#aew x reader

You waited patiently, sitting on the bench near the door while scrolling through Instagram.

“Hello, lovely lady.”

You jumped at the voice, eyes making contact with a man hunched over, hands curled up in a zombie like stance, and black and white paint on his face.

“I’m Danhausen, nice to meet you.” He spoke quickly, taking his right hand from his cape and shaking your outstretched, confused hand. “Y/n…” you muttered back.

Who was this and why was he coming up to you?

“You probably haven’t seen me around, but I’m Hook’s “friend”,”

You thought about it and slowly nodded. This was the guy Hook’s been telling you about — the guy who’s been basically harassing him for a tag match against Tony and Mark.

“—and there have been some, uh, problems with Tony Neese and his manager, Mark Sterling, and I say we team together and take them down! But, Hook doesn’t want to.” He made sure to frown at the end of that sentence.

“I heard from some people around here that you’re his lady, so I thought maybe you could help me out.”

“Um, well, Hook has a problem with trusting people. He likes to do everyone on his own, a lone wolf, you know?” Danhausen nodded. “This is no offense to you, but you’re not really on his level?” You admitted in a question. 

You didn’t want to sound completely rude, but it was just the truth. The difference between Hook’s fighting style and Danhausen's was extremely noticeable.

“He wants to be around people who are more serious in the ring, and not someone who plays around.”

That made Danhausen gasp, a facepaint-stained hand coming over his heart. “Danhausen is serious! Danhausen doesn’t play around! I really do curse people, wanna see?”

You opened your mouth to decline but he was already raising his two hands, both of them pointing at you. 

Before he could speak, the door opened.

You didn’t notice the person who stepped out was your boyfriend, nor did you see him charging towards Danhausen.

You blinked and he was pinning the poor guy to the wall.

“Hook!” You yelled, watching with wide eyes as his grip around the black and red top grew tighter.

“You want my attention? Fine. But don’t ever come near my girl again.”

You let out a breath you were holding, rushing forward and pulling Hook away from him. “Hook, stop it! You’re scaring him!”

You both looked at Danhausen who still had his arms and hands pinned to the wall, teeth on display, and eyes opened wide.

“He was just asking me to convince you to tag with him.”

Hook rolled his eyes.

“I think you should do it.”

He attempted to walk away, but you grabbed his wrist forcing him to stay. “Come on, please?” You pouted. 

“Yes, please do!” Danhausen added.

You glared at him, telepathically telling him to hush.

“Please? For me?”

Hook’s eyes fluttered close in a way to calm his annoyance. “Fine.”

You let out a cheer and pressed a kiss to his cheek while intertwining your hands. “See you at Double or Nothing next week!”

You both began walking away, but Danhausen's voice rang out. “Where are you two going?” “To the diner down the street. You should totally come!”

“No.”

“Alright!”

You arrived at the hotel room in Los Angeles, the click of a hotel card was swiped smoothly against the rigid door handle, entering the room and shutting the door behind you. Dropping the luggage right at your feet, you waited patiently for him to meet you at your hotel room. The night was dragging as you stared down at your phone, only to send a quick text to Will.

‘’I’m here at the hotel. I will be patiently waiting for you.’’ The one text sent to him as soon as you hit the ‘’send’’ button on your message conversation. Shuttering your eyes closed momentarily, mental flashbacks ran wild through your flooded head, the flashbacks of how Will was always the sickly sweet one who’d gone out of his way to take his time to spread crimson red rose petals around all over the bedroom floor. Always followed by a lit up room filled with bright white candles, how he would make sure you were taken good care of.

Will was always known to be the gentle type. How his big soft hands framed your face so gently you felt safe with him everytime. The words ‘’love’’ and ‘’darling’’ drawn out from his thick British accent made you feel some different type of way, the way your rapid heart beat thudded right into your throat was something you couldn’t get right past. He was always the sickly sweet one.

A text messaged pinged faintly from your phone laying right next to you on the bed, which made you snap back into reality.

‘’I’m here, love.’’

After reading those words, suddenly, a knock erupted outside the hotel room door. You ran towards the door, opening it in one swift motion. The 6’1 British man dressed in a white t-shirt clinging to his body with black jeans perfectly fitted around his waist and a black jean jacket hugged onto his shoulders came face to face with you.

Will’s mesmorizing ocean blue eyes had gotten you in a trance, before you had the ability to coherent words of your own, he entered the very room to kick the door shut behind the space between the two of you and backed you against the stilled kings sized bed. Your heart beat fluttered rapidly, the sensation hitting right in the back of your throat, you were dazed as ever to see him so brand new.

‘’I am guessing you’ve missed me when I was out of action.’’ He spoke sternly, studying your ghostly white face.

‘’I really wasn’t expecting for you to answer and come here, Will. Considering it’s been 7 months since we’ve last saw each other.’’ You replied, your eyes fixated on his physical frame that was so unfamiliar to you.

Different freshly designed ink covered his whole right arm, the other covering his left forearm. His slick backed dark brown hair that was once with blonde curls no more. He was a whole different type of man you would have to deal with.

‘’But I am no longer that young British lad you came to fell in love with, darling.’’ His voice darkened, his large hand rose up to meet your flustered face.

His thick fingers grazed over your puffed out bottom lip, letting him take your sweetened scent all in. His raggid breath fell hot on your neck, a low chuckle came out of him. You stood motionless, a low moan escaped your lips when his lips came in contact onto your neck.

‘’I knew it,’’ he spoke again. ‘’I knew you would come apart so quickly just by seeing me as a whole new man, you’re so not used to seeing me like this, are you?’’

‘’N-no, Will.’’ You stammered. ‘’7 months just feels like forever ago.’’

Will smirked against your flushed neck, his wild gaze then met yours, those same exact blue orbs that gotten you in a trance, as if you felt like a dog running with his tail between his legs.

‘’Besides,’’ he began, ‘’You don’t know what you’re gonna get yourself into, love.’’

His hands were now suddenly roaming all over your attentive body. The touch that you didn’t have in over the course of 7 months became so familiar to you again, that you were obedient with his every touch on your body.

Without knowing what was next, he got you on your knees in front of him towards the bed. A hard hand came down on your softened face. You gasped softly, with his calloused hand wrapped completely around your jaw.

‘’You’re going to be a good girl for me, no matter what I tell you, you’re going to do it, understand?’’

‘’Yes sir.’’ You obliged, looking up at the much taller man towering over you.

