’t get used to how…well, violent Tyson’s matches were getting.  Unnecessary violence.  Unnecessary risk.  There was no reason for Tyson to bleed, and now you felt he was bleeding every week.  You didn’t know how much longer you’d last.  “How’s your knee?” you asked, since you saw it get caught up in the cage when it broke, causing you to cry in the first place.  He’d just taken time off for double knee surgery; you were scared he was taking it too far.

“Knees are fine.  As good as they can be,” he assured you.  “Can you…can you help me with something else, though?”

“Of course.  What is it?”

“There’s, umm, there’s some scratches on my back.  I need someone to take off the big bandage, apply this cream the doctor gave me, and tape on a new bandage.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly.  You’d done a version of this countless times before but it never got easier.  Just like watching him do these kinds of matches never got easier.  “Do you want to sit on the bed?”

He changed out of his gym shorts and into his pyjama shorts first so he could sleep right afterwards.  You watched as he sat on the bed, handing you the ointment.  When you unravelled the bandage, your stomach was in knots about how big it was.  “Ty…”

“It’s going to look worse than it feels,” he warned.  “It doesn’t feel that bad, Hazel.  I promise.”  He took off his shirt then, slowly, grunting slightly.  The bandage covered nearly half his back.  You held your breath, trying to keep your emotions in check.  “The tape that’s holding the bandage in place – it doesn’t hurt.  You can just peel it off,” he instructed.  “I have more for when you put the new one on.”

You started peeling away the tape, discarding it beside you as you.  When it was fully peeled, the bandage still stayed in place, which only meant to you it was sticking onto his skin because of the blood.  You held your breath again as you took the bandage off, but fully gasped loudly in horror, your breath taken away when you saw the state of his back.  “Oh Ty…” you cried.

“Hazel—”

“Tyson, what did you do?  What did you do?” you begged from him.  You brought your hand up, tracing the scratches and cuts delicately with your fingertips.  “Tyson…” he had to hear the pain in your voice.

“I’m sorry, Hazel.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m so sorry.”

And that’s when it began again: the tears.  You grabbed the ointment and unscrewed the cap, taking in the full picture of his back.  You cried silently, tears falling down your face as you would apply small bits of ointment to your fingers before rubbing it along all the scratches.  You would do this for Tyson until the day you died, but you hated that it had to be like this.  The two of you had always looked out for one another – Tyson more so, for obvious reasons, but that was a whole other story – but seeing his body mutilated like this twisted something in you that you couldn’t kick.  It was one thing to see Kenny after a 60-minute match with Okada, body bruised and banged up but all in one piece; it was another thing to see barbed wire and nail scratches, cuts, and footprints on his face.

He winced in pain every so often and you’d keel, hating yourself for hurting him when you were supposed to be helping him.  You tried not to let him hear you cry, but you were sure the couple of sniffles gave it away.  When you finally asked for the tape for the bandage and your voice cracked, you were positive.

Tyson handed you the tape, but turned around slightly to see you.  “You’re crying.  Why are you crying?” he asked.

You shook your head to ignore him.  You unravelled the tape and began ripping strips to use.  “Turn around.”

“Hazel—”

“Sit still.”

Tyson stayed silent.  You positioned the bandage to cover all the scratches before taping it into place.  When you were done, you tossed the tape to the side, the rest of his back looking fairly normal besides the scars you already knew about.  Unable to control yourself, you leaned forward and pressed your cheek to his skin on his back between his shoulder blades, inhaling and exhaling deeply.  Tyson felt what you were doing, the skin-to-skin contact an instantaneous feeling, and breathed in and out along with you.  You savoured the feeling of the Tyson you knew on your skin.  Not mutilated Tyson.  Not banged up Tyson.  Just the Tyson you knew for twelve years, the Tyson who looked out for you, the Tyson who was your mentor.

“I’m sorry, Hazel,” he whispered, his words sincere.  He hated seeing, feeling you so upset.

“Can I stick around tonight?” you asked.

“You never have to ask.  You just can.”

When you crawled to step off the bed, Tyson grabbed your arm to prevent you from going anywhere momentarily.  You wanted to get the feeling of tears off your face, but he had other plans.  You were right at his side, so so close.  “I really am sorry,” he told you.  “I hate seeing you like this.”

Tears were coming again.  You didn’t try to stop them this time.  You still shook your head and tried to wipe them away.  “It’s just getting harder and harder for me to watch you put your body through these hardcore matches,” you admitted.  “Sometimes I just wish you’d stick to what you’re good at.  And that’s not to say you’re not good at the hardcore stuff, because you are – you’re good at everything.  I just wish I didn’t have to see your body be mutilated for the sake of spectacle.  I hate—I hate seeing what you have to do.  You, more than anyone, know how to put on a spectacle without having to do that shit.  I hate seeing you destroy your body, Ty.  I just hate it.  I’m sorry.”

He nodded his head in understanding.  “I know it’s hard.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

Tyson waited for you to wash your face and put on one of his t-shirts before the both of you got into bed.  You wondered if you should get close at all, possibly even touch him, and you were about to decide against him until he winced again, trying to get into a comfortable position.  It was at that point that your body physically moved towards his before your mind knew what it was doing.  It was like a fight-or-flight response.  He found a comfortable position sleeping on his side, and you curled up right against his back like the big spoon, despite being two-thirds his size. 

In the quietness of the room, with the low hum of the air conditioner the only noise, you placed a kiss on his shoulder.  He didn’t say anything, but you knew he felt it.

***

The next morning, you woke up still snuggled into Tyson.  You both had inevitably shifted throughout the night: Tyson was lying on his back, apparently able to do so without pain, while you were sleeping right up against him.  When you opened your eyes, you saw that he was still sound asleep, one arm draped over his chest.

“Haze?” you heard him mumble in a groggy voice.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t fully asleep.  “Hmm?”

“Thank you for last night,” he said.

You didn’t answer right away.  “I’ll always be there to help you, Tyson.  You know that.”

He moved so that the arm that had been squished against you was now around you, pulling you into his body even more than you already were.  The usual smell of him filled your airways; it practically made you drunk.  Drunk enough to fall back asleep, his body bringing you peace as much as it did pain.

***

11th May 2023

time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it i'd like to be my old self again, but i'm still trying to find it

When you were back in Orlando, you settled into the solace of your apartment, unpacking immediately and throwing your clothes in the washing machine.  You were called a psychopath more than once by Stephen for being that type of person – especially after it became a meme on the internet – but you couldn’t help it.  You had even packed Tyson’s shirt that you’d slept in last night, seeing it mixed in with your other clothes before you threw in a Tide Pod and closed the door.

After unpacking, you set your suitcase in your closet and resolved to have a bowl of lime tortilla chips as you sat on the couch and scrolled through Instagram and cuddled with your ragdoll cat, Zadie.  You needed to disconnect from wrestling for a bit, from flashbacks of seeing Tyson’s scratched-up back whipping through your mind every other minute.  But as you sat down on your couch, bowl or tortilla chips in hand, you couldn’t help but notice your most prized belongings: your wrestling accolades you had organized neatly on the wall and in the media unit that surrounded your TV.  Your Match of the Year plaques from 2014 and 2015.  Your Woman of the Year awards.  A women’s belt.  Framed photographs of you wrestling.  Frame photographs of you with your friends.  With your family.  With Tyson.

Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago and sometimes it felt like you had to retire yesterday.  You had enjoyed an amazing but short career.  You’d had a lot of ups, a lot of downs, a lot of heartbreaks, a lot of memorable moments.  There was the time you’d gone 20-minutes with Toni Storm in a match that ended up getting over a million views on YouTube.  You’d performed in infamous Reseda, in the PWG arena, to the most raucous crowd you’d ever performed in front of.  You had travelled to America, Japan, the UK, Germany, Italy, France, Mexico, and Ireland to wrestle.  You had hype.  You had respect.  People wrote about you.  People paid to see you.  People lined up for you at meet and greets.  People wanted your autograph and your t-shirts at shows, handing you wads of cash for two medium and two kids’ t-shirts so the whole family could match.  While you had made a name for yourself, you’d racked up the injuries too.  There was the broken wrist early on, which wasn’t that bad – from a show in Toronto where you just landed awkwardly.  You were able to finish the match, and thanks to the Canadian health care system you held so dear, it was in a cast just a few hours later.  There was a broken ankle that actually forced you to stay back from a tour of Ireland that many of your friends went on.

At one point in 2014, you were booked to wrestle against a women’s wrestler, fairly new to the scene, named Bea Priestley.  The both of you had gone over the match beforehand, but once in the ring, she did nothing you two spoke about.  That was fine – you were a professional – but Bea was wrestling stiff, and you were getting angrier every passing moment in the ring, even warning her to cool it.  When she actually did one of the sequences you’d called beforehand, she ended up breaking your sternum.  You had to be out for twelve weeks.  You never heard from Bea.  It was fine.  Whatever.

But the next time Bea Priestley wrestled you, she broke your neck.

You told her you didn’t want to take anything too risky.  “Why?  You don’t trust me?” she had the audacity to ask you.  During the match, when she picked you up and flipped you upside down, you knew what was coming, so you tried to get into a safe position.  But none of that mattered.  Nothing would have saved you.

You remembered dropping on you head, and you remember seeing a light, and you remember your whole body going limp.  It felt like you weight a million pounds; you were completely paralyzed from the neck down.  You couldn’t move, and it was the scariest seconds of your life.  Rick Knox immediately noticed.  You closed your eyes and willed your brain to wiggle your fingers, and after about five or six seconds, you felt them rubbing against each other, even just slightly.  You remembered seeing Bea try to kick you, but Rick Knox earnestly holding her back.  When he pushed her far enough away, he knelt down by your head.  “Haze, what happened?” he asked.  You knew your body.  You knew what this was.  You told Rick not to touch you, that you had broken your neck. 

You remember him throwing up one of the most emphatic X’s you’d ever seen and the whole crowd going silent.  Rick was screaming something, but you were focused on the worst pain you’d ever felt in your neck as you began feeling again in your extremities.  After that, so much was a blur.  You remember Austin somehow being beside your face too, telling you everything was going to be okay – you later learned he was watching from the back and ran out the second Rick threw up the X.  You remember Dustin being there too, doing much of what Austin was doing, giving Bea dirty looks – you later learned he was the one who called the ambulance.  Austin and Dustin were very likely the reasons things weren’t worse, the reason why you were still walking. 

At the hospital they ran x-rays and MRIs and other tests, as usual, and they put a neck brace on you.  Dustin had followed you to the hospital to explain everything to the emergency doctors, Austin and Kyle and Candice following close behind in a car.  When the results finally came back, it was even worse than you – than everybody – thought. 

“Your disc hit your spinal cord, which is why you saw the white light,” the doctor explained.  “That’s what caused the temporary paralysis.”

“So I broke it, like I thought,” you wanted the confirmation.  People had recovered from broken necks before.  So many had been able to get back into the ring.

The doctor sighed.  “Miss Fiore…” she began.  “Your disc hit your spinal cord.  You didn’t fracture your neck.  You didn’t break it.  What you suffered is what we refer to as a spinal cord concussion.  You don’t have to sever your spinal cord to be paralyzed for life, you could just touch it and be paralyzed for life.  This…what happened to you…is technically worse.”

You remember feeling as if the blood drained from your body.  “Paralyzed?”

She sighed again.  “Miss Fiore…you have a very, very similar injury to Christopher Reeve.  Your C2 is what controls your breathing.  The truth is, when it hit your spinal cord, you should have suffocated to death in the ring.  Out of the five percent of people that survive this injury, ninety-nine percent are paralyzed.  It’s quite literally a miracle that you are still able to walk.” 

You had emergency spinal fusion surgery less than 24 hours later.  Four screws, a rod, and sixteen staples created a gnarly, awful scar on your neck that was still visible whenever you had your hair up. 

Your wrestling career was over.

Your phone buzzed loudly from your coffee table, breaking your train of thought.  At least it kept you from crying.  When you picked it up, you noticed Tyson’s name flash across the screen.

Want to come up and watch some Netflix or something?  We can even keep watching that German duchess show you like.  Promise.

He lived in one of the penthouses on the 34th floor, while you lived in a two bedroom on the 18th.  How embarrassing was that?  Even your living situations were inextricably linked.  You swiped your phone open and texted him back quickly. 

It’s okay.  I need some time alone.  Let’s go for coffee tomorrow or something.

It was Dustin who had to make the call to Tyson when you were in the hospital.  He was in Japan on a tour, and word hadn’t gotten to him.  Dustin told you he had freaked out on the phone, like completely freaked out.  After your surgery and after all your visitors had left, your room surrounded by flowers and get well soon cards, you FaceTimed him.  He picked up on barely the second ring.  It was the first time you’d ever seen him tear up, though you later learned he didn’t completely break down until after he hung up.  You tried to cheer him up, telling him the first thing you were going to do when you were cleared was go to Japan to see him.  He made you promise not to fly unless a doctor said it was okay.  He had two weeks off in about a month’s time and resolved to stay with you for the duration to help you.  You told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.

Those two weeks were when you realized Tyson would be in your life forever.

You’d still done well for yourself since then.  You ended up starting a variety of projects – a podcast, becoming a semi-influencer on Instagram.  But perhaps most successful, and what kept your memory alive in the hearts and minds of wrestling fans worldwide despite not fighting in the ring anymore, was your YouTube series.  Kick Out in the Kitchen.  A series you started, inspired by the memory of your dad who was a chef, where you invited wrestlers to help you cook increasingly complex dishes.  You’d interview them along the way, teach them how to properly cut an onion, and make sure they didn’t slice off a finger in the process.  It was hysterical, and it was a hit.

Your life was good.  It really was.  You had amazing friends, you had your career, you had your mom in Winnipeg, you had an apartment, you had Tyson.  But sometimes you ached for the past; sometimes you wanted to still be in the ring, winning championships and changing the wrestling landscape just like your close friends were doing.  That just wasn’t in the cards for you, and that’s okay.  But it still hurt sometimes.

Your phone buzzed again, the badge rolling down from the top of your screen. 

Are you sure?  Need to talk?

I’m good.  Thanks Ty <3 see you tomorrow.

***

It all began with Portofino. 

Well, it all really began with Tyson making a remark about how you always carried a book around in your gym bag.  You were in Winnipeg then, training to become a wrestler, and he’d visited the school on a trip home from Japan in 2011.  “I promised my mom I’d graduate university before pursuing wrestling full-time,” you had explained to him.  “She wants me to have a degree.  It’s a non-negotiable.”

The book in question that he saw that day was An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro.  He was intrigued by the Japanese name of the author more than anything, although when you told him the synopsis, he perked up quite considerably. 

He was 28 at the time.  You were 20.

You were so, so young, but you were the only one that had spoken to him at length about your vision of what pro wrestling is and what pro wrestling could be.  You listened to him more intently than anyone else in your class when he spoke of his time in Japan.  You’d seen the match he had at his cottage.  You saw his match against nine-year-old Haruka and against Yoshihiko the blow-up doll.  Some of your fellow trainees looked at you weird.  You were the only one who had expressed any interest in travelling somewhere other than the United States for pro wrestling – maybe go to the UK, or do a tour of Europe, or, if you were lucky enough, do a tour of Japan. 

By the end of the week, Tyson gave you his number and said if you were ever in Japan to contact him.

