#bretshawn
Text
To All the Men Shawn's Ever Loved
Headcanon about Shawn’s dating history in some random AU in my head, lol. Inspired by this post by @piratewithvigor about Shawn and his 5 boyfriends 🤭
Marty: 7 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚
Shawn dated around a lot in his youth, but Marty was his first long-term serious relationship
They met at the start of their careers before teaming together in smaller promotions. Marty chased after Shawn rigorously, the blond being hard to get.
It wasn’t that Shawn didn’t find Marty attractive, but he’d made a promise to his brothers that he’d never date a wrestler. They didn’t have the best track record in relationships, and Shawn’s older brothers didn’t want him to get his heart broken. If only he’d listened.
Marty eventually won Shawn over with how sweet he was, and how interested he seemed to learn about Shawn rather than deducing him to just a pretty face. They took things slow and Shawn finally said yes to the idea of a relationship after Marty had kissed him after leaving a show.
Things were pretty good in the first few years, but the relationship eventually became super toxic, especially around the time Shawn began to gain more popularity and success than Marty.
But they still tried to make it work, Shawn more so than Marty, because of how long they’d been together. Shawn wasn’t willing to give up so easily on a man he considered the love of his life.
But love wasn’t enough to combat their constant relationship problems – trust issues, jealousy, fighting, cheating, etc.
After another pointless argument, Shawn had enough and asked for a break.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦. ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦.
Kevin: 3 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚
Shawn wasn’t used to being a single man, and after meeting Kevin, his “break” with Marty swiftly turned into an official breakup.
Shawn was attracted to Kevin the moment he saw him on WCW in that ridiculous Oz gimmick. When Kevin came to the WWF, everything just seemed to click between them. They got along well, Kevin didn’t care about the heat Shawn had backstage, and they seemed to have the same sense of humor with Kevin being just as goofy as Shawn.
Kevin had only been there for two weeks before they got together, Shawn determined to scoop him up before someone else could. Being with Kevin was the freest Shawn felt in ages. It was definitely an adjustment to go from his previous relationship to someone who was so laid back, gentle, caring, loving, and protective in a non-possessive way.
Kevin helped to build back up the confidence that Marty had torn down. He was the perfect man for Shawn and it should’ve been a perfect relationship. But in true Shawn Michaels fashion, nothing could ever be that simple.
Despite being with a man that treated him better, Shawn carried over the toxic traits he’d learned from his previous relationship with Marty and basically self-sabotaged his relationship with Kevin. Their problems usually stemmed from Shawn’s lies, jealousy, and trust issues. Which eventually progressed to him picking fights with Kevin just to get a reaction out of the man.
But Kevin was nothing like Marty, and he was too mature and level headed to fall for Shawn’s antics, which only seemed to make Shawn angrier. But Kevin had learned not to feed into the anger, knowing that Shawn would eventually cool off and apologize before crawling into his awaiting arms.
Their relationship reached a boiling point when Kevin told Shawn he was leaving for WCW. Shawn barely registered Kevin’s explanation before he was yelling at the man, saying he was selfish, that he was abandoning him, that Kevin didn’t love him and was only chasing after Scott.
That caused Kevin to lose his cool, his frustrations spilling over as he cursed out Shawn, offended that the blond would question his love for him and insinuate something between him and Scott. The argument ended with Kevin calling Shawn clingy, which was more of an honest observation than an insult, and Shawn telling him to go fuck himself. Who was Kevin to call him clingy? He’d show him clingy, alright.
That night sealed the fate of their relationship when Shawn did the unthinkable and cheated on Kevin with none other than the hitman, Bret Hart.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦. ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦.
Bret: 1 year ―୨୧⋆ ˚
My fav ship, but they don’t have a happy ending in this timeline 😭 (sorry hartbreak fans!)
Marty and Shawn’s relationship walked so Bret and Shawn’s could run, both men being equally as toxic but somewhat addicted to each other.
Their relationship had not-so-humble beginnings that spawned from Shawn’s infidelity. And what started from sex eventually grew into an unhealthy codependent relationship with both men using each other to fill some kind of void, Bret fresh from a divorce and Shawn still heartbroken from Kevin dumping him.
It may have been Shawn’s shortest relationship, but it was hands down the most intense relationship he’d experienced on so many levels.
The love was intense, both men love bombing each other as soon as they were official, quick to let everyone know the other was off limits. Bret specifically made it his mission to show excessive PDA with Shawn whenever Kevin was around, and he continued to do so up until Kevin left for WCW. Shawn was often unaware, just happy to receive Bret’s affection.
Their fights were intense, others often thinking the two would kill each other if someone didn’t step in. They’d gotten kicked out of hotel rooms on multiple occasions due to noise complaints or damage that had been done due to one of them throwing shit around the room. Many of their fights had centered around Kevin, Bret’s jealousy leading him to believe that Shawn was still in love with the man, and Shawn’s annoyance at Bret constantly bringing up his ex.
And best, or worst depending on how you look at it, was that the sex was intense. Shawn had been introduced to so many new kinks, toys, and sex positions because of Bret, and his orgasms were unlike anything he’d ever experienced, the blond often coming multiple times before Bret’s climax. Shawn found that the sex was best when they were mad at each other, thus beginning his unhealthy obsession with riling up Bret, leading to an explosive fight and the most erotic hate sex. It was almost as good as the passionate makeup sex that followed.
Overall, sex was really what kept each other coming back. But beyond their attraction, there wasn’t any substance to the relationship. They hadn’t learned anything important about each other like birthdays, favorite colors, likes/dislikes, etc., which one could say led to many of their arguments because they didn’t really have a good understanding of each other.
Shawn made the mistake many times of comparing Bret to Kevin because, honestly, he’d never gotten over the man. And deep down, he wished to work things out with him, but Kevin had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Shawn after what he’d done.
So he settled for what he could get, but Bret wasn’t Kevin. He didn’t have Kevin’s patience and wasn’t one to tiptoe around his words to protect Shawn’s feelings.
But just like with his relationship with Marty, Shawn was hesitant to rip the band aid off despite how bad things had gotten between them. He’d grown accustomed to dysfunction, and he’d much rather put up with that than being alone.
The relationship only ended when Shawn got a taste of his own medicine. They say you lose him how you get him, and those words were never truer when Shawn found out that Bret had cheated on him with Sunny.
No surprise, the breakup was messy. Bret and Shawn had argued in front of the whole locker room, almost getting into a fight before Hunter and Chyna pulled Shawn away. But Shawn was a spiteful man and wasn’t going to let that be the last of it.
He keyed Bret’s car in the parking lot and threw a brick through the driver’s side window as an added bonus. Bret didn’t find out about it until the end of the show when leaving the arena. He was pissed and this led to him and Shawn actually fighting in the bathroom backstage the next week, Bret ripping out a few strands of Shawn’s hair in the process.
But Shawn got the last laugh in Montreal when Bret was screwed out of the WWF title.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦. ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦.
Undertaker: 4 years ―୨୧⋆ ˚
Shawn was as a broken man after his breakup with Bret, and even more so after the screwjob. Aside from DX, no one in the locker room wanted anything to do with him regardless of him telling people he wasn’t involved in screwing Bret out of the title (a lie no one believed).
It was the loneliest he’d felt in some time and certainly the longest he’d gone being single, which he had a hard time dealing with. Being the third wheel of Hunter and Chyna certainly didn’t help.
Undertaker had gained the same disdain towards Shawn as many of the guys had after the screwjob, steering clear of the blond at all costs. But he was also a professional and was willing to put his pride aside to do his job. So when Vince came to him about a possible feud with Shawn and a casket match, Undertaker agreed to it, albeit begrudgingly.
Ironically, their relationship began after Undertaker had injured Shawn’s back on that casket.
He felt absolutely devastated after hearing of Shawn’s upcoming back surgery that was a result of the casket clipping his back. When the words ‘career-ending injury’ began floating around, he felt sick to his stomach from guilt, blaming himself for the accident.
After Shawn’s surgery, Undertaker sent numerous ‘get well soon’ cards and flowers to Shawn’s hospital room. Shawn initially thought it was from his family or Hunter, but the cards never identified a sender. It wasn’t until Undertaker visited him in the hospital, the only wrestler outside of Shawn’s friends to come see him, that everything came together.
Undertaker was expecting to receive anger, insults, a spew of curses, anything other than the appreciative smile Shawn gave him when he sat at his bedside. The conversation was light, pleasant even, ending with Shawn telling Undertaker not to blame himself for his injury. He didn’t blame him, so the dead man shouldn’t do the same.
The visits became more frequent and once Shawn was released from the hospital, Undertaker had even taken some time off the road to look after Shawn in Texas. It was during that time at Shawn’s home that they officially got together.
Being with Undertaker was vastly different than Shawn’s previous partners. It was almost a bit odd being with a man that was so thoughtful, yet also not afraid to call Shawn out on his shit. Undertaker had a very no-nonsense demeanor that Shawn respected and was drawn to.
At that point in his life, Shawn was done playing games, no longer interested in the drama of relationships. He didn’t want to pick fights or throw hissy fits. He wanted something easy. Simple. And that’s what they had.
During his time with Undertaker, Shawn had matured the most. Undertaker helped him better understand his emotions, reflect on his past, and realize what wanted in life going forward. It may have also helped that Shawn was completely sober due to him taking medication, which Undertaker made sure he wasn’t misusing.
Undertaker was very instrumental in helping Shawn train to go back to the WWF, now WWE, in 2002. A lot had changed in Shawn’s absence, and he was honestly insecure and a little bit scared to return. He didn’t know if the fans would even care about him returning. And he knew a few of the boys backstage wouldn’t be happy. But Undertaker was always there to kiss away his worries, ensuring him that everything would be ok. They would be together, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Shawn.
Shawn didn’t know their relationship could get any stronger, but it surely did after his return to the company. For the first time, Shawn was able to see what it was like to have a healthy relationship on the road. Undertaker didn’t question him of his whereabouts backstage or hover over him at the bar. He trusted Shawn and Shawn trusted him, knowing that they’d always end the night in each other’s arms at the hotel.
They broke up some time in 2004. The breakup was amicable, and there were no cars keyed in the parking lot this time. Shawn wanted to take some time to focus on himself and his career, which Taker completely understood as they’d both been putting their career over their relationship. Undertaker also needed to focus on his own personal issues, especially with his brother Kane. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was best for Shawn’s safety for them to be apart for the time being.
As mutual as the decision was, it was still a painful breakup for the two. They really loved each other, and always would, but they had their own paths in life that didn’t seem to involve each other at the moment. They figured if it was meant to be, they’d find each other again.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦. ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦.
Hunter: 2006 - Present ―୨୧⋆ ˚
To be honest Shawn should’ve seen this one coming.