‘’Good girl.’’

Wetness began to pool in between your legs, it wasn’t hard for Will to get you turned on so quickly. It was almost effortless in a way knowing you would always fall to be submissive for him.

You could hear the sound of him reaching for his belt to unfasten it. He threw the belt on the floor, undoing his pants next. You watched with anticipation, your brain began to go dumb as Will’s hard erection freed from his boxers.

A trail of drool began to form in the creases of your mouth, he guided your head close to his length, almost forgetting how big in size he was due to all the time away you spent from each other.

“Show me what that pretty little mouth of yours can do, don’t disappoint me.” his voice dripped in lust.

He grasped the back of your head tightly. You were going to be his “good girl” tonight, the room shared between you and Will had gotten more tense than ever.

You were on your knees in front of him, pre-cum leaked out of his pink tip. Your hand pumped his cock eagerly in a few long strokes, your flat tongue licked at his tip and swirled around it as a low groan erupted from the assassin. Taking him all in your mouth your glossy lips were sealed around him, hollowing out your cheeks.

His blue orbs were full blown in lust, pornographic moans erupted from his throat as you took him further down inch by inch. Softly gagging around him, he looked down at you as his large fingers were tangled in your disheveled hair.

“Such a good girl, y/n. Taking my cock so well.” Will groaned, getting off at the sight of you below him sucking him off.

His thick veiny shaft hit the back of your throat, your vision became blurry from tears filling up your eyes. Fucking your throat that squeezed around him so well, his cock twitching with ease. Your hands grasped each side of his thighs, his hands holding your head in place while he continued to relentlessly thrust down your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut, you felt him stretch out your mouth as you lightly choked around him. A low guttural groan came out of him, feeling his cock spasm as his seed spilt down your throat.

You swallowed his seed, moaning lowly at the bitter salty taste of it. Kneeling down in front of him, breathless and all.

“Stand up, get on all fours.” He ordered.

You got yourself off the floor and crawled toward the top of the bed with your ass swaying in front. you felt his hands reach for your clothes tearing your shirt off followed by your pants. You were left in your bra and underwear, a devilish smirk appeared on his face as his hands went to unclasp your bra throwing it on the side of the floor along with your underwear being unhooked between your legs.

“So fucking beautiful. So vulnerable and ready for me.” He breathed, his hot breath now finding its way onto the back of your cold stoned neck.

His body weight climbed on top of you, bare and all for him his large hand slapped your ass groping it making you jolt. You let out a choked moan, Will wasn’t messing around when he said “you don’t what you’re going to get yourself into”.

He was right and he instantly knew how to get into your head. That shared bond between the two of you felt like it never faded.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, positioning himself behind you and with all of his girth, he bottomed out deep inside of you. You threw your head back in bliss, breathy pants and moans escalated out of you as Will fucked you the way you deserved to be fucked, both your bodies moving together in sync.

“Who do you belong to, love?” He challenged, his cock pounded deep in your pussy, the heaviness of his balls slapping against your tight skin.

“Y-You Will.” You cried out, his free hand wrapped securely around the locks of your hair tugging your head back.

“Let the whole hotel know how good I’m fucking you, you love to be fucked dumb by daddy don’t you?” He remarked once more, breathy moans rumbling from his throat.

‘’Yes daddy,’’ you moaned, ‘‘’Only you can fuck me this good.’’

Each thrust of his hips made your brain go fuzzy, unable to coherent sentences of your own once again in that little trance he put you in the second the first time you saw him in 7 months moments ago, as if he had some type of inescapable spell on you. Your tightened walls began to convulse around him, overstimulating your poor cunt which made you go completely mindless.

The walls of the room drowned out in both of your moans and pants, white knuckles clutching the bedsheets and the sight of you taking backshot after backshot was like heaven’s sight to Will. Your face was buried against the mattress, his ragged moans got louder, your desperate bodies colliding together on the bed as he repeatedly hit your g-spot.

Your jaw went slack, you were in another world hypnotized by how good he felt inside you, stretching you so well while your thoughts raced in circles. Your body began to tremble, so cock drunk off of him that you forgot where you were.

His movements became sloppy, he brought your head up close to his face. His breath hitching through your ears, your body becoming sensitive by each hard thrust his hips had made and every sudden touch he came in contact on your prickled skin.

The mix of intoxicating sweat and sweet cologne filled your senses. You breathed in Will’s scent, his shaft splitting you right open.

“You look so pretty right now fucked out on my cock.” he groaned, “Only I can make you feel this way. Only I can make you cum, no one else.”

His words felt like a prayer. He knew in every way how to get you to surrender to him, and how you always felt so needy you’ve gotten everything you wanted from him every single time.

It never failed.

‘’You gonna be a good girl and come for me?’’ He growled, those words he spoke from behind you sent you near the edge knowing you were close to chasing your high.

Only your boyfriend can fuck you this good. And no one else.

‘’I’m getting close,’’ you rasped, your walls pulsating violently around him.

“Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The words Will spoke fell faint to your ears, your body stilled on the bed as your head dropped from his grasp. Your climax ran through your whole exhausted body like shock waves, he followed soon shortly after, ropes of his white seed painting your cervix.

He collapsed down next to you, your breathing unsteady. A warm hand framed your moonlit face followed by a soft kiss planted on your forehead.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You did so good for me.”

“And god did I miss your face or what?” You replied, earning a smile from Will.

“I missed you too, my lovely.”

His strong arms enveloped across your exhausted body. Both of your bodies were wrapped together tangled in the white bedsheets.

