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cosmic--marmalade · 2 years

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Gormenghast Body

A/N: I'm feeling too lazy to format this proper, or tag it proper. It's Hurt/comfort

Neurodivergent!Jon hasn't figured out a healthy way to cope with being overstimmed yet and almost has a panic attack/full blown meltdown. Eddie helps.

Being intentionally unteatherd from ones body, from needing to TendCareForceUsefullness for it, is a delicate process when done on purpose. He knows this, knows it helps even, but pushes the urge to ask as far down as he can make to go. As a result he floats away from himself at the most inconvenient of moments.

He's aware that they're all in the middle of dinner, while he's stuck looking up from the bottom of a swimming pool. Watching everything and everyone move around him, too far away too care

The music of the restaurant is distant, warbling through his watery mind sluggishly. He nods, a quick jut of the chin at a question someone asks him (he has no idea what the fuck it was, but the silent response must have been enough because no one is looking at him now), and he cannot feel it. The world is a never ending loop of BrightnessDarkness, rippling in his vision. Colors, shapes, distant rumbles of laughter all dulled by his disconnect, shades away from his physical body.

It'd be pleasant if he felt like he could breathe. He has no idea how long he's been holding his breath for, letting it out in a long gust of a BubbledAir.

"That was a big sigh." The voice next to him cuts so clear that Mox is totally back before he even finishes blinking. Fresh out of the pool startled, Eddie looking at him like he was drowning.

He might have been.

Mox shrugs, sinking in to his sweatshirt, pretending he didn't forget how to breathe. Like the obnoxious din of the restuarant wasn't grating on every freshly soaked nerve he has. Like he didn't not want to be here.

He can see the way Eddie had already pushed past his bullshit. Past the QuietSurfaceTired, right into that thrumming pool pump of anxiety in his chest.

He can't stop the way his leg bounces as he orients himself to the real world again, even as he tries to stop. But his skin's too tight, and silverware's too light in his hand, and his leg fuckin bounces along of its own will.

Eyefluttering, breathholding, pure fucking chlorine soaked Mox chances a glance at Eddie. Which was the wrong thing to do.

Maybe.

He's so jumbled up and weary that he doesn't know what the face Eddie is making means. Maybe it means he's mad.

Jon really fucking hopes he's not mad.

"Hey, I think we're good for tonight. Exhusted as shit-" Protests ring out from around the table, the cacophony of disappointment sits heavy in Mox's chest. "Nope, nah, don't want to hear it. If any of you motherfuckers want to sleep your hangovers off in the car tomorrow you're gonna let us-" Jon tries so so hard not to jump out of his skin as Eddie's hand connects with his chest. "Sit your dumbassery out."

He has no idea if Eddie pays, or it's for both of them, he waves a short goodbye over his shoulder but couldn't tell you who was sat at that table if his life depended on it.

He's all swim tired, head too light, and legs almost shaking as Eddie walks them back to the hotel. For summer the night is almost bitingly cold, must be the wind.

Yeah, the wind.

He's a pace or two behind Eddie, who is walking more slow, cautiously, than he usually does.

He's mad.

He has to be mad. Jon ignores the tightness at his throat.

He's breathing. It means nothing.

The hotel lobby is brighter than a football field, and the elevator is the same. Eddie doesn't protest or grumble as Jon pushes his body into his space. Or when he tucks his face into the crook of Eddie's neck. Just lays a heavy hand on his nape, thumb pressing soft circles into the skin.

Doing what he always does, feels obligated to do.

Jon wants to crawl out of his skin, he doesn't fucking deserve it. Not one bit. Not at all. Not when he definitely ruined the night.

He's not certain when they got to the hotel room, just knows because Eddie has to pry his StupidNeedyUseless frame off of his to open the door.

He follows Eddie in, trembling, as most of the lights are flicked low or off. The dimness of the room is warm, inviting, a fucking relief really.

"Hey, c'mere." Eddie wraps Jon up in an embrace, to soften the blow of the scolding that's sure to come. Has to be.

"Whoa hey, what the fuck? What you crying for? Thought you wanted to get outta there, looked like you were gonna float away if you didn't." Eddie wipes the tears from Jon's face with a tenderness that he can't quite wrap his brain around. When did he start crying?