Hunter had been Shawn’s best friend since 1996. He thought Shawn was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen when he first met him, and he’d almost made a move on the blond until he learned that Shawn was dating Kevin. Hunter settled on being good friends with Shawn and began dating Chyna shortly after.
As he and Shawn grew into best friends, his interest in the shorter man never wavered. Unfortunately for him, he never had an opportunity to pursue Shawn in their younger years as either he or Shawn always seemed to be in a relationship while the other was single.
And the one time that they were both single, they weren’t on speaking terms. They’d gotten into a heated argument where Shawn called Hunter a backstabbing friend and accused him of using him to get to the top. Hunter was fed up with taking the brunt of Shawn’s anger and they both didn’t speak to each other for over a year after that.
Surprisingly, it was Kevin that reunited the two, encouraging Hunter to talk to Shawn and hear him out. After hearing about Shawn’s injury and back surgery, Kevin was quick to call the blond, concerned about his well-being. Though they hadn’t ended on good terms, he would always care for him.
They’d kept in touch sparingly since then and through their short conversations, Kevin learned of Shawn’s falling out with Hunter. Shawn was a stubborn man and Kevin knew that no matter how sorry Shawn sounded over the phone, Hunter would need to make the first move to fix their friendship. And after learning how sorry Shawn was, that’s what Hunter did.
He still held a bit of anger towards Shawn, but he missed him. And after a tearful reunion, their friendship was back even stronger, and so was his feelings for the blond. Feelings that had never left. But Hunter soon learned it was too late to pursue anything as Shawn had been dating Undertaker.
So just as he had in 1996, Hunter settled on being a good best friend to Shawn. And he was ok with that. They had so much to catch up on, and Hunter was just happy to have his buddy back.
Shawn and Hunter didn’t get together until 2006 after DX reunited. They’d already been close after rekindling their friendship but being DX once again and constantly being surrounded by each other while also never getting sick of the other really solidified their feelings for one another. That and the kiss Shawn gave Hunter on New Year’s Eve.
For the first time, Shawn felt confident as he went into his relationship with Hunter. He was in a better headspace, had matured, and instead of carrying over toxic traits of past relationships, he carried over the lessons he’d learned over the years, determined to make this relationship last because he not only cared for Hunter as a lover but as a best friend. He’d already built up an immense amount of love for the man, and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship again. Also, Shawn was getting up there in age and was ready to settle down.
Being with Hunter made Shawn wish he’d made the decision sooner. They just got each other. Many times Shawn wouldn’t need to say anything, just give Hunter a look and the man would know what he was thinking.
Hunter was always so tender with him, probably afraid that Shawn would break or revert to his old ways at the slightest hiccup, which Shawn wasn’t going to allow to happen.
Shawn loved that Hunter was very affectionate, always touching him in some kind of way whether it’s holding his hand, hugging him every chance he got, playing with his hair, or tugging on his pocket to bring him closer.
Their fights were minimal, or at least they fought the least out of any of Shawn’s relationships. But when they did fight, it wasn’t the usual screaming matches Shawn was accustomed to. They talked to each other calmly with level heads, both hearing each other out before making a point. And they’d always end the conversation with a hug and an ‘I love you.’
Shawn’s sure Hunter’s the one after the man gets injured in 2007. Seeing Hunter in the hospital in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it broke Shawn.
He took time off the road to help Hunter with his injury, much like Undertaker had done for him. Being with Hunter every day so close in such an intimate setting of Hunter’s Connecticut home made Shawn realize he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. And any man that could make Shawn endure the cold Connecticut winters deserved his heart.
The proposal was impromptu, Shawn whipping out the ring after Hunter’s physical therapy session. It was bittersweet, more sweet than bitter, since Hunter wanted to be the one to propose first. He’d been planning on doing it and would have done it sooner had it not been for his injury.
But as he looked into Shawn’s beautiful teary blue eyes, he said yes, of course, and they were married on New Year’s Eve of that year, sharing the same kiss that started their relationship.
Looking back on the past, as painful as it was, Shawn wished he could thank all of the men he’d ever loved for teaching him how to love and helping him grow into the husband he was today.
#divider cr: @cafekitsune#hartbreak#bret hart x shawn michaels#marty jannetty x shawn michaels#kevin nash x shawn michaels#undertaker x shawn michaels#triple h x shawn michaels#bretshawn#hbtaker#shawnter#shawter#alternate universe#wwe fanfiction#shawn michaels#bret hart#marty jannetty#kevin nash#undertaker#triple h
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
shawn telling bret he’s going to do a little dance and pull his clothes off especially for him will haunt me until the day i die
#why would he say that#SPECIFICALLY FOR BRET#i’m insane#shawn michaels#bret hart#bret hart x shawn michaels#bretshawn#hartbreak
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels, nsfw
a/n: I don't write smut, but my hand slipped. Sorry for this show of degeneracy lmao. Happy holidays
tysm @prettyboymichaels for beta-reading muwah muwah <3
Bret fixes the cowboy hat on Shawn’s head before he yanks on his hair, earning a hiss from the man kneeling in front of him. “You look so good, baby,” Bret grunts as he shoves his cock deeper into Shawn’s throat. He holds him there for a moment, hand cradling the back of Shawn’s head then he pulls him off for a chance to breathe. The blonde coughs, hands grasping at the fabric of Bret’s jeans. The wrestler smirks, watching Shawn’s eyelashes flutter, tongue lolling out to guide Bret’s cock back into his mouth. “God, you’re needy.”
The air is hot and humid, sweat soaking both of their skin. Bret thinks Shawn looks best like this, on his knees and his mouth full. Shawn’s hands wrap around the root of Bret’s shaft, stroking what his tongue couldn’t reach. Bret rolls his hips forward, cursing at the way Shawn’s cheek stretches from the tip of his cock. The dark-haired man leans back on the cushions of the couch, bucking forward when he feels teeth pull at the skin of his shaft. The actor bobs on his dick, gagging loud for only Bret to hear. With hollowed cheeks, Shawn pulls away, a string of saliva connecting his reddened lips to Bret.
The older man laughs and fixes the cowboy hat on Shawn’s head. “Thought I was the cowboy here,” he mutters as Shawn crawls onto Bret’s lap. Shawn grinds down, mewling at the feeling of Bret’s crotch poking at his entrance. The smaller man lets out a breathy chuckle. “You are now,” Shawn groans as Bret’s hands snake their way up Shawn’s chest, fingers pinching at his nipples.
Shawn takes off his cowboy hat in favor of letting Bret wear it. Bret looks up at Shawn, peeking at him beyond the brim of the hat. Without so much of a though, Shawn leans down to lick Bret’s bottom lip. Bret opens his mouth to the invitation, and they share a passionate kiss, smiles on both of their faces. Bret places one hand on Shawn’s jaw, deepening their kiss while the other hand rubs along the globe of Shawn’s ass.
Impatient, Shawn breaks their kiss to suck on his own fingers, wetting them like how he did with Bret’s shaft moments earlier. Shawn looks like a dream and Bret couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his lips as Shawn’s hand passes his own to finger himself. Shawn chokes out a gasp, pumping his fingers inside him. “I can’t wait anymore, Bret.” Shawn whines as he pushes his chest to the other man’s face.
Bret licks a stripe over Shawn’s nipple as the other’s free hand grips on his shoulder for leverage. The older man holds the base of his cock, lining it up to Shawn’s entrance and Shawn sinks down with a long, breathy sigh. “You’re stretching me real good,” Shawn huffs into Bret’s neck as he fully sheaths himself on his lover’s cock. His fingers curl in Bret’s unbuttoned shirt and Bret feels the familiar tight heat of the body on top of him. Shawn tosses his head back as he pulls himself up, only to roll his hips down. It made both of them moan and Bret couldn’t wait any longer. He grabs onto Shawn’s hips and thrusts upwards, which earns him a high-pitched keen.
A thrill shot through Bret’s spine as he thrusts faster, forcing out each noise that escapes Shawn’s lips. Bret’s hold on Shawn’s hips tightens and they were both sure it was going to bruise. The thrusts went from controlled and even to fast and erratic. Bret’s moans are drowned out by Shawn and the creak of the couch they sat on. Shawn’s thighs shake as he bounces to meet Bret’s thrusts, his own cock leaking between their stomachs. Bret hisses as Shawn clenches around him. “I’m almost there, baby,” Shawn whimpers out, breathing into the lobe of Bret’s ear.
Bret was close too, watching Shawn use him as a toy, how his hair bounces with each desperate thrust. Their sweat soaks the cushions of the chair and Bret dreads the idea of having to wash them. But with how Shawn moans so prettily, eyes closed and mouth open, Bret didn’t hate the thought as much. The older man snakes his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Shawn’s leaking shaft, and Bret could swear Shawn tightens even more when Bret’s thumb rubs the vein on the side of his cock. “Fuck,” Shawn groans, not knowing whether he should thrust down to feel Bret nail his prostate or thrust up to get some sort of friction from Bret’s hand. Bret laughs, breathless. “Keep bouncing like that, baby. You look so good.”
Shawn keens at the praise but it was cut off by Bret licking the skin where his throat met his shoulder. Unconsciously, Shawn leans his head to the side, giving Bret more room to mark him. It wasn’t until Bret sinks his teeth after a bite that Shawn chokes on a sob. A quiet moan rips out from Shawn’s throat and he’s coming, wrapping Bret like a vice.
As Shawn paints both of their bodies white, Bret chases his high and hurries his thrusts until it abruptly ends with Bret deep inside the blonde. Shawn whimpers; head in Bret’s neck as he is filled. The moment stretches on, the room’s silence only interrupted by the crackle of the fire place and their pants. Bret rubs on the red hand marks on Shawn’s hips, gentle and soothing. It took a while for Shawn to finally lift his head and bump his nose with Bret’s. Shawn smiles, cheeks flushed, “Not too bad, cowboy.” Bret smirks and tilts his head to the side, blocking his eyes with the brim of his cowboy hat.
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Anyway, following up on my previous post about noir Bret and the aggravating blond man getting in his way:
(also on AO3)
a/n: This turned out longer than I expected lol so splitting into two parts
Bret got a lot of calls to catch cheating spouses — he always saw himself doing more noble work once he set up as a private investigator — but this one struck him as a little different. For one thing, the alleged divorce lawyer hadn’t given him a name and, truthfully, Bret didn’t care so much when the check slid through his mail slot from the “Greenwich Trust” cleared. All he said was that the spouse, something of a wildcat, had been blackmailed before and the attorney figured that was worth following up on.
They’d never met, but Bret knew plenty about the guy he was supposed to be following. Shawn Michaels, the younger son of a Texas oil family who’d used his family’s name to get engaged to another billionaire and move off the oil fields and into a Mission-revival mansion and make trouble.