ROMAN REIGNS

-the way he acts doesn't change much after you get married, however there is one habit he has picked up: kissing your ring finger; loves mentioning to others about how beautiful your wedding was and shows pictures to everyone

-being married to roman is like your real life fairytale, having someone so attentive and loving seems to be rare these days, so when you hear all the awful husband/marriage stories you just hold your husband a little tighter and say thanks to the universe for giving you such a good man

-he brags about you all the time, if you have kids trust that he's becoming the 'hot dad' that everyone drools over and other husbands are jealous of

SETH ROLLINS

-brings you up in every conversation, is so nonchalant about the way he loves you and even says that he can't believe he got to marry someone like you; keeps a journal where he writes down a timeline of your relationship from the 'talking stage' to now (marriage)

-years after your wedding, strangers on the street ask if you two are some newlyweds on their honeymoon, the look on their faces when you tell them that it's been years is hilarious every time lol; lowkey you guys give eccentric grandparents vibes, people tell you two all the time that you act like an old married couple, though you haven't reached the 'old' part yet you can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him

-every anniversary is never complete without a printed and decorated photo album full of your memories, to another year of happy marriage and an even happier couple

RANDY ORTON

-after you two get married it's impossible to see one without the other, you two become truly inseparable after marriage lol; he would carry you around anywhere if he could, your mornings and nights are just like romcom movies where the couple is always lovey-dovey but unfiltered

-the rare times when you two happen to be apart he always makes sure to plan ahead, meaning you find love notes and presents sent by him reminding you of where he'd rather be; the type of husband that cannot resist purchasing every his/hers/mr/mrs branded item, he thinks they're adorable and it's like you two but as pillows or mugs lol

-usually wakes up before you to simply admire your sleeping face, thinks about all the things he's grateful for each morning and the first is always you, honestly you and him could definitely give others relationship and intimacy advice, because romantic relationships don't work if you aren't wildly attracted to your person

FINN BALOR

-after getting married to finn it's like you two are kids/teenagers again; the feeling of running off after your reception, giggling and unable to keep your hands off each other, it is all something that describes your relationship; if you decide to have a family, you two are definitely the parents that kiss/cuddle in front of your kids meanwhile they scream about how gross you two are lol

-jokes about how you put a spell on him because he can never stop thinking about you and how he can't help but see you in everything no matter where he goes; he goes on a quick grocery run, sees your favorite snack and thinks about you, he goes to workout at a gym and while checking his form/progress he thinks about what you would say to him if you were there

-your relationship doesn't change really at all after marriage, however it does inspire many people around you, especially family members/friends who are having relationship issues; others who are struggling romantically see you two together and think "wow, maybe soulmates do exist" or "this issue me and my wife/husband/lover are having shouldn't break us apart, i can fix us" you two are like the world's best marriage counselors without even knowing lol

NEVILLE/PAC

-he's the type of husband that is insanely loyal and sentimental that everything you do together seems like some kind of love ritual, has always taken your relationship very seriously but after marriage it's like he just knows that you're in it for the long run and can finally relax knowing you won't leave him; not insecure of your relationship after marriage, has a bit of a glow up after you decide to have children (if you want that) and overall is so much more confident then before

-if you want to see him melt, cry, and possible almost have a heart attack all you need to do is wear your wedding dress/suit, he definitely cried at your wedding which made you cry, which made everyone else present cry lol; doesn't understand how other married couples don't love their partner as much as you two love each other, everything difficult or slightly scary in the world becomes easy-breezy when you're facing it together

-your honeymoon destination becomes your sacred place to visit on your anniversary, reminding you of all you've been through together and how your marriage is something either of you would fight for anyday; he's such a green flag all around, but what makes your marriage so different from others is that you have a silent language, where you can feel the other's emotions and almost telepathically send messages of endearment

Her fingers tap at her knee, the conversations about significant others and for certain people the lack of them, perfect background noise as she thinks about how tonight marks her second to last night with shooting for WWE. She had some ideas for a few planned shots she wanted to get and she knew that Cody would be down. He was after all the whole reason she was on this two-month contract with WWE.

“What about you, Y/N?”

Her brow furrows at the question, “sorry what?”

Becky chuckles. “Have you thought about getting married?”

She freezes for a second, fingers stilling as her frown deepens. Slowly she raises her left hand up, palm facing herself as she shows off her left ring finger tattoo as she moves her other hand from her knee to her water, taking a sip. “I am married.”

A few jaws drop at her words and she doesn’t miss the embarrassment that flashes across two of their faces.

“You’re married?”

She nods, watching as Cody tries to hide his amusement. “The tattoo isn’t for show.”

“Tattoo isn’t for show.” Jey mutters under his breath with a laugh, shaking his head. “For how long?”

“Two years.” And then she directs her attention to Cody, not willing to entertain any more questions about her marriage, her personal life, not when she figured they all knew, other than the two who had tried and failed to ask her out. “You still up for some warmup shots?”

Cody nods, standing. “Absolutely. I had an idea as well for it.”

She smiles, standing up as well, waving goodbye to the group. “Let me hear it then.”

—

“I really don’t like traveling without you this long.”

She sinks further into the hotel bed. “Me neither. But, I’ve just got tonight and then right after I’m taking a flight to Washington to be with you.”

“And you're sure you don’t want to stop at home for a day?”

She sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “There’s not much of a point, couldn’t even really get unpacked or anything. Besides, you’ve already got your flight booked, a rental car, and that airbnb for us. I just want to be with you.”

“Alright.” Jon murmurs. “Four days in Washington and thankfully we get to stay home until the Dynamite show in Inglewood.”

She smiles, knowing he’s looking at the planner she got custom-made for him for his birthday. “I love that Double or Nothing is in Vegas.”

“It is nice. I do have that hotel room booked just in case for us.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Let’s hope we won’t need it. I like sleeping in our bed better.”

“Me too, babe. Now get some sleep. You're going to be running on fumes until you're back in my arms, I already know it.”

“Okay.” She laughs, opening her eyes to look at the clock sitting on her nightstand. It was already nearing two am and she had to be up at seven. “Only thirty-one more hours until I’m with you, get some sleep as well.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

“You know how many questions I’ve been fielding about you?”

Her nose wrinkles, hands clutching at her drink as she shifts her weight, trying to wake up. “I thought wrestling was a small world.”

“It is.”

“Uh huh.”

“Generally it is. But Jon’s private, your private. It’s not like he uses social media or you use it for anything other than work.”

“I’d rather die.”

The dryness of her words makes Cody laugh. “I’m just saying, the wrestling world is small, but neither of you advertise.”

She blinks at him, hand dipping into her pocket and pulling out her phone. When it unlocks, she goes to the notes app. “Note for next time Jon wins, climb in the ring, climb him, advertise relationship, take a brand deal, climb Jon again.”

Cody snorts, shoulders shaking. “Please let me see Jon’s face when you tell him this plan.”

“I don’t think you want to see his face after me saying I want to climb him.”

A grossed out look crosses his face instantly. “Never mind, don’t. I changed my mind.”

“Yeah, I figured that was going to be your answer.”

His eyes roll, but he’s smiling. “Smart ass.”

She smiles at the comment, pocketing her phone before finishing the rest of her drink. “Now, let’s get to work before I think too hard about climbing my husband next time I see him.”

