#[ Muse: Niccola Hiromi Thomas ]

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: 🍑 + 6 month pregnant Nickie

Send 🍑 for my muse to find yours bent over something with their ass on display.

Three more months - that was how long the Pillman family would have to wait for the arrival of their second baby. A little too long for the father who tried to wait patiently for the fateful day, in truth, Brian wanted the baby, now. Dreamed of nothing more than to hold his and Niccola’s bundle, cradle the most precious person in both of their lives. Surely never to forget their first, their beloved miracle, the Loose Cannon had already conceived an idea on how to cuddle with the baby and Junior when the time would come, his arms full but not as full as his heart. A heavy weight that wasn’t too much. A pleasant warmth against either of his sides, his two best pals nestled just where they belonged, just as they were always meant to. Brian was excited. Could hardly contain himself with how much he smiled, laughed and glowed, kissed his wife with passion at every chance. It was the best thing to have ever happened to him. A twice blessed marvel; lucky was he and without question did he know it. And he owed it all to his Niccola.

Lover and friend, soulmate and the better half of his mangled heart - brown eyes roamed over her form once he came upon it. Bent down to retrieve an article of dropped clothing from their bedroom floor, what looked like a wrinkled baggy shirt, freshened up from her late morning shower, a towel around her hair but her body bare. Niccola smelling sweet like the soap that she kept well stocked, Brian hadn’t meant to invade her privacy, never sought out to just stare at her from the doorway, a sadistic gleam to his eye. But regardless, that was just what he did. Deserted his chore of finishing up on the family laundry, washer still not run, and inspected each of Niccola’s delicious curves, snuck behind her like a panther in the jungle. Quiet footsteps ever so - not even the hardwood creaked - licked his lips as he drew closer. Raised his palm and grinned, she was perfect, and the Loose Cannon couldn’t resist. The devil held within too strong to ignore. Just as reckless as he, with one sudden flick down of the wrist, his flesh met Niccola’s own, her naked backside spanked. 

“You should really have that thing covered up, baby. Who knows what sort of deviants prowl around here?”

Brian smiled, a moan in his throat, for the echo sounded so good. “Fuck, I love seeing you naked, Nickie. By the way, thanks for the view. Has anyone ever told you that you have a great looking ass? It’s really something special. But, anyways, I see you just got yourself cleaned up. How you feeling, lover? How’s our little babe doing? All good on the home front?”

___

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: "Darling, I know we had trouble making this one but I'm not made of glass. Me and the little one are perfectly fine. You're going to make me slap you if you keep shooing me away from EVERYTHING! Even BJ is fearing for your life," she half scolds with a chuckle but there's that serious intent in her amethyst eyes that tells him to take it as warning it is.

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Brian was extreme - all who heard his name or knew of him were well aware of such a fact. Like a wild mustang who paraded across the vast landscapes of what was once the American Old West, there wasn’t any part of him that wasn’t passionate, untamable nor less emotional, free. He did what he wanted and didn’t care about the opinions of others. Whispers that coalesced into great rumor, small town talk just as bad as the printed papers with his face colored in bright ink, once the Loose Cannon discovered that his wife was pregnant, so did everyone else. Niccola never spoke out of turn. Not about herself or her husband, never in regard to their son, an adorable little boy who was becoming more perfect with each new day that greeted him. No. It wasn’t she that was cause for the whole neighborhood to start their gossip. Congratulations very much shared and openly done so, the elder ladies of the area quick to embrace both the expecting mother and excited father, it was all Brian’s fault. They found out because of him. Him and his fat mouth - curse words of frustration thrown across the yard while he tried to construct a new playhouse for Junior and his soon-to-be-there brother or sister to enjoy, groans of worry dancing along the breeze of the changing season. 

It was what had gotten him into trouble yet again. Niccola and her beautiful smile, that look that spoke many words that she didn’t say aloud, a picture frame in need to be put up on the wall of the new baby’s room was what started his resistance to her help. He could do it himself - so he had said to her - she should go and rest. Junior playing in his own room, safe and sound, just as he was when Brian last checked on him five minutes before, for the third time, brown eyes rolled around in his head, fingertips pressing into the frame to make sure it stayed in place permanently. Niccola had a point. 

“It wasn’t too much trouble. We had fun, didn’t we? Took a couple of tries, but, hey, we finally got it. By the way, it’s because of your slappin’ that got us here, lest you forget. Should we really give it another go? Well, actually, maybe it’s more so mine. After spanking that cute ass of yours, I couldn’t stop myself. And that was just round two!”

Brian laughed, relaxed a little in his tense shoulders, remembered fondly about that wild night, the many nights that it took to conceive for he and his beloved. How they tracked her cycle and read all the books, put time away specifically for each other. Their primal urges to have another precious baby - love bites and kisses muffled the screams of pleasure, all to protect Junior and to keep his innocence still, he didn’t need to know what mommy and daddy did for fun - their bodies, their bedsheets, sweaty and soaked and dripping. Sweet words that were shared between kisses and declared devotions; love that would never end. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Nickie. You or the baby or Junior.” He confessed, running a hand through his hair, the blonde that was starting to lighten in hue. “Least, not while I’m around to keep you all safe. Because, there was a time when I wasn’t, when I wasn’t there for you. I know this was years ago, and I guess it doesn’t matter now, not really, but I’ll never be able to fucking forgive myself. You needed me. Junior needed me. But I was a chickenshit and didn’t step up and take responsibility. I acted like a child - said things that I will never be able to take back, no matter how badly I want to - and treated you like shit just because I was feeling hurt. Sure, we got through the miscommunication, we’re together just as we always should’ve been and will be, but I’ll never be over it. I can’t help but think that, some part of me not being there, not taking care of you and Junior for all those months, affected him, and you, more than anybody has let on.”

“I wouldn’t be able to bear it if something like that happened again. If, because of me and my selfishness, that you or the baby ended up suffering. I act the way that I do now, how I did before Junior was born, because I’m fucking scared. I’m sorry, babe, if my being crazy has hurt you or Junior in any way. I swear to God above, I’m not doing it to cause you pain. Hell, if I wanted to piss you two off, I’d make sure it was, at the very least, creative and spontaneous. I just want to make sure that you’re both safe. That all three of you are taken care of. Even if that means that I do most of the work around the house. I don’t mind. I just... the idea of losing any one of you... of putting you or the kids in danger... of being just an ounce selfish and having that lead to something that I couldn’t fight against... I wouldn’t be able to take it. I’ve told you before, Nickie, and I damn well mean it. I couldn’t live without you. I couldn’t live without the kids. My world would be empty.”

___

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: She's a grinning loon as she comes semi-waddling into the new nursery, her bump just starting to round out and pop from her body as their second little one grows. She doesn't say a word, just tosses the tools out of his hands before guiding them to her belly. It doesn't take long before there's a soft 'thump' against his right hand then a rumbling shift within the round belly. Their baby was finally showing proper signs of life within her; something that he had missed the first time around with BJ. "I know you told me to stay put on the couch and order wonton soup by the bucket full if I desired but I felt this warranted me breaking doctor's order of bedrest while I fight off morning sickness," she explains gleefully, absolutely glowing.