He was an easy enough kind of guy to take pictures of, and not just because he seemed like he didn’t have anything to hide. Bret spent most of the couple of days he’d been following him watching the man in stores Bret couldn’t even stand near without getting a sideways look.
On the second day — the last of his contracted nothing burger of an assignment — Bret was about to call it a day when he followed the man to his house and parked a little ways down the street. The night before all he’d done was watch him make several animated phone calls by his bedroom window. He was too far back for Bret to hear him even with the window open, but he had a close call when he was sure the blond was looking right at him.
The second night, however, was far different. He ended up at home much earlier than the day before, after a hard day of a late breakfast and browsing the farmer’s market. The mansion was fully staffed, so Bret was surprised to see the housekeeper and butler sent away in the early afternoon on a Thursday.
Then he saw the reason.
Not long after the two left, a Mercedes entered the driveway driven by a man Bret recognized; he knew him as one of Hunter’s business associates, the one that Bret guessed was put in charge of bribes specifically, considering how often he’d seen him around during his time at LAPD.
A huge man — he must’ve been near seven feet tall, from Bret’s vantage point in the bushes — was met at the door by his target, who greeted him in a silk robe with a lingering kiss. Maybe the divorce lawyer had been onto something.
Bret snapped a photo and then followed them through the wall with his camera lens, waiting for them to reappear in the upstairs bedroom. Without bothering to shut the window — maybe he hadn’t expected an audience, or didn’t mind one — he made quick work of the larger man’s clothes and was tossed onto the bed. The blond quickly changed their positions to straddle the other man, and Bret snapped several photos of the blond in the throes of passion. Just doing a thorough job for the client of course.
Bret returned to his office the next morning, developing what he had in the makeshift red room he’d made from the space a secretary would normally occupy. He had a large office, mostly because no one wanted to be in this part of town, spreading out in the top floor of a pre-war art deco building that had seen better days — and worse ones — than a B-movie starlet.
Photos developed, Bret went back to work on his usual batch of background investigations, tailings, and surveillance, with radio silence from the divorce lawyer who’d hired him as he waited in his office.
Bret could hear someone opening the door in his front office developing room. The creak from a door off its hinges thanks to more slammed fists and hurried exits than Bret could remember added a layer of security.
He saw a shadow sidle up to the door and watched it click open before he had time to reach the handle of the gun he kept on the underside of his desk — just in case.
The person who opened the door wasn’t a gangster or wronged client out for blood. It was someone altogether more dangerous, Bret could already tell: the good-looking blond he’d been hired to photograph.
Before stepping fully inside, the man ran a finger over the Hart & Associates label on the door and made a show of glancing around the office.
“And where are your associates?”
Bret hadn’t talked to him, just taken pictures of him, so he wasn’t expecting the low, raspy voice that came out of the blond — not the type of voice for a society boy to have. In fact, it was one that spoke more to long days of hard work, Bret decided.
“Out in the world when I choose to associate with them, Mister…” Bret said, offering an opening for an introduction.
Not finding a seat, the blond perched himself on the corner of Bret’s desk, where he immediately noticed the stack of photos Bret had developed.
He lifted his sunglasses to look at them and then back at Bret. “I know you know who I am.”
There was a flash of something dangerous there; a challenge.
“Right. Anyway, I prefer a solo operation.” Bret leaned back in his chair.
“Do you prefer it, or does your bank account?”
Bret cleared his throat, watching the other man push through the stack of photos for a moment before reaching out a hand to stop him. Bret had gotten rid of the more personal ones. Well, he’d locked them away in his desk drawer.
The man paused on the one of himself in his bedroom, talking on the phone.
”This is a good picture of me, don’t you think, detective?” He showed it to Bret. “Did you forget your job was to make me look bad?”
He pocketed the photo and put the stack back down. “And since you know who I am, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
Bret wasn’t sure why, not entirely. He’d been sure he’d be served or had at the very least expected a second lawyer in tow with a legal threat, but instead the blond had shown up here alone in a long black coat and sunglasses, looking exactly like the dangerous type of character the detective always ruins his life for in a Marlowe story.
“Well, I heard about the blackmail. If you’re here to sue, I wasn’t going to publish these.” Bret gathered up the rest of the photos and put them in his desk drawer — a different one.
“It’s not to sue; it’s about my missing husband,” the blond said. “Although, my lawyer is the one who suggested I contact you.”
“Oh?” Bret hoped he sounded less surprised than he was.
“I’m not sure which part of that you were surprised by, but I don’t think it was the last part.” He turned his head to look at the Times in the bin by his desk, then gave Bret a pointed look. “Don’t you read these papers before you throw them in the garbage?”
“Well,” Bret bent to pick up the paper. “Maybe I need a refresher.” And there it was on the front page: Billionaire Helmsley Missing — Tycoon Last Seen Tuesday.
Good riddance, Bret thought. He’d never cared much for Helmsley anyway.
The blond watched him read and must’ve been twigged by the face Bret’d made.
“His parents called to talk to him and he wasn’t home, so they get the reporters involved.”
He reached inside his coat pocket for a pearl cigarette case and put a Marlboro to his lips. Bret was used to clients reaching for a smoke, but it was normally with shaky hands and fingers that couldn’t quite get the flint to light. This man was all ease.
He pointed back at the story’s placement on the front page, some of the ash burning a hole through the photo of his husband. “Slow news day.”
He held out the case in Bret’s direction and put it away when Bret declined.
Something about the other man set Bret off course; not quite making him uneasy — he was still interested in the case. Even moral men had bills to pay, after all.
“So what can I do for you?” Bret asked.
“The LAPD have been in Hunter’s pocket since we lived here — you know that better than anyone,” he met Bret’s eyes meaningfully, “so of course they suspected me as soon as they got a chance to.”
“You want me to help clear your name?” It was less a question than one of the services on Bret’s menu board.
The blond was already pulling out a checkbook. “I’ll pay you double whatever that idiot was paying you to follow me.”
Bret huffed out a laugh. “’That idiot?’ Your missing husband?”
It was the other man’s turn to laugh. “My husband is not the one who contacted you.”
And Bret knew that was true. While the “lawyer” on the phone hadn’t left a name, Bret had had to speak to Helmsley enough to decide he didn’t like him, after all. He’d certainly recognize his voice.
“Mr. Michaels —”
“My husband’s missing, not dead.”
“Mr. Helmsley?”
“Shawn.” Shawn gave him a wry smile. Now he was just being difficult.
“Shawn, I’m not sure —”
“Whatever you’re about to say, scrap it, and say you’ll take the case.”
Even if Bret had on objection, he wouldn’t have had time to voice it before Shawn was off his desk and at the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, detective.” Shawn held up the photo of himself in his room he’d swiped from Bret’s desk. “I know you know the place.”
When Bret pulled up, the driveway was full of more LAPD cars than the lot at the station during shift change.
It was the maid who answered, but Shawn was right behind her, a catlike smile as soon as the door swung open to reveal him. Not that he needed much more revealing, considering the shoddy job he’d done closing his robe — the same one he’d been wearing the other day.
“Detective.”
Bret paused to wipe his shoes at the doormat.
“Don’t bother, I was hoping to add a few more muddy boot prints to my collection,” Shawn said, loud enough for the patrolmen passing them from outside to hear.
Bret followed Shawn into the sitting room, where he noticed that Shawn had already had the surveillance photo of himself framed. He sank down next to it in an overstuffed armchair.
Shawn produced another cigarette from the case in his pocket.
“They’ve been in and out of here all day.” Shawn tracked the boys in blue with his cigarette before putting it up to his mouth. He searched for his light, but Bret beat him to it, offering it to his mouth.
He looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“Never know when you need a light.” Bret pocketed the lighter and pulled out his notebook. “Makes sense they’re being so thorough. They thought of your husband like one of their own, right?” It came out more bitterly than Bret had meant it to, but the sentiment was there.
“If that’s the case, I wish they’d treat that rug the same way. They’ve been tracking mud all over it all day.” Shawn rolled his eyes. “It only got here last week. Christmas gift from Hunter or something, I guess. He never let me buy this one.”
Bret looked around while Shawn reached down to pick at an imaginary stain on the white fur. He was loved, clearly. Plenty of pictures of him and Helmsley from expensive-looking vacations and some just of Shawn.
“What’d you do before this, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bret was going to guess model, the past time of rich younger children who weren’t born ugly.
“Nothing. Now I do nothing with more jewelry.” Bret looked at the ring on his finger. Yes, he was loved.
Bret glanced around and met eyes with a group of cops the next room over. It’d been an uncharacteristically rainy day in LA, and Bret knew he’d need to move quickly if there was anything to find. The cops must have known the same thing and sent out half the force.
Bret recognized most of them, still working for the LAPD even after everything that had happened — it seemed not many other cops had had the same distaste for bribery that Bret did. But, true to Shawn’s word, they did seem to have a distaste for him — something Bret and Shawn had in common — and talked loudly in every room they occupied.
Bret leaned toward Shawn, elbows on knees. “Do you have somewhere quieter we could talk?”
Shawn laughed a little, bitter. “A bar.” Then he grinned. It was decided. “I’ll get ready.”
He shimmied out of the room, clearly expecting Bret to watch him leave — and he did, but only for a second.
Bret dropped his eyes to Shawn’s black book next to the phone as soon as the other man was out of view. He glanced around for his potential audience and moved to Shawn’s unoccupied chair to look at the open pages. Normal enough — certainly not quite as many numbers as Bret had expected a society swan to have — but there was one without a name attached.
The line picked up on the first ring.
“Shawn?” A drowsy voice answered, and Bret could hear an accent even on just one word.
It sounded familiar to Bret, but he couldn’t quite place it. He stayed silent on the line, hoping the man would continue.
“Shawnie, if you’re calling back about Hunter, like I said, I’d let you know when —”
Bret rubbed his thumb along the receiver, hoping it sounded like a bad connection, and placed the receiver down. He definitely recognized the voice, but he still wasn’t entirely sure from where. But the accent and the local area code certainly narrowed it down.
The outfit Shawn Michaels wore to a bar before noon on a Sunday wasn’t much more conservative than the robe he’d been wearing at home.
Instead of one of the dives Bret was used to — or one of the high-end places he expected society people to go — Shawn had dragged him to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint.
Shawn gave up on translating the menu to him — “there’s nothing to translate, detective, all of the drinks are what they say they are” — and ordered him the same thing he was having — and continued speaking to the bartender in Spanish for longer than Bret thought necessary, both looking over at Bret a few different times.
They took their drinks to the small patio in the courtyard of the complex, string lanterns offering a little light from the rain still drizzling around their table umbrella. Bret wiped down his chair with a discarded table cloth; Shawn stood to the side, expecting Bret to do the same for him and rolling his eyes when he didn’t, pulling his coat off to drape over the seat instead.