You did more than that.  You didn’t just wait the two years between meeting him and graduating to speak to him again.  You actively kept in touch with him.  You became friends as you learned more about each other.  So much so that after local shows on weekends, travelling to Toronto, Calgary, Vancouver, and Pasadena in the summers to wrestle, and graduation, when you arrived in Japan for the first time he picked you up from the airport. 

He looked out for you.  He always did.

He always would.

***

PORTOFINO, 2014

i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time

You found yourself squished in the backseat of a tiny Italian car between Matt Jackson and Kenny Omega, Tommaso Ciampa in the driver’s seat and Nick Jackson in the passenger’s seat.  That’s who they were last night, anyway, participating in matches and stealing the show in Genoa, Italy.  Today, you were just Matt, Tyson, Tommaso, Nick, and Hazel going to Portofino.

The promoter who had lured you all (and more) to Italy for a mini tour had mentioned the famous Italian Riviera town was only an hour away, so on the two days off you had between shows, you all decided to go.  Nick had found the hotel and booked the rooms.  Tommaso volunteered to drive.  A car with Austin, Kyle, Johnny, Candice, and Bobby were following close behind you.

“You’re not squished, are you?  D’you have enough room?” Tyson asked as he looked down at your frame, tiny in comparison to the bulk that surrounded you.

“I’ll live,” you assured him.  “Besides, you’re the one with your knees up to your chin.  Why didn’t you demand the front seat?”

“I couldn’t leave you in the middle between Matt and Nick,” he said, as if it was his moral obligation to protect you from two of the nicest guys on earth.  “Besides, Nick wants to learn more Italian.”

“Nick can barely speak English.”

“Whatja just say about me?” he hissed playfully from the backseat.  A smile spread across Tyson’s face.  “You’re gonna pay for that, Hazel.”

“I’m terrified.”

“You’re fearless, huh?” Tommaso joked from the front seat, looking at you through his rearview mirror.

“Not fearless.  I’m scared of a lot of things,” you clarified, being honest.  “But Matt and Nick aren’t one of ‘em.” 

When you all got into town, you checked into the hotel.  It was obvious that Matt and Nick would share a room together, just like it was obvious Johnny and Candice would, too.  After Austin paired up with Kyle (they were, technically, the other couple on the trip), and Tomasso paired up with Bobby, you and Tyson were inevitably the only pair left.  Was it normal for a young female wrestler to sleep in a room with her mentor during a trip to Italy?  Who knows.  You (and Candice) were used to being the only girls in the room a lot.  This was no different.  All you knew was that it didn’t matter to you: you knew Tyson, and everybody else, and it was the last thing on your mind because what really mattered was that you were in Italy.

Tyson unlocked the hotel room, the both of you pulling your bags in behind you.  There were two single beds placed together in the room, a window and a door out to the balcony providing the perfect cross breeze. 

“Okay, we’re not in a university dorm,” you commented, scoffing at the setup of the beds before pushing them together.  Tyson just watched.  You looked up at him.  “You need sunscreen?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded his head.

You found it in your bag and tossed it over to him.  You walked over to the small balcony and stepped out, taking in the view of the harbour from the room.  You guys got lucky, the way that this hotel was even available on such short notice – and five rooms at that.  The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  That alone told you that it was going to be a great day. 

You had been admiring the view of the harbour so much that you almost didn’t hear Tyson step out and join you on the balcony.  It was so small that between your bodies and the two chairs, it was full.  “Matt and Nick texted to meet in the lobby in fifteen,” he said.  “Are you good with that?”

Your bathing suit was already on underneath your sun dress, so you nodded your head.  “Just need the sunscreen,” you mentioned, and he handed it to you.  You perched your leg up on one of the chairs to slather the sunscreen on your leg, bringing it all the way up to the tops of your thighs.  Tyson couldn’t help but stare at your legs and not the view of the harbour.  You tried not to smile about it and looked away instead.  “Do we know where we’re going, by the way?  Portofino doesn’t exactly have a beach.”

Tyson furrowed his brows.  “How do you know?”

“My dad was from around here, remember?”

Tyson nodded at your reminder.  “That’s right.  Sorry, I forgot.”

You’d told Tyson a lot of stories about your dad since you met him, and every time you told a story, mentioned a characteristic, an odd quirk your dad used to do, he’d always listened intently.  You’d lost your dad to cancer at fifteen years old, and you missed him every day since.  It left a hole in you.  Understanding how close you and your dad were, Tyson always made sure to remember the details.  You mentioned to him once how you actually liked speaking about him because it meant you were keeping his memory alive, and Tyson told you he thought that was the most touching thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said, moving on to your other leg.  “I remember coming here as a kid.  The beaches are really rocky.  Either we get lucky and there’s nobody, or we have to find our own private place.”

He watched your hands travel up your thighs.  “You should take the reins on that, then,” he said.  You could see his Adam’s apple bob in his neck.  “Tommaso’s Italian is shit.”

You did.  Eventually, when you and the group made it down to the harbour, you asked in your broken Italian where the best place was – you probably sounded like a caveman – and some delightful locals pointed you in the right direction.  Like you remembered, it was rocky, but you found enough spots on huge flat rocks for towels and bags.  The best part was you were right beside a climbable cliff, so you knew all the guys would be doing crazy jumps.  The entire afternoon was spent between tanning on the rocks and cooling off in the water.  You had jumped off the cliff with Candice, with Tyson, and with Austin.  You swam in the water and got your hair wet and let the sunlight hit your face.  You’d caught Tyson’s eye so many times you lost count.  You felt pure happiness.

There was a moment after you jumped off the cliff for the second time with Tyson – a good photo op, according to Matt taking them – where you held hands as your ran and plummeted into the water.  Even underwater, despite the pressure, your hands stayed clasped.  It was only when you got back to the surface that your hands separated.  You could see Tyson’s smile.  “You alright?” he asked.

You only nodded.  You paddled the small distance over to him and attached your whole body to his.  You don’t know what came over you, but you wrapped your legs around his torso underwater, and as you did you could feel his hands go to your thighs.  Your arms wrapping around his shoulders, attaching yourself to him piggy-back style.  He looked behind his shoulder to see you.  “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded again.  “I just feel like being close to you,” you admitted.  “Is that okay?”

There was a slight pause.  “Of course,” he said.  “You want to stay out here for a bit?”

“Yeah.  Just you and me for a little bit,” you said.  “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having the time of my life.”

“It sucks that we only get one day.  This area of Italy is so beautiful.  Have you ever been?”

“No.  This is my first time,” he revealed.  “I’m just happy I’m getting to spend it with you.”

You smiled, giving him as much of a hug as you could by squeezing your limbs around him tighter.  “You’re going to have to come back and spend a decent amount of time here.  I remember coming here when I was nine to visit my dad’s family, and, Ty—Portofino isn’t even the most beautiful town on the water.  And the food – the food!”

He smiled.  “We’re going to have to find a place tonight.  You’ll have to use your Italian again.  Find us the best restaurant in the town.”

There was silence between the two of you, the noise from the waves and from your friends and the other tourists filling the air instead.  You leaned your head forward so it was settled right into his shoulder.  “Hey Ty?” your voice was low this time.

“Hmm?”

“I’m happy I get to spend it with you, too.  Sometimes I feel like all I want to do is spend time with you.”

Tyson felt the same.  His breath caught in his throat.  All he could do was nod.  “Yeah…yeah.”

*

That night, after showering the salt water off and changing into another flowy dress, you all went out for dinner and had the best pasta and fish and wine you’d ever had in your life.  The waiter fell in love with your group and kept bringing you goodies: glasses of wine from the cellar, shots from the bar, extra plates of tiramisu or bombe.  Your stomach was full but your heart was fuller, and you didn’t want the day to end. 

Retiring back to the hotel meant you and Tyson would be alone again.  After the both of you packed away your things so you were already packed for tomorrow morning, you changed into pyjamas and got in to your pushed together beds.  Tyson browsed through his phone a bit before setting it on his beside and turning over to his side to sleep.

You, on the other hand, could not. 

You kept thinking of the feeling of his hands on your body.  It wasn’t like it was a new sensation – you trained with him constantly.  But there was something about the way he touched it when you were both in the water, the way nobody could see how his arms wrapped around you or how his hands went to your thighs to wrap your legs around his body as he gave you a piggy-back ride.  Even at dinner, sitting beside you at the table on the patio overlooking the water, his forearm rubbing up against yours underneath the table since your group was so squished together.

It was electric.  And now, all that electricity was in you with nowhere to go.

So much time had passed that you were 95% sure he was asleep.  If you were to say anything, you’d definitely be waking him up from his beauty sleep.  “Ty…” you mumbled out, still unsure if you even should as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Hazel?”

Well, at least you felt less bad about it now.  “Can you sleep?”

“Nah,” he said.  “Can you?”

“I think the sun today energized my body to the point where I can re-enact Shawn and Bret’s iron man match.”

You could hear Tyson giggle from his side of the bed.  “Are you Bret or Shawn in that scenario?”

“Both.”

He snorted.  You could feel him shift positions so that he could look at you now.  You turned over to your side as well.  “I’m dead serious.  I feel, like, buzzed.”

“I’m sure one of the guys has melatonin if you’re really worried,” he said.

You shook your head.  “I’ll be fine,” you assured him.  “Can I see all the pictures you took today?”

Tyson had learned a long time ago from his good friend Rami Sebei that he should be taking pictures of all the places he went and everything he saw and did (just as Rami did), so he made it a point since then to do just that.  He leaned over and unplugged his phone from the nightstand, and when he began to set back into his spot in bed, you didn’t let him until you had fit yourself into his side.  He didn’t even think twice as you did so, wrapping his arm around your body as you nestled your head against his chest.  You were so close he could smell the product you’d put into your hair.  You giggled through all the photos, at Austin’s terrified face the first time he jumped, versus Matt and Nick contemplating whether they could do a shooting star press into the water.  You saw the pictures he took of you and Candice hugging each other, and the pictures Bobby took of you and Tyson together on the rocks and posing in the shallow part of the water.  The more you laughed and smiled, the more he did too. 

When you’d seen all the photos, Tyson put his phone back on the nightstand but you stayed right where you were.  He laid back, savouring the feeling of your head on his chest, of your arm draped across him, how your fingertips had tip-toed and glided along his skin every time you laughed at a picture.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, moving to look at him.

“Of course.”

“How lame did you think I was the first time you met me?”

He giggled again.  So distinct in its sound; you’d be able to hear it from a mile away.  “I didn’t think you were lame at all,” he was smiling at you.  “I was actually shocked at how mature you were for your age, and how much you could talk about pro wrestling – more than anyone else in that class, that’s for sure.  You were a bit of a freak, but I liked you.  I don’t think you’re lame, or were lame.”

“I feel like you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he assured you.  “I’d never lie to you.  Trust me on that one.”

“I’d never lie to you, either,” you said, butterflies in your stomach. 

You were looking right in Tyson’s blue eyes then, hyperaware of the feeling of his fingertips grazing over the skin on your arm.  His sunkissed skin, his eye crinkles, the scruff of his beard – it all added up in making you push yourself up so you could kiss him.  It was very soft at first, but not hesitant, and when you pulled away you looked into his eyes, only to kiss him again. 

He kissed back, moving his lips in perfect sync with yours as you continued, kiss after kiss after kiss.  You don’t know how long you’d been kissing for, but eventually, it was your tongue that grazed his lips first, and soon you were tasting each other.  After more time, he pushed back slightly so you were on your back, and gently, gently he got on top of you. 

“Is this okay?” was the only thing he mumbled between when you started kissing and that moment. 

“Please, Ty,” you nodded your head slightly and quickly.  “We’ve been waiting all day.”

You both took it slow, surprisingly, despite all the pent up energy from the day.  You wanted to make it last.  Tyson’s body loomed over yours for a while, kissing your lips and your neck with such expertise you hadn’t experienced from anywhere else.  You remembered cradling his face and running your fingers through his curly hair and thinking to yourself how lucky you were to be under him, to be with him like this so intimately.  It wasn’t just that he’d been kind to you from the beginning, or that he’d taken you under his wing and acted as your mentor, especially in Japan, or that he’d looked out for you anywhere you found yourselves.  It was that he was so considerate in his everyday life, so wise and so funny – God, did he ever make you laugh – and so passionate about his dreams and goals.  A translation of that was happening right now, on a twin bed in a hotel room in Portofino, Italy.

Tyson had already been shirtless in bed, so all you really had to do was push down his boxers.  You could feel the length and size of him against your body then, and your breath could only hitch in your throat in anticipation of what was to happen very soon.  Your breathing got heavier as he helped you pull off your pyjama top, and you didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness as he looked down at your nearly naked body.  He brought his kisses down your chest and along both your breasts before pulling down your bottoms. 

He kissed you as he entered you, but you broke it as you let out a soft “Oh Jesus” at the feeling.  His lips left yours and looked into your eyes then, making sure everything was okay without even saying anything.  He grabbed each of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers before pushing them above your head, looking deep in to your eyes without looking away.  You began moaning softly, involuntarily, at the pressure you felt of him holding you in that position as he moved in and out of you, your hips crashing together with every one of his thrusts.  His eyes were blue – so blue – but you knew they were filled with fire.  You were sure that your moans got slightly louder as the time passed, mixed in with your pants of his name every time he hit just the right spot.

At some point he let go of your hands and they immediately went to cup his face, pulling him down to kiss you so you could stick your tongue down his throat again.  You didn’t stop kissing after that, your hands making their way up and down his torso, gripping on to his sides before moving up and settling underneath his arms and scratching at his shoulders and back.  You were in heaven.  Everything felt like pure bliss.  The endless kisses, the moans from you and the moans from him.  You had never felt anything so incredible in your life.

You noticed when Tyson’s breathing became more laboured, and you knew he was close.  You were too.  You dug your nails into his shoulders and tried to arch your hips just right.  Hearing him grunt and let out a string of expletives under his breath was all you needed to do it again.  “I’m so close,” you whispered, looking right into his eyes.

“Hazel…fuck…” was all he could let out.

“I want you to come inside me, Tyson.”

He didn’t last much longer after that, but he made sure you got there first.  He looked into your eyes the whole time as he watched your orgasm overcome you, coursing through your body and making you moan out his name and dig your nails into his biceps.  Only then did he allow himself his release, coming inside you, a series of grunts and moans of your name leaving him as he had his head buried in the crook of your neck.

You stayed together for a while, relishing in every last bit of what had just happened between you before Tyson couldn’t hold himself up on his forearms anymore.  There was one last, long kiss before he pulled out of you.  He lay by your side, still so close to your body.  You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and when you turned your head to look at him, he had an identical smile on his face, too.

Despite earlier complaints from the both of you of being unable to fall asleep, you had no trouble doing so now, your eyes feeling heavy and fluttering until you fell into a peaceful sleep.

*

The next morning was quiet except for the sound of birds chirping outside your window.  The light was shining through from the morning sun, and when you opened your eyes and finally came to at least semi-consciousness, you saw and felt Tyson’s body underneath yours.  He had an arm wrapped around you and were using him as a pillow.

Memories of what happened last night flooded your mind as you waited for him to wake up.  From looking at the photos of the day to kissing him and then being under him, you remembered everything in vivid detail.  You hadn’t been part of something so passionate in your life.  It could have only happened with Tyson, too – you couldn’t picture it being with anyone else. 

