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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

As Usual

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Business!Baron, what's not to love? Tagging our usual suspects of @tox-moxley and @oraclegazes, as well as the head of the Baron's Bitches Pack, @writergrrrl29 and but of course it would not be Thirst Party Saturday without our Steerforth, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

Baron Corbin didn't like to think of himself as boring. Sure, he worked in an office, and yeah, he wasn't exactly at the head of the excitement parade, but boring? He and his girlfriend worked long days, wasn't much they could do when they got off of their respective shifts. Normally once Baron escaped his soul-sucking cubicle and fought through the traffic to get home he was more than ready to throw on some sweatpants, cuddle with his already-sleeping girl and conk the fuck out until six the next morning when he had to wake up and do it all over again.

“Dude, face it. You're the most boring guy I know. Boring Corbin.” Jack snorted, leaning over Baron's cubicle. “You come here early, you work late because everyone else is slacking off...obviously you have no life if you're willing to devote that kind of time consistently to your job.”

“I don't recall asking, Swagger.” Corbin drawled, turning his chair around to give the tall blond a long-suffering look. “Speaking of me working while everyone else is slacking off, shouldn't you be making copies or something?”

“Fair enough.” Jack held up his hands in surrender. “Look I'm only thaying...saying something because I'm worried, alright? You're one of the few people I can actually joke with around here and you've been burning the candle at both ends for so long, man.” Baron grimaced. Jack, seeming to sense his weakness, carried on eagerly. “You don't take sick days, you don't take vacations. What the hell do you do for fun?”

“I definitely do take vacations, I took one last...” Baron paused, doing the mental math. “...two years ago.”

“Oh whoop-dee-do, the two days you took off for that concert. What, did you have fun and hate every second of it?” Jack needled, making Corbin laugh a little ruefully.

“Far from it, man. I could barely peel myself out of bed afterwards, even with the extra day off. Hell of a time in the pit, you know how it is.”

“So what's the deal, man? Take a day off. Call in thick. Fucking...sick.” Jack tended to speak slowly. When he got excited his lisp flared up more often, which seemed to frustrate him. “Take your girl on vacation. I'm sure she could use a break too. From what you've told me she's just as crazy as you are.”

“You're not wrong there.” The long hours she was spending in her own office came to mind and Corbin's brow furrowed. “I'll think about it, Swagger.”

Jack looked relieved, leaning over the cubicle to whack a large hand down on Baron's shoulder. “You're a good man, Charlie Brown.”

Baron snorted, waving him off and returning to his work. He couldn't seem to focus though, his thoughts drifting to his girlfriend. Today was her one day off a week. Hope she's doing something fun and not working from home again. Her boss was so hard on her. Baron knew he was lucky because he answered to a variety of individuals and he was up there on the authority ladder. His girlfriend's office was arranged a little differently where everyone only answered to one man, and he didn't seem the lenient sort.

I'll call her on my lunch break. Baron decided. Excitement flooded him, the feeling foreign. God, it had been a while since he'd relaxed. We're going to get away. A few days, a week. Something like that. Maybe go someplace new. Anything. I’m so tired of this, Baron realized. Working and working and working because I don’t think I have any other options. Well, not anymore! He shoved his chair back from his desk, got to his feet and headed for HR. A good starting point would be finding out how much leeway he had. Plus, it wasn’t like he couldn’t manage his workload for the day.

…

Baron was in a daze after finishing with Bayley in HR. Apparently he’d accrued over two months of vacation time, and since he’d never opted into the program of having them take eighty hours of it and put it into his check every New Years it had kind of just…sat there, not doing anything.

Miscommunication on his part, no doubt. Bayley’s sunshine-y attitude could be exhausting on a good day, so he tended to avoid HR like the plague and he usually deleted the emails without reading them. He wasn’t an “Ice Cream Social” or “Ugly Sweater Party” kind of guy. But the distress on Bayley’s face when she realized he was uninformed on their vacation time policy made him feel…just a little guilty. Maybe Baron would humor her more in the future. Once he’d recovered from the information overload of I have free time holy shit I have free time.

Corbin sat down heavily in his office chair, leafing through the packet Bayley had printed off for him. Yeah, he definitely needed to start paying attention to those emails. Most of this information was stuff he’d never seen before. Of course, he’d started working here back when Vickie was in charge of HR. Baron still couldn’t help his cringe whenever anyone said, “excuse me!” near him. He’d never been more eager to escape from an orientation in his life.

The excitement he’d felt before going to HR was multiplying. Baron could hardly believe this. Now all he would need to do is figure out when his girlfriend would be able to get time off as well. They could go camping, maybe see a concert! Or visit Florida, she loved warm places. What about an island? Bermuda? Hawaii? His mind ran rampant, ideas quickly filling his memo pad. How's that for boring, huh? If Baron was being honest he barely cared what they did, as long as he did it with her. She had been down for a while as much as she denied it, and Baron had been at his wit’s end for a solution. But here, here it was, staring him in the face. A vacation, a real one, with hotel rooms, phones turned off and shit like that. It was foolproof.

Instead of eating his lunch in his cubicle like he usually did, Baron picked up his bag and headed for the elevator. He’d call her on his lunch break and hopefully get a little input. Upon sliding his phone out of his pocket though, he was confused to see that he’d missed a call from her at some point. There were the usual texts from her in the morning, hey Beast, hope work is going okay. You left even earlier today, I hope everything is alright. Baron winced. Then came the funny ones, Sasha and I have decided we’re killing Enzo and dumping his body in the river. Oh whoops, I think that counts as premeditated. You won’t tell, right Beast?

She’d left a voicemail when she called, she never did that. It must be important. Corbin worriedly pressed the phone to his ear, hitting the elevator button for the street level.

“--miss you, Beast...” The message began in the middle of a sentence, a gasping plea following her usage of the teasing pet name she'd given him. Baron’s mouth went dry. There was a quiet whimper, rustling, a low, static buzz that settled in Baron’s bones like fucking liquid heat. He was pretty sure his face was neon. This was…

This was something new.

“God I wish you could touch me like this more.” Her voice was breathless, “Baron please, please, I need you-”

Baron had all but forgotten he was in an elevator, jumping when the doors rolled open. He hastily scrambled across the foyer and burst through the doors to the parking lot, phone still vised to his ear via his shoulder. He felt clumsy, like he was in a dream, loosening his tie as he walked to his car and unlocked it.

She wasn’t talking anymore, just softly moaning and it was way more arousing than it should have been to hear the quiet buzzing in the background. He knew exactly what she was fucking doing to herself. She was always so sensitive when it came to him touching her, squirming underneath his mouth or hands, and it had been a thousand times more intense when he'd used the wand on her. She'd come fucking screaming his name, her nails cutting into the skin on his shoulders and drawing blood. It had been one of the hottest things Baron had ever experienced, watching her lose control, coaxing multiple orgasms out of her with the toy and his body working in sync.

That was a distant (if incredibly pleasant) memory, though. They hadn’t had sex in almost a month, their schedules too chaotic and both of them exhausted when they were together. They slept in the same bed every night, sometimes they showered together in the morning. Slow, sleepy kisses in between yawns underneath the too-cool-to-be-comfortable shower spray, husky mumbles of “how’d you sleep?” over cups of coffee.

It was the little things that had kept them going even after the exciting newness of the relationship had worn off, Corbin was sure. She’d slip notes into his bag when she made their lunches (made your favorite, for my favorite Beast!) and he always made sure there was enough hazelnut coffee in the morning for her to fill her travel mug for work. On Baron’s one day off a week, if they needed it, he would go out and get groceries, do laundry. He was still abysmal at folding shirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle, but for her it seemed to be the thought that counted. On her one day off a week she would give the house a once-over, maybe change the sheets. Baron always felt the need to apologize for his shedding, although she said she liked his hair long because it was easier--

Baron shook himself. Shit, he’d almost started stroking his cock over his pants. Easy boy. This was a treat, definitely. One that he wasn’t going to waste on a fucking parking lot. Corbin took a deep breath to steady himself and then saved the message.

A couple more breaths, inhale, exhale.

Her call had been preceded by a text that was just a jumble of letters, like she’d laid on her phone. It had been accidental.

Baron didn’t know what the hell to do with that information. Should he delete the message? It wasn’t something she’d intended for him to hear. But it sounded amazing. He decided, after a few more deep breaths, that calling her back was the best course of action. If she brought it up…

Well, he’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

“Hi Beast! How’s work?” She seemed okay. Cars in the background. She was probably working in her little garden. Baron wanted to be suspicious, but the mental image of her with dirt smudged on her nose sparked that weird domestic part of him and he found himself relaxing.

“It’s pretty good, honestly. I um, I talked with HR, baby girl. I have a lot of vacation time saved up and I was just…well, I was wondering if you’d like to do something?” Corbin wasn’t sure why the hell he was having such a hard time being articulate. “You wanna’ go on a trip with me?”

“Really?!” She sounded thrilled. It lit a fire in Baron’s stomach and he only barely kept from fucking growling in satisfaction. “That’s--I mean yeah! Absolutely! Where do you think we should go? When?”

“I know you like the warm places. I was thinking maybe...Bermuda, something like that.” Baron paused. “I’m tired of not seeing you, or only getting to hold you when you’re asleep. I miss you, baby girl.” He didn't mean for it to sound so fucking mushy, what the hell was wrong with him?

“I was just thinking about you earlier. I worry about you. You work too hard, Baron.”

Baron barely kept from saying you’d better have been thinking about me earlier, biting his lip. “I know baby. I’m finally going to have some time off, though. This means you do as well. Pot, kettle.”

She laughed. “I was that obvious, huh? It’s been tough at work. I’ve needed this day off like you wouldn’t believe. Wow, a real vacation though! I can’t wait to get everything all planned. Are you excited?”

“You bet your ass. I love…spending time with you, baby girl.” Shit, shit. They’d been dating for over a year but they had yet to say the words that everyone put such gravity on. It was simpler that way. She’d moved in with him six months ago when he’d offered. That was like saying it without having to, right? He was just…leery of fucking everything up with his big mouth.

Even with all the time they spent apart she was the best part of his day. God forbid he say those words and have shit go sideways.

It was simpler that way. I'm already her Beast. It's enough.

She didn’t have to know that he loved her, didn’t have to know about all the times he said it quietly when she was asleep. It hurt less when he did that, breathed it into her hair while she curled up in his arms like she would be his forever. It's simpler that way, he told himself. Hurts less that way. God, he was too sentimental.

She’d gone quiet and Baron became nervous. “You okay, baby girl?” She knows, I’m so fucked.

“I’m thinking, Beast! Just…all the stuff we can do! Anything, everything!” She practically exploded, making him laugh in relief. “I’m so excited I could scream, I can’t wait until you get home tonight! I’m--I’m gonna’ stay up late so I can see you and we can plan stuff out!” She made a squealing noise and Baron grinned.

“Alright baby girl. What time do you need to work tomorrow? I’ll see if I can get out a bit earlier tonight.” Like maybe on fucking time at five, instead of at nine because everyone else is slacking off.

“Fuck what time I work tomorrow! You’re threatening me with a vacation!”

Baron was reminded all over again of why he was hopelessly, ridiculously in love.

…

Swagger of all people offered to finish his work for him so Baron could leave at four. “I’m just glad you listened to me, man.” Jack had said with his usual whack on the shoulder. “Go make her happy, tiger.”

Baron was home by five, the traffic a bit more manageable at this hour. She actually met him at his car, bounding to her feet from her spot in the dirt out front. Shortly after she'd moved in with him she had hesitantly asked about the bare 'problem' patch practically in the middle of the lawn. Baron had willingly handed it over. Shit, he scolded her for asking. “What’s mine is yours, baby girl.” There, she had started her little garden, which was jam-packed with a variety of flowers he couldn't remember the names of and bordered with hosta. He only remembered the hosta because she made a point to tell him it was the 'wolverine' variety. “It's the best there is at what it does, Beast.” She had said with a big goofy grin. Baron recalled rumpling her hair and affectionately referring to her as his 'fucking nerd'.

That naked area had been there since before he’d bought this house, a ‘fixer-upper special’. He had more important things to worry about than proper grass coverage, like the pipes that leaked in the basement or the faulty wiring in the kitchen. After a particularly exciting microwave experience, he’d taken to YouTube and managed to fix the wiring himself. He’d thought the smell of burnt plastic would never leave him, but a few bracing shots of whiskey had finally put it to rest.

He ended up calling a professional for the leaky pipes. No sense in flooding his basement on top of nearly electrocuting himself.

She poked her upper body through the window of his car before he could even cut the engine, wrapping her arms around his neck as best as she could. “Mm, hey baby girl.” Baron mumbled contentedly into her chest. It had been ages since he’d seen her awake, really awake. He had missed it more than he thought he would.

“I missed you.” She said, kissing his forehead and smiling down at him. “How did you get out so early? The sun's still up! I guess I have to rethink my suspicion that you're secretly a vampire instead of a prince in disguise, huh?”

“Swagger practically threw me out, said I needed to get the hell home.” Baron laughed, giving her a gentle push back so he could actually roll up the window and open the car door. “So let’s make some sandwiches for dinner, then I can sit on the steps while you do your plant thing.”

She nodded rapidly, moving in for another hug and then squeaking in surprise when Baron hefted her up in his arms. “H-Hey!”

“Shh, I haven’t carried you in ages.” Corbin nuzzled his nose against hers, making her giggle. “What’d you do today, baby girl? Anything fun?” Baron only just kept from snickering when she went bright red.

“Nope! I mean, just uh, picked up, gardening stuff. Boring stuff. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Boring? “Mm, I dunno’ about all that.” Baron couldn’t help the way his voice dropped lower. “You sure I wouldn’t be interested, baby girl?”

He’d listened to the full message she’d left on his ride home, slacking the fabric of his tie when he couldn’t take it strangling his throat anymore. God, the way that she sounded had him growling and tightening his grip on the steering wheel, more than eager to get back home. But just because she’d been in the mood earlier didn’t mean she was in the mood now. If anything, because of how sensitive she was she might not be able to handle him at this point.

So Baron waited, luxuriating in the way that she stammered and fluttered her hands over his shirt and suit coat while he shouldered open the front door. Felt like it had been forever since she’d touched him. “I’m hungry, baby girl.” He said quietly, interrupting her half-words.

“Baron I can’t make sandwiches unless-”

“Mm, not for food.” Today was just a growling kind of day, apparently. “I’ve missed you, baby girl. Do you have any idea what your little voicemail did to me for the rest of the day?”

“Voicemail?” She looked confused.

Baron was going to fucking die. He kissed her forehead and set her down on her feet, patting her ass as an afterthought. She yelped, swatting his arm. “Baby girl, baby girl.” Corbin cupped her jaw, thumbs stroking her soft skin. “You left me a surprise. A teasing, wonderful fucking surprise. I haven’t been able to focus for most of the day, all I could think about was you fucking yourself and begging for me.”

“Oh no, no I didn’t--” Her face heated beneath his hands. “I couldn’t have.”

“Check your call log, baby girl, because you definitely did.” Baron affirmed, grinning. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you. Our schedules have just been so hectic…”

“I didn’t want to ask because I know you’ve been working hard.” Her voice was small. “I can take care of myself.”

Baron’s smile faded. “Baby girl, I don’t work harder than you. You have needs just like I do, and as your boyfriend it’s kind of part of my job to try and help take care of them. Because I--“ He paused. “I uh. I...you being happy means a lot to me.”

“I know that, you know? I think the guilt is just hardwired in. I really...a voicemail?” She covered her face with her hands when he nodded, groaning. “How embarrassing. Did I say something dumb? Oh God I bet I did, shit--”

“You kept begging for me to touch you.” Just thinking about her voice cracking with need was enough to get Corbin’s motor running all over again. “I’ve never heard you beg like that before, baby girl.”

She made another distressed noise, peeking out from between her fingers up at him. “I…”

Baron knew he was definitely treading on thin ice here, advancing on her and making her back up until she hit the kitchen counter. He trapped her with an arm on either side, resting his hands on the counter and knocking his forehead gently against her own. She refused to make eye contact, staring at his chest like she was trying to burn a hole through his dress shirt. “Baby girl I loved it. Please don't be embarrassed.” Corbin begged. “I'll delete the message, I just-” His hands clenched into fists. “Fuck, I need to know whether you want more. I need you to tell me whether you want more. Please.”

“I...” She looked like she was going to cry and Baron couldn't fucking handle that, wrapping her in a fierce hug and burying his face in her hair.

“I'm sorry, shit, I'm sorry, baby girl I-” Her fingers tugged at his phone in his pocket and Baron flinched back, startled. “Baby?”

“Let me hear the message.” It wasn't a suggestion.

Baron fought with the phone for a second, the thick rubber casing preventing him from easily getting it out of his pocket. He unlocked it and then handed it over wordlessly.

“Voicemail password.” She said after a second of holding the phone to her ear. Baron, once again, cursed himself for being so fucking incredibly sentimental. It killed him to admit it, even to her. He mumbled out the date that they had met and was greeted with a soft smile. Then, her eyes went wide and she quickly pulled the phone away from her ear. “Yeah okay, yikes. That's me alright.”

“Toldja'.” Baron said weakly.

“I jacked the thing up to high and it made me fucking spasm. I'm not as good with it as you are yet. Have to get the hang of it.” She said. Baron noticed her press her thighs together.

“Do you...” Corbin swallowed. “Do you want more? Was earlier not enough, baby girl?”

“I don't want to be greedy, Baron.” She huffed in reply.

Corbin had officially had enough, scooping her up and sitting her on the counter. “If you want more, you get more. Simple as that.” One large hand cupped her mound over her leggings and he felt the heat of her core even through the material. “Christ, baby girl.”

“So I...might not have come earlier.” She admitted after a few breathless seconds of Baron stroking her lightly through the fabric. “I tried, but I'm...I'm not as good as you yet and then I was just all numb but too sensitive to try anymore, so--”

“Baby girl.” Baron snarled, settling in between her legs. “That's not fucking acceptable. Do you hear me? Not. Fucking. Acceptable.” Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling out the elastic and tossing it aside. Baron's growl was inevitable when she started running her fingers through his long locks. He always felt more like an animal when he was framed by her thighs with her hands in his hair. Corbin peeled her leggings off, leaving them in a tangled mess around her ankles. She hadn't been kidding about not coming earlier, her panties were fucking soaked through. “Baby girl, Christ, these can't be comfortable.” Baron protested, easing them down her body.

She just whimpered, her grip tightening on his hair and dragging him back down. Her slick had coated her thighs and Baron took his time cleaning it off with his tongue, tender strokes that had her panting and wriggling underneath him while his facial hair tickled her skin.

Boring, huh? I'll show you boring.

He was flooded with satisfaction at her lively response, spreading her cunt open with his fingers. She'd said she was too sensitive to try more with the vibrator. The heat alone of Baron's mouth startled a full-body shiver out of her, the large man gently licking his way across trembling, too-hot skin. He knew he had to be careful but shit, the way she moved made him want to pin her hips to the counter and fucking devour her until she screamed. She always tasted so fucking good. Her pussy spasmed in little pulses underneath his mouth, her arousal coating his chin and facial hair where she bumped against him.

“Is that okay? Too much?” Baron finally asked, making her whine out when he paused his long, flat-tongued caresses.

“No, nonono don't stop Beast please--” She begged, fingers fucking twisting in his hair.

“Baby girl, fuck. Look at you, my little flower opening up for me. God I've fucking missed you.” In their most intimate of moments Baron would usually end up growling animalistic nonsense whether he wanted to or not, unfocused on holding the noises back while he worked her over. “Mine.” The sound she made when he circled his tongue around her clit was one that he hadn't heard in ages and Baron repeated the motion. He was unable to keep from smirking against her when she grabbed his hair and fucking yanked it, pulling him to the side that she preferred him on. “Yeah, put me where you need me baby girl, put me where you fucking need me.” Baron ordered. He loved it when she took control of her own release, loved it when she would manhandle him a bit.

“Baron, m' gonna' come, oh fuck, Baron I can't-” Her hips jerked up against his face and Corbin urged her even closer.

“That's right baby, that's right, come on my tongue, come on my fucking tongue.” He demanded, snarling it against her. “Soak my fucking face baby girl, fucking do it, do it, do it--” Something about his fever-pitch repetition always seemed to do it for her, his words no longer a command but softening to a chant of adoration as he felt her come. “That's right, that's right, Jesus fucking Christ baby girl, that's right.” Corbin crooned, her pelvis rocking lazily back and forth while he ghosted his tongue over her clit in barely-there flicks. “Better than the vibrator? Or could I use some work?” He asked after a few seconds, laughing breathlessly when she gave him an open-handed swat on his cheek. “Ow, yikes baby girl.”

“You're ridiculous. I'm not done with you yet.” She panted, taking a handful of his hair and wrapping it around her palm. “I need you in me.”

Baron grunted when she tried to pull him to a standing position with just his hair. “Easy, easy. You just came, don't you want to-”

“I have been waiting, Beast.” Her voice cracked. “Dealing with all kinds of shit at work, falling asleep before you even get home at night because of how done I am. I shower with you in the mornings and I miss you the whole day but by the time I get home it's all I can do just to unlock the door and-”

Baron fucking rumbled, feeling the noise in his chest as he nodded. “I know, baby girl. We're gonna' take a vacation. I promise. Just you...” He kissed her stomach. “...and me...” Another kiss. “...someplace warm and sunny.”

“P-Please--” There she was again, there was his sweet little flower. Legs falling open on either side of him, begging, welcoming him home.

The rush of affection that hit Baron at the sight threatened to overwhelm him, and-- “I fucking love you.” Baron blurted out before he could stop himself. He froze, feeling her grip on his hair slack off to nothing. No, no God dammit. Baron closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to rest on her stomach, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

Her hands cupped his jaw.

“M' sorry.” Corbin mumbled against her stomach, mentally bracing himself for the impact.

“Beast...”

“Fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby girl let me explain, I-” His words clipped off into a confused grunt as she held his mouth shut, one hand beneath his chin and the other on the top of his head as she forced him to look up at her.

Her face was deadly serious. It would have been comical at any other time, her body still shining with sweat and eyes half-lidded from coming. “Did you mean it?”

Baron shut his eyes again, wishing more than anything that he wasn't so fucking sentimental.

“Answer me, Beast.” She released his jaw.

“Yeah.” He muttered after a few shaky breaths. “I did. I meant it. I...I mean it every time I say it, baby girl.”

“Thought so.” She replied simply.

Baron blinked. Thought so?

“I hear you at night sometimes. You thought I didn't know?”

“Well, I-”

“Your voice is kind of deep, Baron. Tends to at least wake me up a little bit.”

“-I thought-”

“Mmhm, I'll bet you did. I bet you thought too much is what you did.” She'd hit the nail on the head there, Baron realized with regret. “You've been all wrapped up in worrying about this and work, haven't you?”

“...yeah.” He admitted quietly. “I didn't-I didn't want to ruin...look, I don't know, some people aren't comfortable with saying that kind of thing and just because I am doesn't mean that you are and--”

“Baron, Baron.” She tugged him up a little, smiling as she pressed her forehead to his own. “My big, strong Beast. Even if you didn't say it out loud, I heard it every time. I hear it when you try to fold my shirts, I hear it when you get my favorite food, I hear it when you hold me after a long day at work and just let me sleep against you instead of making me talk about it. You're the best thing in my life, Beast. I love you, too.”

She was saying it the whole time. Understanding dawned on the large man. Her garden. The little things she's done to the house. Her notes, her texts. “Baby girl, I'm...shit, I'm dumb.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” Her smile was smug. “But you're very poetic about it. Very...'Dread Pirate Roberts' or 'As You Wish' about it. Makes it more manageable.” She slid his zipper down. “I think you were about to do something for me, yeah?”

“Oh Christ, definitely.” Baron pulled her off the counter and turned her around, her ass slotting into his hips damn near perfectly while he struggled out of his suit coat. “Fuck, hopefully you'll be able to handle this, you need to tell me if you're too sensitive, okay?” Her reply was a haughty look over her shoulder and a wiggle of her hips, making Corbin swear and abandon trying to get his shirt off. “Baby girl, I'm not gonna' hurt you so knock it off with the tough kid shit.”

“I know you're not going to hurt me. I just want you to hurry up. I've been waiting for a little while.”

“Yeah? Waiting for this?” Baron's slacks and boxers got caught around his thighs but he didn't fucking care, palming his shaft and feeling his cock twitch heavily in his hand when she sighed. “I've been waiting all day for you, baby girl, dying to fill you right the fuck up. That what you want?” He knew the answer already but still waited until she nodded rapidly before pressing the head of his cock into her slick entrance. “Yeah, that's what you want, that's what you've been fucking waiting for.”

She arched her back, taking every inch of him as she bent over the counter and whined his name helplessly. Baron felt her cunt clench down on him, the realization that she was already coming knocking the wind out of his lungs. He rested his forehead in the space between her shoulder blades and focused on his breathing for a second, not moving as she bucked on his cock.

“Easy, baby girl, easy.” Baron gasped, realizing after a second that she wasn't planning on slowing down. He quickly wrapped his arms around her stomach, hoisting her just high enough so that her feet couldn't touch the floor. She made a noise of protest that went straight to his cock and Baron groaned, sliding one arm up between her ribs and the hard counter before starting to fuck into her mercilessly. “This what you fucking need, huh? Me just fucking hammering you? Take it then, fucking take it, take it, take it-” He snarled in her ear, his voice low and gravelly. “You're going to come again, baby girl. You're going to come and then I'm going to fill you fucking deep, got it? Beg me for it. Beg me.”

She started chanting his name and pleading, hips rolling as best as she could with her feet fucking dangling in midair, sneakers bumping the cabinets with every move he made. This was what Baron lived for, being bigger and stronger and able to get her off even without her help, better than anyone else ever had.

Boring? Fuck you.

“I love you Baron, God I love you so much.” She choked out, “Missed you, Beast-”

“I missed you too baby girl. I just...” Baron gritted his teeth against the growl that built in his chest to no avail. She fucking quaked at the noise, leaning up and wrapping an arm around his neck. Her fingers desperately grabbed a handful of his hair at the nape of his neck, making Baron keen at the sharp shock of pain. “Baby girl I fuckin'...Christ, I love you, I love you so fuckin' much baby girl--” His words dissolved and he resorted to groaning loud while she came around him. He barely kept from snapping his teeth into the soft skin of her shoulder, shit he hadn't marked her in a fucking month.

“Do it, please, please Beast.” Shaky fingers forced his mouth down into the perfect spot where her neck and shoulder joined. He tongued the area, tasting the salt-sweet of her skin before he sank his teeth in. A claiming bite, not to punish but to remind, more lips and tongue than sharp canines. Her pulse slammed under the surface beneath his mouth, still racing from her orgasm and Corbin snarled, losing his battle with his own release and sheathing himself as deeply as he could before coming. The whole while she kept breathing praises and how much she'd missed him into the side of his neck and Baron wasn't sure if he would be able to keep himself under control, hips twitching much longer than usual.

Boring. Heh. He could tell his voice was shot to shit before he even spoke. “You okay?” He managed to say, swallowing hard. The growling always left him completely shredded.

She nodded, nuzzling her face into his neck and sighing softly. “Tired. I love you.”

Baron felt his stomach twist at her words, unable to keep the dumb smile off his face. “I love you too, baby girl.”

“Mm, carry me to bed. We're officially sick and calling in tomorrow. I'm not fucking done with you yet, Beast.” She said firmly after a minute, making Baron chuckle at how adamant she sounded.

“I think that's a great idea, baby girl. After all, we have a vacation to plan.”

“I forgot, oh my God!” She started squirming in his grip and Baron quickly set her on the floor, giving her hips a worried once-over with his fingers. No bruises from the counter, just a mark where his watch had dug into her skin.

“I'm sorry, I should have--”

“Baron. Did you hear me complaining?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then it obviously didn't bother me. Where did my bag go, where is...” Watching her scramble around the kitchen half-naked was oddly soothing. Baron dragged his pants up and leaned back on the counter, more than content to enjoy the show. She finally located her datebook, opening it and laying it flat on the table. She started pointing to different weeks, going on about how this might work and I'll need Sasha to cover this. Baron just let her talk, busying himself with tugging her hair to the side and kissing up her neck. “Beast, hey, you're supposed to-” Her protest died when his teeth grazed the shell of her ear.

“I know. Tomorrow, okay baby girl? Tonight, though, I think I need to taste you again. If you're...amenable, that is.” Baron smirked into her neck.

“You're really going to call in?”

“If you do, absolutely.”

Her reply was yanking her phone out of her bag and firing off a quick text. “Done.” Her mouth was eager, arms flinging around Baron's neck and fingers tangling his dark hair as they kissed. “Now take me to fucking bed, Beast.” She breathed in between kisses.

“Whatever you want, baby girl.” Baron whispered back.

#Baron Corbin #baron corbin smut #baron corbin x OFC #thirst party saturday #Total PWP #business!Baron #behold all my weaknesses in one post #baron's bitches #for you!

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dontshootmespence · 7 years

Text

A Promising Start

A/N: An anon request where Spencer meets a girl at a cafe and develops a bit of a crush. He only gets her first name and asks Garcia to look her up for him. Once he does, he runs into her again and wants to get to know her better. Again, he waits at the cafe to see if she shows up again - and she does. @coveofmemories

--------------

Why couldn’t he have Morgan’s confidence? Across the cafe, he saw a beautiful woman, who at the very least wasn’t engaged or married because she wore no ring. He wanted to go talk to her, but whenever he was in the presence of beautiful woman that wasn’t his friend, he stuttered like a fool. Then again, if he was ever going to meet someone he had to put himself out there and hope he wouldn’t get shot down.

Get up, he said to himself, while his butt was still firmly planted to the chair. He pushed himself up from the table and shyly walked over to where the woman was sitting. “H-Hello,” he said shakily, taking in the different specks of color in her eyes as she turned toward him.

“Hi,” she responded, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ears. “Can I help you?”

“Possibly,” he said, trying to sound as smooth as he could, but feeling like a fool. “I was wondering if I could get your name.” Her shy smile was enough to make him blush.

“My name’s Y/N. I’m not used to men actually being forward with me. They normally use some cheesy pick-up line,” she said, extending her hand out to his. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Spencer Reid and I am definitely not cool enough or smooth enough to pull of a cheesy one-liner,” he laughed. He took a small sip of his coffee before speaking again. Having something to do in those moments of silence made it not feel so awkward for him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the complete opposite of cool.”

“Well,” she said, reaching into her pocket as her phone beeped, “It all depends on what one considers cool. I think the fact that you were straight up and just asked for my name was pretty cool.” She looked down at the message on her phone and grimaced. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. Duty calls. I’m in here all the time though, so if I see you or you see me, then maybe we can continue this conversation.” Within seconds, she was packed up and running out the door. He only had her first name.