“Oh,” Cody’s shoulders go up to his ears. “I, that’s not, I’m telling Brandi.”

“She’ll say it’s good for you to be uncomfortable, payback.” She responds as she picks up her camera from where it’s dangling around her neck. “Now, smile.”

The click of the hotel door opening does its best to pierce through the quiet tension that had been brewing for the past few minutes; but if the tap-tapping of your sandals and the rhythmic rolling wheels of his suitcase hadn’t done it, then the door lock definitely wouldn’t either. Will pops his shoes off by the small entrance table and takes the case over to the two-person sofa. Not wanting to look particularly eager, you linger in the entryway, just watching, waiting for him to say something. From the case, he unpacks the massive black and pink title he’d been dreaming about for the past year. His fingers run along the trim, taking it all in. He’d won what was likely the most hard-fought battle of his career tonight—in small part, thanks to you.

You’d spent the better part of the past twelve months at Swerve Strickland’s side; he was a friend, a brother, a mentor, who helped build you as a star. Realistically, you owed everything to him. So you did your best to help in whatever way he needed. During his war waged against the Death Riders and the Bucks, you’d fought side by side. With him. With Will. You’d even convinced him to assist Hangman…

It was during that time that your feelings had truly begun to blossom for the Aerial Assassin, which Swerve made sure to tease you about. (Though admittedly, he was just glad it wasn’t Adam you’d taken a liking to.) Things were good; for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful for the future. If only you’d been able to see where all of this would end.

Since last summer, you’d had a front row seat to witness the way both Swerve and Will had changed.

In his time off, Swerve had unlocked a part of himself he’d swore he’d never unleash again. The same fire and the rage that he’d fought so hard to snuff out was igniting again. You could feel it. He was desperate for a change, for a chance to get back to the top of the mountain and he was becoming ruthless.

All of his inner turmoil was brought to the surface when the tournament was announced. When he was suddenly confronted with the fact that the Will Ospreay that destiny seemed to be calling him to face was not that same one he’d once called a friend. No, this Will had been taken in by the Death Riders and transformed into something else. In Swerve’s mind, he was nothing more than a traitor. “I’m gonna do whatever I have to,” he told you, warming up backstage, “He turned his back on us; it was only a matter of time before the knife hit him.”

On the other side of the bracket, returning from surgery had been incredibly hard on Will. If the target on his neck wasn’t large enough already, now there were neon lights and flashing arrows. Mark Davis had already tried to put him back on the shelf. Left him mere seconds from losing everything again. Maybe that was why he accepted Moxley’s offer, because deep down he was scared of what it meant to not have someone watching his back.

Everyone knew that allies were better to have than friends in their industry; allies could be kept at arms length, but having friends meant letting someone close enough to stab you in the back.

In his work with the Riders, Will had honed his skill, strengthening his mind and body, letting them forge him into an unrelenting weapon. Sharpening his discipline to a fine point that had proven devastating to anyone who crossed his path. You’d tried to appeal to his better nature, plead with him to walk away, but he insisted, “I have to do this. I know you don’t like them, but it’s working. I feel more ready than I have in a long time.”

When the tournament was announced, you knew how it would find its resolution. A battle of the very best. A pair of crimson masks in the midst of a massacre. You’d stood at ringside more times than you could count, but this was different. It was like the air shifted, sucking the very life out of you, in spite of an arena shaking under the power of the fans. And then, it happened.

With Nana distracting the referee, Swerve dragged the other man’s lifeless body over to you, gesturing under the ring. He wanted you to grab something. A chain, a screwdriver, a fucking brick for all he cared, to put an end to Will Ospreay once and for all. Telling—no, demanding—that you finish it. As much as you had tried to hide it these past few months, he knew how much you still cared for him. This was a test of your loyalty. One that he must’ve known you’d fail.

With the slightest shake of your head, all you could do was back away. You couldn’t do it. Not to Will. Not after you had begged him to refuse the Riders help. You wouldn’t. Swerve could finish this on his own. He didn’t need you; this was just a measured act of cruelty.

His eyes narrow, fury radiating from his entire being, following as you edge around the side, unable to look at the blood gushing down Will’s face. Yelling obscenities your way, your betrayal distracts him just long enough for his opponent to catch his breath. Finally, Swerve turns back to the match—right into one of the nastiest hidden blades you’d ever seen. And then, Will hit him again, with a ferocity you hadn’t known was inside of him.

When Swerve kicked out, not a single person in the building failed to gasp. Perhaps even more so when the Death Riders suddenly swarmed the ring, not threatening Swerve, or interfering with the match, just… encouraging Will. The whole situation felt so backwards and, with a head swimming in doubt, you fell back near the barricade, making yourself small. You watched as Will finished the match with furious defiance, putting Swerve away with a brutality you hadn’t known he was capable of, and falling to his knees in the center of the ring, practically sobbing. You didn’t hear the words the two shared; you turned your gaze when Jon kissed Will on the top of his head; and you certainly didn’t stick around to celebrate a victory you had no right to.

It wasn’t until he found you nearly forty minutes later, changed and sitting on a bench outside the women’s locker room waiting for Maya, that you smiled for the first time that night. His hair was still stained red and the bruises had begun to blossom on his face; he’d swapped his ring gear for black sweats and a tank that seemed to have shrunk in the wash. “Hey.” It was all you could say. Words lost to the ether, as your eyes fall to the blood stain on the sole of your shoe. You didn’t know who it belonged to, but it didn’t really matter. It made your heart sting nonetheless.

“What hotel are you in?”

Well, that was certainly not what you had expected him to say. His voice is somehow gruffer than normal, shot from the long night, and it grates at your soul, remembering a time where he used to talk with you every week. Picking at your chipped nail polish, you respond quietly, “Signia, on South Market.”

“Want a ride?” You dare meet his gaze; those pretty blue eyes, tired, but happy; and offer a small shrug.

“Yeah, sure–eh, thank you.” Tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder, you follow him to his car. The sound of passing vehicles and the hum of the parking lot lights make a comforting white noise against the raging stream of thoughts inside your mind. The glint of the Owen Hart belt on his shoulder taunts you in the dark parking lot until, with the trunk opened, he packs it away in a large suitcase and slides his stuff to the side to make room for yours. He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t feel pressure to either, just letting the stereo fill the space between you as he drives from one lot to the next. His hand rests on the center console, bits of dried blood still caked under his nails, and at one point, you’d swear it looked like he was going to reach over and hold your hand.