After a while, you felt him shift underneath you and groan, bringing his free hand up to rub his eyes.  You began to trace shapes on his chest so he knew you were awake too.  When he looked at you, a small, tired smile played on his lips.  “Mornin’,” he whispered.  “You good?”

“I’m good,” you nodded.  “You sleep okay?”

“It was perfect.”

You smiled.  “Even with me hogging the covers?”

“You actually didn’t this time.  I was surprised,” he said, pulling your body so you were anchored right on top of his.  He wiggled a bit to get comfortable, shifting the beds.  “You were right about what you said last night, by the way.  We’d been waiting for a while.”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding slightly.  “You felt it too then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Of course I did.”

There was silence between you.  Suddenly, a feeling came over you like lightning, seizing your whole body.  You never used to be like this, but once you lost your dad, your emotions sometimes came in quick rushes – tsunamis, you sometimes referred to them – and you could never stop it from happening.  You just had to learn how to deal with it, how to verbalize the emotion to solve it so you could go back to normal.  This time, it wasn’t one of self-consciousness, or full-blown anxiety, or fear of the unknown, or anything major.  It wasn’t even hesitation.  It was just a nervousness; a nervousness of the soul.  “This isn’t gonna change anything between us, is it?” you asked, verbalizing the first thing you became nervous about.  Not having Tyson in your life wasn’t an option at this point. 

“No,” he shook his head.  “No it won’t.”

“And this won’t – I mean, you’re not gonna think differently about me, are you?” you continued.  “Because I don’t – I know what it’s like for women in this business.  I don’t want anybody thinking of me differently because of what we did—”

“Hey hey hey, shhhhh,” Tyson cooed.  “Nobody’s going to think differently about you.  Don’t think that.  Nobody’s gonna know.  It’ll stay between you and me, Hazel.  I mean it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.  Not having the career you worked so hard to build also wasn’t an option at this point.  People not respecting you wasn’t an option in general.  You knew that respect would be gone if people knew you’d slept with your mentor.  You could already imagine the things that would be said.  You’d never earn anything on your own merit anymore; it would always be because you slept with Kenny Omega. 

“Hazel, I would never,” he shook his head.  “Like I said, we’d been waiting for a while.  It happened.  I don’t—I mean, I don’t think either of us regrets it—”

“—I don’t.”

“—Neither of us regrets it, but I don’t want anybody to know either.  Nobody has to know, anyway.  It’s nobody’s business but our own.”

That had calmed you down considerably.  You were thankful he was so level-headed, thankful that he was so private in his dealings and personal life that you honestly didn’t have to worry.  He wasn’t like so many others who would say one thing and do another; lead you on and then get with another girl.  You had no worries that any of your friends or fellow wrestlers would ever know.  You were able to keep your mouth shut.  So was Tyson.  “This is like Take This to Your Grave.  You know, like the Fall Out Boy album?” you couldn’t help but quip.

Tyson snorted, rolling his eyes.  “Hazel, were you even alive when that album came out?”

“HEY!” you jolted up, causing the beds to wiggle again.  “I’ll have you know that was a seminal album in my life.  “I was twelve and—”

“Oh my God, please stop talking right there,” he stressed.  “Do not say another word.”

You smirked.  “Did I just make you feel really o—”

“—Oh shit.”

You paused.  “What?”

“—ohshitohshitohshit—”

“—What?!—”

“—Hold on!”

Tyson wrapped both his arms around you protectively, and before you knew it, you both had fallen through the beds.  You yelped during the drop, but once you realized what had happened, you couldn’t stop laughing.  Tears were falling from your eyes, rolling off of Tyson as he groaned from the impact – he took the brunt of it after all. 

“Christ Almighty,” he grumbled through your hysterical laughs.  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “That was worse than some bumps I’ve taken in the ring.”

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you managed to get out in a high-pitched voice between your hysterical laughter.  “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard in my life.”

“Yeah, funny for you because I saved you!”

You propped yourself up on your forearm.  Your cheeks were red from laughing, wet from the tears.  “Let me kiss you one last time to make it better.”  Except you didn’t wait.  You just lowered your face and planted your lips on his.  You didn’t know what you meant the kiss to be, but it lasted longer than anticipated, only stopping when the alert from Tyson’s phone went off.  Only then did you pull away.  “That must be Nick or Matt texting about breakfast.  We should clean ourselves up and go.”

Tyson didn’t say anything as he watched you rise from the floor, not bothering to wrap the top sheet or comforter around your naked body.  He stayed on the floor in between the beds as he heard the shower turn on, closing his eyes. 

***

28th May 2023

criticize the way you fly when you're soaring through the sky shoot you down and then they sigh and say, "she looks like she's been through it"

You always found Las Vegas to be way too hot.  It was a decent enough city, and you’d had some fun there, but the heat was always something you could never get over.  Double or Nothing meant that there were so many people and personalities at T-Mobile Arena.  You hung out mostly in the women’s locker room.  At least there, you knew you were safe.

“You haven’t run into him, have you?” Hikaru asked discreetly, chomping down on a baby carrot. 

You shook your head.  “Nah.  But I’ve kinda just been laying low in here.  I hope I’m not overstaying my welcome.”

“That’s impossible,” Hikaru said.  “You can stay in here the whole night if you have to.  I mean, he’s gotta talk to Tyson about what’s happening in a few weeks, right?”

“Yeah.  Worst case scenario I walk in on them during that.”

“Well, if you do, you call me so I can whoop his ass for you.  It’s been a long time coming for that punk ass bitch.”

You couldn’t help but snort at her words.  She had obviously been informed well about the transgressions that had been committed and she was firmly Team Hazel.  Not that it was ever any doubt – you and Hikaru had been great friends ever since your days in Japan.  But the main different between you was that Hikaru would follow through – if she said she was going to whoop someone’s ass, she’d whoop someone’s ass.  You’d mostly just cry about it in an abandoned washroom and in a hotel room afterwards.  It was your specialty.

“You’ve always been my girl, Hikaru.  What would I do without you?” you quipped with a smile.

Hikaru smirked.  “Don’t even go there, girl.  It all comes from here, by the way,” she said, pounding lightly on her chest where her heart was.  “I got you, Hazel.  You want me to grab you something from catering?”

You shook your head, standing up from your chair.  “I shouldn’t be afraid to go get food,” you said.  “You want more carrots?”

Your walk to catering was eventful, having a chat with Christopher Daniels along the way.  Once you got there, you grabbed a plate of food, some Gatorade, and a Greek salad.  You didn’t see Tony Schiavone creep up behind you, but he was a welcome partner to chat with as he picked up some dinner too.  The two of you walked through the halls together, chatting like old friends as your food got cold.  You didn’t really care, because every chat with Tony was so lively, and he expressed serious interest in appearing on Kick Out in the Kitchen.  When you said goodbye as Tony disappeared into one of the guys’ locker rooms, Greg left the one across the way.  The door was slow to close.  You’d think for all the money Las Vegas had, doors would close properly in their arena.

“Right, and so many people shat on her even though it wasn’t her fault,” you heard an all-too-familiar voice from the locker room.  “She got heat for it for months.  She’d be crying every night because all the shitty girls didn’t want to wrestle her.  And when she got to Japan, she already had a reputation.  Took a lot of convincing to get her into promotions.  Bea knew what she was doing in the ring but she got such a bad rap.”

“But you guys broke up a while ago, no?” said another voice.

“Mistakes happen in the ring all the time,” you heard one more voice.

“All the time,” the familiar voice said.  Then a giggle.  “It’d be much harder now to pick her up and drop her on her head, if you know what I mean.”

Everyone in the room, whoever they were, were giggling.  Snickering, even, at his comment about your body.  You froze in place, and by the time their conversation started up again, the door had finally closed, their voices gone.

Your body had inevitably gone through a change after you were forced to stop wrestling.  You had been in such great shape – you had to be, for heaven’s sake – and had worked out often.  But once you broke your neck and had to get the fusion surgery, most of it had to stop.  It might put too much stress on your neck in ways you never thought possible, your doctor said.  And truth be told, you were too scared to do anything too tenuous, because like the doctor told you, you should have suffocated to death in the ring and it was a miracle you were even walking in the first place.  This meant that you had gained weight – about thirty pounds, when all was said and done.  But because of your physique beforehand, it was noticeable.  You didn’t look like a wrestler with muscles and abs anymore, but you still looked like, well, a normal woman with some meat on her bones.  You weren’t unrecognizable.  Nobody cared, nobody commented on it.

Except, apparently, Will Ospreay. 

You don’t know what came over you, but you dropped everything but the Gatorade into the next trashcan you saw.  You felt that if you ate anything, it would just come back up.  That’s how much your stomach was in knots at his comment.  And the laughs.  God, you wished you had just barged in to see who was laughing at the comment, at your body.  Nobody had any idea what you went through, and how bad you took the news that you could never wrestle again.  It ate away at you for months, years even, and now these men were laughing about how your body had changed because of that life-altering event?  Fuck them.  And fuck Will Ospreay.

The same Will Ospreay that had endeared you when you were younger.  The same Will Ospreay that you fancied, that kissed you and made out with you and strung you along for months, always saying no to firm commitment but always calling you late at night to hook up or have fun.  The same Will Ospreay who told you that you could be clingy and overbearing despite not being clingy or overbearing.  The same Will Ospreay that led you on, letting you believe you were the only one.  The same Will Ospreay that sent you a simple text when you had broken your neck and never paid you a visit.  The same Will Ospreay that began hooking up with Bea so soon afterwards that you were sure there was overlap.  The same Will Ospreay that began to date her only a few weeks after your surgery, her smug smile on every uploaded picture only a reminder to you of what had happened in your personal and professional life.  The same Will Ospreay that you fucking hated with everything in you.

You escaped into a washroom, again, and checked every stall to ensure it was empty, again.  God, you felt like you were going to do this every show now.  You didn’t cry this time.  Instead, you began rubbing at your tattoo on the inside of your right wrist: a chef’s knife that you got in memory of you dad.  You made sure to breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.  Closing your eyes, you thought back to the first few months after your neck surgery.  The first few weeks were hard.  You had cried a lot, and you hated your neck brace.  You remember finding out the news about Will and Bea and basically becoming a vegetable in your bed.  The two weeks that Tyson came to stay with you made everything better, but there was one moment that stuck out, that you remembered so vividly.

Tyson had made lunch one day, some chicken thighs and vegetables and he plated some old pasta salad in your fridge.  You were excited to eat, but when you tried gripping on to your fork and knife, you couldn’t.  A common side effect after neck surgery, especially neck surgery like yours, but it hadn’t happened to you yet.  You thought you were over that hurdle, that it would have happened right after your surgery.  You tried again.  You couldn’t.  You tried just the fork, in your right hand, and you managed to keep it in your hand instead of having it fall on the table.  But when you tried to fork a piece of pasta, you couldn’t at all, and your fork fell loudly into your plate.  You started sobbing like a baby.  Tyson rushed over to you – he had been preparing drinks – and asked what was wrong.  You explained through tears and he could barely understand you.  You had lost your appetite you were so distraught.  But then Tyson – bless him – got you to calm down enough that you weren’t a sobbing mess.  He picked up your fork, got a couple of vegetables on it, and held it up near your mouth to feed you.

“Tys…” you remember being on the verge of tears again.  You felt like a fucking baby having somebody feed you.

“Eat, Hazel.  I got you.”

You almost didn’t, because you were too proud.  But when you saw the look on his face, and how he was looking at you, you opened your mouth and ate the food.  You chewed it slowly, embarrassed that it had come to this.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You’re feeding me like I’m a baby.  This is embarrassing.”

Tyson shook his head.  “This is not embarrassing at all,” he said before forking some chicken.  “What would be embarrassing is if you made me do an airplane to get you to eat.”

He always knew how to get you to smile, even at your lowest point.  You opened your mouth again to eat the chicken.  “Hey Tyson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.  I mean it.”

Tyson cut up and fed you your entire meal, even gripping your glass for you to drink, before eating himself.  And a few days later, when it happened again, he did it all again without hesitation.  That’s what Tyson had done for you.  That’s what made you realize he would be in your life forever.  And those men in that locker room were laughing.

***

Tyson always made decisions for the good of his company – the company that he helped create and build from the ground up.  Whatever was good for the company was good for him.  Whatever made his friends money and got fans in seats.  That meant that despite his personal feelings towards Will Ospreay, he was working him again at Forbidden Door in Toronto.  They had faced each other earlier in the year at Wrestle Kingdom, for the good of New Japan Pro Wrestling.  Now he’d be facing him for the good of All Elite Wrestling.  Tyson was able to keep his feelings quite personal, never letting anybody know what he really thought or felt. 

Everybody except the two guys who could read him like a book.

Matt and Nick looked on as he spoke with Will about their match in Toronto.  Tyson would be dropping the title – he knew that already – but they were going over spots, storyline, and emotion.  Will focused on spots, but Tyson was focusing on emotion.  What was the story?  What story did Tyson want to tell?

“What do you think about a big spot, like—”

“Another big spot?  Haven’t we got enough big spots?” Tyson quipped.

“Listen, I was thinking of a Tiger Driver—”

“—Oh fuck—” a female voice exclaimed.

Everybody’s heads turned to the doorway to see Hazel popping in her head.  Tyson, Will, Matt, Nick, Austin, Chris Daniels – everyone looked at her.  Tyson noticed her stare fixed on Will before looking at him.  He knew that this was the one thing she didn’t want to happen.  Running into Will.  “Um, I’m sorry to interrupt—”

“—It’s okay sweetcheeks—” Matt offered.

“—I’m gonna, um, bring Hikaru back to the hotel when everything is over, so don’t worry.  Bye.”

She shut the door abruptly.  The men in the room stayed silent for a few moments before stealing quick glances at each other.  Austin looked over at Tyson first, but wasn’t able to read the emotion on his face.  Nick and Matt looked at Tyson too, but he was as stoic as a rock.  Will had already shrugged his shoulders and discounted the experience.  “Anyone else see how her eyes were watery?” Chris Daniels commented.

“Probably emotional because she knows we’re losing tonight,” Nick tried to cover quickly.  He didn’t want to speculate in a room full of men why Hazel Fiore looked like she was tearing up.  It was nobody’s business.  Especially not with Will in the room.

“She’s always been emotional,” Will commented, as if he was an authority on the issue.  Like he had the right to speak about her in any capacity.  “It’s like, you kinda feel bad, but you also understand why, y’know?  She’s got major daddy issues.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyson’s response was literally automatic upon hearing the words come out of Will’s mouth, his tone scathing and unlike anything any of the other men had ever heard before.  Will looked at him, shocked, as if he hadn’t said anything wrong, even though Matt and Nick had also voiced their displeasure with words Tyson couldn’t hear through his anger and disgust.  “Seriously, what’s your fucking problem?” he followed up on a dumbfounded Will. 

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Who the fuck says that about a girl who lost her dad at fifteen to cancer,” Tyson’s voice was still calm but full of disgust.  “It’s so fucking insensitive.  How could you even say that?”

“Ty, come on—”

“—Just fuck off, Will.  Seriously, fuck off,” he stood up from his seat and waved Will off, shaking his head.    “Get out of my fucking locker room.  I swear to God.  I know a lot of dumb fucks, Will, but you just might be the dumbest.”