He opens his mouth to try to say something, anything, and- and-

"You're not mad?" It's a pathetic, watery question, rasped out from the deepest part of his fear. He catches sight of some slouched, teary, shaking twentysomething in the reflection of the bedside lamp on his side. Skinny like he hasn't eaten enough, peaky and pale like he might throw up anyways. Was that him?

Was that really him?

Eddie's pulling him in close and tight again. Murmuring softly into his hair in a way he can't quite parse.

"No man, I'm fucking worried. You were sitting at our table all night but you weren't there. Where'd you go, huh?" His tone is fond, light but-

"I think it was too much, it was...one second I was there walking in with you and the next I was just," Jon's not sure how to finish the sentence, heart pounding.

"I don't know. It's like my brain puts me on autopilot." The need to move his body, shake out this weakness in it, burns in his fingers. He rolls his neck, pressing his palms into his eye sockets like he can compress the rest of his mind back into its container.

Tendrils of himself float away, riptide confetti, as he talks. He can't hold all of himself together like this, not alone.

"Can you just," Mox let's the words ping pong around till he can get them out of his mouth.

"Hit me, kiss me, I don't I just- take me out of my skull? Put me back together?" He grinds his teeth, he hates asking. Makes him feel like he's chewing glass.

Eddie watches him try to detangle the singular thought from his brain, the longer he thinks the more Mox is sure Eddie is gonna dump him on his ass and go back to the restaurant.

A car alarm goes off in the parking lot and Mox thinks he flinches. His vision snaps like he does.

"Yeah I can do that." Eddie's timber SinkMeltSmoothes its way into Mox's marrow. A warm hand sliding along his face, cupping his cheek makes him realize how cold he is.

The car alarm shuts off, and Mox is more than thankful for that. More than thankful when Eddie presses their mouths together sweetly, like he can pull Mox back onto land from the crush of their bodies alone.

Jon shivers, pressing closer, arms looping around his friend's shoulders as Eddie picks him up and lays him down gently in the bed. God, when did they start moving?

Eddie's kisses are warm molasses, soothing the distant cold ache in Mox's body. His heart finally slowing down as Eddie crowds into him, all soft and insistent. Like he wants this, like Jon isn't just someone he's obligated to care for, like he gets something from this too.

Jon sighs into his mouth pulling away from the kiss, holding himself close as he can still. His head is starting to slow down too, he's finding it easier to gently unravel the knots in his brain now.

"Hey." He breathes out softly, voice still on the edge of watery, eyes still stinging as if he might burst at the seams with tears at any moment.

"Hey yourself." Eddie grins back, eyes mirrors of his own.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to ask for this again. Maybe asking didn't mean waiting till someone noticed he was drowning already.

Maybe he should just kiss Eddie again.

So he does.

#briar writes #Jon Moxley #Eddie Kingston #EddieMox #listen is this probably ooc? yes #do I care right now? no #it made me feel good to write this so Imma post it just because I can #the drowning man came on when I was doing chores today and I can't resist a good song from The Cure

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banannabethchase · 1 year

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Somebody placed mistletoe all over the arena. It is a tradition, after all.

Thank you to @sarahcakes613 for the prompt! This is fun and fluffy and my favorite parts of fanfiction. I wish you a relaxing and soft Sunday, and I hope you enjoy and have restful and meaningful holidays if you celebrate :)

Mini playlist (we're going with some of my favorite weird as hell holiday songs): Mixtape for Christmas - Hey Monday Christmas Past, Present, and Future - Ashlee Simpson All I Want for Christmas Is You - Bowling for Soup Merry Merry Merry Frickin' Christmas - Frickin' A

They sneak in at five in the morning, bribing a security guard to let them in. They have devious, hilarious plans in store for the AEW roster. Something that will provide them with blackmail and, maybe, just enough holiday spirit to pick up the energy of the place.

Wheeler is somewhere in the hallway of a San Antonio arena, too distracted by the pain in his neck to think straight.