He hadn’t heard Niccola as she made her way into the room, the light pat of her footsteps against the floor. Nor did Brian notice the gentle chirp of a red robin outside of their new baby’s bedroom window, perched on a tree branch and fixing a nest for its own soon-to-be-hatched chicks, he had been too focused on constructing a changing table. Russet in shade of wood - beneath the flat surface of the top laid three large spaces for pullout drawers - tools buzzing loud as the protective bar was finally screwed into place around where the baby would lay. Still not yet done, with the drawers and all their knobs needing to be attached to the table, the Loose Cannon put aside his work, if only for a moment, once the hands of his wife beckoned him so. Gave himself a few seconds of a break and relaxed. Eased into both her touch and her warmth, matched her smile with his own after he felt the baby kick, move and groove like the best of them. For his family, Brian would set aside the duties of assembly. Hammers no longer held in his grasp; the wrench put down and allowed for rest. 

“Yeah, I did. And next time you get up from that couch, I think I’ll just duct tape you to the damn thing. But what the hell was I thinking. When you get an idea in your head, Nickie, you always follow through with it. You’re stubborn like that.”

Brian teased, pressing a kiss to her belly. “Or just a pain in the ass. But, how are you feeling? Still feeling sick? I’ll get you something for that, doll face, just as soon as I’m done with this damn shelving situation. Whoever made the instructions should be thrown from a moving train. I can’t tell if they were trying to write in fucking Chinese or English. Maybe a bit of both. Damn shame, cause they didn’t do very well in either language. I mean, fuck, Junior could’ve written this better than they could! I wouldn’t doubt that he’s already smarter than they are.”

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: "Don't listen to what anyone says! I love you. I love you with all of my mind, body, and soul! And when I made my vows to you, I took them seriously. I'm not going anywhere, Bret Hart. This stroke is just a slight speed bump that I know we can get over and I'm here. No where else. Me and the children and the ones growing inside of me are going nowhere! That's a promise! And I give not two shits if you could never get it up again. Love making is more than intercourse. YOU taught ME that! You have always satisfied me. And I know you always will. Just...stop being so hard on yourself. Please. It's breaking my heart. You're acting like I'm gone already when I'm right here. I'm right here, you stubborn Calgary man!"

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Logan and Brianna were asleep in their beds. Tuckered out from a long day of hard work around the house, assisting their mother in the daily chores and responsibilities, helping their father whenever he needed it from the comfort of the living room couch. That was where he was then - as Niccola and Bret talked with television advertisements playing in the background - that was where he had been since returning from the hospital several weeks before. Hardly did he move from one room to the next. Always too tired from physical therapy, always so burned and drained emotionally, least prior to it all, his wheelchair gave him access to mobility. It was difficult for Bret. A heavier cross to bear, a snare that wouldn’t let him breathe, independence and his life were taken away within an instance. A horrible accident that cause - his beloved family and he switched in their respective roles - the worst moment of his entire life forever a piece of himself. Truly, did the Hitman try to get better, to become more than just another story of those who survived a stroke and barely lived. He wanted to be and do more. An inspiration for those also dealing with the aftermath of such a tragedy, a hero for his children, someone who his wife could be proud of. Perhaps, just as much, too, to be the man that he was before, a legend. 

But such dreams were never so simple. Once he could walk without worry, the doctors took away his wheelchair. Once he gained more function of body, the prescription dosages increased, therapy more intense and demanding at the center. All around him hopeful, friends and family and fans all showing their support, good news came just as often as the bad. Bret wouldn’t be the same. Couldn’t and wouldn’t, no matter the amount of blood and tears spilled, he was a man who had gone through great distress, so the doctors told. He might not be able to walk as he once did. Pace slower and reaction time somewhat delayed, he was at risk to have partial, or even complete, loss of certain memory, development of emotional problems, and loss of sexual arousal. Bret was no more like how he used to be. A shell of himself, the truth of his condition too much to bear, the facts overwhelming and scary, back into the darkness did he fall. Flesh that moved and seemed human - an occasional smile sent toward the children and wife he loved dearly - sat in a puddle on the couch, did nothing and felt just as useless. It was a pain that the Hitman wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy. Never; not in that lifetime nor any one thereafter. 

A pregnancy announcement the most wonderful news that he had heard in so long, Niccola and he should’ve been preparing for the day that they would welcome their twins. Designing the extra guest room that had gone unused for years, picking and choosing the best in toys and furniture and clothes, baby names written down on a blank piece of Bret’s sketch pad paper, that wasn’t to be seen, least not yet. For an attitude had befallen the family home, an indecent comment that never would’ve graced Bret’s mouth otherwise, his own annoyances taken out unfairly on Niccola. All the anger and worries spoken aloud. Botherations - I could never make real love to you again. The doctors said so. I am nothing now. You and the children don’t deserve this. You should just go - burdens that brought quiet cries, spatters of glass down Bret’s cheeks, wettened. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this.” He finally muttered, using the back of his hand to clean his face of tears, the fingertips, to gather his wits. “I am the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you and the children. That’s my job, Nickie. That’s my job, and I am damn proud to do it. There’s nothing that I’ve loved more than it. But now, now I am nothing more than a lazy sack of potatoes. I can’t do anything for myself anymore. I need help walking from here to the kitchen. I need help showering. God, I have to have my own son write for me because my damn hands won’t allow me to do it on my own. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to have to see our daughter get on her hands and knees, like she’s some sort of dog, because her father doesn’t have the strength to put on his own socks in the morning? They’re just kids. They should be out having fun. They shouldn’t be waiting on their mess of a father like a bunch of slaves. I’m the one who should be taking care of them. Not the other way around.”

“And you. Look at what I’ve done to you, Nickie. My beautiful wife, working around the house, while pregnant, doing all the hard work that should be mine to handle. Y’know, it’s not fair. You’re the one who should be where I’m sitting. I should be the one making dinner, helping Lo and Bria with their homework, running the errands, but no. I can’t. I’m not allowed to. My body won’t let me, and the damn doctors don’t think it’s wise to start up now. It’s too early, they say. I need more time. But look at all the time I’ve wasted already. You haven’t said anything, y’know, but I know that you’re well aware. We haven’t made love since the accident. Our bed’s been cold for weeks. You have no idea how sorry I am for that, my love. How horrible I feel over it. Sex isn’t everything, I know, but what kind of man am I if I can’t pleasure my wife?”

Bret breathed deeply, trying with all he had to not let a surprise sob escape, “I always looked forward to the moment when we could be together like that. I lived for it. Having you with me, I never felt more loved or cherished. Even at the ages that we are, I can’t ever get enough of you. Never will. Oh, sweetheart, what the hell has happened to me? I was so excited for the twins to get here, but now, now I almost wish they weren’t. I don’t want them to see me like this! I don’t want them to have to look at me and wonder why. I can hardly stand it when I look at you or Logan or Brianna. It kills me. Christ, baby, what am I gonna do?”

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: "Dad, if you keep stealing all the frosting out of the bowl we won't have enough to finish your cake," 13 year old Brianna scolded as she playfully taps her father's hand away from the half filled container of homemade expresso cream frosting.

Logan just looks up from the piping job that he's doing, grinning in a way that nearly makes him a twin of the Hitman. "It is his birthday after all, Bria. If the old man wants to have all the frosting, he can have all the frosting!"

"That's not how it works, Lo! Mum! Back me up here!"