“Ty—”

“You’re winning the belt in Toronto, so do however many spots you fuckin’ like.  Maybe now at least one of your five star matches will be memorable because I’m in it.  Now get out,” his tone was angrier and threatening.

Will left with a scowl on his face.  All the men in the room watched Tyson as he paced back and forth.  When he noticed Chris look at him, he stopped abruptly.  “What?”

“Nothing.  You did the right thing.”

***

“Please go away.  You’re going to think I’m a big baby.  That I’m still as lame as I was when you first met me,” you bemoaned, Tyson refusing to move from his heat on the edge of the bed.  “I’m serious.  Go to Wendy’s with the Bucks.  Get me a Frosty.  Be anywhere but here so you don’t have to see me like this.”

“Why?  Because I haven’t seen you like this before?” he countered, making you fall silent.  He had seen you like this many times before, but it was still unnerving, still a bit embarrassing to be a 31-year-old woman still emotional about something that happened seven years ago.  And to be like this over a guy you had actively – and successfully – avoided seeing for those seven years?  “C’mon, Haze.  Give me a little bit of credit.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath as you looked him in the eye.  “I don’t mean it like that,” your voice was small.  “I don’t mean to make you mad—”

“—You’re not making me mad—”

“—I just don’t want my problems becoming your problems.  You deal with enough shit already.  You got bit by an adult human male, Tyson.”

The both of you couldn’t help but snort.  The situation had to be lightened slightly.  “Come on.  Tell me.”

You sighed again.  “Something happened earlier in the night, before I walked in on you guys in the locker room.  I had gone to catering and was speaking with Tony and then when he went into his locker room, Greg was leaving the one across.  And while the door was open, I just…you know, heard some stuff.”

Tyson furrowed his brows.  “Stuff?  What stuff?”

“I kinda just overheard him talking.  I don’t know what his breakup with Bea was like, and I really don’t care, but uhhh, he was telling them some sob story about how much heat she got for what she did to me and how it affected their relationship, and he just made this comment, like, ‘It’d be much harder now to pick her up and drop her on her head, if you know what I mean’, and—”

Tyson didn’t even say anything, but you had to stop talking because he stood up at lightning speed and began making his way towards the door.  “Tyson—”

“—Do not stop me.”

Tyson was fast, but you were faster.  You slipped right by him and barricaded the door dramatically, like you were holding him hostage.  You kind of feel like you had to now, based on what you’d just told him.  “Nope.  You’re not leaving this hotel room—”

“—Yes I fucking am—”

“—No, you’re not, because that’s not even the worst part.”

He stepped back.  It was like he couldn’t comprehend what you’d just said.  “What do you mean that’s not even the worst part?” his voice got high pitched.

“Go back to the bed—”

“—Hazel—”

“Go back to the bed, now, or else,” you threatened.  You had nothing to threaten him with at all, but you were serious.  You didn’t want drama, or commotion, or anything of the sort.  Tyson had been through enough over the last year that you thought he should be done for the rest of his life.  There was no reason for him to take this on as his own, to defend whatever honour you had left – if you had any at all. 

You laid one of your hands on his forearm to calm him down.  “It got worse because once he said it, I heard people laughing,” you explained.  You felt him shift, his arm twitching in anger, but it was subtle.  “And I know you’re going to ask who it was, but I don’t know.  I didn’t go in there to see or to yell at them or whatever else.  I just took my dinner and chucked it into the closest garbage can and just…” you trailed off.  “You just…you can’t imagine how awful it feels to be a woman and have your colleagues, your supposed friends, whoever they were, laughing at a joke about your body.  It’s soul-crushing.  And I just…you know,” you shrugged, unable to find the words.  “After everything I’ve been through, I still let this bullshit get to me.”

Tyson pulled you into him to hug you, wrapping his giant arms around you just like he used to during your first visit to Japan, just like he used to after big matches after his shower, just like he always did, really.  Tyson gave the best hugs.  When he engulfed you, it was like all your problems just washed away and you were cleansed.  It was like you were back in the waters of Portofino holding on to him, not wanting to let go.  “D’you remember when I stayed with you those two weeks after your neck surgery and I had to feed you?”

“Of course, Ty.  I actually thought about it after I heard the laughing.  I’d never forget that.”

“Just remember that,” he encouraged.  “Just remember everything I’d do for you before you let anyone of those fuckers get in your head.”

You waited for Tyson to wash his face to put on your pyjamas before the both of you got into bed.  You wondered if he’d get close at all, possibly even touch you, but the second you were both laying down, your question was answered.  His body moved towards yours like a fight-or-flight response, one of his arm draping over your body.  He curled up right against your back, like the big spoon, your body nestling perfectly into his.  Memories flooded his mind.  Memories of the G1 Climax Tournament he won.

In the quietness of the room, with the low hum of the air conditioner the only noise, Tyson placed a kiss on your shoulder.  He didn’t say anything, but he knew you felt it. 

For him, it was getting harder and harder to control.

***

TOKYO 2016

i said remember this moment in the back of my mind the time we stood with our shaking hands, the crowds in stands went wild

You know you will remember the moment vividly as you watch it happen.  You will remember the finished move and how Tyson pinned his opponent.  You will remember the bell ringing after the referee’s hand hit the mat three times.  You will remember the roar of the crowd and the excitement in everybody’s eyes to see the first ever gaijin win the G1 Climax.  You will remember how gruelling of a month it was for Tyson, how emotionally draining it had been.  You will remember it all culminating in this moment.  Of him winning.  Of him making history.

You weren’t able to see him right away.  There were in-ring celebrations and post-match press conferences to be had, and various people from New Japan saw him first.  You had to be on standby, and you could have chewed your nails off waiting.  Even when the suits finished, the handler from New Japan made you wait an additional ten minutes just to see him.

You knocked lightly on his door before peeping your head in.  He was sitting on a giant production case, the tournament trophy beside him.  His legs were dangling off the edge, not touching the floor.  Not many things could make him look small.  He looked your way and when he saw you, the most tired of smiles appeared on his face.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he nodded quickly, and you slipped in before shutting the door behind you.  “What did you think?”

“I think you’re incredible,” you said, approaching him and standing in front of him.  Your eyes scanned over the trophy briefly before you focused your attention back on him.  “Has it sunk in yet for you?  That you just made history?”

He took a few breaths, shaking his head slightly.  “No.  I guess I did, didn’t I?  First gaijin to win the G1.  I can say that now.”

“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” you asked.

“I’m so tired and drained that I don’t know what amazing feels like right now,” he said, causing you both to laugh slightly.  “I think tomorrow morning as I’m eating breakfast it’s gonna hit me like a ton of bricks.”

You couldn’t help but smile, stepping closer to him so you were standing between his spread legs.  You don’t know what came over you, but seeing him the way he was – in his gear, beside the giant G1 Climax trophy, still trying to catch his breath, the weight of what just happened and what it meant looming over the both of you…you really don’t know what came over you. 

You kissed him.  You held his big, sweaty head in your hands and you kissed him.  Only a couple of seconds after it began, you realized what you were doing and you pulled away.  “Shitsorry—sorry—” you began mumbling and apologizing quickly.

“—It’s okay—”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry Tys—”

“—Hazel, it’s alright.  It’s okay.”

You put your fingers over your lips, as if that would stop it from happening again.  A physical barrier is what you needed, apparently.  Not a mental one.  You looked in each other’s eyes before one of his characteristic close-lipped smiles spread across his face.  “I’m very happy you’re here,” he whispered.  “I really—I really like you being here.”

“I think you’re just saying that because I act like an idiot and provide you entertainment,” you said, trying to make light of what just happened.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot at all,” he shook his head only slightly, not able to do much else with his body after what had just transpired in the ring.  “Please stop thinking that.”

“I bet you do secretly.”

“No,” he was firmer in his tone this time.  “I know a lot of dumb people, and you’re not one of them.”

Before you could say anything else, there was another knock at the door.  You stepped away from being so close to Tyson.  He looked extremely annoyed.  A man began speaking in Japanese from the other side of the door, and Tyson answered back while rolling his eyes.  The door closed before you even understood what was going on.  “Sorry.”

“What was that about?”

“Driver wanted to know how much longer.  I told him fifteen minutes so I could shower.”

“It’s okay,” you said, nodding your head once.  “Go shower.  We—I’ll meet you in the car.  I know you’re tired, so we’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

The driver drove you both to a local hotel near Ryogoku Kokugikan, the company deciding to put everybody up in the hotel since they wanted to film a press conference tomorrow afternoon.  You checked into your respective rooms, which were only down the hall from each other.  But as you were getting ready for bed, your phone buzzed on your bathroom vanity.

Neck hurts like a motherfucker.

Colour me shocked, Ty.  Are you okay?Do you want me to drop by?  I have some Rub A535.

What are you, my dad?

You rolled your eyes at his response.  He was the geriatric one.

Has neck pain, still acts like a pain in the ass.

You threw on a robe and made sure to grab your key card before making your way over to his room.  You knocked quietly and he opened not long after.  You let yourself in.  “Seriously, Rub A535?  You’re an old man.”

“I bet it’s like looking into a mirror then, eh?” you countered.

Tyson’s jaw dropped.  “You jezebel!”

You both broke out into laughter, making your way further into his room.  You threw your robe onto the extra bed.  He was wearing an old, stupid pair of shorts to sleep in.  “Sit,” you said as you got on his bed.  “Show me where it’s hurting.  I can try to massage it.”

“Are you licensed?  Can I claim you on my insurance?”

You gave him a look.  “Do you want my help or not!”

He giggled, sitting himself on the edge of the bed.  “Right up over here,” he showed you with his hand, “and over here.  Just be careful though, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” both of your voices were calm at this point.  There was no room for joking around.  “You have to tell me if I’m hurting you,” you warned, with Tyson nodding his head.

You began massaging the first place he showed you, and almost the second you applied pressure, Tyson groaned.  He encouraged you to keep going, that it felt good.  “You know, this wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t keep landing on your neck all the time,” you whispered.

“What fun would that be?” he asked.  You shook your head.

Your continued massaging, being as careful as you could, moving on to the other areas that he pointed out to you.  You could hear his little satisfied exhales, the little groans he let out when you hit a spot well.  You switched back and forth between the spots for a while, Tyson appreciating every minute.  You didn’t know if he could feel how close you got once you really got into it, or if he could feel your breath on his neck.  But you were happy you were making him feel better, happy you were with him and his beautiful soul on the biggest night of his career thus far. 

“Ah shit,” you almost didn’t hear him swear under his breath.

You pulled your hands back towards your chest.  “Fuck, did I hurt you?”

“No no, it’s okay, keep going,” he urged.

“Tys—”

“It wasn’t you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You stayed silent, exhaling slightly before continuing to massage over near his shoulder as you had been, being a little more careful.  You would never be able to forgive yourself if you had hurt him somehow.  He winced at some points and groaned in others, like he had been when you focused on his neck, but you could still tell something was up.  When you looked over his shoulder, you could see him trying discreetly to adjust his shorts, pulling some of the fabric forward as if he was trying to hide or cover something. 

And then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you kept massaging, garnering another groan from him.  You took your time getting closer and closer to him until you were positive he could feel your breath on his skin.  “Don’t worry about it, Ty,” you whispered in his ear in a knowing tone.  “It’s okay.”

He shook his head slightly.  You were positive the redness you saw in his cheeks wasn’t from the increased blood flow to his neck and shoulders.  “No it’s not.  It’s embarrassing.  This is, like, what happens with pervs.”

“It’s not embarrassing.  It happens.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize about,” you assured him.  By this point, you had stopped paying attention to your massaging and had no idea if what you were doing even helped.  You were too busy looking over his shoulder, trying to see through his shorts.  You inhaled quietly.  “D’you want me to take care of it?”

Tyson shook his head, still embarrassed.  “No no no.  Gosh Hazel, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do it, Ty.  I don’t mi—”

“—Hazel…” there was a hesitation in his voice.

There was a pause as your back and forth hung in the air.  “Is it cause you don’t want me to?”

He shook his head.  “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, bringing your lips down to kiss his shoulder.

He stayed silent.  He was almost ashamed because he couldn’t say anything out loud.  How could he?  He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t say it.  He couldn’t let you know; it had to stay inside him.  For his good.  For your good.  He felt you kiss his shoulder again and he inhaled.  “Hazel…”

“Remember Portofino?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his lips.  “Of course.”

You kissed your way from his shoulder to where it met his neck.  “Do you really not want to?  Cause I’ll stop,” you whispered in his ear.

Tyson shook his head.  He could do many things, but he couldn’t deny this right now.  “I just…I can barely move.”

“You don’t have to,” you assured him.  “I’ll take care of it.”

“Haze…”

“Shhhh…” you cooed, kissing his neck.  “Lie down.”

“Haze—you don’t—I don’t want you to think you have to do that.”

“I want to, Tyson.  I feel safest with you.”

He didn’t lie down just yet.  Instead, he pulled you on to his lap and began kissing you.  You straddled him as you kissed him back, feeling his hands go to your thighs and travel around to your ass, squeezing the flesh there.  You could barely let go of him as his tongue entered your mouth.  Your hands wandered between his toned body and his hair, gripping it at the nape of his neck.  He was so much bigger now, so much bigger than you remember him being.  You didn’t know how long you just sat there making out for, but your lips felt swollen when you stopped, even if it just was momentarily.  “Ty?” you breathed out, feeling his length between your legs.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to be inside me or in my mouth?”

“Shit Hazel,” he swore underneath his breath.  The way you worded the question almost made him come right then and there.  “In—inside you.”

You gave him a quick kiss.  “Lie down.”

He listened this time, and you both moved to better positions on the bed, him lying down like you demanded.  You helped him out of his shorts, freeing his hard cock.  You took off your own pyjama bottoms, but Tyson raised his arms so he could slide your panties down your legs.  You kissed a trail down his chest before straddling him again.  You reached down between you and positioned his cock so he could enter you, and you lowered on to him slowly, having to adjust to his size.  “Fuck Ty,” you couldn’t help but breath out along the way.  When you bottomed out, a shiver ran up your spine.

“Jesus, Hazel,” he breathed out.  “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You knew he could barely move, and you knew you’d be the one putting in most of the work here, so you took a few more moments to adjust before you began rolling your hips back and forth slowly.  Tyson watched and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the visual.

You took your time getting into a rhythm, wanting this to last as long as it could.  The last time, in Portofino, your body had been buzzed from being out in the sun all day.  This time around, the both of you were exhausted, but that didn’t mean there was any less energy between you two, or any less love.  You would do anything for Tyson, and Tyson would do anything for you.  So you were taking it gently, and you were taking it slowly, but you knew it would feel just as good as Portofino did two years ago, just as perfect as it did then too, despite nothing happening since.

Tyson’s hands were placed firmly on your thighs at first, before they moved to your hips and followed your movements loosely.  You placed your hands over his, intertwining your fingers slightly.  “Y’okay, Ty?”

“You feel fucking incredible,” he whispered.

“You want me to take my top off?”

“Yes please.”