He blinks as best he can, glancing around, trying to focus his gaze. He just has to get to the trainer’s room. He thinks that, maybe, he should have listened to Mox and waited for him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Wheeler turns around to see Daniel Garcia, standing in the hallway. He’s pretty sure he’s standing still, but he can’t be positive about it. Either way, one of them is swaying back and forth.

“Hi, Danny,” Wheeler says, trying to seem normal. “I’m trying to-to find the trainer’s room. Know where it is?”

Danny looks behind himself, then back at Wheeler, rolling his eyes. “Come with me.”

“That promo you did with Sammy,” Wheeler says, because he can’t remember how to shut his mouth, “he called you a tightass,” Wheeler laughs. He trips over his boot. He only manages not to collapse on the floor because Danny grabs his arm and hauls him back up normal.

“Shut up,” Danny says, shoving him halfway across the hallway. Wheeler stumbles and bumps into the wall, but it’s enough of a jolt to get his head on a little straighter.

“You can’t push an injured guy,” Wheeler says, shooting him a grin.

Danny rolls his eyes, “You’re fine.” He pauses, eyeing Wheeler. “Right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wheeler replies. “Rush got me good.” He winces as he rolls his neck, feeling Danny’s eyes on him the whole time. “He hits hard.”

Danny laughs. “Please.”

“Not as hard as you do,” Wheeler offers. “But hard.”

Danny straightens up, and Wheeler can tell he’s preening, just a little bit. “I mean, my specialty is submissions and his is just, like, wailing on somebody until they crumple. Like you did.” He grins at Wheeler, a little mean.

“Oh, bite me,” Wheeler says.

“Gladly, you little shit,” Danny says. “The trainer’s here.” He pauses in the doorway. And Wheeler notices something.

“Um, am I concussed, or is that mistletoe up there?” He nods upward, the action making his entire body ache.

Danny burns bright pink. Wheeler thinks its cuter than he probably should. “Oh.” He laughs, a little low, rubbing his neck. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Wheeler makes a decision, and slides in next to Danny in the doorway. “I mean, it’s there, right?”

Danny licks his lips. “I – I guess so.”

“Plus, you told me to bite me in that match, and I haven’t followed up on that, and then I just told you to, so…”

Danny grins. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

Wheeler would respond, but instead, he’s leaning in, lips pressed to Danny’s, and the aching is replaced with something fresher, newer, brighter.

“Quit making out and get checked out!” shouts somebody in the trainer’s room.

“You’re the one who put up the mistletoe!” Danny snaps back. He shoves Wheeler in through the doorway. “This dumbass got lost in the hallway. He probably needs ice.” He leaves his hand on Wheeler’s lower back, though, for just a few moments longer than he has to.

“Talk to you later?” Wheeler asks, and he won’t let himself cringe at the hopefulness in his voice.

Danny nods, though. “Yeah. I’ll text you.”

“Hangman, the handsome cowboy,” Adam sings along with the video. He grins at the way the Dark Order used to be, the joy, the comradery. The absolute confusion in his eyes at the idea that these people loved him.

He misses it.

He sings along with the bastardized lyrics, leaning up against the wall of the arena, letting the nostalgia settle over him like a blanket.

“Hey,” comes a quiet voice from behind his screen.

Adam looks up to see Matt Jackson in front of him, with a smile on his face. He hasn’t seen that smile directed toward him in, god, years. “Matt.” His voice is too gentle, too soft, too fond. “Hi.”

“It’s the, uh, season of giving,” Matt says, fidgeting with the end of his hair. “And love or whatever. And I wanted to say, um, I wanted to say I’ve got your back.”

Adam blinks at him. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I mean, Mox is being a big ol’ bitch out there.” He grins, like he’s proud of himself for swearing. “I, uh. When you have the match, I wanted to tell you, I’ll be your second.”

Adam pushes off the wall, walking toward him. He always forgets, until these moments, how much bigger, taller he is than Matt. How much of Matt’s height is ego and attitude. How much smaller he becomes when he lets it go and allows himself to just be Matt. “Really?”

Matt nods, looking up at him, those big brown eyes honest. “Yes.”

Adam feels some of the ice in his heart crumble at that, some of the loneliness melt out of him. “Want to grab lunch?” he thumbs to the door. “Unless, I mean, unless you’ve eaten.”