Bret was used to the relative cold outside, but maybe Shawn had already had something that was warming him up.
Bret inspected both of his drinks, one a shot of something clear and the other what Bret guessed was a margarita. Dark liquors and beers were more his speed. He opted for the shot first and had to wince back when it burned his throat. He coughed.
“I have to say, Shawn, not many of my clients looking for a missing person wait until the next day to start looking.”
Shawn threw back his own shot and met Bret’s eyes dead on. No wincing. “I’m not looking. I’m sure I know where he is.”
Bret couldn’t help the head shake and little smile he could feel forming on his face. So far, nothing about this case had been typical.
“And where is that?” He asked.
“I think,” Shawn started, turning the margarita tumbler in his hands with a smile of his own. “He decided he was having a little too much after-Christmas fun with his little friends and I’ll see him next week. Probably went down to Mexico.”
Bret reached for his notebook, thinking more of taking notes on his client than on the missing husband. “An after-Christmas cruise? Do you not normally tag along?”
“And watch my husband flirt with some whore on a boat? I don’t care for it. Unless I get to be the whore, that is.” There was that smile again.
Bret flipped to a new page in his notebook. “He much of a partier?”
“No, that’s me.” To illustrate, Shawn toasted his near-empty margarita to him. “He doesn’t like the drinks, but he likes the ladies who bring them.”
“You don’t seem terribly concerned.”
“About what?”
“About… anything.”
“I’m not concerned — and I just told you why I wasn’t. But I’m sure you know how it would look for me to be unconcerned.”
Bret knew how people like Shawn came off. Bret had been thinking of him the same way. The clothes, the jewelry, the flirty touches, and the easy smile that didn’t reach his cloudy eyes. Of course a guy like that would make his husband disappear, and of course everyone would think that.
“Well, if you say he’s on boat to Mexico, then what should we be working on?”
“He normally leaves out of Long Beach.” He leaned forward to finger Bret’s sleeve. “I guess you could poke around there if you’re already sick of me.”
Bret pocketed his notebook and stood from the table. “I’m starting to think you hired me to be your friend.”
“I have friends.”
“Not in LA.”
On a good day, you could be in Long Beach in under two hours. On a day like this one, where the port was blocked off by yet another set of cops and what felt like miles of crime scene tape, it took longer.
Bret was less than pleased when he pulled off the side of the road and was greeted by a familiar face strolling up to his car. Jannetty, a late night partier playing dress up in a trench coat and badge, leaned his arm on the roof of the driver’s side as Bret made to open his door.
“Doing an investigation, Hart.”
“Explains all the tape.” Bret moved his eyes away from the scene in front of him to meet Jannetty’s. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Case I’ve been working on. New developments, so I followed them down to Long Beach.”
Bret made to open his door again but was blocked by Jannetty’s knee nudging it closed.
“What I meant was I don’t normally see you around the scenes of investigations — doesn’t matter where they are.”
Bret would have written this off as a bust. Talking to Jannetty was never much use to him — but it did give him some important information this time: the identity of the man on the phone. Shawn had been calling Jannetty’s number and seemed to have a direct line.
Since it didn’t seem like he’d be doing much here — not with Jannetty breathing down his neck, anyhow — he’d do some other investigating. Shawn was covering the gas.
They’d worked together for a few years back when Bret was a detective and Jannetty was wearing a detective’s uniform, but Bret had never known much about the other man other than that he clearly wasn’t an LA native. Not too strange: LA was always a city of new residents. Bret had moved there himself after the war.
They’d started off on the wrong foot — Bret turning down Jannetty’s offer to go to a club after work one day — and ended on another wrong foot — Jannetty’s mysterious lack of punishment for a flub that saw an innocent officer punished instead. Well, it had served as a wrong foot for both Jannetty and Helmsley, in Bret’s book. The two had always been buddy-buddy and it didn’t take genius to figure out how Jannetty got off scot-free. Bret left the force soon after.
He wanted to know just what Shawn would’ve been calling a man like Jannetty about. Knowing he wouldn’t get access to Jannetty’s files, Bret decided to try his luck with a newspaper search. Jannetty was an uncommon enough last name, and if he’d done anything noteworthy, he’d show up. The library staff was used to Bret enough by this point that he had his own login to the microfiche and records. Doing a word search of Jannetty’s name proved easy enough, and he was able to find a few records in Georgia and Texas. Finding nothing in Georgia other than a few reports about Jannetty’s apparent amateur wrestling skill, he moved onto the results in Texas.
They weren’t long afterward, and Bret had guessed Marty moved west looking for work and wound up in central Texas. Not interesting on its own, but what was was the engagement announcement from several years back: one Martin Jannetty and a Shawn Michaels. Bret didn’t think he had a very common name either — certainly not common enough to overlook this coincidence.
Bret couldn’t find a photo of either of them in this paper, but he did find a photo of someone else in another newspaper for another town in Texas, near Dallas. A tragic accident — a young heir falling off a boat. A young heir who happened to be named Shawn Michaels. There was a photo of the family in the newspaper, taken in some opulent living room on some sprawling estate, Bret was sure. It was helpfully labeled for his convenience.
He turned the dial to look closer at the picture. The young man in the photo didn’t look a thing like the Shawn he knew — even in the grainy newsprint, he could tell he had dark hair. More importantly, he was dead — and had been for about five years.
#bretshawn#hartbreak#shawn michaels#bret hart#triple h#marty jannetty#unnamed appearance from#kevin nash#i apologize for the barebones mobile formatting#but helpful scene dividers courtesy of @saradika
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Don’t Stop
18+, Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels one shot
[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]
Tags: Daddy kink, brat Shawn
Word count: 841
Summary:
Shawn just needs some good old fashioned fun. What better way to get it then by acting a little bratty with Bret?
“I fucking love you Bret.”
The air was sucked out of the room in an instant. Did Shawn really just say that? No, he couldn’t have. The sex was so mind blowing that Bret was just imagining things, he had to be. He questioned the statement with a slow thrust inside of Shawn. The feeling of the larger man’s cock brushing against his prostate made Shawn whine.
“You love me?”
“Well— your dick. Not so much you.”
Ouch.
Bret smacked Shawn’s toned ass so hard it was probably going to leave a bruise. Thankfully he had the foresight not to do it on the tattooed cheek. He wanted to slide out of him right then and there. Why should he keep making him feel good when he was being such a jerk? He knew how the blond could be sometimes, choosing the exact words that would push his buttons. It was time to put a stop to that. Bret roughly wrapped his fingers in Shawn’s wavy hair and pulled his head back. His other hand remained on Shawn’s hip, fingers digging deeply into his flesh.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say. Apologize.”
Another whimper escaped from Shawn at the feeling of being pressed against Bret’s chest. Shawn did mean it— he loved Bret. Was even ready to admit that he was in love with him. But he didn’t want the mushy, overly romantic sex that those words brought. Tonight all he wanted was to get fucked. So he pushed the feelings aside and turned up the attitude.
“Say sorry, Shawn. Or I’ll pull out right now.” The strained disappointment in Bret’s voice strengthened his accent. It made Shawn smile so big he looked delirious.
“Ugh, okay. I’m sorry. Keep fucking me.”
There was so little sincerity in Shawn’s voice Bret wondered why he even bothered to pretend. If they had a mirror in front of them he’d probably see Shawn rolling his eyes, and not for the reasons they were supposed to be rolling.
“Why should I? That wasn't — good — enough.” Bret moved to wrap his arm around Shawn’s stomach. His words were followed by hard, slow strokes. Strands of his brunette hair stuck to his sweaty forehead in anticipation. After a too long moment of silence, Bret agonizingly began to pull out of him.
“Please, please, please don’t stop, daddy. I’m sorry.”
That was new. It was so new and so hot Bret chose to ignore how extremely not sorry Shawn was.
Bret’s brown eyes zeroed in on Shawn’s cock as soon as “daddy” left his mouth. It twitched and leaked, a pretty picture that made Bret’s vision white out. Shawn must have been waiting a long time to call him that. As soon as Bret heard it, he started to pound away. Tears of pleasure built in the corners of Shawn’s eyes that Bret reached up to wipe away. His voice was almost primal as he growled right into Shawn’s ear.
“You like how daddy makes you feel, huh? Is that why you’re acting like this?”
He’d never heard him sound like that before. They’d had some passionate, intense sessions in the past. Escapades that were enough to make Shawn blush when they randomly came to mind. Nothing like this. Shawn made a note to himself that he’d have to put the brat act on more often.
“I love it, I love you, fuck, Bret —“
Shawn felt Bret release hot inside of him. His scalp was starting to ache like a motherfucker from the iron grip Bret had on his hair. It was worth it though to hear his worn out breathing. Shawn laughed to himself; he knew he was the only one who could make the other man feel that way. Whether Bret wanted to admit it or not.
Bret shoved Shawn back down on the bed hard. He laid there in the soft, white sheets not saying a word. His head was swirling way too much to come up with a quip.
“‘I love you daddy.’ You don’t know how pathetic you sounded.” Bret tried to mock him, tried to act like the disgust was real. Really, he wanted to hear Shawn say it one more time. Maybe two or three more times. An infinite amount of times wouldn’t be bad, either. The way Shawn’s normally deep, gravel-lined voice hitched up an octave or two when Bret began to grind into him would be etched in his memory forever.
“Psh, you liked it. Don’t even act like you didn’t.”
Shawn lifted his head up and turned his sparkling blue eyes to Bret’s tired face. He winked and let his head fall back into the sheets with a plop. Blond hair shook down and across his shoulders as he rolled onto his back, cock hard and already wanting more. The charm was on in full force and Bret was having a hard time not indulging him.
“You wanna go again, daddy? I promise I’ll be good this time.” Shawn laughed, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
#bret hart x shawn michaels#bretshawn#shawn michaels#bret hart#wrestling#wrestling fanfic#wrestling smut#hartbreak#magnoliafanfic
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
The way this is literally them
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guys I got high and wrote sad middle aged Shawn Michaels/ bretshawn menopause fanfic in my notes app… it’s gone off the deep end for me for real this time
#basically hbk and Bret r together and Shawn’s back hurts but Bret isn’t really being gentle w him at all#and Mr Shawn is worried that it’s because he’s not appealing anymore#also.#it is abo.#I am sorry#more to it than that but I feel like it’s already enough of a breach to share even this#my mind is a beast when left untethered#a cringe beast#it’s ok he can barely work a computer to the point that he doesn’t run any of his socials so he will not see this#and kayfaybe👆👆🙏#someone pls let me talk to you about this#it’s low key genius let me cook#bretshawn
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
every time i see a new post about hartbreak on this site i giggle and twirl my hair and kick my feet in the air
#bretshawn content creators I Love Y'all#like whether its a fic art edits memes pictures .... you bet i am reblogging with a huge smile on my face#we are a small community but we are cool#hartbreak#hitman#hbk#hit the breaks
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shout out to that one bretshawn fic writer who's been unknowingly feeding me for the past few months, and to the only 2 people that enable my delusional brain ideas about said ship. Gotta be my favorite people
#ive been sniffing every corner of the internet for some good fucking food#something about that ship makes me go absolutely feral#*ramblings
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
🪄Harry Potter AU: Headcanon
Slytherin!Shawn x Gryffindor! Bret
a/n: because I'm also a Potterhead, if you didn't know 🤪
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Years 1-3 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Shawn’s a rich kid that comes from a long line of powerful pureblood wizards, all of whom were Slytherins. His acceptance into Hogwarts came as no surprise, and his sorting into the Slytherin house was to be expected.