You giggled at his request of please.  So polite.  You could take the boy out of Canada, but you couldn’t take Canada out of the boy.  You led his hands from your hips all the way up your body, dragging your shirt long with it, before he pulled it off entirely and tossed it to the side.  Your breasts were exposed then, and all it took was the sight of them to give Tyson a burst of energy, moving to sit up.  One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you down on his cock as he attacked your lips with his.  He cupped your breast, which overflowed even in his big hands.  You moaned into his kisses, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck again.  Your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulder blades where you had been massaging earlier.  “Ty…” you whispered out as he moved from your lips to your neck.  “Ty, lie down.  I got you.  I told you I’d take care of you.”

“You’re so beautiful, Hazel.”

A shiver ran up your spine hearing those words.  You pushed him back down before placing your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to roll your hips again.  Your breathing got heavier; so did his.  You savoured every moment of being on top of him, having his amazing body underneath you as you worked to pleasure the both of you.  You were completely drunk on him, willing that this exact feeling could last forever. 

Tyson had gotten more vocal the longer you two went on.  Between the sight of you on top of him and the feeling of him inside you, he was close.  It didn’t help that he’d gotten a head start during the massage.  “You’re gonna make me come.”

You were desperate – you could admit that.  You didn’t want it to end.  He felt too good inside of you.  You felt too connected to him to have it be over, regardless of how long you’d been riding him.  You couldn’t even keep track or have any idea because you were so wrapped up in the feeling of him.  “No,” you shook your head, biting your bottom lip.  “No, not yet.”

Tyson couldn’t believe what he’d heard.  “What?”

“Not yet,” you repeated more emphatically.  “Want more.  Need more.”

A shiver ran up his spine hearing those words.  It took everything in him not to come then and there.  Instead, he began to move his hips along with yours, and you could automatically feel the difference.  Your moaning got louder.  Tyson almost couldn’t take it.  “You’re getting so deep, Ty.”

“Keep going, baby.”

You clenched when the words left his mouth.  Your hips kept rolling, your clit rubbing against his body as his cock was hitting you so deep and at the perfect angle.  After a while longer, you found yourself getting closer, as you were sure he was hitting your G-spot.  “Ty…oh fuck Ty—I—I—”

You couldn’t say anything else as the most intense orgasm you’d ever felt washed over your entire body.  Your entire body shook with pleasure – you could even feel it in your fucking toes.  You had never felt anything like it before and oh my God, was it glorious.  You swore you could see stars as you clenched around him, repeating his name over and over like a prayer.  At some point, it was all too much for you, and you felt yourself collapsing on to him.  Your breasts were between your bodies, pressing against him as he held you down with his arms.  As he pumped in and out of you, you could feel his release too, his groans and how you felt full from him. 

You felt empty when he slipped out of you, but you kissed him to make up for it, kiss after kiss after kiss.  Were you being sappy?  Both times this had ended up happening, it was truly spur of the moment.  But during both times, there had been so much pent up energy between you that it could only culminate in something like this.  And during both times, you didn’t want them to end.  You knew you’d remember every detail.

In between kisses, you couldn’t help yourself.  “Love you, Ty.”

“Love you too, Hazel,” he responded right after.  It was only then that you heard the true fatigue in his voice. 

He didn’t let go of you as you rolled off him and onto his side.  You were both on your sides now, and he pulled you up against his chest.  All of his muscles, tired and overused as they were, pressed into your back as he tucked his head against your shoulder.  Before the fatigue finally consumed him, he placed a kiss on your shoulder; you brought his hand up and kissed it too, finally drifting off to sleep.

*

The next morning, Tyson could barely move.  He’d need help getting out of bed.  But that was typical.  What really mattered wasn’t his pain or how stiff some of his joints were.  What really mattered was that he was still in bed, with you, looking into your eyes.  One of your hands was playing with his hair.  One of his hands was drawing circles along the skin on your arm.  You were both quiet.  You were both in the moment, since you didn’t have to be anywhere else for a while. 

“You’re career’s about to take off in ways we never would have thought,” you barely whispered.  You wondered if the weight of what he had accomplished last night had finally hit him.  “Are you gonna remember little ol’ me when you’re rich and famous?”

The smallest of smiles cracked on his lips.  “Duh.  You’re unforgettable.” 

“A lot of things are gonna change you, and I want you to know that I think you deserve all the good things coming to you.  Whatever they are,” you continued.  “You know that, right?”

“I do,” he said.  “But it’s not all about me.  You’re going to do some pretty big things too.  Stardom’s gonna shoot you to the moon because you deserve it.  And what’s happening in California when you go back?”

“I’ve got a match with Candice, and a match with Bea Priestley again.  Let’s hope I don’t walk out with another broken sternum.”

“You’re gonna knock both out of the park, because you always do.  Then everybody’s gonna be clamouring for you.  There’s going to be bidding wars over you,” he assured you.  “You’re just as good as I am.  If not better.”

“Oh stop,” you said, blushing and embarrassed at his words.  You buried your face into the pillow so you didn’t have to look at him.  You could feel him move, sticking his face into the crook of your neck as he kissed along it.

“I mean it, Haze,” he mumbled against your temple between kisses. 

When you raised your head back up, he peppered your face with light pecks before giving you quick kisses on your lips.  When you stopped kissing, you took in the silence between you.  “Hey Tys…”

“Hmm?”

Your hand moved to caress his face along his beard.  “I wasn’t—I didn’t just, like, blurt out the words last night and didn’t mean them,” you stuttered out.  “I do love you.  In my own way.”

“I know,” he said.  “I meant what I said last night too.  That I’m very happy you’re here.  That I like you being here with me.  And that I love you.”

“But you don’t…even after what happened in Portofino, we can’t do much more than this, can we?” you asked.  Secret little love affairs.  One-off passionate nights after emotionally charged moments that brought you closer together, closer than you ever thought you’d ever get with your mentor, your best friend, your person. 

His heart broke.  Again, he was ashamed because he couldn’t say anything out loud.  He couldn’t let you know; it had to stay inside him.  For his good and for your good.  “It’s not the right time,” he said instead.

Your heart didn’t break.  It had no reason to.  He was right, but you didn’t want to admit it.  “Not—not that anything would change but if—if—do you think it ever will be the right time in the future?”

He felt his stomach in knots.  He answered with the only answer he could give.

“I don’t know.”

*

A few weeks later, when Matt and Nick were back in Japan, they would watch intently as Tyson was glued to his phone.  They’d give each other a look that Tyson wouldn’t see, and then they’d go about their business, eating their ice cream or searching for directions to a coffee shop.  But one night, after they walked into Tyson’s hotel room at the tail end of an hour-long phone call, Nick made the executive decision.

“Sorry.  It was Hazel,” Tyson said once he hung up.

“Figured as much.  You don’t talk to anyone else on the phone that long but us and her,” Nick smirked.

Tyson shrugged.  “Yeah, well…”

“She doing okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“How was it when she was over here?” Matt piped in.

Tyson was avoiding eye contact.  “It was nice,” he kept his answers simple.  “Nice that I had someone here with me for winning the G1, you know.”  Despite being some of his best friends, they didn’t know what had happened in Italy, and they weren’t going to know about what happened after the G1.

“Mmmhhhmmm,” Nick nodded.  “Must’ve been.”

“Are you gonna tell her how you feel?” Matt asked, getting straight to the point.  “She’s gottta know, Ty.”

Tyson shook his head.  Those observant little fuckers.  “No.”

Nick grimaced.  “Why not?”

Tyson took a deep breath, sighing afterwards.  “It’s just easier if she doesn’t.  Even if it rips me apart.”

***

25th June 2023

you say, "i don't understand," and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now, i fear it won't

You watched with tears in your eyes as the trainer attended to Tyson after his match with Will, going through concussion protocol and range of motion exercises to ensure everything was okay and that nothing was broken.  Tyson sat their quietly, complying with everything, moving his shoulders and legs, blinking once and then twice, maintaining focus then following a light, stretching his neck back and forth and side to side.  That was the most important exercise of all, after what had happened in the ring.  After he didn’t tell you one of the most important spots in the match.

“Everything looks completely fine, Mr. Smith,” the head trainer said, finally, much to everybody’s relief.  Everybody except you.

“God Ty, that Tiger Driver looked brutal,” Nick said.  “Helluva spot, but brutal nonetheless.”  Of course he would say that.

“I thought it looked incredible,” Matt pitched in.  “If anybody could have done it and taken it correctly, it was you.”  Of course he would say that.

“That’ll grab the headlines,” Christopher Daniels said.  Of course he would say that.

“Leave the really big spots for a Canada, huh?” Stephen joked.  Of course he would say that.

It was then that Tyson locked eyes with you – you, staying completely silent across the way of the room, though you knew by now your face was probably beet red with emotion.  You had so much emotion stored inside of you, from the beginning of the match until now, and you didn’t know when it was going to burst.  Forty minutes of your heart being in the pit of your stomach.

Tyson finally noticed.

“Can everyone just…” he began, sighing and trailing off before recollecting his thoughts.  “Just give me a couple of minutes – alone, please,” he ordered, albeit politely.  Everybody stood silent, awkwardly.  “Now guys.  Come on.  Everyone out.”

You didn’t move, but everyone else did.  When they were all out, and you were all alone with Tyson, that’s when all the emotion stored inside of you came out.  One of your tsunamis.  Now.  Of all times it could happen.

“What’s the matter?  What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

His tone meant that the first few tears escaped.  You shook your head vehemently.  “No—no—no—”

“—Hazel—”

“—No—”

“Hazel, c’mere…c’mere,” he cooed.  Even reluctantly, you went over to him, sitting across from him on the medical table.  He grabbed your hands in his.  You weren’t expecting that, but you were shaking, and he probably wanted to stop that.  “What’s the matter?”

“Your neck, your neck,” you kept repeating through your tears.

“My neck is fine—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this fucking shit, Tyson?” you demanded, tears fully streaming down your face now.  “Do you think I like seeing your body torn up by a cage?  That I like seeing you be dropped on your fucking head?  And by him?”

“Haze, I’m sor—”

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it this time!” you exclaimed, pulling your hands away from his.  You wiped the tears from your eyes.  “You’re Kenny fucking Omega.  Your worst match is still ninety five percent better than everybody else’s best matches yet you still think you have to do this—this—this absolutely insane shit.  For what?  What’s it all for, Tyson?  You’re already the best in the world.  You’re already a legend.”

“I’m perfecting my craft, Hazel.  You know that.  We talk about it all the time.  This is everything to me.  I left my family, my friends – I moved to a foreign country and was fucking alone for years so I could be at the top.  Every sacrifice I’ve made has been in the name of pro-wrestling because there can’t be a question about whether or not I’m the best.  That’s it, Hazel.  That’s it.”

You absorbed his words, each one of them hitting you like a dagger.  You sat there silently, looking deep into his eyes.  “Is that really all that matters to you?  Is that it?”

You could see the look in his eyes.  You could see the change in his face.  He wanted to say something.  He was so close to saying something.  He was going to say something.  But you couldn’t hear how he would respond to your question – at least not right now.  The door handle being jerked loudly from the outside interrupted your conversation, and when you both looked the way of the door, you saw one person walking through it.

Will fucking Ospreay.

Okay, now you were livid.

“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?” you demanded, not caring how rude you sounded.  You stood up from where you were sitting across from Tyson.

Will’s face scrunched up.  “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“YOU!” you screamed.  “You, you fucking idiot!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?  I came in to see Tyson, not you—”

“Well you’re going to see me anyway!”

“Will you calm down—”

“—Do not tell me to calm down,” you warned.  “What is it?  Huh?  You want to do the same thing to his neck that your ex-girlfriend did to mine?”  Will’s brows furrowed with that rhetorical question.  You didn’t even bother to wait for him to retort.  You just kept going.  “You know what, actually?  This is a perfect opportunity.  Finally you can see it in the flesh,” you turned around, gathered your hair in your hand, and lifted it up.  Your scar was on full display for Will, who diverted his eyes the second he saw it.  “Four screws, one rod, and sixteen staples fixed your girlfriend’s mistake.  I should have suffocated and died in that ring and you didn’t even have the decency to check in on me.  And you want to know why I’m so upset?”

Will clenched his jaw.  “Listen, I’m sorry that happened, but—”

“You’re not sorry it happened,” you interrupted him.  “You want me to believe you’re sorry when you were joking with your friends in the locker room in Vegas about how it would be much harder now to pick me up and drop me on my head?”

It was the first time during your spat that you saw Will’s face drop – that he looked legitimately taken aback, almost even frightened, by what you said.  You had been stepping closer to him with every word, and had backed him up against the wall at this point.  “It must be so empowering to be a man…that you can just exist and be you whereas a woman has to apologize for her existence,” you said.  “If I ever hear that you’ve talked about me or my body again, I will kill you with my bare hands.  I fucking hate your guts.”

“I can feel it,” was all he could reply with. 

You took one final step closer, looking at him with all the venom in the world in your eyes.  “You can hurt me, Will, and you already have, but if you hurt any one of my friends, it’s over for you, and I mean that entirely.  I will fucking end you.  That’s a promise.”

He stayed silent then, looking down at you, because there was nothing for him to say.  You felt like kneeing him in the groin, but that would have been too much pleasure for one night after what you’d just said to him.  It would have been an indulgence.  As the words hung in the air, you backed up slightly before walking out of the room.  Only then had you noticed the door had been held open by Matt, who was watching you intently as you made your exit.

***

Just knocked on your room door and you didn’t answer.  Are you in the shower or something?

I went to the airport early Catching a red eye to Winnipeg

Hazel

Gonna spend some extra time with my mom

I need to talk to you

I know. I’m sorry I blew up at Will in your room. That wasn’t very nice of me and it put you in an awkward position of having to hear me yell seven years of pent up shit at him.

I couldn’t care less about that He deserved it

Am I still allowed to come to the cottage?

Obviously Hazel What makes you think you wouldn’t?

I don’t know The way I spoke to you

***

30th June 2023

all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation my hands are shaking from holding back from you

You bought Timbits.  It was the quintessential Canadian road trip item, and you couldn’t show up empty-handed, even though the drive to the cottage was only just over an hour.  With your suitcase loaded in the trunk, you hauled the bag of groceries into the backseat.  Tyson always insisted he had food, but protein bars and chocolate milk didn’t count.  When you slipped into the front seat, you held them up near your face.

“You wanna make me fat?” he asked as he shut the door behind them.  “Seriously, woman.  I have a strict diet to maintain this body.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Oh, right.  I forgot about that.  Your diet of energy drinks and Dave’s Doubles and junior cheeseburger deluxes is sooooo healthy.”

“You know it,” he winked.  “What’s with all the food, by the way?”

“You never have food.”

“I have food!”

“I also may have watched The Bear with my mom.”

Tyson giggled.  He put the gear in drive and signalled.  “Yeah.  That’ll do it.  What’re you gonna make?”

“Scallopini al funghi,” you said, eyeing him.  He stayed silent.  “You know, like a chicken marsala.”

“Oh, you mean like from the Cheesecake Factory?”

You chopped him across the chest.  As always he was overdramatic in his response, though he knew exactly what he was doing when he brought up the Cheesecake Factory.  “You take that back right now, Tyson.”

“Man, you still got it,” he rubbed at his chest where you chopped him.  “You been practicing without me or something?”

“Apologize!”

The smirk hadn’t left his face.  “I’m sorry I brought up the Cheesecake Factory when you mentioned making a fancy shmancy Italian dish,” irony dripped with every word that came out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you smiled just as ironically.  “How was the rest of the time in Toronto?”