“No, yeah, sure,” Matt says. “Catering’s got a really good salad bar today.” He lights up. “They have pickled beets!”

“Ew,” Adam says automatically, but he’s lucky. Matt’s face doesn’t fall, his demeanor doesn’t shift back to cold distance. “I hate beets.”

“That’s because you’re boring,” Matt says. He shuffles the two of them into catering, where he pauses. “After you.”

Adam tilts his head back to shake the hair out of his face, when he notices something hanging from the sprinkler. His first thought is it must be a major fire hazard. The next is that it’s mistletoe. He makes a strange, strangled little noise.

“What – oh.” Matt’s followed Adam’s gaze up. “That’s mistletoe.”

“Yep.” Adam looks down at Matt, expecting him to be spooked.

“Well,” Matt says, steadying himself. “Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“It’s a tradition!” Matt exclaims. “Oh, come on, you can’t not know about mistletoe, Hangman.”

“I know what mistletoe is, obviously,” Adam replies, flustered. “I just – I’m surprised you want me to kiss you, is all.”

“You don’t have to,” Matt says, brown eyes looking so miserable that, even if he didn’t want to, Adam would probably kiss him just to make it stop.

But he does want to. He glances around, checking to make sure nobody is watching, then rests his hand on the side of Matt’s neck. Matt looks up at him through his eyelashes. It doesn’t feel fair.

“You gonna kiss me?” Matt asks, voice breathy and soft.

His answer is a gentle press of the lips, something they’ve done once or twice before, and it feels like friendship renewed.

“Moxie!” Eddie yells down the hallway. “You got your ass beat by the cowboy again!”

“Get in here,” Mox snaps, grabbing Eddie’s arm and dragging him into his locker room. Eddie’s still grinning, though, and Mox is halfway to throwing him back out in the hallway if he could trust Eddie could shut up for a second.

“Aw, Mox, gonna be like old times?” Eddie crowds into Mox’s space. Mox lets him, getting pressed up against the wall, fingers threaded with Eddie’s.

“Not if you’re gonna be a dick,” Mox says back, and Eddie laughs against his neck, pressing kisses. “Come on, you don’t get to give me a hickey after making fun of me. Quit it.”

Eddie pulls away, eyes sparkling. “What, you don’t think it’s funny?”

“I don’t,” Mox says, but he doesn’t shove Eddie off. “Hangman’s got a chip on his shoulder. That’s not my fault.”

“You knocked him out.”

“Again, glass jaw, not my fault!” Mox throws his hands in the air. “Look, man, why the hell is everybody all mad at me for? Ooh, sweet baby Cowboy got hurt. Mox is a bad, evil man for being good at his job and winning his match.” He slumps back against the wall. “Everybody is a big fuckin’ whiner.”

Eddie studies him. “You had a smoke recently?”

Mox thinks about it. “Uh. No.”

“That’s why you’re being bitchy,” Eddie says, more to himself than to Mox. “Come on. We’re going outside.” He grabs Mox’s arm, and he goes along without much of a fight. Because Eddie’s right – it’s been a while since his last cigarette.

Unfortunately, this day is destined to piss him off.

“Hangman,” Mox says, steeling himself for a fight.

Adam Page rolls his fucking eyes at him. “God damn it, Moxley, can’t I go take a piss without you in my face?”

“You’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me,” Mox says. He puts his hands behind his back, grinning. “Take a swing, baby. I’ll even let you try to knock me out, yeah?”

“While this is fun,” Eddie says, “I think you two should look up.”

He looks at Page, then looks up, and looks back at Page, who looks, surprisingly, fatigued. “Oh, god,” Page says, “not another one.”

“Another one?” Mox says. “Aw, Cowboy, you been puttin’ your lips on somebody else? I thought you were all about me right now.”

Page stares at him, blue-green eyes unblinking for a moment. Then he strides toward him, grabs Mox’s face in his hands, and gives Mox the kind of kiss that makes him go a bit weak in the knees. Mox finds his footing, though, and gives back just as hard, clacking teeth with it. Page pushes him away as fast as he came at him. “I’ll kick your ass later,” Page says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, which definitely should not have given Mox a boner. “I gotta get back to my hotel before somebody else does some more stupid shit to make me stay here.” He nods to Eddie, like this isn’t weird at all, and walks past the two of them without another look back.