Shawn’s childhood friends, the kliq as they called themselves, were also sorted into the Slytherin house: Hunter Helmsley’s a pompous pureblood, more like the Draco Malfoy character. Scott Hall, Kevin Nash, and Sean Waltman are all half-bloods, but come from prestigious families.
Bret grew up in a busy, overcrowded house full of his brothers and sisters. Both of his parents were muggles, so they were blindsided when they birthed a wizard. Even more shocking was the letter Bret received on his eleventh birthday from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was the first Hart in his family to attend such a reputable school, and the only other Hart to attend after him would be his youngest brother, Owen.
The sorting hat didn’t have to think long to place Bret in Gryffindor. At such a young age, he’d already exhibited such key traits as bravery, courage, and loyalty. He quickly became friends with a few kids in his house named Jim Neidhart, Brian Pillman, and Davey Smith. Owen would join their group years later after being sorted into Gryffindor during his first year.
Shawn and Bret were sworn enemies since their first year at the school. At the age of eleven, Shawn had grown used to getting anything he wanted, and what he wanted was to be friends with the cool Canadian kid.
But after witnessing the nasty attitude Shawn presented towards others that were ‘beneath him,’ Bret rejected the blond’s offer of friendship, preferring to make his own friends based on personality rather than status. Unable to process his embarrassment, Shawn resented Bret, thus sparking their ongoing rivalry.
As they grew up, Bret thought Shawn was an insufferable, entitled, spoiled brat, and Shawn thought Bret was an annoying know-it-all that took their studies way too seriously. Little did he know, Bret couldn’t afford to not take school seriously. Thanks to Professor Dumbledore, his education at Hogwarts had been subsidized by the school, but if his grades slipped, he would be at risk of getting expelled.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Years 4-5 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Bret and Shawn’s disdain for each other ran into a snag when they both came to a sudden realization: “Oh, no. He’s hot!”
Puberty had done them both some good, and when Bret found himself daydreaming about the blond one day, he knew he needed to avoid Shawn at all costs.
Shawn had quite the opposite effect: “You guys ever notice how cute Bret looks when he’s threatening to kill me,” he dreamily sighed. His friends looked at him oddly, passing the comment off as him being weird.
Shawn and Bret started to better tolerate each other when Shawn began tutoring Bret for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Bret was forced to humble himself by asking the blond for help at Professor Snape’s suggestion. It was the one class he couldn’t master, and Shawn was one of Snape’s star students. Bret would rather put his pride aside than risk failing the OWL exam.
Despite Shawn’s initial request for Bret to refer to him as ‘Professor Shawn,’ Bret was pleasantly surprised at how seriously Shawn had taken their tutoring session. His jovial nature took a backseat as he leaned over Bret’s book, highlighting the important differences between a jinx, a hex, and a curse. After their first session, Bret felt like he understood the subject more than he had that whole semester. It was then that he realized that Shawn was smarter than he let on.
They continued their tutoring sessions even after Bret’s grades started to improve. Bret convinced himself that it was because he understood the material better when Shawn taught it to him. Shawn didn’t have to convince himself of anything, the blond owning that he used their sessions to shamelessly gawk at Bret as he took notes.
The pair grew closer after Shawn had confronted a fellow Slytherin, Steve Austin, for calling Bret and his little brother a filthy pack of mudbloods – a derogatory term for wizards born to parents who were muggles, or non-magic wielding individuals. It was Owen’s first day at the school, and he didn’t expect to be received so negatively.
Shawn’s mouth dropped when he heard the word leave Steve’s mouth. Although he’d had a snooty upbringing, his parents had been decent enough to teach him how rude and tasteless it was to use that word. Shawn stood up for Bret and Owen in front of all of their peers, daring anyone else to utter the word. Bret greatly appreciated it. If a pureblood like Shawn could stand up for someone like him, he figured the blond couldn’t be so bad.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Years 6-7 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Their romance began during their sixth year around the time of the Yule Ball. The decadent event was a big deal and had been a popular topic of discussion amongst Shawn’s group of friends.
As soon as the ball had been announced, Marty Jannetty, a seventh year student, was quick to ask Shawn to the dance. Shawn was all smiles and rosy cheeks when he accepted the invitation as he’d had a crush on Marty since fourth year. But there was a small part of him that wished he’d been asked by a certain Gryffindor.
Bret hated dances, and he had no plans on attending the ball. He figured it’d be a night where he could finally have the library all to himself for some quiet study time. But when he left the library that night, he was shocked to find Shawn sitting under a nearby stairwell crying into an intricately designed handkerchief that was meant to be in his suit pocket.
Bret had never seen Shawn look so vulnerable, and he stood there clueless on what to do. He almost turned around, feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment. But then Shawn called his name in surprise, looking up at him with teary, blue eyes and Bret couldn’t bear to leave him alone. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the ball? Why are you crying?”
Bret sat next to Shawn, and after some coaxing, Shawn slowly opened up about how his night had gone horribly wrong. It started out so great with him dancing the night away with his friends as Marty touted him around like arm candy. “Then I lost him. So I looked around the room, and there he was. Tonguing down some fifth year. Everyone saw it. I was too embarrassed to stay so I left.”
Shawn felt foolish more than anything. Who was he to think he actually had a chance with Marty? That Marty actually liked him? He’d been nothing but a pretty face, nothing but something to claim for the ball before anyone else could.
Bret listened intently, sympathizing with Shawn as he tearfully explained his night. For the feisty blond to be moved to tears, Bret knew that he must’ve really been hurt by Marty’s actions. He’d heard nothing but negative things about the Slytherin, and he was honestly disappointed that Shawn had even become so smitten by someone like him. Marty didn’t deserve Shawn’s tears, and Shawn didn’t deserve to get his night ruined by an asshole like him.
In an effort to make Shawn feel better, Bret suggested they throw their own Yule Ball. Shawn watched in confusion as Bret stood up and began waltzing unrhythmically to the faint music that traveled from the Yule Ball a few buildings over. Bret was aware that he was probably making a fool of himself, but the warm smile from Shawn had been worth it.
Shawn did a spell to amplify the sound of the music before standing up and joining Bret for a dance. As the music slowed, so did Bret and Shawn. It was when they were swaying side to side that Shawn confessed that he was hoping for Bret to ask him to the Yule Ball.
That was news to Bret, but it was what he needed to hear to gain the courage to tell Shawn he liked him, and if he were into dances, he would’ve asked him out. They shared their first kiss that night, one of many to come in their time at Hogwarts.
Shawn’s friends supported the relationship for the most part, but he did have a minor falling out with Hunter. Hunter’s family were a bit more traditionalist than Shawn’s, and Hunter thought dating Bret would ruin Shawn’s reputation. To which Shawn said was bullshit. They made up shortly after Hunter saw how happy Bret made Shawn. Plus, he also missed his best friend.
Bret had been on the quidditch team since third year, and once he and Shawn became official, Shawn became Bret’s biggest cheerleader. Shawn would often get in trouble for using the Soronus spell at games to amplify his voice when cheering for Bret. The Head Boy of the Slytherin house would also scold him for sitting in the Gryffindor section instead of Slytherin:
“Well, my boyfriend’s not in Slytherin. Who else do you expect me to cheer for?”
“Your friend, Hunter? You know, the one that plays for Slytherin?”
“He has a girlfriend for that!”
Shawn would also wear Bret’s quidditch jersey just because he could. Whenever Bret couldn’t find an article of clothing, it was safe to assume it was in Shawn’s dorm. Shawn’s friends quickly got used to seeing red and gold clothing lying around their room. Bret would also wear his boyfriend’s clothing, a staple being Shawn’s Slytherin scarf and a thick sweater he’d left over during winter. It was a bit tight, but cozy. And it smelled like Shawn’s expensive cologne, so that was a plus.
The couple got in trouble on multiple occasions for flying on the same broomstick. Each student was expected to use their own, but Shawn loved being snuggled up behind Bret as his boyfriend whisked them away on the quidditch field after practice.
It became normal for Shawn to show up at Gryffindor functions, as he’d dubbed himself an honorary Gryffindor. No one really questioned it because they knew he’d probably shown up with Bret. Also for the free butter beer that always managed to get snuck in.
Shawn and Bret’s owls became well-acquainted in the summers when Shawn and Bret would constantly send each other letters until school started again.
They had their biggest fight during seventh year when Bret found out that Shawn had been lying to his parents about him. Well, Shawn thought ‘lying’ was a stretch. But he certainly didn’t clear up his parents’ mistake of thinking he was dating a pureblood Slytherin. Bret thought Shawn was ashamed of him and Shawn thought Bret was blowing it out of proportion.
They eventually made up when Shawn invited Bret to his home for the holidays. Shawn’s family didn’t find out until after their pleasant evening with Bret that he was a muggle-born wizard sorted into Gryffindor. It came as a surprise, but because they’d had such a lovely time with Bret, they didn’t let that sully their impression of him. Shawn did get chewed out though for not telling them sooner, which Bret vehemently agreed with them on.
Their families met after graduation, and it was quite a sight to behold. As amazed as the Harts were to have such powerful wizards in their home, the Michaels were just as enthralled by the Harts’ “muggle magic,” as Shawn’s dad had put it. This “magic” included light switches, microwaves, and who could forget the televisions:
“Mom, stop talking to the tv. The people don’t talk back,” Shawn groaned in embarrassment.
“Well, that can’t be. See? He just asked me to call a number.”
“It’s a commercial!”
#divider cr: @saradika#harry potter au#I may have watched HP while I wrote this#hartbreak#bretshawn#bret hart x shawn michaels#shawn michaels#bret hart#alternate universe#slytherdor
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
not to be controversial but remember when bret spit at shawn
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey, Lover (Chapter 1)
next chap |
Bret was only supposed to deliver flowers to Shawn, not fall in love with him.