He shrugged.  “Just the usual.  Lots of media.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  I was able to go to a few places and get some gaming stuff, which was nice.”

You almost didn’t want to ask, but there was something in your chest that was making you.  “How’s your neck?”

“Neck’s fine,” he said, looking over at you quickly.  “And I’m not just saying that, okay?”

You nodded in understanding.  “I’m excited for this, you know,” you tried to lighten the mood back to where it was.  You didn’t want to talk about what had happened just yet.  It was the first time seeing Tyson in almost five days and you wanted to see him smile.  “I can’t wait to do a 630 splash off the dock.  The water will be warm, right?”

“We’ll see,” he said.  “I’m excited, too.  I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

***

Groceries were put away.  Scallopini were made.  Dishes were put in the dishwasher.

And then…

“BAH GAWD ALMIGHTY!” you could hear Tyson scream in a bang-on Jim Ross impression before you hit the water.  The cold temperature hit your skin like icicles, but you knew it would be only momentary.  You swam a bit underwater before you emerged back up, hearing Tyson finishing his yelling.  “Somebody stop the damn match!  That man has a family!”

You watched as he got a running start and completed a flawless tope con hilo from the edge of his dock right into the water.  You began to backstroke so you could get further into the lake as you watched him come up for air.  “Show off!” you yelled at him, a smile on your face.

He smiled and shook his head.  He began swimming over to you.  “I do that all the time!” he called out after you.  When he caught up to you, easily, he could see the playful scowl on your face.

“Now you’re just bragging,” you said.  You turned away from him and looked out onto the lake.  Streaks covered the sky, the sunset starting showing its beauty over the lake.  Whenever you came here with Tyson – not that it was often, but whenever it did happen – you always managed to get a beautiful sunset.  You didn’t know if it was the time of year, or the weather, or some other force of nature you had no power over.  Regardless, you were very lucky.  You could feel him behind you.  “You get the best sunsets out here,” you commented, your voice no longer yelling.

“I know,” he said. 

You were both quiet for quite a while, just letting the sound of the waves take precedent.  The lake wasn’t particularly lively – at least not at this time of day – but there were some boats still driving around the lake, some families down the coast clearly having their own Canada Day weekend celebrations.  You treaded water easily to stay afloat, but the cold water wasn’t getting any warmer.  You plugged your nose and dunked your head into the water to see if it would help, but when you came back up, it hadn’t.  “Think the water will be warmer tomorrow?”

“Just dunk your head a few more times,” Tyson suggested playfully.  You chuckled, but what you weren’t expecting was to feel his giant hand atop your head.  “Tyson!” you screamed, because you knew exactly what he was going to do.

It didn’t stop him.  He pushed you down and dunked you into the water.  He let you come back up quickly, but by the time you caught your breath, he pushed you back down again.  It was like he was baptizing you, for heaven’s sake.  Under the water, you kicked and punched at him.  If you were being honest, you were aiming for his dick, but when you were above water once more catching your breath, he wasn’t grovelling in pain, so it meant you missed.

“You asshole!” you half-yelled, half-giggled.  “You are seriously the worst, Tyson Smith.”

“Wow, using my full name?”

“You deserve it.”

“Nobody ever deserves that.  You were the one trying to hit me.”

“I was trying to punch your dick.”

“You were what?!” his voice raised three octaves.  “Hazel Ila—”

“—do not say my middle name—”

“—Ilaaarrrrria,” Tyson put on an extremely strong and dramatic Italian accent.

Big mistake.  You splashed a ton of water into his face, discombobulating him.  You couldn’t help but laugh as you kept splashing him, getting closer to him with each one.  When you were close enough, and with whatever vision he had left with tons of lake water flooding his eyes, he reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you.  He pulled you into his body, holding you against him.  Your arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“You really are a jezebel, eh?” he said, using one hand to wipe the water off his eyes. 

“I always knew you stealing my passport in Japan would come back to haunt me one day,” you said.

“You’re lucky I’ve never told anyone.  Do you have any idea how long and hard Austin has begged?”

You both giggled.  Then silence.  You were close.

Tyson kissed you.  He leaned his head forward and in one swift movement he kissed you.  You kissed him back for as long as you could.  It had been seven years.  Tyson kissed you for as long as he could before he realized what he was doing and pulled away, turning his head to the side.  “Fucksorry—sorry—” he began mumbling and apologizing quickly.

“—It’s okay—”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry Haz—”

“—Tys, it’s alright.  It’s okay.”

Your hands were cradling his face by this point, and despite his tone and his apologies you continued to look deep into each other’s eyes.  You wondered what was next.  You always wondered what was next with Tyson.  You could feel lightning running through you, running deep in your damn bones.  And when you were sure Tyson would lean in again, a scream across the lake broke the moment.  You both whipped your heads to see a boat pass by, teenagers hanging on to a tube with every inch of their life responsible for the screaming.  The both of you watched as it sped across the lake, taking your moment with it. 

“You’re shivering,” Tyson finally said, filling the silence.

Considering your body was pressed up to his, you weren’t surprised he felt something.  But considering what had just happened, you hadn’t even noticed yourself.  “Guess I’m not used to the water just yet.”

“Let’s go inside.”

“No no, if you want to stay out we can stay out.”

“No way,” he shook his head.  “I’m not gonna make you stay out here shivering.  We’ll come back out tomorrow when the sun’s out.”

You made your way inside.  Tyson gave you space to change into comfortable clothes, and you went into the master bathroom to do something with your hair.  It would inevitably develop a curl, so you decided to brush through it and try to calm your bangs as much as possible before tying it back into a French braid.  The electricity that was in your body hadn’t left, and the moment between you and Tyson in the lake kept playing in your mind.  His blue eyes.  His stupid little giggle.  His voice raising three octaves.  You tried breathing in and out, tried thinking of something else, but nothing could get rid of the electricity or the thoughts.

When you made your way back out, Tyson was already in the kitchen putting a bag of popcorn into the microwave.  When he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile.

You noticed right away.  You thought you looked like a witch.  “What?” you asked him.  “Gosh, I bet my hair looks awful after the lake water,” you grimaced, playing with your bangs and pulling them down to frame your face at least somewhat.

“Nah,” Tyson said softly.  “You look beautiful.”

The electricity that never left had just been amped up to a higher voltage.  It was the electricity that made you act; the second you were close to him in the kitchen, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him, a reciprocal from what happened in the lake.  He immediately kissed back, his arms wrapping around your waist.  His hands went to your ass and he lifted you in his arms and set you down on the countertop, getting in between your legs.  But when you tried slipping your tongue in his mouth, he pulled away.  As if he were ashamed.  “Shitshitshit…” he muttered.

“Ty—”

“—I can’t do this.”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.  “Why not?”

He was breathing heavily.  He shook his head.  “I can’t—I promised myself I couldn’t do anything until we talked about what happened in Toronto, and I’ve already broken that promise.”

Your sanity somewhat recovered.  “Can I ask you something first?”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s gonna happen in the ring anymore?”

Tyson paused.  He knew he’d have to answer for that one day, and it was apparently going to be now.  He knew they wouldn’t be able to have this conversation without his answer.  “I see how worked up you get, and how much it affects you and gets you worried.  I don’t want to put you in that position to, you know, worry about me.”

He was such an idiot.  Literally the dumbest boy alive.  You brought your hands up, your thumbs rubbing over the stubble of his beard.  “You’d think by now you’d realize it’s been having the opposite effect,” you said.  “When I told you that it’s getting harder and harder for me to watch your more hardcore stuff I meant it.  Leaving me in the dark is just doing more harm.  I’d rather know about it.  I’d rather be prepared.  It would make me less nervous for what’s coming.”

“But I can’t stand to see you cry,” he whispered.  “Every time I do I know it’s because of me and I can’t handle it.”

 “Please, Ty.  Just tell me,” you said, pausing afterwards.  “What are you gonna do at Blood and Guts?”

Fuck.  You could see Tyson visibly grimace, his eyes fluttering closed.  “There’s gonna be thumbtacks,” he began.  Your stomach was already in knots.  “And uh, there’s this thing…it’s a nail bed—”

“—a nail bed?!—”

“—and I’m going to take a body slam on to it.”

Your tears began almost instantaneously.  “Tyson—”

“—I know, I know—”

“Tyson,” you buried your head into the crook of his neck, resting it on his shoulder.  “Tyson, please,” you were desperate, desperate for him to listen to you. 

“Hazel, Hazel, don’t cry,” he cooed, rubbing your back.  “It’s gonna be okay.  Look at me, look at me,” he gently pulled away before placing a finger underneath your chin so you could look at him.  “You’re breaking my heart by making me see you cry.”

“I hope I am!” you said with more emphasis than normal.  “I get that you want to be the master of your craft but this isn’t it.  Say you’re injured.  Say you can’t do it.  Please.  I don’t want to see you ripped to shreds.”

“Hazel,” you could hear the heaviness in his voice, “you know as well as I do I can’t be the only guy not taking a spot during the match.”

You knew that, but your judgement was clouded right now.  If you had your way, none of the guys would be taking any spots on any damn nail bed, but it wasn’t like you could control these things.  You wished you could.  You knew you would have to suffer through it and there was nothing you could do about it.  You knew it would result in waiting for him to return to gorilla afterwards and having to see him aching.  You knew you’d be in the locker room with him as he got patched up, holding everything in (or, maybe this time, you’d let everything out, in front of everyone). 

You sighed, feeling Tyson wipe away the tears that had fallen from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.  “You’re so adamant about this.  Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m selfish, Tyson.  I want you around for a very long time.  I’m selfish and I want you with me for a very long time.”

You finally verbalized, praying to God that it would finally get through to him as to why you were the way you were.  He looked into your eyes for any hint of uncertainty or ambiguity, but there wasn’t any.  “Hazel…”

“Don’t you want the same?”

You watched as he gulped, and you could feel his hands grab yours and hold them gently in his.  “You know before Will came in…and you asked me ‘Is that really all that matters to you?  Is that it?’ when we were alone in my room?” he asked.

“Yeah…”

“I didn’t get to…what I wanted to say was…” he trailed off.  “You matter to me, Hazel, a lot.  You’ve mattered to me for years.  I just—I should have—back in Portofino, and back in Japan, I should have said something, and I didn’t because I was too focused on wrestling, too focused on being the best.  And I thought I was old, and there you were, and you were so young and so good, and I just couldn’t do that to you.  But you do matter to me Hazel.  You do.  More than anyone.”

“Tell me what you want, Ty,” you were desperate to hear the words.

“I want it to be the right time.”

Memories of your time in bed together after the G1 Climax in Tokyo together flooded your mind like a tsunami.  You felt a shiver run up your spine, the electricity from deep within you igniting again.  You nodded slightly.  “It is the right time,” you assured him.

He kissed you again, just like he did in the lake earlier, and you responded right away to the feeling of his lips on yours.  Your hands escaped his hold so you could wrap your arms around his broad shoulders; his own arms wrapping around your waist.  You sat there on the counter with Tyson between your legs for what felt like hours, the taste of him so intoxicating you were running out of breath.  You didn’t know how to describe his kisses any other way except full – full of emotion, of passion, of love, of seven years of waiting and all the pent-up feelings that came with that.  So you took every moment and cherished it, burning it into the back of your mind.  Every feel of his curls as you ran your hands through them, every feel of the stubble of his beard rubbing against the bare skin of your face and your neck, every feel of his muscles tightening the more you squeezed your legs around his torso to bring his body even closer to yours.

You found your hands creeping underneath his shirt, his skin of his back so delicate underneath your fingertips.  He still had some scratches on his back from the cage match with Jon, and the scar from the gash he got at the G1 Climax tournament in 2016.

Tyson pulled away slightly, quickly.  “Do you still feel safest with me?” he asked.

You nodded quickly.  “Yes, God yes,” you rushed so your lips could be back on his.  “Always, Ty.”

His kisses travelled to your neck and clavicle.  His hands were squeezing at your thighs.  You were sure he was going to leave a mark somewhere, his kisses and bites becoming insatiable.  You were sure your breaths and moans were only fuelling him, but you knew you wanted more.  The slight impatience got the best of you.  You grabbed his hands before widening your legs.  “Touch me Ty,” you breathed out, placing his hand on your hot core over your leggings.  “I want you to touch me.”

That apparently flipped a switch in him, because he picked you up in one swoop and began carrying you through the cottage until he got to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed.  “Touch me, touch me,” you begged absent-mindedly, so desperate to feel him that you pulled off his shirt. 

His hand finally went where you wanted it to go.  Your hips immediately bucked at his touch, even though it was above fabric.  He moved his body to hover over yours as he did so, making sure he could keep eye contact you and watch all your reactions as he did what you wanted him to do.  “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“You gonna let me taste you?”

Your breath got caught in your throat.  You wanted it, you wanted it so bad, but the possibility of it actually happening made you slip up.  He obviously hadn’t done it previously, with the two of you being the way you were getting in the way of it happening in Portofino and Tokyo.  “Y-Yeah,” you stuttered out, nodding.

Tyson gave you a few more kisses as his fingers drew circles and ran up and down the fabric over your core before he pushed himself back on his knees.  He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your tights before pulling them off in one full swoop.  Next, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them off too, exposing your whole bottom half.  He could hear your intake of breath, could see how you were watching his every move.  “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled out.  “Just nerves.”

He furrowed his brows.  “Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t know.  Just am,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he moved over your body to kiss you.  “I want to make you feel good, but if you’re nervous, I don’t have to.”

“No no, I really want you to.”

The two of you couldn’t help but giggle at your response, Tyson kissing you again – quick, little kisses on your lips – before pulling away.  “Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?  I’ll stop the second you want me to.”

You nodded in agreement.  Not that you’d have to tell him to stop.  If he was going to go down on you, there was no way in hell you’d ask him to stop.  There wasn’t a force on God’s green earth that would make you ask him to stop.  You closed your eyes as Tyson began slowly kissing his way down your body, pulling up your shirt to just underneath your breasts so he could kiss your soft tummy, dragging his tongue and lips along your skin before he got below your belly button.  His hands went to your thighs, spreading your legs apart for him. 

“You’re so beautiful, Hazel.”

A warmth washed over your body at the words.  You watched as he got between your legs, bringing his finger up to feel you.  You flinched slightly, already so sensitive.  You could see a smirk on Tyson’s face as he brought an arm around to keep your keep your hips down.

There was no precursor for Tyson – no tentative licks or little flicks of the tongue first to ease you into it.  He just went right in.  He’d waited long enough.  It made your jaw drop, a mewl leaving your mouth almost instantly.  And he didn’t stop from there.  He lapped at you like you were his last meal on earth the entire time he was down there, making you bunch the bed sheets into your fists, your knuckles white.  As your moans got louder, you couldn’t help but start writhing in bed.  But his arm across your hips was limiting your ability to move, which just made it all the better.  You reached down to grab on to some of his curls.  He looked up at you with his blue eyes and you almost came right then and there.

“You alright?” he asked quickly.

You nodded.  “I’m almost embarrassed to tell you how long I’ve dreamt of you doing this to me.”

You watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled.  “Am I better or worse than your little fantasies?”

“Better,” you said automatically.  “So much better.”