“I like him,” Eddie decides. “I know he’s your arch enemy right now or whatever, but I like him. The man’s got balls.”

“I…” Mox finds his fingers touching his lips, his brain a little dizzy. “Did that just happen?”

Eddie studies his face, then his eyes drop down to Mox’s crotch. “Oh. Of course. Your horny bastard. Alright, go back to the locker room. Fuck first, then cigarette.”

Mox shrugs. He can work with that order of events.

“First, though,” Eddie grabs Mox by the neck and hauls him in for a kiss, less angry than Page’s, but more possessive, more demanding. Mox loves this kind of kiss from Eddie. “Alright. Better.”

“Better?” Mox asks. “What the fuck was wrong with me?”

“Uh, I can’t put my dick in your mouth with you having Hangman spit all up in there.” He pats Mox’s cheek. “Now you’re better. Let’s go.”

Kenny Omega is fucking tired.

“You gotta do this bit, Omega-man,” Matt says, practically vibrating. “If you don’t start now, we’re missing a whole storyline detail, and then new people won’t know who the eff Ibushi is when he shows up at Revolution, and then we’ve lost the audience.” He perches on the side of the table, hops off, does a little jump on his toes, and goes right back on the table. “Come on. Please?”

Kenny exhales and turns to Matt. “Okay. Fine. But you and Cutler are out of here once we’re done.”

Matt nods. “Totally. Definitely.”

“You had another one of those Death coffees again, didn’t you?”

Matt shrugs. “Gets the job done. Don’t judge me.”

They run the bit, something practically invisible unless you know who Ibushi is, know that he’s Kenny’s favorite person and the biggest heartbreak he’s ever had. He wishes he knew how to tell Matt that this, the ex, is off limits. But he can’t.

“We good?” Kenny asks, curling up on the couch. “I need a nap.”

“We have EVP duties,” Matt says, frowning.

He might scream, later, when he’s back in his hotel room. “Can’t you and Nick take care of it?”

“It’s a three man job, and Tony’s on the phone yapping at somebody to stay for interviews,” Matt says. “So it’s the Elite taking over.”

Kenny follows him and, too late, realizes he forgot his phone in his locker room.

“I swear, I’ll be there,” Kenny promises Matt. “Seriously. Just give me five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Matt repeats.

Kenny nods, because he knows what this is. “Five minutes.” He turns on his heel and makes his way back to his locker room, one closest to the exit. On the final turn to the room, he sees him.

Hangman.

Adam.

He’s on the phone, by the exit, talking frenetically and fidgeting with his belt buckle. He looks no different than before, when they were whatever they were. Champions, he guesses, but there was always so much more. Most unfortunately, though, he’s leaning up against the door of Kenny’s room.

He promised Matt five minutes. If he breaks that promise…

Kenny straightens his back, girds his loins, as they say, and walks toward the door like everything is normal. “Hey,” he says. “My locker room. Can I get in?”

Adam’s eyes are a little panicked, a little wild. He looks upwards, looks at Kenny, looks up again, and relaxes. “Sorry. Yeah. Uh.” He slides to the side. “Go right ahead.” He turns back to the phone. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Give me a minute.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Kenny says, waving it off. He feels too hot all of a sudden. Before he thinks about it, he pulls his shirt off over his head as he pushes into the locker room, then comes out with his phone. “You can, uh, go back there.”

Adam stares at him. “In front of a door? I, uh, I’m good here.” He wiggles his phone. “Tony’s trying to convince me to do some sort of interview later, but I’m exhausted.”

“You should,” Kenny says automatically. Adam raises his eyebrows. “Stay, I mean. I think people are really going to want to hear your plan for Moxley.”

Adam lets a small smile escape. “What, like, other than me wanting to drag him to hell?”

Kenny shrugs. “There could be more to it. I’m not in your head.”