The woman in question comes up behind her loving husband, rubbing his back before sliding that hand down to give his bottom a playful pinch as she stands on her tiptoes to place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Don't eat too much of the frosting, my love, or else you'll have no room for the sausages and chops I have going out on the grill. They're from that butcher shop in the next town over that you like so much. Mhmm, that butcher shop! You need as much belly real estate as possibility to enjoy dinner AND cake and...other things," she says with a wink before sauntering off towards the door that leads out onto their deck.

Both children groan deeply, old enough to know what 'other things' meant. "I think I liked it better when I didn't know what the 'birds and the bees' talk really meant," the Hart daughter pouts, which only makes Logan break out into a deep chuckle.

Making sure his hand is clean, the Hart son reaches out and ruffles the young girl's thick mane of tight raven curls; an action so similar to affection given to blonde curls in the past. "At least, we know our parents are still madly in love. How lucky are we, no?"

He then turns his attention towards Bret, his amber eyes warm with love and amusement. "Go on, Pa. You should be kicking up your feet outside and enjoying the view of Mum in that cute sundress you got her. It is your birthday after all. Plus I know you're worried she'll hurt herself on that hot grill even though she's used it millions of times. Probably better than any Hart man could!"

Happy Birthday, Bret! 

He was spoiled rotten. Almost overindulged, doted on in the sweetest of ways known to man. A stolen sample of expresso cream still on his tastebuds, Bret knew that his family had treated him well that year. Always did for him on days such as, his birthday a celebration that they wouldn’t allow to be forgotten, ignored. Not many men were as lucky as he. Former athletes returned to home after so many years spent away - resentment a nasty sin that built itself inside of the wives and children that had been left behind. Stories had circulated before about marriages that broke apart. Friends of the Hitman who couldn’t stand it any longer, birthdays and holidays forever ruined and never celebrated again. But, as he had come to discover for himself upon making such steps back to Calgary, a little house welcomed again, the Hitman retired, his family wouldn’t be one of the tragic tales. Niccola and the kids embraced him with open arms. Missed him just as much as he did them, were just as excited to hear the news that Bret would get to stay. Maybe not in the way that they all would’ve liked, a concussion the straw that snapped the camel’s back, but it was considered a blessing anyway, what the Hitman called his light at the end of a dark, cruel tunnel. He would be with his beloved family. And he wouldn’t have to leave them, never again. 

That was a birthday present enough. Watching as Logan worked so earnestly to frost the chocolate cake, Bret’s absolute favorite recipe. Hearing Brianna chastise in adorable seriousness - a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Feeling Niccola’s hands on himself, the tease of her fingers to his spine, his bottom, the edge of his mouth that wanted more than what was given. They had made sure that Bret knew that he was loved. Someone special, a man worthy of such kindness and affection, it was certainly the best birthday that he had ever had. Sausages and cake and promised alone time with the wife later; as he stared at Niccola as she walked to the backyard, tears dared to spill down Bret’s slightly scarred cheeks. What he did to deserve the wonderful family that he got, he didn’t know. Just a weird son of Calgary, a guy who carried more baggage than even he, himself, understood what to do with, a stubborn bastard to add. Niccola and Logan and Brianna, they were too good for him. So tender - they cared for him more than anyone should’ve - through mental sickness and concussions and a stroke. They saved his life. More than they might ever have realized. 

Using the back of his knuckles to quickly cleanse his face of unfallen tears, thankfulness that nearly pooled over, a smile was offered instead. Not wanting to burden his children with the sight of himself a crying mess, for Logan, Bret’s fingers went about ruffling his hair, his cute curls. Ran down the side of his face and cupped his mocha-colored cheek, thumb caressing the skin there, up and down motions. The eldest - Bret’s baby not so little anymore - an 18-year-old man who made his father proud. For Brianna, who looked at Bret still, forever the precious princess, a pink tongue poked out in tease. Boyish play that hadn’t died down despite the years of the person who acted it out. It was Bret’s special day, after all. He could do as he wished. 

“Yeah, you’re right, Lo. But, hey, that’s my job around here. Besides, as I told your mother, that grill’s nearly older than both you and your sister combined. Who knows what it’ll decide to do next. Y’know, I had told her that we better get a new one. But just like your silly little sister over there, who accuses me of stealing birthday cake frosting with no ounce of proof, she’s headstrong. I better go check on her. Take care of Bri while I’m gone?”

He parted, winking to them both before stepping toward the door that led to the deck, his hand gone from Logan’s warmth. “I love you guys. More than anything. Thank you for taking care of me, for thinking about me, today. It makes this old man feel good. Come and get me if you need anything. I’ll just be bothering your mother for a while.”

And with that, Bret left and ventured into the unknown, a grill that had just started to heat and flame up. Snuck behind Niccola as she prepared her space on the deck, arranged her utensils and such on the flat surface of the grill’s side extension, kissed her neck while grabbing a handful of her tush, an early present somewhat unwrapped then. 

“Thank you for everything, Nickie.” He said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I love you so much.”

___

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: There's some snickering coming from the other side of the fence as Nickie is enjoying her usual afternoon sunbathing in the backyard as 3 year BJ runs amok through the sprinkler toy she found on sale with plenty of sunscreen to protect them both. After all, they are going for extra luscious mocha tans and not extra burnt and flaky!

It seems freshly turning men have caught onto her summer routine and have taken to enjoying the display of her in her cream colored, low rider bikini bottoms. They wouldn't be able to see anything usually given the backyard's fencing is 6ft but it seems the boys' have whittled a few well placed holes into the wood in order to get a view!

Summer was the season of fun for the Pillman household. Weekends spent soaking up the sun in the waters of the local beaches, weekdays occupied with amusement parks, camping adventures, and even an occasional visit to the boardwalk. Junior usually spoiled with the best of the festivities, seashells or game rewarded toys, sometimes an interestingly shaped rock discovered buried beneath mounds of dirt, the family of three had great times when together. Amazing memories that would last a lifetime - but not every moment could be spent out and about. For every once in a while, such recreations would be kept at home. Protected in the fortress of a fenced in backyard. Excitement culminated from pillow forts and fights, the living room a warzone of laughter and smiles. Brian would never have allowed for either his darling son or beloved wife to be left bored, no matter where they were. Such times were seen then, a Saturday afternoon enjoyed in the comforts of their own home. Mother and baby in the back, father in the front trying to find the source to the sudden problem he and his kindred faced. Random holes littered in the yard’s grass, mud dug up and tossed around, a wild invader who threatened to ruin the garden that Niccola had started to grow. A small patch of herbs next to the side of the house.

Nothing ascertained from the initial search, Brian had decided to check around back, hopeful to find himself a headquarters for the varmint in question. A gang of them, pests that would be evicted from their safe haven, when he round the corner and walked around the outer edge of the six foot fence, troublesome animals he didn’t find. Least not the sorts with fur on their bodies. Claws not on their hands, rather, he stood before a handful of teenaged boys, kids who didn’t even notice that he had spotted them. At first, the Loose Cannon wasn’t so sure as to what they were looking at, let alone what captured their attention, drew them to the freshly repainted beams of wood. Fuddled - dude, check out her ass - thereafter irate. Brian stood there for a good few moments, breathed deeply through his nose, reminded himself that they were, truly, just children. Stupid, immature bundles of emotions and puberty, peeping toms to both his little boy and his Niccola. He allowed for them to gaze and make jokes. Speak their slander, praise the fullness of Niccola’s, as they had phrased it, sexy tits. Disrupted their riveting conversation with loud cough, spooked the 15 year old youngsters who backed away from their viewing point, well carved out holes in the fence. 