The vibration from his proud little chuckle just made the experience even more pleasurable.  After a short while, you could feel a warmth take over your body, and you knew you were close.  You verbalized this to Tyson, who kept doing what he was doing and didn’t change his rhythm at all – thank God.  Eventually, you felt your orgasm overcome you, your body writhing at the feeling.  You tried to stop your legs from coming together and squeezing Tyson’s head between your thighs, but he didn’t seem to mind when you couldn’t control it anymore.  He moved in tune with each buck of the hips, each squirm, never taking his mouth off your pussy, even for a second. 

When your orgasm subsided, and you tried to catch your breath after all the moaning and calling out of his name, Tyson kissed the inside of your thighs before moving back up your body.  You were desperate to kiss him and crashed your lips onto his when he was close enough.  “So sweet,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Christ almighty, Ty.”

He continued kissing you, slow and steady and full just like before, moving to pull your top off.  You played with the waistband of his sweatpants for a bit, just to tease him, before pushing them and his underwear down all in one go.  You could feel how hard he was then, his cock resting between you.  “What other little fantasies have you had about me?” he asked.

You were not prepared for that question.  And you were not prepared for having to think about answering as he was kissing his way down your chest.  “How much time do we have?” you tried to joke.

“Tell me,” his voice was firm, right before he took a nipple into his mouth.

“I’ve dreamt of it all, Ty,” you admitted, closing your eyes to savour the feeling of what he was doing.  “I’ve been dreaming about you since I was, like, twenty-one.  That’s a lot of time.  What about you?”

He stopped what he was doing, coming back up and bringing one of his hands up to move some hair out of your face.  “D’you know how many times I’ve replayed Portofino and Tokyo in my head?” he asked.

So you weren’t the only one.  What a feeling it was to know.  “Yeah?”

“When we fell between the two beds…” he began, his thumb gliding over your lips.  “You don’t forget things like that.”

You nodded because you understood.  You had never forgotten that moment either, mostly because it was one of the few moments in your life when you felt pure, genuine happiness.  “I love you, Tyson.”

He kissed you.  “I love you too, Hazel.”

You kissed each other for a while again, your nails digging into the skin on his arms and back.  It was only when he was biting down at the skin near your collarbone that he spoke again.  “Will you let me make love to you?”

“No.”

Tyson stopped everything.  He looked up at you.  “No?”

“I know you can go harder than that,” you said.  “I haven’t felt you in seven years, Ty.  I need it.”

He was like a man possessed after you said those words, his hands and lips all over you with zero abandon.  In one swift movement, he grabbed onto your hips and flipped you over on to your stomach.  You got excited at the new position.  “Is this okay?” he asked.

“You bet,” the excited grin grew on your face as you got on our hand and knees.

You positioned yourself and purposely crashed your ass into his hips, causing a groan to escape him before you could feel his hand between your bodies, stroking himself several times before using his head to tease your pussy.  You gripped onto the sheets, arching your back and biting your lip.  When he finally pushed inside you, you let out a cry.  He felt just as good as you remembered,  if not better.  “Jesus fuck, Ty,” you couldn’t help but swear as you felt him fully in you.  He was giving you a few moments – you knew that – but you were so desperate to feel him pump in and out of you that you almost resented the fact he wasn’t moving yet.  “Fuck me, Tyson.  It’s been seven years.  Let me feel all of you.” 

With every thrust, you could feel every inch of your body igniting on fire.  His moans and grunts, the way his hands were gripping on to your hips, the movement of your bodies, the song of the sounds you were making – it all came together in the most pleasurable experience.  You got louder and louder as he pounded into you just as you wanted.  “God Ty, you feel so fucking good,” you said, flipping your hair over your shoulder to be able to look at him. 

“Was this one of your little fantasies too?” he asked.

You nodded.  “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

You sighed out, unable to form coherent thoughts.  You knew this was only the beginning of the night.  If you knew Tyson – and you did – he’d be asking you about all of them, and you wouldn’t be able to get out of it.  Not that you wanted to.  “We were doing exactly this, but…”

“But?”

“But you pulled me up by my hair,” you said.

To your surprise, you could feel him wrap some of your hair around his hand before tugging on it and pulling you up so your back was flush against his chest.  He was gentle but still purposeful with his movements, knowing what he was doing to you.  “Then what?”

You gulped.  He had slowed his pace moving in and out of you, but the way you were positioned already made it feel so good.  Your body shivered at what it would feel like when he lost all control.  “You…you had one hand here to hold me up,” you said, grabbing on to his left hand and putting it at the base of your neck.  “Just don’t squeeze,” you added quickly.

“I won’t,” he gave you a quick kiss on your shoulder.  “What else?”

“Your…your other hand was here,” you grabbed on to his right hand, placing it on your pussy so his fingers were directly on your clit.  “You were fucking me so good I was seeing stars, Ty.  I woke up and started touching myself.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.  “Was there anything else?”

You nodded.  You took another deep breath.  “You were…you were leaving marks,” you admitted.  “All here…and here…” your hand moved over your neck and shoulders on both sides before settling back on top of his hand that was on the base of your neck.  “When I woke up, after I touched myself, I went to the mirror to see if the marks were real.  I was so sad I didn’t have them.”

Tyson’s lips began kissing at your neck and shoulder.  “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

“Yes please.”

Tyson’s lips went back to your neck and you could immediately feel him sucking at the skin there, no doubt leaving one of the marks you so wanted.  Without warning, he began pumping harder and quicker too, building up a rhythm that hit the most perfect spot in you and made you cry out in pleasure over and over again.  His fingers began massaging your clit, too, and it all truly felt like a dream, a dream you had dreamed for seven, eight, nine – maybe ten years now.

You could feel your throat dry up from how long Tyson had been fucking you.  You knew you were close to your second orgasm of the night – but it definitely wouldn’t be the last.  “Harder, Ty.  I’m so close.”

You cried out when you felt just how hard he started to go, and soon enough, you saw those stars you had once dreamed of.  The feeling was so intense, and just like the previous times with Tyson, you could feel the pleasure rush through your body from your head all the way to your toes, and down deep in your bones.  He was still holding you up, but you felt yourself collapsing, on account of your legs feeling like complete jelly.  But then you heard Tyson moan and felt him come inside you, and another rush coursed through your body – so intense that you had to put your hand over his and get him to stop teasing your clit or else you were sure you would explode and cease to exist.  Whatever you had ever dreamed previously wasn’t as good as this – it was impossible to compare.

Your heart was beating out of your chest.  You hung on to every last feeling of your orgasm until it passed, slowly.  “Shit,” you could hear Tyson curse behind you, his head still on your shoulder.  “Holy shit.  Holy shit.”

“God, Ty,” you breathed out.  His one hand left your neck, and the other hand left your pussy, and when they did, you felt yourself collapse onto the bed.  Apparently your legs were still non-functioning.  You began to giggle at just how fucked out you were, shifting yourself over to your back. 

Tyson smiled too, albeit nervously.  “I don’t know if giggling is the best reaction here.”

“It’s a good thing,” you let out as he sunk down beside you.  You turned your head to look at him, so he could see it in your eyes.  “Trust me.”

Tyson giggled too then.  “I’ll take it.”

“You’re gonna have to start getting used to it.  Especially tonight,” you said.  You rolled yourself on top of his chest, looking down on his face.  “I mean, I’ve had so many other little fantasies…”

“Baby, I’m just getting warmed up.”

***

19th July 2023

and if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow and it's alright now

The nail bed wasn’t supposed to fall down Tyson’s back and arms, but of course Tyson couldn’t take the spot lightly.  And because Tyson couldn’t ever take a spot lightly, his back was now all scratched, gashes and little holes down his entire left side – the same side you’d had to bandage and put ointment on just seven weeks ago.  At least there were no thumbtacks. 

Once he had finished pulling said thumbtacks out of Kota’s back, he hauled himself onto a training table and a trainer began assisting him.  Cotton swabs, disinfectant – there was even a stitching kit ready to go.  Matt was on the phone with Dana, Nick was Facetiming with Ellen, and Kota was in his own world.  It was a good a time as ever to stand next to Tyson.

You weren’t crying this time.  This was already a huge success.

The trainer had cleaned his hands first, bloody from the wreckage in the ring.  You watched as the trainer wiped away the blood on his face, disinfecting the area and making him wince.  When the trainer moved to his back, Tyson looked at you.

“You okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly.  “I’m not crying, so we’re leaps and bounds better than where we were several weeks ago.”

“Does it look bad?”

“It looks like you got into a fight with a bear at the cottage.  But somehow, you won the fight.”

Tyson’s laugh was interrupted by a wince.  It was obvious the trainer was disinfecting an area.  He grabbed onto your hands, squeezing them at the next sting.  You squeezed back.  “I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you too.”

As quick as a lightning flash, he brought your hands up to his lips to kiss them.  Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Matt watching, his eyes bulging out of their sockets with his eyebrows raised in shock.  When he saw you looking at him, he smirked and mouthed only one word to you.  Finally. 

Everything was okay.  Everything was alright. 

[mychoombatheroomba]

Voices Carry

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 22

You have a conversation with Valeria about Leon. It ends up involving a bloody nose.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

CW: some manipulative behavior against the reader (not from Leon)

The two of you left the mess hall that evening with a few new understandings. The first was that you would have to be more careful, just as Leon said. 

"The smart thing to do would be to stop," you pointed out, your voice hushed so none of the mess hall staff could overhear. 

"And what about the slightly stupid thing to do?" Leon asked, and you wanted to kiss that goofy smile off his face. 

"We train with Alenko and Williams regularly. Keep some suspicion off of us. Keep everything as quick as possible.” 

Leon had agreed to that part easily enough. You both agreed that you couldn’t meet as often as you’d like. That any moment stolen had to be just that - a moment. Neither of you were happy about it, but that was the hand you’d been dealt. “Feels like we’re teenagers trying not to get caught,” he said eventually, and you couldn’t help but agree. 

“Yeah, except we’ve already been caught.” 

And that led to the second understanding. Valeria. 

“She’s always looking for an edge,” you said, and Leon knew it well enough. You’d seen what she’d done during his assessment. How she’d been teasing him since he joined your squad. She wasn’t the type to let something go unused or unexploited. 

“So she’d, what, hold it over us until she finds something we have that she wants?” 

“Probably,” you shrugged. 

“All the more reason to talk to her about it.” 

You hated the idea, but you knew that Leon was right. 

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” you resolved. “Ask her to spar. Do it then.” 

Leon nodded, frowning a little and you knew it was because it would mean another night when the two of you wouldn’t be alone. But that was the way it had to be. You both knew it, even if neither of you liked it. You had both gotten used to hard truths. 

“That’ll be a fun conversation,” Leon huffed.

“No worse than the one we just had with Krauser.” 

Then the energy of the room had shifted, making it feel as empty as it was. Leon nodded, and you saw him disappear into his thoughts.

There was a long silence, then. 

You decided to be the one to break it, because as much as you wanted to talk about when you and Leon could next steal a moment together, that conversation with Krauser - the revelations it had provided - took up a great amount of space in your mind.

“I . . .” how could you say this the right way? “I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it. What happened in Raccoon City.” It was the best you could do in the moment, the best way you could think of to begin the conversation. “I’m . . .” fuck, how could you say this? 

In the end, after a moment’s hesitation, you settled with the one thing you had yet to say to him. The one thing you had avoided, because you didn’t want him to think you pitied him. Because you had heard so many people say this to you, and you’d hated them for it. 

But now, because it was him and it was coming from you, you only hoped that he would understand the words better than you had. 

“I’m sorry you had to face all of that.” You forced yourself to look him in the eyes, needing him to see you. Needing him to understand what you meant. “And I’m sorry you had to relive it now.” 

Leon just stared at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and you worried he would react poorly to the words, just as you had. 

But then, Leon wasn’t you. And thank god for that. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and you felt him gently squeeze your thigh under the table. Only a second later, something in his gaze shifted. “But you don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s Umbrella that does.” And there, sparking just beneath the surface, was a fire you’d come to know all too well from Leon. A strength and a sense of justice that was something out of a storybook. 

You knew he was going to be a dangerous enemy for Umbrella to have. 

But then, so were you. You couldn’t say for sure what exactly Umbrella had taken from Leon. His chance at a normal life, yes. The life of a woman who’d betrayed him, true, but what else, you couldn’t say. Whatever it was, you knew in your heart that justice was the reason he wanted to face them down. 

And you wanted justice too, you supposed. 

But you wanted something more. Because Umbrella was responsible for the virus that had killed your friends. Your brothers in arms. Your mentor. The man you considered a father. They had taken everything from you.

So yes, you wanted justice for them. For the fallen. 

But more than that, you wanted revenge. For your friends. For Leon. 

For you. 

“Then we’ll bring them down,” you said, and Leon looked over at you with wide eyes. “We’ll make them pay. Burn them to the ground.” 

His eyes shifted, and suddenly you weren’t staring at some fresh-faced rookie with tired eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. You were looking at a soldier. One with a mission, that he was going to see through, one way or another. “You’re damn right we will,” he nodded. 

That murmured promise of justice and vengeance . . . that was your third understanding of the night. 

And to deliver on that promise, the two of you would have to be ready. 

⧫⧫⧫

Krauser was different the next day. Still pissed, you could tell, and still pushing you all to the limit, but he did so with his usual insults. Those little barbed comments that were meant to spur you all onward. 

You never thought you’d be grateful to hear them again, but it marked what you hoped would be a return to equilibrium. And you knew it was because he had direction, now. He knew what to train you and the rest to be able to face - or at least had an idea of it. So, you were hardly surprised when the more rigorous training kept up. More than that, you readily embraced it, now knowing what Leon had faced. You pushed hard, trying to imagine the horrors he’d described. Trying to push yourself, that you might be able to take such horrors down. 

And you watched your squad struggle, hoping they would be able to do the same. It made you realize your obligation to help those who didn’t know what they were going to be fighting out there. 

People like the pair who’d asked you and Leon for help, even before your conversation with Krauser. 

Williams and Alenko were forgiving of the fact that you hadn’t been able to spar with them. Forgiving, but all too curious about why Major Krauser had pulled the two of you out of drills like he was going to read you the riot act. Luckily, you and Leon had discussed what it was you were going to tell them. 

“He wants us leading off-hours sparring practice,” you said, and the lie came easily. Krauser had been pushing you all harder, and Williams and Alenko already wanted to practice with you anyway. And, as Leon pointed out, your actual conversation with Krauser “never happened” so the Major wouldn’t correct your lie, even if he found out.

The two newly added members of your squad didn’t need much convincing. After all, Krauser had been asking you to assist with his training for months now. 

And as for Leon . . . well, it was no secret that the two of you were sparring partners. 

It was your actual secret that needed addressing. 

And Valeria was all too happy to agree when you asked her to spar with you the next day after drills. 

“Oh?” She’d raised a brow. “You and blanquito looking for a third?” 

The comment didn’t shake your expression, because you already looked pissed off enough as it was. 

“Just you and me.” Was your answer. And then Valeria smiled, because she knew why you were asking.

“Fine. But no knives. Hand to hand. Unless you think you need to hide behind steel to win.” 

Your eyes narrowed, and your response came out faster than you intended, hissed in frustration. “Better than hiding behind words.” 

Valeria’s eyes widened, and you worried that you’d said something to piss her off. That she would turn and head to the Major’s office to rat you and Leon out because of spite. Instead, the dark-eyed soldier smiled like she’d won something. “Been wondering if you had any good lines in you.” 