Adam flinches like he got slapped, and Kenny wonders why he constantly fucks up with this man. “Yeah, you, uh, you’re not.” He pushes his hair out of his face. “You know where Tony is?”

“Yeah, I think he’s in the office. I’ll take you there.” It feels like an olive branch, at least to Kenny. Adam asking for help, allowing Kenny to give it. It feels like healing.

It’s devastatingly boring small talk on the short walk to the EVP office, talking about the weather and the traffic, but it’s more words between them without rage than they’ve exchanged since 2020.

“There’s a hallway between here and his office, but, uh, I’m sure he’ll let you in.” Kenny offers a smile to Adam, doing his best to be okay, be calm. To not spook him.

Adam nods. “Thanks, Kenny.” His eyes are locked onto Kenny’s. “I mean it.”

Kenny makes a strange little gesture toward the door, and his hand brushes against something hanging on the doorknob. He looks down, confused. “Oh.”

Adam follows his gaze, then groans. “Again?”

Kenny snaps up to look at him. “What, you’re just finding mistletoe all over the place?”

“Actually, yeah,�� Adam says, looking a bit frazzled. “Like, this is the third one in the venue. It’s getting weird.”

Kenny laughs, but it’s too high pitched to be normal. “Weird. I didn’t put them up.”

Adam studies his face. “Why would you say that unless you’re the one who hung them?”

“I didn’t!” Kenny says. “Dude, I swear. I have nothing to do with the mistletoe.”

Adam’s fighting a smile, Kenny can tell. It’s one of the best looks for Adam. “You swear?”

“I swear,” Kenny says automatically.

Adam sighs. “Well, I’ve done the other two. Come here.”

“What?”

“Kissed somebody,” Adam explains, “with the mistletoe. It’s a tradition.”

“I know the tradition,” Kenny says. “I just – I’m surprised you’re – with me.” He swallows.

Adam’s smile turns kind. “It’s just a kiss, Kenny. If you don’t want to, we don’t.”

Kenny thinks about it for a minute. It’s a horrible decision. They’ve been through too much, hurt each other in too many ways, been away for too much time. This could be enough to shatter them both again.

He steps into Adam’s space, leaning in where Adam does, and their lips meet. It feels like warm honey in a cup of tea at home, like a heavy blanket on a snowy night when you know you’ll get a snow day the next morning. Kenny leans into it, resting a hand on Adam’s arm, drinking in the moment. If this is the last moment he shares with this man, a moment he never imagined possible, he wants it to echo.

They pull apart, and Kenny watches as Adam’s eyes flutter open.

“Okay,” Adam says, quiet. “Um. I’ll – I’ll be. Um.” He smiles, and it tattoos itself into Kenny’s soul, just like the rest of Adam.

“Yeah,” Kenny says. He hope his smile echoes his thoughts. “I gotta get to Matt and Nick. EVP shit, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam says. He reaches out to Kenny’s hand, though, and squeezes. “Talk later?”

Kenny feels the weight of the world float away. “Of course.”

When he gets back to Matt and Nick, Matt’s sitting there with a timer on his phone. Seven minutes and thirty-six seconds.

“Okay,” Kenny says, “I can explain.”

“You see Wheeler?” Willow asks, hopping up to sit next to Ruby. “He got absolutely flattened by Rush. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s Blackpool,” Ruby says, waving the concern away. “He’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Willow says. She bounces her legs against the edge of the table. “So, this tag match. Got any ideas?”

“Kill them,” Ruby deadpans. Willow waits. “Okay, like, don’t give me that look. I’m thinking submissions – just make them cry about it.”

“That feels mean.”

“Sweetheart, you beat people up for a living,” Ruby says, purple-painted lips in a mildly condescending smile, “mean is literally your job.”

Willow huffs. “I’m not mean!” she argues. “I’m – firm! Decisive! I tell stories.”

“Through hitting people.”

“Okay, yeah, fine. By hitting people.” She bumps Ruby. “I am a little excited about punching Anna and Tay. They could use a good fist to the face.”

“Okay, see, while I like the tenacity, if you closed fist them, we get disqualified. And that’s the opposite of the goal.”

“Fair,” Willow concedes. “Elbows?”

Ruby grins, patting her own elbow. “All of ‘em.”