--------------

Minutes after Y/N had been called away, or what he hoped was called away and not looking for an excuse to ditch him, he got called into the BAU on a case. After everyone was briefed, they had a few minutes to breathe before getting on the plane, so Spencer headed toward Garcia’s office to see if she could do him a favor. “Hey Garcia?” he asked, “Can I ask for your help?”

“Of course you can, 187,” she said cheerfully. “How can I assist thee?”

Rubbing the back of his head, he stumbled over his words. He wasn’t used to asking for anyone’s help when it came to women. “I was at the cafe down the block this morning and I met this beautiful woman,” he started.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Garcia clapped excitedly. “What’s her name? How is she? Did you ask her out?”

Spencer could always count on Garcia for enthusiasm. “That’s the problem. I only got her first name. Is there any chance you can look her up somehow?”

“Is there a chance?” she said. “Do you know me? Of course.” She turned toward the computer and input her name. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help to narrow down the search?”

“The only thing I can think of is that she probably works in the area, because when she got called, she ran out of the cafe and walked to wherever her job was. So I think she works within a few miles of the cafe.” With her name and possible work area in the search engine, a list of women came up, but on the second page, he recognized her. “That’s her!” he said, crouching down by Garcia’s computer to get a better look at her.

“Pretty and smart,” Garcia said, looking between the screen and the shining smile on Spencer’s face. “She’s a forensic pathologist. Just graduated at the top of her class with a Ph.D. in Forensic Pathology. Impressive.”

“Very,” he replied, completely impressed by her resume. She just recently got a job as a medical examiner at a nearby office, so there was actually a possibility the he might run into her on the job. “Thanks, Garcia,” he said, kissing her cheek as he stood up and got ready to leave. “I’ll let you know if I see her again.”

�� --------------

Thankfully, the case was nearby, so after a five minute drive, they arrived at the station. “Okay, Morgan, you and Prentiss go to the first crime scene. Rossi, you go to the newest one. Reid, you and I will go to the medical examiner’s office, and JJ you can stay here and work on the profile.”

The medical examiner’s office was just down the road, so Spencer and Hotch walked to the end of the block and into the newly-equipped office. After introducing themselves and asking to speak to the medical examiner, they were ushered to the back room.

When they first walked into the room, her back was turned, but as she started o turn around, Spencer realized it was his lucky day. “Y/N,” he laughed. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Spencer,” she replied with a smile, “Who knew our paths would cross again so soon?”

Hotch looked between them with a barely discernible look of happiness. “You two know each other?”

“J-just met this morning,” he blushed. “I had no idea you were a medical examiner.”

“Only started a month ago. I already conducted the autopsy on your first victim. So you’re with the FBI then?” she asked, pulling one of the drawers open to reveal the victim.

“Yup,” he said casually. “Profiler.”

“Very sexy,” she replied, before excusing herself at the other Agent’s cleared throat. “Sorry, sir. And you are?”

“Aaron Hotchner. Nice to meet you,” he said with a small smile. “What can you tell us about her?”

As Y/N pulled down the sheet and grimaced, Spencer could tell that this was probably one of the worst autopsies she’d had since she started. “All of the bruising you see if antemortem. She went through a significant beating just before she died. Nothing on the tox screen.”

“What about these groupings of small cuts?” Spencer asked, examining them with one of Y/N’s magnifiers. “And the marks on her ankles?”

“The marks on her ankles were made by a common rope. Like the kind used to bind hay bales, and the groupings of cuts? Although I can’t be sure, they were made over major arteries. That along with the rope marks on the ankles lead me to believe that she was hung upside down and bled dry.” When Spencer looked up, he thought she might be sick, but when he looked closer he saw that it wasn’t that, it was a look of pity. “All of this was done before or as she was dying. Her official cause of death is blood loss.” After covering her back up and pushing the drawer closed, she turned toward the computer. “She came to me as a Jane Doe, but I saw a tattoo on her ankle.”

She clicked a couple more times to bring up a few screens and made sure to print everything out for them. As she handed each of them a picture of the woman’s tattoo, she continued. “The tattoo on the right ankle says Daddy Big’s Girl. I wouldn’t necessarily think anything of it, but my first week here, I had to do an autopsy on another young woman with the same tattoo. She was a prostitute whose pimp’s name was Daddy Big, so I assumed this woman was also a prostitute. When I did a cursory search through the system, I found a woman matching her physical description who’d been arrested on a number of prostitution-related charges. I compared the DNA and got the name of your victim - Farah Michaud. I don’t care what she did for a living, no one deserves this. I hope you find the f...bastard.”

“Us too,” Spencer replied, taking the information from Y/N to take back to the station. “Well, we have to go, but I hope we’ll see each other again.”

“I’m sure we will,” she replied with a soft smile. “As I said before, I am always at the cafe and unless murder and death became a thing of the past, I’m sure we’ll run into each other on the job every now and again.”

Once they left the office, Hotch and Spencer headed back down to the station. “So,” Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow, “A medical examiner, huh?”

--------------

Two days later, they had arrested one of Farah’s disgruntled johns for her and another sex worker’s murder. He was behind bars and there was no other case on the desk just yet. Just before work on the third day, he walked into the cafe and saw her sitting at the same table she was at when he first saw her. “Hello again,” he said, sitting down at her table before even grabbing a cup of coffee. “We caught the guy.”

“You did?” she asked. “Good. Now before we get interrupted again, would you like to exchange phone numbers?”

Happily, he pulled out his phone and they exchanged for a moment, so they could input their contact information. “Dammit!” she said, hearing her phone start to ring in Spencer’s hand. Reaching across the table, she grabbed it, made sure to save his information and picked up the phone. “I have to go again. I’m so sorry,” she said contritely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I completely understand. We get called into cases with very little notice most of the time.” Once again, she’d packed up her bag within seconds and gave him a simple hug before walking out the door. At least this time, he had her phone number. Right after she left, he texted her.

See you soon.

--------------

Despite their best efforts, Spencer and Y/N had a difficult time meeting up over the course of the next week. She was constantly at work, and whenever she wasn’t, he was called away on a case. Nearly a week and a half after they last met, Spencer and the team were called 3,000 miles away, so Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted her.

Hey Y/N. I’m sorry, but I’m going to be out of town for the next couple of days. If I am back by Saturday, would you be available that night?

Patiently, he waited for her text as the plane took off. Thankfully, she replied within a few minutes.

Definitely. Can I make one stipulation about our first actual date?

He replied in the affirmative and waited for her to respond again.

Can we please not talk about anything related to work? Not to be gross, but I have been neck-deep in dead bodies for nearly two weeks and I’d like to get away from it.

He laughed as he read her message. That was completely and totally okay with him. It had been a busy couple of weeks for them too.

I’m more than okay with that. If I won’t be back by that night, I’ll text you to let you know.

Spencer put the phone back in his pocket as they started to go over the case. This was going to be another bad one. Thankfully, she’d texted back while they were going over the case.

Awesome. I’m really looking forward to it. :)

He was too. More than anything. Hopefully, this case would go smoothly.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #dontshootmespence #a promising start

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littlebitofglow · 7 years

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I was home with the kids on my own today. Lately, my oldest and youngest kids fight *constantly.* 😫 The youngest must've cried at least 3 times today, because he wasn't getting along with his sisters. Also, I don't even take baths, but Calgon freaking take me away. 😂 Here's tonight's #skincareroutine for Saturday, 6/10/17 ===================== ▪️Too Cool For School Cleansing Oil* ▪️Gentle Mask T-Tox Cleanser ▪️The Ordinary Niacinamide+Zinc Serum ▪️Maskingdom Stay Young Mask, but didn't use the Step 2 moisture serum because it contains alcohol. My HQ treatment contains also alcohol, so I don't want to overdo it ▪️Neostrata HQ Hydroquinone treatment, this is a thick, clear gel. I put this on once my face was completely dry ▪️Homeoplasmine for lip balm #maskingdom#theordinary #gentlemask #beautibi #toocoolforschool #neostrata #beautyroutine #rasianbeauty #kbeauty #koreanskincare #abcommunity #homeoplasmine #beautycommunity #skincare * = PR/brand/shop gifted

#abcommunity #beautibi #skincareroutine #beautyroutine #theordinary #homeoplasmine #rasianbeauty #kbeauty #neostrata #koreanskincare #beautycommunity #toocoolforschool #skincare #gentlemask #maskingdom

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currents-you-create · 7 years

Text

The Suburban Homicide (Amateur mystery story)

The lanky, dark haired man parked his beige 1970 Mercedes Benz on the side of a bumpy road in suburban England. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air before entering the commotion that rest inside a brick house. The crisp autumn air wasn't like he was used to in the city, it reeked of decaying leaves and fresh cut grass. Behind him, a blue car, larger than his classic set of wheels parked near the sidewalk just as he had done. Out stepped a porcelain skinned woman with curly ash hair that bounced in the ponytail she had tied. She maneuvered her hourglass figure between the two cars and greeted the male inspector with a nod. “What do you know about the victim?” the dark skinned man asked. “Victim Roy Hammond, mid-forties. Mr. Hammond works at the factory on Third Avenue, his former wife died two years ago and he has a son that no longer lives with him.” The woman said, flattening the black dress she wore, “We better get going, Naz is waiting for us.” The two walked up the cracked cement driveway that was crowded with cars. “Everyone out.” The tall male detective instructed upon entering, and immediately began examining the body, “What do you have for us, Naz?” He asked a short, ebony colored man. “A neighbour called saying he hasn’t seen Mr. Hammond in a few days. But we checked with his employers, he was at work yesterday morning.” Naz read from a clipboard he had in his hand. “This man has only been dead for ten hours. I want a toxicology report done.” The male detective stood up and removed his gloves. “Any fingerprints in the house?” The female detective asked. “No ma’am,” Naz began, “however, there’s cookies in the kitchen on a yellow tray that match with the crumbs on the floor near the victim. We’re going to test them and go through medical records.” “Thanks, Naz, get that report done, We’re going to interview the son’s godparents.” The two detectives walked up the cement sidewalk to a nearby house. The male detective tucked his hands in the pocket of his black trenchcoat. His female counterpart crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders as a response to the cold. “It’s going to snow soon,” the man said, “Must be difficult to bury someone in this weather. Ground must be as hard as stone.” “Do they bury in the winter?” The woman asked. “Not quite sure. I don’t attend the funerals of those I seek justice for, its sadistic.” “What’s sadistic is attending your victim’s funeral. I read a report on a case in New York. The detectives had to keep digging up a girl for autopsy because they were stumped on who her killer was. Turns out, it was an older man she was having sexual relations with, he attended the victim’s funeral. The whole case was a mess.” the woman said “Bloody Americans.” The man sneered. The house they approached was far larger than the house they had been called to investigate. It was a sign of wealth and obsessive care. The neatly trimmed, bright green grass matched the shutters on the windows. Colorful flowers were planted along the sides of the house, like a wrap-around porch of vegetation. The man knocked on the mahogany door and almost instantly, it was opened by a blue haired boy. He stared at them for a moment. “Robin!” the boy yelled and shut the door quickly. “That must be the victim’s son.” the female detective noted. “Sorry folks.” A young man said when the door opened again, “Can I help you?” “Yes, DI Tony Locke, this is my assistant DI Paige Booth, we’re here to ask you a few questions about Roy Hammond.” The man said holding up his identification, the female detective followed. “Come in, please.” Robin, the young man said and opened the door for their entry. “You’re the caretaker of Roy Hammond’s son, correct?” Tony asked, the man nodded, “Where were you last night, approximately ten hours ago?” “I was home.” He answered. “How was your relationship with Mr. Hammond?” Tony asked “Not a good one, you see, he was abusive to his son and late wife. When she died, everyone thought he did it. He has an alcohol problem, so his son lives with me. It’s not a loss that he’s gone, I tell you.” “What about the other neighbors? Any tension between anyone else?” Paige contributed. “Just about everyone. Whether it's his loud music while he’s fixing his truck, or running over hedges while drunk. Anyone you talk to will say they don’t miss him.” Tony was silent for a moment, and said: “So, what were you doing last night?” “I was baking cookies, Manny’s class is having a holiday party and he wanted to bring cookies.” “Interesting, do you have a garden?” he inquired. “I gave it up a number of years ago, taking care of the lawn was enough trouble, and we had a pest problem.” Tony thought for a moment, “That’ll be all, thank you.” Paige followed him out the door, confused as to why Tony ended interrogation so soon, surely they needed a bit more information.Tony crossed to the side of the house and took a quick look inside the dumpster and continued down the driveway ahead of Paige. “Do you think he did it?” She called to him. “It’s not him, I assure you. A typical mistake for a rookie murderer is to dump supplies. The truck comes early tomorrow. Double mistake for whomever it was.” Tony yelled back. Inside Tony’s coat, his cell phone rang. He took a quick glance at the ID and answered it. “Naz, just in time, what do you have for me?” Tony walked ahead chatting with Naz leaving Paige to her own devices. Suddenly, Tony stopped in his path in front of the victim’s next door neighbor’s house, and hung up. He observed the front yard while waiting for Paige to catch up with him. “What did Naz say?” She asked when she finally caught up. “Tox report says arsenic was present in the victim’s system, and also found in the cookies on the table. By the looks of this man’s yard, he looks like a candidate for questioning.” Tony began to walk toward the house, Paige following him like a shadow. “Is he the man that contacted the police station?” Paige asked. “Correct, I see you read the files. Very handy.” “You didn’t read the files?” Paige asked surprised. “I never read the files. Why do you think I ask you every time we investigate a murder?” He knocked on the door and turned to Paige, “Who actually reads the files? That’s what we have an assistant for. And I didn’t have time, I had to grab coffee.” “How do you keep getting-” The door swung open and a middle aged man answered on the other side, “Goodmorning!” “Mr. Bishop? I’m DI Tony Locke and my assistant DI Paige Booth, may we ask you a few questions?” “Yes of course, come in. It’s mighty cold out there. Can I offer you some tea?” The man asked. “No thank you, sir. You’re awful cheery, though your neighbor was killed last night.” “Where were you last night, Mr. Bishop?” “I was out for a bit, then I came home.” “And when did you call the police station?” Tony asked. “About eight-thirty this morning, I didn’t see him go out to his car.” “Was there a chance he was late?” He inquired. The man shrugged, “Might have been.” “May we look around?” Tony asked and began scanning the front room from top to bottom. “Of course.” “What’s your relationship with Mr. Hammond?” Tony promptly inquired. “Not the best, I’ve complained about his lawn, but I invited him to all my dinner gatherings.” “You’ve got a garden? You must get pests often.” Paige inquired. “Oh yes, it’s a pain for sure. Fences don’t always work.” “You must use a chemical of some sort to keep it healthy,” Tony inferred and continued, “Did you know that Arsenic excellent for preservation. In Victorian times, it was used to varnish wood, dye wallpaper and even paint children’s toys. It wasn’t until people were dropping dead, the use of Arsenic was questioned, and production companies continued using it. During the American Civil War, it was used as embalming fluid because it, without a doubt, is one of the best preservative chemicals. The most common use now is rat poison.” “Learn somethin’ new everyday, I suppose.” Mr. Bishop chuckled. Tony and Paige continued to scan the kitchen. The cabinet doors were a banana shade, complementing the bright yellow floral curtains of the windows. Sunlight peered through the oak trees into the vibrant kitchen. By the stove stood a bin and a few bottles of cleaning products and on the counter, a manual mixer, a slightly darker banana color than the cabinet doors. Mr. Bishop, noticing the mixer on the counter, broke into nervous laughter and shoved it in a cabinet over head, and glanced at the cleaning products. “Been meaning to put that away.” Mr. Bishop stated nervously. “Do you bake often?” Tony acknowledged the mixer’s presence. “Not since last Saturday, there was a bake sale at the church I attend. I spent a whole day baking cookies.” “It’s Friday. Six days is a long time to keep a mixer out if you were meaning to put it away.” Paige interjected. “About the poison, do you have any in your possession?” Tony kept the questioning on track. “No, sir, used the last of it.” Mr. Bishop grew nervous. “May we check the container? I assume it’s still in your dumpster.” Tony received a nod and Paige went outside to scan the dumpster while he continued questioning, “Early spring cleaning?” He motioned toward the cleaning agents near the stove. Mr. Bishop chuckled nervously. Paige came back with a bottle of Arsenic. “The production date is two weeks ago. How on earth did you go through all of it? Too much could destroy vegetation.” “You told the dispatcher this morning you hadn’t seen Mr. Hammond in a few days. By that logic, Mr. Hammond’s corpse would have succumbed to the stages of decay, like livor mortis, and his body would most likely be bloated beyond any recognizable means.” How did Mr. Bishop kill Mr. Hammond? “Now,” Tony continued, “your claim to having not seen your neighbor in a few days is a pretty good cover up. A concerned neighbor who knows nothing about forensic evidence. The tray of cookies, a solidarity gift. Little did he know, the cookies were laced with Arsenic. And judging by the cleaning products, you took precautionary measures to ensure your safety.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mr. Bishop made one last attempt to gain innocence, but Tony had him figured out. “Mr. Jack Bishop, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Roy Hammond.” With

#the suburban homicide #story #my story #currents you create stories #currents you create story #currents you create #original story #mine

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aroundfortwayne · 3 years

Text

Tox-Away Day - 10/16/2021

New Post has been published on https://aroundfortwayne.com/news/2021/10/11/tox-away-day-20211016/

Tox-Away Day - 10/16/2021

The City’s Solid Waste Department and the Allen County Department of Environmental Management will offer another Tox-Away Day on Saturday, October 16, 2021.

#ACDEM Allen County Department of Enviromental Management #City of Fort Wayne Division of Public Works #City of Fort Wayne Indiana #City of Fort Wayne Solid Waste Department #Fort Wayne Indiana #Ft. Recovery Road #Lima Road #Tox-Away Saturday

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aroundfortwayne · 3 years

Text

2021 Tox-Away Saturdays scheduled

New Post has been published on https://aroundfortwayne.com/news/2021/05/12/2021-tox-away-saturdays-scheduled/

2021 Tox-Away Saturdays scheduled

Today, Fort Wayne’s Board of Public Works approved an agreement with Allen County to move forward with another year of Tox-Away Saturdays.

#ACDEM Allen County Department of Enviromental Management #Allen County Indiana #Carroll Road #City of Fort Wayne #City of Fort Wayne Board of Public Works #City of Fort Wayne Solid Waste Department #Fort Wayne Indiana #Tox-Away Saturday

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Help; Part Two

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley/'The Blessed One' Leakee

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew! Born of bad things and the desire to have good in their place, I give you...this! As is my custom, tagging @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes and naturally @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

Part One

Despite currently living in Florida, Mox had never actually been to Disney World. Having down time wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities, plus it was just outright too expensive for him. He wasn't necessarily starving artist-level of finances or anything, but he could hardly justify that kind of spending.

“What the heck do you mean, ‘no’? Nice try man, you’re coming.” Leakee grunted, rummaging through the contents of his backpack on the bedroom floor. It was mid-February and apparently the great Reigns migration was about to occur. A veritable 'sacred pilgrimage' from Pensacola to Kissimmee, in numerous cars and trucks. With ‘The Blessed One’ and his boyfriend in one of them.

A-fucking-pparently.

“I already got us the time off from FCW, so it’s no big deal.” Leakee continued, having reached the bottom of his pack and finally located that last pair of socks that he had been searching for.

Mox puffed out a breath in irritation, and Leakee looked up. “Lea I wasn’t…this is your family stuff, man. I mean, fuckin’ Christmas is one thing but-”

“Jon, I already got your park pass.”

“Fuckin’ hell Lea, y’ can’t just buy me shit. How much was it, I can-”

Leakee put a hand carefully on Mox’s arm, the now-familiar warming sensation tingling his skin. “Hey, hey. Easy. You’re part of the family now, Uce. Obviously you’re coming along. It’s my treat, okay? I wanted it to be a surprise. If it helps you can pretend it’s a really belated birthday present.”

“Lea…” Mox was sure that the poor guy was getting enough feedback through the touch on his arm to make his hair stand on end. All kinds of rough memories were floating up, good things being promised and then snatched away from him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he didn’t have to worry about that kind of thing with the Reigns family. “Be patient with me, okay man? I uh. I wanted to go, y’know? I want to do stuff with you guys. I just don’t want t’ be annoyin’ or like some little tagalong.” He mumbled finally, putting his hand on top of Leakee’s for a minute.

“Never.” Leakee said firmly. “You’re one of us. You are welcome where we are.”

“F’ you say so, man.”

“I do.” Leakee cupped his chin and pressed their foreheads together. “You are welcome where we are.”

…

Leakee heard the hotel phone ring and he groaned, rolling over and whacking Jon on the shoulder. “S’ for you, man.”

“Whuh?” Jon, obviously still half-asleep, obediently picked up the hotel phone. “H’lo?”

Leakee watched, hiding his grin for the moment as Jon propped himself up a little and pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “Holy shit. Did you seriously…you fuckin’ nerd.” Jon said finally, hanging up the phone and punching Leakee in the arm. “What a fuckin’ nerd. Wakin’ my ass up so fuckin’ Goofy can tell me it’s time to get up. You’re a fuckin’ joke.”

Leakee laughed and wrapped Jon in a tight hug, tangling them in the sheets as Jon struggled playfully. “It’s one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid, man. You ask for a wake-up call and schedule a time. It’s the greatest when you’re seven and you’ve already been awake since four because you’re too excited.” He explained, kissing Jon’s nose. “Now hurry up and get showered. We’ve got shit to do, Uce.”

“Alright, alright.” Jon grumbled, rolling to his knees and pushing Leakee over. “Fuck you, man.”

“What, now?”

“Oh come on Lea, that’s not even fuckin’ funny anymore you lameass.” Despite his statement, his dimples showed as he grinned at Leakee.

They tended to not shower together, the bare skin contact between the both of them usually culminating in hour-long touch sessions, or in Jon’s case, sudden crying jags. Sometimes both. It was comforting but also exhausting, particularly for Jon. If Leakee could have kept his hands to himself in the shower it would have been much simpler. But he wanted to help, he wanted to take all the bad things out of Jon and replace them with the light that he had. Because if anyone deserved his blessing, it was Jon.

Having showered last night in preparation for their early morning, Leakee spent the time that Jon was in the shower brushing out his hair and tying it back up. He still found himself sitting on the end of the bed, kicking his legs back and forth in eager anticipation. The twins were knocking on the room’s door before he knew it and Leakee bolted to his feet to let them in.

“Uce!” Jimmy exclaimed, looking as excited as Leakee felt. Jey seemed like he was half-asleep, leaning against the doorframe. “You and Jon almost ready? Gotta’ get down to the bus.”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you guys down there.” Leakee tapped his forehead against Jey’s. “Wake up, sleepyhead! We’ve got a great day ahead of us.”

…

Mox felt like every time he turned around Leakee’s family had multiplied. They filled the bus, cousins and grand-cousins in standing room only. He and Leakee ended up squashed together hanging on to the same ceiling strap. Leakee didn’t seem to mind, hollering over his head to get everyone’s attention. “Settle down! Listen up!” The call rolled through the bus as it pulled away from the curb.

Sika was loud, even though he was seated. “Every year we do this. We are family. We work hard so that we can play together! Remember to be safe, be smart! Look out for each other!” His voice was firm. Leakee made eye contact with Mox and a smile tugged at his mouth. “We are family.”

Mox’s fingers wrapped around Leakee’s, the skinnier man unable to keep from smiling back. Despite all his misgivings, Mox was tentatively hopeful for what the day might hold. He wasn’t exactly a kid, but he was with Leakee so he’d probably still have a good time.

Probably.

Leakee was putting out much more energy than normal, practically glowing like his own personal sunspot. It took Mox a minute to figure out what he was doing, but once he did his smile turned into a full-blown grin. Leakee was helping, his blessing radiating calm and comfort over every aunt and uncle, niece and nephew. Mox got the feeling he might have done this once or twice before.

Safe lapped at the base of his spine and Mox found himself relaxing against Leakee, resting his head on his chest.

“This is how I help.” Leakee said over the low din of everyone else talking, fingercombing through Mox’s unruly hair.

Mox knew it was stupid, but he kept expecting to be turned away. They picked up their tickets at the Will Call without incident and minimal pushing and shoving. Then there was a ramp to walk up, Leakee yelling over his shoulder, “I want Jon to be able to see out the window! Plan accordingly!”

“See out the window? Th’ fuck is…” Moxley trailed off as they reached the top of the ramp. “What the shit is that thing?”

“Monorail!” Leakee looked like he was about to burst with excitement, all but shoving Mox through the doors of the fucking…weird train. “Here, you sit here. I want you to be able to see it.”

“See what?” Mox wondered bleakly when the conductor would come to check their tickets and toss him the fuck off. Every step that brought him closer to this goddamn magical bullshit seemed fraught with peril.

“It’s a surprise!” Leakee crouched in front of him, holding his hands. “I need you to trust me. I know you think you shouldn’t have good things. But please, trust me.”

Mox rolled his eyes. He would get the clairvoyant boyfriend with the ability to sense when he was feeling pitiful. “Tryin’, man. I promise I’m not gonna’ freak out or anythin’.”

For some reason Leakee grinned up at him. “I wouldn’t promise that.”

The monorail pulled out from the station and the ground fell away beneath them. Mox gulped as he looked out the window, watching the green-yellow Florida landscape go zipping by. That’s a hell of a fall.

The fucking monorail went through a hotel. Mox was terrified for a split second before pressing his face to the window, fascinated. “Holy shit.”

Leakee’s laugh was nothing short of delighted, the broader man squeezing Mox’s hand. On his other side sat Naomi, who seemed just as excited as Leakee. “You are gonna’ love this, Jon. It’s a hell of a fun time.”

“Don’t ruin it!” Jimmy protested, earning himself a huff and roll of her eyes.

“That’s all I’m saying, cool it!”

…

The look on Jon’s face made every last second of the trip worth it. He was awestruck, like a small child at the sight of it all.

The Happiest Place On Earth.

Once they walked under the archway and made it past the first crowd, Jon slowed to a halt. He turned in place, dragging Leakee along with him as he moved. “It’s…holy shit, Lea. This is fuckin’ somethin’. Wow. Wow.”

Jey punched Leakee’s shoulder on the way by, mouthing “told ya’” at his bulkier cousin.

“Jon, we have to get you a hat.” Leakee said after sticking his tongue out at the retreating Jey.

“Why the hell…a hat?” Jon asked skeptically while Leakee gently ushered him into one of the first shops on Main Street, the Chapeau Shop. “Why would I need…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowed. “Lea I ain’t four. I don’t--these got ears an’ shit.”

“It’s a family tradition! You get your ears the first time you come here. C’mon Jon, please?” Leakee begged, plucking a plain black hat off one of the many racks and holding it over Jon’s head.

Jon grumbled and folded his arms across his chest. “Lea...”

“You can watch them put your name on it.” Leakee sang, quickly passing the hat over the counter to the seamstress. “You want Jon? Or Moxley? No H in the Jon, if we do go with Jon.” Leakee wasn’t quite one hundred percent sure if Jon wanted him to acknowledge his earlier years or not. It seemed like painful shit, but there might be a small part of Jon that was proud of getting through it. Leakee sure as hell would have been.

“Jon, Jesus Christ. Moxley ain’t good for this place.” Jon sounded a little frantic, eyes snapping up from the floor to meet Leakee’s. “No good for a place as nice as this, Lea.”

Leakee took Jon’s hand (smooth over it, it's not your fault, Jon), tugging him to the counter. The seamstress already had his hat on the embroiderer, turning it this way and that as the machine chugged along zipping the gold thread through the fabric.

“Oh.” Jon said weakly, leaning on the counter. “That’s…that’s actually kinda’ cool.”

“I was five when I got mine. Dad lifted me up so I could see while they did it.” Leakee remembered the moment fondly. “I just sat in his arms, dead quiet while I watched the tailor work.”

“How many a’ these do you do a day?” Jon asked the seamstress curiously.

She unclipped the hat and straightened it back out, snipping the thread ends. “Anywhere from ten to twenty, though during a busy holiday weekend I counted sixty.”

“That’s wild.”

She laughed and plopped the hat on Jon’s head. “I suppose it is. You two have a magical day now.”

Leakee relished the way Jon clung to his hand as they walked down Main Street USA, new hat perched a little rakishly on his curls. “Lea…I love it.” Jon said softly. “I mean I know m’ an adult or whatever but…shit, I love it.”

Leakee squeezed his hand, doing his best to ignore the surge of bad memories from Jon. “We’re gonna’ have a great time today, man. Trust me.”

…

Mox didn’t know where the hell to look. Everything was bright and fucking clean and happy as shit. The castle towered over them as Leakee stopped and pulled a crumpled map from his pocket. “Here, let’s check the area. Oh! I dunno’ if you want to see the parades or not. They’re kind of kid stuff but-”

“I do.” Mox hesitated, resisting the urge to cringe. “P…please. I ain’t never seen one before.”

“Okay. We’ll figure something out for them. Pretty sure there's only one today anyways.” Leakee said kindly, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face and frowning down at the ‘times’ section of the map.

“Shit Lea, I’m sorry. M’ gonna’ waste your day on dumb kiddie stuff.” Moxley mumbled, fidgeting with the ears on his hat.

Leakee shook his head, reclaiming Mox’s hand. “It’s not dumb. I’d consider it a chunk of childhood that you never got to have.”

Mox wasn’t going to fucking cry. Not here.

Leakee tugged his hand, pointing to the walkway that led through the castle. “C’mon. Let’s get you a carousel ride while I decide what we need to do as far as times go.”

“Carousel?” Mox wanted to dislike being led around by his wrist, but he was pretty sure that being on his own here would be overwhelming at fucking best. “I been on them before man, carnivals and shit have those. I…” He trailed off as they emerged into the sunlit courtyard on the other side of the castle.

The carousel dwarfed any of the other ones he’d seen, huge and covered in lights. Every horse was white, ornately decorated and gilded in spots. It was...

“A little different from a carnival, right?” Leakee sounded like he was teasing, nudging Mox’s shoulder. “C’mon, there’s usually not a line.”

“Where do we get tickets for it?” Mox started looking around for a booth of some kind. Wasn’t that the standard fare at places like this?

Leakee seemed confused. “You have a pass to the park, Jon. That’s your ticket.”

“Wait, so you can ride on fuckin’…anythin’ ya’ want?” Mox asked sharply. “Everythin’?”

Leakee’s brow furrowed. “Well, yeah man. You thought it was going to be like a parking lot carnival or something?”

“I ain’t been to anythin’ else, Lea.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole.” Leakee apologized. “You um, you pay the price of admission for access to everything. Parking too, obviously, if you drive your own car. But uh…I mean, that’s it man.”