You wanted him to.

“You were amazing tonight,” you muse when he puts the car in park, finally breaking the silence.

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek for a moment, not making any moves to get out of the car. “Do you want to come up for a drink?” It’s simple enough, though it feels loaded, like maybe he wants to ask about what happened tonight. Although you weren’t sure you’d have an answer if he did.

“Will,” you sigh, turning in your seat to face him fully, “what are we doing?”

His hands fidget with a loose thread on his pants and he shrugs, “I just thought we should talk… and I’ve got a minibar that’s practically begging to be raided.” He says it so non-chalantly that it rockets a laugh out of you, shattering the tension instantly. You just shrug your shoulders as if to say ‘You know what? Good enough reason.’ A goofy smile crosses his face and for a moment things feel normal. Well, maybe not normal, but… more like the way they used to be.

You joke, cracking your door open, “Well, how can I say no to the future world champ? Lead the way.”

With a resolute nod, he grabs both of your bags from the trunk despite your protesting, and wordlessly he takes your hand in his as you make your way up, up, up in the elevator. You do your best to ignore the chill that racks your body at his touch, and you can’t quite tell if he’s purposely avoiding looking at you or it’s just Will being Will. He only releases your hand to dig into his pocket for the room key, softly clicking open. It wasn’t a full penthouse suite, but clearly, he’d chosen to splurge for the occasion. The room was large and open, with a sofa and a loveseat and a coffee cart and a big tv in the main room; a massive plush bed with a full-sized dresser already covered in stuff from his unpacking; and what you could only assume was a jacuzzi big enough for two in the ensuite. It was the kind of room you chose not to partake in on a midcard salary.

Massive windows with peeking curtains show off a view that envied some of the greatest landscape paintings you’d ever seen. Leftover raindrops on the glass blur the lookout over the city, turning street lamps into lighthouses and headlights into shooting stars. As you slowly make your way over to get a better look, he sets the Owen Hart belt on the small coffee table and turns to the minibar, “Will it be vodka or…uh, whiskey for the lady? Sorry, I thought there’d be more options but…”

You laugh, “Uh, vodka’s fine, thank you.”

He hands you a quarter pint and cracks open his own bottle. It’s hard to tell if the reason he winces is from the bite of the liquor or from his hand coming up to feel the staples near his hairline.

Getting hurt was a risk of the job, but it never felt good to see someone get legitimately banged up like that. “How are you feeling?” You ask, as you take a drink, fighting back a cough. For a nice hotel, you’d expected better quality, but it would do well enough.

“Like hell, but…I’ve been worse.”

“Really? Cause you look terrible,” you tease.

He laughs, before grabbing at his rib with a grunt, “Hey, I won, didn’t I? I’ve got the main event of All In, and right now, at this very moment, I’ve got the woman who saved me from a much worse fate sharing a drink with me. What more could I ask for?”

“I didn’t–” taken aback, you pause, denying the implication he’d made, “You didn’t need saving. I-I just—I was trying to keep him from falling back into old habits, is all.”

He shakes his head, taking another drink, free hand fidgeting with that same thread again. “I saw what he asked you to do; you could have finished me right there, but you didn’t.”

And the thing is, he wasn’t wrong. As much as you wanted to pretend there wasn’t, there was another world where you did hit him. Where you took your order like a good soldier and slammed a toolbox against his skull. There was a universe out there somewhere where Swerve took home the belt, the opportunity, and Will got shipped off in another ambulance.

You didn’t ever want to know what that world looked like.

Your voice shakes as you wash the bad thoughts down with the rest of the bottle of vodka. “Why am I here, Will?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just observing you. The silence stretches and strains until the thread on his pants finally comes free in his grasp and he grins, “Would it surprise you if I said I wanted to kiss you?” Wide eyes flash up to meet him, mouth agape as you search his face for any hint of hesitation, of a lie, a trick, a trap. You’d dreamed of moments like this one too many times to not question it. What if he felt like he owed you something for ‘saving him’? What if he was concussed and didn’t know it and would regret it?

He takes one, two steps toward you, taking your free hand in his. Bringing his whiskey bottle to his lips, he takes a long swig before tossing it, empty, onto the sofa. And when you don’t pull away, he mutters, “Fuck it.” His lips meet yours and goosebumps blossom over your arms. Fingertips float across your skin, rooting in your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you hard against him. It’s pure electricity, blood pounding in your ears, set alight by his touch, by his tongue slipping between your teeth. Your hands slide to his waist, careful not to grip too hard in fear of hitting any bruises or busted ribs.

He hisses against your mouth as you brush against something and you peek down at a patch of mat burn poking out from under his shirt, “Sorry!” Instead, you move that hand up to rest on his chest, feeling the thump-thumping of his heart. “I-I didn’t see–”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be careful; I’m not gonna break.”

His words are so steady, so strong in his conviction that you almost believe him. And so, you let him explore your mouth once more, now with more vigor, the adrenaline spike from the pain doing wonders for his muddled mind. With you, here in his arms, there was something to focus on. No Death Riders. No Swerve. No world titles or Wembley Stadium. Just you and him, and a king sized bed waiting to be broken in. Will briefly considers picking you up and carrying you to the other room, before thinking better of it, shoulder still throbbing; instead, he walks you backwards through the doorway until your calves hit the bed, falling back onto the mattress with a laugh. “Ah–! Wha–what has gotten into you?”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot about what I want. Where I want to be.” Pressing a knee to the mattress, he cages you in with his arms, one hand holding him above you, the other trailing up under the hem of your shirt. “And every time I close my eyes, it’s you. It’s always you.” His lips meet yours once more, savoring the bite of peppermint gum and vodka lingering on your breath as you gasp, the sudden sensation of his knee sliding between your legs causing you to grind against him mindlessly. Callused fingertips find a scar on your abdomen and he runs a thumb across it, “What’s this from?” Confused laughter bubbles up from your chest; he always got caught up on the smallest things. “You've had it since before we met.”

“Backyard wrestling as a kid.” He slides the fabric up for a better look at the jagged mark, still raised after all these years, like embroidery across your skin. “Some neighborhood kid tried to use an old broom pretending to be Sandman. It snapped and cut me up pretty bad. Never healed quite right.” His expression shifts, and your curious eyes, trained on him, try to figure out just what was going on in that head of his.