(Quintessential Delivery Boy x Househusband bretshawn au)
a/n: Hi hello, how y'all doing? Remember that one time I wrote this fic? A year ago, I think? Wild. Since Christmas break is coming along and I don't have classes until the 22nd, I was thinking I should finish this small fic-let. Thank you for readin'
I've rejected affection for years and years. Now I have it, and damn it, it's kind of weird. He tells me I'm pretty. Don't know how to respond. I tell him that he's pretty too. Can I say that? Don't have a clue - "Valentine", Laufey
The flower shop was the apotheosis of all flower shops—small but brimming with buckets and pots of flowers. A tender farrago of lilies, carnations, and hydrangeas filled the room. The floor was a mess of leaves and rogue petals; the shelves above, a nest of ribbons and silk. Wrapping papers crumpled, and the radio sang. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains and bathed the room in warmth; dust and pollen danced in its rays. It was a peek into the world through pink-tinted glasses, a sea of reds and whites. And in the middle of it all, Bret arranged roses as if he were a man on a mission.
Like clockwork, Bret tied a bow around the neck of the bouquet and gently placed it beside the others he had made. He rubbed the underside of his nose to block the overpowering aroma of flowers. The corners of his lips tugged into a frown. Customers would say the scent was heavenly; Bret would beg to differ. Curly black tresses framed his face as the sound of hushed giggles drowned the staccato melodies of the radio. An annoyed huff sliced through the air. Bruce, Bret’s brother, let out an exasperated sigh, his nose buried between the pages of his newspaper.
“Would you two stop poking your noses where they don’t belong?”
Bruce’s reprimand fell on deaf ears. Bret turned his head to Owen and Elizabeth, the sides of their faces glued to the cracked door of their parents’ shared office. It wasn’t too long ago that a tall man came barreling down the shop doors, wallet in his hands like a rifle ready to shoot through every assortment of tulips and orchids. The stranger was a far cry from their regular customers. He didn’t have the caved shoulders of a shy teen or the worried lines of a husband who forgot his anniversary. He was confident and sharp, savvy like a businessman with a heartthrob smile. He wasn’t the average Joe. And after such a slow day of work, his intrusion caught everyone’s attention. It’s been ten minutes since their parents whisked the man away into their office, and Owen and Elizabeth sat fixated on the shadows that shifted underneath the gap in the door.
Owen waved his hand, and his sandy blonde hair swayed as he did so. He reeled his head back to face his brother’s furrowed brows with furrowed brows of his own. “Pipe down, Bruce. I can’t hear a thing over your yapping.”
The older Hart gritted his teeth, ready to crack from the tension of his jaw. Before he had the chance to stand, roll his newspaper, and whack Owen upside the head, Elizabeth squealed and stopped him dead in his tracks. Four pairs of eyes darted to her as she slid her back down the wall, her hands on her flushed cheeks.
“He ordered fifty roses.” She swooned, the skirt of her lilac dress pooling around her as she sat on the floor. Owen scrambled beside his sister, his head cemented onto the door once more. As the conversation beyond the door rambled on, Owen hung onto every faint word his ears could decipher.
“Fifty roses!” Owen gasped, disbelief in his eyes. The blonde turned his head to his brothers and wiggled his eyebrows, “Talk about a Casanova.”
Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet, leaves on her skirt. “Isn’t it romantic?” she mused starry-eyed. “I’d love to get a bouquet like that,” she sighed, her head tilted heavenward.
Jim rolled his eyes at her daydreaming, gaze as dark as the stem-covered marble counter he lay on. He pursed his lips and twirled a flower between his fingers, “Fifty roses are daylight robbery. Pretty sappy if you ask me.” He plucked a leaf from its stem. “This guy must be loaded to make an order like that.”
Bruce sat down on a stool, the soles of his shoes balanced on its footrest. He shrugged his shoulders as he opened his newspaper and went to the page he left off. “That just means there’s more money for us.” He leaned his head back and laughed.
The office door suddenly flew open and thwacked Owen square on the face. A groan escaped the blonde’s lips. But his pain was left muted by the gruff voice of the man that opened the door. “Watch it, twerp,” the man snapped, his face red and his suit white.
Cowboy hat on his head, chocolate-colored eyes pointed to the studded watch on his wrist. The man’s black loafers, shined to perfection, smacked against the checker-tiled floor. Like a tornado, he stormed out of the shop and knocked every pot that stood in his way. Bret stared as the stranger crossed the street, entered his eggshell-colored limousine, and drove off. Bruce grumbled as he, Jim, and Elizabeth picked up the pots the man pushed down. Owen shakily stood up beside Bret with his hands on his nose and redness on his forehead. “I’m not delivering for that jerk,” he sneered. He patted Bret on the shoulder, “He’s all yours.”
Before Bret could retort, their parents strode into the room, an argument along with them. “We can’t possibly have fifty roses ready for today,” Helen bickered as she unfolded the napkin their customer gave, her hair brown like the apron she wore. “We won’t have them restocked until Saturday.”
Stu huffed as his eyes darted around his shop before they stopped on the rose bouquets on Bret’s work table. He grabbed the flowers and began to unwrap them. He piled the roses into a hill and cast everything else aside. Bret sputtered, his shades sliding down the bridge of his nose as he did so, “Dad, those were an order for Miss Mae–”
“Miss Mae can wait, Bret.” Stu wrapped the roses with precision. Helen sighed beside him as she plucked a notecard and began to write down whatever their latest client scribbled on the coffee-stained napkin. “Mr. Layfield is paying big money to have his delivery done today,” Stu explained. “It’s the biggest order we got since we opened, so we should make him happy.”
It didn’t take long for Bret to have a behemoth of a bouquet in his arms and a clipboard tucked under his chin. Bret could feel the dull pinch of thorns on his biceps; the aroma of roses bombarded his nose as it completely buried his upper body. With one last tweak on the bouquet from his mother, Bret was out the door and into the delivery truck. Before he could drive off, his father’s voice rang in the breeze. Bret peeked over the roses to see Stu waving at him. “Take off your sunglasses!” he exclaimed, hands around his mouth to amplify his words. Bret fought to roll his eyes as he dragged his sunglasses to the top of his head and steered the truck into the busy streets.
Bret passed a flurry of saloons and office buildings. The world outside the truck was a blur of greens and grays. White picket fences turned into towering hedgerows, wooden street lights turned into metal lamp posts, and mismatched row houses turned into palatial mansions. Bret’s delivery truck stuck out like a sore thumb in the presence of luxury sedans. A low whistle escaped his lips as he slowed to a halt in front of the rose bouquet’s intended.
A mansion stood tall in the presence of neatly trimmed hedges and surrounded by an army of limousines and cars. Upon the home’s slate roof was an array of leaves connected to twining vines that hugged its brick walls, and behind those vines were large arched windows, like hair that covered soulful eyes. Bret could faintly make out the beige curtains behind the glass panes. He grabbed the bouquet and reveled in the manor’s beauty. It was the picture of pristine perfection, a scene straight from the home magazines his mother would regularly read. Bret would’ve been impressed if the mansion didn’t look like every other house in the cul-de-sac. He grabbed the rose bouquet and slipped his clipboard on top of it. The gravel path crinkled underneath his feet as he walked to the manor’s grand double doors. The sun bore onto his skin as Bret pushed the doorbell with his elbow. He rolled his eyes at the sound of cowbells that echoed in his ears. The doorbell tune was ostentatious as the roses in his hands.
Silence filtered the air. Bret clicked his tongue and pushed the doorbell again, the sound of the doorbell more annoying than the first. He juggled the flowers in his hands as he looked down at the address written on his clipboard. The idea of being in the wrong house filled his mind, but before Bret could turn his back from the door, it swung open. ‘Finally,’ Bret thought. With his eyes still on his clipboard, he tilted his head to the side. “Does Mr. Shawn Layfield live here?” he asked.
“Well, hello to you too, handsome,” a voice drawled, sweet like honey and slow like molasses.
Bret’s head shot up as a chill ran down his spine. His dark eyes landed on the man in front of him, his breath hitched. Bret balanced the bouquet in one hand as he tugged on the collar of his pink shirt with the other. He expected the thick velvet of a butler’s tuxedo, not the glossy sheen of a silk robe. He expected thinning silver hair, not damp blond curls that clung to tanned skin. Bret was ready to smell the musk of dust, not the aroma of cigarettes and Parisian perfume. He shook his head in a vain attempt to escape the other man’s allure. “I have flowers for him.”
Shawn’s smile widened, “Are they from you?”
“They’re from–” Bret read his clipboard – “Mr. John Bradshaw Layfield.”
The blond’s smile left as fast as it came. He pursed his lips like he was chewing on a lemon rind and leaned against the door frame. “A bit over-the-top, isn’t it?”
Bret gave a wry grin. “I wouldn’t know. I’m just the delivery boy.” Bret waited for the other to take the bouquet from his hands. But the door only opened wider. The delivery boy raised a brow; his head cocked to the side.
“What?” Shawn shrugged; his robe slid down his shoulder as he did so. “You don’t expect me to carry all of that, do you?”
Bret blinked owlishly. Shawn seemed perfectly capable of carrying the order. He gazed at the taut muscle underneath Shawn’s clothes for a moment. And at the drop of a hat, Bret’s eyes stayed pointedly on the blond’s bedroom eyes. “You’re a delivery boy,” Shawn continued. He stepped to the side, his brow in a sly arch, “Go on and deliver.”
Bret frowned and took a wary step. Shawn guided him into the living room, and Bret followed as if God watched him. Cautious and guarded, Bret took each step as if it was his last. The shuffle of carpet slowly replaced the sound of shoes against the wooden floor. And Bret caught himself in the company of lush couches and intricate cabinets as Shawn excused himself to get a vase. He tapped his toe against the white tiger rug underneath him as the chandelier shined above his head. To say Bret felt out of place was an understatement. The living space was lavish, just like everything else in the mansion. Bookshelves as tall as the ceiling covered half of the room, each shelf overflowing with novels and encyclopedias. In the corner was a grand piano, free from dust and fingerprints. Paintings upon paintings hung from the walls, bronze candelabras scattered along the corridors. Bret narrowed his eyes. There were no framed pictures or lightly stained patches on the floor. The house was opulent, but it didn’t seem as lived-in as it should be. His contemplation was interrupted by Shawn’s call.
“Tell me, delivery boy, what do these flowers mean?” He asked as he placed the water-filled vase on the coffee table and situated himself on one of the many chairs in the room. “Don’t they have meanings? The language of flowers and whatnot.”
Bret hesitantly unwrapped the bouquet and propped the roses inside the porcelain vase. He handed the notecard to the blond with a rehearsed smile, “That’s what cards are for.”
“You are so boring.” Shawn stretched on the chair; his legs dangled on its cushioned armrest. “Read the note for me.”
The delivery boy exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. Bret would’ve left ages ago if his father wasn’t so insistent about pleasing their clients. Not wanting to waste any more time, he began to read the card. “Love of my life–”
“Is it too late to return the bouquet?”