“Wow.” Mox breathed. He could feel the beginnings of a grin threatening to dimple his cheeks. “Holy shit.”

“You want to park by that fountain for a minute? Take a look at the map?” Leakee offered, gesturing at the aforementioned water feature. “Or do you want to ride the carousel first?”

“Carousel carousel fuckin’ carousel.” Mox felt like he was going to explode. The possibilities! He could ride on anything! Shit, he didn’t even know what was available but he was stoked. “I…I’m gonna’ go on the carousel first.”

Leakee gave him a gentle push towards the ride. “I’ll be over here, okay? I’ve kinda’ been on it once or twice. I’ll figure out the best route so you can try a bunch of things. Have fun, okay?”

Mox jittered in place for a second, looking worriedly at Leakee. “What if I can’t find you though, once I get off?” The fear was very real; this place wasn’t exactly Mox’s turf. He doubted anything would be more humiliating than him having to go to a Lost and Found somewhere and tell them yeah I lost my boyfriend can you have him paged because I’m a huge baby and can’t be alone in a place like this?

“We have phones, remember? Now go have fun.” Leakee’s smile, as always, was like fucking sunshine. “I’ll be right here.”

…

Leakee watched Jon tear off towards the ride, unable to contain his laugh when he heard an excited whoop. He sat down on the edge of the fountain and unfolded his map again, following the parade route with his fingers. It had been quite a long time since Leakee had been young enough to be enthralled by the parades, but he supposed they might hold appeal if he hadn’t seen them before.

Dream Come True, huh?

A part of Leakee worried that this might be too much too soon. Jon, for all his strength and outward toughness, was a bit delicate when it came to enjoying himself. His reaction to the carousel was encouraging, though.

Jon believed he shouldn’t have good things. Barring that, he was leery of accepting good things, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Leakee thought back on Christmas, his smile fading as he recalled the fragments of memories he’d lifted off of Jon. Jon didn’t talk about his upbringing. He didn’t talk about much of anything before FCW, if Leakee was being honest. He was a master of diversion, able to redirect a conversation at will. Leakee wondered more than once just how long Jon had been avoiding talking about his childhood or years spent in CZW.

Someday, right Jon? Leakee thought sadly. Someday I’ll know the full story. He shook his head to clear it, refocusing his attention on the map. Get it done, Lea.

Jon’s ear-to-ear grin was more than sufficient to dispel Leakee’s melancholy musings. “Lea! You gotta’--there’s one with a kickass golden tail thing an’ shit, you gotta’ come ride it!” Jon yanked on his arm, hauling him upright.

“Later, man. C’mon, you have to decide where we’re going next.” Leakee extended the map to Jon, chuckling when the other man pouted momentarily. “I don’t want you to miss anything! Now look, if we walk this way we can try to get on Peter Pan’s Flight or keep going to Liberty Square. In the other direction is the Indy Speedway, Tomorrowland…” Leakee trailed off, just watching the play of emotions on Jon’s face.

Shaky fingers touched the map for a second before honing in on Frontierland. “That. The train. S’ a train, right?”

Leakee bit his lip. “Yeah, that’s Thunder Mountain. It’s kind of a hike from here though. We’ll work our way over to it, yeah?”

“Where are we now?” Jon asked, taking the map and turning it this way and that. “Oh shit, duh. Big castle. Yeah, let’s go. You said somethin’ about Peter Pan?”

…

Mox should have known that everything was going too well. Once he got off the Haunted Mansion and back into the blinding sunlight, he turned to say something to Leakee. But somewhere in the dim hallway his boyfriend and himself had gotten separated.

Mox inhaled, held it for a minute. People started pushing past him and he quickly shifted to the side of the crowd so he wouldn’t get swept up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Lea!”, fighting the panic when Leakee didn’t answer. It’s alright Mox, it’s alright. We have phones, remember? Mox fumbled with his phone in his pocket.

“Holy shit, you're Jon fucking Moxley!”

Mox froze. He didn’t know why, the kid was half his age, wearing a No Fear shirt and looked like he hadn’t bathed in a good week or so. Not exactly a threatening prospect. Moxley settled for nodding curtly, finally managing to get his phone out of his pocket.

The kid apparently wasn’t going to be deterred by his rudeness, however. “Wow man, I never expected to meet you here! Doesn’t seem like your kinda’ place. Hey, is Damage here too? Vortekz?” He started looking around and Mox’s stomach turned, shaky fingers doing their damnedest to dial Leakee’s number. He felt like he might faint. Or throw up.

A warm hand suddenly landed on his bare forearm and Mox lashed out, nearly dropping his phone as he went to bite. Leakee’s other hand pressed firmly to his collarbone, halting him in his tracks. “Easy, easy. Just me.” Leakee’s voice was deliberately calm and even. “I see you've made a friend.”

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Mox wanted to scream. His skin was buzzing with bad, he’d gone so long without thinking about Younger or Thumbtack or Damage--

The kid nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I used to go to CZW shows all the time. I remember the match with Jack where he stuck your head full of needles and then you pussied out before he could hit you with a cinderblock! Crazy stuff, man!”

“You’ll have to excuse us.” Leakee said, abrupt enough to be rude as he all but dragged Mox away.

Moxley dimly noticed his hat folded up in Leakee’s back pocket, hard plastic ears poking out at the top. That must have been how he and Leakee got separated. The other man had gone back for his hat. “Lea-”

“Quiet.” Leakee grunted. “Not here.” He ducked off to the side past the Hall Of Presidents, under a small archway that led back to the castle. His fingers were only barely wrapped around Mox’s wrist, like he was painful to touch. He probably was. “Christ. Christ. You’re putting off some serious panic Uce. I shouldn’t have left you.” Leakee said finally. “I saw your hat blow away, I figured you noticed me stop. I guess not. Are you okay? What did that kid say to you?”

“I’d just…I don’t remember that shit. Too many hits to the head.” Mox lied. Phantom pain throbbed in his scalp where the cluster of needles had embedded. I didn’t forget but shit I wish I had. Leakee didn’t need to see that awful, ugly crap. Didn’t need to know.

“You’re giving me little…zings.” Leakee said softly, tightening his grip. “Kinda’ hurts, but I’m not here for you only during the nice stuff, Jon.”

“Shit, lemme’ go then Lea. Don’t wanna’ hurt you.” Moxley mumbled, confused when Leakee did exactly the opposite and pulled him closer.

“I’m here for you.” Leakee said firmly. “You’re my family now, Jon. Good or bad, I’m here.”

“L-Lot of me...ain’t fixable, Lea.” The words were slow to come but once they did, they hung heavily in the air between the two men. Mox wished with all his heart that this could have happened any other fucking day besides this one. They were supposed to be having fun; couldn’t his fucked-up brain take a back seat every once in a while?

“I know that.”

Mox gaped at his boyfriend, more than a bit startled. Repair work was essentially the only reason for getting into a relationship with Jon Moxley. He’d come to terms with that ages ago, long before CZW. Repair work or masochism, either one would do. He was too broken for anything else. And yet here was Leakee, shaking his fucking head at him like he was the idiot.

“Jon, I don’t understand how my blessing works all the time. I can radiate, I can pinpoint, I can draw energy.” Leakee shrugged. “I’m a big fucked-up mystery. Now, do I want to help you? Bet your ass I fucking do, Uce. But I know that me doing what I do in some...weird bid specifically to fix what’s happened to you? Probably not gonna' work. I can't undo things. I can't...look, I'm not magic, Jon. At best, you get some closure. At worst, we relive chunks in brilliant Technicolor with nothing to show for it.”

“You’d have to see.” Mox realized. Leakee nodded, hands cupping Mox’s shoulders. “Christ, hell no Lea. I can’t…I ain’t worried about me. I don’t want you to have t’ see.” Leakee’s forehead touched his own. “All bad shit, man. Make y’ queasy.”

Jack ramming those needles into my head hands tied together cinderblock raised over me crush my skull put me out of my misery I panicked I panicked don't let me die--

“The offer is on the table, Jon.” Leakee unfolded the hat and reinstated it on Mox’s head. “Let’s go get you on that runaway mine train, huh?” Leakee always knew, whether Mox wanted him to or not. Moxley wasn't a hundred percent sure whether it was Leakee's blessing at work or if the other man was just good at picking up cues. Not that he was Goddamn subtle, he'd almost bitten him for fuck's sake.

“Lea, I...” Mox shook his head after a second or two of fighting with his words, choosing to simply take his boyfriend's hand and allow himself to be led once again.

You're part of the family now, Uce.

Good things were terrifying. Good people were even more so.

…

Leakee made sure Jon had a prime seat well before the parade began. He wasn't about to be outmaneuvered by a bunch of middle-aged tourists with strollers full of exhausted, cranky kids. If his boyfriend wanted to see the parade then by God he was going to see that parade. Jon, for the most part, seemed oddly content to just sit on the park bench and watch the area in front of him fill up with prams of all shapes and sizes.

Parents (most of which looked as worn-out as their kids at this point) were a bit of a rude bunch, Leakee decided. People kept standing in front of the fucking bench, in front of Jon. It was exasperating. Leakee touched Jon's shoulders, letting him know he was there behind him.

“Hey man, m' sorry I'm wastin' your time with this kiddie stuff.” Jon apologized.

Leakee kissed the top of his head. “Shush. I'm more than happy to watch this if you want to. I just hope you can see.”

Jon grinned up at him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “S'okay. Jus' bein' here with you is enough. Next time we come we can do what you want, yeah?”

Next time we come.

Leakee bit his lip once Jon had returned his attention to the seething mass of humanity in front of him. How dumb was this? Getting all emotional about his boyfriend, Christ. It wasn't as if they didn't verbally appreciate one another. Jon, for being raised how he was, still managed to be pretty vocal. Which more than anything seemed to be a testament to the depth of his affection, like he couldn't keep quiet about his enjoyment of Leakee.

The black-haired man decided right there that he would try harder. If Jon, with all his barbed-wire scars and bad memories could pull this off, he ought to be able to as well. I can help. I can't fix, but I can help. Leakee began stroking Jon's hair, humming quietly along with the music that had started playing.

The 'Celebrate A Dream Come True' parade floats, complete with inspirational, “follow your heart” style showtunes and dance routines, slowly made their way down to Main Street. Costumed characters from all sorts of different Disney movies accompanied them, waving at the parents and children that lined the sidewalks.

“I wish...” Jon began, almost so quiet that Leakee didn't hear him. “...wish my mom coulda' been one of these folks. Look at everybody. They're obviously wiped the shit out but...I mean look.” He gestured at a man with a young child on either hip and a sleeping baby in a backpack carrier. “Still got the kids up, gotta' make sure they see the parade righ'? Kinda' wild. I think, anyway.” Jon's voice dissolved into a mumble and he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

Leakee's heart broke all over again and on a whim he took one of Jon’s hands in his own.

She didn’t want me never wanted me. This was apparently an old truth. It didn’t clamor for Leakee’s attention, it was just…there. Threw me out. Said I would beg to come back I never did maybe I should have. Jon’s fingers squeezed his own. “Sorry man. M’ probably a mess up there right now.” Jon said softly. Shouldn’t do this to him have to be strong for my Lea not fair to him.

Leakee hugged Jon tightly from behind. “Shh.” He murmured, impulsively sending out a wave powerful enough to make Jon’s whole body shudder and the families in front of them visibly still. I can do this for you, if you let me. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We can come back for the fireworks tonight, if you want?” Leakee suggested as the parade came to an end. “Let me help you, Jon.”

Jon sat there silently for almost a minute, fingers ticking nervously against his collarbone. “You really think…y’ think it’ll do any good?” He finally asked.

“I believe it will, yeah. I hope.” Leakee wished he could have sounded a little more confident. But he wasn’t going to lie or sugarcoat the truth. He didn’t know every in and out of how his blessing worked, after all. “It might not. But I was put on this planet to help, Jon. Would be a pretty terrible show if I couldn’t help you.”

“Well that’s a vote a’ fuckin’ confidence if I ever heard one. Okay Lea, let’s go. Looks like it’s gonna’ rain anyhow.” Jon gave him a brave attempt at a grin. “Jus’ like it does every afternoon.”

…

The sky opened up as they made their final mad dash for the already-crowded bus, Leakee’s laugh still one of Mox’s favorite noises as the larger man fistbumped the driver.

Leakee grimaced at Mox through his curtain of wet hair, his hair elastic apparently lost in their home stretch sprint. “Shit, I can’t believe we couldn’t outrun the rain. We were so damn close.” He said ruefully, pressing closer to Mox probably in an effort to keep from dripping on the other bus passengers.

Either that or he just wanted to grind himself into Mox. Moxley was hardly complaining either way, loving the solid feel of Leakee’s body through his clothes. “It’s alrigh’, man. Dry stuff back at th’ room.” Moxley was having trouble focusing, nervous with excitement that maybe, maybe he would be a little less busted after…whatever the hell it was that they were going to do. He had no idea what was in store for him but Leakee’s hope was infectious.

I was put on this planet to help, Jon.

Fingers fucking crossed, hardly daring to wonder if good things might be more prevalent now that Leakee was in his life, Moxley let himself be cuddled once again. Leakee always wanted to touch him, regardless of his misgivings. Mox knew that sometimes he could be a bit…much. Sure, he loved the warm golden glow of Leakee’s blessing. But the idea that he could be inadvertently causing his boyfriend pain usually made Moxley leery of asking to be touched.

He didn’t ever know when something might turn bad to the point where his body would overflow the feelings into Leakee’s. It could be a nightmare, a smell, a taste. Leakee would suddenly stiffen or grunt and Moxley would belatedly realize that they were touching in some way, that he was the problem and he’d pull free. Those times were the worst, because Leakee always fought his retreat.

I was put on this planet to help, Jon.

Leakee had pretty words and gentle hands and a great smile. He was kind enough to tell Mox not to leave, strong enough to keep him there when he wanted to fight. Even now he smoothed Mox’s rain-soaked hair back from his forehead, smiling at him. For no reason at all probably, just because he could. “What?” Mox asked, knowing the answer before Leakee could bother to respond. It was a common game between them.

“You.” Was always Leakee’s simple reply. It never failed to make Mox preen, even if only a little. The notion that ‘The Blessed One’ found him attractive. Mox thumped his forehead down on Leakee’s chest, nuzzling the area playfully with his nose and making Leakee chuckle.

Mox knew in the back of his mind that they weren’t as careful as they could be in public. The street dog in him was kind of waiting for the day when somebody tried to start something, overeager to fuck someone up for his Leakee. They had been lucky so far, though, and the rest of Mox hoped their luck would never run out.

The bus pulled up beneath the overhang at the hotel and the two of them disembarked, Moxley bolting for the hotel doors. Once inside his teeth started chattering almost instantly. Being wet in the regular Florida climate was one thing, but being soaked to the skin in the air-conditioned lobby was entirely another. “L-L-Lea c-c-c’mon! M’ f-freezin’!” He complained, shuffling to the elevator. “I’ll c-catch m’ death or s-s-somethin’.”

Leakee’s arm was warm where it rested around his shoulders in the elevator, but that was as far as he went for contact. It was more than enough to satisfy Mox, who leaned into him. “You still okay?” Leakee asked as the floors climbed by. “I'm...I've never done something like this, Jon.”

“I’m willin’ to t-try. Jus’ don’t wanna’ hurt you.” Mox knew he was acting weird, all but snuggling into Leakee's side and sighing as the other man's blessing pulsed over him in a hot rush. Leakee didn't seem to mind, though.

“I can take it.” Leakee ran his hand through Mox's hair, tugging at the ends momentarily and making Moxley's breath catch. “You'd do it for me, if you were blessed and I wanted it. That's all that matters. It'll be enough. I'm sure of it.” He sounded sure, which bolstered Mox's confidence a smidge.

“Alright. I...” Moxley swallowed hard. “I trust you, Lea.” He knew that was the right thing to say when Leakee's blessing swamped him, making him feel like he was going to float away.

“Let's go then.” Leakee's face had turned all soft and kind, his fingers twined through Mox's loosely as the elevator doors opened.

…

Getting Jon to focus once their clothes were off was always the hard part. Remembering wasn't something that he did willingly most of the time. So it was practically a miracle when Leakee pressed their naked bodies together and Jon washed into him. Calm and half-orderly, no frantic scramble, just...Jon.

Let me help. Continuing to soothe probably wasn't a bad idea, Jon was still more than frayed at his edges. Leakee reached. Always reaching, never pushing. Ready and willing to bring Jon back from whatever dark place he'd ended up in. Let me help.

“Hey man...” Jon said, sounding almost drunk as his hands clutched at Leakee's shoulders. “Missed you.” Missed you.

There it was, the echo that Jon sometimes got when he was being affectionate. Like he felt he needed to repeat himself. Like he was worried Leakee wouldn't hear. Jon growled and raked his teeth over Leakee's tattoo, gentle, just enough to let Leakee know he was nervous.

Leakee's hand cupped the back of Jon's neck and he touched his forehead to his boyfriend's.

Now came the pain, the dull throb that settled in Leakee's stomach like a brick. A high-pitched sound rang in his ears and Leakee momentarily wondered whether this had been a very bad idea.

I'll never beg to come back fuck you exploded angrily into Leakee's mind. Leaving leaving don't care leaving-

Jon twitched and then went still beneath Leakee. This alright? Leakee asked worriedly.

“Yeah, sorry, that one got away from me.” Jon answered out loud, a little breathless. “Look, Lea, I--”

“Shh, it's alright.” Leakee said calmly, assuming Jon was going to apologize more. “You're okay. I'm not gonna' hurt you.”

Jon rolled his eyes and slid his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Leakee's quickly-waking cock. The black-haired man froze, startled. “Listen t' me, y' blessed motherfucker.” I love you at least let me fucking say it here I'll scream it I don't care I love you!

Leakee shuddered as Jon's thoughts washed over him. You... “What?” He croaked weakly, forcing himself to swallow.

Like nobody else like nothing else Lea Lea Jesus fucking Christ Lea I love you so much more than anything anything in this fucking world I just- Jon had started kissing him and Leakee went along with it, still more than dazed by the other man's proclamation of love. She never wanted me didn't want me. Too expensive too much work. Kicked me out told me I'd beg to come back never did don't know where she is now. Don't deserve don't deserve--

“It's not your fault, Jon.” Leakee finally managed to get out. Not your fault. She left you. I'm here. He cupped Jon's jaw, pressing their foreheads back together while Jon continued lazily stroking his cock.

Never knew him too young little bursts he hated me she hated me for being I was why he left I was why he didn't stay. A huge figure, slurred words and dirty brown hair. Sharp nauseous alcohol smell and cigarette smoke. Massive, filthy work boots by the door of the tiny apartment. Leakee wanted to cry, what the hell kind of parents had Jon endured? I'm so sorry, Jon.

I love you. Leakee flinched, confused at the abrupt change. Jon's eyes were soft, and when he opened his mouth the words finally came. “I love you, Lea.”

“Shit.” Leakee swore, pulling back and huffing in a breath. “Jon...”

“S'okay if y' don't...love me too or whatever. I jus'...y' make me feel like no one else ever has before. I wanted you t' know.” I'm sorry I'm sorry don't deserve don't deserve. Jon, for all his outward calm, was writhing in fear on the inside.

“No no no, Jesus fucking Christ, no Jon. I...you deserve so much fucking better than this, me. The blessed idiot.” Leakee managed to get his act together. “You're laying here tugging on my cock and I'm supposed to be helping.”

“You are helping.” Love you.

“How?” Leakee asked, grunting when Jon's hand cupped his sac.

Touching makes it better touching you makes it better want to touch want to touch you're so beautiful- “I like touching you.” Jon answered simply.

“I like it when you touch me. Like it when you let me touch you. I know it's still hard for you sometimes. Don't want to rush you.” Leakee spoke through gritted teeth. “As much as you want.”

I love you too, Jon.

…

Mox felt like he was going to burst into flames when Leakee's words echoed softly in his head. The black-haired man's blessing rolled over him strong, almost getting him to come untouched. It was just so good, so damn good. “Thank you.” Mox mumbled, burying his face in Leakee's neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Always, Jon. I love you. Leakee's mouth pressed to his forehead. “I'll always take care of you. Never leave you. I promise.” I promise. Mox squeezed their cocks together in his fist, jerking them off sloppily in tandem and making Leakee start to pant. “Oh, fuck, Jesus fucking Christ Jon--” Need you need you.

Leakee tended to spill more and more into him the closer he was to coming, Mox had noticed. The overlap was calming in a way, all hot and needy give it to me need you Jon please faster more. It never failed to turn Mox on, how Leakee would snarl outwardly but beg in his head, the picture of contradiction. The whole while his blessing flaring up at random, flooding Moxley with warm good more. It made phantom pains vanish, chased off bad memories and replaced everything with something a thousand times better, a thousand times brighter.

Leakee pressed their foreheads together, staring into Mox's eyes. Want to open you up take you from behind bite your shoulders neck fuck you deep fuck you good love you right make you come want you to feel good now more more Jon! Mox gulped, bewildered and aroused beyond belief as Leakee's breath choked off. I want I want yes give me everything let me help give me everything Jon I want it-

Leakee kissed him hard and spilled onto his stomach with a low groan. Mox released Leakee's cock and fisted his own, hand now slick with Leakee's come. “Ever seen a guy use your come t' jerk off?” He asked, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he grinned.

“What-oh.” Leakee's body was still shuddering but he watched, seeming transfixed as Mox worked his dick. Jon-- “You're going to be the death of me, oh my fucking God my cock is twitching right now and I just came, you're going to fucking kill me--” Leakee's words were always so hot and good, even better now with his deep voice wrecked from coming hard. “Look at you, fucking look at you, perfect, absolutely perfect, God I love you.”

His being sparked like lightning in Moxley's insides, hand speeding up as Leakee bled into him never leave you, love you need you please Jon-

Mox grabbed the back of Leakee's neck, kissing him with every ounce of hurt he had. All the suffering, all the bad things just pouring out and weakening in the golden glow of blessed, safe, never leave you. Not erased, not forgotten, but calmed. Shared and understood and accepted, it's accepted, give it to me Jon-

Leakee's fingers wrapped around Mox's, helping him jerk off while his mouth pressed hot and wet all over Mox's jaw and neck need you need you to come for me let me take this Jon I love you--

Moxley couldn't hold back any longer, the rush of affection from Leakee more than enough to get him off. He snapped his teeth down into Leakee's shoulder, arched his back and came apart beneath his boyfriend, moaning around his mouthful of inked skin. Leakee made a noise at being bitten hard, brown eyes going wide as Mox tongued the area gently. “Y' like that?” Moxley asked blearily, unable to keep from snickering when Leakee nodded furiously. “Mm, good. Gonna' do it more.” It was half-promise, half-warning. Won't hurt you, love you.

Mox's teeth found purchase on the other man's shoulder once again and Leakee bucked his hips helplessly. “Did any of it help?” He asked softly, suddenly looking worried. He pushed the hair back from Moxley's forehead. Don't just want to fuck you, was trying to help, Jon-

“Yeah.” The lighter-haired man mumbled, pulling back for a second to offer Leakee a smile. Love you, Lea. “I think m'...m' better now.” Thank you, Lea. “If uh...f' you're still up for it, y' had some pretty great ideas earlier...”

...

Leakee Reigns and Jon Moxley ran full-tilt from the monorail station, hands firmly joined. Oversleeping would be the death of them someday. After fumbling through the reentry process they hurried as fast as they could back to Main Street, swelling music heralding that something spectacular was about to happen.

Leakee slowed them to a stop, Jon's eyes widening in wonder as fireworks exploded over the castle in time with the soundtrack from the PA system. Leakee was normally the more level-headed of the two but he found himself sweeping Jon into a hungry kiss, Jon's hands fisting in his hair and tugging it free of its neat bun. This was so stereotypical, so ridiculous, but he couldn't help it anymore than he could help being blessed. A choir crooned in the background about wishes and Leakee kissed the air out of his boyfriend's lungs, pretty sure he was glowing like a damn supernova at this point. He couldn't tone it down, couldn't have kept it under wraps even if he wanted to.

“Lea...” Jon's voice had a sharper rasp to it, brought on from their lazy afternoon of thoroughly exploring each other. “You're...I mean, wow.”

Leakee felt like a brand new sun, everything warm and brilliant, firework galaxies exploding into being over their heads and Jon, JonLeakeeJon where do I end where do you begin, finally relaxed in his arms like he knew he was safe. I love you. “I love you.” He murmured out loud, kissing Jon's forehead, his mouth, his jaw. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Lea.” No hesitation. No echo. Jon's words were quiet but firm, truth in every syllable. My Leakee.

My Jon.

#jon moxley #leakee #jon moxley/leakee #moxlea #thirst party saturday #smut with feelings #mostly feelings #blessed one!leakee #Morning everyone!

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

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Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome aboard! This is my first try at a soulmate AU so I hope you like it! Tagging @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, and of course, our stalwart captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

It wasn’t often that Dean woke up without any aches or pains. Without the sound of Sami’s snoring near-deafening him. Callihan had a habit of ending up in bed with Ambrose, seeing as how their mattresses were right next to each other on the floor. It was kind of like having a king-sized bed.

Dean reached out to give Sami’s shoulder a shove, the usual way he woke his roommate. When he came into contact with nothing but air though, Dean assumed Callihan was already up. Which meant he must still be dreaming. There was no way Callihan would be conscious in the morning before him.

Had his bed always been this comfortable?

When Dean finally opened his eyes though, things got weird quick. Where the hell am I?! He flailed around in the blankets for a second, terrified at how clean and white everything was, like a hospital room. He caught sight of his hands and barely kept from screaming because that’s not my fucking skin, oh my god, is that a tattoo?! It was, thick and thin lines of solid black tribal design weaving over tan skin that was definitely not the bruised-up coloration Dean’s had been the night before.

There was a door across the room that hopefully led to a bathroom. Where there would be a mirror, maybe. Dean flipped the sheets back and flinched as he realized that whoever he was, obviously he slept in the nude. Feeling weirdly like a pervert, Ambrose quickly wrapped the flat sheet around his newly-thick waist and shuffled to the door on shaky legs.

This was officially the strangest dream he’d had. Did he finally go after that Chinese food that had been festering in the neighbor's trash? The guy in the mirror was…well, he sure as shit was not Dean fucking Ambrose.

This guy had brown eyes and hair, lots of it, jet-black and all rumpled from sleeping. This guy had a tattoo that looked fucking important instead of stupid or gaudy, like most of the musclebound morons with tribal tattoos. This guy had an immaculate face, the ghost of a five o’clock shadow barely visible over his jawline and throat. Nice mouth. Dean snarled experimentally and was floored with how threatening he looked with well-kept facial hair and straight, white teeth.

Dean gingerly turned his head to one side, then the other. A scar creased the area over his right eyelid, the skin still pink and new from healing. It didn't hurt at all when Dean rubbed his fingers over it, but there was a strange ripple in the back of his mind like it should have hurt. Ambrose pinched his arm. Hard. Pain made him jerk upright. So it wasn’t a dream! Somehow, somehow, this was real. Either that or he had the mother of all concussions and he was hallucinating this shit.

He looked back up at…whoever the hell it was in the mirror, shrugging shoulders broader than his own. His disbelief suspended for a few more minutes, Dean was curious, just who the heck was this guy and why was he wearing his skin like a bad suit?

He’s got to have a wallet around. Some form of ID. Dean scuttled back to the bedroom, still holding the sheet up around his waist. A pair of pants and a crisp red button-up were folded on the chair beside the bed. The first warning sign for Ambrose was the fact that there was a passport and a plane ticket on the bedside table. Fuck. Reading the name on the ticket made him double-take because Jesus fucking Christ, that was a name if he’d ever seen one! The name seemed...familiar for some reason. Dean narrowed his eyes at the ticket. He couldn't place it, but it nagged at him.

“Roman Reigns.” Ambrose jumped at the sound of his suddenly-smooth, baritone voice, flushing as red as he could. It wasn’t really fair that this guy was the whole package! The hotel phone also on the bedside table gave him an idea. Dean dialed his own number, pinching the bridge of his nose nervously.

The gritty sound of Callihan’s voice greeted his ears. “He ain’t up yet, whoever ya’ are. Don’t ya’ know what time it is?”

“Could you possibly have him give me a call back? Tell him it’s uh. It’s Roman.” Dean knew there was a maybe one in seven chance that Callihan would even remember he’d called, but he could try.

Callihan snorted. “Like the guy from GTA? Sure thing, cousin Roman.” The line clicked dead.

I am so screwed. Dean hoped this guy didn’t have panic attacks, because if Roman was piloting his body, he was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

…

Pain throbbed in what felt like every cell of his existence. Roman had been roused by a rough voice saying his name, but he wished he’d never woken up. What happened last night? Did I get into a car accident? He wondered blearily, doing his damnedest to open his eyes. He remembered going to sleep, and then…nothing. Not even his usual dream of Blue-Eyed Guy, weirdly.

Upon finally managing to get his eyes open, Roman was more than confused. He was laying on a mattress on the floor of a dingy apartment. The rug touching his hand was sticky. The mattress felt paper thin, like every spring had given up years ago. Roman’s whole body hurt, pounding like a fresh bruise.

There was a battered-looking young man smoking a cigarette on a mattress beside him, scrolling through an equally battered-looking phone. The guy, seemingly upon noticing that Roman was awake, cracked a grin and put his cigarette out. “Mornin’, sugartits. Some guy called for ya’ while y’ were snoozin’. Said his name was Roman.”

A flip phone plopped down onto the middle of Roman’s chest. His…very pale, bruised chest. Roman swallowed hard, trying to be casual as he raised a hand. Every muscle in his arm screamed in protest but that was not his hand, where the hell was his tattoo--

Oh. He raised the hand higher, going to fumble with short hair and wincing because ow those are fucking stitches, what the fuck. The guy beside him didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, thank fuck. Roman cautiously propped himself up on his elbows, flinching in pain. Christ. He was thin, lithe muscle, laced with faded scars across his torso and arms. Roman gathered from the bruising and small fresh wounds on his body that whoever this guy was, he’d taken a hell of a beating.

“Wha’ happened?” His voice. It sounded shot to shit. What if this guy is a druggie or something?!

The man beside him huffed loudly, seeming indignant. “Man, Nick effin’ Gage happened. That guy is a big ol’ bag a’ dicks.”

“I feel like I got hit by a train.” Roman cleared his throat once or twice. Nope, that’s apparently just how he sounded. Okay then.