“She is pretty hot, I have to agree with you there, boys.”

Brian scolded, very much entertained by the startled expressions on the sons of his neighborhood friends’ faces, very much ready to be the father that they obviously didn’t have. Or else, they would’ve had themselves some decent manners. Some already pleading for mercy - Mr. Pillman, it’s not what it looks like - others just a touch too confident that they wouldn’t see justice served. 

“I don’t think I have to explain to you kids why what you’re doing is wrong. By how you all just backed away from mine and Mrs. Pillman’s house right now, I bet you already know. However, that doesn’t mean that I’m not disappointed. You’re spying on my wife, boys. You’ve vandalized my family’s property. You’re watching my three year old son through holes in a fence. That’s not okay. I would’ve expected more from you. Hell, Mrs. Pillman’s always taking care of you kids, doesn’t she? James, didn’t she bring you and your sister a package of homemade cookies last week when your mom was sick? How would you all feel if somebody was doing something like this to your family, to your mom? Not very good, I would think.”

He ended, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, contemplating, “I hate to do this, but I’m gonna have to call all your parents and let them know what you guys have been up to recently. Sorry. I don’t like being a jerk, but it’s what needs to be done. Now, the lot of you, get on home. I don’t wanna see any of you boys around this fence again, understand? I also want you guys to apologize to Mrs. Pillman the next time you see her, too. You disrespected her, and she deserves better than that. Oh, and, Dennis, you keep rolling your damn eyes at me, pal, and I’ll make sure your dad knows about your pot and Playgirl collections. Yeah, you think I don’t see you walking around with those centerfolds and your baggies under your arm and inside your jacket? Anybody with eyes can see the vintage Jenny McCarthy pubes sticking out of them. Now, move it.”

Abandoning the mission of current, the Loose Cannon wandered to the backyard once the boys had ran clear, set plans to fix the damage done to his fence, tickled Junior as he ran by, wet and giggling in the cutest way possible, kissed the naked back of Niccola, her shoulder blades and spine that seemed to be tanning just nicely. Knelt down so he could adorn her in more, his mouth littering her skin in pecks, a playful nibble to her clothed backside when his son wasn’t looking. Teeth yanking on the bikini - a growl - a grin that couldn’t be tamed. 

“I have to go inside and make some phone calls to the other neighborhood parents. I’ll explain more once you’re all tanned and pretty, but just so you’re aware, the fence needs fixing. A couple of horny termites cut holes into the wood - don’t worry, baby, they’re gone now. You just lay there and keep looking beautiful. I’m handling everything. Call for me if you or BJ needs help. You know I’ll never complain, especially if it means helping you out of this little number. I mean, really? Can this even be called a bikini? It does make your booty look good, though. Just wanna eat it up. Model it for me sometime? See you inside, mama.”

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked:  "Bret...don't you think, maybe, it is time for us to go for, you know, the home stretch?" she asks shyly, twirling the chord of the phone nervously around her finger. Sarah had finally convinced her that it was time to be a bit forward with the Hitman, knowing how much of a perfect gentleman he was. He had doted on her, taken her home to met the parents, given shy kisses and teasing touches but he never let himself get carried away, even when she dressed as sexy as she felt comfortable during their dates. Which once included a custom corset of leather and lace. "I know you being on the road means you have spent less time with me than you have wanted. Trust me, I miss you before you even walk out the door, but...well, I am ready. I am ready and I choose you, Bret. So, are you?"

Bret wanted nothing more than Niccola. Dreamt of her whenever he was away, tossed and turned in his sleep in an effort to find where she didn’t lay. Missed her whenever they were forced to be apart - their relationship grew despite the distance. Kisses were ached for no matter where the next day took either of them. Caresses of the skin felt even when the warmth of a body wasn’t near, Bret had thought about the same thing himself. Pondered the idea, entertained the fantasy just as Niccola did. Slow had their romance been drawn out. Every milestone done carefully and with consideration, almost a few months passed and no involvement of sex. Not afraid to have consummated their love but more so wishing to have it be made right, without possibility for disappointment, Bret had been raised to be chivalrous, a gentleman. Maybe wasn’t always so but surely did he try. Would be the best in the regard, would attempt to, Niccola’s virginity wasn’t something to fool around with. Hitman wouldn’t be the namesake to her first dissatisfying encounter, wouldn’t give her that heartbreak. Perfection was the more worthy choice. The only option there was. 

Nursing a sore ankle that had been crushed earlier that evening during a match, a once iced bag that was virtually water on top of, Bret listened. From the chair of his and Neidhart’s hotel room, phone in one hand and the other on his melted ice plastic. Memories of another wrestler’s boots who stomped repeatedly. But facts had proven what Niccola said to be true. Together had they gone through the steps. Space, the foe who stood in their way, no time was better. She was ready. He was ready. Family already seen and known - that final and most natural adventure was before them. Bret’s sweetheart had decided and chose him. Deny her anymore he couldn’t. Hold back himself from the passions that danced so earnestly for her, sessions of kissing and handling of her body that never went beyond the innocent. Leather and lace that revealed so much, dates that drove the desire - they would do the deed. Bret and his Nickie would make love. 

“Of course I am.”

He said, certain in what was admitted, “you know how I feel about you, Niccola. I would be honored to be with you. To be honest, I’ve wanted to be with you, in that way, for awhile now. We’ve just never seemed to have had the time. I didn’t want to pressure you. You have your career and I have mine. I didn’t want you to have to put that on the back burner just because of my selfish needs. I’ve always wanted you. I know I don’t show that all the time, physical affection’s sometimes hard for me to do. Sometimes I don’t use my words when I should. But there’s nobody that I’d rather be with than you. None.”

“I have the next two days off. How about instead of seeing the sights, when I come to visit, you let me show you how much I care about you. I wanna take care of you, baby. Y’know, I think we both deserve that much.”

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: The afternoon had quickly turned into chaos. Logan was crying, a spunkknot forming quickly on his forehead due to taking a fall from the couch taken wrong while Brianna was screaming to be picked up, her brother's wailing having interrupted her afternoon nap. Niccola was no where to be found, having left the house just an hour before in order to run some errands she had been putting off since his last visit. It was just the Hitman and a 6 and 1 year old that desperately needed him at the same time.

Logan was always an alert child. Cautious, Bret only needed to tell him once to be careful while playing on the couch in the living room for him to understand. More reserved than his sister in some ways, much like his father, Logan was smart for his years. Astute though he was just six years old - the Hitman was confident that his beloved son wouldn’t hurt himself too terribly while lunch was prepared for the two of them in the kitchen. A hearty pot of Kraft Dinner. Pasta and cheese so yellow, soft macaroni coated in a sauce made from powder, a bowl for them each. It had been the first time in almost a month that they would’ve gotten the chance. Father and son back together again, the Federation was so kind as to allow Bret a two day period off. No matches. No late nights trying to make it to the next venue, the next show. Someone else from the promotion would lead the charge in his stead. A good friend who cared so much for him, an enemy who would do anything it took to steal his successes. Regardless of which it was, Bret would bare the burdens for the sake of being with his family once more. He had missed them so. Niccola and the kids - great conversation over a calm lunch was what he was most excited for then. Time alone with just his Logan. Brianna asleep for her afternoon nap, Niccola finishing with errands she hadn’t before been able to complete, just as he began to stir the boiling noodles for the mac and cheese, the cries of his child brought him out of his lunchtime daze. Extinguished the focus to food making and shifted it. Stove turned off and pot pushed aside, Bret dashed into the living room without a second thought. 