Bret couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. The corner of Shawn’s lip quirked up at the sound of his laughter. He twirled a strand of his golden hair between his fingers, “You should rest a bit before you go.” Shawn stood up and strolled towards Bret, “You must be tired.” He brushed his hand against Bret’s forearm and grinned at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I should go, Mr. Layfield–”
“Call me Shawn.” He peeked up at Bret through his lashes, “You’ve got a name, delivery boy?”
“What I do have are other deliveries to do.” Bret felt his cheeks warm as he raised his clipboard and offered the other man a pen, “I need your signature, Mr. Layf– Shawn.”
Shawn pouted, his shoulders sagged as he took the pen and clipboard from Bret’s grasp; their fingers brushed against one another. Bret bit his top lip as Shawn signed the paper with a flourish and gave the clipboard back to him. The delivery boy could feel the tension leave his body; this whole fiasco was finally sealed to a close. “It’s been a pleasure, Shawn.”
The blond took an abrupt step towards Bret’s personal space; their chests flushed together. Shawn tucked the pen behind the other’s ear. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he purred.
The tension left Bret, and his soul might as well follow along with it.
A stormy haze engulfed Bret’s consciousness, and it didn’t clear up until he was seated in his truck. The events that transpired minutes ago replayed in his mind like a broken cassette tape. He combed his fingers through his hair, and the pen balanced behind the shell of his ear fell on the passenger seat beside him. His eyes darted to the clipboard on his lap; the name ‘Shawn Michaels’ written on the signature line mocked him. He glanced at the mansion’s reflection on the crooked rearview mirror, and with the thoughts of Shawn plaguing him, he drove off.
Shawn didn’t cross Bret’s mind again until a week later. He was sat on the counter redoing the messy ribbons Owen hurriedly tied beforehand when his dad lumbered into the shop with a box of lavender colored craft paper in his arms. Bret raised a questioning brow at Owen, and their father placed the box on the counter. “Big order coming up,” the older Hart mused.
Bret could already feel the sleepless hours they will undoubtedly spend making flower arrangements. Owen groaned at the very thought. Their father cleared the counter from leaves and petals, letting them drop to the floor. “Mr. Layfield has a soiree in a week and since he loved our flowers the last time, he wanted us to arrange flowers for it.”
Owen groaned even louder and slouched in his chair. “Hate that guy,” the blonde grumbled under his breath, a sour taste still in his mouth from the last time their rich client last visited them. “That guy is paying for our food on the table, son,” Stu tutted.
As both Harts bickered back and forth, Bret gulped. Bret usually didn’t think of the people he delivered flowers to; their faces stay blurred for the short time they linger in his thoughts. But Shawn, with his not-so-subtle interest and that damned silk robe of his, was the exception.
“I bet his husband didn’t even like the bouquet!” Owen complained. Their father scowled but couldn’t disagree. The younger Hart wrapped his arm around Bret, “Right, Bret? The guy didn’t like it, did he?”
Bret ignored his brother, instead feigning nonchalance with a cross of his arms. He turned to Stu, “Say, do you know anything about Layfield’s husband?” Stu hummed, rummaging through the box he carried in, “The boy got married to Layfield the moment he graduated college. Layfield paraded the young man around like a prized diamond to his even richer friends. That’s about everything people know around here.” Owen butted himself into the conversation, “He doesn’t have good taste, then.” Stu shooed his younger son away with a roll of ribbons.
Bret fiddled with the ends of a flower stem, distracting himself. Stu gave him a knowing look, and Bret shifted his eyes to the lone pair of scissors on the floor, far more interesting than the squinted look of his father at that moment. “His husband is coming here later to discuss decorations. I won’t be here—” Owen clapped his hands, already aware of where their father was hinting at. “Oh, would you look at the time, I should really help Lizzy with the groceries. Okay, bye!” Owen bolted out of the store in a breath, the front door bell jingled when he set foot outside and left his family staring at his retreating form.
Stu clicked his tongue before he fished out his notepad from his back pocket. He handed it to Bret, “Just make sure to keep the customer happy.”
It wasn’t that Bret was avoiding Shawn, far from it. But when presented with the chance to flirt back with a man married to someone who could buy all of Bret’s possessions that he’s had or will ever have, he’d rather steer clear of it. But there was something about Shawn that Bret could not stop thinking about. From the beauty mark underneath his lashes to the way he smirked at Bret’s flustered state, Shawn was beautiful, and he knew it all too well. He seemed to know just the right buttons to press to make Bret second-guess his words. And the Hart was trapped between a rock and a hard place when Shawn finally visited the flower shop, an hour late from schedule.
Looking at Shawn made Bret unconsciously smooth out the wrinkles of his shirt and fix his hair any chance he got. Under Shawn’s gaze, Bret felt awfully small. When Shawn entered the store, he brought in an air of sweetness, the type that makes Bret’s mouth water. It was a nice change from the aroma of flowers, and for once, Bret didn’t have the urge to hide his nose behind his hand. Shawn dressed simply, but with the way he carried himself, it proved otherwise. He was fond of silk, Bret noticed, as his eyes trailed from his silk shirt to the jeans that hugged his waist.
“Hi, delivery boy.”
Bret blinked; his eyes shot back to Shawn’s face. “Welcome, Mr. Layfield,” Bret managed to utter. Shawn pouted, “I told you not to call me that.”
The blonde locked his gaze on the array of flowers behind Bret, his pout melting into a grin. “Those are pretty. I wish I got those bouquets instead.”
Bret turned to where Shawn was staring and laughed, “50 roses not good enough for you?” Shawn smiled, “Not even good to begin with.”
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
Have had noir detective Bret and mysterious and unhelpful femme fatale Shawn on rotation in my head lately
While Bret is conducting a serious investigation, Shawn can:
Answer the door in a revealing silk robe
Use a fancy cigarette case
Cry
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Acting Up
18+, Stone Cold Steve Austin x Shawn Michaels | Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels one shot
[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]
Tags: Alcohol use, Referenced drug use, angry sex, facial, jealousy, light enemies to friends, a little bit of hartbreak
Word count: 3144
Summary:
Steve Austin is getting tired of Shawn Michaels' attitude backstage.
---
“It was Bret that broke the Heartbreak Kid's heart. If I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even know you had one.”
Shawn was really fucking annoying. In every way possible that a human being could work Steve’s nerves, Shawn did it. When people pointed out how good of friends they could be, Steve took notice. They did have a ton in common, from being from the same state to drinking habits to taste in women. They really should’ve been the best of friends.
But Shawn decided to Shawn it up backstage. He started throwing his status around making all kinds of crazy demands. His temper was at its peak and everyone suffered because of it. When he wasn’t ranting and raving he was half way to passing out due to his excessive use of pills. He could barely get his words out when he had to speak, his normally animated voice slurred and monotone. It was embarrassing. So no, Steve had very little interest in being friends with Shawn. That ship had sailed. Maybe one day down the line if Shawn got it together they could just drink a beer and watch some college football…
Shawn didn’t really give a fuck if Steve Austin liked him. That wasn’t his problem. All he had to do was go out there in the ring and cut a few good promos with him. If they got along after the fact, that was great. If they didn’t, fuck him. Shawn had enough friends. Friends who really liked him, too. Friends who hung on to his every word and were always willing to party all night with him. Even when his other friends left to go to WCW— well he didn’t want to think about that.
Sure, he still saw Kevin and Scott and Sean around. Whenever WCW had shows nearby they all met up at the closest bar to catch up on life. It just wasn’t the same as it used to be. With the way WCW was on fire, they were so up in the clouds that little ol’ Shawn was not as much of a priority as he used to be. He actually considered jumping ship to WCW too and was strongly encouraged to by them. Then Vince McMahon got in his ear like usual singing sweet words and promising him the world, so he stayed put at WWF. With each passing day Shawn wondered if that was the right choice.
He wasn’t the only one backstage thinking about leaving. Bret Hart had some shocking offers thrown his way by Eric Bischoff, offers that could have had him and his family set for life. McMahon started to counter with his own exorbitant counteroffers, which made Bret feel very wanted. They weren’t as good of a deal as Bischoff’s and it made Bret sit down to think about what he was still getting out of staying with the WWF.
If you would’ve asked him earlier in the year…? With no hesitation or second thoughts, Bret would have said Shawn was the reason he’d stay. Despite the surface level similarities Shawn and Steve had with each other, Shawn and Bret had a lot more in common. Things they would’ve never realized they shared until late nights spent together. The pair of lovers didn’t know how well they got along until they were stuck in hotel rooms with one another. Night after night of forced proximity led them to taking steps further into the physical territory, something that scared Bret shitless. None of it seemed new to Shawn. He guided Bret through some clumsy first sessions that eventually led to the best and most intimate sex he’d ever had in his entire life.
Of course as soon as Bret began to start falling for Shawn, Shawn began to act up. Bret couldn’t understand where the sudden switch-up came from. It’s not like he’d changed on him in any way. He wasn't as touchy as Shawn could be and would occasionally distance himself from him. That was just so any rumors wouldn't get started, not because he didn't care for him. Bret didn’t know how to react when Shawn got unhinged with him. He started claiming that Bret was just using him, that he was only around to use him as a toy. No matter what he said or did to convince Shawn otherwise he just couldn’t break through. So he stopped trying at all. As much as he liked Shawn’s personality and the way he arched his back up for him, all of that just wasn’t worth the drama. After their final explosive last argument the two of them iced each other out and only interacted when forced to.
At this point in his career Shawn didn’t care about being well liked. He didn’t have to be well liked by everyone. He had his crew. McMahon was still surprisingly on his side no matter what problems he caused amongst everyone. His supply of drugs and alcohol was flowing. He’d be fine without boring Bret Hart. There were plenty of men around who wanted Shawn. They would fuck him six ways to Sunday all day and all night. Bret may have been an amazing lay but he wasn’t that good. Shawn could find someone else in a heartbeat.
“Michaels, what the fuck? You’re still back here?” Steve appeared at the doorway of Shawn’s dressing room. He’d been walking around the arena looking for Shawn for what felt like forever. No one thought to tell him he’d still be in his dressing room because he was usually a lot better about getting to gorilla on time.
Shawn took the last few swigs from his bottle of whiskey. His eyes bounded over to Steve, first to look at the pissed off look plastered on his face and then to look down at his oiled chest.
“You dress like shit, Austin.” Burp.
“Man, this ain’t a damn fashion show. It’s wrestling. Get your ass together and let’s go, we’re on soon.”
“I’m together, I don’t need anyone telling me to get it together. Especially not you.” Steve was hot when he was mad. Well, Shawn thought everyone was hot when they were mad. It turned him on to know he could make someone that emotional over him.