“Y’ handed his ass to him on a silver platter. Didn’t think you were gonna’ pull through for a little bit. Y’ just kinda’ got laid out on the ground an' I was like ‘shit, that’s the end of Dean Ambrose’. Figured you popped a stitch. But you fuckin’ tripped up Gage and pummeled his face in like a pro. Gave as good as y’ got.” The man’s expression softened a little bit. “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit. At least she had the brains t’ scream. Good thing we were there, eh?”

Roman pressed his fingers to his temples, grunting. The guy beside him patted his back awkwardly after a minute. “You jus’ sit tight. Sami’s gotcha’. Give that guy a call back and I'll...I'll dig through an' see if there's still anythin' to eat.”

“What time is it?” I missed my flight, didn’t I?

“Half past noon or so?”

Fuck. “Thank you. I’m not…I don’t feel quite right.” Roman tried to explain, opening the flip phone with trembling hands and punching in his number. “I’ll call this guy back.”

Sami(?) seemed worried, but he left Roman alone and headed off through a side doorway. Roman ran a hand down his jaw, flinching when his fingers caught on yet another cut by his chin. Hopefully whoever this guy was, he was near his phone.

“Holy shit, okay. Okay. Are you…are ya’ in my fuckin’ body? Like how I’m in yours?” It was so strange, hearing his own voice with such an odd cadence. Like he’d left himself a drunken recording. Ambrose sounded panicked. “Shit man, shit, is Callihan okay?”

“Near as I can tell you took the worst of the beating. What do you even do for a living, man, Christ.” Roman groaned in his newly-gained rasp.

“What the hell is goin' on?”

“Where do you live? I need you with me if I'm going to explain.”

“I'll ask the fuckin' questions here, buddy!”

“And I'm the one that knows what's going on, so I suggest you do as I say!” The rasp gave his voice a new edge to it, and not like the stern bark he employed when things got heated in the boardroom. He sounded fucking dangerous. Roman couldn't help the shudder than ran through his body, wincing as the bruises flared up.

Ambrose was silent on the other end. “Shit, it is a fuckin' trip hearin' myself talk.” He said finally. “Is it weird for you too?”

“Extremely so. Where do you live?”

“Cinci, Ohio. And you?” There was a rustling sound and then Ambrose let out a squeak that was absolutely ridiculous coming from Roman's baritone. “Christ, this place is tall!”

“You're in Cincinnati, you should know the area.”

“Tell me you don't live in this place, please let this jus' be some dumbass hotel.” Ambrose begged. “It's so nice in here, I'm losing it man.”

“Focus!” Roman snapped. “What I need from you, first and foremost, is a ride. You have my credit cards, ID, passport, et cetera. So you need to grab the laptop.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I'm so sorry, man, I...shit, let me find the thing. Uh--” There was a loud clatter that made Roman wince and pull the phone away from his ear. “I got it. I think. This ain't a laptop, man.”

“Tablet, whatever the hell, it has a keyboard.” Reigns waved him off. “Flip it over, punch in my password, blah blah blah.”

“I don't know your password, now do I fancypants?”

“Don't call me that. A-F-A-S-I-K-A.” Roman replied shortly. “All uppercase.”

“Bossy, slow the hell down.”

“Don't. Just do as you're told.”

“Fuckin' bossy--Jesus Christ man, will you close ya' fuckin' porn windows! What the hell even...wait shit, what even is this stuff? Is this fuckin'...”

“Venture ideas from my father. Don't get distracted. Ignore that shit and get me a goddamn Uber.” Roman demanded.

Ambrose didn't seem to be listening though. “What is this stuff, Roman?”

“I just told you--”

“I know, but...shit. I'm sorry, I gotta'...Uber. Shit. I've never done one of these before, man, what do I--shit, I closed the thing. For fuck's sake, c'mon.” Ambrose protested, his voice pitching up high enough to make the other man snort. “Shit, hang on.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Roman said dryly. What the hell kind of name is Ambrose, anyway?

“I…oh for shit’s sake.” Dean grumbled finally. “Fuck it, fuck this shit. I know how to call a cab, you’re getting a fuckin’ cab and liking it. God this shit is fuckin’ stupid.”

“That’s fine.” Roman could tell that arguing with the man was a pointless move. “Where do you keep your clothes? These jeans are kind of a wreck.”

“Where do I keep…buddy, those are my nice jeans. I didn’t really expect t’ get into it with fuckin’ Gage last night. Don’t remember much, but if there isn’t any vomit on ‘em they’re better than my other pair.”

“You only own two pairs of pants?” Roman asked incredulously.

“Hey, fuck you! Don’t fuckin’ judge me man, I fight for my fuckin’ meals. This body doesn’t look like you’ve had so much as a fuckin’ bad day in y’ life!”

“Christ, alright, I’ll wear these jeans. Didn’t realize that fucking pants were a touchy subject.” Roman relented.

“I…shit, I’m sorry man. I dunno’ what to do, I know y’ got the worse end of this an’ I know I should be grateful because I woke up lookin’ like a fuckin’ god, but I--what if we’re stuck like this?” Ambrose asked fearfully.

“Call me a cab, I’ll get washed up. When I get there I should be able to explain.” Roman gentled his tone a little. “I promise it won’t be too bad.”

“Okay man. Deep breaths. I’ll uh, I’ll see ya’ in a little bit I guess.”

Roman pulled himself to his feet, bracing his arm on the wall. “Sami?” He called tentatively, barely keeping his laugh in check when the other man’s head popped quickly out from behind the doorway to the kitchen. He’d obviously been eavesdropping.

“’Sup? Finish ya’ phone call?”

“Yeah. I have a…meeting I need to take care of. I…I guess I’m a little more rattled than I thought. Which way is the bathroom?”

Sami’s face wrinkled in concern. “Ambrose…shit, m’ sorry man. I know you ain’t one hundred percent, I was there at the doctor’s office, ‘member? I shoulda’ kept ya’ back instead of lettin’ ya' get into it with Gage’.” He pointed at the other doorway. “That a’ way, man. Call me if ya’ feel like ya’ gonna’ pass out, okay? Don’t want y’ fallin’ in the tub again.”

“Thank you.” Roman replied shakily. Not one hundred percent? Things slowed to a halt when he finally reached the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over the sink.

Oh no.

It was him. Sandy blond hair, wide blue eyes which went even wider in disbelief. Blood crusted on the underside of his chin and bruises purpling the skin of his right cheek; he looked like hell, but he wasn't unrecognizable by any means.

Fuck’s sake, that was why Roman had been having so many dreams about this guy he’d never met ever since his dad had moved his operations to Cincinnati. Blue-Eyed Guy was his soulmate, who in turn was apparently Ambrose.

Oh no.

Roman felt like his legs were about to give out and he hastily grabbed the sink, ducking his head and breathing slowly for a second to fight back the urge to faint. This guy who lives in an absolute hole and owns two fucking pairs of pants. Seriously? The world was a wild place.

“Waking up in the body of your other half encourages you to understand them on a deeper level, Roman.” Easy for his dad to say, he and Mom had both been business-inclined individuals! This…this was totally foreign and not only that, obviously dangerous. Sami mentioned him seeing a doctor. There were stitches in his fucking head.

What the hell had he been through, that he would still be fresh out of the hospital and just go fling himself at something else? “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit.” Roman flinched as he realized what Sami had meant. Ambrose had gone after that Gage guy with extreme prejudice, as well as total disregard for his own health. He felt stupidly proud for a second.

You’re dumb, but the kind of dumb that I can live with.

Roman splashed some water on his face, rinsing the dried blood off his chin. Fuck’s sake. I’m going to have to email the client in Germany. Should probably get in touch with Dad first, though. Let him know it’s happened and that I'm okay. Roman winced. The idea of telling his father that his soulmate was an unshaven guy who ‘fought for his meals’ was not a pleasant one.

…

Dean tapped his fingers on his knees nervously as he waited on the bed. He had finally gotten dressed after indulging himself in a brief full-body exploration in the shower because really, this guy had no right being this good-looking. Roman did have a few other fresh scars on his back, which made Dean curious.

He was so goddamn hungry, his stomach rumbling loud enough for him to hear. But Roman was supposed to be here soon and he definitely wanted to know what the everloving hell was going on.

The knock that came still made him jump. Which was more than a little entertaining, due to the heavier weight of the body he was currently inhabiting. Roman was obviously not much for flinching.

Dean opened the door and…well shit, it was his skin alright. But this guy held his frame in such a rigid way it made Dean’s spine hurt. Shoulders back, tense and tight. He looked uncomfortable. “Fuckin'...God that's strange.” Dean said without thinking as the other guy walked past him.

“You have no idea.” Roman grunted, flopping down on the bed in a way that completely contradicted the posture he'd possessed a second ago. “I'm absolutely famished.” He wiggled around for a second then sat up, fixing Dean with a quizzical look. “I figured you would have ordered something by now. Aren't you hungry?”

“Well yeah, but I-I ain't gonna' take ya' money an' shit, s'fuckin' rude.” Dean stammered. “I thought...I figured this was the safest place to be. I ain't left the room, man, I ain't a body snatcher.” Also I have no idea how man, c'mon.

“You’ve been in the room this whole…damn, okay. I’ll tell you what to say and you can order us room service. I can’t, not with my voice being all…not Roman Reigns.” Roman grimaced.

“I-I’m really sorry, man. I…shit, ya’ got the raw end of this deal.” Dean apologized. “I jus’ got outta’ the hospital, I busted my head open when I uh. Fell. And then with that…that piece of garbage, pawin’ at that chick, I fuckin’ flew right off the damn handle.”

“Sami said something about a man named Gage.”

“Nick effin’ Gage.” Dean snarled, clenching his fists. “Wasn’t him that put me in the chop shop, I got Brain Damage t’ thank for that shit. But Gage has a nasty habit of goin’ after girls that don’t want him. She was screamin’ loud enough t’ wake the fuckin’ dead, an’ I just…shit, I reacted.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing. It’s not like you knew that this was going to happen.” Roman said quietly.

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t do the right thing all that often man, usually ends up bitin’ me in the ass. Jus’…show me how to do the food, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.” He knew his change of subject was about as subtle as a flashing neon sign that said I am changing the subject now!, so he was grateful when Roman reached for one of the pamphlets beside the room phone.

“Did the doctor give you any pain medication for this?” Roman asked after Dean had fumbled his way through the order, tapping his head and then wincing.

“I told her I didn’t want anythin’. I always say no. Callihan’s been clean for so long, I can’t fuckin’ put that kinda’ shit around him. He’s got a real job now, man. I-I can’t.” Dean didn’t know why he was telling Roman all this. Just say no, you dumb shit! “If I'd known I was uh. Goin' to be renting the place out, so t' speak, I woulda' taken the meds.”

“No no, it's fine.”

Dean felt awful. Roman was obviously in pain. He was pale even for Ambrose's normally light skin color, laid out on his back on the bed. “You jus'...jus' stay put, okay? The doc told me to be kinda' still an' quiet.” Dean said finally.

Roman snorted, rolling onto his side. “You're not much for that, I gather.”

“Nope.”

“I'm sure you're dying to know what the hell is going on.” Reigns began after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I just need food, feel like I'm inches from passing out. When was the last time you ate?”

Dean had to actually think about it. “...Um. Before the hospital. My head was hurtin' too bad to eat.”

“I'm...wake me up when it gets here, okay?” Roman requested, his voice hoarse. “Room's a little--” He held his stomach and paused, swallowing loudly. “I-”

“Man, shh, stop. Jus' stop. I can wait on an explanation, okay? Believe me I know ya' in a mess of fuckin' hurt right now, so we'll get some food in your belly an' then if you're okay, you can explain.” Dean chastised him, more than worried at this point. How long had it been since he'd eaten? It was normal to just pop a spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth for breakfast and see where the day took him.

What must it be like for this guy (who obviously had an easier life than he did) to suddenly have to deal with stitches, a painfully empty stomach? An unfamiliar body full of fucked up aches?

Dean cautiously laid a large hand on Roman's head, stroking at his hair and being careful to avoid the stitches. It always worked for him when he was in his body, hopefully it would still work now. It seemed to. Roman's eyes closed and he relaxed a little, snuggling down into the hotel bedspread. Dean was grateful for the other man's smooth baritone as he started humming quietly, some old song his mom used to listen to.

…

True to his word, Ambrose woke him when their food arrived. Roman's manners fell by the wayside as he dug into his meal of salad and cranberry-glazed chicken, years of rigorous lessons taught by his mother evaporating at the first bite.

His stomach began to protest barely five minutes in, though. Roman frowned, swallowing a mouthful and then glancing over at Ambrose. Dean looked lost, picking at the salad that came with his meal.

“How much do you normally eat?” Roman asked, watching curiously as Ambrose flinched.

“I…I mean, food’s hard t’ come by. I um. Your body seems super fuckin’ hungry, man.” Dean grimaced down at the salad. “Really wanna’ eat my burger but this green stuff is appealin’ to you.”

Roman couldn’t help his chuckle. Ambrose looked like a small child with a plate of peas in front of him. “Just eat, man. Don’t worry about what order food goes in.”

“We don’t eat much.” Ambrose mumbled like he hadn’t heard him, still staring down at the salad. “We waste even less. I…this is so much food, Reigns.”

“It’s okay.” Roman realized why his stomach already felt tight and stuffed. Ambrose’s reaction to the amount of food in front of him was all he needed to piece the puzzle together. “Take your time. I know your brain isn’t on-board with who it’s piloting, but I promise I usually eat that and way more. Just go easy. Don’t want you to make yourself sick.” Roman shrugged. “It’s okay if you can’t finish. I could probably stand to miss a couple meals.”

His joke was apparently unappreciated as Ambrose snapped his head up to glare at him. “This body is fuckin’ ridiculous, I don’t think there’s a wasted ounce on ya’ so don’t give me that shit.” He grunted. “Built like a fuckin’ tree trunk.”

Roman laughed, a little surprised and not sure if Ambrose actually meant it as a compliment. “Why, thank you! I do my best. But my mom’s cooking has me soft around the middle. Not quite in peak condition at the moment.” His ability to defuse situations had always made him one of his father’s most valuable assets in the boardroom. Just because he sounded and looked different now didn’t mean he had lost his edge. This was proven accurate when Ambrose offered him a nervous smile and tucked back into the salad.

Once he'd gotten free of Hunter his mother had coddled him mercilessly. Roman was her baby, her last child, and the notion that he'd dealt with suffering seemed to tear her apart. She'd doted on him so much he might be a little...tiny bit out of shape because of it. But it had only been three weeks ago.

...

Roman asked for his phone and went into the bathroom while Dean continued to slowly make his way through the food set in front of him. Ambrose could hear most of the conversation through the door, though.

“Dad, it’s me…I know I missed my plane. No I don’t have a cold. I…yeah. I know. I’ll email the client and apologize. I know, I’m sorry...you'll have to send Jimmy. I didn’t mean to scare you guys. After everything that happened…yeah.”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he chewed. ‘Everything that happened’?

“I’m…I found him. Woke up across town. He had the brains to call me. He got me a cab so at least I’m here with him now. Yeah…I’m a little beat up though. Guess he just got out of the hospital...stitches in his head. Shit, you didn’t say I was on speaker, I didn’t want Mom worryi--hi Mom, sorry.”

Ambrose felt kind of like Gage had just punched him in the head again. He’s got parents. He’s got a real job, an obviously successful job.

“No no I’m okay. He’s a little tougher than I was…I’m sorry. I know it’s too soon to joke about it. Sorry Mom. Yeah, I remember how scared you were. I’m sorry.”

That still-pink scar over his eye began to throb. Dean flinched, startled. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him, but the abrupt presentation. He pressed his hand to the area, grunting when he attempted to rub the pain away and it just. Stayed the same. Like it was all in his head.

“Listen, I have to go. I love you. I still have to explain everything yet…I’ll do my best, Dad. Okay. Goodbye.”

When Roman emerged from the bathroom Dean fixed him with a stern look. Which was rather difficult because Roman resembled a kicked puppy at that moment. Dean had never realized how potent his big, blue eyes were, and he filed the information away for later use. “Alright bossy, spill it. What the hell is goin’ on here?” He asked, still gamely working on the damn salad.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so patient.” Roman sighed heavily. “This is going to sound absolutely asinine.”

“More asinine than wakin’ up in someone else’s body?” Dean asked, grinning when Roman cracked a smile at that.

“Almost.” Reigns sat down on the bed beside him. “So my family is a little…strange. We uh. After we hit the age of twenty, when we get within a certain distance of the person we’re supposed to…to be with, you know, be with, we um. We switch. Bodies. Temporarily. This is how it’s always been as far back as I remember. I…are you okay?”

Dean had his head down between his knees, feeling like he was going to pass out. Be with. There was no way. This guy looked kind, looked strong and like a guy that he would want to be his friend, his partner. But people like Dean Ambrose didn’t have that kind of luck. “This has to be some kinda’ mistake.” Ambrose finally said weakly. “You must be for Sami or somethin’, I-”

“There aren’t mistakes.” Roman interrupted him quietly. “I know I’m…I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I know.”

“Ya’ whole family does this stuff?”

“Men on my father's side, yeah. Nobody knows why, we just know that we do.” Roman was silent for a few seconds while Dean processed that.

“A-Are y’ even gay? Bi?” Ambrose croaked, his voice almost failing him.

Reigns shrugged. “Never gave it much thought. When you know that someone is predetermined for you, it kind of takes the fun out of dating.” He squinted at the other man, seeming suspicious. “Are you?”

The “no!” was on the tip of Dean’s tongue, so used to crushing it down and being safe that it had become commonplace to deny it. “N…not sure.” He stammered instead.

Reigns’ smile was gentle. It looked weird on Dean’s face. “It’s obviously fine with me, man. You wouldn’t be my one otherwise. But I get it. I mean, I’ve never really had to worry about my preferences and all that, so I don’t get it from personal experience. I get that people are awful though.”

“Oh fuck.” Ambrose choked out. “You have no idea, man, I…fuckin’ shit.” He gestured wordlessly up and down the body he was currently in.

“I’m sorry.” Roman apologized. “It must have been awful to wake up as…well-”

“Hell no buddy, no fuckin’ way. You seen what my everythin' looks like. Trust me, this is a major fuckin’ improvement. Shit, if I looked like you all the time I woulda’ gotten a job modelin’ an’ told off every ugly, homophobic fucker around.” Dean said bitterly. “Instead, I been fuckin' fightin' for my food an' a place to stay, keepin' everythin' all tucked in. It ain't like any guy would go for me, man. M' not...not anyone's type, not really.” Dean knew he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to get his words to cooperate. “Not a guy t' bring home t' ya' parents, y'know.”

“Hey.” A hand landed on his arm. “Obviously you're at least one person's type.” Roman pointed out.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because ya' family is fuckin' cursed or some shit. I...I ain't a good person, man. You're obviously a good person and--I mean, I'm not.”

“Well yeah, you would have invested in a third pair of pants if you were a good person.” Reigns whacked his shoulder, startling him. “Buck up, Ambrose. We're soulmates. That means that somewhere, deep down in your heart, you have the capacity to love me.”

“I don't love nobody.” Dean replied sulkily.

“Not yet, obviously.”

…

Dean was remarkably resistant for someone who had nothing. Roman woke up the next morning to an empty bed. His panic was short-lived as he rolled to his side and saw Ambrose (actually Ambrose, apparently they'd switched during the night) curled up on the floor with his jacket wrapped around him. Roman sighed, shifting to his back again. That lasted for exactly three seconds before he was struck with an uncomfortable twinge of pain across his shoulders. Where he'd been hurt.

Reigns flopped onto his stomach, grunting in irritation. The therapist had said he would heal fine, that most of it was in his head and in time it would fade.

“Traumatic injuries take their toll on you mentally and physically.”

It hadn't really been all that long, he reminded himself. Three weeks wasn't that long. He would be alright. And hopefully, the incident had taught his father not to run his mouth about the pairbonds. Hunter could have done so much worse than what he did, that fucker. Roman hugged the pillow a little closer.

A hand touched his shoulder blade and he flinched. Dean made a low sound in his throat, like he was shushing him. “Easy. What happened here, man? I seen my fair share. Y' don't get these kinda' marks inna' fistfight.” He gathered Roman's hair up out of the way, exposing the nape of his neck. “These either. Somebody put ya' in a world of hurt.”

Roman shuddered. “It's nothing. Not...it's over now. It's alright.” He said weakly, trying to dismiss the situation.

Ambrose climbed up over his body and knelt on the bed beside him, stripping off his jacket and then, to Roman's confusion, his shirt as well. “This one.” Ambrose pressed fingers to the stitches on his head, not even wincing. “Skilsaw.” He reached back, tapping his shoulder and twisting a little so Roman could see. “Barbed wire.” Ambrose stared at Roman's back long enough to make the other man feel nervous, then moved closer and raised his arm. Two scars ran parallel to his ribs. “Dinner plate.” Ambrose grinned at that one, his tongue poking out between his teeth. Small lines up and down his arms and torso, “more barbed wire.”

“What are you doing around that much barbed wire?” Roman finally asked.

“I fight.”

“In barbed wire?!”

“Gotta' keep guys in the cage somehow.” Ambrose shrugged. “Look, the point is, I been around. An' I only seen marks like yours from real sharp shit, like a dinner plate. Or a knife.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what happened? There ain't no slices on ya' tattoo. Shit was deliberate. But somebody still took a couple good fuckin' divots out, just enough t' scar. Jealous a' how pretty you are?”

Roman knew his laugh was on the wrong side of hysterical when Ambrose straightened up. “I told you it's nothing. Can you please just leave it alone?”

“Listen. I been doin' thinkin' so don't start that shit with me, bossy. If this is all on the up an' up, ya' stuck with me for a while. Somethin', somewhere out in that universe, likes me enough t' hook me up with your gorgeous ass.” Dean said plainly. “Sami always says that if ya' wanna' get to know someone, ask about their scars over an' over. Because eventually they get tired of lyin' an' they'll tell you the real story. So fuckin' spill it.”

“My dad doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, okay? He's a great businessman but he's too trusting. He...he told someone he shouldn't have about the soulmate thing. I got hurt. That's the gist of it.” Roman was all but strangling the pillow at this point.

“Recently, though.” Dean pressed him. “Skin's still all pink from healin', Reigns. This was...wait. Shit. Reigns. I'm a fuckin'--” He slapped himself on the forehead, grunting 'ow! Fuck' when his hand landed on his stitches. “Your ass was in the papers like a goddamn month ago. That's what I knew ya' name from, shit I'm dumb.” He went still. “Y' got held hostage or somethin', right? That Helmsley guy?”

Roman bolted from the bed, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he started the shower.

“You think a locked door is gonna' stop me, man?” Ambrose blustered from the other side of the barrier. “Bossy, you ain't seen shit yet.”

“Ambrose, I'm just-”

“Y' hidin' from me! I ain't fuckin' dumb, man. Somebody hurt you an' you ain't used to it like I am, y' think it's a bad thing or that you're fuckin' weak or somethin'.” Ambrose said loudly. “It ain't like that man. I got no idea what you been through, okay? I know that. But I...”

Roman climbed into the shower and Dean's words faded to a dull mumble beneath the spray. He breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head and just letting the water flow over him. His hair slowly untangled and Roman ran his fingers through it, staring down at the drain without really seeing it. He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the wall.

This would be so much easier if that hadn't happened.

“Toldja'.” Ambrose grunted, making Roman yelp as he jerked the shower curtain to one side so he could glare at him. Roman felt weirdly exposed, even though the other man had already seen every inch of him. “Ain't a door fuckin' made that I can't get through.”

“The door was locked for a reason, Ambrose!”

“An' I unlocked it for a reason.” Dean retorted. “Man, I can't fuckin' believe ya' ass. Hoppin' in the fuckin' shower and you ain't even invited me.” He whipped the curtain closed again. “M' comin' in anyways. Need it more n' you do. I showered ya' yesterday.”

“I don't shower with-”

“Ya' do now, bossy, so get used to it.”

“What about your stitches?”

“Fuck 'em.”

“Dean--”

“Don't ya' gimme' that shit. We're soulmates, yeah? Y' better get used to me bein' a pain in ya' fuckin' ass.” Ambrose pointed out. “I need ya' help anyways, can't scrub my back. How much shampoo do y' normally use? I only used a little bit yesterday but I dunno' if it was enough. We usually jus' use a bar of soap, s'been ages since I had t' use liquid shampoo.”

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Roman grunted, irritated but also somewhat disarmed. No one usually gave him this much trouble about anything.

Dean climbed in behind him and Reigns half-turned, jumping and going red when Ambrose gave him a playful swat on the small of his back. “I definitely got the better end of this bargain.” Dean grinned.

“Don't do that.” Roman ordered.

“Do what?” Dean's hands were back, framing Roman's hips. “Don't touch you? Don't fuckin' skim my fingers over ya' pretty fuckin' skin?” They moved up, roving curiously over Roman's tender shoulders.

“You're real free with the compliments, Ambrose. This how you get into everyone's pants?” Roman needled, trying to wiggle away from those greedy fingers. He had never been touched like that before and it was...strange. “How am I supposed to help you wash your back if you're behind me?”

“Fuck, ya' got a point. Alright.” Ambrose turned around reluctantly, backing underneath the spray of water and shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I ain't free with my compliments unless y' earn 'em, anyways.”

…

When Roman put his hands on his back, something happened. Dean wasn't sure what. Large fingers traced carefully over the scars on his shoulder blade, making him shudder. Lips pressed to the base of his neck. Dean Ambrose wasn't scared of goddamn anything, but this was making him reconsider getting into the shower. “That's not washin' my back, Reigns.” He finally said, a little breathlessly.

“Shut up.” Roman murmured. “If you're uncomfortable I'll stop.”

“I didn't say that.”

“So be quiet.”

“Can't, I'll explode.”

Roman made a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and Dean's whole body felt like someone had turned up the heat. Roman's hands left his back and Dean wasn't able to keep in a pitiful whimper. “Hey, you're the one who wanted me to wash your back, don't get all bent out of shape because I need to actually get something to wash you with.” Roman chided.

“Want ya' to touch me.” Ambrose admitted. “Normally I don't let anyone touch me.”

“Too busy moving?”

“Too dangerous.”

Soapy hands slid over his shoulders, kneading the skin there and making Dean's head loll forward, chin resting on his chest. The sound he made was pornographic and he felt more than heard Roman's chuckle. “I guess you really don't let anyone touch you, huh?”

“Mm, no.” Ambrose wasn't sure why he felt like he needed to tack on an I promise at the end, swallowing the urge. Soulmate or not, he wasn't anyone's property. Never had been, never would be. However, he could definitely get used to only Roman touching him. The larger man was deceptively gentle, scrubbing his back with a care that was totally foreign.

Roman's forehead came to rest at the nape of his neck. “They threw a bag over my head when I was in the elevator.”

It took Dean a second to catch up to what the fuck Reigns was talking about, his brain busy drifting away in a state of half-arousal.

“Threw a bag over my head and knocked me out. Helmsley said that me deciding his son was my soulmate would be best for business. I told him it didn't work that way.” Roman said quietly. “He didn't like that much at all.”

“What a fucker.” Dean grunted.

“I'm not going to say it was the absolute worst thing that could happen, you know? I understand that it would have been far less traumatizing to just agree to the terms, pretend Seth was my soulmate. Seth's not a bad guy at all, we've had some great conversations. His dad is just fucking crazy. But...” Roman inhaled shakily. “I wanted what my father has, what my uncles have. You should see the way my parents look at each other, Ambrose. Like they're each other's sun, moon and fucking stars. I...I wanted that more than anything in the world.” Dean wanted to scoff at how pathetic Roman sounded, but his heart was doing some weird shit in his chest. “So I declined Hunter's offer and accepted the consequences.”

“I mean, you got outta' there, so somethin' musta' gone tits-up.”

“Yeah.” Was all Roman said in reply, making Dean frown when he pulled back. Ambrose turned around, watching Reigns duck his head under the spray of the shower.

“Hey, I've kinda'...been through my fair share of shit, man. If uh. If there's anythin' I can do, any skulls y' need cracked, I'm your man.” I'm your man. Dean winced at his choice of words. I could be, I guess. It wasn't so bad if he admitted to to just himself.

The smile Roman gave him was small, but still there. “That's very kind of you.”

“Yeah, I'm offerin' outta' the goodness of my heart.” Dean jibed, making Roman laugh. “Not on account of the fact that I'm healin' an' I'm still itchin' t' fight. Some spoiled-brat business guy would probably suit my fists 'bout now.”

“And then sue your fists.” Roman said dryly. Dean snickered, which got Roman to smile again. Dean really, really liked it when he smiled, he was quickly realizing. Which had the potential to be...bad.

The real question here is, do I actually give a shit?

Roman yawned, stretching his arms up over his head and Dean leaned in to bump their foreheads together. There was an odd jitter in Dean’s vision and then he was suddenly back in Roman’s body, finishing his stretch. “Ugh, really?” Roman complained. “Of course, I just got clean.”

“Ah c’mon, s’not so bad.” Dean teased, stepping out of the shower and crossing his arms. “Now ya’ can slap my ass without me punchin’ ya’ in the face. Win win in my book, man.”

“I have never--“

“Better get used to it then, bossy. Because ya’ ass is designed for that shit.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him and Roman huffed. Dean turned around to look in the mirror, running a thumb over the grown-in stubble on his jaw. “Should probably wait until you’re back in the drivers seat as far as shavin’ goes. Ya’ look like this fuzz means somethin’ to ya’. Might be kinda’ funny t’ shave it all off though.”

Abruptly, Roman’s hand full-on walloped Dean’s ass cheek. Ambrose grunted, startled. Not really by the slap, but by the way the body he was in reacted to it. “Shit, Christ-“ He sputtered. “Damn Reigns, you’re really into that shit huh?”

“I’ll murder you if you shave my...wait, really into w--oh my God.” Roman put his hands over his face. Dean had never seen himself blush, so the visual of pink flooding his shoulders was a new one. “No, no no no I’ve never-”

“Uh oh, someone’s got a dirty little kink.” Dean smirked, rubbing his buttock and flinching as his cock twitched in interest. “Damn, ya’ gave me the fuckin’ heater on that pitch. Easy on th’ goods. You’re the one who’s gonna’ have t’ deal with this shit later.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bullshit.” Dean cut him off. “Don’t ya’ start lyin’ t’ me now, bossy. Now. I’m gonna’ raid your suitcase an’ borrow some clothes for ya’. Seein’ as my jeans are still all fucked up.”

…

The notion that he, he, Roman Reigns, might be interested (the way his cock looked indicated a little bit more than interested) in play that even bordered on rough was strange. Roman was immensely grateful that Dean didn’t make an attempt to touch his dick at all, the other man simply ignoring his cock until it softened. Roman didn’t know why it would bother him, but it did all the same. At least let him be in his own body if it was going to do embarrassing things like make his cock hard over a swat to the ass!