Coming into view of the scene, the room was just as it was before, cleaned and organized. Blankets not tossed about but still in their folded positions over the backs of the couch - pillows unmoved too - Logan standing with a wobble as he held his head wasn’t at all how he had been left. A bruise already forming on his forehead, brightened pink around the outline, the boy had acted like a boy his age. Tumbled right off the arm of the couch - the ground a not so nice landing place - ungraceful. Frightened that he might’ve hit himself on the head, Bret got into action and picked his son from the hardwood. Scooped the boy into his arms and rested him on the couch, back straight and sitting up. Cradled Logan’s face between his hands. Used the thumbpads to sweep away the tears, voice gentle but concerned. It’s okay, Lo - the Hitman tried to soothe, browns running up and down his son’s features, checking for any sign of trouble. Ears attentive to an additional string of cries, Brianna awoken - Look at me. Look at Pa, Logan. What happened, my boy? 

Bret had said, turning his head in direction of where his daughter was, her bedroom just across the way. “Stay right here, pal. Don’t move. Let me get you an ice pack. I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna grab your sister for a second so she stops crying, and then I’ll be here to take care of you. Don’t move from that couch. You stay where you are. You understand me?”

Releasing his grasp from Logan, hands removed from the sides of the boy’s face, an ice pack wrapped in a hand towel gathered from the kitchen was offered by the father after he returned. A blue hardened block of plastic that was promised to be cold. A single red colored towel meant for drying hands, streaks of decorative golden lines on the fabric. It was the best that could be done within the frame that all were given. Logan needing him but Brianna also needing him, decades of athletic training were put to good use by Bret as he darted through the family home. One space into the next, an honest run between the two children, his daughter’s bedroom door opened with tender consideration. The baby taken into his embrace rather quickly - the Hitman’s precious girl - her curls kissed. Herself bounced a little in his hold, the duo entered into the living room, welcomed to the sight of Logan still hurt but seeming to be better. Crouched onto the floor but never letting go of Brianna, cornering the son like a protective wall against any who sought his harm, Bret had taken on handicap situations before. He wouldn’t show how scared he was. How worried - his kids were tougher than he - strong. Logan and Brianna would be just fine. 

“Okay, baby girl.” He murmured to Brianna, cuddling her close to his body. “Let’s take care of big brother. Logan, buddy, how’s your head? Does anything else hurt? It’s alright. You can tell me. You tell Pa what hurts, I’ll make it go away. You’re okay, my boy. You’re alright. Pa’s got you. Bri’s got you, too. We wouldn’t let our Logan get all banged up and stay hurting. Come on, bud. Where’s it hurt?” 

___ 

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: 📱 + "So...I was just informed that you are suppose to use backup contraception when you go on antibiotics. Remember that sinus infection I had a few weeks before your visit?"

Send 📱 + something your muse sends to mine and see how they react! // A letter. 

Brian hadn’t ever seen Niccola so sick. Headache pained, fever that was hot to her skin yet was able to cause her shakes, chills, essentially bedridden. How she was well enough to care for BJ, none, not even the Loose Cannon himself, were sure. Resilient through the responsibilities of motherhood, their son still in need of care by his parent, his mother who was home, a good dose of antibiotics from the doctor most trusted seemed to have eased some of Niccola’s burdens. A sneeze that knew no end. A cough that sounded rough against listening ears, Brian was seconds away from leaving his post while out on the road. Federation beholden, name printed in bold on the posters for the next 13 towns and cities, he would’ve been there for his beloved in a heartbeat. Faster than fast. Quicker than quick. A lover on a mission, a father and a boyfriend all too ready to stop everything, his cards folded, Niccola had told him no. Ordered him to remain with his platoon, finish his duties. She would be fine. She could take care of both herself and their baby. And so, that was what Brian did, though he took time to grumble just how stupid, how dumb the plan was. He did his job and played nice. He came home soon after. Just as was promised to Niccola, either cause satisfied. 

But likewise, too, did he satisfy himself and she. After their beautiful boy was put to bed for the night, safe in his crib and warm, lost pleasures made up in their bedroom. Brian was an utter wreck. A lust-crazed lover, a love driven man. His thrusts into Niccola meaningful as they reunited their bodies - voice stern though as he warned her - handfuls of her sepia-colored flesh groped, playfully pinched, teasingly spanked. Love bites nibbled onto her neck: next time she planned on getting sick, he would be home for her. No questions asked. 

The sequel to their love fest continued the following morning, sunlight making the pink on Niccola’s throat and chest look so pretty, mouth shaped affections, it wasn’t long before the Hart Foundation’s loudest member had to leave again. Barely spent any time with the people he loved most, his homemade breakfast for mama and baby hot on their plates and in their bowls still, that was the price Brian had to pay for the career he lived. The sport he loved. Torn into pieces with each kiss he shared with BJ and Niccola alike, walking out the door was honest torture. Painful in every step toward the outside. For the next month or so, Brian was to be without them. Alone. Missing them - when a letter addressed to him landed in his lap while lounging about his newest hotel room, handed off by a McMahon pal from the office, a mail carrier who wore fancy ties instead of khaki shorts, the loss was suddenly gone. Changed. An instant passed, a note that held its weight in maybes.

Rushing to the phone, he dialed for their house, for Niccola. Tried not to break his face into two with the smile that was on his lips, surprised but hopeful laughter dancing around the room. 

“Hey, Mama. I know your nose isn’t stuffed up anymore, but I just got hold of your little letter, and I can’t help but wonder if something else might be up with you now. Should daddy be making plans to ditch old Vinny early to see you and BJ?”

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: 🛌↩

Your muse is tired and decides that my muse is a suitable place to take a nap meme. | my muse picks yours up, throws them over their shoulder and takes them to bed before laying down with their head on your muse’s chest and falling asleep. 

Perhaps, when it was all said and done, the behavior was uncouth. Immature, childishly silly, not proper for a couple who were supposed to be adults, parents to a five year old little boy. It had begun with teasing tickles to Niccola’s sides while the duo got to putting Logan to bed. As pajamas were picked from a small dresser drawer, decisions between a blue colored or a green striped set were tough. But eventually, Logan made his choice, allowed for his father to dress him in the clothes while his mother stood, no longer seated on the floor of his bedroom sorting through the best finds. Mocha skinned with the curliest of curls on his head, beautiful was too simple of a word to describe the boy who looked proud. Who was almost an exact mirror image to the Hitman himself when he was young. A handsome kid, intelligent beyond his age, once Logan was ready, Bret helped him to get underneath his covers, snuggled tight and cozy. The games continued on from there. While Niccola did her share of tucking Logan in, brown eyes watched her interestedly, glided a quick hand up her thigh and pinched her backside, the flesh that poked out some from beneath her nighttime shorts. A pair that were decent yet playful. Enough exposure to get Bret into a sort of state, that formed to her body just right, easy access too. 