Steve was surprised at how alert Shawn still was after having that whole bottle to himself. It only served to make him more angry. It’s not like he was about to pass out or was stumbling over himself. He was barely fucked up! The alcohol only heightened his bad attitude. He just wanted to be defiant. And for what? Just to say he got him upset?
“What is your problem? You’ve been even more of a bastard these last few weeks and you’re starting to make my job a lot harder. What, you’re mad the ring rats ain't chasing after you like they used to?”
Shawn shook his head. The groupies had lost their appeal a long time ago. If anything, he liked playing the groupie now. He liked being the one in awe at someone so much bigger and stronger than him. His cock twitched at the thought of Bret tossing him on many a hotel bed. Unfortunately, Bret truly was the best there was. It pained Shawn to admit how hard he got when he thought of him. He was just so good at knowing when Shawn wanted to be fucked versus when he wanted to be loved . Shawn’s eyes got even glassier thinking about the way Bret got in his ear during some particularly intense nights—
“Michaels!”
Shawn felt reprimanded. Almost like he had to straighten his posture and stand at attention at the way Steve said his name. So bossy.
“Lemme tell you something, Steve. The rats like me just fine. They always will, as long as I keep giving this to them.” Shawn grabbed at his crotch and laughed out loud. Drunk idiot.
“Yeah, right. So it’s not the ladies, huh? Must be someone backstage, then.”
Shawn’s face flushed. The bad thing about being out of his mind so often was that his emotions were harder to conceal. He was sure his erection was already extremely noticeable. Now he was blushing so badly his whole face was red.
“Oh it definitely is.” Steve laughed at him. “I knew it. The boys back there had been sayin’ some things but I didn’t pay them any mind. Now I know it’s true. Aw man, Shawn.”
Shawn’s chair hit the floor with a loud clatter when he got up to get in Steve's face. His breath was huffing out of his nose and his eyebrows scrunched up. He didn’t feel like being the punchline to anyone’s joke tonight.
“So the fuck what if it's true?”
“So the fuck nothing, I don’t give a shit.”
Shawn was deflated at Steve's acceptance. He was itching for a real fight. The pent up anger deep within him had been coming to a head in the last few days. There was no way he would win with Steve one-on-one and he knew it. It was probably for the best that he didn't start something he couldn’t finish.
“Okay. Yeah, it was one of the guys.” Shawn cleared his throat and took a few steps back from Steve.
“One of the guys…”
Steve had to really think on that one. It would be easy enough to believe that Shawn had hooked up with Hunter since they spent so much time together. That was too obvious, plus they were still good friends. Could’ve been Undertaker. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised by that. He opened his mouth to give his final answer when he recalled the way Bret Hart spoke of Shawn one evening while they stood at the catering table.
“If he wasn’t so pretty no one would’ve put up with his shit for this long.”
Realization struck Steve like lightning. Bret had said that comment with no semblance of jealousy in his voice. There was no hate either. What Bret did sound like though was a scorned lover. There was a lot of bitterness present within him. Steve didn’t even think twice about it at the time. It all made sense after a few minutes of thinking.
“It was Bret that broke the Heartbreak Kid's heart. If I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even know you had one.”
The anger started bubbling in Shawn again. He wasn’t even sure if it was at Steve or Bret this time. It came back with a vengeance.
“Actually, it probably didn’t go that way. Knowing you, you probably did something to piss him off and he got tired of you. You broke your own heart.”
Steve’s raspy voice saying such perceptive words was enough to send Shawn over the edge. He was back in Steve’s face again and ready to get in that fight, ass whooping be damned.
“Can’t even imagine the two of you together. I guess it does make some sense. Two crybabies in love with each other. I’m sure you were the one cryin’ more though. Even looks like you’re about to right now.”
“What is all this? You picking on me for a reason?”
“Yeah, because of your little love affair with Hart you’ve been even more of an asshole recently. You’re fucking everything up for me. If you don’t calm down soon I’ll make you calm down.”
“You can’t make me do shit.”
Shawn could not believe how fast Steve could move. He was thrown over the arm of the dressing room’s couch, face pushed into the cushion in a flash. One of Steve's hands pressed into his lower back while the other reached forward to push Shawn’s pants down, then his own. Shawn’s body squirmed with anticipation and the primal urge to run away.
“Bret said you were pretty. I’d never really thought about it before, but he was right. You are pretty. From all that hair on your head to the tattoo on your ass.”
Shawn was unable to handle anything Steve just said, from Bret calling him pretty to Steve agreeing with him. Shawn didn’t even think that Steve swung the other way and now here he was bending him over. In his self-absorbed mind he chalked it up to being so sexy that even straight guys wanted him.
“What the hell is going on?!”
“Seems like you can’t function if you aren’t getting fucked right. If I gotta be the one to do it since Bret doesn’t want you any more, so be it. You’ll be on your best behavior by the time I’m done with you.”
Shawn pushed himself against Steve and wasn’t disappointed by what he felt. Steve's dick rested heavily between Shawn’s ass, a pretty picture Steve would be sure to remember. He’d had a few fumblings in his past with men but never anything with someone as attractive as Shawn. Along with his pretty face, Steve had to admit that Shawn’s personality got him going in that kind of hatefuck way. Even when he was being a terror, something about the way he strutted around like he was the Prince of the WWF made Steve want to put him in his place. Nothing would be better than beating Shawn in the ring and making him submit in bed.
Shawn had a lot to say to Steve, he was going to give him a real piece of his mind as soon as we able to push him off—
The words died away immediately at the sensation of Steve pushing into him. It hurt at the start, the only thing lubing him up being the spit from Steve’s mouth that he’d rubbed on to himself. He was fucking huge. While he’d gotten used to Bret’s length over the months, Steve was a lot more girth. Shawn’s eyes crossed as Steve pushed himself deeper. The arch in his back threatened to fall.
“You better keep yourself up the whole time.” Steve ordered him. He had no plans of being gentle with him. He wanted to see how much Shawn could take. It turned out that it was a lot more than he expected.
Shawn writhed below with every hard thrust of Steve inside of him. Heat bloomed across his skin and creeped up past his neck. It was a gorgeous sight to see him all fidgety and needy. Punched out moans were followed out long, dragging ones when Steve slowed down and went arched himself deeper. Shawn liked to whimper, he noticed. It was cute.
Shawn's long hair flung itself back when he raised his head to readjust his position. It was hard to keep himself steady on his elbows with the way Steve kept pounding him into the cushion. Eventually he gave up and let himself fall into it. The fight was drained out of his body, he was ready to get what he deserved. Steve’s fingertips dug deep into the tanned flesh on Shawn’s hips, his pace already stuttering. He was just so tight and… eager for him. Like he was everything he had been waiting for.
Shawn managed to get his arm under himself to stroke his aching cock. As soon as he touched it he was ready to come, he was so sensitive. With the movements of Shawn reaching down to touch himself he managed to push himself even farther back on Steve. The breaths he exhaled were shaky as he matched the pattern of Steve’s thrusts to his own strokes. It only took seconds for Shawn to spurt out long ropes of his come onto the couch below him. His legs almost gave out when he finally released. It didn’t help that Steve had fucked him right through it. Shawn mumbled incoherently to himself while Steve kept going. On top of the alcohol making him stupid, Steve’s dick was also contributing to his blank state of mind.
Watching Shawn come was a sight to behold. His whole body contracted when it happened. His babbling after it was so weirdly attractive that Steve knew he was close too. All of a sudden Shawn was pushed off of Steve and onto his knees on the floor.
Steve was a sweaty mess. Anyone looking at him after the fact might have though he just got done with an iron man match. It dripped down from his head and into his eyes. He quickly wiped it away with his free hand while stroking himself with his other. There was no way he was going to miss the sight of this.
Shawn blinked at him with big, wet eyes. God, he really was a crybaby. The smile on his face could only be described as delirious. Steve groaned when he came, hot spurts covering Shawn's lips and cheeks and nose. The most impatient man in the world would have waited an eternity if that’s how long it took for Steve to finish stroking every last drop from himself. He got a lot of enjoyment at being able to stare up at Steve's body.
“Alright,” It was taking a minute for Steve to catch his breath. “You gonna stop being a dick now?”
Shawn nodded in a daze. He so badly wanted to walk out of the room with Steve’s come still painted all over his face and find Bret just to show him that someone still wanted him. Doing that would guarantee that he’d never get to feel Steve inside of him again, so he restrained himself.
“Good.” Steve walked across the room to find a box of tissues to clean himself up with, then threw it in Shawn’s direction. He was impressed he still had the wherewithal to catch it even after getting his world rocked. “Stick around after the show, we’re gonna get a beer.”
“Okay.” Shawn could barely stand, let alone walk. He was happy he didn’t have to actually wrestle tonight. Steve waited for him at the doorway while he made his way over slowly. He was completely blissed out and easygoing and it made Steve laugh on the inside. Who knew it’d be that easy?
The two men talked casually with each other as they walked out of Shawn’s dressing room and down past Bret. He was standing in the hall building up courage to work things out with Shawn when he saw them exit the room. Instead of the usual look of contempt Steve had for Shawn, he instead looked relatively happy. Shawn himself was the most relaxed he’d seen him in a while, not since one of the last times they’d had sex…
Oh, shit.
Bret felt his heart drop into his stomach as soon as Shawn smiled his way. The skin by his former lover’s glittering blue eyes crinkled when he laughed at whatever story Steve was telling him. The Heartbreak Kid had struck again and with Stone Cold Steve Austin of all people. No, this wasn't over yet. Not if Bret had anything to do with it.
#bret hart x shawn michaels#bretshawn#stone cold steve austin x shawn michaels#shawn michaels#stone cold steve austin#bret hart#hartbreak#wrestling#wrestling fanfic#wrestling smut#magnoliafanfic
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
The way the bridge of Getaway Car was made for them-
33 notes
·
View notes
Photo
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if this isn’t the Thesis of their relationship/rivalry then idk what is
#also hi first art I've done in months I'm into 90s wrestling now <3#also trying out the pencil brush rather than the pen brush in medibang. I like how this looks a Lot more#bret hart#shawn michaels#hbk#wwe#art#idk what else to tag this as fjdlks. the attitude era? eh whatever#I will however tag it#bretshawn#bc why would I not#also very proud of finding some way to draw bret's hair that I'm sort of satisfied with#the last time I tried it wasn't exactly what I wanted and I like this more#was gonna make it dark brown originally but it was darker than his gear? which. nah#anyway. that's enough rambling I think
63 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
tinylilemrys
"FUCK YEAH Princess Diaries!"
thetruth-in-your-lies
A No-Mans Wonderland
wkuk-gifs
gifs from the whitest kids u' know
thewords-inmymind
audrey emmett
lestersunken1624-blog
When I stop learning I stop teaching