Roman was lost in thought, pulling on a tank top that was far too large for Dean's athletic frame while Ambrose tried to dry all his hair with a towel, the other man growling every couple of seconds that “this is fuckin’ stupid, jus’ put the shit in a ponytail or somethin‘.”

“That’s what you get for-” Roman paused mid-sentence as there was a loud series of knocks on the door to the room. “What? Who the heck could that be?” He finished tying his shoes and got to his feet, perplexed.

“Don’t look at me, man.” Ambrose grunted. Then, he shot up, dropping the towel and grabbing Roman’s hand. “Wait. Genius, what if it’s someone else comin’ t’ nab ya’?” Roman hadn’t even thought of that, his eyes going wide. Dean pushed him back into the bathroom and made a shushing motion. “Stay put an’ be quiet.” He whispered. “If they’re here for ya’, I ain’t rollin’ over without a fight. Sorry for any bruises on ya’ body, I'll try not t' wreck the paint.”

Roman watched with his heart in his throat as Dean crept to the door, looked through the peephole and then…

He shrugged and started undoing the deadbolt and chain. Ambrose opened the door carefully, seeming confused. “Can I-”

“Sweetheart, you’re alright!”

Roman cringed. Mom?!

“Roman, thank God.” His father was the first one through the door, wrapping Dean in a furious hug. “Where the hell is he? Did he hurt you? I know this is just another one of Hunter’s tricks!”

“I-I uh, y-you guys have th' wrong--” Ambrose stammered, attempting to peel Roman's mom and dad off him. “Roman? A little help here?” He called, his voice cracking. “I thought ya’ told them--”

Sika Reigns flung open the bathroom door and grabbed Roman by the front of his shirt, hauling him into the bedroom. “How much did Hunter give you, you piece of garbage?!” He roared.

“You stay away from my baby!” His mother was in tears, clinging to Dean like her life depended in it. It was strangely gratifying to see the lengths his parents would go to defend him. But not right now for fuck’s sake!

“Wait, wait guys hang on a sec.” Dean sounded a little shaken. “I…let us explain. I promise, I promise it ain’t a trick, please just let us explain.” He pleaded, “This is all my fault, don’t haul off on ya’ kid over me, shit. He’s been through enough crap wakin’ up in a body that looks like mine.”

“Roman, why-”

“I ain’t Roman, alright? I’m jus’ hangin’ out in his body. Roman’s camped in my shitshow. This…this is a lot for me t’ wrap my head aroun’ but he’s done good at explainin’.” He pointed at Roman, grimacing. “That’s Roman, ma’am. Ya’ might want to tell ya’ husband t’ ease off. Wait until I’m back in my body an’ I promise y’ can kick the crap outta’ me then.”

“I just might.” Sika growled. “Roman, is this true?”

“Papa, please-“ Roman hadn’t called his father Papa in years. He felt some of the fight ease out of Sika. “It’s me, I swear it’s me, ask me anything.” He begged, terrified that his father might do something like take Dean away and leave him stranded here.

“When you were very young, what toy did your brother Rosey throw away?” Sika asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Big Dog, it was Big Dog, he was a red and black checkered puppy. I was six.” Roman replied, his voice trembling. “Papa, I-”

“I’m not done.” Sika cut him off. “What did Hunter say to you right before I broke his damn jaw?”

“H-He said--”

“Sika, no, no.” Patricia sounded sad. “Don’t, ask him something else.”

“I need to know that this is Roman, 'Tricia.” Sika said firmly.

Roman didn’t want to repeat what Hunter had sneered at him. Especially not in front of Dean, who was just standing there awkwardly. “He said…he said, ‘Sika is so damn lucky, having you for a son. Strong, loyal, obedient. Too bad you’re so fucking stubborn, though. It’ll take time to retrain you, but I know you’ll make a great son-in-law.’ A-And then you came through the door and Hunter spat on me before you broke his jaw.” Roman swallowed hard. “I swear it’s me, Dad, Papa, please.”

Sika hauled him in for a hug, cupping the back of his head. “I’m so sorry. I had to be sure. Are you alright, Roman? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked worriedly, hand running over the short sandy-blond hair.

Roman closed his eyes and tucked his face down into his father’s shoulder, fighting back tears. “M’okay.” He mumbled.

...

Ambrose cleared his throat after a minute. “So uh. Hi there Mr. and Mrs. Reigns, my name is Dean Ambrose an’ apparently your son is stuck with me for um. The foreseeable future.” He wiggled his fingers in an odd waving motion. “How’s it goin’.

“I’m incredibly sorry about all this, dear.” Mrs. Reigns seemed the more level-headed of the two. “You have to understand, we only recently had some…problems with this.”

“I completely get it. Only a couple weeks out from some jerk tryin’ t’ hurt ya’ kid he supposedly finds his soulmate? I’d be suspicious too ma’am.” Dean figured it wouldn’t hurt to agree. “Promise ya’ though, it’s the real deal. I wouldn’t wish my busted up body on anybody an’ he’s handled it like a champ.” He said quietly.

“So you're his soulmate, huh?” Mr. Reigns mused, holding Roman at arms length so he could give him a visual once-over. “Look like you've been through the wringer, kid!”

“I'm aware.” Ambrose bit out. “Life ain't been kind t' me, sir.”

“Dad please, don't be rude. Christ.” Roman groaned. “We've been trying to get to know each other better.”

“I'll say, you put him in your clothes.” Mrs. Reigns pointed out, obviously teasing her son. Roman blushed, tugging at the hem of the tank top. “Have you tried switching back yet?”

“We were straightened out this mornin' but somethin' happened.” Dean tried to explain. “Not really sure, it was kinda' like I slid sideways an' then I was just. Roman again. Like cracking ya' back.”

“Get over here.” Mr. Reigns ordered. “Foreheads together.”

Dean obliged, a little scared of what might happen should he decide to not cooperate. Roman looked just as confused as he felt when their foreheads touched.

“Eyes closed, hands on each other's shoulders.”

“I don't see how this is gonna'-” Dean's voice changed mid-sentence and blue eyes flew open, locking with brown. “Damn.”

“Shit.” Roman seemed like he was breathless.

“That's better.” Mr. Reigns said approvingly. “That's my son, see the set of his shoulders? Our Roman.” He sounded ridiculously proud and Ambrose felt a sharp spike of envy for a second.

But Roman was suddenly kissing him like his parents weren't in the room, body crushing against his own in a hungry embrace that left Dean absolutely reeling. Reigns finally pulled away, stammering out an apology and then Ambrose grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him back just as hard.

“Sika, you shouldn't rush them!” Mrs. Reigns protested.

“Don't blame me! This is all them, 'Tricia.” Mr. Reigns chuckled fondly. “Remember when we met again?”

“How could I forget? You showed up to my all-important meeting with my hair an absolute mess, wearing a pantsuit of all things! I was mortified.”

“It was amazing.”

Mrs. Reigns rolled her eyes. “Boys, we're having dinner at six. We expect you to make an appearance.”

“Mmhm.” Roman mumbled into Dean's mouth, giving his parents a thumbs-up. Dean had no idea where the urgency in his stomach had come from, just that it was there and burning red hot. The door to the room closing sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears and Roman jerked back. “Shit, I uh...shit. I don't know why I did that.” He gasped. “Oh my God that's so embarrassing, I really hope they're not upset with me.”

“Ya' dad sounded like he was gonna' bust with pride, so I don't think so.” Dean grinned, tangling his hand back into Roman's hair. “Now, 'bout that mouth of yours, bossy.”

“I haven't really done much, I'm--”

“Bullshit, y' kissed th' air right out of my fuckin' lungs.” Dean was pretty sure his smirk was permanently etched onto his face. “Not a lot of people got what it takes t' shut me up, Reigns.” He slid his other hand into Roman's back pocket, making Roman snap immediately to attention.

“Dean, I've never...um.”

“I ain't rushin' ya'. Don't worry. Jus' wanted to touch.” Ambrose murmured, palming over Roman's ass through his slacks. “I know this is scary. We don't have t' do anythin' you're not ready for.”

“I mean. I...it doesn't feel bad. I'm just...I haven't with another guy, is all.” Reigns said awkwardly. “What if I hurt you or something?”

“I dare ya' to try an' hurt me.” Ambrose challenged, laughing a second later at the horrified expression on Roman's face. “M' kiddin', teasin'. I don't mind a little rough play in the bedroom but when you're ready, okay?”

“What do you mean by rough?”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever y' want, I guess. M' up for just about anythin'. I denied this part of me for most of my life, man. I'll take what I can get.”

“No no, I mean...” Roman covered his face with his hands, seeming flustered. “Dean you fight for a living, I seriously don't know what rough is to you.”

“Oh! Shit, s'good point. I uh. I mean, obviously I can take a little more punishment than the average Joe?”

Roman frowned. “But do you want that? Or are you tired of it?” Dean went still, his brow furrowing. Roman, as if he sensed his weakness, pressed on. “Would you rather something...I don't know, a little kinder when we...”

“I dunno'.” Ambrose said finally. “Are you willin' to do somethin' like that for me?”

“Absolutely.” Roman's tone was firm and it choked Dean up a little bit if he was being honest. “You're my o se tasi ma e na. I will cherish you. Like my father did my mother, my uncles and cousins their significant others. I'll do my best to give you anything you need.”

Yep, Dean was definitely going to cry.

Roman crooned quietly in his throat, pressing their mouths together again. It was gentle this time, like he was afraid of breaking Ambrose. Dean grabbed Roman's upper arms, stupidly worried that his legs were going to give out. “I...” His words got all twisted up in his mouth. There were so many things he wanted, so many things he needed.

“Shh, it's alright.” Roman murmured, “It's alright. You're allowed to want other stuff besides what you've already had.”

Dean hadn't been waiting for permission or anything like that (I'm not anyone's property), but it seemed to help just the same. Roman rubbed over the front of his pants and Ambrose was surprised to find out that he was already hard. When the hell had that happened?

Roman made a noise into his mouth like he was just as startled, pulling back. “Oh.” Reigns sounded breathless. “Can I...?”

“You can do whatever th' fuck ya' want just keep fuckin' touchin' me.” Dean said all in a rush. “Already told ya' I don't let people touch me but for fuck's sake please keep touchin' me, I don't even care if y' bossy.”

Roman unzipped the overlarge slacks Dean was wearing. They fit Reigns just fine but Dean was practically swimming in them, the waistband just barely hanging onto his narrow hips. “God you're thin.” Roman gulped immediately after speaking. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to. Uh. That was supposed to stay in my head.” He said hesitantly. “I'm...I'm going to take really good care of you, okay? No more being hungry. Not while you're with me.”

“What about Sami?” Dean challenged, suddenly realizing why he felt so guilty about this good shit happening to him. “I can't just--”

“Shh, easy. He took care of you for me. I'll get him whatever the hell he wants.” Roman promised, making a sad noise when Dean rubbed his eyes. “Are you...no no, don't cry, it's okay.”

“S'not fair.” Dean sniffled. “Y' jus' come in here an' say ya' gonna' fix everythin' like it's no big deal. I wanna' believe ya' an' I know it's gonna' kick my ass when ya' leave because you'll figure out there's some fuckin' mistake, like I ain't your one at all an' it hurts.” He wasn't prone to being overly emotional; it felt foreign to be this close to tears, words spilling out of him. “I wanna' be yours like I ain't never wanted anythin' else before an' I'm jus'...I'm so fuckin' scared that I'm gonna' wake up in that alley with Gage standin' over me again an' this is all jus' some fucked up dream. Good shit doesn't happen to me, man.”

“It's going to from now on.” Roman said softly. “Loʻu loto ma aiga.”

“I ain't got no fuckin' clue what th' shit ya' sayin'.” Dean replied, flustered and trying to distract himself from the way Roman was looking at him. Roman slowly knelt, hands framing Ambrose's hips. “Reigns, I--”

“Let me do this for you. After all, you're the one who has to suffer through dinner with my parents.” Roman pointed out, getting a watery snicker from Ambrose. “Sorry about them, by the way.”

“They seem nice. Like they love ya' a lot.” Dean wasn't trying to sound fucking wistful, but there it was. “Y' had a stuffed puppy, huh?”

Roman laughed, propping his forehead up on Dean's bare thigh. “Yeah. Big Dog. Rosey hid him in the trash because I was being a little shit. He wasn't going to actually throw him away or anything, but the garbage guy came while he was at school. Mom was so pissed when Rosey finally 'fessed up because I made her life absolute hell the whole day.”

“You, causin' trouble? I don't buy it.” Dean had to bite back a smile at the way Roman nonchalantly referred to a stuffed animal as a 'he'.

“You'd be surprised.”

Dean's fingers wound into Roman's hair again. “Surprise me, Reigns.” The groan that left his mouth at the first slow stroke Roman gave his dick was unintentional.

Roman looked up at him, seeming startled. “Dean...?”

“Ain't had anyone touch me in a while.” Dean quickly rasped. “Please.” Roman's smile made Dean's stomach drop out. “Wait, wanna'...wanna' touch ya'. Fuck, I need to. While y'...get up over me, I'm gonna' suck your dick while you let me fuck ya' fist.”

“Wh--what?” Roman sputtered, his reaction incredibly endearing.

Dean pulled him to his feet, kissing him hungrily while he fought with Roman's slacks. “On the bed, get on th' fuckin' bed. Need y' like this.” He wasn't sure if he was demanding or begging. Roman was obviously all for it though, quickly working on the buttons of his shirt while Dean pulled his large tank top off over his head. “Fuck, look at you, look at you. Fuckin' gorgeous.” Ambrose breathed. “Wakin' up in ya' body...I wasn't sure for a second if I'd fuckin' died an' I was reborn or some shit, y' so fuckin' pretty.” He said honestly.

“Dean, Christ.” Roman kissed him again, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His tongue pressed into Dean's mouth, licking his own inquisitively and Dean was fucking gone, groaning and shuddering while Roman's body pinned him down.

As Roman got into position over him all Dean could think was I do not fucking deserve this one bit but thank God that I'm getting it anyway, kissing the head of Roman's cock and surprising a sound out of the other man.

“A-Are you going to be okay? Not going to crush you, right?” Roman asked worriedly. Dean wasn't sure why the hell he'd kept his slacks on but nodded anyway. He silently appreciated the way the dark gray fabric stretched over Roman's thighs and framed his cock, which looked painfully hard at this point. When Dean took Roman into his mouth he felt Reigns' forehead impact his hip, the other man's breathing suddenly harsh. “Fuck.” Roman's hips twitched and Ambrose moved a hand down, grasping his own cock loosely. “Shit, shit, sorry, you're just...” Roman swatted his hand away and Dean made a noise of protest around Roman's dick.

Ambrose slid his hands into the back pockets of Roman's slacks, urging Roman to fuck his throat. This was something he was good at, dammit, Reigns should be taking advantage of his skills. But Roman seemed more focused on him, stroking his cock just fucking right. Dean thought he was going to come out of his skin when Roman's mouth closed tentatively around the head of his cock. He knew Roman didn't really know what the fuck he was doing but shit that was hard to remember with that fucking tongue on him.

“Oh, dammit-” He had to pull off for breath, Roman moaning in a way that sounded almost like a complaint when he did. “I know, m'sorry, gotta'...s'been a while.” Dean gasped, loving the way Roman's cock looked as it hung over him and twitched in his hand. Reigns' hips bucked ever so slightly. “Y' ever throat-fucked someone, Reigns?” Dean asked, swallowing hard when Roman shook his head. “Well that explains that shit, I guess.”

The larger man hadn't moved his forehead from Dean's thigh in a while, his breath washing over Ambrose's skin in fast pants. “I'm really close.” Roman confessed. “Can I try sucking you off?”

“Oh yeah, lemme' think about that obviously goddamn.” Dean slammed his fist down on the bed when Roman enthusiastically slurped up the side of his cock and then swallowed him down. “Fuck, Reigns, shit, fuck you gotta' be lyin'-” He choked out, “There's no way you ain't f-fuckin' done this before, I--shit.”

Dean wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Roman was smiling while he dragged all these embarrassing sounds from him. Fingers cradling his balls, tongue laving over the head of his cock and all the while those damn thick thighs slowly rocking his cock down into Dean's mouth. “Is that good?” Roman gasped finally, a strand of spit stretching from his lower lip to the head of Dean's dick. Ambrose was pretty sure that he'd never been more turned on in his life.

“'Is that good', he fuckin' asks. Like y' can't feel me fuckin' shakin' underneath ya' about t' go off in ya' fuckin' mouth.” Dean rasped, his hips jerking up. “Yes it's fuckin' good, Roman, fuck, fuck's sake-”

“Are you going to come?”

“Y' can't fuckin' tease me like that.” Dean protested. “I-if y' ask me, it's--”

“Because I'm going to come, and--” Roman swallowed hard, Dean watching in fascination as his stomach shuddered with the motion of his breath. “Wanted you to come. O-on my face.” Roman finished hurriedly.

Dean's teeth punctured his lower lip. “What? Why?”

Roman shrugged, flushing. “Just...someone asked me to do it to them once and they looked so...fucked out when I did, I wanted to know how it felt. If you think it's weird--”

“Hell no, hell no. Get ya' hair outta' the way, I will fuckin' oblige the shit outta' ya'.” Dean growled. “Roll onto ya' back, get ya' hair outta' the way. I will come on ya' fuckin' face whenever th' hell you want.”

Roman climbed off and laid on his back, laughing breathlessly when Dean tapped his cock down onto his cheek. “Should I still...?”

“I think I've got it from here. Damn, ya' fuckin' good lookin'.” Dean groaned. “Touch y'self for me, huh?” He bit his lip as Roman dragged his fingers down his torso, the larger man finally taking his cock in hand and hissing out a breath. Dean stroked his dick slowly, wanting to prolong the pretty sight in front of him. “That's right, make y'self feel good for me.”

“Christ, I...” Roman's voice cracked and he swallowed, seeming nervous. “I dreamed about you every night, you know. Since Dad moved me here after what happened.”

“Didja'? What'd I do in ya' dreams?” Dean asked curiously.

“Kissed me, mostly.”

“'Mostly', huh?” Dean's grin felt predatory but he couldn't be fucked to fix it. “Don't suppose I fucked ya', did I? Maybe I came on ya' face? Woke ya' up all fuckin' hot n' bothered in the night?”

“Dean, Jesus--” Roman's expression was all Dean needed for confirmation. Roman tilted his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat as his shoulders dropped with a quivering sigh. The picture was just...too much for Dean. The visuals, the fact that this was his now, Roman was his--

“Close y' fuckin' eyes m'gonna' come.” Dean said through gritted teeth, groaning loudly when Roman wrapped his fingers around Dean's and stroked him in tandem, urging him on. “God, fuck, fuck--” Ambrose grunted, his whole body shivering as he came. The sight of Roman covered in his come shouldn't have been such a raging turn-on for him but then Roman snarled and painted his own abdomen with his release and yeah, yep, that sound he made was fucking hot.

Dean collapsed on his back beside Roman, both of them breathing too hard to speak. Roman finally started laughing. “Was that too weird? I feel like it might have been too weird.” He asked.

“Fuck no, I'll let ya' ass know when shit gets too weird.” Dean replied. “That was...shit, that was fuckin' nice. Anyone ever told ya' you're a natural?”

Roman laughed harder at that, fumbling in the sheets for the tank top so he could wipe his face and stomach off. “Christ, I've never done anything like that before. That was wild. You're a bad influence.”

“Maybe next time you'll get ya' pants all the way off.” Dean teased, getting Roman to flush. “We'll work on it.”

“How about we order something God awful for us and we can try again? Dinner is...kind of a ways away.” Reigns looked hopeful but wary, like he wasn't sure that Dean would want literally anything and everything he was willing to share.

Ambrose rolled on top of him, kissing him hungrily. Roman responded after a second, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and rolling his hips up into Ambrose's smoothly. Neither of them were hard but it still felt so fucking good that Dean sighed into Roman's mouth. “That's an excellen' fuckin' plan, Reigns.” He whispered.

Roman tilted Dean's head down, pressing his lips carefully to the skin a safe distance from the stitches before offering the other man a grateful smile. “Glad you think so.”

(Translation Note: 'O se tasi ma e na': One and only. 'Loʻu loto ma aiga': My heart and home/family.)

#dean ambrose #roman reigns/dean ambrose #roman reigns #dean ambrose smut #roman reigns smut #soulmate!AU #business!Reigns #poor!Ambrose #this got out of hand as always #thirst party saturday #ambreigns #ambreigns AU

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Only One

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Chris Jericho/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome aboard once again! And welcome to my first shot at writing the gift that is Jericho! Tagging our usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes and of course, Captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

!TRIGGER WARNING!: This will contain a few allusions to significant (around twenty years) difference in age.

‘The List of Jericho.’

It was perfect. The lettering on the back was precise, the metal of the clipboard polished to a silver sheen. He would start off with ten sheets of the nicest lined paper he could get his hands on, and a pen that felt good to write with.

Chris Jericho was a man on a mission, accosting interns and stagehands and demanding to try their pens. Where else did you get pens these days, really? Kevin had rolled his eyes at his antics but what did he know?

Finally. After what felt like months (and was probably only three days or so) one pen scribbled across his test page and he stopped dead. Perfect. He wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it. The interns and stage hands were apparently tired of his search and had started hiding their pens from him, or offering him inferior ballpoints. But this one. It sang on the page, the ink cobalt blue and vibrant. Jericho was hooked.

The List grew quickly, as the hunt for the perfect pen had hindered its advancement. Chris had the feeling that he would be doling out punishment for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t really paying attention to how fast he was burning through ink, until one night the pen ran dry as he was trying to write Tom Phillips in. Panic struck him. Without the pen, his List was nothing!

A hand suddenly snatched the pen from his grasp and Jericho made a despondent noise.

“So that’s where my pen went! What the heck, Mr. Jericho?” It was one of the stage hands. Chris could never remember their names, all of them blurring together into a mass of black polo shirts and coffee cups with his name on them. “And of course, you wrote it empty. Great. Now I have to get another one. Like having to borrow pens from everyone else for a week wasn’t bad enough.” She grumbled.

Jericho perked up. “Get another one? Where? How much? Can I give you like. Money and you can get me more of those pens?”

“Considering the fact that you stole this one, no. Get one of the other guys to do it.” She snapped angrily.

Oh. I have to apologize if I want anything done. Chris cringed. He wasn’t particularly fond of apologizing. The idea of him doing anything that would actually require an apology was pretty laughable. “I uh. I’m sorry. I don’t actually know where I got ahold of that pen. I promise I didn’t lift it off you. I would remember.” A little flattery never hurt anyone. “It just writes so well, and I needed the perfect pen for my List.”

She huffed, but Jericho noticed her cheeks pinking up. “…how many of them do you need?” She asked finally, crossing her arms over her chest.

Chris blinked. He hadn’t expected her to cave so quickly. Still got it, Jericho! “How big of a pack do they sell them in?”

“I think they have ten packs-”

“Get me six of those. I’ll…here hang on.” Chris dug his wallet out of his tight jeans. “How far away is the store, I’ll factor in gas.”

She looked at him, seeming bewildered. “You want sixty pens?”

“You’re right, shit. More than that. Just…if they’ll sell you a whole box, get me that. I need these pens, man.” Chris appreciated her intelligence. Obviously she understood the importance of his List. “How soon can you get them? Can you get them tonight? Or do you have to still do chairs and all that?”

“I-I should be able to run out real quick. We’re set for chairs and matting the area. I’ll definitely be back before you’re called, okay?” She replied, flinching when Jericho grabbed her hand and pressed a few crumpled fifty dollar bills into it. “Oh, this is way too much Mr. Jericho, they’re only like-”

“You’re doing me a huge favor, just hurry.” Chris said impatiently. “Unless you want me to put you on the List too!”

She cracked a smile at that and Chris felt his stomach do an odd backflip. “Oh no, oh hell no. That’s a fate worse than death. I’ll be back with your pens. And your change.”

She returned within the hour, a little out of breath when she showed up with a large box and a coffee at he and Kevin’s shared dressing room. Chris was thrilled, there were even different colors! Imagining the possibilities, the fresh new organization of his List, he balanced the box and coffee on one arm and shook her hand fervently. “Thank you.” He was half-surprised that he actually meant it.

“It wasn’t any trouble. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” She apologized, her smile a little more sheepish this time. “Having a kind of tough day.”

“What happened?” Chris had no idea why the hell he asked that, what did he care?

She waved him off anyway. “I won’t bore you with that crap. Receipts and change are in the box. Enjoy your pens. Don’t steal any more of mine, okay?”

“Absolutely not. I…thank you.” Jericho didn’t understand why he felt awkward. “I uh. I hope the rest of your night goes a little better.”

“Thank you! Um, good luck. With your list.”

It wasn’t until after the show that Jericho, gathering up his personal items, realized that she’d ordered herself a coffee as well when she got him one. Huh. He studied the receipt, not sure why at first. Chris clicked his fresh pen in his hand a few times, then flipped to the last page on his clipboard and began to write.

…

The look on her face when he sought her out on the following Monday was incredibly gratifying. Chris felt warm all over as she stammered and accepted the cup of coffee. “How’d I know your order? It’s a secret. I know everything.” He grinned.

One of the other stage hands hollered at her to “stop flirting and get a move on!”, his loud voice making her jump.

“S-Sorry, I have to-” She started to apologize but Chris was already clicking a new pen. The ink in it was red as Raw and he shuffled his papers around until he found a bit of free space.

“What’s that guy’s name.”

“Mr. Jericho-”

“What’s. His. Name.” Chris was confused at his own angry reaction but figured he’d roll with it. His instincts were usually pretty decent.

“Gary, but you don’t-”

“Hey Gary!” Jericho called loudly, making the other man look up. With a wide flourish of his arm Chris gestured down at his List. “You just made the List, buddy!”

Gary shook his head, grunting something under his breath and stomping off. “He’s one of the senior stage hands, Mr. Jericho. You probably shouldn’t have upset him.” She said quietly.

“He shouldn’t have interrupted me! And neither should you, I was in the middle of doing something.” Chris attempted to sound stern as he continued writing ‘Gary’. “I told you, I’ll put you on here if you don’t watch it.”

“Oh no, don’t put me on the List. Oh gee.” Her sarcastic tone made Chris grin. When he looked up and saw her smiling too, his stomach flip-flopped oddly. She cleared her throat after a second, dropping her eyes to the coffee in her hand. “Thank you again for the coffee, Mr. Jericho. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Jericho tried for his usual cocky smirk, but it felt a little too soft. He turned on his heel and headed off, loosening his scarf around his neck as he left.

…

It occurred to him as he was preparing for the show that he might…just might, have an...interest.

“An interest that is not entirely platonic.” Kevin deadpanned from the couch in their dressing room. “In layman’s terms, you’re into her.”

Jericho huffed at him, straightening out his jacket. “What would you know, you’re wifed up.” He pointed out childishly. “So I get her coffee sometimes, what’s the big deal?”

“You know her order by heart and you almost ripped that guy at the Tim Hortons in half because he fucked it up. Which means you’ve tasted her order before, if only to ensure quality. You put the drink guy and that Gary guy that you said yelled at her on your List.” Kevin rattled off, looking bored.

“I put a lot of people on the List!” Jericho protested.

“Mm, but not dumb, random people.” Kevin leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Face it, you’ve got it bad.”

“I didn’t ask you, did I?”

“Don’t have to. We’re partners. I know these things.” Owens yawned, ever the picture of insolence. “You’re also an open book. You’d think that after being in this business for so long you would have learned how to act a little better. I grew up watching you and I thought you were a badass. But now…”

“I’m sorry I don’t enjoy stifling my existence like you do, Owens.” Chris replied haughtily, focused on wrapping his scarf just right so it wouldn’t fall off.

“It’s not stifling it, I’m kinda’ private is all. Everyone doesn’t need to know my business. They’re not really here for me anyway, they’re here for an angry guy who yells a lot and gets frustrated.” Kevin shrugged. “That’s not me all the time, but that’s what they’re here for. I’m not saying it’s bad that you’re interested in someone, Chris. It’s just...out of character. You’ve got the rockstar look and personality, but none of the games behind it.”

“Tell me how you really feel Kevin, yikes.”

“Okay, I think you need to go ask her out before something happens. I don't want to deal with you hang-dogging around and cluttering up our List with boyfriends that aren't even yours.” Kevin said plainly, giving Chris's shoulder a shove. It wasn't exactly a fond gesture, but Chris knew that he meant well.

Probably.

…

Jericho realized what Owens was talking about, seconds too late. He stood in the doorway of the bar, pretty sure that his face was an unfortunate shade of purple.

He had spotted her backstage earlier in the night, and his stomach had clenched because she wasn't wearing the usual black polo. Instead, she wore a shirt he knew far too well, the black one with the red raised fist that stated RAW IS JERICHO in blocky lettering. He'd meant to say something, but Kevin needed to speak with him and then he lost sight of her. And now he was too late, too damn late. She sat at the bar, smiling and laughing with one of her male coworkers. She looked so good wearing his merch. She had no right to torment him like this, what the heck had he ever done to her?!

Oh, the pen thing. He cringed. I did kind of say I was sorry, should have put more effort into it. Chris made up his mind. He was Chris goddamn Jericho! The Lion Heart! Master Of A Thousand And Four fucking Holds! He wasn't about to be upstaged by some hipster kid half his age, probably drinking wheat tea or some shit like that. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he all but swaggered to the bar and sat down on the barstool beside her. “Come here often, gorgeous?” He asked, barely able to keep a straight face when she quickly turned around.

“Chris! Um, I mean Mr. Jericho. H-How are you?” She twiddled her fingers, seeming flustered. “I...I didn't expect to see you here.” Her coworker, obviously understanding that he was outmatched, bid her goodnight and gave Jericho a knowing wink over her head.

Chris barely resisted the urge to snarl at the other man, hastily redirecting his attention to her. “You can call me Chris, if you want. I won't tell.”

“I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have...that was really unprofessional of me.” She apologized.

Jericho chuckled. “I think I busted through that issue when I started picking up coffee for you, princess.” He pointed out, “I'm not exactly the most professional guy on the roster. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you. I...I try not to be star-struck. I think I did pretty good, all things considered. I...” She paused when Jericho's hand landed on her knee, swallowing hard. “Sorry about the shirt. I've had it for ages.”

“Why the heck are you apologizing?” Chris asked, genuinely puzzled.

“It's like a cry for attention, Mr. Jericho. Super unprofessional! I just...” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt for a second. “I like being noticed every once in a while, you know?”

“Who doesn't notice you? They're going on my List.” He threatened.

Her grateful smile made his throat tighten. “You're so sweet. Thank you, Mr. Jericho.”