Straight faced the whole time, there was slight pause once Logan’s head was kissed, his forehead and the tip of his nose. Bret halting his dalliance to pour affection onto his son - good night, my boy. I love you - large hands grasping smaller ones, cradling them. Letting them go, too, father and child separated but only for a few hours, until morning when the sunlight would awaken the whole family. Once the bedroom door was shut and either parent out, there was no more time wasted. A light spank to her backside and a smirk to join it, over his shoulder did Niccola go, Bret marching them both to their respective bedroom. Husband carrying wife over the threshold. In the most nontraditional way possible, gently did he place her onto her side of the bed, like a princess graced down. Pillows caving due to their added weight, blankets shifting as each tried to get comfortable. Bret’s arms wrapped around Niccola like a cage. Pulled her close, forced their bodies to become almost one, his head rested on her chest, lips pressing kisses to the skin that could be easily reached. Whispers sent throughout the darkness of their bedroom. A husband’s honest thoughts, gratefulness, toward his most beloved wife. 

“Y’know, I think it’s best that we get some shut eye too, love. Knowing how our little boy is, he’ll be ready for breakfast as soon as dawn breaks. God, can that kid eat or what? No joke, he reminds me of my brother Wayne. Same big appetite. Least it lets me know that he enjoys what I cook - that my chocolate chip pancakes are still good.”

Bret breathed, purred against Niccola’s ear, “thank you for all that you’ve done for us, Nickie. You’re the best mom Logan could ever have, the best wife there is. Don’t you forget that. Remind me in the morning, I’ll show you how much your boys appreciate you. How much I appreciate you. I love you. Have good dreams, baby.”

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ | Vampire Universe Starter. 

Brian had said that he was hungry. Starved of what was earned for himself, 100 years had gone and yet Bret hadn’t ever met a more tempered vampire. A beastly little creature who was as ruthless as he was sweet, going together down the lonesome street was safer than if the Loose Cannon went alone. States or countries of new visits didn’t matter when the world of their kind was such a mess. Unorderly and unhinged all the same, there was a war between two sides. Factions that fought so cruelly to get what they wanted, the World Wrestling Federation and World Championship Wrestling had reached impressive heights once the bodies began to pick up. Tossed onto the sidewalks from which they were found by the human sorts, necks torn to shreds and abandoned to bleed - the Hitman couldn’t condone any of it. Demented were the actions carried out. None done in the name of goodness, the war was tearing apart families faster than ever before. Longtime friends persuaded to follow the enemy, the WWF leader known as McMahon didn’t care what dramatics he pulled. 

Vince had allowed for a sickness to takeover everything. Polluted the sunshine that had somehow seeped into the darkness of their existence, he was a smart enough master to have everyone turn on Bret and his ways. A bad guy for all to see - he wasn’t afraid to call out the injustices that plagued the Federation and its fans. Those silly little humans who didn’t know any better about what they saw. Would come and continue to do so for eternity, they were just as much lambs for slaughter as they were moneybags who bought the goods. Food that the boys playfully tortured after shows, till life was no more, Bret remembered the practice well. Could recall from memory how it had been done for decades - perhaps the influence from his father was to blame. A vampire of the olden world and one who had mind for self control, Stu had made the rule golden: never kill. Feed until full but never to go beyond, strength and immortality were gifts better used to help than hurt. Especially to those born and created weaker. Fragile bundles of bone and flesh and blood, they couldn’t stand him as did some of the roster, but Bret wouldn’t change. A hero everywhere else; he would save vampire and man alike.

Around the bend of the nearest crosswalk, feet were stopped just as soon as they had started. Brian had caught whiff and so did Bret. A scent that was heavy and clear, warm and pounding hot. There stood the latest snack for the former member of the Horsemen coven. Mocha skinned and hair curled, off to where ever it was that girls of her nature went when the night got cold. Uanware of the eyes upon her - before legs had the chance to gather their speed and fangs could bare, arms looped tight around Brian and yanked him back. Pinned him more like to the safety of a leather bounded chest beneath a jacket and shirt. She wasn’t the only scent that Bret had noticed. Flowery upon the inhale, alcohol that couldn’t have been possibly drank drowned out the pleasantness of Brian’s almost treat. Stained to their clothes from the clumsiness of humanly hands - the 1-2-3 Kid changed much since the other side had sunken their teeth into him. Altered a kid who was just looking for someone, always seemed to be, he was just as careless as the rest of his pack. Slick to those unlike their breed but not to a person so focused like he, Bret yet saw another cause for concern. A woman unknown to himself and his friend beyond a first sighting, her damn eyes glowed like violet sparks. 

Heard about from those even more elder than himself, besides the commands of his father, the Hitman had taught those of the Hart Foundation coven much. That murder of the mortal was a crime most evil, that everything should be done with total heart - strange eyes hadn’t been a lesson learned by any of them. An unanswered question that 100 years hadn’t provided information for, rumor was that the blood was pure and addictive. Was the reason as to why vampires over the centuries had taken one another’s lives. Butchered their own brethren for just a single taste, a hiss from Bret’s lips was enough to get Brian on his way back to the grand hotel. An escape maybe for himself and that lurking hunger - fights those days weren’t certain. Where there was one there could’ve in fact been many, Bret would need the assistance from Jim and Dave and Owen. The rest of his adorable and goofy troop. 

Against the bricks of the convenience store he stood in front of, Bret hid himself. Peered around the wall as to watch better the scene, brown waves curtained the view only slightly. Protective and ready to get involved for a reason that he couldn’t have figured out, Syxx was wicked as he moved and shoved his victim till her spine was pressed to the door of what looked to be a lady’s shop. Boyish were his features though he was still yet as old as the Hitman. Beard over his jaw but not too fluffy, shy was the name of his flirtations but deadly was always the outcome. Sean was a monster of the worst type. 

Ears tuned into the conversation and fangs sharpened yet, their intermingled scents were too much for Bret to handle. Free from the shadows; beneath the light of a streetlamp he watched fully, burnt chocolate irises mudded to near black. 

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: 📱🔄

Send 📱 + something your muse sends to mine and see how they react! // Send 📱🔄 for my muse to send yours something. | A text. 

Love letters of old replaced by messages sent through phones, the affection didn’t diminish despite the change in times. Niccola was still the receiver to devotions that Bret spilled forth. Always the person who was valued above all others - their children the sole exception - the woman that the Hitman texted most often. His forever lover and mate. Easier were such communications, anyways. Faster for the fingertips than paper and pen, though such tokens were hidden around the family home for her to find and read even after so many years, stashed between her facial lotions in their bathroom cabinet or placed upon her seat at the dining room table, texting had become Bret’s favorite form of declaring his love. Short sentences that described how wonderful she made him feel. How much he appreciated her thoughtfulness and care - a funny picture of two cats holding hands had been sent once or twice when the two of them were apart. It was the best way of keeping in touch. Husband and wife together but also within their own hobbies and pastimes, they were never truly alone or without each other. They were always within one another’s orbit. Stuck, even the most mundane of messages were signed with such sweetness. A heart shaped emoji. A silly smile that was just as cartoony as would be expected - Niccola and Bret like kids sometimes with how they would respond. Completely playful idiots who, in many ways, grew up together, passionate spouses who used digital words to convey their desires. Suggestive photos for quick teases. Suggestive sentiments that were soon to be fulfilled; surely, texting stoked their never dimmed spark. Heated the flames of intimacy - Bret always sending a message to his precious Niccola. A love-struck fool still for her. 