They plan out the match together, tag methods Willow’s never thought of before, moves Ruby’s sure she can pull off that Willow was always hesitant about.

Ruby says something, and Willow laughs so hard she falls backward. When she opens her eyes, she sees something on the ceiling. “Hey,” she says, forcing the words through giggles. “What’s that?”

Ruby looks up. “I think – oh.” She grins down at Willow. “Mistletoe.”

Willow shrugs. “I mean. Why not?”

Ruby leans down and kisses her, soft and sweet and quick. She pulls away, smiling. “You’ve got my lipstick all over your face.”

Willow grins back at her. “Tag team shit?”

“Tag team shit.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, just a kiss on the cheek!” Kenny says, grabbing at Nick’s arm. “EVP cheek smooches.” He pouts. “You used to do cheek smooches for Adam Cole.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nick says, but he makes the mistake of smiling. Kenny smells blood in the water, and Matt jumps in.

“Nick,” Matt says, “it’s a tradition. It’s either kiss him on the cheek or on the lips.”

Nick wrinkles his nose. “Ew. Okay, fine. Get over here. I hate both of you.”

“You love us,” Matt retorts, and Nick kind of wants to strangle him.

He and Matt kiss Kenny on the cheek underneath the mistletoe, and Brandon films it for BTE, with Kenny giving a rambling diatribe about how he’s going to find the person who posted all the mistletoe and destroy them.

“Okay, well, that’s a little much,” Matt laughs. “We’re not going to destroy anybody.”

“I might destroy you,” Nick mutters. “God, I just wanna go home. When’s our flight?”

“Not until later, baby brother,” Matt says, and he gives Nick the worst noogie since high school.

“Get off me!”

“Today was fun,” Matt says, throwing an arm around Nick’s shoulders. “Where’d you get the idea for mistletoe?”

Nick pauses, and Matt half stumbles over himself. “What?”

“The mistletoe,” Matt repeats. “That was you, right? Putting it all over the arena.”

Nick shakes his head slowly. “No. I thought it was you.”

They turn to Kenny in tandem. “Was it you?” Matt asks.

“No, I thought it was Matt, actually.” He stares Matt down, and Nick joins in.

“I didn’t do it!” Matt insists. “Why would I ask you about the idea if it was me?!”

“Because that’s how you would bring it up,” Nick says. “It’s annoying. You’re annoying. That’s how you’d bring it up.”

“You’re more annoying,” Matt grumbles.

“You two are missing the point,” Kenny interrupts. “If it wasn’t one of us putting the mistletoe everywhere, who the hell was it?”

Max giggles and jumps like a toddler. “This was so good!” he laughs, spinning in his seat.

“Shh!” Anthony says, yanking his arm to sit down. “They still don’t know who it was. Do you want to ruin it?”

Max gets himself under control. “Did you have any idea Mox and Eddie were, like, together?”

“Um, duh,” Anthony says. “Jesus, for somebody this gay, you sure are oblivious.”

“You’re gay,” Max retorts.

“Yeah,” Anthony says. “Focus. We now have blackmail on the entire company. What do you want to do with it?”

Max goes quiet for a minute, stewing. “Actually, you know what I want to do?”

“What?”

He grins at Anthony. “I want to go flirt with MJF.”

Anthony collapses backward onto the floor, groaning like somebody just hit him. “Stop flirting with the devil. He’s never going to love you back.”

“It could be a Christmas miracle!” Max says, leaping to his feet. “We could It’s A Wonderful Life this shit.”

“You did not understand the themes of that movie,” Anthony grumbles, but he follows Max anyway, and that’s enough of a Christmas gift for him.

He looks up. “Anthony,” he singsongs, “look what I found hanging from the ceiling!”

Max does not get kissed under the mistletoe. He gets tackled.

#wheeler x danny #HangMatt #HangMox #EddieMox #Kenny x Hangman #God damnit there are SO MANY SHIPS IN THIS HOW DO I TAG IT #in which Sara writes #aew #wtf i like wrestling now???#This is so much fluffy nonsense #And also like a smidge of angst for those who want heartbreak with their holiday ham #sarahcakes613

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