“Just call me Chris from now on, okay? Because if you keep calling me Mr. Jericho after this beautiful talk we’ve had, I’m gonna’ put you on the List.” When the hell had his voice dropped into that lower register?

“…Alright. Chris.” She said his name slowly this time, like she was savoring it.

Chris felt a shiver traipse down his spine and he barely kept from raking a hand through his hair. He hadn’t had it long enough to do that in years, why the heck would he return to that now?

They sat at the bar for quite a while, talking about damn near everything. She gave him numerous openings to talk about himself and he was only too happy to oblige, recapping year after year spent in the professional wrestling and musician ranks.

“I’ve always wanted to do this, you know. I mean, not work backstage necessarily, but I wanted to learn from the ground up. I know a lot of people think that as long as they’re physically fit they have a shot and they just don’t get it, you know? It’s about so much more than the stunts. Nothing would happen if it wasn’t for the road crew, for the tech guys and the makeup girls. Coming in at the lowest level made me appreciate that.” She spoke with such conviction, practically rambling when he asked her why she’d gotten into the business.

Jericho was abruptly reminded of a much younger him forcing Goldberg into a front facelock for insulting his mother. He’d felt passion like that once, like traveling to the next city and the itch under his skin to compete, to learn and grow and show everyone what he could do was everything, was the only thing.

Somewhere along the way though, something had happened. Shit, now he couldn’t even buy his own pens. Coffee was a necessary struggle but that didn’t stop him from abandoning one drive-thru in search of another if the line was deemed too long. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe he had gotten soft. Jericho wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

She seemed to notice how quiet he’d gotten, a gentle hand covering his own on the bar. “Hey, did I say something wrong? Am I being annoying?”

“No no! Sorry, shit. It’s not you.” Chris tried for his confident smirk but he was pretty sure it looked like a grimace. “I just...headache, you know how it is.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I should probably let you get some sleep then. I didn’t mean to keep you this long, anyway. You ought to know better than let me talk.” She joked.

Chris shook his head, holding her hand in his own. “I like listening to you. I’ve had a great time tonight.” The fact that he kept meaning the shit that came out of his mouth was both confusing and relieving. He’d felt fake for so long that it seemed normal.

She went bright red, stammering something that he didn’t catch when Chris pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Jericho stood, straightened out his coat and offered her his arm. “May I walk you to your car, madame?”

…

He didn’t expect it, which should have made it hurt so much more. But as Kevin stood over his body putting on that show of rage that only he could sell, Jericho just felt numb. Zayn had warned him. He’d warned him with that sad look in his eyes, one of his shoulders dipped lower than the other.

“Kevin doesn’t have friends anymore, Jericho.”

Chris had wanted to believe he was different. He was obviously a better choice than Sami, that was why Kevin had latched onto him. It definitely wasn’t because he was stupid or easily manipulated. Nope.

Tears burned his eyes as he made his way backstage, shoving past people in a useless bid to escape Kevin’s harsh actions. All his things were in the hotel room he and Kevin shared, and of course Kevin had the damn key. Chris wanted to scream in frustration. He was hurt and tired and he just wanted to go to bed and forget this terrible fucking day, this absolutely shit day.

“Chris?”

Of course. Jericho closed his eyes for a second, one hand still on the door to the outside as he sucked in a breath. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” She was worried. That shouldn’t have made him angrier but so soon after what had happened it hit Jericho like a slap to the face.

“Fuck you! 'Are you okay?' Of course I ain’t okay! Get bent princess!” He exploded, whirling on her like a cornered animal. The door was right fucking there, he could leave. “I thought he was my best friend! I let him play me like a goddamn violin! Do you have any idea how pissed off I am right now?! Do you?!” He didn't know when he'd gotten so close to her, practically crushing her to the wall with his body. “Have you ever had something like this happen to you? Please, fucking inform me why the hell I would be okay right now!”

“Chris, I...” She wouldn't look him in the eye so he jerked her chin up.

“Fucking answer me.” Chris demanded. He knew he wasn't actually mad at her, but shit, it made him feel a little less furious if he pretended he was. He would willingly beat the shit out of Owens. He would never hurt her. It helped. Barely.

When she did finally make eye contact with him though, Chris felt like he'd been bounced off the apron again. She didn't look scared, thank God, just nervous. Concerned. “Chris?” She asked softly.

“Shit, I...I'm sorry.” He apologized, lifting his hands and moving to step away. Her arms wrapped around his waist, tugging him back in against her. One of her hands cupped the nape of his neck, the other curled up on the small of his back. She was hugging him.

“Do you have someplace to stay for the night?” She asked softly after a few minutes of silence.

Chris shook his head no. It was taking most of his strength to keep from slumping over and pinning her to the wall in the process. His temper had evaporated, leaving him bone-weary and more than a little ashamed of himself. “Kevin has the key to our room.”

“Here. Take mine. It's nothing fancy, but you can at least sleep some of this off.” She offered, fumbling for her wallet and pulling her hotel keycard out. “You're lucky. I usually have to share a room with someone.”

“N-No, I can't--” Jericho wanted to protest, wanted to drive over to that goddamn hotel and camp in the hallway next to his fucking room until Owens showed up. “Princess, I can't do that to you. I'll be alright.”

“Like hell you will, you're distraught and you're obviously not thinking clearly. I have a spare key, I'm not going to be back in for a while at the rate that this show is going.” She planted her palms on his chest and carefully pushed him towards the door. “Now go. Before some other stupid bullshit happens.”

…

Her hotel room only had one bed. Jericho felt dumb, obviously he should have gathered that. He really, really wanted to shower, but the idea of putting his dirty clothes back on made him grimace. Maybe he could wash his boxers in the sink or something, dry them with the blow dryer. It seemed almost barbaric. He hadn't had to do that in ages, usually armed with a suitcase full of clean clothes.

Chris opened the door to the bathroom and stopped dead at the sight of the bright goddamn red, lacy panties that hung over the shower curtain rod. The matching bra beside them just added to the processing time. Well, that's something to think about. He blinked, hand reaching for the panties before he could stop himself. They're fucking small. Cute. I should not be touching these.

Jericho snatched up the bra and draped both items over the towel rack hastily, feeling unnaturally worried that someone might see him. He was a grown ass man for fuck's sake! Couldn't a grown man pick up a set of underwear? An attractive set of underwear? That should be attached to an equally attractive woman, preferably so he could take it back off? Fuck, stop it! Chris scolded himself, stripping his shirt off over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

His hot shower soothed away some of the aches and pains in his body and reminded Jericho that he was fucking exhausted. He barely had the energy to move from his comfortable position against the shower wall, stumbling out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and gave his boxers a once-over in the sink, having to shake himself awake a few times even as he did it. Usually he didn't feel his age but tonight he was painfully reminded, head and lower back pounding in tender sync. Chris stared dully at himself in the mirror for a minute, hands full of sopping-wet boxer shorts.

“Go to bed, man.” He finally said aloud, waving off his reflection and fumbling with the hair dryer. His boxers were maybe a little damp when he was done, but he just could not stay upright for any longer.

He vaguely remembered that she came in at some point well after midnight, the shaft of soft light from the hallway momentarily rousing him. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.

“Shh, it's just me.” Lips pressed to his bare shoulder. “I got your things. Sleep.” A warm body curled around his in a gentle embrace. “Sleep, Chris. You're safe here.”

…

Chris woke up the next morning with a numb arm, but he couldn't bring himself to move it. She looked so content with her head pillowed on his bicep, her breathing slow and quiet. Had she really said he was safe last night, like...like she really cared about him?

Jesus Christ, she was maybe half his fucking age. Little more. His morning wood didn't give a shit but his brain sure as hell did, seeming to wake the fuck up for once and reprimand him for being a goddamn creep. Jericho winced. The hum started without his intent, all too familiar words floating to the surface of his mind. Here I am, I'm in the wrong bed again...

Chris's lips twitched and then he carefully tucked an errant strand of hair back behind her ear, unable to help the rueful smile that crossed his face. She stirred, frowning in her sleep and moving even closer to him. Her shirt slid off her shoulder and Jericho swallowed hard at the sight of a red bra strap, fingers already on their way over before he realized it. Snapping bra straps hadn't been his thing for years but shit if this one didn't demand it.

“You're an asshole.” She murmured, opening one eye to glare at him.

Jericho didn't really expect the burst of laughter that came out of him, but he was in bed with a beautiful woman probably half his age and he felt pretty good despite everything. He shushed her, rubbing over the irritated skin with his thumb. “Je suis désolé, m' sorry. I had to.”

“Mm, get fucked.” She replied, grabbing the waistband of his boxers over his hip and slingshotting the elastic back at him. Chris yelped, trying to squirm away as she crooked her fingers into claws and started tickling him. “This is what you get for waking me up, you dick!”

“Mercy! Uncle, uncle!” He begged through his laughter, trying to grab her hands as she flung herself at him.

“I went over last night with Sami and we got your things.” She said quietly after he managed to get her tangled in the sheet. “Zayn was livid. I thought he was going to tear Kevin apart at the venue.” She twiddled her fingers beneath the sheet. “Sami says he hopes you're alright, and that he's sorry.”

“He warned me, y'know. Told me. Not like I hadn't seen their match, but still. I walked into that situation fully aware. I just...I thought I was smarter than Zayn.” Jericho admitted.

She 'tsk'ed, rolling to look at him. “Pride goeth before a fall and all that.” She reached over the edge of the bed, grabbing his familiar silver clipboard. “Here, I picked it up during the break so that it wouldn't get thrown away.”

Chris took the clipboard from her, feeling more than a little pitiful. “Why the heck are you being so nice to me?” He asked plainly. “I'm obviously an asshole. I just...I don't get it is all. Sorry.”

“You just had the crap kicked out of you by a guy who you thought was your best friend! I think I'm allowed to be nice, even to an asshole like you.” She pointed out.

Jericho's tightening grip on the clipboard made the metal creak weakly. He didn't know what the hell to do with himself. She just kept looking at him, radiating kindness and worry and Chris didn't mean to lean in. He really didn't. He told himself to get the fuck up, get out of the bed and leave, leaveleaveleave because this was bad, so bad. There was no way that this could end well.

Then she kissed his forehead, smiled at him, and got up.

Just like that.

Like it was easy. Simple.

“I have to get ready for the next town, answer some emails, but you're welcome to go back to sleep. I know you're probably still exhausted. I'll wake you up when it's closer to when we need to check out. I um. I guess you're riding with me? Or is your and Kevin's rental in your name?” She asked.

Oh, right. Chris had almost forgotten. “It's in my name. Check your rental back in and we'll take mine, save you some cash.” He refused to take no for an answer, silencing her with a pompous hand motion and then rolling over to snuggle back into the blankets.

…

She wouldn't let him drive and Chris was secretly grateful. He still put up a fight. He didn't really need to be coddled, damn it, he would be alright. He'd taken worse bumps than what Kevin had put him through.

It was nice though, to be able to sit in the passenger seat and listen to music, absently doodling on his List as the miles trekked by. Kevin always had something to say and it wasn't often that Jericho could just prop his chin up on his hand and think without being interrupted sixteen times.

She stopped to get lunch at some healthy place that boasted 'paleo and vegan options!' on the plate glass window out front. It was entertaining when they both realized that what that meant to the person making the menu was...salad. Lots of salad. She couldn't stop giggling as Jericho read through, no word of a lie, twenty-eight different variations on the standard rabbit food, ranch dressing-drenched fare.

Her laugh was...it was nice. He could definitely get used to hearing it. Could get used to a few other things, if he was being honest. Her knees kept bumping his beneath the table, her sneakers ending up on top of his comfortable boots and Jesus, Jesus he could definitely live with more of this. Chris had no idea how the hell he was supposed to act, she wasn't really being flirty. Not like how he was used to, anyway. She was being more...shit, like they were already a couple. Like they'd already dealt with that first date hurdle and were comfortable with one another.

Well, we did kind of share a bed. Jericho grimaced inwardly. She beckoned him close after they ordered, asking for his phone and then quickly taking a selfie of the two of them.

“Post it, let's make that asshole jealous.” She grinned mischievously at him. Chris's insides felt like someone lit them on fire, his whole body going hot at that cocky little smirk.

Oh I'm in big trouble.

She didn't seem to mind when he snagged some of the little oranges from her salad, or when he leaned in a little closer than he needed to after she pulled up a video on her phone. Chris pushed his luck and placed a kiss on her knuckles as they stood to leave, gratified when a flush rose on her cheeks and she shyly looked away.

Never let it be said that Chris Jericho was not a man of action, regardless of whether that action was going to earn him a beating or something more...entertaining.

…

Chris didn't have a match that night, thank God. He was distracted enough pacing back and forth in the arena hallway, clicking a pen nervously. He was her ride back to the hotel and yeah, he might have gotten there a little early, but it's not like it mattered.

So he was worried. Fine. It didn't matter. He was worried about Owens pulling something and it was driving him insane. Fine. It didn't matter. Besides, erring on the side of caution wasn't a bad idea.

It didn't matter.

The surge of relief he felt when he saw her making her way towards him was short-lived. “A couple of us are planning on going out for drinks, do you want to come?” She asked, sounding hopeful.

Jericho cringed, gripping the pen and his List tightly. It's a game I just can't win. “Nah, I'll pass. Do you still need a ride?”

She nodded, looking let-down. “I need to change, anyways.”

And that was how Chris found himself subjected to helping zip her into a cute, tight little black dress before she headed back down to the lobby bar. Jericho sat down on the bed after she left, heaving a sigh. He flipped to a fresh page on the List and began to write.

The bartender.

Whoever invited her out.

For being the guy hell-bent on it not mattering, it sure as shit seemed to matter quite a bit. Chris's brow furrowed angrily. He scribbled over the words, ripping the page with his efforts. Kevin was right and that pissed him off. He would fill the damn List with pointless, normal people and what the hell was the good in that? So he could feel better about being too much of a idiot to ask her out when he had the chance?

Jericho shook his head at himself, got to his feet and slipped his jacket on. He'd waited long enough on this. Shit, he should have asked her out the first time he got her coffee, never mind coming in at the eleventh fucking hour when some other guy had probably asked her on a date.

He felt like a stupid idiot as he pressed the button for the elevator and waited in the hallway, his hands in his pockets. Shit, maybe the stairs would be quicker. Was the elevator broken?

The doors finally slid open with a soft ding and Chris whipped back around from staring contemplatively at the stairwell. He was greeted by the sight of Kevin Owens, whose eyes widened when he saw Chris. Jericho snarled, lunging into the elevator and tackling the other man. Kevin's back hit the opposite side of the elevator, mashing random buttons.

Chris rained blows on the Universal Champion's head, yelling a blue streak in a mixture of half-assed French and heartfelt English as the elevator rolled down and then came to a halt at the floor below. Kevin fumbled to escape the older man's onslaught to no avail; the elevator doors slid shut again. Owens finally got free of Jericho when the doors opened to the foyer, bolting over him and sprinting to the bar. Chris picked himself up, furious that Owens might escape him in the dimly lit area.

“Owens you get your ass back out here!” He shouted as he stormed into the bar, “Get back out here and fight me like a man, you punk!”

“I don't think so Chris, I've got your little girlfriend!” Kevin replied, sounding positively triumphant as he wrangled the woman in question off her barstool. “Ta pu-”

“She'll kick your ass too, you stupid idiot!” Chris raged, cutting the other man off before he could finish. “Don't call her that, don't you dare call her that!”

“I'll call her whatever the fuck I w--!” Kevin's smirk was wiped off his face when she got a hand free and delivered a punch that looked like it rattled his teeth.

“Let me go!” She snapped, pulling back for another strike. Owens, clearly not expecting the level of resistance he was getting, all but threw her at Jericho and then sprinted past him to the stairwell. Chris barely managed to catch her, knocked off balance himself by the force Kevin had put behind his shove.

“Christ. You okay?” He panted. “You pack a mean wallop, princess, how's your wrist?”

“What the hell was that about?!” She asked, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal as she completely ignored his own question. “Chris, what the ever-loving--jeez!” Her hands rested on his chest, shaking just a little bit.

Chris didn't know whether it was the adrenaline talking, or maybe he was just sick and tired of everything crashing down on him, but he crushed her body against his own and proceeded to kiss her until he was breathless. “Are. You. Okay.” He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Yeah I...yeah.” She replied softly, looking dazed. “You just...”

“Yeah.” There was a sinking feeling clawing at his chest, but he kept her pressed tightly to him. “I was coming down here to tell you and then he was in the--”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him back. Chris was dimly aware of a few wolf-whistles and cheers from her coworkers, but he couldn't be fucked to pay attention to them. All he could focus on was how soft her lips were against his own; her whole body molded to his like it was meant for him, fuck.

“We have to go to the room.” Chris breathed. She didn't reply and he forcibly pulled back, shaking his head to clear it. “Fuck. Fuck. C'mon, princess.” He grabbed her hand, his heart pounding loud in his ears as her fingers willingly laced with his own. “Get your ass into that elevator.”

Pinning her against one of the side walls in the elevator was a strategic move, Chris decided. It meant that if Kevin reared his ugly head, she would be protected by his body. Also she made fantastic noises as he kissed up her neck, which was a great bonus. “Fuck, Chris, p-please.” She moaned, her fingers raking down the back of his jacket.

“I've got you sweetheart, I've got you.” Jericho murmured, unable to keep from arching his back. The motion pushed their hips together and she whimpered, hands flying to his belt buckle. “Whoa whoa, easy. In the room. Owens is still around, I want you safe.” Chris caught her hands, kissing her knuckles and smiling at her. “I'm gonna' keep you safe, princess.”

She looked up at him and Chris almost lost his control. Her hair was just a tiny bit mussed, her lips kiss-swollen and slightly parted. Her tight dress had moved an inch or two up, exposing a little more skin. She looked delicious and Chris wanted to devour her right then and there, unable to keep from pressing her back against the metal wall and kissing her hard. If this was the universe's way of making Kevin's treachery up to him, he could definitely live with it.

The elevator doors opened and Jericho jerked upright, but the hallway was deserted. He still didn't breathe easy until the door to their room closed behind him. Then, oh then...

She dropped to her knees without him saying a damn thing and Jericho couldn't help the approving noise he made as she undid his belt. “That's right, princess, you know what you want. You've always known, right?” He said, unable to keep from chuckling when he noticed her blushing. “Take what you want.”

“You're not fair, you know that?” She asked, her voice a little breathy.

“You don't get far in life by being fair, princess.”

“Good to know.” She unzipped his pants and fumbled with his boxers for a second before freeing his cock. Chris's fingers wound into her hair, stroking the soft strands appreciatively. Her lips pressed to the head of his cock, kitten licks teasing the head of it while Jericho hissed in a breath. It had been a while since he'd let anyone get near his dick. “Don't stick your cock in crazy,” had served him well over the years, almost as well as his pickup lines.

“Ever been put in the Walls Of Jericho?” He asked her suddenly, watching her brow furrow in confusion. “It's a memorable experience. You'll really feel it in your lower back and stomach when I'm on top of you, princess.”

She started laughing, getting to her feet. “You're ridiculous.” She said with a smile as she wiggled his jeans off his hips.

Chris hiked her skirt up a little more, his fingers digging into the waistband of her panties. Black this time, of course, to match the dress. “May I?”

“Yes.” Her voice was just barely there, her eyes half-lidded and pupils blown with arousal. “Please, Chris.”

“Fuck, that's a good look on you.” He groaned, sliding the underwear down her legs. “This dress stays on. How do you want me, princess?” Jericho's fingers slipped over her pussy, slick coating his digits. He pressed his lips to her ear, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I already know you want my cock in you, so tell me where you want it.” Her mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“Can I ride you, please please let me ride you?” She begged finally. “Please Chris, I--“

“Shh, I know, I know.” Chris soothed, pulling his jacket off. “I'll take care of you.”

“You have no idea how surreal this is.” She admitted while he unbuttoned his shirt. “I...I used to watch you on TV when I was little.”

“Not when you got older? What, too cool for wrestling?” Chris teased.

“No, I was more confused by the feeling I got in my stomach when I watched it.” She replied nonchalantly.

Chris almost choked on the breath he sucked in, laughing incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Mm, it made it tough to watch!”

“Shit, I don't know if anyone's ever told me their 'sexual awakening' story. I'm flattered, princess.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She squeaked, putting her hands over her face.

“Ah ah, no hiding from me, princess. This is apparently a very special occasion for you.” Jericho couldn't resist teasing her a little more, sliding a single finger over the back of her shoulders as he circled her. “You've been pretty patient, I guess.”

“Patient enough to deserve a reward?” Oh no, she was on to him. Better yet, she was playing along.

Chris nodded, laying back on the bed and holding the base of his cock. “I'd say so. Come here, princess.” Without any hesitation, she climbed up on the bed beside him. Jericho smirked, feeling more than a little self-satisfied. “Think you're wet enough to take all of me?”

“Won't know until I try, right?” Shit, she was going to kill him.

Chris chuckled a little breathlessly. “Wanna' grab my wallet, princess? In the jacket.” She bent over the side of the bed and Chris bit his lip at the sight. “Good girl.” He didn't expect her to take his cock into her mouth after she tossed him his wallet, one of his hands flying to the back of her head. “Shit, princess, damn you're good at that.” He panted, loving the way she rolled her tongue.

She removed her mouth with a lewd 'pop!', looking pleased with herself. Chris was pretty sure the look she gave him was illegal. All pretty eyes and spit-slick lips, Christ.

“Get up here. Get up on my cock. Take what's yours, princess.” He ordered, fists clenching at his sides when she straddled his hips. “That's right, that's right, take what's yours.”

She leaned down to kiss him, her hand holding the base of his cock steady. Jericho groaned out when the head of his dick finally entered her, startled into opening his eyes when she twined her fingers through his own and whimpered desperately. Then, she sank slowly down onto him in one long, tender push, her eyes half-lidding again when their hips were flush. She was oddly silent through the whole thing, teeth latched onto her lower lip.

Chris rasped something along the lines of fucking Christ, clapping a hand to either side of her body and holding her still for a few seconds. “M' gonna' fucking come right off the bat if you move, if you know what's good for you don't move.” Her hips kept fucking twitching and Jericho threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard. “Fuck, princess, you--”

“I came, I came, I'm so sorry!” The words sobbed out as Chris felt her spasm on his cock, and that last little shred of self-control he had was hard-pressed to keep him from coming on the spot. “F-uck m' so sorry, so sorry--”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” He asked through clenched teeth, dragging her down so he could press their foreheads together. “We're having sex, you're supposed to come when you're having sex. Other times too, masturbation, y'know. But shit, why are you apologizing?”

“I didn't mean to, I promise.” She said softly, sounding ashamed. “I wanted to wait until you...”

“Trust me princess, I won't let you be a one and done. Now lean back and fuck those hips down onto me.” Chris ordered, sighing when she obeyed. Her hips were quivering, her thighs a little shaky as she rose up on her knees and then sank back down. She was so fucking wet after coming, her cunt still rhythmically gripping his cock with aftershocks while she braced herself back on his thighs. Chris realized she was watching his cock push in and out of her with a dazed expression, like she still couldn't believe this was happening. Jericho wondered how many times she'd gotten off on the idea of doing something like this with him. His smirk returned in full force. “Oh princess.” He called in a singsong tone, making her eyes jerk up to his. “How long have you wanted to fuck me, huh?”

She went bright red and Jericho barely kept in a moan at how fucking cute that was. “I--”

“How many nights did you spend rubbing this little pussy raw thinking about me?” Chris hadn't gotten this filthy in years, but fuck it. “Did you think something was wrong with you when you finally came for the first time, princess? When everything went white and then sound came back and you were fucking shaking with your fingers on your too-sensitive cunt, not sure if you made noise or not?” He bucked his hips up hard, gripping her thighs tightly. She whined at his words and Chris sought her clit out with his thumb, rubbing slow circles on the sensitive area. “Did you wonder what I would feel like under your hands, in your mouth?”

“So good, Chris, oh my God-!” She panted, leaning down so she could kiss him hungrily. Jericho eagerly reciprocated, his palm landing on her ass cheek with a resounding smack! She jolted, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue stroked her own.

“Sorry, got carried away. Usually I ask first.” Chris apologized, grunting in surprise when she ground down onto him harder. “Princess likes it when I give her a little tap, huh?”

“Again, again, please Chris please.” She begged, making him fucking snarl.

“Alright, alright, what Chris's princess wants she gets.” He felt her spasm at that. “Ah fuck, you like when I call you my princess? You're mine.” Chris stated firmly.

“Mr. Jericho-!” She gasped. Her whole body went still as she seemed to realize what she'd said, and she looked at Chris nervously. “S-Sorry, I, um...”

Chris was pretty sure he'd never been this hard in his life. “You want to call me Mr. Jericho that bad, huh?” He noisily licked her slick off his thumb, making her moan softly and shift her hips. “Fucking do it then, princess, call me whatever the hell you want. Just keep fucking me, please. I can't get enough of how good you look on my dick.” He pleaded. “Your little pussy takes me so fucking good, these hips are driving me fucking crazy, please--f-ah, shit, princess-” His words choked off when she started touching herself while she rode him, Chris watching hungrily and taking mental notes as she squirmed and rolled on his cock.

“Mr. Jericho, I'm so close, p-please-”

“Good fucking thing.” Jericho managed to say, making her giggle and moan at the same time in a sound that went straight to his cock. “I'm close too, princess. What do you need?” He swallowed hard when she took one of his hands and pressed it to her cheek. She was smiling down at him like he was something fucking incredible, like she...shit, he shouldn't even be thinking that. It was just how her eyes looked, that was all. He cupped her cheek, pretty sure he was grinning like some kind of stupid idiot. He didn't really give a shit though.

“Touch me, please?” Her request was so soft, almost like she was ashamed of it. Jericho wasn't having it, he was way too hard for her to let her feel as if asking for something to get her off was greedy.

“Princess you fucking tell me to touch you. I'm already touching you, where do you want me to touch you?” The hand on her cheek slid to the back of her neck and he roughly dragged her down against him, his other hand swatting her ass again.

She shuddered, fucking mewling and arching into him, chanting,“Yes Mr. Jericho, yes Mr. Jericho,” over and over. Chris was pretty sure that was his new favorite thing to be called, latching onto her hips and driving his cock up into her hard and fast. “Fuck, yes!” She cried out suddenly, “just like that, just like that, fuck! I-!”

“You gonna' come, princess? Gonna' come again on Mr. Jericho's cock?” Chris panted in her ear, groaning long and low when she started shaking. “Fuck me, yeah you are. Come all over my dick, princess.” She kissed him, seemingly to muffle her desperate whimpering. The noises she made coupled with how her cunt was gripping him like a fucking vise was enough to shatter his aforementioned last little chunk of self-control, and Chris pinned her mercilessly to his hips as he came.

Her chest was heaving for breath and Jericho was sure he didn't look much better, unable to stifle the chuckle that he panted out at the look on her face. She was all kinds of rumpled now, her hair a mess, dress slid up to her stomach. Perfect. “Christ, princess, you're amazing.” He huffed, startled when she all but collapsed on his chest and curled up. Her body kept shuddering, little aftershocks rolling through them both in a delicious cadence. “Fucking Christ.”

“I'm so tired.” She whispered, her voice sounding like it was about to give out. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Sleep, princess. You've had a full day.” Chris urged, sitting up and easily lifting her off his cock. “Just...lay down, okay? You want a glass of water or something?”

“I was scared when he grabbed me.” She admitted hoarsely, hiding her face against his side. “I didn't know what to do.”

“Shit, that's right.” Chris had totally forgotten about Kevin. “I...let me see, come here. I should have checked before we...fuck, I'm sorry.” He apologized, examining her wrist worriedly. “I'm an idiot.”

“Well if you're an idiot I must be a stupid idiot.”

Jericho snorted, kissing her hand. “You're a scrappy idiot if you are one, shit, looked like you dislocated his jaw.” He got up from the bed, stretching and yawning loudly. When he returned with the glass of water though, she was already asleep. Chris took the moment to study her, his mouth quirking up in a smile. A real one.

He put the water on the bedside table and gently rolled her over, unzipping her dress and peeling it back off. “Shh.” He hushed her when she whimpered. “Just me. It's bedtime, princess.” She allowed herself to be tucked in, hugging the pillow tightly while Chris climbed in on his side of the bed and picked up his List. He clicked his pen absently for a few minutes, reading and rereading the names in front of him without really seeing them.

Chris finally sighed and flipped all the pages over the back of the clipboard, staring contemplatively at the dull metal of the clipboard. His pen, like it had a mind of its own, started spelling her name out on the worn surface. He traced it a few times, each pass slightly deepening the little scratches in the metal. When he wiped away the ink the impression was still there. A tiny heart beside it completed the odd addition, and he felt weirdly content with himself.

He put the List on his bedside table and slid down in the blankets. She reached out to him as he got comfortable, naked body hot against his own in the bed. Chris hummed, legitimately happy for the first time in God only knew how long. He buried his face in her hair and crooned softly, “Master of A Thousand And Four Holds, right? I guess you're the thousand and fifth because let me tell you, you've got a tight fucking grip on my heart princess.” She murmured wordlessly in her sleep, her legs tangling with his own. “Sleep good, princess.”

#Chris Jericho #chris jericho/OFC #chris jericho smut #thirst party saturday #wwe #the festival of friendship made me so sad #def leppard references #terrible pick up line in here

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Quiet; Prologue

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy Thirst Party Saturday, everyone! Been working on this prologue for a little bit. Tagging our usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, @hardcorewwetrash and @writergrrrl29. Enjoy!

Baron figured he would never find his mate. He was getting up there in years, after all. Most of the other wolves he knew were mated up by their early twenties and yet here he was still alone. Lone Wolf Baron Corbin, in more ways than one.

But then, oh, but then. He woke up one morning with a strange taste in his mouth. Sometimes around the full moon he would grind his teeth in his sleep, but this was a different taste. He wondered if he needed to start wearing one of those mouth guards while he slept. Huh. There was a commotion outside the door to his room, that was probably what had roused him. He could already smell Corey (he seemed to bathe in cologne) and...BlissBayley, never alone.

He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on. His hearing wasn’t the best. Too many concerts.

“I’m so glad you’re becoming one of the team! How cool is that, ‘Lexa?”

“What’s your name, cutie? Who are you rooming with?”

The voice that must have answered Bliss’ question was too quiet for Baron to hear. A strange smell tugged his attention. It was faint, like it was blocked. New person smell. But…captivating. Baron suddenly realized he was drooling and quickly wiped his mouth off on his shirt. What the hell? He took a step back from the door and the smell faded, filling him with a sense of relief. Then, his chest started aching. Well that was weird.

...