|| Morning, Beautiful. Sorry for not being there when you wake up. I couldn’t fall back asleep this morning, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I went into the art room and decided to draw for a bit. I should still be there when you get out of bed. I think I finally know what I want to draw now. I’ve had a couple of ideas. Those redbirds outside of the house kept pecking at the window. I think they’ve given me some inspiration. Come get me whenever you’re ready, or just text me, I’ll make you something for breakfast. Whatever you want, baby. You looked really pretty last night. But then again, you always look gorgeous. I swear, you wear that slip just to make me weak in the knees. It works. Always does. I forget sometimes that you know me better than I know myself. Let’s make a date for tonight. You, me, and two tickets to the movies. They’ve been showing that cute one about the family with the horses. I’ll get us a large popcorn and lots of those candies we like. I love you, darling. More than anything. You’re my life and my reason. I’d be nothing without you. Please, don’t ever forget that. ||

___

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: What if...they discover that Nickie did get pregnant right after Bret has his stroke? And it's multiples at that! 

They were the only happiness that Bret had left. A career flushed down the drain because of the carelessness, the accidental mistake, of another. A life that was shattered forever after death decided to steal three more lives that he loved so much. Davey and Owen and Helen all gone, focus shifted onto the children and wife that were still around, the dearest family. What was wanted from both parents - the Hitman and Niccola had tried for years to have another baby. Gave everything they could to the effort, were mindful and considerate and prayed for that blessing. In between that dreadful stay down in the WCW sewer and the personal grief of beloved peoples lost. Family was all that Bret had. Was what could’ve been counted on as the tenebrous times continued, when that damn stroke almost killed him. 

Logan had been there when it happened. Rode behind Bret as they each pedaled their own bike, gravel and loose rocks kicked up beneath the wheels. It was meant to be a memory dedicated selfishly to themselves. An adventure shared between father and son, a special moment just for the two of them. Soon did that dream transform into a nightmare that none would’ve wished. Protective notice tossed toward Logan from the front rider, eyes cautioned to be watchful of holes, cracks, and whatever other trappings the road might’ve inhumanely thrown their way, Bret hadn’t had the minute to do the same for himself. Vision returned to the point of their expedition, before he could blink, he was flipped over the bike’s bars, onto his back and head. A pothole stationed below his landing place. Wind knocked out of himself and body totally frozen, fingers all the way down to toes on the left side were numb. Face and everything near - scared for himself though Bret was, painful was the hearing of how his son sobbed beside. Kneeled onto the black beauty of the ground. Put into a position that no child should’ve ever been in, one that the Hitman would’ve rather died than see his Logan suffer. 

Hours were dedicated to the health and betterment of them both, them all. Every member of that family who were forced into the tragedy that Bret endured. Logan and Brianna and Niccola - they each had their own burdens to bare. Most often with taking care of the father himself, chores that he could no longer handle and the pressures that were set to the backburner. Bret was out of action. Wounded, disabled yet hooked onto existence through means that weren’t his own, medications and wheelchair bound. They had said that he was lucky to be alive. Alive and able to breathe - quicker still did that too abandon his lungs when Niccola had mentioned the news, the perhaps possibility. Sadness no more woven into his heart, lifted if only for a fleeting second, Bret smiled from the seat of his chair. His nest of sorts in the living room.

“Are you sure?”

Bret asked, voice heavy with tiredness but excitement too, “do you really think you’re pregnant, Nickie?”

[hollywoodcannon]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: What if...Brian noticed the Pill missing from the medicine cabinet and 3 days circled on the kitchen calender in pink? 

Brian needed something for the pain. Relief from the misery that was an ankle still not healed, a torture that throbbed every time he tried to walk. Doctor advice had been good for that short span before further horror decided to greet him and the Foundation. Came in the form of a previous tag team partner that had a score to settle - staying off of the ankle was hard when all the Loose Cannon ever did was run. Steve wouldn’t relent until all who had wronged him were either dead or crippled. Especially Bret and everything that he stood for, Brian was damage control but also collateral. A foe that had to be taken out ASAP - ammunition that Austin knew better than to mess with. But how wonderfully did he choose to ignore that warning. Wandered right into the eyeshot of a gun, limped sluggishly into yet more months worth of beatings, screamed in agony. Nothing had brought more pleasure to Brian than the sight of Steve laid flat on the mat, the ramp of a venue or in the bathroom by the toilets. Nothing except for the faces of his lover and son, Niccola and Junior. Peoples who he had rushed so fast to see once more before the next show. Deformed ankle and all. 

He wanted something for the ache, but upon opening the bathroom cabinets, he realized an item was amiss. At home for awhile by then, roughly two days, the calendar had been vandalized in pretty pink decorations too. Hung from the wall in the kitchen, nearest to the fridge with pictures of the family attached by magnets, a can of Coke grabbed earlier hadn’t been enough for Brian to have forgotten seeing it. What he needed taken and swallowed dry, he hobbled into the living room where Niccola and their baby had been. Cuddled on the couch with a children’s cartoon singing in the background. Colors and shapes splashed onto the walls. 

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Hands on his hips and his mouth crooked into a wicked grin, Brian asked, “cause that’s what it seems like you’re trying to do. Wait, we aren’t flying out to see your parents again, are we?”

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas​ asked: Niccola looks down at Brianna, who wiggles and coos up at her with big blue eyes and a head full of wild raven curls. She was a chubby ball of joy for a 3 month old. "Are you sure you will be able to handle Bria and Logan on your own? Your Mum said she had no problem coming to grab Logan to have a Mhamo-and-Garmhac day. Logan loves helping her out in the garden." 

The Irishwoman was looking a bit frazzled herself, hence why she was being sent off for a spa day. Her curls were fuzzy and tangled, her skin a bit broken out, and sweats and a tank had became her new fashion statement since bringing their daughter into the world. 

Hearing his name, the young kindergartener came over to his Mum's side, giving her shoulder a comforting pat. "I promise I'll be extra good for Papa. You look really tired, Mum. You work hard. You deserve a play day like you do for me! Isn't that right, Papa?" the brown eyed boy concluded, looking up to his father for confirmation.

Children asks meme. 

She was looking more and more like her mother with every passing day. Face shaped like Niccola’s, round and curved; Brianna’s nose was just about the only part of her that resembled Bret at all. Prominent but still so pretty, too beautiful was that baby to have come from someone as scrappy as the Hitman. A fact that he knew and spoke about well. A declaration that he told everyone when given the chance, the midwife after the homebirth went without issue and his extended family thereafter. No longer was there strength to stay away. Not from his wife and children, from the home that was so filled with love, a career could wait. Would steady itself and make use of others instead - a series of inchoate stories redesigned into something better than before - a champion needed freedom. Asked for peace of both the mind and the body. Promised to repay the generosity when able, when returned to and healed, McMahon had been kind to Bret. Saw the urgency that surrounded, devotion that colored his eyes unlike any passion prior. Considered sacrifices already done as good. Respectable, honorable, 2 days off turned into 3. Calgary would be a heaven seen soon. 