And so that night, as Leon headed off to the firing range with Williams and Alenko in tow, you and Valeria took up ready stances in the training yard. Krauser was listening to music again, and heavy guitar sounded through the open windows. 

So, you set up as far away from the barracks as you could, because you didn’t trust the music to be enough to drown out the conversation. And, to your credit, you really, honestly intended it to be a somewhat civil conversation. 

You were about to begin, but Valeria beat you to the punch. Literally. 

“So. Is this gonna be about what I saw the other night?” 

You barely opened your mouth to answer before her fist came at your face and you only barely managed to duck out of the way, and then you were straightening, stepping back as she advanced. She would go for a face hit right off the bat. She had never been shy about headshots, and Krauser had stopped reprimanding her for it early on. It’ll teach you all to duck, he’d said. 

And you’d learned well. 

You struck out at her stomach as you dodged, lightning fast and laser focused. 

If it were one of Leon’s old squad, you would have landed the hit easily. But this was Valeria. She could trade blows with the best of your squad . . . and she fought dirtier than most. Her hand batted the strike away, and she twisted as she delivered a painful kick to your stomach. 

You grunted as you were forced away, and Valeria didn’t follow, still wearing that damn smirk. The frustration you felt was almost enough to make you forget the question she’d asked. 

Almost. “Yes,” you hissed, raising your guard. “It’s about that.” 

The distant song ended, and then there were little bursts of new music as Krauser switched through the stations. 

You could hear different songs chopped together, only adding to the discordant energy in the air around you. 

“Hit me with your-”

“-keep it down now, voices carry-”

“You two really should be more careful,” Valeria grinned, her voice soft. Like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, either. “Be a shame if the Major found out.” 

It was your turn to swing at her. A quick one-two, a feint high then low. You caught her in the ribs, striking harder than you should have. Maybe you weren’t helping your chances in doing so, but you didn’t much care. 

“Good thing,” you hissed from clenched teeth as Valeria traded you blows, “he’s not going to.” 

Valeria snorted. You went for a punch. She moved to the side. Left your arm extended for too long. Then her hand was moving, one holding your arm in place, the other swooping up from under. You moved a second too late. 

Pain bloomed, then, and you reeled back, clutching at the blood now spilling from your nose. 

Your vision blurred a bit after the hit. Valeria stepped back on her left leg, her guard up again, dark eyes glinting. “Who’s to say he doesn’t already know?” 

Something pulsed through you, then. Heavy and hot. It settled in your chest, filling you with fire. 

You knew she wanted you to come at her, then. She loved setting traps like that. Loved provoking people into attacking her however she could. 

It was great when it worked. 

The trouble was, now she’d done more than just provoke you because you aren’t just sparring anymore. 

She knew her mistake as you swung a now bloodied fist at her with all your might. Her snickering dies as she desperately gets out of the way, but you don’t give her the chance to counter. You were coming after her in a rage, blood flying from your nose as you moved. Hit after hit you laid on her and you could see her becoming smaller and smaller as she shrunk away from you, looking for an opening. 

But her fear made her sloppy, and you landed a push kick square against her chest, sending her back. 

She didn’t go all the way down, though. 

She ran at you, aiming a kick of her own at your side. Your leg came up too, blocking it, just as your fist swung at her head, because you were pissed and hurt and if she’s fighting like that, then so were you. She was lucky she could raise a block in time. There was an attempt at a counter, but you were too fast, so she had to adjust to block again. Your third punch missed altogether as she stepped to the side. 

You almost got clipped in the head as she brought her arm around, but you wove beneath it. Raising your own arm . . . 

And then your forearm crashed hard across her cheek. Almost your elbow, but there was still a shred of restraint left in you.  

She backed away, staggered, and it was all the time and space you needed. 

You turned over your left shoulder, gaining the momentum you needed. Your leg came up, then the other. And then you were spinning through the air, the other leg extended as you jumped. 

The kick connected with Valeria’s shoulder. Hard. She cried out, but that cry was jumbled as she went spilling onto the ground, dirt rising and falling around her. 

And then you were on top of her, pinning her there, eyes full of fury. 

“Did you tell him?” You demanded, your voice little more than a hiss. 

Valeria looks up at you, her head still reeling, dark eyes unfocused. “Mierda,” she groans, baring her teeth as she clutches at her shoulder. “Okay, pretty boy is a sensitive topic, I get it-” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

She huffed, shook her head. “No. I didn’t tell him, damn.” 

You almost let the tension you’d been holding release. Almost. Still, even if she hadn’t told the Major, she still held that knowledge. She still posed a danger. 

As if she can see those thoughts written across your face, Valeria just snickers from underneath you. “Look, I’m gonna give you both shit for it, but I’m not gonna go telling people about you and the rookie.” She surprised you with how genuine she sounded. Maybe more so than you’d ever heard from her. “Don’t think I ever actually saw you smile until he came around. You’ve been actually tolerable lately, so I’m not gonna be on the lookout to end that. Besides,” she grinned then, because it seemed she couldn’t be too courteous for too long, “if the Major finds out, then there goes my entertainment. Because you two are fucking hilarious to watch.” 

“I don’t buy it,” you shook your head, still keeping her pinned. Not trusting her. “I don’t buy you being willing to let this go that easily.” 

Again, Valeria snickered, and that smirk was back. “Who said I was?” And there it was. The negotiation you’d been prepared for. “I keep your secret, and some day, you two can do something for me.” 

“This isn’t a game, Valeria.” 

“No?” She raised a brow. “Then you and Leon better get serious. Cause if I saw you, then it’s only a matter of time before someone else does. Might help you to have someone in your corner.” 

She was right. You and Leon had discussed that much at length, after all. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t know, and that would be that. But in this world, you supposed it was better to have her support than her animosity. So fine, then. 

“What do you want, then?” you asked, because that was the position you found yourself in. 

And Valeria, even though she had lost the fight, knew she’d just won something. “I want in on sparring with you. Other than that . . . I’ll let you know when I have something in mind. And in the meantime, you and pretty boy just carry on as you were.” 

It was going to remain hanging over your heads, then. “Fine.” 

With a final sigh, more of your blood dripping onto the dirt by her head, you stood. You almost didn’t offer her a hand up, but in the end, you reached your unbloodied one towards her anyway. 

She let you help her up, looking at you for a moment longer. “Glad we could have this little talk,” she said, rolling the shoulder you’d hit and brushing dirt off her fatigues. “Just have one more question for you.” 

“And what’s that?” you asked, raising a hand to your bleeding nose, your tone betraying how much you wanted to be done. 

Valeria’s dark eyes got just a little bit darker as she smiled. “Is he any good?” Again, you found some anger spiking through you. “I mean, he looks so sweet, but I bet-”

“Too bad you’ll never know,” you shot at her, and she laughed. 

“Touchy, touchy, alright then.” She started to walk past you, with too much swagger for a woman who just had her ass handed to her. “You’re no fun.” 

And with that, apparently done for the night in the training yard, you spat some blood into the dirt and made your way to the firing range. 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon didn’t realize you’d joined him, Williams, and Alenko until you were stepping up beside him, checking the pistol in your hands and getting ready to fit some headphones over your ears. 

But as soon as he saw you, he saw the blood on your shirt, and what still dripped a little from your nose. He knew then just what kind of conversation you and Valeria had had. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, taking his own headphones off and setting his gun down. “Are you okay?” 

You looked at him with a shrug, just like he expected from you. “It's not so bad,” you said, and Leon just stared at you for a moment, bewildered. But then he so often was bewildered by you. “And honestly?” You slid your pistol’s magazine into place, then met Leon’s eyes. And only you could make a bloody nose look so beautiful. “Could have gone worse, I guess.” 

He supposed, even if it had left you bloody, that was a silver lining. 

Leon laughed once, just taking you in, then shook his head. “Never took you for an optimist.” 

“Oh, I’m just brimming with positivity, Kennedy,” you deadpanned back, then wiped the blood from under your nose and slid the headphones on. 

He chuckled again, then mirrored your actions, feeling a little weight come off his shoulders.

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Chapter Index

[wikiangela]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @aroeddiediaz @underwaterninja13 @nmcggg @ladydorian05 thank you <33

How many works do you have on ao3?

right now it's 90! (57 of these are 911 lol)

What's your total ao3 word count?

535,450

What fandoms do you write for?

currently just 911, but I have some destiel and sambucky fics and who knows, I might get back to them at some point haha

Top 5 fics by kudos:

For a holiday (and forevermore)

I can't love you any more (than I do now)

I'd marry you with paper rings

the next best thing

There’s no way that it’s not going there (with the way that we’re looking at each other)

(they're all buddie and I just noticed that the top 4 are all over 1k kudos?? when did that happen lmao)

Do you respond to comments?

I do! sometimes it takes me a while bc i get lowkey overwhelmed lol but I always do!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

there's not a lot bc I prefer happy or hopeful endings, but I guess by post 6x10 fics? Fine and don't know what I'd do if your tomorrow never came idk lol

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of my fics have happy endings, but I guess I'd say For a holiday (and forevermore) 

Do you get hate on fics?

not really? got like one or two not very nice comments but generally no haha

Do you write smut?

yes I do 😁 not often and it always takes me forever but I do have two smut fics in the works (one buddie, one bucktommy lol)

Craziest crossover?

don't have any

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, as far as I know

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

Have you co-written a fic before?

no

All time favorite ship?

buddie

(ngl, bucktommy is a veeeeery close second rn🙈)

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

there's two that have been fighting me for so long they're lowkey abandoned now and tbh I don't know if I still want to finish them? one is a 5+1 nicknames, and the other just a silly idea about eddie flirting with buck since they met but buck being veeeery oblivious lol

What are your writing strengths?

I think (usually) I'm pretty good at staying true to the characters and not making them too ooc (and I know when it's ooc, okay, I have one wip rn where I just don't give a fuck, I'm writing it anyway lol), and I can get into their heads pretty well. Also I think I'm good at the cute fluffy stuff lol idk

What are your writing weaknesses?

there's probably a lot lol - rn the one that comes to mind is descriptions probably, which is why writing fanfic where we have established characters and settings is so much easier than og stuff haha

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I don't mind it but I don't do it a lot aside from a pet name here and there bc I just don't wanna get anything wrong lol

First fandom you wrote in?

for tv shows supernatural, but before that I did write rpf which i just wanna forget about lol

Favorite fic you've written?

rn it's three:

we don't know where this is going now (don't be afraid of heights, let me open your heart wide) - my tommy pov fic <3

I'm comin' back, don't let me go - buck driving/breakdown fic

baby, you drive me wild - car smut - might not be my best but it's my fave smut lol

tags: @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @evanbegins

@wildlife4life @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway

@spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks

@rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @exhuastedpigeon

@jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @theotherbuckley @daffi-990

@hoodie-buck @tizniz @bidisasterevankinard

[renecdote]

I and love and you

Set post In Another Life so y'know. Spoilers ahead.

[Read on AO3]

The first SOS text comes two days after Buck is released from the hospital: help they’re driving me crazy. Eddie squints at it, waiting for more, and when it doesn’t come, he skips replying and hits call.

“Hey,” Buck answers, and he’s trying so hard to sound upbeat, but Eddie knows him well enough to hear the cracks.

“Hey,” he echoes, and it comes out softer than he means it to. “Your parents?”

The snick of a door closing—the balcony, Eddie guesses—and the scrape of a chair before Buck says, “Ugh. My parents.”

Eddie pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, then pulls out his own chair, making himself comfortable at the kitchen table while they talk.

“It was nice,” Buck adds, before Eddie can prompt him. “At first, I mean. They were… concerned, I guess. I mean, I know they were.”

Eddie hums. He thinks this is the part where he’s supposed to say, “of course they were concerned, they’re your parents,” but he doesn’t. They both know he wouldn’t really mean it.

“Buying me a couch is one thing,” Buck goes on, and Eddie gets halfway to wait, what— but he’s already moving on. “But I woke up this morning and mom was rearranging my closet? She said she wanted the clothes to be easier for me to reach, but it’s a closet, Eddie, isn’t the whole point that the clothes are already in reach?”

It’s too easy to picture Buck when he has just woken up, bleary eyed and fluffy haired, squinting against the morning sunlight because he always forgets to close the blinds. Probably pillow creases on his face too, whatever hoodie he wore to bed twisted up around him, one sock lost somewhere down the end of the bed. That little scrunch between his eyebrows that Eddie used to imagine reaching across the pillow to smooth away in those long months of quarantine. That he still imagines smoothing away some mornings, when he gets up and finds Buck still asleep on the couch because he didn’t want to drive home the night before.

“Rearranging your closet does seem a little overkill,” he agrees, probably a beat too late.

“It’s not just that,” Buck complains. “It’s everything. My meds, the food I eat—even when I got up to go to the bathroom earlier, they both tried to help me, like I can’t walk across my own apartment without collapsing or something.”

It’s too easy to picture that too: Buck collapsing. Buck not breathing. Buck’s heart not beating. Eddie swallows, then swallows again, holding his coffee mug tight against a rush of cold that makes him shiver.

“Why don’t I come pick you up?” he offers, and he doesn’t care if it’s selfish. “I’m sure Chris would love to see you when he gets home from school.”

There’s a smile breaking through the tiredness in Buck’s voice when he asks, “Just Chris?”

They used to joke like this. Eddie knows what his line is supposed to be, knows how he’s supposed to carry the joke, but that was before. Before Buck got struck by lightning, before his heart stopped beating, before Eddie cried over his hospital bed while Chris begged him to wake up.

“I’d love to see you too,” he says, and it feels like too much truth and not enough at the same time. It’s I and love and you, but they’re not fit together the way he wants them to be. The way he means them but can’t bring himself to say.

He wonders if Buck hears it anyway, with the way his voice catches before he replies, “I’d love to see you too.”

They stood on top of the fire engine together once, braced against wind and speed as they tried to catch a man hanging from a plane. Eddie still remembers the way the adrenaline tasted, the way they grinned at each other, the way he knew that Buck would catch him if he fell. He could fall now, he thinks, and Buck would catch him. Buck will always catch him.

But not today. Probably not tomorrow either. They still have time.

Eddie stands and pours his mostly untouched coffee down the sink.

“I can be there in twenty,” he says. “You can tell your parents you’ve got a better offer for the afternoon.”

Buck laughs, then groans. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh.”

“It’s not my fault you think I’m funny,” Eddie answers, and it’s easier this time, to joke the way they always have. To hear Buck breathing on the other end of the line and take his own breath to match.

“I never said you were funny,” Buck protests, but he’s still smiling. Grinning, probably.

Eddie takes a second to close his eyes and picture it—Buck grinning, Buck breathing, Buck alive—then he grabs his keys and heads for the door.

He doesn’t hang up.

Buck doesn’t hang up either, even when he gets too tired to talk.

For the twenty minutes across town, Eddie listens to the sound of his best friend breathing, and the muted sounds of LA traffic in the background, and something else. Something that might be the sound of the wind whistling four stories up, or might be nothing at all.

“I’m here,” he says when he is pulling into a parking spot.

And Buck says, “okay, see you in a minute,” but he still doesn’t hang up the phone until Eddie is knocking on the apartment door. He’s pretty sure that doesn’t mean nothing. He’s pretty sure that, if he asked, it might mean everything.

(I and love and you, fit together in all the ways he wants them to be.)

But not today. Probably not tomorrow either.

They still have time.