You were so small, and you had the too-tense look of someone who knew they were small. Being friends with tiny fae Bliss had taught Baron a few things about short people (mainly, that they’ll kick you Daniel Bryan-style in the shins if you say anything about it). He was…he knew how large he was, and how threatening he could seem with his deep voice and dark eyes. What big teeth you have…

Baron shook his head, returning to his pushups after his momentary break. Get them out of your head, man.

Being who he was, what he was, always made things more difficult for Baron out on the road. There weren’t many safe spots for him to either shift or sweat it out, and now for whatever damn reason he felt an intense urge to keep you close. He chalked it up to being lonely. You weren’t hard on the eyes by any means and he had been solitary for quite a while. Also you seemed like you could use a little protecting and he was a goddamn sucker for that.

Baron wasn’t sure what was wrong with him when he woke up on a full moon night, seemingly for no reason. He slid back down in his bed, a bit startled at being awake and quietly luxuriating in the sounds of the night that he could finally hear again, even through the hotel walls. Full moon was good for something every once in a while.

Then, there was a soft noise from the room adjacent to his own. His ears pricked up of their own accord; that was your room. Carmella had gone out for the evening, maybe she’d returned? There was another sound and then that smell again, wrapping around his senses like a velvet glove. Baron bit his lip, his body a suddenly-confused mess of scent reactions and anxious energy. He got up and got a glass of water, running a hand through his hair. What’s wrong with me? Am I broken somehow? He wondered, not without a touch of fear. Broken meant he wouldn’t be able to succeed. Broken meant he could kiss this dream goodbye, even after essentially reshaping his body from the ground up.

Baron shook his head at himself. Damn quick to panic, Jesus. The sound was a little louder this time. It was a gentle sort of whimper, but it made Baron’s stomach drop out. What…? Your scent hit him full force and he choked on his next swallow of water as a surge of intense longing caught him off guard. Baron felt like every bone in his body ached, like his heart was being split in two and without meaning to he opened his mouth. His responding whine was low and long, a searching noise. Where are you, where are you? Baron’s eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit him. Uh oh.

You?! Well, it wasn’t like you weren’t attractive to him, to say the least. But…you were scared of him! You hadn’t made eye contact yet, for fuck’s sake, always ducking your head if he so much as glanced your way. It…was this a joke? Was the universe really that hell bent on fucking with him that it would give him his mate, someone who was supposed to be his life, and make it so that they were terrified of him?

Baron sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands. Fuck. Bliss and Bayley would have answers. He would talk to them. Keep the panic at bay. There was no need to lose it just yet. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe there was something wrong with him. He picked up his phone.

-Need to talk, Alexa. Or Bayley. Please.

Barely two minutes went by before there was a knock on the door to his room. Baron padded to the door and opened it, pausing and raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t Alexa, nor was it Bayley. It was Carmella, standing there with her hands on her hips. “Carm?” He asked cautiously. “Something wrong?”

“You tell me, sugarcube. My roomie was in a fuckin’ tizzy, said they heard a noise from ya’ room like ya’ in pain.” Carmella looked suspicious, standing on her tiptoes to see over Corbin’s shoulder. “Ya’ got someone else in there or what?”

“N-No, I uh. I got up to get a drink and tripped in the dark.” Baron’s panic increased tenfold. You had heard his fucking pitiful noise, his where are you noise. “Kind of a klutz, Carm. All legs, y’know.” He forced a chuckle.

Carmella didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, pursing her lips and fixing Corbin with a stern glare. “If I find out ya’ been sneakin’ chicks in here…” Baron couldn’t help the snicker that escaped and after a second Carmella joined in. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’m used to ‘Zo, y’know how it is.” She apologized, patting his arm.

Baron nodded. “I’m not like that, Carm. I’ve got nothing to prove in that department.” He said, leaning easily against the doorframe. “I’ve gotten no complaints.”

“Ya’ have to actually hook up with someone ta’ get complaints, Corbs.” Carmella teased.

“You figured out my master plan! Cass always said you were smart.” Baron rumpled her hair carefully, fully aware that it was a dangerous game to mess with the hair of the Staten Island princess. She swatted his fingers away with an annoyed noise as Alexa made her usual sound to alert him of her presence, like a tiny bell chiming high enough that only he could hear it. “Alright, yeah. Let them know I'm okay, Carm. Just hit my shin on the coffee table. Sorry if I woke them or anything.”

Alexa was behind the door when he closed it, but Baron was so used to her cropping up wherever she wanted that he couldn't even muster up a flinch. She looked tired yet still somehow managed to shimmer just the tiniest bit, fluffing her hair out over her shoulders as Baron slid the deadbolt. “What's up, Big Bad? Dragged me out of a nice warm bed with the wife for this so it had better be important.”

...

Baron knew the stories. He had heard them from some of the other weres; Alexa and Bayley had read him some things. What people like him did to people like you, how he could prevent losing his mind over this shit. You were scared of him, damn it, and not much could be done about that except what he was already doing. It was exasperating.

Roman in particular had been raised very strict and always seemed to have a helpful tip to calm shit down when it started swirling. The constant ebb and flow of alpha posturing could get a little exhausting, especially since most of the time it came from people who weren’t what Baron was.

Also he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong in a past life to gain the friendship of the walking nuclear explosion of energy that was Mojo Rawley. Zack Ryder was decent, polite and on the quieter side. Mojo was everything but. The definition of “life of the party”, Baron couldn’t count how many times he’d turned down offers to teach him how to breakdance. Since Ryder usually roomed with his girlfriend and Baron was…well, solitary, Mojo ended up more or less Corbin’s permanent room partner. Which could have gone much worse than it did, honestly.

Sometimes he wondered if Mojo knew. The Hype train rarely slowed and never came to a stop, but occasionally Mojo seemed to have oddly precise insight. “Full moon tonight, Big Banter, can’t wait to watch you go on the hunt!” It might have made Baron uneasy if he’d ever displayed any other signs of lucidity. He chalked it up to Mojo just going along with his gimmick.

The taste he woke up with in his mouth every morning had become commonplace. The urge to have you close was kept at bay with the morning group workout sessions. You were in the same room as him and apparently that was enough for Baron to retain his sanity (if only just). His turns were the hardest part to deal with; they had never been all that regular to begin with and now for some reason they were even more off-kilter than ever before.

He could hazard a guess why. The critter tended to roam a little close to the surface. He hadn’t noticed how close until he almost bumblefucked his way through Cass like a hot knife through butter, scaring the shit out of not only Carmella but also himself. He hadn’t been this out of control since he was a teenager and it was terrifying. Colin and Enzo had laughed it off but Corbin felt awful, he could have seriously hurt the larger man.

Bliss had threatened to have Bayley Hugplex him to within an inch of his life if he didn’t get his shit together, and Corbin knew he definitely would have deserved it. He just didn’t know how to go about this without turning into someone even worse than he already was.

Wonder of all wonders, an opportunity was practically gift-wrapped and delivered to him in the hands of Big Cass and Zack Ryder. First, Ryder offered to switch places with him during the next hotel stay, something about Emma not being with him. Ryder had been staying with Cass, who then asked Baron if he would switch with Carmella. “You know how it is, man. If she can be here, she wants to be here.” Colin had rolled his eyes, but Baron saw right through him. He had agreed with little thought, overly used to working around his fellow superstars who actually had boyfriends, girlfriends, and significant others.

It hit him as he was tucking his clothes into his backpack and Baron slowed to a halt, one of his shirts falling out of his hands. Carm usually rooms with...oh. Oh no. It was too late for him to take it back, Carmella was already on her way over. Shit, shit!

She looked smug when she arrived. Too smug. Like she was in on a secret that Baron didn't know about. He wondered fleetingly if you were interested in him too, if this was an elaborate scheme to get you and him together. “Be nice to them.” She said sternly as he slung his pack over his shoulder. “Don't scare 'em, got it? I'll kick ya' ass if ya' do.”

“Why does everyone think I'm so fucking scary?” Corbin grumbled, feeling a little peeved. First Alexa and Bayley, now even Carm was ganging up on him. Christ.

She was having none of his attitude though and Colin chuckled when she caught Baron by that pesky lock of hair that wasn't quite long enough to get wrapped up in his bun. Corbin yelped, halting. “Because ya' a king-size professional wrestler, slash former football player, who looks like he has the brain to match. They're also kinda' quiet. Shy. So play nice. I know ya' smart, big guy. Be smart now, or ya' gonna' be in trouble.” Carmella warned, finally releasing his hair and handing him the keycard to her room.

Baron resisted the urge to slam the door behind him, irritated beyond belief. Didn't anyone understand how difficult this was for him?! You were his mate and he hadn't even so much as touched you, fuck, made legitimate eye contact with you. He had an inkling of how those overly-territorial psycho weres everyone whispered about came into being and the thought made him shudder and suck in a few calming breaths. No way in hell was he going to do anything that would lump him in with the likes of those fucks.

You looked even smaller alone in a hotel hallway at one in the morning. Baron fought a wince when your eyes landed on his boots and then widened. He could smell the panic coming off you in waves and it made his skin crawl. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Your distress threatened to send him into a tailspin of his own and he slowed down, doing his deep breathing and trying, trying so damn hard to just be calm and collected and not nervous, I'm not nervous.

“Oh.” You said softly when Baron finally managed to get his legs to function properly again. Your eyes traveled up his chest, up, up, up and oh-!

Baron was transfixed, certain he must look like an idiot. His jaw had probably gone slack. Was he drooling again? Fuck it. You were his, you were his, oh God, it was you--

“Room with you?” He realized he was speaking, mouth forming words his brain wasn't awake for. “Thank fuck.” Oh God no, he was trying to be smooth. Somebody kill him, stop it stop it!

You were apologizing as he fumbled with the door, Baron wasn't entirely sure for what. His hands were shaking so hard, Jesus Christ. Is it hot in here? The pet name slipped out unintentionally. You had been 'little one' to him for such a long time in his head, it just seemed natural that he call you that. You didn't seem to mind and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening.

“I-I'll be quiet, I promise.”

Your stutter made Baron's heart thud painfully in his chest and he had to clear his throat before he could attempt to smile, try to give an answer that would drown out the chants in his brain of I ruined everything, I ruined everything.

Baron couldn't sleep. Not surprising. Trying to get comfortable on the small bed plagued him until the wee hours of the morning, while half-dreams full of you in said small bed saying his name in your sweet little voice ran rampant. He had heard your voice, finally. You had made eye contact with him. It should have been enough, damn it, it should have.

It was a struggle to wait until you woke up and slipped out of the room in the morning, your movements almost totally silent like you were trying not to wake him up. Baron knew someday he would appreciate your consideration, but today he could barely hold out until you were gone before he lunged for your bed, grabbed your pillow and buried his face in it. He knew he had to work fast. He didn't know when you would be back and his body was a frothing mess, his cock stiff just from your scent.

Baron retreated to his own bed, your pillow in tow. The ache in his chest felt like it was multiplying, his body in such a state of longing it bordered on physical pain. He couldn't bite back the whine that bubbled in his throat as he crushed your pillow to his chest. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been this desperate and out of sorts, couldn't remember what his own scent was as yours took over. Fuck. It was over almost before it began. He'd barely gotten his hand into his sleeping pants and then he was coming, his hips shuddering and his eyes rolling back in his head.

Fuck.

Baron panted for breath, startled that he'd come that fast. Jesus, he was fucked something fierce. He staggered back up, hastily replacing your pillow and then going to the bathroom to wash his hands. He splashed some water on his face and braced himself on the sink, still breathing a little heavier than he would like. I’m okay. I’m okay. It's not a problem yet. Yeah, right. Maybe someday he’d believe it.

Something was pinching the skin of his palm. Baron looked down, confused. It was your room key pressing into his hand, probably dropped while you were getting ready to leave. Oh. The relief that he felt was almost enough to make him laugh, even while a territorial rush flooded him. This room was his den now, and he would welcome you back to it as best as he could. God, more than anything he wished for a nice nest of sheets and soft blankets to surprise you with.

Baron Corbin was the last person who would call himself, ‘smooth’. He knew he was woefully out of touch as far as relationships went, shit, as far as flirting went. He had no idea what he was doing. So he sat on his bed, twiddled his thumbs. Waited nervously for your return.

He could smell the food before you even reached the door. He could smell the sleep still on you in the yawns you tried to stifle in the hall. You'd obviously slept about as well as he did. Baron ached to fix that. But he reined himself in, opened the door before you knocked (only a little creepy, great job) and a goddamn miracle happened. The scent of interested caught him completely by surprise. It was brief. Baron almost believed that he imagined it but then your face pinked up. Oh?

Being near you during your morning workout was a huge mistake. You made these little determined noises of exertion that had Baron's mind running rampant, his body screaming its approval inside his head. He ended up having to crank his music way louder than normal, doing his damnedest to get through his workout before he did something stupid. He really, really wanted to hold you. And also maybe slam your back against the wall, grind his hips into yours until you came just from the friction, then he would slide down, peel your workout shorts off and eat you out until you begged him to--

Christ!Baron snorted in disbelief at himself. You had offered to push the beds together so he would actually fit, and he'd given his goddamn word that he wouldn't touch you. You had brought the pack food this morning. He wished you were his with all his fucking heart but he wasn't going to force it. When you felt safe. When you were ready. He was plenty strong enough to endure this.

He had to be.

The sheets were almost Baron's undoing. His throat threatened to close up as he realized you had made a nest, a den of soft things for he and you to sleep in. He doubted you understood the gravity of your kind gesture to someone like him.

You slept like a rock, obviously over your new-person fear as you were this close to crowding his side of the bed when Baron drifted off. His dreams were less fitful than the previous night, probably calmed by the closer proximity of your presence. He could tell that you were looking at him even before he opened his eyes in the morning, his skin feeling twitchy. It was the tattoos, of course it was the tattoos. The way you asked to come along when he got his next one made him want to hope and Baron was barely able to keep his voice steady when he answered.

The breakfast run was the perfect method to escape and he took it, rubbing a hand over his face while the elevator descended. I didn’t think you would warm up to me like this. It was okay to admit it to himself, right? Fuck, what do you even like for breakfast? You had a muffin yesterday. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The elevator doors pinged open and Baron straightened up. Jason and Chad were the only two actually getting breakfast at this early hour, both young men waving at Baron as he headed for the muffin plate. Abruptly (and Baron thanked God for his sensitive nose because otherwise he would have been caught completely unawares) Mojo was on his back, whooping when Corbin barely moved.

“It’s big breakfast time for Big Banter, whoo!”

Gable, the goddamn traitor, was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair, while Jason just looked amused. Corey (who eschewed elevators, something about having perfectly good legs) strolled in from the lobby with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Morning, cupcake!” He said cheerily to Baron, who just grunted in reply and carried on his task of loading up more food, albeit a bit slower now with Mojo clinging to his back. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d had to haul the Hype Train around. Corey elbowed Corbin in his ribs. “So? How’d it go last night?” He stage-whispered.

Baron raised an eyebrow at the other tattooed man. “Excuse me, Graves?”

“Oh don’t play fuckin’ coy with me, man. Are they into you or what? I know you’ve been fucking mooning over them.” Corey was apparently much more observant than he let on. Either that or Baron was really bad at hiding his feelings.

Probably the last one.

“Dammit Graves, you can’t just ask me that shit.” Baron grumbled. “I don’t know if they’re into me, okay? I’m a huge, scary, weird…I just don’t think I’m their type.” I’m a fucking werewolf, Corey, not something you shack up with fucking lightly!

“But you’re bringing them breakfast! That’s pretty hype.” Baron had forgotten Mojo was still gripping his spine like the world’s strangest backpack. Mojo continued, “If I dig someone, I am all about that bed breakfast stuff. Also I don’t sleep, so every meal is breakfast to me!”

“Mojo can you maybe let me go, kinda’ got shit to do.” Baron didn’t really have time for a fucking seminar from Captain Concussion and Hype Bro Number Two, barely managing to weasel his way out of Mojo’s grip without dropping his plate. “If you guys will excuse me.”

Corey, the fucking juvenile that he was, started making kissy noises at him (to Baron’s complete chagrin). Corbin stormed back to the elevator, grumbling swears under his breath for the duration of the ride up to your floor. He hated the dumb flush that had stained his face. He hated how easy it was to wind him up when it came to you. It wasn’t fair for fuck’s sake, why did he have to be so fucking scary?

All his irritation was forgotten when you welcomed him back to the room. You’d made the beds while he was gone and you smelled like happy, bouncing in place when you realized he’d picked up your favorite kind of muffin (entirely by accident, but Baron would take the victory). Watching you eat soothed the ache in his chest a bit. At least he could do this right, provide for the pack. All he had to do was keep his hands to himself from here on out and maybe…Jesus, maybe you would love him.

He felt like such a piece of crap, hanging onto every little scent signal or nervous gesture. He didn’t know what else he could do though, nothing was enough for his insides to stop fucking screaming.

“You should just tell them.” Bayley, ever the optimist, spoke as she cinched her hair down tight enough to give Baron phantom pains in his scalp. She didn’t shimmer quite like Alexa, she was more like a…radiator. Putting out waves. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Christ, do I even need to say it?” He didn’t mean to snap but shit, if it was that easy he wouldn’t need help! The fact that he’d been able to snap even while near her, was enough to make Bayley fix him with a stern look.

“Baron, do you need me to…?” She put her hand on his arm just for a second. “Let me take some of it, okay? Stay still.”

“No, Bayley. This is my goddamn mess to deal with.” He said grimly, sliding out from beneath her fingers. “I need someone to talk to, okay? Not necessarily magically fix what I’m dealing with. My heart and my brain playing tug-of-war is probably something I should learn how to handle.”

Bayley nodded in understanding, patting the bar on the weight bench. “Spot me and you can talk to your heart’s content. I’m all ears.”

Corbin did feel a little better after essentially blowing through his word allowance for the damn year, his voice somewhat hoarse when Bayley finally finished her workout and sat down to take a swig of water.

“They offered to push the beds together so you’d be more comfortable. So obviously, there’s no fear. Or at least, little enough that they can work through it and your keen nose doesn’t pick up on it.” She mused. “They got you breakfast, and they liked when you returned the favor. They want to come with you when you get another tattoo. I don’t know, big guy. I feel like you have this all wrapped up and you’re worried about nothing.”

“I’m just so scared I’m going to fuck it up, Bayley.” Baron confessed. “I’m so huge and…shit, my heart hurts so damn much when I think about what I could do, how fucked up I could get. We’ve all heard the stories, y’know?” Corbin felt a headache coming on and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his temples. “I promised not to touch them when we're in bed together but all I wanna’ do is hold them.” He mumbled through his fingers.

“So do it. Instigate some contact, doesn't have to be in the bed. They wouldn’t still be in that room if they felt unsafe.” Bayley pointed out. “I can’t help explain away your need for tactile stimulation, Baron. I can’t take it away either. That’s something that’s built into you. All I can do is calm down the frenzy every once in a while.”

Baron nodded, even though the motion felt like a prison cell door slamming shut. “I know. I…thanks for listening.”

“Hey, anytime.” Bayley squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “We have to stick together, after all. 'Lexa and I want you happy, got it?”

…

He had promised to keep his hands to himself. That was the one thing he could do. He wanted to fucking touch you all over, rub your shoulders after your grueling training or stroke your hair when you tucked in for the night. But he promised, fuck he had promised. You made noises in your sleep sometimes, like you were having bad dreams. It was the hardest thing in the world for him to stay still when your hands wandered, and one time you had a different kind of dream.

It started with the whimpering, like all your other dreams. Baron rolled over to face the wall, his palms suddenly sweaty. He was absolute shit at dealing with this, having to practically lay there with his arms folded so he didn't touch you. He froze when your fingers grazed his shirt, choked as a soft little moan issued from your throat. Oh no. He felt like he was on fire, the scent of your arousal lighting his nerves up. Your fingers were back, clumsily dragging down his spine before you dug them into the sheets. Another whimper and Baron was so close to shattering his own ribs with how hard he was hugging himself.

I'm stronger than this. I'm not some weak, piece of crap alpha. I'm okay. I'm fine.

Baron inhaled deeply in a valiant attempt to keep himself under control but all it did was fill his senses with you, you, squirming on the bed beside him and Jesus Christ he was only human, damn it, damn it-

He flopped onto his back, half-hoping he would wake you up with the motion. But all you did was mold your body to his side and make a pleased humming noise. Despite the air conditioner and fan running in the room you were warm, your skin hot where it touched his. Baron flexed his hands, desperately grabbing the sheets to keep from touching you. Oh God, is that...?

Your groin pressed to his thigh and Baron found himself biting down on his fist to stay quiet. His body was in total chaos, man at war with wolf as one half of him screamed I promised! and the other half shouted back mate wants me!

The only good thing was that whatever you had been dreaming about seemed to have faded away. Your smell relaxed into good and sleep and Baron began the slow, careful task of untangling you from his body. It would help no one if you woke up now, especially with the raging hard-on he was sporting.

He finally escaped to the bathroom, bracing one hand against the wall beside the mirror as he wrangled his sleeping shorts down around his thighs and held his shirt up out of the way with his teeth. Quickly jerking off seemed to be a way of life for him these days. It was nicer to visualize you helping him out though, the idea of you on your knees for him too pretty to pass up thinking about.

“C-come for me, alpha?”

Baron was grateful for the shirt in his mouth to stifle his groan. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about imagining you doing things to him. It was the only solace he had, damn it.

“Please, Baron, I-I need you.”

If you ever wore anything like the little skirts he pictured you in, he was pretty sure he would outright die. Kneeling in front of him, pressing your tits together in invitation. Maybe wearing one of his shirts. Or a skirt and nothing else. Baron felt like a damn bitch in heat, panting through his teeth as he stroked his cock to the idea of mating you one day, of finally claiming you when you actually wanted him. Your hands on him, touching him, owning him, your mouth...

Corbin came with a muffled growl.

That lonely ache flared back up in his chest while he cleaned himself off, cold washcloth doing little to soothe down the feverish heat of his skin. He wanted to howl more than anything in the world. Get the damn sad out of his rib cage before it ate him alive. Baron had never been good at handling feelings, too volatile with his hot temper and hard fists. He usually just ignored everything, balled it up inside, worked himself into a lather at the gym or in the ring until he couldn't export the pain quick enough and everything exploded.

He'd also never had someone like you at stake.

When he finally shuffled back to the bed, he almost laid on top of you accidentally. You had rolled to his side of the bed and wrapped yourself in the blankets, snoring away peacefully without a care in the world. Baron sighed, climbing over you and tucking the flat sheet around his legs. He ran pretty warm anyways.

He didn't expect to wake up with your head on his chest. Baron fucking panicked, apologizing left and right then fleeing as fast as he could. Mojo was more than willing to bring him along to the gym for a morning sweat and it was there that Baron stayed for most of the day, going rounds with the bag, lifting weights, deep-breathing his way through push-ups and muscle spasms. In the back of his mind he knew he was just fucking himself over, wrecking his body before his match tonight. But Baron couldn't have cared less if he tried. He deserved to lose, deserved whatever pain he inflicted on himself because he broke his promise. Shit, he clusterfucked that promise to high hell. You probably hated him, probably never wanted to see him again.

...

He didn't mean to be so pissed off after his match. He knew he was going to lose so he was just being childish, inches away from throwing shit and pitching the mother of all tantrums and then...

You pulled him close, your head resting on his chest. Baron finally gave in to the urge of smelling your hair, feeling the shiver than ran through your body when he did. “I promised I wouldn't touch you.” He breathed, almost convincing himself to pull away. Almost. “Can't even do that right. And now I'm getting all this grubby ring shit on you. Not fair to you, little one.” He hurt all over. Rhyno hadn't exactly been gentle with him and Baron knew he deserved every bruise that plagued his body.

Your fingers gripped his ribs tighter and he instantly surrendered. He wondered wildly if the lack of fear in your scent was a sign. You weren't scared or excited, just radiating comfort at a rate that put Bayley to shame. You were in full-blown soothing mode and it was like being wrapped in the warmest blanket on a cold night, covering his skin with a tingling sensation.

He was so fucked. If he didn't get away now, he wasn't sure what he might do to you. All those stories came rushing to the front of his mind, all the cautionary 'too much of a good thing' tales that ended in mates being trapped or worse, fucking killed because some weak werewolf couldn't handle that they were still people. Baron didn't want to be one of them. He hoped he couldn't be one of them. But the way he felt around you was unlike anything else. He was completely lost.

You were speaking again, your voice so soft. The order to shower was a surprise, as was the offer of a back rub. And Baron, the pitiful son of a bitch, jumped at it. Maybe your hands all over his back would be enough to stave off that painful ache in his chest, enough to make his skin stop crawling with worry. He forced his mind blank during the shower, just doing his deep breathing while the hot water undid some of the tension in his shoulders.

I am calm. I am in control.

His control went out the window the second your thumbs dug into the base of his neck. Baron felt his cock start to harden and he couldn't bite back his groan, burying his face in his arm. He could do this. He was strong. So were you, if your hands were anything to go by. Jesus Christ, he wasn't sure if he was going to last until the end of this back rub. The shifting onto his back at the end hadn't been intentional. Baron already felt vulnerable enough for fuck's sake and now his body was betraying him, exposing his belly to you like he was a fucking pup. But...

But you were interested, your smell intoxicating to him. You were interested and excited and even when he put his hands all over you, moved you, asked you questions, you weren't scared. Baron got the feeling that he may not be in as much trouble as he had thought originally. Your body welcomed his touches; when he slid his fingers into you your slick trickled down his arm. Obviously you had been waiting for this and that sent a hot wave of satisfaction through Baron's body. Waiting for him. You liked being praised and it was a damn good thing, because he had nothing but praise for you.

You had already come once, leaving a wet stain on the front of his boxers. Baron snarled into your ear as you rolled back against him, begging for him in a voice that was a thousand times sweeter than anything he could have imagined. He realized that the taste he'd been waking up with in his mouth was you. His brain felt thick and foggy at that, the fucking joy in his chest threatening to cut off his breath. You were his, you were his, wonderful, thoughtful mate. It was almost too much.

“Anytime you say stop, I'll stop.” This was one promise he refused to break. He wouldn't be the beginning of another horror story if he could help it. You could be as willing as you wanted, but the out always needed to be there. He knew he was...a lot to handle, and if you didn't feel safe refusing him no matter what then he had fucked up from the start.

The few and far between older werewolves that Baron had met in this line of work were usually all too happy to share the knowledge of their own experiences. For some damn reason this included mating. At least there, the answer was always the same.

“You'll know when you find them because it won't feel like anything else you've done. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Baron had been pretty sure that it was all horseshit. Regardless of who it was, the motions were the same. He'd only fucked a few people in his lifetime, honestly disinterested in the whole thing before he'd met you. It was so much damn work for someone he had no emotional connection with, and not only that but someone he knew he would have no emotional connection with.

Mounting you for the first time shattered every perception he had when it came to sex. Baron felt like his whole body was suddenly awake, like he'd just been sleepwalking through life until this second. “You'll know when you find them.”

Jesus, they were right.

You responded in an incredibly positive manner, whimpering and fucking back against him like you were the one who had been waiting for him. In a way, you might have been. Your body was so fucking hot, so wet and ready, a chorus of good and want and mate. Baron felt your walls shudder down onto his cock and he wanted to go to pieces when you begged, “More.” Your hand held his own, his fingers cradling your stomach carefully, so carefully.

The only problem Baron was having at this point was his stupid fucking brain screaming at him, this doesn't mean they'll stay! Which was true, this wasn't a relationship by a far cry. This was a mindless rut, this was him losing his self-control and mating you because you were willing. But holy shit were you willing, the way you fucking cried his name when you came almost making him howl his approval. He barely bit back the noise in time and thank God, imagine trying to explain that shit.

Baron wanted to dig his teeth into your shoulder, wanted to mark and claim you as his own in a visible area. His fingers cupped your stomach again and he got the insane visual of your belly swollen with his pups, claim! He almost choked on his next breath. Shit, Baron didn't even know if he wanted kids, but the wolf in him only knew one end to a mounting and it made him moan with a need that wasn't entirely his own.

Would that make you stay?

That was dangerous, Baron hated himself for even being capable of thinking such. He would never do that to you, that was fucking medieval shit. He was more than the needy, affection-starved wolf for fuck's sake. “I won't, but I want to. Maybe I'd get to keep you then. See you like this more.” His words were hard to get out, his jaw all but locked with the effort of not biting. He was better than that, God fucking damn it.

Your soft permission was what did him in. “You have me. As long as you want. You don't have to leave me if you don't want to.”

Oh fuck-! Corbin barely managed to pull out in time, his whole body shuddering as he realized how close he had been to...

No, no, it's alright. You're safe. I'll be more careful next time. Jesus.

He abruptly felt weak, slumping onto his side and pulling you to him for a long kiss. Fucking from behind had its benefits but it made kissing incredibly difficult, and if there was one thing Baron loved it was kissing. Kissing you. Hopefully a lot. “Let me just go get something to clean you up with. I kinda' made a mess.”

You caught that pesky stray curl of hair and Baron went along with your grip, a pleased shudder running through him. “It's okay. I enjoyed every second of it.” Your stammer was barely there, nothing but a little hiccup at the end of the sentence.

Baron was pretty sure he must look like a fucking idiot, probably still all red from exertion and hazy from coming harder than he had in years, but he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. He brushed his nose against yours in an almost-kiss, your smell still wrapping him in comfort. Mate. Good.

Mine?

“Really?”

“Really.”

Baron knew he was red now, unable to do anything about the pleased flush that pinked his face. His legs felt like he may have overdone it a little bit, never mind the rest of his body, but you weren't going to sleep all sticky. He could offer that much help, at least.

“You really like that wolf stuff, hmm?” You murmured as you tucked yourself into his chest, your fingers back to tracing his tattoos.

You could say that, little one.

Part One

#Baron Corbin #baron corbin smut #baron corbin x female reader #werewolf!baron corbin #wwe #nxt #I'm all out of order but this idea wouldn't leave me alone #thirst party saturday

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Need; Part Three

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy Thirst Party Saturday, everyone! Tagging the usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, and @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I have screwed with the lunar calendar for this story, forgive me!

!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-public intercourse.

“Does the full moon affect me?” Roman looked at you like you were crazy. “You seriously interrupted my squats for that? Babe…”

“I was just curious if there was anything to it, you know? It all seems kind of…” You paused, wiping the sweat off your forehead. You had just finished your set and the question had struck you. You didn't expect him to actually stop and answer you right away.

“Silly?” he supplied helpfully.

“I didn’t want to say it.”

“It’s okay.” Roman cracked his neck, making a satisfied noise at the dull pop. “It does have an effect on us, just not like...in the movies or anything. It’s hard to explain. You know the way you feel during a good match?”

You nodded, a smile crossing your face. “I’ve had a lot of good matches, Reigns. I would say I might know.”