“I still can’t believe you helped me tonight.”

You grin half-heartedly, head falling back against the mattress, “Who said I did it for you?” You knew why. But dropping the big L-word seemed a little too intense after the night you’d both had. So instead you just shrug, “Does it really matter why?”

“No, I suppose not, but I appreciate it either way.” Assuaged for the time being, whatever had clouded his mind appears to dissipate; Will’s gaze drags from your scar to meet yours, his eyes a steel blue in the lowlight of the hotel room. Seemingly suddenly aware of his staring, he blinks a few times, and a cockeyed smile and deep, warm blush bloom on his face. “You’re so beautiful,” he pulls away to strip the too-small tank from his back carefully, revealing his own array of bruises and marks and scars. Then, his shaking hands grab the edge of your top, pausing, waiting for your permission.

With a quick nod, he pulls it over your head, revealing your bare chest. He bows his head to press a kiss to your lips, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Feather-light touches. Eager exaltation at the altar of your body. You gasp as his lips reach your chest, dancing around your sensitive skin, before finally latching onto your pert nipple, swirling his tongue around and sucking hard. He switches to the other, giving it the same treatment, though his teeth find purchase this time, making you squirm under his touch. Continuing down, down, down, his fervor grows, carving his claim with pretty, purple marks, leaving a particularly dark one on your hip.

If you’d have known what was in store, you may have dressed up for the occasion, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he looks to you for permission once more. “Please–” you mutter, seeing the reverence behind his eyes flare, fingers curling into your waistband and pulling your shorts down slowly. A flash of embarrassment crosses your mind, thighs squeezing shut as he looks you over. Watching you like his favorite movie. No—more like a hypnotist’s watch. Perhaps he was dedicating the image of you to memory or subconsciously ranking you against other people he’d been with; or maybe his mind was just completely blank, given over entirely to lust. “Will?”

His gaze travels from the softness of your thighs down the length of your leg and back up again, to the silky-soft fabric of your underwear caught between his fingers. Nails trace across the polka dot patterning, to the worn lace trim, teasing ever closer to removing them entirely. It’s infuriating and tantalizing and nerve-wracking for some reason; maybe because you’d known him for so long that all of this just feels too sudden. And you drop from leaning on your elbows to lying flat on your back with nervous giggles, covering your face with your hands.

Will perks up at this, knocked out of his mesmerized state. “Oh,” he laughs breathlessly, climbing back up your body, “come on…don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart.”

“I’m not–! I’m not shy,” you fire back, peeking through your fingers. “I just—I’m not used to being looked at like that.”

His head cocks to the side, genuine confusion on his face, “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to solve a mystery?” You mean it to be a joke, to keep things light. But his expression contorts with something akin to offense and you quickly lift your hand to his cheek, “No–that’s not what I—It’s just this…thing, with your eyes, like you’re analyzing everything all the time.”

His gaze drops to your chest, “Sorry, I–”

“No! Don’t–” you guide his eyes back to yours, thumb running over his bruised cheekbone, “you don’t need to apologize; it’s just the way you are. You wear your emotions on your face, heart on your sleeve. It’s charming…I promise.” Somewhat reassured, his expression softens and leans in to kiss you again. Where at first it was heated and desperate, this one is soft, like star-crossed lovers afraid that just one kiss could destroy everything. Will’s hands caressing you keep you grounded as your thoughts begin to wander, lost in search of what he must be thinking. Your brain: frustrated at your blunder, and your body: longing for more touch, more kissing, more anything; meandering through the darkness of your mind until you feel his hand slip between your bodies. You grind against it seeking more friction, much to his pleasure. This was an image he’d longed to know for nearly a year, that he was starting to believe he’d never get to see. Finally forcing yourself to separate, you mumble against his lips, any nerves or shyness dissolved into pure lust, “Are you gonna fuck me, or what, Ospreay?”

Something sparks inside him, alighting a fire that catches you genuinely off-guard when his head drops to attack your neck and his hand slides under the waistband of your panties. Like that one question was enough to break down some barrier he had built in his mind. Usually ever the gentleman, now giving in to his baser instincts, fueled by a hard-fought victory, some whiskey, and a beautiful person writhing beneath him.

Your hands flounder desperately for purchase, one finding his blood-stained hair and other locking tight around his bicep as teasing fingers explore your pussy. Like a metal detector on a beach, those analytical eyes scan for every minute reaction, every hitch of your breath. When he finally brushes against your clit, you gasp, pulling on his curls hard, which draws a low moan from his lips, “Fuck…”

“I’m sorry–“ your eyes squeeze shut, knowing you should be more careful with his injuries, fighting back that shame that threatens to creep into your mind.

“Stop apologizing,” he grumbles against the hollow of your throat, “and do it again.”

It becomes abundantly clear that he’s no longer interested in drawing this out, pulling you forward to the edge of the bed and taking his place between your knees. His mouth is on you before your underwear has even hit the floor, licking a long stripe up your slit. Will takes one of your legs up over his uninjured shoulder and his bruising grip on your thigh draws you somehow even closer. Face buried in your dripping cunt, he feasts like a madman. Alternating between circling your clit with his tongue and abandoning it to mark up the insides of your thighs is infuriating, playing with your sensitivity like a light switch. On. Off. On. Off. Never letting you get too far along before turning his head to suck another blood red hickey into the muscle of your thigh. After one too many times, you finally arrest him by the hair, just as he’d asked, and press his face firmly against you, “Okay…the teasing was fun at first, but quit fucking around and get to work.”

It’s harsher than you mean to be and you’re worried that it might be too much, but the way he whimpers against you tells another story. When his tongue finally dips inside you, you can’t help but arch off the bed, tugging on his curls hard, causing his movements to stutter. Will recovers as quickly as he can, tongue stroking inside you before switching to suck lightly around your clit. You’re fast to clamp a hand over your mouth, stifling your moans when his suddenly shoots up to pull it away, itching to hear the sounds you made for him. “Let me hear you,” he murmurs, catching his breath, cheek resting on your thigh like a pillow. And when he starts up again, a high-pitched squeak escapes as you struggle to still keep quiet and it makes his already-hard dick twitch in his sweatpants.