Watchful as she went about their bedroom, Bret couldn’t have agreed more with the smaller version of himself when it came to Niccola. Older and smarter than anyone else from his years, Logan wasn’t raised a fool. Untamed hair was knotted into thick bunches around his mother’s head. Lines underneath her eyes signaled lack of sleep and stress. Troubles that decorated her expressions even if she was pleased, she needed a break. Quiet that didn’t involve the burdens of parenthood. Selfish pleasures for herself and none else, fatherhood could, and would, relieve the pressures with gentle force. Scoot outside of the home the maker of it. Send Niccola and her belongings toward the local spa - the best who would take care of her. Pamper her in everything that they had, creams and facial lotions whose names weren’t known. Brushes for the curls and polish for the fingernails - expensive brands but trusted ones. Prices that were paid regardless. Relaxation that was wanted for her just as much needed, Niccola had an appointment to go to. 

Bending himself downward, Bret placed a kiss upon Brianna’s cheek, her frame too little for the bed but herself determined as ever to explore every inch. Beside her mother and brother on the comforter, Logan given his own affection as well, his father’s thumb running along his jawline, delicate motions. Niccola never to be ignored, Bret pressed his lips upon her own. A most gentle and certain kiss. A piece of himself for those he loved above his own life. 

“That’s right, my boy. Mom does a lot for us and our family. She deserves a little time to herself.”

Standing no more but rather having taken his own seat, he smiled toward his Niccola, “It’ll be alright. You have no reason to worry. You need to get out of the house. You’ve been locked up inside of it for so long, and I could use some alone time with the kids anyways. We haven’t hung out together in ages. Before I know it, Logan’s gonna be growing a beard and Brianna’s gonna be driving. We need this. The both of us.”

“I want you to go and enjoy yourself, baby. Take however long you need and don’t feel like you have to rush back. We’ll be here waiting for you.”

[excellentexecution]

@niccolahiromithomas | Continued. 

She had never felt such a mix of emotions before. She was excited because she was getting to see Bret again. And GODS did she miss him! She missed him more than she could ever really put into words to him, even though she hasn’t really tried to do so.

Should she do so? Things had moved so quick. So naturally. They just…were. And Niccola was loving it though it left her unable to really describe what exactly they WERE to other people. Because, of course, everyone had questions, including the very person that connected them.

Sarah, apparently, didn’t see this coming. In fact, she thought it would be an one off date. She kept Bret busy for a night and she would get the Irishwoman a bit more out of her skin and finally out into the dating scene. The pureness of what bloomed between the wrestler and the classic shy girl was an unexpected side effect of ‘office politics’. Ironic, given how much Niccola tried to avoid being pulled into such scenarios…but that just pulled her mind towards the next bucket of emotion.

The young woman was nervous as all hell about seeing Bret again. Well, she wasn’t nervous about seeing Bret but that he would, essentially, be introducing her to his crew. His co-workers. The other wrestlers…an entire group of men who pride themselves on being the most macho and showoff-ish brood! Men that would probably tease Bret about every little thing she said or did that they deemed worthy of becoming ammo. And the last thing she wanted was her relationship with Bret being used against him in his workplace.

What if they didn’t like her size? Or that she had melanin to her skin? That she wasn’t Canadian or even American at heart even though she was a citizen. What if they thought she was just some young and dumb floozy chasing after his fame and fortune? All these things worked Niccola’s stomach into knots, even after the Hitman took her into the back and let the introductions begin.

That was why she needed the ginger ale more than anything. She loved the taste, in general, but she needed something to soothe the anxious knots in her stomach that was making her woozy. That was the last thing Bret needed for her to become, was sick. She knew the older gent wouldn’t leave her side even for his match if he had any inkling that she wasn’t feeling 101%.

“It is perfectly fine how it is, Bret,” she says with a sheepish grin as she cracked open the chilled can. “And I doubt I could win against anyone who wanted a particular soda to themselves. I’m not that crazy. Only a tad loopy!”

And so she sipped on the cherished soda slowly, relieved a bit when he pulled her in close in a small show of affection. It gave her the perfect opportunity to curl her body into Bret’s, molding her back into his side as she continued to listen to the Macho Man’s foodie tale of Mexican discovery. Her lips smiling at the even older gentleman’s antics while also enjoying the warmth and comfort of Bret’s embrace. She couldn’t help the way her head tilted to the side to rest against the muscled shoulder, her crown tucked somewhat against neck and chin.

It was soothing to her. To know that even with all the men around and the risk that they would call him ‘soft’ or 'whipped’, Bret wasn’t afraid to show that he wanted her close. That she was his…and in that moment, there was no one else around but him and the delightful sound of his barely there laughter and the thrum of his heart against her ear.

This…

This was becoming her world now. And she had no qualms about it…

Until they saw her walk beside him, none of the boys had given Bret the credit that was due for the honesty of his claim: he had found someone. Specifics not mentioned because it was none of their business to begin with, there wasn’t ever a time when the Hitman was known for prowling around the dating scene. Committed to obtaining the gold and achieving boyhood dreams - rather was he a solo act. There was a period when they figured that he wouldn’t do so at all. Assumed that he never did at any point, a prude that perhaps was too wrapped up in the lessons of his father to go out and try. Whatever relations that did happen hadn’t passed beyond the solitude of his own knowledge. Bret’s memory and his alone, it was better that way given how some of the roster had reacted over the years to others. Frantic to pick up on the news of the locker room, who was sleeping with who and everything else -- they were as bad as his sisters, his mother and her lady friends when they had their brunchtime drinks. 

Once the safety of their cover had been blown, Niccola was the talk of every conversation within that outlaw gang from the Federation. They all wanted to meet her. See for themselves just who had snagged Bret - Rick Rude couldn’t believe the sight, merrily remarked that the vision was a trick because no woman would ever be caught linked to the arms of the man she stood beside. Was far too pretty and deserved the chance to be with a real man. What one looked like too, some little greaseball from a funny foundation was kookier than it sounded and seemed. Niccola and Bret were unalike in more ways than just the obvious. A sound personnel and one of the talent together in some form of a romance, least the Ravishing one could hold onto his managerial arrangements. A shot into Bret’s heart that stung for the while that the insult still played in his ears. The loss of Jimmy Hart was a blow that hadn’t yet healed, too soon. 

But the wound wasn’t beyond that of a scrape of the skin. A more worrisome stab at personal betrayal that would leave both Bret and Jim forever broken, there was something far sweeter to soothe the hurt and the pain. Someone who would bring out the sides of the Hitman that many hadn’t noticed before - toned down though it was in comparison to how some of the other men faired with their own loves, there wasn’t anyone who looked toward the two of them that would be left to question. Niccola had sunken her claws deep into Bret. Turned him smitten and so relaxed, comfortable around the affections that had been lost on him for years. Simple as their touch was, there was much beneath how his fingertips would grace across her own. Gentle and delicate when Bret would force their fingers to interlace, his voice softer than a whisper as his mouth tickled and teased her ear, her interest - she changed him for the better. 

His family had already begun to think so. 

“They wouldn’t hurt you.”

Ready to throttle them if they did as much, Bret nuzzled her for a moment with the tip of his nose, “they’re a bunch of softies. Real puppy dogs when it comes down to it. Y’know, I heard that old Hacksaw Duggan has taken a liking to you. Told me that you were as pretty as the American flag - couldn’t disagree on that with him at all.”

“I could get used to this, Niccola. You and me. It feels nice.”