Roman laughed, catching you in a sweaty hug and making you squeal when he rubbed the stubble on his jaw across your cheek. “You know what I mean though, right? The way your whole body is just…it’s awake and ready and you feel so keyed up you could probably hear grass growing if you listened hard enough.”

“I was with you until that last part, grass?”

“Figure of speech. Full moon is…I mean, it doesn’t make us stronger or force us to turn or anything, but senses heighten. I could pick you out of a massive room full of people, even with my shit sense of smell. And my hearing…sometimes, it gets so ridiculous that I can hear the blood pounding in whoever I’m up against.” Roman shrugged. “Some guys also claim that the full moon brings out the more aggressive, dominant genes. I personally feel like that’s a surrender of control on their part, but that’s just me.”

“The last thing we need around here is you with more dominant tendencies.” You teased, making him roll his eyes.

“Fuck someone into the mattress one time because another guy was threatening to do it better and suddenly everyone’s a critic.” He huffed.

…

Oh no, oh no.

The words looped through your head as you numbly watched Roman getting Powerbombed onto the ring apron. The impact resounded through the arena and Roman crumpled to the ground on his side, laying there for what seemed like an eternity before you finally saw his chest move again. You felt sick to your stomach, fingers twisting the curtain until it was almost ripping in your hands. You wished that it was all a bad dream, that you would wake up safe in bed with Roman snoring quietly beside you, but the scene continued to unfold.

Kevin and Chris finally dragged Roman back into the ring. The large Samoan was clearly out cold on his feet, slumping to his knees the second they let him go. You bit down on your fist, trying to stifle the terrified scream that fought in your throat.

Owens screamed in his face, “Kevin. Owens. Show!”, hauling him upright and flinging him directly into Jericho's Code Breaker. Jericho pinned him and you prayed for Roman to find something, anything still in him that would let him kick out, but that was it. The match was over. Roman had lost his belt and he probably didn't even know it yet. He hadn't moved of his own volition since the Powerbomb and he continued to just lay there in the ring while Chris and Kevin celebrated.

Bayley was suddenly at your elbow, pulling you carefully away from gorilla position. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She said softly, wrapping you in a hug.

“You see why he is not as good as me, as Rusev?” For some reason the 'Bulgarian Brute' felt that now was the appropriate time to talk to you. You had noticed him hovering all night, but chosen to ignore him in favor of watching your friends further their careers and impress the crowd.

“Go away, Rusev! Before I tell Lana that you were sniffing around where your nose doesn't belong, again!” Bayley said angrily, puffing up in a threatening manner. “Leave my friend alone!”

“All I am saying is that Rusev would not have lost, Rusev would have gotten back up and kept fighting! Two or ten men, it does not matter!” The large man boasted. “Reigns won the belt from me in a fluke accident, and now it is gone once again. He is a weak man, not worth your time. Not like Rusev!”

“Get lost!” Bayley yelled, “Colin! Enzo!”

Clearly your friends had been waiting to come out of the proverbial woodwork. The towering Colin Cassady poked his head (and most of his upper body) out from a nearby dressing room. “Yeah Bayley?” His eyes narrowed upon seeing Rusev, who went pale. “You! Oh buddy, when I get my hands--'Zo! C'mon, we gotta' kick some ass!”

“I bid you farewell, think about what I said!” Rusev finished hurriedly, bolting with Enzo hot on his heels.

“Don't worry, we'll get him. After what you did for Carm...” Cass trailed off, his large hand patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Reigns is a tough bastard. He'll be okay. An' you will too.”

“He'll be okay.” Bayley echoed after Cass left, letting you collect yourself.

You finally stepped back, wiping your eyes. “He tried so hard, Bayley. I-I hope he's alright.” You floundered with your words for a minute while she stood there. “I know the belt is really important to him, and I'm sure he thinks it's important t-to me, but I just hope he's safe.” You admitted, tearing up again. “I really, really just want him to be okay.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Her tone was kind, the hand on your shoulder an anchor as Roman lurched through the curtain with the assistance of two ring medics.

“Ro-!” You began, but quickly shut your mouth when you saw his face. He was obviously still out of it, eyes half-closed and dazed while his legs seemed to be barely cooperating, one foot sluggishly in front of the other.

…

God it hurt, why did it always have to hurt. His spine ached. His ribs ached. His legs, his back, his neck, everything was sore and awful. He never should have agreed to this match, he realized belatedly as he laid next to the ring in an undignified heap. Air finally returned to his lungs after what felt like a century. His consciousness kept fading in and out, little bits and pieces making their way to his rattled brain. The Powerbomb. The Code Breaker.

A body’s worth of weight on his ribs, his leg getting pulled up and there was nothing he could do. Roman just slid down, down down into the warm darkness of a faint. Your voice urged him back momentarily, long enough for him to know that he was upright, moving. Not in the ring, which was a relief. But unless he'd somehow fallen on top of Jericho, he was pretty sure he wasn't the United States Champion anymore.

The realization made him want to give up. Why couldn't they just let him lay down and sleep. His back hurt, he could barely keep his legs moving and he kept drifting between awake and dead on his feet. What the fuck had happened, why did he hurt so much. Powerbomb. Code Breaker. The cage. Strowman.

“I really, really just want him to be okay...”

...

Roman was silent for most of the car ride to the hotel, nervously fidgeting in his seat. Whenever you glanced over at him in the dark, he huddled a bit more into himself. Your heart broke at the sight of your boyfriend and mate so thoroughly dejected, and you put a hand on his leg.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly, covering your hand with his own. “I fucked up. I…I worked so hard for that belt. And it’s gone now. What the hell is my family going to think? My dad? You?” He shook his head, seeming disgusted. “Why is this so fucking difficult?”

“Because you’re not a superhero, Roman. Everyone has a tough time when there are people ganging up on them.” You pointed out. “I know losing is hard, I’m practically the world’s sorest loser.”

“’Practically’? I seem to recall beating you at Uno once.”

“Okay alright, I’m definitely the world’s sorest loser. That’s not the point, though! The point is, you’re going to lose sometimes. You might lose a lot. Especially if they throw two or three people at you and stack the deck against you. But you’re safe, and as far as I’m concerned that’s not a loss.” You watched him out of the corner of your eye, seeing his shoulders relax.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right there.” He admitted. “It just...I don’t know. It makes me feel like a bad pack leader if I lose.” Roman carried on, his voice soft. “I’m hardwired to provide and…and defend territory and stuff. Since I was very young, that’s how I was taught. I have to be strong all the time, smart, careful. Brave but not brazen, that kind of thing.” He squeezed your hand. “Keep my emotions under control and let myself off the leash only when absolutely necessary. Because I’m…dangerous when I get upset.” He sounded pained. “Rollins said once I was like a volcano. He wasn’t too far off.”

“Well, I don’t really care what Rollins says.” You said with a shrug, making Roman chuckle dryly. “I care that you’re battered and you could probably use a little cheer-up tonight. Just a suggestion.”

An hour later a well-fed and sleepy-looking Roman propped himself up against the bathroom sink, yawning every two minutes as you filled the tub. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, babe.” He mumbled. “I know I’ve got a lot of hair to deal with.”

“Shush, I want to. Now get your ass in the tub.” You insisted, holding back a laugh as the man rubbed his eyes like he was an exhausted child. “You just sit in here and soak, I’ll be back in five or so minutes when you’re ready.” He gave you a thumbs up and an attempt at a smile as you left to go get his hair care kit out of his duffel.

When you returned Roman had laid back, his eyes closed and one arm draped over the side of the tub. He idly scratched his chest piece, the black ink crisp and bold under the water. You tiptoed to the sink, unzipping the bag and carefully tugging out the shampoo and conditioner before kneeling beside the tub and tapping his shoulder. Roman rolled his head to look up at you, blinking slowly.

“Hey, I'm just going to start, alright?” You said softly, waiting until he actually nodded before starting to lather his hair with slow, gentle motions on his scalp. Roman moaned after a minute and you paused, worriedly asking if you hurt him.

“Mmno, you're gonna' give me a boner if you keep that up though.” he slurred, shifting his weight forward so you had more access. “Like it when you play with my hair.”

“Really?” You thought back, recalling with new clarity how much louder he got when you pulled his hair while the two of you had sex, or the way he would make that deep rumbling sound in his chest when you absently toyed with his locks on long car rides. You felt yourself flush. “Huh.”

“Don't stop. Like it.” Roman insisted, humming when you began working the shampoo through his hair again. You swept his hair to either side of his neck and caught sight of the bruises on his back from the ring apron. You bit your lip, fingers stilling. Your lighthearted mood and whatever arousal you had been feeling died in the pit of your stomach. Roman flinched when you touched one of the bruises. “M' sorry. Should have been stronger.” All the humor was gone from his voice. “I scared you.”

“Yeah.” You replied softly, twisting his hair around your hands and finger-combing through it to get out the larger snags. “It’s alright though. I’m sure I’ve scared you on more than one occasion.” Roman nodded silently, staring at his knees. You tipped his head back so you could kiss his forehead and rinse his hair. He looked like he was thinking hard. Maybe too hard. “What’s going on up there? Talk to me.”

He just grunted, resting his hand on your thigh and closing his eyes. You kept your frustrated huff to yourself, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good to get upset. He would tell you. It might take a while, but he had been getting much better at telling you about what was wrong in a timely manner. You had faith in him.

“I’m worried.” Roman said finally. “I…I’ll do my turn later tonight. I’m scared about where I hit the ring apron. Hopefully it’s nothing serious and I’ll be back to fighting shape. I just don’t want you to think I’m turning because I don’t want to talk to you, o-or I’m trying to get out of driving or something. I promise I’ll take another driving shift. I just-”

You interrupted him by starting to work the conditioner through his thick mane. “It’s alright.” You said gently. “You do what you need to do.”

Roman groaned softly, resting his forehead against the side of the tub and shivering when you dragged your fingers down his back. “Babe…” He arched his back helplessly to your touch, strong body pliant under your hands as you took care of him. “You’re so good to me.” He sounded dazed, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You made soft reassuring noises in your throat and carried on washing his hair, a little surprised when a large hand caught the back of your neck and pulled you down to bump your forehead against his own. Roman looked weary, bruising under his eyes standing out starkly. His pupils were dilated already, threatening to engulf the gray of his irises. “You’re going to be alright.” You whispered, swallowing hard as his eyes closed like that had been what he was waiting for.

You took longer than you needed to brushing his hair once he had dried himself off, being extra careful not to pull as you untangled the black locks. Roman seemed to have slipped into an in-between headspace, not speaking anymore and just making sounds in his chest. The whole time you combed his hair out in sections you kept talking, letting him know that you were there as you worked.

He licked your hand when you were finally finished, nipping at your index finger. “Thank you.” His voice was guttural, words slow and sounded out carefully through sharp teeth. You kissed his jaw and the underside of his chin, and one of his hands wound through your hair to hold you closer. “Mate.” Roman sighed, seeming in a better state of mind already as he buried his nose in the nape of your neck.

“You’re going to be alright.” You said again, feeling him nod against you.

“Yeah.”

The next day was a bit more gentle. You woke up to Roman curled up nose-to-tail at the foot of your bed, and you watched him sleep for a little while. His dark fur shone almost blue-black in the early morning sunlight, and the easy rise and fall of his side soothed you immensely. As if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been walking wounded the night before.

Pointed ears perked up as he seemed to come out of his dreams, a wide yawn displaying a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Morning, Ro.” You said quietly, pressing a good-morning kiss to one of his ears. He sleepily lapped across your cheek, tongue lolling out while you giggled.

…

The weeks leading up to the Royal Rumble were always a fiasco. The beginning of the Road To Wrestlemania, a time for the pomp and circumstance of wrestling to start building. Things were understandably tense as the day drew closer, Roman left on the ground among the remains of a shattered announce table after Raw went off the air two weeks before the Rumble.

The aforementioned 'volcanic anger' seemed to bubble higher with each unfair encounter Roman had with the dual champions, and it nearly came to blows with Jericho backstage after the blond man dangled the US title in his face and jeered at you. That had been terrifying, Roman all but snapping and snarling at Jericho to get him to back away. Roman's grip had tightened on your side and you in turn clung to him, running your hand over the plating on the back of his vest.

Save it for the Rumble. Save it for the Rumble. You started talking with him every evening, decompressing the large man as best as you could. Roman was at least honest with you this time around, freely admitting that he was scared to death that Jericho would figure out a way to interfere no matter what or that Owens and Chris might try to go after you. You kept what had happened between you and Rusev to yourself, not wanting to make Roman worry.

“I can’t lose you. And if they hurt you…”

“I won’t let them. I’m not scared of them.”

“If something happens to you I won’t forgive myself.”

“Nothing will happen to me.”

Roman took to sleeping wrapped around you, his body warm and solid against your own. He was oddly affectionate, even for him, tender with you and soaking up every drop of attention you gave him like it was a precious commodity.

You understood though, and you went above and beyond to make sure that he felt just as loved and cared for as you did. Whether that meant slowly washing his hair or him ‘helping’ you take off your wrestling gear, neither of you were denying each other much these days.

Your back met the wall, his hips rolling against your own in a needy cadence that had you panting for breath. Roman had a way of making you feel incredible, even after you had just finished a bout with Alicia and were covered in sweat and bruises. He buried his face in the hollow of your neck, startling a pleased sound out of you when he sucked a hickey to life. “Mine, mine.” He said softly. “Gonna' make you proud, take care of you. I promise.”

You shook your head at yourself even as you blushed. It wouldn’t do you any good to get distracted. You didn’t have a match on this 'final' Raw before the Rumble. The powers that be had intended for you to cut a promo so you'd dressed to kill accordingly, but then at the last minute the idea had been scrapped for time. Something about Rollins and Zayn. You wished you'd thought to bring other clothes as you tugged self-consciously at the skirt of the form-fitting dress. Thankfully you'd at least brought your sneakers, changing back out of your heels the first chance you got.

All you could do was endure the waiting game in the back, stunned when Roman's quick wits and Kevin's loud mouth garnered him a rematch against Chris Jericho for the United States strap, tonight. “I can't believe he agreed to that!” You exploded when Roman traipsed back through the curtain, a huge grin on his face.

“Neither can I, holy shit. Help me get suited up babe, I've got an old ass to kick.” His spirits seemed to be through the roof as he quickly whipped off his shirt and pulled his vest on over his undershirt, fingers flying over the side zip and straps. He slowed to a stop as he actually looked at you, though. “Also, I don't think I've ever seen that dress before. New?” He sniffed. “Not new.”

“Nope, sorry. It's been sitting in my closet for months. I was supposed to do a promo.” You fumbled with the skirt of it again. “They wanted me dressed…I think the word they used was ‘fierce’.”

“I like it.” Roman said softly, and from the tone of his voice you could tell that he didn't just like it. “Looks good. You’re not comfortable in it though.”

“Well yeah, but that kind of goes hand in hand with looking good. The more uncomfortable I am, the nicer I look.” You joked.

Roman straightened up, shaking his hair back over his shoulders before cupping your cheek gently and pressing his forehead to yours. “I appreciate the effort you put in, even if all I want to do is tear your panties off and have you sit on my cock.” His voice was a low purr. “The dress is optional.”

“Roman!” You hissed, surprised at his sudden boldness. The two of you were in the hallway for fuck’s sake!

He grinned down at you again, giving you a wink and a peck on the cheek. “Full moon, babe. I'm only eye-fucking you and I can hear your heart doing double time.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Mark me, for luck?” Roman asked hopefully, tugging the strap of his vest to the side. Suddenly Rusev and a still-squawking Lana went rushing by, a referee in tow. It looked like Rusev's nose had been broken, but even as you noticed that, Roman was busy pushing Lana's hand off his shoulder. “Woman, you are trying my damn patience.” He grunted, “Take care of your husband, obviously he could use some looking after.”

“How dare you, I am a man, not like you! You puny, Pensacola--” Rusev fumbled for a minute or two, obviously trying to come up with another word that started with 'p' while the poor referee looked back and forth, utterly confused. “-pest!”

“Rusev you are embarrassing me!” Lana wailed, clinging to Roman's arm.

Roman shook her off again, looking less entertained this time. “Don't touch me. C'mon babe, this place is a little too loud for my taste.” His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. “Good luck with the nose, man. One too many Accolades?” Roman asked with a smirk, making Rusev snarl.

“I will crush you again, Reigns! And then I will take your friend.” The Bulgarian threatened, cupping his nose.

Roman's smirk vanished, gray eyes narrowing. “Shouldn't talk like that in front of your wife. Or my mate.” You started running your hand up and down the plates on the spine of his vest, nuzzling into his side. His shoulders relaxed even though the rest of his body stayed alert, ready. “Sorry to chat and run, but I've got some business to take care of. I'm sure you understand.” With that Roman easily hoisted you over his shoulder and headed down the hall, ignoring your yelp of surprise.

You couldn't resist giving Lana a smug wave as you left, jolting and flushing bright red when Roman patted your ass.

“Now, I believe you were giving me my mate mark.” Roman said, placing you on your feet beside the curtain at gorilla position and scooting his shoulder strap to the side again. You lunged in to kiss him, flinging your arms around his neck as he made a confused sound in his throat. “Oh.” He murmured, kissing you back and smoothing his hands over your hips. “Jealous?”

“You are mine.” You replied firmly, biting down hard on his bared skin. Roman whimpered, nodding and burying his face in your hair. His hips rocked against your own, making you wish he didn't have to go. “You do good. Come back to me safe, got it?” You ordered breathlessly.

“Yes, my mate. I'll make you proud. I promise.” he panted.

Kevin was on commentary and you thanked God that you couldn't hear it as Jericho and Roman met in the ring. Flurries of blows landed between the two men, a dizzying back and forth that left you worried. Full moon or not, Roman wasn't invincible and you hoped with all your heart that tonight would be different.

Jericho went for the Code Breaker and you cheered softly when Roman caught him, crossing your fingers and then exhaling hard in disappointment when Chris kicked out of the Powerbomb. Kevin apparently had enough of watching his friend get his ass handed to him, the larger man scrambling into the ring and attacking Roman viciously.

“Oh no, no no no.” You pressed your hands over your mouth. Please not again, don't let this happen, fight Roman!

The shark cage lowered to the ring as Chris and Kevin ganged up on Roman for the third week in a row. If you never had to see that stupid cage again, it would be too damn soon. “You can watch him all you want. I know my wife does.” Your fists clenched. Rusev leaned against the wall across from the gorilla position. He certainly didn't look the part of 'Handsome Rusev', tape and bloodied gauze wrapped around his nose. “He can move, I will give him that. He is strong, and he's stubborn. But Rusev is stronger. Why don't you just accept it? It will make things easier on you in the long run.” The Bulgarian pointed out, smirking at you.

“He's my mate. I believe in him. More importantly, I trust him. And he trusts me.” You said, raising your voice to be heard over the crowd. “I know that you said some things about me when you and Roman fought. Implied some things. I would really appreciate it if you could leave me-”

Rusev had gone red in the face, and much quicker than you expected he had you trapped against the wall. “Your big friend and his little partner are nowhere near, do you really think anyone would notice if you disappeared?” he snarled as indistinct bass pounded overhead. You knew the match had been thrown out since Kevin had interfered, so you had no idea whose music was playing.

“If your nose isn't already broken, I'll shatter it to powder.” You shot back, “Get the hell away from me before I get rude!”

“You will respect me!” Rusev said angrily, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you violently. You brought your fists up to slug him as he jerked you around, then the curtain parted and Roman stepped through. The excited grin he had been wearing dropped off his face, replaced by a look of panicked fury. You swallowed hard.

“Rusev!” Roman roared, making the Bulgarian flinch and hastily back away from you. “Don't touch them, you get the hell away from my mate before I make you regret waking up this morning!”

“I was only-” Rusev began to protest.

“I'd run.” You said, sighing in relief when he clearly thought better of his choice to bother you and fled. Roman dragged you back against him, a firm arm wrapped around your waist. Your back pressed to the hard plating on the front of his vest. “Roman?” You asked cautiously.

“Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he? I'm sorry I was late, so sorry.” He apologized, sighing in relief when you shook your head no. The deep, husky timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine. “Waited. I waited. Was strong for you. Will you have me now?” He rutted up into the small of your back, the buckle of his ring gear digging into you. “Will you have me now, my mate?” He spoke in short bursts, his breath hot on your neck before he nuzzled your nape. “Was good, fought for you. Please.”

“Here, though? I mean-” You twiddled your fingers. Not that the thought didn't have appeal but you got the feeling that a few people might be put off by you getting slammed against a wall and 'mated' until your legs gave out.

“Won’t make you. Can’t make you. I just need. Won’t make you.” Roman’s tone was half-pleading, half-resigned. “Can take care of myself if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Jesus Christ. C’mon. Let’s get to the car quick.” You suggested, grabbing his hand. “Get to the car, get to the hotel, we’ll shower together-” The ensuing rumble of approval that cut you off made you laugh. “I won’t leave you out in the cold. You did so good tonight, talk about above and beyond. Thank you for scaring him off.”

“You're my mate. Have to keep you safe.” He said, not without difficulty. Then, “You smell really good.” He slowed you to a stop and buried his face in your hair, pinning you to the wall with his large hips. “So good, so fucking good.” The words were mumbled against your skin, making you shiver and arch as Roman’s hips slotted over yours, back and forth in a smooth rocking motion.

You realized he probably wasn’t going to make it to the hotel, the feel of him moving against you while desperately trying to keep himself under control making you bite your lip hard and try to think of someplace where the two of you could have some privacy. “Roman…the car?” You suggested softly, your legs going wobbly at the way he tried to stifle his moan by nipping and licking your exposed shoulder. “Have to get to the car, Roman.”

“Mm’n, alright, I’m…I’m goin’.” He managed to get out before hoisting you up to sit on his hips. You squeaked, clinging to his shoulders as he released his grip for a second to pull open the door to the parking garage. “M’ goin’, been good tonight, yeah?” Roman panted out. “Made you proud? Good mate, right?”

You dug your fingers into his hair, stroking through it and making his steps falter. “Good mate, best mate.” You praised, kissing his forehead. “You did so good, Ro.” You loved the way his whole body shuddered and he held you even tighter.

“Here, right here.” He said finally, setting you on your feet for a second and undoing his vest. He yanked off his undershirt and then spread it on the hood of the car. “Right here. Now.” Roman breathed, knocking his forehead against your own. “You smell like good like yes like mate like mine like home, please please here now please.” He begged, “I was so worried, thought something had happened to you, thought he was going to hurt you. I n-need--”

You smiled, kissing him and making him groan into your mouth. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you.” You said, pressing your hand to the ink on his chest. His heart was slamming wildly. “Please.”

Roman’s eyes, which had been looking frantic, calmed somewhat at your touch. “Oh God, I was so scared when I saw him. I-” He made a whining sound in his throat and fingers tugged your skirt up, fumbling to find your panties and get them off. “Yes, yes yes yes.” He groaned as you turned around without him asking, and he flipped your skirt over your hips. Normally you would have tried to wait until you got to the hotel elevator at least, but something about this urgent, needy Roman had your body soaked, thighs rubbing together to try and relieve some of the ache he had made earlier.

Fuck waiting.

Roman kicked your legs apart, mouthing over your shoulder blade as he tore at the buckle on his belt. “Oh babe, I hope you’re ready. Jesus Christ do I hope you’re ready.” The following breathless growl made your knees weak. “Gonna’ mate you, mate my mate.”

Anticipation built like a bonfire in your stomach as he pressed your chest down onto the hood of the car and teased at your dripping pussy with his cock. You scrambled to grab his undershirt and fold it to pad your hips. As eager as you were, a matching set of unintended bruises on your pelvis did not appeal to you in the slightest.

“Promise I’ll be careful.” Roman said softly. “Can’t hurt you. Never.” His hand slipped beneath your cheek, protecting your face from the hood of the rental as he finally penetrated you. Your fingers dug into the hard surface beneath you and you bit down on Roman’s hand to muffle your cry of delight. You might as well have made the noise, because you biting him made Roman groan loud enough to make the parking garage echo.

He bent over you, covering your body with his own and pressing feverish kisses to the side of your neck as his hips crushed up against you. He was power, raw and untamed, growling animalistic nonsense in your ear. “Smell good are good, so good, make me feel good, make me feel amazing, my mate my mate, all mine, all mine--”

You begged for him in turn, “Please, please, I waited all night for this, oh God Roman please-!” He felt so good inside you, filling you deep and fucking you just like you needed. The stress of watching him get beaten down every week started easing out of your body and you kissed his hand, making Roman croon wordlessly.

His fingers dove beneath the front of your dress, into the cups of your bra to play with your breasts. You whimpered and Roman snarled against your shoulder, “O-oh, so good to me, so sweet to me. Love your tits, babe, love them so much. They’re just right, and I know you love it when I give them some attention. My mate, my babe, beautiful strong mate.”

You rocked back onto his cock with a desperate noise, hands fisted on the car hood. You could have sworn you heard a gasp but you figured it must be Roman.

Roman growled suddenly, much louder than before, fixing the front of your dress and then wrapping his right arm loosely around your neck. He hauled you upright against his body, hips pistoning furiously as he rested his chin on your shoulder and snarled, “No one else fucks you like this, no one else touches you like I do, no one else gets this pussy, these tits, this beautiful fucking body.” The words were molten, burning with promise. His hand cupped your jaw, keeping your barely-open eyes on him. “You are mine and as long as you want me, no one will ever take you away from me.”

You whimpered and wrapped your arm around his neck, clinging to him as he held your hips tight to his own and fucked up into you. “Roman-!” you sobbed helplessly, your orgasm making you arch and roll of your own accord.

Roman moaned, kissing you hard and shuddering before whispering, “open your eyes babe.” You obeyed and immediately felt a crimson flush stain your face.

Lana and Rusev were two cars down from you and Roman, both of them staring wide-eyed. A tiny part of you debated telling Roman to stop, but the way that Lana had hung onto Roman's arm earlier in the night...and Rusev...

You sucked in a breath to speak and then whined when Roman rocked you forward with a particularly deep thrust. You could feel his smirk against your shoulder. “No one. Fucks. This pussy. Like I do.” Every sentence was punctuated by a bottomed-out cock that made your eyes threaten to roll back in your head. “It’s mine, all mine, and this cock and body are all fucking yours, babe. I promise.” He whispered in your ear. “For as long as you want me, for forever.”

You felt hot all over as you wondered how much Lana and Rusev could actually see, since Roman had fixed your dress before pulling you up. It was so filthy, so undeniably naughty, but you found yourself moaning louder and practically writhing against Roman, putting on a show that made your boyfriend groan and move faster. Lana radiated jealousy while Rusev continued to stare, transfixed.

“Mine!” Roman barked sharply, making Rusev jump. “Understand? Mine!” Roman seemed to lose control as a possessive snarl rumbled in his chest. One hand groped your breasts while the other dug into your dress, cupping your quaking cunt through the fabric. “These are mine, this is mine, I have mounted them and they are mine!” Roman grabbed your hips as you braced yourself against the car, fucking back onto his cock. “And this--” He gestured proudly down at his dick, words all but bitten out through gritted teeth. “-belongs to my mate, and my mate only. Got it?”

“Ro-” You whimpered. The dominant aura that issued from him made you want to go to pieces, your insides slick with longing even though you'd already come once. He crooned softly to you, like an assurance that his fierce words were only meant for Lana and Rusev. The Ravishing Russian stomped her foot angrily after a moment or two, dragging Rusev into their car. Her muffled yelling quickly faded to background noise as Roman sighed and kissed the back of your neck.

“Babe, babe,” he murmured, “I'm so close, where do you want it?”

“Anywhere, anywhere, I just need--” You pleaded, moaning when Roman pulled up the skirt of your dress and started playing with your clit. “Please, alpha, please!”

You felt his smile against your shoulder blade. “Damn right, babe. Come for your alpha.” Roman commanded, groaning as you cried out and spasmed around him. “That's right, oh God yeah, come for me. Come all over that dick, soak me with that sweet little pussy I love so much.” His cock pounded into you again and again, prolonging your orgasm before Roman finally shuddered all over and quickly pulled out. His release coated the inside of your thigh, starting the slow drip down your leg. “Shit, hang on.” He rasped, yanking on his undershirt and catching the dribble before it could go any further. “Sorry. Figured you didn't want it on this dress.” He ran a hand over the small of your back.

“Oh God.” You panted, pressing your hot cheek to the cool car hood as you struggled to regain your breath. “G-God.”

...

“My poor mate, what the hell did I do to you?” Roman asked softly, his hand stroking down the length of your back. He was legitimately concerned. Demanding so much of you in one night had been greedy of him. After seeing Rusev shaking you back and forth though, every awful feeling that Roman had been fighting these past few weeks just...exploded. He had needed to assure you--no, he'd needed to assure himself that you were alright and safe, but he had to make sure that you felt loved and cherished in one of the only ways he could.

You finally propped yourself up on shaking arms, arching your body back and demanding a kiss by wrapping your arm around his neck again. You smelled like satisfied and that in and of itself made Roman immensely happy. He crooned again, quieter, the mark you'd left on his shoulder pulling at his skin as he held you tightly and kissed your jaw, your throat. “My mate...how do you feel?”

“I could live with a little more of that.” You teased, your smile looking ridiculously smug. “Yeah, I'm the jealous one, Ro?”

Roman blushed, recalling the frenzied tumble of half-words out of his mouth when he'd realized Rusev and Lana had spotted the two of you. “I don't want him to try anything ever again.”

“I understand.” You murmured, tugging his hair away from his face. Roman went with the motion, the content rumble that he'd been finding himself making more and more often filling the silence between you. “You're mine. I'm yours. Nothing will change that.” You promised softly. “Nothing.”

Roman nodded, not trusting himself to speak as you mouthed sleepily over his jaw. You were so undeniably good to him, sometimes it made him weak in the knees, made him all emotional.

“Let's go home, okay? You're driving.” You said finally, making Roman laugh.

“That's more than fair. Plus, you definitely said something about showering together. I dunno' about you, but I think I worked up a sweat.” Roman felt his chest tighten when you shoved him and started giggling, and he quickly focused on doing up his pants before he could do something dumb like fucking cry or something. “Let's go, babe.”

You draped your arms over his shoulders, stilling him as you wound your hips against his own in a slow, clockwise motion. Roman sucked in a startled breath, hearing your pulse start to hammer again. “Let's go home.” You murmured, snuggling into his chest.

My beautiful strong mate.

Roman swallowed hard, cupping the back of your head and struggling to keep his voice steady. “Yeah.”

Part Four

#were!Reigns #roman reigns #roman reigns smut #wwe #thirst party saturday #also I love rusev and lana and kevin and chris I promise #for whoever asked for this #and brushie for Tox #morning everyone!#werewolf!Roman Reigns #Wrestling

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