Just a little bit more friction and he swears he could come right now, tasting you, listening to the melody of your pleasure. Still, he steadies himself and focuses on bringing you to the edge. You’re so reactive under his touch, his tongue, and he reads you like no one ever has; you don’t have to redirect him, or tell him how you like it. He listens to your body, the way it squeezes around him when he replaces his tongue with his fingers, first one, then a second, and a third when you think you can’t take another, never resting as he laps at your clit. The pit in your stomach tightens as he brings you closer and closer, building a steady pattern that has you practically panting.

Soft praises fall from your lips, and his rhythm breaks again, a shaking groan warming the skin of your inner thigh, before he doubles his efforts. He can feel you getting there, the way your muscles tense, your hips rock against his mouth and hands in small, helpless motions. Fingers thrust inside you as he pulls back to blow a stream of cool air toward your core, sending shivers through your body, before the warmth of his mouth takes over once more. The aching pressure growing inside you finally bursts and you moan loudly as he carries you through your orgasm, drawing every last gasp from your chest and coaxing out every last drop of your release. Will takes to cleaning you with his tongue, stealing glimpses of the breathless, blissed-out look on your face. He swallows everything you give him like he’d die without it, flushed and satiated just enough that he doesn’t dive back in for more. And when he’s done, he climbs back up the bed, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses back up your body before finding your lips again, allowing you to taste yourself.

His voice, ran ragged with need, seems to echo as he presses his lips right below your earlobe, “Did I do good?” It’s stupid, and it sounds so cocky when he says it, and it’s so undeniably Will that you can’t help but laugh.

Delirious giggles burst up out of you as you grab his face with both hands. “You’re kidding, right? You think you’re so smooth…” This time, when you kiss him, he lets you take the lead, the slight-sweetness of you drowning out the last hints of peppermint, “You were perfect.” Loose, limber hands trail up and down your body, slowly moving you both further up the bed. He yanks a pillow down and guides your head forward to slide it under you, “Oh, well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I like to think so,” he teases, as you adjust yourself. Pushing the sweat-dampened hair out of his face, it’s so easy to get lost in his eyes; beautiful blue washed out with lust, pleading desire, silently begging for his own relief. Lifting your knee just high enough to brush against his hardened cock, they flutter shut and his hips buck against you involuntarily. There’s a small wet spot on the front of his pants, and the idea of him coming untouched like a fucking teenager, so pussy-drunk and desperate that he’d blow his load without ever being inside you, threatens to drive you mad.

The hand carding through his hair suddenly tightens its grip, “You gotta tell me what you want, Will… use your words like a good boy.”

The reaction is immediate, a moan from somewhere deep inside him and his forehead drops to meet your chest. Breathing heavily, he grinds against your knee once more, then sighs, like he’s frustrated with himself for lacking self-control. “Can I fuck you? Please…” he hums against your skin.

“Get up,” you instruct gently, patting his arm, “come on.” His movements are sluggish with uncertainty, and when he reaches his feet, you just smile, “No condom, no deal.” And he’s suddenly sent scrambling for his bag, rifling through the front pocket for that little foil package. He turns back eagerly and you chirp, “Hey! Hey, slow down, baby. We got time. I want you to show off for me.” With the raise of his eyebrow, he tosses the condom onto the bed by your foot, and hooks his fingers into his own waistband, sliding it over his hips slowly. He lets your imagination run wild as your gaze trails across the smattering of markings from tonight's match, down his toned stomach and over the valley of his v-lines, leading straight to his cock. It springs out, achingly hard and flushed, a dribble of precum already pooling at the tip.

Will wraps a hand around the shaft and your tongue flits out to wet your lips as you watch him finally find some relief. He sighs through his nose as he pumps himself once, twice, three times before taking a step toward you, only to be stopped by your hand raising in protest. Without saying another word, you simply turn over, onto your hands and knees, bright eyes peeking over your shoulder, beckoning him forward. You can feel the bed dip under his weight as he crawls forward to meet you, distant crinkling of the condom package making you hyperaware of what exactly is about to happen.

Between the feeling of his throbbing cock against your ass and his hand tracing your spine, leaving a line of kisses along it, you can already feel your body beginning to tremble. His voice chimes behind you, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please, just–“ you stop, embarrassed by how much you want this—no—need this. He presses a close as he possibly can without actually being inside you and you groan, frustrated with his teasing. It was fun when it was you, pulling his hair, praising him just to see how he croons, but this just seemed rude at this point.

Will’s hand reaches forward, rooting in the hair at the base of your skull and he tugs, ever so slightly, like he’s trying to gauge how much you like it. And unfortunately, you do, gasping through full, parted lips, leaning higher on your arms, and pressing back against him; and he takes the not-so-subtle hint, yanking your head back farther, earning him a sharp hiss and a squeal.

“You’ve gotta tell me what you want, darling…use your words.” He says it so cloyingly, mimicking the tentative grasp of control you’d held over him, and it cuts something deep in your soul. The part of you that wanted to be good for him. The part of you that wanted him to fuck you so hard that you would forget everything outside of those four walls. To forget about the fury on Swerve’s face. To forget about the image of Will held high on the Death Riders’ shoulders. To not have to worry about what comes after tonight.

And so, with a deep breath, you steady your voice as best you can, necked craned back by his hold on your hair, “I want you to fuck me.” He presses a kiss to the dimple on your lower back and you can feel him smiling.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, callused hand wrapping around your thigh, “That’s my girl.” And any playful resistance still swimming around your mind dissipates instantly. When he releases your hair, you just let your head fall, reaching out and clutching the pillow he’d been so sweet to grab for you. Your back arches low and you feel him nudge your legs wider, teasing the tip of his cock between your folds.

“Fuck, Will, please…” you beg, pressing back against him, and this time, he obliges. Your pussy, still slick with your release and his eager saliva, it doesn’t take much for him to slip inside of you. The relief is immediate, clenching around his length like you were made to take his cock. He’s not much bigger than you’d expected, but the stretch as you slowly take him, inch by inch, is better than anything you could have imagined. And he’s so gentle at first, those analyzing eyes watching over you, thrusts deep and slow as you grow accustomed to him. Will could be patient for you. He wanted to be as good for you as you were for him.

But patience wasn't what you wanted. Not tonight.

Out of nowhere, you demand, through a huffing sigh, “Harder.” He speeds up a little, but it’s clearly not enough, when you send him a look over your shoulder that says, ‘Is that really all you got?’ Dropping to your forearms, you wait for him to go faster, deeper, harder, anything, but he seems… nervous? Almost like he’s afraid of losing control of himself. “I said I wanted you to fuck me,” and when he hesitates again, you insist, using his words from earlier, “You don’t have to be careful, Will; I’m not gonna break.”

Will’s heart pounds against his chest as he sheathes himself fully inside you, resting only for a moment before relenting, picking up his pace and pistoning in and out of you, driving your body forward into the mattress. “Oh–fuck, yes…” you moan, delightfully shocked. His intensity only sharpens your own as one of his hands leaves your leg to push on the center of your back, arching you down further. The soft grunts that escape him feel more animal than man as he gives you everything you’d been begging for; and, for a moment, you wonder if he’s always been like this, or if he was gentler before the surgery—before them.

Thankfully, the thought doesn’t have time to grow roots as he drives a little too deep and you yelp, burying your face in the pillow. He doesn’t slow down, though you feel his thrusts become shallower, and the noises he makes become louder. It seems like he’s getting close and you want to be right there with him, so you sacrifice some of your stability to reach between your legs and find your clit. The first touch sends shockwaves through your body, lingering overstimulation from his skilled mouth set off like fireworks.

The sudden sensation causes you to squeeze tight around him and Will knows he won’t last; though, thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer. Your deft fingers know exactly how you like to be touched, and you bring yourself to the brink quickly. In spite of his aching shoulder, Will scoops an arm under you and, with a near inhuman strength, he pulls you up against his chest, the new angle hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that you’re driven completely breathless. “Come on darling, give it to me,” he hums. Your free hand reaches back to steady yourself against him, and he has an arm wrapped around your stomach, the other tangled in your hair, pulling just the way you like, and you finally tip over the edge, with a shaking moan that, in hindsight, was almost certainly heard by the neighbors. He whimpers against the soft skin of shoulder as he comes a few seconds after, grip tightening just shy of discomfort before he lowers you gently back down to the mattress.

The moment your head hits the pillow, you’re certain you could fall asleep just like that, with him still buried inside of you. And if you were more aware of yourself, you likely would be embarrassed by the mewling sound you make when he pulls out. Will disappears for a moment, disposing of the condom and going to get a rag, and when he returns, you’ve already turned over to your back, breathing heavily, so pliant as he spreads your legs and cleans you up. He speaks to you softly, though the words don’t quite meet your ears. But it’s sweet-sounding and you smile lazily at him.

When the feeling in your limbs returns, and your mind begins to clear, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. All at once, it hits you. The light above the mirror is oppressive and a rush of AC from the air vent chills you to your bones. You wash your face in the sink and, for a brief moment, your reflection seems wrong. The scar that had captured Will’s attention earlier… had it always been so big? The hickey he’d left on your hip… hadn’t that been on the other side? Everything just feels… wrong, and you turn around, silently making your way back to the bed. Will’s already waiting, in a pair of clean boxers, the covers flung open, for you, and sliding in next to him fills you with a warmth that quickly curdles in your stomach.

Why does nothing feel right anymore? A moment of pure ecstasy so easily exchanged for a swirling vortex of doubt that plagues your mind. He curls up on his side, the weight of the day dragging him quickly down to sleep, but your eyes stay locked on a water stain on the ceiling.

One of the nicest hotel rooms you’d ever stayed in and there’s a water stain on the ceiling…

With nothing but the light of a small lamp in the other room casting shadows, the stain begins to shift and change from an amorphous blob to an all-too-familiar shape. The haunting stare of an owl. Will’s words echo around your skull like a clanging gong: “I’ve just been thinking a lot about what I want. Where I want to be.”

That’s what Moxley asked him back in April… wasn’t it? Your stomach lurches again, a sick, churning feeling that you can’t quite push away.

“I saw what he asked you to do; you could have finished me right there, but you didn’t.”

You could have. Hell, maybe you should have. Will hadn’t just fallen into the deep end with the Death Riders, he’d dived in head first. Maybe losing the match would have convinced him it wasn’t worth trading his morality for some stupid title. No. It wasn’t just a title. It was his dream.

And your response, “Who said I did it for you?”

Turning your head to steal a glance at his near-sleeping form, your heart aches, knowing, deep down, that you would likely only ever have him in fleeting moments like these. Quick, desperate hook-ups when you’re both so pent up that anything would be enough to satisfy you. Because you couldn’t stay, not as long as he was one of them.

It hurt too much to stay.

You sit back up slowly, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, on auto-pilot, grabbing your underwear from the floor and tugging them on. Will begins to stir, turning over with a haggard, sleepy look on his face, disoriented, as you continue, pulling on your shorts, “Where are you going?”

“I, um–I should get going.”

“What?” he grunts, sitting up slightly; you can’t bring yourself to look at him as your shirt slides over your head, “Just—come back to bed.”

“I can’t, uh–” you sniffle, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. As you go to leave something stops you, like a forcefield in the doorway: the Owen Hart belt mocking you across the room, and the first tear drops when you finally see it. A small patch with those two dreaded words and those eyes from the ceiling staring back at you. Yours squeeze shut as Will calls you back again—‘whatever was going on, you could figure it out in the morning, together’—and when you open them again, the patch is still there, the final nail in a coffin you’d been fighting so hard to keep open.

Just as he goes to get out of bed, he’s stopped as you turn, watery eyes meeting watery eyes as he seems just on the verge of crying as you are. One driven by conviction, the other: confusion. “That match tonight,” you start, swiping at phantom tears, “It was just another stepping stone for him. But this…this is your dream, and I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that I kept you from getting there.” Exhaustion, concern, and something bordering on fear mix on his face and you clarify, “You wanted to know why I did it. That’s why.”

“Please, darling.. stay–” With a shuddering intake of breath, you muffle your sob in your palm, the image of Will hoisted high on their shoulders burned into the back of your eyelids. It was becoming clear to you that your love alone wouldn't be enough to keep him on the right path, and, for the first time since April, when he first made ties with the Death Riders, you’re able to remind yourself that it is not your job to make him a good man.

“I can’t. Because I don’t think you’re the same man I fell in love with anymore.”

Quiet, tearful protests ring in your ears as you turn on your heel, grabbing your duffel and your sandals before your hand touches the doorknob, hanging your head with a quiet ‘Fuck!…’ Another sniffle. Some more tears. You steel yourself, speaking just loudly enough that you know he can hear you, “Congratulations, Will. I really hope it’s all worth it in the end.”

And the soft clicking of the hotel door puts an end to it all, leaving you both in uneasy silence.